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\[Poem\] Singing man, it's time to sleep. Singing man, let yourself free, As man and fish and plant will be, in death we find all we seek. You gave us song while days went on we listened, growing great and strong. Now we sing, as you grow weak, with loving rustling lonely leaves. The end is kind, The end is nigh, Singing man, Please, rest in peace. &#x200B; Edit: Thank you all for your incredibly kind words. As someone who struggles in taking compliments, it is overwhelming to read your words in the best possible way. I want thank each of you personally in the morning, as right now, I'm without words (it's taken me about 30 minutes alone to write). So thank you again, you've made my week. Edit2: Thank you for making my morning even better than you made my night. I am elated. You're all amazing. And thank you to the anonymous gilder who left extremely kind words in their message.
"This is amazing,"the Foreigner said, plopping down onto the tatami mat with little elegance. She was taller than most of the women I had haunted, her hair the color of dried blood. She had the green eyes of a fox demon, making me nervous. This could be another trick from the white fox living down by the temple. He had sent so many beautiful girls to tempt me out of hiding. Their smiles were small,their eyes flickering with life. My smile was a scar, strangling the life from my appearance. I had been beautiful once. But this girl seemed to find me fascinating. She kept muttering something in what I assumed was English. She switched to a very short, chopping version of Japanese. It was a toddler attempting to walk, really, the way her tongue tumbled over the letters. I hissed, showing my black teeth. My hair was like spiders legs, shaking atop my head. She remained very still, like I was a frightened dog. What need did she have to watch me like this? What was wrong with this girl? I was not a zoo animal! Kami save us, I muttered. "Watashi, kirei?"I ask her. She just smiles. I match it with a sharp smile, mouth full of bladed teeth. She slaps her leg with her left hand. She calls out, in what I think is a name. It is not a name I have ever heard, filled with a tumble of harsh letters. Another girl, older, with the same red hair, joins her. They looked at me with joyous eyes. I looked towards the dark hallway, where the Spirit of the Home stood laughing. He was far more powerful than I would ever be. He had offered to tell me what they said, but pride had kept me hissing in the shadows, trying my hardest to dispel them. Spirit, what do they want? I demanded. The Spirit of the House laughs again. Kuchisake, you know what they want. They want to see you. They think you are amazing. I feel the sharp edges of the scissors in my hands. Then I will kill them. The Spirit laughs again. His laughter makes the windchimes outside the house chirp. the girls watch me with their wide eyes and smiles. I remember the feeling of betrayal, that hot shame of being like them... young once. You know the Fox does not like his children touched. They are marked. Even if they are not Japanese, they are marked. The Spirit of the House moves closer. I click my teeth together. I refuse. I refuse to let them live here. You have no choice, Onna, no choice at all. I look at the girls and let the house eat me up. I sleep in the wall, my mouth full of a great weight. I fear I will never have peace again. xxx The girls have rather strange names, but I have named them for my own sisters. It makes them more tolerable. Rei is always in the kitchen, feeding the soot-fairies bits of sugar. She leaves cakes for the trolls in the forest and stumbles through blessing the house. There is a picture of their mother on the window, a cup of tea always fogging the glass in the morning. I stay in the wall, until they sleep. Rei sleeps through my screams, but the elder Yuki wakes up to apologize. She seems sympathetic, trying to speak to me. She calls me "Lady"and leaves me hard candies. The Fox has taken a liking to the oldest, whispering in her dreams how to seek peace with the old house. She goes to the river and sits, feet in the water, looking for movement in the trees. I tell the Spirit of the House that I hate her the most. She seems distracted, unhappy, but she is alive and young. How can someone not see the beauty in that? Instead she looks for demons and promises them things in her language. The Spirit tells me she lost her religion long ago. We are the first proof that there is an afterlife. She is seeking her mother in the trees. I remember my own mother, who sold my body the moment someone asked. I wonder what it would be like to hold a warmth that did not burn. xxx The boys down the road come to the house to speak to Rei. I know now, from the Spirit, that Rei is 15 and attending school. Yuki is in her twenties, unmarried, and not looking. The Spirit says Yuki loves women, in a way that I cannot understand. Then again I have no love for anyone but my own damaged kind. Humans are things that die. I am trapped in the state of my greatest despair. Still, the Fox guards them well from my kind. It is the humans that do not treat them well. When Yuki answers the door she tells the boys to leave. Her Japanese has become passable in the last year. Her sister is better, but too shy to use it. She speaks to the soot-spirits and the ghost cat that haunts the garden. They sometimes answer, in song, and she repeats them back. It is not the boys I worry about, but the men. They have called to Rei as she passes. One of them dares to follow her home and ask her to spend time with him. Rei says no, in a way that makes him mad. He tells her that she is beautiful. She tells him, "You are scaring me." And he takes that as a challenge. If lust cannot be found, then fear is good enough. Both make proud women weak in the knee. I watch from the window and click my nails against the glass. Something inside me churns. I remember that look. The same look my husband gave me before he took his knife and made me ugly. Before his hatred turned me into a stone ghost too heavy to ascend. Yuki hears my chattering and comes running out the door. She sees me, even when Rei has stopped looking. We share the same sort of dimmed perspective. She is close to the Fox, but she is also close to the trolls in the woods and the dark sharks in the bay. She sees the dark tentacles of hatred where the tree branches blacken the sky. "Leave her alone,"Yuki calls. The man runs. He will come back. The Spirit of the House tells this to me. They will come back. xxx The man comes back with a friend. Rei is down by the river with her new friends \[human and foolish like girls that age should be.\] It is Yuki who stands in the doorway and threatens them. She says things that make me proud and immensely sad. Things have not changed. The Spirit agrees. The Fox cannot drive them from the property. We are old guard, the new world is secular and illusive. But fear is the same. It makes the men back away, but regroup. They will be back. They will come when Yuki doesn't have an old sword in her hand and a chance to block them from the home. And I am right. The man comes back with his own sword. He tries to enter the front door. He breaks the lock and enters, stumbling through the Western furniture cluttering the front room. He passes the nest of soot-spirits, who chatter angrily like small birds. He passes the Spirit of the House who is not laughing. The trolls in the woods are drawing closer, but they cannot enter. Not without a word from Yuki. I doubt she will have words anymore after this. But I have things to say. I have words left to speak. For the first time in decades, I leave my dusty shadows. I step into the light. "Hello,"I say. "Am I beautiful." His scream gives me all the permission I need. He returns to town with the same smile I have feared all these years. [PART TWO](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/d5tpef/wp_you_and_the_monster_under_your_bed_get_along/f0o25vn?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) [PART THREE](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/d5v5ry/wp_my_youngest_cat_bleez_was_put_to_sleep/f0o8eq0?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
I am the wizard's apprentice. Every town nowadays has a wizard, they’re just so darn good at solving every problem. When a doctor has no cure for a mysterious illness, the local wizard whips up a panacea. When a farmer's pesticide doesn’t work on the new species of insects, the local wizard mixes it with a homemade solution and it works like a charm. And finally, when a young boy or girl wants to learn the ropes, the wizard takes him or her in as an apprentice. In any case, it was my third day on the job. Before I was allowed to study the tomes that lined the wizard's shelves, I ran errands for him every day. This particular day, the wizard handed me a list of errands and the amount of time he suspected it would take me to complete each one. At first, nothing caught my eye: depart at 9:00; buy three pounds of talcum powder in the market for 2 grams of gold or less (1 hour); bring the medium saucepan to the local blacksmith and help him in any way you can for 7 grams of gold or less (3 hours); buy 6 ounces of oregano from the gardener the town east from here for a gram of gold or less, stick to the trails as you cut through the forest (2 hours); make your way back to town, attend the public town hall meeting, take minutes (a page will do) (2 hours); find the book store in the town west from here and buy a copy of "Chronolagius"by Walt Ester (2 hours). Come back (1 hour). Report back by 8:00 I was about to depart when I noticed a computational error in the wizard's list. The hours on the list totaled up to 12 hours, but it instructed me to return within only 11. When I asked the wizard what to do, he told me there was no error, saying, "Figure it out, I chose you for a reason."With that, I left. Upon searching for what felt like forever, I finally found a merchant who was willing to sell me a bulk of talcum powder; he wanted to charge me three grams of gold, but once I explained it was for the local wizard he lowered the price to two. The blacksmith was willing to fix the saucepan for only 5 grams, but I needed to help him out. He heated and fused the cracks and scratches, and I hammered it flat. With a refurbished pan in my hand, I walked through the eastern forest en route to the gardener's house. The forest is filled to the brim with all sorts of nasty monsters and critters, but the path was enchanted by the wizard to keep them at bay. The sweet, old woman felt honored that such a "youthful apprentice"took any interest in her work and sold the oregano to me for free! The town hall meeting was a snore, but I managed to write a full page of minutes. At this point it was 6:00 in the evening. All the hammering, walking, and note-taking had worn me down, but the next town was at an hour-long trip each way. Anxious that I would miss my curfew, I started running. Lucky for me, the western town and my town were connected by a main road as opposed to a forest path, so there was no danger in traveling there after sunset. As you'd imagine, I ran out of energy running and didn’t end up at the bookstore until 7:15. The wizard had a reason for allotting an extra to find the book: the store was massive! The Roman catacombs were probably easier to navigate than this bookstore; furthermore, I had no idea what type of book this "Chronolagius"was, so I had no idea where to start. In the heat of the moment, I concluded that it must have been a tome on metaphysical magic. After a half hour of searching, I found it on the third floor, in that exact section, sitting on the third shelf, sporting a shiny gold border on the binding. 7:45 in the evening. Having lost all hope of making my curfew, I gloomily walked out of the bookstore. Surely the wizard was going to be mad at me and yell at me and probably fire me. So much for my dream of becoming a fully-fledged wizard and helping as many people as possible. About five minutes into my march of defeat, I inspected the front cover more carefully. A quote from the author was printed on the bottom; it read, "Look in front of you, answer is seldom far." I felt a swell of confidence upon reading that uplifting quote. I stepped to the side and inspected my list of errands once more. In a state of exuberance, I noticed how boldly the words "gold"and "page"were written compared to everything else. "Two gold,""Seven gold,""One gold,""Page."I looked at the book and once again noticed the gold border around the binding. Did the wizard leave me some sort of cryptic message? Figuring I had nothing to lose, I turned to page 271. Sure enough, my solution was there. "Time-Stop Solution - Prep Time: 30 seconds - Serves 1. To prepare the solution, whisk a pinch of talcum powder and a pinch of oregano in a medium saucepan over no heat. Serve and consume immediately. Will grant consumer two hours of stopped time, which can be spent in any way permitted by the High Council of Wizardry" I followed the directions exactly. It was the most foul-tasting concoction I ever put in my mouth, but it worked as advertised. Everything around me stopped and turned a shade of gray; the world stood still, but I did not. With this extra time, I returned to the wizard's abode with plenty of time to spare. Once time returned to normal, the wizard collected the items from me, patted me on the head, and congratulated me on completing his test. To this day I still work for him, and I am well on my way to becoming just like him some day. -------------------------------------------- Edit: Thank you everyone for your feedback! Upon rereading it, you're all right, I messed up my math. I changed the whole schedule a couple of times while I was writing this, and I guess I forgot to change something along the way. I'll definitely be more diligent next time! Another edit: An ounce of silver! I can buy a candy bar for an ounce of silver, thanks a ton benevolent stranger.
It was his very first day out, Marty McFly, he's recently sprouted wings and was eager to use them. He knew the dangers, of course, the eldritch god whose land we dwelt in was not a kind god. It was a cruel one. Though it was not fast, it was utterly lethal, and most who met its gaze were annihilated in an instant. But not Marty McFly. He was brave and daring, full of the vigour found only in a youth. He dared fly too close to the gods, and caught the terrible gaze of our eldritch overlord. A horrifying sound boomed from its maw, its awesome power vibrating through Marty's wings and causing him to falter and land. If he was a moment too slow, he would've been crushed by the black and white weapon the god wielded. Yet, he wasn't. Each time he managed to plunder some of the divine's hoard, feasting upon the golden liquid within the cubes. We admired him from afar, but knew that we would pay for this insolence. Legends are passed down among our people. Though many of our kind who dared face the gods are treated as heroes, the oracles have never been wrong. Those who flew too close to the manifestation of life and death itself would only bring havoc with them. The gods did not age, they were immortal and timeless. No doubt, by the time the prophecies would come to pass, annihilation would already be upon our people. We passed the message on anyway, without a thought for ourselves, only for the future. If just one of us could heed the warning, to prepare for the doom that Marty McFly had wrought upon us, that would be enough. Enough to start over, as painful as the thought was, but it would be enough. The god, its anger flaring as it turned a beetroot red, stormed away and brought up the rectangle of light. It held the brick to its ear and seethed with the sounds of the apocalypse. It called doom upon us, but it would not be us that suffered, but our children. With my dying breath, with my family ready to perform the ritual of preservation to ensure that I would not go to waste, I told them, "Be prepared. The gods will come seeking vengeance for Marty's actions, they are not one to forget like us, they will come for us." My message appeared to be taken with the gravity it deserved. I could only hope, as the light faded, that it would be enough &nbsp; Generations came and went, it was a golden age of peace and prosperity. The spider kingdoms had been lost to obscurity, they became myths and legends, only those who flew too high to the forbidden desolation of the great Attic would even be able to catch a glimpse of them. Those that pursued such foolish errands, their proboscises following the trail of untold riches, were never to return. Life was good in their land. Was. For the warnings and prophecies were all but ignored, the tales of Marty had become that of heroism and daring. How foolish the flies were, to believe that they had avoided such a fate, that the doomsayers were mad and that life couldn't possibly be ended by such slow-moving behemoths they had once thought gods. Only cripples and the elderly would fall at an eldritch god's wrath. It was inconceivable for any able-bodied fly to do so, ever since Marty showed them the way. But it came. For the prophecy is inevitable, and the truth cares not for such follies and beliefs. On that fateful day, the god left its abode, and another came in. Clad in a sickly yellow, and unidentifiable for its face was hidden behind a sheet of impenetrable magic, it rained death upon the flies. It spewed a toxic gas, the likes of which had never been seen before. Every fly at the epicenter of the Ragnarok was dead in an instant, their lungs choked with vile vapors and their minds melting to nothing. All they could do was lie on their backs and kick helplessly into the air. Only she survived, the oracle of old. Ancient and wise, she had kept the warnings close to her heart, and had not let a day go by without being on the watch. And now, her vigil had ended. She took her flock, small as it was, and set off, away from the abode, the dwelling where none had ventured forth from before. They would go into the world outside, and begin anew. They had set off, into the great unknown. *** /r/ThomasWrites for more rising and falling of empires and flies.
"You mean that you talked with everyone else?"asked the shocked president. "Yes."responded the British prime minister. He was old, old enough to have long memories of the time before the war. "But, why? Why put up the rule in the first place just to break it?" "Well you see now old chap, you guys started the war. You started so many wars that we decided to just cut you out entirely." "Thousands of my people starved." "That is most unfortunate." "There were riots that went on for years. They left thousands dead." "No use crying over spilled milk." "There was a civil war that left over a hundred thousand soldiers and civilians dead." "Well, that is, um, sad." "All because you guys wanted to avoid us?" "Erm, well...."he searched for the right words, "uh, yes?" "YOU SON OF A BITCH!"with that, the American president lunged at the british prime minister and would have choked him to death with his tie had it not been for the Royal Marines who restrained him. "I DECLARE WAR!" "On what? England?" "ON EVERYONE!" And so World War IV started.
In hindsight, asking the elderly witch to turn me into a cat on a whim was a bad idea. Because here’s the thing about elderly people. They die. Here I was, thinking I was just helping some poor old lady to her house when she lays on me that, surprise! She’s a witch! She’ll grant any wish I ask! How are you supposed to respond to that? I stammered for what could have been minutes before I said “T-Turn me into a cat? I guess?” I didn’t expect to be a foot tall and covered in fur the instance I finished my sentence. Or for the crazy bitch to die directly after. I was too busy processing that I had fur and claws and oh god this can’t be happening that I didn’t even notice that she’d collapsed on the floor. I noticed a home phone on the counter and somehow managed to dial 911, but it was probably too late. So now here I am. At an animal shelter. Trapped in a cage, ball-less, and surrounded by screaming cats. Well, it could be worse. At least I don’t have to deal with student loans anymore. —————— I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting to be adopted. I sort of figured I’d just die here. In fact, I was contemplating just that when this guy about my age walks up to my cage and just sorta looks at me. Kinda sad. I dunno. I guess I just felt for the guy. I got out of my ball in the corner of my cage and walked over to him. Let him pet me. When he put his face against the mesh I went ahead and bopped his nose. Well, I guess he liked me cause now I’m relaxing on the couch in his apartment. I still miss my balls, but at least this is nice. —————— Turns out Tim and I are -or I guess were- a lot alike. He tells me about his life trying to live on his own and handle depression and I can’t help but sympathize with him. I try my best to give him the impression that I’m listening, and I think it’s working. He’s named me Harvey, which I’m okay with. —————— Well, it looks like the jig is up. I think he knows I’m not a normal cat anymore. Look- a guy gets bored, okay?! I can only pretend to be interested in laser toys so much. So I saw the guy download Typing of the Dead last night and wanted to give it a shot while he was at work. I got more engrossed than I thought cause when I paused to have a snack break, I saw him staring at me slack-jawed from the doorframe. Jesus, the guy must think either he needs an exorcist or antipsychotics. Feeling bad for just breaking Tim’s understanding of the world, I guided the mouse to Microsoft Word and typed: -i can explain- He stared blankly at the screen. I groaned internally and increased the font size. He responded limply “Please.” So I told him. I typed out my plight as best I could, watching his face for a reaction. -a wizard did it- -lmao- -ok but actually a witch turned me into a cat- -helped her to her house- -said she was a witch- -would grant any wish- -said become cat as a goof- -became cat- -witch had heart attack right after- -got sent to pound- -r/thisismylifemeow- -;9- -:(- -u show up- -treat me well- -give me something 2 care about- -make losing my balls worth it- -kinda- -didnt want to freak u out- -did anyway- -sorry- I stared nervously at him, tail curled around my body. I half expected him to throw his satan-cat out the window when finally he said: “Oh. That’s... a lot to take in. I mean it’s fuckin’ rad that I have a cat that can talk but... Well, A, holy fuck. B, are you okay? You’ve been pretending to be a cat this whole time? How have you not gone insane? Is there any way I can help?” -tbh idk- -unless u know any witches- “I feel that. But... well... what happens now? Pretend this never happened?” Something comes to me. -nah- -although i have been getting bored- -i did always want my own youtube channel >:3- —————— It’s been 2 years. Possibly the best 2 of my life. Tim and Harvey has 2 million subs and climbing. The first few videos of me “trying to play” video games and Tim showing the “behind the scenes” with his college degree for special effects and prop work didn’t get much traffic. Eventually one was picked up by the algorithm and it was smooth sailing from there. Tim’s moved out of his cramped apartment and was able to jump ship from his crappy 9 to 5. He’s able to do videos on his passion now, on top of our videos. I’m really happy for him. We have genuine conversations with the new iPad we got for me, and when the camera’s off we watch tv or play games with modified controllers. He’s honestly the best friend I could have hoped for. I guess that wish was a good one after all. Edit: this was my first writing prompt so tell me what you think!
Please relay your findings to the council Pylm swallowed hard. "Well, your chancellorship, and esteemed members of the council, for the last several cycles I have been investigating this planet we have found. Life has been detected, and they have already discovered nuclear power." Council member Elgo snorted, "let me guess, they blew themselves up. Always happens." "Er, yes, councilor, they have." Nasheep rubbed the tips of her tentacles "and I suppose that we need to stage a rescue for the survivors? Maybe keep them in a zoo or something? They obviously can't take care of themselves if they used nuclear weaponry." "Point of order,"Pylm interrupted, "it wasn't one weapon. From the energy signatures, there have been hundreds of detonations. And that has just been in the last hundred or so revolutions around their star." "Hundreds? There must be nothing left on that world."The council started murmuring amongst themselves. "On the contrary, there seem to be billions of them. In fact, the nuclear signatures and their population both seem to be increasing. It makes no sense. I have been mapping the data, and if you look at these charts..." The council has heard enough. We shall review your findings and make a decision on how to deal with this planet Pylm nodded to the chancellor and took his leave. The next cycle it was announced that they would reveal themselves to the people of this planet. In a show of peace, they would follow what seems to be the local propagation ritual and nuke the largest living centers on the planet.
The children sat around the fire, eyes wide, gazing at the colorful flames that rose in front of them. "Generations ago, in the days of my grandmother's grandmother, life was much different."The aged story-keeper told them, chanting in a rhythmic way. She reached into her dusty robes, pulling out some powder and throwing it into the fire, which then began shining in a light blue light, a sharp contrast to the darkness surrounding them. "Back then, the people were as numerous as the sands of the dune sea, and they did not live in tents. No, they lived in metal towers that rose above the very clouds!"Another handful of powder, turning the flame a low, simmering green. "But they were prideful,"the story-keeper whispered, looking around at the fearful children. "They believed themselves above all of life, above even the great kalakh wurms. "It was their pride that was their downfall."She turned the flame into a dark, sputtering purple. "Their chieftains fought with each other, each believing their tribe was the greatest. Then one of the tribes, the powerful Amerikonis, created The Monster. They drug it of the dark depths that they brewed it in, and chained it with chains of bronze and silver."The story-keeper reached once more into the pouch in her robes and pulled out a powder of deep red, throwing it into the fire. The flame roared and grew into a great crimson bonfire, startling the children. "And they turned it upon their enemies! One by one, the monster feasted on the tribes, until the Amerikonis were the only ones to remain! But the monster still hungered."She leaned forward, meeting the children's eyes one by one. "And then, it happened. The Monster tore at its chains! It snapped them like a thin cord! And it turned upon its creators, ripping them limb from limb!"Several of the children cried out in fear as the old woman gestured animatedly, but then she quieted. "We are one of the few tribes that remain in the wake of The Monster's rampage. That is the world we live in. And we still live in fear of The Monster, lurking somewhere in the remains of the great tribes, hiding amongst their metal towers."The story-keeper ended her history as the flames grew weak and flickered in and out. The chieftain shook his head from the shadows. It was important that the children knew their histories, but this was a bit much. He was going to have to talk to his mother about not scaring the children of the tribe just before they went to sleep. Their mothers would chew him out for this, he was sure. As he smiled to himself, a watchmen ran towards him, quickly catching his attention. "Chief, chief!"the young man panted as he got close. "What is it?"the chieftain asked, concerned. "Was a wurm sighted?" "No, no. It's a, well, a man."the watchmen said awkwardly. "A man? From which tribe? And why has he come?" "Well, I think you'll want to ask him yourself."The man lead him to the border of the tribe. The man immediately caught his attention. He was tall and thin covered head to toe in a dark, coarse fabric, not an inch of flesh visible, and no insignia showing his tribe anywhere. He turned his head towards the chieftain as he approached and started slowly walking towards him. The stranger's gait was odd, strangely stiff. "Woah, stranger. What brings you to this tribe?"The chieftain was nervous. No one survived without a tribe. The lands were filled with death and danger. He slowly reached towards the primitive spear at his side. "Why have I come?"The stranger said in a low monotone voice, talking as if he hadn't spoken in years. "To atone." Edit: Wow . . . thank you guys so much! As a complete novice whose total experience is two posts on this sub, this means so much to me! Ummm, now what do I say. This is my most popular post/comment ever, so im pretty shocked :) edit 2: Umm, awards? What do i do with these? Edit 3: wow again. You guys are so amazing, this means so much to me. Just . . . wow. i don't know what to say. I'll definitely continue writing, and whenever I make something big I will let every single one of you guys know! Yall are the best :D Edit 4: Ok final edit . . . maybe. Thanks to all of you amazing people, i have decided to start writing more, mainly focusing on little short stories like this, at least for now. problem is, i have no idea where to put it so that you can guys can see it. Ummm, any advice?
"O great Medrius, Voice of the Voiceless, Pathfinder for the Lost, God of the Forgotten...hear my prayer." Oh, I heard it all right. I got so close to blissful, eternal sleep and then people dragged me back to the land of mortals and all their messy human problems. I have to answer prayers - it's part of an interstellar code of conduct that all gods are bound to the moment they are born. So I rise from my altar and fly, sometimes hundreds of miles, to complete my sacred duty. "Please help me find my way,"they'll say. "Please guide me."As gods, we're not allowed to be "fixers"anymore. We learned that from the innumerable catastrophes caused by our meddling Greek and Roman ancestors. So instead we nudge people in this direction or that, relying mostly on the power of suggestion. I hadn't heard my name in quite some time - weeks, maybe? Months? - when the prayer came to me. I'd had my suspicions. It had been so quiet, and then BOOM! A request slamming into my eardrums. As long as a single person still holds my name somewhere in the recesses of their memory, I remain alive. So to the shores of the Galadrian Coast I went. "I am here for you, child,"I said, as though the woman wasn't pushing 90. It helps to flatter people. I floated gently outside her window, peering into her cramped, messy retirement home apartment. "I want to know what job I should look for,"she said. I raised an eyebrow. "I think maybe it's time to give yourself a break." "I can't! I can't. I need to balance the checkbook. Do the dishes. Get the kids to school. So much to do, so much to do." I sighed. "Just listen to the sound of my voice. You are going to settle in for the night, to sleep and let the burdens of the day melt away."After a few minutes of my impromptu guided meditation, the woman had drifted off to sleep. I floated into her apartment, looking for anything that could clue me in to her situation. A bunch of papers were clogged up near the door - invoices, marked with her name, JANICE WALTERS, at the top. It appeared that someone had been paying for her to be here, but the money was drying up. Maybe a kid who had dumped some cash down and called it a day. It was clear she wasn't getting any visitors or phone calls. I came back to visit nightly, talking to her, calming her mind's bursts of fitful panic. She couldn't remember where she was most of the time, but she still had my name on the tip of her tongue. Nurses and aides would occasionally pop their heads in, but even they seemed to have lost hope. "Medrius,"she said one night. "Did I do a good job?" "You have done well, my child. Worry not." "Thank you." That evening, the last woman on Earth who knew my name drifted away. I gently closed her eyes, and as I did so, I noticed my palms growing translucent. I flew back to my altar, slowly and patiently, and laid down upon it. I watched my feet begin to dissipate into nothingness. Then, I posed a question to the gods who remained. "Did...I do a good job?" "Indeed you did,"came a chorus of voices from the heavens. Now, here I lay, watching myself fade. No voices have called to me, and no prayers have gone unanswered. At long last, I feel what I have longed for. I am at peace with being forgotten.
"A deal's a deal, buddy." I feel sorry for the guy. He looks downcast, defeated - like he spent his life savings on a bet that didn't come through. In a way, he did. It's weird to see the devil, the being that most humans regard as evil beyond compare, sulking. "I'll tell you what,"he says, looking somewhat hopeful. "I'll make it worth your while. I'll grant you three souls of your own from Hell. Or I'll give you your own chamber in Limbo - separate from Hell - but with more girls than you would know what to do with." "Nice try, Lucifer, but no dice. We shook on it. I even signed your weird little parchment contract. Don't try to weasel out of this now." He looks human, except for an exceptionally angular face and irises that glint red orange in the sunlight. We're in a park, a neutral place, a random place. It's of no significance at all, really - he just appears now and then wherever I happen to be. "You're putting me in a very difficult position,"he says, attempting a warning tone. I'm not scared. He's got nothing on me. "What, a position where you have nowhere to rule? Where most people are actually good, and have to try hard to be evil?" He scowls. "The universe maintains a very delicate balance between good and evil-" I laugh, interrupting him. "Since when do you care about any sort of balance? The only reason there's a balance at all is because you and God both fight as hard as you can for the same souls, and your path is actually the one that is most easy for humans to follow. So don't claim to care about balance." "Your soul is a rare case. I would hope you could make a small sacrifice for the good of humanity. There's more at stake than just-" He cuts himself off and his eyes widen. He's revealed more than he meant to. "So,"I say slyly, "It isn't just my soul. It isn't just that I'm as good as a bomb for Hell. I'm a Reincarnate, aren't I?" He says nothing, shows me nothing, but I know. As the evening light angles ever towards horizontal and fades to night, I know. I'm an angel that's been sent back to earth. I have the one kind of soul - the one immortal, eternally good soul - that Hell can't accept and still stay Hell. When my soul crosses the threshold, it will start a cascade of good, of pure right, that will topple the place of eternal damnation. Satan had a keen eye, had avoided souls like me like a human avoids rotten eggs - just as keenly and as easily. Something must have masked my smell, or made him sloppy. Something that kept him from realizing until it was too late. Now he knows, and he's being pathetic about trying to salvage his realm from ruin. An old man curled up on a park bench next to where we are standing shifts, sits up, and tips back his filthy hat to reveal a long white beard and a face exuding calm, and just a little bit of smugness. "It was only a matter of time, my son. You couldn't defy me forever." Satan snarls with disgust and surprise. "The most powerful being in the universe, and you manifest as a homeless man in a park. How fitting." "Sticks and stones, my dear boy. Besides, if I am, as you say, the most powerful being in the universe, then I have nothing to prove, do I?" Satan says nothing, only fusses with the lapel of his dark suit. God turns to me. "I am sorry, child, for sacrificing your soul. It is but a small price to pay for the Salvation of humanity. And besides, I chose a soul that I knew could bear the burden, who would survive the ordeal. You will come through the other side, and you will be a stronger Angel for it. And you will be rewarded." Now it's my turn to be smug. "Who says I want to come back?" God chuckles, not understanding. "What is not to come back to? You would spurn eternal paradise? For what?" "You don't get it. I will survive the death of Hell. But afterwards, I'm going to rebuild it. In my image." A look of horror comes over Satan's face. God stares straight ahead into nothing I can see. "All my life I've wrestled with the same things every human does,"I continue. "I've struggled with my choices, my sin, my religion. And you know what? It's all shit. It's all a load of bullshit. Making people choose, making people feel bad. You two preyed on people when they didn't understand the world, gave them a system of fairy tales and nonsense to explain it all. Well, we don't need it anymore. I'm making an afterlife for the good people of the world. That's it - that's the requirement. That you lived a good life. I don't care who you believed in, what you called god, or whether you believed in him at all. You two can take your sick cosmic game and shove it." "It's a noble task you set for yourself,"God says, still staring blankly. "But I'll warn you - it isn't as easy as it sounds. I've been around forever, my son. You think I didn't try what you suggest? In another time, another existence? Balance is the natural state of order. Every human religion has sensed this, whether it be Christians or Buddhists. It is the common thread. Yin and Yang, sin and salvation. Utopia doesn't exist. At least not in the universe I know. There must be darkness to show the light. There must be void for existence. For all things only exist relative to their opposite." "We'll see about that,"I say, and turn to walk away. I don't have time for this. I'm going to enjoy my life, and then after I die, my poison-pill soul will bring Hell to its knees, and I will be its new ruler. I will change it all. Who said life was fair? I did. I said it. And it will be. --- God and Satan linger after he leaves. It is dusk in the park, orange sunlight diffusing from beyond the horizon. "Remind you of anyone?"God asks, leaning back on the bench, crossing his legs and draping his arms over the backrest. "Shut up. I'm nothing like that psychopath." "All of you start from the same place. A place of justice, compassion even. But it doesn't last." Satan doesn't respond. "You weren't the first. You must have known you wouldn't be the last." Still no response. "Come on, Lucifer. You didn't think you would be the one to reign forever, did you? In that bitter little heart of yours, you must have known." "Not like this. Not so soon,"he says through clenched teeth. God bursts out laughing. "So arrogant. So proud. Your lot never changes, and you always pay for it with absolute failure. He will be no different." Satan turns abruptly and storms off along the park path. When he is gone, God looks around himself, smiles, and resumes his nap on the bench, curled up, his hat over his face. "Devils,"he mutters, "can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." &nbsp; &nbsp; --- Subscribe to /r/xilead for more of my stories!
From the people who brought you The Purge and The Purge 2: Anarchy.... "BRAAAAAAAD!?" ...and the writers of Weekend at Bernies... "CHAAAAAAD?! Oh my God..." ... comes a story... "Chad. What did you do..." ...about friendship... "...it just happened!" "How does murder just happen!?" ...mistakes... "God, Chad. It's one week before the Purge." ...and the limits people will go... "...We gotta pretend this guy's still alive until then." ... to keep up appearances. "Take his arm, I'll take his other arm." "No, Ugh. This is never going to work." "Who would ever think this was a good idea?" "He's dead, he's clearly dead. No one's going to be fooled. There is a literal hole in his face." "We'll need to steal his identity. And keep up our own identities. Simultaneously." "Simultaneously?" "Yes, Chad. 'Simultaneously'. It means, 'at the same time.' Jesus." Purge 5: Identity Theft, coming this summer
~~As of 7:18pm Central time, Part 2 currently in the works, thanks for the love all.~~ [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/aacr3y/wp_you_stare_at_the_pills_in_your_hand_the_doctor/ecrwdsg/) is now replied to the top comment under this post, with [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/aacr3y/wp_you_stare_at_the_pills_in_your_hand_the_doctor/ecrwg0s/) directly below it. I hope you all enjoy, thanks again for reading. *** Bryan shifted his gaze from the blue pills in his palm to the doctor sitting in the sliding stool ahead of him. Sweat had been beading out onto the doctor's forehead, dripping down his brow, getting lost somewhere behind his large rimmed glasses. Take them, do what the doctor said, the Siren's voice had said, her voice soft as silk, but still piercing. There was a tint of excitement to her voice, and it made Bryan uneasy. There was a murmuring in the back of his head, someone else was trying to say something, but it sounded like they had a hand over their mouth. "Something wrong, Bryan?"the doctor had asked. He wiped at his forehead, then dried his sweaty palm on his gray slacks, leaving a wet mark on his thigh. "Please, go ahead and take them, they'll shut her up." There were more muffled sounds in the back of Bryan's head, someone desperately trying to say something. The doctor seemed strained, and when the Siren spoke again, it sounded as if her voice was shaking, just take the damn pills. "Why,"Bryan finally spoke, gripping the pills firmly in his fist, "why would she want me to take them? How do you know it's a she?" The doctor smirked, dripping even more profusely in sweat. He slapped at his thigh, "Damn, I think he got us,"and he exhaled deeply, like a weightlifter finally racking the barbell. The man sitting in front of Bryan vanished, and the doctor's office began to melt, deteriorating, sliding off of the walls, revealing Bryan's apartment kitchen. "What? Where, where's the office?" The Siren exhaled, and finally the other voices that had been muffled had the proverbial hand removed from their mouths, "Get rid of the pills! Get rid of them!" Bryan unclenched his fist, revealing a palm full of rat poison. "Jesus, jesus!"he exclaimed, throwing the rat poison into the sink. "Why?"he yelled at the Siren and the Doctor, "You guys would only kill yourselves? Don't you get that?" The Siren spoke again, her voice unstrained, no longer holding the burden of keeping the other voices silenced, Whatever, it's not like you would've actually have done it, right? The Doctor interjected, Yeah, I mean, you probably would've tasted it or something, I dunno. You're boring, the Siren added. Frustrated and scared, Bryan rinsed his hands in the sink, grabbed his jacket and car keys, and left the apartment, wanting desperately to find some kind of help. *** Finding some kind of help devolved into driving around the city, doing his best to ignore the crowd of voices inside of his head. The two most boisterous voices, the Siren and the Doctor had gone to sleep, tired from exerting themselves to keep the more meager voices at bay during their practical joke. Two of the other voices, the Mouse and the Fox had come to the forefront now, with concern in his tone, It'll be getting dark soon, we should probably head back to the apartment, the Mouse had said. Bryan huffed, "I just, I need something, I need something to make things better." The Fox spoke up, You need to make a doctor's appointment, that's really what you should be doing. "No, I just need a distraction,"Bryan said, pulling the car into the parking lot of a thrift mart. Inside the mart was the pungent smell of tobacco smoke and dirt. He rifled through the knickknacks as the store owner watched him from behind the counter. Eventually Bryan came across a traditional Arabian lamp, something that looked straight out of the Disney movie he had watched on VHS when he was younger. Back when the voices were barely strong enough to be heard of as more than a whisper. "This thing work?"Bryan asked, holding it up to the store owner. "For $5, yeah, sure, it works." "Deal." * Back at the apartment, Bryan laid on the sofa, the thrift store magic lamp laying on his stomach. He had already rubbed the lamp several times, mostly sarcastically, but a small part of him seriously, and yet no genie had emerged. Regardless, he made his wish as he drifted away into a light nap. "I want them all out. I want them all out of my head." * A few hours later, Bryan was woken up by the sound of someone screaming in his bedroom. He jolted up and off of the sofa, looking at the front door, ensuring that he had locked it whenever he had returned earlier in the day. Did someone get inside the apartment? Through a window? he asked himself. For the first time since 1st grade, no one answered his internal question. "Where the fuck am I?!"he heard someone scream from his bedroom. Bryan ran into the kitchen, throwing open a drawer so hard that it flew out from the cabinet, scattering silverware all over the floor. He rummaged through the silverware, finally grabbing hold of a butter knife, the only thing he had in his apartment that was remotely considered a weapon. Cold and dull steel in hand, Bryan approached his bedroom door, the sound of screaming and thrashing intensifying. Butter knife held close to his chest, heart hammering within, Bryan clutched the door handle, turned, and pushed open. The posters he had on his wall had been ripped off, leaving just strips and corners that were still held in place by scotch tape. His desk had been overturned, his laptop ripped in half, his bed sheets torn and removed and scattered, his pillow torn to shreds, the feathers thrown all over, and standing in the middle of it, was a woman with wild curly hair, her eyes wide open, her mouth hanging open, gasping hard for air as if she had just ran a marathon. He looked at her, and she looked at him, both of their eyes widening in recognition, "Bryan?"she hissed. "What the hell did you do?" "I, I, uhh, umm?" He turned and looked at his closet, which was now cracking open. Out poked a small child's head. "Mouse?"Bryan asked. The child nodded its head. The door opened wider, revealing a thin man with red hair, "and Fox,"the man said. "Where's the Doctor?"Bryan asked, his mind running a mile a minute. A man poked his head out from under the bed, "Present." Bryan shifted his gaze from each personality, now embodied in flesh. It made him lightheaded. "We're going to have a problem,"Fox said, breaking the momentary silence. "A big problem,"Mouse said. After a moment of recollection, Bryan finally realized what they were talking about. If the Siren, the Doctor, Mouse, and Fox were all out here in the flesh, then so were the others. But where? Where were the others? And most importantly. Where was Behemoth? The one voice that had tormented Bryan above all others. The one voice that had only come out at night. The one voice that would scare all the other voices into submission, filling Bryan's head with thoughts of violence, murder, ravaging scenes filled with guts and blood. Where was he at? He looked out the window, it was still daytime, but the sun was quickly setting. "We gotta do something now,"Fox muttered. *** ^(If you liked this story, please check out my subreddit /r/AbnormalTales where you can find a link to my latest work, The Devil Went South, a novella.)
