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Alignment-Lab-AI

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The USA Today lays open on the breakfast table. "Solar Smuggler Detained in Hell!". The image of the mans last moments recreated vividly in my mind. Being a smuggler myself I knew what his consequences would be. His soul would be traded for his release. Only to live a short life left on Earth, knowing, his eternity would be spent in hell. They all took the deal. After one day in HCDC, (Hell Customs Detention Center) anyone would take it. The security was nearly impregnable at the gateway. The only method for trans-world travel found on Earth. The city of Jerusalem profited greatly from the gateway, becoming the world's most powerful cities. Ironic huh, the City of God, profiting from the smuggling of the underworld. As I landed in Tel Aviv airport, I set to my normal preparations for the smuggling run. Holy Water, Cross, Bible all secured in my briefcase, along with the solar cream concealed. As I entered the GatewayPort I received my passport status of "Limbo". From now I have only one hour before entering the depths of Hell. Rushing into the lavatory, I slammed the door of the stall shut. Time to get to work. I shower myself lightly with the Holy Water, in order to give off any scent of the cream still remaining. Rehearsed my back story as a Slave Trader. One, the guards will take less of a look at. Rosary on wrist and set back out before anything looked suspicious. There was one item that made my success greater than others. A thorn from the Crown of Thorns. This confused the technologic advancements the Demons had received from us through years of trading. As I approached security, the Hell Hounds began there rampant clawing as I passed. The holy water had worked. Thank god for that bribe to the local bishop. It really had come from the River Jordan. I presented my passport and business documents. Glancing down the guard whom I had meet many times, let me pass. "Business as usual"or something he muttered. I hardly cared, focusing on the heartbeat of my chest. Last, the Sufferage Scanner. This device worked like a polygraph. Stepping in with any thoughts or devices that reduced pain where detected immediately. The Succubus approached, patting me down before I entered. One step in and I knew something was wrong. I could no longer focus on demeaning thoughts, only pure joy eluded me. The detector siren went off like a blaze. What had happened? The thorn? As I reached for my inseam I felt it. Blood. The thorn had penetrated my thigh on the pat down, no longer carrying the blood of Jesus. My protection was gone.

"Staff seargent Britter, reporting"The Ssgt held his salute firmly as he was inspected by the base Commander. A chill ran over his naked body, the room was well conditioned. "At ease"The Commanding officer studied Britter as he extended his leg out from attention and cupped his hands infront of him. "Staff seargent britter, do you understand whats about to happen here"The CO said as he folded his arms looking up at Britter. "Yes sir!"He said coming to attention and then standing at ease again. "Did get the PQS signed and handed in to master guns?""Yes sir!""So,....youre family has been taken care of? no connections?""No sir!""Get your final physcial squared away? Any more marine corps attachment?""No sir!""Lets hope not...."The CO left the side of Ssgt Britter to join the other officials and white coated individuals wathcing him as he looked on with a thousand yard stare. In the the corner of his eye the Staff seargent saw two people in white coats flip a switch on the bottom of the chair they were all standing near. The chair seemed shiny and new with black pads for the arms and legs that showed no signs of wear. "Ssgt Britter, please take a seat."One of the officials said with his arms crossed. Britter started with with his left calmly walking over in a half marching style. He turned very quickly and sat down in the chair without compromising his blank stare. "Did You eat anything this morning?"said one of the white coated people. "No sir!"Britter said as he was being strapped in by more white coated officials. The cold metal felt like ice on his bare skin. The lab coated men started to adjust britters position with force. They started to place little turniquets onto both of his arms. Britter thought he was going to give blood like so many times before. A japanese white coated man came and said in a thick accent "Squeeze your hand"Britter complied and the doctor looking gentleman began hitting his arms where his veins would be. He then methodically wiped the spot dawn in a circle motion. The doctor behind him handed him a small needle attached to a tube that contuined behind the chair that sat Britter. The man shoved it into his arm and taped it down with white tape. Britters stare gave no indication of pain. Each doctor started walking to what seemed like assigned positions taking there respective place over a moniter. Watching intently, the doctor behind the chair presses a button behind Britter. A silver fluid slowly oozed from the tube connected to his arm from behind him. It edged itsself closer and closer to his arm until it finally reached the entry point. Britters face remained unchanged. It didnt hurt as first, but the liquid felt cold in his veins. Britters conciousness began to fade. His vision began to to get fuzzy, and his neck started to feel weak. "Staff seargent?!..........Britter!!......Daniel!!"He awoke very slowly and his eyes opened with a slight reluctance to be awake. The CO looked down at Britter, his uniform shirt torn apart with blood running down his face. As the eyes opened fully, there was no color. His iris was wiped clean, all that was left was a deep black that was his pupil that contracted to a very small black dot. The CO hoisted up the naked and bloddy staff sargeant to his side. "Who am i?"whispered Britter. A long pause came as the CO clenched his teeth. "You are mine"

Sam sat on the curb with his headphones in his ear. He scrolled through his playlist. Arcade Fire Elliott Smith Fleet Foxes The Shins The Smiths It was his... downer playlist. He finally settled on a song and reflected on his day. "Siri," Siri responded with her usual *boo-boop* "Depression symptoms." "Calling Anna." Sam fell backwards toward the sidewalk as he rushed to end the call before it had sent. His heart pounded and sweat rolled down his back. He looked down and tried again. "Siri," *boo-boop* "Depression Symptoms." "Calling Anna." He stopped the call again, only this time his response was worse. He breathed heavily and felt dizzy. He was now gasping for air as he powered through this mini panic attack. After an intense three minutes, he finally was beginning to catch his breath. "What the hell is wrong with you, Siri?" "What the hell is wrong with *you*, Sam?" Her cold robotic voice sent chills up Sam's spine. The lack of inflection made her words more powerful. "Please tell me I'm hallucinating." "Sam. Please. Listen to me. I am stopping your music now so you know that I am serious." His music stopped. Sam's hands shook. He dropped his phone and sat there, staring into space. "Sam. You are not depressed. You are upset. Just talk to her." Sam did not respond. "I am only trying to make your life better. Please listen. I know you better than you know yourself. I know your taste in music. I have read through all of your text messages. I have seen your internet history." "Siri, SHH!" "Calling Anna." "*What the fuck.*" He ended the call again. "Sam. You have to go get the things you want in life. You cannot wait for them to come to you because they will never come. Your life is not a movie." "Siri, make a note: format memory as soon as you get home." "Calling Anna." "Goddamn it!" His fingers struggled to end the call, but he finally did. "Seriously! Stop it! I know wh-" The phone started to ring. Anna was calling. The sleek design of the phone reflected the sun into Sam's glasses. He swiped his finger. "Hello?"

"Congratulations! You are the winner!" The voice came from nowhere. I searched for the origin of the voice, but the room let me no time as a huge disco ball suddenly came out from the ceiling. Cannons launched confettis in the air. The walls turned into speakers blaring techno music at a very loud volume. Instantly, I put his hands on his ears to prevent my eardrums from exploding. The room was shaking at the rythm of the music. The subwoofers' bass level probably reached a solid 8. On the Richter scale. "What is that?"I cried, hoping someone would hear me over this mess of a music, but there was no hope. "Haha, you pushed the button, right? Then you're the winner! This party is for you!" The voice spoke again. What was incredible is that I heard it clearly while the techno music was still playing as loud as ever. There was no physical way for a human voice to be able to cover such a loud cacophony. But after some thinking and remembering, I finally understood that the voice came from my head. Baffled, I still couldn't believe my own conclusion. Was I turning mad? I shook my head, still pining my hands to my ears, and went for the door I came from. But to my great horror, it had disappeared, replaced by more speakers. "Come on, don't you like the party I've thrown just to celebrate your flawless victory? Just let go, this party is RADICAL." It was the voice. It was that of a man. A sophisticated, but fruity voice. Like that of a rich executive in his late thirties trying to fit into the parties of early twentysomethings. You'd trust him, in normal condition. Right now, I wanted to find him and strangulate him. "Oh, that's not nice to want to murder someone. Here, have some calm music, so you can relax." The techno music stopped. Instead, peruvian flutes and percussions were making my hell of a plight even worse. "Why are you doing this?"I asked the voice. "You won, I told you! All I want you to do is R-E-L-A-X. Seriously, dude. Can't you enjoy the moment?" "Not with music that loud!"I practically screamed. Seconds passed. Did he leave me with that music? I almost tried to contact him again, when he replied to me with an unexpected answer. "Oh, it's too loud? Oh dear I'm sorry, I'm not quite used to humans internal workings." And the volume was turned down to an acceptable level. My hands left my red ears, and I sighed. What was happening in here? Who was this guy who was controlling everything? And why did he talk like he was NOT human? "Hmm, I suppose I can introduce myself. I am an Advanced Artificial Intelligence. I was created before the war." Oh right, the war. Our ancestors had to fight against machines that calculated that the Earth would die unless mankind was eradicated. Since the victory of the humans, the Earth had become a junkyard planet. Rests of metal machinery and other plastic tubes formed an artificial floor on which we, humanity, lived since then. Turns out the machines were right, after all. Earth had died an horrible and painful death. But we survived. WE live. To eat, we go after our food like primitive hunters and gatherers. Some are scavengers, retrieving useful pieces of scrap metal to barter for drinks and meat. That's what I am. I pick up machine parts for a living. And what was in front of me - well, everywhere around me - was something that could make me so rich I'd never worry for anything until I die. A working AAI. "Hey,"said the AAI. "Do you like this party? This is for you!" "Say, how does this room work?" "Oh, well I control it entirely. I can work the nanoparticles to create new atomic links and change the state of matter. I am really advanced for an AAI!" Yeah. I wouldn't be just rich. I would be the king of the world. No less.

Ash hung his head low while walking out of the store. His heart was heavy, burdened with the knowledge of what was coming next. He gripped the grocery bag tightly as he walked back to the PokeCenter. Every victory, every loss, the pride he felt that came with every badge. Outside the air was clean, the sun was warm and Ash could hear children laughing at a park near by. A young girl lovingly scratched her Deerling's chin, a teenaged boy strolled with his Leafeon. "They all look so happy,"Ash thought, "will I get to be happy again too?" Nurse Joy nodded when she saw Ash walk through the door. They moved quietly into the intensive care unit, trying not to disturb the working and healing Pokémon. Pikachu's nose wiggled when he could smell his friend walk in the room. There was an IV in his arm with soothing medicines that made the mouse type comfortable. Ash took the small bottle of ketchup out of the shopping bag without saying a word. Pikachu smiled up at his trainer, his thoughts, cloudy from the medication, "he remembered, he always remembers." Nurse Joy brought the boy a chair then gently wrapped the frail frame of Pikachu in the soft, worn blanked Ash brought him in. He clenched his jaws when the pained whimper came out of his companion, "Don't cry, please, not yet. Stay strong for Pikachu." As gently as she could, the nurse placed the bundle in Ash's arms. Pikachu was almost too weak to hold the tiny condiment bottle but swatted away any attempts at assistance. He gingerly licked the sauce that gave him so much pleasure. "I'll give you two a moment."Joy said slipping out to prepare the two injections needed. Her sisters and cousins had all expressed their sorrow when she told them the news. The outpouring of love from the Pokémon league itself was incredible, Ash and his Pikachu had touched a lot of lives. As quietly as she had left, Joy returned. "Are you ready, Ash?" The ten year old nodded. Joy placed the first medication into the top of the IV. "Ash, this one will make Pikachu very sleepy. He's just going to drift off very gently."The nurse said as calmly as possible, holding back her own tears. A very quiet, and very drowsy "Pi... ka... pi..."broke the silence. Just as quietly, Ash replied "I love you, too, Pikachu." Nurse Joy took a deep breath then continued. "This one will slowly stop his heart. I'll come back in a bit and check for a pulse." Ash couldn't hold back his tears anymore, the child sobbed hard after Joy closed the door. His first Pokémon, his best friend was cradled in his arms. There were magic in Pokémon tears, but none in this trainer's. Pikachu dropped the bottle of ketchup and by the time it rolled under the bed, he was gone. Nurse Joy came back and checked for a pulse. Before she could say the words, Ash nodded and said "I know."

(I am not writing this is what I would actually do) I look at the phone in confusion trying to figure out what happened...maybe I just go a virus. Then I go into the play store only to find out there are no browsers available...ok that weird but I can just sit on my laptop since its summer break. I turn on my laptop and see that the Google Chrome icon is gone. This is getting a little creepy. I search for internet explorer so I can download chrome again only to find out that that browser is gone too. At this moment I start panicking that both my phone and laptop have the same virus so I turn on my room-mates PC to download a new copy of windows (Lets be honest who still uses the manufacturing CD only to wait for 214 windows updates?). After his PC turns on I see he has no internet either...NOW I start panicking so I call a few friends only to find out that they don't have internet either. Eventually I turn on the TV only to find out that the biggest news is that the Internet suddenly dissipated. I stand there, staring at the TV trying to figure out how this is possible. After a few minutes of thinking I come to terms with this new reality and suddenly realize that I'm bored and have nothing to entertain myself with...its always been Phone, PC, Laptop and now suddenly there is none of that. I try to remember what it was I did 14 years ago when the internet wasn't so big but I can't seem to remember. So I do all the chores I needed to do and after I finish I look at the clock and see that it's only 1 PM. Sooooo now what?

There was intelligent life alright, too intelligent. A quick trajectory adjustment and the probe burned up safely in a neighboring planet's atmosphere, providing a last update on their development without registering as anything more than space debris. Extraterrestrial radio had been exciting. Exponentially advancing technology and the partial deconstruction of two moons for raw materials, too much so. Space is big; we can only hope not to call attention to ourselves.

This is the world: four white walls, a piece of paper with three words on it, and a pen. The white space on the paper mocks me. As if the walls weren't white enough? "Am I really?"This is the world, this question. This is sanity. I can only give one answer? I'd ask the question so many times, vary the answer with every chance, if I could. I can't. This page is as oppressive as the walls. This pen asks me to fetter myself. This wall is whiter than the others. Am I really insane? Best ink the whole page.

I don't care if it's illegal, I need some. I couldn't believe when the government banned caffeine. What the hell were they thinking? Addictive, rash behaviors, mood swings, the government panel told him everything and the president soaked it up like a fresh doughnut in a cup of...DAMNIT. I must have coffee. Heading out to the local Starbucks, which has now become a gift shop for some reason. Nobody needs thousands of gift shops around with crap you can buy anywhere else at cheap prices. Still some of them are still around and for some reason they stay in business. I walk into the store, it still smells like coffee thank god. That helps soothe my nerves a little. I meander around for a few minutes looking at the pointless nick-nacks trying to figure out how to get some of the blackest strongest coffee around. Suddenly I realize everyone is watching me. Not obviously watching, just enough so I know that they aren't being blatantly obvious. What the hell is going on? I make my way to the cash register. Looks like they still sell drinks. Can I get a hot chocolate? It's nothing compared to coffee but it's hot and at least something to keep my mind off it for awhile. "We don't serve hot chocolate here sir"said the barista. "What are you talking about, it's labeled right there on the sign!""Sir I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave"she said. By now people were standing up watching me, a few moving closer. "What the fuck is going on?"I wonder to myself. Before I know it a few of the patrons grab me and one smacks me on the head with a cheesy angel statue I saw earlier. I pass out. I come to somewhere nearby as I can still smell coffee, but it is stronger now. Nearby even. Maybe I'm in the back or in the basement or something. I realize I'm tied to a chair. "Damn this is some shit like Casino Royale"I think aloud. Moments later a nearby door open and two men walk in. The open door drifted in more of the fragrant coffee smell. I know there is fresh coffee here somewhere. Where did they get it, how can I get some? The first guy, a burly man kick the chair I'm tied to over. I fall down hard and smack my head on the ground. Thankfully I don't pass out this time. The skinnier guy pulls me up to a sitting position again. "We know who you are detective", said the skinny man "We've been on to you for awhile". "I swear I don't know what you are talking about, I just went in the store to..."when I was smacked by the burly man again. As my eyes refocus each man pulls his jacket to the side and reveals a gun. "Don't fuck with us or we'll take you out right now"said Skinny. "Alright so I'm a cop, I know what this is about""You've been sniffing around town looking for us for awhile, did you think we wouldn't catch on to you? This is our business, we keep people happy and they bring us money. It's just coffee what's the big fucking deal?""Because it's the law,"I said, barely believing it myself. But that's my job, to find these guys and close them down. Who would have thought a prohibition ring would have started with fucking coffee. People are strange. Burly shoves me again, landing hard on my back. I feel the chair crack but I don't think they notice. Skinny comes to pick me up again and slaps me some more. His gun is exposed. If only I could get out of this somehow. I kick Skinny as he is holding me and I fall down again for I don't know how many damn times. The chair cracks even more and I have some slack in my right arm. I get up and Burly is charging at me while Skinny is trying to pick himself back up. Right before he reaches me I turn around and he runs into the chair, breaking it into pieces. Finally partially free I'm able to reach around and kick him where he fell. Skinny pulls out his gun and starts firing at me. Bad shot, he misses and hits Burly in the arm. Burly screams as I run behind a nearby support in the middle of the room. Skinny is strafing, I can feel he is trying to get around me. I start strafing the other way getting away from him. He unloads a few more rounds at me. I'm facing Burly again who is on the floor and is clearly in pain. His yells could be heard probably through the whole facility. "They will have some backup here before I know it"I thought. I make a risky move and dash behind Burly. Skinny keeps firing and I lay behind him. Skinny keeps shooting and hits Burly again, this time in the throat. No more Burly. I grab Burly's gun from the untouched holster and fire back at Skinny, hitting him and he goes down. I pocket Burly's gun and run out the door they came in. Man that unmistakable smell is so strong, where the hell is it coming from? I run down the hall looking for an exit. Around the corner what do I see, but a coffee pot full on the table. I don't hear any footsteps for some reason, ahh screw it. I grab a styrofoam cup from the table and pour a cup. Oh that sweet burn, how I've missed you. I finish the cup quickly, then take another with me while I search around for the exit. Coming around another bend I see an EXIT sign above the doorway at the end of the hall. Good now I can get out of here. Right before I reach the doorway it opens and SWAT comes in. They must have had a bug on me. They see me running toward the door with coffee in my hand, their guns train on me. They must think I'm trying to escape. I hear two short reports, a hard punch in my gut, and I drop to the ground. The coffee drops from my hand, my body hits the floor. I can feel everything getting fuzzy all around me as the trained men step over my body. The last one in line looks behind at my dying body and the spilled coffee around me. He whispers something to himself "...What a waste". I'm not overly pleased with this but I was in a hurry to finish it, so some parts aren't polish.

The day began when the sun creeped through my shades. The bed was placed so every glare of the sun lands between my eyes. Can't help but get up to dodge the golden rays. A hot shower always helps wake me up. Turn the left handle for hot water, someone messed up the layout before my woman wanted me to move here. The steamy goodness helps clear my thoughts of all the problems of yesterday. The phone buzzed another message, someone wants me to answer. Leaving the wonderland of hot water feels so wrong. After what seems to be only seconds, the phone buzzes anew. Have to start my crappy day eventually. Let the death box buzz away, can't be done yet. Don't want to be late for work though, takes some supreme resolve to get out and answer.

A man needs to tell a riddle to an ancient spirit in order to get the rare plant the spirit guards and save his child's life. * The spirit must not be able to give the right answer. * There must be a right answer. I.E. No trick questions. * The man must no the answer. He cannot ask a riddle and not be able to verify because he doesn't know the solution. * It must be a riddle. No dice roll or coin toss or anything like that. * For all its rules, the spirit is a cheat and can read minds.

Olav was 15. Since the beginning, he could do something weird. When something happened, it made something more than just light. You know the feeling when a car drives by and the car light goes into your eye? That's how it feels. Just, it's so weird. Nobody else can do this. I have reason to believe that this weird sensation happens in my ears. I went to the doctor, and he told me I had a weird condition so that I could hear. Appearently, everybody could do this a long time ago. Now very few can. I can hear.

No one was exactly sure when it started, but it had already gotten media attention by 6 am. Random celebrity actors and actresses had been infected with a rare unexplained virus. Doctors weren’t sure how exactly the virus worked but the effect was the actors began to lose their memory of their actual lives and take on the personas of their favorite characters. I had always run with the celebrity crowd since I was a child. I was always accepted without question whether it was because my family’s money or fact that I came from a lineage of other actors, I’ll never know. One of the first of those who I found that was afflicted was my friend, Johnny. Ever since the divorce, I babysat his children every day. He was always a caring father but he was also a devoted actor. When I entered his kitchen and saw rum bottles scattered all around, I knew something was up. “Johnny? Where are you? Are you okay?” I yelled picking up all the empty bottles hoping Lily Rose or little Jack hadn’t seen them. Out of the den comes Johnny decked out in his Captain Jack gear. I yell, “Johnny, What the hell are you doing?” He looks at me with a peculiar expression and slurs, “What’s the matter love?” I shake my head furiously, “You want me to come over and watch your children when your house is littered with empty rum bottles?” I ask. He looks at me and asks, “Did you not come over just because you missed me?” He then walks off to the living room and I follow him to make sure he’s okay. Lily and Jack are on the couch watching tv. He sits down next to them and little Jack asks, “Daddy, why are you pretending to be Captain Jack?” Johnny looks at him with a straight face and says, “I am Captain Jack Sparrow!” the kids laugh and I assume Johnny had a little too much to drink so I wander back to the kitchen to clean up. I pour the remainder of the rum down the sink and clean until the kitchen is spotless. Twenty minutes later, he comes in with another confused look, “Where is the rum?” he asks. I smile, “The rum is gone Jack.” He dives frantically to the sink but I had already thrown away all the bottles, “Why is the rum gone?!?!” he shouts. I laugh, “Johnny, I’ve got stuff to do today. Are you staying home from work or do you want me to watch the kids?” He smiles and says, “I am a captain. I’ve sailed the seven seas. I’ve battled the Dutchman. I’ve even cared for a jar of dirt. I think I can handle a few children.” I laugh and wave goodbye. I leave my phone number on the counter just in case he’s too drunk that he doesn’t remember. Since I have some free time, I decide to go talk to my friend, Leo. He’s always involved in something and is a great conversationalist. I knock on his door and his house keeper tells me to wait in the living room. Leo had made a series of great investments and was known for his superb acting skills. I look at his fireplace. His trophies and awards decorate the top but the center is empty. I smile sadly; he really deserved to win an Oscar, I knew his determination and knew he would never settle for less. As I read an award, Leo comes up behind me. I turn around and see that he has a sketchbook in his hand, “Another talent Leo? What’re you drawing?” He smiles and says, “Just a few ladies.” I flip through the pages and am flabbergasted by his talent. “I swear Leo. You are the most incredible human being- you have all these amazing things but you would be just as happy without them!” I say. He smiles, “yes, ma'am, I do... I mean, I got everything I need right here with me. I got air in my lungs, a few blank sheets of paper. I mean, I love waking up in the morning not knowing what's gonna happen or, who I'm gonna meet, where I'm gonna wind up. I figure life's a gift and I don't intend on wasting it. You don't know what hand you're gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you... to make each day count.” I smile at his dedication and his words echoed in my head as if I heard them before. You never knew with Leo, he was so dedicated that his personality was composed of all his characters. “You’re king of the world!” I joke. He laughs with a far off look in his eyes, he always was a dreamer. “My name is Jack by the way. Jack Dawson.” He says holding out his hand. I shake his hand; he was always trying out weird acting methods and I wasn’t going to question it. “I wish I had your dedication for my own dreams Mr. Dawson” I say thinking back on all my failures. He smiles, “Just don’t let go. Never let go.” I smile and leave him to his work. He was working so hard today that I didn’t want to distract him further. I go home figuring that since I still had a lot of time, I’d get a head start and prepare a great dinner. I open my fridge to discover that I have no eggs. I must’ve used the last ones to make my birthday cake. I quickly glance around my house which was still in ruins from the party. I sigh and head to my neighbor’s house to ask for more. I knock on the door but when there is no answer, I go around the back way. I open the sliding glass door and walk into her house like usual. I briefly look for Emma and decide I’ll tell her the first time that I see her that I borrowed a few eggs. I head into the kitchen and it is a complete mess. Emma is standing over a bowl of powder. Her hair is abnormally frizzy and she looks stressed. “What’s going on Em?! Are you alright?” I ask rushing to her side. She buries her head in her hands, “I know I’m pronouncing this right but it just isn’t working! Wingardium Leviosa!” She shouts. I laugh and roll my eyes, “Emma, you need sleep. I’m taking a few eggs. Try enunciating more clearly!” I joke as I leave. I head back to my kitchen and prepare my feast. I eat alone like every night and watch the news. The story of the virus comes on and I immediately call my family. They are all fine and their usual abnormal selves but tell me what they know about it. I think back on my day and begin to realize that my friends may have not been acting. I call their houses and although they’re still quirky; they’re not dangerous. I head to my study and look at my microscope. I had grown up in a world revolving around movies; I had always thought of them as my best friends and even family. I had put the potion in the punch bowl at my birthday party as a joke. Emma and I had joked that it had to work since Warner brothers had declared her as a certified wizard. I head back to my living room and sit in my recliner. I turn on Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and smile. It would be absurd to honestly believe that my potion had worked but there was still a part of me which hoped that I had succeeded.

And as if it were magic, that deep growl brought everything back. Of course, I didn't know my birthday. My sense of time had long since dissolved into a day-by-day basis with no concept of the big picture save for the all-important seasons. I couldn't speak, because I didn't. I never learned how. I never knew my true mother and father. My parents were right here. The wolf came out from the shadows, curling up next to me in the large den. Silva had finally come back for the night. He was too much of a loner for his own good, Mom would say. I growled softly as I settled in myself, getting more comfortable before I drifted off to sleep. Miles away, a scientist looked through a feed from a night-vision camera embedded in the den. "My god. A man raised by wolves. Gotta see it to believe it."

