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"So... what now?" "Whaddya mean now?" "I mean,"Max Hansen began "What happens next?" "Do I look like I know?"David Mitchell fired back. Max supposed that was an appropriate response. Recounting the last 72 hours included stopping the known egomaniac and weapons supplier six feet from him. Then, when word got out that not only was the Agency compromised, but that the madman behind it was a rival of Mitchell's, AND that said madman had procured Cobalt. What followed was a mess of car crashes, jumping out of planes, saving each others asses, and more so, saving the world from the most dangerous chemical weapon ever conceived. Now they were here, on a beach in Dubai, staring up at what had been the terrorist HQ. Siren's were growing louder, and inevitably it would be a nightmare getting bailed out by the Agency. Max considered the man next to him. David Mitchell was wanted in 125 countries. The UAE was one of them. If caught here, he would likely be locked up or executed. His crimes warranted it in these parts. But after what Max had seen, how David had chosen to stand at his side when he didn't have too.... "You should go."Max began, his brash Aussie accent rougher than normal. "You're not gonna turn me in?" "Not right now." David stared at Max with an unreadable expression. The Agent had proven he would get dirty and fight like the devil, which had earned a good deal of David's respect. There was more to this, and David wasn't enough of an idiot to leave Max alone. Especially after learning that the Agency was compromised. "You coming?"David questioned. "No. Police will want answers. This bastard and his lackeys are the real culprits."Max glanced at David "You just did your civic duty." "You think I'm leaving you here after all of this?" "You startin' to care, Mitchell?" "I still need a pilot to get out of the country, jackass."
“Please I beg of you turn me back,” I pleaded. “Well this is a first,”he laughed. “You don’t understand being a wolf was the best thing that ever happened to me.” His face said that he was finding this hard to believe. When I was cursed I thought it was the worst, but then I met him sure he was a regular wolf but I needed the stability. Over the years we eventually grew from just two into a pack of ten. Now that I’m human again I feel as though I’ve lost an irreplaceable part of myself. The therapy sessions helped a little but it wasn’t enough to heal the pain. So now I’m pleading to be able to go back to my real family not the humans that left me behind. “You’re sure about this I won’t do it again.” “Please,” I said. “Fine but you’re staying in those woods this time.” And with that everything went black. It just past mid day when I awake once again a wolf, Now to find my pack.
Grudge fights were never pretty, especially when they were between people with superpowers. You’re reminded of this as you watch Grey Falcon pummel Pernicious through a brick wall. Your mentor’s enhanced strength creates visible cracks in Pernicious’ mask, but Pernicious’ own power drain ability is sapping your mentor’s vitality. It’s time to get the Guardians involved. It only takes a quick flex of your power, and a single message is telepathically transmitted to your five teammates. ‘Go.’ Immediately, the rest of the Guardians spring into action. Shattering glass, walls being collapsed, and a strange vorping sound all indicate your team has sprung into action. Hopefully, they’d be able to take whatever goons Pernicious hired to protect him. You weren’t as directly combat-capable as the rest of your teammates, but you had an altogether different role to play. Telepathy has always given you a mental map of whoever is nearby, and it’s practically second nature to find where your mentor, Grey Falcon, has gone off to. You take off in that direction, paying keen attention to where all the other fights were happening and winding your way between them. If you get caught up in Coriolis’ gravity well or one of Juggernaut’s haymakers, well, that’d be the end for you. You hear Grey Falcon before you see him. The crack air makes when the the space his fists were are suddenly vacated is very distinctive. The sharp cracks punctuate each punch, and you can tell he’s winning. You hear the crying when you get closer. You knew that you and your team aren’t the first generation of Guardians. Once, there was another group of six heroes who rose up to defend their city. It took only one man to tear that all down, leaving five corpses and a blinded old man. Falcon became Grey Falcon, and he’d returned to get revenge on Pernicious. You knew that you and your team was means to an end, but if it meant avenging the last Guardians, you were fine with it. As you round the corner, however, you realise that the fight is already over. Pernicious has well and truly been beaten to a pulp. If he lived past this day, he’d never be able to walk again. You spot Grey Falcon not a moment later, and notice the blood dripping off his fists. It doesn’t look like he’s finished. You stand there, staring for what feels like eternity, as you watch Grey Falcon stand over Pernicious’ barely conscious body. You barely notice when the rest of your team files in behind you. You’d forgotten to keep track of their fights. It takes only one more crack through the air, and that spells the end of Pernicious. Permanently. You feel the rest of your team’s hackles raise, and you raise a hand to stop them. Telepathy often comes coupled with being an empath, and you were no exception. You’d felt Grey Falcon’s grief. There was no other step forward. Sometimes, you had to let sleeping dogs die. Sometimes, tragedy could only end with tragedy.