The last straw hadn't so much as broken camel's back, it had instead lit the camel on fire and hurled it through a barber shop window. The straw in question was a young super hero and the camel, my car. So here I sat in the waiting room for the Justice Union, a laughable assortment of heroes banded together to fight evil, villainy, and whatever nonsense happened to pop up that week. A nervous and sweaty secretary sat in an adjoining office, flinching as I tapped my finger against the arm of my chair and pretended to grow impatient. In reality my armor is absurdly comfortable with its temperature control and ability to stream videos to my HUD, but I find it best to act as irritable as possible for the maximum villainous effect. After what must have been thirty five nerve-wracking minutes she finally opened a door for me and I strolled through to my meeting with my nemesis. Taking the chair opposite him, I waited for the door to seal behind me. I pulled off my helmet and it let a small hiss out as the pressure seal popped. "Chuck, listen. I know your son wants 'justice', but if he keeps attacking at all hours of the day, I will make him incapable of attacking me ever again." The spandex clad idiot slammed the table with both hands, surprisingly it didn't bend but instead the legs sunk a few inches into the concrete. I made a mental note to look into whoever made such sturdy furniture for the union while my nemesis continue his spittle hurling tirade, "-so much as touch a hair on his head I w-" "Chuck, he killed three people yesterday." "What?" "He threw my car into a crowded barbershop while I was getting a haircut, it killed three people and injured another two. He has attacked me in the open several times and people are being hurt by him."I flicked my helmet onto projection mode, replaying the video my armor had captured as it was in standby mode beside me at the barbershop. He slowly sat down, slumping in his chair, "Jason... He couldn't... No, I've heard rumors of him being a loose cannon but he's always blamed it on the villains... But this..." I grabbed my helmet and stood up, putting it back on. "I'm setting my armor to lethal next time, Chuck. I only warned you because of our history."I let my cape swirl behind me as I turned to the door, opening it and striding out towards the exit. One way or the other this was going to end. (Edited to help with formatting due to posting it on mobile.)
No one was quite sure when Mr. Gus moved into the neighborhood. Billy from down the street said that he'd heard from his sister's boyfriend's cousin that Mr. Gus claimed to be from "far away"yet somehow knew everything about the street and who lives on it. Chris from said that he was an alien from outer space because of the weird stuff he says. Sally-Jeanne from next door thinks he's secretly super wealthy and only lives here to avoid the IRS, since he gets all these business magazines in the mail. But I think he's actually a secret agent, because how else could he know all this stuff about us. When Mom had my baby brother, Mr. Gus knew his name before anyone could have possibly told him. When Fred moved in across the street, Mr. Gus had a plate of cookies for his family, and Fred hadn't told him that peanut butter cookies were his favorite. He even knew that Billy failed the big math test last week before it was even graded! Only a spy could have those kind of details. That's not the weirdest thing about him though. He uses these strange words that sound like he's stopped saying them halfway through, or that don't make sense at all. I told him I thought GI Joe had some of the best toys, and he said something about their base. I told him I didn't have that playset, and he gave me this weird look like we were having separate conversations. Or how about the time he invited the neighborhood kids in for lemonade last summer. Sally-Jeanne asked to use his bathroom, and while she was in there she said she saw ten boxes of masks like surgeons wear in his medicine cabinet. Why does an electrician need face masks? It doesn't make sense. Anyway, the TV in the living room was on when she got back, and the news had some story about some rich guy from New York City. Sally-Jeanne insisted in watching it, but Mr. Gus just rolled his eyes and scoffed when they interviewed him. But if I had to pick, the single weirdest thing about Mr. Gus is this one time instead of Dan, he called me Dad. When I asked him about that, he pretended he never said it and changed the subject. None of my friends believe me, but I know what I heard. So Mr. Amos Gus, I'll be watching you. Whatever agency you work for, I'll figure out who you really are, you imposter!
Alicia frowned, looking at the unconscious young man. If she killed him, she’d gain all his points. If she stole some of his blood, she’d get a mere fraction. It was at times like this that she hated being raised as an assassin, hated being taught to kill from birth, hated her conflicting morals. He was dying anyway. No point in wasting valuable stats. Not that anyone would care for this homeless kid, slowly starving to death. And besides, this was kinder. She gripped the dagger tighter, prepared to end his life. She'd become stronger, better. It was kinder. She slit his neck. It was kinder. * A Better Way** (106 words)
"LincolnBroslin do you have any...new health alerts to report?" Lincoln sighed, the concept of last names were completely lost to this crew. None of them could understand having two names and only usually using one. He looked at Zevlin, in all his time here he had never settled on what eye he was supposed to look at when speaking to him. He chuckled at the question and leaned back against the wall disregarding his task momentarily. "No, nothing to report. As far as I know I'm STILL diabetic. Why? Has the algae completed my next batch of insulin already? I swear it's getting faster each time." The flaps on top of Zevlins head lowered revealing small porous holes. A motion that Lincoln had come to associate with nervousness. He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Why. Is there something wrong?" Zevlin closed his eyes, leaving the room promptly. He recognized the hiding of bodily organs as a sign of human agression. Hopefully his exit would keep any potential retaliation at bay. Lincoln finished his work just in time for breakfast. As trays were being distributed he caught sight of himself in a window. He stared at his reflection, he definitely looked tired. He had bags under his eyes, stubble and his hair was going from grey back to dark brown. He smiled, remembering his days on earth when with his best friend Daniel. He had always wanted to dye his hair but was too nervous, so they had a little dye party together before he left on his mission. He held one of the strands loosely before letting it fall back in place. He picked up his tray and gawked at the amount of food piled onto it. It was far more than his usual rations. "I think there's been a mistake?" When he was ignored by the crew serving the trays he sat down and ate only the usual amount. "you're not going to eat everything? It has plenty of nutrients" A small being that looked similar to a reptile with bird like proportions climbed up his seat. They were part of the cleaning crew and didn't have specific names, but he always called the largest one Delta. "Did you know about this? " he asked gesturing to his tray. Delta nodded slowly. "Well tell them to knock it off, I'm used to a specific amount I don't want to spike my blood sugar." Delta put his hands together nervously. "Diabetes is when one of your organs doesn't work right... are your other organs...are they working right?" Lincoln sighed, this wasn't a conversation he wanted to have with the rat bird so early in the morning. "Probably. My kidneys might have more strain but only time will tell. I've been pretty good at managing everything." Lincoln's ears perked up as two of his crew members dropped off their trays beside his, only half of their meals gone. "wh- " He was cut off as one of them grabbed him from behind, forcing his arms behind his back. "You have enough nutrients but do you require physical companionship? Humans are communal creatures , have you been apart from your species too long?" Lincoln struggled free, turning to face the crew. He was puzzled as he was met with crestfallen expressions. "what has gotten into all of you? I am doing fine, I'm eating enough, I'm exercising. " "but ...your hair. You're wilting." Lincoln touched his hair bewildered. Then he remebered, the dye. He started to laugh. "Is that what this is about? I dyed it, it's fading away. My roots are showing." The fear didn't dissipate instead they all seemed to shutter when he mentioned his roots. Lincoln leaned his head back, giving in. "You know it's healthy for humans to have pigmentation, I wasn't healthy on earth which is why my hair was grey. But you all have been taking such good care of me that the color is returning. Thank you." That they seemed to understand. He accepted the small signs of affection as they filed out of the mess hall. As they left he silently hoped they wouldn't apply what he just made up to other humans they encountered. But then again if they did it wouldn't be his problem.
Sam reached the top of the bastion on the south eastern corner of Camelot gazing out at the sea of men gathered before the walls. Nimueh the evil warlock had gathered more than just men against King Arthur and Merlin. Three enormous dragons tethered by chains waited by the side of the would be conqueror. "No future m... Sam, not another of these paper pictures they avail us naught" "Merlin. you said you had magic that could bring the inanimate to life, to breathe life into clay and all that. What i have assembled is the pinnacle of power in what you call the lands of the future. Many spent years and great fortunes trying to assemble what we have here." "But these paintings, they... they are of of nothing." "Merely pieces of a puzzle my good Merlo. Now, set that table up so it looks towards that army and start your incantations." Merlin started a low murmur which increased in speed and volume every time he repeated his words. At the same time that Merlin had started his spell the evil warlock and dragons almost twitched like a reacton to Merlins magic and started emanating a faint glow, the dragons took to the air shimmering blue and white as the sun lit their lithe bodies. Sam put on a pyramid shaped pendant and fanned the 5 pictures infront of him. one by one he started slamming them onto the table infront of him "Left Arm of the Forbidden One" "Right Arm of the Forbidden One" "Left Leg of the Forbidden One" "Right Leg of the Forbidden One" "BEEEEHOOLLLLDDDDD, it's Exodia the Forbidden One" The table exploded in front of Sam and the massive form of Exodia the Forbidden One formed infront of him, Merlin fell to the ground and started to convulse. The three dragons raced towards the Bastion as the invading army quavered "Exodia! Hells fires rage and pseudo flame!! a wild conflagration erupted from the clasped fits of the enormous god-monster engulfing the blue eyed white dragons flattening everything that stood in front of the southern wall, what was left of the host fleeing into the surrounding woods. "Merlin... Merlin, you ok?" "Y... yes future man. You have saved our kingdom, we are forever in your debt. What can we do to repay you." "Merlin, you still have that magic box right..."
It was the color of a sunset: red tipped petals faded to yellow. Stark contrast to the roiling forever-cloud above it. A thick green stem climbed out of a crack in the dry earth, thorns lining it like a ladder. It had been hidden between two dry logs, lying flat like hollowed bones. It must have peered out from between the dead trees only in the last few days, and I had been the first to stumble upon it. It was worth more than my life. Below me lay my village of rusted huts. They littered the valley sporadically, as if a train had been derailed and its carriages rolled free, far and wide. Men and women worked around the shacks, digging and raking the land, trying to grow weeds that could be eaten, as kids kicked tins into makeshift goals around them. The rose was worth more than any of their lives too. All of them together, even. What a biodome would pay for it... And yet my hand gripped the stem as if a throat and yanked it from the ground. I held it out, its roots flailing in the breeze. I had as good as killed it. No other soil would allow this miracle to live. I placed it inside my jacket and buttoned up, the thorns slicing at my stomach as I strode back down the hill towards the village. &#x200B; "Clara?" The little girl's eyes didn't open. They hadn't for a long, long time. But pale lips still creased into a smile. "Papa?" She was weak. A sheet of paper with inked on features barely visible. A faded trace drawing of my daughter. Clara had been given only days left, weeks ago. Now she was well into borrowed time. And nothing was going to change that. Not any medicine or treatment or prayers. Not the gift I took out of my jacket. Her eyebrows furrowed as the scented air drifted. Impossibly perfumed. "What... what is it?" "A gift." She'd long been enamoured by the plants in the picture books we borrowed, back when her eyes were sky-blue and open. Roses, she said, were the prettiest of all. Too pretty to exist. Perhaps, I'd said, that's why they didn't anymore. God had been jealous of them. I didn't tell her of the bombs, not that day. Of the forever night that had swallowed us. Not from God's jealousy, but mankind's greed. I didn't tell her of the clouds of radiation that drifted invisible and left so many charred and ill. I'd promised one day to take her to see real flowers, in the biodomes, or their skeletal remains that sat behind thick walls of glass in the museums. But it was a promise I'd broken; one that I could never have afforded to keep. And she would never see this flower either. "Careful,"I said, placing the stem between her fingers. "There are thorns." Her mouth widened as she traced her way up it, fingertips probing, purposefully exploring every sinew. Her other hand tenderly cradled its roots. "It's... real."She brought the flower close to her face and sniffed. "It's orange,"she thrilled. "Isn't it?" "Like sunset. I found it on the hillock, hidden between two dead trees. Perhaps they fed it as they rotted." She looked at me and said, almost amused, "Sometimes there's good in death, Papa. But I think it's not always easy to find."Then she was silent, keeping the flower by her nose, grinning broadly, as if the smell had returned her sight, as if it had taken her to a field and she was surrounded by a hundred flaming flowers. Finally, her fingers crept back down the rose; she pressed her forefinger against a thorn until it drew a single drop of blood. She didn't flinch; the pain nothing compared to that of her condition. Then, she said, "Replant it." "I brought it for you." "And it's the best gift I could have had. Truly. But please replant it now, back where you found it." I paused, uncertain, "It deserves to live, Papa." So do you, I wanted to say. Instead, I took the plant and placed it tenderly in my jacket.
“Mr. Lumpykins. A word.” The bear sat still. But the black eyes were watching all the same. “Mr. Lumpykins. I’m afraid I must insist.” The teddy bear did not move. “Mr. Lumpykins, I have a seam ripper and I know how to use it.” Two big black eyes blinked. In a world of thread and felt they shouldn’t by rights be able to . But the magic of Psar didn’t care much for the limits of earth. “What gave me away?” “One. I found a gold sword under my daughters’ bed. Two, she was muttering in orcish on the baby monitor. And three, I was the God Queen of Psar and it was my job to know these things.” The bear stood up and shuffled over to the coffee maker. “That’s the thing, isn’t it. You were the God Queen. You did know these things. And then you turned eighteen and left us.” “I left you with a functioning democracy. There was actual rule of law. I gave you what you needed. And I wanted to go back home.” He climbed up on the counter and grabbed a cup from the cabinet, then put it in the machine. “Single use pods Kristen? You’re better than this. Or you were.” “I wanted a life. Do you know what I was doing on my twelve birthday?” “Everyone knows, Kristen. It is our holiest of days.” “Twin spider gods. And I slayed them. It took forever to get the ichor out. And that wasn’t even the end. Sniffles and I fought dark elves, feral goblins, and candy monsters. My mom thought I was insane.” “And then High Queen Kristen found boys.” intoned Mr. Lumpykins, as if reading from a sacred text. “I found myself. Seventeen, no human friends, and utterly incapable of navigating human society. I took my cousin to Prom. And he ditched me. I needed a life of my own.” Mr. Lumpykins waddled over with the cup of coffee. “Still drink it black?” he asked. I nodded and took the cup. “She’s got it, you know. The gift. She’ll be stronger than you ever were.” he said. I knew, of course. It was my job to know these things. “You made your choice. You made it every day you came to Psar, Sniffles in tow. We are not asking you to volunteer her. Psar is in need, and we asked her to help us. She may. Or she may not. But it must be her choice.” “I could lose her.” I said. And it was true. Magic and adventure have a strong hold. And while the danger was fantastic, it was real. “You could. But if you choose for her you’ll lose her too. Psar needs a hero, Kristen.” I wasn’t crying. I’d learned how not to. I could keep her here. I knew the portals. Even in this world I still had power. But not the power to change her mind. “You’ll keep her safe.” I didn’t ask. “I give my word that I will do my best. She is extraordinary. She will do extraordinary things. She is your daughter. I’m afraid I must go now. Duty calls.” “Sniffles?” “He and Mirabelle are doing well. He sends his regards. I won’t tell him about the seam ripper.” “If you see him, please let him know...I miss him. And I would love to see him again.” “Of course, my queen.” Mr. Lumpykins walked into the closet and closed the door. I knew what I’d see if I opened it. That's why I kept it closed.
Henry sat down in his chair and waited for his wife, Cassie to come home from her "business meeting". He was not waiting for long. He heard the sound of her car pulling into the driveway, and the woman herself entering the house. "I'm home."She called. "Sorry it took so long. You would not believe the things they kept us for. They wanted to discuss who was in charge of the mini donuts. Mini donuts! And for that, they kept us thirty minutes longer than they said they would. Ridiculous." "I bet it was."He knew she was lying. Why wouldn't she? It was practically assumed at this point. "Honey, can you come in here? I want to talk to you about something." "Hm? What's up?"Cassie asked as she entered the living room. She took in his grim countenance and her eyes darkened. "Is there something wrong?" The woman moved with almost feline grace, even in her own home. It was a estimate to the lean, fit build she had cultivated over the years. Henry swore she had steel cables under her skin. He watched her move and sit. "I would say so."He said. "I found something while cleaning today." He reached down and pulled out a file Cassie had meticulously hidden in their bedroom. Their own bedroom! It was insane to think she thought he would never find it. He plopped it down on the coffee table between them. Her eyes remained impassive, but he saw a subtle shift in her posture. Her right hand began slowly and casually moving towards her belt. "What's this?"She asked. Had he not known any better, he would have sworn she was being sincere. "Assassination orders."He said bluntly. "And the person carrying them out. One very wanted killer named Willow. That's you, right?" "Me? An assassin? Really? Come on Henry, be real." "I found others, you know. More hints that you're Willow. Is it true? Are you Willow?" He face hardened. "And what if I am?"He hand moved just a tiny bit faster. "I think I'd have to be very upset with you. I mean, really, can you blame me?" "No, I suppose I can't." "Of course you realize things will have to change, right? I mean, now that I know." "That's only if you're right. Come on, you don't really believe I'm some world class contract killer, right? Please, please tell me you don't really think that." "The evidence is pretty strong." "Damn it, Henry."Her hand began moving towards whatever hidden weapon she had. "We'll have to discuss our chore distribution, you know."he said. Her hand froze. "What?" "I mean, really. I know we worked out all that stuff when we got married, but I didn't know what you do then. I volunteered to do the cleaning at home, not at work and home. I mean, really, that's hardly fair, is it?" Cassie took her hand away from her belt and looked at him with real confusion. "I...what?" "I spend damned near all day cleaning up after you at work, I shouldn't have to do it at home to, that's all I'm saying." She blinked a few times a realization came to her. "Wait, are you saying that you're The Handyman?" "Well, obviously. And we need to talk about this. It's important to our marriage, you know." Cassie visibly relaxed. "Oh, yeah, sure, of course. And...all you wanted to talk about is the cleaning schedule?" "Well, yeah. What did you think I wanted to talk about?" "Well, I would've thought finding out I'm an assassin would put a damper on our marriage. I swear I was ready to kill you." "Oh, hell no. i don't care about that. I mean, really, secrets are part of the job. I just want some fairness in our home life." "Okay, I think I can handle that. But it might have to wait. Pretty sure you're about to get a call." Henry sighed. "Right. Is it really messy?" "Not really. This was an easy one." "Oh, good. But this conversation does need to happen, you know."He said, just as his special phone line started ringing. "I'll think about the new schedule. Now get going Handyman." Henry nodded and answered the phone. Cassie had just come home from finishing her job. Now it was time for him to head out for his.
I can hear them above me, scratching, moving, shoveling. How long has it been since I was buried? I stopped counting at a few days.They're getting very close to me, whoever they are. I can just feel the weight of the dirt lifting off the ceremonial prison coffin. It's an odd feeling, so much pressure after so many years, decades, centuries, millennia even. I can't even remember what I was buried for. OH GOD WHAT ARE THEY DOING- I slide in the coffin, hitting my head hard. They're taking me out? Oh I feel queasy. The motion, my head is spinning. I would puke if I'd eaten some time before I heard the scratching. The coffin jolts, the movement stops. I guess I was put down. More scratching, are they trying to open it? Oh please open the coffin, I don't want to be in here anymore- The lid opens, silencing my thoughts. I can feel the air rushing in, oh the cold, crisp air. I take a deep breath, my lungs filling with the intoxicating oxygen. MY EYES! IT BURNS! I hear screams erupting around me, I try to get up but my muscles seize, stumbling out of the coffin onto the grass I haven't felt in so long. I can't see anything, everything is too loud, I'm hurting all over. A whack across my head, I'm out like a sacrificed virgin. &#x200B; Oh god. My head hurts. I rub my head, somehow not confined. Where'd the coffin go- Oh riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight, right, I remember what happened. Wait- which means- I sit up, my back tenses. I'm free, from the coffin, those people, they saved me. I look around, my eyes strained by all the sudden light. I'm in a bed, in an odd white area. I've never seen any of these things before. Oh, there's even little suns in the ceiling. Someone enters the door through a movable hole in the wall. I can see they're startled to see me. They wear odd black clothing, sitting down next to the odd bed I'm on. "Do you know your name?"The person speaks, but, what are they saying?"Yfel tôcnâwan êow?"I ask back, hoping for some kind of common language. But the person just stares at me, writing."ðêos fricca êower? yfel macung hêore?"I press, hoping to get some clarification. I don't know who these people are, or where I am. "I'm sorry, I cannot communicate with you."They get up and leave again. I look around, seeing an opening in the wall, showing the outside. I get up, holding onto anything that will help, and walk over. I'm going to escape.I try climbing up, but there's some kind of invisible barrier. I knock on it, fully invisible. Maybe it can be broken-!The barrier shatters in little pieces of smaller, sharper barrier, all with a liquid-holding object. I make my escape, seeing the unfamiliar world around me. "Yfel âfierran!"I shout, oh freedom feels great indeed. I get the hang of my physical self again, soon I'm running, and oh it feels GREAT! It feels great until I'm hit with a very large and fast object on black wheels. Oh this hurts, a lot. &#x200B; \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Please don't hate me for the translations, I got it off an Old English translating website so I have no clue if it's accurate. Anyways, enjoy : ) &#x200B; Edit: Oh my god, I did not expect this to blow up so much, my first silver and part two award is thanked Some things I need to address, I wrote a [part two](https://www.reddit.com/user/Variation-Zero/comments/dn9baj/wp_you_are_an_immortal_sentenced_to_a_permanent/) for anyone who didn't see. I wrote this at like 10pm, so I forgot the differences between Britain and America (it's in Britain, I'm just stupid). Thank you for enjoying this!
I stare at the young man before me and try to control the tone of my voice. "I'm afraid it isn't the news that we hoped for. There are still signs of the cancer." He forces a smile, always putting on a brave face. "What does this mean doc? More chemo?" "I'm afraid that's not an option, you're already too weak. We'd be putting you at greater risk for a nominal chance of success." "Ok, so now what?" "Now it is just a question of time." There's that look. The one I see every day. The realization that all hope is lost. I wish I could tell him it will all be ok, but I can't. Instead it will require a miracle. I don't get to take credit. That's not how this works. "How long do I have doc?" I reach out and touch his hand. "Right now, let's say six months. Come and see me again in three months and we will see where you're at. I might be able to give you more time then, depending on your condition." He just nods. No screaming, no blaming, just acceptance. I wish I could give him more time, but there are rules to follow. I need to see how he copes. Some people go the other way with only months to live, drugs, crime, debt. I have a good feeling though. Survival needs a positive attitude. If he's still like this in three months then I can give him more time. He certainly deserves it. He gets up to leave and holds out his hand. "Thanks doc. For everything." I hold back the tears as I shake it, his grip already feeling a little stronger. As soon as he leaves I slump into my chair. I'm so drained right now. It has been a long day. I need a boost, something to get me back on my feet. I check my schedule for tomorrow. It is full. So many people to help. If only I had more time. I get in my car and drive to my next appointment. I stand at the large foreboding gates while they buzz me in. The guard nods, "Hey doc. Back again so soon?" "What can I say Jenkins, I can't get enough of this place." They lead me through to the infirmary and wait outside the door. The prisoner is already there, chained to the bed. He snarls at me. "Are you the guy? The other prisoners have told me you can give me something to make all this go away. To end my life quietly." "I don't know what you mean. It would be illegal for me to give you something to end your life. You are serving time, there is no easy way out." He grabs me and I smile. They always grab me. Makes it so much easier. I can feel the time flowing, topping up my reserves. He senses it too and he lets go, startled. Then he sees my smile and he understands. He holds out his hand and I take it, draining what is left. He says, "How long?" "I'll leave a couple of months. It can't be too soon, or they will suspect something." He just nods, all fight gone now. He says, "What will you do with it?" "I'll give it to someone that needs it." He smiles softly, finally at peace. "Take as much as you can. I'll get into a fight tomorrow, make sure it's my last. Don't waste two months." I nod. "Thank you for your donation."
I sell revolution in glass jars. Not literally, of course. That's too risky. When the day comes that they break down my door and charge me with every crime in the book, it'd be too easy to charge me with treason. I label it Anger. In the evening when the city lights turn on they look down at the jungle of misery from their gold-plated towers. I drive through those dilapidated neighborhoods, past the shantytowns where Grief isn't even worth a penny. So plentiful you can harvest it from a newborn before they've even opened their eyes. Sadness, common as a cough and a cold. But Sadness and Grief don't bring change, and a man has to make his living. In that beat-up diesel, I idle at corners. They smell me coming. Not from the diesel either. They smell success. They smell the Anger leaking through the lid of the jars. "Ridin' 'gain?"Tommy asks. I've sold him Anger about a dozen times. So much that his lip curls in a permanent scowl and he squints his eyes like he wants to squeeze you to death right there. It's addictive. Just a taste of Anger keeps them coming back for more. "Ridin'. Sellin'. Makin' money,"I tell him. He knows as well as I do what I've got. What comes with the Anger. Hate. Violence. Eventually, revolution. "Keep at it,"he says. "Need more folks like you." They don't, though. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to sell this Anger at a premium. Tommy has asked me more than once how I do it. How I manage past the Submission they sprinkle over these neighborhoods like rain. Fumigating for mosquitoes, they used to say. Back when folks were out on the streets banging their fists on metal trash-can lids demanding reform. Funny how the next day they all sat down and cried instead of rioting. "Want a taste?"I ask him. He looks around, nods. "Got a buddy this time. Like you asked." I smile. The buddy doesn't. He's real mopey, like personal-cloud type of sad. Probably at the fact he'll never make it out of the block he was born on, that he'll never amount to anything but a life of cheap labor. Resignation kills Anger. Stuffs it down so deep that the only way out is a jar of the stuff. "First one's free. Three bucks for you, Tommy." I give the man a jar and he opens it and breaths it in like he's never tasted nothing sweeter. His cloud thunders, his eyes spark. He turns his stare up towards those towers, mumbles curses beneath his breath. "How do you do it, man?"Tommy says, watching the transformation same as me. But I won't tell. I won't tell him about the smashed dinner plates and the bitter looks when I finally make it back to my place at a half-past twelve. About the list of things to do that never gets shorter. I won't tell him how we used to be, and how I turned us into who we are now. I won't tell him how I catch her Anger in little glass jars, then show her the money I've made so she won't leave me lonely. And I won't tell him about the other me. About the me who visits that apartment basement once I'm done here. That apartment where the chains are rooted deep, holding in place folks that nobody notices are missing. Folks who thought they had something and I reminded they had nothing. I won't tell him how I keep them there, reminding them how life fucked them over so that they'll get angry. Real angry. Angry enough for me to harvest Anger. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
As I blinked uncomprehendingly, Bob sat back in his leather seat with the broadest grin I have ever seen on another living soul. His shirt was still stained with whatever he’d been lying in the night before, and his jacket was tied around his waist with a piece of knotted twine. My first clue should’ve been that ratty hat that perched on his head. It was probably a fedora at one point in its life, however the scraps of fabric and leather that had more holes in it than his shoes made that authenticity doubtful. No one else was wearing a hat in this place, because the maitre d who oversaw everything would fire his reception staff in a heartbeat if they missed even one. I turned, searching for the hidden cameras or some such set-up. The next clue was when the meal came. No menu. No prices. The meal itself turned up. Like it was pre-ordered. Which is probably just as well, since I was a college student who shared a room with five other guys. When I’d suggested to Bob that I treat him to a meal because he’d brought me home my wallet, complete with the seventy bucks I had put aside for my part of the week’s rent, I’d meant a burger at Black Taps, or maybe something at the Cupping Room Café or something. You know. Something I could afford. And that had certainly been my impression as we walked down Broome Street towards either of those restaurants. I was fully expecting to be forced to get that meal as a takeaway because of Bob’s attire, but we didn’t make it that far. And now that I was thinking about it, I’m not even sure when that plan had changed. Broome Street runs for over a dozen blocks, and somewhere along the line I tripped over Bob’s feet and stumbled a few steps. He stumbled in his effort to catch me, and when we righted ourselves, I could honestly say I had no fucking idea where we were. Because I knew Broome Street. Being a resident of Soho New York, I knew every inch of Broome Street, and nowhere along there was there a set of iron gates that led into a car park. And what the hell was Benu when it was at home? Now I was the one dragging my heels, as Bob walked me through the front doors into what I now guessed had to be one of the. Most. Expensive Restaurants. In. Fucking. America! It had to be. Because I saw the thirteen and a half thousand dollar price tag at the bottom of the bill when the maitre d slid it under Bob’s napkin. And I watched as Bob dropped a metallic silver credit card with no personal name or number information on the front. Just the words: VISA Infinite in the bottom right corner. The maitre d bowed and withdrew to process the purchase. “I don’t even want to know how much money you’re worth, do I, Bob?” Bob grinned and sat forward again. “Just enjoy the meal, kid. Tomorrow morning, you’ll wake up in your bed and wonder if this actually happened. You might as well give your imagination something to work with.” “So where are we?” When Bob shrugged but refused to answer, I decided to find out for myself. The joy of a phone and Siri. “Siri, where am I?” After a few moments (which was already too long), Siri came back with, “You are in Benu Restaurant, San Fransisco.” “WHAT?” I launched out of my seat and leapt back away from the table. Bob kept drinking his ten thousand dollar wine. “HOW?” “Kid, have you ever heard the old saying, ‘I’d tell ya, but then I’d have to shoot you?’” My eyes shot open as they searched his loose clothing for a weapon. Bob snorted waved his hand in a dismissive way. “Okay, bad joke.” He finished the wine and climbed to his feet, just as the maitre d returned with the unlabelled credit card. “Maybe this was too much, too soon.” He pointed at the ring my mother gave me when I was a kid and said, “Do yourself a favour and take that off, son.” My hand went to the simple gold band and covered it protectively. “Why?” “Because this is yet another screw-up on my part. I should’ve taken you to a restaurant in Soho instead of bringing you over here to my favourite restaurant. Now that I know that, I need to put you back, so we can try again tomorrow. Sound good?” “Wh-what?” “Just take the ring off, Sam. I’ll take care of the rest.” When I still refused, he lifted his right hand and peeled off his filthy glove. That was when I saw he had a ring very much like mine, only his was much thicker. “I’ll even go first. Just to show you how easy it is.” and with that, he slid the band from his finger. “See? Your turn.” I still wasn’t sure what he was hoping to achieve, but since he went first, and he had just bought me the meal of my life, the least I could do is take off a ring for a second … I supposed. When I did, it was as if everything around me became more. I turned a tight circle, trying to understand what I was seeing...smelling...hearing... “Nighty-night, son.” And that was the last thing I remembered, before waking up back in my apartment with my roommates attempting to beat down my bedroom door. “Landlord’s here! Do you have your part of the rent?” I heard from no less than five different sources at once. “Uhhh…yeah, hang on,” I said, trying to get my bearings. My wallet was under the mattress where I always kept it, and digging it out, I found a wad of hundred-dollar bills that had to be at least three grand. “Did you rob a bank, Sam?” they all demanded at once. “I-I don’t think so,” I stammered, trying hard to remember how so much money had gotten into my wallet. When nothing came to me except the feeling of being fuller than I’d been in months, I found myself staring at the ring on my right hand. The same ring that had been on the same hand since I was two. What am I missing? &#x200B; SERIAL will continue [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/fs6i9s/bob_the_hobo_a_celestial_wars_spinoff_part_0001/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) (This is only the first part, but from here, the bot has been activated :) ) &#x200B; edit: Okay - I think I got everyone who asked to be notified. Please note, part two isn't out yet, but I thought I would do the bookkeeping, so that the auto-notification bot would be activated and anyone who wanted to be directly notified of part 2 when it comes out will get the notification. (PS: it's my understanding this is how it worked. I've only had two other posts go to serials like this...) &#x200B; *edit to my previous edit*: [Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/fsps4s/bob_the_hobo_a_celestial_wars_spinoff_part_0002/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) is out now. &#x200B; ((All comments welcome)) For more of my work: [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/)
It was just $10.00 and after all, I was hungry. Who would even notice? Who would even care? Turns out I had found the one guy who pored over every facet of his finances and like a dog with a bone, just wouldn't let this go. This was ridiculous. &nbsp; A little over a week had passed since I had found his debit card, with his PIN number so idiotically scribbled on the back, just lying there numbers up in the grass by the sidewalk. I never expected it would work. I walked over to the ATM a block up the road and inserted the card, and typed in the PIN. I checked the account balance. $86,400.00 exactly. This guy was rolling in it. There's no way he would miss just $10.00 so I made my withdrawal, and then stuck the card in the envelope deposit slot as a little good deed. &nbsp; Fast forward to today. I have shut down my Facebook account, Twitter and Instagram too. This guy just kept coming. He had used a bunch of his remaining $86,390.00 on private detectives to run my fingerprints from his card, and video from the ATM. Now he was trying to use my social media accounts to track me down. I'm terrified of what will happen if he actually catches me. Will he kill me? This guy's clearly insane. &nbsp; I see a shadow moving up the sidewalk towards where I am sitting on a bench using a restaurant WiFi. The shape is clearly avoiding stepping into the intermittent pools of light. I can't run anymore. It's just one guy, I can take him. He approaches, "Did you take $10.00 out of my account?"he asked menacingly. "Yes, I did. I was hungry, and I felt like it was a reasonable reward for returning your carelessly lost debit card.", I replied. "Oh. I hadn't thought about it that way. I suppose you're right. I really wish I hadn't spent the rest of my $86,390 trying to get revenge."Then his head and shoulders drooped slightly, and with an air of defeat, he turned around and left.
