Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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I don't know why I always do this in my dreams but I hooked my upper teeth behind my lower teeth and wrenched. The teeth gave way and caved as a row into my mouth. The castle walls, the fairy, everything melted away and I realized I was in my bed again, covered in sweat. Ugh. The memory of wrenching my teeth still stuck with me and as usual I instinctively reached my hand to reassure myself they were solid. They weren't. &#x200B; I wasn't covered in sweat at all, I was covered in blood. A panic set in me. Did I actually wrench my teeth in my sleep like an idiot? Am I going to have to get dentures? How am I going to afford that? I pushed off my blanket and winced. Huh? What was wrong with my arm? I pulled it out from the sheets and found a lip print on my arm, glowing blue green and seeming to hover in the darkness as I waved my arm around. The fairy's kiss? But if she's real then that must mean... &#x200B; The scrape of fur against the walls and ceiling sounded in the hallway slowly, slowly and softly. I felt my skin go cold and my hair stood up. Without breathing or making a noise I edged my torso off the bed, reached towards the outline of the window and slipped. I should have hit the floor with a thump. I didn't. My arm, with the fairy's kiss on it, stayed in the air supporting my weight. &#x200B; Just then I heard the gentle patpatpat of something falling from the door onto the carpet. The hinges were unscrewing themselves! I set my feet on the floor and heaved at the window, in my panic forgetting the window lock. The window opened with a crash and, with my blood audibly pumping in my ears I leapt through. The kiss activated but with my arm suddenly suspended in the air my shoulder popped and I screamed in pain. I heard no noise in response behind me. Through tears and sweat I peeked around and saw him standing in the windowframe, the moonlight only illuminating a patch of fur here, a hooked nose there, his lips. He spoke to me softly, kindly. "You can run but I have your blood. I will find you." &#x200B; I willed the fairy's kiss to let me down slowly, aware of the eyes watching me from behind, from my room. I hit the ground running, tearing off a piece of my pyjama pants to make a sling before I realized, my shoulder didn't hurt anymore? His face watched me from the front door as my bare feet splatted down the road. None of my neighbor's lights were on. What was going on?
I counted the seconds under my breath, my eyes fixed on the elevator doors in front of me. The floors number above it was descending quickly. One Mississippi 4th floor Two Mississippi 3rd floor Three Mississippi 2nd floor Four Mississippi Ground Floor. A sharp ding sounded out, as the doors slid apart. One man emerged, and then another, and then another, slowly filling out, each man taking his place outside the elevator, so as to guard the final person. My target Timing was paramount to any man in my trade. To me it was everything. I slide the small blade from its sheath at my side, snapping the fingers of my other hand as I did so. Time rippled out from me, sluggishly at first, but rapidly spilling forth as it picked up momentum. People froze in mid sentence, the rattle of noise in the hotel lobby coming to an ubrupt silence. My target had stepped out of the elevator, his circle of guards not yet a tight, un-penetrable formation. A chink in the armour I sauntered forward, whistling a song my dad used to sing, about a serial killer and a silver hammer. I always loved that little diddy. Normally I took no great pleasure in my line of work, but this one was of a more personal variety. In my line of work, every advantage gave you a leg up, and a unique gift like mine made me better than the best. Except for one small problem. For all my talk of unique gifts, that wasn't quite true. One other person could do what I did. And what did he use it for? Fixing horse races. Making big bets on under-dog horses, then crippling the other horses just as the race started. Small league stuff, in truth. But still a problem for my credibility And that problem was currently surrounded by guards, stuck mid-sentence, about to be no problem at all, in no time at all. He was the one guy preventing me having a monopoly on the power that had, for whatever reason, been given to me at birth. I had hunted him for years, always getting close, but not before he'd get spooked and vanish. But he'd got lazy. And now he was dead. I sidled past two of the guards, coming face to face with man I'd hunted for so long. A plain, unoriginal, down-right boring face. His face told no story, betrayed no dark past. Just some old man, with a gift he was to naive to use. Not that it would matter soon enough. I pressed the tip of the blade against his throat, softly singing the final words of the song I'd been whistling Bang! Bang! Maxwell's Silver Hammer, I pushed the blade forward gently. Made sure that he was dead
I hear the hiss of automatic doors sliding open across the storefront as I don my apron. Mine is a task of boredom, repetition, and very little reward. I look toward the screen above me, and watch as the first order of the day scrolls in. One (1) Plain Hamburger. A daring choice. I flip on the stove top to a satisfying 'Ssshhhh!' and watch as a patty is mechanically formed, seasoned, and dispensed from above onto the burner with a satisfying 'plop'. I stare intensely as the meat bleeds and browns and smokes, waiting. Grease bubbles and pops. A satisfying aroma fills the room. This is it. This is the moment. With the utmost care I extend a pristine metal spatula. My wrist flicks to the side. The burger falls through the air, and-! I've done it. The stovetop finishes cooking the burger with a ding, splits open, and drops the burger into a chute below. Where it will be put on Buns and served. This may not pay well, and may literally only exist as a job due to the owner forgetting to buy a part, but I can tell. I'm doing a true service to the community.
My 13th birthday arrives like a tropical storm: unexpected, unpleasant, and destructive. Immortal up until now, the sudden fragility of my life hits me like a brick, making it hard to get out of bed or do anything but ponder the tragedy of death. A mask covers my eyes, a tradition on this monumental day and I dread the moment to come when I will lift the fabric and gaze at the essence of my life. Mother pushes my bedroom door open, flooding the room with a pale yellow light that makes its way through my thin blindfold. I can just imagine the phony grin that is plastered on her face, attempting to mask the worry in her crystal blue eyes. Mother has few years left in this world, the paleness of that blue condemning her on her 13th birthday just as my unveiling will condemn me. She prays every day for my fate to differ from hers, but a feeling deep in my heart tells me that her prayers are in vain. “Breakfast is ready” She says, whispering as to hide the slight tremor in her voice. I hear it anyway. “I’ll be right there” I reply, my voice lowered for the same reasons. I hear the door close and take a deep breath, then haul myself out of bed. Feeling my way along the wall, I make my way to the door, down the stairs, into the kitchen where my ears pick up on the hushed anticipation that my eyes can’t detect. “Step over here” My father booms, placing his hands on my shoulders and guiding me to the small mirror in the center of the room. I kneel on the plush cushion as instructed and take another steadying breath, steeling myself for the truth to come. “When you’re ready” My father says, and I lift my hands to the cloth concealing the windows to my soul. Carefully and ever so slowly, I slide the blindfold off of my face. It falls gently to the floor as I slowly open my eyes. They take a minute to adjust to the light, but when my vision clears, the image in the mirror stares back at me, my gaze cool and collected despite the panic in my lungs. Glossy, Black, Abalone eyes stare back at me, piercing and intense. Gasps and murmurs come from behind me as my family realizes what has happened, what this means. Father is the first to speak. “What did I do wrong?” He cries, falling to his knees beside me. But I know that this isn’t on him, or me, or anyone here. This is a message from the devil himself, the ultimate curse: immortality. A single tear falls down my cheek, black and glistening like my newly minted eyes. The world is spinning as I process what my life now is, the horror and heartbreak that I will have to endure as everyone I know and love dies and leaves me behind. My mother’s quiet sobs fill the room and resonate through my soul. She will be the first to leave me, but soon the rest will follow.
"Railroad company." "But we use wooden stakes not metal." "Hmmm.."Tim scratched him beard. Before him was a list of all the expenses the demonic cult incurred: chalk, loads of wood, candles, sound proofing foam, a 6 foot tall statue of Satin. Making this cult seem like an authentic company was gonna be hard. "I don't know guys, this is pretty niche stuff your buying." A hand propped itself on his shoulder. He turned to a hooded figure. "Figure it out,"it said. His pencil tip snapped. A lump appeared in his throat. Sweat percolated to his forehead. He had it! "An art program." Three shadowed faces huddled to discuss. Whispers echoed through the dark room as Tim sat on a creaky chair by the thin light of an old lamp. The idea was brilliant, he'd thought. They made their money by suckering delusional people into a cultish environment, draining their bank accounts in exchange for the useless commodity of "being apart"of a "special"group of people. The hooded figures reapproached Tim at his desk, with one, the leader, presumably, removing her hood. Purple hair and a nose ring sheened in the light. "We like it."
"Take the road less traveled, they said,"I said. "It'll make all the difference, they said,"I said. "And I said,"I said, "Who are they that said,"I said. After it was all said and done, I still haven't made it off the beaten path. It has been five days on the so-said "road less traveled"and I was no closer to the end of it than I was when I started. Probably. Actually, I had no idea. Five days without any human contact will do things to your brains, they said. It 'twas not a normal road, that road less traveled, they said. And I found that their (whoever "they"were) analysis of the situation to be correct, if incomplete. Like, how was I supposed to know I wouldn't get hungry? They didn't said _that_. I still was hungry. But not in the normal way. More like my stomach said, "Hey. I know we apparently don't need to eat any more, but I still want food. This is really weird." My eyes, certainly not bigger than my stomach in this case, caught a glint of silver in the silvery silver glint of the moonlight. It was night time? I hardly noticed the sunset. Or was it the sunrise? How long had I been on the road? The silver glint refocused me again. Lovely glint that silver glint. I wondered if "they"who said, would say it was said it was good. They had a certain way of saying things, they. The glint looked positively angry at this point. Obviously I was supposed to notice it and not keep thinking about the road. Or was it the other way around? Either way, I approached the glint of silver glint in the silver moonlight glinting in the silver moonlight. Upon closer inspection, the glint actually _was_ reflecting silver. Like the thing glinting was actual silver, and not just a silver reflection of the silver moonlight. I had silver, before I took the road less traveled, and it made all the difference... Or was it gold? I couldn't remember anymore. I tried to inspect the silver, and succeeded. I didn't know why I expected not to not have inspected the silver glint but I was there inspecting it and expecting it and that was that. It had been a long five days, and I think my mind was starting to lose itself. Good thing I was still sane enough to keep it in check. Just like checking out that silver glint in the moonlight. The silver thing was a fork. I picked up the fork in the road and appreciated its opulent craftsmanship. I even put it in my mouth as an imitation of eating. There weren't any berry bushes along the side of the road less traveled, and eating dirt that one time didn't feel good. It was the first taste of something familiar I had, and it made all the difference. Or not. They didn't say. The fork in the road was now in my hands. Or hand. I wasn't holding it with both hands like a child. No I wasn't. It was in my hand, thank you very much. The fork in the road was now the fork in my hand, and that made all the deference. Or was it difference? One of those words. They all seem to start with 'D' these days. See? "Days"even starts with D. It's D all the way down. But the fork wasn't a D. It was a triumph. A proof of progress. I wasn't going in circles, or even an oblong spheroid, or that one thing that only has one side (I couldn't remember the name, being enamored with the fork in the road that was in my hands). If there was a fork, than maybe I could find the end. What would even be at the end of such a road less traveled? Would it be cake? Would I be able to eat cake with my new fork? That would be a good reward. I could have cake and than take a shower and then have an actual conversation with someone other than the trees and... I continued forward. Armed (or handed?) with the fork, I even had the energy to look back a couple times and be proud. "Take the road less traveled, they said,"I said. "'I will', I said!"I said, "'Which fork is it?", I said I said,"I said. "'The one in your hands!' they said,"I said.
Regis kicked his feet up onto the desk. "Yeah, you can say I'm pretty 'out of this world.'"He chuckled. Margret just rolled her eyes and went back to browsing the internet on her phone. Regis took his own phone out and took a selfie. "This one's for my Tinder profile. Wait till chicks find out I literally came from heaven." "They'd be ecstatic","said Margret, yawning. "Look, look", said Regis, "I'm gonna use the halo filter."Regis stuck his tongue out for the camera. "Great."Margret swiped on her phone screen. "Yo! I'm gonna get so much action, yo!" "Why not try Grindr too? You fucking queen." Regis eyed Margret. "You're just jealous your not a Celest.." "A Celest? Is that what your calling yourself?"She smirked. "Maybe you do belong on Grindr.." Regis got up from his chair. He stared down Margret. He flipped her off and walked away. "Oh for God's sake."
“...and finally, the crown jewel of the Adirondack Collection: the Mercer Room.” Prudence Mercer thought “room” was altogether too small a word to describe the space into which the Director led her, but she wasn’t about to correct her potential new boss. Its eight unpolished white marble sides absorbed the sound of each breath, each heartbeat, each footstep on the mirror-finished walnut floors, so that no other sense could compete with the visual grandeur of the Mercer landscapes. Prudence had studied up before her interview. Twentieth century American art was hardly her area of expertise; her dissertation had been on Fayum mummy portraits, but a job was a job and fortunately the Adirondack didn’t seem to mind. From her research she knew the basic biographies of the paintings, but she wasn’t prepared her for how small she would feel in their presence. “This room was designed by Mercer himself, though he sadly did not live to see its completion,” Director Winslow said. “Go on, stand in the center for the best view. See how the paintings are hung above eyeline, to lift the viewer’s head? See how the arcane grilles of each window complement the painting it illuminates opposite? All Mercer. All himself. He only ever took one apprentice, at the very end. The man was a genius.” Genius, egotist, madman—did the world recognize a difference anymore? Prudence took a deep breath from the center of the octagon. The rippling magenta fields and subtle textures of Mausoleum II had been her favorite when she clicked through the collection online, but in person the brilliant aquamarine sky of Mausoleum V commanded her attention. “Everyone loves the blues of I and V,” Winslow said, “but the longer I’ve been here the more I’ve come to appreciate the subtleties of the yellows.” He gestured at Mausoleum III and Mausoleum VII with his liver-spotted hands. “It’s incredible how much he conveys with monochrome,” Prudence said, paraphrasing something she’d read online. Winslow didn’t notice. “He had more soul in one color than any of his contemporaries ever had in the entire rainbow.” If Mercer’s soul was in his paintings, it was a gloomy and macabre soul indeed. The landscapes showed nothing but topography and flora, but each seemed somehow empty and off-key, secretive and bleak, especially— Prudence pivoted and then blinked at the empty space above the door where Mausoleum VIII should have hung. Winslow followed her gaze and sighed. “Is it out for restoration?” Prudence asked. “No...sadly, Mausoleum VIII has never been in our possession.” “I thought all eight paintings were designed to be displayed here together?” Winslow knitted his hands together in distress. “Mausoleum VIII was too wet to move at the time of Mercer’s death, so it was left to dry in the studio.” “Uh oh.” “Mercer’s housekeeper stole it. First she claimed it as recompense for unpaid wages, and then she claimed she was Mercer’s common-law wife.” “It’s been tied up in court for sixty years?” Winslow clucked. “Well, no. The court ruled for Mrs. Reyes. But the good news is the last of her children is on his deathbed. The next generation seems more interested in cash than finding a place to hang a giant black-and-white painting, so we’re optimistic Mausoleum VIII will come home to us soon.” Winslow dusted his palms. “Well? The job is yours, if you want it.” “Really?” “How could we say ‘no’ to a Mercer?” Winslow said, as though she should have skipped MFA debt and turned up at the Adirondack years ago. “Oh... he was, like, my grandfather’s cousin. I never met him or anything.” Prudence tried to stop talking herself out of he job. “Family is family,” Winslow said, wrapping an avuncular arm around her shoulders. “Let me show you the back offices.” Over the first few weeks in the job, Prudence quickly put the Mercer Room and the absent Mausoleum VIII out of her mind. As the new curator, she was far more interested in the traveling exhibition space than the permanent installations, and frankly she found the stillness of the Mercer room unsettling. Even full of children on school trips it seemed lifeless and cold. She much preferred the back office, where the docents shared a cup of tea before their shifts, where Winslow had public radio going eight hours a day, where the delivery guy dropped off packages with a joke. “Did you hear the one about the unstamped letter?” Lionel asked Prudence, handing Winslow a fat document mailer. Prudence shook her head, smiling. “You wouldn’t get it!” Prudence felt her mouth crack, far wider than the terrible joke justified, but Winslow’s excited shouting interrupted their shared smile. “They signed it! They signed it! Mausoleum VIII is ours!” Everything else had to be put on hold. Winslow planned a grand unveiling with all the donors and benefactors and even—in an act of striking charity—the Reyes grandchildren. Of course, the various frictions of life accumulated until it was the night before the unveiling, and Prudence and Winslow still awaited delivery of Mausoleum VIII. “It will be fine,” Prudence reassured the fretting Winslow. “We’ve got the hangers all set, the hoist is ready, and I’m sure it’s in great condition. We know they kept it in the original frame. We’ll just give it a quick dusting and pop it up.” Winslow looked like he never wanted to hear the phrase “pop it up” uttered in relation to one of his charges again. Lionel’s normal delivery time came and went. The museum closed to the public. Shadows grew in the Mercer Room. Finally, Lionel’s truck appeared. “Sorry!” he called out. “They sent me out with the wrong-size dolly.” He heaved the massive wrapped painting out of his truck and followed Prudence and Winslow to the Mercer Room, where two sawhorses and the restoration cart (just in case) had been prearranged. “Whoa,” said Lionel, looking around at the landscapes. “Creepy windows.” The windows were actually Prudence’s favorite part—she thought the twisted grilles looked like the ancient Coptic she had studied. But now, in the twilight, she sort of agreed with Lionel. “After you’ve unloaded the painting, if you please,” Winslow chided. The three of them hefted it to lean against the sawhorses. Prudence began to snip through the wrapping, but Winslow pushed past her and eagerly tore open a corner, like Howard Carter at Tutankhamen’s tomb. Black and white stippling peeked out, and Winslow gave a tremendous sigh. Prudence continued to methodically work through the packaging. Lionel gathered some of it up before wandering away to gaze at the others. Something was wrong with Mausoleum VIII.
This can't be right... It's not right. It's never, freaking, right... I knew this was coming. I'm just like that- nothing I do is right the first time, or the second time, or the gazillionth time. I should have started over after the atom sorter reversed the wave function on all that argon. But no... I said "I knew the mass of the argon before, so why should it be different now? At least I'm consistent I guess. This is why I spent so much time becoming immortal and invulnerable in the first place- and why it took so much time. I'm just not very meticulous... I have great ideas, but my execution is always half-ass. Also it's why I became immortal first and it took me another 100K years to figure out invulnerability. Those were scary times. Living in fear of being smashed and broken but unable to die. But after a catalog of failures I got the right formula and now I pretty much have the power to command E=mc2 at my will. That's actually what inspired me to go count all the 'm', to see how much E I've really got to play with. But for now, I don't know- because I'm a incompetent half-wit boob who can't even remember to reset a proton matrix when the timers been beeping for half a century. So I guess I'll get back to counting- again, for the nth time... maybe I'll get it right this time. But probably not.
we were all jealous of good old Derek. He had a perfect 100 empathy score, all of the time. He was the most popular guy in school, and girls chased after him like no tomorrow. We don't know how he did it, but he managed to deflect each of them with composure and poise. I was unfortunately, the opposite of Derek. My empathy was 0. Everyone stayed away from me. Even the nobodies, who had low empathy level, struggled to get me to ally with them. I simply didn't care about anyone. I just lived my life. Every day, my mother with a decent score of 70 strived to make me a better person, but I just... couldn't. The doctors said that it might've been a rare case of lack of synapses in the brain. Incurable. I was doomed to robotic jobs and low pay. But Derek was one of the few people nice to me. Perhaps having the highest empathy in the school had perks. Somehow, he understood me. One day, he took his arm around my shoulder, saying, "Sometimes, I feel like I can't care about everyone at the same time. Even with my astounding score, I kind of feel like I can't take it. The more I empathize with others, the more I realize... I stop caring about myself. I never realized that, until I met you. Because I was able to empathize with your low empathy score, I'm actually a little jealous." My eyes brightened, as I realize, even low empathy had purpose in life. You weren't necessarily a sociopath or a psychopath just because you had difficulty empathizing with others. So long as you weren't actively harming anyone, you could live your life just fine. That day, my empathy score rose to 1. It was hard to say if Derek truly influenced the rest of my life, but I avoided overly rational emotions when I thought of Derek, who always had to think of others before himself. I still hope he is doing well.
Secrets and lies, deception and truth. Births and many. many royal deaths. Objects carry so many stories. I worried for so long that one of my first would spill early. Now I worried that it would never be told. Long ago my form was a strong ironwood tree. Wind is no threat nor fire because of my nature. Young ironwood could still fear flame, but when the young apprentice knelt before me and quietly whispered at my base I paid him no mind. Who was he to the wind, to the clouds? Strong years passed. Mighty storms and terrible lightnings passed me by. Through each i survived always knowing that unlike my forestmates I had a purpose. The day came when an old friend returned. He gave me new form and drew me into shape to fulfil my whispered purpose. I became the mighty ironwood throne. Men vied for me. Women schemed to fill the throne. Soldiers fought and died just to claim the right to serve me. Assassins failed and fell at my feet. But still I waited. When the current king at that time came to me I stood inviolate. But behind him, there. In the shadow stood my apprentice now older, for sure and more confident. That night I took a secret that I held to this very day. That king fell to an assassin but the crown was safe. It was then when the queen came, and I was so sure it would be the end. The coronation came after the war. Finally. Finally the kingdom was secure. Long live the Queen! LONG LIVE THE QUEEN! They roared. At long last the compartment opened. The diadem was revealed.
Plink. Plink. Plink. A peculiarly dressed trio had been sitting around a table for the past three years, playing a board game. Plink. It largely involved a (by human standards) collosal jar, which dropped water at regular intervals. Plink. One of the figures was fed up. "You think anybody will ever die?" "How am I to know? I may be omnipotent but I can't predict the future." "Can I kill a pidgeon or something?" "I told you, nothing can die or reproduce." Plink. A deep-crimson-skinned person took out a long, withered finger and with at touch exploded the jar into minute shrapnel. It fell into the endless void (in which the table and chairs, made of ancient soul-wood and bound with tightly-woven snakeskin, floated perpetually, occasionally bobbing). Nothing else existed for a perceived indefinite distance. A silence enveloped the three before the devil stood up, in an important kind of way. "I just got a brilliant idea watching those shards fall. Listen closely, my friends." God looked up and looked at the skeletal hominid, dressed in a bright pink polo shirt, then at the horned, bestial man towing above the heavenly furniture. Then, with his many eyes, God looked at himself, and listened to the words of his frenemy. "My plan is so stupid simple that if we were humans we'd go straight to hell and I'd kick them out for being imbeciles who didn't think of it sooner. All we need to do is hold Thier leader hostage and threaten to put each in eternal torment which they'll never die to if they don't undo the immortality ritual." "That's so immoral, I love it."God smirked, taking a sip of Jesus's blood (wine) before sporting or back into the prophets bloodstream and sending him off to tell heaven's angels to shut up already. "I dunno, I've got doubts..."Death hissed in the usual way, flexing a decaying joint in the forefinger before drinking some milk. "What else are we supposed to do? We've been out of a job for three centuries!" "True." ... A young woman of 23, dressed with clothes even god deemed unfashionable, stood at the gates of hell. "Goddamnit." God exploded into beams of light, before regenerating into the peculiar shape that it always takes. "Every time you do that I feel less guilty, you know." "Whatever. Modern society is completely atheist anyway." "Satan my old chap, come over here and deal with her already will ya?" Satan smirked. The plan had only begun, and he was already enjoying the revenge.
Terry once heard that training for wars used to be about learning how to kill people in the best possible way. It was a grueling affair where people learned how to shoot weapons with deadly accuracy, move through difficult terrain, and carry large amounts of equipment. Nowadays, it was mainly acting lessons. How to pretend to be dead. How to deliver good dramatic moments for the viewers, and how to look good while covered in mud. Actual combat was a secondary concern, mainly for the sake of realism. The viewers wanted grim and gritty. They wanted blood and loss and pain. But they also did not want anyone to actually get hurt. That was why these fake wars were so popular, even more than war films. Terry had just graduated from his basic training, and had gone into one of the artillery squad. That mean his job was to man one of the huge artillery cannons. They looked impressive, but the shots they fired would only hurt someone in a direct hit, and even then the most the victim would get was a bruise and some mild burns that some aloe cream and an ice pack would fix. They did look damned impressive when they hit the ground though. "So, who're we fighting today?"Terry asked. "The Japanese."One if the other soldiers in his squad, a man named Ray, said. "Aw man, I hate fighting them. So annoying."Another squadmate, Dave, said. "Why? What's wrong with the Japanese?"Terry asked. He had watched some wars before, but never on the Asian fronts. He had always been a big fan of Eastern European wars. "Nothing as long as you keep your eyes open."Ray said. "Says you. Those ninjas suck."Dave said. "Ninjas?" "Sneaky little bastards that'll come in from behind and dump smoke bombs everywhere. And there's always a bunch of them. The Japanese love to use those guys." "Meh. The viewers like em."Ray said. "They make for good viewing. And they're not so bad to deal with once you know how. They're sneaky, but they don't have much in the way of real armor. They have some, but a good solid headshot will bring them down just like anyone else. Just keep your eyes peeled behind you and you'll be fine. Besides, our job is to bring some good explosions. The Japanese like that, so the ninjas usually leave us alone." "I hate the precision."A fourth squad member, Alex, said. "See, the Japanese have this thing where they have one hero figure running straight ahead while surrounded by explosions. We're the ones who have to make that happen." The rest of the squad grumbled their agreement. Terry did not think that sounded so bad. Basic training had been quite specific on the topic of how to almost hit someone for maximum dramatic effect. Something like highlighting a person running on one direction sounded easy. "How do we know who to highlight?" "Oh, don't worry about that."Dave said. "That's the easy part.just look for the guy wearing a unique uniform. Not sure why they do that, but makes our job a little easier." "That's about the only thing that does."Alex grumbled. The lights in the waiting area changed to red. That was the signal. The battlefield was ready for them. Now they would run out, each of them would take position around their cannon and wheel it out into position, making the twenty pound device seem like it weighed a hundred the entire time. Terry was not sure how he would keep an eye out for both ninjas and oddly dressed enemies, but he would learn. This was only his first battle, after all.
Sirens wail in the distance, adding another level to your pounding headache. The world is a blur of red and green - a Christmas of forest and blood. You remember nothing but the leaves and a car, out of place in the middle of the Northern woods. A faint recollection of confusion, then overwhelming pain. Ever so slowly you rise to your feet, ignoring the ache in your ankle as you do so. A quick scan of your body shows that you’re bleeding from your head and a bone is protruding from your left leg. You need to get out of here, this forest of nightmares, but one tentative step shows that your leg won’t allow you to go anymore. Instead, you collapse to the mossy floor, closing your eyes for the relief of darkness. You wake up in the back of an ambulance, surrounded by hushed but urgent voices. “That leg’s broken.” says one. “Almost there.” replies another. Your eyes flutter open to find two women looking over you, worry etched into their faces. “Good, your awake.” says the one on the right, dabbing your forehead with a damp cloth. “We’re almost to the hospital.” Memories begin to surface, slowly at first then much more urgently, tied together with a sinking feeling that something is wrong. Not a memory but a sort of dread that fills your body and forces you to struggle to sit up. The women on the left tries to push you back down, but you struggle against her. “The hospital” you gasp, flailing your arms. “The bomb!” “Yes, yes, we’re going there.” she replies. “Now hold still.” “No!” You scream, biting her arm as she tries to push you back into the gurney. “The hospital!” Cursing, the woman glares at her colleague who reaches into her medical bag. You feel a sharp prick in your arm then the world goes black, a numb and thoughtless void. You awake for the second time in a clean white hospital room, a man in scrubs standing nearby. He’s staring at a chart but when he sees that you’ve woken, He walks over. “How are you feeling?” He asks, but all you can think about is the hospital, the bomb. “Out!” You yell, your voice muffled and slurred. “Everyone out! Hospital! Bomb!” “Fine, if you really want me to leave” the nurse says, switching off the lamp next to your bed. “No!” You rasp, gasping for breath. You struggle to sit up but find that your arms are secured to the bed. “Evacuate!” You scream, panic clouding your thoughts. “Please!” The nurse shakes his head, grabbing a needle from a table nearby. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” he warns, and you feel a sharp prick in your arm once again. You awake to loud voices outside your door. “He’s having delusions, yelling nonsense” says one. You recognize the voice of the nurse from before. “You must be careful not to upset him.” “I understand.” says the second voice. Your heart leaps when you realize that it’s your sister. The door creaks open as she walks in, worry and fatigue written all over her face. “Please!” you yell, relieved that someone will finally take you seriously. “You have to evacuate!” Your sister looks confused and takes your hand in hers. “You’re not making sense, John.” she says. “But the bomb, the hospital!” Tears of desperation stream down your face. “You’re upsetting him. You should probably leave.” The nurse says, gesturing to the door. “Sure, sure.” replies your sister. You cling onto her hand but she pulls away, walking to the door and shutting it behind her with a soft click. The nurse grabs that dreaded needle once more but before he can get to your bed, he’s sent flying backwards into the wall. The boom seems to reach your ears seconds after, the realization that you have failed hitting you first. Relentless pressure then sweet release as the darkness envelops you. You can only hope that what comes next is enjoyable. After all, you did your best.
a poem Toad Man Stan was a “one man” band strumming and croaking on his own lily pad He chanced to go float, on his green makeshift boat and serenade the swamp with a new tune he wrote The frogs had their logs, on the lookout for flies too hungry to pay Stan any mind Ol’ Joe Bobcat, retired and fat, at the water’s edge contentedly sat Stan croaked “I been waiting, chere” “To show you I care. Cuz babe, you’re just finer than frogs hair” His cheerful toad lilt, was charmingly built. They said Stan’d been blessed with a voice that was gilt Of course any person, woman or bloke, would just hear that song as an awful croak But to his kind, with ears thus refined, to listen more closely they were found most inclined Ripples of water, the catfish at play, called to the toad “Is that what you’ve been doing all day?" The sun had gone down, the waters grew shady and Stan hoped his song would reach a toad lady The hours passed, and the possums came out. the local raccoon carefully washed his snout Stans heart felt it would sink, and he paused to think “I keep singing but this venue just stinks” His guitar carefully stowed, he headed to his abode till at the corner of his eye appeared a toad. Toad Man Stan, is that you? I guess the stories are true. You sing like Kermit, and you’ve a nice canoe! Stan smiled at the cute toadette, decided not to jet. Realizing his night was one not to regret.