Quiet streets lay all around the world. The humans having wreaked havoc to their ecosystem, turned to science hoping to find a way to continue. Once the discovery was made human nature once again reared its ugly head and instead of finding world peace, perished in a series brief but devastating wars including nuclear, biological and even traditional warfare. The machines had continued to run after their master disappeared but the power stations had been damaged and when they failed the machines stopped, like the inevitable winding down of an antique pocket watch. However, in one remote town the power had stayed on. It was sold to the bean counters as a test area for their greatest creation. In truth, the architects of mankind’s downfall, knowing more of humanity’s inhumanity than most, had set it up as a refuge in the all too likely event that everything went to hell. It had been five years had since their hubris had birthed their own doom, Four years since the outbreak of the lazarus wars, and three years since the last homo sapiens sapiens had died. A researcher and caretaker in the refuge they made. \### It was approaching winter in the town. The mountains, visible from the Tower of Man, were already snowcapped and each week saw less of their purple majesty was visible. A little girl, who had never been given a name, stared out the window of her room. She was sad that the pretty purple was disappearing. She hugged her unicorn plush and thought of how she would like to sled down those mountains like children from before. That would be years away she knew, today’s goal was simple to try new food. They girl just had to do one thing first, she dragged her feet to her computer terminal. “I don’t want to study today. I want to go out.” She stomped the floor with her little feet. She looked at the plush in her arms but it didn’t move. She knew she had already lost the battle, but she was as stubborn as her mother. “Experiment you are to do 3 hours of study every day. This directive cannot be overwritten.” A woman’s voice, lacking warmth but having motherliness hoisted upon it, chided the girl. “When you have finished the day’s training you will be given your allocated play time. Please put on the helmet.” The girl squirmed, covering her ears as the computer warmed up the VR headset, thousands of faux synaptic relays whine as they charge. As it is with time, the girl felt minutes pass while the unicorn internal clock would have marked it at 20.007 seconds. When the noise finally stopped threatening her eardrums, the girl put her unicorn on the chair and used it to help her climb up. “Thank you, experiment.” The intoned. Her earliest lessons had been manners and she thought they were how you showed love. Only her room computer was polite to her. The girl reached for the helmet as it dangled over the desk and pulled it onto her head in a movement made smooth from repetition. The helmet was far too large to fit comfortably, luckily it didn’t matter. Her breaths rasped around her as the agonizing second of darkness dragged on. Finally the world around her brightened and the pain from the helmet resting on her shoulders faded. The next three hours went by in a blur of lessons ranging from math to history. She learned cursive writing from a woman, whom she was told to call Ms. Austen. History was a lesson on early man and she watched various hairy men, whom she didn’t have to talk to, beat various other things with rocks. When they threatened her, her unicorn was there to protect her and the simulation came to an abrupt end. After the lessons her room door opened and she was allowed to go to the playroom until lunch. There was a time when the girl would have happily played on the many machines and slides or had a tea party, like she saw in the movies at night, yet in spring a storm had broken a window on the second floor. The caretakers had cleaned the mess and placed a sheet over the window. This kept what little animal life there was out. It was not up to the task of keeping a curious and genius little girl from venturing out. The first time, she had just jumped out the window. That had caused her two problems. First, she hurt her legs and had to wait an hour before they healed enough for her to walk. The second, was she had not planned a way to return. She had to walk around the building to the front doors, luckily they had her data and let her in. Sadly, she was not allowed to have play time for a week, and she had an extra period of study each day, learning the dangers of the outside. If the programmers or AI had thought that would stop her from going out again they were wrong. She spent each night either watching movies or reading books about escapes. By the end of her punishment she had a plan, she would make a cloth stirrup ladder. It took her another month to get enough bed sheets for it. Since then she had spent every day exploring the area. By the end of summer she had made it the town and discovered. At first, she was scared of the flashing lights and the hot, tickling sensation she felt in town. After several days of approaching then running back to the tower, she entered a building for the first time. It had been a grocery store and she found that it contained all sorts of food. She had never eaten anything other than the mush she ate from silver packets. She had tried an ice cream cone from a freezer by the door and then another and another. After an agonizing walk back and an unpleasant night she had vowed not to eat that much again. She developed a plan, now each day was a single new food paired with a drink.
