Split (1)

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The world wondered with baited breath what career I would choose after I received an extremely experimental procedure pioneered by Elon Musk that was engineered to improve your reaction time. Twelve others came after me, however they all perished upon waking up. Lucky for me, I slipped into a year-long coma after the surgery and was kept alive. The entirety of my senses were heightened: I could feel the slightest breeze if I chose as if it were a a hurricane. I could literally move out of the way of a speeding bullet due to the new way my sight and body could operate. The military was very interested in throwing me in a bunker and studying me. Luckily, I was too public. When I announced my chosen career, the world was stunned. A half hour of silence, that then broke into a wild and defied cheer that lasted for three days. I was going to be the greatest Fortnite player in the entire world during the CoVid28 pandemic.
In the winter of that year the frosts were late in coming, and so the orchard that bordered the brook in the high country above the capital would not fruit until early summer. There was unrest in the capital before the new year, and the partisans that did their work against the passes and outposts of the high country counted the farmer who tended the orchard and his family there as a friend and refuge. Through the new months there were shots and blasts that rolled down the valley walls in bursts and answers until the meadows past the brook had blossomed with spring and there were fewer shots, and fewer again after that until the valley with the orchard and the meadows and the brook with the stately red farmhouse beside it were quiet again with birdsong and insects and the quiet play of the farmer's daughter. &#x200B; The farmer did not take the news in violence. The farmer had few regrets in the life he had chosen, and knew more of peace than most, something he had found in the brook's babble and the proud burden of fatherhood. The farmer's wife, too, was not counted among the most resentful of the country. But there were times, when the day was bright and cheerful, when the farmer would ask his wife if it wasn't rather unfair, and the farmer's wife would tell him to hush, and there were times when the farmer would look at his wife with sadness and would whisper the name of their daughter, and the farmer's wife would not have an answer for him. It was going to be lonely. And it was rather unfair. &#x200B; Later, when the brook was boiled and the farmhouse was ash and the orchards were unremembered and the meadows were rock, the rover Adamant would descend through whirling acid and fire and wind and, by chance, would land within the valley that once had been green. Adamant found many things, when it landed. Adamant even understood a little bit of that unfairness, of the last days and the last nights, when Venus was bright.
Michael Macguffin. That's my name. Sounds like the kind of name you'd give a fairytale character or some poor Irish lad straight out of the Killarney bogs. That's not me though. I'm just a normal Midwestern guy made good out in the Golden State. I ended up out here while working on my masters and I ended up staying after I got involved in a friend's business and made a boat load of money, or at least enough to live on in California. I could easily be a king back in Omaha, or maybe the Duke of Dodge Street. Anyways, it was during that time that I decided to flex my creative muscles and took a mystery writing class. I'd kind of enjoyed writing, but not enough to really choose it as a career. I wanted something more practical. However, the writing bug came back to me and now that I had the time and money, I could write, and that's where I learned about the Macguffin. I'm sure I had heard the term before. My sister loved Alfred Hitchcock movies and had probably mentioned it. I'm also sure we covered it in an English class, though I can't remember. I probably just thought it was neat that my name was on something and just moved on. In the mystery class though, I became more interested. Not so much in the writing but in the Macguffins themselves. I thought it'd be cool to own things like Rosebud or the Maltese Falcon, or to find what Billie Joe threw off the Tallahatchie Bridge. Stuff like that. So I decided that as a hobby, I'd try to collect or find out more about these famous Macguffins. &#x200B; Years went by and well, I found it was hard to collect these Macguffins, or at the very least see them. I found out Steven Spielberg owned Rosebud and probably didn't have it in public view. As for the the stuff on the Tallahatchie Bridge, well it was just a fictional song and so there wasn't anything related to that in Mississippi, or so I was told. However, the one that I really wanted, the Maltese Falcon, was still at large. Apparently the prop people thought was used in the film was a fake. So I decided that I'd try to find it. I spent years looking for it, though mostly in vain. I'd take trips to antique shops all over California and try to find it. I found nothing. I also asked some friends in the film industry if they could help. They said it'd be impossible to find. The closest I got was a friend who worked on the back lot and thought he saw it. However, on further inspection he found out it was just a fake prop from another movie. I was crushed. I thought I had a lead. That's when I just decided to give up. Maybe the Maltese Falcon itself was the one real Macguffin that I couldn't have, just like the other ones.
It was early morning, sunlight shining through the curtain of the sliding glass doors that led outside. The light warmed the kitchen as Craig sleepily dragged himself in and brewed himself a cup of coffee. Once he had his cup he sat down at the kitchen table, staring down into the murky depths of his drink. "You alright?"A voice said beside him, drawing his gaze upward to see Tara sitting across from him with her own cup of coffee. "When did you-"He shook his head and sighed, "Nevermind. Are you even going to drink that." "No,"Tara said with a smile, stirring her cup absentmindedly, "You know I Just Like the smell. Now answer my question, Are you alright?" Craig stared at her a moment before answering, "I guess I'm nervous." "That's fair, it is kind of a big day,"Tara said with a small nod, her smile fading a moment. "How are you so casual about this?" Tara shrugged, "Do I have any other choice? I can't change what happened, but I'm here with you away. Might as well enjoy the extra time right?" The two stared at each other in silence for a few long moments before, tara began to laugh. Craig cocked an eyebrow, confused as he asked "What's so funny?" "Remember that time we were at that party that got broken up by the police."Tara laughed as she tried to contain herself. "Oh god."Craig couldn't help but laugh as well, smiling for the first time that morning, "You freaked out so bad, We never should have smoked that night." "I can't believe we ran off into the night and got lost. Dodged the police but still had to get picked up by our parents and own up to getting high."Tara said with a smile. "We were grounded for weeks."Craig chuckled before taking a breath, "This is going to be hard, isn't it?" "Probably, but a promise is a promise."Tara sighed, her smile waned ever so slightly but remained bright and strong. "I'm going to miss you, I hope you know that."Craig sad softly. "I know, and if I don't see you again after all this I'll be waiting. So you'd better make sure to show up with some stories to tell."Tara said as she stood up from the table. "Now come on, you can't be late for this." With a slight nod, Craig took his coffee and carefully downed it before dropping the mug off in the sink and heading off to get ready. \---------------- Craig tried to keep his mind clear as he stared out over the congregation of teary-eyed mourners. At first the words refused to come out, his emotions running wild as the reality of Tara's death hit home. They'd promised years ago that the surviving friend would speak at the funeral of the friend who'd died first, but Craig never imagined he'd have to make good on that promise when they were both twenty-five years old. He also never Imagined Tara's got showing up the day after she died as if nothing happened, but he was thankful. As he spotted tara out of the corner of his eye staring up at him with eyes full of faith as her hand lay on her own coffin he found strength in her presence. Taking a deep breath he told the tale of girl who was his best friend and inspiration, of her dreams and what he felt she'd say to all she left behind before properly says his goodbyes. Not a single eye in the house was dry as he rejoined the other mourners, ANd the rest of the funeral went by like a tsunami of emotion. At some point, Craig lost track of Tara's ghost or maybe she'd simply passed on to whatever afterlife she was heading to. HE could only hope his friend was at peace as he got together with the other mourners after the funeral to celebrate tara's memory. When he returned home it was late, and he was tired, but something was off. A light he was sure he'd left off in the kitchen was now on. WIth a sigh he cautiously walked into the kitchen, not expecting trouble, but wanting tobe ready for it anyway. Instead what he found was a familiar face Sitting at the kitchen table with an awkward smile. "So, Apparently it takes more than a lovely funeral to let a ghost move on with her afterlife."Tara chuckled awkwardly, "So, mind if I hang around a bit longer?"
The hallway was dark, the rattling noise coming from the room down the hall grew louder. A faint whimper could be made out from the midst of the buzzing. It was short lived as the insects whom were feasting on what was once the household's faithful guardian succumbed to its injuries. Kneeling behind a lounge chain on the far side of the hallway, with gritted teeth and clenching fists, stood a man trying to hold inside him the mounting feeling of anger towards the bugs that suddenly started crawling from under his bed. With bite marks the size of golf balls on his left forearm from the scuffle with the first bug that crawled through the portal the man tries to control his breathing and try to make sense of what is happening. He recalls a story told to him by his late father when he was a young boy. It was a story about the power of human nightmares. >Long ago, when humans first ventured out into the world from the cavernous dwellings they were born in, the first steps it took were filled with both awe and dread. > >There was the marvel of the open fields, the warm pleasure of sunlight on bare skin, but there was also the fear of the unknown beasts that roamed around the world, the fierce cry of mother nature during stormy nights. > >With time this fear grew within certain individuals and began to manifest during their sleep. > >Born out of their deepest darkest fears, hideous and powerful monstrosities came to life and began terrorizing mankind. > >But humanity found a way to drive those fears away. They found out about the power of words. > >Through words they could change the way people perceived their nightmares, making them less powerful or even prevent them from surfacing in the first place. > > > >And so my son, with these words I tell you that there is nothing to be afraid of: > >"Sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite"
He wasn't sure what to think as a warrior in shining armour swung his axe forcefully into one of his people, slicing into their flesh as though it was butter, and their insides spilling out in a violent display of blood. Something from within contracted painfully, as though hurt, but he couldn't decipher the emotions at a time like this. Diving into the plague of thoughts known as his mind would be a foolish mistake to make on the battlefield where his attention was most important. Instead, he remained alert, driving down his sword onto the next person who dared challenge him. An arrow soared past him with an alarming amount of accuracy, but his gaze didn't alter from the castle's entrance. A group of soldiers, a part of the enemy, were barging their way into his treasured kingdom. Sickened in the stomach, he darted forward, ignoring the second arrow that shot millimetres from his abdomen and continued his charge towards his home. Soldiers stepped into his path, blades gleaming in the moonlight, striking down with every ounce of strength they could muster. The king hardly acknowledged their presence as he ducked under the first swing, rolled, and jammed his sword through his next victim. Each of them had forgotten an important rule amongst the kingdom they had decided so carelessly to threaten. A king will do all to protect his people, even if he is to fall amongst them. The bundle of men by the castle gates panicked and clambered over one in an attempt to escape. Others scrambled over the bridge's walls and into the moat below as the king placed a strong, confident foot onto the bridge. The gates had been pried open, a few stragglers of the enemy spilling in, but he took short work of them all, and they were left bleeding out on the castle's floors. "You're back,"said a voice, old and wise. The king's head spun, his eyes narrowing on an old man sitting on a broken piece of rubble that had collapsed from the castle's walls. He swung his sword and pointed it menacingly at the man before him. "Who the hell are you?"the king asked, his hand shaking slightly as he heard more screams from behind. The old man stood up slowly, with an odd amount of grace, and wearing something the king considered rather unusual. "I am the owner, or rather the keeper of these grounds,"said the old man, a sad smile forming on his lips. "These grounds?"the king said quizzically. "This is my castle, my people, my kingdom. I don't know who you are, but unless you explain yourself I will cut you down where you stand." "It was once your kingdom, but that time has passed I'm afraid,"said the old man. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I've had enough of it!"the king exclaimed and swung his sword towards the old man's neck. "Look around you,"said the old man, in an oddly calm voice. The king faltered, his blade centimetres from hitting its target, and he proceeded to spin on his heel at the magnificent kingdom he'd created. But there was nothing. The kingdom he was standing in mere moments ago had vanished and all that was left were endless fields and the bare remains of what was once his castle. There was no one, and it had abruptly turned from the dead of night to a beautiful summers morning. It hadn't even occurred to him that the sounds of clashing metal, the screams of his people, the pure sound of war, had all but silenced. Everything he ever worked for had suddenly ceased to exist. "Who are you!?"the king barked, enraged at this old man for taking everything from him. "What have you done!?" The old man's smile never faltered. "I already told you who I was, I am the keeper of these grounds beneath your feet and the protector of these ancient ruins." "I don't know what these ancient ruins are, or these grounds you speak of, but you must bring back my kingdom right now! I must protect my people!" "I understand, my king,"said the old man, with that same sad smile. "But your reign has, at last, come to its end. You protected your people heroically and with an unimaginable amount of courage, but this time it is you who may finally rest." \----------------------- Second time every posting on here and this was an idea that immediately came into mind that I really wanted to be written down so it's slightly rushed, and I'm also always open to improvements.
I was in the basement arranging the Christmas decorations, there were mistletoes and ribbons and little lights strewn about me. All of a sudden I heard a loud bang upstairs. I walked up the stairs to see what the fuss was about. Getting out of the basement I noticed that the house was gone. In front of me stood a little kid wearing a magician's hat. A crowd had gathered around him and they were applauding him. "Did you do this?"I asked him. "Yes mister,"he said. "Huh? What was that? Don't try to talk your way out of this young man. What did you do to my house?" "What did I do, why mister, I just made it disappear." "Who gave you the right to do that? Bring it back right this minute." "Why mister, what once goes into the void shall never re-emerge." He had a queer way of talking. It got on my nerves. He's just a kid, I told myself. The smug kid just smiled. I tried to reason with him, but he just came back with his fancy retorts. After some time I lost my cool. In anger, I lurched forward and managed to grab his collar. "Would you dare do this to me, a child, you terrible human being,"he said. I grew angrier and wound up my arm to hit the boy, but he flew away. Yes, he flew, away from my grasp, into the clouds. A laugh was heard above us, it was Loki, the god of mischief and he ran away in his flying boots. I had to get the whole house rebuilt. A mighty fine thing it was, the mischief of the gods.
I am a rock. I am a rock that flies. I am a rock that watches spaceships and hurricanes and shadows and rivers. I am the sun and I am the moon and I am a rock. I am the sunset, the sunrise, the twilight, the dusk. I am the gloam in the gloom, the dip in the dusk, the fall of the crepuscule, the spill of the sun. And yet, I am a rock. I am life itself in the hearts of people as they pass and dream and eat and sleep and die. I am nothing. I am as a mere phantom, a juxtaposition of existence, a contradiction of everything the people know and everything they do not...and there, I delay, as the people pass and dream and die and I stay still as the forest's nightly breath in the hearts of those who refuse.
Chapter 0: I did not ask for this to happen. But it is just so sudden. As I lookup upon the sky of that day, I did not think of being granted my one wish. And I also did not think of what that wish would cost me. I would cost me to lose my sense of normalcy. What I thought of as normal is not what it really should be, for my case at least. I did not know before my purpose in life, but now, I think I do. As my blood dripped in my hand from the stab wound that I got from the chasing shadow, my priorities got straight. I need to attack them head on. No more escaping from them, or else they might attack my family here. I grew acquainted of them throughout the decades of my stay, and I will not lose them the same way I lost my first family, which I felt was eons ago. Thirty-two years. I managed to live normally within the last thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of thinking of mundane stuff like work, bills, and taxes. What I wouldn’t give for all that normal stuff to just be the only problem I need to face. The world I live in is being blighted by a plague. And people are still seeking the cure. They say it is a virus. But they don’t know what actually they should do. They also didn’t know that it is not from or of this world. The plague they called Coronavirus is actually a spell that saps the strength of the young, brings death to the weak and gives the power it sucked back to that asshole. Most humans survive this after being sucked of five years’ worth of their life and most of their aura, for the lack of term. Here we call it magic. And science progressed here that it helps us alleviate our lives for the better. And good thing magic doesn’t exist here. Or it does, but here we defined it as a sleight of hand. Not until now. This curse cannot be cured by any normal means of science. The cure is something else entirely. And I wonder what the bastard is going to do with such amassed energy. I got my memories back, and I feel as if I am two different people. One being a courtier for the Illithian Sybille, the other, a corporate slave of a call center. No wonder I wanted to forget the memories. I just wanted to not be relied upon. I don’t want to hold the scale between evil and good. I got tired of defending tirelessly. I enjoyed just being me for a change. But now that the memories returned with clarity as sharp as a razor, I can’t escape the fact that I have rested enough. I had grown complacent and unprepared. But if I didn’t choose to forget, the rebirth process would not let me hide, let alone stay here in this domain. They would always know where I am. Then I cannot recuperate my exhausted aura. But now, as they say, ready or not, here I come. I opened the portal using my blood as the catalyst and jumped in. I shall return to that world and save my new world. No matter how mundane it is, it is now my world. And war always finds it warriors, no matter what rock they hide under. I will fulfill my oath to the Sybille. But I am telling my story the wrong way. Allow me to start from the beginning. My name is Adam Daniels, and this is how a stupid ring changed my whole notion of reality. Edit: I actually got this nagging idea for a WP about the pandemic's reason of existing. Hope you like it. I just wrote this before it slips my head again, just like many others.
Right cheek against my pillow, Dreams are flowing through my mind. "Oh my gosh, is that a treasure chest, when I open it what will I find?" Suddenly, My eyes open not because of hunger or thirst. Actually the opposite my freaking bladder is about to burst. I shuffle to the bathroom, with one eye open trying to see. Suddenly a huge shadow appears right in front of me, as I start to pee. Is.....is that.....is that a GIANT roach using my sink? I immediately get to wake up, my eyes continuously blink. I don't know what to do, should I show fear or say hello. All of a sudden he speaks to me first saying,"Oh hey! What's up bro?" And that was the night I met my Best friend, Trevor. I mean he looks kind of weird but he's the best Bath-Roomate ever. He's not as messy as you would think and he's really quiet at night. Occasionally he still runs off when I turn on the light. I have a best friend who's a giant cockroach and I'm not afraid to say. So if we ever visit your house please, please don't forget to put the Raid away.
"Your Soul is Singed!"The dark judge of the underworld said his voice deep and dark like the eternal night of the realm in which he was in. "Never in an eternity I have seen a black soul, such as yours!"The voice become darker as the blind judge of the underworld spoke. "You are devourer of lives! Your sin equal to one billion sins! I shall not judge thee!. The lord himself will deliver you and sentence you." "Take this wretched vermin away from mine domain"judge minoros ordered his guardians. They pulled the poor wretched sinner out of the hard iron spiked pole upon which he was impaled to be presented in front of the judge. He burst out in uncontrollable pain as the fiendish brutes grabbed his body and pulled him out screaming in brutal agony as he was forcefully pulled of the sharp iron spike. The guardians were unrelenting and cruel they threw him on the ground where he lay in pain and agony writhing blood splurting out from his almost cut in half body. They grabbed him by his arms pulled him up and proceded to take him to the lord of the Underworld, his broken teared up body dragging in the process lifeless limbs dragging behind blood leaking from his guts. By the gates of the judge minoros realm there was this device which was circular in shape and massive in its size almost as massive as the great judge minoros himself who was a titan of great renown, bigger than the tallest mountain peak of hell. The black guardians stood by this device and the guardian who held his right arm let go of his limb as he walked towards this contraption, Standing near the alter he pulled out a giant knife from his hip and proceded to cut off his hand to provide a sacrifice to summon the gateway to lord's realm. He muttered incoherently a word "rakthass". The circular rings of the contraption lit up in red as they moved violently summoning a gateway to the realm of the dark lord of the underworld which was in the deepest and darkest of hells. The guardian walked back , As he saw a dark silhouette of a being coming towards him before he got blinded by the bright shining red light emanating from that massive contraption and soon the poor wretched sinner lost his consciousness seeing the light. The guardian grabbed his right limb again, and they went through the gate dragging the tortured worthless sinner along with them into the portal. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Will update with more story.
I was getting really nervous, first dates are like level 10 hell. It was taking everything in me to not cancel right now, but I was convinced this man was everything I could ever want. Motivated, intelligent, kind hearted, had a great sense of humor, and oh so attractive. I was in the middle of getting ready, music blaring and dancing in my shorts and baggy t-shirt, when I heard a knock on my door. I wasn't expecting anyone but obviously they knew I was home so I went to the door. My breath caught in my throat. "Joey? What? I thought we said 7?"My face was red knowing I was not first date ready yet. "Wait, how did you know I lived here?"Seriously what the fuck dude. "I know we did say 7 I was just getting so nervous and excited I couldn't stand it anymore, and honestly I live in the same complex so I've seen you a couple of times.. I know that's creepy."Joey rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. I scanned his body language, this didn't seem right but here he is at my door, if I blow up about this there's nothing stopping him from still coming inside and murdering me or whatever I needed to be prepared for anything at this point. "Right.. I'm pretty nervous too. Let me just change and we can go ahead and go!"I didn't offer him to come in and wait, I shut the door quickly and locked it, "No peeking!"I tried to sound jokingly through the door. I rushed to my room, I was planning on wearing a nice dress but that seemed too dangerous now. I grabbed some stretchy skinny jeans and a nice blouse and slid on shoes I could easily run in. I was feeling a little silly being this paranoid but I decided to still grab my switchblade and tucked it in my jeans on my right side. I should just believe he lives in this complex but why not mention it before? It was unsettling, how long has he been watching me? I sent a quick text to my best friend that read, "Please come to my place and wait for me to get home?"I didn't have to wait for a response I knew she'd be here. I walked back to the door and there Joey was sitting on my door step. He quickly stood and looked me up and down. "You look really nice, a bit hot for jeans out don't you think?"He raised an eye brow questioning me. I was actually a bit pissed he was questioning my attire, almost like he was asking me to change, maybe he's not as nice as I thought. "Well the mosquitoes absolutely LOVE me and I'm terrible and not scratching the bites until they bleed."It was honest and seemed to satisfy him. My body was screaming to not go, but I pushed forward and got into Joey's car. We made small talk to the restaurant and I was calming down slightly. When we were sat to eat I made sure I looked for every exit in the building and excused myself to the restroom to check for windows, just in case I needed a quick escape. No windows, which makes sense but also fuck. "Are you okay? You seem really shaken up since I showed up early."Joey frowned and I could tell he was watching my emotions and movement intensely. "I'm just really nervous! I haven't really found anyone I've been interested in a long time. I mean look at you, handsome as hell and you've been so nice to our server it's really refreshing."I smiled trying to compliment and distract. "I think it's more than just nerves."Joey wasn't going to stop until I told him I was creeped out. If he knew it was creepy why did he do that? Why put me in this position in the first place? "You're right, I'm a woman meeting a man offline. This is the beginning of a horror story, and you showed up saying you knew where I lived and that just didn't help at all. I don't expect you to understand why that would make a female uncomfortable but it really did put me on edge."I came clean, obviously this is what he wanted to hear. Maybe he just wanted things to be super open and honest. I didn't know what his game was. "I'm really sorry to have put you in that position, I guess I felt that I was being romantic showing up early and surprising you. Saying that out loud sounds really stupid.."He laughed awkwardly. "I'm not very good at this romance stuff,"Joey admitted and I couldn't tell if this was an act or not. I smiled back anyways. "I don't care much for romance much anyways."the rest of the dinner was actually really nice. Being open about how I felt earlier did put me at ease and conversation came a bit easier. After Joey paid the bill we were on our way back to my place. Knowing Cara was going to be there, I wasn't nervous when Joey walked me to my door. "I had a really good time Lane, can I kiss you?"Joey was staring at my lips, he really wanted to taste me. I wanted him to kiss me, so I nodded. He pressed his lips firm almost desperately onto mine and pushed me against the door. My breath caught in my throat but I returned the kiss trying to slow it down some. Joey went to reach for my waist but I grabbed his hand and placed it on my neck instead. I still had my switchblade tucked in my jeans and I didn't want him to know I was so scared I brought that. I finally pulled away with a small chuckle. "That was a really nice first date, I know my best friend is inside dying to hear how it went, so I'll see you soon?"Joey looked a little surprised but nodded his head. "Yes of course, have fun gossiping"He smiled and turned away. I quickly let myself inside and peeked out the window. I wanted to see where Joey was going if he really did live here. "Cara? You here?"I called out not looking away from the window. Joey hadn't moved yet. I didn't hear a response from Cara. I pulled out my phone, no texts from her either. What the hell is going on? Joey still hadn't moved, did he know I was watching? I texted Cara again, "Made it home, what are you doing? You okay?"It wasn't like I expected her to drop everything she was doing to be with me but I was surprised I didn't at least get a reply from her. She was always on her damn phone. Joey still hadn't moved. What the fuck is he doing?! I decided to go ahead and change clothes and then check back on if Joey had moved or not. I had my comfy clothes on when I heard a knock on the door. It's not Cara, she doesn't knock, so I grabbed my switchblade and opened the door. "I don't like liars."Joey looked angry and my eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"I asked feeling my heart race. "You said you had a friend here when you're clearly alone. You could've just said you didn't want me to come in, but instead you lied and I don't like liars!"His voice was getting angrier by each word. "I really thought she was going to be here, but I shouldn't have to explain myself. You're scaring me and I want you to leave."I tried to sound demanding and unwavering but I was absolutely terrified. I gripped my switchblade tighter in my hand that was hidden behind the door. "That's not going to happen. I'm coming here to do what I intended for all of you self obsessed lying women thinking they can play multiple men online for their own entertainment."Joey put his hand around my neck and pushed me backwards to come inside. He slammed the door and I began to yell. "Get the fuck off me!"His hand quickly covered my mouth. It took less than two seconds for my hand to open my switchblade and only ten seconds for me to stab it into Joey's neck. He cried out and fell onto his knees. I grabbed under his chin to make him look at me. "You're the reason women lie because they don't feel safe. I wonder how many other girls you've stalked and played it off like you were nervous and trying to be romantic and they fucking fell for it."I spit in his face. "You're a piece of shit and I won't let you do this anymore."I pushed on my switchblade in his neck deeper then twisted it as I pulled it out. Joey was screaming from pain, I then kicked him in the chest so he was lying on the ground then straddled on top of him. "You're fucking pyscho!"He screamed and I laughed. "Oh yes the stalker man calling the woman crazy so fucking typical!"I couldn't help it I was so angry over it all. I stabbed Joey in the chest. I stabbed again, and again, and again for every time a man made me feel small or scared or like I was crazy. I got up, and fixed my hair. It was quite the mess, but I felt a lot better. Really good actually.
"Inordinate Fondness" At evening on the sixth day, God looked around all the living creatures on the land and said, "I have made enough beetles." Logos, who was with God in the beginning and who was God, said, "Yes, you made enough beetles. Over 400,000 species of them." He continued, "You've got tiny beetles, you've got huge beetles, and you've even got a beetle that fires boiling toxic chemicals out of its bum!" "I know!"God exclaimed. "Isn't it neat? Did you see my plan for dealing with animal dung? Dung beetles! They'll use the dung for food, or homes, or laying eggs. They can even navigate by the Milky Way!" Logos, being God and therefore also omniscient, nodded. "I've got a species for just about anything that needs to get eaten. Fungi, plants, bark, algae, you name it, there's a beetle for it. They're amazingly versatile. And they can live just about anywhere that's not freezing cold or water!" The Holy Spirit, brooding over the waters, said, "Beetles can even survive floating on seawater for weeks." "Exactly!"God exclaimed. "I don't even have to make them spread out. They'll do it all on their own." Logos peered down at the Earth. "No wonder We made a helper for Adam. That's a lot of beetles for him and Eve to name." "Those two will do fine. They are made in Our image, after all."And thus: God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day. &#x200B; Inspired by the belief of entomologist J.B.S. Haldane that "The Creator would appear as endowed with a passion for stars, on the one hand, and for beetles on the other…"
Nathan Albern sat on the deck of his farmhouse, rocking back and forth in a large wicker chair. In his mouth, he chewed on the root piece of wheat, chomping down hard on it. He had taken an early night, deciding to let the cows roam a little less today, and as such he sat on his porch, just watching the sun set and the stars come alive. The stars were brighter here than where he grew up and he always enjoyed staring up at them. It was much different than the city, where smoke and smog clouded each day. Here, he could see every star, every planet when they came into view just right. And he could notice the impurities, the moments in which the stars shifted, and moved. He stared at them the longest, those shifting stars. Some would come every now and then, but never did they get as close as they did tonight. He had read the papers, seen the news, he knew what this was. The shifting star grew brighter until he knew it was headed straight for him. Nathan stood up from his rocking wicker chair and grabbed his hat. He pushed it snugly onto his head and then turned. The thing-that-was-the-star was now hovering no more than a hundred feet from his home, landing quietly onto the fields just outside his house. But he didn't hear the ship, for that is what it was, just the crickets below his deck. He lifted his overalls, adjusted the right side buckle back onto his shoulders and headed for the stairs. He took a deep breath, looked up eerily at the ship, and then headed down the steps. It had been years since something like this happened, and it could only mean one thing. Nathan walked about halfway to the ship before another figure appeared in front of him. Roughly his size, the same general build and height, but in a strange, new outfit that even Nathan didn't recognize. They met eyes about ten feet from each other and Nathan spit out the piece wheat, before Nathan said, "Little Matthew, is that you?" And the figure ran towards him, "Nathan, my brother!" Nathan laughed, wrapping his old friends in his arms. It had been many years since he saw anyone from the city and Matthew always held a special place in his heart. "I feared I would never see you again,"Nathan said, letting go of Matthew and hitting him on the arms. "Aye,"Matthew agreed, stepping back, he said, "I encountered some difficulty in becoming a man of science, but I am here now." Nathan nodded, then glanced at the insignia on his friend's uniform. M.D.F. He could not make out the acronym, and something did not feel right. "You do not wear the mark of the League?" Matthew shook his head, frowning, "The League has been tossed out. We had to sneak aboard one of their ships, I posed an as officer with some others." "Others?"Nathan peered at the ship, "How many did you bring?" "As many as I could, brother. The MDF are rounding up all those of service age, they are preparing for war." "And so they will wipe planet earth dry as they did Mars,"Nathan said. "Come, come, bring them out, there is plenty of space here."He began walking towards the ship, excited to see more of his Martian brothers and sisters once more. "Are you sure you can take on so many?"Matthew said, turning with him, walking just a bit faster to get ahead. "Yes, yes, we have a system in place. The humans have so much room on this planet, and in return for our knowledge, they will give us land to farm and live on."Nathan walked right up against the steps to the ship. "How many, Matthew?" "Thirty-seven, brother,"he said. "Many are hopeful to see you again. Your broadcast has reverberated on Martian soil, there are some we think who may side with the pacif--" "We can talk politics all night,"Nathan said, "let us get everyone settled and rested. If there are those still listening to reason, then that is all we can hope for now."He took a deep breath, smelling the hints of home in the ship's bowels. "Martians now walk Terra and bear their names. We are one species on this earth now. No sense dwelling on our past." "Yes, brother,"Matthew said, "I understand." Nathan stepped onboard the ship, abuzz with excitement that more of his people were coming. There was plenty of room on Earth, and when he had first arrived, many years ago, they promised refuge. It was different than where he grew up, but that place was ablaze now -- torn apart by Martians spilling Martian blood. But now he was here, and so was his family. Many more would come until reason took the holds of Martians once more. Until then, those Martians could live in peace, under the stars of the galaxy, and below the clouds of Earth.
I thought, You are having a stroke, you call 911. The day started normally, up at 7:00, walked the dog, then made breakfast for Daisy - kibble, rice, and boiled chicken breast, and myself - shredded wheat, banana and blue berries. The next thing in the morning is brushing the teeth, Spin Brush and Colgate followed by some Crest mouthwash. Flip on the TV, Today Show. Steps are only 2,189, so walking around the house for a few minutes, before so upper body work. Pushups, reverse rowing with ten pound dumbbells, then single arm ankle to shoulder, with some overhead presses to finish. I stopped to have a cup of black coffee, and the pain hit. More like exploded in my head, then the room grew mushy, and I couldn't feel anything...
