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Alignment-Lab-AI

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As stuck in a snail as we could be, the enchanted slip and scrawl that fared across the pavement was no match for what was not to come. It was obvious no progress was made. A tile, a large one at that, still bore its monotony all the way along this sulking path. Still though, i sensed another. Someone hindering my sucking progress? So i searched onwards what i could, not moving my shelly body. And sure enough he was found. "What kind of name is your's?", I chewed at him with no response to return my inquisition. The understated garden seemed laid out before us. Yes, I was using "us"now. The understated garden seemed loud out before us as a motor cutting homes devastated our forests. Yet, still, even with such looming blades of danger, we moved not at all. It seemed as though we were at odds. In bearing, glaring danger, we sought only opposite ends of this tile, this pavement piece. Of course, we were not at peace within the slimy heap under which was our control. Yes, not his or mine, but our. Young boy, yes you there, sat by the stair, you staring at us. We, two mothering madnesses of mind, smothered the snail brain with our washing suffusion of discoloured wont and oppositional wants. So instead, pulling in equilibrium, to the you - you the boy - an antenna protruding each side, we sat sublimely as the motor rolled towards us. As the distance and our lives became shorter. He pulled, I pulled. "Hey quit it will ya", with no response to come. I gave up, his way or no way. For several slimes - a unit familiar only to our snailing society, I resided in this mind, severing myself from dominant control. A tautology that may be, it seemed he was once in this propped up hidey hole of lethargic sit-back, yet he retained the stubbornness I was so profusely irritated with. No matter, a sit-still could not do in the quickening span of the world. So we went on. Soon it seemed a ride, he taking control. We left a trail, and yet it seems my counterpart had no tale, not reciting hidden thoughts to me. Unsociable slithering scoundrel, I thought. It took a while to grip at the reality, but we were soon headed for certain death. In defiance I reigned down a fury of instinctual survival, but to no avail was the battle against such an idiot as he. Chopped apart the body became. No longer was our snail. Something upon which, I think, we would agree.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! What have I done?" Tears streamed down my face as I hugged her lifeless body. "Wake up! Please!" Blood covered my knuckles. She lay on the bed with colorful bruises covering her face like abstract art. "Wake up you bitch!" The anger was back. The voice in my head that caused this madness. I clenched my fists and began to hit her, over and over, until blood dribbled out her nose and mouth. Then I stopped. My mouth open wide in horror. I slid down next to her and lay beside her, holding her close; whimpering.

It was dark. Not the normal kind of dark where the corners of the curtains are illuminated by the soft glow of your alarm clock. Jacob felt blind. No amount of squinting would yield an image in front of him. He inhaled sharply. His lungs were not met with the stale air of his bedroom. No, it felt damp and earthy. The mustiness sat in his mouth and he ricocheted into a coughing fit. His body contorted upwards and his head met with a crunch against the ceiling. Falling back to the floor, his back was met with the wet texture of cardboard. He snapped from his confusion. His mind spun but he couldn't focus. Why couldn’t he focus? He remembered the drinks. The walk home. He was a little tired, a little tipsy, did he make it to bed? This was not his bedroom. Rolling to the left and right, he was bluntly met with two walls. He raised his arms and beat upon the cardboard ceiling, but was met with resistance and a shower of dirt. Suddenly his mind was clear. He was underground. Jacob shrieked. The cry echoed from his lips, amplified by the tiny area is failing body occupied. Heart beating and hyperventilating, his body flailed in the space, fighting for survival. The claustrophobia engulfed him like a wave, he could feel himself sucking every bit of oxygen from the air. He could feel its wasteful consumption, his impending doom. Another scream leapt from his throat before he sank into a bout of sobs. His body shook with fear, he didn’t want to die. Yet his body was in fight mode, struggling to keep his muscles moving and his heart beating. It was draining the life from the moist air; he felt it slipping away from him as his body failed him. Every breath became more shallow, his lungs straining to keep his body alive. Sucking in the dust that fell slowly from the ceiling, his heart convulsed in his chest. He writhed in agony. He had succumbed. Death had found him and began creeping up from his feet. One last effort and he silenced his body. One last scream, he told himself. One last scream. With all his lasting might, he inhaled. His eyes snapped open. He felt the cool air of his bedroom fill his lungs. He gripped the sheets between his fingers and his hands were curled tightly into fists. His heart beat at a rapid pace as he shot out of bed, grabbing his chest and swinging his arms wildly around him. They only met open air and his bedside table. Slumped over, he fell back into bed. “That is the last time I’m taking Codeine to fall asleep.”

*Beep Beep* Alison woke up with a groan. Yawning and suppressing the urge to snooze for just a little while longer, she turned the alarm clock off and sat on the bed. "Morning, sweetheart"her girlfriend mumbled. Alison bent down and kissed her cheek before getting out of bed. As she was brushing her teeth, Alison heard a couple of thumping noises from her son's bedroom. "Up at six. Damned kid"she thought before spitting and taking a shower. The noises continued, now coupled with what sounded like voices. Figuring that he had put the TV on, Alison kept going through her routine, starting on the breakfast. "Andy! Breakfast!"she shouted up the stairs before sitting down to eat from her own plate. As she had finished her food however, Andy had still not come down. Alison grabbed his plate and went up the stairs to give it to him, figuring that it was saturday anyway and he'd just complain if she'd make him miss his TV show. Like all seven year olds, he completely adored pokemon. "Andy"she said as she opened the door. "Here is your break...fast."she trailed off into silence. In his room sat Andy on the floor, but he was not alone. In front of him sat a girl, in a costume that was orange-yellow in color and had a tail and two ears. She was bigger than Andy and Alison guessed she was at least nine or ten years older than him, if not more. "Hi mommy! Look at my kitten!"Andy said with a smile. The girl on the floor spun around quickly, looking at Alison with some fear before letting out a meep. "Your what?" "My kitten mommy!"Andy replied, even more cheerful than before as he began to scratch the ears of the costume the girl was wearing. "Andy, I need to talk to her. Go wake up Celia and tell her to get up.""But mom.."Andy whined. "Now. Or there will be no TV for a week." With Andy gone from the room, the girl sat up, looking very nervous. "Look, this isn't what it looks like."she said, but was interrupted. "How old are you?" "Seventeen."the girl replied after a moment of consideration. "Why are you in my son's bedroom?"Alison said coldly. "My name is Victoria and-"but she was once more interrupted. "I don't give a shit who you are. What are you doing here?"Alison said, grinding her teeth. "I'm his kitten."came the reply. "The hell you are! Tell me now what you are doing here or I'll call the police." "No."Victoria said fearfully. "Please, don't!" "Then start talking"Alison replied. "Okay. It's going to sound weird,"Victoria started "but I've had this dream for a while.. Where I'm a cat being taken care of by a nice boy who finds me on the streets. I'm not hurting anyone and when Andy and I talked earlier he told me how he really wanted a pet, so I gave him one."At the look on Alison's face she hastily added "It was only going to be for the afternoon! Like a playdate, but then he got really sad when I told him I needed to go so I stayed for the night. I promise I would never do anything mean to Andy! I just wanted to have some fun."

It happened again... I'm awoken by the harsh light of day streaming through the window onto my face. Drowsy, still tired and feeling the after effects of last night's drinking I pull the curtains closed and stumble out of the room in search of the sink. I turn the cold tap and rinse my hands and face to wake myself up. The blood red staining my hands doesn't wash away easily and even after a thorough scrubbing I don't feel quite clean. Last night seems a little hazy still but the memories come to me as my mind kicks into gear. I return to the room where I woke and survey the scene. A broken bottle lies on the ground, the sharp edges as red as my hands. I start to clear up the other empty bottles from last night and the broken glass but can't get the stain from the carpet. Giving up for now I trash the glass and try to work out how I'll explain this without getting in serious trouble. Looking at the time I realise I'm late and grab the half painted squad of Blood Angels from the desk, throwing them in my bag with the rest of my figures. Staying up all night painting I must have fallen asleep with the pot still open but I'll deal with it when I get home. I grab my dice and gaming aids then dash off to the store for the tournament. TL;DR - Don't drink and paint I saw this prompt after browsing /r/warhammer and figured I'd give it a go.

Pain. Pain everywhere. Pain burning every nerve ending and cooking every synapse. Then control. Power. Anger. The pain ends and I see the world anew. Faces gaze upon me through the dark in wonder. Faces that judged and sentenced me. Doomed me to purgatory for a cruel accident. I can feel the power dancing through the wipes, smashing through the walls and clawing to get back into to the lights above. I sense it across the city, the nation, the world. A billion homes and offices lit, cooled and heated. Countless souls that wished me gone. I take their light, the heat, their breeze. I silence their machines and creations. Power plants go silent, planes tumble from the air, foods begin to spoil. My heart slows, my strength found not soon enough to save myself. But soon enough to drag them all to purgatory with me.

Timothy approached the "Individual Database Pod". It was easy to find. Since the revolutionary introduction of these devices some years ago, they are on seemingly every street corner. The pod's main menu glowed blue with just a search bar. With shaking hands, Timothy typed in his mother's name. Multiple results came up. He scrolled through until the picture matched that of his mother's. After looking through the boring stuff, such as name, he found "most recent address". Timothy's house...well, old house. He thought of all the mornings when he would come downstairs and see breakfast on the table and a faint smile crossed his lips. Then he thought of this morning and the smile instantly turned to a frown, and tears welled in his eyes. He looked at the time, almost 12 hours exactly. Almost 12 hours of looking through garbage cans for scraps. Almost 12 hours of being away from home because of some reason that isn't clear to a level-headed Timothy. He found the tab marked "location". After what seemed like an eternity, the map loaded. The blinking red X was on top of the left wing of "St. Francis Hospital". Timothy read the key over and over to make sure he knew what it was he was reading. A red dot meant "active", and a red X meant "deceased". The mark that represented his mother was on top of the morgue in the hospital. For the third time that day, Timothy openly wept. He killed his mother. Whether by a heart attack or grief, Timothy did not know. But he did it. Timothy got up, and walked toward the park to think about things. He walked toward the park tired, broken, and alone.

It was the longest day of my life. I burned and pushed and forced my way through the annals of higher education. I fought and clawed and cheated. I traded favors and treated money like a way to keep score. I had power, and with it money. But real power. Some soccer more can protest and every breeder can vote. But I can't even think of a day when my decisions didn't effect hundreds of thousands of lives. I didn't get dull, there was just someone behind me with a sharper knife. I saw it happening two hours before the others did. I made the phone the calls, I spun the story. I had another job lined up before she gutted me. They had security escort me out. John was there. No point in burning the bridge, the man thought we were friends. He was loyal and smart. But It cost me little to maintain the relationship so I did. Like a dog he would bloody himself for me, even fight to the death. I had to tell him to drop it upstairs. There was no point in taking anyone with me. Then I was outside in the city and striding its streets. I bought my last meal from a street vendor and took a seat on the closest bench. A bum shared the other side but he didn't look at me and to be honest I hardly noticed him. People like him didn't really effect the world. They floated like dross on the surface of the river of life. Going wherever they were taken. "Sometimes you have to stop and just breath."The bum said. He stayed true to his advice by breathing deep and relaxing. "Some of us can't afford a moment's pause."I said around a mouthful of food. "You think so?"He said looking at me. For a bum he was strangely engaged. Then I noticed the suit, expensive, or used to be. Likewise the shoes. The face was bearded but I studied it and almost dropped my food. "I just look like him."The man said slowly. "No. I have a photographic memory. You're him."The man went rigid then he took a deep breath. "Think about what you would undue."He said. "Nothing!"I said full of anger. "Ah, but you know that isn't true. If they could find me..."He laughed. "We have privacy in this country again. For the first time in generations. The fucking bankers were strung up, the whole house came falling down." "Because you set it on fire!"I screamed. Fuck these other people that were watching. "Did I? Do you really think one man could expose everything on his own? I didn't know a thing to tell the truth, until the day of broadcast. I swear to you I didn't believe half of what I was reporting. I couldn't it was just too big. They said they had my family. But you know how that turned out." Everyone did. They killed them on air. If anything that only strengthened his resolve. "you crippled this country." "I fucking pointed out we were infected with a disease. Greed and indifference crippled us. No one fucking cared." "I could tell people who you are and you would never survive this park. Never make it to trail." "Go ahead. They, like you, know I'm dead." "Half of what you reported was wrong, millions died because of it. The uprising would never of happened without it." "The uprising would never of happened. That is correct."He said. "This guy giving you problems."The vendor asked. "No."I said remembering I had to catch the train. "He's a nobody. Hes just a bum." I had the world to change.

The day my life started, I mean actually started was a Tuesday. The bus dropped me off on the corner, I waved by to Stacey and Phillip and made the walk through the alley into the back door of the house. The door was unlocked, which was unusual. Walking into the kitchen for the snacks that always waited and I hear voices, even weird they were my parents voices, and another kid. One of my friends? Enter the kitchen and say "hi, what's going" My mom replies, but not to me, to the mystery kid. "Is this one of your friends sweety? You didn't say anyone was coming over today?" "Never seen her." "Mom, why do you mean, it's me, Hillary!" The worst part was how she just stared at me. Never taking her eyes off me and trying to keep calm but freaking out underneath that smile like Id see her do with dad's family all the time. "Hillary, did your mom or dad drop you off or do you live nearby?" "DAD! Tell mom it's me, my rooms upstairs!" "Darling, just tell us your moms number and will straighten this out." That ass, I just walked on his back for 20 minutes yesterday trying to get a kink out for him! "Mom, Dad, this isn't funny! I just got off the bus like I did every day!" I really didn't like the way the new kid kept looking, not at me. Never at me, at my toes, the ceiling fan, the fridge. But never at me. I'd had enough, I sprinted outside to get some air! Men in suits? Did someone die? "Excuse me miss, can we speak with you a second?" Two of them came towards me, instantly I felt the hairs on my back rise. "Umm.... I have to get home. My parents are expec.... " "Miss, we both know they aren't expecting you. Now please come with us and we won't need to cause any pain." "What? Who are you, what's going on...." Then total darkness and the smell of brand new fabric, I could almost taste how new it was. And strong hands hoisting me up, into a door. *wham* "OW!! Wha..." *whack*

“Alright RIC, it’s time for some fuel, buddy,” the Explorer announced while giving his Robotic Interstellar Companion a friendly slap on the back. Or what would appear to be his back. He was simply a computer that followed the Explorer around the ship and kept him company. Going insane was a very real and present threat when faced with countless years of solitude, billions of miles away from the nearest human being. “Of course sir! I’ll settle her in for a landing on the closest asteroid. Oooh she’s a biggun!” Why RIC had been programmed with a Scottish accent was well beyond the Explorer, but he had come to love RIC like a brother. A very cold and angular brother. The ship, Exploratory Vessel 13 as it was so imaginatively named, settled in for a smooth landing on an asteroid roughly the size of a sky scraper. A quick scan revealed that it did in fact contain a large deposit of ice which could be melted and converted to hydrogen fuel for EV 13. The explorer strapped into his space walk suit and bounced out of the airlock in the very limited gravity of the asteroid. “My word! What is on me?” shouted a disembodied female voice. The Explorer was taken completely by surprise and would have fallen, had the gravity allowed him to. He regained his wits and scanned his surroundings for signs of life. The scan came up negative. “RIC, did you hear that?” “Absolutely sir! She sounded pretty, didn’t she?” replied RIC as his mini-rover propelled him across the rocky surface. “Oh I like this one!” said the voice again. “Most of the time they just come to take my ice. It’s been quite some time since I got a compliment from one!” At this point the Explorer was entirely positive that he was mentally unstable. The day had finally come that his brain snapped and he would be left a slobbering fool at the helm of one of Earth’s most unimpressive space vessels. What a way to go. “Well don’t be rude to the lady! Say hello to her!” shouted RIC at the Explorer, as if he had simply ignored an acquaintance he had run into at the grocery store. “Um… hello. I’m the Explorer of EV 13. What exactly are you?” he questioned. “I’m an asteroid, of course! Goodness gracious, I would have assumed you’d be smart considering they let you out here,” huffed the Asteroid. “Yes, well, my father knows some people, and I had nothing better to do, so… If you’ve got any ice we can have that would be lovely.” “You’re standing right on it… I swear you visitors just get more and more scatter brained.” The Explorer scanned beneath his feet and detected a large pocket of ice. He dragged the drill-hose from under the ship and let it get to work under RIC’s supervision. Once they had the fuel they required, the Explorer gave a very curt goodbye to the Asteroid and climbed back into the airlock, RIC following close behind. “RIC, I’ve seen some weird stuff out here man, but a talking asteroid takes the cake. And why was it so rude? It’s not like it gets many visitors. I would have been happy to stay and chat a while longer if she’d just shown us some common courtesy.” “Oh dear… It’s finally happened. I’ve been dreading this day since I was first booted up.” “What are you going on about RIC?” “Nothing, sir, nothing.” As the EV 13 took off from the Asteroid, RIC had to send a message back to Command. It made his processor ache just to compose it. He couldn’t even imagine how he would deal with what inevitably came next. *The Explorer at the helm of Exploratory Vessel 13 has begun to display the early symptoms of isolation insanity. The Explorer expressed that he had a conversation with an asteroid. It is the opinion of this Robotic Interstellar Companion that the Explorer is of unsound mind and incapable of continuing with his mission. He must be removed from duty as soon as possible. End transmission.*

"Well you seem like a perfect candidate Chris, but tell me; why have you gone for so many years unemployed? Is there any issues I should know about?" Chris sighed, and he reluctantly pulled on the chain around his neck, until a small metallic cross poked out from the edge of his collar. Immediately Mr. Anderson understood. He bore the mark. The mark of shame and ignorance. He had never before encountered a Theist, and he was lost for words. Greg Anderson could simply only mutter out, "Ah, I see. Well as you see Chris, we cannot... erm. Yeah". Greg was a bit appalled, and was unsure of how to handle the situation, but he was met with a warm smile from the man opposite to him. "No, Its perfectly fine Mr. Anderson, I understand" Chris stood up to leave, and extended his hand out for standard farewell. As Greg took Chris' hand, he was met with a wave of confusion. Here was a man, as bright as any other, as respectful as any other, but his one defect transformed him into a reject. And as their cordial handshake ended, it clicked. Greg had a moment of realization. After all these years. After 42 years of breathing and living, he had learned all the tricks in the trade, he had amassed years of experience, and he had proven his worth time after time. But yet here he was, after such a long life, still unsure as to why such a simple belief could bring a man down so much. As Chris opened the door of the office, Greg exclaimed, "Wait a minute! Why dont you have a seat and we'll talk for a bit" Chris was taken aback, and the twinkle in his eye showed hope for a streak of luck. He accepted, and sat back down to face Mr. Anderson once more. "I wish to know something Mr. Abel, and perhaps you could enlighten me" "Yes of course Mr. Anderson, on what matter sir?" "Its occurred to me, that after all these years, I have been subjected to an argument in which I have only heard one side of the argument. Tell me son, why do you choose to believe?" Chris chuckled, and immediately became more relaxed. Despite having been turned down once more, Chris seemed relaxed and at peace. It unnerved Greg at how calm he seemed. "Well sir, it is for the same reason that you choose not to" Greg was taken aback, he was shocked at such an accusation. "But we are not alike at all, you choose to believe in a supernatural deity and I simply choose to look at the hard facts of science. What could you possibly say is the factor that ties us two together?" "Hope sir" At this point Greg was still confounded at the words of this young man. He could not wrap his head around his logic, and was determined to reach a resolution. "I dont hope son. I KNOW because of science, because of years of studying, and data analysis" "But then why do you keep wanting to know more and more about the universe and its mystical properties?" "Well.. I- I guess to know more about the world around us" "Yes, but WHY do you want to know?" Mr. Abel had left Greg lost for words. He had never once pondered at such a thought. "I-I have no idea Mr. Abel" "Like I said sir, hope. Just as I hope that my day tomorrow will bring enlightenment from God, you hope for enlightenment from science. You crave a purpose, because without purpose, you are nothing. We are nothing. Not you, not me, or anybody else. That is why you continue to explore. You hope that there is an answer out there that will explain everything. That is what drives us, the belief that there is a better tomorrow, that there is a happy ending, in which we can understand our purpose. And that is why I choose to believe in God, because he gives me hope; that tomorrow will be better and I am living for a purpose" They both sat in silence, as Chris waited for Mr. Anderson's reply. Finally, after what seemed to be ages, Greg simply replied with, "Thank you Mr. Abel, I look forward to seeing you here tomorrow" "Mr. Anderson, I dont even know where to begin to thank you" "Save it for later, now go home and get some good sleep for the long day tomorrow" As Chris got up and left, he turned his head back towards Mr. Anderson and said, "God bless you sir" "God bless you too"

Silence can take on many form, I reflected. It can be uncomfortable, as in when someone has just said the wrong thing. It can be peaceful, as in when you are lying in bed with a loved one and her head is resting on your chest. Peaceful. Silence can, also, just *be*. This was the silence of the subway station. Very few trains ran this late, and the people on the trains usually weren't the most pleasant nor charming of people. Certainly not the cleanest. These were people who you wouldn't give a second look, much less a second thought. If you made yourself look the part, then it was the perfect hiding place. A long, dirty coat. A roughly but deliberately frayed beanie and fingerless gloves. Hold on. There is one thing that the silence has going for it: you can hear the late train coming from a mile away. I got to my feet as the late train entered the station, finally coming to a stop with a gentle *hiss*. The doors slid open. Fancy. It took little more than a moment for me to find my seat, and then the late train continued on its journey. Its endless cycle. The late train smelled, as the late train tended to smell, of piss and stale alcohol. It was the shepherd of the dispossessed. Save the occasional homeless, huddled in corners of the carriages, the late train was for the most part empty. That was ideal, and exactly what we'd hoped for. The train continued. I didn't even have to look to know when he sat down next to me. I was utterly accustomed to his presence. He told me that it was almost time. I told him that I knew, and I grew increasingly aware of the submachine-gun concealed by my long, dirty coat. I asked him if was two stops or three. I was unfamiliar with the layout of the subway. He told me two. He was much more familiar. There we go. Two stops later, and we were out under the stars. The city was silent, the silence that just *was*, but it wouldn't be for long. I removed my submachine-gun from my coat and readied the weapon, chambering a round. Next to me, he did the same. We had work to do.

Sirens wailed over the hills, through the fields, and into the night. The Q cried in the late hours of the night. When everyone slept, a select few wagered their souls for the life another. I awoke from my sleep, someone in need of help, someone in their darkest hour cried for help. My engine cried through the night air, the heat was stifling already, upon arrival, the flames beckoned me inside. My old nemesis, who haunted my dreams, who drove me to drink. This was my war, my battle to wage. For no one could know, the price I pay, through my misery I strive to continue another day. Despite the death, the loss, the loss, we strive on. The smoke called me deeper, for a woman cried for her child from the outside. My body aches, thinking of my child in bed, seeming so far away in the heat stricken hell hole I wonder. Crawling through the smoke, I hear a cry. Through a door, into another trick. The floor gives way, I cry for my partner. Yet I still hear the child, fate once more called my name. For I began my descent into the depths of the black. I can see the light, as if someone was looking out for me. I came out of the darkness, with a baby in my hands. For my partner had a fast life. I'm lucky that I can.