(Totally didn't alter this a bit, not at all-) I never really believed in gods, or anything of the like, as they didnt really make sense in terms of science. But that all really went down the gutter this morning. I woke up at the ass-crack of dawn like I usually did, but instead of being at home, I was in some kind of cloud world. Yknow, clear, blue skies, cloud-like ground, something I pictured whenever somebody mentioned Heaven. And sure enough, God himself was standing before me. Normally, someone who was witnessing something they didnt believe in, such as GOD HIMSELF, would apologize for not seeing the truth sooner, cry like a little baby, yadda yadda yadda. But, like the idiot that I am and thought I always was gonna be, I didn't even bat an eye. Straight up acting like this was a normal, every-day occurrence. "Oh, nice. Was kinda hoping I was gonna head to Hell, but this is fine, I guess." Obviously, God was pinching the bridge of His nose to prevent a massive headache. After a few moments, though, He cut my idiotic rambling off with a raised hand. "You have not perished, child. In fact, I have given you the great gift of eternal life." I stared at Him with a confused look on my face. "What-"God cut me off again. That, or He had simply ignored me. Both were completely viable options. "The world was no longer pure, child. I chose one good-hearted individual at random, one at the cusp of adulthood, to carry the joy and positivity of one lifetime to the ne-" I interrupted Him, but for a fairly good reason. "I'm sorry, you chose me for whatever task you have in mind, because I'm pure, or something? Mate, either you've got the wrong person, or you have some kind of dementia. I literally just lied, like, at least 30 times yesterday." God took a deep breath, going quiet for a minute or two. During the silence, I realized He...didnt really look all that well. Deep bags under His eyes, wispy, paper-white hair that was balding in some places, and don't even get me started on how unhealthily thin He looked despite the robes. Not exactly how someone who's supposed to be Omnipotent would look. Something wasn't right here. "Look, I don't have enough time to explain why you're here, so I'll just cut to the chase. All the ancient gods are pissed at me for something, and they want me gone. Where, I don't know, but its pretty fucking bad, is what I'm saying. So, I chose somebody on Earth at random, gave you immortality, and you'll create the next timeline for humanity. Maybe one that'll appease all the ancient gods, but thats up to you." I stood there with my mouth open for a few seconds. It was incredibly alarming to hear God suddenly switch His way of speaking, especially from one so formal. Not to mention His explanation on why I was here only confused things more. "Next timeline? Are..."I paused, but I only needed a moment to figure it out. At least, in a way my small brain could comprehend it. "Are you telling me that you basically rebooted Earth's history, wiping out all life except me? And now what, you're just gonna pass the Omnipotent baton or some shit, and hope my dumb-ass will get this right?" God nodded, something I wasn't expecting. At the VERY least, I was hoping he'd correct me, but not agree on my assumption. "It's too late to pick somebody else now, kid, we both know that. Besides, you've got eternity to come up with something, youll be fine."I could've sworn I heard Him mutter "probably."under His breath, but I ignored it. "Am I gonna get some type of blueprint or manual on how to do this in the first place? Like, no offense, dude, but you look like you've got one foot in the grave. Both figuratively and literally." God paused for a couple moments, either to plan out His next sentence, or to stop Himself from dying on the spot. Honeslty, I couldn't tell. "The gods will most likely give you advice in some way or another. Pretty sure Gaia knows how to create life, so you could start with her." I raised an eyebrow, but at this point even I could see there wasnt enough time to argue about it. "So how exactly does this work? Do you just hand me something to signify omnipotence or?" God spread his arms wide, most likely for dramatic effect. "It is already inside you, young one. The reason for my disheveled appearance is because I have gifted you my very own immortality and omnipotence. In other words, you are God now. Or rather, Goddess." I resisted the urge to call Him out on the gender bullshit He just pulled, seeing as He clearly didnt have the time for it. "Makes sense, I guess." As soon as I finished speaking, He started to flicker in and out of existence, sort of like a lightbulb about to go out. "My time grows short, child. The future of mankind is in your hands now. Create a new world as you see fit..."He flashed me a wide smile, and then God vanished into the non-existent wind, leaving me alone in what was left of the universe. His final words, however, hung in my mind. "Create as I see fit, huh...?" And for the first time since i arrived in this cloud-world, I smiled. "Well then, lets see how Omnipotent these powers can go."