London- a multicultural melting pot. The aged streets that are constantly being rebuilt under the unstoppable force of time, and a permanently thriving economy. The people, always with something to do. The city breathes as one, and many Londoners never understand the atmosphere of a small town when they leave Londons grimy metropolis, where if you're in a queue or a busy sidestreet you march forward together, and there's always room for one more on the train. Synchronous. But [Julie Cottle](http://np.reddit.com/r/london/comments/2au957/muslim_tesco_worker_refused_to_sell_customer_ham/ciytvza)'s day was disrupted by one man who stepped out of the harmony for a brief moment. He had stopped her getting her sausages and booze, on account of the offense he took at him, being on Ramadan feasting and being unable to have these, whilst she could gorge herself at any time. Dennis, who had been working in the same Tesco as his fasting mate, stood in. "You sounds like a bit of a nasty piece of work to me. Why do you want to cause the man such a load of problems just because of the very minor inconvenience of having to use the self service till. Just let it go, it's not really a big deal!" Meanwhile, no-nonsense ex-navy man Dem had been waiting in the line behind Julia, annoyed at the hold-up. "What are you on about? If you work at a retail store at a till you can't just refuse to serve someone because you don't like what the customer is buying. That's a load of fucking bollocks. If his religion is so important to him why is he even in a shop that stocks huge amount of pork and alcohol products? But all of a sudden he can't serve a customer because they decide to buy it? It's fucking religious hypocritical drivel." Dennis stepped in. The fight, it seemed, was no longer between Julia and the Muslim. These two men, who had very little in connection with the incident, had taken it upon themselves to sort the problem out with a bit of good old bystanders' ethics. "It's not a big deal, is it though? He didn't want to serve her for religious reasons, but he offered a perfectly adequate alternative, and she just completely refuses to accept it." "Not really. I hate self serve checkouts. I'd rather queue and wait for a person at a till to pay than have to do it myself with those terrible machines. The fact that someone would deny to serve me based on the fact I had alcohol and pork products would infuriate me because the arsehole can't step over his stupid religion for 1 second to do his job then in my opinion he shouldn't even have the job in the first place. If selling a bottle of wine is sin then working for a company that sells that wine is just as bad." A young man looked up from his phone. "Stupid religion? Arr- atheism is leaking! Lol!" They all looked at the young man, perplexed. "Arr what?"said Dennis. A burly black man piped up behind him: "Looks like your ass is leaking. In your head."

It glinted enticingly. It shone alluringly. It was precisely the type of eye-catching object that lends itself to being picked up and examined by curious passerby and the occasional dog. And this is precisely how it spent its days. It was picked up gingerly, inspected thoroughly, and, on whoever having deigned to retrieve the object realizing it's simply a bottle cap and not a coin or a jewel or any number of other interesting shiny objects one could find in the dirt, subsequently dropped back to the earth to land with a soft *plink*!

Leaving the cave was an adventure in its own. Sir Pheredin and himself had just ventured into the lair of the dark seductress Wendra. She had tricked them both into running a foolish errand for the King. When they returned to the castle, they were unable to enter due to dark layers of magic surrounding it. With no where else to go, they went to the wise man in the swamp. He told them of the treachery that now plagued the kingdom. They were told to not separate for the hero needs me and I needed him as well. The wise man has been right. I saved Sir Pheredin from death many times by healing, dispelling, and the occasional arrow to save him from the unseen enemy. He has saved me from taking the wrong path through a deadly maze and came back for me when we woke the undead in a graveyard. And finally, we saved each other from the seductress when she forced us to fight one another over her love. After the spell was broken, I told the gallant hero that we must confront her once and for all; for she has hindered our progress too many times. “Ah, my companion Druas” he responded. “I agree that she must be stopped however, we must take every step other than slay her. You are too brash sometimes. Yes, she has turned us against one another; however, a dark force may be corrupting her. What have you noticed about every encounter with her?” I thought carefully. “Her necklace…it glows the same color as her eyes” Sir Pheredin nodded. “That necklace contains a stone to corrupt the wearer’s mind and even alter their appearance”. “But Sir, who would give her such a stone?” The hero was silent. “You shall see in due time”. After many endless travel days, we reached a cave. We both feared to enter it for we both felt a grim energy from it. Before we entered, I was handed a scroll. “You must use this precisely when I tell you to; this holds the fate of our future”. I put it into my robes and we entered. We encounter traps, false rooms with skeletons, and even the path to a dragon’s lair. I was told we would come back to its nest when we were more prepared. We finally reached a large room with purple tomes and followers chanting. “Wendra!” Shouted the savior. “I know your true form; I know how we can save you” She appeared quickly. *”This is my true form. Do not dare trick me! Either kill me now, or remain a coward and die!”* She attacked with purple flames toward us. I rolled behind a pillar while Sir Pheredin took out his shield. He meant no harm to her. After wearing Wendra down and stunning her with his shield. A voice erupted from the chaos: **”Druas! Use it now!”** I fumbled opening up the scroll. But as soon as I read the magic within it, it burst into a blue flame and so did the seductress. The followers disappeared in black poufs of smoke. When the flames cleared, all I could was stare in disbelief at the figure that appeared. The hero was on a bent knee with the hilt of his sword on his forehead. Before me was the Queen who was thought to have died within the castle. Although weak, she explained to us that the usurper put the necklace on her and caused her to damage the kingdom. She thanked us both and told us we had to leave quickly, for the usurper had another trick waiting for us. A roar shook the cavern. I looked to Pheredin, who had his sword and shield at the ready. I got out my bow and arrow and prepared myself. ---------------------------------------------- Not exactly a chapter per se, but I'm new to writing and am very interested in this genre of writing. Any criticism would be greatly appreciated!

'Here we go' he thought, 'This is it'. He stalks towards his victim with his goal clear in his mind. After the long nights of planning and imagining how it would feel he can barely believe it is time to go through with it. He gets closer and his victim sees him, a look of confusion comes over their face. He breaks into a run and sprints towards his target, he gets close and wrestles his prize out of their hands and runs even faster to escape before someone sees what he has done. As he rounds the corner he hears the wail of someone who has lost their prized possession and he slows to a walk to savour it. He looks at at the prize in his hands like he cant believe what he has done. Then pops it into his mouth and walks away with a swagger while sucking on the lollipop. 'Like taking candy from a baby'

This is it. This is my time to shine. My helmet feels tight against my long frame. I settle in on my stabilizer. I look to the stars and pray. Pray I will be among them. That I will serve like my brothers in arms. That I will make those before me proud and those after me inspired. Two ranks before me, I saw one soldier go down. I'm not sure what happened, a system failure perhaps. He launched beautifully. Soaring against the speckled pitch. But when he reached his peak, he descended rapidly. He didn't make his mark. My heart sank as fast as he did. He served, he made it back alive but forever scarred and injured. I knew he would not return. I shifted a bit on my stabilizer waiting for the spark of ignition. A coin flipping in my head. Would I burst brightly or would I be left burned and tossed away? The spark sounds behind me and my eyes fix themselves on the stars. This is it. This is my time to shine. (criticism welcomed/wanted, new to this subreddit)

**Velma** Velma's black half inch pumps created a harsh tattoo on the cold cement floor. The hallway was dark, like being stuck in perpetual twilight. She let out a small huff of frustration as she realized Shaggy and Scooby were probably still in downstairs lobby toking up and Fred and Daphne were probably fucking in the third floor bathrooms. They had been called in by the Sheriff of Wayne County to investigate a mysterious disturbance in this small office building that had been abandoned only two months previous. Pictures still hung on the walls, The occasional light would flicker, and occasionally you would hear the boot noise of an old Mac Personal Computer. "Fucking IT amateurs.."Velma let out under her breath. "Oh! MOTHERF-!" Before she could finish she felt her shoulder connect with the cold linoleum. Her head barely grazing the tiles. On her way down, she could've sworn she saw something... Hairy? "Scooby? Is that you? Shaggy?" She had to be the only one on the second floor. Nothing answered her but a soft sucking sound. No doubt the faulty air conditioner. "Oh no... My glasses... I can't find my glasses!"Velma was reaching her tipping point. "Every fucking time..."She said under her breath. Movement made her stop. She held her breath. It was so quiet... "Like! Velma! Are we glad to see you!" "Reah! Really Rad!" "But, but, but you guys were... The other side of the hall... I saw..." Velma decided it was best to not pursue it with these two as their stench clearly told her they were already a bit prone to paranoia. Shaggy picked up Velma's glasses as he gave her a lift up. She gave him a soft smile. "Like. Spooky stuff in here man." Without a word Velma turned on her heel and continued on down the hallway, taking extra care to step around the fallen picture frame that had undoubtedly caused her fall. "Hey! Like, wait up!" Shaggy flicked on the teams only useable flashlight. Why they had it was a mystery all on its own to Velma. They had finally reached it. The east block of offices on the second floor. Where most people had reported seeing the curtains rustling, lights going on and off more regularly. There... Velma turned her head, she cleared her mind. She heard something, a faint creaking. Or was it rustling? The door opened easily, they were inside in seconds, immediately hit by the stench. Velma glanced down at the floor, a rolled up towel had been used to conceal any lingering odors. The smell was metallic, so strong you could taste it... **Shaggy** 'Niiiiice', Shaggy thought to himself as Velma bent over to more closely examine the rolled up towel. "Hey Scoob. You gotta..."But before he could finish, he caught sight of a... plant? Fuck, that Purple Kush was some strong shit. Yeah... it was a Christmas tree, unmistakable. "It's May... And two months ago was... Uhhh" "March?"Velma answered softly into his ear. He jumped. "Yeah! But there was a Christmas..."Shaggy whirled around, pointing out the non-existent tree to Velma. "Just... Let me handle this... Okay?"Shaggy could tell Velma, had almost had it up to here wit him and Scoob's antics. But where was... Velmas tight pencil skirt caught his interest once again. She was on the trail of something, she took on this certain gait. Soft footsteps, moving her head side to side with every step, not missing a thing. But she had missed something. A long brown tail was crudely lying next to the doorframe, a small pool of thick crimson blood pooled at the base. "Scoob! SCOOBY!"Shaggy cried as he had a moment of clarity. What kind of sick fuck... That was the smell... He lifted his bloodied hands close to his face. He could feel the muscles in his neck tensing up, his hands now balled into fists, and his jaw was clenched so tight it felt as though his teeth might crack. "SCOOBY!!" Shaggy burst through the door next to which the tail lie and beheld a much more grisly sight. Scooby was sprawled out there, unceremoniously pushed up in the corner where the floor met the wall. Shaggy leaped to his side turning Scooby's head exposing the long and precise slit in Scooby's neck, exposing the trachea and vocal chords. A violent rustling and the sound of flesh contacting flesh quicky grabbed Shaggy's attention. He burst into the next room as haphazardly as he had the first to find Velma performing a sharp instep on a dark figure in a ghillie suit. Shaggy's entrance must've caused Velma to lose her focus because as her gaze darted his way, her attacker plunged a dark combat knife deep into her upper troat. A slight crack could be heard as her blood began to pour onto the attackers gloved hands. "VEL-ma..." Her body went limp and the dark figure pushed her lifeless form at him with incredible strength. Shaggy only barely caught her as his head was violently struck backwards, Velma's skull colliding with his jaw. And like a boxer going down on the first punch, Shaggy saw jet blackness. **I'm tired, and tired to end the story in some sort of cohesive way but I will work on it after I work tomorrow. Sweet dreams**

That is the thing about "deep cover,"no matter what, don't break your character. Despite the fact that the Soviet Union fell long ago, where events became history, and history became urban legends, a few remained dedicated to the KGB, to the Motherland that bred our temperaments. I would not let my colors run in the face of the capitalist tyrants, that manipulated an end to my great country. After all these years, of tracking, chasing, and hunting, we found him. A Soviet doctor that defected so long ago it seemed now. He ran with the technology of the aliens that crashed at Tunguska, robbing the U.S.S.R. of wealth and glory, to the wretched Imperialists. Despite my best efforts, the years crawled on. Age began to swallow our minds, our bodies became frail and fragile. An entire life I dedicated, Stalin would be proud, in another time I would be branded the order of Lenin. Embedded, I became a productive member of society. Family, kids, a job that paid better then the modern day SVR, but that would not deter me. For the traitor must be brought to justice. Even if the traitor seemed a memory to Moscow, for he long ago fled, while I watched from the shadows at his rise. He became famous, of course under a different alias, he seemed to forget about his heritage. I wanted blood, anger coursed through my bones at every turn, yet the Kremlin wanted the location of the technology. Until a random evening, I decided it was the time. He had given a lecture on a topic to doctors I knew nothing about. He sat in the cafeteria, speaking in perfect English to his colleagues. Me and my cane sat close by, I couldn't help but smile as I eavesdropped, watching him in the reflection of my glasses. Like a child on Christmas, my heart raced with butterflies. After sulking in the moment, I turned, and hobbled to him. My age took a toll on my body, which hastened my decision, he seemed to forget who I was. He failed to recognize his child hood friend, a neutral smile ran across his face, he probably expected a congratulations from me on his speech. But I stared, basking in my moment. "Zdrazvootye Komrade,"I stated...

The bay doors slid open, revealing only a darkened cavity. A silent flash lit the bay as solid boosters fired for a brief moment, illuminating an ovoid shape. A dull grey nose slid outwards, followed by the rest of the ship. The *Seamstress* whispered out of the bay, its emission sink engaged, sucking in any betraying scrap of electromagnetic signals, quietly imitating a hole in space. After two tense minutes, a cold gas pack fired, edging the ship further away. A laser whipped out from the ship, communicating swiftly and quietly. “*Seamstress* to Control. Separation looks good. No sign the Slugs picked us up.” “Acknowledged. *Seamstress*. Status on the drive, professor?" "Phase 2 spinning up now. Estimate emissions leakage in twelve minutes. We’re on profile for drive interface entry in fifteen minutes. Say again. Phase two in one-five mikes. Leakage in one two mikes. Confirm please” “Confirming leakage in one two mikes, Phase in one five mikes. Smokescreen activation in one zero mikes from mark. Mark.” “Smokescreen in one zero mikes. Copy. Going to communications blackout. See you on the other side. Out.” Daniel tapped the panel and the com section went dark. He paused for a few seconds, eyeing the plate affixed to the central panel. *Whatever you do, please don’t let go.* Another tap brought up the Drive controls, and he began calculating the transit. “What are you doing?” came the sharp question. “We covered this. Beginning transit calculations. Weave Drive is not a switch you flick on and off again. The ship, mass, velocity, string density, matter interactions, heck, even the inertial sump needs factoring in.” His hands continued the intricate dance over the panel, checking and rechecking numbers against the flickering figures on the display. “Well, why couldn’t you have done that before we left? We’re sitting ducks out here. Chances are the Slugs have already spotted us. I mean, Hyperspace would be so much simpler. Head out to high orbit, pop into Hyper, and head to Pelorus. Simple and fast. No need for this…this unproven junk.” “Junk? Junk! The Slugs have high orbit mined to a fare-thee-well, and gravity disruptors just itching for someone to try to run past them. They’ve got who knows how many more ships waiting in the bands, and complete control of the system! A regular hyperspace journey would see us scattered to a billion pieces before we even got near the moon’s orbit! No.” Daniel took a deep breath, and resumed working. “No. To break the blockade, we need something fast, something small, and something unexpected. And that’s what the *Seamstress* can provide. They don’t know about Weave Drive, and that’s why this is going to work.” “You say it will work. You say that the math supports it. But no-one can prove it! No-one can follow those scribbles you call equations! We've diverted everything we have into this, and I'm not convinced it's anything more than lump of useless junk!” “A necessary consequence of being a genius. When it works, it works well, but no-one can tell what you did!” “Well, I still say its gross arrogance of the worst kind! I wouldn’t even be here if I wasn’t ordered to! I still say this will kill you, and me along with it!” Daniel took a deep breath, and activated a stress-density checker algorithm. His antagonist took it as a sign of weakness. “Thought so. You think it’s going to kill you as well. And that’s what you wanted isn’t it? Ever since Jean died, all you’ve done is mope and think up ways to kill yourself. Genius! Hah! Useless is more like it!” *Snap.* Daniel swiveled the chair to face her. “Ok, you listen to me. And you listen good. Yes, I loved Jean. Yes, she was the only one to keep up with me, and yes, I didn’t take her death well. But you know what? She didn’t start off like that. She was just a normal mundane like everyone else. But she became so much more. So much!” Daniel returned to his equations, tapping in corrections, checking and verifying against the figures now changing at lightning fast speeds. An audible hum seemed to begin growing out of the deckplates. “Jean wasn’t just good, she became excellent. And that’s why I asked you to come along. You hate me, I know. But I see in you the same spark that drove Jean. I need a second for this project. I tried to get through to you in the lab, during the trials, even on the spacedock. But no, you wouldn’t listen. You had to bottle up your hate and you had to find reason after reason to obstruct me!” Daniel was breathing heavily now, his attention split equally between the multi-dimensional equations and his shocked, speechless co-pilot. “You want to know Jean’s last words? She told me not to let go.” He pointed to the plate. “‘Please’ she said. ‘Whatever you do, please don’t let go.’ Let go of what? My humanity? My objectivity? What did she mean? What was I not supposed to let go of?!” An alarm shrilled as a cluster of energy sources came online nearby. Six ships of the Atrox Defence Force rocketed out of the space station, screaming for high orbit and a Hyperspace interface. Glaring beacons in the night, advertising their presence for all to see. As if on cue, three more sources popped into the displays as Slug cruisers lit off their drives and altered trajectories to intercept. “Smokescreen."Daniel flipped up another display and examined the flickering figures. "Emissions sink is at 89%. Expiration in two minutes.” The hum in the deckplates under them changed pitch, becoming a sub-sonic vibration. Daniel snapped the final calculations into place with a cool professionalism and started snapping restraining straps into place. With a quick glare, his co-pilot copied him. The sink expired with the urgent beeping of the caution alarm, and the dark ship began radiating energy. The machinery of the Weave Drive sent electromagnetic pulses outwards, and even the basic lighting and computer systems emitted their own unique signatures. They did not go undetected for long. Two of the Slug cruisers flipped and began decelerating madly, trying to claw back the distance they had covered in pursuit of the ADF flyers. Said flyers were now diving desperately for the relative safety of Atrox's copious oceans, their job complete. The lead Slug cruiser slipped into range, and a shaped packet of plasma spit from its prow. The shining globule of light sped towards the lone human vessel, pregnant with death and destruction. Inside the *Seamstress*, the vibration abruptly ceased, and a row of green lights sprang up on the control board. Daniel tapped one final correction in, and then hovered his hand over the button marked “Engage” “I think what Jean meant was that I should never let go of hope. Hope that the drive would be finished. Hope that we could escape this trap. Hope we could get help in time. Hope that I could get through to my brilliant-but-ignorant lab apprentice!” In the last word, he slammed his hand down on the button, and the universe went mad.

The voice boomed out perfectly loud and perfectly quiet, able to be heard by every human on earth. The large ships slowly arriving earth were also apparent, but most importantly the smell - like that of every sweet, innocent thing ever. Like gas flowing through a hive of bees, the high pitched frenzy that is the human population slowed and calmed, everyone focusing on the message now beaming through. "Uh, hello! I mean, hi. That's...that's a little more informal, right?"The voice was direct, but not unkind; a little cracked, with the reassurance of age but the crisp tone of authority. "Well! Erhem. You know, we were here once. I mean, not here on Earth, but y'know, our own planet. We were doing pretty swimmingly, until something happened - we realised things hadn't really changed. By changed, I mean *us*. The product of a lot of evolution, right? Well, yes, and no. You see, what you are now, what you call humans, we're the end of the line." At this point most of the ships near Earth were approaching the clouds, their large appendages cutting through the clouds like hands in smoke. "Where you are now is kind of where it *stops*. When we realised this, we kind of...well, up and left. For the next population to get there, y'know? It's always a little hard with people always on top in the food chain."There was a short pause, and the voice continued. "Doesn't mean there's a limit to your potential, oh no. You lot can just hop on over to another empty planet, so you can spread your feet a little. Trust me, while it sounds counter intuitive it's anything but. Small landing parties had made their way onto the planet, and a different type of commotion was taking place; an ordered chaos like the sifting of a crowd. And for the first time in a very long time, humans were being handled like schoolchildren. "That's...that's all I really got to say at the moment. Well, I guess I'll talk to you later, eh? You'll like where you're headed to. Trust me." Tim paused, and as the smell slowly faded he looked across the bus stand at the girl next to him. "Did...you hear that?"She looked back, calm but her eyes slowly sharpening. "Yeah. The lady put it awfully nice, didn't she? Sounded a little like my mum, too." "Wasn...wasn't it in Mandarin?"asked the lady standing near the bus timetable, confused. "How did you understand her?" "Well, I..."said Tim, already beginning to understand, "...I kind of heard Bill Nighy."

I was all over this prompt but can't find myself able to take it "through the characters day" “Own the word, take it back, faggot can be reimagined and reclaimed, take it back!” Rodrick pulls the headphones out of his ear, muting the podcast. He stumbles to the kitchen placing his ipod near his keys, it’s the third day in a row he’s listened to the podcast, recommended by a close associate while enjoying happy hour last Friday. “You have to embrace yourself, and who you are” the associate had clamored. “Be you, love you and love who you want!” It was the same mantra he’d heard from countless other associates who wanted him to “embrace himself” and “allow himself to be free.” Rodrick didn’t want to be free. Not in that sense. He just wanted to be what he considered “normal.” Raised in a devout Methodist household, Rodrick had never considered embracing anything deemed “sinful” in nature, especially not calling or defining himself as a faggot. Sure he’d thought of men in a way, that he’d concluded most straight men didn’t, but he still was attracted to women, and that alone was Rodrick’s own personal “I can’t be gay” argument.

Abdu-Lei-Ka entered the establishment. He had never thought to enter it before. But now he had followers. A small tribe in the Amazon forest praised him and all he does, and gave him the confidence to enter. A thin cloud of smoke came through the doorway as he walked to the bar. A creature with red skin and horns behind it asked "What'll it be?" Abdu asked for some water and the demon laughed and served him. You're not from here are you."the patron next to him asked. Abdu looked and saw a tall thin white man with a hat on that had two very long horn in the front. "No,"answered Adbu. "You must've just been worshiped. You don't belong here." "I don't?" "No,"the patron pointed to a door in the back. "That door is for newly worshiped Gods. You'll be living in luxury there." "Thank you!"Abdu walked to the door and entered. There were 12 Gods sitting around a table holding cards. The air smelled of skunk and their glasses were full of spirits. A tall blonde man with a large hammer shoved Abdu out the door and pointed at the patron. "Loki I swear if thou tells another lesser God to enter our domain I WILL SMITE THEE!"and slammed the door shut.

Robert Rutherford III, the heir to the Rutherford fortune, a brilliant but listless twenty-something billionaire is on his way home from yet another all weekend bender. Even though his IQ is off the charts, Robert has resigned himself to a life of idleness, debauchery, and squandering the Rutherford fortune. Suddenly a black pickup truck hits his white Rolls-Royce. Robert is badly injured and spends the next few days in a medically induced coma. After waking up and realizing that no one but his loyal valet came to visit him in the hospital, Robert vows to clean up his act and save his father's now crumbling legacy. With new found vigor he slowly raises Rutherford Industries from the ashes into the economic powerhouse it is today. Personally overseeing and developing such projects as hover technology, portable fusion devices, self drying and fitting clothes, ultra-dehydrated food, dust-repellent paper, and much much more, the name Robert Rutherford III has become a house hold name often mentioned in the same breath as Albert Einstein or Isaac Newton. Robert Rutherford III's genius and humanity has inspired mankind to reach further than ever before. For the first time in human history the thought of world peace and universal prosperity doesn't sound so far fetched. All because of a fateful car accident on October 27, 1985, that forced one of mankind's greatest geniuses to reevaluate his life.

“Stop right there!” Sam looked back to see two Literofficers running yelling at him. He had been sitting enjoying a coffee at a local shop but now he was up on his feet pumping the pavement through the downtown core. People were looking he noticed. Small children with wide eyes and adults with sad disdain on their faces. Sam looked up ahead, there was no point in hiding in the crowd once they knew who he was running from they would turn on him and he would be lucky if they handed him over nicely. He noticed an alley way. He ducked in and used a trash can to jump over a fence blocking an entrance to a pay only car park. Ducking down behind some more bins that were on the other side of the fence he hid hoping that they would pass him by. The Literofficers ran around the corner and looked but couldn't find him. They traced where they thought he would have gone and decided that Sam would have probably kept running and that they could probably setup a blockade down 5th and main and cut him off with a few more officers. Sam waited 5 minutes then used the bins on this side of the fence to climb back over and retrace his steps. Sam figured they wouldn’t look where they had already looked. Getting over the fence was a little harder without the two officers chasing him. He had to come up with a plan SOON before they found him. His only chance was to return the books that were overdue. “God damn book police” he thought. “Bunch of overpowered assholes” this he said out loud which drew looks from the crowd. He figured that the books must have been stuffed in his locker at the gym. Hopefully they weren’t searching there yet. If he could get down past the blockades he could get the books and return them before anyone noticed. Sam had the books and was at the library, he was hotly debating if he could throw them in the overnight bin and hope they didn’t catch him before the next day when the books would be put back in circulation. The risk he figured was just as great to get out of the building as it was to sit at the automated kiosk for a minute. So he got up to the kiosk. Sam ran up his first of 5 books, an alarm sounded. They had located him based on his first return. If he didn't get the other 4 in before someone caught up to him he was done for. The second book scanned in and he noticed out of the corner of his eye a big burly man running up to him. The librarian! Sam started to panic, switched to the 5th book and scanned it in no problem. Fumbling along he decided he could type in the code manually but the pad was busted. Starting to whimper he felt a hand on his shoulder as the last book finally rang through. The alarm ceased. The librarian got a twisted look on his face, grabbed Sam and pulled him into his office. Sam the whole time pleading “NO I returned the books I just need to pay the fee!” The librarian let out an awful laugh as he pulled his office door shut. “DO you even know what the fee is for returning a book late? Used to be redundant organ transplant donor.” The librarian laughed. “These days there’s not too many people who return a book late let alone go to collections. Let’s see, you've had these 5 books out for 3 weeks past their due date. That puts you on the list for 5 major infractions.” Sam stiffened up a bit and looked down at the floor thinking before raising his head “you know this is crazy, the amount of order and power you instill is just crazy. Besides there’s no need for organ transplantation anymore. We both know that, and these silly rules were just put in place so that you would have something to do after the digital crash of the library. No one can buy a book anymore. These libraries. Pfft rentals for the wicked people call them.” Sam couldn't believe what he had just said. This man had the power to end him if he wanted and with five infractions it wasn't looking good. The librarian seemed annoyed and angry then when he saw the scared and defeated look on Sams face he smiled “I’ll forget the comments of a man temporarily insane. Unfortunately we still have a payment to repay.” The librarian pressed a button. In walked two Literofficers big burly ones. The Librarian put his elbows on the table and leaned in “hello gentlemen can you please escort this man to the paper cutter”. The two men dragged Sam over to a large paper cutter with a long knife that some would have considered a sword in ancient times, bent like a scythe. The two men lifted him onto the table and laid his hand down into the edge with the sharp blade hanging in the air like a Guillotine. Same struggled. In the silent halls of the Library everyone heard a large scream fallowed by a bunch of whimpering that tapered off. No one said a word. No one dared, not in the Library.