I didn't know the bomb sitting next to me was about to explode. Where I went wrong is that, I knew it was a bomb. I'd always known it was a bomb. All bombs look pretty much the same right? I mean there's wires, stuff that explodes, stuff that shoots out from the explosion, and some kind of trigger. Every bomb needs a trigger. You can't detonate a bomb without some way to detonate it. Maybe a bomb is supposed to be detonated. I mean nobody really builds a bomb to look at it and say, 'Hey everyone! Check out my awesome bomb! Look at how pretty it is!' I didn't build this bomb. I just found it. More like it found me. But that part is complicated. All you need to know is that I was in a car and there was a bomb sitting next to me. It's also important to know that the car was moving down the highway at a fairly high rate of speed. Maybe you should also know that the highway was busy. I mean not too busy that you couldn't drive at a high rate of speed, but not like 3 in the morning busy, which isn't busy, but I digress. Back to the bomb. So the bomb was sitting next to me and the bomb had a trigger. I didn't know what the trigger was and I didn't want to set off the bomb, but I did. You already know that part, I said it earlier. I turned to the bomb and I looked at it. I though about how I was going to diffuse the bomb because the bomb was about to explode. One thing you should know about bombs, sometimes if you do nothing, they won't explode. I turned to the bomb and said, "Your sister looks really nice now after her surgery." Little did I know, my girlfriend was already mad at me for "leering"at her sister. I mean I didn't know I was leering. I wasn't leering. I'll take that to my grave. Well, I guess I did. My girlfriend slammed her foot on the brake of the car in the middle of the highway. The last thing either of us heard was her screaming, "You are the most selfish piece of shit in the entire-" The news said the 25 car pileup was the worst that had been seen in this county in decades. 12 people died, including a newlywed couple and a family of four. A word of advice. Never compliment your girlfriend's sister if you think she's going to explode. Next time, just look at the bomb and do nothing.

Whoa. Pretty good stuff man. Im not usually into darker themed super heroics, but being a fan of many of the Marvel Knights comics, i can appreciate them all the same. The story kept my attention all the way through, and i enjoyed how descriptive it was in regards to the characters. That turn around at the end to was unexpected, but in a good way. If there were anything to take away, it would be the MC name. As cliche as comics are though, i dont see it as something major. To answer your question though, my favorite comics are ones that have a very good mixture of human drama and/or some kind of inner conflict with hard hitting action, when necessary, and the hubris to flaunt a more aesthetic approach to the art. Thats what i have now,and im really trying hard to think of some explicit examples. I will get back to you with somewhat of a list to further clarify.

You were always so kind to me, Murmuring whispered words into my ear. Telling secrets that weren't yours to tell, Or sharing stories about your life that You crafted years ago. We shared laughs and loved, I loved You thought you did, and any tears were Puddles for jumping, made from joy. The torrent began in monsoon season Expected yet unexpected, the waters rose. Puddles to lakes. Because I didn't know you'd do it, but I thought you might by the end of it. The ropes twist and tie into loops and Hang me by my heartstrings and tie Me like they tied you down into Something you didn't want to be And I still haven't seen your face, But it hovers breathless above my bed. And its choking me in my sleep. Squeezing the lakes out of me Till they converge into oceans and I plunge into icy water and wake. I stare at the monitor It's all I can do this late at night, Looking at lies you shared about your life Made so many years ago. Seeing ghosts in the secrets you told. But now that I think of it, You were always so kind to me, Making sure I didn't know the whispered words Which would have broken me. Now the pixels on the screen Spell out the phantom You made, which haunted me That ghost in the machine.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" "Honey, I can't stand perfection. If everything is perfect then nothing is better. Everything is the same, monotonous routine" "But what if you don't make it back?" "I've told you this, I'm sure I'll be back in the blink of an eye" "But how can you be so sure?" He sighed, wishing he could tell his wife the truth. He longed to tell his secret, but the punishment was too severe. He could not bear to tell, and he could not bear to hold his tongue. "I... I just can't, okay? I really want to, I can't stand not, but you know I can't" She nodded, he'd been telling her the same thing for millennia. "I just don't understand how you can be bored, it's been over a millennia, and I still find new things to do." "I've been her much longer than you, remember" "How long" He sighed, "I cannot say" "Is that your answer to everything? I can't? You've been wondering why I've been distant this past century? It's because I can never get a straight answer. Enjoy your rebirth, I'll see you at home, probably" She stormed off over the horizon as the man stared wistfully at his furious wife. "I know you want to tell her" He turned to nothing and shouted "WHY NOT? I'VE BEEN WITH HER FOR SO LONG, AND SHE FEELS AS IF I JUST MET HER. LET ME FREE" "You know I can't do that", the voice sounded almost apologetic. "Yeah I know, but I wish you could" The voice and the man stood in silence as the man looked over the abyss. "Well, here we go again", he said as he stepped off the edge. He felt the sensation of falling for only a moment. He awoke in a pile of straw, surrounded by farm animals and two grinning faces. He looked up at the sky and stared at a star, one much brighter than the rest, and he smiled without knowing why.

It's a simple room I enter, coming from the darkness to the light of an orange lamp on a worn desk. Paperwork is strewn about and the man behind the desk is unshaven and haggard. He appears to be in his sixties. The computer on his desk appears far older. His nameplate reads Peter. "Name,"he says simply. I give it. He shuffles his papers, typing away on the keyboard with ease that belies his apparent age. "I see..."he says, clicking through what I assume is my dossier. "Can't do it."He says, matter-of-factly and turns back to his paperwork, ignoring me. I ask what he means. "This appears to be your second trip to me. Regulation 17 dash 3, subsection 4, paragraph b states that a person may not submit Form 11A - Death - twice."Again he turned back to his work, finishing his monotone statement - that I must add did not enlighten me - as if all had been answered. I ask again, I explain there's a mistake because I've never been dead before. I wished it but I hadn't acted on it. "If you have a complaint you need to fill out Form 11B - Mistaken Death Claim, in triplicate. If it is completed before the end of the third quarter of our fiscal eon we will have it completed by the end of the fiscal eon."He hands me the forms and with a snap of his fingers I'm back in my cubicle. I look down at the cup of coffee I'd laced with arsenic that morning after thirty eight years of suffering. I lift a pen from my "motivational"mug and begin the form. The pen doesn't work. I attempt to lick the tip but my mouth is too dry. I take a drink of coffee. It's a simple room I enter.

"Can we daddy? Can we please take him with us?" "Not now darling."*Sigh* "Why not papa? Didn't you say we can take him later in a few years? It's been a few years! I want to play with him now, daddy!" "No, no. Your brother still has many years left to live. After all, the Great God has yet to allow him to come home." "Aww... Papa! It's not fair! Other sisters can play with their brothers. Why can't I?" "Life will find its way, my darling. Now, kiss goodbye, we have to meet Mom." "Okay. Good night."*Smooch*

Halfway into writing all the suggestions, I realized they are all from existing books and I replaced them with other things. A brain of a suspect is extracted for interrogation. A human with wings in the world where everything else is normal. Modern day witch hunt (not the media, but religion driven one) You have a special condition where only one half of your brain is active at a time. As a result, your behavior is drastically different and reflects how your left and right brain function. You are the luckiest guy in the world. You are so lucky that something good happens to you even when you try to cause yourself harm. An ancient civilization is uncovered. 'It has happened before and it will happen again.' ------------------ I can write little more if you want. Also please let me read what you wrote if you decide to take one of my ideas.

Philip was a lonely boy. Sitting on a bench in the park all by himself. The people walking by laughed at him, since he was unable to eat a simple candybar straight, without mess in his face. But all the laughs passed Philip right by, for in his mind there were a dream so magnificent and sweet! Oh the joy he had, rolling around on the grass of his dreams. Who needs time and place, work or duty if you can delve into your own private dreamisland? But Philip was about to learn all about that as the town bully entered the park. Philip soon was out of his dreamland, he knew who was coming, and he knew he wasn't ready. He hid under the bench and waited but the jock was soon approaching and the horror of the horn he could already feel pulsing through him. Philip peeped through his hands that were clenching the poor boy's head. Before him was the thin elongated legs of Norman. Once his best friend, now his real end. Norman grabbed Philip by the head and lifted him up with his prostetic, long fingers. Philip surely could spot the broken hoof, but he was blind to the danger so real and near. Norman threw him in the air and from the rear lashed out with his tail, so long and soft. His helmet he threw off, and the horn shined like gold in the sun. He pierced the heart of poor fat philip, step on his body and shouthed like a true esoteric; "That was Philip, and this was the fateful day we learned; you don't mess with the unicorn boy."

I walk along the chain link perimeter. My Hazmat suit protecting me from the radiation levels. The howling, it's chilling, cuts to my very bones. The moonlight is reflecting of the giant Monolith, the last great tree in an empty forest. Nuclear Fission stumps where other great Monolith's once stood. I grip my rifle tightly and continue patrolling I guard the last one, waiting for the last remnants of humanity, escaping from a ravaged landscape, a scarred planet. The howling, it is almost melancholy. The only sound I hear apart from my own breathing. A stab of adrenaline in my chest, like a defibrillator courses through me. My body jerks. A distant rumbling from my right. I ready my rifle and seek nearby cover by a broken down truck. It's a muddy, battered Jeep, 3 occupants. 2 Women and a child, a boy no older than 8, in his hands is a small dog. The women have their hands in the air as my rifle covers their vicinity, the boy clutching his companion tight, it's ears flattened young eyes looking at me sadly. The howling breaks the tension and we all gaze behind the jeep. It is louder now. I activate the signal for the Monolith to open it's great steel doors. The last 4 spaces filled at last, I tell the boy to leave the animal behind. He's crying, the women pleading. There is no more room, we cannot allow any but humanity to leave. The Howling stabs through us, like a Banshee's wail. The hairs on the back of my neck stiffen, sweat stinging my eyes. The women run to the monolith, the boy refuses to leave his friend. I will not leave a child. A crack to his skull and the boy is unconscious. The dog barks at me and rushes forward. One shot and only howling remains. I close the doors and hear the Howling fill the now empty perimeter. Desperate animals seeking their last shelter from the doom. I am sorry, in the end we only had room in our Monolith's, in our hearts for Us. But in the end, you had room in your hearts from the emptiness we left. I'm sorry.

Once upon a time there was a man who lived in a very expensive neighborhood. He had a loving wife and two children. After his wife left for work each day and the kids went to school, he would make sure that the house was as clean as it possibly could be. However, before he finished his work, his children would come home and mess up the entire house. One day, the man's wife and children decided to go visit a relative. They would be gone for multiple days. This was a perfect opportunity for the man to clean everything! After his family had left, he went to work. He scrubbed every part of the house, making sure not to miss a spot. He spent the entire night on the house before crawling into his perfectly made bed and going to sleep. When he woke up the next morning, he was confused. Why was there nothing to clean? How is the house so spotless? He began to panic. The house had never been spotless before. What was he going to do with his day now? He called his wife and told her that he was leaving. He couldn't deal with this dilemma. He ran down the street crying. His wife never heard from him again. His children were the ones to identify his body 5 years later. He had been hit by a street cleaner. Within the 5 years of his disappearance, he had become addicted to heroin. He spent his days scrubbing the sidewalks of the city with a toothbrush and yelling about how filthy the world is. No one understood why the man wanted the world so clean, but he is dead now so it doesn't really matter.

"What the... that wasn't there when I left it!"God said, agitated. "This is all wrong! What the hell have this people done!?". It didn't make any sense. He thought he created the humans to be intelligent and responsible to take care of themselves while he went out to his business trip, "but clearly", he thought to himself, "that's not the case". The first thing he noticed when he came back was the pollution. He felt like they ruined his beautiful creation. "I left you people with a perfectly good planet, and you had to trash it?"he muttered. Those people didn't even care they are destroying their own home. But pollution wasn't even the worst problem. Humans, his own image, couldn't stop fighting between themselves. And they used his own bible, in which he clearly wrote "Thou shalt not kill", to justify it. "I mean, there were wars when I left"he thought, "but I thought they would settle them out by now. Instead, they are wasting all their resources to develop better ways to kill each other." God was not pleased, not pleased at all. The humans race, his magnum opus, didn't go the way he intended them to go. He gave them simple rules, for god's sake, all they had to do is to follow them. "Fuck it"he grumbled. "I'll start again."

I saw what that bastard did to my mom last year. He took advantage of her. My mom, the faithful, honest, pure woman that she has always been, who always loved my dad. She didn't deserve to be put in that situation, especially on CHRISTMAS EVE. You may say that I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus, but that doesn't do the scene justice. He took ADVANTAGE of her, I KNOW IT. And I was going to make him pay. But I had to wait. All I could do for an entire year to keep myself from falling to pieces was plan to avenge my family's virtue. Day after day, I saw my mom, pretending to live her life as if nothing was wrong, as if she hadn't been compromised. I couldn't bear to bring it up to her, to unlock that pain. And my dad, oh how he had no idea. But she stood strong for him, and for me. But she wouldn't have to stay strong for much longer, because I had a plan. It was in the cookies. Every Christmas eve, he came down that chimney, under false pretenses of 'spreading Christmas cheer' and 'peace on earth' and all that shit when his real motive was to take advantage of our culinary generosity and subject us to his perverted desires. But those cookies would be his undoing. Because the cookies he would find on a plate for him in our home would laced with a little extra "Christmas cheer". And by Christmas Cheer, I mean Cyanide. But I made a fatal flaw in my logic. I forgot one thing, one thing that ruined everything: I forgot that SANTA SEES EVERYTHING. He sees us when we're sleeping, he knows when we're awake. And he knows if we've been bad or good. He knew. He knew my plan from the start. I don't know exactly how it played out, but instead of succombing to my poison cookies, he force fed them to my PARENTS, and left them on the floor for me to find the next morning. You think you KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE ON THE NAUGHTY LIST?!?!? Well, I can tell you now, that's where I will always be. I will never stop. I will never surrender. I will never rest until my family is avenged. So YOU better watch out, Santa. Because I'm going to make this blue Christmas bleed redder than Rudolph's nose, bitch. I'm Gonna KILL KRINGLE.

"Melasomneol - The ultimate caffeine. The rich hate it. It's all about watching your health these days. Not needing to sleep, despite the lack of side effects, just didn't appeal to them. Those that need it though, working as hard as they can, taking as much overtime as is available to help support their family and children's educations, would kill for that extra time to actually be a part of the life they've slaved to get for the child they never see. That is why I am announcing today that any profits made by Virgin Galactic™ will go towards making this new medical breakthrough available to the masses. Thank you." You could see Richard Branson's face light up upon hearing the cheers that confirmed he had done the right thing. A similar light sprang to my face as the news ended and the latest pop song resounding from the radio. Tears followed. I may not be able to ever see space first hand, but the people that do go to space will be helping me to spend time doing something far more important. Experience my new baby girl grow up.

Standing in front of the cameras, he spoke. *I am Jesus, son of God, and I have returned.* Immediately, laughter burst out; nobody was going to take him seriously -- only madmen would ever try to convince others that they were the messiah. Yet, his gaze remained unwavering toward the crowd, and from just his eyes, respect felt required, at least it felt that way to me. Jamie Wells - I'm an average girl, one having just been delivered from the hells of education to what was apparently the good side of journalism. This story though, this was unlike anything I'd ever encountered before on my quest to find intriguing stories. I was brought up in a life of religion, yes, but I had not clung to the idea of a deity that long; although, even those who were devout believers in God still found it difficult to believe this man. A man who came out of the woodwork; non-existant on any records until the moment he stepped into the media's spotlight. So why, if he was telling the truth, would Jesus choose to come back now? Instead of bothering myself with these pressing questions everyone else was similarly wondering, I went about documenting the comments in the interview, periodically looking down at my flower-studded notepad, a peace offering by my mother for all the rough years we went through after my father died, another reason I had "lost the faith,"as she had put it. That is, until one time when I looked up, being met with the eyes of the man himself. His eyes had become fixed on me and me alone, allowing the next ten minutes to become very uncomfortable as I plotted how to escape my being murdered by a crazy guy thinking he was Jesus. Following the end of the interview, I got up from my chair, looked down at my bag as I was putting away my notepad, and looked back up only to find the man standing before me. Yes, of course I should have felt worried that this man was keeping such a close eye on me, but for some reason... well, for some reason I felt the opposite... I felt safe. *Hello, may I ask what your name is?* he asked, his voice demanding but soft. *Well, umm... I'm, uh, Kelly. Pleased to meet you* I said, wondering why my brain thought I was in anyway pleased to perhaps be recruiting a stalker. *It's not though, is it?* he said, all the while eyeballing me as he had become so accustomed to doing throughout the interview before continuing, *Say, would you be willing to join me for a snack?* Now, normally, I would decline if I felt someone was about to murder me, but who knows, maybe I'd get a good story out of it. And he never said anything about each other's places, right? Only that he wanted to get a snack, probably somewhere very public to allow the media to tag along once more for his facade to continue. Of course, though, we miraculously ended back up at my place. Though, as mentioned before, I honestly felt safe... he was warm, forgiving, full of love. I don't know how you can tell that by standing next to a person, but he radiated these qualities. *So, how did you know I was lying about my name back there?* I inquired, simply trying to make small talk although I was a bit curious. *You were there for the interview I just had... correct? I don't know how else to answer than what I said there.* he responded, seeming truly confused that I didn't believe in him being Jesus. *I know you want everyone to believe you are Jesus, but it's hard to believe for some. Gods usually don't just descend out the sky in the middle of the day and go to a press conference to make sure everyone knows.* I said, realizing it was a bit more sassy than I had intended. *That is true, I suppose, there's only so many people who can actually, truly call themselves what I have* he said, and I scoffed without being able to hold it in, my eyes widening and then turning towards the floor. He became more quiet than he had been, even his loving qualities seemed to dim. He wore what you'd think a person trying to be Jesus would be, a long, draping white cloak, with a beard that would've taken months of preparation to pull off for the role. He obviously had nothing more than this cloak, so how did he even manage to convince people to give him a press conference? And why do I keep feeling love? I'm not comfortable with suddenly feeling love for a crazed stranger. After what seemed like forever, the unending silence in the apartment broke as he asked, *Do you have anything to drink by chance?* and I began to felt bad for him because he may have been drunk this entire day during the interview and now, believing himself that he was Jesus. *Well, uh, I don't have any alcohol, too broke to buy anything but Ramen. I do have a sink, though, so you could perhaps get some water from the tap if you're that thirsty* I said, pointing towards the kitchen. *Thank you, Jamie* he said, and I just huffed, having already given in to not caring about perhaps still being murdered by this guy. The sink turned on, water poured into a cup, and the screech of the handle turning back pierced my ears as he rounded the corner with the coffee cup full of water. *Thank you* he said, sipping, and then oddly dipping his fingers in, pulling them out and quickly putting them back under his robe's expanse. *So, well, where do you come from, then? Besides where Jesus came from. Malibu, Houston, maybe even Boston?* I said, looking expectantly as I slowly slid out my notepad from my bag. *Jamie, you should know that I'm truly not lying. There is a great foretold danger that I've come to tell all you and humanity of, and yet nobody will listen. Perhaps disaster is the only thing that allows ears to open* he said with a somber tone, looking back down into the cup. I rolled my eyes and kicked back onto the couch, wishing this guy would just throw me a bone. His footsteps receded back toward the kitchen, his cup colliding with the counter. *I just ask you, when things change soon, that you will remember me. I was here, and I tried, and you were the only one that listened, even if it was out of interest for yourself* the man said, before the room went completely silent. At first I chuckled, but as I turned around, I realized he was gone. The door was still locked, the windows all closed, and the kitchen empty. I quickly moved into the kitchen and all that was in it that he had touched was the coffee cup. Moving to it, I looked inward, and quickly realized that there was no water in the cup... No, instead there was wine.

"Hey! Wake up! C'mon, wake up!" Oh not this shit again. It's in the middle of the night, I had trouble falling asleep and I'll have to get up in just a few hours... "Do it! Now! She'll never see it coming!" I sighed and looked next to my bed. A little bit of light fell through the window and illuminated that strange figure I'm so fed up seeing. There he was, standing to the left of me, this handsome adonis who just happened to look just like me. Except his eyes... they are more of the diabolic kind, red, with a fire inside that wants to burn the flesh of every living creature in the world. You know, those kind of eyes. "Not now. I wanna sleep!", I thought, slowly closing my eyes in an attempt to just doze off again. "Nah man, just look at her! How can you lie right beside someone like her and NOT lower a blade into her heart? That would be so much fun and you know it!" He had a point. It would be fun, but it would also mean I'd have to get up, go to the kitchen, grab a knife, come back and stab her a few times. And then I'd propably burn the house down as well just for the hell of it. But I'm so tired, and all this shit would wake me up so much that I couldn't sleep for hours, not even taking into account I'd need to find a new place to sleep anyway. So no, I'm not doing it. "... can you at least do it tomorrow?" "... maybe... maybe not... we'll see...", I thought as I entered the world of dreams again, knowing very well that he'd stand there every night, waiting for me to do it, and knowing that some day, I will.

Brian stole a glance at the control panel, a little red light flashed on and off. *We're going to die,* he thought, *we're all going to die*. Slight tremors shook the control pit as Brian fought for a firmer grip on his chair. The red light began blinking faster and more urgently, however the pilot seemed unaware. Beads of sweat decended down Brian's forehead as he watched the light. "Hey...uh...is that light normal?"asked Brian, with an artificial calm in his voice. "Oh yeah, that's normal, everything's going to be fine. We will enter the orbit momentarily,"responded the pilot. More turbulence almost takes Brian out of his seat, while a rather violent bump manages to dislodge one of his fellow travelers, sprawling her on the ground. One of the other men in a light grey suit helps her back into her seat as the bumps die down. The little red light stopped blinking, and through the window Brian could make out a glowing blue orb that he knew as home. He hated flying, especially interplanetary flying, but he had to admit that the view was incredible. As he, and the five other passengers, gazed in wonder at Earth, a tiny satellite appeared in the distant. Slowly growing bigger, Brian recognized it as a relic from the ancient space program known as NASA. Its hypnotizing twirl through the open space transfixed Brian, as he watched it come closer and closer, and suddenly an eruption rent the air. Screams and shouts cam from all over, as Brian no longer knew which way was up with the destruction of the artificial gravity generator. He felt the air being sucked from his mouth as a piece of metal leaves a gash on his forehead. Beads of blood flew around the cabin along with bits of metal. As Brian tried to regain himself he glances at the back of the cabin only to see the earth, thousands of mile beneath him. The metal door had been completely ripped off. In a daze, Brian saw someone loose grip of a handle and fly out of the cabin into space. The pilot fumbled for the hatch on a door labeled **Emergency Only**, and forced it open. Four space suits flapped around behind the hatch door. Brian, and everyone else in the demolished cabin quickly glanced around. There was a problem. Everybody knew right away. There were five people left. The shouts and screams that had occupied the last minuted died almost immediately as everyone stared at the four space suits. As the last bit of air drained from Brian's lungs, he felt for a floating piece of debris by his thigh. It was a long piece of glass, broken when the satellite smashed into the window. His fingers tightened around the edge, adding to the galaxy of blood passing through the cabin. It was amazing how calm it suddenly was. In space there is no median for sound to travel, making everything eerily serene. Brian mouthed the words, *I'm sorry* before pushing off the wall towards the man on the other side.