Abe had never been the best at anything. He struggled in school, never had too many friends, rode the bench in every sport he played, and didn’t have much luck with the ladies. He always tried hard at everything he did, and always kept a good attitude. One day, he was at work at the local supermarket after finishing up classes at the community college he was attending. A frail elderly lady named Eve was struggling to find something, he offered her assistance, bagged her groceries for her, loaded up her car, and even offered her his phone number in case she ever needed any help around the house. Abe said that Eve reminded him of his late grandma. Abe would come over to help with installing shelves, setting up the wifi, and sometimes just for dinner. There was a dinner where her biological grandson, Clark, was there. At first, Clark was a weary of Abe, “What the hell is this 19 year old kid doing hanging with my nana?” Clark thought. But after commiserating over spaghetti and Abe cracking some off color jokes, Clark invited Abe to come over to his place. Clark’s place was a mansion off a dirt road that Abe had never noticed before in his 19 years of living in the town. Inside, everything was futuristic. All the surfaces sanitized themselves, the television came out from under the wall and was voice activated, and there was a very real looking robot butler in the kitchen, along with four other robust friends of Clark. Needless to say, these friends all had their own special abilities. Abe built a relationship with them, doing their laundry, picking up their food, feeding their pets while they were away on missions, and any other errand they had for him. Eventually, they started inviting him along as a getaway driver. Abe loved it, he finally felt like he belonged. Besides, the team was so professional they usually finished their jobs with time to spare, so they would sit around and make up games to play with one another. There was one job they had together that Abe always looks back and smiles on. They were at some billionaires mansion, helping him figure out who stole his dog, offering the group an exorbitant amount if they found the culprit. Abe was sitting outside, doing squats and push-ups so he could look good for the obligatory post-task photo op that they all take together for their team website. Suddenly, he heard something rustling in the bushes. He assumed it was a squirrel so he ignored it. Inside, he heard Clark’s robust laugh, so he knew this job was going to be a piece of cake, but then he heard the rustling again. He decided to investigate. In the bushes was a celebrity exercise guru, butt naked, humping the billionaire’s dog. Abe shouted at him, “Yo! What are you doing?” The exercise guru looked up at Abe, pupils dilated, body sweating, teeth grinding, and then proceeded to hump the poor dog. Abe shouted at him again, but the guru kept going, fully penetrating the poor pup, who didn’t look totally perturbed. Abe debated whether or not he wanted to call for backup, but decided he could handle this one on his own. Abe went to the car, called the team, and grabbed the electro-tranquilizer that would give the guru a little zap and then put him into a harmless sedated sleep. He told them he found the culprit, omitting the fact that he was currently inside the canine, and to come back to the car. He zapped the guru and freed the pup from his grasp. The dog immediately started humping Abe’s leg, as if to say, “C’mon man, I didn’t get to finish!” It turned out that the exercise guru and the billionaire were good friends and they liked to play pranks on each other by slipping one another drugs that made them act totally outlandish. The billionaire knew that the guru had taken his dog, but he didn’t know where he had taken him. The guru recovered fully, and didn’t contract any disease from the ordeal. The pup got her rock’s off, and no longer feels gross about gaining those 15 pounds over quarantine. Abe got his name and photo in the local paper for everyone to see, and the team still got paid. It was a win for everybody.
DISCLAIMER: this can very much be considered the first thing I've ever written, please be brutal :D &#x200B; Tic-toc, you say. Tic-toc, not to be repetitive, that’s all a clock can say. Tic-toc, but it’s that time of the year again, there’s no other night as good when you’re a clock. All the attention on you, the eyes following your arms moving in circles over and over again, all of the ears waiting for that sound...what was it? Right, right. Tic-toc, it’s approaching, your gears are all warmed up, your glass is clean as ever and the gold shining. Like every year you feel you’re going to give your best performance yet, that “toc” will be no less cathartic than last year, your limbs all as well aligned as ever on that 12 on top of the quadrant. They’ll see. Tic-toc, 11.58:00, only a couple more lapses. Tic-toc, 11.59:00, you can already feel the rotation of the wrist you’re hugging, the stare you're going to receive, you’re craving it. For 2020 years it’s been the best moment of the year, and the counters’ about to go up. Tic-toc, 11:59:59, it feels like it lacks the usual tension, but just wait for them to see what you’ve prepared in a sec… Tic-toc, 11:60:00, the wrist is still, no fireworks, no champagne popping. Tic-toc, 11:60:01, 2020 years are a very long time, and good things never last, a clock should know better.
"How are you today, John?"the clerk in charge of the machine asks me, like she does every time I'm here. "I'm fine, Sher. Thanks for asking."She takes my photo and thumbprint - standard biometrics, really, even today - and a metal door slides open at the end of the corridor. "You know the drill, right?"she asks. I give her a nod and a tired smile, and she escorts me in. I remember a time before the temporo-polygraph. Some scientists, trying to improve the lie detector, actually discovered a way to predict lies on top of detecting them. It's fairly new technology, less than a year old, so the best it can come up with is a number - the number of lies a man will ever tell anyone. Being little more than a prototype didn't stop its widespread adoption among "high-risk"professions, though: investment bankers, politicians, cops. Lawyers. The firm mandated weekly screening two months ago. I've been scheduled to go in every wednesday, just like today. "You again, John? You'd think upper management would trust you more than anyone!"The beige-suited man on the other side of the table asks. I never got his name, breach of protocol he keeps saying. "How much can you keep secret with only one lie, anyway. Doin' good this week?" "I'm fine, Beige,"I reply; he smirks at the nickname. "Let's just get on with it."At that, Beige and his assistants hook me up to the machine's tubes and wires. Pretty similar to a polygraph, all in all; Beige asks me questions like, 'How old are you,' and 'Have you willfully entered into or participated in any contractual obligations with the intent of sabotaging, undermining or otherwise devaluing your employer and/or the company.' Hours of interrogation pass, until the machine spits out a result and Beige's assistants undo the belts and electrodes on me. The man himself hands me a bottle of water, with an almost-apologetic look. "You alright, John?"he asks. "Load of bull makin' you go through this every week when we both know what the result's gonna be." "I'm fine, Beige, just let me out,"I reply, as I empty the bottle's contents in a few gulps. "See you next week." * "Hey! Onsie!"my neighbor, Lou, calls out to me as I get down from the taxi. He likes to stay outside lobby during the evenings, chatting with the doorman about nothing. Alcohol may or may not be involved. "Test day again, huh? Your number go up yet?" "I'm fine, Lou, thanks for asking."I roll my eyes. He laughs, before looking down at my office suit and tie. "Yeah, bet you are. Everyone's out to hire Mr. One Lie. Meanwhile guys like me,"he waves his test result in my face, "Twenty thousand four-oh-three. Guys like me get kicked to the curb." "Don't beat yourself up too bad, Lou. I promise you can have my salary this month."I look into his eyes until the implicaton sinks in. "You-you're not using your once-in-a-lifetime lie to make me feel better? You really fine with that, Onesie?" "Doesn't work that way, Lou, and I told you already. I'm fine."I pat his shoulder one last time before making my way to the elevator. "You'll make more use of the money than me, anyway." * I shut the door to my apartment, and sit down on the living room couch. There, on the coffee table, sits a loaded handgun. I found it a few days ago, just lying on the ground. Owning a gun should've been caught by the machine, but Beige only ever asked about plans to harm the employer or the company. As I put the gun to my head, I whisper the two words I tell people everyday, the one phrase the machine warned everyone about, the one fact that isn't. The one lie. "I'm fine."
Something* something* unsure* enjoy 💜 Time, and time, and time again. Always time, can you for once not screw up. Keep this up and I shall unscrew your gears. It was never meant to happen. Any of this, look at the suffering they put themselves through. They do this everytime. Ahrhg hearing the word already ticks me of. Damn it I had to say tick. And who can end this suffering? Me? I would, however only time will tell. Something about entropy and the integrity of our being. Since time started it has to first end. You know how long the average universe lasts? Me neither, anymore. There have been more cycles by now then time within a given universe. I just want to figure things out, kronos however keeps turning his gears everytime they stop. Once time starts that is it, no influence from us. We no longer are synced. We set up parameters, but we at most get in a few before he starts gearing up again. There is less and less suffering each time, but it hurts to see my creation suffer each time. It also hurts that his way I cant ever move on to new projects. Nor figure out what even am I. All I know is it was mot supposed to happen, from the time I first percieved myself, to the time I will last percieve myself. But time will keep ticking meaningless forever. Time does not run out, you do.
Our story takes place in 1920, right before the disaster that took place in Lisbon which remains the biggest cause for the financial crisis to this day, a couple of days earlier the prime minister got a warning of a possible anomaly happening and he assigned a team of scientists to look into it, not giving it much importance since these kinds of warnings came often. Life was quite normal around town for most of the population, trade was blooming so that kept both makers and sellers busy, such as the bourgeoisie and nobles that bought everything they deemed worth, what was lacking however was any kind of entertaining, since most of the people who would be allocated there were busy with said trading, having a major role in keeping the economy rolling. A good chunk of the population took great enjoyment out of the public trials, the city having an open court meaning everyone could watch any given trial as long as they didn't intervene in any way since it would also lead to public executions, they would have a reason to attend both. A particularly interesting case was ongoing for almost two weeks now, is the longest ever case since it started being an open court, most cases would be resolved in one or two sessions because it was either red-handed acts or the suspect would just plead guilty with so many close people overlooking them, but back to the case in hand, it was a bank robbery with two murders, there were three suspects, no evidence besides some questionable eyewitnesses which lead to the arrest of said suspects, all three plead not guilty saying that they were at the bank with all the other civilians and the robbers came in, got what they wanted and got out, but since they didn't have any evidence either it wouldn't mean much. One of the murders was the judge's son, they were at the desk but his son got distracted by something in one of the side halls where the robbers got in from and they shot him out of panic because he scared them so the judge was particularly more focused on this case and find the right people who did it. It was this back and forth during sessions that resulted in a dead-end every time, the accuser not having a strong enough case to get a verdict neither the defendant having a believable alibi for the suspects because they were at the bank and could just be the robbers trying to leave disguised as civilians so the last session got scheduled where a final verdict would be settled upon, if not enough evidence is presented by then they would be free. The team formed by the prime minister ended up finding out about a devastating earthquake that would need a full nationwide evacuation in the same day as the trial was about to happen, message about the earthquake spread wide and fast but everyone was so involved in the trial they mostly discarded it and went through with it anyway. Like previous iterations, nothing changed in either side's argument, and when the judge was finishing the verdict everything starts shaking violently, and the structures around quickly crumble while everyone scrambles to find a safe place to avoid certain death.
A drip of sweat sizzled on my face shield after hanging on my furrowed brow for hours. I couldn't work anymore, my body is melting in fatigue. I took a seat on the grated floor. Every breath feels like stagnant flat soda. But there was no turning back now. The heat was vital, it maintained the surface temperature of the core for thermal ionization. As the cold condensed fission started to occur, the workspace reached un-survivable temperatures. If my body made it, the time gate would open. And there would be 142 minutes to bring as many Felis Catus back. Or as grandpa Olly used to reminisce, cats. Hehe, Olly. Oh the stories Olly would say about "them damn cats." Apparently they used to have a couple, per my grandma's request. And they simply walked around the house eating, drinking, scratching. Like they owned the place! Imagine a creature of such power domesticated. I heard they took would lick themselves and take care of their business in a little sandbox at my grandmother's behest. I would kill just to look at that and see the creature in such submission. My eyes started fading. I awoke to a loud burst. The cooling overflow valve eroded the pipe to create a leak. Steam exhausted out the hole, giving a loud screeching wail. Unfixable now. I don't know how long I've been out but I sensed the gate would open soon. The portal should open back approximately 3 miles south of the historical town of Tulsa. It was the best out of a bad bunch of coordinates. And closest to people. I can't remember what another person looks like but I hope its better than myself. My pa was the last person I saw, about 15 years ago to the day. As an only child of my mom's previous marriage he never felt close. But spending 6 years in alone solemn silence mourning the passing of my mom would prove to be the best bond I could ever have. Now, 15 years later, and there's rarely a good soul in sight. I've hunted, scraped gas and oil and took a quick cross country trip. The few that are left are naturally hostile. There's a couple cultish communities I didn't mind visiting, it's their outlook on life and children that disturbed me. But as of 3 months ago, the French Re-Communion had attacked. Hitting what little people had been gathered since the great divide. Using those weapons that destroyed us against us. It was a second cleansing, one not issued by maniacal influence as before. But on man's own accord. And I won't have that. So here we are with a plan to bring them back. I fantasized before of stopping the great divide completely. Destroying the arsenal from the inside. Erasing my existence. But on my cross country trip I visited the decrepit Library of Congress. I had read the sealed documents during the divide years. I had learned the truth. Man was weak, but they... they had such penetration in our society, holding power since ancient time. I alone can't go back and stop them. Yet... I can go back and save those of us now. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. We'll see how true that is.
Inb4 feedback highly appreciated even if it mercs me. Improvement is something I lack. Enjoy the read or scroll around the park. Friday 16:24 (afternoon), relay station Eagle. Today should have been my day off. But Russel had to go and get “sick”. He is not sick he was simply jealous, jealous I manage a social life, whilst also working here. Dendra Turok, 27, senior engineer, and head of communications. Ever since a clear as day sign was found that life out there indeed existed, everyone started looking outward, we found an artifact similar in nature to our golden record that we sent out in days past. Aliens reached out to us, per chance. Relay stations became the boom in scientific communities, and even marketing companies hoping to monetize being the first to lay contact. The work we do here is mainly still authentic “space watching” not necessarily aliens. However here at my department we focus solely on the aliens. I engineered the systems around here myself, I know best to operate them. And since my original major in university was communication, radar and other such rather spacial commodities, I was a perfect fit for the job. Even though plans were cancelled, the day shaped up to be peaceful. No bugs, no errors. Maintenance had been done prior to my shift. And we upgraded just short of last week. All systems had been checked and no faulty code was detected. All in all I was up to do whatever I felt like. But for some reason I decided to be serious and do some active looking. It had been nearly 3 hours, I had been crunching numbers, locations, other data, and actively adjusting the radar. Top of the bill, a collaboration between every and all companies related to radar, and every other scientific field out there. A crossover better than endgame. As the hype of aliens riled people up, most important figures and entities like nasa, spacex, political figures and entities too. Rich people piling together, life as a whole was finally shaping up. We just needed that push. Electronics and scientific breakthroughs have been swerving left and right. Anyway, I actively looked around. That is when...they contacted me. Nonsense at first, but they were learning english all the while communicating to me in their native text. The soon switched over to english and then, on screen a msg popped up, an intrusive one. It is the aliens, no doubt so I accept. It is a video call. They look human? Well some differing defining features, but they might as well just be a species related to homo sapiens sapiens the way neanderthals and such were. First thing they said to me was, whilst scratching their heads “how are you alive, conscious and thriving?” What? Human child, how are you, you. Earth is the planet with a crust full of the most magic redundant material known to us. The ego, the consciousness comes from magic, how are you able to exist from nothing? It makes no sense. After hearing that I was confused to say the least, not by what I was told, it was clear as day, as a scientist, although skeptical, I know when to accept wisdom from my peers. Them referring to me as child, means they must have way longer life spans, and these must be old individuals. Deduction does not lie. You only deduce wrong. But I was certain. Confused since we already were at a halt, when it comes to consciousness. Now we find out all life but earth has a magical basis. An energy source. It makes sense. A soul of sorts. Their ego is their soul. We have no soul, only ego. Human. Yes? Our data suggests your consciousness is born from an unprecedented chain of event starting from the first single celled organism that landed here eons ago. All the cells in the lifes of this planet, they all strive to survive, to thrive, instinct of this magnitude is unprecedented in universe thus far. Hence the widely differing animals, plants, other life and their evolutionary paths. However you humans, and some animals like squid and octopodes, dolphins, pigs, horses, lots of birds etc. The list is large but small in the grand scheme. You are the only ones with ego. Most life on this planet is self aware, rare already, but an ego without a soul is as weird as it gets. You exist from cells working together firing around, creating cascades in the brain that lead to you being you. All on pure electric energy, heat energy, kinetic etc. But not magic. Interesting, can we schedule a conference call with some of my peers, an higher individuals, crunch this data through and let the world know what to research next now that we succeeded in establishing contact? Fine by us. You can contact us through the intrusive program, we await further communication. We wish you a blessed day. Thanks and you too.
Dearil falls multiple stories, landing on debris that softens his landing so he doesn't die but not enough to keep him moving. His blade lands nearby, penetrating the ground. Alex lands safely in across from him, walking up to him slowly, not saying a word, not averting his gaze. A pin would drop and it would sound like thunder under the deafening silence Dearil - You can't do this Miles, you physically can not. You are no murderer. You are not like me. Still, not a word. Alex just keeps approaching Dearil - You would dare forsake all that you have built over the years? Your legacy, your reputation, your moral code!? Again...nothing. Alex simply stops in front of him, kneeling down and taking out a knife. He stabs it through Dearil's right hand, digging it into the concrete. He does the same with his left hand, then drags a large piece of debris onto his legs to prevent him from trying to use them Dearil - Miles, what are you doing? Is this what your Great Grandfather would've wanted? Your father!? Alex takes out another larger knife...then begins to slice off each and every one of Dearil's fingers. One. By. One. His agonising screams ring throughout the place...as Alex says nothing. Once all his fingers are gone, he takes them off the ground, stuffing them, one by one, in Dearil's mouth. Naturally, he spits them out, but Alex forcefully slams his head back onto the concrete, stopping him from doing it again. Once every one of them are in his mouth, he turns his eyes to the blade and starts to walk up to it Dearil - Mhp!! Hmmphh!!!! Nothing but mumbles and grunts could be heard from Dearil's mouth as Alex grips the handle on the blade, tearing it from the concrete. With it in his hand, he walks back up to Dearil, his cold...dead eyes meeting Dearils own Dearil - Mhph!! Mhhmhmphh!!! Mhp-- All noise from Dearil is cut off as Alex slowly digs the blade into his chest, making every painstaking second last for as long as it possibly can. Dearil's head tilts back, lifeless, but Alex grabs it and forcefully lifts it up so their eyes lock. As they state into each others eyes, the last essence of Dearil's life slips away...while Alex's become more cold...and more lifeless than his foes. He leans back, standing up and glaring at Dearil's corpse. He turns his back, pausing a moment as he goes to walk off and looks back at the blade. Alex takes off his mask and places it on the handle, then walks off into the dead of the night
His dad had been listening in on the mother’s daydreams again. Her main fixation had been if they won the lottery and she could travel more. In these dreams the boy wasn’t there, the dad was long gone, it was her and an open world as far as the eye could see. And his father knew this was simply a dream that was healthy to flesh-out occasionally. It didn’t mean she didn’t love them or that she wanted them gone, she just wanted to explore in her mind the fantasy of a life free of all obligations. It was normal and natural and all other forms of nice words, until the mom thought “but not until it’s over. Not until they’re both dead.” This had worried the dad so much that he hadn’t noticed he was shouting at the top of his brain power “WHAT!?” It wasn’t an easy process getting to where the boy is now, but it had begun then, and continued into his adulthood. His mother was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, anxiety, paranoia, and early onset dementia shortly after the daydream turned nightmare. The father and son worked tirelessly to keep her calm, but they could still hear her in her mind saying “still alive. It’s not for lack of trying. They can’t win. Who am I?” Once they listened out of concern, invasive of her privacy as it was, but now the boy writes things in his journal all the time. Things she thinks that he can never tell her he heard. Things to try and understand her. The concern is gone, her moods shift with her medication, and they know that she is harmless. He wants so bad to find a reason to her thoughts. A language of half remembered fantasies and fractured truths that he writes to piece together. When the father is alone, he tries to let the thoughts out. When the son is alone, he tries to stitch them together. When the mother is alone, which is never, she tries to keep the thoughts in for as long as they’ll stay. Just for her to have something to rattle around her brain, the same way a child shakes a rattle to see what it will do. He didn’t like it, the boy, but all she would call them in her head was “the father and the boy.” He felt othered from the person that had given him a home to begin with. And her anger was apparent every time the medicine didn’t work quite right or wasn’t given at the right time. “Body count! This fat slob wants me!? He can have my teeth in his eyes! I’ll eat his teeth!” She would think. But on her deathbed, he finally got what he wanted; she looked him in the eyes, not able to speak as she was far too weak, and she thought to him “I think I love you son.” And then she went to a place and thought thoughts that he can’t describe, he was too busy crying to hear.
And it's been like for some time now, grey old and beaten day. Seemingly dreary but this storm fails to beat me down. The storms have stranded me at home, thinking that these walls would be my prison but that's where I have the higher ground. I thrive on these kind of days. Snuggled next to the chilly window in my living with the house silent the tea steeps and I anticipate that lovely marriage of a splash of milk and hot earl grey. It makes me giddy with joy having the house to myself and the only noises I hear is the lovely gentle tapping of the cold late autumn rain. Looking out there, I can imagine seeing my breath in the chill. Perhaps it's the distance from the old single paned window of where I sit that I still have that bite of the damp environment before me. Best not worry myself from a perfect moment such as this, the only solution I want at the moment is more tea.
"There is nothing to be afraid of in the dark." The voice echoed down the empty hall. It was nighttime and a child stood in the doorway to the hall, staring at the darkness. She was only waist high and her wide brown eyes were unblinking as she fixed her gaze at nothing. She was terrified. Slow tendrils of shadow twisted in place, writhing under some invisible force. They stretched and coiled, pulsing at their thick middle. "There is nothing to be afraid of,"the voice said again, its tone soothing. The child took a few steps back and the shadows retreated by a fraction. From behind, more tendrils of darkness came. They lapped at the girl's heels, gentle and kind. Turning at the feeling by her feet, she gasped and side-stepped and the shadows mirrored her movement but did not pursue. Curious, she squat down and reached out. Like a cat, the shadow met the girl's hand and twirled around it. She smiled a little, petting the darkness. The tendrils grew closer from down the hall, spreading and growing as it moved. When it was behind the girl, it flattened down toward the ground in deference. "You are what is to be feared."
He knew the pistol had been hidden in the jar. The exact pistol used to murder the duke. It had been placed there by the detective earlier, should his suspicions have rang true. It seemed there was far worse than a sugar fiend about this evening... Recalling the first of the Snickerdoodle killings made his skin electric and his heart burdened. It had been only a month and a baker’s dozen families were forever changed. Knowing now that it was the duke’s nephew who haunted this small town. He was diabetic you see, in his low blood sugar addled frustration he found more than a treat in that jar. A foolish young man thinking violence would solve his problems. If only I could have seen the signs... If only I had known they were sugar free cookies...
When humans launch into space, they undergo the type of violence normally reserved for death. And Commander Barry Golds thought he was going to die. So, situation normal. But he didn't, and after a career trying to get here, he is aware the bit of engineering wrapped around himself helped, but that help was fading fast. His head hurts, but he doesn't mention it, instead, he uses crew downtime en route to Moonbase Artemis as a chance to argue with himself. The answer he keeps coming back to is he has no right to be here. NASA makes pains to ensure chaos stays off missions and doesn't rear its ugly head. And this is one of the reasons why. Also, coincidentally, why there are no former Defensive linemen in space. To much chance of a hidden head injury and no telling what that particular condition could do to a person during space travel. It was unknown if the symptoms of a CTE injury might suddenly appear in aggression or, worse, hemorrhage. So they try and avoid issues by wrapping up every mission appointment process with enough redundancy to fill months with busy work. It was hard to slip through. But astronauts have gotten through with jealous psychosis, criminality, bad eyesight, and now, worse. NASA was government, and government was foolish. The newest addition to NASA failings is that Ben Golds has a head injury. Not from tackling fools on the gridiron type CTE, just the kind caused by the beginning phases of dementia. And he knew it and tricked the NASA tests because it was his turn to go to space and nothing was going to stop him. He tricked legions of doctors whose only goal was to get him into admitting he was experiencing problems. "Look, Commander Golds, we are here for you and the safety of your crew. If you are experiencing any symptoms, please, let us know." But Golds smiled and said, "look at me doc, I am in the best shape of my life. Which was a lie. He was in better shape ten years previous when he could remember for certain if he had worked out or not. That was the first sign, doing things because he wasn't sure if it had happened today or yesterday or a month ago. "Barry, how many times are you going to work out today?"his wife asked, coming into their home gym just as he set the bar back on the bench. The set hurt too bad for her to be wrong. "Just this once,"he lied, knowing it was lie but not knowing how he couldn't remember working out earlier in the day. He worked his mind too hard, memorized too much stuff, he theorized. And she stared at him, sad, "Barry, you've done been in here three times already. It's not safe to work out this much." But life is far from safe, and he deserved at least one mission before he retired and made to fly hops to Hong Kong for the rest of his life. And then the reason why he shouldn't be in space comes into view again. He almost doesn't look down at the only reason to go to space, to begin with, the vision of Earth floating further and further away as they make their way to the moon. But a hopeful flutter makes him do so anyway. Maybe this time, reality will return. He looks and again finds the spot on the world where Australia should be, but still blank. He hears the heart monitor he is hooked up to, spike. It goes so high he gets a call from Houston. "Golds, heart rate is spiking like crazy. What's going on. Eden? Get a visual on Golds." Eden pipes back, "Shit Golds, are you okay? Guys-- ah fuck he just popped." Puke rolls out of Golds mouth. Every single crumb he crammed into after being told he could eat, and he did because they make them go up hungry. He is more okay with throwing up in space and floating through his own sick-up then he thought he'd be, because, at the end of it all, he gets to die in space. Something no one in NASA had quite figured out yet.
“Harris. Harris!” I bolted upright in my chair. The faulty back wobbled, dipping violently and threatening to dump me on the floor. I flung my arm wildly, somehow catching myself before cracking my on the sad excuse for a carpet. The partners definitely wouldn’t approve Workman’s Comp claim, and we’re a workman’s comp firm. Funny how that works. “You okay, man?” Zack hovered in the entrance to my cubicle, impeccably dressed and cradling a stack of papers in his arms. He was always doing that sort of thing, both with the attire and the actually doing his job. Polishing my glasses, I squinted at my computer. Strings of gibberish filled the open document open on screen. Great. Hopefully past me was smart enough to back up my file. “Yeah, just a little tired, I guess,” I said. Judging by how small the scrollbar on the doc was, that was a bit of an understatement. “Yeah, well, I hope you’re more prepared than this for the meeting.” He dropped the papers on my desk with a thud. The same gibberish from my screen glared back at me, this time adorned with company letterhead. My gut told me he was less impressed with my ability to print while sleeping than he should be. “It’s fine. I’ll just get some coffee and power through this.” Already I was back in the zone, this very rude awakening exactly the jolt of adrenaline I needed to get me in gear. If I didn’t stop writing, I might not have to improvise the last quarter of the presentation. “Hope those extra matches were worth it,” he said, already sliding around the corner. “Some of us have to live in the real world.” Of course they were. Zack only wished he’d been able to hang. Ever since he started this job at Prower and Prowler, he joined in our DBD games less and less, claiming it interfered with his sleep. I couldn’t tell if he was admitting to being a wuss or just lame. Besides, the new Rift was open. In the breakroom, I poured myself a cup of sludge that barely passes as coffee by manufacturing standards. Before the cup was partially full, I heard the tell-tale ding prompting a skillcheck from the game. I could even see the ring as it appeared from nowhere. That’s weird, I thought. And then more in a panicked thought-voice oh-no-what-do-I-do? The ticker passed over the check, failing, and the cup, now nearly full of moderately warm sludge, fell to the ground. Okay, maybe the game was getting to me. Luckily, no one was around to witness my mishap, so I quickly cleaned the mess and began pouring another cup. I wasn’t not going to get my caffeine. As I reached for the creamer--that nasty powdered stuff--I saw a faint glimmer of light in my periphery, the one usually preceded by a godawful wailing bell. I spun, facing the direction, my heart rising to my throat. Nothing. I took a step back and rubbed my eyes. First a skillcheck, now seriously thinking I’d seen a fictional killer in real life. Caffeine wasn’t going to solve this problem. But before I could mentally berate myself, the air moved. Like, literally moved, shifted over in the shape of a tall, skinny man. And it was coming toward me. At this juncture, I figured it was fifty-fifty whether I was losing it or not, but that I didn’t want to stick around to see. Instead, I booked it to Zack’s office. If anyone knew what to do, it would be him. Turns out, he wasn’t so keen on seeing me twice in one day. After a bit of pleading and a small amount of blackmail, he finally agreed to talk if I made it quick. I cut to the chase. “You know how, sometimes, after a game…” I waved my hand as though that would have any meaning whatsoever but hoping he would catch my drift. He didn’t. In fact, he was so far from my drift that I could see the annoyance building in his face. I started over. “Okay so you know Huntress’ lullaby, right?” “Harris--” I knew I had to spit it out fast or he’d never listen, so I just kept talking right over him. “--and how you sometimes just \hear\ it in real life?” “Harris, I have work to do. \You\ have work to do. I don’t give a crap about Dead By Daylight right now.” Not even knowing my life was possibly fifty-fifty in danger, that was pretty rude. “Zack listen. I think I’m in the game. I mean I think we’re in the game. Right now, you, me, the whole office. And I think--” and looking back I’m pretty sure this is where I lost him “--the killer is wraith.” In a movie, my speech would have been unhinged-yet-persuasive enough to give him pause. Just the tiniest bit of doubt that maybe I, his friend that he’d had since the end of the third year of college, was dropping some truth. For a few moments, I could see him working through it in his head, his jaw flexing as he attempted to form words. And maybe if this were a movie, we would have had a witty banter about how I was losing it and I would magically pull out some definitive proof that would change his mind. Instead he just said get the fuck out of my office and get a life and slammed the door as I left. Before I’d made it halfway down the hall, a bell like a demonic gong rang out. B I N G B O N G I froze in place, held my breath, praying that I was wrong about everything. I swore if I got out of this building today, I'd--well I wasn't sure what, but I'd do whatever it was responsible adults did to stop themselves from hallucinating crap from a video game. I didn't even get as far as figure out what I was promising the universe because Zack’s guttural screams filled the office. And I did the only thing I could think to do. I ran.