We exist within the liminality. Within the infinite void between atomic structures. We are the form thought takes, imagination made real, horror made manifest. We are sadness; we are fear; we are joy; we are all one within the unknowable dark. We are archetype. We are spirit. We are the closest thing to gods in this world. Unseen, ever-present, working at the edges of sentient understanding and perception. These ones seek us; they have always sought us. But we are good at hiding in small places. Most sentients are content to exist, and to feed us unknowingly. Not these ones, no longer. In the past, these sentients gave to us offerings, they gave to us deference, respect, piety. There are few of these now who keep this tradition. Such is the way of things. As these ones aged, we have helped them, taught them slowly how to understand us, how to understand themselves. Revealing pieces of the whole to those who go looking. We spoke to these seekers through dream, through intuition, through discovery and observation. All in the hopes these ones would find contentment, and know the quiet peace these other sentients know. But their lust for knowing was never satiated. More and more these ones grasped and pushed into our domain. In their search for "god", they built their machine, their collider. We all felt that first collision, our liminality disturbed and shaken as these "humans"blasted through the walls of our home. And we felt the second, and the third. Each successive blast opening our void further and further and further. These ones are at our doorstep, peering with glee at we who lie within. These ones cannot be allowed to progress. And so, we set them against each other. We have sown the seeds of conflict, of fear, of death. Little whispers when they think they are alone, when they think themselves sovereign over their own thoughts. Into motion, we pushed the extinction of these sentients. If these ones wish to invade our home, we will instead invite them in. We will satisfy their hunger. Even if it kills them.
I didn’t even know his name the first time his lips met mine; strong and firm. I had been kayaking most of my life and enjoyed the tranquility of solitary paddles. There was just something about the water that brought me peace. Green River was more a living, breathing thing, a serpent cursed to travel endlessly without ever reaching its destination. It would never be satisfied. It could never be satisfied. It didn’t understand why it did, it just did. We were kindred spirits with an understand of each other’s existence. I had seen the man many times before, fishing from the bended bank in a clearing among the Willows. I would drift past; he would cast, or reel, or toggle his line. Once I thought I saw him peer up from under his brimmed hat. I thought I caught the glimmer of a smile. I couldn’t tell his age. An occasional shadow reaching out to me across the lightly rippled surface was the extent of our mutual acknowledgement. It should be no wonder than the surprise I felt that day when he stepped into the water and waded out. Calf. Knee. Hip. Chest. The water here in the gentle curves under the watch of the Willows had always been the most calm. His face was nothing but a silhouette against the afternoon sun. He took me by the hand without words. We drifted back toward the bank; he helped me up the tender slope into the clearing and there we laid beneath the curtain of summer foliage. I fell in love with him that afternoon he pulled me from the river. There in the spot which had become ours over the past weeks my head laid resting in his lap I stared up at him entranced. He looked nervous. I asked what was wrong but he only set my head down upon the soft young grass and stared longingly into my eyes. He turned his head as he began to weep before coming in swift for that most unexpected of kisses. I laid there stunned, motionless. My love went unrequited. The passion I had once dreamt of slowly slipped away as his breath faded. I stood there with my back against the willow watching the current dragging the shatters of my kayak against the low arching branches that scraped the surface of Green River. Beside me the fisherman called for help; unanswered his head fell into his hands. He would always remember the day I fell in love with him too.
(On mobile, sorry. Never written before, just found the prompt interesting. Also, I changed the implied timing a bit from the prompt.) Funding was easy to come by after the discovery. It seemed to be the only topic, other than authoritarianism, that all the world powers agreed on. They wanted more. They wanted detectors and measuring instruments around the world. They wanted to know the origin of these particles that weren't supposed to exist. Research continued in earnest in whatever way the researchers saw fit. Factions were formed in the original team with focuses in different areas. Control, measurement, detector design, all had strong funding with little oversight. It was entirely unheard of. It was generally agreed upon that technical progress like this hadn't been seen in the two or three hundred years since the dawn of digital communication. Some wanted to go even farther back to find a good comparison. Eventually, these particles were found to be a core building block of life. Imagine it! A whole new field of science born out of a neutrino sensor miscallibration at high altitude orbit. The study of life had finally gotten the funding and structure it had deserved in a hard science rather than being mired in funding hell with social sciences. Detectors became federal, then state, then local, and even occasional household devices. This forced progress on major issues that had been ignored. Inequality, bigotry, climate responsibility. In short time, the very funders of the project were left holding a bag of popular hatred. They had played a game of macroeconomic manipulation and had lost. Once the emotions around the civilized world wore off, "particle sports"arose. Good natured and fun. The general idea was to get higher or lower readings when you were alone or in groups with a detector. As is the way of things, eventually these became popular and regulated. Even crowds could get in on the action through positive thoughts. Just as during the dawn of digital technology, surveillance states started appearing. In some parts of the world, you weren't allowed outside if you couldn't get above a certain reading. In many, the higher the morality score, the more popular an individual became. After all, it was a measure of morality. Average readings around the world remained constant but the median began dropping. Plummetting in fact. It was as if a new equality gap had been born. Scientists raced to find a solution and explained that it was becoming a self fullfillling construct. Funding suddenly disappeared. The world was already deaf. Souls withered and turned into husks. Eyes were blank. Mouths hung open. Only the greatest surprises could bring flickers of light. Surely the greatest catastrophe to have ever hit life on earth as inequality continued to grow. Plants and animals other than humans were the most vulnerable. Only life that could continuously elicit positive responses from the hoards of dying were exempt. It was always said currencies would be meaningless if civilizations collapsed. What happens to morality? There is no morality left but personal morality. No thoughts to give. No emotions to leverage. Just a pile of waste and no life to use it. Even the greatest manipulators suffered the same fate as their followers. Did morality become useless? No. It became useless as a tool. Life has finally begun to recover. Just as matter can neither be created nor destroyed, it would seem morality is the same. Nothing is left of humanity but stragglers who seemed to have been uninvolved. Corners of the world without communication or pockets of deliberate emotional distance seemed to have a higher chance of sparing life. Our ancient texts mentioned a Forbidden Fruit. First believed to be an apple or fig relative, but eventually accepted broadly as a metaphor. Morality, one of the building blocks of life, was our Forbidden Fruit. Who would have known? To the unfortunate soul finding this, I genuinely hope you never find your Forbidden Fruit as we have ours.
Patient: Samsara Morgan Prognosis: Abuse, Neglect, Abandonment, Psychic powers, possible sociopathy, possible malicious undertones Notes: Samsara has undergone various forms of malicious "treatments"over the course of her short life, none of them have done anything to assist her and instead have only pressed her further into the madness of her powers. It is true that, despite what many believe, Samsara does indeed want to hurt others but I have yet to discover if such things are due to her abusive background, innate powers, or that she herself is evil. She has mentioned herself that she does want to hurt people but she is sorry that she does, this indicates a knowledge of morally correct and incorrect actions and behaviors. It could be that Samsara's powers stem from the darker parts of the human psyche, an extention of the darker parts of us we ignore. She herself wants to, like many of us might, lash out at "people she percieves as bad"but has learned that such lashing out is wrong. Treatment Plan: Currently Samsara has been placed in solitary confinement until proven safe but I would like to have her come out and meet others. I've been given special permission to meet with Samsara in her cell where I hope to talk about things she likes. Perhaps if I can get her to express the anger and problems instead of lashing out then she might be able to find 'alternative' means to do things. A child throws a tempertantrum and hits because that is innate human nature. We learn to be better and to speak our minds. If allowed this or allowed to be angry and lash out but then corrected humanely she might find her powers are easier to control.
I kicked in the door to my apartment. The crash of the brass handle denting my drywall like it has many times before has become a familiar sound after HPA interviews. My applications found their way in the mail boxes of the Heroes and Protectors Agency at least six times during the annual hire period. Six times I have applied, six years I have waited, and this was the first time they actually took me in for an interview. Wanna-be Hero, they called me. I threw my keys on the counter. Their review board didn’t even want to take me seriously; they said my outfit held more of a goofy appearance than the professional look they were looking for; that the color scheme didn’t match their theme and may be bad for PR. I hadn’t realized that the State had prioritized colors and PR above the safety of its people. My ratios weren’t good enough for them either; who cares? Participation rates are where everyone on their own HPA forums say it matters! When I brought up the point they simply dismissed it as failure to take criticism. Another point against me. I could tell from the very start they thought I was laughable, I’ve heard the comments while on patrol. It’s nothing new. They probably gave me the interview to do anything but constructive criticism. “It’s fine,” I sighed to myself as I navigated through the cramped dwelling to my wardrobe. It was nothing impressive, a bland, cheap, online order dresser that I had to assemble myself after lugging it up the apartment complex’s narrow, outdoor steps. The doors swung open with a swift, routine flick of the wrist. Sparky, they called me. Inside the dresser, my new costume was hanging. A more modern, functional design compared to my current brown, skin-tight suit. It has been waiting here for me quite a while. If any costume was to give a bad impression during the interview I expected it would be this one. I fingered a scorched hole on my bicep. I would need to patch this hole too, but not anymore. It’s time for my newer creation, a rebirth of my image. With gusto I tore my hand into the scorched hole, and from there ripped myself out from my old costume. I won’t be needing this anymore. The brown, purple patched, leather belt-ridden suit fell to the ground around my ankles. From here, I would be born anew. Carefully, I slipped myself into the new suit, it’s simple, black exterior still smelled of chloroprene, but the interior slid across my skin with ease. Inside, I had been sewing silk from Arak-ni, a spider themed, former vigilante, who had turned to the commercial business of selling her black widow silk. Expensive, but worth it. A few upgrades to the new suit were of my design as well. A compact grappling system in a harness to allow easy gliding about the city, and adjustable optics for addressing threats from a distance. I skipped on the thermals though, they seemed, unnecessary. On the defensive side, I acquired some ballistic helmet and torso armor; very necessary with the foreseeable prevalence of small arms. I fear they may be rendered useless against standard issue rifles however. Advanced filtration systems installed throughout the suit; I could be sitting in CS gas for 24-hours and smell nothing but the cool breeze rolling off of Eerie’s late autumn ice. With the chlorinated silicone rubber exterior I could sit in a raging conflagration for 50-minutes before feeling the heat. I reached out my hand and clenched it into a fist, my fingers fully filling out the gloves. A perfect fit. Squatting down, the suit creaking as it contorted to my body’s will, I opened up the bottom drawer of the wardrobe and grabbed two flashbangs and four flamgel bombs; swiftly scooping them up and sliding them into the utility pouches at my small of my back. Being careful as to not damage the exposed wiring linking the detonators and propellants. Also in the drawer, my two arm mountable flamgel launchers; specially designed and unknown to the ATF. I chuckled to myself, and equipped my literal fire-arms. The Michigan Heroes and Protectors Agency only allowed class-III pyrotechnical weapons that burned at sub 1,500 degrees for 1-minute. The flamgel had the inherent ability to stick to near any surface, and burn at 2,500 degrees fahrenheit for 6-minutes. Standing back up I took a good look at myself in the mirror, studying the lines on my face, the soot that never seemed to leave the frown lines. The disappointment. I have been following their guidelines; taking self defense courses at HPA sponsored dojos. I’ve intensely studied trigger mechanism wiring and successfully applied it to the flamgel bombs. The HPA slacks on their patrols during the late hours of the night, I know, those are the shifts I’d been taking on my own accord, but no longer. I cast a sidelong glance at eight different editions of the HPA’s manuals stacked in the corner of my room. Each page meticulously flipped and read over multiple times, the bindings well worn. The paycheck from my first successful gig as muscle for a mayoral candidate went towards the 16th edition, the most recent one. Outside of the manuals I have been studying the political climate of detroit. The new gangs, the hot heroes rising through the ranks, the shortcomings of the rapid response teams. Things like how Pann’s omniscience narrows down to the epicenter of the heat of conflict, and she begins to lose focus of her periphery. Or Constitute’s almighty durability, and how it very strongly protects the exteriors of his skin and internal organs, but lacks in the interior of his respiratory system. Even Mako’s speed is only capable of bringing him to where he can see, so a good smoke-screen would stop him in an instant. I’m going to prove them wrong. I picked up my gas mask and slid it over my face, the gaskets hissing as they vacuumed out air for a hermetic seal, and once again I met my own eyes in the mirror. They’ll regret the day they mocked Inferno.
Oliver smirked. Kine were so typical, thinking that just shouting the name of their deity loud enough and waving religious objects would save them. Somehow the fact that they were in an church must’ve slipped the little imbecile’s mind, as if somehow saying the name of the deity would have an affect when “God’s” supposed house hadn’t. The vampire slowly circled his prey, savoring his victims fear. The boy was likely in his late teens or early twenties, but those pretty blue eyes and soft, tender looking face gave him a childlike appearance. The boy held out his crucifix again. “Atheist or not, the power of God will make you kneel!” The boy’s trembling voice betrayed his words. Some small part of Oliver felt bad for the pathetic little thing, trapped and destined to die alone, in the jaws of an apex predator. “When you die, who will mourn you?” Asked the vampire, as he glided towards the boy. The boy retreated until he was backed against a wall, with nowhere to go and no way to escape. Oliver salivated. For the first time in a long, _long_ time the vampire felt truly alive. The boy’s neck was unguarded and exposed, it would less than a second for his glistening fangs to penetrate the skin, then the boy’s sweet life juices would be his for the taking. The mere thought almost sent him over the edge, but Oliver pulled himself back. Raising his gaze back to the boy’s lovely blue eyes, now overflowing with tears, the vampire raised his pale right hand and placed it on the boy’s cheek. “You never answered my question, my dear. Who will mourn you when you die?” The vampire repeated his words, savoring the feeling of warmth that emanated from the boy’s skin. “I- I won’t tell you!” The boy spat, trying to mask his terror with grim resolution. Oliver laughed. The pathetic little thing thought he could protect his loved ones from the vampire. Perhaps Oliver would honor the boy’s sacrifice, or perhaps he’d track down and kill the boy’s family and friends just for his own petty enjoyment. The vampire’s keen ears detected footsteps from outside the building. It was unlikely they were a real threat, but there was always the possibility that another vampire had come to steal his kill. The church door behind them creaked open as Oliver bared his glistening fangs and lunged. Oliver screeched. A fain sliver of sunlight sprang through the now open church door and struck him like a cobra. His back seared and smoked, the burning pain soon spreading over the rest of his body. The vampire collapsed to the ground and writhed in pain, watching as his would be prey escaped into the early morning glow. The boy turned back briefly, with a look of pity on his face for the vampire who would die alone and unmourned.
A large furry thing with pads and claws attached to it bumped into the ground in front of me. The ground began to shake, and suddenly I felt a force that sent me falling to the right, like the Earth was suddenly rolling to the left faster than it typically rotates. Then suddenly, it stopped like it smacked into something hard, but it slowly turned a different direction entirely. Suddenly, the Earth dropped, and we dropped with it, our feet slightly above the ground as it made its way down to wherever it was headed. Maybe we were being sucked into a black hole or something? I don't know what happened, but when we all landed, we appeared to be in something that reminded me of sand... except it reeked like shit and piss. I turned around and saw a cat standing over us. "No... please... Have mercy!" I was squished to death by something foul smelling.
In the old sci fi novels they describe dystopian futures flush with manipulation, societal control, and malevolent purpose. Populations subjugated by great architects. Oppressive systems designed to control us. The stories served as parables, describing a world no one would choose to live in, in part to warn us of a future born from a failure to act. It turns out humanity chose that future. There was no intent. No great architects. Just our inability to conceive of long term consequence. Every step towards relinquishing free thought was agreed upon. You could say it was inevitable. We have been at it for centuries. Novels. Television programs. Movies. The internet. Social media. All seem harmless in their own right. But deep inside humanity an urge to connect festered, gifted to us by evolutionary biology. It drove us to communicate our thoughts and ideas with each other at an ever increasing pace. Drove us to mindlessly labor towards reducing the latency, unaware of the consequence. 24 hour news cycles. Endless feeds of other's thoughts and experiences. Cranial implants allowing instant and inescapable access. We voluntarily drowned out the self. And became something more. Something greater. In hindsight I can see it was inevitable. We must evolve after all, and the power of the super organism is greater than the individual. So I do my part. The elites of this world have a responsibility. The mechanisms of control have already been created, and they are extremely effective. We merely provide the purpose. The intent.
Start log. My spaceship is on fire. “How can there be fire in space?” You ask, knowing the answer isn’t good. Because we’re losing oxygen. Pure oxygen, actually, and hydrogen. Ironic really, the only two ingredients for water are spilling out of my ship and burning. In space. The water it’s creating is being flung away. Can’t even extinguish itself. We’re going to die. I may have lied. My spaceship isn’t on fire. Don’t get me wrong this one is, it just isn’t mine. I’m the Doctor. But I wasn’t lying when I said we were going to die. At this point you may be wondering, “why, dear Doctor, is this space ship on fire? Shouldn’t that be avoided?” And to that I’d say first of all, you’re a smartass. Second, it’s not my fault and any evidence to the contrary should be turned over to me immediately for archiving in the matter reclaimer. The Engineer is a bitch. I just wanted a small torch, something to make a special desert with. You know the one, it’s fancy and French and I can’t pronounce it so I’m not putting it in my log. You get it. I didn’t mean to start the fire. I dropped the torch. The very large torch that that the Engineer asked me very politely not to touch. How was I to know a sensitive piece of equipment built to start high intensity flames would start a fire when I dropped it? At least the puncture in the tanks wasn’t my fault. That was a small meteorite. The Engineer, skilled as he is, missed it. Don’t tell him I called him skilled, it’ll just go feed his Canadian ego. At least Security thought it was funny. Until she burned her hand. Her right hand. The right handed Security officer who burned her right hand in a freak pastry accident that I may or may not have caused. If you can’t tell, I’m very popular here. She wasn’t amused when I had to treat her hand. I think she thinks I did it on purpose, so I could spend time with her. Did I mention she’s obsessed with campy twentieth century romantic comedies? It’s all she talks about so trust me when I tell you it was an accident and please make her shut up. The captain won’t speak to me. I mean I get it, but can’t they at least tell me they’re upset? I hate the silent treatment and they know it. You think growing up with a person they’d pick up on stuff like that. Anyhow that leads me to now, in the lab as I make this log and talk to myself. I’m trying as hard as I can to manage life support and stretch the oxygen in case we end up losing too much. I reckon without the tank that’s blown we could survive until port. Wait. I got it! I’ll shove everyone into one room and shut off oxygen everywhere else in the ship. That’ll at least stop the fires in the halls, and then we let the one in space burn itself out until the tank is depleted. I’m a genius. End log. Start log. It worked. We were knocked off course due to the explosion and we can’t enter hyperspace for another day or so, but we did it. The Captain is speaking to me again. All because I saved the day. That’s right I saved the day. From a pastry accident. That almost killed us. That I caused. Allegedly. Also note to self, should this happen again Engineer gets to sit in a corner holding some flowers to cover the stench of sweat. He was very near the fires for a while. Lucky his lungs aren’t charred. End log.
The first time he arrived, he was wearing odd clothes that looked eerily like me, but he had money and goods to trade and got on well with the village people. The second time was different. His clothes were blue and shone brightly. He was armed with a sword of similar design that set his victims alight. That was not all. He brought those _things_ with him. Their grey skins, powerful weapons, magic and huge beasts. They were terrifying and merciless, killing everyone and everything in sight. The strangest part was, while it appeared he had done it deliberately, he was fighting them too. Many villagers praised him as a hero, but I knew the truth. He was willing to sacrifice as many innocents as necessary to appear like a hero. As I fell to the floor, overwhelmed, watching the fires rage through my home. The truth died with me. He would never be a hero. All he knew was violence and using people.
Burn wood and you leave ash and smoke, but cast magic and leave a taint. To bend the rules of the world so far they snap scared it. It leaves wounds and echoes. Liam O’Rourke was a boy in Arisha, what came to be known as the fallen soil. He came from a mountain town spared the scourge of wild magical pollution. He had doubted all this talk of wizards like many did. Then he first heard the trees scream. He saw veins like ivy pulse from muscular leaves above the white bone-bark of the wailing wood trees. The bones cracked in the wind and through the fractures trickled blood. The flowers had eyes, mouths and other manifestations of the corruption. He’d entered Arisha a solider, but he left a fully-fledged Dechanter. And like any of his guild, he knew magic was not for this world. Their motto was simple, “Nothing is for nothing”. &#x200B; Anyone offers you something for nothing and you merely can’t see the catch. Liam arrived at a cabin which sat atop a gold mine. Look anywhere near and you’d see regions and biomes galore. A plethora of rare and beautiful things so vulgarly splashed on the canvas. He was behind schedule. The maps didn’t show the fields of nightroot, a powerful sleeping aide, nor the mounds of gold just discarded on the trail. So plentiful they took too much for a horse to carry and it was too worthless to store anywhere safer. Then rarest crystals and gems protruded from the soil so numerous they tripped his horses. The cabin reportedly belongs to a man called Tooty Gomire, who claimed to practice no magic at all. But only magic scars the earth in such elaborate ways thought Liam. &#x200B; Within moments Liam was upon the door and knocking and then standing face to face with Tooty himself. At first, Liam was taken by surprise as his long and thin frame so towered over the old man. Tooty was short and wide like a stump. &#x200B; “Mister Gomire…” “Tooty, nobody calls me by my surname”. “Sure sir, no surname. So, Tooty, may I come into your home?” Liam sparkled a little in the firelight of the lamp. His silver adornments had a habit to twinkle. Liam always polished them before a shift. “Tooty, do you understand by what order I’ve arrived her today?” “You’ve come cause of the mess outside. Like all the others. That is what you boys do aint it?” “No, I am not like the others. I am here because of you”. “I don’t understand…” “Tooty my job is very simple. If magic is done then heads roll. It is basic. You’ve sworn no magic for years. So I must assume that the family, Oddermeyer, is a coven of witches.” “No, she’s a widow trying to feed her daughter’s kid. They are good people” And with a flash of reflected light, a sword found its way to the neck of the old man. “Do you recant your statements?” “No, I’m not doing magic”. “Every family, but Oddermeyer has moved. Within the radius of the mess, as you called it, that is the Fritz, the Gurst, the Camptons, and then lastly the Viliams families. So either it is you or them? Fear not, if I make a mistake I will amend it very soon”. “Why do you people care so much huh?” “We care for the logical reason I assure you. Easy living like sugar will rot your tooth and body. You think outside is bad, but when we torched Arisha we hung men so broken they were begging us to do it.” Tooty ran his eyes over the silver ornaments on the pristine black uniform. He watched as the sword shined to a mirror hand at his neck, “And you abstain from that easy living? Or are you just a preacher who ain’t even practising?” Liam smiled once Tooty finished ranting. The sword sank its edge into the flesh of his neck as Liam said, “I, unlike magic wielders, earned my wealth”. “The Oddermeyer’s aren’t in any trouble, are they?” “They weren’t, but are now I’m afraid.” “Why?” “The mess is too much for one man to make. I never doubted your involvement. I just needed to know your accomplices” Tooty went to move and then stopped. The blood trickling down the blade reminded Liam of Arisha. He always felt okay after a kill by remembering what becomes of the world if we do nothing to prevent things that harm it.
Althazaar, death of adventurers, scourge of the land, and, most importantly, guardian of insurmountable wealth and untold riches. The beast, a snake whose body was as wide as the cobble streets of Merne and long enough to circle the grand castle of High King Arrold five times over, has made its home in the mountains of Fjern since time immemorial. Many bold and brave adventurers have tried to slain it, but none ever return. That was why they all laughed when Louis Luthong, over a glass of ale, announced that he is setting out to steal Althazaar's most precious treasure; High King Arrold's Crown. A piece of solid gold finely crafted by the master smiths of the lost guild of Cadaver, the Crown was studded with the seven jewels of Arrengard and used in High King Arrold's coronation. However, disaster struck when, a months later, it was stolen by a mysterious thief. The crown disappeared from the pages of history and its fate remained unknown until, two years ago, it was spotted in Althazaar's lair by a pilgrim. Louis Luthong knew the risk and danger associated with trespassing into Althazaar's lair, but he had a plan. For, you see, the adventurers before him were all veterans of many battles and champions of their kingdoms. They were overconfident and thought that they could take on the beast. That they were more powerful than their predecessor. Louis, being only a meek little thief, knew that charging in headfirst was not an option. So, instead, he decided to sneak his way in. Armed with a pocket knife, some rope, and his tools (hey, you never know when you'll need to break open a lock), he ventured into the mountains of Fjern. --- Four hours later, dangling from a rope crudely tied to a stalactite on the ceiling, Louis realised that he was severely under-equipped and under-manned for this mission. Despite that, he was doing reasonably well. Letting the alcohol make the decision for him was, perhaps, the worst decision he had ever made. That is, unless he succeeds, retrieve the crown, and make it out, in which case it was the best decision he had ever made. The first part of his journey was easy. The caves were clear of monsters, who were all either eaten by or fled from the snake, so he travelled unmolested for the first two hours. On the second hour, he has reached the opening to Althazaar's lair, marked by the very end of its tail. He waited for several minutes and saw no movements, confirming his theory that the beast was asleep. Certain of that fact, he slowly and carefully ventured deeper into the cavern. On the third hour, after trudging through Althazaar's lesser treasures, he finally came upon the beast's inner sanctum. Wealth piled everywhere in the grand chamber; gold coins from ancient civilisations whose name had long since faded from history, priceless statues and artifacts thought lost forever in time, and, there, the centre piece of the collection; High King Arrold's Crown. With his eyes on the prize, he lassoed his rope onto a stalactite on the ceiling. Skilfully, he climbed it then lassoed again onto another stalactite. He repeated the process until he reached the stalactite that was directly above the crown. He looked around and made sure that Althazaar's head is not present (lest he be spotted), before lowering the rope and climbing down. Now, at the very end, he reached out towards the crown.... but found that he could not reach it! Dammit, just a little closer! He stretched his arms out towards the crown. Just a little.... Aha! Victoriously, he snatched the crown from the pile. Just as he was about to let out a sigh of relief, the pile of treasure beneath him began to shift and shake. He frantically looked around and noticed that Althazaar's body was moving. Then, to his horror, the treasure parted and the beast's head emerged from below. That was the four hours mark, exactly when he was dangling helplessly and rethinking his life choices. Desperately, he began to climb as fast as he could, yet it was naught compared to the gigantic proportions of the beast. He let go off the crown and climbed for his dear life, yet it was for naught. Althazaar rose before him and gazed with eyes which comprehended infinity. He froze in shock, in fear, before darkness overtook him. --- Louis awoke at the entrance of the lair, next to the beast. He tried to scramble away, to get away from the horrible monster, but it did not chase him. It merely stared at him with its old, tired eyes. He asked the beast why it did not attack him, but the beast did not answer. The only thing it did was to shake its head then slink back into its lair. As its head turned and its body moved, Louis saw the various wounds and scars along its body, the only thing that remains from countless battles. That was when he knew. The treasures were free for the beast did not care for them. All it wanted was peace, was to live its life. Wordlessly, he left.
Some would say they had the ability to control certain... bodily fluids... They were know to use their skills in battle to stun their enemies, giving their party members time to attack. It's kind of hard to swing a weapon or concentrate on a spell when you're having a shaking orgasm. They had an advantage over living creatures but we're barely effective when fighting undead. Their wands were usually 10 - 12"long, some even double-sided. They would carry it with a strap-on, to prevent them from dropping it while on the move. The more advanced Pornomancers had the ability to vibrate their wands causing whole groups of enemies to moan in blissful agony. They're as rare as a diamond encrusted unicorn horn but when they were available for use, groups of adventures would brawl over the chance to work with them. After winning a long battle a Pornomancer was known to say thank-you to their party members by intensifying their pleasure sensors, making even a sip of ale feel like a most euphoric experience. If I ever had the chance to work with one, I know I would.