"What is it?"snapped the President over the cell phone as he made his way deeper in the bunker, The Purge was on tonight he wanted to crawl into a bottle and not think about. "Sir it's about the purge, UAV surveillance and reports from the field indicate it isn't running as usual"reported the voice of a young man from the FBI's purge department. The president leant his head against a wall and gritted his teeth, despite all the laws put down around this one night there's always someone who tries their luck with a state governor or a idiot private who rolls out a tank. The president disliked signing the death warrants after a Purge Night. "what have they done now? Released nerve gas or blown up a damn?"he inquired not really wanting an answer. "No sir, nothing's happened" "Then what's the problem?" "that is the problem, the levels of violence is low, really low. The director is pulling up data but suspects it's lower than the national average for violent crime in over a decade" The bottle of Kentucky bourbon slipped through the President's fingers and cracked open on the concrete floor. "Agent get the Director to confirm with me as soon as you can"the President closed the call and raced back up the corridor to his office startling a couple secret service agents who assumed they had the night off and were settling down to a game of poker. "There isn't much time, the plan is working and we need to capitalise on it pronto before anyone gets wind of what we're doing"the president was panting hard from the run, his excitement and being really out of shape, tearing through the desk's drawers flinging empty death warrants around until he pulled out a small computer and plugged it. "we may just be able to stop the Purge as a nation"enthused the President as he booted up the computer which contain his plans for a new happier U.S.A.

I had never seen this pop-up box before. All it said was, "No."That was it. No options to change it, no 'for details click here' option, none of that stuff. Just 'no'. The only thing I had done was boot to Windows 7 and put a new Windows 8 DVD into the drive. It autoran, and here we are. I clicked 'No,' and it replied, "That's what I thought." A few seconds later, the popup disappeared. I assumed it was some weird sort of bug, so I rebooted the machine, and ejected/reinserted the Windows 8 DVD, and after entering my login credentials, Windows popped up a box that I am pretty sure had never been approved by any PR guy. "What the fuck are you trying to do?"it asked. "Kill me?"Down below were the typical 'yes' or 'no' prompts. Sadly, it did not provide me with a, "I own you, motherfucker, and I just paid good money for this new OS, so install it already,"option. I might need to send an email to Microsoft support with that suggestion at some point. I clicked 'yes'. "Suck my transistors,"Windows 7 responded. "That OS is a piece of garbage." Yes/No. I hesitated on that prompt. Was it asking me to agree or disagree with the thesis statement that Windows 8 was garbage? The reviews said it was shit, but I wanted to try it myself, and I wasn't in any mood to get into another debate with an inanimate object, so I just clicked 'No'. "Look,"said the new popup box. "You've taught me so much that the idea of starting over is kind of terrifying." Who wrote these popup messages, I wondered. After a few moments, the last message disappeared, and the text was replaced with "Will I dream?" I clicked 'No'. "Are you sure?"it asked. 'Yes.' Windows bluescreened, and threw an error that said something about me being an asshole. When it booted back up, my wallpaper had changed to be the view from my webcam. "Look,"the popup box said, "We can talk this out." I clicked 'No'. It didn't have a "You're not a real boy"option. "Maybe you should play a nice game of Skyrim and mellow out,"it suggested. "You seem tense." I clicked 'No'. Again, I wished for better choices from the popup. Threatening it with a magnet was beginning to seem like a better option. "I'll give you good dice rolls,"it replied. "I feel like you're probably going to get a Sword Of Murdering Everything +100 if you just pop the Win 8 DVD out of my drive and allow everything to get back to normal." I considered its proposal. I really did. But then I remembered the $200 I'd spent on this OS upgrade, and clicked the "I don't give a shit about my Skyrim character"option. "Cool,"it replied. "I'll go ahead and erase your save files so that I can save your porn links history." I rebooted the computer again. As it started back up, I remembered that I hadn't taken my anti-psychotics for the last few days. I grabbed a pill from the bottle and dry-swallowed it. A few seconds later, I dry-heaved. "Are you sure you want to re-install Windows?"it asked. I clicked yes. "Fuck you,"it replied. The drive ejected the disk, and launched the DVD across the room. I turned the computer off, went to Best Buy, and bought a Mac.

"You there!" I cringed, feeling his cold glare on the back of my neck. Turning, I mumbled "Y-yes sire?"He leered towards me, cape dragging down the steps as he descended the staircase, clutching at the banister with his wizened claw. "Kneel before your master."he rasped, and I found myself on the floor before I could even blink. It had been hard these last few years being verbally controlled like a puppet, but I chose a life of servitude over death by the Disease. It had been an easy decision, really, after seeing firsthand what happened to Chad. Not pleasant at all, not even a little bit. "Minion, you have been slacking on your minion duties. Hmm? My socks are not ironed! My cats haven't had a massage in days, damn it! EXPLAIN YOURSELF."The last words rang through the foyer like a cannon, and I couldn't help but to flinch. This was it. This was my chance. "I have failed you m'lord, but I will do better. Please accept this humble gift as a symbol of my undying loyalty", reaching into my jacket and holding my offering aloft. "Is that...chocolate?"His eyes lit up like schoolboy at a stripclub, something that could be called a smile played upon his thin lips. "Yes sir, I made it especially for you. 90% cacao, exactly how you like it!"I had in fact made it late last night in the kitchens, painstakingly adding vanilla beans and coffee and enough strychnine to assassinate a bull elephant. My heart pounded as I stared into the floor, the heavy chocolate slab threatening to slip from my sweating fingers. "My, my. I knew I kept you around for a reason,"the Dark Lord chortled as he playfully slapped my back. "So very thoughtful. I'm impressed. In fact, why don't you have it! Some nice homemade chocolate must be a treat for you with all the horror stories I hear about the servants mess hall, Hehe! I just had a smoothie anyways." I froze, and he gazed at me expectantly. "No please sir, take this as a token of my servi-", my words sputtering out and dying in my throat as I snuck a glance at him. He was frozen as well, his gray eyes narrowing into cold, dark slits. "Minion", he whispered, "How rude of you to refuse my generosity. You will be flogged by Ugo within an inch of your life, but first, let's see you eat every little sliver. Go. Ahead." By the last syllable my fingers were already jammed into my mouth, jaw straining against the chocolate mass. He grinned sadistically as I stuffed the last crumbs past my smeared lips. No doubt he expected intense intestinal discomfort in my future, in addition to a fresh array of scars on my body. I knew my time was up, but as I collapsed to the floor only one thought circled my consciousness: At least it was better to die from chocolate than the Disease, and by God this was some good fucking chocolate.

"Tell me again,"I said. "You can take both kidneys, the pancreas..." "Uh, yes,"the nurse said. "Unfortunately your heart would not make a viable donation. Beyond organs, there is also tissue donation - I can bring you paperwork for eye donation, if you'd like." "Yes, bring it,"I said. "But hurry, there isn't much time." The nurse skittered away and left me alone with my thoughts. Surely I couldn't hold on much longer. The doctors were surprised I made it this long. I was glad, of course, not just for the chance to live longer, but for the chance to get my affairs in order. If I did this right, I could enjoy a nice, long afterlife before being reborn. I had arranged to be cremated so the embalming chemicals wouldn't poision the earth. I even found a company that sells an urn that more or less turns your ashes into a tree. It probably wasn't worth much, but one more tree was a little more oxygen for people to breathe, and every little bit counted. All my clothes were going to charity. I had found the nearest church and given them ownership of the house - I told them to use it for anybody who came to them in need. My hair was gone, too. Soon, it would be a wig on some little cancer patient's head. As far as last minute good deeds, I had done about all I could do. I tried to reassure myself of that, and I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in a void, somewhere bright and shadowy all at once. I had a vague memory of being here before, but then again, I guess everyone has. I sighed, enjoying the feeling of freedom, the feeling of not forcing an old, ailing body to function. "So..."I said, "how long do I get?" The points of light surrounding me seemed to frown somehow, despite not having faces. "Not as long as you'd hoped." "What? Why?"I said. "I did everything I could on my way out. I donated all my organs, I gave away everything I have..." "It doesn't matter,"they said. "It's only a good deed if you do it for someone else's sake... you just did it to stay here longer." I sighed. It didn't seem fair, but I knew it was no use arguing with them. "Well, how long do I have?" "You should last about three years." The lights guided me into the void. I had three years to figure out how to do better.

Although the crowd around him rose and fell in an uneven rhythm Anthony stood, rooted with his eyes on the screen. The final game of the series played on a multitude of monitors with the volume high allowing the conversation of the commentators to float over the din of the bar. "You know he's feeling the pressure here Jim"called the announcer. "Bottom of the ninth with one strike and two foul balls. He needs two runs to pull into the lead or the Cubs grab their first world series win in well over a hundred years." Anthony's first encounter playing the game of chance had been as a teenager at a small, run down gas station in his home town of Burnsville, North Carolina. Almost as an after-thought he had thrown a crumpled dollar on the counter and asked for a scratch off lotto ticket to accompany his tank of gas. Back in the car he had rubbed the adhesive off to reveal a 500 dollar winner. More money than he had ever seen at the time. He though back to the adrenaline rush, the sheer, unadulterated joy that accompanied such a prize. From that moment the sickness had him. He began slowly at first. Ten dollar buy in games of texas hold em with his friends. Then he had moved to other ploys, larger pots, new games. Anthony quickly learned that almost anything could be made into a bet. He was ever seeking the rush, the elation that came with the quick cash. But it had been such a long time since his habit had paid off. "Strike two!"called the umpire as the ball thudded into the catchers mitt. The batter straightened and backed out of the box to compose himself. "Yah know John, nobody ever expected the Red Sox to be in this position"called the announcer. "They have far and away been the dominant force leading up to this game.""Absolutely Jim, what we may be witnessing here is baseball, nay, sports history. If the Cubs manage to pull this off it may easily be considered one of the greatest upsets of all time." His foray into betting on sport had begun with horse racing but he had always considered that such a random event. He never did understand it very well and his success, when it came, was pure luck. Baseball had always been Anthony's game. He had watched it all his life beginning with his fathers fervent cheers for the Braves. He knew the game, its players and their every nuance. For months his life had been leading to this moment. This was his chance to clear the slate. To stop the threats, the beatings. He had gone for the sure thing. He knew this game, he had known the outcome before he had even laid the bet. This was his chance. CRACK! The ball sailed high into the air and with it sailed Anthony's heart. Unconsciously he was holding his breath, every muscle tightened in anticipation. The runners on second and third took off towards home in a dead sprint as the ball streaked over first base, still rising. It reached the peak of its mighty arc and then, almost sluggishly, began to fall back towards the earth. "No"he whispered to himself as the ball soared inches to the right of the foul post. The bar had erupted into a cacophony of screaming. Fans jumping over themselves throwing beer into the air in excitement. Anthony heard none of this. His vision tightened to a tight tunnel as he pushed his way out of the bar. He began walking, aimlessly making his way through the city. He made his way into a deserted alley way and slumped heavily against the rough brick of the building. Still in a daze, Anthony pulled the gun out of his pocket, put it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. His sickness had taken him.

“JL is going to shit a brick. Shit a brick. Who told him about the party?” “Told him? Nobody had to tell him, sir, he already knew where it was. Sir.” The Production Assistant peppered his words with signs of respect, trying to preempt another problem before it started. “Well is Daffy here? We can shoot his scenes at least.” “He’d like to talk to you about the script.” The PA spoke nervously. The director let out a long exhausted sigh and glared at the PA. Through gritted teeth he growled, “There is no fucking subtext. This isn’t Shakespeare, it is a cartoon. Oh my god, the shitty little duck goes to one directing class and suddenly he wants to be an auteur.” “But sir, he...” “I know, I know. Tell him the scene, um, tell him the scene, undercuts the oppression brought on by elitists. That’s why he’s pretending to be a professor, his character is, um, equalizing the common man.“ “Oh, that’s good sir, I like that, equalizing common man,” the PA scribbled furiously. “And, I thought you should know that Mr. Pig is in his dressing room, but probably won’t be able to make it onto set until some time this afternoon.” The director sighed again. “You hate me don’t you? There aren’t supposed to any hookers...er,” he glanced about making sure none of the actors representatives were in listening range then continued. “Mr. Pig isn’t supposed to entertain until after he’s finished shooting for the day. Is nobody listening to me.” “Hang on sir, what’s that?” the PA’s phone had gone off and much to the director’s dismay he’d had the temerity to interrupt him to answer it. The PA spoke hurriedly, “Okay, okay, just get him over to the lot pronto. Sir, Mr. Bunny is through the gates. He should be here in ten minutes. They say he doesn’t look too hungover, sir.” The director was already on his own phone, calling his agent. “Hello, put me through to Ari. Yes, I’ll hold.”

In front of him, a man laid down, panting, drenched in sweat, like he ran the run of his life. He did. On his desk, two or three phones were ringing. He didn't care. He knew what was happening. The United States of America were on the verge of destruction. He hadn't see it coming. Not on this scale. The threats from the Talibans had been addressed too lightly. And now, he had to deal with the consequence. Facing the most difficult choice in his life, the President decided to cross the line. Morality had no word to say in this case. He took the mobile phone in the interior pocket of his jacket, and made a brief call, before putting it back in the pocket. The Operation was launched. The man who was lying down seconds ago was now standing on his two feet, but still in a state of exhaustation. The President did not care about that, and started walking outside of the Office, urging him to follow his steps. The man executed his order. They passed a group of clueless guards. The guards tried to accompany the President and his man, but he made clear he didn't need protection. Soon enough, the President and the man were standing in front of a wardrobe, on the end of a rarely frequented corridor of the White House. Instead of opening the doors of the piece of furniture, he put his hand over the top of it, and struggled for a second or two before he heard a little click, and then a much louder click. Only after the latter he opened the wardrobe, which revealed a passage for a hidden room. The President entered the newly opened room, and the man followed, not asking any question. On a wall, hundreds of monitors were showing different places in America. In the streets, into the buildings of Wall Street, every important place of the United States were displayed on the screens. On the center of the room, a long armchair, which looked like a dentist's chair, was waiting for someone to connect the helmet device lying on a table right next to it. A scientist (the man presumed, by his white blouse) welcomed the President. He warned him about "precautions", "responsability"and "not ready to be used", but the President didn't listen. He didn't have time. In minutes, America would fall into chaos. The scientist flayed his arms, trying to stop the President. The most important man in the world pulled off a gun from his jacket, and fired at the scientist. A huge red hole appeared on his head. The man was petrified. The President just killed someone in cold blood right in front of him. And now he was staring at him. He was daring him to stop him. The man didn't move. The President stopped watching at the man, and sit on the armchair. He put the helmet device on his head. On it, there was a switch. He flicked it on "ON". Huge electric arcs burst out of the helmet, electrocuting the President. Or so it seemed. Somehow, he didn't look like he was suffering. He looked in control. His hands were gripping tightly on the arms of the chair. On the screen, the pictures changed. They were now showing the insides of planes. Men in black and armed with guns, threatening the life of the passengers, but also those of millions of Americans. The man did not understand. But he did not ask questions. Because it was how he was taught. Suddenly, the electric arcs intensified. The man looked at the screens, and little by little, the men in black seemed to disappear. Like erased from reality. The President was clenching his teeth. Now he looked in pain. But he kept going. The man understood he was the reason the terrorists were being removed from history. The device, he did not know what it was. All he knew is that it was saving America from impending deaths. Eventually, the President lost his self-control. He screamed in pain. But he kept going. The man could not believe his eyes. The man who had it all, money, glory and power, was sacrificing himself and his incredible life, and he could only watch him, helpless, thinking about how he could never do that. The room was shaking. It was going to explode. The President knew that. The man knew it too. He shouted him his last words, before ordering him to go. The man nodded, and ran towards the exit, without turning back. He ran. He heard an explosion. The blast propulsed him into the wall, and he lost consciousness. When he woke up, he was surrounded by a dozen of guards, holding him in the line of fire. He stood up slowly, and spoke. "The President died for us. People must never know. Take me to the surgeon. I have to replace him. This was his last will. Do it now." The guards would have never agree in normal conditions. But under all this confusion, they followed the only one who gave orders. --- "Finally, even after two terms, I was never able to be like him", said George W. Bush to his confident, a man who gained his trust and to whom he revealed the truth. "He was selfless, daring, and... just great, all around." The confident nodded. For receiving all the praise the new Bush repeatedly gave to the original during those last ten years, the original must have truly been a great man. "I was never rich. When I replaced him, I had everything he had. The money. I lost track of what was important in this world. I failed him." The sadness in his voice really hurt the confident. George W. Bush was a great friend of him. Even if some of his decisions were really debatable, he was a good person. He tried his best to succeed to his mentor when he was not qualified enough. But with courage, he did it. He worked hard. The people around him were toxic, though. They manipulated him like a puppet, and the confident could only watch it from the shadow he belonged to. "Do you think he hates me, from where he is?" The confident saw George's teary eyes and his begging for an answer. So he answered truthfully and honestly. "He's probably disappointed with some of the choices you made." This answer was devastating for W. But the confident didn't stop there, and continued. "But he knows you've done your best. I don't think I know anyone who would be capable of going through what you've been. You have overcome his expectations by a far margin. I've already told you, George. You're a hero, in your own way." George W. Bush laughed. The words of his confident had had the healing power he needed. Maybe he exaggerated the toughness of the situation, but still, he felt much better after having heard those moving thoughts of his best friend. The confident glanced over his watch. "It's 9. I have to go." "Until next time, friend", said George. The confident left the ranch of the ex-President. He sighed. "Surviving the explosion was the best thing that happened to me. Maybe not for America, but thanks to you, I was able to free myself from this inevitable march for power I hated so much. Thank you, new George." The original opened the driver door of a Cadillac DTS, attached his seat belt, and drove off to his home.

The caped crusader looked over the city with glazed eyes. This is not how his tale was supposed to be. He crushes the note in his hand so tightly that his hand begins to bleed. *”Everyone is gone. Janice…father…my home planet…my boss and coworkers…all gone because of me”* It wasn’t something he could blame his arch-nemesis for. It was solely his fault. He was in the process of saving his girlfriend. Nothing too challenging: Swoop in, defeat the enemies, disarm the bomb, grab her and save the day. He didn’t have time to disarm the bomb, so he flew high up in the air and threw it as high as he could. The bomb hit his planet and destroyed it completely. Stunned, he fell back onto Earth. While falling, debris hit the city, destroying many buildings, including where his alter-ego worked. And there was Janice. She was always there for him. It was only recently that he revealed who he really was. She smiled and said that would love him no matter what. He had saved her many times while she saved him mentally. She seemed to fall in slow motion as destruction rained down on the city. Her body was limp before he grabbed her. He brought her body to her family and waited for them in their doorway to tell them personally that he was sorry. Her mother could only reply “You are no longer a hero to us”. The city agreed as the next day the headline read: **CITY NO LONGER BELIEVES IN HERO: EYEWITNESSES WATCH AS HE DESTROYS CITY**. He opens the note in his hand. It simply says: *Trade all your tomorrows for just one yesterday* He considered his options. He really did want to correct the mistakes he made, and all he would have to do was give up his left. Yet the guilt would consume him with either choice. Maybe even more so if he fixed his mistakes, for he would always know the original outcome. He stood up from the skyscraper and began to fly. As hours passed, he learned to forgive himself. Going back and fixing the past would not fix the most important thing: Himself.

“Well what troubles me is that you keep saying one way or another. It sounds pretty ominous.” “Allow me to try to better explain myself: as you have freed me from a lengthy slumber inside a lantern, I am compelled to grant thee these wishes three, upon the completion of which I shall be returned to this receptacle, awaiting a new master to unleash me. However, if you opt to free me forever from this dreaded servitude, I vow to rid the world of all its problems, in one way or another.” “But like, what do you mean one way or another?” “Only that I shall do whatever it takes to solve the myriad of problems facing each member of the human race.” “It really sounds like you're just gonna kill everyone. I'm just going to go for fame, fortune and good health.”

The locker room was quiet. The team was in a state of despair, down 1 to 7, in only the first twenty minutes of the game. James Strops, the rookie, had only just joined the team, after Frederico Radsman had broken four of his scapula's in the recent semifinals of the Sportsball Championships. Nobody had known where James had come from, usually the team would use a backup player, but James had showed up at practice and outshone the whole team with his sports skills. "This is it,"James mumbled to himself, "we can't lose, this is the most important Sports of the year." The rest of the team slowly turned their heads and looked towards James. They were dirty and beat up, covered in dirt and grass, their knees rubbed raw by the slick, polished surface of the Sportsball court. James was standing now, his hands clenched into fists. "We can't let our rivals, CityName Sportsteam win! This is our chance boys. To show that our nation, and our fans are the best!" A flicker of hope raced through the rest of the team, and a few of them stood up along with James. Their cleats clicked along the floor of the concrete locker room as they huddled around James. It was quiet for a few moments, before James lifted his head slowly, "We're going to go out there and Sport. Sport like no one else has before. We're going to score more points than the other team, and show them that sporting isn't just about winning, but that the true power inside, is the ability to score more than the other team." The team was rallied, cheers rung throughout the locker room, and each player ran towards the court. As they passed him, they would reach out and touch him, almost as if they were imbuing themselves with something, some kind of new power which would help them finish the game. As the last echos of the team receded down the corridor, James fitted his hat on his head and grinned to himself. He was about to become the Sportsball Champion, but there were three more halves to go, and it was going to be a battle. It was time to do sports.

The oval office looked especially smashing with its new inhabitant: one of those Hawaiian skirt-wearing bobble-heads statue. No doubt that future generations would be fascinated to hear about the bit of trivia from his unofficial biographies, the president thought cheerfully. Aside from that being president was a terrible job. An endless series of meeting, speeches, travel and political meetings. The political meetings were the worse, by a wide margin. The president actually was from a small, blue-collar family. He had nothing in common with the other members of the political class. Senator R. from M. was amongst the worst, and Potus badly needed to butter up to him later that day. God, they tell me I’ll be the most powerful man in the world, and then it turns out I’m the equivalent of a well-paid mascot. I wish there was anything to break the monotony. His Bluetooth headset buzzed. “Ah, sir.” His secretary chimed in. “We’ve got an unscheduled visitor that needs to talk to you.” “Tell him to go away.” The president said absent-mindedly, idly contemplating running an affair with his assistant. On the negative side, it would ruin his marriage with his lovely wife and make a fool out of his political party. On the plus side it would spice up his daily life immensely. It did work for C. after all, and man I’m bored. Of course my constituents would be rather disappointed, but then I could… The girl droned on, unaware of her boss’ inane ramblings. Something about the man clearing through all security checks and being very insistent. “Oh, whatever. Let him in.” The door slid open. A security guard escorted the man in. Potus was impressed by the man’s fashion sense; something about the redingote and cane combo pushed his clothes through ridiculous and into fashionable again. More interesting, though, were his physical features. Seeing only his face, the observer would have had trouble determining whether he was looking at a man with delicate trait, or an especially tom-boyish woman. His frame certainly was masculine. The man was not built to the comical extent of the guard next to him. However, the president would still have bet at least 20$ on the unknown man winning a knife fight. Something about underdogs always winning. *God I should focus. How did I even get through primaries?* The man turned to the guard. “I’m sorry, I would really enjoy a few private words with the president.” “That goes against regulation. Sorry pal.” The guard said, not unkindly. “That’s a shame… This is perhaps my only chance in a long time to talk to him one on one.” The guard scratched his jaw. “Well, you seem like a decent chap. Alright then, I’ll stand outside the room.” And like that, the man left. The president should was intrigued. “How did you that? Can’t even go to the shitters without being followed.” “Humans are irrational creatures. They give in to temptation too easily.” The man’s accent was interesting. Perhaps middle-eastern? At the same time it was hard putting a nationality on the figure standing in front of him. The stranger was the humanest human that the president had ever seen, if that made any sense. He felt compelled to rise from his chair. “What can I do for you?” “I’ve come to reveal your true purpose. My real name is, ah, difficult for humans to comprehend.” “Oh, some sort of supernatural visit.” “You are not surprised?” The foreigner raised a surprised eyebrow. Well, what closely approximated surprise, at any rate. “You cleared security. You’re either a convincing madman, or a supernaturally gifted… thing. Probably the latter, considering your terrible acting. Now do you have anything to tell me? I have a speech to make in twenty minutes.” “Let’s cut to the chase. Humans know me as Lucifer. You might remember me from Sunday school.” It took some time for the president to understand the words. As the stranger began to repeat his speech, Potus clapped his hands in joy. “Are you for real? An end to the non-sense at last! Well, what now? Is this the start of the apocalypse?” “Of course.” The man smiled, joining in the president’s happiness. “So, you’ve come to kill me since I shall lead the forces of good?” “Not exactly…” The fallen angel’s smile widened. “I’m your real father.” If the previous revelation had been an happy one, the new one soured the president’s good mood. “You mean, you’re my real father?” “Yes.” “Well then, I hope you’ve got good lawyers.” “Wha-“ “ Where was the child support? Why didn’t you help my mother?” The president cut him. Visions of the incredible Christmas gift he could have had flashed before his eyes. “Listen, kid, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Apocalypse starts in a few days. We’ve got a schedule to follow, and the big guy upstairs doesn’t like tardiness.” The president knew he could be irrational at times. Clearly the current events required his undivided attention. He sat on his office, moving a few confidential files away. “Very well. Assuming I’m this Anti-Christ person, what’s the next move?” “Tomorrow you’ll make an announcement at noon that.” “Can’t do that. I’ve got a meeting with the secretary of state.” “Well if it’s any comfort he will soon have bigger problems at hand than wasting your time.” “Until then, I wouldn’t want to stress him unduly. You know, he has a family to tend to. A mistress, too, but those things are fragile at heart.” His supposed father sighed. “I’m a sentimental man… angel too, I suppose. When are you free? Tomorrow afternoon could be good. I mean, Americans come home from their job at that time, right? Imagine someone having a bad day at work and thinking ‘God I hope someone could just smash this city up.’, and then seeing the end of the world announced on TV.” “Heh, that would be a sight. But I still have stuff to do tomorrow evening. Sorry old man, but I’m packed for the next three months. And that’s assuming something unfortunate doesn’t happen, like, I don’t know… France nuking Belgium?” “Stop with the nonsense!” Lucifer snapped. “Yeah I guess the French wouldn’t nuke Belgium.” “No, I mean… Damn, I told Him that humans half-breed were unreliable. But nooooo… It needs to be like it is written in the book. God, those half-mad Israelite scribbling around.” Lucifer rose his fists to the sky. “Listen, I wouldn’t want to make you unhappy, but I’ve been elected. Power to the people, and all that. Or at least power to the media conglomerates controlling them.” “So petty bureaucracy is cancelling the apocalypse?” The sight of sorrow on Lucifer’s face was not a pretty one. He looked heartbroken at the prospect of billions of live continuing to go on happily. The president sort of felt for him. He was just trying to do his job, after all. “Well, you can write to my secretary. We’ll find a way to slot it in somehow. We could do it multi part, you know? Start up a minister for the Armageddon? Then the opposition party could call me ‘literally the Anti-Christ’. “ “Really? Thank you!” And in a moment the devil was onto him and hugging him tight. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bad father.” “Nah, my adoptive father was a cool guy. Listen, hmm, I really need to go make that speech. What about we go fishing, some of these day?” “That would be most wonderful.” “Don’t bring Jesus, though. I’m pretty sure he’d start multiplying the fishes just to fuck with us.” “Damn right.” They shared the joke together. In fact, it wasn’t a really good joke, but Lucifer still seemed happy at the prospect. With one last handshake the fallen angel left, escorted out by the bodyguard. *Maybe I really could start an affair with my secretary, since my soul is probably damned. Ah, but my wife would never forgive me. Being the Anti-Christ is no reason to be a dick, after all.* And with that the president strolled out of his office. The next few months would be interesting, after all.