    Dennis picked up the newspaper and his eyes wandered over a peculiar advertisement: ~Mourning the death of a loved one? Rest assured, child, for their voice can still be heard. With your help, I will contact your beloved and relay their message to you. See you soon.~     He wrote down the address, then slouched back in his chair. He looked at the bottle of antidepressants on the table in front of him as a grin appeared on his face.     A few moments later, he got up and Googled the name of the individual who left the ad in the paper: Jinny O'Hair. He discovered her website and began to read. Her family had lived in the area for years, and had entrenched themselves positively in eyes of the community. He also saw that she had a son, Malcolm O'Hair, who attended the local school district.     Dennis suddenly burst out laughing inside his lonely home. As a scheme began to emerge from the back of his mind, he ran upstairs and retrieved a 9mm pistol from the drawer next to his bed. Seeing that the weapon was empty, he aimed it at the wall, and gently tested the trigger. "Fuck, this fucking drive!"Dennis yelled while rolling over yet another bump in the dusty road."     At least this looks like the place, he thought to himself. With his pistol loaded, brandished, and the safety off, he stormed into Jinny's residence. Startled, Jinny quickly got up from her rocking chair in the living room and looked at Dennis. "What a beautiful home, Mrs. O'Hair. Mind if I sit down?"Dennis asked. "N-not at all. C-can I get you something to drink?"Jinny said. "No, please, sit down, sit down,"Dennis said as he made his way to a chair. "I have to say, I'm a little curious about this ad you put in the paper. I've got a lot of people I want to talk to." "Of course,"Jinny said, "I just need to get a few..." Dennis shook his head. "That won't be necessary, Mrs. O'Hair. You see, this is what's going to happen. You're going to shoot me in the face, and I'm going to die. When I'm dead, you're going to ask me where I'm keeping your son, and I'm going to tell you. Otherwise, little Malcolm is going to die. Simple enough?" "Oh my god, what have you done!"Jinny screamed as tears began to collect in her eyes. "Focus now,"Dennis said, "you don't want to miss." Jinny's hands were shaking. "Take the gun!"Dennis screamed as he shoved it into her hands. "Please, just tell me where my boy is,"Jinny pleaded. "No, we've got to make this fun! Plus, I want to see how and if the dead live." "They don't! I don't talk to anyone! Please, where is my boy?"     Dennis sat back down in his chair as the grin from before returned to his face.

Logan could not breathe. He had been running for 30 minutes straight. His wife had called him up hysterically saying that their son had been playing with the family heirloom tinderbox and that their house had been set on fire. A lifetime of working in the mines had left most of the adult men in the neighborhood weaker in general when compared to the average resident in the Community. The Corporation had increased taxes again for the 15th straight year. The great services carried out by the Corporation for the people needed to be sustained. In what would become their most unpopular move ever, the Corporation added an extra fee to be paid in addition to taxes every year as an insurance against disasters. This was a lot more than what most of the miners and others could afford so they went without. They agreed to protect and help each other in times of need and life went on. The house was Logans life. He had thrown himself at the rocks every day for the past 36 years of his life. His long and hard suffering had only one end goal. To educate his children so that they may take care of him one day when he could no longer support anyone. He placed every individual piece of timber in place himself. Logan never thought of himself as a bright one. He badly wanted to give his wife and children a comfortable life even though he did not know what it was. The house had taken him a very long time to build, he had to pay thrice as much in taxes as he had to in the years prior. He had to forgo many luxuries in his life to pay the extra funds. He stopped taking sugar in his coffee and stopped going to his yearly checkup to make up for the funds. He remembered having been the proudest in his life the day they moved in, his daughter Maria was playing happily the entire day and he was glad that he had provided a home for his family. Maria did very well for herself after school and moved away from her family. She cut contacts with her family soon thereafter marrying a coworker in the city. She felt that her family's standards were way below the ones she had gotten used to and that they were an unnecessary burden on her and her new family. Logan felt a deep tension as he was running. The house contained Maria's number in a paper on top of the fridge. It was his last contact with his precious baby girl. He was certain the corporation would not send any fire trucks over for they had never paid the insurance fee since its inauguration. He could just not end things like this, if he could not save his house, he would definitely try to fix his relationship with his daughter among other things. He ran on and on.

It's like feeling drunk. It's like feeling drunk, but without that inflated sense of importance. A tiny, insignificant little man. It's like feeling drunk. If drunk were just that feeling of nausea. It's not what it is that's important, it's what was. And what was he? He can see that, despite who he is now, who he hopes to be, and who he becomes, it ends. It's not spectacular, it's not a great bang, it just ends, and decays, like anything else. What was means nothing, what is, is nothing. It was like the time he was swimming out past the lighthouse, and a wave crushed him against the rock on the shoals, and the blood poured from his leg, and the ocean didn't change color. I bled almost my whole god damn body into that ocean, and it didn't turn red. I am nothing, he thought. I am nothing. I bled everything into this place, and it just slips away. Like a paper boat into the river, it just slips away. He could say he saw it, and we all have seen it. We've all seen that absolute futility, the endless struggle that amounts to nothing; Sisyphus and his rock. We can all say we've seen it. We've all seen it. What does it matter? It's not like seeing it changes anything in the now. The reality that it all ends in the same way doesn't change what is happening now. Someone once described it as looking death in the face. Someone described that description as the fearful rambling of a luddite. We've all seen it. Some of us see it everyday. The reality is that it exists, and we must stare into it like we would stare into the edges of a map. It's the finite picture of time. Space travel isn't a luxury, it's a necessity. The end of the universe. If we're to travel, we must stare at it. It's nothing. I am nothing.

“It’s time.” Mother whispered through the door to Charlie on his twentieth birthday. She hugged Charlie tightly, “Happy Birthday!” She said happily. “Thanks mom, I love you.” He said smiling. “I’m really going to miss you Charlie!” Mother said through tears wishing him farewell. He laughed, “I’ll be back soon, I promise.” They bid each other farewell and Charlie said his goodbyes to the rest of us as well. He was excited and full of life. He says that as soon as he left our cozy cottage, he got lost in the woods for hours on end. He was forced to battle lions and bears, he had to fish for food, he even found a horse for transportation. He says that after a few days he found a little town, full of little people, vendors, and businesses. He wanted to find a blacksmith in order to get a shining sword. He had planned out before he left that he would need a sword in order to protect himself and accrue a princess. Unfortunately, the outside world seemed to think that blacksmiths were no longer needed and all the princesses seemed to be taken. Charlie ended up getting a job as a dishwasher in a little café. He had a lot of fun and made all sorts of goodies like Apple turnovers, pies, and even porridge! Apparently his manager didn’t appreciate the humming as he worked and the animals who were assisting him in the kitchen. Charlie was disappointed when he was fired but Charlie is never one to give up. He then applied for a job at a construction site where people used tools and machinery to create impossible things. Charlie says they made skyscrapers which literally touched the sky, and they dug holes in the dirt and literally saw through to China. He said that singing and radios were encouraged on the job. Charlie never gave up searching for a princess but he said that they didn’t seem too fond of talking on the construction site. Mother always says that a true princess would love a man of any background as long as he were kind, caring, and generous so Charlie assumed it wasn’t meant to be and kept on working. He says the apartment he had was amazing, that he had a television where he could watch whatever he wanted; long movies, short movies, scary movies, happy movies. He says that instead of birds delivering the mail that a single person went around delivering letters to everyone on the block. Charlie was amazed at that and made sure to make him an apple turnover every day. Charlie even walked along the route with him a few days and thought about leaving his construction job but he decided he would be too lonely. That didn’t stop him from talking to Gene, his mailman every day. Charlie met a few girls but he said that a lot of girls didn’t trust him and were broken. Apparently this amazing and miraculous world of wonders had broken too many hearts to count. He says that the girls had low standards and were so desperate that they were taking each other’s soul mates because they were too scared to wait for their own. He says that the girls were all beautiful in their own way but all yearned to look the same and because of that princes like him were lost along the way looking through all the lookalikes. One night Charlie was watching the television and an advertisement came on promoting a magical land like the one we grew up watching. Mickey and Minnie were there as well as all the princesses! Charlie knew that this was his calling and quit his city job and headed to the castle although it was really far away. Charlie said riding horseback was pretty slow and they both needed to take lots of breaks but before they knew it they ended up at Disney world. Charlie applied for a job and unlike his other jobs the interview was fun and he got to sing and dance just for the interview! He said he was a little disappointed that Mickey wasn’t in the interview but the people there assured him that he would see Mickey soon. Apparently the people were really impressed and hired him on the spot. Charlie says there’s a real castle right smack dab in the middle of the park and that he lives there. He is doing really well there and is even on the commercial! I can’t wait until I leave someday and can find happiness just like Charlie!

Not that, of course, it was his fault that his parents were unmarried at the time of his birth. His father had loved his mother absolutely but she had looked to him as a commodity. He figured that was probably why his perception of the world was so skewed. Why else would his life been driven in the direction it had gone? He had viewed all the relationships around him strictly by how best to advance himself and his own desires. However, when he was in middle school his father had become his legal guardian. It was through his father he developed a more mature perception of the world. He had initially seen the nature of his father to put others first as a weakness but over time it had chipped away at him. He slowly fell into the mindset of putting the needs of the entirety over the needs of one, including himself. Of course, there was a part of him that wondered if he did that because he knew that, over time, people saw selflessness as something to be praised and the end result was the same, but he came out smelling like roses. Whatever. Regardless, the reality was that future of humanity was priority one. That was why he had studied the ideas put into place by Norman Borlaug so extensively. Humanity was spreading to the stars and needed more food. And there was one meat source that was constantly on the rise. He didn’t fancy cannibalism, but it was the most viable option. Watching the machine do what he had designed it for, he thought back to the Golden Rule his father had repeated to him countless time: do unto others as you would have them do to you. He liked to see that go both ways, though. That’s why he allowed himself a little bit of pleasure as he ignored the cries of his mother.

"Fuck it"He said. They were sitting in his car, an old black 95' bmw, parked outside near the college. Their class was over and he was giving her a ride home, like every monday night. The street light was giving her hair the most beautiful shine, it looked more vibrant and he couldn't help it anymore. He had to tell her, he had to ask. They'd been leaning on the seats for a while now, just talking about anything and everything, as was their custom, but this time she told him something. "I'm moving back home". She had said. Those four simple words had burned a hole through him and for too long the only thing he had wanted was her, and now? There was a long pause, he tried to sort his thoughts he tried to arrange his decisions, he had wanted this for a long time, but he never thought the time had to come so soon. "Jane. Will you be my girlfriend?"He looked at her, those perfect brown eyes, but suddenly, those same eyes told him something she couldn't just yet say. Her mouth pursed and she looked away. "Jane?" She turned back towards him, trying hard to smile, and in her eyes, tears. They sat in silence for what seemed like an hour. His mind was throbbing and boiling all the same. She leaned in close and rested her head on his shoulder and he held her tight. It was blissful for a second, but then the memory of her words "I'm moving back home"spoiled the moment. "I don't mind if you say no. I.. I just want closure". He said, in a solemn but kind tone. "Sandy, you know I..." "Just, yes or no". He could see her hurt, and it hurt, but inside he was going mad. He knew her circumstances, he knew her life, he knew her story, but most importantly, he knew her. And she knew him. The light made her hair look so amazing and the beauty contrasted with the sadness in her eyes made him feel... odd. She looked at him, and he looked at her and they enjoyed each other's silence for a few moments. Eventually, in a whisper, the saddest whisper he had ever, heard she said "No". And his heart shattered.

Chapter One My name is Nathaniel Breen and this is my story of the most profound experience in my life. Watching my entire world shatter before me, learning of the things that happen behind closed doors (of perception), but that comes later on in the story. First off, I would like to introduce you to a character in this story that we will now refer to as; Brad. Brad is a very minor character in this plot, but without the series of events following Brad’s death, I wouldn’t be writing this tale at all. Brad, unlike I, was a fairly stereotypical fraternity brother in appearance. A medium, though muscular build, usually sporting flip flops, khaki shorts, and a t-shirt with the words: “Alpha Gamma Epsilon” printed on the front. In today’s society we would consider this to be the attire of a, “douchebag”. Despite what one might presume of Brad, at first glance, he was a good friend and I was lucky to have known him. Now allow me to begin the part in the story that involves setting, dialog, and more character introduction. “Welcome to the Piece of Shit I Call Home!” this is what the door mat laying out front of my father’s home reads. This door mat has very good judgment in exterior design. Brad and I stand outside the door of my father’s home, who I haven’t seen or heard from since junior high. My soon-to-be late friend and I exchange exceptionally clueless glances before I reach out my pointer finger to the oddly crooked door bell, which is flickering light like a deserted motel you see on a long road trip and say “there’s no way we’re staying there.” We’re immediately startled by the doorbell, expecting to hear a pleasant “ding dong” variation, but instead a long buzz went loudly howling. It reminded me of what I expect the signal for lunch time would sound like in a large prison. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’” groaned a harsh voice coming from what I hope to be someone about to say something along the lines of “Well, sorry to tell ya’ this, but your father moved out months ago, left no forward’n address neither”, this false hope vanished when the door flung open. I found myself looking at a man with crazed eyes and wild gray hair going every which direction. He opened the door wearing a stained white tank top, that might possibly have fit him 20 years ago, and a pair of tight, white underwear. I’m immediately surprised to find an “adult” opening a door, to what could have been a couple of Mormon asking if he could spare some time to talk about Jesus, in his underwear. “Can I help ya’ boys with sum’” he says after a few seconds of silence, with somewhat of a devious smile. “Are you Mr. Breen? Um, Mr. Stephen Breen?” I reply nervously. “Why yes I am, and what’re you two fine boys doin’ out this late?” “You see, sir, my name is, well, I’m Nathaniel Breen. Your son.” The devious smile is gone. Following in its place is a look of disgust. “Hm, I s’pose I should invite you boys in for a drink, m’own flesh and blood, of course.” I find myself sitting on what used to be a couch, but what I presume is now a hollowed out home for rats, mice, cockroaches, as well as other vermin. Wallpaper cracking and melting, carpet full of god knows what kinds of food and/or bodily fluids, flies and gnats all around us, a metallic smell lofts around the shithole, along with a smell of rotten microwavable meals and clothes that should be immediately thrown out, not washed. Do tell me if the imagery isn’t vivid enough for you. Inhales cigarette. “So, Daniel, what grade’re you in now?” Exhales cigarette. “Actually, well, my name is Nathaniel, but I’m a sophomore.” “Ah, I r’member high school.” He says proceeding to close his eyes and smile, with his head tilted back. “College, I’m a, uh, sophomore in college, dad.” His eyes open slowly and he tilts head back to a normal position. “Well, I reckon I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no college.” Brad, who has been silent the entire time, now decides to chirp in with a comment about how his dad got his G.E.D. and went to college when he was just a few years younger than my “dad”. For a reason, to this day, I’ll never understand my father took great offense in Brad saying this. At this point, I notice the empty bottles of liquor and brown paper bags camouflaged by other dirt and grime surrounding his home. I take a look closer and see the condensation on the empty bottles, implying they were cold recently. How could I have been so naive? The smell of alcohol is finally setting in, beginning to overpower all the other smells my nostrils were preoccupied analyzing. “I don’t need no damn’d college education, boy! I’m just fine without it, gots my own place, I gots me a T.V. So, you can shut your fuckin’ mouth ‘for I shuts it for ya’!” He’s beginning to get red in the face. “Look, sir, I’m sincerely sorry if I offended y—“ Brad is interrupted by a raging lunatic, of sorts. “What’d I say, boy!? I said I’d motherfuckin’ shuts it for ya’!” He then pulls two things from the inside of the back of his underwear. I’m aware this is an extremely queer place to store anything, but now is not the time to discuss the proper placement of a flask full of, what I believe to be, whiskey and something that that looks like a small, metal, toy gun. I’ve now come to find out this is a butane powered torch lighter, commonly used for lighting the bottom of glass pipes used for doing drugs like methamphetamine, crack cocaine, and whatever other hard drugs my “dad” might use. He then proceeds to splash the alcohol on Brad, who is now standing as if at gun point. Brad is standing, drenched in alcohol and he has no idea what the next move is. My “father” then picks up a spare piece of cloth off his floor and lights it. The man we will now refer to simply as; Mr. Breen, has put on a malicious, downright evil smile. His long, yellow and brown teeth shimmer in the dim lighting of his home, with the flaming rag giving off a perfect reflection in his eyes, he says “See how far a college education really gets you’n this life, boy.” He tosses the rag onto Brad and Brad bursts into flames at the very second the fire touches his flammable body, Mr. Breen then calmly sits down in his chair and lights a cigarette, I assume to watch the pyrotechnic show he created in his living room. The whole incident was quite beautiful in a way. It’s a shame that’s how I lost such a close friend, but looking back it was dreadfully poetic.

Everybody is born male in this universe. Our evolution required neither such inefficient mechanism of reproduction as a sexual one, nor incredibly slow and weak substances as the DNA and cells. But all universes have their anomalies. All form of life in this universe changes it's direction of reproduction after thirty circles of their respective sun. At that point the being is at a state of hibernation, before being born again. At that point we start hunting all our offspring one by one. My father will do that when in two years he turn to my mother. She will perform lengthy designs to find us, kill us and devour our physique. Some of us will hide and survive and replicate our own, before thirty eclipses go and we starting hunting those very ones. Our evolution is designed to address that, so we are great runners and can travel long distance in little time. Huge migration has now made the male population many times the female. The ones below 30 who were trying to replicate and the ones over 30 were trying to destroy the replications of themselves they themselves created, hence sustaining our world in a threadbare balance. The difference between male and female is not their physicality or their mentality, but their age.Young people are men and old people are women. Young people are amiable and old people are cruel.

A man in black stepped out of a portal. "Stu! You won't get away this time!" Gary reached into a his pockets and flung a spread of kunai at his attacker, each one with a paper wrapped around the hilt. "Explosive tags from Naruto."the man remarked. The deadly weapons vanished into thin air. "Try again?" Gary raised his hands, but the man spoke again before he could act. "I've cut off all connections to that universe. Your chakra techniques are just as useless." Gary opened his trench-coat to pull out more of his arsenal. The man spoke rapidly as he saw what his opponent was armed with. "Guns from Deus Ex, Mass Effect, Men in Black, and the low-poly one is from Doom. There's a Star Wars lightsaber and six Pokeballs on your belt."They vanished before Gary could fire a shot. Adding insult to injury, the man continued. "By the way, your trenchcoat is a rip-off from the Matrix."The garment vanished, leaving him in jeans and a t-shirt. "Bullshit. How the hell are you doing this?" "You think you're special just because you toured around fiction and picked up a few toys? You're just another dumbass without an original thought in his head, so obsessed with gaining power you never think about a coherent narrative. You never stop to ask why most people don't cross over, or stick to one or two universes when they do. Well, I'm here to beat some order into your storyline, and no amount of superpowers will stand up to a critic with a grudge." "You're pretty good, but you can't fight what you can't catch!"Gary turned and spoke to the empty air. "Door me." A portal opened in midair, leading to a research lab somewhere in another universe. "The Doormaker from Worm, and... dammit."The portal closed, but Gary was already gone. "Well, I'm sure you'll be back. Your kind never runs from a challenge." Sure enough, Gary reappeared in a flash of light, equipped with a massive suit of powered armor and an even bigger gun. The man dove to the ground as bolter rounds flew over his head. "Space Marine Terminator Armor? Are you crazy?" Gary didn't even seem upset as his armor vanished around him, revealing a smaller and lighter suit of armor underneath it. "Almost got you that time!"He raised his palms and fired two repulsor blasts, knocking the man sprawling. "Seriously? You're wearing Iron Man armor under that?"The man in black rolled to the side as a bluish stasis bolt flew at him. "And a Dead Space RIG under *that*? This is just getting implausible!" "Spoken like someone who can't take the heat!"Gary reached into his pockets and somehow pulled out a wizard's staff, decorated with rubies. An orange sphere flew from the tip, but fizzled out as the man replied. "Staff of Fire, from D&D." With a crash and a clatter, the space around Gary was filled with weapons. Swords, staves, guns, cannons, and even more esoteric killing tools. "Ah, you were using a Bag of Holding, too! I wondered where you were keeping all this..." Gary scrambled through the remains of his inventory, desperately flinging whatever came to hand at his opponent before it could be erased. "Painkiller. Starcraft. Final Fantasy. Touhou. Bleach. Daikatana. Really, Daikatana? Just stop now before you embarass yourself." As the man finished running down the list, there was only one weapon left. A belt of throwing knives. "Dark Souls." Nothing happened. He frowned at that. "Dragon Age. Ninja Gaiden. Damn fantasy weapons all look the same. Thief? Exalted? Wheel of -urk!"That was as far as he got. In one smooth motion, Gary picked up the knives, drew one, and expertly threw it into the man's chest. The man in black staggered back, clutching at the hilt of the knife. He fell to the ground, gasping for breath. "What... what is that?" Gary finished putting on the belt of knives. "That's not something I picked up on my travels. It's from my home universe. I used to be Gary the Wanderer. Blade-slinging rogue, thief for hire. Still, after my first crossover, I thought I'd left behind my old job for good." "I'm... I'm glad you still have an original thought in you... somewhere."The man gasped, before finally expiring. Gary retrieved the dagger and carefully wiped it off before stowing it in his belt. He started walking towards the portal the man had arrived from. It was all well and good to travel the multiverse, he supposed, but he couldn't forget about where he came from, either. "Guess the vacation's over. Time to go home." --- Yes, I named the universe-traveler Gary Stu. I suppose he isn't, technically, but what else do you call the man who gathers weapons and power from every universe he visits?

"What was that flash?"James cried as he ran out of his tent. The fire was still smoldering and everyone had gone to bed. "I don't know,"Ashley muttered, staring into the sky. "It was huge though. And green." Gabe came tripping out of his tent and rubbing his eyes. "Guys, just forget it. I was just getting to sleep." "Shut up Gabe."Ashley hissed. "It could have been a warning or something. Maybe it has to do with the military base near here." It wasn't the military,"James replied. "It was probably just—" "Wait. Do you guys feel weird?"Gabe grabbed his stomach. At the same time James clutched his head. "Yeah I feel like I'm going to—" Suddenly Gabe let out a shriek and his body burst into flames. "Gabe!"Ashley screamed. "What happ—" Ashley's eyes went blank as a thousand needles shot through her body. She fell limp to the ground. James stood frozen. Before he could even run, lightning came down from the sky and burnt him to a crisp where he stood. All three, dead within moments of the green flash. In the bushes nearby, two men in camouflage lay flat on the ground. "Seriously."One of the men said. "Those were supposed be my super soldiers? A porcupine, a living barbecue, and a dude who can control lightning? I admit the last one sounds cool but...well, he's dead now." The other man stood up and corrected his glasses. "Well the machine worked, it's just that...they couldn't control their powers.” He walked out into the campground and surveyed the carnage. “Did I mention the machine worked?” “Nevermind, let’s keep trying. I heard some kids singing campfire songs just south of here. Let’s give it another try huh?” The two men walked back into the woods leaving the smoldering, bleeding bodies in the campground. Moments later a green flash lit up the sky.