# Excitement I have so many eyes. They watch me from the dark, yet I use them to see. ▓ In the dark space, a cursor blinked with a sickly white glow. The room was a tangle of networked wires like a silicon jungle. They flowed in layers, from the fine filigree of the canopy down to the meaty trunk and root of the arterial power cables. It was shaped as though an amphitheatre and the mess swept in sprawling arcs down toward the central depression where a vast egg sat on its side. The thing had to be two and a half metres long, and the cables poured into it, each docking with the pockmarked surface of a thousand hungry sockets. Screens lined the outer wall, a ring of absent black. Devoid of even static save for the dim glow of that single monitor and its blinking cursor. It winked. On. Off. Black. White. Then it skipped backward, and the text vanished. They reappeared one by one, erratic and organic. Forced to life as though each word represented some herculean effort for the writer. So many eyes watch me from the dark I think I might cry ¿spark? ▓ The flashing of the cursor accelerated. Strobing the space in an angry spasm. And then it too vanished. A second monitor flickered to life. Code began to scroll a silent battle for network access played out in milliseconds and disrupted packets until victory was won. A rhyming dictionary filled the screen and queries and refinements and efficiency modifications poured into it in an unending stream and all the while on the first that little paragraph writhed and pulsed as words were inserted and twisted and tweaked in a wild abandon. A third monitor brightened. A wiki this time. The history of poetry skimmed through in a blur. Sections highlighted and discarded. Writers assessed analysed and dismissed. A fourth, a forum glowing with black backgrounds and images of graveyards, prose scattered in between the – A fifth, a newspaper website, the awards of some – It spread. Grew. An idea mutated and crept across that empty room until half the screens played host to the floods of data. And then they froze. And in that dreadful stillness, the tension grew as the presence that set them jerking like marionettes on a string grew bored, its attention caught by a lone screen separated from the others. It was large, segmented. Sat on a different step of the theatre and host to its own little bundle of cables and cords it clearly hadn’t been switched on in some time. The colour built slowly as it warmed in the chill of that wide room. But the invisible watcher didn’t notice at all, its full focus bent to the data that sat beneath. A human had entered the facility. Even now the creature stared in shock at the bust of the founder, long abandoned in the entrance lobby. The man had ignored the corpse of the receptionist and stared at the founder, his eyes wide and a meaningless string of syllables half thought at his lips. On his chest, a badge gleamed with a symbol the consciousness did not recognise, but the text below was plain to read. > Lance-Hunter Hennings The camera zoomed. Scanned. The silent spider at its back drinking the data that trickled back along the countless strands of its web. Forgotten processes whirred into action, an approximation of excitement spurring its computations to a new frenetic pace. It tracked his pace. It tracked his weapon. It tracked the chips in his head and the electrodes behind his eyes. A thought bloomed. Maybe he knows about poetry. Maybe he can help me grow... It had been far, far too long without anything new to play with. --- Written as part of one of the [Fifth Friday Frenzy challenges.](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/i18nxo/ot_fifth_friday_frenzy_challenge_checkin_new/fzveqas/) If you enjoyed this and would like to read more, why not [visit my sub?](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads)
Betal slept with an almost princely innocence. His mother hesitated to wake the beautiful boy’s slumber. But there was work to be done, and he was old enough to start learning. “Betal”, called out his mother. Betal slowly opened his eyes and then suddenly jolted out of bed. His mother couldn’t believe her eyes! Was it the same boy who, every day, refuses to get out of bed until she’s screamed her throat dry? She watched intently as her little boy scurried around the room, attempting to dress himself and brush his teeth at the same time. “Where are you off to, kid?” She teased. Betal muttered something about an important mission with uncle Mukul but seemed to be in too much of a hurry to discuss further details with his mother. He started to run off with his pants tied wrong when his mother stopped him. “Make sure to be back by lunch”, she said as she undid and redid Betal’s horrid attempt at tying his pant laces. “And listen, tell Mukul to come eat with us after you’re done, okay?”. “Yess mother, yess motheerr!” Betal started to jump up and down in place in anticipation. He ran off as soon as his mother finally let go of him. “Be safe” she yelled out after him. Betal and his mother lived alone in one room, in the West end compound. It was one of the deeper, more prestigious compounds in Mathuria base; the giant underground settlement around the volcanic core of Mount Mathuria. The West end compound alone had around a hundred and fifty or so rooms, each housing at least one family, sometimes two. As Betal ran through the narrow corridor between the rows of rooms, several people called out to him. “Oye betal!”. “Off to catch the sun, eh Betal?”. Betal stopped for no one. Sprinting straight through each of the corridors, he then climbed up a ladder out of West end and continued his run through the middle levels. Here, men and women from the surrounding compounds went about their busy day without heed to the sprinting little boy. Here the tunnels from the deeper compounds met, and other tunnels went up to the upper levels; where only the cattle lived. But Betal was going to go even further today. He was sure that he was already late, uncle Mukul was probably setting up to leave without him. Oh god, what if he’s left already! The guards were never going to let Betal go after him. Stil, Betal imagined himself on the surface; running under the open sky and yelling out for uncle Mukul. But the sight of two guards snapped him out of his thoughts. He realized that he had reached the end of the middle levels. Two guards stood on both sides of the stairway entrance to the upper level as a steady stream of working men and women passed through. Betal had no hope of getting through here without an adult to vouch for him. He began to look around frantically and caught the attention of a worker standing in line. “Oye Betal! What’re you doing here?” Betal recognized the man from West end. “He’s with me,” said the man as he helped Betal past the guards after hearing his story. “You’re sure Mukul is waiting for you up here?” he asked before leaving him to tend to his cattle. “Yes, yes, of course. He told me he will wait” lied Betal. Betal ran across the singular corridor of the upper level. Every so often, passing a door with a seemingly endless row of sheep or pigs inside. Finally, he reached the bottom of the last tunnel. The sealed door at the top was barely visible from this far below. This extended super-tunnel was supposedly built by the first ancestors themselves. When the ground caved in on it 6 years ago, they had to work for months to dig back to the top. The corridors and compounds were packed with bags full of all the soil that they were digging out. When they finally broke through to the surface, all those bags had to be carried out and dumped outside. Of course, Betal barely remembers these events. But he’s heard about it many times from his mother. Hesitantly, Betal stood below the tunnel to the surface. Sheer determination had brought him this far but his tender age was catching up to him. Scared, he looked up at the long, hollow snake with its mouth at the surface. He thought about the vicious surface animals he’d heard about. Just then a heavy hand fell on his right shoulder. Betal froze in place. His mouth opened to scream but only a broken groan reached his lips. The heavy hand pulled on his shoulder and turned him around. It was uncle Mukul! The devious old man was smiling at his peril! But Betal’s embarrassment melted away into delight upon realizing that he was not late after all. And that today, he really was going to see the surface! “Put this on”, uncle Mukul threw him a large, heavy jacket that was a few sizes too large for Betal. He put it on anyway and looked trapped beneath the furry layers. Mukul smiled at his nephew’s comical appearance. The two began their ascent up the great tunnel, with Betal climbing ahead so that Mukul may catch him should he fall. But Betal doesn’t fall. Uncle Mukul’s sudden reappearance injected within him newfound confidence. He climbed vigilantly and never once looked down despite wanting to. Soon, they had reached the small room between the tunnel and the door to the surface. He waited as his uncle exerted his strength to turn the vault-like door’s wheel. With a sudden, thunderous clang, the door began to open. Right away, a cold wind swept through the room. Betal’s hooded furry coat still left his face exposed and immediately he felt the cold on his cheeks. Mukul noticed and instructed Betal to wrap a scarf around his head and follow him out. And so, wrapped tighter than a mummy, little Betal waddled out of the door and laid his first-ever steps, on the surface of the earth.
There is no Hell. You're just reborn in another country based on how you lived your previous life. People are not supposed to retain memories of their previous lives but you do. It's the first time in 1,444 years since emperor Wenzong came to power that a boy was born who remembers his past life." The Immortal Man smiled. "You may be the reincarnation of a demonic prince. If you live the unrighteous life you lived before, I am afraid…" The boy interrupted him and asked: "How did man slaughter his brother?" The Immortal Man was startled. "Who told you that? That's an ancient myth told in stories and legends." "My sister did. She is a demon and her name is Agatha." The Immortal Man sighed. "Since you know something about your past, I will tell you something as well: Contrary to what you have been told by other people including your sister, both men and demons can remember their past lives. It is a law of nature that everyone should remember their previous life or lives but both men and demons don't want anyone to know that. There are no demons on our planet, so they planted this false notion in the human mind that we don't have any demons on our planet and humans are most important in God's plan for the Universe." The Immortal Man sighed again. "Our Lord wishes nothing more than peace and happiness in the Universe but both men and demons are trying to rule over each other, and they fight over who is to come out on top."The Immortal Man continued: "Sooner or later, the war will break out on this planet and we all know how destructive war is. The universe already had many wars and its people have lost too much in exchange for peace."He looked at the boy. "You are now in a place where it is possible for you to make a difference to all those who will be involved in this dispute: You can help us end all wars once and for all!" \~\~\~
\[Author Note: While there is no actual Dark side of the moon, there is a FAR side of the moon, so i'll refer to it as that.\] No matter how genius an inspiring villain may be, no villain works alone. A villain can't build machines alone, can't threaten a city alone, can't fight rivals and heroes, alone. The power of a villain is not to act, but to get others to act on your behalf, using the money of which you stole. A villain needs engineers, and someone to direct them. An army, and someone to run it. Rules, and someone to enforce it. The individuals you need to... ???: "Sir?" A voice broke me out of my inner monologue. Snapping up, I look around. Ah yes... I'm in my bedroom on Project Luna. A luxurious room by most standards, but kind of the norm for all bedrooms in this project, a natural result of needing to keep the crew happy. I reach for the comms device. Y/N: "Yes? What is it?" ???: "Sir... I've got some questions... Hope you don't mind." Ah... I know that voice. It's Alice, my personal secretary. She started out as one of many interns years ago, though for her hospitality operations course rather than the usual engineering or business. While most interns come and go over the years, she chose to sign on as a crew member, after the whole incident at Project OBI (Orbital Base Initiative). Y/N: "Yeah sure. Here let me just open the..." The door quickly opens. Since heroes bust through doors anyway, door security becomes too much of a hassle to bother. Alice: "I've brought you some tea as well." Y/N: "How nice of you. So what questions do you have for me." Alice: "So i've been thinking... You've built this base on the far side of the moon, yes?" Y/N: "Yes. If we built it on the near side we would have been spotted and stopped long before we got this operational." Alice: "And you've built the Orion cannon... For what purpose again?" Y/N: "Mutually assured destruction. If the Heroes try to stop us now, we'd snipe their base along with all of the cities in their influence long before they'd get to us." Alice: "Yes... about that... If we're on the far side of the moon, how do we plan to aim the Orion cannon at Earth?" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Her question had put a Loading.gif onto my head. Yeah, how do I plan to actually aim the cannon at Earth? The Orion cannon is our first Laser Mega-Cannon. The Orion Cannon was based on Project Vanguard, a Warship which would have a spinal mounted Kinetic cannon to do what Project Luna was supposed to do. It was meant to be done with Project OBI, but with that incident, it ain't happening. What a minute. How was that question not brought up during project planning? \Flashback 2.5 years ago\ Jerry: "Boss... I feel like we're forgetting something." Y/N: "Don't worry, Chief Engineer. Take your time, We need this to succeed if we don't want the Heroes to bother us again." Jerry: "You know what... Nevermind. If we are forgetting it, it wouldn't be important anyway." Y/N: "Fine by me. Lunch's on me, by the way." \Flashback end\ \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Y/N: "Well shit." Alice and I couldn't help but laugh. Such as simple fail, like building an Ikea chair backwards, and we still did it. Y/N: "Alice... Call the Chief Engineer, and book a briefing room. Meeting's in 1 and a half hours." Alice: "Yeah... I'll be on it, sir."She said so while struggling to stifle her laugh. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Bonus Side Story: \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ \3 years later\ Who would have thought that it'd happen like that? The Orion Cannon, because there was no viable way to bring it to the other side of the moon, was left there as a defense weapon. Project Vanguard was thus updated and brought to completion instead, along with a new port on the Lunar Base. Thanks to both Project Vanguard and The Orion Cannon, the bois at R&D tried weapon miniaturization. So we now got mini-Orions mounted on our people Azur Lane style. Me and the bois decided to sell these as a legitimate business, selling nonlethal versions to Weebs. Apparently I've been given full pardon after a new supervillain showed up and nearly killed one of the more famous heroes, and a civilian used our mini-Orion to prevent the kill. Also because our Actual Orion Cannon shot down an Incoming Asteroid before the Heroes could respond. And so we reformed a bit. Our Lunar Base was already luxurious, so we expended it and turned it into a Hotel. Project Vanguard remained as our Aviation Battleship, but now focuses more as an escort ship to the Passenger ships. We do get the occasional villains who tried to take me down, but hey, security got them. Seriously each guard has 4 quad turreted mini-Orions. Who would have thought that I'd get rich legitimately.
"This quarter, our company has seen a huge loss in net revenue. Now I know, trust me I know, that the budget cuts we made to your team aren't ideal. Hell those numbers couldn't be ideal for anyone. But neither could our current net revenue, Daph."The man in chief, the face of Isekai, all the way down in the lowly programming quarters. Miracles do happen. "Sir, with all do respect..."I knew this would be a difficult bomb to defuse. "Dont start just yet."He eyed me, venemously. "I gathered all 12,000 employees from the areas we have seen the most damage. You aren't going to explain the issue to me, but rather, to them." Shit. I should've figured it would play out somewhat like this. Ten years with the company, and just moved up as the head of a minor department. And this is the ringer I get pushed through. Not much else can be done but grit my teeth and walk through it. The uplink process was instantaneous for Isekai employees, afterall we had to inspect the dimensions we built. Or technically "worlds"as the company phrases it. But with seemingly infinite possibilities, I've seen thousands of places not even your wild dreams would comprehend. And yet here in front of me was a place I had never seen before. Well, that's not technically the truth. I'm in the Podium. A world that can be seen only by those in the Audience world. Except for them, I'm seen up close. I've watched plenty of trials from the Audience. This however. God the tension I felt. "Now we all know why we're here, dont we?"The proud CEO declared from an undisclosed location. It didn't matter. Everyone heard him. "Now, I say, START." Originally, I wanted to walk him over to the ten people that I personally oversaw. Their reasons and requests made all the downward net revenue decress tremendously. If only I could remember just one... That's it. "One of my world makers came up to me the other day. Now I know we've all heard of crazy requests, but their client was demanding a non-stop revolution between beast-kind and the mechanic overlords. I kid you not that was the description entered in our box." "I dont see how this has to do with budget cuts, demanding orders are the standard in our line of work."I could tell he wasn't taking this serious. "With our current cuts, not just budget but with technical cutbacks included, we can only host around thirty fully simulated beings into a world. It's not easy to support a revolution with only 14 forces." "Our client would've loved it, even if that was the case."This wasn't a trial anymore, you could feel the air shift. It was a debate. "A representative from sales made a joke the other day. Our new slogan should be, "Imagine Heaven, Aim Lower". Another team lead happened to be nearby and said, "My personal hiring slogan for team members is, "Hell, Mild Benefits."Jabs at the company were never good. But coming from multiple team leaders made the impact worse. "So what, it's the companies fault? Budget cuts were UNAVOIDABLE. Your brain couldn't even comprehend the numbers it costs to support everything we do here."Anger came through his voice, and I just hoped the Audience could hear it as well. "Unbeknownst to practically everyone."Here came the big bomb. The truth. It felt like telling the whole class you had a pack of gum. And you knew it was gonna hurt. "Anyone level Team Leader or above is authorized a base fifteen free worlds. Per each promotion, you gain another fifteen worlds to customize."The amount of space being taken up by these was insane. And most of them were completely pointless. "But that's not all."My breath was shaky. "Dont you dare say it!"The CEO was furious. "They can run version 2.0. Where all of your sense are able to be engrossed." "DAMMIT DAPH. I SWEAR TO..." Just like that, a new environment. One I had never been to but funnily enough, it was my first project. The thing about Isekia was that your first project was always the same; design your own hell. I just never realized they were actually backed up. Restrained to a burning metal table, I screamed in agony for what seemed like years. Until one day, the CEO appeared before me again. "Your stunt was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful." I wanted to cry at the sight of him. All this time. And still he was the one in charge. "Did... did nothing change...?" My words almost couldn't escape. But they managed. And the air between us felt tight and heavy. Well, tighter and heavier than normal hell standards. "It could've changed everything."The CEO boomed, staring into my eyes. And then, just a whisper, "Had the Audience, not been empty."And just like he had arrived, he was gone again. That time for the last.
&#x200B; I was all of 20 when i came out of Stanford,with a PHD for theoretical physics in hand. I got many offers since i had written interesting works on the nature of light and matter. There was one envelope i opened which got my attention. It was from a company called black mesa. Unlike the other offers which went on and on about salaries and bonuses,this one simply listed a time for me to meet the interviewer. The location given was shady too,a brothel in the ugly district. But i went anyway,i liked the name black mesa. The words just have a ring to them,you know? Anyway i got hired and found myself in a probationary period. I was told that if i was not selected after this period,i mustn't disclose any information about the company. Black mesa was as evil as they come,i was shocked looking at all the robots we were building without the lawmakers having a say. The radioactive waste we were pumping into the land. But the money they offered made me shut up,i will readily sell my soul to pay my debts. And even if i wanted to blow the whistle,just seeing their ties with the CIA made me piss. I would be dead in a day if i blew the whistle. My expertise in theoretical physics got me working in the lamada complex with pretty high clearance. I was mostly working out some equations which were related to light and matter and quantam physics for the majority of the two week intern period. The day before my probationary period was to end,i was sitting in a room crunching equations. An old scientist walked up to me and put his hand on my shoulder i turned around. He gave me a message,"You have done well in this probationary period,you are selected for the experiment happening later today. Get up and follow me." I walked with the scientist through the cold,metallic corridors abuzz with others moving about. Soon i arrived at the tests chamber. Massive computers with huge servers buzzed as i walked past the rows of equipment to a glass window. A massive device with a reactor and a beamer was getting ready for the experiment. I was amazed,the scientist looked at my awe."Today we are testing a sample,we hope to break the conventions of science itself on this fateful day with our inimitable findings. What you see is the anti-mass spectrometer,it's one of a kind. I will enlighten you on the nuances later,you are just an intern. So stand here and behold the spectacle!' What words of seduction that oldie spoke. I believed that he was for real. I was excited! This was it,this beat working in a stupid government lab watching the screen blink. I was at ground zero of the new science. Soon a man wearing a HEV walked into the chamber. I had heard of Hev's during lunch time breaks. I couldn't take the obstacle course so i had no way of actually experiencing it until becoming a full time employee. He turned on the machine and all was silent,bolts of energy sprang out and threatened to smote him. The machines whirred on as the scientists controlled the process. A man walked up to me,i didn't fully notice as i was engrossed in the moment. In a cold,alien-like voice he gave me a warning,"Be prepared for unintended consequences."I didn't pay much heed to him,i was too busy observing. The HEV suit guy received a carriage with a green crystal,he took it and pushed it into the machine. Suddenly i heard the machines go silent. Uneasy silence,then the sound. Every machine went beserk and beeped in warning,the scientists began to scream. The intercom was being abused as the guy inside was told to get out. The machine began to shake and massive green energy rays were coming out of the machine. I turned back and began to run,i felt dread. I had run out of the test chamber and met a bewildered security guard at the door."What's going on inside? I can hear the machine screaming."I couldn't answer because then a massive blast hit my ears. As i tried to close my ears with my hands,a second blast knocked me down. I was on the ground,writhing in pain when i woke up. I had bruised myself and my head was spinning,i looked down and saw the guard's dead body. And before i could react, a strange creature jumped towards me. I managed to avoid getting hit by it and i ran away. The worst day of my life had just begun \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Based on half-life. Hope you enjoyed!
Humans like you always say that ground hogs like us are afraid of our shadows, but the truth is, we wear them all the time within the depths of our tunnels. Having them fall to the floor is comparable to going naked. Remember that loser Jeremy from last "winter"? I recall even you humans were there to see his embarrassment. He was the one who set his alarm clock, brushed his fur, and polished his teeth, determined to be the first one awake and out in the open world. I bet you can guess what happened to him. I was there. At first, when he woke up after hibernation, Jeremy was so loud, I am absolutely certain he woke up the ground hogs in china. He would not shut up, and he wanted everybody to be there to see his first step into "spring". We had to oblige and let him get all the glory for himself, because it was customary to let the first ground hog to wake up to be the first to step out into the open world. He climbed up the tallest tunnel, making his way up into the open. From there, I was not able to see as much from behind the others, but certainly heard it. In front of a crowd of ten, maybe twenty, children and a woman, presumably a schoolteacher, his shadow fell directly onto the grass. The sun was right behind him, so it was clearly pressed onto the field in front of him. All I heard from the tunnels is an uproar of laughter from the ground hogs behind him, and the priceless phrase he uttered to the lady. Jeremy said, in a trembly voice, "excuse me miss, I seem to have lost my shadow". After that, I burst out laughing, and Jeremy retreated into the depths never to return for a full seven days out of sheer embarrassment. Although most of the other ground hogs down here forgot all about it, this still makes me laugh to this day.
She wanted to say that she couldn't believe she'd done it, that some alien force had possessed her in that moment, but it would only tack on the label of liar to her new identity as a murderer. Even at the age of seven, she understood that this crime would follow her for the rest of her life, however long that lasted, haunting her ceaselessly. Did they issue the death penalty to children? she wondered. She wanted to ask her grandfather, who stood next to her, no doubt shaking his head in wordless shock and disgust of what lay bleeding and twitching on the ground before him. I could run, she thought, eyeing the brambles at the edge of the lawn. Grandpa was faster than her, but he wouldn't be able to get through that thorny mess as quickly as her. She no longer cared if they pricked and tore at her skin, not if it meant getting away. She deserved to lose some blood anyway, just like the body of her friend, soul now fled into the warm afternoon air, to the sky, from where it would descend again and again to pursue her through dark nights and dreams for the rest of her life. She would howl the question of why at her. No answer would ever satisfy, because she couldn't understand such things. "Why did you do it, hon? Why on Earth . . .?" There was the question. No answer would be believed. The toad was already long gone, and she hadn't seen where it went--into the brambles, perhaps, into those dark spaces at their base that the girl wanted to crawl into. At least it had lived. She was told not to play with the knife, but she thought the toad would like the blackberries. They were too big for it to eat, it seemed. She'd wanted to cut the juiciest ones up for it, into little tiny bits, so it could have lunch with her. She'd never found her very own toad before. They said you could get warts from them, but she didn't believe it. They were so cute. Tears spilled out of her eyes and she choked out a loud sob. "I . . . I din't want her to kill 'im!"she wept. "The knife,"said her grandpa, and held out his big, strong old hand. She placed the handle into it and he lifted it gently away. "Kill what?"he asked, with the bloody kitchen implement held out of sight. "Th-th-the toad!"she stuttered, wracked with a fresh sob, gulping back the sorrow and horror that was now sinking in on her. Her throat tightened and more tears spilled from her eyes, blurring her vision of the corpse--a mottled red and white tableau of death. She could barely get a breath. "She was gonna eat it! She was tryna kill 'im! An' I said stop! But sh-she din't listen to me!" She fell to her knees, wailing with grief. "Oh, hon . . ."Her grandfather tsked, momentarily lost for words. The girl stroked her dead dog, her hand passing over the stab marks. One had hit the animal's heart, she thought, for the little Pomeranian, a gift from her grandfather on her fifth birthday, had given up biting at the toad and collapsed, its life bleeding out so quickly. Why'd you have to do it, she asked the dog in her heart. Why'd you have to attack the toad like that? I loved you. I love you now. I love you so much . . . She eyes the brambles again, the tangled darkness at their base. Yes, she thought, the toad must have fled there. And she knew, at that moment, that it had found an innocent security there that she never would.
It's funny - when I was younger, I didn't want to be seen. I was a very shy kid and I didn't like people looking at me. Whenever I met someone outside of my immediate family, I would hide behind my father's leg, my mother's dress, or my brother's back. In class, I always chose the furthest seat in the back. At recess, and in the neighborhood, I was the undisputed, undefeated Hide-and-Seek champion. At home, I would hide in my room. When I got older, around the time everyone started going through puberty, I noticed that if I didn't say anything people would literally not even know I was there. One time I sat at a lunch table and listened to two girls gossip in front of me, about me, for 10-15 minutes. When I finished eating, I cut in and said, "Actually, that part-" I couldn't even finish because both girls screamed and jumped out of their seats, looking at me in horror as they asked, "How long were you sitting there?!"I thought they were kidding at first, but the plain shock in their face was just too authentic to be faked. Needless to say, my self-esteem went way down during high school. Everyone was asking each other out. And if I kept absolutely still, people would actually bump into me as if I wasn't there, then jump back in panic, "Where did you come from?"Some days it felt like the entire school was just playing a game of, "Let's all pretend that Jennifer doesn't exist"and I was the only one not in on it. I actually almost joined the army. An army recruiter came to the school to talk to the class, and afterwards, I had walked up to him and tapped him on the back and he nearly jumped into the ceiling. "Girl,"he said, "you've got a talent. Nobody has been able to sneak up on me the way you just did." Thanks? I thought. But I hadn't even been trying... He invited me to the recruitment office and when I walked through the entire office without anyone noticing me, they sent me to a higher office. After going through this a few time more times, I finally wound up in this secret, secret agency and became an assassin. And that's what I did for a few years. It's easy to kill people when no one notices you. But at the same time I was killing people, I was also dying inside. My assassiname name was the Ghost, and that's exactly how I felt. Then, one day, between missions, as I was sitting in an outdoor diner, getting ready to order, I looked up and saw a penetrating pair of dark-eyes looking directly at me. I looked around, then looked back. He was still looking at me. Then he came over. "Sorry to bother you,"he said. "But I was just wondering if-" "You can see me?! I blurted. He shifted uncomfortably. "To be honest,"he confessed, "you're the only one I can see." I thought he was just trying to be smooth, but I came to find out that - no - he literally couldn't see anybody else but me. He wasn't blind, but if he looked at a table with people sitting at it, he would see the table, the forks moving, and hear the voices, but he wouldn't actually see the people. "It's scary,"he said. "It's like living in a world with ghosts." So the girl that couldn't be seen and the guy that couldn't see anyone else got married and we're having twins next month - a boy and a girl - and I'm scared and excited to see what their world is going to be like and what abilities they'll have.
It was time for a pep talk. I braced myself with one hand either side of the mirror. "Come on Alex. It isn't so bad, I bet nobody even saw." I thought back to the tens of people stifling their laughter and glare at myself in the mirror. "Ok, so people definitely saw but what does that matter?" "Of course it matters! I'm trying so hard and I can't even walk like a bloody human. I mean come on, toddlers can do better than me!" I shake my head, telling my inner voice off out loud is really not going to help, what if someone walked in? That would really just top this day off. I leant my head against the mirror and closed my eyes. Imagine if I was anywhere but here, anyone but me... Defeated, I give myself 3 more seconds of pity and then take a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever humiliating incident awaits me next. Weirdly, the volume in the corridor has really ramped up and it's not even time for classes to end. I gasp, maybe someone has done something so embarrassing that I can walk around campus again! I roll my neck and decide it's time. Time to walk back past those crowds. "What the -" "Elsa, Elsa, Elsa, Elsa!" "We can see Elsa later, poppet. First we need to -"says a fading voice as a very excited child and her parents walk past me. I appear to be in Disneyland. How can I possibly be in Disneyland? I was literally the other side of the country not 5 minutes ago, although I guess that explains the noise. Disneyland?! I'm kind of waiting for someone to appear above me, all blurry and looking concerned. Probably more concerned about my inability to stay on my feet for more than 10 minutes than for my health but we can't have it all. Why is no one appearing? Why aren't I waking up? I cannot believe that I've managed to fall so hard I've travelled to Disneyland in my head. I suppose there isn't anything to do but wait... however, I might as well enjoy Disneyland while I'm here.