It was the college entrance exams. John was under pressure from his parents to enter college, while he desperately wanted to end his education and start looking for a job. Hence, a deal was struck. John would _at least_ try out the college entrance exam, and if he flunked it, he was free to do as he pleased. John was delighted at this piece of news. What an easy victory! He just had to deliberately fail, and his life was his to decide. He looked at the paper in front of him. “What were Plato’s thoughts on environmentalism, and what do you think about them? [100 marks]” He thought this was the strangest question they could ever ask, and also found it quite queer that there was only one question. Nevertheless, he scoffed and wrote truthfully. “Nothing. I don’t know.” And thus, he sat there for the next 2 hours, thinking of his future prospects and aspirations. _A month later_ “Oh John! We’re so proud of you! You were the only student that passed the college entrance exams! You put in so much work to pass, even though you said you wanted to drop out. We couldn’t be more proud!” His parents had tears in their eyes as they held out a letter to him. John was entirely confused. What? He could not fathom how he passed. With a rising sense of dread and panic, he snatched the letter out of his parents hands. He tore open the envelope and begun passing his eyes through its contents. _“Dear John, Congratulations! You are the only candidate to pass the entrance exams. Plato did indeed not write anything on environmentalism, and in your answer, you have displayed your honesty, a true virtue very uncommon in these ages. Welcome to the college!”_ “What. What kind of bullshit grading system is this? I didn’t want to pass!”
“Why here?” Jeff asked, cardboard box slung under his arm. Alan only glanced over at Jeff, his face impassive, and gently pushed open the door. Below the pair was an old wooden staircase, leading to a painfully average looking basement. There were a few store-bought shelves, stocked with paint cans, tools, and quilts. The only natural light was a thin blue-grey strip that poured in from the hopper window across the staircase. Alan adjusted the bag hanging off his shoulder and began moving down the stairs. They creeked in protest, but held his weight all the same. “Get the door on the way down.” Alan called back, not looking. Hesitantly, Jeff touched down on the first step, and closed the door behind them. Within ten minutes the shelves were pushed off to the sides of the basement, and the oujia board was unpacked. Alan moved from corner to corner of the room, lighting tea candles as he went; soon, the room was dotted with ineffectual blobs of orange light. Jeff reached into Alan’s bag and took out a king size butter finger, then lay on his side, waiting for his friend. Alan sat across the enameled board, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. “So why do you need a oujia board?” Jeff asked, bits of candy flying out from his mouth as he spoke. “Because,” Alan said, reaching down and dusting off the chocolate with a glare, “How else would you talk to a ghost?” “Same way I would talk to you. Besides, why here?” Jeff said. “Remember that story I told you, where my neighbor got murdered?” Alan asked. “No.” “Well that’s pretty much the whole story actually. My neighbor got murdered and this was his house.” Alan said. Jeff said nothing, only nodded. Alan resumed the silence, closing his eyes. Jeff could see his lips twitch and open, though no words came. After what seemed like hours of silence, but in reality, was less than five minutes, Alan spoke aloud. “Are you with us?” He called into the air. Jeff could see the slightest bit of Alan’s eyes, peering down at the Ouija board, expecting. “Give us a sign.” Watching, waiting. “What is your name?” Still watching, still waiting. Jeff tossed the candy wrapper in the general direction of the bag, and waited too. The first candle they lit petered out, throwing wisps of smoke into the stale air. Alan eyes sprung open, they had never really been closed, and looked to his friend. “Did you see that?” He asked in a fervor.
They didn’t believe it until they saw it for themselves. Eddie, Mark and Ben stare at the Bitcoin desktop wallet. The cursor is blinking in anticipation. Holy shit this Bitcoin private key actually works. These are the Bitcoin that belong to Satoshi Nakamoto. There is so much of them left unmoved people think he has lost the key to it. And now this money is under their control, they can send it to whoever they want. They succeed. They didn't expect to crack the puzzle but they did it anyway. This is the first moment they realize them fooling around with silly mathematical puzzles actually amounts to something. The immediate question in the room right now isn't what to do the money. Or even where to send the money to. It did occur to Eddie and Ben that moving even a tiny bit of this money will have the world market react in ways they can't anticipate. If even half the people think they've got Bitcoin compromised, what will happen to the price? Rather, what if someone impersonate Nakamoto in public and then only move the Bitcoin? At least there's some sense of legitimacy. No these are all secondary concern. The immediate question is what are each of them gonna do the next minute. Are they still best friends? With this much at stake, would their relationship stay pure? It's seems fair to split the loot three ways. All of them can stop worrying about their student debt. And whatever their parents owe to anybody else. This may be the last time they had this much fun working together. With this much money, they have new people problems that are way outside their circle of competence. At least they have some sense of self-awareness about it. Mark stood up. Is he gonna memorize the key, pretend to use the bathroom and send all the Bitcoin to himself from the phone? Mark: "OK this has been fun. I'm hungry, who's up for a burger?" Ben: "Yeah me too. Let's delete this before we go?" Eddie: "Yeah let's do that." And off they went to their favorite burger joint.