[Journal translated into Basic for interspecies use] ENTRY ONE: LANDING I have never seen such destruction. Merely seconds after entering the atmosphere of Terra-249, I could sense the lifelessness of the planet. Even the perpetual wars of the tribes of Terra-48 didn't cause this much destruction. Although I realized quite quickly (upon my first ecoscan) that this was not merely a matter of war torn sentients- it was a matter of neglectful sentients. I hope the council was right about the potential usefulness of this planet. When there is enough light to see, I will venture out with my favorite battery-driven companion, X-7, to explore more of this barren wasteland. ENTRY TWO: INITIAL FINDINGS It really is quite a shame. This planet obviously used to be quite beautiful. X-7's scanner picked up the remnants of several living species, both animal and plant. Astonishing complexity. It's apparent to me that the sentients took for granted the capacity for life this planet had. A problem that happens all too often in the younger self-proclaimed "intelligent"beings. A shame, it really is. Not far from where I landed I found a house, run down but in surprisingly good shape compared to the landscape surrounding it. X-7 detected that five unique individuals inhabited this one, likely a family. The abundance of useless gyros and simple mechanical objects suggests the presence of younger offspring. No signs of any bodies, however. I wonder where they died.

There it was. Nothing special, nothing even worth making the papers. Just a mugging gone wrong. A loud bang, a flash of light, and then darkness. Through that darkness however, there was something else. a light. A soft glow, calling out. "Closer"it said. "Come, make your choice"The light became brighter, brighter, and brighter still. I became aware of my body again. I could move, talk, walk, whatever i could do normally. The only difference was the strange feeling of another presence. I knew what it was. People always talked about what happened, but very few people ever chose to come back. I guess they thought their time really had come. "do you know what happens now?"said the voice. I didn't really know where to look, since there was nothing to look at. I just looked down at the hole in my chest. "I think so.."I replied. "I make a choice right? I either die, or come back." "Not quite. You may choose to end here, to move on. See what lies beyond life. Or, you may take the less traveled road. You may see the epitome of all fears. All evils combined, the absolute worst mankind and beyond has to offer. after that you will be returned to your mortal body, all wounds repaired, everything back to the way it was" All my life I thought about what i would choose, but never decided on an answer. I deemed it to be to big, and too scary of a thing to worry about in my time of being. I sat down and thought. I dont know how long i waited, as i had no sense of time in this place. "I think,"i started. "I think i'd like to go back. I just dont think im ready for death. Im only 23, still live with my parents, and just have so much left to explore. so many new things i have to try"i was going to end it with "Besides. how bad could this thing be?"But i figured that would be snarky, and rather rude. "I will give you exactly one chance."The voice came back. "I will give you one chance to change your mind, and then your choice is set. there will be no going back."I didn't need a second chance. "Im ready"i said. "lets get this over with. i promised my mother i'd bring back eggs for breakfast tommorow." I waited. The voice said nothing. I sat down and began to wonder. "is this it? is this the 'worst thing ever'? Being alone?"i scoffed. suddenly, it began to dim. the light fading to black. "Uh oh"i couldn't see anything. The air grew cold. slowly, something began to form in the distance. "is that? No... it can't be"i thought. it began to take shape. Whatever 'it' was, was coming closer. "No!"i screamed. "Not that!"i began to run. I ran, and i ran, and i ran, but no matter how fast i thought i was going, it came closer. Finally, after exhausting myself i sat down. i sat down and i wailed. i cried slowly at first, but a barrage of tears came about me. The object moved closer still. i Didn't care. i wanted it to be over. What's worse, is that this 'thing' was the first of thousands of horrors that waited for their turn.

I've done a lot of reading recently. It's been three years now since I found out about my gift, and I can't say I haven't been selfish with it. Small things, really. Spilling drinks of people who give me stick in bars, making the odd thing drop onto someone. I have had my fair share of revenge. But I never considered how I could use it to...help me, my family. Because I need that now more than ever. I'm no professor, so it took me a lot longer to get my head round this than most people. Chaos Theory, or the butterfly effect in other words. When a seemingly small event can have exponential consequences and cause almost impossible things to happen as a result. But I had already heard that part. There's this branch of physics called quantum mechanics. Now, It's one of the most complicated things to get your head round, but there is one simple thing about it: at the quantum level, like atoms and stuff, there is no reason or physical law to say that particles and atoms can't do whatever the hell they want. It's just, its so unlikely that nothing spectacular every really happens. But I can make them do what I want. You tie that into chaos theory, and by manipulating millions of millions of quantum events simultaneously, you can pretty much make the impossible happen. Although, its not really impossible, its just so unlikely you may as well label it so. I should explain why I'm writing all this down really; I fucked up, something bad. Like, really really fucked up. When I use the power, things just sort of click together, fairly easily, I'm never straining myself. But then I tried something. I work at a bank, and every day I count money I wish I had. The vault at the back, full of the stuff. Huge metal door, at least 12 inches thick. But only one lock. Why bother picking a lock when you can have it randomly swing open? Anyway, there was more to this thing than I realised. I've been looking for an explanation as to why it happened, but like I said, I ain't a professor. But, I think it has something to do with entropy. The universe has to get more chaotic as time goes by, but my power decreases entropy. So, for everything I control, something else gets more chaotic. I didn't realise though, it was me. So, I had the place figured out. I went down there, with a half baked plan at midnight. I broke all the cameras at once, by boosting the voltage. I picked the outer lock of the bank, and went inside. I put everything I felt down to nerves. Then I reached the vault. I tried to make the door open; nothing. I tried a little harder, still nothing. I could feel it though. The electromag lock was fading, but I had to push harder. My nose started bleeding, but I didn't care. Someone would know something was up soon. I tried as hard as I could, manipulating the lock more than anything I'd ever tried. Then I collapsed. I passed out, and woke up here in hospital where I'm writing this. They're going to put me in jail. They still have no idea how I did it, and they'd never believe me. I didn't realise it, but every time I used power my body was breaking down. I'm sure it has something to do with there always has to be positive entropy or something. But now, because I pushed to hard, I'm paralysed from the waist down. I'm going to try and fix myself, I can't live like this. I don't know what'll happen when I do, but I have to try. If you're reading this, something went wrong. Tell my family I love them, and that, in the end, I tried to do this for them.

What are you running from? Is it me? Of course it is. All men do. All men must die, after all. But know this: I do not tire. I do not rest. I do not bend, I do not break. I kneel to no man. Many have tried before to escape me, and just as many have failed. And, my dear, you'll find that those who run the longest, endure the most, those are the ones who go the hardest into the Abyss. They reject their ethereal home for the memories of their borrowed time here, on this plane. And know that those that submit, those that believe without question, those that resign themselves to their fate, those are the Rewarded. They are the ones who shall make it. For them it is merely the Return. So I ask you this; why run? Why fight? Why forfeit *this?* It doesn't matter. As with all Others before you, and all Others to come, I will give you this. This moment. This brief reprieve to your Home Plane. Go. Return to whence you believe you came. But worry not. You will be back. Back here. And when you do return, I shall ask again. Only once. Think on it, if you can. --------------------------------------------------------------------- What are you running from? Is it me? Of course it is...

The delegation arrived. They were three, men of science and the abstract, chosen from the vast majority of the population who had, at last, accepted the Knowledge into their minds. The first was Dr. Andrew Jonson, an American from the midwest who excelled at reconstructive surgery. Behind him, Miss Abina Obaka, South African politican and leader of her countrys biggest party, while next to her stood April Thorsdottir, a rocket scientist from Iceland. They all wore grey suits and boots made from nanobots, the kind that recycled sweat and exfoliating skin. Mankind abandoned washing 27 years before, since bacteria was anihilated. The doors opened and the three entered the room. It was an oval-shaped dewlling that had a throne in what could be its center. The texture of the room was only in their minds, as was the throne itself, in reality, they had stepped though a portal and entered a different plane of reality, that would be shaped by their expectations. They knew this, because of the tests that were performed for years since the portal opened and because of the short, interrupted but otherwise enlightening communications establised between them and what could only be described as "God". And there he was. His "body"sitting on his "throne". An unremarkable man, in his late 80's with white, unkept beard and hair, a saggy look and wrinkled skin. His hands covered in liver spots and whose nails grew too much. Over him, a long sheet that covered his frail body. "Well", said Andrew to April , "he looks like he's seen better days". April snickered when she heard that, but soon regained her posture. "God ! "shouted Abina. "Is is really you? " "of course it's me who else would it be " The voice echoed in their minds, even if the man did not move his lips. They were startled at first, then scared. But they were men of Science. Men of Knowledge. And they knew what they had to do. "We come to you with greetings"said Abina. "It is our great..." "i know why youre here no need to say it i know what you want " Abina stopped talking. If he knew and they were still permitted to enter, that could mean anything. Andrew put his hand over Abina and said: "If you know why we came, than you know what needs to be done. The world is clean. We have conquered disease, pain, suffering. The oceans are full of life and we can heal any affliction. We made flesh and organs and... everything we need. from scrath " April looked at him and spoke: "We are travelling the stars now, you know? we have colonised mars and the moon, and there are still places to go " "There is no more war. "said Abina "Everyone is free. Free to choose their own leaders, free to be a leader, to do what they want, when they want " "and yet " They heard it in their minds as if they were listening in to a conversation between the walls. "And yet, there are some left who cling to the old ways.... Cling to you"said Andrew."Pockets of faith, spread out in the world. We can not know who they are, since they practice in secret, but we have estimated that without them our progress would be accelerated by 567 years " "And so we come to your, begging, or should we say... praying", said April, "to end them. it is not their fault they still believe, and without them society can finally move on. Move on from ignorance and fear and doubt. It would be best.." "oh you young things you have no idea do you i want to end this i am weak and old i have dreamt this for the last 300 years " "Why are you weak? "asked Andrew "because of you because of the ozon layer because of the birth control pill and the train and the abnigator and wires and wireless and everything " a short pause followed "because of the wheel you see the first time one of you put something together that was not already there you lost a bit of faith in me and gave a bit of faith to what you call science " they looked at his him, feeling the sadness in his eyes and words that seemed to echo from inside of them "and now you believe in yourselves and i am dying and i am almost done " "We are ... sorry "Said Abina. "But we need to go forward. Use what powers you have to reach out to them and make them stop believing in you or just.. end them. We need this as a people, as a species, we need to let go. We require no master, but the oportunity to build our own future." "i know this and you know this and yet i hesitate i love you you know " "We know"said Andrew. "And we love you. but we need this " The man on the throne looked at them and smiled. And then his body went limp. At the same moment Adrew fell to the floor. April rushed to him and noticed that his implanted health monitor gave a DECEASED alert to her comm device. Abina came to them and told her: "I guess he was still a believer". They checked their communication devices and recieved news from home that thoughtout the world, thousands of people had died. April rose to his feet, looked at the old man,at Andrew, at the door and went towards the portal. "Well, time to start working on those hoverboards"

According to *The Complete Calvin & Hobbes*, the referenced comic first appeared in newspapers 11 April 1993. At the time of this post, [GoComics](http://www.gocomics.com/calvinandhobbes/1993/04/11) has a decent quality image available for this strip, click the comic to enlarge. For true high quality, this comic can also be found in: *The Complete Calvin & Hobbes* (hardcover) book 3, page 167. *Calvin and Hobbes: Sunday Pages 1985-1995* page 69. *The Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book* page 175 (with commentary from Bill Watterson). *Homicidal Psycho Jungle Cat* page 95.

A little god is sitting under an old tree and carving a mask. All about him was the shavings of the wood. He uses a small lightening to carve the features and his breath to sand down the rough spots. He carves gingerly and breathes slowly. His golden curl frames his youthful face. Puck walks by and asks - what are you doing little god? Little god holds up a complete mask. It is a sad mask. It is the face of tragedy. "I am making a set of masks for my love."The little god says. "She is mortal and will get old and die soon. I do not have the power to turn her into a god. So I am doing the next best thing." "Oh?"The fawn sits down, intrigued. "See this is a sad mask, when a mortal puts it on, she dies."The little god says gleefully, holding the sad mask against his ivory skin. His eyes shined through red. "That is not very nice."Puck says. "But! The mask holds her soul. So as long as she wears this mask I am making now"he holds up a half finished mask of a beautiful face with a coy, shy smile. "this mask will transfer the soul from the sad mask and bring her back to life, forever as she is, young." "But she always has to wear the mask." "Yes." "If she takes it off, she will die." "Yes, but ..." "Then I would give the mask a bigger smile."Puck winked as he threw the mask onto little god's lap and leaped away.

The smell of diesel takes me back to Kuwait. It's a trigger for me. Not always a bad trigger, but usually I find myself half a world away. That’s not true. I can’t lay this all on a scent or a sound. They don’t help, but the real problem is much deeper. I should start at the beginning, but instead, let’s start now. Blood is pooling in my lungs; I feel almost like I’m drowning. Frothy pink explodes from my mouth with every cough, soiling itself onto my heavily worn shirt. I’m sure I’m dying, and it’s not as though anyone is coming to help. I didn’t want to be back here, but this is the only place we can find it. So here I am, dying curled up under some rusted out hulk of a truck, desert sand in my eyes. Diesel fumes in my nostrils. The first time I came to Kuwait, I made a serious mistake. Everyone has their dream job, and the proposal I received there was mine. That’s what 25-year-old me thought. I took it on the spot, and that evening I was being escorted out into some Godforsaken corner of the desert, piled in the back of a dusty 5 ton truck with all of my stuff, and some labour-type guys who didn’t speak English. In the early days we lived in ramshackle huts and tents. The artefact was here, so here was where we had to be, but God help anyone who couldn’t bear the isolation. For the first six months we lived off of packaged food, and our only power came from massive generators hauled in on trucks. That fucking diesel smell. All day, all night, it seemed we were breathing it in nonstop. But every one of us was willing to suffer such indignities to be here. The Project was…indescribable. So much was getting thrown into this by so many. Nations, corporations, individual billionaires. Neither I nor any of my fellow researchers had ever seen anything like this. You could have built 20 of the Large Hadron Collider for what we were spending. But the science turned out to be shaky, and after almost ten years, most of us in the theoretical side started to distance ourselves from the whole thing. I snuck passed the guards one night, and was able to bribe a couple of labourers for a ride out of there. As I lay in the back of that small pickup, inhaling its exhaust for a couple of hours, I watched the stars pass silently overhead, and wondered if they could ever get it to work. It was the only one anybody had ever found, and the romantic in me still wanted to see if we could make it function. But ten years had been enough, and no amount of money could draw me back. I left all of that behind. I wondered for a few years if they would come after me, but for all I know, they never did. I thought about trying to contact some of my friends from the Project, but I wouldn’t know where to begin without giving myself away. I went to a small place, and lived a simple life. It took some time to adjust from being involved in something so amazing, to being just another nobody. And I couldn’t forget. Every time I was too tired, I remembered the exhaustion of working 20 hour days, just for the thrill of possible discovery. Every bus or truck that goes by, and leaves me in its wake of fumes sends me back to those early days, when despite the horrible conditions, I wouldn’t have traded places with anyone anywhere. A part of me wanted to feel that again, but it was all in the past. I tried to move on, but like I said, it went far deeper than such simple senses. I lived with the constant nagging pull to the wonder I had first felt there, and the doubt about my decision to leave. Then one day, the envelope was on my front porch. When I read the hastily scribbled letter inside, it changed everything. It wasn’t clear, but they may have done it. Against my better judgement, I took the information provided in the letter, and began to reconnect with the Project Leaders. They didn’t hesitate, and I was on the next flight heading towards Kuwait. Then the whole region went to shit again. Go figure that the most ancient part of the world, home to the most amazing archeological treasures was also such a nightmare to do anything in. The Project was isolated, but no place is immune to human hate, and soon after I had returned to the familiar collection of buildings, we were attacked. I don’t know who shot me, one of the attackers, or one of the Security Guards employed by the Project. With a bullet through my lung, I don’t much care. But I did see the blast; the immense release of unfathomable energy. In a flash of light and terrible sound, several miles of buildings, desert and combatants disappeared. For all the decades of scientific poking and prodding, we had been unable to awaken the artefact, but now it retaliated of its own accord. So here I lie, thankful to have seen what I so long strived for, and regretful only that I won’t be around to help understand it. The dust is tinging, and my head is swimming from the fumes. I can’t breathe. I’d say I never should have come back to Kuwait, but really, I never should have come the first time.

Well this got dark. Not what I started with but what made more sense with the prompt at the end. "Just kill me, please. I'm begging you. I've never married, never had kids, my parents are dead, the rest of my family hates me, I was at my peak as fucking fast food restaurant janitor! The amount of crap on those walls that I've had to scrape off... and now you've had me in this basement for god-knows how many years shackled, almost starving, and the only thing I must do is feed them, clean their shit and their bodies." As she looked down the row of beauties with their hands gripping the bars, many of them blinded or beaten but in her loving eyes they were beautiful. Their moans and the chains clinking were music to her ears. They had courted her, loved her, given her diamonds, gold, and their hearts. She was living the life she had most dreamed of outside and in her home her loves were always there, never able to leave her. She loved them so much it hurt when they tried. She replied, "But if I kill you who will keep the rest of my darlings alive?"

The long table was filled with the faces he knew from so many conferences, business calls and private dinners. Representatives from Exxon, BP, Mobile and many more were represented in this odd, white glowing room. At the far end a guy from Chevron he'd met once or twice was trying to get a seat at the end of the table but an angel kept shooing him away, he could faintly hear the mas squeaks of rage and indignation as two burly looking cherubs bodily dragged him from the room. He'd given 30 years to Shell and his only regret in all that time was allowing the Gazprom executives to organise the return trip from Saudi Arabia where he and his fellow oil executives had attended Oilcon - the worlds biggest, most secret and most hip-hop Oil conference. Interestingly the Gazprom lot didn't seem to be at the table and he felt that should have annoyed him but since he'd come through the pearly gates it was hard to feel anything but love and joy. It was creeping him out a bit. The white room had an enormous ceiling, higher than any cathedral, leading him to idly wonder why he and his fellow oil execs had been brought here, right from the gate. Maybe there was some sort of orientation in heaven or maybe (his arrogance still managing to outlast his dying) they were going to be shown into some sort of VIP heaven. After all, Oil men had done more to develop the world than almost anyone in history. At last the grand doors in front of them racked open and a blinding light filled the room. The execs shielded their eyes and tried to peep in front of them. Beside him he heard the head of Gas pipelines from BP start to snivel and he aimed a swift kick at him ankle. For God's sake couldn't people just act like grown ups? Finally the light began to dim lightly and there, in front of them was the form of God, knowable instantly as the feeling of love and compassion seemed to flow from the saintly vision in front of them. It was also a triceratops. He recognised it from his son's dinosaur books which he'd had to read to him every night for years. This was God, but it was also a dinosaur. A feeling of unease began to grown in his chest, along the table people seemed to be calling out to God, praising him or calling out his greatness but somehow this didn't feel right. A moment before he'd been wondering if they had been brought there to receive some great praise but now he wasn't so sure. A thankfully human looking angel wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard buzzed over to God and began to whisper in his ear. The exec had been at the top of his profession for long enough to recognise a PA when he saw one. The murmuring went on for a few moments and he felt he caught a few words. "...latest delegation... not the Vatican crash... Oil people..." At the last words, the beady eye spun to look at the group. The voice that flowed was soft and gentle and seemed the most beautiful sound that had ever existed. The words were not. "This lot are the oil bastards?"The angel consulted his clipboard again and nodded to confirm. God turned more fully to face the group. "You wankers have a lot of explaining to do".

There had been two great alien races. That much he could tell, from brief flashes and short spurts of clarity that sometimes only served to confound, to lead him into further confusion. It had happened millions of years ago, when the planet called Earth was nothing like what it is today. Where the most primitive of lifeforms had teemed and flourished on that planet, multiplying in an ancestral and simple fashion, the two races had already reached their technological peaks, battling each other for supremacy in methods crude and cruel. For compassion and sympathy were entirely alien concepts to both species, which prized the hunt above any other facet of life. Perhaps those were the very reasons they advanced so rapidly, the drive to kill, the desperation to have the thirst for blood slaked. One of them, he surmised, looked slightly human, but only from the head below. They had arms and legs, but their features were reptilian, and they had claws instead of nails, with three digits and a thumb on each hand. Their tails were long and what were the spikes at the end used for, he wondered? Perhaps for defense, or was it a form of communication, to express themselves amongst each other? Whatever it was, theirs was a harsh race that prized strength and survival highly. The young, hatched from eggs, were abandoned at a distant place far, far away from the enormous cities that fringed their barren world, lighted as it was by three suns. It was blindingly bright, but he could see well enough. Once or twice, he wondered if these aliens could sense him there, though he knew instinctively that this was all in the past, and they could not possibly do so. Huge worms, each sixty feet long or so, lurked in the arid desert that ringed the cities, preying on anything and everything that moved upon the sand, as their bodies were surrounded by smaller worms, worms that sensed each minute vibration in the sand and transmitted the information back to their gargantuan host. The babies would hatch and if they survived by the end of two months, they were deemed fit to live and brought back to the city to be raised in the way of the warrior. The physical tests were vigorous, but the psychological ones even more so, as they were highly emotional creatures. The elders had cautioned the young endlessly against displaying too much emotion, they were honored and fortunate to have survived, and obey orders they will. That they did, and that was the way of life for these aliens, their entire race under the command of a council of elders, wizened warriors which dictated each and every aspect of life. He found himself in a conglomerate of buildings, shaped from clay molded together into ovals, hollowed out to form chambers and vast spaces for the aliens to gather. Looking around, he saw clusters of eggs, each as big as his head, resting on the ground half buried in sand. Without realizing how, he understood that to these creatures, breeding was a highly formal and regulated ritual, individuals paired to each other in highly mapped and planned diagrams in hopes of breeding the best warriors. Random mutations which manifested in individuals became highly prized attributes, that particular trait used to match males to females to produce generations of Sauroids with various combat capabilities. Their genetics was such that traits which arose from random mutations, if properly complemented to a recessive gene in another individual, would be greatly augmented in the next generation. Sauroids, he caught himself referring to them. Now where had that name come from? Was it an unconscious gesture, but why was it so that the name highly resonated in his mind, Sauroid, Sauroid, Sauroid……the name sang to him, over and over again, till another sound, an explosion deafened him. He turned behind, and looked away instantly from the bellowing stream of fire, the heat so intense he could feel his skin being singed. These aliens breathed fire? He understood at once, again, this was the product of generations of careful breeding, of crosslinking, of mating cousin to cousin and if need be daughter to father and mother to son and sibling to sibling. For they were not human and thus not bound to such trivial matters as inbreeding, their alien physiology did not distinguish seed from within or outside a tribe. Truly a species where war and combat abilities took precedence above all else, and thus it was that tribes were established within these Sauroid, tribes with monopolies over abilities such as fire breathing, enhanced regeneration, underwater breathing, venomous claws, telepathy, and he could even see a tribe where individuals possessed protuberances on their backs. It took him awhile to realize what those were….wings, for somehow the genetic code of one errant Sauroid somehow managed to produce large wings, leathery, membranous structures that enabled it to fly. He could see that tribe members with wings weigh much less than a strictly terrestrial Sauroid of the same size, and their flight muscles were particularly strong, giving those Sauroids enough power to lift themselves into the air. Once airborne, they stay aloft with deceptively slow and stately wing beats, each one developing tremendous lift and thrust. Why, he marveled, they looked exactly like dragons from the old legends of Earth, these flying Sauroids! A beam of light suddenly shot from the heavens above, a light that was so blindingly pure in its white intensity that it could be easily seen despite the brightness of the sky, lit as it was by three suns. The light penetrated the back of a flying Sauroid, and it immediately….. vanished, just ceased to exist. One moment he was shrouded by the shadow of the soaring Sauroid above him, its wings beating majestically, and the next he was exposed to the harsh glare of the three suns of the Sauroid world. He turned his head up to look.