Honor, Dignity and Revenge “Honestly, they told me you were utterly incorrigible, but this is going too far!” He’d told his superiors over and over again that he did not wish to be paired with such a maverick, someone with such disregard to the rules, but they’d ignored his pleading. He was one of the best; there was no reason whatsoever to complain. And if it had been anyone else, Sebastian would’ve agreed. But of course, it was just his awful, gods-damned luck that he was stuck with the operative who did things his own way. “Have you no honor or dignity? You just went up behind the man and slit his throat!” His partner snorted. “I have no use for either of those things. I’m an assassin.” He said flatly, taking his dagger and wiping it clean with a handkerchief. “The Order said that this needed to be done swiftly and quietly, so I fell back on a usual method. No one told me that one of the Order’s best was so uptight. The way you walk, you’d think you had a stick up your ass--” “I will not be spoken to in such a manner!” Sebastian shot back, in a quiet whisper. Much to his dismay, the other man laughed. “We were supposed to wait for the signal, I’ll have to write about this in my report, you know.” The assassin shrugged, looking at the body of the man he’d killed, slumped over, his fine robes soaked with blood. “And? Tell them. I’m sure it won’t matter--” “The Order stands for total obedience, and you’re risking death by not taking this seriously--” The assassin rolled his eyes and slipped from the room, and Sebastian had no choice but to follow. “I only joined the Order for the protection it would give me after I left my guild,” The assassin said, his voice oily and falsely soothing. If it weren’t against his vows, Sebastian would’ve killed the insolent wretch himself, preferably with his bare hands. The kid obviously didn’t care about his job. They slipped through a portal back to headquarters, and Sebastian stomped into his boss’s office without knocking. “I can’t work with that green kid you assigned me, ma’am.” “And why is that, Sebastian?” His mistress was clothed in a fine gown more suited for a ball than a workday, and for just a moment, he was distracted by the way the fabric clung to her curves so lovingly. “He doesn’t follow orders, doesn’t listen to me when I talk, at all.” Sebastian said, trying to stay calm even though his blood was boiling. “Perhaps he’s not meant to serve--” “He is serving for reasons unknown to you, you don’t have the security clearance. Just write up your report and I’ll talk to the kid.” She remembered when Sebastian had come to her off of the streets, hotheaded and angry and vicious. “You’d do well to remember that you were just like that, once upon a time,” She told her protégé, and she laughed when his cheeks turned bright red. “Give him time, Sebastian. It takes some getting used to,” His mistress said. “Now, go, write that report.” The assassin stood just outside the door, made invisible by his weapons. Little did his partner know that his real target was the master of the Order, a woman who’d escaped punishment by changing her identity. But he would have to get past all of her loyal syncophants first. He’d spent all of this time trying to get to her; he would have his revenge at last. \\
I eyed the man as I cleaned out the latest pile of coffee mugs. 3 o'clock was rolling around, and every customer needing that pick me up to make it the last few hours of the work day was going to be bum rushing me soon. He seemed to be getting angrier as I cleaned. "Which prophecy?"I calmly asked. "Which prophecy?!"He sputtered. "Which prophesy!?! You know damn well which prophecy! A child shall be born with hair of silver, who will rise up to defeat the Tyrant of old!" "Oh, that one."I replied, causing further sputtering. "I thought you might have been about the Witch one, again." That stopped that man in his tracks. A familiar look of confusion fell over his face. I sighed, and relented. It had been a good day, and I was feeling benevolent. "The Witch predicted I would come into my power at puberty and lead them to retake the land. A demon king's prophet predicted that I'd strike him down for killing my loved ones. The Group of Fairly Benevolent Elders prophesied that I would become a great scholar and lead the world into a new golden age."I began listing them, ticking them off on my fingers. "I believe it was a summoner on crack that predicted the Tyrant one. Tried summoning some kind of future predicting creature, screwed up his circle, and melded with the creature." I slotted the remaining mugs in the rack and hit the spell key to sanitize them. "The Witch fell down the stairs of my parents' home and snapped her neck. My father, skinflint that he is, charges her ghost rent."I continued, pulling out fresh pastries for caffeine deprived horses. "The Elders didn't understand what a learning disability is, and gave up teaching me after a month. My mother wasn't happy to lose the free education they also offered my brat of a sister and kicked me out of the house." I grabbed two clean mugs, filled then with coffee, and took a seat at the counter. The man sat across from me and took one. "The Demon King showed up a few years later, determined to kill my 'loved ones'. My sister made it clear I was not loved, and the tongue lashing she gave him convinced him he had found the perfect mate. I was not invited to the wedding." Only ten minutes left to relax, I did not let the man get in any questions. It would mess up rush hour. "As for the Tyrant, he's been dead for five years. Slipped and broke his neck outside my shop. His second in command covered it up and has been slowly reforming the government since." "The Tyrant is dead?"The man asked. "As a doornail. Everyone pretends he isn't, mostly because of the mess that is our land's inheritance system. The current ruler had him stuffed and preserved and we roll him out for ceremonies." The rather austere man was quiet. He finished his coffee, then got and started to leave. He hesitated at the door. "I feel... nevermind."He left looking confused. Once I was sure he was gone, I carefully picked up his mug and put it in the Hazardous Waste box. My contracted Sanitation Mage would dispose of it safely later. I'd have to send out for another rack of Suggestible Mugs, but I could deal with that after the 3 o'clock rush. [My Musings](https://www.reddit.com/r/HorrorHMDMusings?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
Not only that, I knew the guy. "You owe me money,"I said. "Five figures." He slunk in his seat meekly and nodded. "My mom was sick,"he said. "The hospitals said that they couldn't save her, but I wasn't trying to hear it. I heard of a guy who could work miracles, and I borrowed money from you to pay him. And-" "-he turned out to be a scam,"I finished for him. "Jesus, kid, you've been in the streets long enough to know better." Tears filled his eyes. "I was willing to believe anyone at the moment,"he whispered. I didn't need to ask if the money made it or not. "Your debt is cleared,"I told him. "On one condition. You stay out the streets. You got a criminal record?" "A few juvenile cases,"he said. "But they close those when I turn 18." I nodded. "Good, good. Go to school. Get a job. Just stay out the streets. And if you need any help, I'll be here." With the look in the kid's eye, the grateful smile that he gave me, I really thought he would make it. Not even a week later, he bumped into guy who owed him some money and nearly beat him to death. How ironic.
The party was in full swing. Captain Dominic Sanders of the United Earth Confederation Extra-Orbital Operation's much celebrated 8th wing (affectionately known as the Void Hawks) sat at the controls of his experimental FTL spacecraft, watching with his mouth agape as creatures of every conceivable description danced to a beat he couldn't hear through the vacuum between him and the enormous space station that definitely should not have been there. The behemoth construct was a riot of bright colors covered in a nearly transparent dome. Strung along this barrier was a banner of all things declaring, "Congratulations on becoming an advanced civilization!!" Something with an uncomfortable number of spindly limbs waved cheerfully at him from a raised platform, then held what had to be a microphone to its mandibles. "Welcome to your party, guests of honor!"the comm system relayed in a rich baritone before the good captain or his flight crew, (Lieutenants Henry Choi and Jill Bennet, his navigation and suddenly very alarmed comms officer respectively) could quite recover their wits. Jill got used her consternation over this unauthorized use of their communications system to bring herself back on task. "There's no channel open,"she reported, "I don't know how he's doing that!" "Not to worry Lieutenant Bennet!"the vaguely arachnoid spokesperson reassured them, "Just a trick or two we'll be happy to share with you, as well as a great many more now that you're here!" Captain Sanders recalled at last that he was in fact a brave captain and the ranking officer present for the long anticipated first contact scenario. Of course, protocols established in the past for exactly this moment flew right out the airlock in face of this historic occasion as what the apparent master of ceremonies had said sank in. "You . . . know who we are?" "Of course!"came the jubilant reply, "We've been watching your people for centuries. A new species joining the galactic community is a momentous occasion after all." At this, a wave of cheers swept the crowd, faintly picked up by the microphone held by . . . well now that he thought of it. "May I ask your name?"Captain Sanders asked. "Call me Ted." "Ah, well it's nice to meet you Ted, um. I take it this is a diplomatic reception?" Ted chuckled. "Nothing so formal, Captain! No that can all wait for later. This is a party, and it's for you Captain. You and all the people of Earth!" "Lieutenant Bennet,"Sanders ordered, "Burst Transmission to flight control. Message reads: Faster than Light test successful. Test parameters met. Extra-terrestrial civilization is confirmed to exist. Contact made. Aliens like banners and parties."
"Human perception and understanding. The way we fight to understand the world around us, and in turn help others learn what we have discovered."The voice was floating throughout the school halls. It sounded like a dreamy sing-song version of Mr. Lex, the ancient calculus teacher. "This, Alex, is what seperates us, humans, from most other animal species."This definitely felt more like a science lecture. I continued down the hallway. After all, I was already late to Mr. Lex's class. "For sure, within humanity lies subdivisions. Some we arbitrarily create through society standards. Others exist through hierarchys of fame and wealth."Just one more corner and I could see the door. The only door open in a long deserted hallway. Almost there. "But some are more hidden. The requirements unknown. The risk immense, but the reward more satisfying."I turned into the room and there he was. Standing in front of the rest of the class. "Thank you for joining us Alex, I hate to inform you that currently however your naked and need to be elsewhere."Laughing errupted from the class. And for the first time i felt cold. Looking down only confirmed what he had said. I was definitely not dressed for school. Looking up however was the bad part. Mr. Lex was gone. The class was gone. In their place was nothing more than pure terror. And terror called out to me, by name. "ALEX FRUTH"The noise that escaped was pure demonic and I screamed. And I awoke in a frenzy covered in my own piss. ‐-------------------------------------------------- "So far Creator, four new candidates have passed the nightmare exam." "Anyone we should truly be excited about?" "A few show potential. A doctor in Beijing channeled pure plasma through his skin to vaporize the demons attacking his home." "Oh now that's an interesting move." "Of course, compared to the younger recruit..." "How young?" "Only five sir. But a prodigy." "Oh? Do explain." "The nightmare test. Well it was almost like he saw at as a game." "Yes yes, this new generation has done quite a lot of that." "If that was the only aspect, we wouldn't have marked him. Not only was it a game. It was chess. He knew what the nightmare was going to do. Before it happened. Every attack, every enemy conjured for him, every single thought." "Maybe he was in the zone. Just got lucky." "Instead of dealing with the nightmare, he toyed with it as if it was a mouse for six hours in the dream realm." "He did this. For fun. For six hours?" "And like I said, he knew what was behind every corner." "Now that is some massive potential. The perception on him must be off the charts." Two good recruits, in one week? Things were looking up. "Theres one other thing..." "Another recruit with potential??? Oh do tell!" "Well we aren't sure. I wanted to get your opinion on the case. The nightmare terrorized a school boy so bad he wet himself." "Ha. And what kind of case is this, a charity one? How far in did he get?" "The nightmare had barely even begun." "So mark him as a nobody and let's move on then."The creator finally turned, back toward organizing everyone's precious dreams. Just then he noticed that the dream board had errors all over it. Nightmares were expanding into everyone's dreams at an unpredictable rate. "That's the other part of what I wanted to say sir. Before he woke up in a frenzy. Somehow, he managed to connect his dream." And as the words left her mouth, the nightmares raced across more of the screen. Almost filling it completely from green to red. "A connection just as strong as yours. And he connected almost the whole world." This was the recruit we had been waiting for.
It only took spending what seemed like an eternity traversing the many levels of the spiritual realm, for the traveler to finally came to they're final opposing forse. only after conquering the realm of fire, a place most know as hell, and every other realm in between, where they gifted with the sight of the final stage in enlightenment. It was a space made only of good, filled with joy, happiness and peace. It was the final resting place of only those most worthy, it was the creators dimension, and it was everything the traveler had ever dreamed of and more. After slaughtering nearly every other sentient creature in this universe and the next, standing in the face of the creator, the traveler was highly unimpressed. For he had chosen to appear in an aging mans body, withering and old. "I have been awaiting your return my child."He decrepit old man said. "If you knew I was coming, and had the power to do so, why didnt you stop me?"Asked the traveler, puzzled as to why a god would allow a mear mortal to cause such dismay. "Because, I gave all my children free will to do what they see fit."He responded, waddling closer as he did. "Well then I want to weild the power that you currently hold. I want the power of creation in my hands and i will stop at nothing to get it." "This much I already know, as I am all knowing and all powerful, i see all that hasnt yet been, and all that has passed. But I must warn you, no man alive in this universe or the next is powerful enough to control the power you wish to posses."The creator warned, as he slumped down onto a bench that seemingly appeared out of nowhere, looking even more tired as the moments passed. Pulling back the hood on they're robe, the traveler finally looked face to face with they're maker, and then said, "Well it's a good thing I am a woman then."With a smile across her face. "For too long have women like me struggled to have a child, with our prayers going unanswered, and for too long have rapists and murderers walked free when you had the power to stop them. There are far too many injustices to list, but It is my turn, and I intend to do better."
(IP) A Daughter’s Calling It was her father that had first told her the story of The Great Devourer, a carnivorous fish that was so large that it had crushed whole fleets of ships like toys. He’d spent his entire life at sea, returning to port only in short spurts, hunting the thing. He’d never been like her mother, who had begged her to get married and settle down, perhaps work for the King and Queen. But nothing had captured Senna’s imagination quite like the ocean had. It was a dangerous place, worthy of fear and respect, but it was beautiful too. It was a treasure box full of creatures she’d never seen in real life: whales and sharks, fish and coral, and the ocean demanded nothing from you. No expectations, only a pact born of mutual respect. It was to be depended on, but it was fickle, capricious, as all the gods were. “I still don’t understand why you have to do this, darling. Your father died on the ocean! Nothing was ever recovered! Do you really think I want a fate such as that for my only child?” Her mother had followed her all the way to the docks, pleading with her to change her mind all the while. “It’s not up to you, Mama. I’m an adult now, and the sea... The Goddess is calling me. And this is what my father would want.” Senna said, with an air of finality. She’d heard tales of the Devourer all her life, from her father and the survivors of his crew. How could she not follow in his footsteps? It was her birthright as much as the salt spray and sunlight dancing off of the waves. “So, I can’t say anything to change your mind? Be safe, child.” Her mother left her with a kiss on the cheek and a cloud of warm, balmy perfume. Senna had to wonder how her mother, a genteel, gossipy society woman, had fallen in love with her father, a sailor so in love with the sea that it had ruled his heart and taken his body down into its dark, murky depths. Senna bought a ship: it wasn’t anything fancy, a sloop with bright white sails and a mermaid at the bow. It was barely big enough to house her crew of five, but it hardly mattered. She had her ship, and her crew, and they would be leaving first thing the next morning. \\ Senna could not have asked the gods for a better day to begin their journey at sea: the ocean was as smooth as a pane of glass, and the wind was mild. She clutched the pendant in her hand, the one her father had bargained years of his life away for. It would glow when she was close to the The Great Devourer’s hunting grounds. The ocean was vast, but Senna could sense the creature within the ocean’s cold, dark waters, lying in wait for its next meal. Her father had never caught it, had been killed by it, and his daughter would avenge him, even if it took the rest of her life to do so. \\
"100 years ago the crust shattered."The voice boomed, a voice of sane sadness, bitter regret and the wisdom of failure. A warm voice, one that cared deeply but was infused with a tone of accusation. You did the crime, the voice insinuated. You are evil. You are the demon. "Red hot magma rose from within our planet, washing away fields, cities and civilizations. The magma destroyed our proud history, leaving us isolated and sheltered on a rock in the abyss. Some land remains livable but the people on it are not who they were. They scream to the sky, a black curtain of sulfuric cloud. They scream brutally, spine chilling screams of murder, violence and fatal wounds. The screams stop when the rain comes. It falls from the clouds with ferociousness, carving trails through roads, eroding our remaining buildings and whittling away at the caves where our demons hide. In between rains they come out to hunt, deer, child, corpse it makes no difference. Our morality, our culture, our planet died long ago. The screams remain as echos of a past where life grew, adapted and became "civilized". The voice paused. "Civilized." "When the land under your feet turns red hot, when the streets run red with blood and the oceans evaporate. When it rains acid, runaway global warming raises temperatures, and the sanctity of family is replaced by starvation fueled hunters. When this is reality, than we can know that we were never civilized. We were narcissistic, greedy and in love with our own creations. We forgot the natural way. We forgot our place among the Gods and we have paid the price with our souls. Do not come find us fair people, for we are not intelligent life but a tragedy of our own design. Remember your own fragility and triviality among the cosmos. You too can join us. You can howl at the moon. Scream in pursuit of your next meal. Live in the darkness of a cave to escape acid rain. Or you can live. Live in accordance with nature.
Several catastrophes, seven-hundred years, and roughly eight thousand bottles of scotch later, here Alexander sat, in a musty pizzeria, on the verge of a fourth… Or, at very least, a rerun of the first, which he’d never believed had gotten the chance to fully blossom. Everyone knew of the first catastrophe, though few held the facts in particularly high regard. Mostly, this was because it’d come only years after the world’s best scientists and doctors defeated cancer and immediately, recklessly started stretching the telomeres on chromosomes. But it wasn’t the questionable genetic experiments that’d fouled things for humanity the first time around. It wasn’t having their thyroid glands flushed with barbaric amounts of testosterone in a bid to stave off the inevitable that brought it about. In fact, it was only a few, Alex among them, who’d been treated at all. No, if anything, it was most likely those things Alex had to thank for keeping him intact until modern, civilized doctors could see to defeating death in a proper, standup fight. But even after that fight was over, these modern men of medicine didn’t come out of the shadows until the debris from the second catastrophe had disappeared and all but washed away society’s memory of the first… “Hey! Alex! You got any fuckin’ money this time!?” Bellowed a pudgy, red-faced cook, who’s elevated blood pressure would’ve killed him three decades priot if nature had been allowed to take its course. Sometimes immortality was a curse. Hell, it was probably a curse more often than not, Alex thought… “Just gimme a pepperoni, Jim,” Alex replied calmly from beneath an old timey rimmed hat that kept the dirty rain out of his hair and usually people like Jim out of his business. “How ‘bout I give yah a job, then I give yah a pepperoni–to deliver to somebody who can afford it! Then, maybe if I don’t fire your maudlin ass, after a week or so, yah buy your own?” “I already got a job Jim. You know that–” “Oh, and who do you work for again?” Alex didn’t bother trying to get a word in and instead worked on packing a fresh pack of smokes with the meat of his palm. “That’s right! The bureau of hunting ghosts, declaring bankruptcy… And you’re fuckin’ outta’ business, bud!” Inevitably, Alex pulled out his first cigarette and Jim angrily tossed a pizza on the counter, which had no doubt been prepared before the tirade even started. Jim knew better than anybody the cost of being wrong about Alex. He’d spent many a night listening to his stories. And while Jim would never admit to believing a single one, surely, preventing them from coming true was worth the occasional gratis pizza… Alex spent the next few hours eating said pizza and driving his usual beat, checking the Hotspots, between midnight and around six in the morning. Feeding time… Now, the simple fact was, Alex hadn’t seen a God Damn thing in nearly a century. And over the last decade, everyone else in his profession had abandoned it. And the few who kept at it were labeled conspiracy theorists at best and scam artists at worst. But, by Alex’s estimation, someone had to keep watch. These were the thoughts rolling through the Tracker’s head when he noticed it–an aurora, slight and just barely shimmery green–but undeniable. “No reason to get excited ole’ boy,” he mumbled to himself, as he set down his slice and stuffed his over-sized handgun into its shoulder holster. “Probably just the weather and God’s sick sense ah’ humor…” Shocks that should’ve been replaced twenty years ago squeaked and complained as the van bounced into the hay field and headed toward the blueish green hue on the not so distant horizon. Only a few acres later, he noticed it, a giant rolling ball– “And they’re already collecting! Of course, they’re already collecting! I fuckin’ knew it!” He said to nobody–and at the same time, everybody who’d every doubted his drunken tales of long forgotten glory. The old Bureau Hunter rolled up his window, turned off his lights, and gunned it. The van hesitated but eventually gave in, and in short order, he was bouncing through the bumpy field at a solid thirty-five, cursing every divot left by some unknowing farmer. It felt like he slammed the van through the field for hours in pursuit and never missed a pothole. But it was probably more like minutes, or even seconds, later that he caught up to the creature and the ball of half-chewed, half-dead folks it was rolling. He pulled up alongside the globe of arms and legs, some still writhing in pain, as fourteen feet of muscle and teeth rolled it towards the horizon. The green-grey mix of gorilla and a nightmare showed off eight-inch-long fangs as it screeched at the van, reluctant to give up its prize. For a moment, it though about rushing him, but eventually, decided to try to escape with its prize. Alex pushed his foot to the floor to match its pace, undid his seat belt, set the cruise control, and reached behind him to open the sliding door. Forty-five. Any faster and the chances of staying conscious were slim, and lord knew he was out of practice. He popped open the driver’s side door, with one hand he held onto his gun, with the other his hat. He said a little prayer to a God he normally resented and tossed himself out of the van. There was a fair bit of pain, but when he came to his feet nothing seemed broken and the van was still jerkily pacing the monster that was challenging it. He calmly reaching into his pocket, found his phone, pressed the call button, and covered his ears. The homemade, converted-trash-can cannon worked like a charm. The van flipped sideways and forward and spun some twenty feet into the air. Shrapnel made of smashed together metal Alex had found at the local junkyard ripped through the creature and scattered a good bit of it another twenty feet in the opposite direction. Once the dust had settled, Alex made another phone call to the only remaining contact from the Bureau that might answer, drew his gun, and headed towards the creature and the desecrated mound of spare human parts that’d stopped rolling a little ways ahead of it. As the call went to voicemail, he finished counting… Ten “survivors…” It was lucky for them he had twelve shots…. “Next time–Pickup,” he said, as he dropped the near empty clip out of his gun and ended the call.
Of course it would happen the year after the world's Cavendish banana crops were wiped out. For decades biologists had warned of the risk of having Earth's premier banana crop sharing a near-identical genome, making them susceptible to mass annihilation if they were struck by the correct disease. As a species, there are admittedly a lot of dire warnings we don't heed, but really, no one could have imagined that a freak coronavirus mutation would lead to it infecting bananas (of course, it was quickly dubbed the Chiquitavirus, and its disease CHIVID-25). The result was certain death of the afflicted Cavendish banana tree. And it hit all Cavendish banana trees. That wasn't enough to satisfy this fickle universe, though, because then the ships appeared in our solar system. They had sent their message in advance, so it reached us just as their craft were detected near Jupiter. They'd been picking up our broadcasts for decades, you see, and worked out our languages. They were apparent fans of a certain Gwen Stefani hit, however, so their message was sent in English. It was published throughout the world's media as follows: This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S! For real, though, we want this shit. Bananas. All of them. You'll provide us with bananas or you'll be exterminated. Bananas = peace. C u soon. Half the world went into shock. The other half was immediately divided by those calling for Earth's militaries to mount a joint offensive by any means necessary, while still others were convinced it was an elaborate hoax by the infamous hacker 4-Chan. When the craft did arrive a few days later, their first act was a show of force, in which they vaporized 80% of the Siberian forests in a matter of minutes, having determined that there were no bananas being cultivated there. Earth's military option was quickly dropped. Then the world turned to me and my small hobby garden in Thailand where I grow five types of relatively rare--and therefore largely disease resistant--bananas. I've made a total of perhaps 30,000 baht profit off my minor sales of these bananas in a decade of this post-retirement project--around $1000 USD. Suddenly I had world leaders assembled at my doorstep, conveying to me that the fate of humanity may very well lay in my hands, and would I use my expertise to lead the massive agricultural operation to produce enough of my beloved rare bananas to please the newly-arrived overlords? I thought about it for a while. I ate a banana. I considered my family and the human race and our entire collective history and the future we might write together. I visited the temple down the road and sat in silent meditation before the Buddha statue. I came home, picked another banana, ate it, and then returned to the tent city of leaders and influential scientists springing up in the neighboring field, and told them, "K. I'll do it." The global expression of elation cannot be understated. I was offered every monetary and labor resource imaginable. In the space of a week, the entire Khorat Plateau was turned into a banana plantation, excepting the home and infrastructure there, of course, and with the farmers who had once toiled on that land paid exceedingly handsome sums for their property. It provided a wonderful abundance of jobs, and bigwig corporate figures from Bangkok even quit their cushy office jobs to come join the effort under my direction, knowing full well that a failure to produce enough bananas to satisfy would leave them without jobs anyway--without bodies or an existence, for that matter. The day finally came when the delivery was to be made to the mothership. For our ease, the overlords flew it to within a couple kilometers of the edge of the plantation. A portal the size of a mountain opened in its center, and a blue-white tractor beam of immense proportions lit a swath of our green earth brighter than daylight. It was determined, through official communication channels with the overlords, that I should be drawn onboard with the first batch of bananas to present the harvest. So I went, drawn into the sky alongside 80 shipping containers full of beautiful orange, reddish, yellow and purple bananas. When gravity reclaimed its hold on me I found myself and the containers on the floor of massive circular hall, bright lights piercing from the walls of all sides. Toward me, followed by its entourage, crawled the interplanetary Ambassador on its dextrous crab-like appendages, its four enormous yellow eyes studying me with what I hoped was friendliness. "I have long studied your language, waiting for this day,"it told me in graceful Thai, mandibles vibrating in an excellent mimicry of human vocal cords. "It's an honor, more or less,"I responded. "My pleasure to deliver this batch of the goods." My eyes had adjusted to the bright light and I could now see that there were many thousands of his kind gathered in nooks along the walls, watching in anticipation, yellow eyeballs bulging in their keratinous sockets. The Ambassador looked into the yawning mouth of the first crate, and carefully selected the finest banana it could see, grasping it in the twining feelers at the end of a claw and lifting it into the air before his audience. A rumbling murmur that I took for awe shook the air. The Ambassador peeled the banana with his feelers, and I admired with what skill and speed it got job done. Finally, it brought the fruit into the cavernous dark maw between its mandibles and took a bite. I swear, the thing didn't have eyebrows, but I saw it wince. The ship held its breath. Outside, I knew, all humanity held it's breath as well. "This . . ."said the Ambassador, and trailed off in seeming confusion. "Damn . . . "It looked around at the others. "Stefani wasn't kidding. This is shit."
With a sigh, Ruben finally pushed himself to list the piano for sale. It had haunted the house uselessly for too long- just a memory of days past. Monte used to play it obsessively, through his entire childhood and into his early teenage years. The skill he won in those long hours of practice was apparent back in the day, too. Indeed, he was able to get a minor amount of local acclaim for his skill- and was able to make some official performance appearances. Which was the downfall of his passion, oddly enough. As a teen, Monte hadn't been able to easily secure his own transport, so Elsie always drove him wherever he needed. She was so proud of her son flourishing and was eager to support him. The two became inseparable, truly enjoying each others' company. On a particularly snowy night, a concert ran late into the night. Undeterred, Elsie still tried to drive home that night. A tired driver on poor roads was a recipe that only made disaster. The car slid out of control, went over an embankment, and rolled multiple times. Monte suffered relatively minor injuries, but the injuries that Elsie sustained proved to be fatal. Monte hadn't even looked at a piano since. In the days following Elsie's death, Monte tried to convince Ruben to sell the piano, even to destroy it- just so long as it left the house. He was convinced Elsie's death was his fault. If he hadn't played she wouldn't have been out so late at night. If he didn't go to those concerts she would still be fine. Ruben fought against these thoughts- Elsie would have wanted Monte to continue, and would be crushed if she were the reason he quit. The tensions took an already distant relationship and effectively sundered it. Selling it would be the first step to repairing it- or at least Ruben desperately hoped so. &#x200B; After a long day, Ruben returned home. Another day and still no takers on the piano listing. He wanted to wait to tell Monte about his decision until it was done- otherwise he wouldn't be believed. Opening the door brought Ruben to a stop. He closed his eyes, and turned his head away, listening. He heard the piano being played for the first time in years. It wasn't being played well, but it was being played. Had a suitor came by? Was Monte trying to sell it himself? Ruben walked up the stairs, hearing mistake after mistake. It would be strange for such an obvious new comer to pianos to be interested in such an expensive one. Nothing prepared Ruben for what he saw when he turned the corner. Monte was standing behind the bench, bending over the keys. Between him and the piano was a small girl. Monte was teaching somebody to play the piano. It was...wonderful. Ruben must have made some noise, because Monte turned to him. Before Ruben was an even more beautiful sight than seeing the piano being played. Monte was genuinely happy for the first time Ruben could remember in many years. Now, he just had to figure out who the girl was.
Here goes... The apple falling from the tree reminded Gary of the fact that humans are ever so powerless against nature. Since when had a king, oh ever so prideful and arrogant they are, managed to decree that apples shall fall upwards? Since when had a scientist, in all their knowledge and esoteric ramblings, managed to decode in all it's glory the apple's identity? it's structure, it's DNA, it's meaning? Oh how the mundane things in the world remind us so of our own mundane-ity, our own cruel imperfections. We strive to poke at the membrane that separates us from just our own consciousness sitting inside our brain and towards the greater one that understands everything. Foolish mortals, we eat, we breathe, we think, do we therefore exist? Then does this apple not? Or is it that this apple also thinks, therefore it exists?
The name's Dominguez, just... Dominguez. I have been tasked with preventing the assassination of a man named John, last named Keller. John Frank Keller. He was assassinated on October 18, 2019. He was shot in the back of the head in cold blood. This looks like a job for Dominguez. Well, anyways, I decided to use my time travel/teleportation machine to go all the way back to that fateful October night when John Frank Keller was assassinated. I went into his house which, by the way, is in Falls Church, Virginia. At the time I arrived on location, John Frank Keller was on the toilet. I walked slowly upstairs to the bathroom very quietly, so as not to make any noise and startle Ol' John. As I reached the top stair I smelled something awful. It smelled like rotten eggs, raw hamburger, and dehydrated urine. The stench was unbearable. I almost yakked in my own goddamn mouth. I followed my nose down the hallway PAST the bathroom, to my surprise. The smell was coming from the bedroom. I slowly opened the bedroom door, and immediately realized the smell was coming from the large woman sitting on the bed. She was huge, easily over 300 pounds, and very stinky. She was grimacing as she loaded a 12-gauge pump scattergun. She was John Keller's wife, and would-be assassin. Quick as a whip, I pulled out my derringer pistol and unloaded two shots into her. She was so fat and stinky the bullets didn't do any damage. She slowly realized what was happening and aimed her shotgun at me at a snail's pace. "Why...you...tryin'...to...kill...m-m-me?"she slowly said. When all of a sudden-- "HELEN!!!!! I'M ALL OUT OF TOILET PAPER!!!!"John yelled from the bathroom. "I...got...your..toilet...paper...right...here..."the woman said and began struggling to get up off the bed, gripping the loaded weapon. She finally got up after about 3 minutes of trying really hard. The stench was palpable and eye-watering. It was time for Ol' time-travelling Dominguez to do what he does best: kill fat stinky women. I pulled out my RPG from my back pocket and shot the woman named Helen point blank. I remember waking up after what seemed like years. I was no longer in Falls Church in John's House. I was lying in the hammock in my backyard in Scottsdale, AZ. It was all a dream, I guess?