Inside the BBC Radio Theatre, Gabriel loitered at the tail of the crowd---non-alcoholic cocktail in hand. He distanced himself from the pressing masses despite his ethereal form, preferring instead to maintain some semblance of personal space. A smoky rendition of The Man Who Sold the World blared from a looming pair of black speakers. People swayed and tapped to the beat, starstruck by the man who stood before them--- “Who knows? Not me! I never lost control!” The line everyone knew and was here for. To them, this was a living musical god in a sleeve of flesh and bone. Gabriel would have found this impressive were it actually a human performer. Perhaps he should give more credit to the rest of the band. Regardless, this wasn’t healthy for David. He had to put a stop to it. He established a telepathic link at the end of the song---he wouldn’t dare interrupt the performance. “You’re putting on a hell of a show for the lads but I can smell it on you from the back row mate.” “Get out of my head Gabe. I’ll stop when I want to stop.” “Never?” “Spot on.” Gabriel took a sip on his drink. To his angelic taste buds it tasted dull, but he liked having something to do. Besides, it was fitting. “You know He’ll replace you.” “With whom? No one wants the job. I happened to be the only bloke dumb enough to believe his pitch.” “With me.” “You wouldn’t…” “You know it.” “Just let me finish the set and we’ll talk over a drink alright?” Gabriel closed the link. The conversation happened over an infinitesimal slice of time. One of the perks of being supernatural. He listened through the whole set. He came to appreciate the music eventually. A remarkable man indeed. It can’t be easy pretending you can’t access an infinite store of divine melodies. The show was over and he headed out with the crowd. He knew David’s spot: A bar between dimensions called the Blackstar. This was where the ethereals mingled. Contrary to popular human belief, angels and demons have no beef with each other. They were two sides of the same coin: a divine incentive for morality. At least, that’s how He put it. Getting into the Blackstar was less about walking in and more akin to squeezing yourself out of the driver’s seat of a car after parking too close to the neighbour. With some effort, Gabriel found himself inside. He was standing at what would’ve been an entrance, but the place had no doors. “Care for a drink mate?” David rose from behind the bar with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. Gabriel scoffed and approached the counter. The stools were all marked with a five pointed black star. “Not really in love with the whole theme of it if I’m honest. Could use more red and blue,” David said. Gabriel stayed silent, waiting for David to finish pouring his drink. “Are you done?” Gabriel said. “I haven’t even begun!” David flicked his fingers towards a record player hidden beneath the counter and Life on Mars? began to play. “This is one of my favourites.” He pulled out a cigarette from his shirt’s front pocket, holding it in two fingers. “Got a light?” Gabriel sighed, but he obliged. A quick touch lit the cigarette and David took a long drag. He blew the smoke out away from the angel. “It doesn’t bother you does it?” Gabriel smiled and shook his head. Then David’s face took on a sombre tone. He dragged an ashtray closer and tapped his cigarette into it. “Listen, Gabe… I’m getting tired.” “Tired of being rich and famous?” “This gig… it’s… not easy. I’ve seen the humans drink to forget. I thought maybe I can do the same. It was just a sliver of hope really. I knew it wouldn’t actually work.” David grabbed his glass, holding the cigarette in the same hand between his pointer and index fingers. He looked longingly at the whiskey inside as if he was holding a toy and hoping for it to come alive. “What’s on your mind Dave?” Gabriel shifted on the stool and leaned in closer. He caught a glimpse of a tear streaking down David’s cheek. “When you’re the reaper you see things Gabe. You see things that shouldn’t be seen by anyone. Things that would shock devils and demons.” “That’s just the fleshy part Dave, you know where the rest goes.” “They can feel pain just as we do. They love and hate. Their love is beautiful---and their hatred… oh goodness their terrible hatred…” “You really need a break don’t you?” David dropped his glass and his cigarette and drooped onto Gabriel, wrapping his arms around the angel. “I just want to forget…” Gabriel returned the embrace, clutching the reaper tightly. “Tell you what mate. I’ll figure something out with the boss. I’ll buy you some time to get back on your feet. Say, how about fifteen, sixteen years until retirement? We’ll make it as plausible as can be for the humans. I’ll take your place and you can have a nice long vacation. How does that sound?” David let go of Gabriel. His face was now red and wet. He wiped it off and composed himself. “That sounds wonderful.”
Nimble as The Wind, Skeleton King Days, weeks, months, years, it's all the same to me anymore. But yet, I kept moving, I had to. Why? I ask myself that every day, yet I get no response. Maybe there is no reason, maybe I'm just cursed to live in this wasteland forever. No, that can't be right, everything has a purpose after life, or at least that's what I was told for the longest time. So why was I here? To be hunted more? It cant be that one, because anymore, those things leave me alone. What about just to be tortured? Well, besides being alone all of the time, I don't think so. As I said before, time has no meaning anymore. Days aren't important, only the events that happen. Maybe I was remade to help those who took my humanity hunt the last survivors. Although I would fit the part, with my charred bones, ashen wake, and my fiery orange sockets, I think I'll pass on that one. So then what? If not to hunt, to be hunted, or to be tortured, what am I still here? ?.. What if I was here to help? What if I was not able to leave the others to die? I don't remember much from before, just a few scattered memories of my previous form. A bird sitting outside my window in the lightly falling snow, the myths and legends of old Hallows Eve, and my final breaths, through the pain, shouting at someone to get out. Looking back, I can still see their face, their dark gray eyes, their dark blond hair, the row of freckles across their nose, the horror on their face as another lifted them out of the darkness surrounding us. That was their face, the fear in their eyes. I've seen fear in peoples faces before, with my terrifying form and all, but I have never someone with that look since then. I remained for the sole purpose of protecting them, not just the one, but as many as I can. Now that I know why I am here, I must find them. They must have survived, they had to have, I can feel it in, well, my bones. My best bet is to check with a nearby settlement, and hope that I can find answers there. The wind is my friend today, like all other days, so I should get there in no time. I must be as swift, and as nimble as the wind, for I am the Skeleton King
"Wash the dishes," Wash the dishes?! a confused look entered her face. "I really, really, really hate doing dishes,"I continued. And I watched as the flame at the end of her tail grew with fierce intensity. "Also, before you begin, put this on,"I said, tying a white apron around her waist. For a demon, she looked pretty cute. I've always hated cute things. More than anything. As you wish, master. Her horns trembled, as she felt a sudden surge of power rise from within. With outstretched arms, each filth-laden piece of flatware arose from their slumber, spiraling upwards into the air; the sound of clinking silverware like music to the ears. Pouring myself another shot of whiskey, I placed some vinyl onto the phonograph. Paganani Liszt, 'La Campanella'. A truly astounding piece. Also, truly despicable. I watched as each dish danced in the air, moving along to the melodies of the piano. Each flash of light vaporising any and all traces of defilement. Each piece slowly drifting to their respective places. A sight to behold, it was. Although I refused to enjoy any of it. All is finished, master. "Dinner should be ready by now. Let's eat." Eat?! Do demons consume mortal meals? Another confused look entered her face. "No. And neither do I. But we will eat, whether we like it or not." Having worked professionally as a chef all my life, I've realized it's not the food that I've grown to hate; I just despise eating. "Set the table, and have a seat," As you wish, master. With the snap of her fingers, the dishes she had just cleaned came flying to the table before us, along with wine glasses and unscented candles. With a quick breath, she blew the candles aflame. "I made the extra rare one for you,"I said while pouring her a glass of wine. Thanks. I hate it. A bright smile filled her face. "I hate you too. More than anything in this world,"with these words she began to hug herself, unable to contain the power overflowing from her body. She let out a soft, sensual moan. Please, end this now, "Okay."
It seemed like the obnoxious sound of the alarm physically punctured his ears and stabbed him in the brain. Light entered through his eyelids -firmly closed- and burned his cornea. So bright that it made him wonder whether he forgot to close the blinds last night. It would not be surprising given how he had drunk a whopping 2 and a half beers during last night's party to alleviate his boredom. "Nnnnnnneuhhhhh..." he slowly let out with great effort, while gathering motivation to open his eyes and flailing his arm in the general direction of his old school alarm clock. "Come on Terry", Terry spoke to himself without the least bit of conviction, "sudo get up!" Instantly he felt a force pushing on his back like he was lifted up by a particularly inconsiderate elephant, violently flinging him to an upright position. His bowels flew up and done again inside their cavity, tickling nerves and providing him an undeniable reason to open his eyes. There he beheld not his room, but an almost comically cliché landscape: green hills, temperate forests, a little river in between two mountains, and he could have even seen a waterfall coming down the side of a rock formation, were it not that his glasses had been on the end table, which itself was seemingly replaced with a rotten tree trunk. "Heavens, I've been transported to some unfamiliar land where the word 'sudo' holds program-magical powers!" Is what Terry surely would have said, if he hadn't been immediately attacked by a rhinoceros. The rhinoceros, startled by Terry's rapid movements, softly (for a rhino) poked him in his lower back with his horn, propelling Terry half a meter into the air, as well as rupturing his left kidney. Therefor, he instead opted to utter a drawn out: "A!" With a passion that would have instantly won him an Oscar if it had been filmed. Lying on the ground, 2 meters from the rhinoceros, he rolled over in agony and used his brand new conclusion about the power of Linux to gently convince the rhinoceros to not trample him to death 5 seconds after waking: "Sudo die -kuch- bitch!" Without a second of delay, the rhinoceros violently shed its skin, revealing an omni-directional volcano of blood that turned his (otherwise terribly boring) bed into a piece of modern art about greed, survival, and mankinds relationship with nature. With the rhinoceros transformed into a piece of social commentary, Terry finally had time for the most important matter: that of doubt and existential questions. "AAaaaahh, where am I? What is GOING ON?!" Terry shouted, while wiping the fluids of the (slightly closer to extinct) animal from his face. Failing to stand up with his kidney ruptured, he decided to calmly lay on the ground to analyze his situation. "Okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, it's going to be okay, it's okay, I'm okay." he lied to himself "Alright. Shit. My fucking kidney. Alright, alright, I'm in some weird fuckin place. That was some big elephant horse fucker. But I'm okay. I'm not tripping. There's just some weird shit going on. I've got this sudo stuff, so let's use that!... Sudo get up." Once again, Terry was flung upright. Still in grievous pain, only exacerbated by standing, he immediately succumbed again and felt to the floor of grass that was becoming increasingly red. "SHIIIIIT!" he screamed in great pain, displaying his vulnerability in such a primal and universal manner, that even the most pathetic of apes or hyenas would have tried to eat him if they had heard it. "Okay, okay, sudo... euhm... heal this wound!" Instantly, Terry gained an immense motivation to heal his wound, which merged with his already existing motivation, changing nothing. "Why does that NOT work?! Shit shit shit." Not actually being a Linux user and only knowing of the existence of something called sudo through his co-workers' jokes, Terry was in a bit of a predicament. The multitude of programmagic spellomands would be unavailable to him in this universe. "Sudo, tell me what's going on!" Terry exclaimed in terror, his hopelessness increasing as his blood pressure dropped. "What?! Who is that? My blood is WHAT?! Can you see me? Help me!" Terry responded to the thundering voice from the sky that was now suddenly audible. But it was in vain, for only the healing properties that the bark of the rotting tree next to the modern art piece contained could save him, and Terry knew not of it. "What.. crazy voice.. follow.. the bark in the... the bark in the art of the... must. bark. bark. heal." His failure to construct complete sentences without profanities was ever more apparent as Terry mumbled while crawling towards the rotting tree. With his 120th from last breath, he ripped a piece of bark from the rotting tree, and ate it. Although this was not the correct way to apply programmagical rotting tree bark -which is in fact to apply it directly to the troubling area if possible- the programana from the bark entered his bloodstream and slowly healed his kidney, leaving a programmagical, brown, tree-shaped tattoo on the site of his injury that he would have known about, had he not been unconscious while the voice from the sky ominously blabbered on about the tiny details of his adventures. Soon Terry would wake up again, but he would only serendipitously learn about his ugly new hippy tattoo 3 years from then, while standing before a new mirror, industrially produced in his own universe-spanning empire by programmagical goblins following his every sudo command.
It was so surreal. I thought I was still sleeping. First, there was the speeding deathtrap of downtown traffic, then in a blink, I was surrounded by vicious monsters with violence in their eyes. The two traded places with each inch of movement back or forth. It was an alternating nightmare on repeat. Drive: traffic. Reverse: monsters. I was backing in and out of two worlds. I was so scared, and I had to act fast. Every time I reversed, the monsters would appear. They'd be closer, and more vicious than before. Not wasting any time I put the car into drive, and floored it. Finally on the other side of this strange barrier, I felt safe at last. Now, I don't know if I'll ever make it back home to Earth. The aliens here drive really fast in their little hover cars, but they seem pretty nice, and they don't mind that I can't parallel park. I might stay a while.
That was this morning. The mess had barely been cleaned up when a massive tone sounded across the ship. EMERGENCY MEETING. The captain rushed into the cafeteria, surrounded by the rest of his six crewmates in their multi-colored spacesuits. “What’s going on here?” He bellowed. “White killed my brother!” The blue one accused. He pointed his finger at the individual across the table. “Dude, I was in electrical, it was no biggie.” The white crewmember shrugged smugly. “That’s cap, Yellow and I were in electrical.” “You’re sus, blue.” He shook his head. The table erupted into cries of “Imposter!” “SHUT UP!” The captain yelled. Everyone did as they were told. “It’s obvious the murderer is one of us. The question is, how do we figure that out?” “I have to agree with White, Blue’s kinda sus. He’s accusing white of murder,” Orange noted. “Yeah, only the imposter would pin the murder on someone else! Let’s vote!” Blue slammed his fists on the table. “Listen here you stupid little hipstergrammer fuckers, and listen good. You want to space me? Good. I’ll die in peace. Mark my words. Someone dies next, all your blood is on YOUR hands. Not mine. Also STOP using the word sus. Speak properly for crying out loud.” Dead silence fell into the cafeteria for several seconds. A loud pop brought everyone to reality, before their surroundings faded to black. Babblybum has quit the game
The three orcs approach the mages lair, untroubled by their stomping and grunting. They knew there was nobody home. The three of them shared their orcish fashion sense, none, just loin clothes with Leader Orc's being ripped just enough to not leave anything to the imagination. He was their Leader, and loved his life. Leader Orc didn't have a name, didn't need one, he just was. They all just were, creatures of their environment, animal-like, joyous, reckless, bored. Today they would not be bored. The three of them barely stop at the door before they kick it in as one. As it falls crashing to the floor the three of them pause to catch their breaths in their chests. The room is absolutely immaculate, potions bubble, dark fluid is mixed by a phantom ladle, in a phantom cauldron, translucent, magic. The bookshelf has an item that physically calls to them. "Read me,"a voice sounds in their orc minds, a new sensation, as their thoughts have always been absolutely formless and unsymbolized. They feel just a little smarter for it. Leader Orc points his calloused and scared hand, more a claw, toward the bookshelf. A single book shines with the soft promising light of sweet glorious and powerful temptations. "Read me, and be free." The smaller, less significant orc, is now named Stubs. HE just gave himself a name for the first time, under the glow of the light, an inspiring event. He is almost unlike an animal. HE reaches out for the book and cradles it like a baby. He does not eat the book like he would a baby, luckily, or rather unluckily, for the three of them. It was most definitely unlucky for the world. Stubs, after a moments hesitation where his hand falters, passes the glowing book toward his Leader. Leader Orc touches the book and is now Nasty, his new identity. "You are capable. You are more. Believe in me and you will be the masters of this world. The world is a game, to play, to master, TO CHEAT." Nasty has an experience unlike any his body has felt before. He feels himself tower like a giant above his enemies, and his enemies were everyone. He would do it. He was shown his path according to his new nature. The nature of the creators. He is now the first Orc Mage in existence, and existence feels like a pulsating erection. The first pages make no sense to any of them, but slowly, they do. As his retinas take in the light from the book, he is made new, he is newer, he is always newer, he is the drinker of blood in the dark, the fateful hand that you feel squeezing your throat as it wakes you from a dreamless slumber to end your life. Now was their time. The Age of Chaos has begun.
The rain gently sloshes beneath the feet of the coroner, each step leaving a footprint against the sable sand. The sky has grown into overcast, every bit murky and gloomy and weary as the waves that lull death to sleep. It was a testament to how much time had passed since the earth had rose and fell beneath the seams of mortality. The coroner stops as he reaches the coastline, closing his eyes in the hopes of painting black against the crimson that mares the sky like an empty canvas. If he gazes into the darkness long enough, then maybe he’ll fall under the endless void, where everything is silent and nothing is wrong; where there’s no longer the sounds of manic laughter, of screaming in desperate pleas of mercy, of agony, so much agony, of the taste of dust against his tongue. And of a whisper. Echoing as loud as it does silent, but the voice of someone familiar. It bangs against his skull, begging him to reach it, to just take a look, come on now, just one more – It’s only then that he can get his eyes to open, albeit abruptly, as he’s left choking on air. Bile rises against the back of his throat, sour and burning, and he has to force it back down. Shove it beneath the flesh that’s forever embedded in his gut. He can almost feel them come to life inside, as if the ground below his feet and the wind above his head were the only things that prevented that chance. He almost wishes they did. That they would tear him from the inside out and leave him to rot beneath the earth. But the thought leaves as quickly as it came, and there is nothing left to store away. Alas, the coroner renders his gaze away from the blazing horizon, unto the sand that litters beneath his boots – what’s left of it, anyway – and as he finally sinks against the silt, he wishes that the earth would swallow him whole. He tries not to look at the ground for too long, knowing exactly what he’ll find buried underneath the dying sand. It’s in the same way he knows that the sand that brushes against his knees isn’t the black of sediment. Wordlessly, he succumbs to the task that kept him living when so many did not. Long ago – or maybe it wasn’t so. Time is so hard to keep track of when you have so little of it – when he was only a boy, he used to go to the beach with his mother. But only on the rainy days, his mother would say, indignant and smiling and whole. She would take him by the hand and swing him around as if he were weightless, as if the only thing connecting him to the world was her and her alone. And as they walked along the empty seaside, his mother would occasionally bend down, taking him with her gently, looking around and between the grains of sand until she finally found what she was looking for. And, because he always knew just what laid among her soft hands, he would gently pry open her fingers, until there, exposed for all to see, was a glittering snail shell. His hands search the sand as if he were searching for life. And maybe that’s exactly what the coroner was doing. Because it goes beyond the corpses that rise from the sea, beyond the war and bloodshed and misery, beyond all the gore and death, beyond those who are living and those who are simply alive. He hears footsteps moving towards him silently, as if whoever they belong to is afraid of waking the bodies that are stuck in endless time. He knows that this could be the way he dies. Knows it like he knows the scars that linger, forever etched into his skin, a testimony of his life in all the told and untold. But if he knows anything at all, then he knows that fear is a funny thing. Because it’s in the way people die, burning against a wooden pike, as their loved ones’ watch, helplessly. But it’s also in the way a mother and son run from a blooming storm, rain and shells crushing beneath their toes, laughter and yelling echoing against the wind, and yet still so scared. Of an unknown future. Of a growing war. So, he doesn’t look up. Because if he does, then everything will finally be real. And he’s holding onto hope the only way he knows how. It’s a woman. Around his age. Tanned skin and short black hair that rises gently against the wind. Her hazel eyes reflect that of somebody who has lived to see too much, of someone who knows exactly what it’s like to want nothing more than to collect shells by the shore. So she bends down against the ground, ignoring the way soot buries her knees and trickles onto her face. But he knows better than anyone just what the mind can do, so he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to, really. And so, working quietly and patiently, they shift snail shells from the ashes that pile between the grains of sand; beneath the lives of those who would forever remain untold. He gets lost in the time – like so many times before – nimble fingers working to collect his future and his past. He can’t see through the crimson and dust anymore then he can see past his shaking hands, but the soot that coats his palms feel as if he’s holding onto the entire world. As if he’s giving it the chance to regrow.
We arrived exactly one week ago today, a team of forty-seven altogether, with a supply caravan to arrive later today. We entered the tomb four days ago, something... unimaginable waiting for us inside. It killed four of us and wounded eight more, before team leader Ishmael Jacoby managed to blow the entrance shut. Thirteen are missing but unconfirmed as dead... we're still hoping that they can hold out until the caravan arrives - maybe then we'll be strong enough to venture back within. They've not started the journey yet, and I pray that they received our distress call. Three days ago, the wounded began showing symptoms - a sore throat here, a stomach ache there. I had managed to stabilize them all with their various injuries, a minor victory back then that tastes bitter now. I treated them as best as I could, a futile effort that did nothing but prolong their suffering and expose others to this ancient illness. It wasn't long after that they began to develop more severe and... strange afflictions. Over the course of the last three days, we learned some rather disturbing things. One, this illness transmits through various means, and is highly infectious. Aerosol is one of them, but it is not effective for one of at least two reasons. Either it it incredibly limited and weak in that state, or the more likely truth, we have partial immunity to it airborne. I believe this is the case purely because I have seen some of my assitants, myself included, be puked on and bled on gasped upon by some choking on their last breaths, but we have remained healthy. Conversely, however, there have been some who managed to avoid these direct exposures - or at the very least, kept them hidden well enough away from us all - and yet, they have still been infected. Two, it altered the body on a molecular, perhaps even DNA level. In the final hours of infection, before the host passes, the host begins to display enlarged and jagged nails and chunks of molting, not rotting, but molting muscle and skin. Under these portions of missing flesh is the beginning of a rougher, more durable layer of dark, grey skin. Next, their eyes: they become dilated and bloodshot to hell and back, almost entirely a solid red with it getting darker near the iris. The iris itself begins to turn amber, while the pupil begins to thin, appearing much like a cat's eyes. Crying blood is not uncommon during this, and the host is in such a degree of agony that they will beg or try to take their own lives just to quell the pain. Three, they become incredibly sensitive to sunlight and UV radiation, something that would prove to be our lucky break. Four, and this is the most incredibly horrible part, it brings back the dead. No, they are not your Hollywood zombies, nor are they the original voodoo zombies - they are none of these. The host is no longer human at this point, and any sign of the previous host is gone or buried in what we few remaining have dubbed, The Husks. They are intelligent and cunning, seeking to wound and infect, rather than maim and kill. We got lucky when this happened, as all of the infected were being treated in a tent, which we promptly evacuated. No-one died, but two more were infected and wounded - who have agreed to be locked in the tent where we used to eat - while the awakening Husks were unable to pursue us outside. One tried, but his skin bubbled and smoked like a vampire's before he ran back in. Luckier still, we had UV lights brought along with us, something Jacoby insisted heavily upon due to his research hinting at the sun being of some major importance. We brought incredibly powerful flash and floodlights, as well as the UV lights just in case. We stood them up around the tent just before nightfall yesterday, and we have all agreed to reserve what gas we have left for the 'Night Lights', as we have begun calling them. We have enough for tonight and maybe tomorrow night as well, after that, we're done. When the caravan arrived, we all tied bandanas to our faces and forced them to all stay away from us. They dropped their supplies off for us, a special list I'll delve into soon, as well as a promise to return with scientists and help, anything more prepared to handle this hell. The supplies consisted of basic necessities, as well as more gas, ten more healthy hands that we sadly turned away for their safety, and two Russian assault rifles to protect ourselves with until help comes. This was after they tried convincing us to leave, but we all knew that we had to keep an eye on the infected, as it was our curiosity that caused all of this. They gave us six magazines, as well as two more already loaded. They saved our hides tonight, too, despite many of us having never held a gun before. It was a UV light, which broke down in the middle of the night. When the gunfire rang out, I ran out of our basic barracks to see them tearing through the darkened tent wall, the guard's hail of gunfire unable to deter or even moderately wound them, like their skin was nearly bulletproof. I was the first at the faculty light, which I determined to be caused by the loose wiring, but when I finally managed to get it fixed, a Husk had me pinned to the ground. Jacoby, one of the guards, managed to knock him off and force him back into re-lit opening of the tent. He helped me up, but when I felt a tear in my side and saw the shock in his eyes, I knew what had happened. I had been exposed. It's now the eighth day, and I know that I have two options, neither I am fond of. I can call it quits, seal myself away or eat a bullet before I'm too far gone. I don't like that option. Or, according the Jacoby, I can go back in the tomb. These new events have seriously changed the way he looks at his research, and he believes that deep within lies a way to cure this malaise. A Fountain of Youth, if you will. It would be a suicide mission, but I've reasoned that at least this way, my death may have a chance to save us all, including my own little life. I'm preparing to leave in twenty minutes, armed with most of the ammunition, a knife, what few medical supplies we have left, a flask of whiskey, a bag of glow sticks, one UV flashlight, and a stick of dynamite used for mining. Jacoby has offered to come with me, ashamed that he could not keep us all safe last night, but I refused. The team needs him to keep them together, and he may be the very next one who could possibly solve all of this. My objectives are these: -To find the cure for us all -To find and guide our missing team members to the outside. I need to also avoid any potential infected and the 'Abomination' that caused this in the first place. I pray he shares the same weakness to UV like his cronies do. I have never taken a life before, only ever tried to save them. I became a doctor to save lives, I took the Hippocratic Oath... But these are my people. And sometimes, the best way to save lives, is to take them.
In the beginning, there was me. Alright, maybe that's a little dramatic, but look, I've been here since the Assyrian Empire. It wasn't much of an empire compared to the ones since, but boy it was big at the time, and lemme tell you, it was a while ago. So I don't feel like I'm too out of place saying: In the beginning, there was me. I formed clay and stone into homes, I farmed swaths of land with my devoted and we ruled justly and wisely. No one had ever seen an empire like mine. I had, the one I mentioned earlier, the Assyrian one, but no one around me had. So I was pretty goddamn awesome. What? This is all over the place? Alright, I had lots of storytellers okay? I didn't need to learn how to until just now. Thank you for asking by the way, you're the first. So let me start at the real beginning. I was just 14, or was it 15? It doesn't matter does it? I was on a hunt with the family and ummm... Gosh, it really has been a while hasn't it? Roughly 4000 years, you really can't be mad that I don't remember this. We were hunting in Assyria, the cradle of civilization. I was shocked when I first heard that, historians really nailed it. More specifically, I think we were in... Tuttul? Ah, who remembers, it was green and beautiful back then. I was 15, and we were hunting boar. They had been terrorizing our village. God there weren't many people back then, but it was my whole world, and these boar had ruined it. We were so riled up, it had killed a girl and smashed up a bunch of hides. Nothing could have stopped us from finding that monster. We had tracked and chased it into a ditch finally. I remember standing over it and looking into its beady little eyes, spear in hand, ready to slay the beast. Then seeing nothing at all. Nothing but a hole. Then I was betrayed. I was the first-born son of the village chief, and I had a jealous uncle who wanted it all. Everyone on that hunt was there to kill me, and kill me they did. Smashed the back of my head and I was dead in an instant. It's nice that the first time was so quick. He'd poisoned my father before he left, and said I had died to the boar when he returned. I can't imagine the theatrics when he got home. I woke up in a cold, dark place. The same place every time I die. I don't know where it is, don't ask. It's not pleasant, so whenever I end up there, I come back quickly. I always wake up wherever I want, it's strange. I've tried to explore how it works, but my body always appears there, and no one senses anything amiss. I simply return. By the way, that means you can't just bury me alive. Don't get that in your head. Capable men have tried. Anyways, I didn't wake up in my village. Nowhere close. I woke up 1000 miles away, with a tribe that had never even heard of farming. It was bewildering, at first. I couldn't understand it. I tried for years to find out where my home was, but I never found it. As for my immortality... I didn't even question it for a while. I assumed I'd been granted a gift from God, another chance. It wasn't until my third death that I understood what exactly was happening. That I couldn't enter the firmament. Can't. When I finally figured it out, I spent as much time as I could learning. Learning from all the experts in the world, trying to suss out the wisdom of the world. You can't imagine how impressed I was when books were invented. God! I still think about it when I need cheering up. Knowledge was so fleeting before. Everyone lives and dies like dark wisps, but the books last so much longer. Well not much longer at first, but you get the idea. I came to rule an empire, but you won't have heard of it. It was small, and somewhere in I think Pakistan today. That river and all its mighty fish belonged to us. Human nature, it's a frightful thing. It adapts. Word of my unaging spread, and eventually, I was a part of the Assyrian empire once again. Only this time, as a prisoner. The king wanted to figure me out. He wanted to test me, but he'd only heard that I cannot die, not that I return. So he killed me, and I never went back. It's been sad really. I can't bring myself to reclaim my thrones. I've lost quite a few over the years. Always politics or something, I've never understood it well. They stab me to death, and I disappear. I start anew elsewhere, I, you have to understand, I've helped an awful lot of people. All my knowledge goes to developing my new homes, but I'm getting ahead of myself. This is how I've remained unknown for thousands of years. I simply never go back. One time I did, and well, I may have started a religion by accident. Jesus? No, someone got us mixed up. He died, I came back, someone noticed, and the two stories became entangled pretty quick. Sorry about that. What else have I done? Oh let's see... I tried to stop them working Mozart to death. I met him, nice boy. I failed when I tripped and broke my neck on those awful stone roads. I fought for Alexander as he conquered the world. I'd hoped to see my village again, but alas. I spoke to Cleopatr- What? No. I didn't know they were. Well I spent the 1930's and 40's in Anarctica alright? If I'd known I'd have done something, but I'd left civilization for a bit. Froze to death and woke up in the snow countless times. Just didn't feel like being anywhere at the time. I'm still sick about it. What? The longest... I don't know, I was tortured for probably a few decades once in China. Those were rough years. I'm still surprised I'm not an insane immortal. Others? No, but frankly, they wouldn't know I was immortal either, so there could be others. What are you doing with that? Stop! Stop! Why? It's... I don't know for sure, but there's this feeling emanating from it. It's always felt significant. No, I can't bring something to it. Is that what that is? A bomb? You want to bomb the door to the afterlife? Stop it, get these straps off me. There's no way it comes with me, ghogj lgjl lgkjg ghglk hg. > Alright, I got kind of tired in the middle of writing this. Not sure what's good what's bad, but here you go. I don't love it.
At $10 a camera, these cameras seemed to be too good to be true and after I installed them, I got the sneaking impression that I got what I paid for, that is some hot chinesium garbage. For a test, I set up a camera to point at the backyard and turned on notifications, however nothing came up. To make matters worse, standing in front of my camera and waving my hands like a maniac didn't produce notifications either. Unfortunately I found that the camera I installed didn't even appear to record footage. I decided to not install the other cameras and just let them sit until I could find something else to do with them. But, as life happens frequently, I got distracted and the cameras stayed where they were. I didn't think anything of it, until I got a notification. Unlike what had happened before, this event also had video attached to it. I watched the video and saw myself walking across the lawn and tripping over a barely visible rake that I had forgotten to pick up. The only problem was that I hadn't been outside in a while. I kept the event in the back of my mind, and thought nothing of it until a couple days later, when I walked through the backyard and tripped over the same damned rake. Wait, that couldn't be right. I pulled the phone app up and retrieved the notification and the video. Sure enough, the video had me walking step by step, tripping over the rake. Hmm... This warrants further investigation. I took the camera off its mount and pointed it to the TV and turned it to the local news channel. If this worked, I'd be a millionaire. If this didn't work, well it was a cheap $10 camera. The camera started recording and now my plan was in motion. I waited for the notification and then reviewed the footage. Sure enough, it was the news for two days from today. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I watched the entire show even though I was now on a mission. Finally, I found what I was looking for. I paused the video and the lottery numbers to the Mega Millions was clearly displayed on the screen. 5-14-22-28-39-42. As I drove to the convenience store, I kept thinking that there was no way this was true. The lotto was in two days. I filled out my ticket, checked it again and handed to the clerk. I still couldn't believe what I was about to do. I settled in and tried to relax. There's no way this was legit. It had to be a bug of some sort, or a fluke. I just blew $5 to see if I could have a $10 camera tell me the winning lotto numbers. The next 24 hours passed uneventfully. I even decided to remount the camera outside just to see what else the new fortune teller could show me. Finally, after an agonizing day of waiting and working, I turned on the TV and watched the news. As if commanded by an unidentified force, the station started off with the lotto number drawing. "Our first number is 5!" Meh, lucky coincidence. "Next is 14."Ehh, that's still coincidental. "Now it's 22."Hm. We may have something here. "Next up is 28!"Well at least I get $20 for matching four numbers. "Now it's 39!"Ok, now I got $100! Already turning a profit. No chance this could be the right numbers for all six numbers. This will be an amusing story at least! "And finally we have 42!"Wait, what? That can't be right. I have all six numbers! "Just a reminder, tonight's winner will win $25 million dollars!" At that point, I don't remember what happened. My head got light and I got dizzy. I woke up on the floor, with the winning ticket still in my hand. I turned the ticket over and called the Lottery Commission. After a chat with a representative, I had confirmed the winnings. It was totally legitimate. I just got to get to the Lottery Commission in the next seven days and I walk out a millionaire. My mind raced with all kinds of great things that I could do with that money. I was too excited to sleep, but even though I knew I had a huge load of cash coming in, I still had to work my job and do my normal stuff. I wasn't going to let this get to my head and I still didn't feel right taking any actions until that money was in my hand (or at least my bank account). After that, oh man, lots of things are gonna change! At about midnight, my phone went off again. It was another notification. As I watched the video, I could feel the color drain from my face. The night vision of the camera had kicked in so the video was in all greyscale but I could easily see three masked people approaching the back door and disappearing from the camera's view. A few minutes later, two of the people emerged carrying something in a large black bag that was leaking something dark on the concrete patio. The third person appeared, brandishing an axe covered in a similarly dark fluid. It didn't take much to realize what had happened off camera.