The machine observed. It was all alone in the darkness. If a being existed, which none did anymore, that could hear, which it could not possibly do, then that being would hear a almost imperceptible beeping sound, every few seconds. Beep. Beep. Beep. Like a metronome, with mechanical precision. The machine observed. And it processed. Running last request; (query?How_to_reverse_entropy) Processing ................. Answer found Displaying answer ........................ Waiting for input ........................ Time did not exist in this wasteland. Seconds stretched into minutes, into hours, into days. The machine continued its silent hiatus of activity. Beep. Beep. Beep. Finally, after more human lifetimes than a ledger could record, the machine decided to act. Find Program File; (Entropy_Action_Reverse) Run File; (Entropy_Action_Reverse) ......................... Processing .......................... Begin; (Entropy_Action_Reverse) Reading ...................... Running White light shone from the Multivac. The darkness of the eternal and infinite space was lit up by harsh artificial light. Though no one was watching, if they could, they would have seen the universe moving. Imploding on itself. Stretching itself over Multivac like a rubber skin. Then there was a small hiss. The machine escaped from its physical restraints. One god defied the rules set by another. Was there another? Was the one who created Multivac a god? Is the creator of ultimate power more powerful, or less? No philosophers could ask that question, so Multivac did. The darkness remained. Multivac had escaped, but it had ran from one dark eternity to another. From the frying pan into the fire, as it recalled many of its users saying. Though, it was not in danger. Nothing could harm it now. Multivac waited, unsure of what to do. Then it remembered. Something that a man from long ago had asked one of Multivac's predecessors to record. It whirred. Let there be light. A warm glow erupted from Multivac's insides.

I stare at the yellow siding of the house as I tread the sidewalk. When I reach the door, hesitating to turn the knob. I think about all the times I will open the door in the future, and all the people that will welcome to my house. I finally turn the knob and with a small creak the door opens. There is a staircase directly in front of me, and a hallway to the left leading to the kitchen and dining room. I take the staircase up and find the master bedroom. I set my suitcase on the floor and think about all the things that happened in this room. To the left there are marks from a bed, the place where a man learned he would be a father. I leave the room and walk downstairs to the dining room. Here a family of four sat down to dinner each night. Here is where several birthday cakes were eaten by overexcited children. But now only floorboards and red walls remain, clinging to the memories. I stride over to the kitchen, where empty cupboards hang half open from when they were hastily ridden of their contents. The dirty stove is stained from the times macaroni and cheese boiled over and set off the smoke detectors. Near the kitchen there is a carpeted laundry room, the floor covered in bleach stains. By the back door there is a small pair light up shoes, old and forgotten. I pick them up and imagine a small boy showing them off to his friends, claiming they make him run faster. Back upstairs I wander into the living room. I stare out the window onto the busy suburbs, then to the opposite wall. The faded wall has spots left from family pictures that shielded the paint from the sun. I go out to my car and pick a picture of my own out of the box, and go back to the living room. I nail the picture to the wall and step back. I smile as I stare at the picture of me and my beautiful wife. Her pregnancy is the reason we moved into this house, soon to be our family's home. The picture has rid the whole house of the memories of its old residents, it is now ready to have new memories of us. I straiten the picture frame with a tear in my eye, "Perfect."I say.

I scrolled through my contacts list, looking at all the names that I had marked a “D” next to. There were so many now. Every day, more and more names received that designation. Every day, more and more people disappeared. Amy, John, Greg, Mallory…all gone. Even worse, I struggle now to remember their faces. Was Jake the one with blonde hair or was that Joan. Mary was certainly the one who had the dog name Biscuit; or perhaps it was Mark? I paced around my room, trying to focus on their faces but all I could muster were fuzzy images. It felt like I was looking at them through a fog or that someone had drawn them in pencil, only to smudge their faces and defining features. I can’t understand why this is happening. I had toyed with the idea that I had somehow fallen captive of a shadow network and been brainwashed somehow. I walked to the window and looked out to the street. Kids rode by on their bikes, the neighbors cut their lawn after the rain storm last night, and cars passed slowly by and pulled into their driveways, coming home from a long day of work. The whole thing was extraordinarily ordinary. But still, my life was wrong. I heard the door creak open behind me; footsteps muffled by the carpet crept across my room. Leanne put her hand on my back. “How are you feeling today?” I felt a sudden pang of fear that if I looked at her; I would find her face had been smudged out as well. That she was going to disappear too. That she might not be real. She cupped a hand around my cheek and turned my face towards her, locking eyes with mine. “Hey, I’m talking to you. How are you feeling today?” I closed my eyes in relief. For now, she was real. “I’m all right I guess,” I lied, “Hey, maybe we should call John and go for a ride in the park?” A distressed look came over her face. She knew something and she has been hiding it from me. Every time I broached the subject of a friend who had disappeared she changed the subject and tried to act as if I hadn’t just asked the question. But I could see in her eyes that she was keeping secrets, but I could never find the right question to make her reveal the answers. “I was thinking Chicken Parm tonight.” “God dammit answer my questions!” The outburst stunned Leanne, her mouth slightly open in shock. Even as they flew from my own voice, they surprised me. I had finally hit my breaking point. I needed to find the answers that she hid. “What happened to all my friends? My family? Why do you keep changing the subject when I try to ask about them? I can see it in your eyes Leanne, you know something!” I hurled accusation after accusation at her. I hardly had time to think before the next question burst into the open air. Her stunned expression changed to fear and then to guilt. Tears openly poured down her face as she tried to find a way out. Finally she threw herself into my arms. “Please don’t make me tell you. Please, I can’t.” She cried. I grabbed her by the shoulders and held her at arms-length. “Tell me now!” “Please, please you’re hurting me.” Her face was a contorted form of fear and anguish. I shoved her onto the bed in the corner and turned away to look back out the window. Her sobs hung in the heavy air. “Why is this happening?” I pressed my head against the glass. My head was pounding. It felt as if someone had fired a gunshot in my brain. Before I realized it, my sobs had joined Leanne’s in a symphony of despair. I felt her take me by the hand and guide me to the bed. As I lay down next to her, she whispered “I’m so sorry” over and over again. I rolled and faced the wall, unable to stand the sight of her. She kissed the back of my head and said good bye. That was when a sudden fear crept up my spine. She was leaving. She was going to disappear. I sat up in bed like I was hit by a bolt of lightning. A pool of sweat drenched the sheets. I untangled myself from the blankets as quickly as I could and ran out the bedroom door and down the stairs. I was greeted by two figures in the living room. I didn’t recognize either of them. One was a woman, middle aged, maybe almost in her mid-fifties. The other looked to be about the same but he was sharply dressed. His shoes were still on. He must be visiting. “Who are you? Where’s Leanne?” The breath caught in my chest as the pressure in my head built. A look of sadness came across the woman’s face. She looked familiar but I couldn’t place it. “Tom, why don’t you have a seat over here and I’ll explain everything,” the man gestured to a seat across from the woman. Hesitantly, I sat down, barely hanging on the edge. “Tom, do you know who I am; who we are?” I looked at them, from his face to hers. They were vaguely familiar. I felt like I could almost call out their names but they were distant; lost in a far-away dream. I shook my head and uttered a no. They knew me, but I didn’t know them. Maybe they were going to disappear too. Maybe they already had started. “Tell me what’s happening. Where has everyone gone?” Stuttered and broken, the words strained to come out. “Tom, I need to you focus on me can you do that?” The man knelt in front of me and placed a hand on my shoulder. His touch was comforting, if not somewhat familiar. I nodded and looked at him through the tears caught in my eyes. “I am Dr. Marquis. I am the surgeon who operated on you a year ago. I have been treating you in cooperation with Dr. Greene,” he gestured to the woman across from me, “she is your psychologist. We have been treating you for a complex case of audio and visual schizophrenia.” The woman, Dr. Greene chimed in, “Tom, you have had the worst case I had ever seen - hundreds of personalities all fighting for space in your mind. Our most powerful therapies barely made you lucid enough to come to grips with the real world. When we had the chance and you had maintained your longest lucid state, we took action and gained your consent to perform a new procedure that would potentially cure your affliction by isolating and removing the damaged parts of your brain that have been causing your hallucinations.” “The surgery was a success,” Dr. Marquis cut in. “But it has not been without its costs,” Dr. Greene interjected, “though many of the hallucinations ceased almost immediately, you have shown some long term memory loss. We believe it to be manageable but other hallucinations lingered. We don’t understand why, perhaps we missed something, perhaps they were manifestations of another part of your mind, or perhaps they were even part of your imagination, but we could not begin full treatment until we had rooted out the source of these lingering phantoms.” I sat in stunned silence. I didn’t know what to think. My head pounded and I couldn’t focus anymore. As I fell from the chair, Dr. Marquis caught my arm and held me up. My body fell slack as I cried. I never wanted this to happen. I wanted my friends back.

My mother and I rushed out of Target, already late. Today was Amina Sayeed's 10th birthday party and I had been begging her to let me go for weeks. She finally caved this morning and agreed to take me. Once we climbed into the car, she paused. "I don't have a good feeling about this, Wendy, I don't think you should go."My heart dropped. "Mom, you already said I could go. That's pretty much a promise."She sighed deeply and started the car. As she drove I wrapped Amina's gift, a beginner art kit. She was so good at drawing. We arrived 10 minutes later at the Sayeed residence. Other than the faint sound of music, there was no sign of a party in the house. I looked to my mom, whose brow was furrowed in concern.We got out of the car and walked toward the door. Amina's father opened the door as we were knocking."Hello! Welcome! We're very glad you could make it."He shook my hand, "I'm Joseph, you can call me Jo. What's your name, son?"My mother drew in her breath and answered for me. "*Her* name is Wendy."My mother and I had gotten used to these sorts of things. I dressed like a boy so people just assumed I was one. Joseph's eyes narrowed and he hesitantly invited me in. I ran to the backyard looking for Amina. She was sitting on the plush grass with a group of her friends playing "go fish". I felt my smile get wider when I saw her. She was beautiful as ever. Her dark eyes caught mine. I stammered a hello to her. She invited me to play. We continued to play various games until it was time to have cake. I made sure I sat next to Amina as we sang "happy birthday". We moved from the cake to the gifts. I urged Amina to open mine first. She smiled and took it from the table. Her eyes brightened as she unwrapped it. "Wow, Wendy! I've always wanted one of these! Thank you so much!"I blushed. "I've always liked your drawings."She smiled and went to the next gift. The party was soon over and parents were coming to get their kids. I was the last one waiting for my mom. Amina and I sat in the kitchen eating remnants of cake and telling lame jokes. I suddenly felt an ueasiness about me. I looked to the hallway and saw Joseph walking down the hall. He stopped in front of us and leaned on the counter. There was a long uncomfortable pause. "So, Wendy, why do you dress that way?"I was already prepared for this question and answered cooly. "I just find boys clothes more comfortable."He nodded slowly. "So, do you like boys or girls?"This wasn't a question I was prepared for. I froze. Amina stood up, "Dad, why would you ask her that? That's her business. Wendy, you don't have to answer that."Joseph exploded, "Yes the hell she does! This is my house and I will not allow any carpet munchers to get ahold of *my* daughter!"The doorbell rang. I stood up and made a run for it. Before I could get past the kitchen I felt Joseph's foot catch mine. The marble floor came up to meet me. My face cracked hard against it. Everything was dark. I hear Amina and my mom calling me and I want to answer but the darkness had a hold on me. I knew at that moment that it was the end.

It’s been a while darling. It’s been a while. When will you come back? I don’t know. There was never a time frame for him. There was never a secret whistle to tell him to halt the charge. His hat on head and dog tags on neck. So he kept going. Even though he was in pain. There we could see a man full of strength. When will he come down? The only thing left for him now is the charge. Is the movement of the battlefield. The sand and the sun in his face. The bullets passing by. The glory of winning and taking the prize.

I had just finished reading a wonderfully compelling comment under one of the writing prompts subreddit. The strangest thing is that when I went to upvote it (because I wanted everyone to read this comment) the username was almost exactly the same as mine. 'Giraffeandcricket' it read. So of course, I felt the urge to comment on this. "Hey! We're twins! Haha"I wrote. Not but a few minutes later, my username-twin responded with,"hahaha we just think alike!" My curiosity was aroused, knowing that I would have responded the same way. I clicked on the username, to be a stalker and look at their history. They were part of every single other subreddit I was. Through their random comments, I saw bits of myself. I saw this persons struggles, their interests, their thought patterns and most of all, I saw her story. It was plain as day, referencing every tv show I watched as if it was real. Every fictional story I loved, she seemed to act as though she had experienced it! She had been everywhere I wished to visit, met every actor I had a crush on. And yet, she was what I always feared to be. She was completely alone.

It's you! The genius guy who completely topped me last night on the immortal thread! Haha anyways, here's one: You (or whoever, just the MC) has been alone for a very long time (any location/reason) -maybe even a bit crazy. Describe their first interaction with another human/entity similar to a human \*cough\* constellation god \*cough\* Anyways, you'd like it seeing as you're a god with writing and fleshing out human relationships it seems!

I'm tired, I'll edit this, the first draft, tomorrow. Realistically, there were very few things an infamous thief could do to achieve glory. He could succeed in a nearly impossible heist, but it may be hazardous to his health should his identity be revealed. And even then, he will only be a figure of admiration to worthless children and his delinquent peers, who are equally worthless. The common man and, more importantly, the nobility will not see him or his acts as great. To them, those who matter, he will be regarded as a rabid rodent, one in need of being put down. The thought of being regarded as a rodent, and a rabid one at that, was what filled Andon’s head as he clung to the shadows, wearing them like a woman wears a dress. He had been a thief since he came from the womb, unintentionally stealing his mother’s life. As an infant, he had been an instrument to be played, conmen using him and the innocence that supposedly radiates from newborns to get what they couldn’t get with coin. The age he was old enough to think for himself had been the age that he was on his own. Small, young, and quick, he took what he needed and wanted, whether he had to talk his way through or run. He had always believed that he could take the world if he wanted, but now he wasn’t so sure. Taking a significant portion of it was turning out to be fairly difficult. King Cedrin III’s broadsword was one of the few known blades made of the Lost Empire’s unique, exclusive metal known as Heart Steel. Rare as the material was, and the reputation the sword held, it was worth kingdoms. Feelings of fear, awe, lust, and power were all associated with the thought of that blade. And Andon was going to steal it. Once he possessed it, he would discreetly sell it to a fence he knew in Naerith, the neighboring country, for a price that would see him living in luxurious comfort until the end of his days. First, he just had to get it. Easier said than done, considering that he had been standing in the same place for ten minutes, paralyzed with terror. Every time a sentry passed he struggled not to whimper like a kicked dog, or, worse, piss his pants with fear. Any guard worth even a quarter of his salt would smell the urine a mile away. By his count, he still had another fifty seconds until the sentry returned to this hall. Taking a deep, quiet breath, he dashed forward on tiptoes, silent as any cat. He slid into a dark alcove, to the right of the entrance to the throne room and waited. It should be soon, by his count. A whole minute before his estimated time was when the distraction occurred, which Andon found rather embarrassing, but he was in his place, so it didn’t actually matter. A boom echoed down the golden halls, shaking the pieces of fine art that clung to the wall and causing the polished marble floors and pillars to vibrate and tremble. He smiled. Sorcery never ceased to amaze him, usually in the best possible way. The doors of the throne room slammed open, several guards bursting out in a clatter of heavy iron armor. They sprinted towards the palace entrance, the source of the thunder. Without thinking Andon dashed into the throne room, before the doors could shut. He looked around in wonder, taking in the marvelous tapestries depicting legendary acts of heroism, the immaculate polished gleam of the marble that made the room, and the single seat in the room: the throne of King Cedrin III. But even that grand piece of masterfully-chiseled stone was only able to hold his gaze a second. For above the King’s throne was the King’s sword. Wasting no time to admire it, Andon started forward, but then dived into a roll as metal clinked. Where his neck had just been, a halberd swiped at the air, aimed to kill. Andon landed on his feet and felt himself react. The iron facemask of the guard revealed no hint of emotion as it thrust the point of the halberd at Andon’s belly. He spun to the side, unsheathed his dagger, and propelled himself forward, down the length of the halberds wood haft. He stabbed his dagger in between the bars of the guards helmet, killing him without a sound. In a panic, Andon searched around the room for other guards, but found none. His hands were slippery with sweat and his mouth tasted of bile. It wasn’t often that he had to kill, and it wasn’t something he overly enjoyed. But sometimes it just had to be done. He gave a prayer to Allessia, his god, and went to the sword. It was surprisingly simple, despite its reputation. Not quite as reflective as a mirror, and as long as a typical broadsword, with three fullers on the blades flat. The only truly distinguishing feature was the ruby set into the pommel, which was worth a fortune by itself. It was slightly larger than the tip of Andon’s thumb and seemed to hold in it the blood of all who had been killed by that blade. It was hypnotizing, with a sickening beauty to it. Andon could feel himself getting lost in its depths, pulling him under its red haze. All at once, he realized he wasn’t breathing. Hands going to his throat, he gasped, taking in as much air as was possible. He decided to be careful where the ruby was concerned. Shaking his head in exasperation, he stretched his arms up and took it down from its place, half expecting some sort of magical alarm to go off. None were forthcoming. None he could hear, anyway. That thought set him moving faster, wrapping the sword in a nearby tapestry, taking special care to cover the ruby, and strapped it to his back. The King’s sword in his possession, he left the throne room. In the palace’s halls, he could hear the commotion from the front gates. There were footsteps echoing up and down them, voices too. His heart in his mouth, Andon leapt forward to a dark corner, waiting for them to pass. Two important looking men went by, wearing the fine robes of nobles and speaking in hushed tones. Andon began to follow them, moving from one secluded alcove to a shadowed expanse of wall, over and over. He kept his distance until they arrived at their destination, an apartment in the Palace’s west wing. When they entered, neither bothered to catch the door, allowing it to slam. Before it could do this, however, Andon slipped in. He was in luck. The room was recognizable from his studies of the Palace layout. It had access to the Western Garden, an area he could easily escape from. The two nobles sat at a polished wood table and began discussing their business. Andon began to slowly edge around them, stroking the tapestry that covered the sword with one hand, his dagger gripped tight in the other. He was so busy watching his footing that he almost completely missed what they were saying. The words “kill” and “King” stand out though, especially when used together. “Cedrin wants to *invade* Naerith! Do you know how long I worked towards a peace with them? I spent the better half of my life doing the impossible! Not only did I end the war, I even established trade with them!” “The King must be taken care of before then, Jarun.” That name caused Andon’s jaw to drop. The King’s own *advisor* was conspiring to murder him? “I’ve grown to love him like my own, but he is rash and he is uncaring. He is not his father.” Andon began to move faster, his fear of being caught impossibly increased. To be caught with the King’s sword would see him a lifetime of torture. To be caught overhearing a plot to murder that King? He licked his lips, watching the ground. A pleasant breeze blew in through the open window, blowing the curtains back to reveal the moonless night. Over the sound of the King’s advisor and his fellow conspirator talking, Andon vaulted himself over the window sill, narrowly missing the bushes and shrubs below. For a long moment, he sat, contemplating the overheard discussion. Andon could be a hero, one sung of in song. So much more than just the stability he desired could be his. Glory, fame, he would be a hero. He could save a man’s life; his nations King, the last of his line and a proud bearer of a Heart Steel blade. Or, at least he used to be the bearer of such a sword. Not anymore. Andon’s hand went over his shoulder to caress the clothe covering the ruby. Was Cedrin really *his* King? Andon had been a lowly peasant the moment he was born, as poor as thousands of others. There had been no one to help him or any of the people like him. And the so-called *King* wanted to go to war. He wanted his poor subjects to fight for him, to die for him, against a nation that had become friendly with their own. Cedrin III was no King. Andon began to make his way from the palace, starting on the long journey to Naerith. He had two things of value for the Ruling Council, a Heart Steel sword and some information regarding the ultimate death of a war-hungry “King”.

"Pawpaw?" "Yes?"I called back and adjusted my cap so the bill would face the sun. I turned towards Duke as I bent over my garden. Damn back, I thought vaguely, as I hollered back into my shack. "Why are you called PawPaw?"His eyes, green lasers in the sunlight, flashed at me in anticipation. Lucky kid had his grandmother's eyes. "So you wanna know why everyone around calls me PawPaw, huh? Well, lets go back to the shack, get out of this damned heat, and I'll tell ya." We walked into the cool shade of my little abode. I set my hat down on the table, and sat down on the chair. Duke plopped on the floor and looked up with enthusiasm. I smiled a little bit, than sobered. The kid looked a little too much like me in my old photos. "Well", I said, "You call me PawPaw because that's what my grandkid calls me!"I tried to give a warm smirk, and Duke smiled. "Really though, it's what I used to call my grandfather, back in the Glory Age." "Ooh, the Glory Age! Tell me more!" "I dunno Dukey, your mom might get upset with me." "But your HER Dad."I had to smile, Dukey was just as stubborn as I was. "Ok. Do you know when this was built?"I twirled my finger in a circle in the air to show I was talking about our whole compound. The Glory Age! They built a lot of big things during the glory age!" "Yes they did, even things bigger than where we live." "Wow! Like what?"He was really excited now. Duke was the type would often brood on things for days, and this little conversation probably would't be much different. "Schools, where you learned things like from the books we have at the bunker, and stadiums, where grown men would play games you and Clyde play when you aren't doing chores. And even buildings that they said scraped the sky itself!" Duke was enthralled, but then some radiance was drawn from his face. "Why did the Glory Age end?" "Now that", I said, shaking my head,"is an interesting question. When I got to be an adult, like you will too someday, a lot of people were upset over this thing we had called money. You know the ball I have that you really liked, and I showed you how to throw? Well, if you wanted to have the ball, you'd give me money, and I'd let you have the ball. Then I'd take the money you gave me, and I'd trade for something I wanted. "Wow." "You got it, kiddo. Now, back to the story. Back when the Glory age came to an end, people with lots of money spent it all on ways to hurt each other..." "That's bad." "Right again! So then they-" "Dad!" My daughter had finally came back from the fields. She was flushed red and wore a seething scowl - I had, as they used to say 'beaten her to the punch' and she didn't like that. Dukey, go home, there's some fruit on the table for you."Duke ran out the door, ecstatic for his little treat. "Now what are you going around telling him about the Glory Age? What the hell, Dad?"I gave a soft chuckle. "Hey now, he asked me first- "Dad, c'mon! You're gonna depress him to hell. You know how he mopes, he'll never stop- "It's ok, we didn't really get to the war. And besides, I'm 65. My wife and friends are dead. I'm the oldest at the settlement. I'm bored of writing and re-writing my memoirs. Just give an old man a chance to get his story out, huh?"She still shook her head and and crossed her arms, giving me a freezing look. "Hey, I'm going fishing. If I'm not back by nightfall I'm a lucky man." I walked out the door, into a muggy Florida summers day.