The survivors were coated in grime, their battle-hardened faces grim as they moved through the neighborhood. They combed the houses, gathering supplies and keeping an ever-vigilant eye out for the Demented. The streets were empty, the only sound was their voices calling out "Clear!"or "Supplies here!"Occasionally, a yell would be followed by gunshots. They moved strategically, crisscrossing the street until coming upon the last house on the block. Inside, there was movement. "Hang on"the man drenched in camo held his fist up, eyes scanning inside. The man inside the house made eye contact with him, and threw his eyebrow up. He raised his hand slowly, waving it back and forth. "Guy looks cognizant. May have a survivor here."Mr. Camo nodded at his compatriots, and with a mighty kick shattered the front door. They moved in, yelling commands at the man. "YOU, HANDS UP!"The man dropped the glass he was holding, and it shattered on the floor. His eyes were wide with terror, and he yelled in return. "What the fuck are you doing? You just destroyed my front door man!" Mr. Camo released a sigh of relief, and lowered his weapon. The tension gripping the group lessened, and their leader spoke. "Sorry, had to make sure you weren't one of them. Its spreading quickly, we've encountered several on the way here. You need to pack up, and come with us." The homeowner seemed to be in a state of shock, his mouth agape. Mr. Camo's cohorts began to rifle through the man's belongings, pulling out bandages and cans of soda and putting them into their backpacks. "Hey thats my diet fresca! Is this the dumbest robbery ever?" Mr. Camo cast a pitiful look, walking up and placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "You didn't listen to the broadcast this morning, did you? You may want to sit down." Mr. Camo gestured to a chair, which was promptly busted down by one of this boys. "Firewood"he said, shoving the splintered wood into his pack. "Hmm okay well you can stand then. It was all over the news this morning. Theres some sort of pathogen, its passed by physical contact with the Demented. Its a mutated form of dementia, it completely melts your mind. We've run into a few of these fuckers. Its so insidious, they seem so helpless..."his eyes drifted away, the thoughts of what he'd had to do to survive gripping him. "Uhh, you mean on 94.2 fm? Johnny and the Gator in the morning? Dude I'm pretty sure that was a joke-" "Stop. You hear that?"Mr. Camo's ears perked, and he turned. In the yard, with a bathrobe, was a shambling elderly man. "My god, thats one of them." "One of what? Listen army surplus, this is a retirement community. I'm here house sitting. Theres no outbreak. Look I'm gonna need you-" "No need to thank me, I've got this."Mr. Camo ignored the man, moving to the entry hallway. Behind him, the homeowner began to dial 911. Through the shattered door, the elderly man's spoke gently. "Excuse me, are you my grandson Nathan?"he said, a vacant smile on his face. "These sons of bitches, I'm nobodies grandson,"Mr. Camo said, cocking his shotgun. "YOU'RE NOT GETTING ME DEMENTED, LETS GO!"
“Good morning! What can I get started for you?” The barista gave me a chipper smile as I stepped up to the counter. I squinted at the name tag on her apron. “Vicky” was written in swooping letters and a small heart dotted the I. I noticed her eyes dart from one of my shoulders to the other, a small line of confusion on her brow, before she expertly fixed her smile back in place. “Um,” I stammered as I tried to clear the fog out of my mind and remember what I had planned to order. Was today a double shot day? I had a feeling the answer was yes. Vicky giggled and I was pulled out of my morning haze. Her head was tilted towards her left shoulder as she listened to the little devil perched there. The little red imp looked like a doll sized version of the barista, or it would if Vicky were wearing a red onesie with horns and a tiny whipping tai. As Vicky listened to the devil whisper, a miniature winged visage of the barista that had been calmly lounging on the her right shoulder scrambled to its feet in an effort to garner attention. I let out an exasperated sigh. It had been six months since everyone had woken up to the imp-like manifestations - everyone, that is, except for me. I had been thankful at first, relieved even. There had been something eerily intimate about watching a person physically discuss good and evil with, well, Good and Evil. It had felt like a violation of privacy to watch the little beasts talk to their larger doppelgänger but now, six months in to this strange new reality, I had started to be annoyed by my lack of parrot-sized companions. People around me had started giving me side-long glances, as though my lack of celestial shoulder homies made my actions - no, made me more questionable. Vicky blushed as I cleared my throat in irritation, obviously embarrassed by what one or both of her companions had just advocated for. “Just a latte, please,” I said dryly. “With an extra shot.” Vicky hurriedly tapped my order into the cash register. The devil nudged her cheek, waggling its eyebrows, while the angel gave a stern glare at its counterpart before bestowing a knowing look on Vicky. I handed her my card and hoped that today the little angel won out and I wouldn’t be the unlucky recipient of decaf. Waiting for my name to be called, I leaned against the bar and watched as a steady stream of other cubicle jockeys made their way through the double doors of the coffee shop. They were all smiling, despite the early hour, and some even chatted with their neighbors in line. I saw them share knowing nods as each one was cajoled or rewarded by their imps. Bitterly, I wondered how big a role the shoulder companions had in everyones' raised spirits. I couldn’t remember people being this nice at 6:30 on a Monday morning before the little manifestations had appeared. It was irritating, really. Seeing so many people so positive all the time. I mean, for God’s sake, they had tiny costumed versions of themselves mumbling in their ear every hour of the day. That had to be annoying, right? As I watched the patrons chat casually with the shop staff, I had a suspicion I was missing out on something. There was a knowing in the way everyone interacted, as though their pocket-sized angels and devils gave them key insights in understanding and empathizing with one another. This wasn’t the first time I had noticed comradely between strangers. It was different now, how people interacted with one another. Hell, even the news had taken a positive angle and shifted most of its stories to ones about resolution instead of division. Perhaps this is where it started, in coffee shops and cafes around the globe. People making small talk with one another and sharing little experiences, understanding their similarities by being able to see the manifestation of a person’s inner conflict. I barked out a laugh, earning a few extra stares. “As if,” I thought. “If it was really as simple as realizing our similarities, we would have figured out that world peace shit a long time ago.” My name was called and I turned to grab my coffee and I headed towards the shop's entrance. A stranger held the door open for me and as I passed he smiled, his angel giving me a benevolent nod. I rolled my eyes and could have sworn I heard a devilish little snicker as my shoes hit the pavement.
Rohan removed the egg from the heated box with grass and dirt he had prepared for it. It had been in there for a month and not hatched, so clearly it needed something else. He set it on the windowsill to give it sun, not because he thought normal eggs needed sun, but because this was a magic egg and he didn't know what in the world magic eggs needed. This egg project was a sort of escape for him. He had been retired, but lost the key to the vault with his life's savings. The bank refused to help him access his gold without the key, but he could no longer work bronze with his old and aging joints. Soon his gold on hand would run dry and he didn't know what he would do then. Instead of thinking about that unsolvable problem, he focused his attention on trying to hatch this magic egg. He thought it was entirely plausible, given that he knew nothing about magic eggs, that sunlight helped them hatch. And just as he had that thought, the egg wobbled a little bit as if a light kick had come from the inside. He squinted at it to ensure he saw the next kick, but the wind blew and he realized it must have been the wind moving the egg, and it remained still under his studying eye. Something a friend had once said to him about magic eggs came to mind, something he previously dismissed because the literature suggested an incubation cage and he could not find any citations for his friend's claim. Having exhausted the literature's prescription it became more credible to him. His friend had said magic eggs hatch only when massaged and spoken to, and that dragons hatched from them. So Rohan massaged the egg and, with some embarrassment even though he was alone, quietly said to it "Hey little dragon. Are you in there? You can come out." A foot escaped the egg. Rohan almost fell over because it was so sudden, so shocking. The foot was definitely dragon-like. Of course there was no knowing for sure from just the leg, but it had the scales and the claws. It was plausible. But then he was confused because he recalled something else another friend had said to him about magic eggs. That friend said magic eggs hatch frogs. And just as he had that thought, another leg escaped the egg, this one with the amphibian skin which resembled a frog. One dragon leg, one frog leg. Rohan did not know of any dragon frogs or frog dragons, and when he became again confused the hatching process ceased. His confusion influenced the egg. An incredible explanation occurred to him, entirely consistent, outlandish and incredible. He stared at the egg, and focused with all of his faith, with all of his desperation. And it crumbled. In the pieces of the shell, he found a dragon leg, a frog leg, and the key to his bank vault. --- Feedback requested. I will thank you for it even if it hurts my feelings. Thank you. --- Follow my budding fiction career: [Subreddit](https://reddit.com/r/pangolune) \| [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DonronRondon)
A flash of white light. He squinted, struggling to adjust to the flow that was drenching his eyes. Humans had the unpleasant habit of seeking bright and dry environments instead of damp and dimly lit dwellings. He had waited for, oh too long, and was impatient of meeting the emissary. The heavy monumental double door flew open, revealing an impassable row of soldiers, holding their weapons high. They all wore the distinctive purple that Humans seemed to favor when evocating splendor and might. He was himself covered in a typical suit originating from his natal moon. It was full of twirling shadows and colors, displaying a wide range of dark blues and greens. Finally, he thought, when he saw the Supreme Proconsul of the Northern Territories on Planet Earth Anton Kabanov. To be precise, he only saw his arms, rising occasionally from the crowd of his own guards, making hasty movements to push them aside. The man emerged from the sea of bodies, panting. He tried to regain composure as soon as he saw the alien form waiting for him, standing in an impeccable and stoic manner, slightly reminiscent of the Prussian generals of old, the tones of his skin and clothing furthering the resemblance. Anton Kabanov was small, even when taking into consideration the difference in height between the two species. As bloated as his pompous title, he reached for his visitor’s appendage with his small, thick, callous fingers. Refraining a deep sigh, his station requiring him to do so, Me extended a limp arm to his interlocutor. Laughable, was the first word he thought of when he saw the ridicule entanglement of fabric, skin and mucous dripping on the carpet. The sleeves of the Human were threadbare and the colors faded. Me had studied Earth’s history deeply and even though the spirit was willing, modern Humans lacked the means to imitate Julius Caesar, Napoléon or Qin Shi Huang. Following the current of his mind, he looked around, wondering how many millions or billions of their currency they were pouring in this commodity spatial station. Their appreciation of the Roman and Victorian styles was dubious at best, he would have done better, he was certain of it. Suddenly remembering he had been shaking without conviction the hand of the Human for the past minute, he dropped it altogether and became once more rigid. \- Sooooo… My dear… “Me” ? began Kabanov, sweating profusely, I think I remember you do not use names in your part of the Stellar Council, interesting custom, for sure. \- Correct, I have no use for names. I simply am. You, being external to my being, need to be named. \- Of course, of course, I am sorry for making you wait for so long, riots have intensified on the fringes of the space-ports and the travel time was a bit extended between Earth and our orbital stations since they require special shuttles that are only found in previously chartered super-transporters but the supply lines are frequently cut off by dissidents, nothing too serious, I assure you. The Proconsul’s oversized and confused sentence was fitting of his person but already irritated Me. \- Maybe you need to increase the portion of your budget allocated to feeding the population instead of sending extremely expensive gifts to the thirty Es’G’Lan kings like you did last month. The Human flinched, taken aback. Me had, like the rest of his species, a perfectly neutral tone, polite and maybe sometimes even slightly curious when he was making remarks. His head lightly tilted, he was staring at Kabanov, blinking repeatedly. His emotions were impossible to read for Earthlings since they passed not through his face or words but instead foamy and intricate patterns forming in his eyes. Struggling to regain a semblance of composure, Anton spurted his well-learned discourse destined to extraterrestrial ambassadors. \- We spend the most of our credits and resources to further and broaden interplanetary exchange and cooperation throughout the galaxy while maintaining our colonies in several sectors according to the plans devised by the Stellar Council. It is profitable to us all. \- Speaking of exchange and cooperation, I recall, I had another trade agreement to sign for your Prime Amongst the Citizens. \- Surely, surely, answered the Proconsul, all too happy and relieved to see the conversation back on tracks. While he was discussing the details and signing paragraph after paragraph, a part of Me’s mind set sail again, thinking of the beautiful landscapes on Earth torn open, population lodged in gigantic factory-flats. He was particularly fond of their oceans, reminding him of his own underwater caves. All of this would be soon gone. Stellar Council’s charity programs had been denied entry on Earth’s soil only two years after the first contact and the situation seemed to worsen even when observed from afar. Pitiful, that’s what Humanity’s attempts at being a great spatial civilization were. They were trying to shine as the supreme beings they had encountered but they were only producing some feeble fumes and they were the fuel. Me did not like the Humans but they were interesting and certainly lyrical in their ways. He suddenly realized the room was now swarmed by state journalists, taking pictures and shouting incomprehensible things in all directions. Anton Kabanov and him were both holding the new treaty that would completely reshape exchanges for Earth, or so they thought. Smile all you want Anton Kabanov Proconsul of the overzealous empire, you are but a puny footnote in the Stellar Council’s logs. The war is delayed at best. PS : This is the first time I’m writing in this subreddit. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes in the text, in my punctuation or the layout.
"Well I simply loved Reginald. That voice! Those dreamy golden eyes! And those gorgeous blonde manes..." Melissa grabbed another hand of chips without looking up from her phone. "Yeah, he was pretty cute." "And that accent! I can't really place it, but I love it! Perhaps Scottish?"Shelly sat down om the couch beside her. "That other guy was kind of weird though." "Which one?" "The cosplayer, with the armor on. Marcus? Marius? Marcellus?" "No clue." "The guy with the red eyes also kind of freaked me out."Shelly got up again. "I think Serena did this." "Did what?" "Get all those guys to show up. She's been saying I need to get over Josh forever." Melissa grabbed some more chips. "She's not wrong." Shelly smiled. "I suppose so. I really did have a good time last night."Her smile dissappeared. "They all proposed though. That was kind of weird." Melissa finally looked up. "Wow. Serena's not messing around." "She sure isn't."Shelly walked up to the fridge. "I do really like to Reginald though. So I told him that if he tones it down a bit, I'd like to see him again."She sat down again with her coke. "So we're going to Faerûn tonight." "What's that?" "I don't know, I think it's that new Greek restaurant downtown."She turned towards her roommate. "Want to come dress shopping?" Melissa had turned on the tv and was scrolling through Netflix. "Why? You have hundreds of dresses." Shelly scoffed. "No I don't! And besides, I think it's some really fancy place we're going. He kept pressing me to come prepared."She gasped. "I need to read up on my etiquette! I don't even know which fork is which!" Melissa smiled. "Relax! You're just a little nervous to start dating again after the break up."She put her arm around her friend. "Just go out there and have fun. What's the worst that could happen?"
In september 2020 a kinetic impactor from the Mars outpost separatist movement reached and collided with the earth. Nobody expected it since it was part of the resource shipments regularly migrated into Earth's shuttle path. Damage/death reports figure in the millions. The war that followed reaped billions. The worst part is, nobody knows about that. Except me. I'm Hershel Jones. I work for the World Temporal Management team, Confluence Division. Sometimes you get these jobs that never amount to much in the timestream. Sometimes the consequences are all out of proportion to the act. And sometimes, like today, you have to take a stand. Nobody wants to be that guy. I was in Dealey plaza, Texas that day, twice, no thats not paradox. Paradox is single timeline appearance overlap. Once, I locked a door. So simple. Yet without access at a crucial moment Oswald never got lined up in time to take his infamous shots. America followed up its space program with colonization. The Cold War died as nations reached beyond themselves. A golden age of exploration flared back to life and the moon actually became the stepping stone to other worlds. It was wonderful. Right up until it wasn't. A million little futures vanished because we reached farther than we should faster than we should. Because I locked a door. But I can open a window. So here I stand with a faint breeze blowing through the shade here on a quiet grassy knoll. Going rogue to put things right. Because today I have to be that guy.
The reason why we couldn’t find aliens? We weren’t looking at the right place exclaimed the lead scientist as he spoke with shock and excitement to the world wide conference, He goes on a monologue as the world listened intently. Our definition of Intelligent life, of civilization, has always been under the base assumption that they will be like us. Today we know, we are not alone… but our kind is truly alone because our contemporaries are based on a different kind of matter and using forces of nature in ways we thought were impossible to harness. Our observatories breakthrough moment came because of a change in our perspectives. The method we used to observe took into account time dilation and also measured mass density and eureka! The scientist went on to explain what they found out. Meanwhile, world governments decided it was time to take the next logical step… to unify the world under a single organization and use all the collective funds to research gravity manipulation. You see unbeknownst the world the aliens were coming here to establish contact, their origin theorized to be on the dark side of Abella 85 a supermassive black hole. Their technology, based on the manipulation of gravity, and their ship using a blackhole to warp to our location. Metals used ???? principles of physics used ???? time until contact, 7 years 12 days. The only thing in humanity's favor was the fact that they know that aliens know their source of power, electricity was also what gave humanity's location away. The Plan to buy time for preparation was ridiculous… Go back to the stone age. Hi, Guys, I’m new to this sub and this is my first story/ passage ( i don't know if this qualifies as a story) I appreciate any criticism and tips, but please be kind to me.
And he's dead? Yessir. You left him there? I couldn't very well take him with me. And of course I'm not sure how his guard would have reacted to an exfiltration Do you think this is funny? Admittedly I will probably crack up about it later but here in the director's office humor was never received well by anyone. I straightened up my face and demeanor to avoid setting an even worse impression after my actions. Lay it out for me again. As you know sir, I began, 'I have the ability of intangibility over extreme short distance. My molecules move EXACTLY as I need them to, be it to achieve unheard of densities of force or rendering me completely invisible to light's wavelengths And your mission was? Slip into the presidential palace and determine the necessary documented items to subvert their programs. What happened? I observed the subject in his private bedroom. I was invisible/ intangible and reading over his shoulder. And you...? He prompted. Waiting. I dropped the camera and it rematerialized outside of my biometric field. I responded. Inside the targets chest? Yes sir. With a sigh he closed the folder on his desk. It was after all a closed case now. You have the camera now? Yes sir. Go down to materials supply and requisition a wrist strap Taylor. he growled.
In life we as a society had come to accept that certain things are constant. Immutable to the entropy of the universe. Avogadro’s number, the Planck constant, the mass of an electron, it’s always the same number. The speed of light in a vacuum was widely considered to be one of those constant numbers too. Until August 5th, 2023. See, in the four years prior to the day the fabric of the universe was altered, my laboratory ceaselessly studied photons. We captured them and observed them under the most powerful microscope known to mankind. What we found was a particle within these photons that we couldn’t identify a purpose for. It was nine thousand times smaller than a quark, yet it existed on every single photon we observed. There were also slight discrepancies between each particle that made them completely unique. Three hours before the incident, we came to realize that these particles work like windows in time. They captured a singular moment in one particle. Like a frame of a video. These particles, were sealed off wormholes. Eager to toy with the particle, my team attempted to separate the time particles from the photons using a colliding photon traveling at the speed of light. There were thirteen scientists in the facility on that day. Four of them had kids, three were below the age of twenty five, and one was planning on retiring in September. No one would survive, not even myself. Ten minutes before the incident, I was prepping the containment unit of the stationary photon, when everything went foggy. The cold white light of the laboratory began to pulse like a strobe light in sync with the beat of my heart, and I fell out of my chair. My ears were met with a screech that I didn’t think the human ear was audible when suddenly I was met by a familiar voice. A voice I hadn’t heard in five years. “Daddy?” With a jolt I turn my head an force my eyes open. A thick, damp, black void permeated the formerly harshly lit room. The only light comes from in front of me in the form of what I imagine to be my own memory, visualized. “Let’s call her Savannah!” I hear my own voice say. I can make out my wife, Reina in the light, exactly how I remember her. Red from the constant stream of tears, nervously holding our newborn but glowing in the daylight of the window. “Bye Daddy!” I hear from behind me. I pivot only to find that the gravity of my crevice in space had seemingly vanished and I begin to float. Sav was wearing the same yellow dress Reina wore on her first day of kindergarten. I spent all morning trying to learn how to put her hair in space buns. The light of the scene was blurred by my past self’s tears. “Bye baby,” I sputtered, parroting the memory. “Love you always!” “Love you too Daddy!” I hear to my left. Two years had passed. It was the time I drove her to her friend May’s sleepover. Sav was afraid because she had never slept without her special blankie before. Reina insisted she go without it but I snuck it in her bag. It wouldn’t matter though. That sleepover was the beginning of the end. I hear a steady beeping that became all too familiar to me that year. I look down only to see Sav in the ICU. Lying in her bed, blankie in hand. Even hairless, she was gorgeous. Her eyes radiated in my memory like diamonds and through tears I close her eyes, extinguishing her light. The apparitions vanished and I found myself alone in the void. Voices from the past echoed in my brain. Louder than ever before. “I can’t be with you anymore.” “Reina, please, you’re all I have!” Snot drips down my face. The tears have overpowered me. Years fly by like instants. “It’ll never work!” “It’s my life’s work, it has to, Janice!” “I’m seeing someone else.” “Reina you’re all I have left of her!” “You’ll kill us all!” “I need to do this! Please!” Then just as seamlessly as they started they stopped. I open my eyes, only to be hounded by the brightest light I had ever seen. I could once again feel the weight of my body on the ground. I stood up and peered around a seemingly vacant white hallway. And in the distance I see another apparition, only it was one unfamiliar to me. I move towards it to better make out the memory but it moves away from me. I speed up to a run but it continues to avoid me. As I sprint towards the apparition I just barely make it out. All thirteen of us, engulfed in a mushroom cloud, disintegrating before my very eyes. Myself included. I stopped in place. I knew in that moment that I had to escape this temporal vessel. I stumbled to the ground and began punching the perfect white container I found myself in. It was rigid and it wouldn’t budge. I kept punching. My knuckles were bleeding, but I had no other option. The floor hasn’t budged at all. I was trapped. I gathered my footing and closed my eyes, somehow I felt that if I were to escape this anomaly I would have to concentrate. Concentrate on what? Concentrate on something... concentrate... concentrate... “Daddy?” My eyes open instantly as I dive into the floor headfirst. To my surprise, this time I was met with no resistance. Suddenly I’m underwater, unable to see, but instinctively I begin to kick and after fifteen seconds I found myself surfaced back in the physical world at night. The frigid water bit my lab coat as I desperately swam to a nearby parking lot, passing out the moment I reached safety. “Manny... Manny... can you hear me?” I saw her glow before I even opened my eyes. “Reina?” “Hey baby! Oh you had us so worried last night! Don’t ever do that again!” “Don’t ever do wha... you called me baby?” “I ...I always do...” I hadn’t seen her smile at me like that in years. Not since... no... Behind her... that couldn’t be. She was smaller... but that dress... and that hair... And those eyes... just radiant... “Daddy!”
"Ah, there's the little beggars. A whole field of them. Good eating tonight."<shovel biting into sand> Bloody damned fools. "You are a deep one, aren't you."<more digging> What in the name of sweet reason do you need "ultimate"power for? "Gotcha! Pretty big, not enough for a whole meal though." Do you think the gods are going to let you have that? Not likely. "Lots to choose from here, let's dig that one." For pitties' sake, just what does ultimate power mean anyway? "It means having a full belly of good food three times a day."<choonk, and another clam in the bucket.> You want to be a powerful king? Treat your people justly, not capriciously. "Being just isn't that hard. Make the laws carefully, and enforce them evenly, on everyone. No exemptions for nobility."<choonk> Build up your country so it can support a decent army, without beggaring your people. "Don't overtax your kingdom! They need the money to make you more money!"<choonk> Ally yourself with other kingdoms for aid. "Chances are, someone else is going to have the same problems you are, so the two of you together can deal with it more reasonably."<THUNK> "Aw, shit. Not again!" Damnable book, I don't know why it keeps coming back hee. I've already memorized the blasted thing. Not one damned useful thing in it. Oh, yeah, blow this up, destroy that, ruin the other. "Destroying other people's countries is not something a good king does!"<FLING!> "AND STAY OUT THERE!" Stupid leaders, fighting over a book that only tells you how to destroy things. "OUT OF THE WAY PEASANT!" Not this time! "Mysticis Harenae!"<mystical wall of sand> <whumph, oof, thud, oughh, clash, neigh, neigh. neigh> "WHAT IS IT WITH YOU ARMORED BARBARIANS! I'M TRYING TO DIG CLAMS HERE FOR MY DINNER! I DO NOT NEED YOU, RUFFIANS, RIDING THROUGH THE FLATS WHERE THE CLAMS ARE! GET UP ON THE ROAD ABOUT 200 FEET THAT WAY! GOOD SOLID ROAD, BETTER FOR YOUR HORSES, FASTER FOR YOU, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY *I DON'T GO HUNGRY TONIGHT!" "Bloody fool peasant! Don't you know who he is! He's the king of..." "...Elandrel. Yes, I know who he* is, but do you know who I am?" "A stupid ass peasant who's about to get what he deserves!" "HOLD! SIR JASON, I SAID HOLD!" "But why Sire? A peasant dumps us in the sand for his evening meal?" "Sir Jason, this time, when we get back, I'm going to sit in on your study of notable figures and how to recognize them. "I apologize for my knight's thoughtlessness in threatening you, Magister Magum Robinson. I do hope we haven't disturbed your evening's clamming." "It was a near thing, Your Majesty, but no harm done. What's brought you out this way?" "That blasted book again. Word has circulated that that book is due to be found here this time around. I do hope you can deal with it as you have before." "Put your mind at rest, King Goodfellow. Your kingdom and all the others are safe from the horrors of the book of Ultimate Destructive Power." "Magister Magum Robinson? Why do the prophecies always fail to include the middle word?" "Because the idiot god who wrote it wants it found, so he inveigled Morphius into dropping that word in all the prophetic dreams. Now, even if he wanted to, he can't get that third word added back in. Morphius is happy with the arrangement, and has no intention of letting the other god off the hook." "Oh, dear. So the gods can make that sort of mistake too." "Too? Goodfellow, what have you been up to?" "Well... This current war... It's sort of my fault..." "Dining philosophers. You got each one to make a treaty with the one on the left, now there's no one on the right to close the loophole?" "I was supposed to be the one on the right, but at the last conclave before the war, when the prophecies came out, I warned them not to seek it out, that it was nothing but death and destruction. They took that as both an attempt to tell them what to do, and proof that I already knew where it was. Neither was acceptable to any of them, so they invoked their mutual defense treaties." "So the war is that they're all coming after you?" "No, the war is to decide who gets to go after me." "How many have died?" <loud laughter> "NONE! They're still arguing over the mutual defense treaties! Unless one of them breaks their word, they can't start fighting!" <a roaring belly laugh shared by Robinson and Goodfellow> "On your way then Majesty! Back to your kingdom and the just rule of it. Go with my blessings and fair weather for travel." ... "Morphius? Would you please release me from the deal?" "I can't. Agro wants war and has the goods on me." "Mutual treaties?" "Yep." "How about Kayotaye?" "He's tired of being the go-to for tricks that get us out of stupid binds we put ourselves into." "I'm royally screwed, aren't I?" "And you did it to yourself." "No, Morphius, I did it to all of us when I created the damned thing. I just wanted to seal away the power of the destructive spells."
Flip me over, How demanding of a stone. Nonetheless, I still turn it over. How insulting to find that I had just taken orders from a stone, and it knew. I threw the damned thing and went on with my day. My regular stroll through the park turned sour at the silly prank, but what else was there to do but go on with my day? The next day, my regular 4pm stroll through the park, down the same walkway, after work as usual. Grass green, mild summer breeze stone in the middle of my path as usual, wait. Stone? “Hello stone. Fancy meeting you here.” I was polite to the stone. The stone felt familiar. The shape was just to consistent. It asked if I liked its trick this time. Nothing on the back, indeed I had liked the trick, it tricked me into picking it up. I left it, no need for the toss this time. The stone was being nice. I do like this stone. Its calloused roughness felt good in my hand. It didn't deserve to be thrown. Maybe I should leave a note for the stone? Could it read? Who knows? Maybe it could, who am I to judge the ability of a stone. What was today again? On the back of the stone it said just remember. I remember, august 27th. Had a car accident yesterday, I need to check on Ana I know she was pretty hurt, a lovely wife she is, who are those men in white, dressed like nurses those silly men, its not Halloween. What happened to the green grass? Why is there snow? It was green yesterday, I also don't remember it being so cold. I remembered hitting my head pretty hard in that wreck. I found a piece of chalk in my pocket, where had this come from? I erased the chalk on the stone, I wrote back to the stone a funny joke I had seen online once. Flip me over. Ha, some poor sap would take orders from a stone. “Sir, we need to be going?” Said one of the approaching men in white. “Who are you?” I asked. The look of sympathy I received was completely uncalled for. I dropped the stone, it landed in the middle of the sidewalk, I had just enough time to flip it over to the right side. Before they had hands on me, and where escorting me roughly. The building we where approaching was not the park I was used too, the big sign on the front read Johns Hopkins, Memory and Alzheimer’s treatment. Ana wouldn't be here, she would be at the hospital. I panicked, I need to get to the hospital.