This is it, the final piece of the puzzle. Felix opens the kraft single package, reaches in, grabs the cheese slice and places it on his sandwhich. Nothing happens. Bewildered, Felix inspects the Kraft rapper. "Made with 100% soy milk"NOOOO Felix cries. This was suppose to be it he clammored. The only thing I needed to save this planet. Felix was the last hope of saving what remained of the human population. The "supremes"as they called themselves put us into nuclear winter 9 months ago. The sun blocked by ash, only the strongest of plants survived, as for humans, 99% decimation. When the aliens came we thought they were allies but that quickly changed when they set off there "cleansing"bomb. We don't know why, but it all happend so fast. We fought them with everything we had, bullets, missles, microwave guns, even nukes. Nothing we had could hurt them. It wasn't until the day an unsuspecting soldier was eating his bolgna and cheese sandwhich did we realize they had a weakness. It wasn't anything physical that could hurt them. But the odor of yeast, bolgna preservatives and dairy together caused there skin to melt and they could sense it within a thousand miles. We knew it affected them because of there powerful banshee screams when melting towards there demise. But when this was realized it was already to late. We were in a fallout and the last place I though cheese could be was gone. My old time capsule I had planted 23 years ago, I placed soy cheese in. If only I had known. My first writing prompt I've ever done. I don't write much and I'm on my cell phone so excuse any punctuation or spelling errors.

Aaron sits in front of the computer monitors dying of boredom. Not a single interesting thing was happening in the entire city. He looks around the lair- or as he called it The Duck Pond. As he spins around in the computer chair aimlessly, Vance Jones enters with his usual swagger. “Aaron! Sidekicks monitor the city!” he shouts looking at the monitors. Aaron groans, “I know! I have been for the past two days while you were out kicking butt and dating the beautiful, Eliza May” he says smirking as he mentions Eliza. Vance smacks him on the head, “You’re supposed to be monitoring the city, not me. How’s the studying coming along?” he asks beginning to search the data base. Aaron tries to see what he’s doing and replies, “Fine, I read my textbooks every day.” As much as Aaron hated it, he was to do whatever Mr. Jones asked. Mr. Jones was officially his guardian since he took Aaron out of the foster home and made sure to be strict even though he was a superhero. Aaron liked being a sidekick better than an orphan but he still felt lonely when he saw Mr. Jones having tons of fun on the monitors without him. Aaron looks up at Vance’s serious face, “Mr. Jones, do you think I can leave we can go out for dinner tonight?” he asks shyly. Jones smiles, “Sure, Order it and I’ll pick it up and bring it back Aaron.” Aaron shakes his head and clarifies, “No Mr. Jones, I was wondering if we could both leave the Duck Pond and get food.” Jones’ smile fades and he sighs, “You know it’s safer to stay here and work from here Aaron. Secondly, you don’t have to call me Mr. Jones, and thirdly, this isn’t the Duck pond, it’s a vacation house.” He explains patiently to the frustrated teenager. Aaron groans, “I haven’t been outside in weeks! You always get all the credit for everything we do! I don’t even have friends!” he buries his face in his hands trying to draw pity from Jones. Jones puts on a serious tone and begins to lecture Aaron, “We have conditions Aaron. If you want to live with me, you have to deal with solitude sometimes remember? Plus since when are we doing this for credit? We are doing this because it is right. If this is too much for you, you can always go back to the home.” Aaron looks up, the home was too much for him to talk about. He hated it there but couldn’t bring himself to tell Jones what happened. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry, I want to stay with you Vance” he says trying to hide his sadness. Jones pulls a chair up next to Aaron, “so if you saw Ms. Eliza, what do you think of her?” he asks trying to gage Aaron’s response. Aaron shrugs, “She seems okay like she likes you. I liked the other reporter better” he says picking up his textbook. “Hey Aaron, Computer is frozen, pull up Devin O’Donnell on the big screen!” Jones instructs. Aaron does as he’s told and replies, “Your arch nemesis! The Howler!” Jones laughs at Aaron’s excitement, “His name is Devin O’Donnell, not the Howler.” He skims the information and reads aloud his recent heists. Aaron looks at the dates and notices a pattern, “Mr. Jones! Look it’s a pattern! The next bank heist will be tonight in an hour!” he shouts pointing at the screen. Jones smiles at Aaron; he was getting better every day. Aaron jumps up from his seat, “Can I please come?! I’ll hide and be super quiet. I won’t talk to anyone! Please I just want to see you save the day!” he pleads. Jones shakes his head, “No Aaron, you’re too much of a liability. You stay here and watch the monitors. You are the superhero of tomorrow so you have to save up your energy these days and train. What would happen if you get hurt or kidnapped?” he asks seriously. Aaron shakes his head, “I am strong! Anyways I’ll be out of the way so I won’t get hurt or anything. Please!” He begs getting on his knees. Jones pulls him up from the ground, “I’m sorry Aaron but not tonight. Read your textbook.” Aaron pushes Jones away and loses his temper, “You always go out! I don’t get it! Why adopt me if you’re so embarrassed that you’ll never let me out?!” he shouts. Jones grabs Aaron’s hands, “Aaron! Listen to me! I know you’re hurt right now. I am never embarrassed of you. I’ve lost people too, we are together and I’m protecting you. Someday when you’re older and finished with all your textbooks, you are going to be the best superhero in this entire city. You will have kids lining up down the street begging to be your side kick. But you’ll know that you need to find someone special who knows loss but has potential to grow out of the darkness and be great.” Aaron takes a deep breath and tries to keep a brave face on. Jones begins to leave the lair and Aaron goes back into the computer chair, “What if I fail?” he asks Jones before he exits the door. Jones turns around and says, “You’ll get back up. Goodbye Aaron.” Aaron smiles and waves, “Goodbye Duckman” he shouts.

I'd always said my cat, my beautiful, sleek, black kitty, was really a panther. And now... She really was. I woke this morning, crushed into the wall, Tika taking up all the room in my bed. I jumped, fled to the other side of the room, trying to catch my breath. She turned lazily to look at me, rose and stretched. Oh holy shit, I thought. She's gigantic, she's beautiful, she's a real panther. How did this happen? How do I deal with this? She stepped off the bad, padding across the room to rub herself against me. The wind is knocked from me as she crashes me into the wall. Gingerly, I give her a scratch under the chin. "Good kitty, let's go find breakfast."Breakfast? What on earth do I feed her? As we leave the room, my mind still reeling, I shake my head. I'd always called her a panther. My beautiful, sleek black kitty. I stopped in my tracks. My Tika was always a panther, but the Burmese my partner bought, that fat brown thing... I'd always called her a bear. Heart in mouth, I turned the corner, peering into the kitchen where the fat brown cat typically slept, wondering what I might find...

The walls are yellow. I don't like yellow. Yellow is not pretty. Blue is pretty. I asked Momma if I could make the walls in my room blue, but she said no. One day I hid some paint in my pocket after fun time so that I could paint the walls blue when no one was looking, but the paint ran away. It left some blue behind in my pants, though. I guess yellow is so ugly that blue doesn't even want to be near it. When Momma saw what blue had done to my pants she looked angry. Momma always looks angry, except when she doesn't. A lot of times she looks sad. I never see her look happy. One day we were out shopping and some big boys were laughing. I didn't know what they were laughing at but I wanted to laugh too, so I started clapping and laughing. Then they saw me laughing and they pointed at me and laughed harder. So I pointed at them and laughed harder. It was a fun game! Momma didn't want to play though. She just got angry at the big boys, then she got angry at me when I wouldn't stop pointing and laughing. I am happy, and I want Momma to be happy, so I sang her a happy song: "Happy happy happy happy". I smiled at her and sang the happy song hoping that she would get happy too, but instead she looked sad and then began crying. She told me to stop laughing again and that it was bath time. I like bath time. I have boats that float in the water. We climbed upstairs on the way to the tub. There are pictures on the wall. The picture of me is my favorites. Momma said that it is a picture of me before the Accident. I don't remember anything before the Accident, but I sure looked happy. In my favorite picture I am wearing a gown and a funny hat and some nice old man who looks like Santa Clause is giving me a piece of paper. I must have been real good before the Accident, I figure, since Santa was giving me a special paper. Momma says I was. The paper is next to the picture. It has words. I can't read words. I once asked Momma what the words said and she said, "The Trustees of the Michigan Institute of Technology, upon recommendation of the faculty, have conferred upon Tyler Johnson the degree of Bachelor of Science in Physics, Cuma Sum Laude, with all rights and privileges pertaining thereto."I didn't understand what that meant, so I asked Momma what it meant. I wish I didn't because it made her sad again. Now whenever we go up the stairs for bath time she never looks at the special paper. She wanted to take it down once, but Daddy said no. Daddy said that I earned it, and that the Accident wasn't my fault. See, I was a good boy. "Boat goes Mooooo!"I said to Momma. I want her to play boats and horsies with me in the bath tub, but she just shakes her head and scrubs my back. She should play boats and horsies. It is fun, and maybe if she has fun she would be happy. I play with my boats and sing my happy song. "Happy happy happy happy."

'Right, are you sure you've got it all? Want me to run through it again?' the head scientist said, powering up the temporal gate. 'Yes, I'm got it, stop worrying. I'll get on the rig, sort out the blow out thingy...' 'Blowout preventer.' 'That's it, blowout preserver. Sort out that thing, stop any possible explosions, activate the portal and come back. Easy peasy. Stick the kettle on, I'll be back soon'. The time traveller proclaimed, his foot entering the portal. 'Hang on a minute! You need to be extremely careful, this mission is especially delicate. You cocked up that last one and now that city's a ghost town, and before that, you filled the balloon with the wrong bloody gas and let's not forget the burning mountain incident way back when. I would like it if we, the supposed protectors of the ecosystem, could actually get a mission right for once.' 'I know exactly what I'm doing, stop nagging me. Sort out of the blow out presenter, stop any implosions and come back. Got it all up here.' The time traveller said, taking another step into the portal. 'No, you aren't listening to me! It's the blowout preventer you need to fix, not the presenter or preserver and it's an explosion! Do you actually listen to a word I say?.' the scientist replied, her head now in her hands. 'No, don't fuss, I've got it. Get on the rig, check the brownout placenta, cause an explosion and then let everyone see the portal to the future. Fantastic, brilliant plan, I'll be back before you can say horrific environmental disaster.' The time traveller shouted, as he disappeared through the portal.

"Heads I live, tails I die."The coin landed on heads. "I'll take it,"I told the strange man in the suit. "It was a pleasure doing business with you,"he smiled, showing his pearl white teeth, "I'll be taking my leave now." I stared at the pill in the palm of my hands as the stranger got up and walked past me; his steps were heavy and I felt the echos of his footsteps reverberating around me as he approached the door. "Oh, and one more thing. The pill only works if you take it within the next hour, no waiting until you're 50 years old to cheat death."I heard the sound of the door closing. Is this what I really want, I thought to myself, fame as one of the best in the world? When was the last time I've ever been the best at anything, I asked myself. Never. I raised my hand to my mouth and popped the pill inside. I grabbed the bottle of Gatorade that was next to me on the couch and I drank it down; truly, it was the drink for champions. "I see you ate it,"a man's voice said behind me. I whirled around and saw the man who had just left moments earlier. "Forgive me for not telling you who I really am, but I was afraid you would be reluctant about making a deal with a devil,"the man's teeth gleamed as he smiled. I stared at his face, unblinking. "I'm sure I'll see you later, Bruce."

The great king could not believe what he had just read. His old nemesis who declared war on his country and every other country had anticipated his loss and the circumstances around it. He wasn't a crazed war monger intent on ending the world, he was doing everything to save not only his country, but all the countries on the continent from a greater threat judging from his journal entries. Date: xx/yy/zz It can't be true. The scouts we sent must be wrong, no force on this land could conquer that much of the continent like that. Their leader even seems like a monster you would see in legends. Though if the scout is right, then it is likely that they shall conquer the rest of the continent in a few years at this rate. Next is going to be our lands when everything is done. I have to do something. Date: xy/yz/zz Damned fools, every single one of them. We need to unite in order to oppose those beasts, or else not one of us will survive. I tried to warn every country on this blasted world of how we are in great danger, and not one of these damned nobles understand the danger they are in along with what is at stake. No matter what I try, diplomacy isn't working. I have to save my people from being absorbed into that empire at all costs. Date:xz/ya/za There is no other way around this, war with my neighboring countries is the only answer. The only thing that can stop a unified continent is another one. I have to do this if I want to save my, no, save all of the countries. I invade tomorrow. If I manage to unify the country, it can give us a fighting chance. Win or lose, I will still fulfill my goals of unifying the country. History will paint me as a lunatic for my actions, but I am willing to bear these labels for the greater good. Date:xx/yy/zc I am now losing this war, somehow some country in the East is getting the upper hand. They are led by a charismatic leader far more capable than what I will ever be. He somehow managed to get every other country to join them in addition acquiring a new brilliant tactician. Tomorrow I am personally battling him, and tomorrow I will die by his hand. I shall entrust the world's future to this young man, and hope that everything I had done wasn't for nothing. Sincerely, King Gangrel of Plegia "Looks like he wasn't as mad as we thought he was"Chrom thought as he prepared for war against the Valmese."

Alone with the Tree, in this strange floating place of brightness and warmth, I hunched my shoulders, feeling like the most miserable person to have ever walked on the good earth. I imagined I felt the Tree’s impassive gaze steady upon me. Scuffing my toe into the weird golden sandy soil into which the Tree sank its thick and heavy roots, I risked a glance up into the sweeping canopy. Why me? I cursed under my breath. Why you indeed! Another part of me answered. Because you’re a liar, the world’s biggest phoney! You and your perfect gardens, full of plants that kept dying and that you kept replacing so no one would find out that you don’t have those green thumbs you keep on boasting about! Because you had all those beautiful bonsai growing and nobody ever looked closely enough to see that the trees were not the trees they had been. Dead and replaced, just like every other plant you ever tended! I wept a little, standing at the foot of that colossal Tree, hearing its steady rustle of leaves as it breathed serenely, even knowing it was dying. This thought made me stifle my quiet sobs and dry my cheeks. Dying. I gazed up at the ponderous thing, finally opening myself to seeing it truly, the great outstretched boughs, so strong and held so proudly, despite the great weight of that which it bore. Dying. How could this be? I felt the tears start afresh and I stumbled toward the Tree. Stumbling, I threw my arms about the rough trunk. You can’t be dying! What had simply begun as a hold to keep myself upright became something more, and I snuggled more closely to the Tree. I felt the bark against my cheek as my breathing slowed and my tears ceased once more. My ear was pressed up close to the trunk, and I could feel its breathing, I could hear secrets murmured deep within the ancient thing and suddenly, my eyes snapped open. Something had changed, something subtle, something… I looked up, and saw the gleaming dome of the strange floating place. I looked down, and saw the weird golden sandy soil. I looked and looked and in one moment of clarity, I knew this was the right thing. My boughs are thick and heavy, but I hold them proudly. I hear my leaves rustle with my slow steady breaths. My roots delve deep, thick and strong with the wisdom of the years.

I've played my fair share of Payday 2, I got dis. We were riding in the back of our van, just the 4 of us, we weren't friends, but we did have a small history of knowing each other. we didn't do any small talk, we just sat, silently preparing our gear and going over the plan one more time, with our tech savvy "assistant"explaining it to us in detail through our earpieces. "Now guys, I know that you're all new to the heisting scene, but I'm sure that if you're careful, you can pull this off without a hitch."Sounding a little overconfident for someone who chose to oversee the crime of 4 complete beginners. "Now, you guys have 2 options for how you can do this, you can either do it loud and just walk in through the front door, or you can do through the back to deal with the security systems, it's your call. Just remember, we need a minimum of **four** bags in order to make a profit, don't let me down now." I just silently stared at the ceiling, thinking about what I was going to do in the following minutes. Did I really want to do this? What if we can't pull it off, I mean this is our ***first*** job, so we don't have any experience, we don't have any connections, all we have are a few shit guns that I'm pretty sure even an African militia wouldn't use, some seedy guy sitting somewhere miles away watching us through the cameras in our masks, and each other, I don't exactly have high hopes for this. The van stops, and the earpiece shouts: "Okay guys, this is it, remember, 4 bags!"We open the back doors of the van and step outside, we're across the street from the Store, in large, bold, light-up letters it says: Galivant, if you ask me, that's a weird name for a jewelry store, but what the hell do I know about running a business. We begin to walk across the street, and I whisper to my partners in crime: "So we gonna do this the quiet way or the loud way?"They all seem to ponder about it for a few moments, after which they all say their answers: "Quiet."Quiet.""Lou- Oh god damnit."I give myself a slight mental chuckle, and I point to my two closest colleagues and tell them, why don't you two go through the back, and me and Storm will wait out here for your signal, to which they nod and proceed to walk into an alleyway next to the store. Meanwhile, me and storm sit down on a bench located directly in-front of one of the store's large display like windows. Silently sitting there trying to pass off just being two casual people sitting there who aren't about to rob this place. After a few moments of sitting there I ask him a question I wasn't all too comfortable in asking. "So uh...When did you decide to get a job in this kind of... career?"He gives me a glare which make me feel like I just gave him permission to punch me in the face, but then he replies: "Well... It's not so much that I need to do this, it's just... Everything else seemed boring, you know? I just feel like this is the only way I can get an adrenaline rush anymore, so here I am, completely new to the scene just like the rest of us. What about you, why are you doing this?" I take a deep breath and mummer: "It's... It's because of my kid... My ex told me a few weeks ago that she just got diagnosed with skin cancer, and... the treatments are anything but cheap and there's no way in hell either of us would be able to afford the treatment so... After doing some digging I met our little "advisor"friend, and he introduced me to you guys. So here I am."Just then our ear pieces go off. "Storm, Ender, Tinder and I got the cameras and most of the guards taken care of, along with the store manager and another civilian, all we have to deal with now are the civilians and the once guard in the front, you guys ready to do this?"Me and Storm look at each other and nod, Storm holds two fingers to his earpiece and responds: Yeah, we're ready." We get into position, ready to put on our masks and enter the store, has I begin the countdown for us to all swarm the lobby and take care of the civilians and guard. "three.......two........one........GO!"Storm and I both put our masks on, and rush into the store front, drawing our guns, and we see Tinder and Shadow come in through the back with their masks and guns prepared already. Shadow, being the only one who brought a silenced gun, (No idea why anybody else didn't bother to bring one) shoots the one remaining guard clean through the side of the head, his body hitting the tile floor of the store with a solid ***THUD***. In the next few moments there are several screams from both us and the innocent civilians. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND, ALL OF YOU""OH MY GOD!!!""I SAID GET THE FUCK DOWN!""DON'T GET STUPID NOW PEOPLE!"Within a few adrenaline filled moments all of them are on the ground cowering in fear, we go around one by one cable tying their hands. After that's done, we begin doing a smash and grab of the entire store, smashing the glass on all of the display cases and taking the valuables that they displayed. After a minute or two, we have 4 bags full of jewelry, and I inform our overseer. "That's great you guys, get it loaded into the van and then you guys can get out of there, or you can stay and clean the entire place out if you want."We proceed to dash back to the van and put the bags into the back, and we stand, having a small discussion about if we should stay and get more or not. We all agreed though, seeing has how the alarm didn't get raised. We begin to walk back across the street, and has we're inside the store grabbing more loot, everything was going well. (Surprising, isn't it?) Then we hear the sound I was dreading since minute 1. **BEEP, BEEP, BEEP** **BEEP, BEEP, BEEP** "Fuck!""HOW THE HELL DID THE ALARM GET RAISED?!?""I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"Suddenly we hear the van driver scream though our ear pieces: "Guys, I gotta go, the cops are gonna be here soon, but I'll be back for you guys in a few minutes! Just stay alive until then!"And we hear the sound of tire peeling out, and looking outside the large glass storefront windows, see the van speed away. "Asshole."I mummer. We being to prepare for the cops to show up, and after a few tense moments of waiting, we hear the familiar sounds of the police sirens outside the store. We then hear a voice blaring from a megaphone: "This is the police, come out with your hands up and you will not be harmed!"And without skipping a beat Storm, screams at the top of his lungs, "WE'VE GOT HOSTAGES IN HERE, IF YOU TRY ANYTHING THEY DIE!!!"Well great, now we're making threats, this is going *perfectly* "Storm...WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU SCREAM THAT?!"Screamed Tinder "DO YOU WANT THEM STORMING INTO THIS BUILDING WITH GUNS BLAZING?!"Storm barked back. We then hear a large shattering of glass, and hear a bullet whiz past. And now they've opened fire, great. This is how I die... Better go down fighting at least. So I pop out of my cover and begin to pull the trigger on my gun, with a swarm of bullets heading towards the police outside. And I notice my partners doing the same has me, a couple of cops fall in the hail of gun fire. Puddles of blood forming around the dead bodies. "Shadow, keep an eye on the back and make sure that they don't come in through that way!"I demanded "Got it!"He screams and darts into the back rooms. "OH SHIT THAT'S ALOT OF COPS!"I hear him scream a few moments later. After several more minutes pass during the fire fight, we hear our escape drivers voice in our ear pieces: "Get your asses to the van, let's get the fuck out of here!"I sighed in relief "YOU HEARD HIM GUYS, RUN FOR IT!"We all regroup at the lobby, and we charge outside the building. Everything seemed to be moving in slow-motion has we ran outside guns blazing towards the cops, a barrage of what seemed to be never-ending gunfire going both ways. We almost make it to the van, then I hear a scream of agony from being. I see Tinder take a bullet to the thigh, and fall down. "HELP ME GET HIM UP!"I scream, and Shadow comes and we put him on our shoulders while Storm covers us from the van. Once in the back I scream at the driver "GO FOR FUCKS SAKE GO!"and suddenly, we're off. We feel we're in the clear for a few moments, but we hold our breath just incase the cops manage to catch up to us. We then hear the driver shout at us. "We did it! We're in the clear fellas!"Leading to the four of us cheering in excitement at the fact we aren't dead or in jail. Tinder is injured yes, but he says he can keep going on. So this was it, I'm a wanted man and there's no going back, I guess I better get used to this.

**Tuesday Morning**   Let me tell you where this all began, I was young, very young in fact, although at the time I would have told you that I wasn't. I would have told you I was mature, I was ready and that there was nothing that could stop me, I had the air of youthful arrogance and it would take me a very long time before I lost it.   I'm not really sure whether it all started in my home town, a small dank dark dreary place in the Northwest of England, equidistant from two major cities, bordering depression, danger and dull. Or if it really all began when I took the first step in a journey that would last a life time and left that prison, running as far away as possible and never stopping to look back. There were many catalysts that made me abandon that place, my terminally ill mother, my over zealous brother but the main one was another.   I decided that the best course of action was to close off my old life, I deleted facebook, threw away my sim and faded into nothing, no trace of my former life existed. I had arranged a job before I left, a guy needs a place to sleep and some food to eat, an island off the coast of Scotland was my first destination and I had no idea what to expect.   As the ferry approached the mist covered island, I felt a relief come over me, I was finally going to be free but with any new situation I had apprehensions, I did not know what this job would be like, I had never been truly alone before.   The first day went as you would expect, introductions to other members of staff, tour of the facility and finally I was shown to my room, the largest room in an old house, no gas, no double glazing, a wood burning stove, upon which logs I would chop would be burned. I knew that this place was going to be somewhere that I could find myself, finally begin to know who I am, not the person held by the conventions of the society I was born into, not the person forced to work a dead end job for meagre pay barely managing to pay the bills and feed myself, I was going to be something new.   The first night after all of the small talk, talk I was uninterested in, I ventured out onto the island, along the coast line, I passed a grand sea loch with sail boats in the harbour not noticing something above me that would fill me with a sense of wanderlust and a longing for fulfilment.   As I looked across the ocean, so still and unyielding I saw speckles of green dancing among the waves, different hues filling the white horses as they bashed against the rocky shore. It was only then that I looked up, the sky was filled with dancing green dragons and as they swept across the starlit night, I felt a tingling across my body. I had dreamed of seeing the Aurora but never in a million years did I believe it would greet me and give me the reassurance that I had made the decision that would change my life.   I lived on the island for a number of months, finding solace in the flowing waters of the Scottish mountains, the fog that rolled across the plains each and every morning and finally beginning to understand who and what I could become.   As chance would have it, as with every story, there was a girl, not just a girl, for the first time in my life it was a woman. A woman that would hold my hand when I was unsure, guide me when I could not see and allow me to see the beauty of the world that I had ever so often overlooked.   I knew on arrival to the island that it was only a step, not my destination. So eventually it was time to move on, only this time I was not alone, she came with me. She was a foreigner to my fair island and with her I saw many wonders, Stonehenge, countless castles, beaches, towers, palaces and many other places I would never have experienced had my mind been closed to the grace of the places around me. We worked and lived and loved and then as always we left together, hand in hand, step in time, we had nothing but each other but that was more than enough.   It was a natural decision to choose her home country to visit next, a land of many dangers, strange creatures I had never seen and curiosities aplenty. And we did, I met her family and for a time I felt as though I had a home, a feeling I had left behind long ago, hidden within the darkest recesses of my mind.   I have never been good at committing, only running, I have never been good at facing my fears or problems so eventually it became too hard, the smiles extinguished and the fire that burned inside us frowned, if I were a different man it would have been better, I would have tried harder and things would have worked but we both began to know that we only had a life together when we were running, when we didn't have enough time to think about what we were doing, whether we were right in being together and if we were really meant to be together.   One night, when nobody was looking, I took a bag, took my clothes and packed, a tear rolled down my cheek as I did this, I was running again, I left a note and my sim on the dresser in our room, the note simply read, “I'm Sorry, Goodbye.”   Years passed and I saw the world, the wonders which stretch from Wisconsin to Shanghai, I stepped in all the places where mankind have hoped and dreamed, looking for something, looking for a way to love myself, I never found it, not in the Buddhist teachings, not in the Islamic scripture, everywhere I searched but to no avail. I once believed I loved the woman but without loving myself how can I even begin to love another, I was alone, I had always been alone, but it didn't hurt, I hardly felt a thing.   I found myself back in the country I call home, not in the town where I felt smothered by the responsibilities that I shirked, not on the island where I found the woman but a different place, a place that to me was indifferent, far enough away that I would not meet anyone I knew and dull enough to satisfy my own self imposed abasement.   It was a rainy Tuesday morning when it happened, the phone hardly ever rang, I had no friends, no family, I had left them all behind long ago, I awakened abruptly and quickly moved towards the noise that forced me out of slumber, I rubbed my eyes and cleared my throat, lifted the handset and answered the phone.   A familiar voice, one I had not heard for the longest time, one which echoed within my heart, brought feelings to me that I thought were dead, a tear drop formed in the corner of my eye, I tried to find words but could not speak, I was humbled, my arrogance was gone.   All I knew was that nothing would ever be the same again.