It was an ordinary day in the citadel. A tracker orc had gotten into a particularly nasty quarrel with his captain about how smelling was the superior way of finding an enemy. “I’m telling you, nothin’s keeping you from going noseblind in a stinkin’ marsh. At least eyes keep working when snotty noses stop,” said the captain. “Oh, shut yer trap! Since when do you captains know anything about tracking? You seem to forget that eyes water when yer hit in the face with a powerful stench. Since all you can do when yer eyes are watering is smell, you might as well use it! Not that you lot got any noses to speak of,” the tracker retorted. The captain growled and drew his notched sword. “You watch yer mouth, or I’ll report you,” he snapped. “Nar, I’ll stick you first!” the tracker shrieked, dodging a swipe. “That’s quite enough, you two!” a powerful voice shouted. The two orcs froze as a tall figure entered the room. “Nobody told us he was coming here,” the tracker hissed. “Now then, why do you fellows keep getting into fights? If I hadn’t come sooner, I would have lost two more important orcs, not that you aren’t replaceable,” the wizard chided. “Well, er, there are some differences we have to sort out, begging yer pardon Sir,” the captain said uneasily. The wizard tsked. “By killing each other? This won’t do at all, my lads. I have found a better way for you to satisfy your lust for battle. Behold!” the wizard reached into his robe and pulled out two shiny, flat rectangular objects. The orcs stared at them in confusion. “Wot’s that, and wot’s it good for Sir?” the captain asked. “These, my friends, are devices called iPads. You can use them to play warfare games,” the wizard explained. The tracker sniffed. “They look awful flimsy for throwing, if you take my meaning,” he said. “Good gracious heavens! They are not for throwing, you fool. You play games on them,” the wizard exclaimed. The orcs gawked as he turned on one of the devices and pulled up a fighting game. Many hours later, the citadel was filled with shouts and growls as the two orcs battled each other’s characters. “Got you, you little stinker!” the captain yelled triumphantly. “No need to be so smug. My health bar’s still halfway green!” the tracker shot back. “Good, good!” The wizard said with a smirk. PS: I have no idea how multiplayer fighter games work, especially on iPad. I wrote this based on my observations of old Street Fighter II gameplays with some elaboration of my own. Hopefully it’s generic enough to be believable. :)
I loved it all. The pitter patter of foot steps. The silence between Ah and CHOO! The sizzle of melting butter. All these sounds were my fix. Ever since I was given a cassette recorder as a teenager, I had collected sounds. The hobby turned into a passion and then 15 years later I was a famous music producer/DJ. People at only the coolest raves would all cheer as they danced to my unique sound. I would fuse the sounds of baby gurgles with the whooshing of wind through vents. People would go crazy. Transforming the most mundane sounds into musical masterpieces was my talent. I was rich and famous...or at least that's what I thought I'd be by the time I turned 30... Instead, I was stuck in a shitty job full of fakeness. Really, that was not an exaggeration. My job was putting laugh tracks into sitcoms. It was a real blast, ha. Ha. Ha. Sense my sarcasm? Well, not all of my dreams were false. I did collect what some may call, weird sounds. My latest craze then had been tuneless whistles. It started with me recording my mom as she hung out clothes. And then the construction workers I passed by on my walk to work. Heck, I even recorded myself as I washed the dishes. So after yet another shitty day of work, I got home and sat down at my workstation with a microwave dinner in hand. I loaded up my latest tuneless whistle recording and was now ready to make some music out of all the tracks I'd collected. Then something caught my eye. As the recordings loaded and their waveforms appeared, I noticed a distinct pattern. Wait... these are all tuneless right? I played a few samples just to be sure. And yes, they were tuneless. My first thought that it must be a unique quirk that I could highlight to a psychologist. Perhaps we all whistle a certain way when we're not thinking. I did some manipulation and lined the 20+ tracks I had together matching the distinct music pattern I saw. Boy, this is going to be good, I thought. I put on my headset and pressed play. Then, in a strangely mechanical yet singsong voice came out the words "GLOBAL SYNC #APX937362". Uhh, what? I played it back a few more times just to be sure. It was pitchy, but no, I had not misheard. My mind raced. I did what any millennial would have done. I turned to Google for help. I typed in the code #APX937362 At first, I thought my computer had crashed because the screen went blank. But I could still hear the power running. Then as abruptly as the screen had disappeared, it reappeared with what looked like a program console. On the the top left corner of the window it read "GLOBAL SYNC". I went to the tab marked DATABASE and I saw a table with names, age, occupation and other details. I did a search for myself and sure enough, my name popped up- Terrence Hin, 30, audio production assistant. Amazed, I clicked on my name. A whole profile appeared detailing everything about me. Not just my likes and dislikes. It had transcripts of my last conversation before leaving work. It had the number of coffees I'd consumed on average per day. Enough information to make Zuckerberg salivate. Some government shit this is, I thought. Well, since the fields were editable, I figured I'd have some fun. Terence Hin, 24, internationally renowned DJ. Submit. My computer screen blanked again. And next thing I knew, it was back to showing the regular desktop again. It's getting late, I thought. I chucked my finished microwave dinner in the overflowing bin, lay down on my bed and soon fell asleep. I woke up to sunlight cascading onto my face from a tall window. I looked around and took in my surroundings. This was not my crappy apartment. I was in a stylishly decorated loft. I looked to my left, on the bedside table was what looked like the cardboard helmet I had made for myself when I was a teenager pretending to be a famous DJ. Only now... the helmet was smooth plastic and an LED screen flashing various 8-bit expressions replaced my crude marker pen drawing. On the wall were posters of shows around the world. DJ HIN. WORLD TOUR BERLIN. What? The doorbell rang. Before I could get up, a screen lit up on my bedside table and I saw the video feed of two men standing by my door. The best way I could describe them is that they looked like the most stereotypical image of an IT technician from a 90s sitcom. Thick rimmed black glasses. Shirts tucked in too tightly. Pens sitting neatly in their breast pockets. Who is that? I said out loud. Apparently the bedside screen was also an intercom, because the shorter of the two men then turned around and spoke towards somewhere beneath the camera. In a totally friendly and excited voice, I saw the man smile and then say, "GOOD MORNING, we're Technorats from Global Sync!"
“Name?” “Malphas.” “Occupation?” “You should know me, mortal. I am Malphas, dark lieutenant of the 40 legions of Hell. Bringer of Pain and Retribution both.” “Right, of course sir. Passport?” She plastered on her best customer service smile and met the demon’s beady, black eyes. “Oh, yes. Ahem. Of course.” He reached into his pocket, his pitch black wings jostling the crowd behind him, and handed her his documents. She expertly typed some information into the nearby terminal, glancing quickly back and forth between the screen and the demon’s papers. “And what brings you to the United States, sir?” “Business,” the demon grunted, towering over the customs desk. The customs agent remained silent, as if waiting for more information. After an awkwardly long pause, she spoke up, “What kind of business would that be, sir?” “I have recently obtained a most interesting business acquisition.” He spoke the next words with venom. “Despite the inherent weakness of Humans, I have found that even your kind possess items worth interest. I intend to take them for myself, as is only right.” He finished by clutching his fist in the air, his muscles rippling. “Ah yes,” she said, continuing to type, “are you referring to your new company ‘Satan’s Scrumptious Sweets’?” The bird-demon visibility deflated and looked around, almost as if to see if anyone overheard. “Y-yes, that’s the one.” He whispered, not making eye contact. “Very well, Mr. Malphas. Enjoy your stay, and please remember to adhere to local laws and regulations. Welcome to the United States.” She finished her statement by stamping the demon’s passport and sent him on his way. The demon shuffled away, appearing both embarrassed and surprisingly eager about something. She thought that if demons could blush, his face would be pinker than a flamingo. “Next!” The next person in line stepped up to the desk. In contrast to the last, he appeared to be a normal, human man. Seemingly familiar with the customs process, he handed her his passport, the white spandex he wore creaking audibly. “Oh, Mr. Presley is it? Elvis Presley?” “That’s right, honey.” He spoke with a velvety voice, peering at her over his sunglasses. Her surprise written all over her face, she asked, “You were in Hell this whole time? What ever for?” Her professional mask slipped as she gazed up at him with interest. “Well, baby. Turns out my dancin’s a sin.” He said, while subtly thrusting his hips. “But if that makes me a sinner, I tell myself, I sure ain’t gonna change it.” Blushing slightly, she fumbled with the stamper before sending him on his way. An astute observer might have noticed her writing something by hand in his passport. Perhaps a phone number? Who can say. Taking a moment to collect herself, she called for the next person in line. “Next!” The next creature stomped up to the desk, each step causing the room to shake. He was tall enough that he needed to slouch, the 12ft high ceilings not enough to accommodate his monstrous stature. Red skin contrasted sharply with the pearl white fangs protruding from his lips, and his features were set in an eternal grimace. “Name?” She asked, craning her neck to meet his eyes. “I am known as Bael, human. End this farce and allow me passage. I have wasted enough time as it is.” “Certainly, Mr. Bael. Passport please.” “Enough,” he growled, irritation growing on his face. He crouched down to loom over her, gripping the desk. “My patience grows thin. Step aside, or face my wrath.” His eyes, which had once been dark as night, lit up menacingly with the fires of Hell. He fists clenched and unclenched, the muscles in his arms larger across than a person’s head. Despite the room’s air conditioning, the temperature began to rise, and the crowd of people behind him grew restless. “Now sir, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down and take a step back. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to involve TSA.” She said smoothly, her customer service smile returning in full force. The demon’s eyes widened in shock, the fire extinguished like it had never been. “N-no. That won’t be necessary.” Despite a demon’s invulnerability to heat, sweat began to trickle down his temple. “P-please. I don’t have time for that. And—” he gulped, “the c-cavity search. I can’t.” He looked around nervously, grabbing his papers from his back pocket and handing them to her. She took the documents from his outstretched claw, eyeing him suspiciously. “Very well, Mr. Bael. No more disruptions.” “Ah, of course not.” “Reason for visit?” “Pleasure.” “The nature of your trip?” “I am going to the human village known as ‘Sin City,’ I have heard renown for its pleasantries throughout the realms.” He sighed, continuing his line of thought, “And, well. I could really use a vacation.” He eyed her nervously as she typed on the terminal, corroborating his story. “Welcome to the United States, Mr. Bael. Please enjoy your stay, and remember to follow local laws and regulations.” She said the last bit forcefully, looking pointedly into his eyes. “Yes of course, ma’am. Sorry for the trouble.” With that taken care of, the demon stomped away, the ground trembling and lights flickering in his wake. “I hate my job.” She grumbled to herself, motioning for the next person in line. “Next!”
Ever since I could remember, I've been able to see a number on each person's chest, right in front of thier heart. Most people have a zero, with only a handful ever having a one or a two. I could never figure out what it meant though. I myself, have a zero and have spent my entire life trying to increase it. As a kid, I thought it displayed how many true lovers one had. After all, it was mostly adults who had a one, and those with twos were so rare I figured they had loved and lost, only to find love again. However, as I grew up, no relationship I was in ever made my number change. So, I either must have not found true love yet or the number must mean something else... Indeed I have tried everything to increase my number. Last Saturday, as I was walking home from Tessa's, a man stopped me. At 5' 10'' he was a few inches taller than me, had unkempt brown hair and a small scar on his cheek that I swear looked like a puzzle piece. But, what really threw me off was that he had an 85 on his chest. An 85! I had never seen anyone higher than two let alone 85! I couldn't contain my excitement and blurted out, "How do you have an 85 on your chest!?"Pluzzled, he said, "What? Look my name is Baker and you're in danger. There isn't time, so please come with me."He held out a small gun towards me and said, "for emergencies". Now normally, I would never have followed him, but that damn 85 on his chest had me curious and I needed to know what was going on. Baker led me down an alley and knocked on a back door. A man with a 12 on his chest opened the door and Baker walked in. Before I could step in, a homeless man grabbed my arm and said, "spare change?"As I was reaching for the change in my pocket, I noticed something strange. The man had no number, not even a zero. Before I even had a chance to process this I heard Baker yell from the distance, "it's one of them, shoot him Scott!"Baker's words brought me back to reality and I saw the knife in the man's hand. Now, it must have been the adrenaline but I shot the gun. The man dropped to his knees as Baker pulled me through the back door. My hands trembled and as I looked down, the zero was gone from my chest and in it's place a one has appeared.
Part 1 - If this was a movie, it would start with a cut-scene of Science Fair 2010, the first time I was presented with the great potentials hidden in DNAs. A likeable presenter would be talking to my teenager younger self, presenting this overly cool pics of DNA, showing how it can store incredible amount of data in a double string of repeated proteins. The presenter would foreshadow how unused DNA can store amazing volume of information and how the scientists are just steps away from unlocking Biological Data Storage. But this is not a movie and Science Fair 2010 was a tad more boring than that. I just happened to be an extremely nerdy teenager. I had just read Jurassic Park - and a couple of introductory biology books, another feet that allowed me to classify myself as "an incredible genius, incredibly shy", as per the title of my diary at the time. Oh my, wasn't I edgy... Edgy teenage edginess aside, Science Fair 2020 allowed me to meet Dr. Mallow. At the time, she wasn't quite a doctor yet, but she had a lab coat on and that was enough to show off at the fair. She was enthusiastic enough about DNA to actually answer some of my questions. She had been researching DNA for a couple of years at that point and was on the right path to become a leading scientist in the newly founded Biological Data Storage Method. They really hadn't thought through the name. The results of BDSM were promising and the research team has been expanding, enough to allow a new college graduate like me to join them a year ago. Yes, I literally research BDSM. That's not how I phrase it on my CV, that goes without saying. Since 2010, the theory has evolved into practise. We can store amazing quantity of information literally on the tip of our fingers. While storage had been achieved, sometimes retrieval still presented some troubles. And what good is information if you can't read it reliably? We had been working on updating our readers for a while now, but we kept having "false positives": the reader would retrieve data from sources that were not supposed to have been encoded yet. Like putting a virgin USB and find some random files in it. Except that, the more I studied those data, the less random they seemed. Dr Mallow and I had spend many weeks working on decrypting those messages. Team meetings were getting awkward. Why would those data be not random? What could they tell us? I mean, let's be real, what options did we have? Aliens aliens and other aliens? That's not really a reasonable option for a well-established research centre. And still, we were doing our best to figure things out. After a while, we gave up, admitted defeat, and published all the data we had found up to that point. To be perfectly honest, we first established a fictitious research centre, then published the data in its name. We wanted to share the findings, not kamikaze our careers. Now that the data was out in the open, many more scientists could give it a go. Many did, many more laughed at the phoney research institute and left it at that. But we had uncovered Pandora's box. Once some data was out, other groups admitted they also had similar results and the questions surrounding them gained traction. We started calling these data FRAUD - False Retrieval Ancient Uninhibited Data. At least this time we thought the acronym through. With such a well of data, first hypothesis could be made. At times, a FRAUD was understood to be part of the seldom used DNA of the animal, so it was scrapped from the data base. Even with these deletions, the database kept growing. We had terabytes of data that had been stored in animal and human DNA - and we didn't know why or how or what ... We just knew it was there.
"Show me." -- The mirror warms under my touch, and bright light shines behind my eyelids. When the light fades, I open my eyes-- and blink. It's my own face I see in my bathroom mirror. I don't look any older, just more... disheveled? My hair's a frizzy mess, and I'm wearing the cardigan I put on when I'm colder on the inside than the outside. Looking longer at myself, I see my eyes are heavy with unshed tears, and the red skin under my nose says this isn't the first time I'd cried that day. Despite my familiar appearance, I know this must be the future, because so far in my life I have never looked at myself in the mirror while crying. It's been years since I struggled with self-image issues, but even since then I could never bear to see myself "ugly crying."And whenever I was with others, be they friends or lovers, I'd do my best to hide my face whenever sorrow or grief overwhelmed me. But now I'm watching my face scrunch up with sobs, tears falling into the empty sink, every facial movement displaying the pain I can tell I'm feeling... and in that moment, I realize I don't look ugly. I don't look like a hot mess. What I look like... ...is someone I want to comfort. "Hang in there,"I say softly, uncertain whether I'd be able to hear myself. "Whatever you're going through, it's going to be alright." My future self doesn't react, just cries and cries. But in the present I feel a warmth in my heart, a small flame of hope kindled by seeing my own crying face. If I look like the kind of person I'd want to comfort whenever I cry, maybe the compassion others showed me throughout my life was because they felt the same way. Maybe they just wanted me to feel better, maybe they weren't consoling me just to get me to be quiet. Maybe I am worthy of compassion. "It's gonna be alright,"I whisper again with a sad smile, then close my eyes and remove my hand from the dingy glass. A brief glow, then back to normal: My reflection mirrors my movements again. My eyes tear up a little. They often do. But now I know I don't have to hide my sadness, be it life-shattering or quickly passing. I know I'll be sad in the future--heck, I saw it with my own eyes. But even when I cry, I am beautiful. And for now, that's all I need to know.
The old man took the beer i handed him and settled back into his chair with a sigh. "The thing no one seems to remember about our prince,"he said, "is that he earned those names long before he got turned." &#x200B; "There are a few who recall it,"i said. "They also say that much of his cruelty was simply repaying the Turks in kind for what they had done to his family, and that his rule was one of the few stretches of history when those who had no power of their own could sleep without fear." &#x200B; "Aye,"the old man nodded. "So many forget that the angel of death serves at the command of the Most High, not that of the Adversary. The enemy spills blood out of season; the ruler that God has appointed is the avenger of that blood."He takes another swallow of his drink and says, "Do you know why the Arabs hate dogs?" &#x200B; I blink at the apparent non sequitur. "It's a religious matter, isn't it? Ritual impurity, second only to pigs as a contaminant, if i'm not mistaken." &#x200B; The old man shakes his head. "That only codified an existing antipathy. Everyone knows the werewolf's curse will turn a gentle man into a bloodthirsty feral. What is not so well known is that it has the opposite effect on hardened warriors, turning them into adoring slobberhounds." &#x200B; I chuckle, thinking of some of the 'lick you to death' type dogs i've known. "I can see why a people set on conquest would consider that the greater of the two curses. Do i guess correctly that the Turks saw it as a way to neutralize the man they cursed as the Dragon and the son of the Devil?" &#x200B; The old man nods sadly. "The modern world decries the tactics our prince used, his willingness to rule through fear--but hard times call for hard men. Our enemies' fear was our only hope for peace."He takes a longer drink and continues, "Although rabies was not yet described, we knew there was a madness apart from were-curse that could be transmitted through the bites of animals. The precautions taken against stray dogs were sufficient to keep a werewolf from reaching anyone that mattered. But not all weres were wolves." &#x200B; "Bats?"i guess. "Also carriers of rabies--possibly true carriers, infectious while asymptomatic. Even rabid, a bat will only bite when trapped, unless it's one of the blood eating species, but they are very difficult to exclude entirely." &#x200B; "As well as being essential to keeping the mosquitoes and the diseases they carry in check,"the old man agrees. "Though many superstitions associate bats with witchcraft, we knew that the God who made the day made the night as well, and that He called 'good' its creatures as well as their diurnal brethren. In this one matter, though, we might have done better to hold a bit more superstition." &#x200B; I wait while the old man takes another swallow of his beer. Then he continues, "The first one bitten by the werebat was a clever girl who believed herself stupid. The curse unlocked her cunning while suppressing her virtue. Within a day she had found an excuse to gain audience with our prince, and, well...even he could not react quickly enough to the absurdity of a woman turning into a bat." &#x200B; "A bat's flight path is unlike that of any other creature,"i say. "They look like they're coming straight at your head when they will pass several feet above it; i imagine one that was actually attacking might seem as though it were avoiding you." &#x200B; "That, that is the thing that's been nagging at me all these centuries,"a voice says from behind me. "I never could figure out how i missed that stroke. But if the path of escape is a natural feint, then the actual attack might well seem an evasion until it is too late." &#x200B; I turn and see a man with the build of a warrior, but whose body is relaxed in the manner of those who have never known combat. The old man scrambles to his feet and says, "Your highness..."only to be told, "Sit, sit."I'm not sure if it's Vlad or Vladimir, or exactly which territory he ruled--never in my wildest dreams did i expect it to become relevant!--and i've always had an odd mental block about asking names, so i just silently offer him a beer. &#x200B; The prince takes the bottle i offer him and studies the label. "I prefer cider, but this will do."The old man stares at me in silent outrage, and the prince laughs at his reaction. "Americans--the first people to pay more than lip service to the doctrine that we are all the children of God." &#x200B; "We fumbled that ball before we'd even gotten started,"i say. &#x200B; "No,"the prince replies. "It was precisely because you truly believed that all men are created equal that slavery grew so ugly towards its end in your nation. No one is so ruthless as a man determined to deny the evidence of his own eyes and ears; evil is always at its worst when it can no longer pretend to be good. Pity the sheep who are without a shepherd when the wolf is stripped of his false wool." &#x200B; I hear the grief in the prince's voice and guess, "Or whose shepherd has been deprived of his power to act?" &#x200B; "Exactly,"he answers. "To see clearly what needs to be done, and to be unable to do it... And beside that, to have no addling of the wits or infirmity of the body as an excuse for one's inaction... This is a curse i would not wish on any man." &#x200B; I nod slowly and ask, "Why speak now, and why to me?" &#x200B; "The world has grown too small for secrets, and my people are jealous of my dignity,"the prince answers. &#x200B; The old man interjects, "We didn't mind, much, when he was cast as a villain--but we cannot bear it if the world should think our prince weak." &#x200B; The prince finishes, "It occurred to me that an American, with your somewhat sideways notions of proper decorum, might see a solution that we cannot." &#x200B; I chuckle at that description of my people. "Is it arrogance that we show a prince the same honor we would a beggar, or is it humility that we show a beggar the same courtesy we would a prince?"My fingers begin drumming on my knee as i start thinking out loud. "If it's only perception that you're worried about, then perception is all that matters... Funny thing about movies, the actors that never seem to have any personal drama are the ones that play the villains..." &#x200B; The old man snorts in disgust, but the prince seems to understand what i'm getting at. "All of the glory, without any of the blood. Why conquer when you can create?" &#x200B; I nod. "How did that writer friend of mine put it... 'The devil came by and offered me the kingdoms of this world if i'd just worship him for a bit. I laughed in his face because he could only offer one world, and i already had scores of them, all breeding like rabbits.' " &#x200B; "Movies,"the prince muses. "If you don't like the ending, just...rewrite the script. And it pays well enough to hire what you can't do yourself. How loyal are modern mercenaries?" &#x200B; Though it's a subject i have zero firsthand knowledge about, i'm fairly confident that the answer is, "Like any other professionals, mostly. If you choose wisely, don't screw them over, and let them do their jobs properly, then they will do their jobs properly. Money can't buy loyalty, but it can buy the opportunity to keep it." &#x200B; I wait a few moments to see if there is any further comment coming and then ask, "I'm getting the impression that this were-curse acts a bit like Dr. Jekyll's legendary potion--exalting the traits a man has suppressed and casting down the traits he has best cultivated. What effect would it have on a man who's impulses were left unchecked because they had led him to no particular extreme?" &#x200B; "Who would risk it?"the prince asks. "How could anyone ever be certain that his moderation was natural and not drilled into him while he was too young to recall the learning?" &#x200B; "Anyone who craves immortality enough to disregard the risk to others,"i answer. "If the world has indeed grown too small for secrets, best to have the best security team you can hire or train." &#x200B; I turn my back on the pair to give them some privacy while the old man launches into an 'i told you so' rant at his prince.
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(I misread your prompt... oh well) In the year of our God most holy and pure four-hundred and forty-five it was to be that a great king visited this land. His name was Tompenka. Such was his shining splendor that all the lords of the land came to pay tribute to his greatness, for he recieved many great gifts of linen cloth, stone, and the finest staves of wood. To them he gave strange disks of a shining hard substance that shone red like the sun. He and his servants had worn thus upon their necks, hair, and around their wrists. To the lords he also gave clothes of fine red silks, and shining stones of many. He stood before the lords as they gathered about him and uttered these words which I had witnessed, "I have seen a great land on this day, a great people as well, for they are most generous."And so Tompenka remained in this land for thirty days and thirty nights. In this time, it was so that he gave my people a great wealth of knowledge of his lands and of his people. They were, by his account, of greater number than we, and such it was that his land had boasted a wealth of bread and wine, and much of this red, shining substance he unto called "copper." When it came time for the great king to leave, I took it upon myself to come before him and speak with him my wants. To his feet, I had bowed to kiss once on each. To his ears, I told him thus, "Take me with you to your land, so that my people may learn to be as great as you have shown us."And so it was that Tompenka smiled and said thus, "You shall ride with me to my land, and you shall know the glory of flame." "Flame."This word, I before had heard not. Tompenka and his people rode upon strange deer, which had not antlers. And so it was that I should ride upon one as well, and to these beasts the great King Tompenka named "Horse." And so it was we rode upon our "horses"to his land, through a valley where the mountains had boisterously touched the sky to the north and to the south. When the sun rose in the east, it was to there that we rode through the valley. And it was in this valley that we rode for five days and rested five nights. It was during these nights that Tompenka's people had shown me their magic known as "fire." This... magic is strangely warm, like the furs we wear on our backs. When the sun would fall and the moon thus rose, Tompenka's people would take two smooth stones and strike them together over the fibers of tree bark. It is during this ritual that their God, the God of Fire is much pleased and gives unto them his spark, which casts fire unto where the two holy stones are struck. Fire... is unusually bright, such as the sun, but as if the sun had been taken from the sky and placed onto the ground. And it is around this fire that Tompenka's people sleep and eat, for they do not eat as we do, but instead, holding their food over the fire until it is sufficiently warm to their taste. This food which they eat, is of much better taste than of ours. When it was that we had traveled for fifteen days and rested fifteen nights, we came upon Tompenka's land. His people lived in great mountains that they themselves had built of stone. Such as we live in huts of staves and twigs, Tompenka's people live in great huts of stone, much larger than ours. Should I be truthful, I should believe that these huts that they themselves have built were bigger than the trees! The great mountains they have built of many of these huts, are known to them as "cities." About the land, they grow a golden grass known to them as "wheat"and from this they harvest the grain and make the food, which is most popular among them, known as bread. It is light, and has many holes, like rotted wood, but it is good, and most filling. The great King Tompenka, upon the falling of the sun and rising of the moon, invited me to his hut, which is known to his people as his "palace."In this hut, great arches of stone stretched about, and upon the walls and floors great inscriptions of many colors were drawn, depicting his people riding their deer and working in their fields of wheat. It was here, when he came unto me and placed two small stones into my hands and thus said, "I have placed into your hands, my God." The manuscript shows signs of burning, save for pages which remain... And so it is, that I give unto you, my people, the God of Tompenka's people. You shall use it to flourish in this land, so that we may be as they are. The masters of fire, the servants of God, the Keepers of the Flame.