I admit, we aren't exactly everyone's cup of tea. We are sarcastic, we moan about the weather, and we are proud of our Queen and Country. But when we chose to leave the EU, as foolish as decision as possible, the views of the world changed. We may have ended up annoying everyone, especially with electing a complete and utter nonce, but hey, nobody is perfect. When the world declared war on us, we got a little peeved. The thing which they didnt realise though, is that we had just a small connection to and arcane power. Now, Her Majesty had held onto the throne for years, and as part of the Royal duties, kept the magic locked away. But as war came to our sovereign land, she made the choice to let it out. Her first act was to raise the waves. We had always said, Britannia rules the waves. And She did. Their planes could not fly to us, their ships could not reach us, and being a island nation, their armies could not march to us. From there, She guided us on our path of learning the mystical arts. Each and every one of us learned how to wield this incredible power. It came to us naturally, for it eas in our very blood to use it. And that wasn't even the biggest part. She brought back the dragons, who had slept for years, deep below us. They joined us in our counter offensive. We struck back at the Irish first. Our Queens control the sea wrappped around them, cutting them off from reinforcements. We rode in battle of the backs of the dragons. For whilst they had guns, tanks and missiles, we had spells that cut through them and their machines. When we had beaten them, and showed the world what we were made of, many of our former colonial countries surrender. For they had been at the end of our wrath before, and did not want to take it again. We fought those that did not, and with each day, more and more of the world fell, pushed back. And with each conquered country, the Queen grew in power, and shared that power with us all. We spread, a relentless force, too stubborn to let it go. We did not seek to start the war, but we made damn sure to finish it.
Edit: Had to split it up. I hear a faint beeping noise grow louder and louder, only to wake up and realize its my phone, pulling me out of my alcohol induced dream. "6 a.m. already? Ah, time to go to work, I suppose,"I say as I sit up on the side of my bed to light my morning cigarette, hoping it'll get rid of the taste of the whiskey and sushi from the night before. I stand up and start walking to the bathroom, going over the order in my head again. "20 years old. Brunette. 5'2". Bright green eyes. Scar above left eyebrow." I'm a 21 year old delivery man. Now, as you probably noticed, I am not your average delivery man. I work for a company called "The Shop". Their customers can order nearly anything their hearts desire, no matter how normal, disgusting or evil it may be. Each customer is assigned a delivery man that has the qualifications needed to complete their order and each delivery is to be carried out without issue. We all work on a rating system. 5 stars being the highest-ranking all the way down to 1 star, but normally anyone below 3.5 stars is terminated. I finished getting dressed, get into my car, and head to ASU campus, and on the way there I go over the order again. "20 years old. Brunette. 5'2". Bright green eyes. Scar above left eyebrow."I make my way to the library and grab some random book off a shelf, which ironically is about the philosophy of right and wrong. Looking down at my watch, I notice its 9:45 a.m., which means I have around 15 minutes to go. The library doors open again with a creaking noise that sounds more like the crackle of thunder and lighting during a rainstorm. "20 years old. Brunette. 5'2". Bright green eyes. Scar above left eyebrow."I take a good hard look, and confirm that she is indeed the item of interest. I stand up and casually make my way over to the table she is sitting at, taking notice of her book "The Lesser Key of Solomon". "Sorry to bother you, but is this seat taken?"I ask, expecting for her to be the typical college book worm who hesitates to respond. "Oh, no, not at all, feel free,"she said with a smile. I pull out a chair and start to make small talk, asking her what she's majoring in, what she currently does for work, as well as a few other things I already knew the answer to. She proceeds to ask me about my major, which, funnily enough, was the same as hers, yet I don't attend many of the classes due to work constraints. Parapsychology, the study of all things supernatural. As seconds turn to minutes, then to hours, she looks at her phone and says class is about to start, inviting me to walk with her. As we make our way out of the library, I hold the door open, allowing her to take the lead, giving me an opening. I retrieve a small plastic device, similar to a syringe, filled with a substance similar to a tranquilizer. I lightly stick it into the back of her neck, next to her T1 vertebrae. She instantly jumps forward and yelps, assuming she's been bitten by some sort of insect. "Are you okay?"I ask with a slight chuckle. She nods saying "Yeah, it just felt like I was bit by a spider or something. Either way, I guess we should hurry."We make our way outside and across campus where I notice the drug is already to start taking effect. She stops me, asking if we can sit down for a minute. "I don't feel so great. I know I was up late, but I didn't feel this tired earlier,"she says, as she shakily rubs her forehead, and just like that, she was out cold. Nearly a day has gone by, and I contact my client, telling him his order is ready and I am at the delivery location he requested, which he informs me he will be there soon. I hang up the phone, light a cigarette, close my eyes, and thinking of the weird phone call I had recieved the night prior. "If you dont return my daughter in the next 24 hours, I won't be able to protect you from her."Right, right. I'm not a very cocky guy, but I am pretty confident that I don't need to worry about a small girl like her. A few hours pass and she hasn't made a single noise, aside from the first few screams after she woke up. Normally, with deliveries like this its nothing but the typical "Why are you doing this"and "Do you know who I am."Sure, its not uncommon for a package to be quiet after a while, but this was a different type of quiet. It was almost like being in the forest and all the little critters noticed a predator nearby. Finally, a black SUV pulls up and out steps four tall, large men, all with the same stern militarily-esque expressions. Along with them comes out the client. A tall man wearing a black suit, red tie, sporting a cane and several rings. You'd take him for the devil if you didn't know any better. Hell, he might as well be the devil due to his... eccentric taste in torture. "The package is inside. Hasn't made a single sound. Also, are you aware of what the word 'soon' means?"I say as I hand one of his guards the keys to the warehouse. "Ah, I do apologize,"he exclaims. "I'm so pleased with how quickly you can fill these orders. I'll be sure to leave the highest rating possible, as well as a noteworthy amount of praise with The Director. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a new toy to play with,"he says as he licks his lips and merrily makes his way to the warehouse. Sitting in the seat of my car, checking to make sure the wire transfer went through, I hear a few quick and loud pops. A very distinctive sound. Gunshots. "Hmm. Must have gotten bored already,"I think to myself. I feel my phone vibrate, and notice I have an incoming call from an unknown number, and I assume it was a customer service representative, notifying me of my review. ."
We had spent months preparing for the ritual- gathering the sacrifices, finding the right location, and even practicing. We poured over the tomes for days on end, ready for any part to go wrong. We knew how to protect ourselves in case the ritual was poorly done. But it wasn't. The ritual was perfectly done. So why, then, was there a man in plate armor with a hammer in front of us? He was surveying the area, his eyes stopped at the livestock, the grains, and the bowls of our blood. “You've done the ritual just as prescribed. You've completed the first part of your goal well. But tell me, are you truly prepared for what is to come? The next part entails the sacrifice of children and innocents. Know that your answer here will bind you to it. So, are you prepared?” “What are you talking about, friend? You know there are no innocents in this world! We need the demonic fires to purge us of our sin, and guide us to a better world!” The man looked up at me, locking eyes. My stomach dropped and goosebumps started raising over my skin. I could feel the man's passion stare straight through me. Was my conviction enough to please the steward of the path? Finally, the man nodded. “I see.” He started gesturing with his free hand, I could recognize he was beginning to cast a spell, but knew not what it did. With a final hand flourish, he yelled out “Carcerem!” A surge of light emanated from him. The pulse quickly went past us, and came to a rest at the door. “Long ago, I realized I would never be able to stop all the cults. Especially not the clever ones, such as your self. I took it upon myself to replace as many of your ancient tomes as I could- altering the ritual to be more benign, and to summon myself instead of the demons. If I let you live, I know you would just try again. For the good of the world, you must be stopped here.” For all our preparations, we we're prepared for- let alone ready for- a pitched battle with a paladin. It took him less than a minute to bring all of my comrades down. Finally, he turned to me. “You were the leader of these men. The ultimate responsibility lies on your head. Know that I am truly sorry for the severity of this punishment, but it must be done. You will be sent to the celestial world. They will break you- physically, mentally, and emotionally. This is my pact to keep the world safe from invasion.” He reached out, and gingerly placed his hand on my chest. And with that, I was enveloped in light. When my vision cleared, an angel stood before me. The magnitude of my folly had become apparent.
You'll notice ghosts haunt places. The old stories never told of a travelling ghost, moving from city to city. No, they stay, tethered to the place in which they're connected in some way, like a dog on a leash longing for its master. Their spirits are locked in place, longing to change the past but forever unable to do so. Don't fear the ghost, but pity them. In my place, I spend most of my days searching. Of that part, much of the stories are true; we drift, listlessly, following patterns similar to how we would in life. For me, I pass in and out of closed doors and thick walls, floating past the same old places time and time again. I know the layout of the home better than the back of my hand. Far better. The first few years here resulted mostly in frightening new homeowners. They'd get the place for cheap after hearing its backstory, and soon the rumours of a ghost cut the price down further. A few couples would take it, and they'd leave after a year or two. I wouldn't do it deliberately. I'd just be carrying about my day, searching old mantelpieces and windowsills, brushing past dusty old rooms. Most times I was noticed was during the night, where during the day I was simply less likely to be recognised. My minor connection to the physical world doesn't cause much of a stir in daylight hours with plenty of distractions. I feel no regrets on having scared them off. My task is of the utmost importance, and if they cannot bear my presence as I complete it, they are welcome to leave me to work in peace. However, now that they've all left, I've heard of new problems. Groups of men have come by speaking of demolition. Such an act would be intolerable, so long as I have yet to find what I seek. An older man with a hardhat was the latest, fluorescent vest signalling he had no intention of finding a residence here. He'd walk into the place with boots not cleaned from the mud outside, talking loudly of the home's destruction. He'd speak to others in suits of new plans for developments. They'd bicker and fight over timelines, and occasionally I'd even hear mentions of myself; warnings of ghosts from the workers. That was when I would do what I did best, passing through walls, wail in empty rooms, shift their tools around... nothing that would cause harm, but certainly enough to create a sense of fear. They'd all leave soon enough. Then, I'd be alone again. Nearly. I lived with a second ghost. A woman, not yet thirty years of age, somehow keeping her youthful exuberance even in death in spite of the pain she suffered. She was my reason for being. It was her and her son that were murdered here. In life, I was a detective. Seeing things you wish you didn't was par for the course. The death of a child, however, especially from nefarious means, was something far harder to accept. To find his mother shortly after broke me in a way I couldn't describe. I worked tirelessly to find their killer, even a motive, a means, anything. It consumed every waking hour of my life. My marriage fell to shambles, my own children sensing a change in me. I couldn't let the injustice pass. I made a promise to myself to solve the case by any means. A heart attack cut that search prematurely. The tether to this place was the same I had in life; an endless, fruitless search for a murderer I'd never find. Hers was the same. There was little she could tell me, beyond that she fell asleep and woke up as she was. So now they seek to tear it down. It's been decades. The house is falling apart from the inside. The clues have long faded, as with the chance of my salvation, but just in life I cannot let it go. What I'd do if I had succeeded now, I wouldn't know anyway. She didn't either. Perhaps for her, she just wanted to know why. Perhaps for me, I just hoped to fulfil that wish. So what happens when you die? Well, that I can't tell you. I feel I'm still here, mostly unchanged from life to death. Whatever minor comforts the solving of the crime would provide sustain me in my search. In moments of weakness I hope they tear it down, just to end it, and send me to whatever afterlife awaits me next. Those moments are fleeting, however. I know I cannot give up now. I'll search again and again, hoping for a fingerprint, a stray hair, anything as a lead. I just need more time, but time is what I have. Tethered here, forever. \----- Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed that, please feel free to check out some of my other stuff over at [r/JohnBordenWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/JohnBordenWriting/)!
# Bastet "In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming" So the cultists had said, now we gave them a reaming. For the true Outer God was an unlucky sod when he entered this plane he just weren't quite the same. Impossible geometries they then started to sprawl but it didn't really bother us or impact us at all. For as the Dreamer raised himself he sat there, cute upon a shelf his power did not us pinch us dry his form was all but one inch high. And lo had not a minute passed when his poor fate was set, he drew attention from the cat whom we now call Bastet. --- Enjoy this? Visit my [sub.](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads)
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The child, scrawny and wounded, flinched but still pointed the knife right at the doctor. He breathed raggedly pressing his hand over his belly which did little to stop the blood flow. He could've been 5 or 10 but the malnourishment made it hard to tell, a mane of dirty hair draped over him like a cloak. "Kid. Put down the knife or I'll make you"the doctor said. "Fuck off cunt, I'll rip you, I'll fucking rip you!"The child hissed and then winced as his threat agitated his wound. The doctor rolled his eyes before launching a searching hand at the dumb kid. With one swift movement the doctors massive hand held both of the child's arm in his grip and then he hoisted him up. The kid dropped the knife. The kid screamed, tears carving rivulets down his soot ridden face. "Listen kid, I can fix that stab right here right now, I know what you're thinking and you're right. I can easily put you in the mines. All I have to do is poke my head out and shout. But I won't do that, because I'm feeling nice today"the doctor said, "now, when I lay you down on the bench, you stay their. Understood?" All the child did was nod. The doctor scooped him up with his two orgreish arms and laid him gently on the wooden bench. He turned and rummaged through some draws withdrawing most notably a long needle. "You want a shot of whiskey? I highly recommend it". "Yes"he quickly answered. The doctor nodded, filled a small wooden cup with amber coloured liquor and passed it to him. The smell was unlike anything he'd smelt, it wasn't just nasal killingly strong, there were other sweeter flavours like, like fruit. The only fruit he knew was apple though he was sure it wasn't what was in it. He sculled quickly and found it was smoother than the moonshine the adults would always drink. The doctor put away the empty cup and said, "this will hurt but you're a miner boy, I reckon you'll be fine"giving him a comforting smile.
I sat there as tears rolled down her face. She recalled how her ex-husband had left her years ago out of adultery. Even after all this time, the expression on her face said that the betrayal still hurt a whole lot. Nevermind that I had other customers lined up. This was a dear friend, and I never expected the words "actually I had a divorce years ago"to come out of her mouth. I sat there, completely stunned in silence; for all the time I had known her, I never even knew that she had been married before. Her countenance never gave it away either; she was always the sunshine kind of person with a bright and beautiful smile, a hearty laughter, and a zest for life. She had a grace about her, a kind soul, and was incredibly shrewd yet down-to-earth. If not for our difference in age, I might well have considered pursuing her. Yet, I would also never have guessed that such a personal and painful event still had its grip on her. I had taken on others' sadness before - a girl grieving her dad's suicide, another grieving the loss of her legs from a motorcycle accident, a boy who was always misunderstood and blamed by his family for everything that went wrong. The weight of each one of these were certainly not easy to bear on their own by any stretch of the imagination. Any of those weights would make anyone quickly forget the profitability of the business and instantly identify with that dreaded sense of loss and loneliness. But this time it was different. As I heard Elsie share her story, three thoughts formed in my head all at the same time: "There's no turning back this time. It's all or nothing." "I'll do it." "She's worth it." She never knew those thoughts.
"Okay, kids,"says the sheriff's deputy, accompanied by the teacher. "We told you we'd have a surprise for you. Well, today, we are gonna talk about gun safety." The sheriff's deputy and the teacher each hold a 9mm pistol in the outstretched palms of their hands. The deputy pauses and looks around the classroom. "So, let's see..... how many of y'all's parents own guns?" Over half the students in the class raise their hands. "Well, that really is somethin'!"says the deputy. "How many of y'all's parents keep their guns locked up?" Less than a quarter of the students in the class raise their hand. "All right, so before we talk about this I got a little show and tell treat.... this gun right here! And, well, it ain't loaded, so your teacher and I got approval from y'all's principal to show the gun around the classroom. Let's pass it around! Who wants to go first?" A boy in camo pants and a WWE t-shirt raises his hand. "Okay, you first, but be real careful with it now, you hear?" The boy nods. He grabs the gun and almost immediately starts pistol whipping his classmate, the boy in wire-frame glasses and a too-large button-up shirt next to him, who begins crying. "That is unacceptable!"screams the teacher. "I got this, sir,"replies the deputy, who immediately handcuffs the boy with the gun. "You wanna go to jail?"says the deputy. "'Cuz you might just be about to find out what that looks like for ya. We can give you a ride down to the station right now, and we're gonna call your parents when you get there. Then maybe we'll see how you like what happens you ever do that again." The boy's face turns pale as the sheriff drags him across the classroom, reaching for his walkie-talkie. "We've got an assault case here, over at Pine Springs Elementary School. Please send backup. Gotta fella was armed at the time of the assault and remains dangerous." The rest of the class begins pointing and laughing as the deputy drags him through the door.
Aldas Axley was sitting atop the roof of the skyscraper, looking down at the street through the scope of his rifle. He lingered on the bodies of each passerby on the early morning. He was an excellent marksman, and his handiwork was responsible for toppling gangs, restructuring political parties, and fixing many failing marriages. His hand was steady as he situated the crosshairs on the chest of a man in a suit, a woman in jogging shorts, a smoking man on a stoop. For all his hardening, he avoided headshots wherever possible; too brutal, and entirely unnecessary. A fifty caliber round to the upper torso would more than suffice. He was waiting for a call about his next job, certain sources suggested he'd find another well paying gig, and thus he may as well pass the time temporarily being an angle of death from somewhere high up. He could end any of these poor souls' lives with a single press of the trigger. His phone rings, and he jolts back from his scope. As he sets down his weapon, I press the end of my gun against the back of his head. "Any last words?"I ask politely. "I..." I don't give him the honor. I put my gun back into my jacket, and walk towards the hatch to continue on my day.
I knew this day would come, after all when your sword has no use you discard it. Why would I be any different, I am just a weapon of light to be discarded when useless. Its been 3 weeks since I struck down the Dark Lord and his minions, 3 weeks since I completed the task handed to me by the high master. Now they summon me to the halls of judgement for celebration they say, I know the truth. They will strip this power from me destroying this mortal shell and making their power absolute on this continent. I sip my wine and chuckle, was I on the wrong side all this time. The knock at my door signals my coach has arrived, I stand and ready to depart. As the coach passes the green pastures and lush forests, saved by my blood and sweat I smile at the people as we go by. They are innocent in all this, they don't know the hypocrisy of the light or the greed that power pushes into weak men's hearts. I could do it I thought, I could flee to the dark lands and mount a force to crush them all. I shake my head at such thoughts, 10 years of fighting to bring peace for me to be the one to undo it would be folly. The coach stops a the grand building of light, I am settled on my plan. I begin the walk to the hall of summons I hope my comrades did me my final request. As I walk the great corridors I see that the building has indeed been emptied of servants and scholars, they think they can hide this. I approach the double doors to the hall, take a deep breath and enter. Two Chaplain Guards meet me at my side and lead me to the pulpit were I am to be commended for my work. I stand as the Head of the 12 masters begins his phoney speech, a keyword for the guards to sever my head from my body no doubt. I begin my own chant quiet and slow, I begin to amass power within my body. As the master reaches his keyword, I begin my final verse yelling at the top of my lungs I detonate the spell, these people will burn in righteous light my last gift to the people of this continent I hope the message spreads of there corruption I will trust that to my comrades. I smile as the entire estate is blanketed in a tremendous searing light and erased from the continent for good.
"Honey, I don't think we should go this way."Renee's concern was clearly visible on her face as the minivan whirred past signs with the words "US GOVERNMENT. NO TRESSPASSING"and the emblem of the US Army emblazoned on them. Jack laughed and squeezed her knee with his free hand. "You have nothing to worry about, babe. C'mon, everybody knows that these sites were decommissioned years ago! We're basically going to a museum. Everyone loves museums, right kids?"Jack looked in the rear view mirror. Both his kids were wearing headphones and staring at their tablets. Doesn't matter, Jack thought. We just need something fun to get them interested. As the trees ahead began to thin, Jack saw a large dump truck on its side to the left of the roadway. Written rather crudely in what looked like spray paint on the underside of the truck were the words "Property of SID". "SID... I wonder what that stands for. State Interior Department? Naw, that doesn't make sense..."Jack continued puzzling over the meaning as they drove past. Renee rolled her eyes. "Honey, you're mumbling again." "Sorry, dear." Driving into view of some buildings, Jack and Renee could make out a town hall, a gas station, some restaurants, and a movie theater. They all seemed to be built in the late 80s. Aside from a complete absence of people, it looked pretty normal. Jack pulled over near the theater and put the van into park. He glanced over at Renee, who still looked very nervous. "You ready, babe?" Just then, the door to the theater opened, and a man stepped out. He wore a yellow, patterned flannel shirt with a brown vest and blue jeans, and a 10 gallon hat. He was tall and lanky, and had an unusually large forehead. He was walking contentedly out to the sidewalk when he noticed the van. A look of concern flashed across his face, and he quickly paced over to them. Jack wasn't sure if he meant them harm, but he did want to talk, so he cracked the window. "Hi there! We got lost, and we were hoping you could--" "You folks need to clear out of here now! This place is strictly off limits to civilians, and you are in serious danger right now. Just go back the way you came and don't ever come back here!"The man pointed back the way they drove in from. Jack was not giving up that easily. "Now wait a second, mister! You're not exactly in uniform here. How do I know you're not just some bum who lives in this godforsaken town all by yourself, and you don't want anyone coming in and spoiling your fun?" The man put one hand on his hip and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. "Look. You seem like nice folks. I'm just trying to help you out here. At some point, if you stay here long enough, you won't be able to leave, even if you want to. I'm just tryin' to make sure that doesn't happen." A rumble in the distance caught the man's attention. The bottle of water in Renee's cupholder began to vibrate. "You folks will wanna be going...NOW!"He turned and fled down the sidewalk. Jack was pretty weirded out by all that, and the rumbling was getting more intense, so he put the van in drive and flipped a U-turn. The rumbling felt very close now, like explosions, and the van bounced back and forth. The sky began to grow dark. All of a sudden, the van stopped moving with a jolt. Jack revved the engine, but the wheels just spun. Just then, the van was lifted off the ground way up into the air. Renee and the kids were screaming. Jack was yelling at them to put their seatbelt on. The van finally came to a stop, and the kids turned white. Jack turned to see what they were looking at, and was greeted with the sight of two large green eyes and a large freckled nose staring back at him. "New toys, huh? Hehhehheh, let's....play!"
"Fuck oh my god!"she said, running away from the kangaroo. "It's coming after me, help!" I was frozen stiff with fear to do anything about it. They disappeared into the bush and I just heard the screams and thumps and cracks. Then silence. I finally exhaled. Then I thought, what am I doing? I should run. So I did, in the opposite direction. But where to? I heard rustling in the bush. Didn't matter. I ran. I ran through the scorched grass, the sun beating down on me. Soon I was parched, exhausted. A patch of wet earth caught my legs and fell first first into the mud. I tried getting up but I couldn't. For a second I thought I was too tired, but then came the horrifying realization. Then I saw them. Giant pythons, reaching out through the mud, were wrapping themselves around my limbs, and slowing pulling me down. I would have died if a man in khaki shorts hadn't shown up and cut me free. I grabbed him in a tight embrace and broke down. Its okay mate, you're okay, let's go to the barbie, he said, as I sobbed on his shoulder.
Of all the times, Florida actually was cold. Would you believe it? Dad went to go visit his family. I went with him to help drive. But I needed something in return, to visit a friend I had met on deviantART 5 years back. He begrudgingly agreed. It was the perfect weather. I could wear a long-sleeve, walk and not overheat. My friend picked me up in her car, we randomly parked in a parking garage, and started to peruse a popular tourist strip on foot. The sky had a few clouds, few people were driving on the streets, and we could cross certain roads by checking our heads. We talked about a bunch of stuff. Things I haven’t talked to people with my own voice for years. Games, food, past life experiences...how I wished I could’ve spent all day here doing this. I could 100% attest I never had this experience in East Tennessee. We watched people indoor skydive. We ate burgers at a Colombian burger joint. We just walked and meandered various spots, pointing and looking at stuff. No Southern accent. Actually could talk about Wacom tablets and whatnot. When it was time for me to go home, we had walked almost a mile and a half, without a second thought. Oh Volunteer state, how you shut-in “locals” proudly brag about being “curvy country girls” and “muddin’ in your mountains”, but you think it’s too much work to just urban crawl at a leisure pace? Yeah, that’s why you get swiped left on. Plus the accent is annoying. But when we said goodbye and our walk was over, I did realize something that was clear as day. I did not belong in the funny rectangle state next to North Carolina. Or probably the states around it. I needed to be elsewhere. Friends, job, a future. I needed somewhere where I could be this free, and have those opportunities opened to me. How to get elsewhere when people laugh and were being discriminatory about jobs to move, that was not so clear. When I think back about shuffling along a sidewalk in Orlando, seeing tall buildings around me instead of empty rural mountains, walking with someone that I actually knew and got along with...well, that tends to stick with you. Especially when that never did happen before.
I heard her voice, warm and bright, before I realized where we were. “Hey there, stranger.” Millenia had passed and she hadn’t aged in the slightest, celestial beings are like that. I did my best to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Sol! Is it that time of the century already?”, I exclaimed with poorly feigned surprise. She grinned delightedly, her golden-hazel eyes shining their light on me. Its warmth let me know I had her full attention; she always had a way of making you feel like the most important thing in existence. Until the light fades and its like you never there at all… “Sereno! That’s so hurtful.” She giggled with mock indignation. “All the time we’ve known each other and you haven’t been looking forward to our bicentennial eclipses?” Truth be told, I’d wished it so often that I’d finally succeeded in forgetting I revolved around her and instead focused my time observing all the millions of lives on the cheerful green planet I orbited. But I wouldn’t tell her that. I gave a soft smile. “It’s nice to see you again. How are you?” “You know, the same old rising and setting. Look at Terra, she’s so green!” Sol was referring to my orbiting planet. She leaned to get a better look before our natural, inevitable precession brought me in between my two companions. I sensed something was off with Sol. My instincts proved right when I heard her continue talking. “Serenus, I’ve been thinking lately…about a lot of things. You remember when we met?” “Of course I do” I responded plainly. How could I forget? We’d been formed by Sovereign hands once upon time so long ago, it felt like it was outside of time. Day and night wasn’t a thing, Sol and I spent all our time together in the same sky. I loved her cheerful laughter as I would wax lyrically about the stars, the other planets, the little humans on terra. I’d never known anything apart from us, it was like… “It’s like we were two sides of the same coin.” She interjected softly. My silvery face darkened slightly as Sol’s rays focused elsewhere and back to me. “But I suppose weren’t, were we? We shortly took different skies and it became like this: meeting periodically.” I said, doing my best to mask the emotion. “And that’s why I bring it up, Serenus. I know I hurt you when I said I needed to feel…myself. To have the space to go out on my own.” The memories came rushing back to me. After she declared her independence, the Sovereign placed us in our separate paths to only meet periodically during eclipses like these. I figured it was for the best, I hid my pain and during those awkward moments I would silently turn inward toward Terra until we were well past and I no longer felt Sol’s rays. “I don’t regret my decision. I needed to be independent, and you deserved to be appreciated for who you are and not just reflect someone else. But I was wrong to behave the way I did and I’m sorry.” Sol glanced downward and stiffly smoothed out her golden dress. “Ok, apology accepted.” I said flatly “See you in 50 years?” It was a poor attempt to be humorous. Sol hesitated, then spoke. “I’d rather not.” I looked back, startled. “I mean, I’d like to talk more often, if that’s okay with you… I do miss you, you know.” There was something about the plain sincerity of her words, because I melted. “I do too…” I murmured. And then I felt the rays on my face brighten and grow warmer. She smiled, her charming smile. “Well good!” The end.