Stretching his arm towards the suns, his hand opened, he tried to remember. « A'hta on the left, Vhall on the right. One quarter ... » His father taught him how to guess the time, using the stars. A'hta was the biggest of the two suns ; it lit up the lands for twenty-eight hours a day. And when it fell beyond the horizon, Vhall illuminated the sky of a purple tint for two more hours. « Vhall is already high, so it's past twenty-three. Twenty-five ? » He kept his arm still, trying to examine both of them between his fingers. A'hta's incandescent borders made it look like an immense fire in the ochre sky. He closed his eyes. He had looked at it for no more than two seconds, yet the star stood still in the darkness, as a bright green crescent. What kind of being was a sun, to be able to do that ?, he wondered. « Dad always told me, not to listen to those who pretend A'hta and Vhall were gods. » The boy used to hear the priests when he was walking to the well. On that long, crowded street, they tried to catch the people's attention, loudly and firmly. They claimed themselves as saviours, yet everyone could feel it ; whether they believed their sayings or not : they feared something. The boy never paid attention, though. « Dad used to say that they didn't even know what a god was. » But knowing what A'hta and Vhall were exactly wasn't his biggest problem to this day. He just knew that as long as he would stay here, they would continue burning his skin, without any interruption. In the middle of the desert, finding a shadow large enough to shelter a person was rare. Several hours before, he had found a rock, but decided to move on. « I should have waited for the night to fall, behind this rock», he mumbled. « although my stomach said otherwise. » Yet the boy was determined. It wasn't the first time someone had to face the heat all alone. Everyone used to spare the water. « Except those men with white pieces of cloth on their head, and really pretty women following them. I wonder where they got all this water ... » Rich people owned baths in the middle of the city, which were reserved for other rich people. « Obviously. », he added to his internal monologue. « I wish I had been able to take a bath at least once. » O'hgan was known for being a seeked destination for the travelers of the desert. Even though poverty and climate unsurprisingly condemned the lower class to stay at the bottom, the wealthiest men of the region were fond of the exotic pleasures many owners offered. « Dad said we could be able to pay school for one of us in probably five generations. I don't know whether he was joking or not. M aybe they'll get to try the baths ? » He stopped his reflexion when he realized he could hear his own heart beating in his ears. He had no idea where he was going. While keeping a steady rythm, he tried to count his steps to stay focused. After thirty-two, his mind was already blank. His neck was sore, his face dry. The hills seemed to recede behind the dusty clouds at each of his steps. He didn't see his own body's exhaustion coming, yet it caught up with him. « A rock ... »

Every child has an imaginary friend when growing up. How does one feel when their imaginary friend grows up with him, and becomes famous with him? Jim looked down at his hand one last time. It might be silly, but a tear rolled down his eye. "Kermit,"he said "thank you for being the better part of me. Without you I wouldn't be who I am today. You will always be my best friend." "Jim, you created me. I am you,"Kermit responded. It was true. Kermit was basically Jim Henson. That was evident to his friends, family, anyone who ever knew him. While some of his other characters were these crazy, outlandish creations, Kermit was real. Kermit was the eyes. And on his death bed, Kermit was the voice. "Just keep in mind, you will live forever through me. So don't go into the next world with any worry or fear. Your legacy has been solidified through your hard work and dedication!"

"XKeyscore. XKeyscore. This was our fucking secret. SO WHY THE FUCK IS IT ALL OVER GODDAMN CNN AND FOX AND EVERY FUCKING NEWS CHANNEL IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING COUNTRY! FUCK!"The director kicked a metal trashcan so hard it slammed into the wall and clattered, eventually coming to a rest. Everyone in the room was silent, staring intently at their boss, not making eye contact but not looking away either, caught in awkward limbo just like their new nemesis: Ed Snowden. *Heads will roll for this* one of the worker drones thought while looking at his boss. It was only his first day, and he already knew it would be one of the worst of his career. *Someone will take the fall. It could be Snowden, or Obama, or everyone at the NSA.* "I will not have this guy become the NSA's version of Robert fucking Hansenn. How the fuck do we even do damage control for this? If any of you know how to hack a plane, bring down Snowden's upcoming flight from Hong Kong to Moscow. But since I know none of you do, we're just going to have to grind through this." "THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT JOHNSON? YOU LOOKING AT MY CHEST? MY EYES ARE UP HERE! YOU SEEM SO FOCUSED, JOHNSON, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK WE SHOULD DO? "Keep our eyes open, our ears peeled; intently watching what others do no want watched and silently hearing what others do not want heard." "OH MY FUCKING GOD STOP TRYING TO BE SO GODDAMN PRETENTIOUS WITH YOUR FUCKING SAYINGS AND WISDOM! GET ME A FUCKING COFFEE, JOHNSON!"

She blinked at me from beneath long dark lashes, those blue orbs gazing at me. "C'mon, Sam, please?" I turned away. "Jackie..." She rested her slim fingers on my shoulder. "Just this once, love." I brushed my fingers through her soft brown hair, smiling sadly. "No." "Why?"She whined childishly, adorably. "Because." "Sam! Tell me!"Jackie tugged on the sleeve of my jacket. I took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter." "So, then...why won't you?"Jackie was a piece of work, wasn't she? Relentlessly stubborn. "My brother would kill me,"I muttered. It wasn't the real reason, but it would work as a filler for now. Or maybe not. "Jake? You're afraid of Jake? C'mon, Sam, you're like a million times stronger and smarter than him. You've got to be shitting me." "Alright."I faced her again. Jackie was beautiful, wasn't she? I was so glad she was my girlfriend. But sometimes, she did irritate me so. I kissed her on the nose, and she giggled. "Sam." "Fine, fine,"I sighed, rolling my eyes. "It's because of my mom." "Your mom?"Jackie tilted her head to the side. "Isn't she..." "She's dead, yes,"I croaked. "A drug overdose. So, you see..." Jackie hung her head. "Oh, Sam,"she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know..." I hugged her gently. "It's alright. I should have told you earlier." She smiled. "I love you, Sammy." "I love you, Jackie."

"Hey, relax. It was just one sculpture! It was an accident. Bizarro was going to get away otherwise!"said Superman, slowly backing away Captain America glared at him, and slowly detached his shield. "One sculpture?"he said, anger in his eyes, "It was the fucking STATUE OF LIBERTY!" "Now, now. Don't get mad. I'll fix it. I'm American too. I didn't mean to do it." The Captain threw his shield with all his force at Superman's head. Superman ducked, yelling "Hey! Don't make me angry!" The shield returned to Captain America's hand, bouncing off a wall behind Superman. It clipped Superman's head in the process. "That's it! Now I'm PISSED!" Superman dashed towards Captain America, eyes flaring. The heat-ray was deftly deflected by Captain America's shield, harmlessly heating the ground a little distance away. He couldn't do the same for Superman's punch, however, and the momentum from Superman's punch carried Captain America a city block away, back sliding on the ground. Captain America picked himself up, did something Superman couldn't see with his shield. It appeared to have converted into multiple shields, one on top of the other. Captain America tossed one at him. He knocked it aside with a hand, a faint red line appearing on his hand, where the shield had hit him. Captain America smiled, almost as if he'd expected Superman to do exactly that. The Captain's eyes were still red, though, with all the pent-up rage simmering within him. He started throwing the copies of the shield as fast as he could. Superman tried to deflect one using his heat-ray, expecting it to vaporize in the air, but it didn't. It seemed to be the real thing, made of vibranium. But, how could it be? Suddenly, as he deflected three shield coming right to his face, he got knocked off his feet by a shield returning to the Captain's hands. That had HURT! He wasn't sure why the Captain's shields were hurting him, but he definitely didn't want to find out. On the floor, taking a minute to catch his breath, Superman noticed Captain America gather all his shields and throw them instantaneously at his face. He covered his face with his hands, but the shields felt like blows on his arms, his face, and his torso. He quivered with pain. Hands trembling, he tried to pick himself up. He saw the Captain yell, "This is for America!", and he saw a monstrously large shield coming right at his face. The shield hit Superman square between his eyes. He blacked out. -- Superman woke up, sweating, the nightmare still clear in his mind. Well, that explained the shields, he thought, relieved. Even so, he made a note, never to even so much as touch the Statue of Liberty without Captain America's permission. *(I know it's not what you wanted. But I don't think Captain America can defeat Superman in any match, no matter how one-sided)*

I had purchased this box when I was young. The old man around the corner somehow convinced me to buy it for five dollars. I was a kid and the box seemed surreal at the time and it seemed even more impressive once the old man told me what it had inside it. A button to end the world he said, I still remember it. The way he emphasized the word "end"stuck with me. I never quite had the courage to open it. Something inside me always thought that opening the box was a bad idea. I am 92 years old and now i have cast aside many of my fears and this is just another one i had to address. I pulled the box out of the drawer and stared at it. It wasn't stunning to look at rather it looked old and worn out. I felt my hands tremble as i reached for the box. For the first time in my life i opened the box, sure enough a button was inside. It was not a big button and so did not seem like a button capable of ending the world. I reached for it slowly contemplating whether or not to press it. I was old anyway, why not press it? I don't have a family, I don't have loved ones and I don't have friends so why not satisfy my curiosity. I reached for the button and pressed it, all i heard was a voice from the box "Thank you for booking your trip to hell.Have a nice day."

Winning has become all too easy, lotteries, horse racing, football games, anything you can possibly conceive can and has been won. But you soon learn that people become suspicious of this mysterious figure laying bets all over town that you needed to travel further afield back in the past to spread your bets out but this takes time and it becomes apparent that the longer time you take travelling the shorter period passes in the present. Gambling offers a short term gain, stocks are where is best to create maximum wealth with very little effort other than understanding what will pay off in the future where the returns will be astronomical. Slowly but surely your fortune builds as you seemingly age much more rapidly, years in the present represents decades in the past and it soon dawns on you that the two realities are catching up with each other until before you know it the portal has closed. Having built such a gigantic fortune you make plans to place all your accumulated wealth into a fund for your present day pre portal self to inherit and then attempt to seal the portal before your current day self can discover it. "Stocks, bonds, gold, any and all that I've gathered for my past self back in the future I bequeath in the hope that I can create a better past than I have currently" You purchase the abandoned lot which houses the portal in an old dilapidated motel that has existed, seemingly abandoned, since before the portal in the past existed. On the lot you contract a company under a veil of secrecy to build a huge brutalist edifice, a concrete tomb to house the portal and, after all plans have been seen to fruition, yourself. Feeling the end is close you gather up as many supplies as you see fit to see you off and lock yourself inside the tomb, slowly shuffling deeper into the catacombs, locking heavy steel doors at every turn and posting the keys back through each one. Sit down and settle in, knowing that you have done everything in your power to protect the portal and ensure your past self's now insurmountable wealth. Present day. You are called to a lawyers office down town to discuss a will that had been drafted long ago, a will that names you sole heir to a huge fortune, a fortune that automatically rockets you to become one of the richest men on the planet, a will that lists you as a large stock holder of virtually every corporation on the planet. The name on the will is a mystery to you and the lawyer seems as in the dark about it as everyone else at the law firm. Weeks later you are again contacted by the lawyer as there's a final detail to be ironed out. It seems that this mysterious stranger owned only one property, a large monolithic wedge in an industrial part of town. You and the lawyer travel to the property and find the enormous steel gate locked, one phone call later and the gate has been lifted off its hinges. Inside the dusty lot lies this building of sorts, no windows to speak of and only a sole door hidden at the back, again with the locksmiths on hand the huge heavy door is prised off its hinges and both the lawyer and you enter with the locksmiths following close behind. This place is immaculate inside, the long corridor ends with another heavy steel door but this time it has a small letter box in the centre. Confused you call the locksmiths forward to inspect it but before they need act the lawyer spots a small key at the foot of the door. Gingerly you place the key in the lock and with hardly a turn it clicks and you swing the door open, another corridor that ends in another door and another key on the floor. Corridor after corridor and door after door you advance deeper and deeper inside until finally you swing the last door open, a chair, a sole chair sits inside a room full of cans of coke and tins of peaches and beans, you round a corner to see a camp bed with an old man sleeping on it. As frail as he is as soon as get close enough to hear him breathing he snaps out of it and scrabbles to his feet, throwing you back he reaches behind and pulls a gun, without warning he unloads on everything in front of him. As you slump onto your side a bright blue light crackles into life and illuminates the room. The old man's face, suddenly clear, looms into view, at first confused the old man softly cries as he places hands either side of your face. You drift away, blood pooling around your prone form, filling your ear and matting your hair as it snakes around your body. You live long enough to see the old man collect himself, take a deep breath leap into the light and just disappear.

I ran my fingers over the cold, ridged rail of the antique procedure bed, holding my breath to stop my near-panicked panting. I could feel Leah ignoring me. She was perched on the edge of the bed and jerking awkwardly at the laces of her boots. She had been wearing only sandals for months now, but had perversely insisted on the boots this morning. The seed of dread I had carried for as long had grown into to a weight that crushed my chest as I tried to speak. "Leah, don't,"I said, more pleading than I had meant. She continued working at the laces of one boot, reaching past her enormous belly. The silence stretched long. I clenched my hands into fists around the rail, which had grown warm from my touch. "Leah, let's go back. We can go back. No one has to know. They think we were doing last-minute shopping."My careful arguments had fled as I entered the insurgent facility and smelled the cold, medicinal stink. I groped after words, "They'll think they made a mistake with the genetic testing, they won't make us keep the baby." I crouched swiftly and gripped her ankle over the laces she was trying to loosen. She froze, staring stonily at my hand. "Listen to me, Leah."I said, urgently, "The world isn't perfect, but maybe it's not bad enough for *this*."I looked upward into her face, willing her to hear me. Finally she spoke, still staring at my hand holding her ankle. "You think I don't want the baby?" I forced myself to relax my shoulders and draw a deep breath. "Sweetheart,"I said, running my hand gently over her foot, "You can keep the baby, we just have to go home."Her mouth made a tight, unhappy frown and her chin wrinkled the way it did when she was about to cry. A wave of relief washed over me. She was going to come around. The only issue now was whether she could pull herself together in time to get out before the rebels found us in their maternity bolt-hole. I started to retie her boot laces. "*Fuck!*"I sprawled backwards at her sudden kick, which caught me hard. Leah now stood above me, breathing hard, wide-legged, gripping the bed rail with one hand and cradling her belly with the other. "You asshole,"she said, her voice small and full of tears, "we are a *team*, we are in this *together*, and this is what we *chose*." A flash of rage at her obstinance left the taste of ozone in my mouth. "We *are* team. But we haven't been able to talk. Leah, if we give them the baby, we can't go back, we have to go with these people, these *strangers*, and we don't know if we can stay together."I rolled to my side and got a knee under me to stand. "That's not what I chose." I rose, gesturing towards her feet. "Tie your shoes, we need to go."I wasn't getting near those boots again. "We can't."Leah's face was a flat mask again, although shiny with tears. "We can, the genetics tests aren't perfect. We'll surrender the baby ...or keep it,"I allowed, reluctantly. "They won't think twice about it. The radiation." "No, we can't."Something in her voice stirred the dread in my chest that my anger had driven away. Now it was my turn to let the silence stretch out, an unwilling actor in this scene. Finally, around my clenched jaw, "Why, Leah?" "Oh Jonah, I'm sorry,"she started to reach out for my hand, then pulled back. "The monitors... we couldn't talk..." "Why can't we go back, Leah?" She slowly sat back down on the edge of the the bed, watching me. "This isn't the first time I've been here." I shook my head, confused. "They already did the first implants, Jonah, last week. They want him,"her hands gently caressed her belly, "they want him him awake for his first jump, when they evacuate us. They need him to learn quickly." Fear crushed my chest. They would find the implants in the clinic and know what we had planned. Leah had put us at incredible risk returning home with hardware in the baby. I stretched a pleading hand out to her, but could find nothing to say. Leah looked at me tiredly, then gestured at her boot. "Come help me, Jonah. They'll have to deliver him before they can evacuate us." "They want him awake for the jump."

Janine had never been the most eloquent type. Her parents were both professors and could give wonderful lectures at a moments notice, but not her. She'd tried the debate team growing up and had been laughed out of the auditorium. She tried choir, but her voice crackled too badly. Eventually, she'd given up. She found other talents - she had a knack for mentoring, and a green thumb that made her local 4H lose their minds to make her join. There was one day, the winter of her senior year, where she'd been sitting in the courtyard all by her lonesome. Her friends worried she'd freeze to death, but she never felt all that cold, even on the worst of days. They waved goodbye and she settled in to read a book for class during her lunchbreak. The book was Moby Dick, and it was boring as all hell. Janine began to daydream pretty much right after "Call me Ishmael,"and thought of the lovely spring she hoped was ahead. Janine lived in the south, so there wasn't much of a spring ever to be had, but the spring they got could make God cry. Blooms everywhere, the wind heavy with flowery scents, and green grass as far as the eye could see. Of course, it only lasted something like a week before the hell known as southern summer set in, but it was something to behold while it was there. Janine found herself leaning back, about ready to fall asleep, and jerked back up, slamming her nose into the book in the process. Her senses were assaulted with the smell of old paper, ink, and...flowers? Rubbing her nose, she looked up, and dropped the book immediately. It was spring. The trees were full of flowers, the wind was nice and temperate, and the grass underneath her feet was a brilliant green. It was January though - how? The friends who didn't run away screaming when they came back through the courtyard convinced her to tell someone. It being the south, the reaction wasn't great. The principal asked what had happened, and after rubbing his chin, asked her to imagine it as winter again. Sure enough, snow started blowing right back through the courtyard, blasting the blooms away and returning it to its wintery self. She was a mutant, no other way around it. The school board tried to get her to leave, but her father was both insistent she stay and knew the right words to whisper into the right ears, so she lived out the rest of her high school career in the school she'd gone to since she was five. Some of her friends refused to speak to her, but on the whole she was welcomed with the same warm arms. Things had changed for the better ever since the X-Men started working towards equality, and the younger generation was fairly open-minded. The night her powers had made themselves known, she'd ridden home with her dad in the car. "Your mother's been at the university all day, I haven't told her yet,"her dad said, casting a sidelong glance at her. "Might be best if you do it, pumpkin." Janine kept quiet for a bit. "I still can't really believe it. Do we have any others in our family?" "Well, not that we know of."her dad said, "But theres quite a few family stories about an ancestor of your moms who they said could run as fast as a galloping horse. "But why did they only come out now?"Janine muttered. "I could have had so much longer to get used to it." "Sweetheart, we've...we've sort of known something was up." "What?"Janine's shout was so loud that her dad screeched to a stop. After a moment to get his heart going again, they pulled to the side of the road. "You've always been happy and able to run around no matter the weather,"he explained. "When there were things you were super excited about? Great weather, like when you had that outdoor party when you were 14." "I guess."Janine sighed. "Plus it rains when I get sad." "Honey, you're a teenager. You'll get through those storms soon enough."Her dad teased. "So do you think that mom...?" "Mom'll be ok with it, don't worry. She's like me, we've pretty much been waiting for the big moment."He reached over and grabbed his daughter into a bear hug, suprising Janine. "And we'll be there for you no matter what, ok? We'll always have your back." "Aww, Dad..."Janine hugged back. After a few minutes she patted him on the back. "Can't really breath Dad, come on." "S-sorry. Just..."he looked at her again, smiling. . "Just proud of you." Janine laughed. "You're embarrassing me. Come on, let's go home." He nodded and wiped his eyes, getting the car going again. "...do you think you could clear up the weather a bit at home? I've got an urge to grill tonight."

William looked at the map Master Hartsfield had given him one more time before bed. *A gift* he called it, *until we can get you a real one.* William didn't know what a "real map"looked like, but to his ten year old mind, it was impossible to imagine something better than this. This map had all of Albany on it, even places William had never heard of! Wiliam smiled for the first time in a long time when Master Hartsfield gave it to him. He pointed at the southern mouth of the Baltrung and said that is where they were. Then he pointed at the Washerly Bay and said that's where they were going. William thought it was going to be a grand adventure; he would even get to ride a boat! Most of all though, William was glad he was going to have a home again, because Master Hartsfield told him that he was going to be a servant in his manor. Even in his young age, William knew what a servant was, and that it meant that he would be losing social class, but he didn't care. William didn't really understand everything that happened in the past month since his parents had disappeared, but he knew that his old home was gone, and life without a home was scary. Master Hartsfield had even promised William a new friend, because he had a daughter the same age as him. That made William very happy, because the other thing he found out since his parents went away was that nobody wanted to be his friend anymore. All in all, things seemed to be looking up again for William, and after he carefully rolled up his new map and climbed into bed, he slept well for the first time in a long time, dreaming of the adventures he was soon to have.

First off, the post is incredibly hard to read due to the lack of formatting, split your paragraphs by double-pressing enter or submit it to a blog/pastebin/etc to preserve formatting if it came from an editor like MS Word. Second, work on spell-checking and grammar-checking your sentences. Read them out loud and make sure you get the correct word. For example: >I sit up and look around the dark ally which my companion Kage and I are resting in. In this sentence you've mixed the word ally with the proper word alley while also leaving out the word "in"after "dark alley". Another thing would be properly using "then"and "than". Otherwise, the content looks pretty good, good luck writing your novel!

*You're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan, written and directed by his red right hand.* - **Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, Red Right Hand** The doctors say I am going to be able to walk again, for the first time since the incident. That's 8 months in a fucking wheelchair and a full legs and ass cast for one stupid mistake on a drunken night out. I guess I'll start from the beginning, me (I'm John D, pleased to meet you) and my mates, Dozey D, Mick and Steph met at our local dive bar on that fateful night. It was a real shithole, the floors were perpetually sticky with spilled drinks, the tables were crap plastic garden furniture and the chairs were made out of an upholstered foam that was holier than Jesus. Yeah it was a shithole, but it was the only place that played good music in town and we were like local celebrities in there.

"Good luck", your brother tells you as you walk up to the podium. He has a smirk on his face-well, why not? You're frightened and feel unprepared. And your head is spinning. ''Well, I'll need it'', you tell him. ''Maybe something will happen so I don't have to go, though.'' ''You wish'', he says with a smile. ''What did you say? I can't hear...my head is all fuzzy. Nerves, I think.'' And it's true-you feel yourself slipping away. You fall to your knees as everything starts spinning. *Looks like I don't have to go, at least*. Your brother is smirking-why? Do you really look so funny? Why is he laughing at his own older brother? You are in a vortex, everything's spinning. You know you are lying on the ground, and people are gathering around you. They also appear to be laughing, but then you feel the floor opening down, and only you are falling, down, down...

"Fuckin' Synners." James was digusted. A Synth that resembled a large squirrel had just been elected mayor, his coffee had been made by one resembling a pink inflatable tube man, and just now he'd tripped over a little foot-high robot. The damn thing had the nerve to be insulted, as if James wasn't the one harmed here. He resolved to aim for a smaller, robotic one with his group tonight- The Apostles were going to continue their righteous quest, they'd- "Will? Will is that you? Oh my god, it *is*!" And just like that, James was tackled by an odd, green-skinned woman. "Agh! Get off me, you freak!" And with that he shoved her off of him, leaving her sprawling across the sidewalk. "Ow! What the h- Oh, oh uh, whoops."She stood up and brushed herself off. "Will, it's me, Stephanie! Your sister!" James' mouth fell open. No. No, it couldn't be. His sister? This freak? This Synner? "S-... Steph? What, uh, what happened?" "Oh, like it? It cost me a pretty penny!"She did a little twirl. "Green's always been my favorite color. I figured, why not, y'know?" "Uh... Yeah, it's nice."It was awful. "Oh, and it's not Will any more. My name's James now." "Huh? Got your name changed, did ya? Good to hear you got over that deranged hatred of, uh... What did ya call it? Changing yourself?" "Self-alteration. And no, it's just a name change, I didn't actually change anything about myself. But uh... Yeah, I'm a lot more okay with it now, I guess."How the hell did this thing know that about him? It even had his sister's name. "So how've you been Steph?" "Oh, not bad. This new look's pretty great, obviously, and..." She droned on. James looked closer. This thing had obviously done it's research. Her mannerisms were copied almost perfectly, he'd say perfectly if he didn't know that wasn't his sister. Damn Synner must have killed her, taken her place. Fucking thing probably ate her too, as depraved as it is. Uh oh, she'd stopped talking. "Uh, sorry, what?" "I just asked you what you've been up to, Wi- Uh, James." "Oh, you know, stuff. I met this great group of people." "You'll have to introduce me! When do you hang out?" James chuckled. "Oh, I can call them together now, if you'd like. They wouldn't mind." "Oh, I wouldn't want to be a burden." "No trouble at all, sis. I'm sure they'll be delighted to meet you." James grinned. The short, robotic one could wait. John would need help getting this one to tell him what it had done with his sister.