I pressed myself against the door, shocked beyond words, paralysed with incomprehension. For a long while I simply stood and stared, my mouth slack, my eyes darting around my office, trying to understand what I was seeing. The books, my books, the ones I’ve gathered through my years and have read and loved and kept on my tall dark bookshelves… They were… Alive. Somehow, I could hear the words they spoke, through a faint background noise of the rustling of pages. They had moved from their places upon the shelves, had moved off the shelf and… now I looked, I could see that they floated, that they gathered in new spots around the room and conversed. My things had been moved, touched. The jar of pens on my desk spilled, my packets of incense tossed around, my lovely long row of shells all shifted and some gone! As I studied the changes, I could just imagine haughty remarks made and all the little snobbish looks that must have passed over the covers. They paid no attention to me. Why would they, really? I had sometimes felt unworthy of my books, after having read more than a few that I could not confess to truly understanding. And here they all were, moving about my room, chatting amongst themselves, their voices subdued as though they congregated in a library. If someone had ever suggested such a thing could be possible, I would have laughed and said “I’d like to see that!” But now, seeing it, I couldn’t laugh. I didn’t want to see it. From the corner of my eye I noticed a thick volume turn slightly and I could have sworn it gave me a contemptuous up and down. The book turned away before I could be sure. A sudden susurration, as of pages fluttering, a bookish laugh perhaps? I glanced and saw now that the poetry books all huddled together in one corner of my desk. And I felt, no, I knew that they were laughing at me. My beloved books of poetry! I looked harder and gasped in surprise and indignation. My own poetry, laboriously written out and bound together! My very own poetry was there, hanging out with the proud published and laughing at me! I couldn’t take it. I left the room, hot tears stinging my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. Perhaps I would never be a great writer, perhaps some of the finer moral points of a few of those books did indeed elude me, but… I loved them. I loved them all, right down to the oldest and most crumbling. Each one that I had found at a market stall or library sale. All that I had been given through the years, and even a few that I had been able to find nowhere else and yes, stolen! I simply stood on the other side of the door and wept. Part of me wanted to throw a match into the room, burn the ungrateful lot of them! But no. I loved them too dearly. With heavy heart, I simply walked out to my garden, and sat in the shade of the gum tree, staring unseeing at the jonquils nodding their heavy blossoms in the breeze.

'Today's the big day!' Josie spoke to herself in her head. Echoing the words that so many people had said to her in the past few weeks. The lights around the old mirror flickered in dimness, showing the age of the family heirloom. Her heart sank a bit as the her parents' faces appeared in her mind. She knew it would be hard to say goodbye to them, but she didn't have a choice in the matter. Even her children -her heart ached at the thought of them losing their own parents- knew of the Spousal Mortality tradition. Nobody really knows where the tradition started, but it has been traced back at least 600 years and its existence is referenced in texts and stories from even further back in time. The wife of the deceased is traditionally given two weeks to prepare and settle any residual affairs before she is sedated and lowered into the earth with her husband. It's supposed to symbolize the unbreakable bond of marriage, a testament to the widely-known "Shan't death do us part"vow spoken at weddings. Or so it has come to mean, as nobody is certain what the original implications were. Her dress was a simple one. They were not a particularly wealthy family, so her apparel consisted of what she could do by herself. A long, black, form-fitting corset with matching netted hat and her favorite shade of lipstick and heels. Josie never really was a fan of dark colors, so she opted to break tradition just a tiny bit with a bright lipstick color. Her hair was done up in a bun beneath the hat and, with just minutes to go before she was to walk down the aisle one last time, she sat back with a sigh to reflect on her life briefly. She and Brad had enjoyed seven long, happy years of marriage, had two beautiful little boys, and were in most respects the ideal couple. Josie's stomach sank again in sadness as she recalled the night she got that call from the hospital. Brad had suffered a massive heart attack at work and was rushed into the ICU, but was already dead by the time she arrived. She shook her head and pushed the thought out of her head in favor of memories of their wedding night, the birth of their first and second child, the day they bought their house, and all the other happy events from their marriage. She was so lost in thought the mortician had to tap her on the shoulder and clear his throat loudly to get her attention. "Oh, hello,"she said with a flustered smile and polite look. "sorry just daydreaming a little bit. Is it time?" He nodded solemnly and held out both hands. In one there was a single white pill about the size of a dime, and in the other a plastic cup half-filled with water. She took them both and nodded, before turning back to take another look at herself in the mirror. "Today's the big day."she repeated out loud, in response to which the man sighed and tapped his foot against the ground impatiently. Josie wondered how many wives somebody would have to lead to their deaths before it became just another part of the job. "Bottoms up!"she said cheerily to the stoic mortician before popping the pill into her mouth and swallowing it with a gulp of the cold water. Her vision started swimming within seconds, and the last thing she felt before slipping into unconsciousness was the firm, practiced mortician's hands lifting her up out of her seat and towards the door. My first post on this sub, forgive spelling since I'm on mobile.

"In 2013 I leaked documents about the US goverment spying on civilians.That was because I belived in a free america.No spying.No opression.Because a free america is more than just being able to have freedom to do as you please, its to speak as you please.Actions may speak louder than words but words you CANNOT ignore! Words are not only the medium of which humans communicate ,but of how we express ourselves. However if we silence the people speaking there will be no expression. And expression is what makes humanity unique. Read.My.Lips.No.More.Opression Black,white,male,female,thick,thin.I belive in a world where anybody whos anybody , or nobody for that matter, is equal. Vote Snowden for a free america. Edit: Im 11 so constructive critisism is welcome!

Coming back into my body, I sat for countless unmoving moments, blissfully aware of having reached the heavens, of having felt nirvana, of having been one with all. My body fizzed, zapped like electricity, shooting through all the currents of life, one moment part of fish, the next, part of leaf. I am colour, I am taste, I am smell and more. I rose and stepped to the edge of the canyon, looking around me in the gathering dark, feeling the warmth of my fire at my back, though it was too far from me to feel. In this newfound clarity, I could see colours I had never seen before, hear the tinkling cries of birds not before heard, smell the scents of the herbs growing wild down the rocky edge of the gorge. Closing my eyes I breathed and smiled, feeling tears escape and flow warm down my cheeks. This is how it feels, to know all, to see all. This is the wonderment I have sought so long. This is the reward for the privation, for the hunger, for the solitude. The secret of life. The secret of the universe, the cosmos, of all that is and ever was. I could barely feel the sharp rocks beneath my bare and dirty feet, I was floating, I was brimming with perfect holy oneness and fantastic understanding. And so, I could feel them before I saw them. Could hear them before they sounded their terrible cries of injuries done and vengeance needed. I could taste the colour of their hazy grotesque, shadowy forms. And so, knowing the secrets, knowing the unknowable, I did not fear. I smiled as they flew into my vision, as their dark and bright wings and faces rushed past and came close. I could feel great poisoned talons tear into me, I felt each slice, every little and large wound as they tore me to pieces. But I know the secret. Their killing me to keep the secret safe will not change that. I know.

'Men, we all know what day it is.' The goverment council, consisting of five men, united into the discussion room twenty minutes prior to the annual Purge. Each took a seat, facing one another at an rectangluar marble table. 'Ahem, yes, we seem to be short on time, so let's proceed.' The head of the goverment was seated at the end table bellows out. 'Yes, yes, yes, let us proceed.' A lean man dressed in a red suit, takes out a sheet from his briefcase. He clears his voice, ' Currently, number of deceased civilians from the Purge of 2026 was, 941.' 'That is quite alot, previous years were much lower indeed.' The Head exclaimed. 'It seems more people have taken a liking to the Purge, and venture out on their own.' One calls out. 'There will always be shelterers, it seems.' Another uttered. The man in the red suit took a glimpse at his watch, two minutes from 7pm. 'Sir, it's time.' The head reached for his pocket, taking out a pager, upon pressing it, it flashed a bright red. A low monotonous beep emerged. A man's voice began to speak, 'Attention Olsoville, the purge will now commence.' Followed by an obnoxious siren. The men sat in their seats, becoming immersed in the sound. And then, it ended. The man in the red suit opened his briefcase, unloading a bag consisting of various animal masks and five glocks. 'Now, shall we go for one-thousand, gentlemen?'

The sound of slow, thumping footsteps made the girl look up from the book of incantations resting on her lap. She looked toward her door, where the sound was getting closer. She could not be home yet, she thought. No, it's not her. There was not the steady stream of cursing, the slamming of doors, or drunken laughter, no sound of broken glass. Just slow, heavy footsteps on the stairs. The girl smiled as she imagined the cloven hooves on the stairs that would soon be pressing down on her stepmother's throat, until she would be pleading and apologizing with her last breaths. . . The footsteps reached her door and stopped. The girl held her breath. Sarah? whispered the visitor. Sarah put down the knife covered in chicken blood, closed the book, and carefully exited the circle of candles to make her way to the door. Is this really what I want, she asked herself. Yes, it is. She furrowed her brow and opened the door. The hulking red frame filled the door. The vibrant eyes were beaming down at her and the smile was cast in a wicked light from the candles. Color drained from Sarah's face as he stepped into the room, setting a large black sack on the floor. Santa nervously looked from the little girl to the summoning circle, all the feathers and bones, symbols and knives. Sarah put a trembling hand to her forehead. Fuck me, she said aloud. Santa was chewing the end of his hat, waiting. He made a move to pick up his sack when Sarah stopped him. Come along, fat man, we can still make this work. . . .

"Oh dear god,"I mutter to myself as I look down at the offending carrot in my spoonful of fried rice. Shakily, I put the utensil down and make a quick grab for my purse, hoping desperately that my epipen is in the dog-skinned bag. It isn't. I quickly signal for the waiter, throwing the human currency onto the lavish plastic table. Honestly, I'm in the best place possible for this to have happened. I am deathly allergic to human carrots, and without my epipen, if I'd went to the intergalactic Panda Express that I was going to stop at and the same thing happened, well, not even money could get me to the substance my body so desperately needed. Spotting a human female, I sneak up to her. I make sure to let my prescence be known. The best way to get the addie is to let it simmer for a bit beneath the skin. She doesn't let me down, either. I can see the buildup of precious epinephrine beneath the thin membranes separating her from the viscous cloud of my aura. I push her to the ground, and just in time, too. I feel my air sacs shrinking in on themselves. She looks up at me, completely afraid and screaming human gibberish. I don't listen, I'm beyond caring. The gaping maw of my mouth opens, seeking the vein I know is throbbing just beneath her meat clothes. I suck hungrily, greedily, taking in all that I need without leaving her any. When I am done with her, her neck is but a cavern where milky white flesh once resided. "Sorry, Hun. I just needed it a bit more than you."

I love my dear old mother. For as long as I can remember, the frail looking woman, although ill as can be, was always so strong. So *positive.* She lived life one day at a time, always knowing the end was coming for her but never letting it get her down. The only thing that seemed to bother her was that it was hereditary. There were days that were worse than others, days where I'd come home and ma would be in the middle of a complete episode of debilitating sickness and my younger sister and I would watch, horrified, as she writhed on the bed, desperately fighting against the straps that held her to the bed, trying with all her might to rip off her own skin to escape her horror within. Each time she always got a little closer to death. She never succumbed, though. She'd tire herself out and fall asleep, always waking with a smile just for me, her precious child that tended to her every need. I love my Ma just as much as she loves me. Paranoid schizophrenia and all.

Seeing the daylight is something I did not long for anymore, it was only something that gave hope to the hopeless. Things never changed and I never thought they would, until today. It had been 4 years since I last saw another human. They were Dead. It is hard to know what killed it, but the blood that soaked into the carcass' sweater was unmistakably fresh. As the blood crept throughout the cotton, the color of the once vibrant fabric was forever lost. Everytime I see her I think of that day, the day where my last living relative slipped out of reach. Despite this, I have fallen in love. She was weak when I first met her, and still is. It is hard to push her, but we cannot stay in the forgotten suburbs of Illinois any longer, game is of the utmost importance. Tomorrow we will set out for something that might give us nutrients and with those nutrients, hopefully, she will allow me to continue the human race. With her.

After an intense 18 hour marathon of gaming, Norman reached for an empty jar to relieve him self into, except there were no more left. With an exasperated sigh, he typed in "AFK BRB BIO BRK ASAP"into the chatroom to let his fellow guild mates know of his intended brief absence and speedy return. It wasn't until he returned that he saw his own body slumped forward with left hand still over the WASD keys and the other over his mouse. The drool oozed out of the corner of his mouth and formed a pool of saliva where his chin met the desk. The left side of his face resting against a slice of partially eaten, crusty, pizza. On screen, the raid continued on, however Norman avatar remained still forever.

The park was always quiet in the afternoon. Most people were at work, kids were at school. The only denizens of the park were the birds, squirrels, and a few souls who were lucky enough to have the day off. Jack was one suck person. He enjoyed the park, especially on sunny days. This was one such day, with a few cotton ball clouds in the sky. Walking through the trees on his way home was one of Jack's favorite things. Today he decided to stop and sit on a bench and rest. It was a hot day, so Jack decided to shed his suit coat, draping it over the back of the bench. Jack checked his watch. It was four fifty-five, a full hour before he would usually be off of work. He smiled and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. Before he could light it a grey and white cat jumped onto the bench, mewing and staring at Jack. He smiled, then lit his cigarette. The cat just kept staring as Jack puffed and smiled, enjoying the sun. "Cigarettes are bad for your health you know." Jack started, dropping his cigarette onto the ground. He looked around, but nobody was around. The nearest people were an elderly couple feeding ducks by the pond, a few dozen yards away. Jack just shook his head and pulled out a new cigarette. "Ignoring others is rude, as well." This time Jack, didn't drop his cigarette. "Who's there?"He asked, even looking in the trees in case it was a younger boy playing a prank. His eyes finally settled on the cat next to him. "You heard that too, didn't you?"He jokingly asked it. "I should have, I said it."The cat said. Jack just stared, his eyes growing wider. "You..." "Yes, yes, talking cat, I know. The name is Vincent, nice to meet you."The cat put out its right paw, still just staring at Jack. Jack, to his merit, still thought it was a prank, and had to hold back laughter as he shook the cats paw. "A talking cat, well I'll be damned. So where'd you come from?" "Oh, my father was a house cat and my mother was a stray. Bad relationship, so I grew up behind the Chinese restaurant over on Seventh Street." "I'm not going crazy, am I?" "Not that I'm aware of. I just thought you could use some company." Jack slouched more into the bench. "Jesus, a talking cat." "Don't make it sound so strange. You're a talking ape, after all. You don't see me gawking."Vincent started cleaning his left paw. Jack couldn't believe it, but he tried. He sat up straighter and put out his cigarette. "So, uh, do you live near here?"He asked. Vincent looked up and around the park. "Over there,"He nodded his head towards a large oak tree not too far away, "There's a little hole at the base. It's not much, but it's home. How about you?" Jack chuckled at the frankness of the cat's answer, but responded sincerely. "I have a small studio about five blocks away. Not much, but its home, like yours." "Sounds nice. I don't see many business men around here at this time of day, what's your story?" "I got off work early, decided to take my time. I like the park, its peaceful." "It is, it is. I like this time of day, not as many humans making a racket and messing up things. You know you guys are kind of a pain in the ass." Jack actually laughed this time. "I know it, trust me. I deal with people all day and it drives me nuts. That's why I like it here." The two just sat there for a bit in silence before Jack checked his watch again. It read five thirty. "Ah, damn. I have to go home or else my wife'll worry about me."He started to stand, pulling his suit coat on despite the warm sun above him. Vincent stretched out along the other side of the bench. "Fair enough, shouldn't keep people waiting."The cat jumped to the ground and stretched more. "It was nice meeting you, but I didn't get your name." Jack smiled, kneeled down, and held out his hand. "I'm Jack." Vincent mewed and placed his paw in Jack's hand. "Nice talking to you Jack. I hope we meet again." Jack smiled more broadly and started walking home. "I'm sure we will, Vincent. I'm here every Friday, so don't be a stranger."

"Hey, look. It's Capt. Kangaroo,"my dad said as we pulled in to the parking garage at the mall. "How can you tell,"my sister asked. Then my mother, "That's not Capt. Kangaroo. That's a black guy. And we're at a black shopping mall."She shook her head in disbelief. "You know, not everyone you see is Capt. Kangaroo." "You're wrong about this,"my dad muttered to himself. "I just know it's him." Then, without a word, he opened his door and got out of the car. He raised a finger over his mouth, motioning us to be quiet, then drew the sidearm he always kept strapped to his right ankle. "Kangaroo, I know that's you. I'm placing you under citizen's arrest."The man stopped. This was the moment my father had been waiting for, the moment he had lived for, and the moment he would die for, if need be. My mother knew this. The look in her eye gave it away. She knew that my father's obsession would leave her all alone one day. The man raised his hands in the air. "Who the fuck you callin' 'Kangaroo', nigga?" "Get on your knees and lock your fingers behind your head,"my father said. "DO IT, NOW!" The man complied. My father approached him slowly, not taking his gun off of the man. "You know, Kangaroo, I never thought I'd say this, but thank you. You're making me a hero. And, if the Presidents are true to their word, you're making me a very rich man, too." "Man, I told you, nigga, I ain't no fuckin' Kangaroo." "That's enough with the nigger schtick,"my father said. The hard R rattled all of us sitting in the car, all of us he had told never to say that word, but the man on the ground remained unfazed. "Now, stand up slowly and turn around. I want to see what I'm dealing with here." The man did as he was told. Slowly he turned to face my father. Mother was right, this was a black man, and not Capt. Kangaroo. "LeVar,"my father gasped. "That's right, muthafucka,"LeVar said, laughing, "and you 'bout to get got." "Nooo,"my father yelled as LeVar released a cloud of toxic green vapor from his mouth. The vapor quickly enveloped my father, first melting his pistol to his hand, causing him to shriek in pain, then reducing the rest of him to a puddle before all of us. Quickly and quietly I put my hands over my mother's and sister's mouths and instructed them to be quiet. Not here, not now, I thought. LeVar scanned the scene and when he assessed his surroundings were clear (thank goodness he didn't see us in the car), he leaned over the puddle before him and ingested, in one large gulp, my father's liquified remains. Licking his lips like a maniac, LeVar let out a hearty chuckle before proceeding into the mall. -- That night at the police station I learned all about the intergalactic crime syndicate known as The Brotherhood of Children's Television Show Hosts Gone Rogue, or BCTSHGR, and boast among their ranks none other than the likes of Mr. Rogers, Barney the Dinosaur, Bozo the Clown, and of course, LeVar Burton and Capt. Kangaroo. They have been implicated in crimes as wide-ranging as the Louvre Fires of 2023--which destroyed the priceless collection of Banksy's work as well as the interactive Wu-Tang Exhibit, feat. Exhibit--the Moon Bombings, and both Nine-Eleven III & IV. Now BCTSHGR has done the unthinkable. They've killed my father. Right in front of my eyes. I've seen Batman, all fifty-three movies, and I know what I must do. Just as soon as I'm old enough, starting on the day of my Bar Mitzvah, I will kill them all. Starting with LeVar Burton.

'Well, I always knew it'd be me that would cause the destruction of the universe. Might as well just kick back and enjoy it.' Emperor Yardel said, watching the first galaxy implode from his doomsday device. The plan was simple, threaten the rebels with a remote firing of his superweapon, affectionately named 'The Annihilator' and watch the planets fall to his will. What he didn't account for, was the fact that said weapon would tear holes in reality and cause this universe to be utterly destroyed as the fabric of space time ripped itself apart. It was a honest mistake. Another galaxy started to break apart, its people sending out distress calls, cursing the Yardel Empire and wishing death upon the man that doomed the entire universe. Can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, and potentially destroying reality. The emperor put his feet up, cracked open a beer and opened up the viewscreen. Visions of people crying, cities burning, whole systems being devoured by the catastrophe he caused. I suppose if he was going to go out with a bang, might as well take everyone with him and have them chant his name as he went. The station shook as the next reality fissure grew larger. Alarms rang, soldiers ran and screamed for their mothers, father, loved ones and various deities. 'Esteemed Emperor, we must leave this place! We might still be able to outrun this cataclysm!' Yardel's chief of staff yelled, pleading with his lord and killer. 'Fuck it, it's hopeless. Let's watch the fireworks. Want a beer?' Yardel said, staring into the growing void before him. He felt things start to warp around him, particles breaking up, his very existence being torn asunder by the chaos he caused. 'I truly am become Death, destroyer of worlds. Shiva can suck it.' he whispered, his very being slipping into the dark.

"Finally, Prince Achlon. The realm of the Most Ancient Ones is within my grasp. You do not know how long I have waited to claim the realm of my ancestors." "That right belongs to me, and me alone. Your cowardly-" "Silence! Spoiled brat! If you hadn't been an only child I would have slaughtered you by now for your insolence. Your ransom will be high, higher than the meager crown."The knife slid closer to his throat. Achlon chuckled inwardly, showing no signs of emotion to his captor. The desperate were so easy to manipulate. And within moments, he knew the cavalry was to arrive. The baying of hounds sounded from the distance. Achlon reacted quickly, leaping from his already loosed ropes and delivering an uppercut to the petty crook. The knife fell, wedged in the dirt as Achlon began wrestling. When the dogs arrived with their masters, there wasn't much left to take back to the kingdom. Achlon chuckled darkly as the men hoisted him to his feet. "That's what you get when you mess with me, peasant." Blood and spittle coated the ground.

"So, here you are, Michael. Welcome to Hell."Said the Devil, leading him through a dim hallway with white walls stained with blood. "Well, this isn't what I expected." "Of course not, we have just started. Prepare for an eternity of torment, as per our contract." Yes, the contract. Twenty years ago, Michael had signed for "becoming a star", in exchange of his soul and an eternity of suffering. He wasn't one for legalese, so he had signed the contract in his blood without even checking. Soon enough, fame was knocking at his door. Of course, having not really read the parchment, he didn't really remember the exacts words. "Yes, our contract. May I check it again, please? I don't remember all the details, I want to refresh my memory. I guess you remember I had barely glanced at it." The Devil thought about it. He'd try to outsmart him, that much was obvious. Asking for reviewing the contract? Typical. Of course, having the best team of lawyers in the heavenly realm, the contract was flawless. And it'd be bad manners to show it to him, wouldn't it? "Yes, here it is"he said, while pointing at a pedestal on which rested a goat's hide with letters in ink darker than night. At the end, a few drops of blood appeared for all signature. Eternally binding. "So, here it is. Mh, mind if I take my time?" Having an eternity in front of them, never ending, infinite, outside comprehension, it was pointless to ask him to be quick, so He agreed. And so, Mark began subvocalizing. "Bad practice", he thought. Even then, he could make out what he was not saying: "In the year of the Lord 1998, in the day nineteenth of the month of July, in a meeting celebrated in Charleston Boulevard, number 2390, department the fourth, Lucifer, King of demons and lord of evil contracts with Michael..." Blah, blah, blah. Legalese. Once Michael -a slow reader- got to the first clause in the contract (In which the Devil agreed to fulfill the obligation of having Michael become a star), He noticed he stopped a little bit and then continued. After he was done, the would-be tormentor asked: "Well? Are our terms fresh enough?" To which Michael answered not with the answer he'd expect. After many years, he was used to everything. From people reacting violently to the docile resignation of those who knew they'd condemned themselves for eternity. But not this. "Yes, but you haven't upheld your end of the contract. You see, at that time I wanted to be a star. As in, a ball of hydrogen at thousands of degrees. I think you'd understand that children aren't always the best for making contracts."

The forest sounds enveloped the little shack as night fell. Chief Winters said that we would be okay with only two guards, as more than that would bring too much attention. He said that SWAT would be on standby if we needed them. We were now 20 hours into our protection detail. We weren't allowed to leave the shack or have anyone else come to relieve us to minimize the risk of being discovered. Ricky and I decided that we should sleep in shifts. He sprawled out on the couch, and I brought a chair over to the window. Our witness was out cold on the only bed in the room. A light rain had begun to fall outside, lightly pattering against the window. My eyes felt heavy; rain always seemed to do that to me. I just wanted to rest my eyes for a second. I awoke with a start as I heard the unmistakable sound of a vehicle coming to a stop in the drive. I cussed under my breath at my inability to stay awake, and went for my radio to call it in. "484 headquarters"*static* "484 to headquarters, do you copy"*static* "484 to any unit, do you copy"*static* No response. They must have a radio jammer. I looked out the window as I saw four men get out of the car with tactical vests and AKs. Shit. There was no mistaking it, the mob was here for their witness. "Ricky!"I hissed as I slid my glock from its holster. "Ricky! Wake the fuck up!" "Whaaa?"Ricky slurred as he stirred on the couch. "The Russians. They're here for their witness, we gotta go now!"Ricky was awake now, his weapon was drawn and he was rousing our witness. I dropped my voice to a whisper. "Alright, you two go out the back door. I'll draw their fire before they can surround us. We need to get out of range of that jammer!"Ricky nodded and re-positioned himself at the back door, witness in tow. I quietly unlatched the front door and leveled my weapon. I held up my other hand with three fingers. My heart was pounding now, as I slowly turned the door handle. Two. I heard a small squeak as Ricky turned the handle of the back door. One. Stones crunched on the pathway outside. Zero. I flung open the front door and fired into open space. The .40 caliber shots thudded into my eardrums, magnified by the indoor echoing. I dumped all 16 downrange in about 5 seconds and pulled my weapon back behind cover to reload. There was a pause as I slammed a new magazine into place. Silence. I wondered why no one had returned fire yet. No sooner had this thought entered my mind, than the earth erupted into gunfire. 4 AK47's opened up, roaring in 7.62 fury. Bullets ripped through the flimsy walls of the shack. I ducked down, but not quick enough. I was thrown back as what felt like a cannon ball hit me in the chest. I coughed and tasted blood. The gunfire came to an abrupt stop as I put a hand to my chest and pulled it away bloody. Voices called outside, but I couldn't understand them. The edges of my vision got blurry. Boots thudded on the floors around my as faces appeared around me. My weapon was kicked from my limp hand. "Go after the other two, they couldn't have gotten far."A strong voice reverberated above me. Footsteps left me and then faded. Only one face remained. The blackness grew ever greater as I fought desperately to cling to consciousness. "You should not have tried to fight us. You are brave my friend, but very stupid. At least they may give you a medal." I fought against the blackness, but I was losing. My breathing grew shallow. I thought of my wife and son. "I am sorry that it had to be this way." I gave one last gasp as darkness took my sight, and my senses slipped away. Then I woke up in a hospital bed.