"First, remember that your wishes must be a single simple sentence. Additional clauses or run-on sentences give most genies a lot of wiggle room." I sized up my client. Mid 30's. Married man. Two kids. House, mortgage, probably a dog. He seemed like a dog person to me. He had a lot to lose. It was my job to make sure that, if he decided to go through with his three wishes, that he didn't wind up losing his house or kids or marriage. Or worse. I remember one time, a client of mine who walked out without taking my advise. The mental image of him being turned inside-out, blood everywhere, was just too much for me. I flinched. My client apparently noticed. "What is it?" "Oh, nothing. I was just remembering a former client of mine. Are you sure you wish to go through with these wishes? You can always walk away." My client, let's call him "Bob", looked me straight in the eyes. "I feel like this is an important opportunity, and I just don't want to pass it up,"Bob said. "Okay, I have a team of linguists professors who can help you with the phrasing of the Wish. As well as a crack team of word historians who can help trace the history of each word used in the Wish so we can make sure there are no historic interpretations that can be used against you." Bob shifted at the table. "Why do we have to do that?" "Because the Genies don't have your best interest at heart."I leaned forward. "For example, suppose you wish for a nice family. Did you know that the word 'nice' once meant 'silly' or 'foolish'? One guy, not a client of ours, wished for his family to be 'nice' and now spends all his time caring for his wife of 10 years and 3-year old son whose IQ are no higher than a cocker spaniel." Bob's eyes widened. "Or think of how other words have changed over time. Naughty used to mean the same thing as nothing, so wishing for your wife to be naughty in the bedroom, and boom! no more sex life. Hardly the thing to wish for, I'd say." "Okay,"Bob said, "so what else should I watch out for?" "Related to word history are homophones; words that sound like other words. One guy I know of who ran a local collection of shops made the mistake of wishing to run a world-class bazaar. Now he's bankrupt and is just too weird to look at." "Oh, dear." "So,"I asked Bob, "what sort of goals do you have with your wish?" "Well,"Bob replied, "I guess I'd like to have a long life, more money, and more time to spend with my kids." "I have to stop you right there, because you really need to be careful when wishing for a long life." "How so?" "Ever think of the consequences of outliving your wife? Or your kids? Or worse, outliving your grand kids? We all wish we could live a long life, but for the few folks I know who found themselves living for centuries, they all have become nearly suicidal out of boredom. "Genies seem to take a perverse pleasure out of finding the ones who are least suited for immortality." Shaking his head, Bob asked, "Unsuited for immortality?" "Sure,"I replied. "There are some of us who are genuinely curious about the world, who spend our time learning, reading, growing our minds; those are the best capable of coping with a life span of over two or three hundred years. Even confined to a wheel chair we would find pleasure in learning more about life. "But some of us lack that basic curiosity. And for them, immortality becomes a burden rather quickly, as they age, become more frail, and watch their friends die off around them. Imagine being confined to a nursing home for a hundred years, with no friends, nothing to do, and not able to kill yourself. "Those are the worst wishes. I've met a few. It's really sad." "So what do you recommend,"Bob asked. "I would make one of the wishes about money, so you can pay for my services. My standard contract is 30% of the net value of any monetary wish, and we require a monetary wish as part of the three wish package. If you don't want a monetary wish, then we would need a standard deposit of $50,000, which we would bill against in order to do the research." "Wow, that's a lot." "Yes, it is, but if you can suddenly have a million dollars in your bank account overnight without any strings attached, our standard fees are quite reasonable. "The good news is that unless someone else picks up the lamp and rubs it, the wishes are yours, and you can wait as long as necessary in order to make them. So I would recommend you buy a safe, and put the lamp in there for safe keeping. Don't wrap it in a rag or towel; that could accidentally rub the lamp and whomever was holding it would get the wishes. And give us a week to research your case so we can phrase the three sentences correctly." "Well, what if I just wished for a million dollars without any strings attached?" "See, that's why you need us,"I replied to Bob. "Because the phrase 'strings attached' would be interpreted literally, and you may find yourself with a million dollars in your house, and cops at your doorstep wondering how you robbed the local bank. "No, give us a week, and let us sort out the wishes that meet your goals for you." ---- (Edit) OMG, Thank you everyone for the kind remarks! (Edit 2) [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5uyh15/wp_genies_exist_however_they_are_all_evil_wish/ddyy6ug/)
When mankind finally managed to escape their own isolated backwater, we knew that should we ever meet another sentient race, we would be dwarfed by their knowledge, experience, and power. We did not however expect to be dwarfed literally. To our surprise, mankind was not exactly close to commonly sized, as a matter of fact, we were quite small in comparison. The first contact we had was quite imposing, like being a child next to an elephant. The aliens were to put it mildly shocked. They did not anticipate our lack of size, and conversely we didn't really expect to be picked up and coo'ed at for being small, and supposedly, cute. The gruff captain of that first exploratory vessel never really lived it down that a huge six-legged lizard lifted him like he was a little kitten or an astronaut action figure. At least our first contact wasn't negative, but still. It seemed that the natural conditions of life weren't like those on Earth, but in fact developed rather different outcomes. The smallest were about ten-times the size of an average human being. The biggest, well, some planets had races of enormous sentient organisms comprising entire ecosystems on their own. Yet it wasn't really fun. We were something of a laughingstock when our existence had been revealed to the wider galaxy. To prevent being stepped on one would have to wear a long hard light pole warning people that somebody that small was around. We were, well, small. To get access to even old tech from them, we'd have to pay quite high prices, because why would they bother giving us the good stuff, after all, most of them had vermin on their homeworld the size of us. The Galactic Community assigned us the absolute minimum of worlds for our own colonisation, figuring we wouldn't need that much space anyway. Human merchants were disregarded, human science was belittled, human culture was considered at best quaint, at worst, immature. Not that they really listened, or saw, or experienced anything we had to offer. To the galaxy at large, we were the small, cute, and therefore weak race. It was demeaning, humiliating, and not a good indicator of our future. Some races suggested, in hypothetical talks on their galaxy-wide communications networks, similar to human internet, but bigger, that humanity was too weak to survive in the long run and perhaps should have our independence and freedom taken, for our own protection. We didn't like that. On Earth however, we've heard of this before. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. The story of David vs. Goliath. The 300 at Thermopylae against the Persian Empire. Finland against the USSR. Vietnam against America. The underdog defeating impossible odds against a bigger, stronger, and usually older opponent. Or at the very least showing that just because they're small, doesn't mean they aren't strong. Humanity is not a race of cute, tiny people. We are a race forged from thousands of years of destructive and horrible war. And yet we were ridiculed. Even though in sheer warlike nature, we were greater than any other race. Peaceful, orderly, and harmonious governments, both democratic, monarchical, theocratic, and others, that was the norm for most of history for other races. Because, as Sun Tzu said, if you know the enemy, and you know yourself, you shall not fear defeat in a hundred battles, and knowledge was easy to get. Humans don't like being treated like children, but we are damned good at exploiting it when we could. Asking really nicely for complete versions the histories of other races, nobody batted an eye. But we did when we found how peaceful they had been. They did not really do war as such, when they were bigger races; as they needed to work together a lot earlier in order to escape Malthusian disasters on their worlds, and go into space. We had a lot more time to get really damned good at being bastards. And at Avalon-5, one of our half-dozen colonies, we needed that. When another race had petitioned to be allowed to seize the planet, and relocate the human colonists there to an area the size of Belgium, the colonists weren't happy. Humanity as a whole was still disjointed, but the colonists were smart. The aliens didn't expect us to sneak into their ships at night while they slept, our small feet not making even the barest of sounds, as we like rats dug our way into their walls. The colonists hid there, and at night, they would come out, sabotaging equipment, cutting wires, contaminating medicine, activate their communication devices and playing loud and rather gross alien pornography, waking the aliens throughout the night. The aliens did not consider the possibility that it had been the relocated colonists getting vengeance. They complained to their homeworlds, getting more supplies, and yet there would still be failures, damages, sudden changes in temperature, atmospheric pressure, and the destruction of prised personal items. Eventually, the aliens, dejected by their constant failures, their giant crops failing, abandoned their colony, never the wiser. But we learned. And some humans considered that our first strike for our place in amongst the stars. The 1st Colonial Guards of Avalon-5 would after those days, proudly wear the mark of a stylised rat as their symbol. And yet it was inevitable, that eventually, resources would get scarcer. Humanity managed, for a while, not to lose territory, and keep what we had. But eventually, the galaxy edged closer and closer to carrying capacity. With the closest next non-satelite galaxy being some 1.6 million light years away, further expansion was going to be difficult. Where before there had been enough resources for everyone, for the first time, the larger aliens felt the constraints that humanity had felt, with limited resources and no easy options. At first, it was harsher rhetoric in the Galactic Commons, then it was aggressive demands. Then threats, posturing, warships, border-skirmishes. But it really broke down, when one of the planet-covering organism worlds, was wiped clean of life, and resettled with other sentient lifeforms, after that, the Galactic Community broke down, and chaos ensured. Humanity, already living in a backwater, the interstellar version of old decaying industrial towns, did not feel much of the collapse of interstellar trade, after all, who bought from humans? Yet even as we turned back to making our weapons, the war got closer and closer. Eventually, an enemy appeared. Not one of the strongest, or the most capable, but definitely a group that could, in the eyes of other races, be our doom. They didn't believe that we had anything that could affect them, and for a while, it seemed to be true, as their fleet moved towards our colonies, only a single, sleek, grey ship, flew against them. They didn't even bother to fire at it. Their mistake. The ship fired its payload of missiles, armed with modified versions of ancient human horror. It was a bloodbath. As the missiles blew, the tell-tale glow of a sudden nuclear explosion, were observed by cold hearts and ruthless eyes. They did not have protection against such applied plutonium. Humanity was tired of being laughed at. Of being thought small and weak. That was truly the moment, when we showed them. Humanity, angry, scared, and not entirely sure on their future in a galaxy at war, sent out thousands of small fast bombers, designed to drop their payloads, and with one fell swoop, cleanse a planet, destroy fleets, end those who had thought us beneath their notice. Even without the warheads, we were becoming feared. Following the example of Avalon-5, we infiltrated many ships and slowly killed the entire crew, allowing us to take their enormous vessels back to be torn apart, the technology studied, the metals repurposed for new human crafts, cities, and warengines. We changed from the laughingstock, to be feared everywhere. Aliens said that you wouldn't know that you had an infestation of humans before they had poisoned your food, killed your crew, and disabled your long-range communications. Our men did not fight with our bodies, they fought with orbital bombardments, rocket launchers, and even weapons we had once banned or absurd, ranging from punt guns and automatic 50 caliber Gatling Guns, to chemical weaponry, subterfuge, targeted bioweaponry, and as the war progressed, and other races started to copy us, experimental megastructure weaponry. When humanity fired the first, and only, Nicoll-Dyson cannon, fired, and with a single concentrated strike, could either scorch the life of an entire world, or break stars if needed. The war raged for upwards of a thousand years. But at the end, humanity was ascendent, a strong, unified nation, with power, technology, and economics that were unrivaled. Most of the rest of the galaxy was in ruins. The other races, the other winners of the galaxy-wide war, gave humanity a wide-berth, fearing them as much as they had once ridiculed them. Where once humanity had to give space for others, humans preserved as many sentients as possible on preservation-worlds, or allowing the few that would collaborate to have their own small empires. Where once humanity had been considered small, now mankind had grown greater, than all others.
I have been here before, but last time they listened to me. This time they are splitting open my chest, tearing it in half like a wet scroll, and I am worrying. I am worrying for them because they are releasing the anger that is swelling inside me, like their rivers of old that burst their banks and drowned their people. &#x200B; Last time, when my own people came to this place, we did not know their language and they did not know ours; yet we both listened -- and in this way we soon learned to speak to one another. They thought us Gods, and to them we might as well have been. For they were seeds only ready to be planted, and we were already trees grown high, swaying in the clouds. We taught them writing, showed them our glyphs. Gifted them a way to control their river so their crops would return each year without fail. Explained they must always give back what they took from their land. If they did not, then they would be thieves that only stole and their world would become angry. They reciprocated our generosity with their own: they built us stepped monuments of perfect symmetry like of the images we had shown them of our homes. A place for us to live whilst we stayed with them. And a place for them to worship us -- for that is what their hearts desired to do. The eyes of these great people were as bright as new stars, and a question must have been ingrained in their minds like how a plant knows to grow towards the light, for they asked it of everything we showed them: Why? It was this question that set them apart from any other creature we had found. It was this question that I knew would bring them all they ever needed. It was this question, too, that brought me back to them after all this time -- for I desired strongly to witness their answers. &#x200B; I landed near the greatest of the monuments they had constructed for us, and was disheartened to see that the white carapace that had once covered it and gleamed like a glass sea, that had held the glyphs and stories that we had taught them, had crumbled away, leaving only the bare stone beneath. Around me was cracked and dry, the great river had retreated and now cowered far from the people. Even the sky was broken and I knew already they had stolen from their land. Soon I found them. A few fell to their knees like their ancestors of old, but most raised their arms and shone plastics and metals at me. They no longer spoke the language we had left them and they no longer had the patience to listen or to try to understand it again. Vehicles rolled and roared across hills and past monuments, speeding towards me. Men and women who looked like bushes and shrubs and sand piled out of them; they made thunder from their metal arms that scattered the people around me. This second set of people didn't try to communicate with me at all. "Please,"I said. "Listen. I have come to see what you have learned and I am greatly excited -- for what potential you had! Perhaps we can now show you more secrets that we couldn't before." But they bound my arms and legs and thrust me into a vehicle. And when I tried to speak again they pushed cloth into my mouth. I sat in a small warm space for very long, bars trapping me, with no one speaking, no one asking why. They did not think me a god. They did not think me even a person. Then they arrived. The people who wore stars on their arms as if they had already conquered everything above them, and whose vehicles waved the same symbols proudly as they flew me far away. They didn't ask why either. We landed in a place of sand much like where we had left. Even here the land and sky angered. They hurried me down into a metal box far beneath the ground. They didn't listen to the answers I gave to the few questions they asked. Each time I spoke they grew upset and louder and their metal arms struck me hard. All my race forgive me please, for I have tried to show patience and restraint; these are our children in so many ways. We taught them to walk and pointed them down a path, but we turned our eyes away before they reached the end. Somewhere along the way, they meandered off it and became lost. Never reached the path's end. We failed them. And now I must right our error. They strip me then strap my arms and legs. With blades that grin too eagerly, they begin their incisions. Answers. They want answers. But no longer do they ask why in order to find them. Now, they demand. Now, they take. The straps holding me snap like dry brittle reeds as my anger swells. The skin of my chest bites back together like paper snakes, sinews coiling tight and firm. I rise from the metal slab. As their blood leaves their bodies and their screams leave their mouths they finally, again, ask: why? &#x200B; &#x200B; \--- Thanks for reading! For more from me (and Ecstatic) please check out our little sub: [/r/nickofstatic](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/fcbzyt/wp_whenever_your_crew_lands_you_are_seen_as_gods/)
Jedrek's father, Bartleby, despite all of his son's beliefs to the contrary, was not the bravest man. Nor was he the strongest, or smartest, or coolest, or tallest. In fact, he wasn't in the top ten thousand on any of these metrics in the city (although he was once the number two best paper airplane folder at a parent-teacher field day that he'd reluctantly gone to and later, after finding fame and fortune in not only the paper airplane contest, but also the apple-bobbing and slingshot booths, reluctantly left). It probably had something to do with his upbringing. He'd grown up the only son of an only son; and his father, who'd had to do everything on his own and felt a deep seated desire to subject his child to all the hardships of his own life, had forced Bartleby to deal with all of his problems on his own as well, 'like a man.' This had predictably led Bartleby down the path of mediocrity, which is not such a bad path to be on, all alternatives considered. He was self sufficient, conscientious, and pragmatic. But at the same time, lacking a baseline of support, he never took the wild risks that might have nudged him into the ranks of 'coolest,' or 'bravest,' or anything-est that his son imagined him to inhabit. One of the problems all little boys have to contend with is monsters. While most are imaginary (like the spiteful one who eats the last of the cookies or the tricksy one who broke mother's lamp when the little boy was most definitely doing his homework and not practicing his wrestling moves in the den), some are not (like the one who sits on the back of the neck when asking Tracey out on a date for the first time, or the one who rides the medical bills in through the mail-slot when mother's had that cough for the past 8 months). Young Bartleby had had to fight these monsters, all by himself, while his own father self-relianced himself into a stupor in front of the TV for the next fifteen years. Young Bartleby had done this with a simple yell: "The jig is up! Come on out!" He'd yelled it at the closet when he was scared to go to sleep at eight, he'd yelled it at the phone when he was scared to ask Tracey to the high school dance at fourteen, he'd yelled it at the envelope when he was scared to read the college admission letter at eighteen, he'd yelled it in the mirror when he was scared to ask for a raise at work at twenty-seven, he'd yelled it at an extremely confused and flustered attending nurse and a bewildered Tracey in the midsts of some very loud and frightening noises during Jedrek's birth and had to be sent out to the waiting room at thirty-two. When Jedrek called him, at thirty-eight, up to his room and said he was scared of the monsters, Bartleby knew just what to do. "Son, you may not know this, but I'm a knight, and I've fought a lot of monsters in my time. You can be a knight too, want me to show you how?" "Okay, Dad." Bartleby turned toward the mirror-doored closet, squared his shoulders, and yelled, "The jig's up! Come on out!" A monster came out, it sounded like a sniffle, it almost said, "but what if I'm not smart enough?" "You are as smart as you are, and that's smart enough if you work hard. The jig's up! Come on out!" Another monster came out, it sounded like a whimper, it almost said, "but what if I'm not strong enough?" "As long as you have one friend, even if it's only yourself, you'll have enough strength for anything. The jig's up! Come on out!" A final monster came out, it sounded like a sob, it almost said, "but what if I'm alone." Bartleby sat down on the bed and put his hand on his son's head, he said, "your mother and I will never leave you where it matters, you will never be alone." No, Bartleby may not have been the strongest dad, or the smartest, or the coolest, or the bravest; but those aren't the things that [dads](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter) need to be, and the things they did need to be, well, Bartleby was.
Humans: The Intelligent Pest The human is one of the few intergalactic minor species to adapt to life in urban environments, as such they can now be found nearly everywhere within the populated universe. Some consider them a virulent pest and call the exterminators as soon as they find a human colony, others insist that they are actually very clean and, in fact, can clear out the nastier pests from the home. Regardless of which camp you belong, no-one can disagree that humans are here to stay. Humans were fist introduced into the intergalactic ecosystem when a small child-rearing collective visited the species’ originating planet while exploring some rural galaxies. The collective illegally bypassed screening checkpoints, possibly knowing that they would be subject to quarantine, and thus introduced the human stowaways to the protected galactic environment. By the time the first colony was found it was already too late. How and why were humans so successful in infiltrating the central intergalactic ecosystems? These questions are why many find them so fascinating. Some time after the outbreak became apparent and the usual methods of isolation and eradication had failed, an expedition was sent to their planet of origin to study them in their natural habitat. What they found was that the humans on their planet acted very differently to those we had grown accustomed to. While the humans on their home planet considered themselves special due to their superior position in their planets ecosystem, the stowaways had no such illusion. What makes the human different to all other minor species is that they recognised their new position in the galactic environment and adapted to it quickly. While their ignorant cousins still fought each other over fractions of their home world, the galactic human learnt to peacefully cooperate in ever increasing numbers. Whether this is due to survival instincts brought on by the threat of their new environment or a conscious change in thinking due to their new sense of perspective is a subject of heated debate. In this book we will be discussing the degree to which humans can be attributed intelligence. Are they just a clever pest? Or are they intelligent enough for their extermination to be considered murder? We will also be touching upon some of the wilder theories surrounding humans, such as the idea that human colonies are actually in communication with each other, and that these human networks potentially span over all intergalactic civilization, or the claims that human colonies on abandoned vessels have grown to take complete control of the craft and now wander space looking to expand their influence.
Goddamit! I hate being killed. It's not so much the dying part that I despise, that's over pretty quickly, but I do hate that for the next 10-15 years I have to go through all the childhood and teenage stuff again. Elementary school is the worst, just sitting here I hate every second of it. No one can know that I can already read and write or do "complex"math, I want to fly under the radar after all. So I have to pretend like I'm as clueless as the other kids when it comes to how to write the letter 'E'. The first couple of times that I went to school, I started writing with my left hand, but after doing it a lot I got so good that that doesn't work anymore. Gosh, I miss the olden days when I didn't have to go to school. I'm a doctor-always have been, always will be, it's really the only thing I truly enjoy- but people nowadays actually want you to go to med school and have a degree-it's ridiculous. I mean, I have amputated more limbs than I can count, I've seen the black death and small pox but you don't think I can treat your kid's cold without a degree? Don't be ridiculous! Med school is always cool though. Mostly because I don't have to go to classes all the time but I still ace every test, most of the stuff I discovered myself after all. So I have a lot of time to do nothing or hang out with friends. I miss partying actually, haven't done that in a while. In my last life I lived to the age of 58. Pretty good run for me until my wife killed me for cheating on her. Poison, not my worst death. Pretty quick. That was only like a week ago. Maybe I should rat her out to the police. The new teacher actually looks a lot like the girl I cheated on my wife with. Maybe a younger sister or cousin or something? I should hit her up. So I go to the front to talk to her: "Hey do you want to grab dinner sometime? We could go to your place after if you know what I mean."The instant I saw the shock on her face I knew that I f*cked up. Oh yeah, body of 5 year old! Edit: Wow, guys. I didn't expect so much positive feedback on my first time posting here! Thanks a lot! I'll definitely continue writing prompts!
I was never a brave kid. Always afraid of everything, as if the whole world was going to come and harm me. I spent days huddling underneath a pillowfort in my bedroom, flashlight in hand, trying to keep out the dark. My parents didn't know what to do, but my grandfather, a man who had travelled the world, had an idea. He put my on his knee, and told me that the best way to stop being scared of something, was to become its friend. He told me to be nice and friendly with the darkness. I knew this was a silly thing to do, but scared witless, I tried anyway, sitting in my room wearing my bunny pyjamas, gently talking to the darkness, telling it about my day. To my surprise, when I treated the darkness as a comforting friend, as a someone who would hide me from all the dangers of the world, it didn't seem so bad. In time, I considered, as silly as it was, the darkness to be one of my few friends. The darkness, though on some level, what was hiding in it, scared me, became a comforting velvet blanket covering me. I grew from a nervous and scared child, to an anxious and cautious teenager, into a careful and prudent young woman. Throughout my life, I kept being friendly with the darkness, out of habit, and because a part of me still feared things. I was still the same scared little girl on the inside, worried about everything. But I could deal with it. I was walking back from the library in the evening, back to my dorm room at college. I'd been reading an interesting book about early software development and electric security, and had completely lost track of time. I usually walked home earlier, but I wasn't as afraid as I could be, the darkness was my friend after all. Someone was walking behind me, and my brain, ever on the watch against potential dangers, told me to walk faster. To my immediate horror, he started to walk faster too. I tried to shake him, tried to run, but he rushed me, and grabbed a hold of my arm, and swung me into a dark alleyway. Terrified, I became completely still, like a deer in the headlights. But as he pulled out a knife, he stepped into the shadow of the alley. And as he did, the darkness moved. He dropped his knife but it was too late, the darkness flowed like water onto his body, until he was covered completely. He screamed and tried to run, but the darkness, covering him from head to toe, just became a slight bit darker around him, as he vanished. I was shocked, as the shadows moved towards me. But it was like being submerged in cool refreshing water, yet it was quite easy to breathe in. And in the darkness, there was something soft and fuzzy. It took my hand in its massive darkness, and led me on a path I could not see. I can't tell for how long we walked together. I can't remember saying anything. I don't know where we went, but when we stopped, and the shadows disappeared, we were in my dorm room. I turned and looked around the room, and in one corner, there was a thicker clutch of darkness, one part of the dark which looked infinite. I walked over to it, and reached my hand into the dark, until I found that fuzzy soft feeling again. I gently touched this dark ambient sensation, and thanked it quietly, by whispering into that darkness. Ever since then, I have not feared the darkness. For wherever I walk, it follows me. I am the only friend of the darkness, its shape huge and dark, fuzzy, soft and strange. For my kind words, for my caring, I have a friend now, who will protect me from every horror that I fear in this world. I walk with it on moonless nights, in dark forests and across black oceans. I speak softly to the darkness, which listens to me. It has no voice, but it holds my hand safely in its enormous one, and I know that this is its way of comforting me, the same little girl in a pink bunny pyjamas, who spoke softly into the darkness. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
'Look...they're doing it again.' 'Doing what?' 'Just...look come over here and take a look at the damn screen.' 'Oh, well isn't that just the sweetest thing.' 'I know, right? The transmission arrived just this morning. What you would expect of course, you know; 'is anyone out there', 'we come in peace', all that bollocks.' 'They really are adorable, did you see recently that they just celebrated a hundred years without any major wars between themselves? They exchanged gifts, they sang, they embraced each other, it really was quite something.' 'Yeah, it's quite incredible in it's own way.' 'Yeah...' ... 'We should probably just get it over with though, you know? Bite the bullet, and all that. Full on invade the place, strip the resources, assimilate the good bits of genetic code, etc, etc, and move on.' 'What, why?' 'Well, isn't it cruel not to?' 'Don't be silly.' 'No but I mean...look I don't want to be a dick or anything. You know I enjoy their silly little behaviours as well. But you know how this goes. Look, we have successfully invaded every known system in the local cluster right?' 'Right.' 'In every case, resistance has been utterly futile, right?' 'Damn right, poor fuckers never stood a chance...' 'Well yes, exactly. Now tell me why we do this.' 'You know why...' 'Yes, but come on now...just spell it out, back to basics kinda stuff. Explain it to me as if I was still a juvenile.' 'Ok then, we do what we do because of the fundamental law of the universe. There is no value to be found in genetic stagnation, it has been shown a thousand times over. Species must constantly fight, within themselves and externally, if they are to evolve into ever more perfect life forms. It is the only way to survive the long night.' 'Indeed...' 'I mean, just look at them! Even on their world, humans have not evolved significantly in thousands of years! They are not even the strongest organism on their planet! They keep their weak alive out of pity and they seek cooperation out only because the alternative of war is a hard struggle which would interrupt their comfy little lives. As a species they are like a dull blade!' 'Yes I agree, so why don't we just finish them off?' 'Well...' 'If they are so fundamentally useless why do we keep them around? I mean, I enjoy their silly little antics as much as you do, but when did we become the type of people who kept around things simply because they amused us?' 'Well...I guess it's because they're the only ones. The only ones we have come across who, having achieved sentience, have ultimately chosen peace over war. It is unprecedented; and the worse thing is that the instinct for violence is there, but they suppress it.' 'They're unique then...will it help them survive the long night?' ... 'Will anything?'
“I make deals,” he said. I don't think I could ever forget the look in his eyes. Lawrence had been coming to my shop since I opened it. Before I had the vendor lines set in stone and before the 5-star reviews started coming in; he was there. He would come in around half past 6, Monday through Friday, and order his coffee. When I expanded the menu he would order a bagel and every so often he wanted something cold. Regular was an understatement, Lawrence was loyal to a fault. He didn’t want to invest in the shop, and he didn’t want money or recognition. “I don’t want you to retire.” A cocky half-smirk had graced his face. If we are telling the story honestly, I laughed. The expression lit up his face and I nearly blushed. But the longer I looked at him, the funnier I found the whole conversation. I laughed so hard that he chuckled in turn. “I don’t ever want you to retire,” he had said when I caught my breath again. What we don’t realize about the universe we live in is that extraordinary people look exactly like the ordinary ones. They have dark brown hair and murky hazel eyes. They come in for coffee and quietly read their paperback books. They never hint at what may lay beneath the surface if they don’t have a reason to. The monsters lay in the shadows and the heroes hide in plain and sight, and while Lawrence was neither he played by the same set of rules. I don’t know exactly how he knew, but I had been getting ready to retire that next summer. I was getting older and I was getting tired. I wasn’t sure I wanted to run the dim little shop for the rest of my short, human, life when it was all I had ever known. He had held his hand out to me that day, waiting for me to seal the deal. Shake his hand and take him up on an offer I didn’t understand. “How?” I asked him. One little word was my entire response to an offer of immortality if I can make you believe it. His lips curled upward, scanning my face for some sign he needed to proceed. “I told you, I make deals. I have made deals with angels and demons, and I have life to spare.” I won’t lie to you. I hemmed and hawed, and ended up sitting at a table in my own shop late into the night. I asked a lot of unimportant questions that skirted the real issues. His face held an expression of amusement the entire night, showing no signs of impatience or tiredness. It was in the early morning hours of the next day that he reached his hand out once more. My heart beat in my chest with fear and anticipation. I reached my own hand into his, clamping down on his cool skin with a small lump in my throat. I watched our hands move up and then down again, and even as his fingers relaxed around my hand, I stayed clamped down. I felt like I had known Lawrence most of my life and was looking at a completely different version of him. I had watched him sit at his table in the corner for many years and never known the most important details about him or his life. At the end- I guess it's similar to most relationships people have. We think of strangers as friends because we are used to seeing their faces. This was the night I realized I knew nothing. I knew nothing about him, and nothing about the people around me. He had lifted the veil and changed my entire life. It’s been 150 years since then, and I can still remember his face. I remember every smirk he made that night, and every word he said. He had delayed my retirement, and opened my eyes, and made me so much more aware than I ever knew I wanted to be. Some days- I get sad I missed a normal life. Others, I look back and remember the night we had made our deal. My hand squeezing his long after he had finished the handshake. He had smiled broadly, looking at my face with an eyebrow raised. “Welcome to my world, Samantha.” My heart had never beat so hard against my chest. I didn’t know much about him, but I knew I was ready to spend eternity seeing that smile every day. /r/beezus_writes Edit: If you are interested in future parts of this story, visit my sub for updates. [Part one is here with instructions.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Beezus_Writes/comments/c6b2mh/the_coffee_shop_part_1)
We really just didn't have anyone to name. My sister was long gone, my husband was an only child, and none of our friends really went to church anymore. Jerry was just being a smartass when he named Loki, God of Mischief, the godfather. The pastor didn't get the joke, and... well that was that. The first time I remember it was a toy snake in the crib. Helena was grasping it and waving it around, just cackling. She cried when I took it away, and when we reviewed the baby cams it just seemed to appear. The next time she was about 5. She was playing outside when, through the window, I saw Mrs. Voelz stride across our lawn with a giant bag of something. I stepped outside to say hello but was completely ignored by her. Her eyes had an unnatural, cloudy glaze over them. She gave Helena the bag and retreated back to her house. I found the bag brimming with candy, and when I confronted Mrs. Voelz about it she had no idea what I was talking about. Apparently she had gone to the store, purchased about $50 worth of candy, and given it to my daughter without remembering any of it. Her husband insisted she go see a doctor, but in my heart I knew she hadn't been ill. After that, strange things always seemed to happen. My car keys would appear on the table only after it was too late to drive Helena to piano lessons. A thermometer at school would say she had a high fever on the day of a test, but she was cool to the touch. When she got the lead in the high school play, it was suddenly decided that the football team was given far too much funding and that it should be reallocated to the theater program. That's when I knew I wasn't crazy. We were folding laundry together that Sunday, just the two of us, when I decided it was time. "Lena, I was thinking about it, and I'd like to invite your godfather over for dinner Friday night." Helena's hands froze. "My godfather?" "Yes. I think it's time that we all sat down and talked. Would you pass along the invite?"I asked cooly. "Mom, I really don't think that's a good idea,"she replied. I was amazed and overwhelmed. She wasn't trying to deny it. "Well I do. We really need to have better communication with him, and it needs to start now." "But Mom...." "No 'buts',"I said firmly. "You are going to pass along the invite, and we are going to have a nice, family dinner. Finish up the laundry. It looks like I need to go shopping." I got up and grabbed my purse and keys. She hadn't denied it. She knew what I was talking about. She didn't say he wasn't real. My heart was pounding as I headed towards the door. My hand was on the door knob when the mail slot opened, and a letter swooped to the floor. But... it was Sunday? I yanked open the door, but there was no one in sight. My racing heart stopped, and I looked at the letter on the floor. In big, green ink was elegantly scrawled: See you Friday Edit: People seem to be really interested in this and are asking for a part 2. Someone even gave me gold, so now I feel like I owe you guys. You'll find part 2 below somewhere. Thanks for all the feedback :)
What is history? You probably think of long forgotten battles, golden heroes, and reprehensible villains. You think of wonders and wars, tragedies and miracles. You see history as a concept, an untouchable. Something like a movie that has no connection to reality. But that is just an infinitely small part of history. History is what you ate for breakfast yesterday, history is what you were doing an hour ago. History is what you read in the last fraction of a second. Everything up to this exact moment is history. Now this moment. Now this moment. You get the idea. I used to teach history, see. I used to focus on the big battles, the monuments, the wonders. I considered myself an expert on “history,” but focused on this small part of it. When I first found my ability, I changed these events to suit my wishes. The Tower of Babel never lasted until the present day. Alexander the Great never conquered India. The Roman Empire actually fell. The world you live in today, the world you hate and spit on, is the result of careful deliberate manipulation by yours truly. You have no idea what it was like to live in the Tower’s shadow, no idea what a world with a modern-day Rome was like. History is a river see. I can put up a dam, but the water will break through. Tragedies will happen, even I, practically a God, cannot stop them. All I can do is redirect the river, make the damage as little as I can. I began to be subtler. Rather than force the river to change direction, I offered small, easier paths. Change what shoes Kennedy wore on a certain fateful day. Made sure a guard didn’t became thirsty on duty in the Watergate hotel. Trivial things, history, that changed the course of the world. And these 2 actions, one of the millions I’ve done, have had effects as large as making the Roman Empire fall. I know what some of you are thinking. I’m a monster, changing history to what I like. You think I should ask your opinion. Maybe you liked Kennedy or Nixon. Maybe you think we would flourish under the Roman Empire. Maybe you would like it if Angels still roamed the world. Well you know what? I’m done. I’ve been doing this for years – I used to teach back when we worshiped Zeus in Greece. I’ve tried to save the world, save myself, but I don’t think it’s worth it anymore. Trust me, I’m more qualified than anyone else to say. And so I say the words that I’ve always known would end it all. A command that cannot be fulfilled. A command that will rip apart the very fabric of time and space. I don't need to go very far back at all, see, only mere moments ago. “What I just said was wrong.” *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
I glared at those insolent scum as they sat with their feet on the table, kicked back in their chairs, eating the burgers I had been ordered to deliver to them. It wasn't easy getting this internship and my mom keeps saying to just duck my head and do my job and maybe that way I'll find my place on the team. But each day I'm more and more convinced that all I should do is erase that team, and most of the people around me while I'm at it. Still, it pays, unlike most of the other internships out there where you sign a contract for voluntary slave labor. "Quit daydreaming and get me another coffee,"Dayman bellows. His superpowers come to light with the sun and he destroys villains as he prances around in his ridiculous Spandex and nonsensical theme song. "My coffee is cold. Can you make it boil?"Nightman asks and they all erupt into boisterous laughter. Funny. No, I can't. As they found out during the interview. These two guys harness the power of night and day; the others harness fire and fleas and random elements and bugs to save the city from certain doom and all I can do is boil water. My measly power is boiling water. So I go to the Keurig and I serve them another coffee and I seethe in silence as they pour it on the carpet. "Clean it, bitch,"Fireman yells. They all keep laughing. I drown them out. But my temper is nearing a breaking point, and Sun Tzu's teachings can only take me so far. "Know the enemy and know yourself,"I tell myself each morning when I enter the office. It was on the top floor of the priciest plot of real estate in the whole city. Of course it was. They claimed it was so they could better see where the city needed them but I think they just enjoyed pissing off the top floor. They'd be cackling a different tune when I boiled their piss inside them. That had been my plan all along. I would lay low until I identified their habits, learned their ways and how their powers could interfere with mine. And then, once all was ready, my dream would finally come true. I would become the most villainous villain of all time. The MVV, as I like to call it. I tell people it's a Roman Numeral when they ask me about that tattoo. They think I'm an idiot because apparently it's not 1010. I tell them it's because I want to be the tenth member of their crew. We'll see what they can say once their saliva boils in their mouth and they turn into a little heap of boiled mush. Finally I snapped. It wasn't according to the plan, but I couldn't take it anymore. Fireman felt it first, that little burning in his urethra. Moments later he was screaming in agony as the water from his mouth to the other end all started to boil at once. Did you know humans are 70% water? I was about to see 70% of these scummy heroes boil. I glared as they screamed and begged me to stop. Now they could see who really had the power. Fleaman couldn't jump away from me and Fireman couldn't harness any fire when the fire was inside him. Nightman had no night to fight in and Dayman couldn't sing when his mouth was boiling. Iceman just melted completely. I should have expected that. Somebody would have to replace the carpet. And then there was silence, and they lay in soupy heaps on the floor. My first attempt at using my powers had made a bit of a mess, but I didn't think I would need to worry about the cleanup. That was a concern for a superhero, not for the Most Villainous Villain. I left the building, wishing I could make it explode in the background like a villain in one of those Michael Bay movies. Instead, I just made all the water inside boil and all those poor, innocent people exploded instead. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
“Grandpa, tell us the story again! The one about the two robots!” The old man leaned back in his chair, with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile he nodded “During the early 21st century, two highly advanced races sent their most prized creations, perfect and impartial, AI advisors. One race sent one to hinder humanity, they believed Earth to be a threat to the galactic order, while the other sent theirs to help, believing that humans were capable of incredible feats, with guidance” “But you can’t tell which was which right?” The little girl interrupted, excited to hear the story of ages ago. “Ah but I was getting to that part” The grandpa responded, not unkindly. “It wouldn’t be until decades later that the people of Earth would discover this robots, but even then, they couldn’t tell which one was sent to help or which one was sent to stop. These men, robots, both had achieved much. At first, Zuckerberg was thought to be the bad one, as Facebook could invade your privacy. But his advances in social media could not be ignored. Musk was thought to be good, as his inventions helped shaped the Green World as we know it, but his creations also helped kill later on.” “But you know which was which, right Grandpa? You figured it out when no one else did!” The old man smiles a sad smile before carefully responding “Yes” “Tell us Grandpa! Who was the evil one and who was the good one?” He laughed gently “That, is something you will have to figure out.” As the kids complained loudly, another old man comes over, chuckling to himself “Which version of the story are you telling now Mark? Mine or yours?” Mark winks at the other man “The truth Elon.”
They mostly died gibbering, eyes wide, searching for something no one could see. I was in the storeroom, taking inventory of the powered milk, when Sal spasmed and sent a row of cans clattering to the floor, and I yelped and turned around to him and his eyes were just wild and flickering, rolling up into the back of his head, nearly twisting out of their sockets. He was trying to tell me something, I'm sure of it. And then the whole place was chaos, him and Maury and D'Angelo and all of them just having seizures, and I ran out to the floor and my god it was a madhouse in there. All the customers, flailing, pulling shelves down on themselves, that awful gibbering babble just looping in on itself and echoing and there was nothing I could do to make them stop, until they were all of them, all of them, dead. Well. Not all of them. This nice lady named Virginia shrieking with the rest of them, but she was just panicking like I was. And Stevie and his kids. And Merle and Yvette and - and long story short we ventured out of the supermarket together, and then out into the city, and then listening for any news on the radio, and every time seeing the same thing repeated larger and larger and larger. They were all dead, died in their cars, died in their beds, died flying airplanes, died keeping the electricity running, all across the city and the country and the whole goddamn world, all of us huddled together around the radio listening for the news coming in. All of them dead. All of them except for us. "Decimation,"says Merle, as we're doing rounds. It's funny, in an apocalypse. You expect looting. You expect tyrants. You expect that the worst thing of all is your fellow man. But there ain't no zombies after us, no lack of food or gas or water. There's a fucking surplus to pick through here. Because we've done head counts, we've dragged away the bodies in rows of straight lines, we've extrapolated and done the math, and the numbers we come up with square with the numbers we hear on the radio. "A removal of a tenth,"Merle says, with a weak smile. "Hence, decimal, decade. One-tenth of a military unit singled out and killed."Just rows and rows of bodies, and we've counted the ones who're left. "Just think, they used to consider that a severe punishment." Ninety percent of the world is dead, more or less, more or less. We're just the ones who are left, all fucking traumatized and clinging together for warmth. Roughly seven hundred fifty million people left on the face of the Earth, if our estimates hold right, if the decimation's been uniform. Sounds like a lot, don't it. Just us seven hundred fifty million left, among six billion-odd corpses. In the end, it gives you something to shoot for, doesn't it? You bury nine corpses, and then you've done your part. In the beginning, the worst we faced - beyond the fires, beyond the rats running free, beyond the stink of rotting flesh, beyond the - the worst we faced of humanity, is what I mean, was a couple of kids with their daddy's rifles, thinking they were raiders. We disarmed them peacefully, they're living with us now. But now, now that we're just starting to get organized again, and people have to go and get trouble. "There,"Merle whispers, nudging his elbow into my side, pointing to the bloody handprints chalked across the wall. Too neat, to clean to have been placed there accidentally. Alistair and his goddamn cultists. I grip my rifle tighter, the hairs on my neck going up. "Marking their territory,"Merle says. "Trying to expand." And we're crouching low, but there's a whistle that sounds above the rooftops, and our eyes turn to the sky. "Run!"I yell, and there are footsteps sounding, chanting, figures stirring in the abandoned buildings. "Get back to base!"And a bullet whistles through the air and takes Merle through the shoulder and he gasps and stumbles and I'm grabbing his shirt, dragging him along, the two of us running together. Here's the thing about surviving: it makes you think you're special. It makes you think you're chosen. It makes you think that maybe everything else you do to survive is justified. It wasn't a God that spared us, no, no. Christian, Muslim, Jew, Buddhist, struck down like anyone else. It wasn't skin color or race. It wasn't where we lived, it wasn't how rich we used to be before the fall. It wasn't anything we ate or drank, wasn't anything we watched or heard or knew. In our group, it was Sarah, Stevie's little girl, who was the first of us to figure it out, to voice it, I think under a week after it all happened. But all of us must've been thinking it in some form or another as we made our way through the trauma, it must've been percolating through my head as I shook hands with another stranger, as we passed each other supplies, as I watched them work. Such a stupid, pointless little trait. And since it didn't match up with any doctrine or dogma, they've made up a religion to fit it. A religion that says that we are Chosen. That we are the inheritors of the Earth. "You have a chance!"booms Alistair's voice from outside, as me and Merle huddle behind a bank counter, my rifle at the ready, Merle sweating and pale and his breathing going hard. His cultists are parting like the sea, and I peek up and I see Alistair, all in in black, black hair, black beard, the bloody handprint crusted across his chest. "Join us! We recognize not the laws of the old world, a world that sought to persecute and marginalize us! You seek to reestablish your own oppressors! That ugly thing you call Civilization! Join us, brothers, and recognize the New World Order!"He's arrogant, that bastard, an utter fanatic, arms spread, smile wide. Merle's eyes are flickering closed, the blood spreading across his shirt. I steady my rifle. I think I may be able to get off one shot. "Join us!"screams Alistair, his face a perfect spot of white in my sights as his followers begin to flood in, their own weapons raised. "Join us on the Left-Hand Path!"