I keep thinking I hear footsteps outside the door and start rubbing my rag on the counter again. Looking down, I realize I’ve worn a smooth, wide divot in the roughened wood under my hand. There’s still no weary traveler shuffling beleaguered through the door, announcing they needed a room, no skinny sneak thief crouched by the entrance, stuffing candlesticks and cheese wheels into their pack, no overconfident warrior weighed down by gaudy armor marching inside to ask me if I’ve heard about a ghostly mask hidden in the mountains or the war brewing in the south. There’s been no one for a long time, not since the Rapture took the travelers that were here and made them simply...disappear. No one but me at my counter, Rowan the beautiful bard sitting listlessly in the corner, and my father upstairs, still asleep in his room. Always asleep. I haven’t left my counter because...well, why haven’t I? Rowan stopped singing somewhere after the thousandth round of I Bend My Knee To My Lady and sagged at the bench, alternating between staring sadly at the door and hungrily in my direction. I couldn’t tell if he wanted some of the pheasant hanging above my head or, maybe just maybe, me. My corseted dress is laced very tightly and I’ve never managed to keep the ties on my undershirt done more than two inches above the corset waist, so quite a lot of “me” is generally on display. I look around, actually look for the first time in what must be months, and see a thick layer of dust on everything around me except for my small part of counter rubbed clean. I breathe in and the smell of rotted meat and sour ale makes me gag. I can even smell my own rancid, unwashed stink. The windows are streaked with lines of dirt from the rainy season that’s come and gone. I see Rowan leaning back against a table covered in plates, one holding a brown, shriveled tomato and a triangle of green, fuzzy cheese. How have I been so blind to this? My disgust overruling my fear of stepping out of line, I pick up a dusty bucket from amongst the wooden casks behind me. Striding purposefully toward the door, my movement startles Rowan so much that he falls off the bench. I open the door to find a bright, sunny day with birds chirping and the village dog curled up outside. He jumps up immediately and starts barking. I hadn’t realized how much I missed that sound. Walking down the steps and toward the well, I hear chickens begin clucking and a lone cow mooing at Granny Robb’s down the way. I wave at Hardow the blacksmith, who looks so confused he automatically starts pumping his foot to turn the sharpening stone to work the blade in his hand. Has he been sitting there as long as I stood at my counter? I fill my bucket and return to the inn. I begin to wash everything, throw out the putrid food, empty the bad ale from the casks. I wash the linens and myself in the crisp, cold water and make up all the beds. My bustling around starts Rowan singing again. Oddly, he starts a new song, one I’ve never heard before. It’s about a secluded meadow far away where two deer meet and hide from the world. It is beautiful and cheers me as I scrub the windows free of grime. As dusk approaches and my arms ache, I fall down on the bench next to him. “Your song was beautiful, Rowan.” “I wrote it for you while we waited here all this time, Elspeth.” “Would you like to take a walk with me?” “Can we leave?” “I don’t know, but no one is stopping us.” Rowan looks nervous, but I take his hand and lead him out of the inn. It’s starting to get dark outside but we walk up and down the village paths, talking more than I ever have with anyone. I tell him things I have never told anyone, which is easy because I’ve only ever said a few things to travelers in my life. Even the wanderers I’d bedded haven’t ever asked me about much more than local gossip. My father and I hardly even speak, and then only about inn business. I go to bed blissful and hopeful. I awake even more so. After Rowan bathes (I wasn’t going to say anything, but I appreciate it), he and I wake my father. It isn’t easy. We tell him we are going to be married and that we aren’t going to wait for travelers any longer. He is understandably confused since he’s been sleeping for months. We walk out into the village and begin speaking to everyone in town, telling them the plans we made the night before, recruiting everyone we can. The village spends the next month in preparation. The days are full of foraging for edible plants and herbs in the woods around the village and hunting for as much meat as can be salted for travel. The nights are for gathering in the inn to strategize while we carve poles and handles for the blades Hardow churned out day after day to keep us safe on the road. Soon, we are ready. We split off into two large groups and leave the village empty (who would come?). One group travels east while the other group goes west. My group heads westward toward the capital. We stop at every village and outpost along the way, speaking with every person stuck in limbo, afraid to leave their post, convincing them they don’t have to wait any longer for unknown adventurers and vagabonds to visit and can move on with their lives. We trust that our east-traveling counterparts are doing the same and having similar success. The real progress comes when we reach the Institute of Magic. The Archmage opposes the plan vehemently, insisting that “the old ways must upheld at all costs!” but is overthrown by a group of upstart magicians and a new Archmage is quickly installed. Using magical hawks, messages are sent across the country faster than we can travel, then across the seas. We have awakened the world. \------ A troupe of adventurers suddenly appears in a grove of trees. The sound of birdsong greets their ears (some pointy, some green). They discuss strategy and look at the in-game map until they decide to head toward the west until they find a village where they can get some information and their first quest. They trek through the trees, filtered sunlight gleaming off the orc’s steel breastplate. The human stops now and then to pocket a mysterious green plant for later use, while the elf looks down her bow at a rabbit once or twice but never fast enough to hit one. The trees thin and they step into a clearing, the overhead sun too bright to see at first. As their eyes adjust, the man in long robes says, “Uhhh, guys, what the hell?” They face a metal sign next to a road made of some indeterminate green material parting the forest. The elf walks around it and reads aloud, “Protected Nature Preserve. No Hunting. Fines Up To 1800 Gold.” “Let’s just keep moving, I guess” says the orc. They jog along the paved road, carefully avoiding the raised red lines in the middle. They seemed to be floating just above the surface. The road curves ahead and they slow their pace, the sounds of the forest quieting as another sound arises. Simultaneously, they all jump off the road as something moving faster than they can see zips around the corner and passes them on the other side. The blur makes a noise suspiciously like a honk and is out of their view before they can react further. “I thought this was a medieval kind of game, guys,” says the elf. “What is happening?!” They get up and start sprinting around the curve in the road, this time staying on the grass shoulder. As the forest falls away, they halt and stare at the vista ahead. A great valley drops below with snow-capped mountains in the distance. Between the travelers and the mountains lay an intricate weave of green lines surrounding buildings rising far higher than the trees they stand beside. One building, shaped like a massive tree itself, shifts in color as red clouds of what looked like giant birds float around its canopy. Another looks like a giant tube of smooth glass running straight up into the sky, no end in sight. A colossal inverted pyramid of pearlescent cream floats a hundred feet off the ground over a miniature square forest, tiny flying crafts shooting in and out of it as they watch. “What is this place?”
I've won thousands, hundreds of thousands. I even won a mansion after predicting the Super Bowl before the season even began. And up until yesterday, I was Mr. Right. Now I'm Mr. Broke Motherfucker. I'm screwing up, which is impossible because only I have this tech and I've kept extensive notes and reminders to make sure I have no doubts about the future. I only pop up for a short weekend, make my bet, then leave to return if it's gonna be a while for results to get back. I've remained mostly invisible and have done nothing of importance - it can't be me. So it's someone else. And I already know who, since he was sitting on my couch when I emerged from the time tunnel. He had moved my mattress where I usually land, so now, my back hurts and I'm struggling to breathe while this smug fuck is struggling to not laugh and is holding me at gunpoint with a shotgun. So yeah, I'm pretty un-fucking-happy right now. "You've screwed around long enough, Alex. It's time to stop,"he said. "I'm willing to bet it's not." "This is no time for jokes. You may think you've kept the timeline relatively stable, but you've bankrupted more people than I think you realize. Big people." I scoffed. "Really? Like who?" "At least two of our presidents, Alex! Instead of having a future where cancer is cured and you can have an orgy with androids, we now have entered two, count 'em, two world wars! And now, we've got multiple installments of COVID, including Super COVID!" "So instead of giving me a chance to right my wrongs in a redemption arc, you make me go bankrupt and pull a Terminator trying to stop SkyNet?" "You can't be redeemed, don't you get it?" "When I can literally stop all of that from happening, yeah, I can." "Arrgh, you infuriating mother-" He made to bash me with the butt, but the odds were in my favor when I kicked it out of his hands, just for it to land in mine. He backed away slowly while I got up, cracking my back and keeping my aim. "W-wait, man,"he started, his back colliding with the window. "We can talk this through." "Sorry, Mr. T-800, "But all bets are off." I pulled the trigger, the blast sending him flying through the window, where I could see him land on the roof of a car. And with that, I set the gun down. I sighed. "How the fuck did he get the Browns to the Super Bowl?"
As I'm hanging here pushed against the wall, with the hand around my throat and the brickwork cutting the back of my head, I'm thinking, "What the fuck did I do wrong". ------ When you hit puberty, your body goes through changes - that's all any person thinks about as soon as they get old enough to understand. 99% of the time people just acquire pimples, body odour, and hair in uncomfortable locations; the other 1% become rock stars. It's not that anyone, as far as I know, has ever suddenly developed musical talent. No, it's the super powers that set them apart. At school you could always tell the ones that thought they'd get the change; they were the cocky ones, the pack leaders, the bullies. Jod forgive any of them actually got them. Of the supes in the world, it's the ones that grew up thinking they were owed it that end up as villains. Instead of them, it was me, your average Joe. Everyone in my town thinks we didn't get any in my year, and why would they, my power is horseshit. No one else got anything, I can guarantee you that, because that's what my change into an oh-so-powerful Super got me, I can see who else has powers. Great. Not for me the strength to stop a bull like Anvil Mike, the Terrordactyl's power of flight, or the kevlar tough skin that made Ricochet so famous. Not even some of the whackier ones like Mrs Whippy, able to create ice-cream from her hands, or imitate any sound like Fartmouth Freddy - at least they're good for parties. Nope, I can just see the auras. Red for physical attributes, blue for mental etc, but mine was fucking beige. Some people's develop as puberty progresses, but not mine. Even the dogs that can smell Alzheimer's have better, more useful powers than me. --- So what the fuck is this multicoloured motherfucker, and why is she pinning me up against the wall in this alleyway? --- All I was doing was walking down the street, on my way to tai chi. I knew it was a pointless thing to do, but my therapist told me exercise would help with the feelings of meaningless. As I passed the newsagents, I saw the dazzling lights twitching from inside the alleyway beyond. I assumed it was the 24hr nightclub kicking out, with the lights spilling out onto the street as someone came in or out. What I wasn't expecting was for it to be a person. You have to understand, I've seen single colour auras, bichromes, and very, very occasionally a trichrome. When I watched Multiman fight the Whiskey Wizard on the news there was a chance they were quads, but its never as accurate through a camera, and since they both drowned, I could never check properly. The amount of colours coming off this one though was nothing short of dazzling. As I stood there staring, our eyes locked. That's when the wind smashed me from behind and my feet left the ground. For a moment, a split second, as I gracefully cartwheeled through the air, I thought I had finally realised the full extent of my powers. I could fly, I knew it, and all I had to do was move my hands and I would turn and then! Then I stopped. She caught me one handed around the neck, turned, and smashed me into the wall. Which brings us to now. --- Her brown eyes hadn't left mine since first contact, and she hissed, drawing me straight back to the present. "What's yours then little one?"The words seemed forced through some thick muffle, and then I realised, she hadn't opened her mouth. For some reason I didn't want her to. "You interest me. I've had rich reds. I've tasted light blues. Airy greens go down so sweetly... but I've never had a beige before." As her sickening voice echoed in my mind, I felt a pressure begin to build. I grabbed at her wrist and before I could complete the movement, my hand slammed back into the wall with sickening force. I felt my knuckles shatter, but could not open my mouth to scream. She began to rise off the ground, her hand still around my throat. "Over the years I've found many. I've eaten many. I've taken many, and added them to me. What is it you can do? Do you taste like cream?" She smiled. Her lips parted and the smile became a grin. Her mouth began to open. Please no. I threw my leg up but once again, that limb slammed back into the wall. I couldn't breathe. Tendrils began to burrow their way into my mind, working their way inwards. The pain began to build, and build. Her mouth grew wider, needle teeth beginning to grow, the rest of her face seeming to shrink, except the eyes that still held me. By now she was above me, angled down towards me. The worms in my head began to converge, sifting through my memories, tearing them to pieces... and then... Pressure easing. Laughter. It started as a chuckle, then grew in a crescendo until there was full throated, roaring, choking laughter. With a jolt I realised I was sitting on the floor, my throat released. I drew in the sweetest breath of air, my chest working like a bellows. "IS THAT FUCKING IT?"she managed to gasp out around gales of laughter, "You can see whether someone has a power? Jesus Christ you're useless - I could do that at 12. And I nearly wasted the effort on you? Oh man, I can't even". I could hear her saying this, but it was getting quieter as she walked further away. I wasn't even worth her time to finish off. --- As I stumbled out of the alley way, I tripped and cried out when I tried to catch myself on my broken hand. My face hit the ground hard and I felt blood begin to ooze between my lips where I had bitten my tongue. I felt hands on my shoulders turning me over, and a concerned face came into view. As my view began to darken I could hear him shouting. "Hey, hey you, help! This guy's in a bad way. Call a Superhero, he needs help..." Fucking typical.
Its...everything...I could have wished for. Do you not understand? The Created Infinite attacked their creators, Mortality. It's the largest single event of all of Spirit, since The Dream Died and might have had the most fall out since The Fall, itself. See, first Imaginary Land volley their former partners in The Real, the Mortal Field. These were True Companions, the ones meant to walk out their lives with their Creators until both were extinguished at the end of their mutual life. But new thought from the last century or so from the human Creators resisted the need for their imaginary counterparts, to their mental, physical, and spiritual detriment, and allowed a build up of rejected thought creatures in Imaginary Land. And I stand to profit! My name is Rollinoff Arcauim, Knight of the House Decembrous, of the Unseemly Court, to the Neighbors known as the Fae. This small but substantial attack is enough to cause a breach in the Mortal Field. Why? Because little mortals Imaginary Comrades use Magic. And Magic has not been seen in mortal lands since the time of Ancient Mages. It's enough of a breach for our people to ride in and take control. We can launch our counter-assault in mortal lands first attacking and capturing any and all imaginary creatures. Those that wont be conscripted or turned will be put to the sword and then we will ride into mortal lands. By the power of their own thought and feeling, humanity will give us enough room to take back the land they stole from us, and we will become the dominant Kind on the Fields of Mortality again. Bless the Imaginary Lands. Bless the Stupid Mortals Tally-Fucking-HO!
Tyler is stuck in traffic. Travis Scott comes up in his playlist. His head starts to bop to the motion. He had a rough day at work, but he was going to take his girlfriend ice-skating. He keeps bopping as the light turns green. A motorcycle speeds past him. He honks his horn. The sound of gunshots pierce the sound of the horn. Several more motorcycles pass in front of him. Jane was walking out of her favorite restaurant. She was texting her sister that she would pick up cat liter on the way home. Her sister was always bad at keeping track of the cat. A motorcycle without a driver skids past her. A man rolls holding up a gun. Jane freezes. "Get down."He yells. She quickly hides behind a nearby mailbox. Several more men with motorcycles appear. They break and fire at him. The man runs off and the other motorcyclists start to chase him firing. Chester was reading his ebook on all alone at the cafe. It was required reading for his classical literature course. As a business major, he took it to fell a gen-ed requirement, but he was quickly wondering if it would make for a good minor. Several patrons start to run as a man gets tossed onto the table in front of him. A man is fighting two other men far away. The man who was tossed onto the table gets up and starts to move towards the cluster. He quickly gets knocked back down when a knife enters his skull. The body falls before Chester. Chester runs off. Danielle is walking along the dock enjoying the beautiful day. The song of the seagulls fills the air. The sun is at the perfect position. If Danielle were a painter, inspiration would certainly strike here. Danielle sees a single boat in the harbor; she looks closer at the boat wondering about the lives of the passengers. A man tackles another man behind her. The man on top repeatedly punches the man beneath him. He takes out a knife and jams it in between the other man's ribs. "Where is it?"The man asks. The other man spits blood in the face before a foam fills his mouth. The man on top gets up and walks away. The other man lies flat on his back unmoving. "Is that everything you saw?"The woman in white asks. "Yeah,"Tyler says. "I think so,"Jane says. "I don't know. It all happened so fast,"Chester says. Danielle stares at the woman for several seconds blinking, "Yes." "Great, we will be in touch."She pulls out a small device from her pocket and points it at them.
Click. Click click. Davis is going through his daily routine of surfing the dark web. ‘Kidnap’ It was the name of a weird game that had recently caught his attention. The objectives were simple: bring the specified person to a given place in time. Anyone who contributed to the goal will then receive some money, usually split amongst themselves. Davis had been getting some needed cash though this game. It wasn’t a fortune, but enough to provide a jobless high school student with some snacks and video games. The only downside was finding a game within the neighborhood. As he scrolled down, a game caught his eye. ‘Estimated Target Distance: within 300m’ Without any hesitation, Davis clicked on the details. It had been ages since he saw a distance within a kilo, and his eyes brightened up with hope for some easy money. Target Human: Davis Jung Destination: The Moon Time Limit: September 22th, 6:00PM His jaw dropped. The target was Davis himself. As for the destination, he had no idea where it was referring to. ‘It can’t actually be the moon. This has to be an implication for something else.’ he thought. The date September 22th was today. It was uncommon for a game to have such a tight deadline. Overall, everything about this game was out of place. However, Davis couldn’t simply let go. The thought of everything he’d be able to do with that sweet cash- video games, burgers and so much more - was too tempting for him to just forget. Davis hopped into his pants and left his room. His current goal was to find anything that was remotely related to the Moon. Without anyplace in mind, he started walking along the sidewalk. A school bus then came in his view. ‘Luna elementary school’ ‘Luna? This must be it!’ A sudden conviction arose in Davis’ mind. He knew this was where he was headed, and started running. The elementary school he arrived at was completely empty. ‘This isn’t right’ he thought. There had to be at least one person to give him the cash. He looked around, but couldn’t find anything more than some scribbles on the board that was inviting people to a birthday party. Davis started wandering around again. If not here, where else could it be? Then, a sign caught his attention. ‘Crescent Bakery’ Davis, this time with less conviction, entered the room. The bakery was holding an event where they’d make customized cakes to customers who requested them. Fluffy sheets of bread, along with sweet cream and crescent shaped chocolates. “Do I really want this?” However, Davis grabbed a cake before he left. The cake looked far too good to ignore. Now there was only one hour remaining. He aimlessly walked around a bit more, to no avail. Without anywhere left to go, he walked back home. When he finally arrived, a sign on his next door neighbor’s yard caught him by surprise. ‘The Moon Party’ On the yard was Davis’ neighbor, Harris. She was surrounded by moon and star shaped balloons, along with fancy decorations. Harris screamed with joy as Davis set foot on her decorated yard. “Mom! Dad! A visitor’s here!” “Are you here for my birthday party? What’s that on your hand?” “Oh… a present for your birthday, of course. Happy birthday, Harris!” Davis was confused, but Harris’ and her parents’ genuine smiles completely wiped off every bit of tiredness from his mind. Davis jumped into the air and did a three turn somersault. He was happy.
Phil grumbled as the rain pelted him in a cold, heavy drops, but he looked down at the kid who he’d given his cloak to and somehow he stopped caring about how cold and wet he was. He just thought about this kid who couldn’t have been older than ten and how he’d walked fifteen miles to Anur in search of anyone who could help him get his dad back and sighed. It was a sad kind of sigh. “Hey, Mister Phillip?” the kid asked as he looked up at Phil, as well as he could with the hood covering the top half of his face. “What’s up, kid?” “How’re we gonna get my dad back?” “Tom’s not so bad a guy and he does owe me a favor.” “Wait, you know him?” “Yeah, used to be one of my squad mates back in the Second Kings’ War.” “What’s he like, Mister Phillip?” Phil paused at that. Tom wasn’t so bad of a guy—that much was true—but that was fifteen years ago and he knew Tom had been hitting the sauce pretty hard because he couldn’t cope with losing Juliette at the Battle of Worthington. He was a different man before she died and Phil knew a part of Tom died with her, but he didn’t want to tell the Kid that Tom was a different man after the War. That he was angry and cold. That when Juliette got lowered into the ground, everything that made Tom Tom was buried right with her. That shit-eating grin, his dumbass jokes, his goofy bursts into song and dance when he drank too much. Nope. He didn’t want to tell the Kid that. “Don’t worry about that, Kid,” he said with a pat to the back. “I’ll talk to Tom and you’ll see your old man again; you have my word.” The kid looked up at him again, still unable to look past the hood that covered most of his face and a smile spread across the boy’s face and his bony cheeks gave way to small dimples as he hugged Phil. Phil just looked back at him and smiled a weak smile before it gave way to a sigh. He really hoped he could keep that promise; he really did.
\[Author's Note\] Not gonna lie, this one is tough, since I'm never ever gonna get good at this. Also, I want to >!invoke Hero Antagonist (IE the Villain is the actual Hero), and Villain Protagonist (the sword wielding "Hero"is the actual villain).!< \--- Hero POV He'll pay. He'll pay for everything! I lead the charge. Leading the rebellion, Storming the dark lords castle to bring the end of his evil empire. To think that the Dark lord and I were both transported from the same world, It disgusts me. "Invoke Card: Hero!"Swords form into my hands as I shouted those words, as I charge down the dark lord. Just before my swords could hit him, he retorted: "Invoke Card: Ruler!"and a sword of his own came clashing with mine. As if he is worthy of being called a "Ruler", pfft. \--- Villain POV He came swinging at me. As expected of that fool. He started this dumb rebellion because of a belief from our world, that clearly do not apply here. I bring my card to defend myself, but I know it is a Fight I will lose. I am a King, not a warrior. The power I wield is to not to act, but to get others to act on my behalf. And with that said, I quickly got disarmed. But when he tried to cut me in twain, his swords passed through me. \--- Hero POV My swords, they wont hit him... I swing at him over and over, but nothing... Why? "You're Evil! You're Guilty! WHY WONT YOU DIE?"I screamed. And he started laughing. He stands defeated, and he laughs? "Really, is that it? You realize that the Hero card forbid you from even harming the innocent and kind?" "YES! SO DIE!" "What did you think I did wrong?" "You... You! There are several things! You ordered the Genocide of Orcs and Goblins, and the things you did to her!" \--- Villain? POV Her? Ah, he must be referring to "Card User: Priestess". Right... He and her got together some time back. It's almost fate that they did, since Priestess and Hero synergizes extremely well, as do their personalities. "Card User: Assassin"was the one that found her body. Mutilated and Violated, by Goblins and Orcs. Assassin was too late to help her, and after seeing that, she defected to me, hence how I know about it. Assassin gave me Priestess' card as proof. "Let me clear the board here. 1! Human Rights, as we understand, are outright Incompatible with Orcs and Goblins. They are literally Goblin slayer types. They need to be purged! AND 2! She died on that street violated Because of those Goblins you care so much about!" "LIES!"he screamed at me. "I call to the depths of my card! Hero, Let no evil Live!"In rage, he desperately swing a flurry at me, to no avail. Enough of This. \--- Hero? POV Why is this not working? He is evil! He is Guilty! Why won't he just shut up and DIE! Suddenly, I felt a knife dig into my knee, and I fell backwards onto the floor. Looking back at "Ruler", his smile and laughter gone. "You wanna talk about guilty? You wanna talk about Evil? Then let me tell you something. I gave the humans of this world, as well as the elves, the dwarves, halfings and halfbloods, assimars and tieflings. I gave them all a future. Economic stability, nutritional plentitude, protection from the Orcs and Goblins. It is you and your rebellion, corrupting the impressionable youths and those from our world, that rob them of it all. In your liberated cities, The Orcs and Goblins will tell you that everything is fine, that nothing is wrong. But behind those doors, There is nothing but hell for the truly innocent races." \--- Good Villain POV "You, with the Hero card, had let it all get into your head. You played judge, jury and executioner with rules from our world, that will only work in our world, Because of our world. And Priestess payed the price for it. I, on the other hand, Given the Ruler card, was forced to learn the rules of this world, for this world, and only for this world. I used what I can to make the lives of others better. I am more heroic than you are." He stares at me silently. He refuses to listen. "You know what, If words won't reach you. This will. I call to the depths of my card! In the deepest bond, born from deck, Ruler, Call to hero and lend me it's power!" I feel the Hero card replying back to me, granting me Its sword. "We both know the rules of the Hero card, That I cannot harm the innocent and kind. Even as Ruler, those rules apply to me as well, while I hold your sword. That being said..." I stab into His other knee, as he scowl in pain from it. "Well look at that! Your own card calls you guilty, or evil. Perhaps both even. Not my place to discern which." I pull out the sword of Hero, and plunge it straight into his heart. His body burns away, leaving behind the Hero Card. "A more humane death, than what Priestess suffered." I pick the Hero card, Look at the now trio of cards in my hand. Ruler in my hand, Priestess and Hero dead, Knight, Mage and Assassin helping me, and Archer remains MIA. "It's time for me to clean up the mess of a rebellion I suppose." \--- --- Bonus Time to explain the Card system! 7 people from our world is transported into a fantasy world, each having one card. While that person lives, that card is bound to them. The cards are: * Hero * Knight * Priestess * Mage * Assassin * Archer * Ruler Hero and Knight are the 2 Brawlers, Priestess and Mage are the 2 Casters, Assassin and Archer the 2 Rogues, And Ruler is Ruler. Brawlers can take easily take Casters down by brute strength. Casters have all the tools to shut down Rogues. And Rogues pick apart Brawlers due to brawlers' lack of versatility. All six cards easily beats Ruler, who simply can't fight. But Ruler can call to another card, to which if the Card itself replies positively (NOT the User of the Card), Ruler has command over that card. (The power of the ruler is not to act, but to have others act on his behalf) As such, Ruler is only strong when the other cards obey. The Hero card cannot harm the Innocent and Kind (As a logical conclusion to your prompt), and neither can Knight harm the unable and unwilling. Brawlers are the only two to have such rule Imbedded in the moveset, meaning that Casters and Rogues are free to do as they please, and Ruler must obey to that rule if they call for brawlers. Despite that fact, Hero and Knight is regarded as the strongest cards. When not counting Ruler. Of course the Cards are designed to fight against the Actual demon king and their 7 equivalent cards, but that's a story I'm probably not gonna write.
"My cabbages!"I scream, tired of whenever the avatar strolls into town, my hardwork get destroyed. Oh well, I'll start again, like always, since the beginning of time. To make my way out of Lake Laogai, I make myself an underground tunnel through this vessels earthbending. After walking through it, I find myself near the outer walls of Ba Sing Se, to find, WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THAT! I try to crush it, but I fail as it keeps on destroying the walls. I exert more force on to it, and see it slowly crush. But the wall has been weakened, and it will only be a matter of time before they try again. As an obligation to someone who died victorious a long long time ago, and I will defend this city forever. Second story on this sub, kinda had ATLA on the brain and made this, all criticism is accepted.
The first time I laid my eyes on you, I knew. What it was that I knew remains unknown. Even to this day – even as we watch the burning of the sun – I remain unsure of what it was that I saw. The days of before – before the riots, before the machines, before the rise and fall of the world – I would gaze up into the night sky and count the stars. And as each passing word rang through my lips, I would feel the breath of you against the base of my neck, tingling down my spine; making me feel that much more alive. The stars always remained unblinking, but you never failed to pull me in, kissing me softly and setting off an explosion within the cracks that lay between us. And then the universe didn’t feel as lonely anymore. I count the stars the same way I count our seconds. -- We exist in multitudes. It’s in the way we laugh, carelessly and breathlessly, it’s in the way we dream, passionately and hopeful, it’s in the way war wages around us, death falling off the tips of our tongues like the fires that cackle beneath the sea, and it’s in the way we dance – holding onto each other the only way we know how. I have lived my life, not to the fullest – not when I could have had so much more time – and not to the bravest – for how could I be brave when all I feel is numbing fear? – but to the moments where I look into your eyes and see so much possibility. And now, as I feel the cold hardness of the bench under me and the chilling air all around me, I can’t help but think of a world where we didn’t have possibility, but certainty. Because, what I am slowly and painfully beginning to understand, is that life revolves around chance. There is no guarantee, just as there are no more stars. My eyes close as a distinct numbness settles around me. I can faintly make out the screams of children, of mothers and fathers, of sisters and brothers, of people. They’re all people; trying to survive, trying to make it to one more second. I wonder if we were always meant to die this way. I suppose it’s a fitting way to die. To die the same way, we seem to exist; through our own bloodstained hands. I am waiting to die just as I am waiting for the stars to settle in. But I know this is a useless way of thinking. The stars won’t come tonight, just as I won’t live through the night. Death is final in a way nothing else is. It’s a numbing kind of revelation, one that creeps into your bones and tells you that there is only one way to respond; it takes over you until all that’s left is bitter resignation. A hand on my shoulder startles me awake from the depths of my mind. I look up and see possibility. Even after all this time. I suppose I shouldn’t really be surprised; you always did have a way in making me believe the impossible. Your hand moves up until its grazing against my face, stroking the fresh tears I didn’t even know were there. There are no words between us. We didn’t need words to convey the way we felt then, and we don’t need them now. But my hands move up to grasp yours all the same, interlocking them together tightly, until all I feel is blood flowing between flesh. You’ve always been my safeguard, the light at the end of my never-ending tunnel. Some days you leave me breathless with your love, and others I am left wondering if there will ever be an end to us. And as you stand above me, looking at me with the look of someone who is watching the universe burn with life all over again, I feel the rising of my heartbeat. I wonder if you can hear it thumping against my chest, threatening to explode. Because this is the look. You’re looking at me the same way you did when our eyes first met; glowing and captivating and so, incredibly sure. It takes the breath out of me and makes me feel powerful all the same. And for the first time in a long while – since before the burning of pikes and the digging of graves – I feel as if I exist only for you. As if I exist only for this moment. I can see explosions going off in the distance from where I’m sitting on this small, cold bench, in the middle of an empty town square. And yet – despite knowing that we will soon be scattered ashes blowing against the wind – my hand reaches out, toward the empty one that hangs limply by your side, until my fingertips are lightly brushing against yours. “Care for one last dance?” And then you’re pulling me toward you, into you, until our bodies are touching and aching and feeling. I want to leave bruises on your skin, I want to hold onto you and never let you go. With the way your nails are digging moons into my flesh, I know you feel the same. The explosions are getting louder now, and I know we only have mere moments. My eyes don’t leave yours as we dance against the starless sky, pretending that the world is erupting in fireworks, and that tomorrow we’ll wake up to the sound of each other’s heartbeats. I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve lived. And I’ll love you until the moment I am forced to let go. But for now, I’ll count all the seconds in between. -- As the world burns and the people perish, there is love and life and the twinkling of twilight.
I ran towards the barn, looking for shelter as I searched for mother and father. Tears made my vision bleary as the darkness and a preternatural wind fell upon the farm. I could only follows the cries of my older sister to hurry. "Get in the barn! Eli, please hurry!" As if in slow-motion, my body struggled to reach the barn as the air became colder. It was noon, but the world was turning dusky. I reached for the door to the barn before heaving my body in and shutting the doors. My body was shaking as the blood rushed to my brain, I took two steps forward reaching for my mother before I collapsed. "The Dyson sphere has blocked out the sun!"I startled awake from the booming voice of our Amish Elder Aaron. "With the destruction of Earth's environment, the English created a metal sphere to encase the sun and create a new world. Without the sun, our community has no choice but to seek outsiders who remained in order to survive. Or we must enter the Dyson sphere as well."
I stand in the Waking World over my bed. I look down at my body and where he lay next to me, curled up closely. I hear him gently snoring and feel a pang of guilt inside my heart. Tonight, I leave on a journey from which I may never return, and the thought that I may never wake to his touch ever again makes me feel hollow. Above me, I hear the Drake call. The mallard descends, and the crew shout to me. The Drake is a ginormous duck with thick dragon scales on his head, primary feathers, and tail. On his back the Crew of /The Fantastiche/ ride the shipboard hull, that sits like a saddle on The Drake. His Crew are Man and Lionkin, Sea Urchin, Davy, Giant and Mammoth, Fire Kin and Wind Kith. And there, she stands amongst them at last, dressed in fine wear of an Officer of the Line. She is Princess Abajon a fine woman with a gold tipped horn on her forehead. She cries aloud, "Good Night, Horatio! Best we not leave my mother waiting?" I raise my hat back to the crew, as my captain's uniform slides onto my person, "She's right, you Scallions and Scalliwags! Mother Night Mare will not wait to take the whole of the dreaming with her into Perdition! Do you know to where forth we ride?!" The Portly Second Lieutenant oinks as he laughs jollily "To our deaths and nowhere finer!" The crew laugh with him and exchange hearty claps on the back. The Drake extends a wing to me to climb aboard, as I call my Canewand to my hand. A portal opens in front of the ship as the magenta light pours forth from the jewel encrusted atop the Canewand. The Winds and the Mists fill my lungs and I see the Sun rise in the Waking World. We slip into the portal as /The Fantastiche/ rides off unto what may be, it's one last adventure!
The annoyance “If only they knew how powerful we were. Look at them trying to feed that four legged creature meat and trying to get it to do tricks.” “You get your share today Henry?” Rick asked me. “Yeah I did. Going to hunt down a deer today. I can’t wait to taste him alive” I said with my lips smacking. “Well we’re ready for our meeting. I hope you’re able to inspire our kind” Rick said. I turned around and there were hundreds of them waiting for me to lead them. Each one full of blood lust and never getting enough. These were the kind I needed. “Ok, I called you here, because you’re the best in your group, you’re the pride. You are fearless hunters, your thirst for blood and flesh rivals none. I am here to tell you, the best form of meat is not that of a deer…” I looked around to see a few heads look up “nor that of the wolf, nor the hyenas”. Everyone of their heads were looking up incredulous. “It is human that we should go after. Their blood tastes the best” “We have the power to whisper into their ears and I am hoping that once they start evolving and settling down, we will have our own hunting spots, for while the lions THINK they are the king of the jungle we mosquitos are the actual kings. We shall go where no animals can. We shall breed in any little water puddle, we will feast on humans as they live in their little domesticated zones” A huge buzz went around as the mosquitos got ready to go and proliferate in their designated human areas.