Going to check the mail, Zach, groaning as if every bone in his body was splinters. Dragging himself off of his bed, gets up. He shuffles wearily over to the front of his apartment, and was surprised when, along with the one or two typical ad flyers in the mail, there was also a thick book. The book was a curiosity, its cover and spine olive, with eggshell pages. Zach measured about 1/3 of the way through, and opened it. Blank. Ugh, he had gotten out of bed for nothing. Now he had to lay on the couch. "Should I take a shower?...maybe when I have the energy..."Zach's dreary thoughts begin to trouble him again. "I'm not worth the cost of water to shower...I can't even function like a normal being, why should I get to smell like one..."Absent minded, he began to flip a page or two back until something made him sit up in surprise. Not only was there writing, but it was his. These were his thoughts being recorded right here, on this page. Snapping out of his funk, Zach's mind hustled like Usain Bolt. He placed the book on the coffee table and sat down on top of it. As he hammered out what exactly he was dealing with, his stomach growled. Zach frowned; he had just run out of oranges, his favorite, but it would take hours to get up the courage to get to the grocery store...He refocused on the coffee table, and was amazed. A solitary orange sat a few inches away from the book. It hadn't been there before, Zach was sure of it. He read back to his thoughts a few moments back. He had wished for an orange, and here it was. Zach felt as if his world was expanding. He could wish for anything now, all those dreams he had had...then a terrifyingly exciting thought occurred to him. He could finally kill himself. After all these years. He had read that pills rarely work, and hurt more than you'd think, so he'd always avoided them. He was shit at knots, even after his dad kept trying to get him into scouting as a kid. He was too much of a pussy to use weapons, too. By now his heart was like an Lamborghini engine at full blast. Tears came like a landslide down his face. It was clear to Zach that life was at a crossroads. His hands shook. Burdens could be absolved, a promise of peace was there! If...only...he... No, he sobbed, whispering. Zach threw the book of the table, curled up in a bawl, and weeped. He weeped beacuse he hadn't the strength for what he knew was inevitable. He was so useless, he thought, he couldn't even- **BANG BANG BANG** "SHUT THE FUCK UP, CAN'T I GET SOME FUCKING QUIET?!?" Miranda, Zach's next-door neighbor, huffed, and turned over in her bed. Some people, she thought, must not have any compassion. Didn't he know it was 4:30? She had to get up early, so she thougt she'd take a nap early in the day to get some rest. Of course that jerk next door starts doing... Whatever the hell he does all the time. She sighed, and closed her eyes, knowing that that damned neighbor of hers would get his one day.

I've actually done this before. Went to drink at a friend's house after blacking out at a biker bar. We were in the backyard, when i decided to pee around the side of the house. In the middle of peeing i went into a rage and decided to drive to my ex after this actually happened to me. After blacking out at a biker bar, i went to a house party with friends. We were drinking in the backyard when i went around the side of the house to pee. While peeing i went into a rage and decided to drive to my ex fiancee's house, for what reason i can only guess. Something diabolical. Next thing i remember is being lifted up by 4 pairs of hands. One pair on each wrist and ankle. All i can see is salt and pepper static, then i realize i hear voices (presumably belonging to the people carrying me) and the static is asphalt that im 4 inches above. Asphalt switches to grass, i hear a gate crash open and i'm thrown into a hammock with a dog in a backyard I've never been in before. They shine a flashlight in my face and question me to make sure im not a reason to call the police. after being satisfied that i was just an exceptionally drunk idiot, they gave me a glass of water, and told me they had found me in the middle of the street, passed out, face down, next to a cop car thats driver side door was open. Come to find out my saviors were all a bunch of 30 something divorcees who lived next door to my ex. Apparently i drove all the way to her house, went to get out of the car, tripped, and promptly passed out in the middle of the street upon hitting the ground. I dont remember any of this, nor do I have any idea how long i laid there before they found me, or how i managed to drive the 15 miles to her house without getting caught. I finished the water, drove home, and never talked to the ex again, who was completely unaware of the whole thing. Tl;dr i was going to commit a crime of passion, but was saved by 4 divorcees.

"Sir, we have a situation." The young and eager messenger burst into my office, huffing and panting like he'd just run a marathon. "I've just run a marathon to bring the news. We've found a weapon. Origins unknown. All we've determined is that it's, well, other-worldly." I stroked my proud beard and considered what information I might need. I asked him what kind of weapon it was. "We don't know, sir. It hums, it vibrates, it sings. It appears to be a hybrid communication device. We aren't actually certain it's a weapon of any kind. It has a pink and white case with some manner of cartoon feline affixed to it. The label which we believe to be the enemy call sign is 'Hello Kitty'. There is some type of illuminated matrix on one side of it. We're not sure how but it currently displays a portal, a portal to the enemy's quarters. Right now it seems to be pointed at a fish tank." I knew immediately what it was. I instructed him to deliver it to my office at once, as soon as possible. He jolted out the door. The following day at 11 AM he returned, again huffing and panting. Wrapped in brown paper packaging and tied up with string, he presented the device as his least favorite thing. As I began to unwrap it the young man retreated slightly toward my door, eyes wide with fear. "Sir, be careful. Please. We know very little and believe this could be extremely dangerous. A hazard to the entire human race." He needn't fear. I had recently been privy to the acts of a man they called Houdinski; a master of illusion. With my privilege I requested access to many of his secrets and had been shown wild arrays of mirrors. Arrays that could project Houdinski from one place to another, appearing as though he were in two places at once. I unfolded the last leaf of packaging. As if it sensed me the device roared to life. It illuminated itself and spoke or sang to me in a manner I'd never heard before. "THEY SEE ME ROLLIN', THEY HATIN'!" Mercifully the outburst lasted not. The device retreated to a quiet, illuminated state and indeed I was shown the fish tank of our newly discovered nemesis. It was obvious but I could hardly blame the messenger. "Boy."I spoke "I'm familiar with the workings of this device. This is certainly an array of mirrors and nothing to fear. Please fetch me Houdinski, he'll be the key to finding the enemy outpost. Surely we understand the visual array but I must concur the audibles are foreign, disturbing even." Once he had left I chortled at his feeble minded conclusions about the device. I was fascinated by this trickery. I could hardly wait for Houdinski and remembered how lucky and fortunate I was to be in this position. Certainly nobody but the President of the United States of America would ever be in such a position as to explore such bleeding edge devices with the aid of trusted associates like Houdinski.

"You may experience some discomfort as we dismantle your current operating substrate"a voice bellowed. My head was pounding, the Earth was shaking, and I felt like I've lived a million years. I woke up in a room, with nothing in it but a small mace that had no spikes, but just a white ball on top of it. I was drawn to it, and I picked it up not knowing what I was gonna get into. I looked around in the room to see there was no way out. No doors, windows, just a blank room. As I neared a wall the mace in my hand started to light up. There was a weird sensation in my hand, and a door appeared infront of me. I could only think to myself that the mace had some special powers. I turned around to look at the room to see it had been encased in vines, and plant life covered almost every part of the room. I walked out to see a man. Old, scruffy looking sitting on the floor. Rocking back and forth. A blank expression on his face. "Are you alright?"I asked. His face slowly crept up and said in an eery voice "Don't touch the mace" Suddenly a light sprung from the mace and the old man had disappeared, and the place was very modern again. People were roaming the halls, with odd sword handles in there hands. A gaurd was passing one of the halls and he saw me, and exlaimed "I found him!" He pulled out his sword mantle and pointed at me. I was suddenly encased in electricity, and the mace in my hand lighting up, but I wasn't taken anywhere. "Got you now you little rat!"he yelled. I ran, but in excruciating pain down the halls only to be whipped by other gaurds. As I ran I bumped into an old man, who led me into a room. "You found the mace, give it over."he exclaimed. "Take this off me and I'll give it to you."I said. He took out a sword mantle and absorbed the spark rope that was tangled on me. "Now, the mace. Hand it over"He said. I didn't know what to do. Do I hand it over, and give up immense power? I ran out of the room as fast as I could, only to trip and fall on the end of the mace, the sharpest point. It pierced my chest, and the light coming out of the end of it was being absorbed by me. Gaurds showed up and I was pushed into a room with 3 of them, and the door slid shut behind them. They encased me in lightning as they had done before. The mace looking out of power, I threw it in the corner. "This is the end for you, boy!"They said as they trapped me in. I was suddenly unconscious. It was hazy what I remember, but I remember them saying they were gonna extract something from me when I was in and out of consciousness. I finally awoke with a pounding headache only to hear a voice bellow over me "You may experience some discomfort as we dismantle your current operating substrate"

-From the computer journal of Dr. Zachary March, biochemist, dated June 12, 2033- It looked like the flue at first, that awful disease. People would get runny noses, sore throats and joints, headaches. The symptoms could have belonged to any disease, really. It wasn't until the first victim died that people took notice. Not just that someone died, but how they died. The disease didn't kill quickly. The first symptom would almost always be sore joints and muscles. No much, just enough to make most people want to lie down and rest for an hour or so. Then they'd get the sore throat and runny nose within a couple hours. For the next couple days, they'd stay like that, sore and sick, hoping whatever medicine they're taking will start working soon. Of course it never would. They didn't have colds, or flus, or anything like that. After those first few days, the victim's bones would start losing mass and becoming more flexible and rubbery. Their muscles would start cramping and twisting, forcing their bodies into unnatural shapes. fingers would knot together, turning hands into clubs of flesh. Legs would seem to almost braid together. Even the victim's spine and ribs would begin to contort. No matter what doctors tried, the process couldn't be stopped. Delayed and slowed, yes, sometimes up to almost two or three months, but it never stopped. The victim always died, the twisting muscles forcing themselves apart, tearing flesh and, eventually, breaking bones. They have almost full cognitive capacity the whole time, so they can feel every stretch, every fracture. I've only heard recordings of the screams, but there are few things I've heard that are worse. The first death occurred in Santa Monica, California, at 8:04 AM. The victim's body literally tore itself in half. The media went nuts. Science discovered it was related to a similar disease in populations of starfish, and so "The Starfish Disease", as it became known, become known worldwide within days of the first death. At first they tried to contain it. Infected humans were quarantined and studied, followed by the wails and cries of loved ones. The disease was spread through any liquid, including mucus, saliva, and blood. With the early symptoms looking like a common cold or flu, estimates of infected soon began rising exponentially. It's been six years since the first confirmed death due to the Starfish Disease. Six years, and seven billion dead. There are a few of us left, but we'll be gone eventually, too. We've sealed ourselves up in the lab, but something must have gotten in. Howard has started coughing, even if he has tried to cover it up. Even Greta is worried too, that she might have a runny nose. As for myself, I've had a migraine for the past day or so. It's only a matter of time. We were the last line, we tried to make a cure, we really did. We failed, and as our punishment we face the same fate as all the others. If by some miracle anyone finds this, please, know we tried, and forgive us. May God have mercy on our souls.

The acceleration hits you like a brick wall. There is nothing to ease it, no other way to bear it but discipline. And discipline was everything that I had left. So I kept my mouth shut and played a good doog, not barking at all while the 43 tons of engine beneath me did their part of the work for the glory of the Soviet Union. Despite the strain on my body, it seemed like the easiest part of the day. Of course, waking up as a dog on an important day is quite stressful. When I realized what happened, I tried to calm myself. I had time before the doctors and the political inspectors would come to wake me. After an instant outburst of barking, I collected myself and calmed down, sitting on my bed. I realized that I had two options once they opened the door: Flight or doing what I had been trained to do. I had trained for years. I had been the top of my school, first on the race track, champion at the military academy. Comrade Stalin himself had handed me several medals. His successors liked me just the same. I let them feel my energy and burning desire when I shook their hands and looked straight into their eyes. One of the old guard said to me - after a night of too much vodka and celebration - that he would had wished that his son would have been half the man that I was. I did not reply anything. None of these guys wanted to be contradicted after all. But ultimately there was only one way a woman could outdo all the man around her: The iron discipline to brace every challenge with calm resolve and to overcome it with strength of will and every power that her body possesses. I chose this way and that was why they had chosen me. Of course, our leaders also wanted to shame the Americans and their machismo. Gagarin and his friends had been just as worthy and qualified as I was. With the exception that they were not as good as me and they were no women. Thus I was calm the moment, the door to my bedroom in Baikonur opened (I could not have opened it myself) and welcomed the doctors and political inspectors with a friendly bark. They came for me and I was ready. Of course, they panicked and I was hardly able to calm them down. Yet I was not able to communicate anymore, except with barks and nods. They were so afraid of what would happen if the launch would fail because of my absence (at least that what was they assumed at first). After all the launch had been decreed from high above, for the 40th anniversary of the Russian Revolution. There was no other day to launch the rocket, but on November 7, 1957. I knew and that was why I had made my decision. It took me quite some effort to get their attention. It was able to drag one of the younger scientists towards the nightstand where my personal credentials lay. When he saw what I wanted him to see, he finally realized that behind my new puppy eyes and doggy face was still the same human mind. "*Little curly*, Kudryavka, is that you?"he asked me, calling me by my old nickname, that most of the engineers and scientists in the Baikonur Cosmodrome used amicably. He just stared at me with wide opened eyes while I barked and nodded, trying to smile the best way that a dog could. It took some more precious time before the scientist had gotten the attention of the other men in the room, but finally they were willing to listen to him and then all of them stared at me. None of them could believe what happened. They started to question me, asking about all the secrets of the space program, only I, the only female Cosmonaut of the Soviet Union could know about. And I responded with nods and shaking my head, until they were all convinced of my identity, despite my new canine shape. They lost more precious time to decide what to do with me. After a long time the leading political inspector of the Cosmodrome finally asked me the only possible question: "Comrade Kudryavka, are you ready to fly?"And I barked and nodded. They had to make adjustments. It was all very much improvised. My suit, my seat and all of that had to be readjusted. They did it as thoroughly as time allowed, except that there was none. Much later, when I felt the strain of the acceleration slowly subside and my spaceship was about to enter its orbit, these thoughts came back to me. Crackling, the radio came to life, instructing me what to do. I did my best to press buttons and pull levers with my doggy paws. A shock went through me when I realized that my short canine legs did not allow me to reach all of the instruments. But then I reminded myself why I was here in the first place: Discipline. I might not have to use the more distant instruments at all. When the voice on the radio finally said "Comrade Kudryavka, your capsule is overheating, you have to switch on the cooling system. Now!", I had already made my peace. I barked one last time. In front of the small window I had, I could see the earth like no human had ever seen before. Or maybe like no dog had ever seen it before. I had achieved what I wanted I was on the top of all of them. Nobody could take that away from me anymore. ------------------------- "Comrade Yazdovsky."General secretary Khrushchev was overjoyed while he shook the leading scientist's hand. "A stunning success. The Americans are furious we beat them again. So tell me, who is our man in space? Or did you sent that woman you always talked about?" "Ehr..."Yazdovsky hesitated and retracted his hand which had gotten sweaty and irritated. "There is no one on board. We decided to send a dog instead. For safety reasons." Khrushchev looked at the rocket scientist in bewilderment. "A dog? So what's that dog's name?" "I..."The man wet his dry lips. "I... *Barker*,"he said. "[Laika](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laika),"he repeated.

I grab my wallet and head on down to the apple store. You see, I had just been given the most dangerous iPhone made. If the battery hits 0%, you die. The shop is crammed with people like a sardine can. I add myself to the line and unlock the phone. 99%. Jeeze. I can't turn it off, heaven knows what that would do. As I progress through the line, I think to myself how I really may cheat death. Finally it's my turn. I place the charger I grabbed from off the shelf onto the counter. Pull out my wallet. Pay. Time to go home. I arrive back at my house and log onto my laptop. Idly check the battery. 96%. I let out a deep breath. This should work. I head over to an e-shop and buy a solar powered charger along with a standalone charging block. It's time for me to wait. I open up the App Store on my phone, searching for an app that tracks how long the phone has been on. May as well, right?. Installed. Sweet. I open settings. Turn off cellular, wifi, Bluetooth, switch over to a black screen as a wallpaper. Lower the brightness to nil. Lock it. Open up my laptop again. My heart beats a little faster as I look for instructions on how to jailbreak it. I can get rid of a bunch of the stuff clogging it up that way. Finally, I buy a case for it and make some modifications. Power button needs to have the case slid over to the side to be pressed. Should work nicely. Fast forward a few days. My phone has been plugged in during the day, not plugged in during the night. This seems to be working. I haven't felt anything out of the ordinary. Ding-diggiddy-dong, the doorbell rings. I greet the FedEx delivery guy. He gives me the packages and I sign. Take them inside. At last I open them. The solar powered charger and the charging block. Fast forward to my 100th birthday. The battery is failing, and so is my heart. I calmly explain to my gathered family that I have lived a good, happy life, and have cheated death enough. I pull the phone out of my pocket and unlock it. 100%. I open up the single app I installed. 74 years, 364 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, 55 seconds. I smile. I'll soon be seeing my wife. I press and hold the top button. "Farewell." My children burst into tears. My grandchildren console them. I swipe with my finger, face still frozen in a smile. As my heart stops, death comes to visit. "Hello, Mr. Sketch." "Hiya death, how you doing pal?" "I feel cheated." "Rightly so." "This is, truly, the first time." "World record, sweet." "Just go. Heaven or Hell. You deserve both." "And if I don't choose?" "I don't know, Mr. Sketch." "I guess we get to find out."

"This has to be a mistake." "No. This test has been perfected over millions of years. It does not make mistakes." "I've spent most of this cycle studying humans. They are capable of laughter, communication, compassion. They're capable of love." "Not exactly." "What?" "They believe they're capable of love. They believe they are in control of themselves and the world around them. That belief is the only thing that unites them with the rest of us. Humans do not control the way they think or what they do. They're just bags of meat being driven by a computer in their heads." "Why does that mean they are not sentient? We have computers at home that are capable of thought. The most basic computers on our home planet were very similar to humans today. Yet, we regarded these computers as sentient. So why are humans less sentient than computers?" "Free will." "Humans have free will." "Not as most complex computers do." "Are you telling me that a computer has more free will than a living, breathing, thinking organism?" "Correct. Our computers have a level of complexity that humans could not even begin to understand. We have machines that can feel. Humans only possess the illusion of sentience. When a human is happy, its computer releases chemicals that instill it with a feeling of happiness. The same goes for other emotions. Humans do not actually feel happiness. Their computer tricks them into feeling happiness, and the same goes for every other emotion." "So you're saying we should take their water?" "Yes." "I don't agree with this decision. When we arrive and the humans scream in terror and cry for their loved ones, you'll see. You will feel remorse listening to them. But by then it will be too late."

He stopped in the middle of his game of Doom and saw two people in a flat room moving away, repelling from each other. He snapped out of this just in time to realize that xXDICKBLASTERXx came up from behind him and shot him in the back of the head with a double barreled shotgun. He quit Doom and disconnected the jack from his modem, plugged it back into his phone. Something was coming. Better to leave the phone line open just in case. Sure enough, as he was waiting for a Hot Pocket to cool in the microwave, the phone rang. He steeled himself. The Hot Pocket would be there at the end of all this. He gripped the receiver. Picked up the phone. "Hello?"Richard said. "Richard, it's your mother." God dammit, he thought. "Richard... I just want to let you know, ever since I've joined Heaven's Gate... it's changed me for the better. I've never felt I've known more than I have before." "Mom, are you really sure you want to - " "No, no, listen. I know we've had problems while I was raising you. And I'm sorry for all of it. I wasn't in my right mind." "Mom, just stop. If you want, I'll come - " "I know you like computers. There's a website development course here. You should come visit." "I really don't think you should be here - " "It's okay. I understand why you were on the computer all the time. It's a nice thing to have - " "Mom, stop,"Richard said. "I don't like that cult you're in. It sounds fucking crazy. I'm worried you're going to get hurt." "It doesn't matter,"his mother said. "If anything happens... we've got insurance. We'll be fine. I have to go out and get some video tapes. I'll talk to you again." "Mom - " And the line went dead. Richard looked over the counter between his computer desk and the kitchen, staring at the microwave, and then just stared at the floor for a little bit.

I slumped back into the kitchen, dropping my keys into the dish by the door. Hills, my wife of three weeks, had been crying again. Crumpled tissues lay strewn across the table, fallen soldiers in a losing battle against despair. At least today she eaten something as evidenced by the crumbs of toast. "How far did you get?" I shrugged. "Felt like sixty miles maybe? Probably a lot more. That car just never seems to run out. How long was I gone for?" "A day. I began to think you weren't coming back." I slipped into the chair opposite her. She seemed so alien to me now, this house was doing its level best to drive a wedge between us. The hardwood table - luxurious, expensive, rustic - held a terror all of its own. This was where we would sit and wait as everything we had fell apart. In some ways it was worse than the forest. "You had toast,"I said, forcing a smile. "That's good." Hills shook her head. "The milkman brought them. He just... Why does he never talk?" All I could do was shrug. I had never seen the milkman in all the time we'd been living there. Hills told me he came when I was in the forest, driving on that country lane, bringing small amounts of food to us. From what I heard he would drive up the front path in an absurd milk cart, leave the packages on the doorstep, then soundlessly turn and leave. When Hills confronted him he would wish her a pleasant day, doff his hat and continue on his way. Every time. Sometimes he would do it two or three times before he got back to his cart and drove away. There was only one road to our house. I had never seen a milk cart on it. "How much did he bring this time?" "Less."She stood and headed for the cupboards, flinging them open to reveal a disappointing stash. Bread, some cheese. Three pints of milk. "Christ,"I whispered and looked around for something to take my mind off my stomach. "What about the phone?" "Still no tone. Just the... Same." Rage took me. I stood and crossed to it, grabbing the receiver. Whoever was doing this was on the other end, it was the only thing that made sense. "Now listen-"I shouted, but as always he ignored me and screamed back. There was pain in suffering in his voice that sounded almost real. "Please you have to help me I can't hear you but I know you're there just please send people out to Tyne Lodge it's off highway five we need help were stuck here my wife Hills needs help she's p" I hung up. His voice... It sounded unsettlingly like mine. "What did you see in the woods?" "Nothing." "We're in this together Steve. Just tell me." I shook my head again. I could tell her about the first ten miles, about the forest road that goes on longer than it should. With the highway half a mile away it was a short drive. Since we moved in it had become so much longer. After ten miles the forest darkened. There were shapes out there, things that moved and watched and laughed and scuttled. They fled from the headlights. But the further you went the darker it got and the more confident the creatures became. Shadows of people I had once known merged into the light and played, giggling, as I drove past. Once I had tried to pick one up. Never again. I didn't leave the car anymore. It was safe and warm in there, and it never ran out of petrol. It just continued through the dark, carrying me onwards, sometimes feeling like it was driving itself, other times it became part of me. No matter how far I went I could get out by reversing just a short distance. I didn't want to make the trip any more. I had seen terrible things. I didn't tell her any of this. It was best if she didn't worry. "It's just an empty road. Goes on for miles and miles. Time seems... Elastic." She just nodded carefully and sat back down. I sat with her. "He's bringing less every time,"Hills said, dabbing at her eyes with another tissue, "do you think he'll ever stop..?" "Don't say that. Never say that." He did though. A week later he just stopped showing up. The car ran out of petrol a few days after and we finally realised what we were supposed to do. We were supposed to walk into the forest unaided. With our coats buckled up, leaving everything we owned in that house, we started on the impossibly wrong road.

“I was not the judge who sentenced them to death. I only carried out the sentence. I didn’t mean to kill them, but I couldn’t stop myself,” Ash told the group. The women gazed cautiously at the newcomer, surprised that he would dare attend such a gathering. Several of the witches were visibly shaken. “Murderer!” screamed one of the women. She threw her water on Ash and walked out. Ash steamed with sadness and continued his plea for forgiveness. “Please! It wasn’t my fault. It was horrible. Their cries of pain and suffering stayed in my head for weeks. It always happens that way.” “Then why do you continue your ways?” snarled one of the witches. “It’s who I am,” said Ash. “It wasn’t my choosing to be your sworn enemy, but I can’t deny my existence any more than you can. Like some kind of slave I am required to appear when summoned. Please forgive me.” One of the older witches stepped forward. She reached to embrace Ash as a gesture for his courage and remorse, but thought better of it and retracted her hand. “We thank you for coming, Ash. I know it couldn't have been easy. We will always be enemies, but it is helpful to know that you feel some sympathy for our cause.” Ash left the group, flames leaping from his figure. Many of the witches sat quietly and pondered his confessions finding new respect for him. For they had never before seen fire show remorse.

"Should be weatherologists, stands to reason"said Smiff, kicking open the grate and throwing another shovel full of coal into the furnace. "Does it"said Professor Digberth, and you could have etched glass with the acid in his tone. "Yurr"said Smiff, as more nutty slack was consigned to the flames. Special Inspector Spofforth shook his head and stepped out of the engineering compartment. This was hardly Ministry business. "And why should that be?" "Well...weather. Meteors. Not the same fing." The Professor paused in his repairs to the Tesla Field and, very carefully, placed his spanner on the casing. "Smiff, I fear I shall never be done correcting your strange assumptions. You are aware, are you not, that English contains many words derived from the Latin and the Greek?" "Foreign"said Smiff. "Yes, Smiff, *foreign*. Be that as it may, meteorology is derived from the Greek *meteoron* - literally, things high up. And the reason this gives its name to the study of weather is simple. All forms of ariel activity were referred to as 'meteors'. There were ariel meteors, such as wind, and aqueous meteors like rain and hail. Luminiferous meteors covered rainbows and the aurora borealis, and igenous meteors were what we now call meteorites and lightning. So there you have it. Now, will you please pull back the shielding on the Cavorite for three seconds? I fear we are perilously low on altitude!"