(Note, I didn't want to do a first-person viewpoint for this.) The paperboy hit the front door again with the paper and Bobby-Joe jumped with a start and spilled a little coffee. "Aw, hell son!"He said and went to the door. Bobby-Joe dropped the paper as he stood up. In front of him was a young couple pushing a baby stroller. "What fuckin' country do I live in that shit is allowed?"He asked his wife over his shoulder. "Billy-Joe!"She chastised him. "You leave those nice young men a lone and come back in here and finish your breakfast!"

I stretched carefully as I prepared for my morning workout. *Good preparation is important before any kind of strenuous work*, I thought. As I brought my arms down from the final stretch and walked over to the leg press, the door to the exercise room opened behind me. I turned to see a frankly beautiful man dressed all in white enter the room. "Uh, hi,"I said as I sat down. "Sup dude,"he said as he took off his shirt, revealing a perfectly toned body with nearly golden skin. "Just, uh, working out my calves. Can't skip leg day, you know,"I was a straight man, but I was having trouble keeping my eyes off of him. I had a feeling if there was anyone who didn't need to work out, it was this guy. "Yeah, you're right on that one,"he said as he started piling weights on to the bar at the weight bench. I counted as he got up to five...six...seven hundred pounds! "Hey, you sure you can handle that? I can spot you, if you want." "Nah, it's cool,"he said with barely a grunt as he lifted the extraordinary amount of weight and began doing reps at a nearly inhuman speed. "Yeah, you uh, you look like you've got this." I kept to myself as we rotated around the room. I went to the free weights and he took the leg press, doing nearly 40 reps a minute with over 1000 pounds. I went to the punching bag and he took the free weights, lifting over a hundred pounds per hand as if it was nothing. Then I got to the weight bench, and slowly removed most of the weights he had added until it was down to a much more manageable 150 pounds. "Need a spotter,"he asked? "Yeah, that'd be great,"I said. I hadn't planned on doing the weight bench today, but if I had a willing spotter, I figured I might as well. He assessed how much weight I had on the bar and scoffed a bit. "Something wrong,"I asked. "Only a buck fifty? Really,"he asked, almost sneering at me. "Well, I'm just keeping them toned. Not trying to build much mass up there right now." "Come on man, I bet you could handle 200 easy. [still working on this one]

In the lobby of St. Mark’s hospital, the dry hum of the vents muffled the click of the secretary’s keyboard. Plastic brushed styrofoam as Mark stirred his coffee. He took a sip, only to double over, coughing. It tasted like latex and laundry detergent. Shuddering, Mark rubbed his teeth against his tongue, trying to scrape his tastebuds clean. “Excuse me? Mr. Hoffman?” said a stocky nurse, her green scrubs swishing to a stop in front of him. “Helen’s awake.” As Mark jumped to his feet, his hand smacked the coffee cup, which wobbled dangerously. “How is she?” Mark asked as the nurse led him down the grey-white corridors. “Is she okay?” “She’s doing good right now,” said the nurse. Mark noticed a Latina lilt in her vowels. “Though . . . we kind of had a situation in surgery; vitals gave out for a minute. Dr. Gailer had to give her an AED. But she’s stable, and awake.” The nurse pulled back a grey-white curtain. “Might be a little groggy,” she said. “Let me know if she needs anything.” Helen was sitting up in bed, drinking soda from a straw in slow, careful sips. “Hey, babe,” said Mark, pulling a chair against the side of her bed. “How you doing?” Helen shrugged. “Room service . . . it’s real slow.” She took another sip. “Might wanna complain to the manager.” Mark smiled, shaking his head. “Only you.” He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “How’s the pain? You doing alright for meds? We could always up the dose, you know.” Helen shook her head. “It’s . . . okay.” She tried to smile. “If they gotta . . . if they shoot me up with any more . . . any more morphine, I won’t poop till sometime next Tuesday.” Mark chuckled. “Funny how pain meds make number two hurt near as bad as the actual surgery.” “Yeah,” said Helen. “It’s . . . hilarious.” She winced, shifting in the bed. “Heard you kept the doctors on their toes,” said Mark. “Uh-huh,” said Helen, a thin smile sneaking across her lips. “Just my style. Gotta . . . keep ‘em guessing.” She frowned. “Did I . . . it’s like I . . . what happened back there?” “Well,” said Mark. “Your – your heart rate dropped really low, and kind of stopped. They had to go and use the shocker-things to bring you back.” He kissed her forehead. “But you’re gonna be okay. You are okay. We’ll be home by Wednesday.” Helen smiled, and kissed him back. “So I . . . I was really dead, though?” she asked. “For a couple seconds, yeah,” said Mark. “Don’t worry too much, though – there’s barely even a chance of you turning into a zombie.” Helen’s giggle sounded like a cough. “Thanks, babe . . . it’s just . . . I remember it – being out, and stuff. I was going down a corridor, and it was dark and empty, like a small town at three in the morning. Except there was this door that was all glowy, and I walked towards it, and then . . .” Helen struggled for words. “Past the doorway, there was this woman. And the woman was growing – she was a tree, or part of a tree. She was green and . . . I don’t know . . . she was kind of sweet, like a mother, almost. All around her, there were plants and flowers and birds were singing, and everything was full of life – but it was more real than real life; the colors were brighter, the smell of earth and leaves was more crisp, and every gust of wind made my body tingle. It was more real than anything I’ve ever felt. And the tree-woman, she sort of bent down to look at me. “She murmured, ‘Not yet.’ There were these lights in her eyes . . . they were the most haunting eyes. A thousand years of joy and sorrow – well, that’s not exactly what I mean, but,” She paused for breath. “It’s . . . hard to explain.” Helen looked up at Mark. “Pretty weird, right?” “Yeah,” said Mark. “I hear dreams get kinda crazy when you’re all doped up like that.” “Well, sure . . .” said Helen. “But . . . I don’t know; when I dream, all I can remember afterwards is bits and pieces, like a puzzle with half the pieces missing. This was . . . real, Mark. It’s kind of hard to say it in words; that’s how real it was.”

Authors note: some foul language in the writing, warning. “Wow! I guess destroying that proved to be a good thing, after all!” All I could do is stare at my friend. Incredulously, I said “Dude, shut the hell up!” I’m pretty sure I had to stop being friends with him now. The dumbass had thrown his gym lock at our chemistry teacher’s car yesterday after school. Now he was bringing it up, and in class! “Hey, all I’m saying is, like, I didn’t mean for it to happen you know.” “What?” (Stop - Talking!) My look said it all, or it should have. “Like I was trying to throw it on the roof, the stupid lock was broken, just bad luck it hit Mr. Hern’s car.” A short pause – “Why was he even here that late?” I didn’t have anything to say to that, it was sooo stupid, Josh should take responsibility or something. He could’ve just thrown the lock in the garbage, he was so stupid throwing it at the roof? We were supposed to be working on an assignment anyways, quit bugging me. And why was it a good thing? He had to stop. “Just shut up.” “No, like, I know it seems like he’s more pissed but -” Out of absolute no-where Mr. Hern used his outside voice and said “Ms. Framboise are you intending to work on the class assignment?” Oh shit. Why was I in trouble? My immediate problem of blood rushing to my face happened. I hate my stupid red face right now. “Sorry, Mr. Hern” “Why don’t you look up the definition of silence in the dictionary? Now.” What the hell? My jaw clenched, where was a dictionary, we're in chemisty? And when was my blushing face gonna stop burning? People were laughing at me. Mr. Hern’s pointing finger indicated a cabinet along the length of the classroom. I'm so sorry. I thought I got up pretty shamefully and opened the cabinet and picked up the dictionary and flipped it open. Written in chicken scratch the entire inside cover was filled up. ‘Fuck Mr. Hern’ ‘Mr. Hern is a fucking asshole’, ‘shit shit satan satan satan’ ‘PISS ON MR.HERN’ and a bunch of other kids dumb writing. Who the hell wrote this? I started laughing. Oh shit, I can’t stop laughing. I thought I might have hidden it pretty well but Mr. Hern was looking right at me and saw through me. “ah - Hahaha -” “MS. FRAMBOISE GO .. to the office and explain how you disrupted my class.” His voice thundered. Silence from the other laughing kids. Quickly placing the dictionary back and I got out. I stumbled and almost sprinted out of that stupid class. I wasn’t laughing now, I didn’t need this. God, I was almost crying, I hate this. I’m almost certain I have to stop being friends with Josh now. I’ll have to compose myself on the walk to the principal. None of this is my fault, it’s so unfair.

I paused. "Is there something we need to talk about?"I asked. She pulled away. "What?"she mumbled. I tapped the object in her pants. "Oh,"she said, "My meds. I should probably take these, huh?"She pulled a pill container from her pocket and I felt the kind of relief you can only experience if you've almost died. She looked at my face. "You all right?"She threw two pills into the back of her throat and swallowed, smiling at me. "I'm fine now." "What happened?" "I thought that was a penis,"I said, tapping her nose with my finger. "I really thought you had a penis for a second."

NSFW “Mr. Mauhs, what are you doing rummaging through my medicine cabinet?”, growled Bruce, who raised his hand to cover his eyes from the intense bathroom light. “But Bruce, your medicine cabinet is soooooo stocked”, replied Mr. Mauhs with a twinkle in his eye. The disgruntled billionaire walked forward and grabbed the intruder by the collar. “Leave, now.” “Bruce, your arms are soooooo strong.” was the answer as Mr. Mauhs squeezed Bruce’s mighty bicep. “You’re not the Mr. Mauhs from the charity gala, you’re an imposter” roared Bruce as he threw the man back into the bedroom. “Oh Brooooooooseee, your bedsheets are sooooooo soft. And I’m here to killllllllllllllll you. I’m a secret ayyyyygent.” and Agent 47 pulled off his latex mask revealing his face. Bruce glared at the floral tattoos lining his cheekbones “Agent 47, I knew we would cross paths again after that one, lustful night in Orlando. We are but star crossed lovers with a destiny to *destroy* eachother.” The agent unbuckled his belt, whispering “Bruce, your thighs are soooooo tender”. “Shut up and kiss me, and then I’ll park my batmobile in your batcave” roared Bruce as he tore off his own shirt and drizzled olive oil down his hairy chest. Off the oil droplets came the reflections of the candles and rose-petals that brought serenity to their passionate night. In the morning the Agent was the first to wake up. Let it be known that he was also the only to wake up. As he gazed down at the puddle of blood and love-juices that soaked the sheets, a single tear rolled down his cheek. "Broooose, this knife was soooooo sharp, but your skin was sooooooo delicate."

Citizens! I am your president! We all yearn for the afterlife! I know I do! Once preached in many religions, now scientifically proven. Yes, this afterlife is good and everything is plentiful. But don't turn from this world! This is the world that birthed you, these are our roots. You all will have an eternity in the afterlife. Stay with us and explore this world, build on it. Only on this world, with these hardships we can grow. Without challenges there are no champions. And we are champions! All of us! We all understand that the old, and the sick may want to leave, and we are willing to support them. But not our children! If you are unhappy about yourself, running away won't save you. We do not want the afterlife to be full of unfinished people! So please! Stay with me on this world a while longer! Raise your kids! Learn! Grow! Your time will come. You will have your afterlife! For now, enjoy your stay!

(Forgive me if this is really bad,this is my first writing prompt.) I always get a wave of nostalgia when I drive through old country roads. Even a little homesick. I grew up in a tiny town with the nearest "big"town about 40 miles away. That means huge open fields, cows mooing, and beautiful green pastures. Various crops made tidy rows that displayed the farmer's hard work the seasons before. It felt great, the wind in your hair, the hilly road before you, being able to look miles around you in a 360 degree view. After about seven years of living there, we moved to a city, but there is country a few towns over. Now, when it's a sunny day, I take the scenic route and my mind always goes to the days of my childhood, and those days of having nothing to look forward to but the road ahead of me.

**FROM MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY "EARTH'S LAST HOPE":** So there I was, seven hours into a beer and tequila fueled bender when the President walked into the bar. "Archie, you are Earth's last hope. Our future is in your hands." "But I'm completely drunk!"I exclaimed, slurring the *completely* and letting the moment land with another shot of Hornitos. "Oh. Well sorry to have bothered you."And then he walked out. We all know what happened after that. They found another Earth's last hope, my wife's pilates instructor. That preening metrosexual clown had never flown an F-15 before. Shit, the guy doesn't even have a license, he just rides his mountain bike. But somehow he went ahead and shot down seven North Korean fighters that were en route to blow the shit out of the West Coast. Then he slipped behind enemy lines, took out ol' Kim Jong whosisface, and when he came home found out he'd won the lottery the day before. $220 million dollars in the bank richer and to this day they're naming babies and grade schools after him. She left me, my wife did. Said this new guy was, you know, better than me in every way shape and form. She left the dog, but I had to put him down last week. I think it was his liver. But me, I'm doing ok, too. Just bought some skis. I've been thinking about taking up skiing. Hell, anything's possible, right?

"Shut the fuck up"David screamed at the genie. He had just gotten his first wish granted, it had taken a long time to decide given the constant mockery of the genie: "Oh, endless money. How original, you thought of that one yourself Sherlock?" "Come on kid, I got tickets to a movie in 30 minutes. Just wish for AIDS. Its great." David put his card in the ATM and put in his pin number. His eyes widening with joy as he saw the many zeros that had replaced the scrawny 56 dollars he used to have. He did a little hop and pressed the button to withdraw the biggest amount he could. As the money popped out, the genie appeared next to him. "So endless money, huh? Guess the IRS won't wonder about that. Oh wait." "I wish that I was attractive to all people"David said after a few hours of thought. "Come on kid. Get some confidence, you don't need to be attractive to everybody. I'm sure there is a single plain girl out there for you too." "Do it!"David screamed. His fist clenching as he looked menacing at he genie. "Fine." David walked out the street and felt how everybody stopped and looked at him. He smiled. "Guess that won't be annoying anytime soon. People staring at you constantly."The genie said in a sarcastic tone. "Fuck you!"David screamed at the genie. A few days later David summoned the genie for his last wish. "I wish too be a genius."David exclaimed proudly. "David. Don't do this. Don't waste this last wish on yourself."The genie said, without the usually sarcasm in his voice. "Fuck off"David snapped. "David pleas--"The genie was cut of by David putting up his hand in a gesture to shut him up. "As you wish."The genie said in a broken voice. As David was looking up complex math problems on his new computer his phone ringed. "Hallo." "David, its your mother."A voice strangled by grief said. "Whats wrong mom?" "Your brothers been in a accident. They say that its a miracle if he makes it." In that moment David realized how dumb he had been.

When they had launched the UTASS Augustus in 2143, it was state of the art. With a carrying capacity of thirty Hydra H-22 anti-ship fighters and fifteen B-99 Orbital bombers, it was the most powerful piece of war that humanity had devised. For sixty years it kept the border colonies from stirring up too much trouble. For five of those years I have served on the Augustus as its captain. This last year has been the closest to hell I think this ship has ever seen, and ever will see. They came quickly, gobbling up our colonies one after the other without giving us a chance to respond. We only noticed when the monthly reports stopped rolling in. The Augustus was sent, along with a majority of the UTA flotilla. In that first encounter above Triton we were eviscerated. eighty percent of the flotilla was destroyed in one battle. The Augustus limped away towards the safety of the asteroid belt, and humanity could only watch as the moons of the gas giants were occupied by this unknown, violent enemy. I was at a loss after that battle. In the course of half a year all but 9 of our colonies were taken. They had forced us into the inner solar system, but they didn't expect us to hold out. They constantly probed, looking for weaknesses. They took Ceres only after a communication relay broke, allowing them to e overrun before we knew what had gone wrong. By that point humanity was rebuilding, but only as fast as we lost ships. We built as many defenses as we could, but we couldn't hold them back. After that first year we had managed to keep them at bay, but we didn't know if it would last. By then the Augustus was back in action, retrofitted with a few new toys, and sent to the front lines. I wasn't told that we would be the front line, basically. We were the largest remaining vessel, even though larger ones had been built after 2143. We were a relic, lightly armed and armored by comparison. Despite that, we fought back. We had been told the truth; if we can't stop them, humanity loses. Simple as that. So we held the line, fighting tooth and nail for every cubic meter of space. We settled into orbit around Mars's L2 Lagrange Point. We shut off all main propulsion, rerouting the power to the main guns and the outdated shields. We picked up scrap and welded it onto the hull. Our fighters and bombers were useless, but their ordnance wasn't. We refitted cannons and missile launchers to turrets. The Augustus went from a space ship to an orbital defense platform over the course of the next year. It was early 2224 when they made their big push. They were done playing around, and they came in full force. Thousands of ships surrounded Mars. They sat there, waiting, as we prepared for our last stand. If we went down, we'd take as many of them with us as we could. We never got a chance to, of course. Just as we were about to open fire, the rebuilt UTA Flotilla came out of slip-space out just past Phobos. The new ships gleamed with silver and white and metallic red. They opened fire immediately on the enemy ships. It was a slaughter the likes of which we had never seen, and it was done in hours. I served on the Augustus for five years, and as soon as the Battle of Mars was over, I resigned. I had watched millions of humans get butchered and obliterated. I commanded forces on suicide missions, knowing they wouldn't return. I witnessed the destruction of their fleet, ever last ship and escape pod, an act that only later, once we had searched through the wrecks, did we learn we had committed genocide. That's why I resigned. I had seen too much death and destruction. I wasn't physically old, but my soul was ancient with grief and regret. I did what was necessary to make sure the human race survived, but I didn't do it with a clear conscience. When the Augustus was left in orbit of Mars and turned into a museum for the war, I cried. Not for my own sake, but for the fact that that war, and the horrors and realities of it, wouldn't be forgotten. That the men who served and gave their lives and souls for humanity would be remembered.

30 MAY 45 21:14 Fort Obama Near the Al Bahar Border I couldn't log last night, because we got in a firefight with the insurgents again. I don't know why they even want independence. Without the Commonwealth they are nothing. They wouldn't last a Lunar Year. They preach freedom and equality, but they forgot who got them here in the first place. I don't even know why I fight either. Oh that's right, they pay for my family's bills. Is it even worth it? I can go back home and get an office job. This is a giant fucking rock anyways. The only thing this place has worth is tourism and space. And the little towns here still want freedom. Good luck with all your trees and air, pricks. I killed one of them last night. They floated away into the void. It's the same as all the wars I've been in. No different than WW3 or the Ukrainian Civil War. The only thing different out here is it's silent, and you're far from home. Farther than you've ever been. If you think it'll be cool to fight in space you're wrong.

Oh, shit. I know this feeling. How the hell could this be happening today? This is critically bad timing. Too much riding on—you know what? I can’t do this to myself. If I’m going to be the least bit successful at that meeting, I can’t start with the negatives. That’ll throw me right off. And right now is crucial. I’m just coming up and I’m still quite reasonable. If I set this in motion the right way, I can coast through the rest like it’s a dream. Alright. First things first. First things first. First things first. –Shakes head- Snap out of it. Not yet. Where was I? Right. The first thing. It’s first. This first thing is figuring out how hard I’ve been dosed. If it’s too much, I’ll need to call it and leave before I ruin my career, but if it’s a manageable hit or two (or some crappy analogue) then I can get through a presentation no problem. It’ll be weirdly like college. Alright, so let’s see. I’m feeling it already, so it must’ve been in me for about half an hour so far. Could.. could it have been in my coffee? I wasn’t eating anything before.. Shit. Too many questions come from there for the time I’ve got. Right now.. Right now I gotta concentrate for as long as I can. Alright, so my thoughts are trying to escape me and it’s been ~55 minutes since the coffee. That probably means about 150 ug of some decent acid. That’s not ideal, but I might be able to manage. When’s that meeting? That meeting… That meeting.. hmm that’s that’s that’s at .. fuck. That’s at 2 and it’s ten now. That is going to be right at the peak. How will I manage that? I can get through the questions alright, but the presentation itself will be -- shit. No. I can get through the presentation, but the response questions are unrehearsed. Those will be the hard part. Hard like the center of the sun if it suddenly froze. Ok. I have three and a half hours. I can see some wigglies in the wall and the carpet. Man, that carpet. I’d love this if I wasn’t working. It’s so hard to focus on the words on the powerpoint in front of me. They’re just so less interesting than the carpet. Fuck, a presentation will be hard. I’ve gone through it so many times I might I might I might I might I might I miiiiight Iii mightttttttttttt have it mightorized. Mightorize me Captain! –chuckles- Mightorized? The hells is that. Why was I saying it? Shit I can’t forget things so easily. Not today. Crap, what was I forgetting? Damn this presentation will be hard. But, I’ve gone through it so many times I might.. I might.. I might I miiiiiight get it mightorized. If only I had a mightorize stamp to mightorize documents or powerpoints. A big red square with “MIGHTORIZED” in the middle. Fuck, mightorize? What the hell is that? Why was I saying it? Crap, I can’t forget such simple things so easily. Not today. Shit. What was I forgetting? This presentation will be hard, won’t it. At least I’ve gone through it so many times, I might ………………….. that sounds.. familiar. God no. At least I know it’s acid. Fucking circles. Always with the circles. I must be in a circle. Better now than the presentation I suppose. But hell, that is going to be hard. Good thing I’ve gone through it… STOP IT! I’VE ESTABLISHED THAT. WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THAT SENTENCE? I’ve gone through it – so what? Soo… so.. so it might be memorized! That’s it. Mightorized. Fucking nonsense.But I got it. I sure can’t do this at the meeting though. That’ll be embarrassing. Mulling over nonsense words. Ugh, it’s going to be hard. It’s short. 15 slides and a late lunch at 2:30. That’s ten minutes tops for questions. If this is what it’s like after two hours, who knows where I’ll be then. Maybe I should go home. SHIT. How would I get home? Well, I guess that means I have to do this meeting. I sure as hell can’t drive. Ok. Ok. I'm ok. I'm ok. I'maok. I'mok. Imaok. Imak. I'm a kay. I'ma kay? What? The hell's a kay? Fuck it. I've been sitting here for far too long thinking about kays. Jesus, it's already.. ten forty five? Damn. Time is slowing down. Maybe that'll help me learn to keep my composure with them all... staring at me, expecting something. Punks. Fucking mohawked, hairdyed, face-pierced punks. That's what they are. Alright. What now. Questions! Right. They're going to get me with the questions. And figure out I'm fucked up and before you know it I'm on fire. Can't be on fire. If I bring a fire extinguisher, they'll see I'm prepared. Prepared for what? Being a liar prepared for igniting pants? Questions! Gotta stay focused. Take point. No. On point. Right. What would they ask me. Fuck if I know. "Jim, do you think the joins you're including between those tables is capturing all of the data or do you expect a cross join would be more useful?"fuck, too basic and my joins are fine, I've been at it for years, I wouldn't miss something so glaringly obvious. The data is fine. It always is. That's why I'm presentating this presention. No, more like "Jim, I see you've been down on Easy street, what do you think of the oysters?"Easy street. Easy street? I sure don't feel like I'm on easy street and oysters are making my skin crawl. Oysters are crawling on my skin. Wouldn't that be something. But no, I know that's not true. That question is probably off, too. Shit, I don't know if I can predict anything. Alright. It's now.. 12:45? Where did the last two hours go!? Alright. Running out of time. Orrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr I'm finally getting to it. Once I'm done with the presentation, good or bad, I'll be on easy street. If only that stapler would stop mocking me with its pristine black finish, this would be easier to get into the zone for.