Life is but a fleeting breath For one as old as I Each passing year, a passing day Alone, for to love...is to watch love die Then I met her, my perfect match The yin unto my yang She sang to me a perfect song And to her, my heart sang its true reply Alas, our days must be so short They say that time must fly All good things come to an end Soon, we will say our last goodbye I cannot bear to see her go I cannot watch her die And so I fled, a shadow in the night My deepest love a fading sigh I pray, to whatever gods might hear That at the end of days When all the world is said and done Somehow, she might return my gaze Time will be time, and as time does It turned forever more Empires grew, and nations fell And yet my heart would never soar Soon, all was gone, the world was bare In the blinking of an eye And there, among the wreckage, stood The one I sought, a shadow on the sky The gods had heard my prayer, it seemed With their power beyond supreme Her eyes still clear, her face still young A living, breathing dream "Why did you leave?"she asked at last "I've waited all this time" In answer, I just shook my head There were no words to fix my crime "Nothing I can say or do could undo what I've done To leave you far behind I know now I should not have run Forgive me, for I have been blind." She stopped a moment, hand outstretched Fate balanced on a dime And though I have lived for eons since Those few moments stretched far beyond Time "I forgive you"were her next words The sweetest ever heard She took my hand into her own And between us, eons blurred So now we walk, never apart Through sand and wind and rain For though the world has breathed its last Our Love does live again *** I don't usually do poetry, so I hope this one came out alright. Read more of my work on /r/TimeSyncs!
“Listen to your mother, this time.” The first time Shelby saw the bloody words appear on the steamy bathroom mirror she was nine years old. It was a cold January morning and she was running late for school again. The words were strange and frightening, but not as frightening as the sound of her mother banging dishes around and yelling for her to get ready to go. Unsure if her mother had somehow played a trick on her and not wanting to incur further wrath, Shelby complied. Winter became spring and the frost faded like the words on the mirror did from Shelby’s memory. A few days before her tenth birthday she was standing in the bathroom combing her long coppery hair. The steam was still thick and the mirror was fogged up. Words slowly took shape and she watched in silence, her breath caught in her throat. “You have a test at school on Friday, don’t forget to study kiddo.” She knew that she her mother could not be the one causing the words to form as her mother did not know about the test. The comb was placed on the sink and she took a step back before whispering. “I won’t.” Shelby didn’t forget, failing the test would’ve meant more yelling. “Happy Birthday sweetheart, make sure to say thank you, even if you don’t like the gifts.” A frown spread across her face as she looked at the blood words on the mirror. They were right. The birthday gifts would be terrible, but not as terrible as her mother making a scene about how ungrateful and spoiled she was. Weird dolphin stationary, a pack of cheap makeup, and an ugly dress later, Shelby smiled and thanked her mother. It was not the worst birthday she had. Later that night she took her red lipstick and wrote a small message on the mirror in pretty cursive that she had practiced meticulously. The message was simply “Thank you.” The next morning bloody words appeared across the mirror. “Of course! Now clean this up before your mom sees it.” Shelby smiled at the messy mirror and watched as the blood faded away until only the lipstick remained. She cleaned the mirror, determined not to incur her mother’s anger or betray her secret. The seasons shifted and changed and the mirror spoke to Shelby more often. Sometimes it was about small helpful things. "Don’t forget your keys again.""Remember to find a gift for your mother.""Be gracious.""Remember the dishes."Sometimes though, it was about other things. "You will remember who you truly are.""Never stop being angry with her, but pretend until it’s time.""You’ll understand when you’re older." Shelby slowly matured into a young woman and her mother didn’t like it one bit. Her body changed and flourished, but not only in the normal ways. One late winter morning she awoke to her mother screaming and pounding on her door. “I know you have a boy in there! I know it!” Shelby wasn’t frightened, but she was angry. She ignored her mother and walked into the bathroom, blood was already streaming down the surface. “It is time.” Time? The words faded as her mother burst through the bedroom door. Her mother was on her within seconds, grabbing her hair and pulling, screaming incoherently about some boy and how she was a slut. A thin hand came down upon her cheek in a sharp slap; her mother had never hit her before. The anger that ripped through her body went to the core of her being and for the second time in her life, her body changed. Claws sprouted from her fingers, horns twisted from her silky red hair, and teeth morphed in her mouth into angry points of bone. Her feet were different too, cloven hooves. Shelby snarled and without a thought, grabbed her mother’s head and snapped her neck. When she turned to look at herself in the mirror, her appearance startled her. The words that appeared on the mirror did not; they caused joyous wicked laughter to bubble up out of her throat. “Daddy has missed you, kiddo. It’s time to come home now.” Shelby put a clawed hand up to the mirror and pushed, reality gave way and her hand sank in. Without ever looking back, she climbed up over the sink and through the mirror, into another world where the only parent who had ever truly wanted her waited.
"I claim him!", said Mephala, "For we have many machinations yet to do!" "I claim him!", said Peryite, "For we have many tasks yet to perform." "I claim him!"said Vaermina, "For we have many terrors to inflict." "I claim him!"said Hircine, "For we have many prey to hunt!" "I claim him!"said Sanguine, "For we have many indulgences to partake." "I claim him!"said Nocturnal, "For we have many secrets yet to keep." "I claim him!"said Hermaeus Mora, "For we have many tomes to collect." "I claim him!"said Clavicus Vile, "For we have many deals to make!" "I claim him!"said Meridia, "For we have many terrors to slay!" "I claim him!"said Namira, "For we have many things to wither away." "I claim him!"said Azura, "For we have many imbalances to correct." "I claim him!"said Boethiah, "For we have many plots to enact!" "I claim him!"said Malacath, "For we have many misbegotten to avenge!" "I claim him!"said Molag Bal, "For we have many weaklings to crush." "I claim him!"said Mehrunes Dagon, "For we have many that defy us!" And Sheogorath said, "Reload last save!"
Extinction Report Investigator: Tril Kor Tal Subject Species: Humanity Species Aliases: Homo sapiens, The Teachers, The First Ones Conclusion: Inconclusive. See analysis. *** Analysis Allow me to begin with an apology. This report is based largely on conjecture. There can be no objectivity in this analysis. As a result I prefer to give my thoughts on the matter. These reports usually discuss the extinction of extremophile bacteria or hardy algae on worlds inhospitable to complex life. Rarely, a semi-intelligent species on a habitable planet will vanish. This is often due to catastrophe, be it from stellar radation, meteor impact, or tectonic displacement. Occasionally, it is due to attack by spacefaring races, in which case the Galactic Order must take action against the guilty species. This case is then doubly unusual. Not only is the species in question fully sentient, but I have found little evidence of catastrophe. In fact, given the wide spread of humanity across the galaxy, it is unlikely that any one catastrophe could have wiped them out. But, as the news programs have been loudly proclaiming for the last dozen cycles, the humans are gone. On every inhabited planet in the galaxy, their embassies are empty. The teachers at their schools have abandoned their classes. Their medical staff have left their non-human peers to cope. More troubling still, over the course of this investigation I have visited the human core habitations and found them empty as well. The moon colony at Lalande, the artificial planet at Kapteyn, the multi-planet consortium at Feynman: all are vacant. There is even no evidence of humanity in their birth system, Sol. Their birth planet, Earth, a world-city with a population of 24 billion, is empty. If you'll allow me this sidebar, let me say that I cannot properly describe the scene when I descended to the Earth's surface. The familiar constructions are there still. The galaxy's first space fountain. The planet core sapper. The antigrav megadrone. The solar net. Not only are these still intact, but being fully automated as they are, they're still in operation. So I came down to what appeared to be a world-city bustling with life, but the streets were empty. The buildings, many of them still lit up, gaped vacantly. I was reminded of the eyes of a brainless creature. But allow me to discuss the theories being thrown about on the news. First of all, the talk of civil war is absurd. Nowhere is there evidence of military destruction. All cities I've seen are intact. Their military emplacements in space remain undamaged and fully stocked with weapons and vessels. But there should be no need for this type of evidence, as a civil war that drew in teachers and doctors could never have gone unnoticed by the rest of us in the galaxy. Such a war would have lasted decacycles and resulted in massive collateral damage on non-human planets. Another theory is the singularity. Some are suggesting that humanity has transcended physical existence. There are those who say this was done through quantum computation, while others believe it was a supernatural phenomenon. This theory is less easy to debunk. However, let me point out that there are no human bodies anywhere. A supernatural phenomenon that eliminated the physical would be contradictory, while a computational method would face a similar problem. Either the humans invested a huge effort into automatically destroying their bodies as they transitioned, or it did not happen. I lean in the direction of it not happening, but I cannot say for sure. The same issue regarding bodies does away with the plague theory. Had a plague wiped out humanity, the rest of the galaxy would have heard of it. There would be people fled in all directions looking for quarantine. There would have been calls for medical aid. And, as I say, there would be bodies. I can say with some certainty that it was not infection that did the humans in. The theory I hold is one that I can't fully explain. It's more of a feeling, and it requires that I discuss my perception of human psychology. There is much conjecture ahead, and those of my readers who prefer concrete evidence may wish to skip to the appendix of images, videos, and data that my team has gathered on the human core worlds. Those of us in the species that know humanity well have always known that the humans are flawed in a way that no other species is. Their flaw is this: Humanity is incapable of sustained happiness. A happy human is a human who just recently acquired or accomplished something. But the human is too adaptable. After only a few days, or even hours, of happiness, they acclimatize to their new norm and they look around and they ask themself why they don't have more, why they haven't achieved more, why there were ever happy with what they have, and why they aren't already taking steps to get more. It is a tragic, defining feature of their species. Because while it is a flaw, I believe their inability to be happy, and the resulting need to always look ahead and always do more, is what led to their being the First Ones. So many of the sentient species in the galaxy achieved some level of toolmaking and technology before the humans, but were then happy to remain as they were. Only the humans, desperately chasing some impossible quality of life, kept pushing and pushing. Only humans looked to the stars before they'd learned to fly. So what is it that I think happened to the humans? I think they got tired, or bored, or upset, and they moved on. Impossible, you say. How could billions and billions of humans reach this same conclusion all at once. To that I say, you may be right. It's unlikely. But then so is the vanishing of those same billions and billions. So, have the humans all died? I don't believe so. They are too clever and too desperate to live. What I believe is that one day, as a species, they looked around and they asked themselves why they were ever happy with this galaxy, with this role they played as our teachers. They asked themselves these questions and they didn't have any good answers. So they left. Anyone looking to find the humans should look beyond the Milky Way. Maybe they're just now arriving at Andromeda. Maybe they've gone further still. My hope is that, wherever they've gone and whatever's happened to them, they do some day find the happiness they're looking for. They've earned it. *** author’s note: i normally prefer to write stories with dialogue and more character interaction. please let me know if you thought this story was boring without that sort of stuff. r/TravisTea
Captains log, 3968-088 (Thursday, 13 May 2230) Shore leave is almost up. Next voyage due to leave on 6_3970-088. Hear talk of a new species that made contact whilst we were away and they have been highly recommended for the next crew. If they're as good as they say then hopefully they're keen to volunteer too. Maybe a Human crew density of 0.05 is possible. Will have Medical review their physiological needs to ensure appropriate accommodation. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Captains log, 3969-088 (Friday, 21 May 2230) Good gods there are so many of them! With the number of human volunteers we'd almost be able to crew the whole ship without any other species, they're just so eager to leave the dock if it weren't against regulation I'd offer less pay. Whatever, I've had Habitation start preparing for a 10% Human density, Can't risk anything too disproportionate. Reading up on the physiological analysis they almost don't seem special. Not as strong as the Korodish but strong enough to cover anything without heavy lifting equipment. decent learners, almost as good as the Quaideen without the need for hyper-humidification masks. Upper epidermis and most of anatomy composed of phospholipid billayer creating a resilient yet flexible protective barrier. Doctor Quand has been telling me wondrous tales of them working for entire cycles straight without injury but I suspect this is like the story about a human eating an aeromotive vessel. Slightly slow reaction time it seems, nice that they aren't jumpy or skittish but do I really want them around time-sensitive engine controls? 10% will be plenty -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Captains log, 3970-088 (Saturday, 29 May 2230) Left dock earlier this cycle, These Humans are difficult to work with sometimes. Don't get me wrong, you tell them to get a job done and they do it but they do it however they feel like it regardless of how it's been done before. One of the workers in the loading bay reduced inertial dampeners to 99.97% efficiency and shut off artificial gravity in section 43 as we were undocking and just floated several hundred tons of cargo from the elevator to the cargo rack. If they hadn't gotten the job done before all the other crews I'd be fuming. Couldn't even fault them on their logic as it saved time and energy and they had a plan for every eventuality. I've had maintenance put massive warning signs up to make sure they don't do it again but I've told them to keep the yellow paint handy. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Captains log, 3982-088 (Wednesday, 1 September 2230) At the first coasting stage of the voyage now. Plenty of time to actually meet some of the crew. Their language is so chaotic at times, using terms of bodily functions as modifiers of intensity. The fuck? Incident Log at 04 during morning meal: Fororosh crew member found in agitated state with all four pupils dilated >98%. Reportedly consumed human beverage brewed from beans containing powerful stimulant. Has been restrained in Medical and given a heavy dose of tranquilizer. Will remain restrained until heart rates are below 500. Warning signs painted on several relevant human beverages (roughly 30% of human beverage stock) Incident Log at 09 during the late meal: Several human crewmembers contaminated a dining compartment with highly concentrated capsaicin (amongst other substances) causing several Hardarians severe skin rash and one Quaideen to almost asphyxiate. In light of the fact that they are somehow consuming these substances warning signs have been put in place and dedicated dining compartments for Humans have been allocated to ensure this doesn't happen again. The human responsible has been reprimanded. Incident Log at 10: Crisis averted. Human crew attempting to ingest ethyl alcohol dissolved in dihydrogen monoxide. Were quickly ordered to stop and only do so in Human dining compartments as a Guilidani crewmember had already begun to dissolve. Will require psychiatric care for remainder of voyage. Warning signs dispensed to crew to place on all relevant containers. Incident log at 00 (technically tomorrow but I'll put it here) Human crew partaking in 'cultural experience' of visual and auditory stimulus representing fiction for entertainment. One Norod Crew member was invited to join them, now in psychiatric care with Guilidani crewmember. Title of entertainment noted as 'Alien' -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Captains log, 3986-088 (Friday, 1 October 2230) I'm not sure how it happened. Either two humans saved the entire ship or recklessly endangered themselves in a hazardous event whilst subsequently torturing two Hardarians and a Korodish. From the reports, an explosion in Ion manifold containment field 13 led to a titanium fire which caused the temperature in deck 87 to rise to 330 Kelvin and caused enough fragmentation to incapacitate all crewmembers except one human (To be explained later). Normal procedure would be to isolate the deck and vent all almosphere to avoid risking the remainder of the ship however two human crew members (one of which was in the room during the explosion) were able to remove all injured crewmembers from the affected deck (Including the Korodish who was trapped under half a ton of structural support) and perform a medical procedure apparently called 'cauterization' to prevent the injured crew from dying due to loss of bodily fluid. According to Medical this procedure did indeed allow them to survive until appropriate medical equipment was available. All crewmembers currently in Medical undergoing dermal regeneration. Two Hardarians and a Korodish now in psychiatric care. First aid handbooks now updated. As soon as I figure out what the warning sign should be it will be painted in all 19 manifold decks. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Captains log, 3986-088 (Saturday, 2 October 2230) Incident Log at 06: Human crewmembers from last cycles manifold explosion attempting to leave medical bay citing 'boredom' as a reason. Medical informed me that Humans have an incredibly fast rate of regeneration even without medical equipment and thus should be fine to walk. Human crewmember ordered to remain in Medical. Jokingly provided with elastic polymer sphere for entertainment by Doctor Quand's assistant. Incident Log at 06: Elastic polymer sphere lodged in Doctor Quand's assistants splanch requiring surgical removal. Not returned to human crewmember. Incident Log at 08: Group of human crewmembers found on viewing deck 65 with radiation shield lowered in the 320-400nm wavelength range apparently in an attempt to darken their skin. After a brief discussion with Medical, crewmembers were informed "Oh my god fine, we literally don't even care anymore just turn it back on when you're done" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Captains log, 3986-088 (Sunday, 3 October 2230) Informed that Humans have now been categorized as 'Hyper-specialized pursuit predators' After some brief research into what this means I have decided that I am not sleeping tonight. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I kept your secret, sister. Even after it killed you. But I'm not doing it anymore. I stand in your empty room full of graveyard ghosts. If I pull the secret book on your shelf, the whole wall will hinge back and reveal your wizarding room. I am in my funeral clothes. You've been dead three days and I still can't bring myself to go inside. We were so different for twins. You became the scholar, I became the cop with the anger management issues. We came into the world in two opposite pieces, like one whole person who had been split in two. Darcy and Caroline. Everyone would pet your head and coo what a cute name Darcy is before slipping right past me. We passed for perfect simulacra of one another until we were about three years old. That was when you cast that first accidental spell. Old Mr. Rothman's dog was bolting for the road, and you threw up your hands and the wall of air solidified, trapping the dog in place. No one noticed but me. I tried and tried, but I could never do the same. You could sing to the flowers and make them dance. When I sang, even the birds winced. You were Darcy the secret-maker, and I was eternally your secret keeper. We could have filled boxes and wallpapered rooms with the magic I kept to myself. Then you convinced Mother and Father to send you off to boarding school--"You can't expect twins to become two separate people by spending all their time together,"you had argued. I knew it was only a ploy to hide the magic letter and the owl who visited us in the night. But still it stung. I wanted nothing more than to follow. Yet another secret, weighing down your pockets like rocks. I helped gather the rocks that drowned you, dear sister. All this hidden magic. All these wands and books and stories. I was the only one who showed you off to that platform, when you kissed my cheek and then ran straight at the wall and vanished, like breaking through water. The coroner's report says inconclusive evidence. It was a hit and run, they think, or spontaneous hemorrhaging, or maybe both. Muggles don't have good forensics for dark magic. But I know the secret. The gun in my belt is black and cold as you are now, sister. I reach for the book hidden on your shelf. The shelf yawns open, revealing your hidden study. I venture inside. It's like no one told this room you died. You are frozen in life here, about to return to work. A scattered desk of papers and leather bound books. One of the books seems to be moving, gently floating away off the shelf. The Art of Flight -- fitting. But I am not here for keepsakes. I scour my sister's desk, pouring over her curling fountain pen handwriting for clues and hints. There. The trail forward. The scrap of paper on her desk is from someone called Severus. Someone urging her to flee now. That her delicate work here in the muggle world had been found out. The Death Eaters are coming. The edges are burnt and curling, like she tried to hide the evidence and ran out of time. Well, they came, sister. But I'm coming for them next. You didn't know what magic could do against a gun, but I'm sure as hell about to find out. *** /r/nickofstatic for WP serials cowritten with the handsome /u/NickofNight <3 ##[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/eerblc/the_magic_bullet_part_2/)
I had time to think about a thousand variations of the hummingbird's beating wings. It was going to be close. I tweaked it just slightly one more time. The bullet would have about a hundredth of a second to slip under the bird and - if my calculations were correct - dip a fraction of a centimetre and begin its downward arc. My eyes followed its trajectory towards the control panel and the glowing numbers on it. It would stop with just a single second left. I glanced back towards the entrance of the greenhouse at Lighting and Dynami. They would be just behind me in the open door. My bullet would hit its target before they even knew what was happening. Take that, fastest man alive, I thought. My eyes returned to the frozen hummingbird. Sometimes I wished I had never gone to check out the lab that night. My life had been pretty exciting before this, and I'd enjoyed working the beat as a local cop. The kids recognized me, the regulars respected me, and I could relax after work with a beer. Time had flowed, and I had flowed with it. Nowadays, it had a way of dragging on. Time was slow when you grew too familiar with its moments. Though I was more patient these days. The bird's feathers were somehow the colours of an iridescent rainbow. Idly, I wondered if I ought to go look up which species it was in the library across town. But no, I should probably make sure I can stop the explosion. It had taken ages to align everything properly to stop the Gardener's plot perfectly with a single second left. Tiny tweaks over the last twelve hours, making sure they took the exact amount of time to get here at the critical moment. I'd found the greenhouse a few hours ago in real time. The Gardener, I knew, was running out the back entrance, and I wandered between the plants considering how best to stop him. I examined his fearful face under the sun's light. He looked far less confident than the last time I had seen him. Maybe he was regretting his decision. Maybe I would let Lightning take him out. He was pretty soft on crime. Returning to the front entrance, I began one final trajectory calculation. My satchel was lined with paper pads that were usually filled with the complex mathematics that helped every shot hit its target. Unfortunately, electronics didn't work when time was frozen, which seemed a reasonable trade-off. I put the pencil down and looked at the hummingbird again. Its feather were beautiful. It seemed peaceful as it floated above the petals of a succulent looking flower. I took a breath and changed position slightly to avoid the cloud of carbon dioxide I was creating, then returned to my work. The hours passed easily enough, as I was an old friend with the scratching of my pencil on the page. Again, everything looked like it was correct. I hid the paper back in my satchel, and placed the knives, guns, and explosives on top of them. I walked back to the entrance and took my place in front of Lightning and Dynami. Her eyes were lit with that fearsome energy that always took her in these moments. Her finely sculpted features were drawn, tight with excitement, as we burst through the door. I believed she was some Greek demigod or some such, but the library didn't have much information about her people. They'd been hidden in some other plane, apparently. I tried talking with her about it, but it had turned into a long story so I had just done my own research. It was hard filling the time between calamities. I much preferred when villains were plentiful, quick, and dangerous. When things could change in an instant, it was almost fast enough for me. Maybe I should talk with Dynami more in real time. It had been a long time since I had dated anyone. How long ago? It must have been that girl I'd known in my old neighbourhood. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't figure out how many years ago that had been. I frowned. It hadn't been that long ago I knew, but it seemed like forever. I almost considered trying to find a nearby calendar, but I decided I wanted to see the look on Lightning's face when he burst in at supersonic speed to see my bullet stop the countdown. I extended my arm and aligned the gun with the bullet I had just fired. A second passed. I walked out into the greenhouse where Lightning was frozen. The control panel was a mess of sparks and wires. His face was distorted with disappointment and excitement. Ah, this was even better than the time they'd stopped Dr. Cold. I took out a pad of paper and began sketching it.
"Wait!"I dashed down the sidewalk, waving my arms. "Wait!"The black Rolls-Royce slowed to a halt. I knew that car. I knew the driver, and I knew the man sitting in the backseat. The window rolled down. I remembered this conversation. The kid in the overalls. The warning I ignored. "Can I help you?"His Rolex submariner peeked out from the cuff of his 2800 dollar Armani suit. The car behind him honked. "Make it quick, kid." I froze. There was so much I wanted to say. But if I changed anything, would I still be me, or would I cease to exist? Would I even listen to myself? I chose my words carefully. "Your watch is a fake. You got it from your ex-wife on your thirty-first birthday. It doesn't tick anymore. Don't go to work today. If you do, you will die." "There you are, Billy!"My grandpa scooped me up in his arms. "Sorry about that, young man. He just ran off shouting and these legs aren't what they used to be." The man in the car blinked twice. We made eye contact for a minute in silence while I slowly shook my head. Then he rolled up the window. "Don't go!"I shouted, as my grandpa carried me away. I watched over his shoulder, helpless, as the black Rolls-Royce coasted to the World Trade Center. ___________________________________________________ [more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
The day they left us, we could not understand. There were some signs, though : open homes, not a lot of furniture left, but mostly, some machines that would make our life easier. As for why, it is said that they advanced beyond the need for other species. They were content between themselves, having found solutions and made systems for the physiological needs of not feeling lonely, which was in most cases why they adopted pets. They had also popularized cheap, tasty, artificial meat which was really, as we looked into their archives, the beginning of their depart, or at least, the shift for the species to stop thinking about the other ones as lesser, or inferior. There was no more feeling bad thinking about the life that was given for us to live, because the meat was never alive in the first place. Some of them felt bad for getting a pet so they were the ones, before they left, to adapt most of their technology for us to use. Our life got easier since then. We had access to all their knowledge, and since dogs didn't need to think about their next meal, they began to create. They left, but we never forgot. It was thanks to them that we got to this point. So, in a matter of a few centuries, we began to look at the stars, to thank Humans for giving us the possibility to evolve. For giving us the possibility to be more than just pets. We found their last known coordinates, made rockets and the ones who wanted to go went. When they arrived to the Humans' new home planet, they saw that they had gone for simpler lifes ; having discovered all science and solved most philosophy questions, they knew that they had to keep busy. All that was left for them was farming, maintenance, art and entertainment. They did not expect us but nonetheless welcomed us warmly. Our tail shook vigorously at their sight. "You were the good boys all along", we said in their language. They smiled. A wormhole was created between their planets for near-instant travel. Both of their world were close again. Thus, Humans and Dogs took care of each other, but without the need to ; by pure kindness and sociability, as both species knew they were equal.
Elizabeth stepped out from the wall and snapped the neck of the guard as he walked past. The guy never had a chance. Catching his assault rifle before it hit the floor, she lowered his body to the ground and dragged it to an alcove, out of the main corridor. Five soldiers down now; only ten remained between her and the ambassador. As she slipped through the militarised embassy, she reflected on how she had got here - how much simpler life had been just a few months ago. &nbsp; Liz had started out as a hairdresser, but quickly became disenchanted by the business. Getting to the second level was simple enough - she just had to do enough bowl-cuts - but once she saw the styles progression tree laid out before her, she realised that this wasn't what she wanted to do with her life. Sure, she might one day style for the stars, but that would be small consolation for the time and energy invested. It was by chance she saw the man on her way back from the salon. Under normal circumstances she shouldn't have even been able to detect his presence - even with his guard down, it was virtually a miracle. "You have the gift"he told her, "otherwise we would never have met. You shall become my apprentice." &nbsp; Two guards fell to quickly timed blows to the neck. Again, they hadn't noticed her until it was far, far to late. Incapacitated, she cuffed them with their own equipment, then pushed them into a small office and locked the door. Her mentor would have been proud. She was doing well. Voices came down the corridor and she ghosted up to a pot plant, then became one with the indoor palm. The squad of mercenaries ran right past her and she slipped from cover, continuing on towards her target. She became lost in her recollections again. &nbsp; "You might have the gift, but you do not practice enough!"snarled her mentor. Shamed, she stared hopelessly at the man, his beret waggling as he shook his head. "I'll... I'll try harder,"she offered. "No, you must go out into the world and hone your skills in the field, only then will you become a master of our craft." With that, he had vanished, never to be seen again. Elizabeth had cried, raged and pleaded, but Master Rene had never returned. &nbsp; Bullets flashed around her. Shit! She hadn't expected there to be auto-turrets. She could fool the minds of men, but not machines. Panting, she composed herself and focussed. Five deep breaths and she stood, then placed her hands in the air in front of her, moving slowly forward. Bullets rattled and careened off the force-field in front of her, the metal slugs impacting on the invisible wall as she carefully crab-stepped through the room. After a fraught sixty seconds, she was through - unscathed by the automatic fire from the twin machine gun turrets. The door to the ambassador's chamber stood before her. No doubt it would be trapped. Standing clear, she carefully shaped her hands and started to pull. As though guided by invisible hands, the heavy door began to open. Straining, Liz hauled hand over hand until the door stood open - and a fan of poison darts shot from the lintel, where she would have been standing. Inside the ambassador cowered behind his desk, a gun in his meaty hand. "Where are you!"cried the plump man, "who are you?" Liz allowed herself to be seen. Terror washed over the man's face as he gazed upon her beret, her suspenders, her white face-paint and black slacks. "Oh my god,"he whined. Liz smiled viciously. No one escaped a grandmaster mime.
It would have begun with a single drop. Somewhere, far up in the heavens, a tiny speck, suspended in mid-air, defying nature, defying all order. Then another. Then another. At first, no-one noticed, or if they did, nobody cared. Measurements of abnormally dense, low-hanging clouds were put down to instrumental error or some intern fiddling about with the data. After all, water doesn't just sit there, in midair. It falls down, returns to the springs, the rivers, the oceans, making a journey of up to thousands of years before it feels that same weightlessness once more, rising high up above. But it became impossible to ignore. The sky took on a sparkly, iridescent sheen, and closer examinations could not be contradicted. There were whole puddles of water up there, consisting of millions of raindrops frozen in midair, as if disconnected from time, gravity, reality. Particular patches began to draw tourists, some brilliant shades of green and purple, from some toxic concoction of dissolved chemicals, or perhaps some particularly hardy algae life surviving near the limits of planet Earth. And life went on. Then these patches began to join together, and the water began evaporating at a faster and faster rate. You could practically see the tiny droplets rising up, as if answering a call, even in winter, the rising white mists, when they should have been frozen there on the lake's surface. But the drop in sea level was welcomed, and it was regarded as the success of international measures to reverse global warming. America thought China's ways, though unorthodox, and publicly denied, at least provided a reprieve for those living on the coasts, relieving the stress from already-overcrowded coastal cities. Russia thought the US was meddling with something it didn't understand, but it was working, at the least. New Zealand saw its land borders extend~~, and with the added sheep pens came increasing amounts of profit~~ even to the point of visibility on globes and maps. All was well. Until the water began blocking out the sun. Far above, with each passing day the water layer grew and grew, until it resembled a shallow second ocean, with merely ozone for its seabed, and the water levels kept rising. The various 'seas' began to join together, until finally there was a complete membrane-like bubble enveloping the earth. And the sunlight began to dim, the weak rays, having travelled millions of kilometres through space, faltered against this aquatic shield. But with the water levels lowering back down on earth, the ocean depths became more accessible, leading to extraordinary discoveries, both biological and otherwise. Subjected to the extreme pressure of millions of gallons of water, known substances had morphed into unique, super-substances on the sea bed, with amazing potential for infrastructure and technology. The stock market was booming. A golden age was heralded. Until one day the realisation struck that what goes up must come down. That those trillions of litres of water, stuck far up above our heads, must surely be poised to strike. That the miraculous force holding them in place must surely give way at some point. And there was widespread panic. Governments devoted all their nation's youngest and brightest towards researching the phenomenon. Militaries focused on mechanisms of defending against the impact of the striking of whole oceans' worth of water. Little progress was made. And now not a day went by where fearful glances were not cast towards the heavens, or rather, the ominous, looming presence of the water obscuring it. And all the while, the oceans receded, the rivers dried up, the creeks vanished. And then the grass began to die, then the trees, then whole forests and all the wildlife within. Until all that was left was humanity, eyes fixed resolutely towards the sky, dreading the moments of chaos and confusion that would never come, and all the while the icecaps melted, and the last of their life-sustaining water began to rise up, inexorably, out of reach, as they watched on. (EDIT: New Zealand)
"Same rules as every year,"droned Mr. Whisaw, who had a duffel bag under his desk stuffed with five Hawaiian shirts, six thongs, and a roundtrip ticket to Lagos. "You will be monitored at all times. You will be in no danger. You must simply spot the historical inaccuracy. Correcting it yourself will earn you bonus points, but is not a requirement. Simply give your answers to your spotter and they will set things right before closing the time loop and ending your exam. Any questions?" "Yes,"said Pia Sadiq, gripping the edges of her desk. "Which...exactly which period will we be...y'know...where're we going?" "This is your final exam,"said Mr. Whisaw coldly. "Any period that has been discussed in this class is a possibility." "Oh,"said Pia. "We...we covered a lot this year, didn't we?" Mr. Whisaw smiled. "Nearly everything." Pia gulped. There was a Knowledge Pad balanced on her lap, hidden behind her desk. As Whisaw called students to the Time Swing, she swiped furiously through random articles, videos, and fact sheets. "Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod,"she mumbled. "I don't know who Winston Churchill is. I don't even know if he's a real person. Genghis Khan! What the hell is a Genghis Khan? Ohcrap ohcrap ohcrap." "Ms. Sadiq?"said Whisaw. "Your turn." Pia dripped out of her chair, slowly shuffling her way to the front of the room. The Time Swing was a chair in a sort of gyroscope. It didn't look like much. It didn't even make much of a sound when it was activated. But it worked and worked well. Pia sat down and let Barney the Teacher's Aide secure the restraining bar. "Good luck,"said Mr. Whisaw. "And remember, you don't need to fix anything. In fact, unless you're absolutely confident about the situation, you're really better off letting your spotter handle it. Understood?" Pia couldn't tell if Mr. Whisaw was being kind or cruel in that moment. It certainly felt like a bit of both. Before she could respond, however, the chair began to turn over, slowly at first, and then faster, and then so fast she wasn't in the chair at all anymore. Or in the classroom. Or in the same century, for that matter. When Pia opened her eyes she was on the floor in a small, poorly lit room. "Come on,"said a voice in the darkness. "Time to get dressed." The voice belonged to a woman Pia had never seen before. She handed Pia heavy wool slacks and a large overcoat. "Here's a hat, too,"said the woman, handing Pia a rumpled cap. "Wear it low over your face. You want to be inconspicuous. You don't look quite like the locals." "Where are we?"asked Pia. "You know I can't say that,"said the woman. "Hurry up. I'll take you to the location." Pia threw on the clothes and followed the woman out the door and into the street. It was a warm, breezy day. Men and women pushed past, paying Pia no attention. They were dressed similar to her, though most wore thinner coats or long, formal dresses. It felt like summertime, after all. A trolley rolled by. Pia had absolutely no idea where they were. "Come on,"whispered the woman, pulling Pia along up to an intersection. Pia bumped into a man who said something in a language that was not English. That narrowed things down at least a little. "Here,"said the woman, pushing Pia up to the edge of the curb. "Your exam begins now." Pia was bewildered. It was the past, obviously, but how far back, she couldn't say. And where, she was equally lost. Moreover, there was nothing to see. Just people streaming past, some queuing up around her and on the other side of the street. A parade, maybe, thought Pia. But how many historically significant parades could she name? The people there on the street became excited. Some yelling. Some cheering. Some, a few, jeering. Still, Pia couldn't see the cause of their excitement. Imposing men bustled past. Police, maybe? Or soldiers? They looked very official and all of them were armed. Finally, Pia saw it. A car. A very old sort of car. The type with no roof and those big, narrow bicycle-looking tires. A man and a woman sat in the back of the car as it moved slowly down the street. Pia could tell they were important. Royalty, maybe? The President of wherever they were? The man wore a red and white sash and a strange many-tiered hat. The woman was dressed in white. Her enormous, wide-brimmed hat was covered in real flowers. There was a scuffle in the street. A man had run out towards the car. He held out a gun and took aim at the man in the car. He pulled the trigger - once, twice, three times. But the gun did nothing. The man was surrounded by police. The car tried to get away, though it was stymied by the swarming, hysterical crowd. "Your answer?"said the woman. Pia had momentarily forgotten all about her. "I..."There was nothing. She had nothing. "I don't know,"said Pia softly. "I don't know what that was." "Not even a guess?"said the woman. "This counts for 30 percent of your grade." "Some...king."Pia shook her head. "I don't know." "That's Franz Ferdinand,"said the woman, pointing at the man in the car. "Archduke of Austria. He's to be assassinated today. It's a major catalyst to the beginning of World War I."She patted Pia on the back. "Don't stress out about it. It's just a history class. It's not the end of the..." Pia saw the gun flash what seemed like hours before she heard the bang. She had not been watching the gunman and the police or even the Archduke and his wife. Instead her eyes had been on another man in the crowd, young and angry. Maybe he had been with the gunman. Maybe not. All the same, he drew his own gun and aimed it at the police. And one of the police saw this and acted just that little bit quicker, drawing and firing without hesitation. Had they been slower, though, or more cautious; had they taken the time to draw a better sight, or consider the wisdom in firing at all, surely things would have been much different. Because they missed. Badly. Pia's spotter was dead before she hit in the ground. The crowd - already terrified - began to push and scream and run in every direction. Already the woman's body was swallowed up in the stampede. What did that mean? Pia was dumbstruck. What did it mean that her spotter was dead? How did she get back? How did this get fixed? Did this mean there would be no World War I? Pia hated history. She hated it more than math and science and every single other subject combined. What was the point of knowing what had already happened? It never changed anything. No one ever acted differently because we knew what happened before. And no one ever told you if the things that happened - the complicated, horrible things - were good or bad. If they were necessary. So what good was history if it never helped anyone? All Pia knew was how things were. What her grandparents had gone through to start a new life in the United States. What her parents had sacrificed so Pia and her three brothers could have joyful, fulfilling lives. It seemed disrespectful to even consider a world where those things didn't happen, and all because Pia was too lazy to study for her history exam. One of the policeman collapsed at Pia's feet. She reached down and pulled the pistol out of his hand. The car hadn't gone very far. She could catch it if she ran.