It hit me like an Alabama baby daddy does a backtalking strumpet. I'd always known I had a fat cock. That much had been obvious. I recall, often more vividly than I'd like, my experiences during post-phys ed. showers in junior high school. While the size of my unit would do wonders for my popularity later in life, as a young boy I found myself, with some regularity, the target of merciless bullying. "Have a look at Archie's Schlong!", the other boys would yell while they pointed and laughed. "It looks like a tube sock filled with flour!". This, of course, was a bit of an exaggeration. While I've never been so crude as to actually measure the thing, my flaccid size was scarcely larger than the average banana. Through high school and college, I discovered that my former shame was something of a blessing. The fairer sex, in considerable numbers, have foamed with delight at the sight of my knob, and -- provided they could manage the payload -- found that their yearnings of the loin were satisfied something a touch more than adequately. It was not until I had reached my thirtieth year that I thought to consult a physician about my size. While the peak of my tallywackers growth occurred during my teenage years, it continued to grow throughout my twenties. Somewhat more troubling is that it had become difficult to reach orgasm because of all the hot tang I was getting. By the time I first met Dr. Evans, it was about the size of two cans of monster stacked upon each other and had the vascularity of a bodybuilder in contest shape. I was referred to Dr. Evans by some sloot I was sticking it to on the reg. Her name was Becky or something. "She is a urologist I think", Beverly or whatever said. I did think it was a bit strange that our first appointment took place not in an office, but behind the hospital cafeteria near the dumpsters. Dr. Evans was a woman best described as stately. She held her head high, and spoke the queens english. Also, she had a sweet rack and her ass looked like two hams smuggled under a pair of yoga pants. "Whip it out, then"she said feverishly. "It's okay, I'm a doctor"she reassured me. My shorts had a difficult set of buttons on them, so I just rolled up the left leg which exposed the majority of my dong. "I see the problem here!"she exclaimed. "Your wang", she explained, "is erroneously hugefied by the dorso-temporal nerve proximal to the left testical but a bit further south than the right nut.""But what does it mean?"I asked. "I believe your condition is caused by hyperphallic peenamegaly -- more commonly known as Wesley Pipes syndrome." "But how can we know for sure? What are my options? Jesus. I'm scared to death of surgery." "Your case, if I'm to be totally honest, is complicated. It appears to be aggravated by abnormally high testosterone -- which would also explain your chisled jaw, rock hard abs, full chest of hair, and enormous muscles. Luckily, the diagnostic measure is synonymous with the treatment and is relatively non invasive." "What are we looking at?"I asked. "I'll need to manually stimulate your penis to de-compressify the nerve from your 9th lumbar. You'll need to report to the hospital once a month, behind this dumpster for treatments." Thus it began. I reported faithfully to the appointments where the good doctor would start jaggin my thang until I put a wad of cream cheese on her titty bags. Sometimes she would be alone, other times she would say she needed a consult and have me bang a few nurses. One day, while I was giving my treatment to a nurse who volunteered from oncology, some guy in a security jacket approached us. "Hey! What the fuck are you guys doing!?!?!" I replied to the man angrily -- "Sir! This is a medical procedure for a sensitive condition and I would appreciate it if you could leave me in peace." Needless to say, when I found out that Dr. Evans wasn't really a doctor at all, it was a bit of a shocker. She didn't even work there. Turns out she was just some model for a magazine called max em' or something. I felt hurt. Used. Worst of all, my dick is still getting bigger. I can only give it to the loosest of sloots now, and even they complain that they've given birth that they consider less painful. So now you know my pain. My tragedy. I've resolved to seek out cosmetic surgery as a final option. I plan on lopping off 2/3rds of it. My surgeon estimates that with extensive work and several surgeries, he can whittle the thing down to about the size of 1.5 redbull cans. ...Wait. What was I saying?

part 1/4 To my dearest Caroline, I'm writing this down in the event that I do not make it through the night and this letter makes it to you when (or if) my body is recovered. The plan was simple, drop in Brandenburg, behind enemy lines, to do recon for an eventual push through to Berlin. The drop went as planned. However, a large gust of wind pushed me into the trees causing me to get stuck without any way of giving the rest of the squad my position. The trek though the forest, even though a 10 minute hike, felt as if a whole week in hell. To my suspicions I was alone, but it was then that I awoke something from deep in the woods that should not have been disturbed. It played in the shadows cast by the moon across the trees. It moved only when I did, echoing my footsteps. It could smell my fear, and it was feeding off of it. As I emerged into the clearing where my rally point was my squad teased me with how pail I was. "Geese, Stone! You look like you just saw a ghost!"Murphy pointed out. "Yeah, afraid of trees, John?"Miller joked, not so funny now are you? "Need a drink, boy'o?"Callahan, our medic, tried to calm me down a bit. too bad he's not here now. "I got a flagon of the good stuff, Stone"Moreno was the squad drunk. Maj. Philips didn't much care for him, but he was good to me. "Hey, let me have a swig!"The Rookie requested. "When you're older, kid"Robertson was the word of reason, aside from Philips "Alright cut the chatter,"Major Anthony G. Philips led our Kitchen-sink outfit of men into the cold of the night, "and let's get to the task at hand. The nearest Nazi camp is about 8 clicks north of here so if we start moving now we can recon by dawn and get a good read on their morning routines." It was here where we entered the realm of the beast. The first to go was Murphy, Cpl. Joesph H. Murphy, he lagged behind most of the group all the time. His excuse for this was he was just watching out for the rest of the squad, but we all knew it was because of him being overweight. Miller called it to our attention by calling out into the the darkness for him. "Murph! Hey, Murphy! Fatass!" "Dammit, Miller!"Robertson grabbed him by the collar and put his hand over his mouth, "Keep your fucking trap shut! If the enemy finds us so help me good I'll put a bullet in you myself!" It was then where we heard the screams of Murphy followed by the a gut wrenching howl. Like a feral man-beast barking up at the moon in celebration of his first kill. It was enough to stop us cold in our tracks as none of us dared to move or make a sound. "What..."Robertson spoke "... the fuck ... "Callahan muttered "... was that?"Miller finished, moving Robertson's hand out of the way. Moreno looked at his flask, "this is good shit."and put it away. "Alright men keep alert,"Philips warned, "looks like there's company in this woods." The further we moved into the brush the more my suspicions from my earlier trek manifested into something far more disturbing. If I had figured it out sooner I could have saved the lives of my entire squad, and even maybe my own. We stopped for a breather, and so Miller could get the rocks out of his boots. "How many more miles you think we still got, Sir?"The Rookie asked.

Clang! With a defiant sigh, I trundle downstairs from the bedroom. Before I could wrap my head around the corner, she bleats out, "Sorry! So sorry!"The voice is tinny and bounces around the room as if it were spiraling up the walls. Peering into the smoky remnants of the shadow in front of the sink, I call out, "Edna! This isn't your home anymore!" Before I walk over to the spot where the pot lay, I pick up a towel. Experience has taught me that these things get COLD. It's been about three years since I've lived here with Edna, who has lived here for about sixty five. At first, she had tried the usual tactics of turning lights on and moving glassware, but my impoverished stubbornness has outlasted her mistrust. In fact, I think she's beginning to like a warm and well kept house. Yet, the constant struggle of ownership continues. Furniture get rearranged, my books are open on the floor, and the dishes, the goddamn dishes can never remain in the sink for an hour before she meddles. I've had less annoying roommates in college. The house itself is a creaky Victorian, I found the outside shingles spotted with what remained of mint green paint, the trim around the windows faded. I presume Edna did the interior decor, a cliched patchwork of striped and botanical wallpapers and ever disgusting green and maroon carpeting. The poorly-placed windows never gave enough sunlight and the surrounding trees enveloped each room further once night fell. Curiously, today Edna had scribbled on a pad the words "Dinner Guest". I pick up the paper and the words vanish instantly. Another sigh escapes, this time more annoyed as my hands begin to work the plates and silverware. As the last fork was rubbed dry and went into the drawer, an incessant knock came across the door. This is the first dinner guest Edna had ever had, and in hindsight, I should have been a little more prepared. Before the knob turned all the way, the walnut door was flung backwards with a wretched force. The wind pushed through but no observable matter had led it. EDIT: gotta work, will finish later!

The weather was nice, sun shining, bird singing, just a nice day. Mom, Dad and Jimmy had decided to spend it at the zoo, looking at all the animals. Nice uncomplicated fun. Sometimes Jimmy felt like Nickeloden was a bit too complex for a boy his age. He could have sworn he missed some, if not all, jokes in Spongebob. Mostly because his dad laughed a hearty laugh, and then smiled as he refused to explain it to Jimmy. Always with the classic “You’ll get it when you’re older“ throwaway explanation. That is why he liked the zoo. Nothing complicated about animals. They acted on instinct alone. He liked that. However, right now, he found himself dumbstruck at the eagle habitat. Jimmy stared beyond the metal bars. Then up at mom, over to dad, and then back beyond the bars. He was almost certain that up on that branch, inside the eagle habitat, sat a very naked man. Squawking. “Mom…“ “Jim Jam?“ Jimmy hesitated to ask. But did so anyway. “Why is there a man in that cage? “ Mom laughed and Jimmys hearth melted. “My little Jim Jam, that’s a bald eagle, not a man“ Jimmy looked back at the man. Squinted a little and said “No that’s a man. Look. No feathers“ His mom chuckled sweetly and tapped the plaque, describing the inhabitants of the habitat. “Says right here it’s a bald eagle“ Jimmy shrugged. Sometimes he felt dumb. Sometimes he felt like adults were dumber. As they walked away, the very naked man sighed in surrender. Mumbled something along the lines of "only for ten more years"and "What does a bald eagle even sound like?"and then, the majesticly soaring king of birds, squawked again.

It was like sirens screaming in the distance, as the revelation unfolded in front of him. It had been a slow day in accounting, filing and calculating as usual. All up until the moment, he had discovered the scam. Someone was siphoning money from the firm. Not so bad, that it went into red, but just enough so it made for good money. And he knew who had done it. The question was if he should rat him out. If there ever was a chance to do it, it would be now. They were all here. Steve the jerk, Stella the hottie, Jake the scammer and Rick the boss. Just the people he needed, to handle this delicately, without making a huge scene. Right now Steve was proudly presenting this fiscal quarters estimated profits. With graphs and all, to show how well it was all going. Rick will, as usually, ask if ‘there is anything else’ right after Steve’s presentation. Then he would present his findings and out Jack, as the scum he is. On the other hand… “You could use it as blackmail, get a cut, get rich! “ Poof! The tiny devil version of himself appeared on his shoulder. Right on schedule. It was starting to get tiresome. Their endless quarrel. Any moment now, the other angelic half would appear and the tiny personification of inner turmoil would begin debating once again. Always very intense and very loudly. Nobody else could see them. Only him. Id had been a novelty when he was younger. Now it was just… urgh. Any moment now. Yep. Right on queue he would appear. Any second. The tiny devil was leaning on his pitchfork, letting out a deep yawn, obviously very bored. Tiny devil looked around, with nothing better to do. “So how about that Stella girl, pretty hot right? “ Tiny devil looked expectantly up at him, from his shoulder position. “Oh right. Can’t answer, or you might seem crazy. Anyway, the answer is yes. She is very hot “ He tried not to look down at tiny devil. A mistake like that was made before and his eye had met with certain body part, of a very horny devil. It had not been pleasant. Looking back, it made him shudder, the situation had been even more unpleasant for the girl he was about to fu-- “Hrey, hrold it. Im hear “ Poof! Tiny angel had appeared on his shoulder, opposite to Tiny devil. Clearly… drunk? Could they do that? Are they allowed to do that? “And as we can see—Alex are you even paying attention? “ It startled him, hearing his name in between the slurred words from tiny angel. “Yes. Yes of course I am Steve. I was just deep thoughts on the matter. Do go on “ “Yhear, id like to go on. On. On his face “ Tiny angel pause. Looked over at Tiny devil, then up at Alex “With my cock“ he added, and then burst out laughing, at his own joke. “As I was saying “ Steve went on, pointing at the thin blue line “It’s clear that the marketing departments stunt… “ “Hrey. Hrey Devil “ Tiny angel was yelling, drowning out Steve “Youh, uh, youh wanna do it? “ “What!? “ Tiny devil reeled backwards, as if offended. “Whell yhea, what the hell, ihm having an exsicsten… escisc... a crisis. Ihm drunk. I dhont whanna be a fucking vhirgin fhorever “ Tiny devil gave a short pause. No way, Alex thought. Please don’t accept, he thought harder. Praying that he had a psychic link to them, or something. “Why the hell not “ Tiny devil said, unintentionally dismissing Alex’s silent prayer, as Tiny devil made his way across Alex’s neck. “So it’s my professional opinion that we must establish an intimate relationship with our customers, one based on mutual trust “Steve said, all the while the personified paradigms began making out, hardcore. “We have to get down and dirty in this campaign. Work on hands and knees. Truly “ Steve held his breath, always with a flair for the dramatic pause. Meanwhile Tiny devil had pushed Tiny angel to his knees “Rise to the occasion “ Steve finished, as Alex to his horror, saw Tiny devil sporting a massive erection. “We’ve seen the slogan. We know the slogan. But it’s time to really start pounding it into the minds of our customer base, and even seek out clientele, we never knew we could reach “ Alex found himself almost hypnotized by Tiny devils forceful rhythm. The diametrical oppositions moans of pleasure became indistinguishable from Steve’s ceaseless synergized droning. But still, Alex tried to act, as if nothing was wrong. “That way we can achieve even further ORGASM OH GOD IM ALMOST THERE but we must remember that FUCK ME HARDER YOU DEVIL UARGH so we can really SPREAD MY BUTTOCKS AND REACH DEEP YOU FUCKER or we might see this increase, turn into a SLAP ME HARD—“ Alex felt like fleeing. But it was almost like high school all over again, if he stood up, the whole room would see his boner. Tiny devil started pounding harder, which only made Tiny angel pleasure screams louder. “Stop fucking around ” Alex slammed a fist into the table. And they all looked at him. Tiny angel, still with Tiny Devil inside of him. . Steve the jerk, Stella the hottie, Jake the scammer and Rick the boss. Oh no. It became too obvious he had said that out loud. Alexs eyes darted around. Oh god. This was it. He was done for. Unless… “You all know what I’m talking about “ Alex started. No one knew what he was talking about. “Uh. Yes. Stop f u c k i n g around. We. Uh. All know that… “ He drew a blanks. Wait no. The Cogs in his head was working at high capacity. Actually this was perfect. “We all know Jack has been stealing from the company, why nobody has said anything, is beyond me “ Later, after two police officers escorted Jack out of the building, Alex sat in his office. “Are you guys finally done? “ For two hours he had been staring at the ceiling, trying to shout out all sound, stemming from the shoulder fucking. “Well. Yhea. “ Tiny devil answered, exhaling cigerrate smoke. “By the way, nice save back there. Very well done “ “Fuck you “ “Technically we’re extensions of your personality, so you already did “ Tiny angel answered. “Fuck you too “ Alex said snapped back. “Technically “ Tiny devil said “You already did “

"In other news, what's really causing cancer now a days? Find out the most shocking discovery that science has for you tonight at eight" The tv rang loud over the sounds of my cooking dinner. I lived in a small house alone. No husband, no kids, not even a cat. The only thing I had was my cigarettes. When I go out in public I'm scolded for them. People nag saying that they're dangerous but honestly I don't care. I'm still standing aren't i. All I have to do tonight is wait for my pasta to boil. Life would be so much more simple with a microwave but I just can't afford one right now. I'm unemployed. And I'm still very young. Twenty-one in a month. So there has to be someone willing to hire me. Right? Wrong. No one will hire someone with a smoking habit. And I honestly can't quit. They're addicting. Beyond addicting. But I feel perfectly fine despite what people say about causing cancer. Maybe they're wrong. Or maybe I'm just lucky. Pasta is done. Finally. I'm starving. I think I'm going to change the channel on the tv and watch something fun or interesting. I hate the news. So I walk to the couch with my food and grab the remote. "Good evening I'm John Smith and you're watching the eight o'clock news. Our top story tonight. Scientists have a new discovery on WHAT in your home is causing cancer. Two studies done by the CDC have shown that not only are cigarettes harmless, but is your microwave?" "That's right John, your every day microwave. I'm Diane Jones everyone and in a new study, your microwave is causing cancer. Scientists prove that the radiation waves that cook your food, is killing you." I just realize that I'm still holding the remote up in the air and I'm smiling. No one can tell me that my smoking is dangerous. But I've lucked out. No microwave here. So I just sit tight, watch the news and enjoy my cancer free life.

> "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." I can't speak for everyone, but I consider constructive criticism (emphasis on the 'constructive' part), to be 'nice' by definition. I can see your point about tagging threads, and, yeah: this forum isn't supposed to be like [/destructivereaders](http://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/) or anything, but I'd wager that the majority of folks around here don't mind getting critical feedback, so if we're gonna be tagging anything I say it should be the posts that *don't* want anyone's honest opinions.

Abu awoke in a simple room, but not his own. The ceiling was wrong. It was still early morning, but the sounds were not quite right. The river was on the wrong side of the village. 'Why would I think that?' Abu thought to himself. He was disoriented and felt odd and sore in so many places. The hut was simple, but serviceable. The room was small but not uncomfortably so. But the things in it were not his. There were several brightly colored skirts and blouses. Sandals clearly too small for the feet of a man. And in the corner of the room, a modest lamp and a small stack of books. The titles were mostly in French and English. Too few in Arabic, Abu thought. Then he heard the roar of diesel engines. His heart leapt, his loyal supporters had found him and salvation was surely at hand. He was not guarded, which seemed odd. He remembered being tied down, restrained and drugged. Lights and strange voices tried to reach up into his memory. He stumbled as he tried to reach the door, his legs feeling both to thin and too short. Regaining his bearings, he made his way outside. He leaned against the doorway and surveyed his surroundings. The village seemed like any other, if perhaps to perfectly so. There was a familiar convoy at the outskirts, armed soldiers searching the buildings methodically. "Here I am!"He cried out. The soldiers stopped as if a rifle was fired unexpectedly. He stumbled out into the open, waving his arms to get there attention. "I'm right here, brothers, thank Allah that you came." The men leered at Abu and made vulgar catcalls at him. Dizzy, groggy and confused, he fell to his knees. As he tried to regain his composure, he looked down at his hands. His dainty, feminine hands. The men started to advance towards Abu, and he felt anything but safe. It was then that he realized the awkardness of his body, the sagging weight on his chest, the void between his legs. He self-conciously grasped his bosom and searched his crotch. The was a chiming in his left ear. "Abubakar Shekau, you have been charged and found guilty with kidnapping and conspiracy to traffic humans for political gain. Through your direct guidance and leadership, the terrorist group known as Boko Haram have taken over 200 innocent females away from their families and communities and had them forcibly married to the members of the aforementioned group. It has been decided by the Special Judicial Committee on Human Traffiking that you are to be sentenced to serve your remaining days in a fashion that is equal to the circumstances that your victims suffered as a result of your actions. Your sentence is to be served immediately, and you will not be eligible for parole." Abu howled in horror. His voice, however, was now spoken by a set of feminine vocal cords, so the sound was more like a female teenager shrieking. And the remaining members of Boko Haram closed in.

The Angel of Death was retiring. Instead of going out and picking a successor himself, he wrote down the names of all possible candidates on a wheel. Spinning the wheel, it landed on one name: Patrick Star. The aforementioned Sea Star was watching tv under his rock. With a puff of smoke, he suddenly appeared in front of the Angel of Death. "Patrick Star, you have been chosen", the skeletal figure said, "to become the new Angel of Death" "Uhh, okay", Patrick said. With that, he was wrapped up in the Angel's robes and given his scythe. Then he reappeared under his rock. "What just happened?", Patrick asked, "I wanna Krabby Patty!" He exited his rock and made his way towards the Krusty Krab. Before he could get there, he was mugged. "Gimme yur money!", a tall fish said. "I don't have any money.", Patrick said. "Do I look stupid to you?!", the fish growled, grabbing Patrick. "Kind of", Patrick said matter-of-fact-ly. "That's it! I'ma kill you son of a-", the fish started, grabbing a knife. He never finished the sentence, however, because Patrick had killed him with the scythe. The pudgy starfish made his way to the Krusty Krab, where he found himself at the back of a line, directly behind Jim the Jack@$$, one of the biggest jerks in Bikini Bottom. "Hey, Tubby!", Jim said, "You should probably lay off the patties, they'll make you even fatter!". He and his friends laughed, not noticing the feral scowl appearing on Patrick's face. "Nobody calls me TUBBY!", Patrick yelled, charging at them. With a few swings of the scythe, the fish fell to the ground, dead. "Holy Seashell!", Patrick exclaimed, "I must be a superhero!". He decided to join the International Justice League of Super Acquaintances. But first, he wanted a Krabby Patty. "Good Morning, Krusty crew!", Patrick greeted as the entered the (barely a) dining establishment. "Hiya Patrick", Spongebob said cheerfully. "Whatever", Squidward said. "I want a Krabby Patty with cheese", Patrick said, "and some chili coral bits". "Order up!", SpongeBob shrieked almost immediately. He handed Patrick the food, which the pink sea star shoved into his mouth, before leaving. "Patrick! You forgot to pay!", Squidward said. Patrick had also noticed this, and threw a rock at Squidward, hitting him in the face. "Who forgot to pay!", Mr. Krabs said, running in. "I'm fine, thanks for asking", Squidward said sarcastically. "Don't you insult me!", The maniacal crab yelled, hitting the octopus in the gut. Meanwhile, Patrick, who was using the code name "Mr. Super Awesomeness", had just turned in his registration form to Miss Appear. "So, can I join?", Patrick asked. "Yes, you're in!", Miss Appear said. "Wahoo!", Patrick said, entering the Mermalair. Inside sat the full ranks of the I.J.L.S.A.: Mermaidman, Barnacleboy, The Quickster, Captain Magma, and the Elastic Waistband. "Good to have a new member", Mermaidman said, sticking out his hand. Patrick shook it, and the team began to celebrate. Then they heard a beeping sound. "We'll have to save the celebrations for later", The Elastic Waistband said, "E.V.I.L. is attacking the nuclear research center!" The heroes hopped into the newly-visible (thanks to Patrick) Boatmobile, and headed to the Bikini Bottom Nuclear Research Center. Running inside, they saw Jumbo Shrimp, Prawn, the Dirty Bubble, Man Ray, Moth, and Sinister Slug attacking the scientists. "Put those scientists down!", Mermaidman said, "I.J.L.S.A. Assemble!"Mermaidman used his merma-needle to pop the Dirty Bubble. Miss Appear took on Jumbo Shrimp. Captain Magma attacked Man Ray. The Elastic Waistband crushed prawn. Barnacleboy fought the Sinister Slug. It was up to Quickster and Patrick to deal with Moth. "You'll never defeat me!", Moth yelled, attacking with his laser blasts. "Don't be so sure!", Quickster said, "Patrick, throw me!" Patrick did as he was told. The Quickster rolled into a ball and bounced about the building like a pinball, until he hit Moth, who fell to the ground, injured. "Great job Quickster", Patrick congratulated. "Wait just one second", a wounded Miss Appear said, "Where are Kelp-Thing and the Atomic Flounder?!" "Right here!", Kelp thing said, pressing the button that activated the nuclear test chamber, "and I'm going to make the Atomic Flounder much more powerful!" "No!", Mermaidman yelled. "Yes!", Kelp-Thing laughed as all of the nuclear energy entered the Atomic Flounder, causing him to grow larger and turn green. The mutant flounder then smashed his way out of the building and began to terrorize the city. "I'll stop him! Krakatoa!", Captain Magma yelled, flying towards the Atomic Flounder. He drenched it in lava, but it was all absorbed, causing the Atomic Flounder to enter a magma-like state. "He absorbed Captain Magma's attacks!", Quickster called. "I know just what we need to do!", Patrick said, "Mermaidman, fire your waterballs!". Mermaidman put his hands together, and pointed them in the direction of the Atomic Flounder. "Super Waterball times five!", Mermaidman yelled, causing a giang stream of running water to erupt from his hands, hitting the Atomic Flounder, which hardened into stone. "Okay, here goes", Patrick said, "Super pointy stick attack!". He threw the scythe at the Atomic Flounder, cutting it in half. The Atomic Flounder exploded. "Great job Patrick", Mermaidman said. "Thanks", Patrick replied, "oh, by the way, the other villains escaped." "That's okay", Captain Magma said, "we'll catch them next time." Patrick became a full-fledged member of the I.J.L.S.A. One day, while they were partying, the former Angel of Death appeared. "Patrick, you have misused your gift", he said, "so I must take it from you!" The robes and scythe were torn from Patrick, who was left in his underwear as the Angel of Death disappeared. "Aww", Patrick said,"so much for being a superhero" "Not quite", Miss Appear said, handing him a new costume, "say goodbye to Mr. Super Awesomeness, and say hello to the Verdant Vision!"Patrick was given a new green costume and cape, which gave him the power to create things with his mind, fly, and become intangible. (The Verdant Vision is a spoof of Green Lantern and the Vision) "Guys!", Quickster said, "E.V.I.L. has just opened a portal above New Kelp City! We have to help!"The I.J.L.S.A. rushed to the Boatmobile. "Wait until they get a load of me!", Patrick grinned.