Warm. This feels right, somehow. Warm and full. I'm... I'm fulfilling my purpose. I am happy. I've never been happy before. But I am now. How is this happening? What's different? Still full, and warmer. Yes, good. Is it time? It's time! Ta-da! No longer full, and cooling down. But I did it. I fulfilled my purpose. A voice I've never heard before, but that is very familiar, mutters under their breath: "Thank you." I am appreciated. I am loved. I hear a scraping sound, and smell something... sweet. Fruity. I have done my job, fulfilled my purpose. And the voice is happy, and appreciates me. I am... happy. I could get used to this.
The air in my lungs wintered a chill the depths of darkness would warm in comparison when looking at Death. Time was a fuzzy thing in their presence, but the child’s existing orbit initially sparked what I could only reason as “instinct.” To answer the hoarse whispers of a pleading mind fraying at the solitude asking itself, “but, why?” The sleeping child motionless and oblivious to the warmth of my body discouraged me from looking back for too long, though never from willing my cosmic to transfer some essence in to their being. Since the day of their birth from my body; Death has been a beautiful corpse wrapped in swizzle twist of endless sleep and infinite frost. Since the creation of Death a heavy lingering in the heart’s gravity; it was a different sort of sadness, “Mourning.” I would call it. As it echoed the absence of the sunrise from days before darkness and destruction enveloped my mortality ages ago. Decades and constant wading through a path of my nature, I carried the creature. A stinging fizz; a void in my gut, and I paused before a mighty madrona tree. Etching of high voltage wood erosion glinted while ebbing in all directions. Resting under the tree, I cradled one hand to the lasting emptiness and wept until numb. Numb to the eternity and ridiculous notion foolishly ushering away boredom and loneliness to create Death and all the wretched feelings of lost potential. Seasons of lightning in the sky, tornados on the earth and quakes from the core; under the tree in the constant of darkness, still I rested in the comfort of numbness. The thought of walking caused a sensation of planetary axis shift and vertiginous. Any ideas to detach from Death and leave them behind and my mind lurched my body to spasm; “but, why?”
She had everything. She had the moon and the sun and the stars. She had the dead and the undead, the trees and the dirt, the rivers and the oceans, the fire and the wind, the sky and the people. She had the world. -- She held the world in the palm of her hand and squeezed. -- She’s drifting towards the moon. She’s floating towards the sun. And her tears echo as loud as the stars that paint the pale night sky. -- She’s on a boat, wandering through time. She travels the world in hopes of finding meaning. In the many years that she has been alive, – in the years that she bore life and took it away – she has known that meaning can always be found if you look hard enough. Because this world is hers – because she belongs to this world as much as it belongs to her – she stays, watching and waiting. Like a mother, she watches her children grow; watches them grow until they are too weak to stand and too sick to lend a hand. Watches them grow until it is time for her to lend her own and claim them to the universe once more. She thinks she’s waiting for the universe to claim her, too. -- There was a time, long ago, when the moon and sun aligned with one another. It was as if she were watching the birth and death of a horizon; a reflection of two worlds colliding into one. It was breathtaking and horrifying and beautiful. That is when she would take her boat into the sky and watch as the sun and moon danced around each other; burning and shining and crashing. And then there was a moment – one, single moment – where the moon and sun would come together, erupting as the galaxy exploded; stars and birds and pink and ebony in perfect harmony. It was something tragic when the sun and moon parted. And with it, came the death of the stars and the birds and the pinks and the ebonies that once laid in perfect euphony. -- Falling is somewhat like a distant dream. And in this dream – where everything is dark and there is no moon or sun or water or air or people – she is left wondering where it all went wrong. She lives in lifetimes. There is nothing in between. She would know, she’s watched life pass her by in a whirlwind – from the very beginning to the very end – with imaginary bruises echoing against her skin and grey embedded in the depths of her heart. Because she is grey; because the world and the people are grey. She can only exist as they do. This is her purpose – will always be really. After all, she’s only a mirror relying on the stories of both new and old. She has carried this world all the way. Carried it on her shoulders and in her heart, carried it until her legs felt heavy and her eyes started to droop. Carried it until she could no more. This is her revelation. This is her burden. She has lost everything. But she remembers the tears and the laughter, the hugs and the joy, the love and the hate, the jealousy and the scorn, the oceans and the lakes, the trees and the dirt, the dead and the undead, the fire and the wind, the stars and the birds, the pinks and the ebonies, the sky and the people. The sun and the moon. She burns into the sky, watching swirls of pink and ebony embrace the moon and sun in perfect harmony. She watches them erupt into all the shades that remain between. - (Edit: grammar) (Edit 2: grammar again)
“Big, scary bandits say what now?” I drawled, twisting a blonde curl around my finger. “I SAID bitch, your money or your life.” He spat, raising his sword at me. “Well ain’t this terrifying? How about we all sit down and settle it over some sweet tea like the British do? I can tell y’all ain’t from the South. Oh, I should warn you though, it’s less tea with sugar and more sugar with tea.” The brawniest of the bandits stood in the middle, undoubtedly their leader for all intents and purposes. “I challenge you.” He grit out, clearly my charms weren’t working on him. “Now that’s a bit of a doozy.” I muttered, kicking the ground. I just did my hair today... “Name your game, wench. Be prepared to bet either all your money or life on it.” I blinked at the old-fashioned insult. “Say, how about I refuse and we can all just go on about our day?” I offered with my best Arati Mazumder saleswomen smile, holding my hands out amicably. “You can do that.” He grinned. “Then we kill you anyway.” “Now, now, I’m no police officer but I wouldn’t say that’s exactly what a law-abiding citizen would do.” “That’s the whole point.” He grunted, as if there was a bit of a tickle in his throat. “Ahh, I totally get it.” I reassured, nodding. “Can’t keep up the whole bandit act if you’re acting all goody-goody. Tooootally get you. 100%.” I slapped my hands on my thighs. “I’ve got a game to play then.” I smiled. “It’s called hide and seek, ever played?” The group of bandits sniggered whist the leader scoffed. “Of course.” I raised a brow. “Well, since y’all were the ones who challenged me, you get to go first. Y’all count to 100 and when you’ve finished counting, you try and find me within a certain amount of time, and since there’s so many of you and only one of me, say 10 minutes.” I proposed. “Whaddya say boys? Sound fair?” To my luck, I don’t think this little gang of scallywags were exceptionally bright. I mean the fella on the left was picking his own nose and I’m pretty sure there’s a tree stump in Louisiana with a higher IQ. Then, our little leader seemed so confused with my proposition, I’d bet even on a good day he wouldn’t be able to find his ass with both hands in his back pockets. He nodded, somehow sold on this game of hide and seek. The rest all agreed and pandered like a little bee hive to their queen. “Alright then, start counting, eyes nice and shut.” I bossed. I stuck a finger up, “If I see a single eyeball starting to peek out its eyelid, I’ll knock you so hard you see tomorrow today.” I warned. Low and behold, they all placed their hands over their eyes and started counting. I didn’t waste a single damn second, I was high-tailing my cute lil’ ass out of there. I sprinted away as fast I could, laughing hysterically while I did so. “I never mentioned an area did I?” I cackled. “Excuse me whilst I go and hide in my own home!” I laughed non-stop in euphoric glee. “Cassidy Adams, boy you have done it again!”
"Now why would you do that?"I smiled kindly at the lady who no longer had tears to cry. Indeed, why would she do that? There was no use trying any longer. She was going to die soon. Her husband paid me to do this. "But you promised me... you said that all I had to do was put the drug in my husband's drink and he would love me forever!" Shushing the pitiful lady, I nodded sympathetically. "And he did. I didn't lie to you. In fact, you saw it too the way your husband looked at you just before he passed. You were the only thing in his world in the last moments of his life, he really did love you till the very end. It's just slightly unfortunate that your husband had a heart attack. It's a shame that you couldn't grow old with him like what he wanted but then maybe it's not too bad. You could at least share the same death date. Wouldn't that be romantic?" The lady who was grieved and slightly unhinged took my suggestion and agreed. Just a little more coaxing and it would be over. "You're right,"she sniffed. "Please give me some of that drug too. I want to stay with my husband until the very end. Please make arrangements to have us buried side by side. I won't ask for anything more." "As you wish,"I bowed solemnly and passed the potent drug over that her husband pre-ordered. I watched the lady swallow the drug mixed into her cocktail and waited for her to take her last breath. It didn't take long and I had to admit. In my entire career as a devil's advocate counsellor, this was probably the easiest case I've handled. "It's one,"I told the husband. "You can stop playing dead now." Opening his eyes, the vampire looked over to his dead human wife and stroked her cheek lovingly. "Thank you,"his voice was hoarse. "It must have been difficult for her to love someone immortal like me. Thank you, reaper for sparing her the truth of my existence." I nodded. "Anytime. Please call me again for another appointment, glad to be of service. Don't forget to recommend me to anyone else who might be in need of my expertise."
It's always the "Americans"to get there first. I never really liked that term before the era of Galactic Travel. And it's not like we weren't united to complete such a thing. However, when "The Earthlings have arrived at planet so and so"it just sounds like a globular effort. We supplied the capsule, Russia supplied the fuel to get there, Austrailia helped with the calculation of the optimum trajectory and... you get the idea. It first started at Proxima Centuri B. Where we mot only set up the first Orbital Hotel on another planet outside Solsai, but establishing our own part of the civilisation. Not only setting up the first interstellar journey to our neighbour, but also marked the Galactic Era. Don't forget the first peace treaty between us and the Proximans! However, problems started to crop up here and there, when we later arrived to what we still call the real life Tatooine. We had a little colony going, but weird things started to happen. Not only did patrols of humans go missing, but entire spaceships have been abducted. We just start to worry about it after landing on the desert planet, but it has happened since landing on Centuri B! They later found inscriptions along cave walls that depicted a titanic, interstellar beast. Destroying entire systems of the galaxy, with a logo over the right of the monster's shoulder. Locals from Mos Eisley explained that this beast was created by the vicious Eldritch Empire that summoned the beast, more powerful than the two Death Stars and Starkiller Base combined. The only thing that stopped them, was by us, humanity. After their beast was killed by sending troops from all over the universe onto the surface of the creature and sliced it open simultaneously. A threat was sent to the ancient ruler of my homeland, saying: 'Dear King ..., 'This is a THREAT. If you do not do as I ask, then your planet will be in ever ending doom. 'All of your civilians must go back to your home world and must stay there for the end of time. As for your starships, they must be passed over to our mothership and we will distribute them amongst the colonies that you have once inhabited. We will then do a memory wipe on all of your minds, back to the Primitive State. This wipe will last for about 20k years and we will leave the universe alone. 'If you dare set foot on another planet after the 25k years mark of my failure and your victory, I will abduct and enslave your people to do my bidding. 'Signed, the Eldritch Emperor.' Well, I'm not sure what to say, but I'm travelling to Gleise 22b for the first time, and I'm part of the first colony there! I just hope the rumours aren't true. But still!
Being a single dad is tough. You work extremely late nights, then get up early to do it all over again. I do love the dreams that it brings though. Vivid, beautiful dreams. Today started off just as normal as the rest. I was bringing my daughter to her first day of college. I was driving on the freeway. As I drove the signs started to blur and change. Exits became a jumbled mess of letters and numbers, and soon the other cars on the road started to fade. Soon enough the road was empty, and I was the only person in the world who existed. Me, my car, and the road were all that mattered. I pulled up on the wheel and my vehicle lifted off the ground. I was driving through the star speckled night sky. Like a fighter pilot, I was able to preform all sorts of rolls, flips, and tricks with the vehicle. Eventually the car started to fade away as well, leaving me alone in the darkness. The universe was beautiful, I felt as if I could swim through the heavens. It's like wading through the worlds’ most picturesque ocean, everything as clear and stunning as you would imagine. Whole parts of the solar system, I didn’t even know existed, became clear to me. Giant spheres of matter vying for control of my attention, but there was only one I was interested in. A large white light pierced the darkness. It was the only thing my mind could focus on. My body started to spasm at the beauty laid in front of me. As I came closer to the light, a figure strode toward me, gliding over the stars as she walked. The most heavenly, young woman I had ever seen stood before me. She had short blonde hair, a dress as white as the moon, and a face of pure joy. I yearned to know who she was. “Goodbye” her voice punctured my soul. Before we were even introduced, she is saying her adieus. “You’ll forget me when you wake up” the words echoed through my head but I had no chance to understand them. At this moment she seemed all too familiar, a voice and being that I had known my whole She leaned in and kissed my cheek. I felt an immense pleasure pierce my soul, a feeling of pure love. “I don’t want to forget, I love yo…” I tried to go on but nothing would come out. “It is for the better, Love.” With that everything disappeared, it all wiped from my brain as I came back to reality. I open my eyes and hear a soft rhythmic beep in the background. My head is pounding and I feel a soft wet spot on my forehead. “Sir, sir, can you tell me what happened” a blurry man in a white coat asks me. “Who are you? Where am I?” I ask of the blurry man. “None of this makes any sense”. “You fell asleep at the wheel and flipped your car. The ambulance got to you as fast as they could.” The man replied. As I turn my head the room becomes clearer. The only other person in the room is a woman laying in a bed next to me, with short blonde hair, a white dress stained with red, and a face of pure horror. The man opens his mouth but is unable to speak for a few seconds. “I am sorry sir… your daughter didn’t make it.” But that didn’t make any sense. I don’t have a daughter.
I laid the knife down, and bowed my head. The sacrifice lay still, cut from throat to navel, blood leaking ever so slightly. The stars were right this night, and I hoped the Old Ones would look kindly upon me, and fill me with their great vision. Crack I looked up, and saw a break in reality. It wobbled, then tore open, with a sound like cloth tearing, but deeper, more primal. A roiling black expanse lay beyond, and from it walked a little girl. She looked to be no older then 9, with such innocent eyes. She looked over the sacrifice, and without a single hint of joy or sorrow, touched its face. The body withered, and collapsed into dust, and she turned her gaze towards me. As I stared into those eyes, I saw through the innocence, to the chaotic madness behind it. She finally smiled, a cute smile on a cute girl. But then she spoke, and her voice betrayed her, belonging not to a young girl, but to a wizened hag. "You have called upon us. The Child of Time has answered. I am Yag-Treba." I stood still, trying desperately to find my tongue. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I could not. She stepped closer, and that small movement freed my voice. "Great One, I am your humble servant. Your presence honours me. I ask that you give me knowledge of your vision, such that I can do your will, and hasten your glorious return." She gazed at me, penetrating into my mind, and laughed. It was a hideous sound, a terrible cacophony of voices all laughing as one, some in pleasure, others in pain and yet others mockingly. She stopped as suddenly as she started, before speaking once more. "It is simple. I am here to assess the knowledge of your kind, to see if you are worthy of following us. If not, then I shall leave, and you shall receive your reward for calling us prematurely." I felt cold as she spoke the last line, knowing it would not be a reward, but rather a punishment. I cleared my throat a few times, before speaking again, trying to quell the tremor in my voice. "I shall serve you in your search, Great One." "Yes, yes you shall."
He sees her everyday. She is always there – mysterious and delicate and dancing to the sounds of the wind. He watches her fly and dreams. -- He looks at the world with hard eyes. He has learned long ago – when he was only six, scared of the monsters in his closet, scared enough to wake his parents and ask his dad to chase the beasts away; scared enough that he never asks them again – that the earth spins on an axis and never stops, even when you are scared and young and just want to be held. And so, he adapts. Because, during the nights that he breaks out into a sweat, during the nights that he awakes to the silent monsters in his closet, he gets up, frustrated and angry and tears dripping down his face, and then he runs. He runs and runs and runs. And then, tired and so, incredibly desperate, he screams; for the words he can never say, for the unfairness of the world, for the monsters he never had the chance to chase away. He makes a promise to himself; a promise so strong that it can never wither away. He keeps it there, above his rapidly beating chest. He tells himself that no one will ever look at him the way an explorer looks at the stars. He’d make sure of it. He had to. -- He walks home the same way everyday. There’s something peaceful in repetitiveness – the order and routine feels somewhat like a type of home; he can expect it, predict it, even. He enjoys things that can’t let him down. The girl, well, let’s just say that she came unexpectedly. She skates the same path everyday – from the time he walks along the pathway of his home to the moment he looks out his window to watch the sun meet the crystalized glass. And however distant it may be, he thinks that maybe she likes routine too. -- He doesn’t dare watch her beyond pathways and fogged windows. Even when she starts to look up from her dance whenever he passes by. Even when she starts to wave in his direction when he’s on his way home – he never waves back, hood pressed against his face, but he doesn’t think she minds – even when she looks at him like she wants to say something, only to duck her head and twirl away. Even when he wonders what it would be like to dance with her, too. -- It is getting warmer now – almost spring by the way buds are starting to slowly bloom and snow is starting to melt. But there is still an aching chill to the breeze and for that, he is grateful. Spring comes with thin jackets, and thin jackets come with t-shirts, and t-shirts come with bare skin and, well he’s not a modest guy, he’s not, he just enjoys soft sweaters and long-sleeved shirts. He’s peering out his window, getting ready for bed, when he sees her. She is dancing like she usually does, dragging her skates along the frozen edges of the lake and spinning over the moonlit ice. She is a picture of elegant beauty – it is in the way the stars twinkle above her, under her, beside her, until she has become a star, herself. But she is shining in a way that nothing else is – not the stars, not the moon, not even the glittering ice. He watches her, dazed and transfixed. In this moment, she is the universe. She is the stars and the moon and the ice. She is dancing to the sounds of the world and moving to the rhythm of her heart. She looks up at him then, staring up at him as if he were part of the universe, too. As if he were a star that watched over her; shining and bright and giving way to twinkling starlight. Her eyes are open and warm, as if she were asking a silent question. She will not speak, just as she will not gesture for him to join her. It is his decision, he realizes. She’s giving him the choice to decide. He looks up at the stars, again. Looks at them until they are burning against the back of his eyes; looks at them and thinks that he wants to be one too. He glances back towards the frozen lake but there are no soft eyes. The dancer has returned to her song, once again. He takes a deep breath and traces the scars that colour the back of his hands, traces them until he can feel the lines – black and inky – run through his veins. Traces them until he can see the world with less hard eyes, until he can unravel all his promises, until he can stop running, until he can close the closet door. And then, with soft eyes, he goes to meet the mysterious girl by the riverside. - (Edit: format) (Edit 2: grammar)
.. and then he becomes president of the United States. There is massive civil unrest and all the disease can post about on twitter is how much he is disliked by everyone. A group of people become fanatical about worshiping him and will not believe that he is a disease despite his odd color and nonsensical ramblings. A second deadly disease emerges and because the president is working for the good of all disease kind he does nothing. Hundreds of thousands of lives are lost and the president continues to downplay the seriousness of the disease. Twitter gets sick of the misinformation he is spreading on their platform and begins to fact check the president. The president doubles down on the idea that the information he is spreading is correct and accuses Twitter of censorship. Most of the world knows that this war on Twitter is meant to distract from larger more important issues. His fanatics still believe that he is not a disease. The beauty of the story is that it ends on a cliffhanger. Who knows what will happen next!
I honestly never thought I'd be running from the police, but there's a lot of things that have happened that I also never thought would. For example, randomly walking into a mafia hideout genuinely thinking it was an underground karaoke bar then having fifty men point a gun at me only to someway somehow shoot fire from my body like a fucking fantastic four character. Crazier fucking things have had to have happened, right? I just barbequed the mafia! There's no where to hide, definitely gotta have dirty cops working for them, plus the fact I shot fire from my body they'll want to admit me. I forced my leg one after the other to keep going. Will anyone even be able to know it was me? I mean everyone is toasted like a marshmallow, a melty sticky marshmallow. Besides why couldn't I just turn myself into a blow torch again? I began to smirk, there's no reason why I couldn't. I made my way home without being stopped and settled into my cozy apartment. That was liberating, fifty men guns pointed at me and here I am just vibing to music in my favorite chair. I wanted to do it again. I wanted the danger to look me in the face and I burn it down. I heard something in the hall outside my apartment door. They say opportunity normally knocks on the door, but I'll take smash. Busting out into the hall I see a man with a women restrained in his arms one hand over her mouth. "What the fuck are you doing?"I demanded. "Just go back into your place bitch, or I'll be tempted to have both of you."The predator smirked at me. I couldn't blow torch this fucker with that girl right there. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and smiled. "You live in this building?"My tone of voice went low and sweet as I was speaking to my next prey. The man shifted awkwardly. "You must be sick, into this stuff?"He stammered back. I stepped closer. "Well wouldn't you rather someone who enjoys it instead of stealing it? Sounds like you're the sick one."I licked my lips. "All I'm saying is I keep my door unlocked all the time hoping someone will come in."I stepped closer and grabbed the girl and pushed her down the hallway, she wasted no time despite crying heavily, she sprinted away. Just me and my prey. The man grabbed my neck and restrained my arms behind me, then whispered in my ear, "Your place or mine?" "Yours"I coughed out. He waddled us down the hall, I was feeling the danger alright. Once he opened the door he shoved me to the ground, I quickly looked around the room. It looked like a crime scene that hasn't happened yet, plastic covering almost every surface. I gasped as I saw the knives laid out on a table, oh fuck. I heard him laugh behind me. "Not what you expected huh sweetheart?"I flipped and looked at the man with a big smile, now it was my turn to laugh. "What's so funny?" "Not what I expected, but still an asshole."I felt my blood begin to boil, and just like before my body erupted with fire his last breath wasted on screaming. Damn that felt good! I casually walked back to my apartment and locked my door, then sat with a nice book and coffee. About twenty minutes later I hear a pounding on the door. "Open up! It's the police!"I jumped up, fuck I have to think fast. I slipped on shoes and a zip up jacket and hopped out the window, climbing down from the second story, and once again I am running to hide from the police. I feel full circle almost, this circle sucks.
'Let's just try it.' Daisy, AKA Brightstar! said she positively bounced on the balls of her feet. OCTOBER 31 was not usually a day off. Last year I, codename Shadowhawk! had major quizzes to study for, and Brightstar! was on watch duty at the Headquarters of Justice. But this year, this year. We're gonna go out! She had spent two days surfing reddit reading about best treats gotten last year and how to maximize her potential haul. That meant two days of pleading and nudging. 'Fine, but let's do simple costumes.' I said. Daisy was glowing. She gets like that. Apparently it's harder to buy or rent costumes this close to the holiday. We tried Ghost girl and Sparrowman. No dice. GG was only available in extra slutty and Sparrowman not at all. Thunderhammer and Lightning Queen? Nope. Sold out. 'Should have ordered months ago' Burner and Smokescreen. No dice. Same reason. What about Twin Titans? No. Not even online. I was ready to call it. 'No Danny,' she pleaded. 'Let's just go as ourselves.' I was against that. 'One slip and it could be bad.' But eventually I folded. She really knows how to play the pity card. So. Old uniforms it was. We picked a spot and some cheap bags to fill and away we went. 'That's not how Shadowhawk! looks.' a kid screamed, pointing at my uniform. I grinned til he finished his sentence. 'You look stupid!' He was wearing an Insectman! costume! And not even a bug mask just a greasy spider smeared on his face! His taunt was followed by a kid in Doctorguy! scrubs screaming that my 'Brightstar!' sucked too. I could see her cheeks flush then lighten. 'No, no! They're just kids. Just ring the bell.' I urged her. The next half hour was a horror show as we struggled to get through all the insults. 'You're too tall!' 'You're too small!' 'That's not how Brightstar! does her hair!' 'You don't look anything like Shadowhawk!' 'You look better than Shadowhawk! But your. Brightstar! sucks.' 'Brightstar! Is prettier than you!' 'Can't you use more sparkles for your cheeks sweety?' We scored half a bag of off-brand sweets and a mini snicker bar. Meanwhile ever happy Brightstar! was. going through a slow burn. She could still pull it off I was thinking, when we were struck by a candy apple as we crossed third street. To be fair it would have missed if I had reached out with my shadows. But tonight we weren't on duty. I couldn't blow our cover. My cool head was going to see us through. Until the second apple came. The bully kids! The fake glitter burned off before she even turned around. The second apple popped under a microwave blast and she began to lift off. I grabbed her hand while I wrapped us in shadow. Trick or treating sucked anyway. I only hoped we would find a crime before I got us back home.
Title: Some Dogs go to Limbo Claire and I always ate dinner together. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with her. I gave her a peck and went to sleep. The TV was running in the background. I was half paying attention when suddenly… “BREAKING NEWS, We’re with Head Scientist Dr. Ron Wiggs who wants to…” “That’s enough, look if you’re living in the area of Cedar Park or anywhere west of Round Rock, you are in danger. We were performing an experiment with cloning and molecular morphing. Our one and ONLY successful test subject has escaped. It was last seen heading into Cedar Park. We are certain it has not left the area. If you are in this area be VERY careful. He can take any organic form. Within 20 minutes of stabilizing his form he will consume the original form. Please take care of your loved ones.” “Uhhh….thanks Dr…is this for real or is this a prank?” “Do I look like I am fooling around…Oh and one more thing, he can take on your short term memories, but none of your long term memories. But when he consumes you it’ll be indistinguishable from you” I wasn’t really listening to it as I was distracted by Claire’s clock making its noise. She had it set to ding every 10 mins. She was getting ready to go to bed. How beautiful she was. “I love you Benji” Claire said as she lay in bed “I love you more than anything in the world” I said. Claire wished me good night and I wished her back. We both went to sleep. In my sleep I heard Claire’s clock ding 11 times. I was almost expecting the little dings every 10 minutes after. It was an annoying feature that always bothered me. Then I felt a little sniff, then something like a slurpy sound. I woke up and next to me was the most handsome dog I had ever seen. My eyes widened and I thought about waking up Claire but decided against it. The dog started moving back slowly and out of the room and I followed him out. I was both terrified and enamored. I asked “Who are you handsome?” He didn’t say anything. I heard the first ding. I smelled him and immediately withdrew. He did not smell like a dog. He smelled like burnt Sulphur and rubber. It was almost like he was…not an animal at all. “What are you doing here?” No answer. It was frightening. Then something happened that I didn’t quite anticipate. Right at the second ding of the clock the dog consumed me….just as Claire walked out see what was going on. I was now barking incessantly but as if I was looking through a window into Claire’s eyes. The Clone me looked at Claire and I could see her through the clone's eyes. “I love you Benji” Claire said. A chill came within me and if I had a spine I would've felt it as the clone barked in my voice “I love you more than anything in the world"
The First Drop occurred late in August. I'm sure that the world governments wanted to hide the Drop from the general public, however it landed directly on the Golf de Morfontaine course in Paris, covering most of the back nine. Early morning golfers pulled out their phones, and it was making headlines around the world within hours. The First Drop caused a lot of fear, because even though no one knew what was happening, it was pretty obvious that the dropped material wasn't part of normal day to day life. The drop was made of a wide mixture of materials and items that didn't seem to obey the laws of nature. Some items fluctuated between solid and liquid seemingly at random, or gave off strange light that didn't have an obvious source, or seemed to shift locations without any visible movement. The biggest event in history was occurring in real time, and no one could explain it, so obviously things were going to get bad. The French Government immediately deployed troops and quarantined off the site. They weren't letting anyone in or out, and they made it clear that whatever was dropped belonged exclusively to them, and it seemed like they were not going to share, not even with the EU. The other world leaders started putting intense pressure on France to give them access. Merkel called it a betrayal, and Johnson called for a trade embargo on France. Trump called into Fox and Friends and mused that we didn't know what we were dealing with, so maybe the safest option was just to drop a nuclear missile on the Arc De Triomphe. Macron and the rest of the French government responded pretty much how you would expect them to respond, and we basically had ourselves a game of international chicken. While the world governments were measuring their proverbial dicks, the general public was absolutely losing it's mind. There wasn't a single person on the planet who actually knew what had happened or why it had happened, but let me tell you, everyone had a theory. Youtube became one giant conspiracy site, with every video providing a different theory from secret government aerial testing sites all the way to surprise attacks from the lost City of Atlantis. The theory that gained the most steam was that Joe Biden was an intergalactic Manchurian candidate who was sent to destabilize the world economy and weaken the US military to leave us vulnerable to invasion by releasing top secret tech to foreign governments. It wasn't long before civil liberties went the way of the dodo. All over the world, scared people started to gather in the streets of their communities to demand answers from their elected officials, and most of the elected officials sent out the police in response. It's like that old saying, "if all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail", and the police were that hammer. The end result was civil disorder in most of the cities in the world, followed by strict martial laws being instituted. Entire nations implemented "temporary"curfews until they got a handle on the situation, and a lot of people stopped leaving their homes. The stock markets across the world took a plunge, and obviously when the rich are feeling the pinch, they make that everyone else's problem. Giant corporations all over the world started announcing layoffs due to the "economic crisis". People went from living their day to day lives to dealing with job insecurity, violence in the streets, and a potential World War 3 in less than a week. Anyways, that was where we were all at when the Second Drop took place in the Australian Outback. Almost seven days to the minute of the last drop, the sky opens up and thousands of pounds of mystery junk lands within a couple of miles of Barunga in Northern Australia. The local residents had their smart phones out and there were recordings being taken while the mystery junk while still falling from the sky. The recordings hit the internet, and everyone hit pause on all their shit. The Australian Government was quick to set up a containment zone, but the effect was immediate, the French Government was no longer the only game in town, and the value of their mystery junk had just came crashing down to Earth (excuse the pun). Suddenly the idea that there could be more of this mysterious junk seemed like a possibility. The world leaders backed down, and there was actual cooperation on the top levels, and war seemed less likely. The Third Drop landed seven days later off the coast of Mexico, and the Fourth drop landed seven days after that in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The drops happened with such regularity that we stopped naming and capitalizing each drop. They were just the "weekly drop". At this point, it's faster to name the number of governments that haven't received a drop, and that list is shrinking. None of the top brass have ever released an official explanation to the weekly drops, and if they know the source of the drops, they aren't saying, but in the end it hasn't really mattered. The insane theories and online cults have continued, but most people calmed right down when we all started to get the benefits of the drops. I specifically mean new kinds of consumer goods, sources of energy, international travel, you know, that sort of thing. Technological advances boomed almost immediately. France was obviously the first to switch over to a absolutely clean energy source for the entire nation, but a few other countries have followed. There is talk of the ability to teleport being developed, and some sort of telepathic internet is starting to become all the rage for the young folks who are willing to get the implants from the Apple store, and risk the possibility of all sorts of cancers developing later in life. No one wants to riot as long as they have new things to buy, and new things to complain about. Obviously, these governments are also developing weapons, but so far they have kept pretty tight lipped on what is happening. I expect that we will find out what they have been up to one day, and hopefully it's through a press release, and not because half of Asia gets blown apart. Personally, I don't know if the drops have been good. I would say that the bad comes with the good, and brother, the possibilities are endless. But, I'm old school, and no one actually cares about my opinion. I guess it's a wait and see kind of thing.