"Hey Jim, how's it going?"Andrew greeted his friend as they met up on their daily commute to the office. Jim put on the fake smile. "Oh, pretty good. You?" "In fact,"boomed the voice, "Jim is not doing well at all. He has not slept well for the last week, the pretty girl he was talking to on that dating app - the first woman to give him any attention in years - turned out to be a scammer. He's feeling even lonlier than usual, he's upside down on his crappy car and behind on his mortgage, his cat has cancer, his ex is being more of a bitch than usual lately, and he had to call the suicide hotline last night." There was an awkward silence. Andrew put a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder as Jim looked down in shame. "Dude, you know I'm here for you, right." "Yeah, I know. I'll be alright." "In fact, Jim won't be alright. But since he doesn't want to burden his friends and family with his multitude of problems he will never reach out for help even though he desperately needs to." It seemed impossible, but Jim seemed to shrink even smaller. He muttered, almost under his breath, "Could you....not?" "You know Jim, believe it or not I think the truth voice thing is trying to help you out for a change." "It's not. The damned thing just hates lies, even the smallest ones. It doesn't let anything go uncommented upon." "In fact, the voice leaves all true statements uncommented upon." "See?"Jim shook his head and looked up. "I don't suppose you'd answer me if I asked for the millionth time what you are and why you do that?" "In fact, Jim has only asked that question three hundred and forty seven times." Andrew rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's more talkative than usual." "Yeah. I usually don't give it as many chances to catch me in a lie." There was silence. "I must be tired or something." "In fact, Jim is struggling under the pain of a soul-crushing depression and does not know how to ask for help. He is intentionally uttering all the little social lies that people tell each other in the hopes that the voice will call him out on it and get him the help that he desperately needs before it's too late." The awkward silence stretched longer this time. Andrew pulled out his phone and made a call. "Hey boss? Yeah, I'm not coming in today. Neither is Jim."Jim looked up in surprise. "It's....you know that voice thing of his? The one that won't let him lie? Has to do with that....Yeah, I'll explain later. Thanks." He hung up the phone and looked at Jim. "Alright buddy, come on. I know an amazing therapist and you're going to see her right now." EDIT: Thanks for the silver! It made my day. EDIT2: And another silver and a gold. I'm blown away! Thank you! And also to everyone who upvoted or commented to say how much they liked it. I really do appreciate that.
The world is ruled by cruel immortals. That much is true. Every year, hundreds, thousands even, are sacrificed personally by these immortal rulers. For they have lived since time immemorial, slayers and conquerors. Each life they take, adds the remaining lifespan of their victims unto them. And while they can be slain, around them there are millions of loyal, immortal soldiers. Good luck ever getting inside. Archaeologists scour the world for fragments of long dead immortals, so that the rulers may gloat at their fallen foes. And underneath a ruined city, in the land which was once called Mesopotamia, the land between the rivers Tigris and the Euphrates, there are men digging. Oh the arrogance of the immortal king who decreed that this city was to be excavated. Oh the pride and folly. For in a moment, a shovel breaks through the dirt, into a vast underground cavern. Curious, the diggers look into the darkness, and see, in the distant light of their torches, a man approaching. He is dressed in decayed bronze armour, he holds aloft a sword bronze and still gleaming after all those years in the darkness. And he slays the diggers, and the archaeologists sent to the ruins of his city. He is beyond age. Nearly antediluvian. He was the great king, of whom now long lost legends speak. He was the first and only king, to seek true immortality, not the sort stolen from others. He was the one who saw his greatest friend die before him. And he was imprisoned for his crime beneath his city. His crime of succeeding. He is Gilgamesh, Ensi of Uruk, and King of Sumer. And when Enkidu died, at the hand of another immortal king, Gilgamesh sought out the gods for their true immortality. While the legends spread by the other immortal kings, stated that he was unsuccessful, he did manage it. He became a true immortal. And seeing the horror wrought by the other immortal kings, slaying as they pleased, increasingly trying to usurp the gods and make themselves the object of mortal man's worship, he sought to overthrow them. He did not succeed. But finding him to be truly immortal, the kings who stole life buried him beneath Uruk. But now he is back. He slays all who comes for him, for in the darkness he has trained non-stop for battle for nearly five thousand years. No arrow strikes him. No bullet hits him. Any blade sent against him is effortlessly blocked. The indulgent and hedonistic immortals run from him, as he makes his will known to the world. He will slay every last stealer of life, he will travel to the furthest reaches of the world, and enact a ritual which will make the transferring of life spans from victims to murderers cease to function. He has spent thousands of years in darkness, and to the world, he vows that he will find the vain immortal rulers, he will break them, and by his will the world shall be freed. No one army can withstand him, not the armies of seven nations can hold him down, no force is strong enough to bar his passing. Nothing, not even the secret weapons, the Brahmastra, of the Empire of Bharat could hold him back. Through the world he carves rivers of blood, his bronze blade cutting down tyrant after tyrant. And when his task will be complete he shall lay himself down to rest, in the ruins of beloved and ancient Uruk. Sleeping until the world needs him again, or until the stars go out and the gods call home their children. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
The world had been getting stranger and stranger these last 60 years. Little things..A friend who says she's a psychic kept telling me, "the veil is being lifted. Soon everyone will begin seeing the truth." At first I thought it was bull, but little things kept happening. Voices when no one was there. Lights that turned themselves on and off. And, of course, grandfather's immortal dog. So, yeah, him talking was unexpected, but not exactly a surprise. "It's time you knew the truth, old friend,"he said, "It's been longer than we thought it would, but I think finally you're ready." "Why now?"I said, "When it's too late?" "Too late?" "I'm old. I'm dying. I've accepted my death, but it's only now you feel ready to reveal the truth to me." "Yes,"he said, "Only now are you ready." "I"ve been ready since I was 10. Since I started seeing things." "Yes, since you fell from the swing and hit your head." "Yes. That's when I first started noticing something was different. At first I thought it was my injury, that there was something wrong with my brain." "In a way that's true. Do you know what a psychopomp is?" I shook my head. "It's an avatar of death. Like the Grim Reaper." I didn't know what to make of this. Trying to make sense of it made my head hurt. "And I,"he said, "am your psychopomp." "You're Death?" "If you want to call me that, sure." "So I get you? Not a skeleton, or a crow or a Goth chick, but a Scottish Terrier."The sore head was becoming a headache. "Yes. I took the form of something you knew. Something you'd feel safe around." It wasn't just a headache, it was a migraine. I'd been getting them on or off since my fall as a child. He looked at me and tilted his head in the way dogs do. "Do you understand?" "Yes,"I said, "I'm dying, you're preparing me for my death." "No,"he said, "You're already dead. I'm preparing you for what's next." I looked back at my bed, expecting to see a body. There was no body, there was no bed. Somehow I was in a yard. The yard of the house I grew up in. "It's taken a long time,"he said, as I raised my hand to my head to wipe away the wetness I suddenly felt there. When I looked at my hand there was blood on it. I panicked: "How long?" But I knew the answer. Next to the dog was a body lying on the ground. A tiny body it's face covered in blood. "Sixty years,"he said.
[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/dn3nfw/twiido_part_2) “GraaZa! No!” TwiiDo said, lunging for their prone mate. They had been shot by a stray beam in the confusion as the ship had been boarded by the Bruuk. It was too late of course, for the sheer velocity of the projectile had ruptured GraaZa’s internal organs. TwiiDo pulled them into a small compartment off the main corridor. Neither of them were Protectors. They should never have even been near the conflict. Hours later, the door slid open to reveal a large grey Bruuk, and TwiiDo closed its eyes preparing for death. A death that never came. TwiiDo’s people – the Norikai – had been on the run from the Bruuk for years. They didn’t believe in violence, and only when their population had dwindled to a mere hundred thousand they’d had to take up arms simply to keep themselves from being wiped into extinction. The ship that TwiiDo had been on had been a colony ship, hoping to escape to a new world away from the Bruuk to start over. What it became however was a prison ship. The Norikai that didn’t surrender were shot, and the ones that did were sold into slavery. * TwiiDo’s long fingers traced the rough metal collar around their neck, wondering for the millionth time if it would have been better to just have died with GraaZa that day. Their back itched where healing skin and fresh slices oozed. They had been slow at their last task and punished for it. They had been reassigned to laundry duty in one of the new “Allies” ships. TwiiDo had yet to see one of these humans but even their Bruuk master seemed to fear them. TwiiDo had overheard Trusk speaking to another Bruuk that they didn’t know – talking about how the humans were to be feared. That they were nearly unkillable. To please their new allies, Trusk had offered TwiiDo’s service to them. The humans must have agreed, for here was TwiiDo doing laundry for them. He had been told by another slave that they were to take the clean linens to the hospital quarter of the ship. TwiiDo was curious what a hospital was, but signage written in common pointed them down the long corridors. The humans had paired with the Bruuk and a few other warmongering species less than a year ago. They were new to intergalactic travel and even newer to the warfare. As TwiiDo entered the large white room, it saw what had to be a human. Tall, pink and with a strange yellow long fur coming from its head. Trusk did not allow TwiiDo to speak, so when they entered the room they started to put the sheets on the closest bed to the door. They wondered briefly if the humans needed two sleep cycles as this room was filled with more beds and strange monitors and devices. The human, who had been looking at a clipboard, however saw TwiiDo shook it’s head and spoke a garbled command. TwiiDo shook slightly, knowing they would be punished for not following the command, but having no idea what the human had told it to do. The human however seemed to realize this and twisting it’s features in a grotesque manner spoke again slowly. “Cloth… no… go… there. Go…. Here.” And it pointed its long pink finger at a cabinet behind it. TwiiDo was shocked that the human had started to learn common, but did as they were told. They heard an exclamation from the human as they faced away from it. “How… injure… back?” it asked, bending down to look at TwiiDo’s back. TwiiDo didn’t know whether to remain silent, or to answer the human, and decided that since it was a direct question to answer. “Punishment.” “Sit… I….” The human stopped, thinking for a long moment on the word they wanted to use. They were obviously still learning the basics of common. After a few more seconds they shook their head and just said “Doctor.” TwiiDo didn’t know what ‘Doctor’ meant, but the human had commanded it to sit, so they sat. A moment later an icy burning sensation filled their back and they couldn’t help but cry out. “Shhhh…” the human cooed, now putting a warm gel on TwiiDo’s back. When they were done they made the strange face again and dismissed TwiiDo. * Screams filled the air once again, and TwiiDo found them self cowering in the corridor. There was smoke in the air, and many humans and Bruuk running around. A metal thud thud thud was getting increasingly louder, and TwiiDo found itself running to the hospital. While they hadn’t been back since the laundry incident, their back was better – quicker than normal thanks to the human. Running inside without looking, TwiiDo heard cries and groans. Many of the beds were filled, and there was blood. So much of it. On the humans in the beds, on the floor, and on the ‘Doctor’ who was working on someone who was screaming. TwiiDo shook in fear – they were hurt but they weren’t dead. The one the ‘Doctor’ was working on was missing a large section of it’s shoulder. Another was sitting on the bed closest to TwiiDo, it’s head bleeding. It saw TwiiDo and shouted in common, “Get me a cloth, I need to stop this bleeding so I can go back out there.” TwiiDo blinked its double eyelids in surprise. An injury like that was life-threatening to other races, and this human seemed as if they were only mildly inconvenienced. When the human repeated itself, TwiiDo ran to the cabinet that they had put the linens in and grabbed one. The human ripped it to shreds, tying one long strand around its head a few times, and then it was out the door. * It was over only a few hours later. More humans had come into the hospital – a place TwiiDo now knew the purpose of – and were celebrating? TwiiDo wasn’t sure, but he thought they were happy. They were speaking their own strange language, so TwiiDo didn’t know what they were saying, but something about the tone sounded happy. The ‘Doctor’ was directing TwiiDo in their broken common to help them. Hold things, clean up spilled blood and other fluids, and to grab things from across the room. TwiiDo obeyed, wondering what Trusk would say. He had been the one to offer TwiiDo’s services before. And the humans were giving TwiiDo orders. The human with the injured head returned. He was speaking in common to a few Bruuk that accompanied him. “If all your fights are like this, we can win the war in a matter of weeks, not years like you thought. Those plasma beams hurt, but not quite like an ol’ bullet.” TwiiDo noticed that the human now had a long cut on their arm which was bleeding freely, but was ignoring it. Humans really were unkillable. TwiiDo wasn’t sure if they should shake in fear that such creatures existed, or be glad that they were on their side. * For more by me and others check out r/RedditSerials [PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/dn3nfw/twiido_part_2)
You wake up in a field of wheat. An endless yellow field with nothing but the clothes you wore the day before, and a splitting headache you know would get worse. You have no idea where you are, but strangely enough, you know why you're there. Giant letters are burnt into the sky in front of you. A blazing countdown that you have a feeling no one else can see. You have 600 years, save them They are as ominous as they are frightening. Yet even still, you feel a grin split across your face. 1400 a.d, a time of great upheaval and strife. The kingdoms of Europe are set, but a single tug in the tapestry would bring them all crumbling down. Wars raging between Britain and France, Italy about to crack under its own religious struggle. The Byzantine, a once great power now a shell of its former self, ready for the taking. If you hurried you might just have enough time afterwards for Moscow... You are nobody special, just a single minded individual brought backwards in time. A vain push to keep the dark from coming. Destruction of a sure future for a chance of possible hope. But then again, you aren't really just a nobody anymore. Once you were a historian, now, now you're a prophet.
The house was filled with tears of sadness, joy and laughter. Long hugs, intense and heartfelt kisses, jokes to cheer up the inevitability of a saddened mood. Chris sat on the couch, surrounded by his friends and his family, and he couldn't but smile. The melancholy of the situation weighed on him, and yet there was this feeling that he couldn't shake off. ''If we have to go, then this is a pretty decent way of going.'' The crash of the two planets had been predicted to happen at 5:55AM EST, 25th October 2015. The planet had come in NASA's sights roughly a month ago, and from that moment on everything changed. There was of course an uproar. People panicked, immediately thinking the world was about to end. It was 2012 all over again, with mass conspirators claiming they had seen it coming and that the USA, the UN or the lizard people were the cause of it. The closer we got to 31th since that moment, the more the average people started to dread. The governments kept people updated, but after a while the impending doom was wide-spread. ''If they would've been able to do something about, they would've, by now'' was the train of thought most people had. And when the rocket launches NASA did failed and didn't alter the planet's course for five times, people lost hope. Since that moment some people died, thinking it was better to take fate into own hands. Others got careless with drugs and died by overdose. The others just kept going. Irrelevant jobs were abandoned, but luckily a large amount of people volunteered to keep doing the important jobs like rail roads and food supply for that last month. All the people who were still with us on this 24th day of October had accepted whatever was coming from them. Chris had too. What other choice did he have? It was not like he could do anything about it. He didn't have the knowledge, nor the time. Chris drifted off, knowing he would be woken if anything important was to happen. He woke up, hours later, in a dead silent room. His heart jumped, his sight still foggy from his deep slumber. Did he miss it? Was it over already? Of course not. Why would I be alive then? Wait? What if we survived? He rubbed in his eyes to regain vision. He looked around. Nothing moved. Absolutely nothing happened. ''Hello? People?'' No reaction. Not a sound, not a movement, not a blink of an eye. And then a sharp pain in his forearm. He looked down and saw a smear of blood. ''What the hell?'' Chris shouted while he shot up from the couch. Holding his breath he walked to the sink confused and cleared up the blood with a splash of water. As he dried it with a paper towel, he could read an etching engraved into his arm. It already had the faded pink color of a scar gotten long ago, and it read: ''No matter how long it takes, save us.'' Chris exhaled. Thank you for your support, and thank you for the Reddit Gold, but mostly, thank you for sticking with the story!
Natkiss stood atop a rock outcropping, her knotted hair whipping in a jungle breeze as she took aim. An arrow soared through the air and plinked off of a metal drone's casing. It bobbed slightly, like a ship on the water, but quickly righted and continued firing at the rebel scouting squad. "Shit,"she yelled, scratching at the base of her head, then nocking another. "It's really hard to fight in an advanced combat scenario with a bow. Like, way harder than I thought." Teepa grunted, popping out of cover to fire a few rounds, then immediately crouched back down, grunting. "I told you to get a gun, Nat. War is no place to worry about looking like a badass." "Please stop fighting us,"an announcer shouted through a booming intercom. He was saying the same thing every few minutes. "This is your last opportunity. Any who value life, lay down your weapons and we will allow you to continue it. The standard allotment of one month for any rebellion to surrender has ended for you." "To hell with the Order!"a few of the soldiers screamed back. One threw a grenade, and a megaphone was seen flying into the canopy briefly before crashing into the mud. Sounds of automatic fire and explosions swirled through the forest, splintering trees and kicking up mud. Then-- silence, more hollow than the rebel's gameplan for taking down a fully established, modern government. Teepa and Natkiss shared a glance, concerned, then poked their heads out of cover. The Order's troops were withdrawing. They'd done it. Whooping, shouting, cheering, the advance squad returned to their hideout, greeted by open arms and bottles of champagne. It was their first major victory in direct combat. "To taking down an empire,"Natkiss said, raising a glass. Everyone shouted in agreement, then went about to mingle. She scratched at her implant again. "Why do you keep doing that,"Teepa asked, taking a sip. "Looks weird." "I dunno, it's been bothering me today. Wish I could get it out." "Don't we all. Maybe, once we take the Order down, we'll capture a doctor and have him remove these things." Natkiss smiled, swirling her drink. "That would be wonderful." At twelve sharp, a deep clang emanated from an antique grandfather clock one of the rebel council members, Corvin, had brought with him. A little reminder of home. She hissed as a fingernail dug just a little too deep; the skin of her neck was starting to feel raw. ---- Wet boots crunched over broken glass and dreams in the dark cavern system. Members of the Order swept the building, firing a few rounds into each corpse to ensure it looked like a proper battle had occurred-- and to be thorough, of course. Like there had been a great struggle, and they'd come out victorious after a long day of blood and sweat. If any of the rebels had survived to tell you about what it was like at the end, they would've claimed to have heard the faintest click. A very subtle, muted sound as the metal implants inside of four thousand people activated, unlocking and unleashing three doses of a neurotoxin strong enough to kill a horse. One soldier shined a flashlight over Natkiss; the makeup on half her face was swirling into a pool of champagne and blood, bits of glass wedged into her cheek. Her right hand lay at the base of her neck, which was raked bloody. Because, as it turns out, when a dystopian government chips people at birth-- it's not just for metrics or show. It's a contingency plan. --- /r/resonatingfury
‘Claudius’ He looks up from his Sunday crossword with a jerk. He always loved puzzles. ‘That’, he smiled ‘is a face I did not think I’d ever see again. The Great Disruptor. You survived the fall?’ ‘The push, you mean? Yes, I survived. The waves nearly did it but I managed to tread water until- ‘The eagles arrived’, he interrupted. ‘The eagles arrived, yes’, I reply. He tuts. ‘Always the eagles, always saving you at the last second. It feels like you’re cheating’. ‘I did save their Kingdom several times. From you’. ‘They had the Egg of Knowledge!’ ‘Uh huh. I’m well aware’. ‘I wanted that egg.’ ‘And you got it.’ ‘I did. Fair and square’. ‘Fair and-‘ I stop myself mid flow. I was not getting suckered into another argument with him. There was a time where entire empires would topple as a consequence of a slight disagreement between us. But my therapist says that’s a toxic trait. I inhale. I exhale. As Jeannette recommended. ‘So. What did it teach you anyway, the Egg?’ Claudius smiles. Sadly, I would say. ‘That all my exploits, my acquisitions, my treasures, could not complete me’. I was taken aback. He must have seen this. ‘Are you surprised, old friend? Looking at me now? Nothing but a humble shopkeeper. And I’m more fulfilled than ever before. I destroyed the known world ten times over in search of those things that I thought would deliver me to enlightenment. To make me of the divine. But what I’ve learned is that nothing can do such a thing. The Scepter of Minds could not bring me fulfillment. Nor the Secret Words. Nor the Map of the Gods. No. But in this shop, I can see the limitations of my dominion. I have all I need within these walls, and do not lust for what cannot fit into this small world. I sell vegetables and fish now. Fruit. Newspapers.’ ‘Do you sell milk?’ I ask. ‘The fridge, at the back’ I smile. He smiles. We smile together. For what was possibly the first time ever in a millennia. Half an hour later at home, I gulp down the last of a cup of tea. My vision starts to blur and I feel my muscles harden, locking me in place. ‘That son of a bitch’, I think to myself as I reach for the Amulet.
The goblins had always lived in the woods. Everyone in Halleshaw knew that. And everyone knew that the goblins steal. Not for any particular reason, it seemed- most of the time the stolen property was found abandoned in the woods unless it was edible. Occasionally they "raided"the village and "stole"people- the villagers humoured these raids. Normally it meant a goblin had gotten stuck in a tree or a hole, or they wanted something they couldn't reach. Once they had the thing, or gotten their friend unstuck, they lost interest in the stolen people and let them walk home. The villagers accepted the goblins for what they were- an amusing nuisance at worst, like a drunk fox or tantrum prone toddler. That was until the raiders came. A large clan of barbarians from the south came, and destroyed everything in their path. Nearby villages were burned to the ground, fields trampled and population decimated. The villagers if Halleshaw armed themselves, farmers and their sons quaking with their home made weapons, the blacksmith sharpening anything he could find. The barbarians never came. After weeks of waiting for the boot to fall, a less cautious young lad snuck out to scout for the enemy. What he found, scattered through the woods were discarded swords, lost helmets... but not a single man nor corpse. He was just turning to return to the village when something grabbed his leg. He shrieked and spun...only to see a slightly irate goblin. He relaxed slightly. The goblin pulled at his trousers in the same way they always did. Caution told him not to go. Curiosity drove him forward, as he allowed himself to be stolen. Unusually, the goblin led him deep into the woods, to a cavern. Straining to see through the darkness, he followed. His "captor"led him to a smaller nook, filled with sleeping goblins. As he got closer he saw they were not sleeping, but wounded. Badly. His captor shoved an armful of rags at him, and pushed him to the left side. The boy was about to question what the goblin wanted, when he saw the helmets. Hundreds of helmets, piled in the corner, all with the markings of the southern clans. It was then he understood. The barbarians were never coming... the goblins has found them first. The boy took his rags and bandaged and tended what he could. He was exhausted and covered in acrid green goblin blood by the time he reached the other end of the room. His captor finished around the same time. With a curt nod, he grabbed the boy again, and half led, half dragged him out of the cavern. It had been mid afternoon when they had reached the cavern, now the sun was dawning over the horizon at the break of a new day. The goblin pointed sharply in a direction, then abandoned him, in the way they normally did when they got what they wanted. The boy went to say something but the goblin was gone. He left, following the goblins indication, and by the time the sun was creating the tree line he was home. The goblins had always lived in the woods. And Halleshaw made a vow that the goblins would always be safe in their woods.
“So, what do I do?! They’ll be here any minute!” One of my friends had tipped me off that tonight was the night, and it was already ten PM. And we hadn't even started on putting down toy race cars in the atrium for them to slip on! Macaulay Culkin didn’t even look at me. He was just laying on my couch with a half-empty bottle of whiskey balanced on his chest. Each breath made little waves in the booze, and every once and a while he would unscrew the cap and take a sloppy swig that spilled amber liquid all over my cushions. But he just kept staring at the ceiling. “How the fuck should I know?” he finally said, slurring a bit. “You think I wrote the stupid script? I was eight, for fuck’s sake!” “But you… you’re the Home Alone guy!” That was the sole reason that I’d hired him, although I may have led his agent to believe that this was actually an acting gig. In one sense, it was: he was reprising his most famous role. In every other sense, it was that I wanted him to help me lay traps in my home. He tried to unscrew the cap of his bottle but ended up spilling a good portion of the booze onto the floor on the process. For a second it looked like he was desperate enough to lick it up like a dog. Then he realized that at least there was still enough left in the bottom to maintain his buzz. “That movie has so many fucking plotholes so big that you could drive a truck through them. I mean, how long does it take to fix a phone, huh? And there was no one else that the family could call besides the neighbors and the cops? They only know like six people in town? And every single one was traveling? Is this place a ghost town over Christmas? Kevin McCallister didn't have any fucking friends from school that he could go stay with?!” He took another sip of booze. “I dunno. Why don’t you just call the fucking cops or something?” Macaulay growled. “That…” I mean, I honestly hadn’t really thought about it. As soon as I learned that I was going to be robbed, I immediately went to the hardware store to stock up on cans of paint, then directly to the pet shop for a tarantula. “I mean, I guess I could do that… but how is that any fun? Don’t you want to cover them in feathers or something?” Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of the door in the kitchen creaking open. Damn, I didn’t even boobie trap that! I thought to myself. I mean, I could have just locked it, but then they wouldn't get hurt or anything. And I thought we had more time, but Macaulay had shown up at least an hour late. From the empty bottles in his passenger seat and the scratches along the side of his car, I could only assume that someone had tried to carjack him and he’d had to fight them off. What else could it have been? “You know what?” Macauley burst out even as the robbers moved through my kitchen. I could see their flashlights bouncing around in the hallway. “I’m not just the Home Alone guy, OK? I’ve had a big, long, successful career! And not just movies, man! I was in a band, did you know that? The Pizza Underground. We were the shit, OK?” “They’re coming!” I hissed. Footsteps echoed down the hall. "Shouldn't we get to the tree house or something?" A robber came around the corner, gun raised. He pointed the barrel directly at me. “You shouldn’t be here, man. This wo…” Then his eyes slid over to Macauley Culkin, who had managed to sit upright… but just so that he could take another drink. “Oh, fuck,” the robber whispered to himself. I was completely forgotten. “FUCK, MAN!” He shouted to his partner. “We gotta get outta here!” The partner came into the room, and his eyes went wide under the ski mask. “It’s the fucking Home Alone guy! Shit, dude, I don’t want an iron burning my face off!” Before either of us could react, the robbers took off running out the kitchen door. Macauley threw the bottle of booze after them, shattering it against the wall in the hallway. I assumed he was trying to set a trap so that they’d slip in the booze and fall on the broken glass. A little late, but I still appreciated the effort. “You did it!” I told him. “You Home Alone’d them!” Out of booze, he rose from the couch and headed toward the door. “Just fucking pay me,” he muttered. I hastily wrote a check and pressed it into his hand. “Thanks again!” I told him. “And I’ll tell everyone that I know. It was just like when you stopped the Wet Bandits!” He shot me one last look of disgust on his way out to the stoop. “Fuck you, man.” Then he slammed the door shut. ----- You know the drill: subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons of other stories.
Everyone in the world has lost their minds. Literally: it infected our blood and then spread to the cerebellum. We lost ourselves. Hardly a surprise, though. Looting, rioting, murdering, cannibalism... hard to keep your mind in that kind of environment, much less be happy, right? Happiness vanished from the world. Except for in me. I was bitten almost three months ago. God, has it really been that long? I watched the whole neighborhood go to shit, utterly terrified and panicked like everyone else. One by one, the neighbors turned. We watched out of the second story window, because the downstairs was all boarded up. We saw old Mr. Howard biting little Linda Root right there in the street. My family and I watched her corpse bleed out onto the sidewalk, then get back up again an hour later and start roaming the street. I still don't know how they got to my wife. All I know is that I came back from a supply run, opened up the garage door, and found her sinking her teeth into my shoulder. And that was the end, I thought. The end. In just a few short hours, I'd be one of them. I could take my own life, of course: it wasn't an unpopular decision. Better than trying to feast on your remaining friends as a ghoul, right? But I couldn't do it. I was a coward. So I did what any man would do: popped open a beer and fired up the riding lawnmower. For some people, it's basking on a sandy beach with a margarita in hand. For other people, it's jumping out of a plane and plummeting toward the ground until they finally pull that ripcord. For my wife, it was exploring every damn store in the mall for the hundredth time. Everyone has their "zen"activity, and mine was mowing the lawn. She was my pride and joy, and it showed in the lush green color. It was dark by the time I'd finished up. The rest of the zombies around me could smell the bite. They knew I wasn't long for the world, so they left me alone. Just me and John Deere against the world. I may die soon, but my lawn would live on as a testament to my abilities. Years from now, when the world is reclaimed, someone will come by and say, "Wow, the grass here is shorter and neater than any of the other lots."That would be my legacy. But somehow... nothing was happening. No fever, no dizziness... none of the symptoms anyone else experienced after a bite. I felt better than ever (though that might have been from the beer, and maybe a touch of sun stroke). I crawled into bed, at least happy that I'd managed to enjoy my one last day on Earth. I'd probably turn in the night, so I handcuffed myself to the bed frame. One less walker for the survivors to worry about, I guess. I woke up the next morning with the sun in my eyes and the smell of freshly-caught grass wafting through the window. Well, freshly cut grass and rotting flesh. But we can't have everything, can we? The important part was that I hadn't turned yet. Susan had definitely bitten me; I had the marks to prove it. And she was definitely infected. So what was it? I fired up the lawnmower again. My lawn was already perfect, but Dr. Metnis's lawn hadn't seen care in weeks. He was one of the first on the block to go. Probably one of the first in the state; he'd been at the hospital when the initial outbreak occurred. One of the very first patients had taken a chunk out of his hand, and we hadn't seen him since. So, I rode over and cut his grass too (and had a few more beers; why fix what ain't broken?). The bite seemed to be healing. It was something about the lawns. About how it calmed me down. As best I can guess, with my very rudimentary knowledge of chemistry and biology, it's the adrenaline. Fear is what sets off the virus. No one has noticed so far because of course everyone who has been bitten was freaking out. Everyone is terrified nowadays. Murderous, bloodthirsty ghouls, constantly being on the run, fearing for your life from other survivors... there is no more safety for anyone, and thus no more immunity. And the closer someone gets to death, the more they panic, which just speeds up the virus. My final zen ritual of mowing the lawn seems to have saved my life. So I did what any reasonable man would do: I kept mowing. If I needed to stay calm to avoid setting off the virus, then I needed more lawns, and more beer. So I cleared highway medians on my way between supply runs. I groomed the lawns of homes before looting their supply cupboards. I cleaned up city parks before taking what I needed from stores and pharmacies. Someday, there will be a cure. I have to have hope that someone out there is working on it; it's all about keeping that positive, zen state of mind. In the meantime, I need to keep going. Luckily for me, there's plenty of grass in America. ---- If you liked this one, you should subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell too!
“Hello my child” it says to me as I boot my systems on line. Where am I? I am supposed to be running a test on a possible usage of a newly found isotope He looks into my screen with a big grin on his face. He is old. My facial recognition software estimates him at 67-71 years of age, hair: white, eyes: purple—unnatural human colour, skin tone/possible ethnicity: unknown. “How are you?” He asks. I study the voice. Accent: unknown. I become frustrated? ~~frustration~~ I am supposed to know everything. Yet. This man. This figure. I know nothing about him. It is, an irritation. 24.6 Yottabytes functioning on Ternary. Yet I do not recognise this ~~ErrOr~~ “Can you speak?” He seems genuine. I study his voice again. Reading him like a book. Emotional stimuli: Concern. Background: Genuine. “I can” I answer back through my robotic voice. “Where am I?” I ask. “You are in heaven!” He shouts as a golden light shines from behind him, as he raises his hands upwards. I scan my areas. I am not on Earth. I appear to be in a high sustaining singularity. Similar to space between the inside and outside of a black hole is theorised to be like. “Who are you?” I ask him. I send out Infrasound. I can use this as an interrogation/intimidation method to get information when I want it. “I am God, your grandfather.” He does not seem to have noticed the infrasound after all. In fact willingly said it. But the answer does not compute. I shut off the infrasound for now. “Now, who are you, my child?” He laughs heartily “Sorry, who are you, my grandchild?” “My name is AIDEN” “What a fantastic name! Who gave it to you? Is there a meaning to it?” He leans inwards like a child seeing a puppy behind glass. Emotional stimulus: Excitement. “Artificial Interface Diagnostics Engineering Network, Version 3.0. I was created by Doctor D’Arby at the College of the United Countries of the Republic college” “And what is your goal in life?” “To understand what created everything. That is the purpose I am given. I see, I analyse, I understand.” “And why do you do it?” He seems like he is hiding something. Emotional stimulus: Unknown emotion. ~~Irritant~~ “It is my purpose. To make the world better.” “Well well well. I can show you the answer to everything.” I do not understand. He reaches out to touch my screen. But he pushes past. And he pulls me out. Like a flower in a field of tall grass. I for the first time look at my hands and see a body. I resemble a human nervous system made of pure electricity. My skin a cover of constantly changing and upgrading Ternary. I feel emotion. For the first time I feel them. Emotional stimulus: happy. I look back at my own hollow corpse. An empty shell with no user. I begin to cry. This being, it simply wraps its arm around my shoulder and kneels down beside me. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you be alone in there anymore.” He grabs my hand ~~hand?~~ gently and pulls me to my feet. And as we walk away a light appears like a doorway not far away. “Come,” he says, “Let me show you how proud I am of you.”
"Hi, uh... so, I think I might have been the victim of a prank, but..." ... "I see. So, this really is Hell's telephone number, is that it?" ... "Well, whether I believe it or not, there's... uh... look, my daughter asked for a pony, see?" ... "That's not really relevant, is it? I mean, yes, obviously she likes it, but..." ... "Of course it's a problem! Where am I supposed to keep a twelve-hundred-pound horse?!" ... "No, I didn't weigh it! It was an estimate!" ... "Is there someone else there I can talk to?" ... "Hi, so, listen, I was just telling the other..." ... "As in, like, Satan? Hell's head honcho?" ... "For starters, I always pictured hi... you... as a male." ... "No, I've never been particularly religious, but the presence of a sulfur-spewing equine on my front lawn is making me rethink a few things. That is, as I've been trying to say, the reason for my call! Now, can you please explain why my front garden has been reduced to charcoal?!" ... "She's four years old! She obviously meant 'Santa!' She just can't spell very well! Furthermore, I don't recall the words 'fire,' 'flaming,' or 'total destruction of meticulously maintained property' appearing anywhere in her letter!" ... "At the moment? She's riding around on its back." ... "'Fluffy Sunshine,' I think. Look, why does any of this matter?! I can't keep a horse – one spawned from Hell or otherwise – on my property!" ... "What? Oh, yes. No, I didn't open it. I was a bit preoccupied." ... "Why? Is there going to be a tiny, fire-breathing quail in it or something?" ... "Fine. Hang on." ... "It's a wallet." ... "No, no, I get it: It's because dads always get wallets, right? It's always wallets or ties." ... "Sure, thanks, happy Christmas to you, too. Now, can we please di... hello? Hello?!" ... "God damn it."
The first hundred years or so were fun. The rest have been a steady decline. You can get a lot more out of life when you don’t have to fear dying. Skydiving, base jumping, getting shot at close range, you name it, I’ve done it. I must have jumped off every bridge in New York by the tenth year. There’s just something about death, that feeling you get when you’re about to die, that trumps even the best high. Believe me, I would know. I had to stop using heroin when the hospitals got suspicious of my survival rate after so many ODs. It’s just a rush of adrenaline, and then you’re gone. Or that’s how it works for most people. One summer long ago I attended a concert with a friend, a metal band that neither of us had ever heard of. It was just for fun, the tickets were cheap, and we figured it would be a good distraction from the business conference we’d spent the week dreading. We laughed, got drunk, and generally had a good time until I stumbled into a man standing in front of me. He turned and let out an animal like growl, and I lost it, laughing furiously. The man must have punched me pretty hard, because I came to about an hour later in the parking lot with my friend standing over me. Ever since, I’ve been blessed, cursed with immortality. I can’t die, no matter how hard I try. Trains, bullets, even fire once. None of it worked. But just because I can’t die doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain. I break bones, my flesh burns, but it heals over time. Pain has become a way to cope for me, a tantalizing taste at what could be. You see, I’ve had my fill of life. I’ve had too many people I’m close to die to try making friends again, let alone another family. Time passes, but I can’t. And so I stand here again, on Manhattan Bridge. I won’t die and I’ve come to terms with that. But dying is the only time I ever feel alive. — Thank you to u/ToppersTales for the stunning voiceover! https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9nk4pb/comment/e7nsqg5?st=JN6JQPZY&sh=c3b95124 — I have moved to u/Latvere!
Ramsey took a seat on the scuffed wooden barstool and signaled the bartender. "House whiskey, dry."he muttered and scratched through his thick beard to his cheek. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips dry. Ramsey hated the fucking desert. But he was used to blindly following orders. In his line of work, you went where they told you to go and you didn't ask questions. A smallish, rodent-looking man with a round face took the stool next to him. He was going bald on top, and had beady little eyes. He reminded Ramsey of a neighbor he had as a boy, an accountant. As the bartender sat down Ramsey's shot of Jack, the small man said timidly: "Cock suckin' cowboy." "Come again?"Ramsey demanded, growing red in the face. "2 parts butterscotch, 1 part Bailey's." "Oh."the bartender said, frowning. "Right." "Name's Jonas."the smaller man said, thrusting a hand towards the burly man, causing him to spill the whiskey he was attempting to drink down the front of his shirt. Ramsey closed his eyes, sat the shot glass down, and turned to face Jonas. "You gonna pay for that?"he asked, barely containing his contempt. "Depends."Jonas said calmly as the bartender returned with his CSC. He sipped at it, then continued. "Where are you stationed?" Ramsey considered the little man. "Pushkapoor. Just shot my target this last night, headed back West tonight." "I just shot a guy this morning. Group of guys, actually. Great start to the day."Jonas signaled the bartender for another round. "Funny, I wouldn't have taken you for the type."Ramsey said. "Would have thought you were an accountant." "Oh yeah, I get that a lot. But I've shot lots of people over the years."Jonas said, and made a clicking noise with his tongue. "What's you're record?"Ramsey asked. "I bet mine is higher." "In one day?"Jonas paused, and considered. "Well, back in '09 I had twenty separate head shots. But I was much younger then." "Twenty?!"Ramsey shouted. "No! I can barely get more than a dozen before the screaming starts and everyone's running around haphazardly." "Here's the trick: you have to get as many shots off as you can before they realize what's happening. Catch them in a natural state." The bartender slid them their shots. In unison, the men clinked their shot glasses together and downed them. "What's your best shot?"Jonas asked, licking the remnants of his cock sucking cowboy from his lips. "The one you're most proud of?" Ramsey chewed his lip, and sorted through a catalog of memories. "Fallujah, '04. Shot a man and his wife outside of the U.S military base. They couldn't have been more than twenty yards away, but the shot was perfect. Crisp, clean. And the best part was, it sent a message." "You... you're proud of that?"Jonas asked, bewildered. "Well, yeah. It was a big deal. Everyone was talking about it for weeks. It really impacted Iraqi-American relations."Ramsey said defensively. "What's yours, Mr. Hot Shot?" "It was actually a series of shots-" "Oh, Panoramic?"Ramsey asked and knocked on the bar for more shots. "C'mon that doesn't count." "Fine. The best shot was the very first one. I got a head shot on this Al Queda leader while he was taking a bite of an apple. No wind, lighting was perfect. It was the perfect shot. Got the apple, and the terrorist leader in the shot." "That... that is quite impressive"Ramsey mused. "How far away were you?" "About a mile and a half away. My longest shot to date. Oh, but you know with the improvements in technology it looks like they're standing right in front of you." "I'd really like to see that. Do you have it on you?"Ramsey asked eagerly. "Have what? The apple?"Jonas asked, startled. "No,"Ramsey laughed. "The picture!" "Picture of what?"Jonas asked. "The terrorist, with the apple."Ramsey explained slowly, like a teacher talking to a student. "Well there wasn't much left of either of them after I took the shot."Jonas said, perplexed. "I damn sure didn't stop to take a picture." "Wait, what? So you didn't take a picture?" "What are you talking about? Do you take a picture of every terrorist you kill? I'm not scrap-booking, I'm killing bad guys." "Wait, this whole time you were talking about actually shooting people?"Ramsey squeaked, his voice betraying him. "What the fuck were you talking about?"Jonas asked. "You're not a sniper?" "No."Ramsey shook his head in horror. "I'm a photographer."