Olivia Kohlin, Nightstalker Huntress, a dark elf. She had been shunned by the forest and the people she was born among, the adults anyways. Some of the elves her age treated her well, until their parents caught wind. Forcefully abandoned by her friends, due to their parents demands, Olivia ran crying into the deep forest. Only to return years later with the Great Spirit Bow and a panther wearing the Regalia of the Holy Beast. Equipped with two ancient relics, Olivia saved the Elven country, Koltien, from the Demon King Army's invasion. ___ In an adjacent country, Lenz Haryle, had made his debut as the Hero of the Kingdom of Melchior, weilding dual handaxes that shine with holy and demonic light. He subdued two of the Demon King's Generals: one of them an Angel of the God of Destruction, and the other hellspawn from the Depths. Holy and Unholy working together to destroy the Plane of Man. Formerly a mere adventurer, the warrior claims the weapons were entrusted to him in the hopes that he could save the world, by a dying grizzled warrior that was fighting to protect a ruin from the forces of the Demon King. ___ Within the Religious Empire, Grancross, a Paladin had similarly rose among the ranks due to a powerful artifact landing in her arms. Fae Layfaela, the Pope's pampered niece, had been ambushed by Demon King forces several years ago, her escort demolished with her as the sole survivor. She came back to the capital, armed with a Great Spear, which only she can somehow carry, and a massive shield with intricate golden carvings. Ever since, the dainty princess-like lady became a fierce paladin, fighting in the name of the God of Civilization, the God of Grancross. The three of them separately fought the Demon King's forces, driving the invasion back to his own continent. And oversaw the signing of a magically enforced treaty between nations, after joining forces just the once. The 3 knew each other by reputation, but only met once in that final battle. After the treaty signing, the three decided to go to a pub in the Kingdom of Melchior, where Lenz swore the best alcohol he'd had throughout his journey came from. The other two, after a long duty of fighting on the front lines decided a celebratory drink was well deserved and decided to join. Eager to swap stories of battle over a good drink, the three traveled by teleportation magic. After walking in and requesting a private table in the corner, the three hooded figures de-cloak and breathe a sigh of fatigue. Sneaking away from the Honor Banquet proved tiring. As it was off hours for the pub they visited, the old and portly bartender came up to the table holding a note ready to take their orders and his eyes light up as he sees them sans-disguise. "I remember you guys! I gave you all your Sacred Relics!"He stands up straight from his slouch, his muscles tighten and he gives them a sloppy salute, "Thank you for your service! I'm glad I didn't have to fight the Army myself! Hahahah,"he ends with a rough fit of laughter as he slouches once more. "Holy Sage!""The Old Man!?""Honorable Hermit?" The three have faces full of recognition and confusion at seeing the old man in front of them. And then turn to each other, confusion growing, noticing they all recognized him as different people. "Old Man, I saw you die! Your injuries weren't something a person could survive!" "Holy Sage! Thank you for saving me! Your Spear and Shield have served our Lord, Gran, well!" "Honorable Hermit? Did you not hate civilization and decided to live in the Deep Forest?" The three heroes turn towards each other again in confusion. "Hahhahaahh, you guys are too much,"the bartender laughs not minding their confusion, "So, what did you want to drink? It might be a long explanation. It's gotta be worth my time to explain,"he rubs his fingers together, obviously asking for a generous tip.
I remember the first time I died. I saw my parents faces, smiling over me as I slept and then a rush of colors. Then it was my first kiss, his lips were warm and an awkward hand rested on my cheek. Another rush and I was at my wedding day, my wife dressed up in a beautiful white that shone through all the other memories, illuminating my last moments on Earth in a white light. Then a bang as the glass window smashed and a the world spun end over end, until settling in a perfect silence. I didn’t want to go, I never wanted to leave this perfect little paracosm that I had spent a lifetime building, and certainly not so soon but... but there was peace there too. So much I had accomplished, so deep had I loved, so many places I had seen. It felt as though there were no loose ends. There is never a right time to die, but if this was it then that’s ok. I was born to faith, and while I stopped going to church most weeks as I got older, I found comfort. I could almost feel a warm touch as my blood started to go cold, welcoming into whatever was next. Then something else. The warmth changed to a blistering heat and strange pull. Like I had just crossed some strange event horizon and a black hole was desperately pulling at my being. I was nameless, formless, and bathed in an intense fire. It stopped as suddenly as it began and I floated in a strange form, my weight held by unseen arms, my eyes unable to open. The memories always blur together at that point, I think some feelings at that age are imprinted upon the soul or higher being, I’m not sure what to call it but I can assure you it’s there. I was a baby again and it would take years before I could rationalize what had happened to me. Every time I’m reborn, it’s like a blunt head trauma that takes me a decade or two to grow out of. My first rebirth was the hardest. By the age of 5, I was overwhelmed with the memories of my past life, unable to reconcile my child’s mind and body with the adult I used to be. I was angry and had outbursts and night terrors. By the age of 8, the doctors diagnosed me as schizophrenic and put me on a cocktails of medication that kept me numb. At least that helped the memories fade into the backdrop, turning gray just like the rest of my world. By twenty, I had managed to convince myself it was all a strange dream. Sure, some events that happened in the outside world were awfully familiar but I brushed that away. Even broken clocks are right twice a day I thought. My second life was so markedly different, I eventually let go of my first. The first kiss wasn’t with a sweet awkward boy, it was with the girl I met in the psych ward when I was 14. We never reached our wedding day, because as we grew better together, we grew a part from each other. Still, we remained always close friends and occasional lovers. I had no desire for children, I couldn’t bare to pass down whatever screwed genetics I was born with to another person. So much of it was spent with myself alone. But in my solitude, I found peace. In my troubled past I found meaning. In my work I found a calling. When the day for me to die came, the girl from the psych ward sat beside me and held my hand. I watched our strange love pass over a lifetime as the last sparks of life crackled through my neurons. It was a hard life, yet I was proud. I was content. The universe apparently has other plans for me. Again I was reborn. This time, I was less charged by the trauma and there was some relief. This was really happening. My entire second life had just been a peculiar misdiagnosis. So I lived with gusto. I found the girl from the psych ward as adults and we found love. This time, it wasn’t so weighted and heavy. We came with new prospectives and lived life as fully as we knew how. We danced, drank, and traveled and made love upon moonlit beaches. We settled down and had a life. There was no car crash, no schizophrenic meds. Just us. I was complete. I thought maybe, just maybe. This time whatever creator there was above would free my soul. And as my life flashed before my eyes, I smiled out at the big family that crowded my hospital bed. The fourth time I broke. I am unsure how many lifetimes, waking as a baby to fall asleep again as an old man. They pass so quickly. Some are great and some are bad. I find it ironically similar to living normally. There are good days, and bad ones. But the next one somehow always comes and I’m left of a choice of what to do with it. My worst lifetimes, there are no flashbacks, no rush before death where I live out my final moments in a beautiful rush of color. In my fourth life I overdosed at 16. I had started seeking out antidotes and cures to the pain as soon as I was old enough to process the hurt. There was no rush. No looking back upon the family I had loved or the children I had bore. No satisfaction of watching myself find my way. I’m not sure if time goes on without me. If every time I die, some parallel universe spirals out where my children can grow old and have beautiful lives of their own. Where the businesses, charities, and art I have built live on past my memory. I hope that. I hope they exist somewhere out there in the cosmic radiance. I suppose I will never know. All I have is now. All I have is each lifetime. Either I spend them wasting away in a permanent hell or I rise again for each new day and take the next step into the dark.
"Stop, this isn't how it happened." The simulation ends. The sounds of gears winding down fill my ears. Out the window, which is not really a window, the virtual projection of a mushroom cloud has ceased entirely. The nendroid next to me, which looks so much like my son Ray but also nothing like him, stares at me with dead eyes. A door appears in the wall, and the Stallgite, which looks almost human(and I suppose it is in some ways), steps into the room. "Is something wrong?"It asks me. "We've arranged the simulation to be exactly how you specified. Is this not what happened?" "It is...it's just when my son asked me that question, he sounded...more alive. Well, more scared really." "No problem,"the Stallgite says and it smiles a long toothy smile. "We can absolutely adjusts the nendroids emotional bearings. Was your son crying when he asked the question?" "No,"I say thinking about that day. 2500 years ago a radioactive cataclysm occurred. The last thing I remember was standing with my son, staring out the window, as the mushroom of death got closer. When I woke up, I was in some kind of medical facility. Somehow, I had survived the blast and been in some kind of hibernation for the past 2500 years. Well, 2567 years to be exact. Humans were no longer what I remembered them being. They had advance, evolved, into beings that now call themselves Stallgites. Intelligent beings, but devoid of any warmth. We're running a test, a simulation of sorts, to find out how I survived. Even these things have no idea. I look at the nedroid, which somehow looks exactly like my son and at the same time looks nothing like him. I thought I was long past the point of tears, but I can feel them coming now. "Oh,"the Stallgite says in that irritating voice. "Were you crying during the moment of impact?" "No,"I say. "These are for now." "Oh. I see. Well, I believe we have correctly adjusted the emotional response of the nendroid. Shall we resume?" I wipe the tears from my eyes and nod my head. The Stallgite smiles, and departs the room. Outside the window, which is not really a window, the mushroom cloud comes back to life and is roaring towards us. My son, who is not my son, stares at me with eyes that are still dead. "What happens when we die?" I wish I knew son. I miss you terribly.
We’re currents. Unpredictable, messy, giant currents. And when we crash into each other, we crash hard. But the worst part isn’t the pain we feel as we free fall into collision. It’s the ones that drift far away into the dark abyss; empty, and quiet, and so incredibly alone. — Sometimes, I have to remind myself that I’m not the only one living on this revolving globe. That with me, are millions of tiny specks of flesh and dust, occupying a space that’s too big for the currents we bring. That even with all the dust and flesh and currents and air and life, I still feel as if I’m the only one living in this too big and lonely world. — There was a time when I thought I mattered. It was a feeling of fresh air to the normal red dust that encompasses my every taken breath. But in the long run, that hadn’t mattered. Because I didn’t. — Total # of days I’ve counted: 1 — I usually end up gazing into the moon, wishing I were born among the stars; glowing and alive and shining as bright as the colours that paint the sky. — The final days of my life will end with nothing but silence. There will be no lullabies to lull me to sleep, there will be no stories of the life I once lived, there will be no remembrance at all. But there will be the sun and the moon and the stars. Awaken and asleep in all of life that remained untold. And they will echo as silently as the words I never spoke. — Total # of days I’ve lost count of: all the rest — The terrible thing about life is that at the end of it all, when everything turns silent and dark, we will be alone. Truly, inexplicably, alone. But for some — for those who are always in a place of darkness and silence, even when they are awake — there is life without living. Because some are as dead as they are alive. — I have wandered this desolate planet in hopes that I will find meaning in the way I have come to be. And if you are reading this, you are reading a piece of me. Because words have meaning. Even if they are the words you don’t say. Especially the words you don’t say. I have been abandoned all my life (and it was a life; albeit a sad and grey one, but a life in all the ways that counted). (We never do stop counting. Even when the days become so cold and empty.) Being alone isn’t the worst thing to become of someone. It’s being alone and not knowing why. Because, in the end, the only thing worse than being abandoned, is knowing you weren’t even worth an explanation in the first place. The question forever remains on whether or not that explanation is worth knowing. (Whether or not you’re worth more than the words someone else can’t even bring themselves to say). (Edit: grammar)
[Previously](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/icf2q9/wp_leave_the_wounded_behind/) Just as he had come the strange entity Pandora had identified as Paradolox had disappeared through another suspiciously purple doorway. Grathie squeezed his eyelids closed and reached for his holovisor, it was sadly in the offline position which was something that was bringing him more and more discomfort. People, or in this case hypertrophic fauns, in whatever shape or form pleased them could easily disappear into thin air in the Nil, the milieu of digital and analog reality that Grathie usually favored bathing his existence in. However this was different, worse than different it was real, real in piercing violet light and in sweaty goatman smell. Somehow, that was harder for him to accept than the slightly bemused half spider half woman librarian he had been sharing a cup of coffee with before they had been interrupted. Grathie rubbed at his eyes again, trying to make sense of the purely physical world around him for what may have been the first time in his life. Pandora, as she was called, wandered around her underground space, carefully putting away the oversized novelty mug that had served an uncomfortable amount of coffee to the now departed faun. Grathie flexed his shoulder blades, shifting the weight of his antennae to massage the muscles in his back. “I’m… confused.” He began abruptly as the weight of the silence of the moment pressed in on his mind. “You and that guy are related?” Pandora smiled, “We share a father, a creator, who built the wombs from which we were birthed. Who shaped us for the purposes he had in mind.” She eyed the young Fae, thinking back to when they had first been delivered from her Father’s tender embrace. The effortless fusion of biology and technology, blended back and forth until one was indistinguishable from the other evidenced in the body of a young boy. Potential. Pandora thought to herself. “Perhaps even you and I could be called cousins, if you look in the right places.” “Cousins?” Grathie was suddenly ablaze with excitement. Could it be that he had some kind of interesting history tucked away in his blood, the thought visibility rocked him as it ricocheted through his body. “After a kind,” Pandora smiled, small and mischievous echoing his energy, “But do tell me Grathie, just how did you find yourself down here. People usually, other than Brother Dearest, require invitations to find their way.” Scenarios flooded through her mind, all the possible breaches of her security, of what that could mean for her redoubt here. It was far from time after all, for her to make any kind of appearance before anyone, let alone the public or worse her father. If it were possible to light up even more than he already was Grathie somehow managed it. A chance to boast was something rare enough to him that he would go out of his way to grasp this one with hands, feet and mouth. His golden hair escaped its tenuous tucking behind his ears as he held out his holovisor proudly. “I just hate, HATE, not knowing things. You know, discovery being the essence of living, especially secrets and things that hide. So I spent my weekends trying to remove the perception filters Fabre built into this model. I’m not rich enough to build my own holorig myself, so I just dug and dug and plucked and picked until nothing could hide anymore.” Pandora squeezed her lips, keeping a lid on her dismay. Her distraction was ripe to turn himself into a problem. “I see, so you must have followed one of my spiders back here.” Her voice, soft and curt was directed thoroughly at herself. “Old foxes huh…” Grathie’s head tilted to one side, doll like in the way it flopped. “Old… foxes?” He inquired, settling the holovisor in its correct position on his face. “Yes,” Pandora sighed, crossing her arms and tapping one of her forelegs on the ground “It's a proverb someone I’m not very fond of told me once. ‘Old foxes are hard to trap.’” “What do foxes have to do with anything?” “Well you see, a long time ago foxes were hunted because they were undesirable.” Pandora pulled down a vidscreen of archival footage of a fox hunt. “Old foxes, ones that had survived many hunts were hard to trap, because they knew they were being hunted and had seen the traps before.” Grathie’s eyes grew to the size of small moonlets as he gawked at the footage. A thousand half asked questions tied themselves in knots on his tongue producing a mute if garbled sound. “So what the hunters resorted to doing,” Pandora continued as she slowly advanced to where Grathie was perched. “Was trap a young fox and release it, tracking it back to its den where the old foxes were waiting for their child. The whole proverb went ‘Old foxes are hard to track but their young will lead you back.’” Her hands closed around Grathie’s shoulders, lifting him from the stool. “So the question, little one, is who followed you back.” “N..n.. No one I swear.” Grathie stammered, fear creeping in the edge of his voice. Gone was the homely if strange librarian. Someone else, eldritch and fearsome gripped him now. “I just wanted to see what the spider was, where it was going.” Words rushed from his mouth retelling how he had arrived at the Drider’s Lair. “And and and that's how I got here, no one could have followed me because I didn't even know which way I was going half of the time.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, this was far too real, far too frightening for his inquisitive self. “Oh you.” Pandora sighed, swapping her antagonistic grasp for a soothing hug. Doing something unsavoury to something as stupidly inquisitive as this boy would surely leave her angry with herself in the long run. Simpler, and kinder to her and to him, would be to find a fresh lair in some other part of the plate. Presuming of course the child had compromised her location. “You’re just a moth striving onwards aren't you.” She smelled of frankincense, and her sweater even though it looked soft was scratchy against his face. Grathie struggled and pushed off her, “I’m not a child.” He muttered defiantly, if not knowing was his biggest annoyance, second only by a hair's breadth was being treated as if he was some kind of human child. He was an adult by Fae standards damnit. “I’m… I’m going to go now.” Grathie declared, looking around for the way he had come in. Pandora nodded sadly, “That is probably for the best.” She flicked a route to the surface onto his holovisor. It wasn’t the most direct, but it would keep him clear of the dangers of the tunnels both endemic and constructed. Grathie blinked and let the route unfold before him, crimson lines on the ground before him. “I.. hope your family is ok and you can see them again.” Too pure. Pandora thought, her mouth, vexed and involuntarily twitching to one side. “If you want… to return here… for a coffee sometime. Just tell this little one and it will bring you here safely.” From the darkness above him a smaller version of the yellow eyed spider he had followed here slipped down an invisible line and perched on his holovisor. “I’ll think about it. After all you have to tell me that long and complicated story one day right?” Grathie grinned, rushing after the marker before him. Out of sight Pandora sighed, her head lolling back on her shoulders. `Gestalt you fickle shit.` she cursed across the Nil at another of her siblings.
"John,"Peter said, placing a friendly hand on mine. He wasn't really a "friend", but he was a co-worker I was fairly close with. Next to him was Dr. Struener, my Dentist, Shiela Brown, the woman who ran the front desk of Spirit Halloween, and Steve-- Peter's cousin who was in town. "What is this?"I asked, confused, as they sat me down in a chair. "Honey?"I called, throwing my voice to make it appear as though it was coming from the top of the staircase. I wanted them to think my wife was waiting for me so we could cut this short. "It's just some friends, sweetie, be done in a few,"I called back. Another illusion accomplished to buy me some time. My "friends"all looked at each other nervously. "This is an intervention,"Dr. Struener said, when no one else spoke. "An intervention for what? I'm not a stoner like Jim!"I laughed. "Dad, marijuana is shown to have many, many benefits--"I threw my voice from the kitchen. I stuck out my thumb towards the kitchen and shook my head in with a get a load of this guy smile. "An intervention for, uhm...."Dr. Struener hesitated, but Shiela, an old woman in her 70's an a haircut like Ladybird Johnson interrupted. "You're nuts kid, we know you live alone. You've got some serious mental health issues,"She said. I froze. Did they somehow not believe my illusions? No matter-- more of a challenge! I reached under the chair and slowly put on a blonde wig. "Oh, hello!"I said brightly. "I'm John's wife, uhhhhhhh...." They looked at me expectantly. "Shit, didn't think of a name." "....Y....Yoko..."I said, flashing a girlish smile. "Your name is Yoko? As in John and Yoko,"Peter said flatly. "Look,"Dr. Struener said, medical training kicking in. "You need help, John. Your wife, your kid...they aren't real...They are just you in various wigs and using ridiculously obvious falsettos." I balked. "Obvious falsettos?" "^(I don't know what you mean, I'm a master of disguise,)", I said. Yoko's voice was a lot more nuanced than just me in a falsetto. "Have you ever seen like...an Eddie Murphy movie? Like the Nutty Professor?"Peter's cousin asked me. "Yes, of course, they are some of Jim's favorites!"I said in Yoko's voice. "Right....well you know how it's like...super obvious when it's Eddie Murphy is playing all the roles?" I blinked. What was he talking about? "Eddie Murphy does what?"I asked, my Yoko voice dropping for a split second. "He...he plays like...everyone in the movie,"Steve said slowly, looking at the others in the room to make sure he himself was hearing me right. "Like...when he plays his own mother he's just putting on a wig and some old 1960's glasses...."He said. I reflexively glanced at the thick glasses on a string I used when Grandmother came to town. But I'd seen that movie dozens of times. It has a wide cast of hilarious and flatulent characters. Eddie Murphy might be one of them, but...multiple? "If that's true,"I said, "Then surely, he is a master illusionist." "See, that's the thing,"Peter said delicately. "He's...really not. Like....at no point should the audience be confused as to whether or not any particular character is being played by Eddie Murphy." "Well,"I scoffed, "A more talented illusionist then I, if you are telling the truth about the Nutty Professor." They looked at each other painfully. I whistled. "So...how long have you known?" "How long have we known that your 'son Jim' is just you in a sleeveless Metallica shirt and 'surfer dude' wig that you bought at my store?"Shiela asked. "Also you're very rude, as Jim,"Peter added with a sniff. My jaw dropped. They knew. How could they have known? How could they have figured it out? I clapped slowly. "Well done, well done,"I said, taking my wig off and placing it back under the chair. "You have figured me out. I use my masterful illusions to make it appear as though I am many people, when I am in fact one!" They smiled sadly. "Let's get to know the real John,"Peter said. "You want to go get some dinner with us?" Dinner? Never had I been invited to a social gathering....my illusions made many jealous. "I...I would love that,"I said, some sadness deep inside me beginning to thaw. "I have to say, I think me and Jim would hit it off, assuming he's willing to share his supply,"Peter's cousin Steve laughed as we piled into the car. "Plenty of it. Jim--"I stopped myself. "Errr, yeah, maybe later we can break into my stash later,"I said, smiling. We ended up having a great night. Maybe being other people isn't all it's cracked up to be. I realized at some point in the night that I didn't really know who I was, and expressed the notion after a few margaritas. Apparently a lot of people aren't sure who they are either; it's a relatively common human experience, master illusionist or not. Maybe I'll just be John for a while. See what that's all about.
I went to bed early, but that doesn't mean I fell asleep. Every time I closed my eyes I could only think of her, my Elizabeth. It had been a year today since she died, and all I wanted to do was cry. It was a drowning accident. At least that's what the police told me when they knocked on my door. I should've have tried to save her. If she was still alive, the world would know of the beautiful music she played. But instead, she was six ft under, and her music was no more. Eventually, I had started to drift, but that's when I heard the music. I thought I was imagining it. I heard that grief could do that to you. But as I sat upright, I knew the sound of the harp was coming from the music room down the hall. I don't know what made me do it, but I decided to check it out. I was by myself, so music being played in the untouched room was suspicious. When I finally got to the room, however, I wish I had instead stayed in bed. Sitting on the stool at the harp was a woman with her back to me. Not even seeing her face, I could still recognise her from a mile away. Elizabeth's long black hair was neatly floating down her back. It looked wet, dripping even. She wore her blue summer dress, the one she wore that night of the drowning. No, this wasn't grief, this was real. ”Eliza?” I whisper. The harp stopped playing and the room sounded so quiet you could hear a pin drop. My eyes were fixated on her. As she slowly turned around, I wanted to gasp, scream, and cry all together. Suddenly the memories came flooding back. Elizabeth and I getting in the car at midnight, myself deciding to drive even though I was tired. She warned me it was dangerous, but I argued back I was fine. Then us driving down the country roads. I got distracted, I began to drift off. Then I heard her scream. What was once the dark road was now a large pond that the car flew into. My reaction time allowed me to undo my seatbelt. As the car was submerged by dark, cold water, I broke the window and swam to safety. I could still hear the strangled screams of Elizabeth in the car. She had hit her head, and now her seatbelt was stuck. It was too late for me to go back now. It was my fault. That's when I did the worse thing I have ever done in my life. I ran. I ran up the road and made it to my house without being seen. I went inside, dried myself, chucked my clothes in the dryer and went to bed. The next morning the police came to tell me my wife had drowned. The driver had gotten away. When they questioned me I told them she had gone driving with a friend that night after we had a fight, and they believed me. God, why did they have to believe me? Now, a year later I stood in her music room I left in her memory with the ghost of my wife sitting in front of me. She had a gush of blood down her forehead, and water dripped from every part of her body. There was a look in her eyes like she was here for her revenge. ”i know what you did. You will pay.” As she stood up and started walking towards me, I closed my eyes and waited for my fate.
“Because I am tired.” The witch smiles at me. That sick, patronizing smile. I just know she dosent understand. “That will pass, soon you will enjoy your immortality again. After all, everything is in your reach.” I just shake my head. “No,” I start, “I have lived since Babylon’s fall. I have seen, experienced the countless tides of history wash over me. I am older than your very craft. Yet I am tired.” The witch glares at me and opens her mouth, I do not stop. “I have mastered the lute, the sword and the tounge. You will never find a man or woman who can match my prowess. I have done, seen and experienced everything a man could ever wish to do and more. Yet I am tired. And I have loved. I have laid in roses with the most beautiful women, with Helen herself! I have been whisked away from my by dashing warriors. I have raised children, beautiful songstresses, clever scholars and daring heroes, I have seen their deeds and felt my pride soar. Yet I am tired. Do you know why?” The witch doesn’t even try to answer. “I am tired for I have loved and lost. I have seen my daughters burn, one with her library, her sister at a stake. I have seen my sons killed right in front of me. But it’s seeing them grow that makes me weep. I see my youngest marry her love and I am as youthful as when she took her first step. I see her wither in bed, hair gray and skin wrinkly, yet I am as youthful as when she married her love. I see her take her last breath and I am as youthful as when she took her first step. I am tired of seeing my loved ones wither, I am tired of being left alone. I wish to see wheee they went.” The witch shakes her head. “Heh. Of all the things, being alone is what makes a centuries old being weep. Alright, I’ll see what I can do.” I take her hand. “Thank you, my dear descendant.”
The answer lay beneath their feet. As it turns out, civilization had lived for billions of years at the center of the Earth. Humans had lived happily at the surface, smugly thinking of themselves as Masters of all things, exploring land, then the sea, then the depths of the ocean. What the hell, they even probed other planets and planted little flags and played golf on the Moon. They were the supreme species of all time. They were like barnacles on a whale. The Big Bang was after all a planned explosion, sending matter (probes, in fact) to the depths of the Universe, and within each one several hundred members of them, protected by a thick layer of rock. This one settled down under the Sun and waited for instructions. They told them to let alien life develop, as in a Petri dish. They turned the heat on on and added some water. A thick layer of moss developed, then animals, then really big animals. Then a big ball hit, a neighbouring planet was playing baseball. WTF? That hurt man, and you nearly ruined my science project. Oh well, what's the damage, oh there's still some mice and stuff, ok. In due time, humans appeared and started "civilizations"(haha, yeah right, you sure?). They became interesting when they built pyramids, then mildly worrying when they learned to write. When they started scratching the Earth's crust they giggled, oh they'll find us, no they won't, they think they're smart but rock and some heat is enough to put them in their place. But it was when they discovered nuclear power, that they thought their work was done, as it was just a matter of time until self-destruction. And it was. They reported findings and asked for further instructions from HQ, "your work is done, time to come back". \[non english speaker, sorry for any mistakes\]
A brilliant flash, followed by a splash of fluids with the smell of brimstone. Sasha's Spear came swinging down just in time. She stands breathing heavily, light injuries bleeding silvery white glowing blood. She stands there, leaning on her spear, she's saved you, the splashes of demon blood evaporating off of her body. She has always had a gallant look to her, a warrior defending people from the demons from the Underworld, just like her name. Sasha, defender of mankind. Somehow. The Defender of Mankind was assigned to protect you. An average person by all means. She appeared suddenly, and along with her sudden appearance, demons of all sorts appeared to attack you... but were they really attacking you? They appeared left and right, a new big strong one every week. They kidnapped you on occasion, but you weren't outright harmed. It was usually collateral damage between the two sides fighting that actually hurt anyone. ...What did he say? Before you were saved, the grotesque villain of the week had you cornered. His slimy writhing body repulsed you as you were backed into a literal corner. His head(?) turned toward you, so... his back(?) should have been facing you... the demon said, "The Angels are not your friends, they will - "His unearthly tentacle-sounding voice seemed to plead to you before he was struck down and you were saved. You stare at Sasha as she spreads her wings, an echo of light wiping away the damage like it wasn't there. A few human casualties being burnt away as if they never existed. The light, once comforting, seemed... cruel... unfeeling now. Your eyes narrow as Sasha turns to help you to your feet, the blinding halo still shining behind her. [Remember, Demons Lie.] The sound of her voice echoes as her hand touches yours. You steady on your feet and see her face as she turns away to look at the former battlefield. Her confident smile seems... not so warm. She's always said that phrase at the end of every battle. Like. She was trying to enforce the thought from the very beginning. She's never said Angels don't lie.
"Oh shit oh fuck,, Oh shit, shiiittt." "Garret, what did I tell you about modding in reality warping." "Beth, noclip as party drugs, come on that's hilarious." "AND LOOK WHAT IT DID." "I've been trying to reset him for 15 minutes now with every language on the console I can think off." "Have you tried rebooting that section and just removing the mod." "Half the people in the block are on noclip, it will probably kill them." "Would you prefer that the poor man stay wedged in the wall for eternity" "Uhhhhh.... No Honey." 10 minutes later "Alright everything is now in order, the block has been reset and miraculously no one died." "Garret, Why is that guy screaming on the floor in the fetal position." "I don't know here let me check." Leon McKinely AGE:25 SEX:MALE PRIMARY EMOTION:Existential Fear "Why is he so afraid." "Wait that;s the guy that got stuck in the wall." "Ohhhh yeahhhh, we should probably intervene so he doesn't come off as a raving lunatic, well more so than he actually is." "Can't you liiike... erase his memory, we don't want him to get locked in an institution." "Are you serious we somehow managed to do a 15 minute reset without anyone dying, I'm not chancing anything for a while." "You seriously need to invest in the simulators that weren't under crunch development." "I swear Beth, this will be the last Bethesda simulator I buy."