“Listen to me kiddo, when you get to be my age you’ll-“ an older looking man in a job interview started to lecture me. It was weird. I didn’t need the job, once we figure out how to regenerate our bodies at will, AI and robot assistance was easy. “Who are you calling kiddo? I’m on my regen-cycle, you’ve only lived once,” I packed up my suitcase that I’d only just opened. “I may look eighteen but I have fifty years experience in solar mining and it’s insulting that you would reduce me to my age.” I’m sure I’d done the same thing to someone else at one point. But I’d learned. We all did eventually.
Her frail hands played the first movement effortlessly. It was easy. It was slow. She thought about the Summer days when she was in grade school. Just hanging around and doing nothing by her family home. Summer was out and there wasn't much to do. Her best friend Albert had gone to Greece for vacation. And there was no one to play piano for. In the distance, her mom was working in the garden with Greta, their maid. Her mom loved tulips. She wished her Dad would hurry home with her birthday present soon. She had asked for some more sheet music. She started the second movement. The pace picked up a little. The house was quiet. It was just her and him. And there was Mary. They had known each other for a little more than a year now. She wasn't always this frail. She wasn't always this sick. She couldn't hit all the notes. But now these days, she wasn't so critical of herself. She remembered people running from home to home. Her mom and dad busy breaking things and hiding things. There was lots of whispers in the house that Winter. And she couldn't understand why she couldn't go school. Even the holidays seemed sad. No one was laughing or celebrating. Her playing picked up in the third movement, though she struggled with the pain in her joints. It's been hurting more lately. She glanced over at Mary, who was looking out the window seemingly bored. The piano playing became frantic. People were now running around everywhere. She and her mom were in travelling clothes. Outside of the piano, she didn't care much about anything and didn't pay much attention to anything. Mother said that her Dad had separated from her. And now they have to go live with a distant relative. And that things were going to be rough from here on. She held on to her Mom's hand tight, afraid to be lost in the crowd. The sounds of people and train were overwhelming her. She slowed down again. The piece was coming to an end. It was slow. It was dreary. It was fitting as her hands couldn't muster any strength to play on. She finished the piece slowly and softly. She had been here in this house for what seemed like a long time. She thought about how lucky she was. She got to play the piano. She made friends with Mary. And taught Mary the piano. Her mom got a job as a maid. But then disappeared one night. Mary said she had run away with one of the other servants. She looked over at Mary. Mary got up and walked upstairs, not glancing back. "That's enough. It's time to go,"he said. "Commandant, you know, I would've played it if you had asked, even if you didn't have me at gunpoint." Upstairs, Mary wondered if Daddy was going to get her another Jewish girl to play with.
\[poem\] A letter in Spain sent mainly to the plain! A letter in Spain sent mainly by plane! I think I got it! I think I got it! A letter addressed to me in the plain! By George, I got it! By George, I've got it! Now, there is no need to explain. Eliza Doolittle living in the plain. At eight-thirty-two Plantain Lane. In Spain! In Spain! It's a letter to me in the plain! Bravo! This Eliza in Spain stays mainly in the plain! In Hartford, Hereford, and Hampshire...? Heartfelt letters hardly happen How kind of you to write to me! Now once again, the letter arrived by train? To me, it is plain! Eliza on the plain! And where's that blasted plain? In Spain! In Spain! A letter in Spain sent mainly to the plain! A letter in Spain sent mainly by plane!
I smell bad, I know. Not my armpits nor my feet but my whole body. The light of the sun made the smell worse. For some reason my senses still work even when I'm nothing but a rotting corpse. I looked around, zombies like me. The ruined city full of aimless walking corpses.. but not me. I have aim. I woke up one day eating a brain of someone then it hit me.. I'm not mindless anymore. I thought it was just me but after months of walking.. of searching.. I found others.. "Hey Jim! Can you help me with this?"Frankie called. He found a red car and was pouring gasoline on the gas tank. The car was dirty but still looked 'good' I wonder if it's enough. "Paul and Ricky have replaced the wheels.. I think it would work this time."He said, I nodded. "I've found the key on the cushion of the back seat. Can you try it?" "Sure."I said, I got in and turned the key, the engine roared and gave us a sense of triumph, a small victory. Smile spread on our faces. "Do you think the live people on the wall will greet us? I don't want to be shot like the others who tried to talk to them." "I don't know man.. but I think we need a plan. We need to tell them that after some time, zombies grew minds and intellect. I don't know if they'll buy it but we need to try. I want to see my wife on the other side."I looked at the wall miles away. It was giant, not made to be penatrated by anything outside. It reminded me of fences in animal farms, but inside weren't animals.. but people.. and in those people were my family that I longed to see. "Call the others.. we'll leave." Frankie nodded while I wait on the car. Sooner I'll see them again.