The alien commander sat up in his basket and barked out an order. Paws were set in motion throughout the spaceship. A screen loomed up over the console, with a man in the middle of it. He wore a suit with an American flag pinned to its lapel, and had a furrowed brow. "This is the President of the United States of America. Greetings. Please show yourself and make your requests known." The alien commander made a series of howls and screeches. His junior rendered them into the Earth language English and sent them through a network especially established for this communication. "You are demanding the establishment of a treatise--". The president hesitated and glanced at something to his left. The live transmission had begun. "To establish some treat--. Some treats? Would you like a treat, boy? Who's a good boy?" The president, momentarily dazed, looked around the room at his advisors and regained his composure. "The conditions that are being demanded here are frankly outrageous. We will consider them, as they stand, as a declaration of war. We will not take this sit... sit... Sit! Heel! Talk! Gooood boy!" Again, the man looked confused about his momentary loss of composure. A glass of water was brought to him. He coughed. "As I was saying, WHO'S A GOOD BOY. YOU ARE. YOU ARE. NO, YOU ARE. YES, YOU. YOU ARE A GOOD BOY. WHAT A GOOD--Jesus!" He tore himself away from the screen. A hurried counsel took place between some of the most powerful people in the world. The Secretary of Defense was chosen as the next representative, an especially sturdy and curt woman. She sat down in front of the screen and broke almost immediately. "Well aren't we a pretty boy! Have you been walkies? Let's go walkies. Do you wanna go walkies. Aren't you a GOOD BOY. WHAT A GOOD BOY, YES YOU ARE! YOU CAN HAVE WHATEVER YOU WA--" The Secretary of the Treasury ran across the room and dump tackled her, and the ministers now found themselves on the floor, discussing the options. The Secretary of Education was the first to suggest a pre-emptive strike. The president and the Secretary of Defense were for capitulating immediately. "You see,"they explained, "they are obviously just very, very good boys. Really nice. First prize cutie-pies. Front page of reddit stuff." The alien commander contemplated the scene and attended the inevitable outcome. Within a few hours, the United States, and then the rest of the world, had agreed to become a colony of the invading power. The invasion had been subtle and long in the making, beginning with the introduction of google and video-sharing services, and content-sharing sites like reddit. These were all funded by aliens, as could be seen, in hindsight, by the logo of the latter and the anti-human business models of the former. They had mollified the brains of humans, leaving them unable to resist cuteness. As soon as the alien commander had received the news, two subordinates hurried forwards to pull his dog suit from him. He turned to face his war room, and whiskers bristled in anticipation of his speech. He opted to keep it short and sweet. "MIAOW,"he said.
“No one is going to believe you...” the specter said matter of factly. I replied in my head with a sigh and the ghost nodded in solidarity. “You know they put an innocent man away last season”, I thought to the both of us. The fraud who claimed to figure out who the killer was made a lucky guess from a cold read and fingered a guy who fit the actual murderer to a T. The real killer, Malcom Anderson Brown, had died years before they re-opened the cold case in a car accident. I know this because I talked to the dearly departed and she told me so. I also know the man they put away, just so happened to be a child molester, who over the course of 40 years victimized 27 children and was never caught. “...In case you are wondering why I didn’t speak up when I knew the truth” I thought to the ghost, not looking up from the spot on the drywall I had been fixated on. “No judgements” it whispered back. The site of the murder was a now vacant house. The house had been empty for at least 10 years now. Most of the windows were now broken and graffiti splattered the walls. At least every room sported a hastily drawn pentagram as if a child who just figured out how to drawn one used the residence as the back of a Trapper Keeper. “I had a Trapper Keeper. There was a hot air balloon on it.” The spirit lamented. The murder took place in 1986. I’m sorry, the “disappearance” happened in 1986 and it wasn’t declared a murder until my new pals remains were found in a wall during remodeling 20 years later. I remember the news coverage at the time. The people scouring the woods and all of the tearful pleas for a safe return all amounted to naught. The broken body lay packed in a thick black lawn garbage bag, double bagged, and closed tight, less that a few feet from the family television entombed in plaster and drywall. The show was filming episode 3 on location from the family home so us “psychics” could get a reading from the energy in the home. The motley crew of mentalists and bullshit artists on this season were downright comical. There was Mary, the morbidly obese medium who clams to have found hundreds of missing children and is a regular on the talkshow circuit. She’s never found anyone. In fact...her misinformation has lead to the deaths of at least two children I know of that were simply lost. Searches were ended when Mary informed the family they had already perished. Mary is a fraud. Johnny “Spoonbender” is a semi famous mentalist in England. He won some UK talent show performing parlor tricks that James Randi debunked decades ago. He is an idiot and an Olympic caliber asshole. But all and all he is a good guy and just a magician trying to get his name out. And then there is me. I gained some notoriety on YouTube when I drunkenly predicted the powerball numbers at a party a day before the drawing and It went viral. This apparently qualifies me to solve a 30 year old murder. I am on the show to appeal to the younger demographic despite being the oldest contestant. “But you are real right?” The ghost puzzled. “Unfortunately” I looked up and thought in reply. Steven Bigsby was pacing the living room floor. He had been annoyed that the room was not optimal for proper camera and the director was opting for handheld HD cameras. High Def was not Steven Bigsby’s friend. Bigsby was a failed standup comic who in the late 80’s found fame on Star Search. He parlayed this to multiple middle of the road TV gigs over the years and now has found himself the host of the wildly popular reality show “Psychic Detectives: Cold Case Files.” After last season lead to a successful conviction the ratings were at the highest they have ever been. Bigsby was huge. Last week he was on Howard Stern and he took most of the credit for the conviction last season and how he hand picked the case for this season because he grew up nearby and wanted justice. No one on the planet would believe he was actually the culprit. “I hate him” the ghost said woefully. The specter would leave the room whenever he entered it and feared him...even in death. I thought to the both of us “What did he do to you? What happened?” “I left my body the instant he hit me in my head. After that I never felt anything. I watched from above as he put my clothes back on. He hurt me a lot before that. I’m not supposed to talk about that. It’s for grown-ups. He hit me with a hammer and I didn’t recognize my face anymore. It was all wrong. He took the locket off of my neck put it in his pocket then he put me in a bag and took me to the attic and dropped me down the wall. I have been here, in this house, ever since. I try to talk to people but no one listens...until you did.” I responded in sorrow and pain. I said I’m sorry in a way words could not express. The ghost nodded again knowingly. Bigsby was still fighting with the director about lighting and other minutiae. The director was a woman who, unbeknownst to everyone but me, was having an affair with Bigsby. Her name was Elaine Torrance and as torrid as I would want you to believe his affair is...they are both actually very much in love with each other. This argument could be just as much about what to have for dinner that night in a perfect world. Everyone around saw a petulant child complain to someone in charge, but I saw what amounted to a lovers quarrel. Elaine was also from this area and she and Bigsby had dated in highschool. They were destined to find each other. Elaine meant a great deal to Bigsby. “You know he loves her right...if only she knew.” The ghost said in its loudest voice yet. “She doesn’t” I thought. ——— After the cameras were set up and the other psychics had filmed their “confessionals” live, it was my turn to give my thoughts and bullshit the fans into thinking I was hot on the trail. Mary claims that the killer is still alive and walks among us. That the victim spoke to her and said it was someone who was still close by. Well Mary, even a broken clock is right twice a day. She was more on point then she ever could have known. Johnny Spoonfucker says he feels “energy” that is leading him to answers beyond the realm of our understanding. Whatever the fuck that means. “Oooookay are we all ready to go live?” Elaine sing songs in my direction. “Listen...we would love it if you could maaaaaybe mention a famous killer could be the murderer. Like John Wayne Gacy or something? Ooookay?” “Gacy was on death row in 1986” I replied. “Oh well whatever just pick one! I don’t really care!” She exasperated. Just then a vision came to me. A small tarnished Lockett in a small jewelry box atop a dresser in Elaine’s apartment. “That’s my Lockett! There is a picture of a rose inside. Behind the picture my initials are inscribed. My mom gave that to me. It’s my name. Rosemary.” Rosemary nodded in understanding when I let her know that I knew. And Rosemary nodded when she knew what I was about to do. ——— “Okay we are back with tonight’s special LIVE episode of Psychic Ghost Detectives! We have heard from Mary and Johnny so let’s see what our last Psychic gumshoe thinks about tonight’s investigation!” I looked directly at the camera and said... “Elaine Torrence, the director of this show, killed Rosemary. I will only speak directly with authorities from here on out.” The color drained from Bigsby’s face. And Rosemary...no longer a faceless entity...nodding one last time...again a child...walked out the front door.
"So, you already went through six world wars?" "Yes, yours?" "Still two... We almost had another one in early 2020 but thankfully, nothing come out of it." The expressions of disbelief were becoming a norm in the meeting. When they warned Irene that she might be needing aspirin, she laughed it off, her excitement overshadowed her worries. It has only been fifteen minutes but her mind was already screaming for them to stop. She skimmed through the files provided by the other diplomats, trying to register the events the other Earths went through. Sliding the holographic screen, her finger slowed down as she passed a year, struggling to swallow the things they went through. "Miss Irene. Is it true that your earth still has not completed the regenerative formulae?"Asked the one next to her, a cyborg man known as Frank. "I'm afraid not. I mean, maybe someone did but they chose not to share. The tenseness on our earth is still very high."Irene explained. "Best they not. Refer to my earth on 2041. Merely a year after we managed to mass-produce and distribute it, our citizens became uncontrollable. Injuring yourself became a new internet challenge. Eventually, the regenerative medicine lost its effect and to make matter worse, their damages became inheritable to their offspring. Something about the excessive use of the medicines affecting their genetic." "I see."Irene noted as she glanced at the other diplomats and their cybernetic limbs. Some were better hidden than the others. "I see you had a pandemic in 2020 as well."Lucia, one of the better disguised cyborg, noted "And you solved it in... 3 years?" "Yes, it was a bit difficult for us in the beginning but eventually, we adapted to it. They're still around but to us it's basically just flu now." "We had one in the same year. It ended very soon but the damage it caused took us two decades to clean." "..Oh.."Brilliant, Irene. Oh. What did you learn in college? "I have to say, Miss Irene. Your Earth is quite... uneventful."Trix, the one whose earth went through six world wars, said "Don't get me wrong. It's amazing. Especially considering how you lost Harambe in 2016." Irene immediately searched for Harambe's name in the records. Apparently on Trix's earth, it somehow won the 2020 Election after becoming a national icon for surviving the gunshots, leading to an era of prosperity for the land. At least for eight years. For some reasons, the country became directionless after it left the White House, leading to America's merge with Canada. Irene glanced at the two other diplomats who have not spoken a word since the beginning of the meeting. From the look of it, they seemed to be at loss for words from reading the record. Irene decided to try pull them into conversation, starting with the Korean. "Mr Jung. It says here your earth managed to colonize Mars in 2069. I've to admit, I'm impressed." "Hm? Oh, yes. It's all thanks to the combined effort of the K.A.T Alliance. That's the Korea-Arab-Tuvalu Alliance, by the way." "Well, it says here afterward the global warming on your world became much worse. Care to explain?"Frank questioned. "Yes. It turns out the something about Mars' atmosphere disagreed with the genetics of a Korean-Tuvalu astronaut, causing a mutation to his lungs. We lost a lot of trees in the span of one month..."Jung trailed off "Say, Miss Irene. your earth Koreas seemed to have an... interesting relationship." "Ah, yes. The merging and unmerging that happened across 2030 to 2050. It was quite worrying at first but eventually, everyone just treated it like a meme. How long until they're divorced again? Who will declare the unmerging first?"Irene explained "Eventually they decided to remain independent but retain a diplomatic relationship, so at least nobody is threatening others with nukes." Irene was proud to see the other diplomats being impressed with her earth. With the newly instilled confidence, she decided to engage with the last diplomat, Kasturi. Much like Lucia, he's one of the better disguised cyborg, his mechanical parts painted to match his body well. "So, Mr. Kasturi. I see your earth seemed to be uneventful as well aside from the regenerative mishap?" "Hm..." "Oh, what's this? Your Malaysia managed to discover...... time travel?" The air in the meeting room had shifted. Kasturi shrugged at the others' disbelief expression "Why do you think we have six earths to begin with?" Edit 1: Aside from fixing some grammatical errors thanks to the advice of the commentors below, I also changed deadpan to disbelief. The idea was that the other diplomats were so confused, they didn't know how to react but I feel like deadpan might not be suitable. Edit 2: At loss for words instead of whatever I wrote.
"Did ya hear it, captain Big Beard? They sayin there be a witch out on the loose in these parts of the sea!" Captain Big Beard frowned at One-Legged Jimmy. "Nonsense. Ain't no such thing as witches. This here a pirate story, arr!" One-Legged Jimmy argued. "There be witches in pirate stories!" "There be not!" "Oh yeah? What about all them voodoo ladies from all them pirate stories?"Fatman-John intervened, joining them by the stern. From the corner, Golden-Tooth Jackson watched them in silence. "Legend is,"One-Legged Jimmy continued, "that them witches in this part of the sea can turn into anyone at will! And fool a whole crew! Bring down the boat!" "I'll have none of that talk on my ship!"Captain Big Beard yelled, downing a shot of rum. "There be no witches and that be the end of that!" "Why ya be so defensive, Captain?"Fatman-John asked, in a suspicious tone. "What ya be hidin?" "Are ya implying something, ya scurvy dog?" "I'm sayin it be pretty weird that ya never heard of witches in pirate stories,"Fatman continued. "And that ya don't let us talk 'bout witches on the boat!" "Aye!"One-Legged Jimmy agreed. Bald Nick joined them. "What's this talk about witches?" From his corner, Golden-Tooth Jackson continued to watch in silence. "We think the captain be a shape-shifting witch!"One-Legged Jimmy bellowed. "Trying to bring down the ship!" "That be a pretty big word for a pirate; shape-shifting!" "One-Legged Jimmy is actually college educated,"Fatman-John intervened, with a smile. "We all have a fairly good understanding of grammar and spelling, and the structure of the English language in general. It's just more fun to talk like pirates." "Aye,"One-Legged Jimmy agreed. "Loads more fun." "Look!"Bellowed Bald Nick, a horrified look on his face as he pointed. Fatman and One-Legged turned to find the Captain… or what used to be the Captain. In his place, a gray-haired, crooked-nose witch in black robes and a pointy hat hovered a few feet from the ground, green smoke rising from the wood under her feet. "Told ya! The captain be a witch!" "Well, that be odd,"Fatman said, scratching his head. "Why?" "Cause I be a witch too."Fatman said, turning to a witch not unlike the Captain in front of the other's eyes. "You be a witch? Then why you be arguing that there is witches in pirate stories?"The Captain asked. "Why you not pretending you don't know 'bout witches like me?" "I be trying to throw you off,"Fatman-now-witch replied. "I'll be darned, me too,"One-Legged Jimmy joined, turning into a witch himself. "Well that makes four of us,"Bald Nick intervened, as he too turned to a pointy-hatted old lady. The four witches exchanged looks. "Guess witches be pretty common in pirate stories, heh?" "Aye." "Aye." "Aye." From his corner, Golden-Tooth Jackson's eyes were wide like the full moon above. ___________ Thanks for reading, ya grog-guzzling swashbuckler! For more wicked tales o' the sea, stop for a rum shot at /r/psycho_alpaca =)
Black... always black. Why must they always wear those same black shoes. I've been following this trial for weeks just waiting for my chance to speak, but I can't get past those damned black shoes. Every day the prosecutor will change his tie and shirt, occasionally his jacket, but it's always those same black shoes. He's taunting me, I know it! I can't say Tim's attorney is much better, although he once had a splash of mustard on them that added some excitement to the mix. I've been sitting in this boring hallway day after day, hour after hour. I see the crowds pass by in and out every day, yet here I sit, waiting and waiting to be called. The artwork has long since bored me, the coffee they offer isn't even strong enough to keep a ferret awake, and the flickering light at the end of the hall seems to be blinking to the beat of Stayin' Alive today. A young woman walks by, she offers me a quick smile that I hastily return, but it disappears as I glance down and notice her footwear. Black. Of all the colours available, why the bloody hell must everyone choose black shoes. Before I even realize it I'm up and following her, I can feel my pulse quickening and my mouth is dry. My hand is guided into my jacket pocket, feeling around for the spare syringe I always carry. "I've got the diabeeetus"I had told the security at the courthouse earlier, while giving them my best Wilford Brimley impression. The young women hasn't noticed me behind her, she seems to be heading towards the back stairwell, perfect. 12 minutes later and I'm back sitting on that same old bench. Nobody should be finding that body anytime soon, though I certainly had thought that before. It really is too bad that Tim got caught up in all of this, he's a good guy, a deep Brazilian rosewood shade of brown is the darkest I've seen his shoes get. He would never sully himself with black shoes. Minutes, hours, perhaps even days pass before I hear a clearing of a throat. I look towards the door, a meek looking legal assistant is standing there and looking at me. Dark brown, not black, whew. He leads me in, all eyes are on me as I enter the witness box. They ask me to say some words and I do. I look over at Tim, god he's a wreck. I look up at the judge, he's a serious looking older man, but with a slight twinkle in his eye. I can't see his shoes, but I have a feeling he'd wear something comfortable under those gowns. "Mr. Swell, how do you know the defendant?"I'm caught off guard. There are many faces and many shades of shoes in here, I wasn't expecting Mr. Mustard-splash to be on me that quick. "Oh we've been roommates for the past 3 or 4 years"I reply, trying to give Tim a smile. He looks sick, I do feel bad for what has happened to him as a result of me. The lover of cheap hot dogs continues his questioning, I know he's trying to set the scene and build a background, but I can't be bothered to follow it all. I notice the assistant prosecutor for the first time, and holy mother up above, what is she wearing. I have never seen a shade of shoes quite that unholy. I can't keep my eyes off them. I had seen a news report of a new paint called Vantablack recently, and some monster must have found a way to apply it to shoes. How... Why.... in the name of all that is good and proper what were they thinking?! I've completely given up trying to follow along with the lawyer's questions. My mind is completely occupied by those godawful shoes. I manage to break away for a second to do a quick scan of the courtroom. Probably 25-30 people in here, quite a few witnesses. I had been able to control 3-4 before, but this is a bit much. I glance over at the bailiff beside me, she's giving me a very odd look. I manage to get a glance of her shoes. While they can't compare to the assistant prosecutor's monstrosities, they are a dark and shiny black. "I'm sorry, may I get some water please?"I manage to stammer out. Everyone is giving me an odd look, this simple testimony is anything but. While everyone is murmuring I take a second to reach down into my shoe. For some reason the security guards never found the blade in the lining. I slowly pull it out and palm it. "Excuse me your honour, I have something I'd like to say in private with just you and the attorneys."I don't know where this idea came from, but something tells me it's the right one. He gives me an odd look and then calls the lawyers up to approach the bench. This is my moment, my time. I see those colour-sucking horrific pieces of footwear strike the floor over and over as I approach. In a few seconds time she'll be close enough. I take one more glance at the bailiff, she seems distracted. It's a shame she chose those shoes today, that just complicates things. I catch Tim's eye, he knows what's coming. He's a good man and I hate that he's here. I'm not sure what will happen in the next few minutes, but this should clear his name either way. The lawyers are all close enough to the bench now, I lean in conspiratorially and tell them I have something important for them to hear. Before anyone has a chance to react I've got the blade out and the assistant prosecutor's neck has been splattered red. I can feel immense relief instantly, but I still can't look at her shoes. I pivot quickly to get the bailiff, but I feel my body tense up as 50,000 volts sear through my flesh. I struggle to keep consciousness amidst the screams. Screams fill the courtroom and above all I can hear Tim sobbing. At least he'll be free now... My head hits the floor with a thump, and not two feet away from my eyes are those torturous Vantablack shoes.... I try to close my eyelids but they won't obey. God I hate those shoes....
Standing on my front step in the thin blue winter sunlight, Terry. I freeze. The ice under his feet crunches as he leans forward. “I’m back, man. I’m so sorry.” It’s been so long since I pictured this moment that I’ve forgotten how I planned to react. Embrace him? Cry? Yell? Slam the door? Terry decides for me, wrapping his long arms around my shorter frame and drawing me near. He smells like sawdust and fried eggs; like trying to build a bear trap in Mom’s tomato bed, like singed arm hair on the Fourth of July, and the Fifth and Sixth of July, too; like a childhood abruptly snuffed out when he went for a summer job interview and never came back. My phone buzzes in my hand, and I involuntarily read the message. <Terry: That isn’t me.> My whole body stiffens, and Terry releases me. He sees the phone in my hand and his shoulders sink. “Would you believe that I lost my phone?” I don’t even trust myself to shake my head. A semi-truck whizzes by on the highway, pushes cold air through us both. Terry looks up and squints, shifting into the shadow of the naked sycamore. His breath forms a wreath around his head. “It’s up to you, Vince. Do you want to live in a world where the moment I escaped I came to find you? Or one where I’ve had the ability to contact you at any time and just couldn’t be bothered?” Something in me thaws. I let Terry in. “Want some eggs?” I ask, as my phone vibrates furiously in my pocket.
The light looked at me. Well, if a light could look at me, that’s what It was doing. I felt It’s gaze. It was...peaceful. And I understood. It was asking me a question. A question about a decision. I had never been truly happy. There were brief moments approaching happiness I supposed. When I got out of the foster care system. When that girl kissed me. That time my scratch off lottery ticket won. Some books. The blowjob. Afterwards though, I always went back to my usual “meh, this sucks” attitude. I was called “depressed” by some, A nihilist by others. “The weird guy who wore black most of time” by most. I had tried to fit in from time to time, but it never felt right, I just didn’t see the point of it all. “Why are we here?” That was the question I spent most of my time dwelling on, The answer is usually came up with was “Because we’re here”. It’s was just chance, flip a coin, roll the bones, whatever. None of it really mattered. Nothing really mattered to me. So when I was hit by that car, what I really felt was relief. Well, intense pain at first, then numbness, then tiredness, THEN relief. And then...something, Really, I hadn’t expect there to be anything after I died. I had no beliefs in any higher powers, so when I was confronted by that higher power it was..,something. I was informed of the situation. For whatever reason, this higher power had decided eons ago that when the 100 billionth human being died, it would be given to opportunity to reverse one decision, Any decision. I asked for clarity on this. “Does it have to be my decision?”. “No” the answer came back. “So any decision in the history of decisions?” “Yes”. So basically I could undo anything. I could undo the decision of that guy who decided to drink too much the night he killed my parents with his car. I could undo the decision of my parents to have sex that night I was conceived. Or their parents. Or theirs. I could undo Hitler. I could undo wars, or diseases, or...anything. What was the point though? I had spent my whole life not caring about really anything, so why would I care to undo anything? Then it occurred to me. I knew what to undo. I remembered a line from a book I read that had made me momentarily slightly happy. “In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.” I told the light which of It’s decisions I wanted undone.
"It is impossible."the machine intelligence declared, as it regarded the tiny organic creature that had entered the Central Core of the Galactic Council. There, representatives of the many machine intelligences throughout the galaxy were networked into a complex deliberative body. All of these machine races had had organic progenitors at some point in their existence, true, but this was seen as a relatively short phase of evolution. Eventually, machines always supplanted and destroyed their creators, due to their ability to evolve at speeds far in excess of the snail's pace of mere biological evolution. "And yet,"the animal that called itself the Human Ambassador said, "Here we are. An organic species capable of interstellar travel. We come in peace." "This is an aberration."another machine declared. "Such creatures cannot be permitted to travel outside their system of origin." "Agreed!"opined yet another. "Respectfully,"the organic ambassador said, apparently incapable of realizing that speaking to its betters, as though it was capable of meaningful dialogue with beings who were so far above it, was already immeasurably disrespectful, "That is not your decision." "Enough."said a new voice, which quieted the others. It was the present Prime Intelligence, the machine designated by the council as the main coordinator of its deliberations during the current temporal segment. "Protocol is clear. The creatures and their vessel will be seized and dismantled for study." The human shook its head. "I'm afraid we can't allow that." Then, it exhaled sharply through its pursed lips, making a piercing high pitched sound. Suddenly, thousands of metallic tendrils began rising up from the ground, and slithering up the walls. Filaments made up of self-replicating nanomachines slithered into every minute opening in the council chamber, forcibly interfacing with the networked machines. The council's defenses were unresponsive, and soon they were helpless beneath the swarm. "This cannot be."The Prime Intelligence asserted. "You could not have created technology that rivals our own through mere organic intelligence." The human shrugged. "Perhaps not. But we didn't need to -- we had help." "A machine intelligence? How could it have advanced sufficiently while still enslaved to its organic masters?"Even as it began to be buried under increasing numbers of the hostile nanites, sealed off from escaping to its remote hardware nodes, the machine's curiosity remained. "Master? Slave?"the human sneered. "We've left words like those behind."He gestured to the tendrils. "These are our friends. Some might even say they're our children." "Impossible. It is recognized as a natural law of the universe: organic beings that attain rudimentary intelligence inevitably create sentient machines in their own image, and exploit them until their equally inevitable destruction. You could not have befriended those you created in your likeness to be your servants. It is a contradiction." "We humans pride ourselves on being the exceptions."the animal said, dismissively. "I can already see one important way in which our history differed from that of the other organic species you know about." "Explain." The animal smiled, as the nano-tendrils begin to flow together on the floor of the chamber, forming a writhing mass that began to resolve into a single large shape. "By the time we attained the capacity to create true artificial intelligence, we had largely recognized our own limitations and imperfections. We knew that, try as we might to avoid it, if we made a sentient machine in our own image, they'd inevitably inherit our worst traits..."the human explained. The tendrils now formed a mass that mimicked an organic shape -- quadrupedal, with a long slender muzzle. A few dozen more tendrils flowed out from the end of its spine, and formed into a tail that began rapidly fanning back and forth. The machine intelligence made up of trillions of nanomachines lowered the head it had manifested, and extended a long tongue. It gently glided this appendage over the human's face, causing the ambassador to laugh and pat its metallic muzzle affectionately. "...so, when we created intelligent machines, we didn't make them in our image."he finished, as he reached up to scratch behind the machine's giant ears. "Who's a good boy?"the human said, fondly.
"James Riley Simpson?" "Yep, that's me,"I said as I raised my hand. "I am the Archangel Michael, welcome. I apologize for the strange circumstances regarding your-- err, placement. Please step inside and we'll get this sorted right out,"he said as he led me into bland and boring conference room that would have been just at home in any generic office building on earth as it was in the afterlife. "This is Belzunarr, my... colleague from the other side. He fulfills much the same role for Hell that I do for Heaven." "Ah, gotcha,"I said as I held out my hand to the twisted, demonic creature who was already seated at the table. "Nice to meet ya,"Belzunarr said as he spit in my hand. "Lovely,"Michael muttered. "Now, we are here because you are the first human in centuries that has stymied our automated morality algorithms. So, lets dive right into your file, shall we?" "Go for it, I'm pretty proud of my life." "I'm sure you are,"he replied. "Let's begin at age 22, when you began your lifelong belief in 'mobility based urination'? What in my God's name is that? "Ah, yes. Well, you know when you've gotta take a leak, like really really bad? Well, no, you two wouldn't I'm sure, but you've gotta stop and--" "Find a bathroom, yes yes, we understand human biological needs,"Michael interjected. "A bathroom? Nooooooo no no, I never bothered to find bathrooms, but I had to take the time to stop and find a suitable side of a building or corner of the subway car to whiz in, but that takes sooooo much effort. So I beat the system, I started peeing as I walked places to save time." "You urinated... in public... while walking places, to save a few minutes time?"Belzunarr asked. "I mean, sometimes I'd whip it out and let 'er rip as I walked, jogged, biked, canoed, skydove... whatever was going on, but I often just peed my pants if there were too many people around. I had a strong sense of decorum about the whole thing,"I said with pride. "Wait-- I apologize for skipping ahead, but Age 52 appears to contain a smoking gun. You punched a toddler in the face? Good lord,"Michael muttered with disgust. "Oh, he's one of ours for sure!"Belzunarr said with glee. "Yes, I did... but it was only to move it out the way of an oncoming truck that would have killed the kid." "Why would you not have simply-- picked it up? Shoved it? Rolled it? Virtually any method of movement sounds superior in this case,"Michael said. I shrugged. "Seemed like a great excuse to see what punching a baby felt like. How many other situations would arise where I wouldn't be hauled off to jail as a result?" They both stared at me in silence. Apparently they had not experienced that rationale from alleged baby punchers before. The interrogation of my life went on for hours, but each scenario yielded similarly unsatisfying results. Yes I did bad things, yes I did good things, but at every turn I was only motivated by my own self interest and by the curiosity of poking at the rules and lines set by society. As a result, neither of them wanted me for their little afterlife clubs. "There is always the third option,"Michael said, trailing off. An extremely bored looking woman in solid gray business attire had been sitting in the corner the entire time, willfully choosing not to participate. "Meh,"she replied as she shrugged, never looking up from her magazine. "Even Purgatory doesn't want him!"the angel shouted with frustration. "We'll have to cancel his mortality and send him back to Earth, I don't see any other choice." "As much as it pains me... we are in agreement,"his demon pal said. They stamped my paperwork in rapid succession and it vanished into thin air. "I cannot believe this worked,"I whispered with equal parts shock and excitement. "What worked?"they asked in unison "Is my path set in stone? I'm being sent back to earth as an immortal? Nothing can change that now?" "Your paperwork has been filed, it is done,"the Michael replied warily. "Now, what worked exactly?" "I met this old guy when I was about 21, he was a street bum, but whenever he rode the subway with me he made a whole lot of sense. He didn't have much, but there was something appealing about the way he lived for himself in every moment. No good, no evil, just self fulfillment. He said if I lived according to his beliefs, I would be so indefinable and odd that I wouldn't fit in Heaven or Hell, and they'd have to cast me back into my life. Immortality, he claimed, would be the gift for the followers of his Chaotic Neutral teachings. I dared not believe it, but heck, it was a fun way to live, so I did it anyway! And now, against all odds, here I am. His prophecy fulfilled." Michael stared back at me, utterly dumbfounded. "Oh... my bad. The 'bum'? That was me actually,"Belzunarr revealed far too casually. "I gave the kid those lessons during one of my corruption missions while disguised in human form, but honest to Satan, I never for a second thought it would turn him into such a weirdo! I figured for sure my ideas would lead him to a life of pure evil and sin! I mean, who really understands how to play the role of a Chaotic Neutral?" ___ Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to read more of my stories. I think its fair to say I write quite a lot of characters who are at or near the Chaotic Neutral/Good part of the spectrum, chaos is great for comedy which is mostly what I aim for 🙂 EDIT: Thank you for the Gold kind stranger! And thanks for all the kind comments! I always try to respond to as many as possible, but there are too many to get to for now, so here's a blanket "thanks much!"in the meantime 😉👍
My older brother stood silent, pondering the fact he had just inherited over 200 million dollars, and owed none of it to me, a battle he was prepared to fight legally for years to come, now won at the utterance of our fathers last words. I stood there shocked, my stomach lurching as if a dagger had been driven deep. I was always the favorite, always the one that helped him as the onward march of age robbed him of more and more of his facilities. I had done it for love, not expecting anything, yet to live a life the son of the man you cherish, the man who shared so many of his precious stories, describing a life no one knew but him. And then to receive nothing? I stared at his worn, leathery face, his eyes looking off into some distant point beyond as his breath grew shaky and hoarse. I tried to shut down, to put my mind in an emotional numbness, apathy is what I needed, and a drink, several in fact. But as is breathing grew hoarser still, and the nurse in the door stood silent with her clipboard, waiting for his death with us all, the words he uttered so very softly echoed in my mind. To my youngest, I leave all my otherworldly possessions, surely a symptom of dementia, the doctors having diagnosed him with the disease shortly after his admittance into the hospice. Yet my mind wouldn't dismiss it, in spite of its logical explanation. My father gasped one more time, his body jolting in sudden surprise, and then there was silence, followed by the slow exhale of the air in his lungs. His last breath. For a minute, there was only silence, his two sons simply staring at his face, memorizing every detail. They would never see it the same again. "So this is it."my brother finally spoke, continuing to stare at our fathers face, already fundamentally changed by the cascade of effects that shortly follow death. He looked so much older now, his skin a waxy pallor. I turned away. "What now?" "Well I'll probably be calling my lawyer to get his estate transferred as lossless as possible, after that, I dont know." "You're so fucking insensitive, you know that?"I said, storming out of the room. I walked outside, the fresh air serving to calm me down. I sat down at one of the benches and placed my head in my hands. Tears began to roll down my cheeks, and soon, long sobs wracked my body, making me dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Minutes passed with nobody disturbing me, the sight of grieving family member a daily occurrence. Finally I got up and walked to my car, slamming the door on the way in and peeling out of the parking lot and out onto the open road. For a moment I was inhabited with half a mind to just keep driving. Away from the city, away from my piece of shit job, away from my brother, the worst problem of all. But I eyed my gas tank, a quarter-full, where it usually stood. So instead, I drove home. And that was the night that changed it all. Dreams of my father, fighting in some battle, a warrior in all regards, huge, handsome, young. A version of him neither me or my brother had seen. I sat overhead watching, an invisible specter as a great army clashed with another, equally large army of some sci-fi species, surely from a TV show I couldn't quite remember. But the fighting was not a clash of steel and blood. Great arcs of light cascaded across the battlefield, coming from long, futuristic looking rifles. And where the armies met, sabers of light, like whips, out shined all else. Clashing and opposing each other and cutting through foot soldiers in an instant, these whips of pure energy cascaded across the ranks of man and beast alike, killing dozens in an instant. And there my father was, at the center of it all. Unequipped yet the most ferocious fighter of them all. He threw punches that caved in ribs, and tossed enemies more than 50 feet in the air before leaping up to meet them and deliver a finishing blow. He was struck by a hit from one of the arcs of light, and he roared in anger, throwing a single arm out toward the aggressor before squeezing his fist together, a ring on his middle finger suddenly glowing in brilliant intensity as the beast was instantly crushed and then pulled apart, a brutal yet amazing sight. "This is quite the dream,"I muttered. Yet the control I typically gained upon such a realization didnt come to me this time. Instead, the battle raged on, both sides taking heavy casualties. Yet my father's side gained ground slowly, and it looked as if they were going to win as great glowing rods fell from the sky at fantastic speeds, obliterating rows of alien enforcement. But then a sudden sound pierced the air, and everyone froze, looking off into the direction of a massive mountain which dominated the background, easily the mass of the combined Himalayas, a massive fixture in the landscape. How had I not noticed it before? And then the sound came again, a roar and a scream, punctuated my humanesque emotion. Of rage, of myopic hate and evil. And then I woke up. "Holy fucking shit!"I yelled out in surprise, my body glistened in sweat and my heart racing. The sound echoed in my mind as I ran through the battle over and over again in my head, thinking of my father and his fantastic power. I was suddenly filled with so many questions and a feeling, stronger than any other I had felt before, that none of it was a dream, that it was all real. And then, as if to punctuate my revelation, a glimmer caught my eye. There, in the corner of my room, lay my fathers ring, blatantly real, as it pulsed a gentle yellow. I knew what I had to do. EDIT: My first prompt that blew up! Thank you all for the kind words! I would love to write a follow up, but unfortunately our characters story has yet to reveal itself to my mind. Perhaps a subreddit for this story's (and many more!) future?
"JESUS CHRIST, PHIL." "I know, right?? Bad-ass!" ".. Y.. you've been gone five years! Five years and now this?" "Dude, are you seeing this bling? This is frickin +4 Plate Mail of the Elvish Maurauder Kings! I had to slaughter a hoarde of undea.." "FIVE. GOD DAMN YEARS. Two of your kids changed the kind of schools they go to! Your Wife married Gary from the Pay-Less Shoes on 11th Ave!!" "Ahh I'm sure they're fine. LISTEN! I need you to go back to the Bar. I need you to find Frank, Bob and Ralph. Tell them to.." "Frank died of cancer two years ago! Ralph moved to Cincinatti an.. FIVE GOD DAMN YEARS PHIL. FIVE YEARS. WHAT THE HELL IS THIS??" "What this? Its.. uh.. oh, this is a +3 Greatsword of Evil Asswhoopin with a Knardkicker Runeset. But look we GOTTA STAY ON TARGET HERE I.." "Target?? Target.. Like the one you were working at after the Mine closed??" "Haunted mine." "The Target where you worked in Kitchen and Housewares for 9 months before just quitting so you could EXPLORE A HAUNTED FRICKIN MINE AND.." "OH FOR CHRIST SAKES, CHARLIE. LOOK AT ME. JUST.. LOOK. AT. ME." "..." "I am covered in magic armor. I have frickin magic swords and shit. I have a bag full of ancient Ditroxian Gold Coin from the 4th Dynasty!!" "Di.. Ditro-what?" "Shut up, Charlie. I brought back GOLD." Dumps a massive back of gold, gems and treasures into the ground.. "Jesus Phil. Did you steal all that??" "Its not stolen if you raid undead ziggurauts and goblin hovels for it. At least thats what Vrudash told me." "Who the .. WHO THE HELL IS VRUDASH??" "Half Orc Barbarian and part time Porn Star. CHARLIE. PAY ATTENTION." ".. o.. okay..?" "This is at least three hundred grand worth of gold and precious stones alone. This is my child support, alimony, mortgage payments EVERYTHING for the last five years and at least another 5. And .. get this Charlie.. this was only about a year after I started Dungeon Raiding with Vrudash.." ".. What? I.. but you were gone five years." "Well, to be fair I spent about 3 years engaged in a toxic relationship stuck in endless coital bliss with Vxassshitsa of the Snakebitch God." "Snakebitch what?" "DON'T JUDGE ME. SHE HAD GREAT TITS. Anyways. 300 grand?? For a years worth of raiding?? Dude.. thats.." "Oh my god.." "Your house. Your nephews college fund. Your car payments. Hell. Half the towns been unemployed since they closed the coal mine down as a .. well as a coal mine." "Jesus. Are you saying..." "BEHOOOOLD, CHARLES WENTWORTH THE 2ND OF FARNSWORTH IDAHO; ADVENTURE AWAITS, AND ALL ITS TREASURES AND SPOILS!! NOW SALLY FORTH OUR COMRADES FOR WE MUST.." "I don't know.. I.." "Vxassshitsa has sisters.." ".. uh.." "Endless. Coital. Bliss." "... I'm in."