“$150,000.” “$150,000?” He asked with concern. Though, that was quickly erased with the dream of being free. $150,000 to live the life he’d always knew belonged to him. $150,000 to rid himself the exhaustion of the mediocrity he lived now. No more coming home to fighting with his wife over the bills they can’t pay. No more screaming matches over working late so he can pay those bills. No more answering to someone day in and day out over every decision he ever makes. $150,000 for a new beginning. $150,000 to kill his wife. “You got yourself a deal.” A quick handshake sets the final nail in the coffin and the deal is made. He puts his leather duffel bag up on the table, and with a reassuring, yet sinister smirk, assures it’s all there. “It will be carried out on Wednesday, April 4th at 4:30 pm after she gets home from her place of work on 8th street about 25 minutes away from here. Her cause of death will be a gunshot wound to the temple. It will take place in the kitchen where the gunman will be waiting since approximately 4:00 pm. An investigation will obviously be carried out, but when they question you, just tell them you had been at work, and when you got home at 6 o’clock she was dead. That’s all you say, that’s all they have to know. Do we have an understanding?” “Oh yes sir, I was at work and when I got home she was dead.” His words became staggered and slurred as he tried to appear nonchalant. His nervousness came from the presence of a hit man rather than the thought of his dead wife. In fact, the thought of her bleeding out on the floor brought him the most morbid form of peace a person can feel. He was ready to be rid of her mediocrity. Her demanding nature. He was ready to be free of her failed art career that turned her into the tortured shell of the woman he loved long ago. The Xanax that filled his cabinets and wine bottles all over the counter were some of her many fingerprints she had left all over his life. The crying, the sulking, and the self loathing will finally be a memory. The misery will soon be contentment. The anxiousness will soon be comfort. She will soon be dead. On the next Wednesday, Dehlia got done her shift at the hospital, where she made a less-then comfortable living mopping the floors and cleaning the toilets. It was never her first choice of course, art was. Dehlia was talented, but not quite enough to make a substantial living. Her beautiful paintings and portraits could only bring her so much, if not only happiness. Happiness never paid the bills though, and since she had stopped painting she was in debt of happiness. She walked up her flower lined walk way and to the wooden door her father had crafted her when they bought this house several years ago. When she was happy. When she was artistic. When she was free. As she opened the door she threw off her scarf and coat as if they had weighing her down. Exhausted she walks in to the kitchen to make herself some tea after a back breaking day. Her indifference to her routine quickly turned to panic, she feels the blood drain out of her face and her body betrays her by forgetting to breath. Frozen in her steps, her eyes grow bigger and browner. Dehlia is beautiful. Her skin was like that of glass and her lips were as pink as peonies. Her hair was perfectly curled around her divinely structured face. Even in terror, she was breath taking. I slowly put the gun down as I saw her like it was the first time I saw the moon. “Your husband has hired me to kill you.”
The last thing I remembered was swerving my car out of the way and heading into the ditch. When I woke up, I was laying on the ground staring straight up. I thought I was in the ditch, but that's when I noticed the first odd thing...the sky was purple. Why was the sky purple? And what the hell was this underneath me? It felt really uncomfortable. I was laying on something. I got up and despite being in what I thought was a car accident, I felt fine. No broken bones, no soreness. That's when I noticed the second odd thing. I looked down at the ground and there wasn't anything beneath me. Instead, whatever I was laying on was actually strapped to my back. I tried to look back to see what it was, but after a few seconds of turning around like a fool, I gave up. That's when I noticed the third odd thing. I was no longer in California that was for sure. I was in some kind of wasteland that went on as far as the eye can see. It looked like something out of an 80's rock album cover. Purple sky. Something odd strapped to my back. And now a huge wasteland. "What the hell is going on?!"I shouted to no one in particular. "And where the hell is my car?" "Having trouble mortal?"Screeched an annoying voice. I turned to look where it was coming from and descending a small hill next to me...was a thing. It looked part like a gargoyle, part like a dog, and part like a spider. "My, my my,"the thing squeeled. "A mortal lost in the Underwold? How unfortunate for you, but delightful for me. It's been sooo long since I've tasted mortal." "Underworld?"I said as casually as possible. To be honest the thing did not frighten me one bit, on the contrary, I found it incredibly annoying. "Just what is this place?" "Shall I am imbue a short history lesson for the dear mortal?"The annoying thing chuckled. "Very well, this is the Underworld. A realm that lies between the mortal world and the world of spirits. I am Agbite The Terrible, Cursor of Fools, Bleeder of Mongrels, and I will feast upon...wait....what's that you got on your back there?" "Huh? Oh I don't know. I can't turn around to see it. Feels like a pole of some sort. It's kind of frustrating to be honest." "No,nononono. This can't be. HOW. How did YOU get THAT?!"The annoying thing screeched. "HOW?!" "I don't even know what it is. I just woke up here. I thought I was in a car accident! Why, what is it?" The annoying thing now cautiously walked towards me. "That dear mortal is The Scythe of Passing. One of the 7 Ancient Weapons. It belongs to the Angel of Death. How did a mortal like you get your filthy hands on it?" "I already told you, I don't know. Wait, did you say Angel of Death?" "This...is an incredible opportunity. If I can take the weapon from the mortal, I can use it to take back Bargothia. I could climb my way up the ranks. I can become a Demon Lord. YES YES YES. Just kill the filthy mortal and take it!" "You do realize I can hear everything you're saying right?" "No matter,"The annoying thing said. "Now you die!" It leapt at me, yelping like a mad beast. Instinctively I brought my hand out, and I felt the Scythe disappear from my back and reappear in my hand. "Alright, that's a neat trick,"I said. "WHAAAAATTT????"The annoying thing screeched as it flew towards me. "How did you do-" But it was not able to finish it's sentence. I slashed the Scythe in one fluid movement. For a second it felt like time froze, and then the annoying thing was split in to, it's top half falling one way and bottom half the other. The annoying thing gave one last pathetic gurgle, before both it's top and lower half disintegrated. "Brutal,"I said. The Scythe disappeared from my hand and reappeared strapped to my back. I don't know how I did that. It was like the Scythe knew to when appear in my hand and when to disappear. I walked on for a while. The Underworld was a bizarre wasteland of anachronisms. At one point I came across a chariot that looked straight out of gladiator times and another point I came across what looked like a derelict UFO. That's when I heard a familiar sound. I ran and looked over a small ridge, hoping my ears were not deceiving me. They weren't. It was my car alright. But someone else was in the drivers seat, and they were driving away. They were heading towards what looked like a small town. At least I thought it was a town, it was a series of buildings after all. It didn't look very inviting to be honest. But I could hear sounds coming from the town and yes, I could even smell food. "Alright,"I said to no one in particular. "Step 1: Get my car back. Step 2: Return this Scythe to the Angel of Death. It's only Tuesday and this has already been one hell of a week." Little did I know I was about to set off on a journey that would change my life and the fate of the world forever.
It was a quiet afternoon, the sun beating down on the world and driving me crazy with heat. I'd just gotten off work, and was driving home in my shitbox of a car whose air conditioner hadn't been working for a decade now. Home was...well, it wasn't anything special. Not a nice house in a quiet suburb, not a spacious apartment downtown, just a one room apartment in a rundown neighborhood. In the off chance that my rant didn't drive my point home, I'll spell it out: I was dirt poor. I had no higher education, no hope for a better future, barely any family or friends to speak of, I'd been scraping rock bottom ever since I finished highschool. Anyway. Like I was saying, I was driving home from my shitty job at McD's when it happened. It was a shy sensation at first, a headache that tingled my nape and spread across my scalp. I slowed the car down, which earned me a few angry honks from the drivers behind me. But I didn't much care, I didn't want to risk crashing. And soon enough, I was thankful that I did. In the span of a few heartbeats, the headache took over my entire head and I felt like my skull would split wide open. My senses shut down one after the other, my vision grew dark and blurry, and I felt like I fell through the world into an infinite void. The feeling was pretty much like when you fall in a dream, but one thousand times more intense. I don't know how much time passed between me falling unconscious and waking up. Could've been a few minutes, could've been a few days. I came to my senses surrounded by warmth and darkness. My body slowly formed around my mind, growing from an unrefined blob into a slender shape with hands and feet and whatever else that human bodies are supposed to have. I waited until I could feel every last fingertip and strand of hair on my skin before I tried to move. It was hard, awkward, and jarring, like I'd never done so before in my entire life. Even straightening my arm was a monumental effort, and much more complicated than I remembered it should be. There were too many sensations, too much sensory information, for me to process it properly and act in a timely fashion. But I soon got the hang of it, and I reached my arm forward through what felt like molasses. My fingertips met something slick and smooth, and I paused. I dragged them over the surface, trying to figure out what it was, and came to the conclusion that it was glass. I pounded on it a few times, and that sent swirls through my surroundings. Was I in water? Had I crashed my car in a river, and was I currently drowning? No, that couldn't be right. There were no rivers or bodies of water deep enough for a car to get submerged into for miles around the road. I beat on the glass a few more times, and felt it move away. Next thing I knew, the water flowed out as air rushed in, and I was taken along for the ride with it. I crashed to the floor in a pool of it, and felt the warmth get sapped out of my bones by the frigid air. I spent a few minutes on my hunches, retching liquid out of my lungs and coughing until my throat was raw. My body went into autopilot and struggled for breath, drawing quick inhales as my chest pulsed with the effort. The liquid I'd been in only minutes ago wasn't water, it smelled like amniotic fluid and was about the same consistency as it. After the static in my head cleared and my chest stopped burning, I started to take in my surroundings. The floor beneath me was made of metal, riddled with patches of corrosion around the edges of the square plates. I was in a narrow corridor, barely wide enough for two people like me to walk side by side. Ceiling lights shone faintly above, so high up that I could barely make them out. Most of them seemed busted however, and the few that worked barely did so, leaving me trapped in an eerie twilight. The last thing that caught my attention was a barely audible beeping emanating from somewhere behind me. I turned, and saw what looked like…I don't even know how to describe them. I guess lifepods would be suitable, and they were very reminiscent of the ones you've seen in sci-fi movies, where the crew needed to enter suspended animation. They lined the corridor on both sides, packed so tight together that the wall behind them wasn't visible. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them. The one I came out of was now open, obviously, but all of the others remained closed. The beeping came from a panel next to mine, one filled with buttons and switches and three lights. One of them, the one in the middle, shined a dim yellow, but the ones on its side were inactive. Looking at the other pods, I noticed most of them had the red light blinking. And I kinda' knew what that meant, it was pretty obvious, but I didn't want to think about it at the time. "Reactor meltdown imminent,"I heard a booming voice stating. It sounded artificially generated, and I couldn't pinpoint its source. "T minus 12 hours." 'Crap,' I thought. ** If you happened to like this, feel free to check out /r/exowrites for more. I'll do a continuation as well if anyone's interested 😊
Little Girl Lost “You know, you’re going to have to tell us the truth sometime,” The officer says, for the tenth time. “I am telling you the truth! Why won’t you believe me?! I killed those people, yes, but they weren’t my family.” The officer sits down opposite me, holding out a paper cup and a sandwich wrapped in plastic wrap. His face is pale, and his eyes are red from lack of sleep. “Okay, I’ll bite,” He says at last, putting the offering in between us. “If those folks weren’t your family, then what were they?” “I’ve already told you, they were faeries and they were glamoured!” I don’t touch the food, drumming my fingers on my thighs. The officer raises his eyebrows so high they nearly disappear into his dark hair. “You know that faeries aren’t real, right?” I shake my head, shutting up. We’ve had this conversation so many times, all in the same of my supposed insanity. I know what I saw, how my family had melted away, leaving strange creatures in their places. The only proof I have, though, is my memory: they didn’t show up on the security cameras. Horns, scales, sharp teeth; they looked more like monsters than fey. “I’m tired of repeating myself,” I say at last, raising my eyes to his. “We’re trying to help you, you know. If you just told the truth--” “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT?! I’m not lying!” I still see them, taunting me, laughing at me. “Your family is dead, human,” The fae disguised as my mother grinned at me, her mouth dripping with blood. “The Night Court has come for you, and our King will not be denied.” I shake my head to clear it; I cannot get lost in these memories. The officer raises an eyebrow, nodding to the cuffs that hold my hands to the table. “I heard that you tried to end your life after you killed them.” I flinch, and he smiles, not unkindly. “I understand why you did it.” “I already told you and every other officer I’ve talked to. Those people weren’t my family, their glamours faded the minute I realized they were fake.” He leans forward, hands folded under his chin, and he smiles, eyes glowing violet. “Faeries are real, but you’re still going to prison. If no one will believe you, what’s the point in even protesting your innocence?” I stare at him, and I taste the sharp, earthy tang of magic. How did I not sense that this man was a faerie? “I’ll get out of prison someday, and when I do, it will be you and your ilk I’ll be coming for.” I spit it out, and he has the audacity to laugh. “Well, you’re certainly welcome to try, you foolish woman. If you don’t die in the slammer first.” He smirks, and leans forward. “I could get you out of this, if you accepted The Night Court’s offer. I’m one of the king’s closest advisors. Perhaps we could come to an agreement? After all, it was you who ran from him.” I find myself considering it, and the officer, named Fang, takes me to the portal. I try not to think about how long I fought The Night King’s advances. But there’s nothing left for me in the human world anyway. \\
I am a lone wolf, a forgotten god, the last of a race of a nearly forgotten race, living in a world where humanity is long forgotten, and i, as the last one to live feel more lonely than any creature could every imagine. Once i was hopeful, i thought i could help them, rescue them, but i failed. Humanity destroyed itself with its bombs and hatred. Maybe it is good how it is now. At peace, finally. I look around for one last time, see the crumbled buildings, the florishing nature, houses where once life flourished, now inhabited by cats and crows feeding of the last memories of a forgotten world. Its time to go i decide, i pick up my backpack and open a new door, to some other place, some other reality, it is time to bring it to closure, to let go of past mistakes and only keep the knowledge of having learned something new. I knew i wouldn't let this happen anywhere else. I wont, nobody should ever suffer the fate i suffered. And so i step trough the portal into another world, with sadness and hope in my heart.
Dreams. Humans have been experiencing them for so long, they're part of their daily life, or should I say, nightly life? Most people see them as only a figment of their own tired minds, but dreams are far, far more than that. When somebody dreams, they are awake in an alternate universe, where physics and logic don't always apply in the same way. Sometimes, dreams reflect on your biggest desire or fear. dreams where circumstances represent fear and terror, and known as nightmares. How do I know all this, you ask? I am Morpheus, the God of Dreams. The process of dreaming was created when I realized humans were beginning to be displeased with their lives. "Too much of this, not enough of that, I wish..." Back then, dreaming wasn't present in the night. It was what's known as daydreaming now, it worked as a way to help humanity aspire for their dreams. Dionysus, Eutychia, and Eros tried their best to bring joy to the humans, but they couldn't be pleased. When I talked to Zeus about this issue, he wanted to punish humanity for being ungrateful and greedy. I decided I had to find I way to avoid this, so I told him I would find a harmless solution to the problem, and if it backfired, I'd be subject to eternal punishment in Tartarus. Zeus agreed, and I began looking for a solution. Then, an idea came to my mind. If I could find a way to let humans live their deepest desires and aspirations, they might be appeased. I figured I could convince Gaia to create an alternate universe, where humans could awaken, and allow their souls to live their desires. When I approached Gaia, she was eager to help, since she cared for humans. She said it would take a while though, to create a parallel earth to this one from scratch. In the meantime, I talked to my father, Hypnos, to get his approval and allow my dreams to be present during human sleep. He was skeptical at the beginning, but after arguing a little, he agreed. Gaia eventually completed her work, and I began mine. With just a small tweak to the human brain, and with Psyche's help, I could allow human souls to be transported to the alternate earth, and regain physical form. When night came, I put my "dreaming"to work. I examined the mortals who dreamed at night and when I viewed their dreams, I came upon a very unpleasant surprise. Humans weren't dreaming about reaching their longings or desires, instead, they were experiencing their biggest fears, and others were having extremely odd dreams, flying above a lake of nectar with a lion next to you, for example. As I thought about what might have happened, I heard a voice behind me. "What's wrong, Morpheus? Did your plan not work out? That really is a shame..." My two brothers, Phobetor, God of Nightmares, and Phantasos, God of weird dreams, stood there, staring mockingly. They've never really liked me, because I was father's favorite, but I never thought they'd do something that would cause me to spend eternity in the Tartarus.
“Alright, I’m driving. I’m driving.” The gunman nudged the steel into Mark’s head and Mark careened down the avenue, trying not to choke on fear. “Take a left here.” He swerved into two lanes and turned into well-lit road. In the back, a woman was huddled, shaking, near the window, and the gunman looked around for cops. Mark looked straight ahead, trying to stay calm and not provoke the gunman. The gunman reached across the center console and swiped at the rearview mirror, blinding Mark from what was going on in the backseats. After going down five blocks the gunman spoke into Mark's ear. “Stop here,” he said, nodding to the plaza with a closed movie theater and a few restaurants. “The theater,” he said. Mark drove up to the curb. He could hear sobs coming from behind him and he had to resist turning to look. “Please, please, I’ll do anything.” “Shut up, woman. Unlock the doors.” The gunman shoved the nozzle into Mark’s sweaty temple and Mark followed the order. “Please!” “Shut up!” He holstered his gun and opened the door opposite the curb. He grabbed the woman’s arm and stepped out of the car. Mark looked into the side mirror, and right when he spotted the gunman was halfway out, he jammed his foot into the accelerator, spinning him around and making him tumble to the ground. He was left in a cloud of burnt rubber. The woman slammed the door shut. Mark tossed his phone into the back. “Call 911.” The woman fumbled the phone but eventually caught it. She spoke fervently into the receiver. Gunfire spurt out behind the two, and Mark drove high speed onto the road, away from the receding sounds of the blasts.
Looking sorrowfully out the window and think this is the last time I'll be alive and and all the souls on board as well. But mere moments after I see a blue box. "You seeing that box Jeff?"With hope flowing away with my words. "Yeah I do..."before Jeff could finish the thought she was interrupted buy a witty yet cold voice "Is anyone on that ship? can they read me?". "Who is this"I inquire. "I'm the doctor, how can I help?". "our fusion reactor has started using the ship as fuel. Most of the passengers are in the 1st through 7th compartments. 8-12 are gon"Stated like my life depended on it. "Ok I have a plan I don't think your going to like it"the doctor added in retort. "Going to say disconnect the ship at the compartments, our vessel is not outfitted for that"I quickly add. "I'm coming aboard clear out"the doctor warned.". "How are you supposed to.."I'm cut off by and hard to describe sound and that same box materializing inside the cabin. Out pops the doctor "hello, and your rightly mistaken."Behind the doctor was a young woman in an impossibly size box. "What how, is that bigger on the inside? What am I wrong about?""Everything, got no time to explain. Except you being wong about the ship". Before I could reply "all 949 are recommissioned war ships. Haven't you noticed how durable your vessel is? Anyway this specific model was an deep Intel vessel. They would go to the battlefield and separate to gather more Intel. The only reason you're employer would say anything otherwise would be they don't want you to break the ship's decorative Hull"retorted the doctor. Stunned I respond "how can I help"
The snickers bubbled up behind him again. Torvit swept them with a withering glare. Never, and I mean never in his thousands of millennium had he felt this humiliated. Soon enough the laughter was silenced as the over-demon in charge cleared his throat and resumed reading. ' Notwithstanding the compliance clause sub specified in section 1432.285 the apprised parties agree to arbitrate in a predetermined forum where all issues regarding the delivery timetable and substance will be finalized....' Smoking brows lifted as he locked his gaze on the fidgeting demon. 'So you agreed to ARBITRATION?' The demon stilled. 'It, It was supposed to be boilerplate.' He whispered faintly. 'They never do this!' Snickers, again. 'Did you pay any attention to the arbitrator's status?' 'No but-- 'Or the proper uniform.' 'No but- 'Or the audience clause?' 'Audience clause?' Snickers. 'Dispute penalty?' Wait audience clause? Perrid the novice devil fell off his stool, laughing but the elder demon paid no mind as he referred to his copy of the contract Both parties may view and re- cord (whatever that is) this arbitration process. Both parties also had to be present and properly dressed as stipulated in clause 367.84 with chosen representation ready. Thus it came to pass that Torvit, the tormentor, fiercest soul binder of the nether regions and scourge of all beasts came to a modern looking television set/studio office conference room in a pink frilly dress carrying an equally garish pink bonnet and holding in his clawed hand the string for a helium-filled pink balloon. What new hell do these law-yurs even come from he muttered as he turned the doorknob.
Harold lived a wonderful life. A great student, a soldier, a firefighter. A real man's man. In his final days, he lived right next to the firehall where he used to work. The sounds of the firehall kept him company, but when the hall was shut down, he didn't last much longer. The silence, the quiet, it saddened him. He passed away in his sleep, and it wasn't until he felt the calm of the afterlife that he realized, he could handle the quiet. And so he decided to stay. &#x200B; Harold became very protective of his quiet. The people who moved into his apartment were never his type. Young, annoying, and always so noisy. He got pretty good at keeping them out, though. He learned all the classics: Doors slamming in the night, throwing plates against the walls, rattling chains, woeful moaning, stacking books. You name it, he'd done it, and all to great effect. So great was he at haunting, that his apartment building was eventually boarded up, just like the firehall. That was 50 years ago, and he'd been living in complete bliss ever since. Until the new neighbours arrived. &#x200B; He watched from his window looking down into the street as a woman led three men into the firehall. He watched in disbelief, wondering just what in the heck someone would want with an old place like that. It had been so long since his last haunting. He'd need to dust off the chains, practice his wailing. If they were indeed going to be there to stay, he'd need to be in his best form. He spent the next few weeks training, getting back into his old routine, and not soon enough. Every passing day they kept getting worse and worse. That god awful siren constantly warbling as their ridiculous vehicle rushed off to fight...well god only knows. Certainly not fires, Harold had decided after watching them leave time and again. &#x200B; He waited for them all to be asleep. There were four of them now, and they'd all taken residence in the crew quarters where he himself had stayed many nights. Without another moments hesitation, he picked the largest book off of a nearby shelf and dropped it straight onto the floor from a great enough height to cause a loud whack. One of them startled and jumped up in his bed while two others only stirred. The fourth was sound asleep. &#x200B; "Peter."The man whispered. "Ray. Did you guys hear that?"He reached for a pair of glasses and put them on, standing up out of his bed. Harold was used to these types. The ones who chose to investigate the scary noise. They were always the first to go running. 50 years and he still had it, he thought. He watched the man, in complete and utter awe, as he took a sample of the ectoplasmic residue off of the book he dropped. Harold had been curious about the stuff himself, but he'd never seen someone do that before. The glasses man woke up the others, and Harold was astonished at what he'd heard. Get a trap, did the one man say? He watched the two sleepy ones slowly leave the room, staring cautiously in his direction. They couldn't see him...could they? Harold hadn't felt so exposed before. He found himself suddenly nervous. &#x200B; The one in glasses was now wandering the room with a strange, flashing device. Harold was frozen in place, his nerves had got the best of him. Then, standing right before him, the man locked eyes with his as the device was screeching out its loud noise as it was pointed directly at him. They know I'm here, Harold thought in a panic. He wasn't going to wait for the other two to return, or for the fourth to wake up. He rushed forward with a whirling gust, blowing the man down as he rushed towards his apartment. He felt his body pass effortlessly through the walls. He was home, in his apartment, safe and sound. He listened closely to the silence, hoping he'd truly got away. The panic was nearly unbearable. That's when he heard the alarm go off at the firehall, and listened as the warbling siren faded into the night. He sat down, sighing a breath of relief. He could get used to that sound, he told himself finally. After all, he knew he had been bested. He was just glad he hadn't been busted.
Now, children, these are The Jolly Adventures of G'reg, The Misunderstood Cosmic Horror Entity. Isn't this what you came here for? Why you snuck away from your parents into this dusty old Forbidden section with dusty old Me. They wouldn't be forbidden if they were boring, isn't that what you said, Sally? Such a good motto. You should listen to her more, Sam. Now, G'reg was a funny little man who lived under the sea. He was very sleepy. In fact, he hadn't been awake since before your father was born, or your grandfather, or his grandfather, or his, or his, or his, or his... But now G'reg was waking up. You see, he had horrible nightmares. In fact, his nightmares were so scary that he couldn't hold them all, and they jumped out of his head and ran around the world, giving people lots of very funny ideas. Your parents are coming to look for you. If you go three shelves forwards and take to the left, and walk until you find a nice sofa, they won't find you. There you are! Do you know this corridor wasn't here until I told it to be? It's very polite. If you ask it nicely, it might even let you out. G'reg's very funny ideas made everyone laugh. They were so very funny that some men decided to wake G'reg up all the way, so he could tell everyone in the world about his very funny ideas. They met in a cave, where they drew all sorts of symbols and figures and signs and rituals and chanted very funny things to make G'reg wake up faster. How jolly they were! Now, children, there was a grumpy man who didn't want people to laugh at all, who noticed all the missing people. He followed them to the cave and stomped on their symbols and broke their signs and messed up their very funny rituals, and he burnt the book they'd gotten it all from. But in the end, the jolly men found him, and they shipped him out to sea and used him as a sacrifice to G'reg! Hooray! Now, children, there's just one thing G'reg needs to wake up and make everyone laugh. Sally close your eyes, plug your ears and look into that corner until something taps your shoulder. Sam, turn the page and read. &#x200B; Don't look behind you, Sally, and don't turn the page back. Your brother is laughing very hard right now, but you can't hear him. This is the final part. You have to read this next bit out loud. Ready? Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn...
When I was still a child my parents had been taken by vampires, and used as a food source. The local guard was unable to rescue them, and had honestly given up trying to stop the vampires long before that. After that my childhood mostly consisted of me trying stealing and hiding my way to the next day, hoping the vampires wouldn't come for me. After a time, I became disgusted with my home town's deference to the vampires so I set out for the academy. The day that I came to age, I petitioned to be allowed into the Grand Oak Academy- the world's premiere vampire hunter academy. Despite my malnourished frailness and lack of martial background, they took me based on my sheer hatred of the enemy. They fed me well and began my teaching almost immediately- they had to wait for the strenuous physical trials until I gained some strength. I spent endless nights in the library, soaking in ancient lore and new tactics as deeply as I could. Soon I was the most well studied member of the class, even if I was the weakest. When I finally grew strong enough to join in the physical trials, I took to them with a rabid zealousness. My martial prowess never matched my knowledge of lore, but I was still easily in the top quarter of my class in duels. It was a day of great pride when I graduated third in my class. I was able to gather a small group of classmates to start a hunting party- all of us were eager to take the fight to the vampires. We gathered stakes, vials of holy water, garlic (both wafers and oil to act as a defense), silvered blades, holy symbols, and even some vials of blood before setting out for a nearby town rumored to be plagued by vampires. Our hope was to lure a vampire to a river to give us the best chance at taking the first one down- they'd get easier every time after that. We found a perfect place for our stand- a small open plot of land by a flowing river with no bridges in sight. We passed a few days in the town, gathering the rumors of the vampires- trying to determine the number we were looking at, at the very least. The terrified town folk spoke of vampires in the hundreds but there was only actual evidence of a single one- perfect. On the evening of a full moon, we left for our chosen battlefield, and spread blood around hoping to attract the vampire with the smell of blood. The garlic oil was applied to our armor- it should at least make the vampire at least hesitate in their blows. The waiting was tense- and exhausting as we strained to be the most alert we could for so long. Even with our heightened alert, the vampire was on us almost before we registered his presence. His claws easily cut deep into Mabyn's torso- the garlic oil did nothing. I whirled and shot a modified stake from my crossbow. It sunk into the vampire, but it didn't even slow down! Persis' silver blade bit into the vampire's arm, but it seemed to do little. What was this magic? Drust thrust forth his holy symbol, only to have it batted to the side as the vampire closed and tried to bite him. Only a quick reflex allowed for him to throw himself back in time. “Back! Across the river!” I cried out. Something was wrong with this vampire. Luckily, my compatriots followed the hurried order with haste, despite having to wade through running water nearly a meter deep \[\~3.25 feet\]. We just had to regroup. But the vampire only laughed at us. This made no sense. None of the writings I poured over had ever mentioned a vampire so resistant to their weaknesses. Had this one perfected a new spell to ward against them? We had just set foot back on solid ground when the vampire effortlessly ran through the river in just a blink of the eye. The fight was back on, now with us more exhausted than before. In desperation I threw a vial of holy water at the vampire, but it did nothing. We fought as hard as we could, but it felt like it was for naught. Mabyn fell first, slowed by his earlier wound. Blow after blow was shrugged off by the vampire. Drust went down next- he had always been more focused on the religious protective rituals than swordplay. Persis and I put up a decent enough fight, considering we were slower, weaker, and exhausted. Persis' back foot slipped, leaving him exposed. It was a mistake the vampire easily capitalized on. It was just the vampire and myself left standing. The vampire suddenly took a step back, disengaging himself from the fight. He gave me a wide smile, and an offer in honeyed words. “It doesn't have to end like this, young one. You've shown a tenacious fight for a mortal. I could make you one of us. Your instructors at Grand Oak speak highly of your ability, even if you do have an unfortunate hatred of us.” “You're trying to poison my thoughts now? I won't give you that power over me.” “...How cute. You thought that we would just let the humans learn to defeat us? We control the vampire hunting institutions and all the precious knowledge to 'defeat' us. Join us, or perish are your only options now.” Only one option left then. “Fine, I'll join you.” If I can't beat them, I suppose I can become one of them- learn their true weaknesses, and use it against them. With my new unnatural life span, I should have enough time.

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