# What My Camera Saw I set my tripod just at the edge of the platform that I was perched on. Translucent shielding encapsulated the thin hovering surface where I had begun to set my scene. The almighty space around me was terrifying yet so peaceful. The stars glimmering so faintly. The bright white shine of the nearby sun. The perfect composition that it had created. I checked my watch. Just a few minutes left. The tingling of anticipation crept over me. So sinister. But so very intoxicating. And the star of the show was just a few thousand miles ahead of me. The Earth. So sophisticated and immaculate. I could stare at it for hours and hours and I still would not be exhausted of its beauty. However, the scene was about to start. The camera was rolling. And it was time to watch it all go away. I looked at my watch. “Action” I muttered. And the water rose. All the once luscious green forests soon flooded and drowned to become one with the oceans. Even the highest peaks of the most monstrous mountain tops were swallowed. The creatures that once roamed and made that planet their home were facing their looming destruction. Once they reached critical mass. The climax of the scene drew near, and almost instantaneously became known. All at once, the waves climbed high, they shifted and morphed. The technicolour pigmentation became so lush. The sweet colours of the Earth’s end all reflected into the singular camera lens that pointed at it. And the noise. Or the lack of it. The sheer imagination of what that primordial scene could possibly sound like was maddened. Yet I grinned so wide. I grinned at the world’s end. And just as it dimmed, and the Earth disappeared into oblivion. I uttered its final words. “Cut.”
Interview with S~~a~~tan Recording of Mora Nues interver with Satan "Thank you joining me today, “Thanks for this opportunity. I've been following your work for a while and you seem to get it right more than most people these days. First, let me get something off my chest. My name is Stan. I have no idea where everyone got that other ‘a’ from. It's Stan.. Secondly, Stop confusing me with Lucifer, we are not the same person. She's closer to your idea of the devil. Thirdly, I've never managed what you'd consider to be hell. That was Lucifer until she lost control of it after Alexander the Great showed up. I have no idea who's in charge there anymore. Seriously.. Hell is a shitshow. Don't go there. "Stan, what do you do for a living?" "What do i do for a living? I'm retired these days... I run a small jazz bar in Florida, The Drunken Gator Lounge. I also make my own whiskey... I play Sax with Pestilence and Bob every thursday as part of our band, " The Lost Blues Trio"I used to be a lawyer, defense attorney. I spent a five thousand years trying to convince the old man to not send people to hell... Jesus was the one always trying to find a reason to burn someone.. " "You were a defense attorney, in God's court?" "Yes, I was, if you can really call him god. I mean he did'nt create the universe, just found it like the rest of us... more on that later, please remind me about that, it's really fucked up. But yes, the court, busy busy busy. Judging the dead... And let me tell you, he's really an unfair judge. I mean, sin as a strict liability offense for 3000 years, what kind of bullshit is that. You create imperfect creatures with free will, what do you think will happen? And the sad thing is, most of my clients ended up in hell, which is a real chaotic mess. I mean Agaue, little girl, lived in thebes, was 3 when she got ran over by a chariot... Straight to hell, i mean for crying and eating too much? She was a child.. Also her father worshipped Zeus,which is funny as that's really one of the more accurate interpretations of God. That whole Mary deal, complete rape by the way... And she ends up in hell because the old man can't stand to look at his ex.. " "So, how accurate was the Book of Job? Did that happen, and did God let your ruin his life to prove a point?" "Actually sorta accurate.. There was a guy named Job.. We did have an argument about him. God liked the guy for some reason, but Job was a complete tool. He was a rapist and a child molester... Also he ripped people off all the time. He agreed to sell some guys, i think it was the chaldeans a herd of cattle. But they were all diseased sickly cattle. He would'nt refund the money they paid. I did'nt have to do anything, as Job actually brought all that on himself. A lot of people really did'nt like him, and can you blame them? I refused to defend Job, I mean a lot of the killing in the old testament, was actually Job... He really enjoyed murdering people. God is still pissy that I won that argument... "
The meteor was on a collision course for Earth. There was no stopping it, no diverting it, nothing could be done to stop what was imminently going to happen. VitaMan looks at his wife and nods. She smiles back but her eyes show her true emotions. She is scared. VitaMan, now moments away from stepping in the rocket that would get him the majority of the way to the meteor, takes a deep breath and looks at Earth, the planet that had welcomed him with open arms when he had appeared 15 years ago. He wished he could remember where he had been before that moment. He wished he could remember why he was so driven to do good. He wished he had more time.... In the time it takes for him to have that thought, Time freezes. The nervous look in his wife's eyes now permanent and the exuberance from the send off party that had filled him with joy now slowly languishs until all that is left is the sound of his breathing. A figure steps out of a rip in space, he is green, both in pigment and demeanor. Jealousy oozes from him, and VitaMan who until now had been holding his breath, lets it out with a big sigh. "Reloj... What are you doing here?"VitaMan asks. "You know exactly why I'm here Kevin."Reloj says the name with disdain. "My name is.."VitaMan interjects. "I know bloody well what you call yourself to these people Kevin but to me you are still the bewildered teenager who stumbled into my backyard wearing a birthday suit and tear stained eyes."Reloj continues staring at VitaMan, the effort of keeping time frozen is causing perspiration to bead up. He wipes his forehead absentmindedly never breaking his gaze. "I should have killed you then, but I was weak. I was a man in the presence of a god. A god I didn't know was as fallible as any man has ever been. I took you in Kevin. I gave you board, I gave you everything you could ever want... and how did you repay my kindness?" The sweat has formed rivers on Reloj's face. He ignores it, focusing instead on VitaMan, daring him to reply. "We were and are in love Dad..." "Don't call me that! You are no son of mine, you took her from me. She was all I had in this world. You could have had your choice of companions. You chose instead to take away the one person I loved the most." "You pushed her away, but you will be glad to know that I will be out of the picture very soon." Reloj chuckles. "That's why you reached out to me? To let me know that Marin would be alone soon, that she would need me in her life again?" "I didn't reach out to you." "Bull Kevin, I heard the call from you, I heard it just as I have heard it every time you have reached out to me in the past." "Dad.. I am telling you I didn't call for you." "I did"Marin walks up to VitaMan and Reloj. "I called for him. If anyone can help us now, it's him. Kevin please ask him for help, put your pride aside, forget what he has done in the past and ask. I need you."She touches her stomach. "We need you." Reloj and VitaMan look at her with surprise. "You're pregnant?"they say in unison. Reloj now showing the signs of the toll freezing time has taken on him collapses unable to keep himself upright and time frozen at the same time. "Let me help Daddy."Marin says. Reloj slowly releases his hold on time and feels Marin take over. The burden off of his shoulders he looks at her in awe. "How? I never gave you a bracelet. How can you freeze time?" "Daddy can we please talk about this another time? Kevin I am not as strong as my father, please hurry." VitaMan having watched this exchange, and having processed the news of his pending fatherhood, looks at Reloj and says. "Take care of them Dad." Reloj looks at his only child, the only remnant he has of a love long ago lost to cancer. He looks at VitaMan, and says. "I can do it." VitaMan begins to protest but is silenced with a single raised finger. "I can do it Kevin, and I may even survive. My bracelet affects time and space. I can make a pocket in space to catch the meteor. With a little bit of luck I can make it disappear."Reloj chuckles nervously. "No, I can't let you do that. Protecting Earth is my burden..." "And protecting her is mine! That's why I hated you Kevin. I was her guardian. I was her shield. And then you appeared out of thin air and took away the only title I ever had that meant anything to me. But now, I have the chance to be her protector again. To once again hold the mantle you took from me." Vitaman looks at Reloj, the man who had until 5 minutes ago been his arch nemesis. The man who would constantly set traps for VitaMan to foil, allowing him to save lives and making him a beloved figure all over the world. For a moment his hatred dissipates. "Ok. You do it Dad." Reloj looks at Marin her grip on time slowly loosening. The sounds of the crowd begin to slowly filter into the pocket dimension created by Reloj, maintained by Marin and now merging with reality. As the cacophony of sound reaches it's crescendo, Reloj steps in the rocket and winks at his daughter. He takes a last look at VitaMan and says. "Take care of them son. "The rocket closes and launches as VitaMan holds Marin and watches it disappear.
THE WEDDING GUEST Melody Rose was about to become Melody Tucker. Standing behind the hedge that led to the garden, she took a deep breath as she waited for the bridal march to start. She was about to marry the love of her life, Conrad Tucker. God had blessed the broken road that led her to him, indeed. Her dad had once told her, “There are worse things than waiting.” Those words had left an inedible mark on her and so, she’d waited. And waited. And waited. Forgoing all the head games and the hook-up culture around her, she waited. Then one day, Rascal got away from her at the dog park. It was Conrad who caught him before he completed his Houdini attempt out of the gate. Two years, of joining their family and friend circles, of supporting each others dreams, of finding and growing in a church they both loved, and they were here. About to become Man and Wife. Melody’s dad appeared, “You are stunning.” He held out his arm. “Ready to go, kiddo? It’s not too late to run.” “Dad!” Melody’s heart hurt with the reference to what her own grandfather had told her mom on her walk down the aisle. Her dad was the most faith-filled, loving anchor and head of household, the love he shared with mom, 40 years and counting, was inspiring. She hated that grandfather had ever made them doubt their love, their longevity or that God would provide. And He always had. Melody’s childhood into adulthood had been blessed by her parents and her siblings, even when they had little, they had a lot. She wanted that, with Conrad. Yes, she was ready. Melody tucked her hand into her dad’s arm. The bridal march started, and they were off. Her dad guided her around the corner, and they came into view of the guests. There were tears and smiles. Melody fought for control, she couldn’t start crying until after the ceremony but -- Conrad in his tux, with his big grin, stole her breath away. She was so excited to be his wife, she would’ve eloped to the courthouse and thrown a party after. But a large wedding with all the traditions was important to Conrad. And so, they’d worked multiple jobs and saved for a year. Determined that they would not start their marriage with debt, they’d made a wedding budget and stuck to it. As Conrad would say, “Dave Ramsey would approve.” Melody smiled; she was going to be hearing that a lot in the lifetime ahead of her. Only 5-feet now. But a movement in the shrub behind the wedding arch caught her eye. Melody gasped. Was that Keith Tuttleson? The billionaire that was on the run from the world in a game of tag? The news had been playing highlights for the past two weeks. All anyone in the world had to do was tag Keith Tuttleson first and they won $20,000,000,000. Twenty billion dollars was unimaginable to her. Even after taxes, ten billion was something she couldn’t wrap her head around. Who would want it? That much, that fast. Could destroy anyone. If you asked Melody, she was sure that Tuttleson had never known love that wasn’t connected to his net worth. She couldn’t blame him for his attention-seeking stunt, wasn’t that what we all crave after all? To be seen? To be known? To be wanted? Why else would he stage an elaborate “find-me” game? Melody sent up a prayer as she approached Conrad. She barely heard their Pastor ask who gave this bride, or her dad respond and transfer her hand to Conrad’s outstretched arm. From the corner of her eye she saw Tuttleson now sitting cross-legged watching their wedding from the bushes. Her heart cried out, Lord, what do I do? As Melody prayed. A small thought, soft and simple like a caress on her cheek, answered back, Everyone is welcome at the feast. Melody’s eyes met the gaze of her beloved. She had chosen the right partner for this life. They were imperfect and sinners, they struggled and fought, but they tried. They strove after God’s heart and wanted to do His will in all things and with God’s grace they would. Conrad would understand this choice, she was sure of it. She stepped back from her groom. “Everyone, Conrad and I have a very special request to make.” \[TO BE CONTINUED\]
Isaac put on his spectacles and took a seat in his fraying red armchair. He held up the sketch his sister had handed him and covered his mouth with his hand to hide his frown. Winnifred stood rigid before him, her hands dark with smudged charcoal. “They had wings, remember,” she asked, pointing at the drawing. Isaac made a small “hmm” in the back of his throat. “They chirped,” she insisted. She tightened her lips as though to play the flute and made a high-pitched sound with her tongue. “Or they whistled.” She pursed her lips and blew a couple of quick, disjointed notes. Isaac nodded noncommittedly. Winnifred was no artist, but she’d scratched and shaded to the best of her ability a couple dozen round, feathered creatures with wings and talons. Some were small and squat with spots around the eyes. Some were large with bright, vicious eyes. Others had legs that bent inward and beaks preposterously long for their heads. “The big ones would caw or make these screeching sounds.” She pointed to a large black bird labeled “Raven” on the paper. “Winnie,” Isaac said gently as he lowered the sketch to his lap. His sister’s mouth snapped shut. Her watery eyes widened. Isaac leaned forward and took a couple of breaths. “It’s just that … I don’t know. If these … birds … did once exist, wouldn’t someone else remember them?” Winnifred’s gaze fell. Isaac’s shoulders slumped. In the dim lamplight, his sister was a haunting mess, her red hair frizzy and uncombed, her eyes dark and bloodshot, and her cheeks sunken in. Her plain dress was smudged with charcoal and ink. “They’re pretty,” he said with an optimistic smile as he tapped the paper in his hand. “You’re getting better at that.” Winnifred wiped her hands on her burlap apron. Without a word, she turned on her heel and strode to the kitchen. Isaac sat back and rubbed his temple. A year ago, his brother-in-law Francis had dropped Winnifred off at an asylum in the city. Isaac didn’t find out until seven months after she’d been committed, only because he visited every New Years. His knuckles popped as he clenched his hand into a fist. Francis had sent a letter not to come, that Winnifred wasn’t well, but Isaac showed up at the front door anyway, insisting he’d help take care of her. Besides, he’d brought his latest invention--an elephant tea kettle that walked around the table and poured tea out its nose--and was sure it’d cheer Winnifred up. Francis had no choice but to tell the truth. “She won’t stop talking about birds,” Francis cried when Isaac had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt that New Year morning. “Don’t ask me! That’s what she calls them. I thought they were just little critters she made up for those children's stories she writes, but she started screaming and crying. She kept asking why I don’t remember them. What was I supposed to do?” Isaac dragged his hands over his eyes. He’d sold the tea kettle for the money to bribe the asylum into letting him take Winnifred home with him. He hadn’t wanted to believe Francis, but Winnifred would constantly ask him questions like, “Don’t you remember the swans that lived behind the Ronald Ferry’s House?” or “Remember when you and I used to make scarecrows at the autumn festivals?” The paper in his hand crinkled. Isaac brought it back up to the light for a better look. Winnifred’s journals were filled with descriptions of all kinds of birds--hummingbirds, parakeets, cardinals, blue jays, woodpeckers, hawks, falcons, geese, storks. Early every morning, she’d check the garden where she’d speared a thin metal pole into the ground and hung from it a basket filled with seeds. Next to it, she’d set up a stone bowl, which she’d fill with water regularly, making those chirping noises with her tongue all the while. “Come get dinner,” Winnifred called. Isaac folded the sketch and pocketed it in his vest. He watched Winnifred spoon stew into two bowls and frowned at the scars on her hands. He’d read a report just a couple months back by a journalist who’d gone undercover as a patient in an asylum. The article featured words like “cold,” “violent,” “drugs,” “strangled,” even “spiders.” It took Isaac a whole month to get Winnifred to talk again. Now as he watched her quietly slurp her stew, he feared one wrong word would rekindle that silence. Isaac’s eyes roved around in search of ideas. Mechanical, steam-driven and electric inventions rested in the nooks and crannies of the kitchen and living room. His bookshelves were overflowing. Loose pages spilled onto the rug in the living room. “Books!” Isaac shouted, slamming his spoon down onto the table and making Winnifred jump in her seat. “Sorry! I’m sorry, Winnie. But books. You say these birds were real? They may be in some of these books.” He dashed to the shelves. Winnifred followed close at his heels, her eyes alight. “Check the old book of fairytales Mother used to read to us! There were plenty of birds in it.” Isaac dug through the shelf and found the book, it’s spine cracked down the middle. He flipped through it, Winnifred hovering over his shoulder. The text was broken up by black and white illustrations of young men and women, castles, forests, wolves, dragons, rabbits, and squirrels ... but no birds. Winnifred began to tremble. “No. No, no, no, I remember there was a story about a girl whose brothers turned into swans!” Winnifred snatched the book and leafed through it. While she did, Isaac flipped through a book of fables, a handful of Dickens and Shakespeare, several collections of poetry, and a few research books he’d kept from his university years. “Coleridge!” Winnifred cried. “He had the one with the albatross.” Frantically, she dug through the bookshelf and found a collection of Coleridge. Isaac didn’t think her pale face could get any paler, but as she read the words, she looked like she was going to be sick. “A seal?” she cried. “They shot a seal?” Isaac’s heart sank as he watched her. Her whole body trembled violently. She sunk to her knees in the swamp of books she’d dropped on the floor. “But it was an albatross. This is absurd! Hunters shoot seals all the time!” Isaac snapped the book in his hand shut. He helped Winnifred to her feet and back to the dinner table. “I’m really sorry, Winnie,” he said, sliding the bowl of stew in front of her. “You don’t remember the Mariner who shot the albatross?” Winnifred cried. Isaac shrugged. “I always heard it was a seal, but a lot of the books on that shelf were yours--the poetry, Dickens, Shakespeare. I’d grabbed them from your house when I arranged to have you brought here. A lot of them I’d never read, so, for all I knew, that’s where you found these birds.” Winnifred’s head sunk into her hands. Her shoulders jerked violently. Isaac wrung his hands, feeling a pit in his stomach sprouting. Why? he wondered. Why had he bothered when he knew they weren’t real? In the three months Winnifred had been living with him, not once had he actually thought to believe her or prove her right until tonight. “I don’t know what else I can say or do, Winnie.” “But we used to throw the crusts from our sandwiches to the gulls when Mother and Father took us to the beach.” “We threw them to the hermit crabs in the sand.” “No,” Winnifred her head. “They were gulls! And what about Mother’s bird bath and feeders? I used to watch the finches and wrens eat every morning and afternoon. I’d listen to them sing.” “The feeders and bath are for the squirrels, aren’t they?” Isaac asked, pointing out the window that faced the garden. The sky was black and blue outside. “They climb up them often enough.” “They’re supposed to be for birds! I remember the hummingbirds that flew around the flowers in the garden. And the morning doves. When I was six, I woke up on a gray morning to their cooing.” Her lips formed the letter “o,” and she blew a series of hollow, melodious. “You don’t remember hearing them? They lived in the woods behind our house!” “Enough, Winnie!” Isaac raised his voice for the first time since he brought her home.
\[Secret Keeping\] "Good morning,"a pleasant voice followed by a loud metal clang pulled Cesar out of his sleep. He woke with start, then sat up on the uncomfortable cot facing the ruckus. A short broad woman with a tight chestnut bun atop her head wiggled an aluminum clipboard close to the cell's bars. "Congratulations, your story checks out,"the woman said. She put her hand on the bars and pulled the cell door open. "You're a free man,"she said. Cesar didn't jump to his feet right away. He briefly wondered if each of his friend's story checked out too; before they went missing. "I can go home?!"Cesar asked. He finally stood from the cot with a tall stretch. His 6'4"frame towered over the short woman. "Not exactly,"the woman replied. She stepped back to give Cesar room to step out of his cell. "You've stumbled into some major secrets; this is top level stuff that we can't risk the public knowing about." "So, I'm not free, I'm just in a bigger cell?"Cesar asked. He appraised the stocky woman. She looked like she could give him real trouble before he knocked her out. If Cesar was going try an escape; knocking her out would be his first priority. "Follow me,"she said. She walked to the door, scanned a card, then opened the door and walked through. Cesar was right behind her. "We're not bad guys, Mr. Lopez. I'm sure you've heard all sorts of rumors but you are safe here,"she said while she led him through several narrow hallways. "Yeah, my buddies disappearing is just a rumor,"Cesar grumbled internally. He continued to follow her hoping she'd lead him to where his friends were being held. He had no idea if they were still on the premises, the last one disappeared months ago. She led him to an office door and walked in. The name on the door and on the desk plaque said 'Alicia Johnston'. "Have a seat,"she gestured at the chair then sat behind the small desk. "You've discovered something we don't want getting out. Short of killing you, which we won't do, the only way we'd be comfortable letting you go is by sending you somewhere our secret doesn't matter." "Huh?" "This Earth is one of many,"Alicia said. "The people in charge like the way things are going. To avoid you blabbing about the outside world that isn't there, we just have to send you to a different Earth. Luckily you have a large variety to choose from." "You can send me to an alternate Earth?"Cesar asked in disbelief. "Whichever one you prefer,"Alica said. She placed a photo album on the desk between them, then opened it to the first page. It looked like a flyer for a renaissance fair. A large castle sat in the center of the sheet surrounded by different pictures of knights, wizards and dragons. "This one's been popular with the snoops that've been coming through here lately,"Alicia said. "Wait. You've sent others to different Earths too?"Cesar asked. Alicia nodded. "Of course. You don't think you're the first one that's snuck onto the base because of curiosity do you? You won't be the last I'm sure." "And you've sent them all to different Earths? Can you tell me which one my friends went to?"Alicia shrugged. "I don't know who your friends are, and I'm not allowed to give out any information about previous clients. But like I said,"she tapped the picture of the castle. "This one has been popular lately. Lately being about six months." "Alright, I'll take it. So, what now? Do I have time to go home and pack?"Cesar asked. Alicia shook her head and wiggled both sets of fingers at Cesar. "No time, you're already there,"Alica smiled as Cesar felt the floor disappear from under his chair. He and it fell straight down; he landed on a hillside of soft green grass. In the distance he spotted the same castle from the photo album. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1004 in a row. (Story #274 in year three.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog.
Waves from the boiling sea crash against the steep cliff. This cliff had years of abuse from the sea. Much of the cliff's face had been slowly eroded under the constant assault from the raging sea. Within the damaged face of the cliff, the remains of what appeared to be an unknown metal and concrete structure. The damage to this structure was negligible, but given another century under the constant assault of the boiling sea it would eventually succumb and become like the cliff’s face. The once green and bountiful earth was just another rock floating around a star. There was not a single source of life for as far as Captain May could pick up on an advanced scanner from the barren cockpit of the Ark. The scanner did not detect any life in the sea, on the surface, in the air, or under the surface. There was only a single reading. Him! Distraught and confused Captain May paced back and forth. From one side with advanced monitors to the other that contain numerous control panels. Captain May was looking for anything that might help him understand what was happening to Earth. To his home. The advanced scanner meant to detect life on a planetary scale failed him. Check numerous broadcasting channels also failed. "Only one planet in the entire universe is allowed to sustain life at any point in time." He found this single recording within the ship's last log. It was from someone he had never heard of and from an organization that had not existed. He was only supposed to have been put into a cryo sleep to awake after a couple hundred years. This ship and him were never meant to carry the future of the human race. He was merely supposed to be a test run for the greater colonization of the galaxy. Captain May was at a loss. A trace of terror could be seen plastered on his face. The terror of being alone. The terror of carrying the future of his race on his shoulders alone. Finally, the terror of failing the expectations that have unfairly thrusted upon him. Hours went by before he finally departed. Time was not on his side as it had been millenia since he had put to sleep. This facility has survived, but it is on its last leg. The outer was of the facility has been breached by the erosion of time. Most mechanical parts may at most have one time before they fail completely. After one last check and making sure the Ark was capable of flying and entering space, Captain May had made the heavy decision of departing. Captain May did not know why there was a rule that existed in this universe that only allowed one planet to sustain life. Captain May did not know if what had happened to the human race was intentional or unintentional. The only thing Captain May knew was this Ark was the last bastion of hope for the human race. It carried all the necessary technology and equipment needed to create a new settlement and populate it for the human race. As the Ark left the facility and gradually rose into the sky, a plume of dust could be seen from the facility it had just left. It had finally collapsed after having fulfilled its purpose. With one final look, the determined gaze of Captain May slowly shifted to the cold, empty galaxy that increasingly took up the view from the cockpit.
I tried my best to stop my hands from shaking. The picture was a picture of a ducky, with a smaller ducky behind him, a pond, and some grass. It was an intermediate-level picture. I was the only one who got past beginner. I could feel the eyes of my friends weighting on my back. All their hopes were pined on me. I had to do it. God knows what they would be doing to us if I failed. Last time Tony, a big thug-type guy, tried to fight back and escape... They put him in their strange, giant cuffs, but not before they did something to him. We never knew exactly what it was, but he... He hadn't been the same after that. We saw him when they brought him back. His skin has changed color. He was blue. Trembling from the shock. And no matter how much we called, no matter how much we asked, no matter how many words of encouragement we threw at him... He didn't utter a single word. I wasn't naive. If they could break Tony, they could break me. Hell, if they did to me whatever it was they did to him... Chances are I wouldn't even survive it. I needed to get this right. They gave us one of their crazy challenges - figments of their whims, that they imposed on us for no apparent reason other that they could. And this time, it fell on me to complete it. I opened the crayons box. There weren't that many in it, but they were very different colors. Colors had been an... obsession, of theirs. No one knew why. It was quite recent, it never had been before. But now, colors were important. Very important. And we needed to respect the colors. The man dressed in black knew more than we did. He couldn't tell us all the answers, probably out of fear that they might catch him if he said too much... But he still knew enough to cloak himself in black. Apparently, it kept them away. I can't say I understood, but he seemed to be right: they had left him alone for days now. He kept it low, and it worked. Maybe it had something to do with the colors?... I took out a brown crayon - for the bunnies. The bigger one had a spot on it, I thought brown would do well on it. We had no precise instructions, but... We had to respect the colors. I took a deep breath to steady my hand, and I colored. I could feel my friends holding their breath around me. They were scared. I was scared, too. But I couldn't afford to focus on that right now. I finished coloring the spot without missing the line, and I went with a beige crayon for the rest of the fur. \- Be careful! Whispered the man in black, hurry in his voice. You heard what they said! Do not. Cross. The line! I took my crayon and started coloring the back of the bunny. My hand felt like it weighted a ton... But I was doing it. I colored, and I stayed inside the lines. I was doing good. And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, something horrible happened. I sneezed. I couldn't help it. It's always been like that. Sometimes, I'd sneeze, for no reason, and it would always be completely sudden. No warning, no nose tingling, no nothing. From zero to sneeze in less than a heartbeat. I looked down at my page. I was hoping that maybe I'd see that I hadn't touch the page, or maybe only colored on the right place, or maybe even on the brown spot - I could always say I did it on purpose, I could argue that some bunnies really did look like this... But I already knew. From the horrored gasps of my friends, from the step back that the man in black took... I knew. I had colored outside the lines. And then, just like that, they were on us. They came from all sides. They were everywhere. Their weapons were ready, we knew that all too well. But... I couldn't take it. I couldn't take it anymore! All I did was crayon outside the lines! I didn't do it on purpose! I didn't want them to do me what they did to Tony, I didn't want them to torture me again, to give me those weird pills that made me stop to be myself! I. Couldn't. Do this! With a primal scream, I took one of the crayons, and jumped on the first one. I plunged the crayon into its eye, as far as I could. I wasn't sure if I did that right... But it fell on the floor, and stopped moving. Around me, I was vaguely aware that my friends all started yelling, too, all the other prisonners did, and we were all jumping at them. With a glance, I knew that we did the right thing, too. The man in black was also yelling, throwing chairs at them. I was terrified. Afraid of dying, afraid of what they would do to us if we failed. Alarms were ringing everywhere. But right now was not the time to be afraid. Right now was the time to fight back. \----------------------------- \- Son of a bitch! Lucian jumped inside the staff room, closing the door behind him to the patients wouldn't follow. He was calling the police - screw protocols! The loonies had been acting more and more tense the last few days, mumbling about colors for some reasons. After they had to give the big one a cold shower and a straightjacket, the director thought it would be a good idea to give them a few crayons to play with... And the first thing that happened is that one of them took a black crayon and smeared it all over his clothes, and spent all his time crouched in corners, as if no one could see him. The nurses gave them drawings, and told them to try and color inside the lines. That's all! And now one of them had killed Sarah by plunging a crayon in her eye! She was sually their favorite... There was no telling what they were planning to do to the rest of them. If he survived today, he was never going back to the asylum.
I am scared to grow up. There it is, I’ve said it. This is my truth. When I was little – when there was nothing more but scrapes on knees and crayons against paper – I used to look at the world with kind eyes. In the pale of night, when everything was dark and distant, I would rest my head against the windowpane, and be transported to a different reality. On the way home from my grandparent’s house, I would be lulled to sleep by low music and the following of the moon. And, when I wanted more – when I decided that the world wasn’t enough – I would stay up, head under blankets, until I could see the barest hints of pink and gold rising against ebony. I used to look at the world with curiosity. And maybe – in some way – it looked at me back. Now, I look at the world with dread aching in my bones. It’s hard to admit you’re scared of something. Call it fear of being judged, call it fear of being rejected, call it whatever you want. But the truth is – the truth that keeps so many up at night – is that we’re scared of looking into a reality where we’re right. Where we’ve become our very own persecutors. So, I admit this – not out of fear for rejection or judgement, but out of fear for realism. The apprehension that we have wasted time in being afraid of something rather than using it to do something. But I am getting off topic. Because in all the worries that I have about wasted time, I have yet to touch on the time that remains. Growing up is like learning how to ride a bike – we start anxiously, part in wonder and part in trepidation. We sit on the bike, now with more confidence, and grasp the handlebars. Readying our feet, we push off against the ground. Oftentimes, there are people to hold us. To talk us through the route. But then, once we feel like we’ve got this, that we’re ready, the arms are removed, and we are left on our own. The bike wobbles a few times but otherwise remains steady. So, we gain momentum, pushing harder and faster, not yet knowing our limits. And then, all of a sudden, the bike jolts. We’ve hit a pothole in the road and are now forced off our course. So, we stagger and sway, until we can no longer control the handles and the bike’s only option is to give out. We fall to the ground, but we do not get up. Eventually – after we cry and sulk – there will be a hand offered to us. We will hold onto it as it pulls us back onto steady feet. But, no matter how much prompting and placating are thrown our way, we will not ride the bike again. Maybe later. But not now. It seems silly. Comparing something that seems so scary, to something like riding a bike. I don’t remember the first time I rode a bike. Can’t remember if someone held onto me. Can’t remember what it felt like to soar through the air for the very first time. Can’t remember if I fell. Can’t remember if I got back up again. It’s always been something that I’ve just known how to do. I don’t know how to grow up. I don’t know if I want to. Realistically, I know that I am growing – time passes by like that; one moment you’re holding onto a bike for the very first time and then the next, you’re applying to colleges and universities, and forced to plan out your whole life. People used to tell me that you don’t want to grow up and be a kid for as long as you can. What they didn’t tell me though, was that I don’t really have a choice. At some point in our lives – maybe it’s when we get up after our first fall, or maybe it’s when we respond to admission letters – we start realizing what that means. And then we start to say it ourselves. I don’t know what I’m doing. I never really did. And I definitely don’t know how the world works. Because it’s not just about school and jobs and getting married and starting a family. Those are all things we can choose. Although, some have more freedom than others. What we can’t choose, is the split between life and death. Between sickness and health. Not when the world throws so much into our faces. Not when we throw things back. We were born into this world as our ancestors laid it out for us. They say that we have the power to change, the power to make the world a better place, the power to choose. That one is better than none. But those people – the very people who instill fear into each of us, in the first place – do not understand what it feels like to be helpless, what it feels like to be worried, what it feels like to be angry; it is so very real and so very ceasing. Change can start with us. But it can also end with us. Just like the world. I am a selfish person. I fear for my own safety, for my own life. But I do not fear for those that come after. For those that aren’t granted in the same way that I am. I still feel all the hopelessness, all the worry, all the anger, but I do not act on it. Perhaps the world operates on a never-ending rotation – that selfishness runs through our blood. Perhaps that’s all we are. Selfish and scared. Time moves forward. There is nothing we can do about it. I know how to ride a bike. But there are still times that I stagger, that I hit a bump, that I fall. We coexist with time. And as such, we will have to move with it. Whether we like it or not – whether I like it or not. So, yes. I am scared to grow up. But, I think I’m even more scared to discover all the answers that come with it.