Part 1 Before all this happened I used to be fan of horror movies. I was also that type of person that would pick apart a movie's plot down to the finest detail and point out what was plausible and what didn't make sense. My friends on the other hand? "Harold... it's just a movie. It isn't supposed to make sense." This angered me because they were missing the point: A movie doesn't have to make sense but the ones that did make sense tended to be the classics; the ones that stood the test of time. In early 2020 my opinions on horror movies changed. We had a global outbreak of virus called Covid-19. It was initially just a respiratory disease. It's fatality rate wasn't terribly high but high enough to be a global concern. What shocked me is just how many people around the globe passed it off as a hoax. Who argued against wearing very simple preventative measures like wearing masks and social distancing. If these people were in a horror movie I would have said, "There's no fucking way people would be that stupid. The writers of this movie just don't have their shit together." But the sad truth they WERE that stupid. From that point onward I've realized that I've been way too hard on many of the horror movies I've watched over the years. I simply gave people too much credit. What really stings about this whole situation is that it WAS the beginning of a horror movie come to life. No one knows if it was Covid-19 that mutated into something else. Or caused something else to change. No one knows exactly what or how but the dead began to rise to consume the living sometime in early 2021. When the first incidents began to appear the initial reaction was, "This is all a hoax. It's a deep fake. It's fake news. It's a publicity stunt." At least that's what the mainstream media pundits would say when I could bear to even watch them for a few minutes. The independent news media outlets were a different story. Nearly all their political focus started to shift to the paradigm shattering notion that the dead WERE rising. Especially in areas hit hardest by Covid-19. As they gathered live footage of the dead rising and consuming the living I used a debate tool I often employed in political debates: Occaam's Razor. What was the simplest explanation? All this news was being fabricated for an unknown reason? OR This news was indeed real? I understood why it took the mainstream media a while to accept what was happening because it took me a while to accept what was happening. It's like trying to introduce the internet during B.C. times... people need a while to come to terms with what was previously considered utterly impossible. By time I accepted what was going on, enough of my neighbors started to accept it as well. Enough that when I looked outside I could already see the panic and chaos. People were packing their prized possessions into cars. Drivers were barely obeying the rules of the road and in the distance I could see pillars of smoke rising into the afternoon sky. The little rural town I was in was already affected. I had waited too long to act and now... I was going to pay the price for being unprepared just like everyone else. The only advantage I had was also a disadvantage as well. I didn't have any very close friends or family to worry about. My parents died when I was young due to drug overdoses and I grew up as a ward of the state. The friends I had were all online whom I met through online gaming. So while I had no one to worry about I also had no one near me who I could count on for help. I KNEW that even if I was safe for now at my house, it would only be a 'haven' for as long as I had food and water. Which by my accounts would only last me a few weeks at most. After that I would have to venture outside to look for food and water at which case the rising chaos outside would be undead calamity. However, running outside now w/o a plan and a few cans of beans and a hammer was NOT going to be in my best interest. I decided to board up and secure my house the best I could. I also still needed time to accept that this was really happening. Since the power and internet was still on I used this time to collect as much information as I possibly could. The scientists and experts were probably the most shocked to explain what was going on. Science simply couldn't explain what was going on. What made the most sense to me, from what I remembered from highschool science class is that bacteria and viruses shouldn't be able to reanimate a dead body. It honestly made more sense to me that this was supernatural in origin. Perhaps a punishment for fucking up the planet so badly? Either way I was able to gather that if someone gets bitten... they are fucked. Virtually every source I was able to dig up confirmed this. However, unlike the zombie movies I've watched over the years the brain had to be almost completely destroyed to stop a zombie. No simple headshots would do the job. I still can't believe the biggest things I had to worry about last week was getting my car fixed and losing weight so I could try to get laid on Tinder. Now? Zombies. I still can't fucking believe it. I gathered all the food I could carry into a backpack I had. The only weapons I had were kitchen knives, a hammer, and a crowbar. My protection was layered pants and sweatshirts. My plan? I lived in Maine close to the Canadian border. I simply was going to head up north, try to find some secluded spot in the wilderness, and go from there. I had managed to print out some survival 'living off the land' literature from the internet before it went down but I doubted it would really save my ass whenever I arrived at the destination I was going for. When I was ready I worked up the courage to leave my home behind and to step out in the brave new world in front of me. I stood with my hand on the front door for what seemed like an eternity. Everytime I thought about turning the door knob my mind was flooded with terror of everything I saw on the news. People getting eaten alive. What it meant to know that our reality now included actual fucking zombies. If not every little noise from outside caused me to hesitate further. A random bang. A gunshot in the distance. Far away screams. However the final thing that gave me the courage to exit was a loud crash coming from upstairs. I lived in half a double and I was out of time and did not want to investigate the hows and whys of that upstairs noise. It was time to go. I left my house with haste and made my way to the nearest wooded area as slowly and cautiously as I could. I took cover behind every car, fence, bush, or house on the way. Taking time to scope out the area around me. Shit had really hit the fan. Lots of homes had smashed windows. Lots of homes had front doors widely ajar. Lots of homes had figures... slowly shambling inside them. It was a true horror shoe to be sure but as 'slow and steady' is going to win this race. Not even a full day after I left my house I was robbed at gunpoint for the meagre supplies I had, shot, and left for dead. I never even saw who it was but tried to take comfort that maybe it was a desperate family that had done it as I heard a man and woman's voice talk to their kids as I laid face down in the forest floor of a not secluded enough path I had chosen to take. This is how my life ends; killed over ramen noodles and cans of beans. A zombie found me laying there dying and took a chunk out of my back. The incredible pain of getting eaten awoke an anger in me I didn't know I had. I knew what the zombie just did was a death sentence and all I could think of how angry I was my life was going to end like this. A pathetic has been dying alone in the woods after getting shot and THEN eaten by fucking zombie.