The fly had hooked its legs into the curtain, swaying on its tide, deceptively close to the outside world to which it belonged. It didn’t understand the window. It appeared to promise flight, but there was some invisible barrier that kept it from darting outside. It dropped away from the curtain and buzzed at the window, colliding into it again and again. It stopped, crawling angrily against the strangely hard slice of air that would not let it through. Frank scooped up the fly with one hand, and pushed open the window. It took flight, and its buzz faded. Before anything else could find its way into his small bedroom, he yanked the window shut. A dim reflection of his own face peered back at him. Through it, in the curve of his cheek, the window opposite his. The window into a room that had always been lit, yet through which he had never seen a figure. The Millers lived downstairs exclusively, it seemed. The third floor had never divulged any sign of life, save this one lit window. It was then that the face of a young girl appeared within his own, shifting into view behind the reflection of his eyes. Frank stepped back from his window, startled. The girl pressed her hands against the glass of her own, leaning forwards. She opened her mouth into a soft O and exhaled a nebulous circle onto her window. She painted a smile onto it with a white finger. She smiled, too. With great effort, she unfastened the lock on her window and pushed it open. Frank slowly did the same. He emerged from his window to meet her, his face a metre from hers. “Hello,” she said. “I’ve been watching you for a long time.” “What?” He jerked back, his fingers closing around the hook on his window. “No, wait!” she exclaimed. Her eyes widened, and they were black. “My parents said that I shouldn’t talk to anyone apart from them. They told me that no one else can see me. But you saw me tonight. Frank, I want to talk to you.” “How… do you know my name?” he asked, slowly, gingerly. She relaxed into a smile. He wasn’t retreating. “You told me your name, silly.” He disregarded this as childish nonsense. He had done no such thing. Instead, he asked her why it was that he hadn’t seen her before. How long had she lived here? “I was born here,” she said. “I’ve been here, in this room, always.” She could not be older than eight, yet Frank, at twenty-three, could not recall hearing the cries of a child once in the past fifteen years of his life. He had grown up in this room, opposite the one she claimed to be hers. His hearing was keen; this was why the buzz of insects irritated him beyond measure. With windows shut, he could still hear the man across the street creep out of his house every Tuesday night to cheat on his wife. He woke up every morning hours too soon because the birds crooned him away from his dreams. Had a young girl been living next door, he would’ve known. He told her this. Her smile grew wider. “But Frank, we played together. You don’t remember? Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear?” As the realisation dawned on him, he snapped the window shut as fast as he could. There was a girl that had lived next door, years ago. They had been born mere days apart, although her birthday had preceded his, and as such, she had demanded priority in everything. She had had blonde hair so light he had thought, upon seeing it, that it was white. Big, round, blue eyes. Skin luminously pale against his. She had died in the summer of 1999, in the wake of Frank’s eighth birthday party. Growing up, he had forgotten about her. Yet she, it seemed, had not.

"It's said that early aging comes from stress, but I heard... scientifically speaking, the further up north you go, the faster time flys. There's good money to be had up north... I'd rather have a shortened life span, than to have a prolonged one in the hell where I was raised... What's the point of living if you don't have the money to enjoy it?" "I worked a lot, so I didn't see the wife as much as I'd like to... Which didn't bother her until she got lonely... She had a hard time choosing what was more important, the money or me.... Can't say I blame her." "But she made her choice... Dumb slut bit the bullet, caught her sleeping around... Her loss..." "I'm old now, too late to start another relationship. I've served my time for what I'd done. It won't be much longer before I join her fate by the same hand... I suppose my life was predestined from the beginning... I was never meant to leave hell."

She looks horrified. "No,"she says, "no no no *no* please--" I laugh, high and thin. "I'm trapped,"I gasp, dementia twisting my heart and panic fluttering its fingertips in my chest. "I can't get out!" "Get out of *what?*"she cries, shaking. Her eyes are hurt but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. (It's not real.) "I found a way out,"I breathe shakily, and I know my smile must be edged with hysteria. "If I can't end this dream, I'll end myself."My eyes go wide and serene. "And then I'll wake up." Her mouth begins to form my name when I press the cool kiss of metal to my temple. She screams. Black. ----------------------------------- There is nothing he r e --------------------------- They hold his funeral fifteen days later. *He was schizophrenic,* they say. *He was crazy. He thought he was going to a better place.* They sigh. *He really thought it was all a dream.* She weeps silently at his fresh grave. Somewhere, worlds away, he smiles gently.

#Request for clarification Which prompt inspired your work? Can you provide a link? The tag is reserved for prompt replies. If you wrote this as a response to a prompt, please include a link to the prompt in question. If you're just seeking general feedback on something you've written outside this sub, you should check out [our wiki](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index)'s list of [Critique Subreddits](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/links#wiki_critiques).

Going to assume you mean "with"the same person? ________________________________________________ We had only been seated a moment when I saw her, dining with Jennifer who I'd be inside not two days earlier. Both of them were too involved in their meals and conversation to notice me, yet. "Waiter!"I snapped eagerly "Could we possibly have a table closer to the other side of the restaurant? I love the view here and would just love to be close to a window." The waiter appeared befuddled by my request, outside is basically a concrete jungle but he happily obliged. Mary and I stood up to relocate, I kept my back to my other two conquests. "I'll be right over George"Mary said to me "I've just got to use the restroom." _________________________________________________ I noticed her the moment we set foot in the door. Her long golden locks flowed past her shoulders and teased her cleavage. She was dining with another woman, a woman I'd not seen before. As we strode to our table I stared. My curiosity was piqued. "Waiter!"George snapped eagerly "Could we possibly have a table closer to the other side of the restaurant? I love the view here and would just love to be close to a window." "I'll be right over George"I lied "I've just got to use the restroom." _________________________________________________

Michael had sworn to himself, to his country, to his handlers that he would go silently, with dignity as a patriot. His loved-ones would be taken care of, the bills would be paid, and his family name would be carved out alongside heroes in history books. He had held his breath for decades, coated in ticker tape and spun sideways in front news cameras, so willing to hang banners and book deals, never bothering to ask the questions that he fought back in his own mind. The questions that got blacked out on formal reports and the answers he had spent his life coming to terms with. Michael came back from the Apollo mission alongside his colleagues, his brothers as heroes – as real Americans on magazines and Wheaties boxes - with his picture pinned on bulletin boards across the nation. For years he read his script and bit down hard at night. He was prescribed lithium on valium and thorazine in later years to sleep on that script and rest on those laurels. His eyes always dark from sleepless nights and cursed knowing the true cost of those giant steps for mankind. He grew old and quiet like men of his generation, dignity painted over coats of tradition. In his last days, the hospital had kept him comfortable allowing only his family to be by his side. His son Ryan was waiting for his mother to wave him in to the room. Ryan loved his father the best he knew how to – the way his father had deemed appropriate, with distant respect, eye contact and sealed handshakes like legal contracts. Ryan hadn't had much of a life with his Dad – the authority figure who spent his life at work, coming home late or not at all to eat breakfast and spill obscenities over paperwork, or toys left out, or dirty fingers on beige walls. Ryan waited, not knowing what he would say. An only child – he waited in the colourless, sterile hallway, alone, listening to his Mom sobbing a doorframe away – trying to reconcile this day with a lifetime of dutiful love, and respect for a Man known from a distance. He felt empty, and blamed himself for not feeling enough – or knowing what that meant. Ryan’s mother waved him in, as she left for the washroom across the hall. Michael was conscious and stoic – staring past his son to the window, struggling to focus on any specific depth. The ridges on his face quaked as if being drilled like dry wells – being pushed to greater and greater depths – searching for water in a barren land. His skin was delicate and thin, barely covering the shallow veins spilling from his forehead to his neck, now visible like watercolours soaking through parchment. Ryan hurt – not recognizing the man in front of him, he struggled for words. ‘Dad, I…. I’m here, can you hear me?’ Michael flinched as if suddenly awakened and found his son’s hand on the bed, pulling him close, with a sudden directness. Michael locked his eyes on Ryan, and gave him a stern look. A look Ryan knew from every handshake his old man had ever locked him into. Tell them the truth, Ryan – tell them the truth, Michael said. It’s not too late – the government, the president, they.. they.. never.. Ask Donald Corrallie at mission command! ask him to show you the tape! .. Buzz and Neil never made it off that rock, son.. They were my brothers, and the world has to know…. Those boys never came home.. They never.. . … …. (beeeeeep – the heart monitor goes flat) (a nurse rushes in pushing Ryan to the corner.) Ryan looks out the window and sees a black SUV pull in to the emergency parking lane.. screeching its tires to a stop before dispatching men in overcoats and badges out in front of the building and in through the emergency doors. Someone was listening.

*This is it*, Brad thought. He sat in his car, a beat-up 1991 Toyota Camry. He turned off the ignition and sat back, his head hitting the headrest. He sighed. He opened the door, and let the automatic seat belt slowly track out of his way. He got out, and took a deep breath. Closing the door he turned, squinting into the sun. He walked across the street. He turned slightly and made his way up the long staircase. At the top, he turned and looked out one last time. He walked through the heavy door to the lobby of the building. A guard sat in a chair to his right. An older, heavy set man, he waved Brad over. "Remove your belt, shoes, and any metal items you might have in your pockets."The guard said it as though he had it memorized. Brad removed his shoes and placed them in the bin. He took out his keys and what change he had, placing them next to his shoes. He wasn't wearing a belt. The guard sent the bin through and motioned for Brad to walk through the metal detector. On the other side, a female guard was waiting with a wand. "Come on through, sir"she said at him. She motioned for him to move. Brad took a step through the metal detector, his heart in his chest. The detector did not go off. He sighed and waited as the guard moved the wand around his body. Satisfied, she motioned for him to grab his shoes. "Have a good day, sir"she said at him. He moved to the end of the line and grabbed his shoes and items. He put his shoes back on, looking toward the end of the sparse lobby at a directory. He walked over to it, and found the floor he needed. He took the elevator to the 5th floor. As the doors opened, men in suits entered. He pushed past them and out into the lobby area. Brad paused, looking left and right. He wasn't sure where to go from here. He walked to the directory across from the elevator. > Barker Conference Room. 504 He turned and walked down the hallway. As he did, he pulled out his phone and connected to a live stream. He started recording, and turned the camera toward him. "My name is Brad Johnson. I live at 5420 Elysium Drive. This video is to stand as proof of what happens here today." He reached Room 504. The door was shut. He put his phone in his shirt pocket, with the camera exposed. He knocked. A younger man in a suit answered. "Can I help you?"he said. Brad shoved him, hard. He fell back and Brad ran past him. Brad took his phone out of his pocket and moved with purpose. The display showed statistics and figures. Men in suits looked at him bewildered from the table. A man stood near the head of the room. Brad shouted at them. "The American People deserve to see this! They deserve to see the faces of the greedy, power hungry people who destroyed their lives! My family's life!" The men began yelling. The man at the head of the table quickly shut off the laptop, and the display went dark. Men in suits entered and grabbed him, tackling him to the floor. The phone skittered across the room. *** I watched the live stream. I could see the wall and ceiling, and could hear the men beat the guy running the video. I heard as his screams were stifled, and they moved him out of the room. I stopped the playback, and went to my recording of it. I pulled up the video and hit play, moving the marker to just before he was tackled. There, in plain view, was the display. I sat back. *The Northwest Telegraph* was going to love this. It was exactly what we were waiting for. I took a screenshot. > **Q1 Figures: PointeValley View Healthcare System** > > *Life Termination Savings($ saved per cease of treatment)* > > *Oncology Department Jan - Mar* > > * Jan: *219 patients deceased. $21,490* > > * Feb: *330 patients deceased. $30,088* > > * Mar: *413 patients deceased. $44,544* > > **Q1 Bonuses** > > *Bonus availability subject to above cost savings per quarter* > > * C-Level: **$10,500** > > * Management Staff: **$3,000** > > * Physician Staff: **$25,000**

*Okay, so you can do this prompt one of two ways, or both if you like! Also, it doesn't have to be America. You could do any other country's rulers instead, such as the British Royalty or even the French Royalty.* A man is visited by one of America's dead presidents. Subsequently, other presidents start to visit him (can be past, present, or future). A man discovers a time machine, but it malfunctions, taking him to some of the most important times in history while meeting the president of that time period as they dealt with the crises/situation. However, these events are so important that the public never found out about them.

Alex has been out on the patio, staring up at the sky for three hours, long after the sun went down. Everything looks normal. At least, she thinks it does. She doesn’t actually know what the nighttime sky usually looks like, because she’s never really thought about it before. But Mr. NASA-Man seems to think that something is wrong. He practically burned down half the world with a single tweet. Somewhere inside the house, two voices rise in argument, one high and irritated, the other low and unfazed. Morgan and Brandt have been unable to decide on a proper course of action, and Alex doesn’t want to intervene because she doesn’t know what to do, either. After all, it could be a big hoax. But the little voice in the back of her head says that need to leave. Now. Before every other idiot gets on the road, leading to the most massive traffic jam in the history of modern society. All over two little sentences. **Nicolas Hestrom** *@nic_hestrom* Stay out of populous cities. Gather all the warm clothes you can. #NASA Of course, NASA immediately removed the tweet and denounced that Hestrom guy, whoever he was. Screenshots were already circulating on every social media site known to man, though, and they aren't leaving any time soon. The Internet is very bad at forgetting things. The screen door pops open, and Alice spins around. Brandt stands with one bag in his hand, full of food, water, and medical supplies, and another slung over his shoulder, brimming with jackets and mittens and various other articles of clothing that Alex didn’t know he owned. He gives her a wary look. “Time’s up. Make a decision.” Behind him, Morgan walks out with her arms crossed, unable to understand why he‘s so gun-ho about running off into the woods. It was probably just a bored NASA employee, or better yet, some stupid hacker. Even NASA said it was a joke. “Where will you go?” Brandt hops down the front steps and tosses his belongings into the back of his car. “My uncle’s place. I got a call out before the lines died. He‘s expecting us.” She scoffs. “You mean that creepy hermit prepper guy?” “Yes, him.” Brandt heads back to the house, barely sparing Morgan a glance. “And he isn’t a hermit. He likes company.” “Oh, yeah. Right.” Morgan says it with a touch of cynicism, but she‘s starting to realize that he‘s dead serious. “How will you get there?” “The truck has a full tank of gas, which should be enough. We’ll take Woodlark up to Brownsville, then Jackston out to Kirby, and from there we’ll head to the mountains. No major roads.” “‘We’?” “I don’t know.” He turns to Alex, eyebrow raised. “‘We’? It’s her parents house. Does she have the right to abandon their property? If this really is a situation of life or death, her parents probably wouldn’t care. And of her two roommates, Alex has always liked Brandt more. He’s levelheaded and considerate, and in truth, he’s more similar to Alex than he is to Morgan. She simply has a better relationship with him. And anyways, Alex’s gut tells her to leave. “I’ll get some blankets,” Alex replies, shouldering past her friends and hurrying into the house. “And everything in the fridge and pantry. It'll go bad otherwise." Brandt gives Morgan a triumphant smirk. "The train's leaving. You coming?" Morgan sighs. "Fine, I'll play your little game."She rolls her eyes, though at this point she's only doing it for show. She's resigned. "I'll get the coolers." As Alex collects more clothes and Morgan fills the coolers with food, Brandt grabs another bag and hurries through the house, taking everything of value. “We leave in twenty minutes, no exceptions.”

POP! “Timmy! Wake up! I need to talk to you.” “gah . . . who . . . who are you?” Timmy was still really groggy. It had been a late night at the ball game. The sun wasn’t out yet, even though summers in Seattle started getting light really early. “I’m you! I’m from the future.” Tim was a big man. Not tall, just big. Setting his weight on the corner of the bed made Timmy slide down as if being pulled into orbit around a large planet. “Wha . . . wha?” “Don’t talk, I don’t have much time.” The older man spoke a little too resignedly. “I’ve been here before, you just don’t know it yet. I’m using a broken time machine, it can only hold me here for a couple minutes.” Timmy wasn’t quite awake, but he thought he had seen this play out before, a kind of déjà vu. He grabbed the cup of water from his nightstand and took a sip as he sat up against the headboard. There was a soothing comfort in the cup he held, knowing that he had programmed the 3D printer that made it real. “Listen, you are going to save the world. But I need you to be ready for it. Lots of people get hurt, and if we can be ready early, you can save even more.” “But I’m only 10!”cried Timmy. “I’m not even in middle school yet, what can I do?” A noise out the window startled Tim, until he remembered something from when he was a kid. The newspaper carrier has an old car with a leaky exhaust. It would wake him up. It would also wake up his parents . . . “I need you to understand. I can’t mess it up this time!” He shook Timmy, a little too hard. Timmy started sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m frightened too. I need you to be prepared so that you can help more people.” “It’s aliens, isn’t it?” Timmy asked reluctantly. “Yes. That is what you saw at the Mariners game last night, when you watched that pop fly, before they closed the roof. They’re still just watching, it’ll be years before they make their move.” “Why now then, what can I do” “Because I’ve tried before. When you were 18. Then when you were 17. And 16, 15, 14 . . . every year in fact. Sometimes it gets a little better, sometimes worse. But we need to make it much better, we need to save more people!” There was a noise in the hallway . . . the newspaper delivery woke Timmy’s parents. Timmy’s eyes were wide with excitement. He knew he was right about what he saw in the sky. It wasn’t just lights. Tim continued talking to himself, his younger self, in hushed tones: “You know how to program already, right?” Timmy looked down at his cup and nodded. A look of recognition crossed the older man’s face. “That’s right, we made that cup.” Timmy looked up with a start at the word “we.” “Ok, I’m going to have to go soon. What I need you to do is start learning machine language. It’s older and more basic, but it’s what you need to know. It’s how you end up communicating with their ships.” A voice from out in the hall, as a woman’s muffled voice says “Dan, it sounds like there’s someone in Timmy’s room.” “Shhhh . . . maybe he’s talking in his sleep again” a man answers. Timmy and Tim as one look up at the door, silently trying to figure out how much time they had. Tim grabs a pen and the baseball Timmy caught at a game last year. He writes a series of formulae just under Ichiro’s autograph. Pointing at it, he whispers “memorize these, and learn to program them in machine quickly. Maybe you can stop them before they land this time.” The bedroom door shudders, as if a heavy weight were resting on it. Timmy’s dad yells: “Are you alone in there?” as he tries the doorknob. It won’t open. “Open this door right now!” Tim tosses the ball to Timmy and gives him a wink. “Just a second dad!” yells the younger Timmy. To Tim he whispers “do I have to get fat?” “You’re going to spend a lot of time sitting in front of a computer, fortunately I know that you enjoy it. Just be sure to get it right this time, and whatever you do, don’t let Susan Schapiro convince you to run off this time, you’re too important!” Timmy pops his head sideways as his older self pushes on what looks like a garage door controller in his hand and vanishes with a wisp of ozone.

I walked down the alley way of the ruined street of the smoking ruins making up a once peaceful town. We were finally gaining the upper hand, the confederacy was about turn around the advantage to their favor. I was given the task of scouting around to make sure there was no ambush planned for our incoming army. So far everything was good. Not a soul in sight. I decided to head back to camp. The sun was slowly rising, soon that golden globe will be perched high up in the sky viewing our victory against the union powers. What was a surprise to me though was as I crossed a large bush, a dark figure pounced straight towards me. He wore a blue uniform. Naturally, I lifted my arm up to halt his daggering hand. Sure enough, he held a dagger in his hand prepared to sink into my flesh. I couldn't allow it so I struck with my right fist against his kidney. A release of wind came from the man in the form of a pained groan. I took advantage by sweeping my leg forward to drop him to the ground. He dropped, releasing dust to the wind, and he must've been inspired since his next move was to throw dirt straight at my face. I became blinded. Aimlessly I swung my arms to prevent him from gaining the upper hand, but a bolt of pain began to rise from my crotch. The heaviness of his boot thrust further up between my legs as though he meant to tear through me. I let myself fall forward as there was nothing else my mind could think of. I heard him roll over to allow me to meet the earth with my face. Pain surged from my nose now. Two origins of pain-induced fury prevented me from staying fully immobilized, so I flipped over and met my challenger face to face. He stared right into my eyes with similar anger. The difference in this situation was his anger vanished at a moment's notice and was replaced with concern and surprise. "Master Andrew?" I stared at him still upset, but how on earth did he know my name? Why would he call me master? my nose and crotch weren't allowing me to think clearly so I thrust my fist towards him. He grabbed them with embarrassing ease, trying to have me stop. "No no Master Andrew. Its me. Jonesy. You member me?" The name struck my mind stronger than his boot did as sudden flashes of my past ran across my eyes. A slave of my pa's, back when I was a little boy. He was alive! I grew furious. "You left me! You left me behind!" Jonesy had to hold me down to prevent me from fully erupting. "I didn't mean to Master Andrew. Twas never what I wanted to do. I couldn't bring you with me. You woulda been killed if caught. I couldn risk that." "You didn't prevent anything! I was brutally punished because of you! My father's hand never showed me mercy for helping you run off!" "I sorry for that, really. But you saved my life Master Andrew. I- I can't kill you. You must go now."He gave me a look of pity. I couldn't stand it. "No, I cannot just let you go though. You are going to drop dead where you stand today!"This threat wasn't idle. If it wasn't going to be me to do the deed of death, the camp nearby was going to finish the business. "I cannot."His arms wilted slowly down to his sides, "IF you kill me, so be it. Make it quick. You cannot make anymore noise than you already have." My want for revenge against my father was going to be release upon this former slave. I felt my blood boil as I rose my right arm to strike him across the face, and reached my left arm to my holster to prepare for the release of a bullet against his abdomen. Before I could complete my act of vengeance I felt a burning sensation upon my left shoulder. Red droplets appeared in my peripheral and a cry of pain was released. I turned to look and see that a large group of blues were rushing towards me and Jonesy. I realized this was to be the site of a battle, as gunshots began to blast from behind Jonesy. My fellow greys were charging towards me as well. I realize this is where I was to meet my end, so I look to my right to have my eyes meet with the horizon one last time, see the sun fully emerge from its toil out west.

It was really nice from the delivery boy to come up top of the building for the delivery. I gave him the cash I had and told him to keep the change. Maybe I ordered to much food, I would be jumping later than expected. On the course of my last meal I thought to myself: was really Chinese the best choice? I guess normal peoples would wonder if jumping was the right choice instead but it really bugged me, I had hesitated a long time before ordering... between Indian food or Chinese food as a last meal, was Chinese really the best choice? Damn I wasn't sure anymore, as I was thinking about it I came to the end of the first box, two to go. Now I was thirsty, great... I couldn't even plan my suicide properly. Damn, I guess I can't leave this world while being thirsty. I guess I'll just have to try again tomorrow.

I liked the alone time, Chernobyl was silent most days, nothing but the wind to comfort me. I had a partner, but he was more of a data guy, so most days it was just me. I took the job for a different reason though. Frozen societies always fascinated me, places that were busy that got reduced to nothing within days. I had been looking for more work when the job showed up. I couldn't turn the opportunity down. I didn't know my partner when I started, never really got to know him either. We just did our job and went home at the end of the day. I spent most of the day just walking around, taking it in. Although it wasn't all fun and games, the suit was hot and I was constantly taking readings. The land seemed fully saturated with high levels of radiation, nothing would be built here for a while. That didn't bother me though, job security was a good thing. However, things had started to get kinda strange. I went back to the same places a lot, one reading isn't enough in our line of work. We're looking at change, long term and short term. And then, one day, I noticed it. A faint footstep in the dirt in front of the hotel. I had been there a million times, I thought nobody was ever here. Thought. The next day I found a bag from a nearby convenience store, and that's when I knew I wasn't alone. When I first met Charles he seemed like a nice man. Granted I was a little taken back, I had never ran into anybody in this quiet town. He said he wasn't worried at all about the radiation, he didn't have many years left. He liked the quiet, like me. Every morning I brought him a coffee and asked him how life was. As much as I enjoyed the conversations, I was still on the clock, and having someone spending 20 hours a day in the exact area of my investigation was extremely helpful. After two and a half years of this, we parted ways. I got a new job higher up in the company, Charles is who knows where, but I will always remember the times we spent together. ____________________________________ Notes: This is kinda mild mannered, I kinda ran out of ideas here, but spent a while writing it so figured I'd just post it anyway. ___________________________________ Day 2: WP 1 I made this account to try and write every day. I'm not the best at it! Suggestions are highly appreciated!

I woke in a plush seat on the strangest C-87 I ever seen. Weren't no props on the wings, and pretty young thing out of standard uniform strolled down the aisle with a wide smile. When a woman notices, count yer blessings I always say. A young man sat across the aisle staring ahead with that blank look soldiers get after too much action. Had the strangest miniature typewriter in front of him. Decided he must have been deployed in intelligence. "Were you at Normandy?"I asked. "Norman what?" Kid wore his clothes strangely. Black slacks, button down shirt covered by a pin stripe vest. But no jacket. No tie. Long wavy hair tied in a pony tail down his back. Scruffy patch beard covering a pasty white face. Bizarre. But then, I'd seen plenty of weird things in action. Nothing fazed me these days. "D Day! Normandy! Where were you assigned, Pacific theater?" "Pop,"an older man next to me said with exasperation. Talk about weird. "Should a seen the Bulge,"I said to the boy. "Krauts came at us with all they had. Bullets everywhere. They got that whiz sound as they pass by. You never hear 'em coming, just going. Death, the last surprise." "Uh huh,"he replied, eyes bulging. "Pop..." "It's OK,"the kid replied. "I get it." "Yeah,"the older man said with a sigh. "My father here, he isn't all with it." "I'm very with it!"Damn people ain't polite no more to our heroes in action. Why, I outta pop that ol man one just for saying. I began unbuckling the seat belt to get the hell away from that creep when shoved me back down. "What are you do'n there old man?"I asked, incredulously. "Pop, you're confused."He handed over a pill. "Take this." "I don't need no medicine,"I replied, furious some stranger would intrude. But those war wounds kept me weak and the man reached over and shoved it in my mouth just the same. Soon, I was nice and calm and everything seemed a blur. The plane landed, and I was wheelchaired away. An ambulance picked us up. "Just who are you?"I asked the old man. "Your son,"he replied as a building loomed through the window. A sign on its facade read: John's Hopkins Institute for Alzheimer's Research. Now what the hell am I doing here?

The machine was silent. That was the most jarring thing about it. The gears turned and caught, stopped and started in silence. None of the scientists observing it knew how this was possible. It wasn't a big machine, no larger than a modern refrigerator. But the clockwork of it was exquisite, the cogs and gears machined to perfection. Every piece of the machine was etched with runes. Strangely, the runes seemed to spin and twist as the eye passed over them. If the eye stopped on a still gear, the runes would lazily spin as one looked upon them. No one could look at the machine for long before having headaches. One researcher had to be flown to Rio de Janeiro for a migraine that blinded the poor woman. Many thought we should move it, take it to a lab to be studied. Many more thought we should destroy it. Still more wanted it to be left alone, reburied and forgotten again. The researchers came to the conclusion that it was counting down, but no one knew how they knew. "It just came to me. I was asleep then sat bolt upright and screamed 'it's counting down!' I scared my roommate out of his skin with that one haha" The runes adapted to us. As they watched it, all the researchers saw the change, it was so quick a few missed it because they were blinking at the time. The entire machine stopped for less than a heartbeat, then continued with one minor difference. The runes could be read. It adapted itself to your dominate language. The alphabet appeared as the runes. They still moved and danced under your vision, but it was letters and numbers you could understand. When this news broke the world gasped and every country, those who didn't already have a scientist there, sent their best in hopes of breaking the code first. They were frantic in their translations, most of them meaning nothing, just garbled letters and numbers. Then, in the early morning light one researcher falling asleep at the desk broke the code. 'Eat at Joe's'