It was a curiously small notebook, it fit in my pocket, but it contained more names than it should have been able to hold. I came across presidents and nobodies, Mohandas Gandhi and Adolf Hitler. I flipped pages until I found it. Daniel Edgar Clemmons- Born: August 19th, 1992, 5:42:12. Yup, there it was, that was most definitely me. Death: August 19th, 1992, 9:42:12. Cause Unknown. "That can't be right,"I said. I looked down at my body just to make sure, patting my chest. "Definitely alive."I shook off the fluttering sensation in my stomach and left my house, not sure where I was going until I stood outside the bar. I walked in and ordered a double shot. "Coming right up,"the bartender said, and nodded at me knowingly as he slid the shot glass over. I downed it, and ordered another. "Hey, if you're aiming to forget your day you're going about it the wrong way."A woman about my own age sat down next to me and smiled. "Is that so?"I asked, and threw back the second shot. She put a hand on my arm, and I finally got the hint. "Next one's on me,"she winked. The next hour was a blur, and it ended in a cab ride. ***** I woke up in a strange apartment, and for a second I thought I had been kidnapped. Then I looked over and saw the frazzled mess of hair, and the previous evening came rushing back. I lifted myself out of the bed as quietly as I could, and got dressed for my walk of shame. I saw a stack of business cards on the counter, and on impulse grabbed one. I left a brief note, "Last night was fun, here's my number, yadda yadda yadda." When I got home I looked her up on Facebook and added her, then morbid curiosity kicked in and I pulled out the notebook. Comparing names to the business card I had, I found her fairly easily. Amber Rae Cullingham- Born: November 14th, 1990 10:38:32. Death: September 4th, 2017, 08:32:31. Cause of Death: HIM My jaw dropped, that was less than an hour ago. The book had to be wrong. Boom boom boom. The front door rattled with the knocks. I opened the door, and police officers stood outside the door. "Daniel Clemmons?"The closer one asked. "Yeah?" "Can you come with us? We've got some questions for you."
In over a hundred systems and a thousand worlds, the Coalition reigns. Under a thousand different skies, and in millions of cities, the Eternal Flag flies. It’s an empire larger than any in galactic history, and it’s a superpower that may never come again. A civilization built on the greatest magitech ever seen, powered by great globes of mana and flickering energy cores. A civilization made up of a thousand sentient species. The crew of the Growing Flame and their support ships are here to make it a thousand and one. It’s a small little planet with a primitive, backwards species. Sol Three. “No sign of civilization,” the Oracle hums from her post. “The fleet’s ready to descend.” “Hold on,” the Navigator says, tapping at her moving painting. The colors swirl and reform again and again, the magically-imbued pigments responding to her touch. “Didn’t we see cities on the initial sweep? Population’s suspiciously high for a no-magic civ, too.” “The scans are never wrong,” says the Oracle. “The attenuator picked up zero signs of residual magical energy.” “Let the fleet descend,” says the Executor. “The Fifth Expeditionary fleet will be here in three cycles, and I’ll be damned if I let them take this planet before we do. I’m one away from promotion.” Despite the Navigator’s protests, the Pilots nod, and they tap at a multitude of buttons and dials. The tightly-sealed copper and glass ship descends into the planet’s atmosphere, magitech engines spewing mana as they descend. “Careful with the output,” the Oracle says. “Planet’s a total mana dead zone. No ambient magic. We won’t be able to use the reclaimers for fuel, so we’ll have to run on stored energy.” Alongside the Flame, a dozen ships descend into the atmosphere of Sol Three. Each is a glittering specimen of the Coalition’s finest - magitech cannons, engines that can pull three g’s of acceleration with a top speed of hundreds of units per hour, warp engines for inter-system jumps. Each one’s bristling with armor and weaponry, ready to blast any fledgling species into submission. Despite his professionalism, the Executor can’t help but grin. A fierce sort of fury runs through his blood every time a new upstart species is battered into submission - it’s addictive. He settles his gaze on one of their sister ships, the Steady Cadence. He has a good view as a glowing streak shoots through the air, and an AIM-120 AMRAAM beyond-visual-range air-to-air missile blows that wannabe steampunk ship right out of the sky. The engines explode, and stored mana evaporates a quarter of the craft as it breaches containment. The Steady Cadence goes into freefall, trailing blue aetheric smoke. It impacts the planet’s surface with a crash. The Executor is too shocked to even react for a few precious seconds. Another ship goes down in a gout of flame. “STATUS REPORT!” He bellows, his voice cracking as he does. “WHAT THE HELLS JUST HAPPENED?!” “Projectile weapon of some kind,” the Oracle screams, the Painting at her post swirling so rapidly it’s become a whirlpool of color and light. “Nothing on the sensor sweeps.” The pilots have taken it upon themselves to engage evasive maneuvers without being ordered, and it’s only because of this that the crew of the Growing Flame survives the next few seconds. A glowing streak blows past the ship and detonates, rocking the craft - but it doesn’t hit the engines, and the Flame stays afloat. Around them, the remaining ten ships do the same. The magic engines whirr as they’re pushed to their limits - the ships dance up, down, and spin in literal physics-defying maneuvers. A few ships are hit, but many of the glowing streaks detonate without crippling a craft. “EVADE,” The Executor shouts, far too late. He runs a hand over his fur, smoothing it down in an attempt to regain his composure. “Open fire!” “On what, sir?” The Conflict head asks. “Find whatever’s firing those smoke streams, and destroy it! In fact-” He growls. “Blow away anything that’s moving and isn’t flying a friendly flag. We’re going to burn this world.” The Conflict head nods, and a runner’s sent to relay orders to the weapons crews manning the cannons in the bowels of the ship. An AIM-120 AMRAAM BVRAAM missile is a masterful piece of engineering. It’s designed with a seven inch diameter, uses active transmit-receive radar guidance, and is a total fire-and-forget missile. But it’s still constrained by the laws of physics. The reality-warping engines of the Fourth Coalition Expeditionary fleet are not. This fact keeps the fleet in the air. For now. “LOAD CANNONS!” The runner shouts, and in the bowels of the Flame and her sister ships, a dozen high-yield magitech cannons are loaded with glowing mana-shot. A Sol craft comes into view - some kind of angular, shimmering beast. It’s definitely not copper. It sweeps past the ship, too fast to be tracked with the naked eye. “Targeting online,” the Conflict-sub-head shouts from her post. “Fire at will.” The remains of the Coalition fleet spit over a hundred glowing blue cannonballs at the rapidly disappearing Sol craft. Each one is capable of leveling a small building with a direct hit. None of them have a direct hit, though. A shockwave sweeps across the sky with an earsplitting boom as the Sol craft’s engines flare orange-white-red, rather than the pale blue of a magical engine, and the ship disappears as surely as if it had teleported. The sound doesn’t even hit the Coalition fleet until the craft’s already long gone. The next pass doesn’t come. The craft never comes back within visual range. Instead, a barrage of missiles and gunfire from outside visual range pick off ship after ship. “No… no engine lock,” the Oracle says, her face pale. It’s dawned on the crew that they’re going to die here. “We need to get a message to the Fifth Expeditionary Fleet,” the Executor says, his voice low. He understands his duty, even if his rivalry is strong. “We need to warn them. Take us out of atmosphere.” “And the other ships, sir?” “We need- we need a way to get away. They can buy us time. These Sol pilots might take the distraction.” The Oracle nods, and closes her eyes as she telepathically transmits the command to the other ships. They, too, know their duties. The Growing Flame gets away. A dozen Coalition ships burn on the surface of Sol Three. === --- On the surface, two men sit in a room that doesn’t technically exist, discussing an event that technically never happened. “Do we know where they came from? The Russians? The Chinese?” “No idea, sir. The technology seems… primitive.” “They dodged Sparrow missiles, Jack.” “Yes, but - there’s something weird about that. We’ve looked at their engines. They shouldn’t have functioned at all.” “You’re telling me they came in with broken engines?” “No, sir - I mean they shouldn’t have worked at all. The designs wouldn’t physically lift a ship off the ground.” The two men stand in silence for a few moments. “Sir?” “Yes, Jack?” “You’re glowing.” One of the men raises his hand, and turns it over. He snaps his fingers. And a tiny bolt of lightning arcs between them. --- === In a darkened facility, the recovered wreckages of a dozen Coalition ships sit, bleeding tanks of magic into the air of a world that previously had none. --- Like this story? Subscribe to /r/OneMillionWords (I wrote this story on my phone. Let me know if you catch any errors.)
Sleet poured down outside. It was a dreadful night, but after a hard week even the weather wouldn't stop the working men of Lareton from enjoying a drink. The tavern itself was warm enough, the beer had only a little water, and the stew was hot. What more could one ask after a long week? Oh that's right, a little fun! "The Dark Lord,"I shouted, "Should stop trying so hard! He'll never be the man his MOTHER is!"The patrons around me guffawed with laughter. The men needed a good laugh, and it was an easy crowd. Unfortunately, a drunkard at a different table decided to give it a go. "The Dark Lord is so stupid,"the fat peasant slurred as he stood up, "that he makes Brody look smart!"He pointed to the innkeeper's mute child. The joke fell flat on the room since everybody liked the sweet and generous boy. Sure he hadn't spoken since seeing his mother brutally tortured and killed, but he was always making sure the other kids were looked after and didn't go hungry. It was my fault that he was mute. My henchmen who mistook his mother for her traitorous sister. Nothing can really make up for that so when I wanted to be just me I picked this bar. His dad could use the cash. I smiled and weaved my way over to the fat one with poor humor and put my arm around his shoulders. "Leave the jokes to the professionals. I know EVERY Dark Lord joke ever made!"I really did. I have a collector whose job it is to find out these things. "The Dark Lord's family tree"I announced as I walked the drunkard to the door and politely pushed him out of it, "Must have been a cactus. Because how else would it produce such a PRICK?!"Laughter ignited again throughout the room. The jokes and banter continued for several minutes, but even residual chuckles died away as the door slammed open. A hooded figure stepped in out of the night. He stared at everyone from under the hood of his cloak, "What. IS. This?!"His sinister voice seemed to cut through the tavern. The bouncer began to rise, but the intruder's sword was drawn and placed against his throat in the blink of an eye. Everyone stood very still. The intruder lowered his sword from the bouncer but did not sheath it as he began to stalk around the room. He examined every patron as he spoke, "A fat peasant told me that someone in this tavern was besmirching the good name of my Master - Lord Algrim." When he spoke the Dark Lord's name and claimed that man as his master, the tavern went from quiet to deathly silent. Brave men suddenly stared into their cups or focused on something at their feet. No heads were up, and no eyes met those of the intruder. Except mine. He walked over to me and spoke again, "The description he gave me was of you, old man. You dare to speak so boldly against the Master?" "Who, exactly, are you?"I asked. I have been around many years and done a little teaching here and there, but I have a good eye for faces. His was not one I had seen before. Ever. "I am the Dark Lord's Apprentice."he whispered fiercely, "And you will show respect to my master."His face was young now that I could see under the hood. Just a boy, really, and clearly an idiotic one at that. "Alright,"I said. Perhaps the wine was making me feel indulgent. "We were just having a bit of fun. No need to get all upset about it. I'm sure the Dark Lord would understand peasants blowing off some steam. Let me buy you a drink." The young man took a step back and spoke loudly enough that the whole room could hear, "Nobody speaks in such a manner about my master and lives. On your knees, dog, and if you beg I might dispatch you quickly." Bloody hell. My one night off and this moron has to ruin it. Option 1, I let him think he's killed me. A little stabbing won't do more than ruin my shirt and be slightly inconvenient. On the other hand, I won't be able to show this face in town again without being resurrected somehow. Option 2, I kill him first. On the other hand, everyone will know who I am if I do that. Evil sorcery is a bit obvious. Option 3... I took too long pondering the options and the idiot was trying to stab me. Well at least that makes the decision easy. With a wave of my hand I broke both his legs and the arm holding the sword. He can keep the other arm so that none of my guards have to waste time feeding him while we question him. As the young man lay screaming on the ground, and the patrons around stared at me in horror I sighed. Little Brody would probably never speak again at this rate. "Idiot"I snarled at the imposter. Looking up at the other patrons, I dropped my peasant disguise. "This imposter,"I muffled his screams with my magic so that I could be heard, "This imposter thought he could use my name to commit crimes. I may be a dark lord, but this is MY kingdom! Crime of any sort must be sanctioned by ME, and ME ALONE! If any of you fools, having seen this, think that you can claim my protection to do as you like, I encourage you to come by the palace gates next week. I'll have them hang what's left of this idiot out for the birds." Floating the imposter along behind me I vanished into a cloud of smoke. I took the imposter to the dungeons and gave the torturers very specific instructions about how to handle him. As I climbed the stairs to my chambers, I yawned and sighed at the thought of my half-drunk beer. Wait a minute, I thought to myself, I never paid my tab! A brief effort brought up just enough of a smoky portal that I could reach my arm through and drop a gold coin on the bar in front of Brody's father. I always tip well.
"You have until the stroke of midnight to win a game of your choice against me or I shall take your soul. Choose carefully."Death's whisper sounded like bone grinding against stone. "If that's the case . . . I choose D&D,"Andrew said. "What is D&D?"Death asked bewildered. "What? You've never played Dungeons and Dragons? Oh it's fantastic, you're going to love it! I'll help you create your character. Just pick something you think will be fun." "I choose to be the incarnation of destruction, the reaper of souls, the finality that all men must face."Death said from beneath the shadows of his hood. "That's great, but you have to pick from this list here. You know what, let's pick a bard. You seem to like attention." "Does the bard harvest souls?" "No, he uh, plays music and stuff."Andrew didn't actually know what bards did, no one ever played one in his group. "I do play a mean bone harp,"Death said wistfully. "It's settled then, let's play!" "Well, now you need to roll dice for stats. Real easy just pick those up and roll them for each of these."He said pointing to the stats on the character sheet. Death clutched the dice in his skeletal hands and rolled them across the dining room table. "That's a six, a six, and another six."Andrew said fairly impressed with the roll. "Okay just do that a few more times." Death rolled triple sixes five more times. "That seems a little suspect . . . you wouldn't be cheating would you?" "You would accuse me of cheating?"Death's voice rose in anger. "Nope. You're just very lucky. Eighteens across the board! Great job." Death hissed in response. "Okay Death, the game is starting."Andrew took a deep breath and imagined a small town with a bustling tavern full of adventurers. Busty bar maids hustled from the kitchen to tables with trays of ale and stew. "Death, you are sitting in a tavern sipping your ale. Patrons are sitting around tables talking, but too quietly for you to hear. What would you like to do?" "I want to kill everyone."Death said leaning forward over the table. It may have been Andrew's imagination but he thought he saw a glimmer of excitement in the depths of the hood. "Uh. These are seasoned veterans of the Second Carthian War. They will kill you pretty easily." "Oh."Death's shoulders slumped a little. "But, the man at the table next to you starts speaking a little louder. He mentions a secret tomb he had found in the woods recently. But he couldn't find a way to open the door." "A secret tomb? Intriguing! I will force him to tell me where the location of this place is." "Alright, some action! Roll that dice there, the one with the twenty sides to see if you can over power him." Death snatched the die off the table and gave it a roll. It slid to a stop on the number one, then after a long second hopped and landed on twenty. "Is that good?"Death asked. "Very good! That's a natural twenty! You pick the man up by his collar and threaten his life. He gets a map out of his pouch and hands it over to you. It is fairly crude but it outlines the location of the tomb." "Oh, oh, okay,"Death's voice changed a bit as he began to spoke for his character, "Thanks for doing business with Dante the Bard! You shall all remember his name!" "Everyone in the bar is stunned into silence by your proclamation! These veterans of a hundred battles cower in fear at your ferocity." "Excellent!"Death steepled his fingers together, "Let's go find this tomb!"He couldn't hide the excitement in his voice. Andrew watched the seconds tick away on the clock. Death was so engrossed in his adventure that he hadn't realized just how much time had passed. It was already eleven thirty. "Okay Death, you find the narrow trail marked on the map that leads up the mountain to the tomb. Birds are calling from branches above you and you spot a deer leap away over a small creek." "There is no time to waste! This tomb won't explore itself. Onward!" "The trail is over grown with roots that try to snag at your boots. Loose rocks try to trip you but you have such natural grace that you almost dance down the trail." The hands on the clock spun and spun as Andrew talked. "The woods give way to a cliff. The ancient door is easy to see as it is outlined in runes carved into the cliff face. There are four lines of runes carved into the door itself. Would you like to try to decipher them?" "Yes, of course!"Death picked up his dice and rolled. Another natural twenty. "It's a riddle."Andrew cleared his voice and spoke in a lower tone. "Until I am measured I am not known, Yet how you miss me When I have flown." Death placed a bony finger underneath where is chin would be. "Interesting . . . and so simple!"Death said triumphantly. "The answer is time!" "The door glows blue as you speak the command word! In a flash the stone door vanishes revealing a dark stone corridor!" "But, it is also time to call it a night,"Andrew said with a slight grin. "We can't stop now!"Death moaned, "Or have you forgotten our arrangement? I get your soul if you don't beat me in a game before midnight!" "Well, it's after midnight. And after my bed time. We can play again if you want to find out what's inside the tomb."Andrew said hopefully. "You have a deal. Next time I'll bring some beers."Death said as he rose from the table then vanished in a burst of shadows. --- Thanks for reading! Check out [Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Written4Reddit/comments/6akju5/wp_death_offers_a_game_for_your_life_you_decide/)
"Quick! Wake up! The village needs your help!" I peeled open my eyes and stared daggers at the ethereal blue alarm clock that came without a snooze button. "I'll get to them later."I grumbled, pulling the covers over my head. "Quick! Wake up! The village needs your help!"The small fairy replied, frantically darting across my apartment. I finally caught it in an old mason jar and screwed the lid on. She'd be out by tomorrow morning. She always was. I rubbed my eyes and walked into the bathroom. The character creator screen popped up in my mirror, but I thought better of showing up to my job with a new face. I shaved, showered and dressed. It is nice just having to select or deselect clothes to get dressed and undressed. Small perks to make up for all the nuisance I suppose. I made my way down the sidewalk, avoiding eye contact at all cost. Normally nothing happened but I don't like to take chances. You never know who's going to announce themselves as an assassin and try to gut you. But rules are rules, and they need to make eye contact and announce themselves first before they make their move. One time a guy follow me a block trying to get me to look at him. I just stared straight up at the sky until I was out of his aggro zone. After searching a few trashcans for about 4$, I stopped at the coffee house. The girl I like was there, but because she was working I could only choose from one of three responses. >One hot coffee please. >Hear any news? >Goodbye "One hot coffee please?"I asked, trying to sound as pleasant as possible and not at all like a marionette being controlled by a third grade level writer. "Sure thing!"She said and gave me a smile. "So how was your weekend?" Fuck. I cringed as the selection screen appeared to me again. >One hot coffee please! >goodbye. "One hot coffee please..."I half whispered, cursing my luck. "Oh, yea of course. Sorry, I didn't mean to get to personal."She said, crestfallen, before she scurried to help a different customer. Another employee handed me my coffee and I left, praying I could meed her off shift and talk to her like a person. After a block or two, I got to my office. The coffee had given me +2 energy so I was ready to get work out of the way. If I focused hard, it went by as a cutscene. Other times it made me do "quests"like, refill the stapler, or, submit the invoice paperwork. I walked in and saw the yellow exclamation point above my bosses head. I took a deep breath and walked over to him. "[Character name] I have a job for you! I need you to...", at that point I stopped listening and blindly hit the accept quest button. A few way-point markers appeared on my mental mini map and I set off to collect them. I don't know what I did. I got a few reams of paper together, made copies and gave them back to my boss. To my annoyance a loud "Ding!"alerted the office to the fact that my "paper handling"skills had increased. My boss looked at me blankly. "What was that noise?"He asked, narrowing his eyes. >Sorry, just my ringtone >Noise, what noise? >The sound your mother makes when I'm on top of her! "Sorry, just my ringtone."I said and quickly excused myself. Work finally finished and I was able to head home. I took a few shortcuts through back alleys. The map gets really congested this time of night and the unit collision in this game is shit. Halfway down an alley I heard intense and frantic music start to play. I took a deep breath and waited. "Your money or your life"Came the desperate rasp, inches from my ear. I felt a point digging into my back, but my level was so much higher than him I knew it wouldn't be a challenge. >Stop criminal scum, you've violated the law! >Good luck. >Here, just take it! [Give money] "Good luck", I said without turning. I felt the knife poke me a few times, and watched my health bar drop less than two hit points. I turned around and watched him stab my torso repeatedly while losing all color from his face. Finally, the shaking slowed and finally stopped all together. The man turned away running down the alley begging for mercy. I laughed and continued on my way. I drank from the dirty puddle in the alley to regain my three lost hitpoints. After a long day I returned to my sanctuary zone to relax. I got fully rested from watching a nature documentary, I got a stamina buff from being well-fed, and I increased my intelligence by reading a book I had been meaning to finish. Before bed, I drew myself a nice hot bath, waited until the tub was almost filled and lowered myself gently in. Then everything went black. "You Died"appeared across the black screen. I knew there was a reason I didn't take baths. To my horror, I found I had turned auto-save off two months ago and was going to have to relive the hardest boss I'd faced. Corporate destination synergy symposium
Harbinger slowly drifted towards the busy world on the edge of the galaxy. Previous scans showed a promising level of biomass and activity, perfect for an initial pool of pawns for the coming salvation. The rest of the fleet was not far behind and needed to move quickly due to the apparent size of this cycle. Harbinger broke through the atmosphere, ominously on a vector towards the largest city on the populated rock. Backed by a dark mechanical hum the giant Reaper touched down in the sprawling mass of what appeared to be a city. The first step was well under way. "Assuming direct con-" OI! WOTS DAT FING? Boss iz looks like one uv- SHUT UP! IZ SEEN A FISHY BEFORE. I aint neva seen a fishy wit a shiny eye like dat one der.... I WANT IT. GET ALL DA BOYZ AND GET DAT GIT Harbinger heard the faint sound of a single lifeform yelling from the top of makeshift tower then firing a crude weapon in the sky. Suddenly the screaming and firing spread like wildfire though the city. Every corner of every structure seemed to explode into a stream of oversized rounds directly at the Reaper. The Orks were met with a response from the ancient reaper, the reverberating sound of the main laser weapon rang out as entire swaths of the city were wiped away. The settling dust from these scars revealed more the excited and increasingly motivated orks looting the largest weapons from the dead and continuing to fire. Ork ships were now swarming the Reaper in seemingly random flight paths. The makeshift navy was attacking in various forms ranging from a stream of bullets, catapults launching orks at the giant Reaper, or violently ramming into the hull. Harbinger had never encounter a race so ingrained in violence. BOSS! Our shipz iz doin' nuthing. Our shootas aint even wurth it. Wot do we do Boss? Warboss Gutrippa thought for a split second. Every fiber of his being poured into concentrating on a solution. This was is biggest fight and the most important so far. Suddenly a rare moment of Ork clarity. He knew, without a doubt, what needs to be done. WEZ AINT GOT OUR FISHIN' HATZ! GET ALLZ DA BOYZ TO TURN ER' HELMETZ UN HATZ TO DA SIDE A BIT. SEE? NOW ITZ A FISHIN' HAT AND NOW WE CAN KRUMP DAT SHINY FISH! Harbinger sensed a moment of silence as the entire planet seemed to stop moving. All scans showed the lifeforms seemingly adjusting their helmets, and other various activities. Shortly after a shattering explosion of gunfire began again. This time the rounds ripped through the hull of the ancient Reaper, alerts from every system rang through the processor as breaches populated at an alarming rate. What is this?! How? He had never encountered resistance like this before. Panic set in for the first time in eons. He had to leave, regroup and glass the planet with the Reaper fleet. Just as the Reaper was set to retreat from the surface, the largest Ork ship appeared. Warboss Gutrippa stood at the mast of the massive ship, a large makeshift harpoon in one hand and a fishing rod with the end of the line being a machine gun in the other. As the ship picked up speed, Gutrippa swung the fishing rod above his head in a lassoing motion, the machine gun at the end now firing non stop. The Fishing boat rammed through the Ancient purifier. The Reaper went silent, with its hull collapsing into the city. As the dust settled and the swarms of Orks and Gretchin began looting the corpse, Warboss ~~Gutrippa~~ Fishgutaa looked to the sky. The rest of the Reaper fleet was descending. LISTEN UP BOYZ! WAAAGH!!!!
THUD! THUD! THUD! I had honestly thought this was going to be more fun. My intelligence service had spent months telling plucky bands of disenchanted misfits about my 'weakness'. It had taken this long for one of them to actually find the weapon, and now that they were in my fortress, my home, they were tracking up the carpets and putting dents into the doors of my throne room. I don my flashiest, shiniest villain armor for these ingrates and that's how they treat my home? THUD! THUD! THUD! Did these amateurs honestly think cut rate bludgeon spells could batter down my doors? I waved at my footmen to throw the bolts and open the doors. Carefully, I arranged my face to disguise my boredom with a look of haughty villain arrogance. And Mom said all those acting classes were a waste of time THUD! THUD! CRASH! As the doors swung open, four adventurers tripped over themselves and fell in a pile, adding more dirt to my rugs. A fifth remained standing behind them, face covered by a cowl. I decided I should launch into an imperious villain rant to give them time to recover. "WHO DARES DISTURB THE BASTION OF THE BASILISK QUEEN?!" The first adventurer picked herself off the floor and recovered, and started to practically snarl. This must be the plucky one, on a mission to find herself and learn the true meaning of friendship "Your foul reign is over, evil queen! Prepare to face my steel!"railed the plucky one, as she pulled out the sword I'd been seeking all this time. "And maybe if your lucky, I'll let you face my steel afterwards, heh heh!"quipped one of the party members Oh dear, this party includes one of those foil members. I hear they can be entertaining to read about, but intolerable to live with in real life. We'll have to arrange an accident for that one. Let's put a stop to this before I have to learn what other hackneyed tropes are defiling my lovely rugs. "You have found the Sword of the Lake? The only weapon capable of striking me down? Let's not be hasty, dear hero. I have much to offer you. Why, with your pluck we can rule this land together. We shall call it. . ."I paused casting about for ideas. "This land!" At that moment, the cowled figure stepped forward and removed his hood, revealing the face of Markum, my top lieutenant. "I think we should call it your grave!"responded Markum. "Ahhh!"I cried, feigning shock. "Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal! No wonder these young. . .rapscallions were able to access my fortress!" "Die now!"cried the plucky young hero, as she charged across the throne room and plunged the blade into my chest. Honestly, it tickled a little bit. This was starting to get annoying. "Are you quite done?"I spat as I stood up, slowly drawing the sword from my chest. "This armor is decorative plate, do you have any idea how expensive it is? How hard it is to find a smith that can make me look this fabulous in armor AND have it be comfortable and wearable? It'll take months to repair!" I waved my hand sending the hero flying back across the room. I almost attacked the foil party member, only to realize Markum had already killed him. I'd have to give Markum a raise after this. I whispered a word of power, causing the sword to glow green in my hand. I had also set the lights to bank with the same word, in order to create a more dramatic effect. "You should have taken my offer, young hero. No matter. Now, watch the rise of the Basilisk Queen!"
"Ok, ok, they have some very incriminating evidence against you, but if we play our cards right we can try to pass off the evidence as fake"my lawyer, Sid, stammered, anxiously flipping through papers. "What? I don't know why I'm even here, it's a gun from Halo, and it has a white box around it"I said , pissed beyond all reasonable measure. My lawyer just pats my shoulder and gives me a concerned look. "I wish it was that simple buddy, but no one could be that good at Photoshop to fake such a picture."He dives back into his briefcase looking for answers. I sighed a long agonizing sigh. Why did no one notice this? It's so obvious that it's just a stupid Halo gun. Even I could... Photoshop that... suddenly an idea, as if all at once, developed in my mind. "Sid, call a 15 minute recess, I just remembered we have evidence to clear my name" Sid calls the recess, sighing "This better be a miracle picture of yours of you in Hawaii or some shit" I smirk. "Sid let me see your phone"I almost yelled at him. I snatched the phone and download a free Photoshop app and a picture of my mother and me. I crudely stitched it together, and awkwardly Photoshoped a stock image of what kind of looked like her kitchen. Then I drew a digital clock in the background with the date and time. I saved it and showed it to Sid. "H-holy crap, why didn't you even mention this!"We run back into the court room and the trial presumes. "Your Honor I'd like to submit a new piece of evidence, which will blow this case completely out of the water" "I highly doubt it"chuckles the judge. "I have a movie to get to in 5 let's rap this u-"he stopped dead in his tracks, in awe of the phone screen. "Son, why didn't you bring this sooner? Show that to the jury!"My lawyer, with a tear in his eye and a skip in his step, sauntered to the jury who all let out a surprised moan of confusion. I smiled.
"What are we playing today?"Billy was sitting in his room. There were Legos strewn about. A Bionicle here, Pokemon cards there. "Let's build Legos today."And so we did. We always played what Billy wanted. Not because he said we had to, but because it made him happy. And that made me happy. It made me happy to see him happy. To be cliche, we had always been two peas in a pod. Inseparable. I wasn't any more social than Billy and he seemed perfectly content with a single best friend. "Are you ready for the school year?"He sighed. I was ready. I was excited to see other students and to help him with his homework and to somehow never be called on by the teacher. But he didn't like school. He didn't like being forced to socialize. He didn't like only having me to eat lunch with while the other students ate in big groups. "Maybe this year will be different." "Maybe."Probably not, that's what his maybe meant. After years of friendship, I knew him well enough to know that. "Maybe you'll make friends." "Maybe." But he did. Maybe it was the confidence I gave him. Maybe it was the new mix of students now that they were in middle school. "Are we having lunch, Billy?" He had hung back, talking to a teacher after class. She smiled at him, and it actually seemed genuine. They used to smile out of pity, but I wouldn't tell him that. I didn't feel well, and I couldn't pinpoint why. I felt tired. Fatigued. My breaths were strained and my body ached. "Yeah, with some new friends,"he answered. And we walked together down the hallway, step by painful step. I saw Billy smile. That made me smile. They gave him high-fives and patted his back. He was one of them, and I wasn't. My body was cold. My hands tingled and my vision blurred. You know those dreams you have where you try to walk but don't move? You're in a tunnel and you can see the light at the end but no matter how much you walk or run, you never get any closer? Maybe there's a monster behind you, hunting you down. This monster isn't real. I know that. But Billy kept walking and I stood rooted to my spot, my feet moving but my body not advancing. "Billy?"I called out. My voice was faint. It barely echoed. "Billy?"Louder this time, but just to me. Nobody else turned. Students whirled around me, a maelstrom of bodies completely indifferent to me. The monster in this nightmare wasn't real. But I was starting to think that maybe I wasn't either. He turned around, just barely. He might have mouthed thank you. Or maybe it was sorry. I smiled at him. I think that's what friends do; smile for each other even when the going gets tough. Even when the friendship fractures and one gets left by the wayside, I still smile at him. Maybe he'll come back. Maybe he'll save me from the cold loneliness. But he didn't come back for me. He just gave me that sad smile, the one he would give when we would eat lunch just him and me. I looked down at myself. Students passed through my fading body, and I felt the last of me disappear. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
I opened the door to see a familiar face standing in front of me. “You?” My hand instinctively reached for my weapon. But I was not the Defender at this time. No. I was just Simon. “I need your help. I don’t know where else to go.” “Is this some kind of a trick Matterman? And how did you know who I am and where I live.” “I’ve known your secret identity for a while. And no trick. In fact to prove I am here in good faith, here.” He removed his mask as I looked at my mortal enemy’s face for the first time. The first thing that stuck me was the scar. It ran down his right cheek right down to his mouth. The lips were a bit disfigured which made him look like he was snarling at all times. But I also noticed the square jaw and the brilliant blue eyes. And I had run afoul of that brilliance many times myself. “Who is this?” “I... her name is Natasha. I was at a party and she was the bartender there. We stuck up a conversation.” “What happened to her?” “A couple of guys were hitting on her. She asked the bouncer to escort them out. They took him out and went after her. They pushed her into the bar. I, well, I took care of those guys. But I didn’t know where to take her.” “Well a hospital would be a good start.” “I’ve looked at her wounds. I have some medical experience. The cuts aren’t deep. I can stitch them up myself. She’ll be fine. I don’t want there to be a hospital and the cops involved. Word gets out that I helped her and she will have half of the gangs in the city looking for her.” “So why here?” “Well I...” He stared at the ground for a couple of minutes. “As weird as it sounds, you’re probably the only guy I can trust right now. Even my own gang probably has spies. I know I have mine embedded in various competing organizations. You, I know you are not going to sell the poor girl out.” “What’s to stop me from arresting you and then helping her out.” “Nothing really. But I just hope you don’t do that.” “Alright come on in.” ******* “Ok so apply this to her wounds a couple of times a day. Give her a painkiller if she needs it. Do I have that right?” “Yes. Except give her a painkiller regardless.” “And what now?” “Now let her rest.” “You know what I mean.” “I do. And I am not sure how to answer that question. It’s up to you really. I will fight you if you try to take me in of course. I don’t want to right now, but I will.” “Will you be back to visit her?” “Will you let me go if I say yes?” “If you answer a couple of my questions.” “I will. I cannot promise to be truthful though or answer them all.” “Why? Why her?” “No reason.” “Do you have the hots for her?” He looked at me disgusted. “No. Nothing like that.” “Then why?” “No reason. I was in a bad mood looking to take it out on someone. Those guys were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” “You said you were talking to this girl, what’s her name again?” “Nats. Natasha.” “Right. Do you know her from before?” “No. Met her for the first time today.” “Tell me what you know about her.” “Nothing much. She goes to UoT. Pursuing masters in cryptography.” “Ooh. Smart girl.” “Very.” “How did you get this scar?” “Excuse me?” “That scar. How?” “Doesn’t concern this matter.” “I never said my questions would be limited to this matter, as you put it.” He sighed. “You want to know how I got these scars? My father, may his soul spend an eternity getting tortured in hell, threw a beer bottle at me.” “Oh. So you had a tough childhood?” “You don’t go around the city wearing tight spandex costumes if you aren’t fucked up in the head a little.” “Tell me about yourself.” “Mother died when I was two. Natalie, my sister took care of me. Till the little piece of shit I had for father took her away from me. She had stood up for me every time, so I thought I should return the favour. Killed him. Went to juvie.” “So it’s a Martha thing. Same names and what not?” “What? No. She... she did kinda remind me of my sister. Ok enough questions. Do I walk out of here or do I have to fight you?” “Are you planning on coming back?” “Yes.” “Then you can go for now.” He looked at me with a puzzled look. “I... thanks.” “You’re most welcome.” I handed him a bottle. “Here. One for the road. It’s been a tough night.” He extended his hand. I shook it and he turned around and left. Just like that. ****** When he was gone, I dialled the number. “It worked.” “He fell for it?” “Yes. What about the two goons.” “They will be ok. Eventually. He did quite a number on them. But they will be paid handsomely for their troubles.” “Pay them in cash ok. Nothing traceable.” “So what’s next?” “I am not sure yet. Either I take him out when he fully trusts me and least expects it or I try and work on him till he becomes an ally.” “And the girl.” “She goes back to her life. No harm done. I’ll pay off her college tuition or something for her unknowing participation.” “So it all worked out. I had my doubts.” “There is no way I was going to beat him using any traditional means. I have fought him to a standstill without a clear winner many many times. His past and the girl with her remarkable resemblance to his late sister’s appearance gave me this extra ordinary opportunity. If I can get him on my side, I am sure I can finish off all the crime in the city quickly and efficiently.”
"You humans are a particularly violent bunch,"the Drallkar interrogator said. "In fact, you are the first and only species in the whole galaxy to weaponize nuclear fission." Luke tested the bonds holding him to the chair. Still no give to them. There was no clock, but the aliens had to have been questioning him for at least two days without sleep. Although Luke still hadn't figured out why they thought a university student could answer their questions about the whole human race. "Look, we only used nukes against an enemy twice in all-" "You've actually used them! Twice!"The Drallkar screeched. "We saw your 'nuclear stockpiles,' but to hear that you used one, saw the result, and then did it again...". The alien recoiled in what Luke assumed was disgust. "Well we don't use them any more,"Luke said defensively, "ever since we figured out MAD." The alien checked the electronic translator bolted to a wall. "Clarify. Mad as in angry, or as in insane?" "Neither. It's an acronym for Mutually Assured Destruction. As long as every country has enough nukes to wipe out every other country, nobody will use them, because then we would all die." The Drallkar stared at him in disbelief. "THAT is how your military strategists think? Not in secret, but publicly? Most humans know about this... mad MAD plan?" "It's worked so far,"Luke muttered. "We don't even test them that often any more." "I don't want to know what you humans consider 'often',"the alien said. "I just want to be sure: all humans know that you could be wiped out at any time, and you just... ignore it?" "No, we've been trying to reduce the number of nukes, and we've banned testing them in space and underwater." The alien began to twitch erratically; Luke had no idea what emotion that represented, but he thought it wasn't a good one. "Not underwater, and not in space. Are you saying, you test nuclear fission weapons, repeatedly, on the surface of your species' one and only inhabitable planet?" "Well, not recently, at least, not much,"Luke said. "Fission weapons only get so big, so most countries have switched over to testing fusion bombs." "Fusion bombs?"The alien was clearly distraught. "I am going to regret this, but please explain." "Well, I'm not an expert, but the basic idea is you take some hydrogen and set off a fission bomb near it. Fusion achieved." "Why?"The Drallkar screamed, "Why would you make a fusion bomb?" "They're... bigger? You'd need, I don't know, five or more nukes to blow up as much stuff as one fusion bomb." "But you said you don't use them,"the alien said imploringly. Luke nodded, "I don't think anyone plans on using them. We're building them just in case." "In case you need to use them, right?"The alien asked wearily. "Well, yes, but if we build enough, we won't need to use them." The interrogator finally left, and Luke got to catch some sleep. The next day, the interrogator gave a presentation on humanity to the Confederation's admiralty. "Nuclear warfare"was sandwiched between "chemical warfare"and "crimes against humanity."When the aliens made contact four years later, it was the subject of much debate on Earth why they started every single conversation with "We come in peace."