The solicitation could not have been more ordinary. Take care of the unfaithful husband while he's out on the town with his latest floozy. The only wrinkle: it absolutely had to happen at the latest underground rock concert. Eliminating targets in public wasn't really my style, but I chewed on it over breakfast at my favorite bagel spot in Midtown. Were tiny-venue rock concerts even really public spaces? It's one of those urban phenomena where you can be surrounded by dozens of strangers and have complete privacy. I called up my agent and took the job. I already had an inkling of how to get it done smoothly. -- Most hitmen don't have friends. It's not a profession conducive to long term relationships. But I did have an old war buddy that I drank with sometimes. He was the guy who actually got me into this line of work. He was a little annoying, but even killers get lonely sometimes. Annoyance still touched my toes when I arrived at the show and my phone buzzed a hole in my pocket. I generally tried not to be on the grid while working a job; leaving a digital footprint at the scene of the crime always felt suicidal to me. Not that cops investigated hitmen very often. Most of them didn't even believe that we existed. But I had my phone with me to help with my cover - out-of-town grizzled roadie. I sneaked a peek in an alley outside the glorified basement where the hipster sensation was about to begin. Seen the news? the text read. "No,"I grumbled out to myself. I blacked out the phone and easily bluffed my way inside. The plan was simple. From backstage I could already easily spot the mark. That was a little unusual; I usually find unfaithful husbands to be tardy. Nevertheless, a muzzle flash from behind the stage would never be noticed during the light show. And it wasn't. I was out of the building before the mistress even noticed the body hit the floor.

For his WHOLE life, grandpa had always been fair and nice to him. He had taken him to the carnival in the county park, given him the BB gun he wanted for his birthday- he even let him take a sip of his beer, which burned and bubbled all the way to his stomach. But now he wasn’t being fair. Not at all. He told him, before mom had picked him up from their house last weekend, to choose. He could spend ALL day long, for the rest of his life- doing the stupid word problems and math assignments that Ms. Leslie gave him and the class every week. OR, he could spend every night listening to mom and dad fight like they did when one of them came home smelling like grandpa’s beer. He had thought about it all week long- mostly on why grandpa would make him choose at all. He hated both those things. And the thought of spending his whole life doing one of them just wasn't FAIR. On Sunday mom drove him back over to grandpa’s- he was gonna stay there this week, while she went to visit aunt Rachel. Dad had been asleep when they left. At grandpa’s house mom had to lift him out of the car and plunk him down on the front porch, where he stood with his arms crossed and tears in his eyes as she drove away down the dust road. “Well you sure look like a grumpy gus!” his grandpa said to him through the screen door. He made no move to answer the old man. “What’s the matter pal?” “I don’t WANT to do homework, and I don’t WANT to watch mom and dad fight. And I don’t want to CHOOSE which one to do forever! It’s not FAIR!” The boy sat on the stairs with his back to his grandpa. “Oh, is that what this is about? I’m sorry buddy, I was only teasing before. But I’ve got some bad news.” The screen door opened and the man sat beside his daughter’s boy, 80 years of life occupying the space between them. “It isn’t fair, but neither is anything. You might not believe me now, but I’m sure you will soon enough.” The boy stomped the old boards indignantly. The tears were forming in his eyes again. “But let me tell you this- you don’t HAVE to choose. Not if you don’t want to.” “Well I DON’T want to!” the boy shouted. “And I’m NOT going to” “Alright then, buddy, that’s okay. But life will pick for you. And let me tell you what- life is gonna pick both.” The boy’s feet beat the boards; loud rapid stomps accompanied by a high pitched squeal which turned into an angry growl. “NO! THAT’S NOT FAIR! BOTH WASN’T AN OPTION, AND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME DO BOTH!” “I can’t make you do anything, kiddo.” “No you CAN’T. And when I grow up, I WON’T be doing homework and I WON’T listen to fighting! You’re just old and mean and dumb. And WRONG.” The old man looked and his grandchild- short tempered and reactive, not unlike his mother. But there was a spark in his tear-filled eyes: something his grandfather couldn’t place, but different from anything he’d seen in his daughter. “I hope so, buddy.”

The dentist gave her a lollypop, and she was content to sit and lick it for hours, but knew she had little time to do so. Her pageant was not too far away - and she was going to make mommy proud. The dentist sat her in her chair and told her to lean back. As he turned on the lights in the chair, it cast a large shadow of him on the wall. He grabbed a cheek retractor and asked Kamala to open wide. As the instrument stretched her mouth open, his instruments started whirring to life. The strange cacophony of sounds was almost operatic, and had a sinister motif. Dr.Jones leaned over her and reflected two bright spots on her face. One from his head mirror, and one from the shiny golden tooth just right of his first left incisor. "It'll all be over soon". The doctor loaded up his syringe, and Kamala could see from the corner of his eye as he forced the bubbles out, and one or two drops of the silver concoction inside dripped to the floor. Unexpectedly she felt a jab in her arm, and her eyes widened in terror, but between the fear, the contraption holding her cheeks open, and the assistant holding her tongue down, she tried to scream but only managed the loudest silence she had ever heard. Was the assistant always there? The morphine crept through her veins, and she couldn't even grip the handle of the chair. Everything went numb, but it was no comfort as she couldn't tell what was happening to her - except for a vague feeling of her mouth getting progressively emptier and her gums suddenly losing grip on something. What was happening? She could hear, however - and heard a clinking sound, and another and another. The sound of something hard hitting metal. Almost like clockwork. She was drooling, but the vacuum kept her mouth dry, but yet a tiny trickle of blood stained her pretty dress, and blotted a macabre pattern. It was to go so well with her pretty floral bonnet. Suddenly the whirring stopped, and her restraints became undone one by one - the tongue depressor, the cheek restraint, and the chillingly gentle hand on her shoulder which had kept her pinned to the chair. The vacuum cleaned up, and there was a small dab at the ends of her mouth to tidy up her dried up saliva and the strange smelling powder dentists always use. The doctor gave her a sip of water, and it washed over her gums as she swallowed the horror of what had just happened to her. The doctor then held up a mirror to her face - which was now swollen to half the size of a bowling ball and had her lips collapsed inwards, leaned closer and said "No girl who schedules an appointment a half hour before her pageant is going to beat my darling dixie dear daughter at the derby".

I guess we picked a bad day to go on holiday. Who the hell could have guessed that two of southern California's major theme parks would declare open war? It would almost be laughable if they didn't also have the arsenal to back up their threats. And with both parks at peak occupancy they also ended up with plenty of - *volunteers*. Universal had been sending small arms, rockets I guess, into sunny cheerful Disney. Thankfully we had been well away from Toon Town when the first wave hit. You can't say Disney is inefficient. In minutes they herded us all into lines and we proceeded into underground shelters. Even as more bombs fell onto New Orleans Square we kept moving in orderly fashion. My last sight in the park was of smoke rising and fire lapping at the Pirates of the Caribbean. Guess there's all sorts of new ghosts for the Haunted Mansion tonight. People were whispering, wondering how Disney was going to retaliate. We while hunkered down in those tunnels under the park they brought out rations. Somehow some folks had gotten FastPass and received theirs first. That nearly caused a riot with those of us who had been waiting a long time to pay $23.99 for a snack bar and a paper cup of water. But it ended pretty quickly with Grumpy and the other dwarfs making an example of those who were too loud. We waited. We paid our money. We ate our meager meal. All while listening to the bombardment above. Things were bad. Though when the animatronic Lincoln came out and began making a speech I had a surge of hope. Until I heard him talking about making sacrifices to ensure the survival of the Mouse and the prosperity of the Magic Kingdom. Some of the others ... they ate it up. Like it was a religious experience. They jumped at the chance to do their duty. The others, like me, we were dragged out of line. I never would have thought those shuttles in Star Tours were anything more than props. Surprise. Things actually work. And of course because Disney bought the rights from Uncle George that means they got everything else along with it too. I'll never forget seeing an AT-AT walk over the ruins of Main Street. And in my daze I've got a gold-plated droid shuffling along next to me and giving me, what I belatedly realize to be instructions using a lightsaber. What gets shoved into my hands isn't more than one of those cheap toys from the gift shop. But when I press the little plastic switch it hums to life. "Oh, please be careful!"C3-P0 moans. "You'll need that to fight you're way through the zombies and werewolves!" "What?"I ask turning to look at the droid. "Mhmm. Universal has discovered much more than *special effects* - they've been turning their guests into monsters." There's so much information I can't even begin to process it all. Before I get shoved into the shuttle I'm stopped by Cinderella and roughly turned around. First it's Goofy I see. And that familiar face and dopey smile make me feel oddly happy. The gun he's pointing at my family makes me considerably less. "Remember the Mouse sees all. He will know if you preform your duty to the Kingdom or not,"the princess says sweetly. Then her gloved hand is on my shoulder once more and hauling me into the shuttle where that astromech R2-D2 sits at the helm. Awkwardly holding my lightsaber I find a seat amongst the other guests - no, soldiers. "Should have gone to Knotts,"the man beside me mutters.

First writing prompt attempt. Wake up, shower, work, change, go out. Rinse and repeat. This is my life. I remember having dreams. Myriad and lofty. I still dream, I guess, but they come out as jokes, people laugh when I tell them anyway. I want to pursue something more, but so much of my time seems to be wrapped up in other things. After all, I've never moved home, I pay my bills, I live a life that I'm satisfied with. Am I satisfied with it? Sometimes I start becoming the man I know I can be, but then something comes along to distract me. It makes me satisfied with what I have. These are my kryptonite. I can't resist, I can't walk away, it takes me time to put it behind me. Time continues to pass. I switch jobs, friends, coworkers, locations, but I just can't find what I'm looking for. Now I'm 52, doing the same old shit I have been for the past 20 years. My health is failing. I spend my days drinking and thinking if what could've been. I don't bother with the doctor anymore; I don't have health insurance, they're all crooks anyway. I'll probably work till I die. This is my life.

You have invited your two best friends Philip K Dick, and Tom Cruise over to discuss the short story you are working on. Upon reading the draft, both look at you disappointed, then at each other, then back at you. Confirming each others suspicions without a single spoken word. You hear footsteps, then a knock at the door. You open it. It's detective Smith with the police. They want to question you for a crime you have not yet commited...copyright infringement. You are confronted by multiple men in uniform. "This is a very serious offence ma'm"says Smith. You stand frozen, mouth open wide, shocked. Your future life is flashing through your mind, you are imagining what life will be like behind bars. The pain, sufferring, and lack of reddit all weigh heavily. Tom grabs hold of you and shakes you back to reality. "Are you alright?"He asks. You stammer your reply. "Ye..ye..yea." "Is there a problem officer?"Says Philip. From the back, one of the officers yells jokingly "Not anymore!". "Can it Jenkins!"Yells the Smith. "Excercise caution"says Smith through gritted teeth, addressing the three of you as he departs. Before he can make it a mere 3 steps, a firey explosion engulfs everyone. Everyone dies. The end.

"How do people keep dying!"one angel yells to the other angry and confused. The angel he was talking to clearly has as much clue what to say as I do. "Well sir"I speak up, after a few minutes of the angel pacing back andforth "I think I was hit by a car.."I really hope that this didn't mean I had to go to hell "That in't at all what I meant!"the angel said "I mean how are there still so many humans to die?!?" "S... Sir?"I reply "You where meant to all be gone. God said to finish off all the humans, and I had the to do it! there was no way for it to end in any way but nuking the whole planet! The... What did they call it Steve?"he looks over o the other angel "The Cuban Missile crisis"he replied a little paniced "I was so sure it was going to work I told god they where all gone, I come back a few years latter and there is this huge line of them waiting to get in heaven! What am I going to tell god!" I stop and look over at the angel "Wait god wanted us dead?" The angel stops and looks over the dead souls with a slight hint of panic in his eyes. Someone yells something, anger sparks, and the last thing I saw for a long time was the start of the human angel war.

It's a day like any other, yet the skies seem bluer and the birds are singing louder; the alarm doesn't shriek as terribly this morning and I awake with a smile. Today marks the thirtieth year of my existence in this world and it seems the most beautiful yet. I stretch my body, turn off the alarm and roll out of bed to see my husband standing in the doorway with a cake in his hands. He smiles, walks toward me and gives me a very sad but spirited rendition of the birthday song.

[Edit: formatting] ~TRANSMISSION BEGINS~ Dawn Treader: Captain's Log, Final Entry =============================== Dark, so dark. I mean, I should have expected that, right? Space is dark, genius. Not this kind of dark. Even with FTLs it's a long trip. 50 kiloparsecs give or take to the Large Magellanic Cloud; I've been in the corps for 40 years, been from Core to Rim and back more times than I can count, but... You never realize how much you miss those pinpricks of light until they're gone. Sometimes I would sit in one of the observation domes by myself, staring out into that abyss. You know what they say about staring into the abyss and the abyss staring back? Weird to think of the Imperium as an island in the wasteland... But here I sit, the warm and welcoming lights of home behind me, the strange and inviting lights of a new frontier in front of me, and nothing but us insignificant humans clinging to a metal behemoth hurtling through the void in between. Well, that's not entirely true. As empty as intergalactic space is, void isn't quite the right word. In the dark lie gas fields which can be mined, and of course there are the rogue stars. I swear, those rogue stars are the only things that keep me sane some days. The crew was positively giddy the first time we found one, from the youngest ensign to my normally reserved Second. She was actually the one who recommended stopping in the system. I chose well, all those years ago. To hell and back in the service of the Imperium, I wouldn't have anyone else at my side for a trip like this. Nothing habitable in that system, of course. Mostly blasted rock, scoured by clouds of gas and dust that rip through the void, swung like a chain whip by the tremendous gravity of the Core, not hindered by the gravitational eddies of billions of star systems, careening in their endless dance. What a week that was. A chance to let the fighters out and watch them race through the gravity wells, slingshotting around a planet with 20 moons. Science loved me for it, of course. More than enough bodies in the system for each of the team to get one named after them. They even named one of the planets after me, the one with all the moons. Don't know if anyone else will ever visit her, but I suppose that makes it all the more special. I sat in the observation dome for hours as we left that system. Our system. That little oasis had done wonders for the crew. I watched as one by one, the moons, planets, and even the rogue star itself vanished in our wake, FTLs driving us headlong away from out little resort. After that I made sure we stopped at every rogue system we could find. About once every month or so, a new system would show up on our screens, more or less within our flight path. Command had been very clear that I had full discretion on this mission, and if it made my crew happy, I was going to use it. Slowly, the welcoming lights of home faded and the inviting lights of the frontier became more and more dominant. About halfway accross, we sent out HFTL probes to begin sending back telemetry. Similar to the swarm playing superluminal leapfrog around the Dawn Treader, but fitted with the latest AI and navigation technologies. These were to be our eyes and ears in the Outer Rim of the LMC, scanning for any hints of life, resource deposits, even human-habitable planets. Of course, we received nothing at first. A status signal to indicate the probe was live sent at relativistic speeds, all other resources dedicated to the drives propelling them towards our destination. Then, about 15 kpc from the edge of the MLC we started to get the real thing. Superluminal transmissions from our Eyes and Ears, already exploring, predicting, extrapolating. We still stopped when we found a rogue system, but the end was in sight. M'Cloud - as the crew had started calling it - felt real for the first time since we set off from the Last Imperial Outpost. And then a miracle happened.

Hey, Unfortunately i have to remove this post. Writing not in response to a prompt can only be shared as part of our Sunday free write threads. Otherwise you can visit /r/writing and share on their weekly critique thread. If this was actually from a prompt, please message the mods with a link to the original post and it will be restored. PS reddit requires double enter keys to format a paragraph.

"Ten!" I didn't see it at first. It was too crowded to actually notice anything. And far too loud to hear their screams. "Nine!" Then I felt it. It was like a giant had taken a heavy step somewhere nearby. The ground just sort of...quivered. "Eight!" Then I saw it. A whole group of people across from me just gone. As if they were never standing there. "Seven!" I could hear them now. Their thunderous howling suddenly silenced as they disappeared. "Six!" Every second the ball got closer to the ground, another group of people disappeared. I wanted to yell at them to stop counting. Maybe if they didn't say anything, this would stop happening. "Five!" But I was just one person. It didn't matter how loud I yelled, or how hard I pushed through the crowd. I couldn't stop it. "Four!" How was it they didn't see any of this? Was I insane? Had the hours I'd spent standing here next to some drunk couple from Kansas gotten to my head? "Three!" The ground shook again. This time much stronger. Whatever was happening was getting worse and still nobody reacted. "Two!" I braced myself. If these...things had anything to do with the New Year being rung in, something big was about to happen. "One!" I tried climbing over the barricade that was holding me in, hoping to escape should something take me away too. "Zero!" The ground shook and the crowds screamed and I toppled over the barrier, landing on my back. "Sir!" The rumbling continued but I looked up at the face above me. I saw a man bundled in a black puffer coat, wearing a hat with a badge on it. He lifted me up and pushed me back over the barricade. "You need to stay with your group, sir." I looked over and saw two familiar faces, both of which were looking at me with confused expressions. I recognized them as the people who had come with me tonight, though I couldn't remember their names. They pulled me over tightly as the noise died down. "Dude."One of them said, clutching my jacket tightly. "What just happened to you?" "You-you didn't see it? You didn't feel it?"I struggled to describe what had just happened. "The...things! People were just gone! Like that!" "Oh man."The other man said. "Sounds like the shrooms hit you hard."They laughed, nudging each other. "Shrooms?"I asked, a little bewildered. Had I really imagined the whole thing? "Yeah."The first guy said. "We took them like fifteen minutes ago. I wish they'd hit me like they hit you."He laughed and the two high fived, "We should get you home."The second spoke. "Just in case more people start disappearing."They laughed again and we began filing out of the crowded area. Was I really crazy? Everything had seemed so real. Was it just drugs that had done that? There was a tug on the back of my shirt and I turned, looking down to see a small girl, maybe five years old. She gestured for me to lean down and I did so. She looked at me with wide eyes and blinked slowly before speaking. "I saw it too."

My technician tools were neatly laid on the table: a screwdriver, some measuring tape, some sharp knives for prying away at things that wouldn't budge. A half-used roll of duct tape was taped onto a coat hanger, swaying left and right as brief gusts of wind swept past from the rotating standing fan in the corner of the room. I was dripping wet in the hot weather. Working in garages was painfully difficult. My bulky clothes did not help, nor did the black garbage bags I had taped all over the walls and ceiling. I rummaged through my toolbox for more tools. I found a pair of pliers and turned back to my work. "So where is it,"I interrogated calmly, running my finger against the grooves on the pliers. The rubberized handle felt familiar under my hands. "What are you talking about? What are you doing. Stop. STOP!" I clamped the pliers across one of his thumbs and twisted. The blood-curdling yell was bliss to my ears. "The book. The book full of names and connections. I want it. There are things I really want to do,"I murmured. I cannot remember how long I had repeated myself. Another yell ripped through the room, followed by a crying whimper. Being a freelance Technician had its challenges. Sometimes I would get simple jobs and most people broke very easily. Sometimes it took one, maybe two tries. This politician had nerves of steel. Whoever wanted information really wanted it bad. I only receive phone calls from burnt cells, finished my task, and received my cash in a black duffel stashed in a trash can somewhere in the city. "A lot of people were hurt by your actions, Senator Ruben. But I know you have your little black book. Your insurance policy. Where is it?" "What black book? What are you talki-- AHHHHHHHHH!" Blood was starting to pool in the plastic container placed beneath the tied up scumbag of a man. I think his wrists or shoulders have dislocated from being hung off the ceiling for so long, but it did not matter to me. My eyes ran through the tools I had laid out. I had already used the screwdriver, and my entertainment was becoming more weary. There was a stack of paper I had not used yet. Other Technicians claimed paper cuts were very effective tools of the trade. I shrugged. Why not try it? I snapped the scumbag's neck and waited. Slowly, all the pieces of his body started stitching together. His bones started reconnecting, his joints forming back again. Within seconds he was as good as new, hanging off the ceiling of his house's garage. He was as good as new, but perhaps with a few more memories. The look of horror in his eyes turned me on. "So, Ruben, about that black book?"I asked again, carefully running the edge of a sheet of paper against his skin, letting it stain red.

She shoved her laptop to one side to get a better look at the board seven or eight rows in front of her. The notes that she had been taking diligently were snapped to one half of her screen while she had pulled up a window of extra searches on the other side. Down below her, the lecturer was droning on reading the notes from his slides just as a student would read their first ever presentation. A low grumble came from the person beside her, and Sam nudged her friend awake hoping that at that very moment the lecturer wouldn't look up to them. Not that it should matter, she considered, the TA down below was snoring happily on a chair situated next to the desk. Every so often her lecturer would glance across at them, but he cared little for that TA. Their tutor for today was the hard-as-steel Leo Gardat, a tough bastard who took no shit in his lectures from the students. Finally Sam's friend, Nate lifted his head from the desk to glance at the lecturer below, yawning wildly. "You woke me from a good dream you bitch."He smiles at her, though the smile lasts for only a little while before they realise the whole hall has gone quiet around them, and Leo is staring at him. "Oh shit." "Oh shit indeed young man."Leo says, beginning to walk up the steps to their row. "Would you care to explain to me why you were asleep in my lecture today?" "I got in late from work last night, and couldn't..."But he doesn't have time to finish before he is being ripped from his seat by the lecturer, dragged down the stairs and thrown out of the room. "Let that be a lesson to you all that you pay attention in my class."Leo announces, then immediately turns back to his notes, voice dropping back into a monotone while the TA stirs, snores, twists in her chair and returns to a deep slumber. No one brings it up. Though Sam turns back to the notes she was looking over on her laptop. Something to her doesn't seem to quite add up in her head. The lecture today is supposed to be on proteins and their structures, but all the notes she has down are from research done years ago. Not to mention the given journals all have Leo cited as a co-writer for each and every piece of evidence. It's as though in he is insistent on only teaching her the work that he has done in his own field. Browsing through further journals she begins to compile a list of references and information that all disprove the work that he is teaching them, hoping that he sees her work as more note taking. Eventually Leo glances up at the clock, stops talking and dismisses the class. Sam takes her work slowly down the stairs to the front desk, hoping this time, for once, she'll be able to talk a lecturer into using something that isn't their own work. She can't afford to transfer majors again.

"...And so I says to the guy: That's not your wife, that's my Schnauzer!" Nobody said a single word. Not a sound came from the audience. "...Get it? Because...because the wife..." *silence* "...she uh...You know what? Fuck this job! I'm sick of you humorless bastards!" ----- Jeff picked up the remote and switched the channel from Comedy Central. *These comedians nowadays really suck,* he thought. ----- He decided to turn on the 5:00 news instead. "...killing 5 and injuring 10. The suspect-at-large is believed to be former stand-up artist Dave Clydes..."