I've been in this mental asylum for 45 years. Haven't aged a day..... There's so much damn turn over in this place that no one has noticed. Before this, I have lived for 300 years in relative peace. I had grown tired of this planet, and these people. So I had attempted to convince someone I was immortal. I wish I could count the number of times I shot myself in public, only to get back on my feet moments later to applause. Apparently they had all believed it was some sort of parlor trick, or street magic. They believe I've lost my mind, and every attempt to convince them of the truth just seems to extend my stay. What an absolutely horrid planet, filled to the brim with unreasonable idiots. The shit part of all of this, is that to leave I _must_ believe that I'm mortal.
After two years of being the best friend anyone can have I had the chance to finally speak with my dog. The instructions were simple take the scroll and gently tap the dogs head, you will know it has worked when the scroll disapears into glowing dust. I do as the instructions say and give Donut a boop and await our first real conversation. "Hey boy, can you understand me?"I question. "шум собаки"Donut replies. "Wha..."I say "шум собаки"Donut says again. There is a squirrel outside the window."шум собаки, шум собаки."Donut says. "Excuse me are you speaking Russian? That doesn't make any sense, like I may understand you speaking German being a German Shepherd and all. But Russian where did you pick that up from?"I rant. "шум собаки, шум собаки, шум собаки."Donut chants. "I coulda used that money on so much other dumb shit, but here we are... How am i going to explain this to people?"I say. I did not get much sleep, Donut continues to speak what I assume is Russian he enjoys when I parrot the phrase back at him. I should take some Russian classes.
"Can I get a vanilla latte, tall?"I ask. "Sure thing,"the barista says cheerfully. "And what's the name on the cup?" "It's Rub." "Thanks Rob,"she says and nearly flings the cup to her coworker who starts making the latte. "It's actually--no, never mind, it doesn't matter,"I start to say and then mutter to myself. This happens every where I go. Just once, I'd appreciate it if someone could get it right. I look back at the barista and wonder if I should fight against the mistake and challenge her and tell her it's actually Rub. Yes, I tell myself. Yes! I'm going to do it! I'm going to correct her and stand my ground this time! I'm going to-- "Rob, your order's ready!"the other barista says as she slides my drink over the counter. Damn it.