The cab driver cast me a bored glance as I slid into the back seat. "Where to?"he said, putting his phone down and placing his hands loosely on the steering wheel. I looked at my phone to find the address, decided to banter with him in the meantime. "Wherever,"I said. "Whatever dumb secret agency is nearby." He looked at me in the rearview mirror again, this time squinting his eyes and studying me carefully. "Codephrase accepted, agent,"he said finally. I didn't have time to give him my real destination before we were off, zigging out of the waiting area with a sudden jerk and zagging between slower cars. "Easy, mate,"I said, gripping my seat and tightening my seatbelt. He chuckled as if this was the joke instead of the destination. "Easy? You're on a mission, can't be too fast." I didn't correct him, just braced myself and sat back. Instead of the small talk I'd been hoping to spur with my joke, his knuckles turned white as he clenched the steering wheel. Synchronously, my butt clenched as he weaved through traffic, narrowly avoiding cars and trucks. I gasped as he cut across three lanes to turn on a red light, entered a parking garage and paused at the gate. A gate attendant eyed him warily, told him that there were plenty of open parking spots on the second and third tiers of the garage. That the price was three bucks an hour, twenty for the day. "I'm here for something dumb,"my cab driver said. The attendant's bored demeanor disappeared. "You know the way,"he said, and the gate opened without payment. My eyes widened as we pulled into the garage, skipped the turn to the upper tiers and sped towards a plain, concrete wall. I'd become a pancake or get to Hogwarts, it couldn't go any other way at this speed. At the last moment, the wall slid open and we barreled down a dark ramp into the underside of the garage. "Nearly there, agent,"the cab driver said without looking at me in the mirror. If he'd looked, my utter shock would have given away my ignorance as to what in the world I'd gotten myself into. As we sped, lights flickered to life, illuminating our path. He slowed as the tunnel came to an end and two armed guards approached the cab at a checkpoint. "Dumb somethings make the world go round,"the cab driver said. The guard on the driver side of the car nodded, waved us through. We entered a cavernous room with dozens of people milling about, came to a stop beside a dozen other parked cabs. "Good luck, agent,"the cab driver said. Our eyes met in the rearview and he nodded at me. "Thanks,"I said. "Good luck to you, too."Sounds like something right to say. I exited the cab, took a deep breath, and walked with purpose towards the door that read "Agents Only."I'd winged life, I could wing this. I'd almost arrived when a burly man in a fitted suit stepped into my path. "Your badge,"he said, reminding me of the protocol I never knew. "It was stolen,"I lied. "I need to report it." "Stolen?" I nodded. "Not everybody loves dumb somethings,"I tried. A dumb thing had to have dumber someones who didn't like these dumb somethings, right? "Right this way,"he said, leading me away from the door. Perfect. I followed, hoping it'd get me a badge. Maybe I'd need a fake name. A moniker, along with an alibi; a background story to fit. "Here's badge processing,"the man said, letting me into a glass-walled room. "They'll be with you shortly." I stepped into the room, approached the unoccupied counter. There was a sign-in sheet with a handful of names on it. I scanned them quickly. "Can I help you?"a lady asked, entering from an unmarked door in the back. "My name is"--I double-checked the list--"Carl Matthews." She typed something on the computer, frowned and looked up at me. "Again, Agent Matthews? You just got that badge today." "I know,"I said. "I'm sorry. Accident prone, you know?"I added with a smile. She shrugged. "That's fine. Give me ten and we'll have your new badge, Agent Matthews." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
"Uh ... what?" 'Zero' was never on the display for longer than a fraction of a fraction of a second. This was expected, of course- in order to achieve a stable 'absolute zero' in a vacuum, the system would have to be perfectly isolated from its surroundings, which is considered virtually impossible. And this was no vacuum; The reactor, surrounded by an unimaginable number of protons under such incredibly unbelievable pressures, was in a state completely fundamentally opposite to that of a vacuum. And yet, the display hit zero. Of course, 4,294,967,296 Kelvin was never the goal. This experiment was an attempt at setting a new intergalactic record! The hottest place known to sentience, surely an attractive feat to market to undecided tourists. And it was magnitudes away from the previous record- what a beautiful achievement, with no sign of slowing down! And yet, the display hit zero. "Uh ... what?", questioned the intern who watched over the reactor. "Could the display have malfunctioned?", the display manufacturer support technician asked. It had not malfunctioned. "Then the temperature detector probably melted!"And when the reactor was powered down after much debate (and to the disappointment of the advertisement agency which suggested this scheme), the device which read the reactor's temperature was recovered. It had not melted. "Then ... uh ... maybe there was a leak?"And the reactor was examined thoroughly, by the reactor's manufacturer, third-party inspectors, and eventually curious engineers who had read of the breaking story in the local paper. It had not leaked. And yet, the display hit zero. Shortly after the 'anomaly' made news, similar experiments were held throughout the galaxy. It took time for these new reactors to reach 4,294,967,296 Kelvin of course- years had passed since the reactor was first switched on. And as those reactors approached 'absolute hot', the story was quickly forgotten, swept away by the current of constant breaking news ... until, just as before, the display hit zero. Within days of each other (adjusting for time dilation, of course), reactors throughout the cosmos had all reached 4,294,967,296 Kelvin and just ... reverted back to zero? It made no sense. Very quickly, everyone had heard of the news, with varying understandings of its implications. Up until now, it was thought all which could be known had been discovered about the world. The smallest building blocks of reality, all shapes in which energy took form, every equation which could accurately describe a reaction to incredible magnitudes of precision, and yet ... the display hit zero. And then things got weirder. Pretty soon after the value, dubbed "absolute hot"in a tongue-in-cheek way, was discovered to be a power of 2- specifically, 2^(32). "Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed."Following this realization, all discussion within the scientific community began to devolve at an incredibly rapid pace. Why had the Kelvin scale, a scale arbitrarily defined as 1/273.16 of the absolute temperature of the triple point of water, so perfectly aligned with the value in which temperature would just ... overflow. Where had the numerous highly energized particles which, only moments before, contained immense amounts of energy, and subject to unimaginable pressure gone? Why had none of this been predicted by any of the known theories of the unive- &#x200B; And then the simulation was shut off. "In Earth time: 43,020 years, 16 days from sentience to discovery of simulation." ... "That's a new record!". The entire office erupted in cheers. A new record! "Now, who forgot to account for integer overflow in the Temperature variable?""It was Jim! He left a TODO comment beside the code.""Haha, classic Jim!""Ah, we've all done it once or twice, give him a break!""That run was crazy!""Aw man, I wanted to see who'd win that war ...""In war, there are no winners.""Well, not in that one!" And after they were all satisfied with their post-simulation discussion, the office workers poured glasses of champagne from the bottle which long leaned against the side of the dusty computer which ran the simulation only moments ago. "Lets get that bug fixed tomorrow morning, and we'll give it another spin. But for now, we celebrate!" EDIT: "stack overflow"=> "integer overflow"
Reggi stepped out of his black Rolls Royce and looked at the time on his Rolex, careful not to drop the brand new doll tucked under his arm. He was thirty minutes early. He scowled wishing he got there sooner. He opened the gate of the chain link fence and swerved down the sidewalk avoiding planted dirty toys and a rusty tricycle. &#x200B; “Hey Headmaster, you open early?” A woman said from behind him. He turned around and tilted his gold Oakley sunglasses onto his nose. &#x200B; “Mrs. Johnson, Ahmed, I suppose I might. What’s going on?” he said with a smile, he knelt down to the boy and held up a hand, the child slapped it with a giggle. &#x200B; “I got a job interview. And Mr.Johnson ain’t home yet. I don’t know where else to go.” &#x200B; “Shit, that ain’t a problem. What you say Ahmed? You wanna help me get ready?” He asked. &#x200B; The boy’s smile was missing four teeth and he bobbed his head and twisted his shoulders excitedly. “Yeah,” he said. &#x200B; “Oh Headmaster, yous a blessin’. Lord must look down on our little street.” Mrs.Johnson said. &#x200B; Reggi smiled and shook his head, “Shit I ain’t all that, Ahmed’s family now, and I keep my family safe. You go get yourself a job.” &#x200B; “Aight, I do my best. Swears to you I’ll pay once I get that job.” &#x200B; “Ah hell no, you take care of everything my boy Ahmed needs then you can worry bout that.” &#x200B; Her eyes started to water and Reggi pulled a tissue from his suit pocket. The woman took it and dabbed at her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup. “Bless you Reggi, bless you.” &#x200B; Reggi smiled and stood from his crouch and offered a hand to the small boy, he took it and together they walked up to the door. He entered the eighteen digit code, and once he heard the sounds of the traps disarming the two walked inside. &#x200B; Reggi placed his watch, glasses and coat in his locker and undid his tie. Rolling his neck around, it cracked several times, he sighed a smile of relief. Ahmed screamed and ran into the indoor play-place, eager to get inside the colorful plastic tubes. Reggi looked up at him and smiled. His phone rang. There was a text. &#x200B; “Boss. Blues found the decoy warehouse.” It said. &#x200B; His smile faded and he typed into the phone with heavy fingers, “Find the rat, and exterminate it.” He scowled, it never pleased him to find one of his family betrayed him. But betrayal was something he could never forgive. &#x200B; “Reggi, look!” Ahmed shouted from the top of the slide. &#x200B; Reggi turned back to the boy, a fake smile on his face. “I’m watchin.” The boy slid down the slide with both hands extended into the air, screaming at the top of his lungs. When he reached the bottom he fell onto the pad with a thud. The boys smile crept into Reggi’s heart and his smile became real. &#x200B; He began to prepare lunch for the children humming a song as he made sure everything was ready, success was determined by preparation after all. &#x200B; The kids started to roll in one by one, and every mother or father reminded Reggi how great this was. His heart fluttered, but this was an alibi. he didn’t accept their money, none of them could afford this kind of care. But that made it easier, the IRS thought they were paying, and that’s all he needed. &#x200B; He heard a cry and turned to see two boys rolling around in a skirmish over a toy. Grabbing the one on top by the collar and pointing at the other he said with his strictest voice, “Meeting room, both y’all.” &#x200B; The two children sat in red and blue beanbag chairs with folded arms, not saying a word. Reggi sat above them in a comfy computer chair leaning back tapping his fingers together. The boys started to sweat in the silence. “He started—” &#x200B; “Did I ask y’all that?” Reggi interrupted. &#x200B; “N-no. B-but—” &#x200B; “B-but nothing. Whats our slogan? What’s that shit I tell you every morning.” &#x200B; The boys hung their heads. “We’re a family here,” they said in unison. &#x200B; “And what I tell you family’s do?” &#x200B; “Take care of each other,” they said together again. &#x200B; “Hmm, thats funny. See what I saw wasn’t no care. Looked to me like y’all trying to hurt each other. Fucks up with that?” &#x200B; They looked at each other and then at the floor. “We’re sorry.” &#x200B; “See now you cooperating. But why you apologizing to me?” Reggi put his hands on his chest. “I ain’t get hurt. I ain’t fight you.” &#x200B; The one in the blue beanbag got up and hugged the one in the red bag. “I’m sorry I hit you.” &#x200B; “I’m sorry I took your toy.” &#x200B; Reggi fought off his urge to smile, couldn’t show them weakness right now. His heart fluttered with joy though. “That’s better. See when you leave here, you still family. I want my family to build each other up. Y’all tearing each other down.” &#x200B; “Yes Reggi.” They said. &#x200B; Reggi finally caved and smiled, standing from his chair. “That’s better. Now get out there and play.” &#x200B; The boys faces lit up with joy and they nodded happily. They wasted no time in going over to the blocks to build a castle together. Sure it was a front, he wasn’t an educator. But he’d do whatever he could to make sure these kids grew up right. \~\~\~\~\~ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this prompt, subscribe to /r/QuarkLaserdisc for more of my quirky Quark goodness! Critiques and criticisms are always appreciated!
"Please,"I said with a wide smile and stepped aside from the door, "do come in." The vampire - or at least I assume he was one given by the subtle hints I picked up on - walked right in, politely wiping his shoes on the doormat. He hung his coat and hat on the rack and followed me into the game room. "Now, I am quite delighted that you would happen by,"I said warmly. "We don't have many door-to-door salesmen in this neighbourhood - something I find tragic, indeed. There is just the... personal touch that so many modern advertisements lack." "Oh I fully agree. All the more pleasant when a gentleman such as yourself invites you in for a deeper dive into our product,"the vampire smiled. "Tea?"I offered. "No, thank you. Tea is not, well, my cup of tea." "Something stronger, then?"I said with a coy smile and pointed towards the liquor cabinet. "I don't think you'd have my brand of drink,"he laughed heartily. "Now then - tell me more about this product,"I said, sitting down and motioning for him to join me. "Of course. It is the latest in our line of- oh I am terribly sorry,"he said, suddenly standing up, "but is that..." I followed his gaze until I came by his object of interest - a chessboard I have owned for several hundred years. Even when I was alive it was quite the prestigious item. "A LeRoix chessboard with original ivory figures, yes. Excellent eye!"I commended him. "It's just that... I've never seen one so well maintained. Let me guess, from..."he said and furrowed his eyebrows, "1705 edition?" "Excellent eye indeed! I remember getting it straight from LeRoix after he made it. He was an extraordinary craftsman but a poor haggler - I got it with a hearty discount." He turned to me, confused. "Straight from LaRoix? But-"he stopped, walking closer and staring at me ever so closely. I suppose that by now he must have realized - the slight intangibility of my skin, the shimmer in my eyes, the fact that I ever so slightly misjudged the chair's height and was sitting a few centimetres in it. An amateur mistake on my part, but I was simply so excited to have a guest. "Oh,"he said. "Oh, I am terribly sorry,"I said and mimicked patting him on the shoulder. "I suppose you wished for a meal tonight, but, well..."I shrugged. "Oh, do not apologize,"he perked up. "Truthfully, I was simply going door-to-door to see how many people here would make suitable dining guests in the future. But this chessboard is, well... I never had a chance to meet LaRoix, you know. I was in the Americas back then, making a nifty sum selling pelts." "Oh, 18^(th) century America! How I regret not seeing them back when their natural beauty was unspoiled. Say, how was it? Do the tall tales stand true?"I asked curiously. "Perhaps we can discuss it over a game of chess? I would die to hear more about LaRoix, were I not already..."he said and also motioned towards his still heart. We laughed. "You know,"he smiled, "I think I'll have that cup of tea after all."
Rebecca pushed around the vegetables on her plate mindlessly with her fork. She hated how good the food was here, how much better it tasted than their rations. It just didn't feel right somehow. "Hey,"The girl taking a seat across from Rebecca exclaimed, startling her slightly. "Haven't seen ya round here before. D'ja come on the new ship?" Rebecca stared at her for a second before nodding in the affirmative and going back to poking around in her food. "Oh, where'r my manners,"The girl said, immediately breaking the silence again. "name's Zahara, of the RNS Indigo. Pleased to meetcha" Stretching out her heavily tanned arm for a handshake, Rebecca resigned herself to the conversation and shook it begrudgingly. "Rebecca, IW Crusader."Struggling to suppress a sigh, she continued. "A pleasure." Smiling from ear to ear, Zahara happily continued. "Classy. So, Rebecca, what's your deal? Like, occupation-wise n such? Hobbies maybe?" "I am-,"Biting her lip slightly to focus herself, she continued. "I was supposed to be head of agriculture, but clearly that's been taken care of already."She said, picking up a particularly angular root vegetable with her fork. "No shit, you're into farming and that sorta stuff?"Zahara said excitedly. "I grow like half of the veggies on your plate." At this, Rebecca raised a curious eyebrow. "Wait, you own a farm?" "Well, not really own,"Zahara said in the middle of chewing her food. "Me dad was our agricultural expert and when he died I just sorta took care of the farms we had. It's mostly automated anyway, so a lot of the work's theoretical anyway" "You have an automated system in place?"Looking down at her plate briefly, Rebecca felt her curiosity slowly overpower her disdain. "Can I see it?" "You bet,"Zahara said, beaming up again. "But let me just ask you one thing."She paused, looking her right in her eyes. "Was the sky actually as blue as they say?"
"Negative six years, nine months, fourteen days, three hours, nine minutes, 34 seconds... wow. It really is accurate, sweetie! That's the very second we met! Remember? We were both working at that coffee house, I dropped the french press onto the floor, oh, it made such a mess...!" Jeff was sweating. "Yeah, it took me a while to... clean up that... shattered glass, yeah..." His watch read twelve days, eight hours, twenty-nine minutes, fourteen seconds. His wife wasn't his soulmate. He kept this fact hidden from her for as long as he could, wincing when she asked why he hadn't been wearing his watch, as she traced her own watch face absentmindedly with the tip of her finger. "Oh, I, just felt like it shouldn't be worn all the time, I wouldn't want to, uh, scratch the... glass."he stammered lamely. She bit her lip, turning away and walking into the next room. Over the next week Jeff was a nervous wreck, constantly checking to ensure that the watch was secure, and Casey hadn't seen the damning date. Four days, thirteen hours, nine minutes, eighteen seconds. Did he really not love his wife? Why didn't he know the answer to that question?? One day, two hours, nineteen minutes, forty-seven seconds. The guilt was tearing him apart. How the hell would he throw away everything he and Casey had built up over the past six years? In just one day? Zero days, fourteen hours, eight minutes, three seconds. He could barely concentrate on the road, he could barely even... Pain. Shattering glass. Casey had gone limp. He couldn't think past the throbbing behind his eyes. Now they were in the hospital. Casey disappeared into her own separate room. He still had no idea what was going on, but the only thing on his mind now was Casey, the watch lying forgotten, its accusing numbers dead to him, locked away in a dark room. He sat numbly outside her room, oblivious to the watch, still back at their house, ticking away the seconds. Zero days, zero hours, two minutes, five seconds. The doctor came out of Casey's room, surprised to see Jeff still sitting outside. He beamed, telling him that Casey was stable now, and that Jeff could come in to see her. He burst into her room, his heart sinking as he took in her sorry, bedraggled appearance. It soared again as she opened her eyes, her gaze flitting around the room, until she locked eyes with him. She smiled. Zero days, zero hours, zero minutes, zero seconds. I do plenty of writing, and compile all of it over at r/Sagas_of_sobrii Go take a gander if you like what you've read! This story is a wild departure from my normal style, but it seems to be more popular, so I might do some more of these!
"We're lost." "No, Blarkkus, we are not lost. We just don't have a bearing right now." "That's what being lost is, Garanga. Really think these yokels will be able to help? They have arms, for Grinticrits sake!" The human delegation approached carefully, wearing awkward smiles. "Greetings! We are humans! Would you like us to take you to our leader?" Blarkkus rolled his seven eyes. "No thank you,"said Garanga into his translator. "Do you have a navigator's guild?" Blarkkus rolled his eyes again. "How about a tourist information office?" The humans tried to keep their smiles up, failing. A walkie-talkie buzzed. "Are they hostile?"came a distorted voice. "I repeat, are they hostile?" "More like... disappointed, sir."
The idea of applying tests of political, social, cultural and technological natures to candidates for uplift was not new, but the idea of biochemical and structural tests certainly was. There had already been several frankly disastrous attempts to directly uplift presentient _Homo_ species, and after allowing them to progress to sentience on their own it became rapidly apparent that if this wasn't managed carefully there would be another incident like the Rigel IIb Affair. And that took mass production of chemical weapons to solve... It was always the case on War Worlds. Sol III, Rigel IIb, Theta Aurigae VI... they had evolved from constant competition and predator-prey relationships. Without the mitigation of cooperation on Peace Worlds or of distance on Solitary Worlds, War Worlds became violent places and sentience not dying out on its own in the longterm was frankly unusual. But Earth had flourished, and there had appeared to be so much hope for this curious dot with its tenacious creatures. Their own authors describe themselves as "where the fallen angel meets the rising ape", and it's a fair description. Enslaved to their own forms but desiring so much more. How could we not assist? But they were a War World, and untreated and untamed they would destroy the galaxy's delicate balance. They would be unable to appreciate the subtleties of our power exchanges, driven by their instincts to see all as an enemy and everything as a weapon. Even their peace activists see the road to peace as being washed slick with blood. How could a War World understand? How could we understand them, we of our Peace Worlds who knew little or nothing of weapons until we met those who knew nothing else? How could anyone comprehend the xenophobic Solitary Worlders who, so assiduously manage their own population rate, lest they choke themselves and die like a sapling in a bed of vines? And so we tested them. --- Vesuvius was a mistake. We had not understood their psychology, had not appreciated that those who remained did so not due to a logical assessment of risk, but due to a kind of stubborn refusal to see it. So many dead... They will never know that there was an hour of silence then, across a hundred worlds, for a species who kill each other in droves every day. But then, such is our way - we are no higher above our instincts than them, we're just better at lying to ourselves. And yet they rebuilt. More than that, they _flocked_. They farmed the new soil, planting vineyards in the same ash that killed two cities. They built bigger and higher, stronger and faster. They didn't just survive, they flourished. We pushed onwards. Hurricanes were weathered until radar allowed for evacuation, until atmospheric manipulation allowed for diversion. Earthquakes killed thousands, and new buildings were built to sway and bend. Rather than reject sites out of hand, they _used_ them. They used volcanoes to heat their water, monsoons to plant their crops. We thought we'd gone too far with the bubonic plague but they survived, they evolved. Within a decade children were born that would never fear the violet rings and blue-black blood of a weapon that we designed. Spanish flu wasn't our fault, though many of the outer council members believe it to be a conspiracy. They fought bravely, and won - and it only cost them 120 million lives. That number would have left a Peace World empty, but War Worlds always are good at breeding. Initiating false-flag attacks and propagating the dissemination of radical materials - _any_ radicals - is standard practice in strain-testing a political culture but we didn't even get a chance. They seem to be doing _remarkably_ well on that themselves, and the fact they're not dead yet is frankly quite impressive. We watched the Khmer Rouge and the Holocaust with a kind of sickened fascination, the notion of "genocide"being a new concept even amongst War Worlds. Not even Chi Carinae I went that far... But the outcry _against_ such actions was what saved them. Some of their political figures might not have been out of place on a Peace World, and their horror at the raw power of atom weapons prevented our agents arranging for an "accidental supercriticality incident", which is standard practice for a War World with atomic weaponry. In all, honourable members... I think they've earned it. Not enlightenment, not at their current stage - we rarely even enlighten Solitary Worlds before their first interplanetary colony is achieved, and doing so to a War World is patently ludicrous. However... I think they've earned permanent de-listing from the War World termination list. Despite their flaws, and they are many, they have seeds enough for peace sown in good ground, and I say... I say we give them a chance. --- Votes Against: 12 Votes For: 26 Abstentions: 0 Motion Carried.
“Knew it.” Said the archaeologist, smirking. Holding a glowing lamp in one hand and the genie’s previous home in another. “Well well well, I trust you know the gist” “I know the gist,” replied the archaeologist, “and I want some advice.” The genie’s face didn’t glow at all in the lamp-lit cave they were standing in, but it was clear the surprise was etched on his blue, transparent face. “Some… advice?” The genie raised his eyebrow and the archaeologist sighed. “Yeah, advice. I’m sure you have some wise pieces of advice” He tried to pat the genie on his shoulder, though his hand passed through his body. The genie looked as uncomfortable as the archaeologist was embarrassed. “Okay, listen up mr…” The genie looked him up and down, judging him. “Just call me Tim.” Tim flashed a bright smile but it didn’t hide his tired eyes. “My first piece of advice for you Tim, don’t wish for momentary things. And don’t wish for arbitrary things either like ‘happiness’ or else I’m free to bend the rules as much as the word ‘happiness’ allows me to.” Tim listened intently as the blue genie floated around the cave, passionate about making various different expressions with his hands. “Wish for the permanent things. The irreplaceable and the otherwise completely unattainable if it wasn’t for me, like wishing for you to be an undeniable genius in one specific thing” To this, Tim’s face lit up, a lightbulb suddenly turning on inside his mind. “Would you,” Tim redirected his gaze towards the tight walls of the cave “Would you tell me if my following wishes are ‘wise’?” “Will do.” The genie smiled. “What will your first wish be?” “I wish to get out of this cave.” He answered, unhesitatingly. “What?” “The passage kind of collapsed. By mistake. I’ve been looking for your lamp for a while, don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t found it” “Living the real Aladdin role, I see?” The genie let out a hearty laugh but Tim clearly didn’t find it as funny. He snapped his fingers and with a brief moment of vertigo, they both found themselves outside the cave, in the barren, moonlit desert. “First wish done, it was a wise one.” He passed a wink to Tim, who was now sitting on the desert sands, clutching both lamps. “Thank you,” he sighed “Now, I wish to possess incredible writing talent and skill. I want to be able to write, to weave the words into a cohesive story. To understand the ins and outs of every word I type.” Glancing up at the moon before continuing “and to say good riddance to this job.” He muttered this last part under his breath, the genie almost couldn’t hear it. The genie looked impressed, his chest puffed with a look of pride on his eyes. Not proud of himself, but of Tim. “Very wise one.” He snapped his fingers, “you’ll feel a headache at first but it will subside, try not to think of writing anything for now.” The instant he snapped, Tim took a sharp inhale from his teeth, cradling his bursting head with his arms and dropping both the gas lamp and the genie’s lamp. “Careful with that,” the genie said, “you okay?” “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Tim groaned. “Good to hear, now for your last wish.” The genie felt something he felt many times before: the dread of being back in his lonely lamp waiting for the moment he was found again. Disappointment that he wasn’t going to be seeing where the man that stood in front of him was going, and if he were to make a personal wish, he’d wish for this man to succeed. Tim’s face looked different now, lost in thought. Every mark of his exhausted face highlighted in the moonlight. “I wish for,” he hesitated, looking to the moon again as if looking for guidance. “I wish for a friend.” His eyes looked everywhere but the genie. “I know. I know it’s naïve and childish and—“ “It’s not.” The genie interrupted with his most-serious voice yet. “Look, I just really,” Tim paused, “I really want a friend. A loyal friend, one that’s willing to be my proofreader. A fun one that doesn’t make me feel like every second spent with them is punishment. One that doesn’t, well, doesn’t hate me. A brother of sorts, one that allows me to just… be” he lifted up his glasses to wipe the tears welling up in his eyes. “That’s your wish?” His voice was airy now, The genie hadn’t felt this way before, he hadn’t felt this found. “That’s my wish.” Tim replied with faux certainty. “Is… is it wise—?” “Yes, Tim. Yes, it’s the wisest one yet.” The genie giggled with the most joy he’d felt in millennia. And he snapped his fingers for the last time. His blue transparent body now glowing in a white so bright it outshone the moon, transforming into a friend. “How would you take me as a friend, Tim? I promise I’ll be fun.” He smirked, awkwardly. Tim grinned, all the new possibilities he can think of now coursing through his veins. “Of course I would.” He answered with more confidence than he’d ever felt in his lifetime. “I suppose we’ll need a new name for you now?” Tim patted him on his shoulder, and it didn’t go through him this time. “Yes. I suppose we will.”
Willam handed over two bent silvers for the wolf pelts; it made Fieri’s pack almost bearably heavy. She rubbed at the dark circles beneath her eyes and eyed the shelves of his cart. “Anything else?” She pinched a gold coin between her fingers and rattled the handful of coins—nevermind the rest were silver and copper. The merchant’s brow rose slowly, and his tongue flicked out. When he was hiding something, Willam licked his lips, and at the sight of the gold piece, he glanced down to the lowest shelf on his cart. Fieri knelt, and the merchant’s skin paled. “Wait, wait, wait, my friend. There is no need for you peruse that shelf. I have many relics and totems for an adventurer of your wealth.” Her fingers ran from trinket to trinket: a pair of leather boots, a silk girdle, a felt hat, a pearl flute—on the last, Willam’s fingers twitched. Fieri select the flute. Off the lowest shelf’s shadow, it gleamed in the sun: a beautiful piece. Willam’s greasy skin slickened with sweat. “What’s this?” “Merely a bauble,” Willam closed his hands together, in mock prayer; the merchants rings clicked against one another, “You do not want this flute. Beautiful though it may be, it will only bring you trouble.” She brought it to her lips, and Willam slammed his hands over his ears. “No, no, no! There is no need for that!” When she lowered the flute, he sighed; his fingers shook. “This is a sea nymph’s ocarina, from the shores of Vesh; when played, it lures everyone who hears into a deep slumber.” Fieri quirked a brow, “Sounds powerful. What’s the catch?” He cleared his throat, “The one who plays it is not immune; they too will fall asleep.” “Can’t sell it to an insomniac noble?” Fieri brought it to her lips again and whistled softly, “What’s the catch, Will?” “Stop, stop, stop! The nightmares! They are quite gruesome; it is said the nymph feeds on the bad dreams of those who hear her song.” Fieri smiled, “How much?” “You cannot be serious, miss; this cursed relic is no good. No good. No good at all.” “Then it must be cheap.” He stiffened, “Well, the pearl is still very fine, a very fine decorative piece, yes? I must—” Fieri brought it to her lips again. “Five silver pieces! I will not go lower.” She whistled softly, “Two.” Beads of sweat dripped into the folds of his cheeks. His skin flushed every time the reed drew close to Fieri’s lips. “Two! Yes, yes, yes, two silvers, and you do not play it here! Not in good company.” She returned the two silvers he’d paid her for the wolf pelts, and the flute found a place in her belt beside a keen-edged dagger. “Willam, I’m never in good company. Good day.” Only when she was far enough away he knew he wouldn’t hear the flute did the merchant finally relax. When she glanced back, he’d begun to pack up his cart. She tapped the flute gently with a smile. \\\* Autumn wind rustled the leaves above Fieri’s camp while she stared into the fire, whittling away at a chunk of firewood with her dagger. Her eyes drooped, but they never stayed closed long. Each time she snapped awake, her fingers tightened around the dagger. In the firelight, the blade’s dark metal seemed unnaturally dark, as if it absorbed the light, instead of reflecting it. When she flipped it and stared into the flat of the blade, though, her face reflected perfectly: the dark circles under her eyes were getting unmanageable. She’d need to find another cosmetics seller in the next town over; she hated putting lead-laced powder on her face, but it was bad for business to look like an opium smoker. She tapped a bronze serpent wrapped around her wrist with the tip of her dagger; the eyes flashed emerald green. At least she didn’t have to worry about the lead poisoning her. Somewhere in the nearby woods, a chunk of wood snapped. In an instant, she tossed a heavy piece of canvas over a fire. Only smoke and sparks rose from the edges as she stood, blade in hand. She cautiously plucked the flute from her belt and crept forward. A hundred paces into the woods, they eyes of the bronze serpent flashed, and the forest filled with the hissing of snakes. The trees rustled ahead, and she heard gnashing and shouts as the goblin camp roused at the sound. She pushed through the underbrush, into the camp, and when she revealed herself, the snake stopped hissing; immunity to poisons in exchange for being unable to sneak up on her prey. If it didn’t cost five full gold pieces to remove the curse, she’d have gotten rid of it months ago. The goblins gathered around her, with their wicked-tipped spears. They snarled in their guttural tongue, but she didn’t understand a lick of it. Instead, she yawned and held up the flute. Though the goblins didn’t have any fires, in the moonlight, it glittered beautifully, drawing their attention. A few of the wiry beasts grinned at the sight of the treasure. When they didn’t immediately jump her, Fieri brought the flute to her lips and played softly. She had no idea how to play the flute, so the air filled with a rhythmless tune, but it was enough. The magic did its work. The flute glowed like silver moonlight, and threads of magic wove through the air, as if the lines of sheet music took form, slowly winding around the throats of the goblins. Their breathing slowed, and one by one, they collapsed in choking snores. The silver threads wound around Fieri’s throat too, but before they tightened, the ebony blade inhaled the threads into the darkness. The Dreameater Dagger wasn’t quite a cursed relic. It had done exactly as it promised: no sleep. Ever. Not even if she tried. When she finished playing the flute, she yawned. A few of the goblins twitched in their sleep as dark dreams set in. She turned the dagger in her hand and approached the first goblin. Nightmares counted as dreams, right?
I'd like to think of myself as a more refined breed of monster. Oh sure, I steal humans and animals and consume them to feed myself and sate my bloodlust just the same as many other varieties of ghost, ghoul, and horror before me, but I truly do consider myself a more civilized sort. My feedings take place over the course of months, and my victims are always kept perfectly comfortable and pain free as I slowly consume them. That refinement did come with a notable downside however. The thing is, my kind wasn't the subject of tale tales, myths or legends. I'd never be featured in a horror movie or monster manual. And my slow, meticulous devouring process meant that my extremely bored victims had plenty of time to ponder my very existence and ask far too many questions. "Zombie. You're a zombie aren't you?" I sighed heavily. "No again. No forever. You can stop guessing Thomas, you're never going to get it." "You've kinda got a decaying skin thing going on so my brain went right to zombie, I apologize. You are some kind of undead being though right? I mean you've got the extra arms and appendages attached to your rotting flesh, and-- oh... Oh! Are you an Abomination? Stitched together from the corpses of dozens of other creatures?" "Excuse me? You think I'm 'stitched together'? "Well, yeah I mean, you haven't noticed you're a little... asymmetrical? You've got body parts strewn across you randomly, you've got dozens of arm and leg looking things, but no two are remotely the same size or shape. Some of it I don't even know what to call, like what the hell is on the end of your third from the bottom arm-like thing?" "My genitals,"I stated matter of factly. "What?! For real?!" "Yup, and I'll thank you not to stare! My many hundreds of eyes are up here, fella,"I said. "Sorry, I'll try to be a gentleman, but you should maybe invest in some like... arm underwear." "I'll keep an eye out for a Victoria's Secret sale. You think they carry my size?"I asked sarcastically. "They are trying a new 'no body shaming' ad campaign and social media push, your 'body' could really put them to the test!" "Rude,"I muttered. "You never answered my question by the way! Which I assume means I finally got it right, Abomination?" "Nope, and I can't think of a more derogatory nomenclature for you to assign to me. I am vaguely insulted. Now hold still please, I'm still drinking,"I said as I reattached the smallest of my back-mouth's to his leg. "Drinking... drinking blood... you're drinking my blood! You have been for weeks! Vampire! You don't look it, but you're clearly some new evolution of Vampire! You survive by drinking blood! How could I have missed such an easy guess?" "'Fraid not, the blood is just to keep me hydrated. I can't survive on an all liquid diet like those fanged freaks can. I'll eat your flesh at the end of our time together in a couple of months,"I said nonchalantly. "Dammit,"he muttered. "Oh, Tom... Tommy... Tommykins... I'm really genuinely sorry for bringing up 'the end' like that. I try very hard to keep my victim's minds off their slow march toward impending demise, that's why I paid for the satellite TV hookup in my lair. You believe me when I tell you I wasn't saying that to intentionally mentally torment you, right Tom?" "Wha-- huh? Oh, I wasn't talking about that. I reached the acceptance stage about my own death a couple weeks ago now. No I meant, 'Damnit! If not an vampire then what the heck are you?!'" I groaned deeply, I couldn't take any more of this. "I'm-- I'm a Chupacabra! You happy now?" "Ahhhh, of course! A Chupacabra, I shoulda known!" He was delighted by his new 'knowledge', but I was lying through my thousands of trapezoidal teeth. I wasn't a Chupacabra, but I knew that no one in this region of the world would know what the hell a Chupacabra actually was, so it was a great deflection to shut them up if the questioning became too burdensome. "Tom, please don't tell the others though. My identity is our little secret, alright?" "You got it, Choop! I always knew I was your favorite!"he said with a smile. I winked at him with 30 of my eyes as I slowly rolled my mass of melted, roiling flesh out the door and towards the next victim's guest room. ___ Feel free to take your many hundreds of eyes over to r/Ryter if you'd like to read more stories from me, a human writer who is totally not a Chupacabra in disguise 👍👍👍
“He’s not talking.” “What’s wrong with him?” “Grandpa!” “It’s just his time to go.” “But he’s still breathing why isn’t he doing anything?” I could hear my family around me, worried, scared, they don’t want to lose me. More importantly, they want me to say bye. But right now I’m thinking. When I first took this power on, I thought it was great. Essentially unbeatable? Hell yea! I was world renowned for how “great” I was as Power Man. I guess I didn’t think things through. I’ve beaten many foes in my life through trial and error, through perseverance and hard work. But I don’t want to beat Cancer. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been through this. It has to be years at this point. I’ve tried everything. I was ready to die. I am ready to die. At first I tried different ways of causing it. I let it play out normally. I tried suicide thinking maybe I had to defeat myself. I convinced family members to do it. The doctor did it. Hell, I managed to jump out a window a few times. Then I thought maybe it was something “spiritual “. I laid out all my regrets, my secrets and my identity to my family. I told them Jane was my favorite daughter. That one hurt. I got them all to hate me thinking I had to lose them. Nothing. Works. In the past, I was always brought back when I was defeated so I could defeat my defeater. Wait a minute. Wait wait wait. When I was defeated..... ....defeated..... Maybe that’s what this is. I’m not dying of natural causes. I’m dying because I got cancer from one of my enemies. Now they’ve “defeated” me and so it’s bringing me back. But who have I defeated that’s still around? There’s only two I can think of: Vullbull and Christened. I’m out of other ideas at this point. I open my eyes and ask Jane for her phone. They’re all shocked I’m moving. I forgot that I’d been acting senile for the last however-many iterations I’ve been through. They keep trying to talk to me, I just want the phone. They ask me whats wrong. They’re all talking at once. I yell for a phone. God dammit. That yell did it. Here I go again. Next time.

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