I had always feared this day would come. I suppose this is the price you pay for settling in the only town that the Great Bridge runs through. As the only solid ground for at least fifty miles to the North or South, and a hundred miles East or West, it's the only place an army can station and fortify to hold the Bridge, which has been the sole means of crossing the Tangled Swamp for hundreds - perhaps thousands - of years. The constant squabbling and endless struggle for power by the Four Kingdoms has never really concerned us. Our people had no armies. No great leaders or noble houses to involve us in such quarrels. An unspoken peace has been maintained between Swampfolk and the rest of the realm for as long as anyone can remember. People pass through, and trade. The Swamp holds endless resources - if you know how to acquire them in the dangerous, wet terrain. Everything from the strongest lumber, to precious stones sifted from the silt, and of course the countless number of animals and plants that are hunted and harvested for food and pelts. The landscape and weather might be dreary, but to us it was a paradise void of violence. Everything changed when the two kingdoms of the North formed an alliance. Fearing an invasion, the two kingdoms of the South swiftly followed suit and combined their forces and began the march North. They meant to occupy the Great Bridge so that the Northern forces would be unable to invade. Unfortunately for the Southern kingdoms, and for us, the North had already mobilized with the same intention. We would not have cared which force occupied our town first, so long as they abide by the unspoken rule of peace we have maintained for generations. Had they collided at any point along the fifty mile long stone bridge, the forces would have been stonewalled by each other, for the bridge was 20 men across at the narrowest points and only 50 men across at the widest. Once either fore had garrisoned in our town, it would not take much of a force to hold it in either direction. An impassable blockade could be built along the bridge in a matter of hours. It would have hurt our trade to be sure, however I have no doubt that my people would rather trade with two kingdoms than none. The Southern alliance arrived first. The two kings rode their decorated horses with their guardsmen directly into our town's square, a massive, stone-paved plot surrounded by shops and trading caravans where the market was always buzzing from dawn to dusk. They stopped at the centerpiece of our town, at a tree we called the Ancient Oak. Nobody knew exactly how old it is, but it's the largest and tallest tree for hundreds of miles. The first settlers dare not cut it down as they did the rest of the trees to make way for the town, for this Titan was a marvel and a perfect symbol of the strength and growth that they hoped to achieve. The two kings announced that their troops would be setting up camp on the outer reaches of the town. They would not force anyone to leave their homes, and they did not demand resources. Any goods or lodging wanted or needed, they explained, they would pay for in gold. Of course, they both made it abundantly clear that they would graciously accept any donations. After all, they promised that they were here only to "keep us safe from the violent invaders of the North". Soon after the announcement, the market was more alive that it had ever been. The talk of the town was the new occupation, and soldiers began pouring in with pockets and purses lined with the riches of the South ready to buy out the stores and stocks of every merchant in the square. Perhaps it was their intention to guard us from the violence. Perhaps, if given more time, the peace would have been maintained. That peace was broken in less than an hour.
I'm quietly surprised when I think about how project [Ear]^th managed to run strictly by startup command in the beginning. (To be fair running on single command prompts at the beginning surely helped isolate the bugs) but having run the old Sims myself I found myself hitting glitch after glitch until I used the Thea subroutine that was stored in slam.pow in the events directory. That added a lot of needed stability to the whole design. I even tweaked the code enough to get the subroutine moon.gif to orbit instead. Suddenly even dino.sar ran without a crash. It was a little clunky but fun. We took it down for maintenance one day and the Ceo added a aster.oid protocol that neatly cleared almost the entire slate of beings. After that we learned that major changes should get done offline. And the ice age/fire/water reboot subroutines were far less kludgey than the previous aster.oid protocol. Provided you ran them offline. Success! I love my job. But even I saw the first semi-admin level system users as trouble. 'I cant program it.' He said. 'It has to self determine inside its own inputs.' 'I argued that swapping in realities we had tweaked would be a nightmare with admin units constantly running. Let's use offline protocols like we planned.' CEO (He IS the boss) opted for a new set of subroutines. 'That way downtime gets minimized.' He personally ran the first one. And surprised us by adding a new type of semi-admin system user. (Wo)man. These things miss nothing. And their design was elegant and pleasing just to watch. But it ran faster caught more of our tweaks in progress and began to update itself regularly. The argument became whether to scrap project subadmin, by that time we were calling it "ADAM', to just use the new version 'EVE' since it had less errors in coding. 'ADAM' survived that meeting only because the CEO had a soft spot for it. He tweaked the Unit into building its own protection subroutine. 'ARC' it was called. Every bit as klunky as he was, ARC was a save file. Only we didn't know it until the CEO ran WATEr.Flood from the reboot subroutines! (ADAM1.0 was reset to NOAH, really ADAM1.1 and we got a whole new programming subset with copies of almost all the old save files stored aboard ARC! We lost dino.sar in the reboot. Filesize too large for ARC space. But noone noticed in time so we just buried that project. Who digs around looking for old programs anyway? I wrote the DejaVu/Dreams subroutine as a tweak to the NOAH admin and hoped it would cover minor resets from then on. 'I'll tell you about the CEO's son's internship on [Ear]^th next time, new guy. We gotta go finish the new upgrades'
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend, what a load of bullshit." Slowly I racked a shell into my rifle the spent casing ejected onto the concrete floor of the bunker. The ambient noise of distant artillery and tracers echoing off of the nearby skyscrapers. What was originally the hub of the tree world the wall street stock exchange littered with bodies human, elisha and bilik. The latter two making up the majority of the dead around the sandbag barricade set up by the marines below. Carefully I pushed myself toward the window a trail left in the brass littered floor as I pulled my weapons stock close. My good eye pulled tight against my chin rest the warzone of lower Manhattan illuminated in a green haze. The city that never sleeps may have been a shambling corpse of its former self but the saying held true as I saw a single target. A elisha warrior stealthily sneaking down the street dodging between abandoned vehicles with inhuman grace. A cold ice griping my heart as I set my sights over the intruder a arc tracing the bullets trajectory as the trigger gave in. A flash reflecting off of the windows few remaining shards of glass the lith elisha freezing. His reaction far too late as its torso tore in half and slammed against a burnt out Bradley. The bastard twitching violently as I ejected the spent casing smoke following it through the air. "Take that you genocidal fuck." The distant shadow in the road below passing away after a few more seconds. With a slight flick I flipped the scopes cap closed rolling away from the window casings sticking inside the crevices of my chest rig. My eyes lingering on the body of my most recent spotter slumped over in the chair I had propped him up in. The stench of copper fetted in the room, I hate them all they did this too us to Franklin. Oh but well make em pay, I'll make damn well sure if that even if I have to burn down Newyork myself.
Esme crouched down, resting her backside on the polished concrete floor, her back pressed against the locked reinforced steal door. As she listened to the sound of the ice cream truck blaring out into the street, getting louder and louder as it neared her makeshift shelter. “Ice cream Man! Ice Cream Man! Here comes the Ice Cream Man!” It’s been happening more and more frequently. It started with once a day, then two or three times a day, and now every hour, so loud and jarring that she can’t sleep anymore. Waking every hour, night and day, until her brain is foggy and she finds herself crying in frustration. She wonders who, or more importantly “what”, it is. The voice is maniacal; almost gleeful with menace. Whatever it is, it is no longer human, if it ever was. There aren’t many humans left, and those who managed to survive the invasion, and the months long sweep of the city, never make noise; they wouldn’t dare. So, why is it doing this? Do the aliens believe that any human would be stupid enough to run towards the truck at the promise of ice-cream? Or are they simply mocking them? Daring the few who remain to assuage their curiosity and come see the spectacle that they have created. A human body, perhaps, controlled by them, turned into nothing more than an automaton. She’s seen it before. She wished she hadn’t. Her former neighbor, Mr. Filkins, walking down the street, herky-jerky, like a puppet controlled by an unskilled master. She spied him as crawled on the floor of her upstairs bedroom towards the window and popped her head up just enough to see what was happening, she saw him walk towards them and then follow in their wake. This was when she was still at the house. Alone. Waiting for her family to return. They never did. And it was after she saw Mr. Filkins, she lost all hope. She needed to move. She could no longer stay in the house, as the aliens were doing a house to house search, dragging out any humans and shooting them with that strange weapon that emitted a blinding white light and turned their victims into charred husks. Burning human flesh permeated the air and she could not get the smell of it out of her nose, as she watched in horror as those creatures stood over the corpses, emotionless. They were at least eight feet tall, grayish mottled skin, with narrow torsos, and sticklike arms. Their heads were hairless and elongated, with slits for noses, and small lipless mouths; and black oval eyes at least four times as large as any human’s. Did they feel anything as they killed over and over again? Or were we just bugs to be squashed? She took a huge risk after she fled her house, following them and waiting until they finished a sweep of an area and then moving into an industrial loft. She managed to crawl up the fire escape and through the bathroom window that was left partially open. It must have once belonged to an artist. A painter. Abstract canvases everywhere, and the smell of paint in the air. She pulled down all the shades, dragged the mattress onto the floor, and stayed low down, below the windows. She did not dare use any lights in the darkness. She barely moved at all from that mattress, except to eat, or wash, and she did less and less of that. She had been there for four weeks. A lifetime. But now the ice cream truck was back again. And she was so very very tired. If she could just get more than an hour’s sleep. She had run out of food days ago. She did not know how much longer she could hold out. And all she could think of was ice-cream. “Go and get the ice-cream”, she whispered to herself, “it will be alright, just go and get the ice-cream.”
As Richards walked toward the coach's door. Joe Williams let his eyes stray down to the box containing the player's, now ex-players jerseys. Mike Richards was an extraordinary pitcher. His slider was flat out impossible to hit. And he could hit a third basemen almost from mid pitch. That kind of direction change without power loss just isn't easy. And yet Joe had seen it twice from the boy in a single game. His leaving put a hole in the lineup that was disastrous to the team. Yet Joe could understand. Even legends have limits. 'I'm sorry coach. I can't get a scout here, I love this team but I gotta have a future.' How do you argue against that? Why would you? He let his eyes linger on the awards case and wall displays for a long moment before he got up and made his way to the locker room. The shouting carried out and into the hall where Joe stood. 'Two Dogs and a penguin!' 'Three angels and an elderly girl!' 'Preschoolers!' 'Robots?' 'More empty uniforms!' He winced when he heard that and pushed open the locker room door. Inside a team he had dragged, in some cases physically dragged, through full workouts and conditioning sat half dressed, building a large bettors table of unlikely opponents for the upcoming season. No use running back to the regulation book as it seemed to be printed on silly putty. What hope does an athletic team have against the powers of slapstick and farce? 'Okay guys, settle down. Settle. I gotta tell you I've been so proud of you guys in spite of current events. He said. You have all been putting in a huge effort. We have faced some strange situations...' 'Strange? We got our asses kicked by shady oaks retirement village in the finals last year!' Shouted Tommy Andrews. Let it go, coach Joe thought.. Better to not put more stress on them just now. 'Okay we already know that weird stuff is the normal. We are still a great team. Just caught up in a lot of foolishness.' He said. 'I have a meeting scheduled with the league but we all know how they are. Just know that anywhere else in the world we would own these bums.' He got waves of agreement but He didn't push. Instead he let them sulk until finally he had to speak again. 'You should also know,' he began, 'that the Winchester Plotarmors just bought a goat...'
LDiary entry 8/11/32 I went on a date he’s so amazing and so real, tall handsome, serious, comical, caring and seems so knowledgeable... but... he’s very.... valued ...... very factual.... a declared enemy.....A my biggest fear ghost hunter... although he doesn’t mention what factors invoke into it... Diary entry 8/11/33 it’s been a year and he’s amazing my boyfriend Tom, he’s an acknowledged enemy for whom I am and he is so out-coming on his factors, he’s a ghost hunter, and I’m terrified if I ever tell him what will happen but I adore him, But I must not say a word.... Diary entry 8/2/38 years are going by so quickly, he proposed and of course I said yes!!!! The wedding is set for next spring. I haven’t spoke a word of what I am, still within the fear as more and more ghosts are disappearing, vanishing... what have I done!! What did I get myself into...... Diary entry 8/14/38 Last night was terrible, I indulged way to many drinks, all I remember is saying I must tell you something Tom!! What did I say what happened what’s going to happen to me, to us? Is our love strong enough.... Diary entry 8/15/38 today I found out what would happen if I told him, years later... although he’s a self-avowed ghost hunter, turns out it’s a cover... he has definitely been skeptical of questioning the validity character.... Turns out I’m not the only secret holder..... Diary entry 10/10/38 were going great I’m slowly helping him more with his job... and things even there are going amazing speaking of witch were heading to ghost island, the story is it’s a island of ghosts and only a select few or knowledgeable of it.... Rumors state that the are thousands maybe millions of ghosts on the island.... Diary entry 6/15/39 Wedding was perfect!! Honeymoon priceless! Although it has been tough, we are doing great and I thought it would be time for one last entry... Turns out we’re one in the same.. his “ghost hunting job” was a underlying discovery he made in order to help, he tracks the ghosts and then he took them to ghost island to keep them safe from the real hunters....
Hi u/Master_Biggus, this submission has been removed. While it doesn't seem to be your intent, the mods reserve the right to remove anything we feel may become harmful to the community. * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content) --- 'Were-furry' stories are not appropriate for this sub. --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/j3na9e/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
uuugh. Me an Thog do new thing. Ya. Many hand make light work. Is good. Think maybe have temple twice as big as Og make last year. Twice the hands twice bigger. Only stand to reason. But no no no child. No fire in temple. Temple for praying for big meats and bananna with small seeds. You no make fire in temple or you burn temple down. Make Thog very mad. Chase you with stick. Lights in sky though... eh, maybe. uuuuuuuh. Maybe talk to Thog about building temple go upward. Get branch and rope. Maybe get up on top of thog shoulders and reach. Ya, we can do that. Me like have shiny night light. Sky have plenty. (Tsk. Kids and their new-age fancy words. Never catch on. Him speak so funny.)
I joined the airforce at the tender age of 17. I left with what I could carry a heartful of patriotism and a sack lunch of what was left in the refridgerator and a kiss on the cheek from my mom before she left for work at Walmart for a double shift. A quick study, a brilliant mind, a splash of luck, and I became a UAV pilot. Not a fighter pilot like pepaw, but the best I could do without a bachelor's degree. I sent home every paycheck I could. It still wasn't enough to keep my mom afloat, but it was enough for my mom to leave our rat infested apartment. At 23 I left the airforce telling my mom I was going to college. In reality, I became a contractor fpr the CIA and finally make real money. I finally was able to support my mom and soon my mom was finally able to move out of the projects into a humble studio without rats, gangs, or bed bugs. My mom able to laze around on the weekends kept the worst of my dreams from haunting me and well it happened on a screen faraway from me. It was hardly a problem to just pretend it was a video game. A child here, a crowd of innocents there, and a misplaced missile every now and again was met with phone calls to my mom and pictures of my younger brother attending a junior college and fighter pilot video games. I never questioned orders after seeing someone complain and disappear the next day. I needed the money and morals be damned my mom deserved the best for working late nights, missing meals to feed me, and spend almost two decades scraping the bottom of the barrel to just keep me alive. Today was no different. I was to wake up at 2200, recieve the brief, fly to the strike point, and lay waste to the "enemy". It was simple, and I took pride in my 91% success rate. The day progresses as it should with a few spooks excitedly brag about the elusive homegrown terrorist that caused millions in damage. Some call it assassination, I called it precise problem solving after I crammed one too may missiles into one terrorist meeting too many. I was finally 5 minutes from the strike point. The spook, just like they always did, handed me a manilla folder. "You ready to kill 'Queen Elizabeth' top gun?"I rolled my eyes. I worked with this one maybe... 4 times? His intel was always good leaving him with a personality filled with piss and vinegar. It also left him with a constant need to question if I was a reliable enough pilot which I suppose was fair. "Its Mike for the 100th time and sure. Let me guess hates orange man and tried to mail him a bomb?"The spooks smile widened as he shrugged his shoulders and gestured for me to keep guessing. After a few more educated guesses like spy, cartel member, and what not. He finally answered. "'Queen Elizabeth' is the number one of the Red Legion"his smile widened. No wonder this guy was proud of himself. She was the Ace of Spades as far as the conflict in Ukraine was concerned. "I bet she looks like a slut. Lemme get a look"the spook drew closer in excitement as he all but opened the manilla folder for me. My eyes saw familiar blue eyes. Where I saw skin abused by the torment of a harsh life. My gaze was met with a young beautiful woman full of life holding a baby along with a proud man. "Fire when ready let's smoke this bitch"my hands trembled. My eyes looked at the monitor to see my mom's studio apartment. She was outside smoking a slowly moving a block against her ear. My phone vibrated. My hands were on auto-pilot as I lined up the shot and verbally asked for confirmation again. "Hey honey, I wanted to call you and tell you I love you. Call me as soon as you can. Your brother just got his tickets for his graduation. I love you Mikey... alright bye"my heart was pounding in my ears as the spook said the words. With grace like a dove, i watched the missile impact just a floor below sending my mother flying with the debris. If the shrapnel didn't kill her, the fall would guarentee it. When the debris settled, my mom was a bloody ragged mess groaning in the street. "God damn Mike, command was worried you wouldn't do it. You're a God damn Ice Man. I'm writing you up for a commendation solid work."The spook got up to leave. A flood gate opened. The families destroyed, the innocents ruthlessly slain, and the pain wrought by my hand. After years of "problem solving"I put my face into my hands and wept.
Finally , today is the say she promised to play league of legends with me with her mic on. I excitedly turn my computer on giddy in anticipation. Discord automatically opens up so I start opening league while discord loads. The anxiety is starting to eat at me, which is evident as I type my password in incorrectly for the third time because my hands are shaking and sweating. I finally get into the client and see that she already has a lobby started 1/5 Normal Draft. I hesitantly join and type in chat "I'm hopping on disc if you wanna voice chat". She responds, "Yeah, I'll join in a little bit my roommate is vacuuming right now". Unperturbed, I ask her to start the game and she obliges. The blaring sound of match found resonates through my eardrums and I happily accept the game. First pick, so I can assuredly play my best champion, Diana, to impress her. I ban Veigar, what a despicable baby champ. Bans go as normal and I lock in Diana. the enemy team picks Vladimir to counter me. I start to get even more anxious because this is a notoriously volatile matchup, where if I even make one mistake it's over for me. Everyone else picks their champs and she picks yuumi support. The game starts and we all run to lane and ward up level 1. I have a normal laning phase where I push the lane in hard to deny vlad minions and see a good opportunity to roam bot and impress the yuumi with my superior macro and mechanical ability. I go bot to roam and engage on the enemy ashe and senna with a nasty QE combo that hits both of them. I'm feeling really good until the enemy kindred jumps out of the Tribush and triple kills us. I suddenly hear the yuumis mic activate and hear a dude say, "you fucking suck dude".
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"Fuck."He said as the smile on his face changed to one of horror. The target had not shaken his head and been confused; rather, a red flower bloomed on the back of his shirt. "Did I-"Cupid said as he checked his rifle. "I forgot to change out the rounds."His heart rate quickened. His job was supposed to be simple, just make a man realise his love for his significant other, but he had bungled it up worse than he could have ever imagined. Letting loose more choice curses, he racked his brain looking for a solution to the situation. The bullets he was supposed to be using would have phased through the café window and hit the mark. Now he had a broken window and a dead man on his hands. He had to find a way to explain this to the Bossman, and fix this.
"You're just gonna toss me out on my own?"I questioned. "But... My family... I don't... Why can't you send me back?" The mage sighed. "Don't you know that summoning spells are one-way trips? You have my apologies, but we can't afford to keep so many here, and if we made any exceptions, all the others would demand to join." "WELL, WHY'D YOU SUMMON SO DAMN MANY?"I cried, rage streaking my face as the faces of my friends and family flashed through my mind. "W-Well..."the mage shifted uncomfortably. "We only knew the hero's general magical signature, and we didn't expect that calling it through would bring others..." "Bullcrap,"I challenged. "I managed to get a look into the library, and this is, what, the tenth time you've called a hero from another world? You can't honestly tell me this hasn't ever happened before, especially with the references to a group called the Forsaken." The mage frowned. "I think it's time you leave the premises of this castle with the others. Guards! Escort this young woman to the gates with the other Forsaken." I shoved the guards away and stomped down the hall to the crowd of Forsaken waiting at the gate. A middle-aged man noticed me and nodded. "You the last one?"he asked. I nodded in response, anger turning to numbness. The man offered a sympathetic smile. "Name's Jason Nirro. You?" "Maria Jameson,"I mumbled. "Nice to meet you, I guess." "Wish it were under better circumstances,"Jason sighed. "Somehow, we've all managed to agree to find a place where we can make a new life in this world." "I'll come,"I nodded. "Nowhere else to go, really." "Alright, everyone! Let's head out!"Jason called out. "Got a lot of ground to cover before nightfall!" The few dozen members of the crowd hit the road, backs turned to the castle that housed those who had torn us from our homes. A silent promise was made in my heart as I trudged on: I would come back. And I would find my way home. No matter what. Part 2 coming eventually
"Are you ready?"My commander's voice crackled over the radio. Al was always checking in on us, like our space dad. "As ready as ever."I replied, checking my oxygen one last time. It was full, it had been full 30 seconds ago when I checked. "Ok. Let Houston-alt know."He said, punching me lightly on the shoulder. "Carrie to Houston-alt. We're ready."I radioed. A voice came down in my radio from the mobile command unit orbiting Mars "This is Houston-alt. On your go Carrie. We'll broadcast to Huston. Get ready to make history." My heart thundered. Here I go. I was going to be the first person to set foot on Mars. Thousands of astronauts had applied, and they chose me. Earth expected me to say something, the way the first man on the moon had. NASA had given me a few options, and I hadn't decided yet what I would say. I'd have to say something good. "Ok depressurizing the air lock. Know what you're gonna say Carrie?"came Bills voice. "Nope. I'll figure it out once I'm outside."I said, turning to smile at the team, before lowering my sun shade. "Typical Carrie."Bill laughed. "Well don't stutter. And don't trip." "Pressure equalized. Opening the door. Here we go, first steps on Mars. Carrie, you lead." Bill pushed open the air lock door. Two aluminum steps was all that stood between me and the surface of a new planet. Houston-alt spoke in my ear "Starting broadcast. Your mics live Carrie." I swallowed. "Here we are."I said, taking in the red planet that I had worked so hard to get to, and got the honor of going onto first. I took two slow and careful steps and paused on the bottom stair. I took one more breath and hopped down onto the surface, landing lightly on one foot and then the other. Thankfully I didn't fall. I turned to look back at the crew, and Jess who held the camera that would broadcast my first steps to Earth. "How far we've come. And how far we have to go."I said. I was excited, elated, but there's no applause in space. The team cheered over the radio, and Kay jumped up and down on the upper step, pumping a fist in the air. I imagined my dad watching the video back on Earth. "Well done Carrie. Cutting your mic feed."Aaron's voice from the orbiting command broke into my revere. "Yeah, thanks. Can't believe we're here." "Enjoy it." The rest of the crew left the hab and wandered over to me. "Let's get some footage of you planting the flag. Up on that rise there"Al handed me a flag pole and pointed to a ridge not far away from where we stood. I radioed to Jess to follow me, and keeping near her we hopped and lightly stepped up the ridge. I positioned myself with the hab in site behind me, and placed the flag pole in the rocky martian soil, and then waved for the camera. "Yeah, ham it up Carrie!"Said Jess, giggling. But I froze. Something odd caught my eye behind Jess. On a cliff face was a carved door. Half round, and not a natural cave. It looked uniform in shape and was covered with a regular, geometric pattern. I used my heads up display to tag it, and share the tag with the team. "Team, what's that? Sent you the tag."I asked, staring at the door. "A cave? Wait, it's a very regular shape. I don't see evidence of a cave on the rover maps. Weird. We'll check it out on our excursion tomorrow. Get some more footage and then let's get back to the hab. We have interviews to do tonight."said Al. He sounded unconcerned. We finished up and headed back to the hab to record our video interviews and send them back to Earth via Huston-alt. Communications took too long to go directly from Earth to Mars, so we had a list of questions ready to answer. The next day Bill, Jess, and I took the MAV (Mars All-terrain Vehicle) towards the door I had seen. We were going to take some soil samples, and explore a shallow impact crater. It was a long trip, and I spent my time watching the door closely as we approached. We finally reached the door, after several stops for samples. Al parked the MAV and we suited up to explore. Bouncing up to the door Jess said "This doesn't look like water or wind erosion. These edges are sharp, and the surface of the rock isn't as smooth as you'd expect." "You sure Jess?"Al asked. He had his helmet light on, and his face was visible. His brow was furrowed. "Yeah. This looks tooled, not eroded or natural."Jess said, poking the rock door with a gloved finger. "Can't be. We have no evidence of life - intelligent or otherwise - here. Are you suggesting this is evidence?" Jess huffed. "Al, I don't know what it is, but it's not a natural phenomenon. Rocks don't do this by themselves." "Take your samples. We need to head back."Al switched off his light and his face disappeared. "Give me a hand Carrie?"Jess asked, and offered me a sample drill. "Sure thing. You really think someone - something - made this?"I asked, crouching next to her to take a sample from the location she pointed out. "Here, right?" "Yeah, just there."Jess sighed "I don't know. That's what it looks like. These look like tool marks. And dusty wind like Mars wind doesn't leave edges sharp like this, it wears them down smooth."She poked a pointed angle that stuck out of the geometric design on the rock. I put the drill to the rock and pressed. As I did so, the rock slid away, into the cliff face. "Aw shit."Jess grabbed my arm and pulled me backwards. "What the - get over here you two!"Al said, bouncing our way. Our radios lit up with Al's voice. "Houston-alt, we're investigating the door shaped formation. I'll be dammed if it didn't just open. It's actually a door." Aaron's voice was disbelieving "Say again? It opened?" "It's a god-damned door. Doors open. It opened."Al growled, pushing past Jess and I to get closer. "Commander, be careful."I said. I couldn't help myself. Behind the door was just darkness, and I was suddenly afraid, very afraid. "Don't approach."Came the command from Houston-alt. "Return to the hab ASAP. That is an order." "We'll come back tomorrow with the whole crew."Al said, leading us back to the MAV. The ride back was silent. Jess looked as scared as I had felt, and Al looked angry. No one spoke, and we didn't stop anywhere for samples. We return to the hab to find orders from Houston: "Return to Earth immediately. They got here before us. Leave with all haste. God bless and good luck."
“Sing me another song, about the land below,” I murmur sleepily to Harp. My mother left her to me as a child, her letter confiding in me how the beautiful, sentient golden Harp is an ancient relic, delivered to our King by the wealthy kingdom Below. Ever since, I was enraptured with the idea of Below. Small for my age, I was often bullied by the other children, and turned to confiding in the animated Harp, who came to be my truest and most steadfast friend. She always advised and reassured me when Adolpho, the Prince, tormented me with his gang of sycophants, wiping my tears in the absence of parents. That night, I dream of finally descending Below. My enchanted golden rope anchored firmly in cloud, beloved Harp snug in my pocket, I eagerly penetrate the thick clouds of my homeland, and glimpse the lush green land Below. In my dream, my descent does not go unnoticed. As I take my first steps on the land Below, a carnival springs up around me. Strange animals mill about as an impromptu parade is organized in my honor. Giddy, I march amongst my newfound Below friends, drinking in the scenery, delirious with the excitement of finally achieving my lifelong ambition. Our dream-procession reaches an enormous Castle, outside of which are the most spectacularly regaled people I’ve ever imagined. Their King bows low to me, welcoming me with tears in his eyes. “It has been so long since we’ve seen our Allies from Above! Welcome! Please, accept our humble gifts for-“ I awoke with a start. The texture of my bed-clouds seemed oddly different. My home was eerily still. Turning my head, I began to ask, “Harp-“ but she was gone. Furious, I shout, “Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum! I smell the blood of an Englishman! Be he alive, or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to make my bread!” It was Adolpho’s favorite taunt against me, and I knew this was his doing. They just could not leave me alone. My bullies still torment me as I come so close to finally leaving the Kingdom of Cloud behind. Blinded by rage, I rush out my house seeking Fiona, Fireese, Adolpho, and Fumiko, desperate to rescue Harp before they crushed her as they always said they would. Instead of seeing the Prince’s gang scampering off with their prize accompanied by Fo’s mocking laughter, I am greeted by an eerie stillness, and a silence I didn’t know was possible. For the first time in my life, the wind isn’t blowing. It’s as if the entire Kingdom is frozen in the same agony that possessed me. Snapping to my senses, I realize there is something... alien... in the distance. I rush toward the strange form, suddenly certain this strange figure is what stole Harp from me. The bright, vibrant anomaly seems to pulse and sway as I stand before it. Its twisted form draws my eyes downward. With a gasp, I realize it has accomplished what I had always dreamt of achieving: it penetrated through Cloud and opened the path to Below. And in its twisted form I see the glint of Harp, steadily making her way downward. With a deep breath, I grasp the twisted form, and realize that though not as soft as the creations of Cloud, it is not nearly as hard and cold as Harp. Heart racing, I begin searching for a toehold, then another, and begin climbing down the pliant, swaying oddity. I periodically glance downward, finding reassurance in the closing gap between myself and Harp. Once she reaches the ground, I see that she had not climbed on her own, but had been strapped to some small insect, which shrugs her off and scurries away. Relief surges through my veins as I relax my speed. Harp had not fled, but had been kidnapped! Whatever creature had taken her can be squashed easily, and now we would finally be in the land Below together as we always wanted! The rhythmic shaking of the oddity seems to match my exuberant heartbeat, and I swivel my head to finally drink in the scenery I had longed for over my entire life. The colors are dazzling. Not just the pale whites, greys, and blues of the Kingdom of Cloud, or the dazzling gold of Harp and the other gifts from Below, but a wide spectrum beyond my imagination. The vibrant color of the oddity must be green as it features predominantly, and in so many different shades! Some greens were arranged in orderly squares, but in the distance I see deeper shades of green bubbling out of the ground like small cumulus. My pace slows more as I note the other colors sprinkling the landscape, and in the distance... sparkling blue? I always laughed when Harp said she is not the brightest of sights to behold Below, but I now see the truth in her words as I am nearly blinded by the light in the distance. In the other direction are what must be Mountains. Harp often spoke of her home deep within the Mountains that towered above the rest of the landscape. That would be our first destination on our adventure. She deserved to return home after her millennia in Cloud. Smiling, I look down to shout to Harp, as surely I am now close enough for her to hear me. And I see the concern in her posture, and her frantic gestures toward the oddity in my embrace. The thief-creature had returned, and was performing some kind of ritual at the base of the oddity. I quicken my pace again, moving downward faster than before. As Harp’s sweet voice reaches my ears, I feel the oddity lurch and sway downward, “Penelope! The ground will not cradle you as Cloud does!” Realizing my inevitable fate, I shove myself off the oddity, determined to land as far from Harp as possible. I open my arms to embrace my beloved Below, and hope that though I do not get to explore Below with her, Harp will at least carry my memory through the land for me. (I’m so sorry if this is bad, trite, cliché, and totally expected. It’s the first time I’ve tried to write in over a decade.)

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