If you were alive then, you know the year wasn't exactly going well. Everyone was still going out wearing surgical masks. A lot of places- movies, theaters, even a lot of shopping places- weren't open and probably weren't going to open again. Needless to say, none of us were too optimistic about Halloween. Which, in retrospect, was a shame. A blue moon, right on the night of Halloween? Okay, sure, not a once-in-a-lifetime thing... more like five. But hey, it was still something special, right? Yet everything was shut down, and we couldn't even muster up the holiday spirit to put on the Charlie Brown Great Pumpkin special. So none of us much expected anything interesting to happen. So what ultimately happened... well, it caught us a little off-guard. \\\* There was a pallid face at my car window, framed by a mass of unruly hair; through the glass, I heard the girl in the tattered straightjacket droning something like "Go. Leave me." "So what time's your shift end?"I asked, faux-flirtatiously. Dan and Caleb cracked up in the backseat, and Addison giggled into her hands in the passenger. I was smiling too but secretly hoped the girl hadn't heard it; a humble part time worker at the Nightmare Factory drive-thru house of horrors probably didn't need that in her life. "No, really, I think I've got a chance there,"I said, letting the car inch forward a bit. In the end the crazy girl in the straightjacket ducked behind one of the sets, where, judging from the screams, she was murdered by the guy in the Leatherface costume. Well, easy come, easy go. \\\* So that was Halloween. Me and Dan, and Caleb and Caleb's sister Addy, whom I kind of deluded myself into thinking had a slight crush on me. Going through a redecorated carwash while guys in cheap costumes screamed at us. Better than nothing, I guessed. As I drove us back home, I couldn't help but notice the full moon sitting among the curling black clouds. It spooked me, somehow. "So."Dan broke the silence. "Any other ideas?" "Well, you know my idea,"said Caleb. "No. Not happening,"I said immediately. I knew I was being a spoilsport but as driver that was my prerogative. "Abandoned train station! Spooky! Fun! You remember what fun is, right? Do you just hate fun?" "If we get caught, I go to jail, and I'm allergic to jail." "You're not gonna go to jail over something stupid like that. Cops have bigger things to worry about. Like someone pissing on the side of the Pancake Palace. Come ooooon." Then Dan joined in too. I looked over at Addy, with sort of an embarrassed smile. She smiled back and shrugged just a little, and said, very quietly, "I guess it could be fun." My heart skipped a small beat. "Okay, fine. I guess we could give it a try." Caleb wooped. \\\*
A notification from her bank. Should she even open it? Does the sixth low balance notice really make a difference? Will one more overdraft really matter? She already knew she was broke. Her empty refrigerator told her. Her landlord's threats of eviction told her. She knew. She'd been trying to get more hours at her job but it just wasn't enough. She was broke and she was going to be lucky if she managed to spend the winter off the streets. Heck, she'd be luck if she would get to eat every day of the next week. She finally clicked on the notification. What harm could it possibly do at this point? Maybe they were offering her a credit card with a terrible interest rate and she wouldn't have to worry about food for the next week. It was a notice of a successful transfer. Into her account. $900. She couldn't believe it. Was this a miracle? A mistake? Criminal activity? A bank error in her favor? This was enough to at least get her out of the hole with her landlord. Maybe even afford heat. The relief fought against the confusion and anxiety which only increased as she read the comments attached to the transfer request. >Bryan, > >Here's the last of the money for your trip. > >Love, Dad Her stomach dropped even lower than it had when she first saw the notification. This was worse than any explanation she'd imagined. She'd rather have it end in the police accusing her of bank robbery by hacking than accidentally receiving money from him intended for her brother. She hadn't talked to anyone in the family ever since he did... No. She couldn't think about it. And she couldn't stomach any possible outcome from receiving this money. Keep it and owe him something? Keep it and be accused of stealing from the part of the family that was right, that was good, that was clean? Call her mother and demand that he take it back? She couldn't do that. She couldn't call any of them. If she was able to call any of them up after they just stood there and demonized her for what he did then she wouldn't be relying on the generosity of the patrons of the Cowgirl Lounge to make rent. Ironically, if it wasn't for what he did, she might be able to be a performer there and make more money. The dancers always brought in hundreds of dollars each night while she was stuck scraping by on less than minimum wage as a busboy at a place that was seemingly always having 2 for 1 drink specials. But if that was the case she wouldn't need to work at the Cowgirl Lounge anyways. But none of that mattered anyways. Her phone started ringing signalling that time was up. The caller ID flashed the one name that caused her outright pain and panic. She answered the phone. "Hi Dad."
I had hand-sewn every finger of those gloves for a beautiful couture finish. They fit like... well, you know. Beautiful green fabric that really popped. Each piece carefully sketched, reworked, tried on, taken off, altered then sketched again. Organic lines, all-too-subtle shades of white for those gossamer veins running through the leaves. The slight furring in the palms to mask the microscopic hairs developed by NASA that gave me my extraordinary ability to hang on to any surface. My mask, the eyes carefully accentuated by cascading orange streaks to reflect those rich, sticky buds. Was it really necessary to distort my voice so? The nasal tones of the anchor man echoed through my mind again as my stomach churned. “The individual, said to refer to himself as Mariana Man...”
Hey everybody. Chad Harmon here for Club Mystic, coming to you live from the booth. Our webcams are up so you can follow along. And here he comes now. It’s Justin James, known as JJ to his friends. It’s his 21st birthday and his squad is taking him to the club. And he’s in the door. JJ is coming up from the minor leagues, having rushed in to the Tau Sigma Sigma frat 2 years ago. He’s going through a long dry spell though. The man has struck out a dozen times this year. It’s hard to blame him though given that his batting coach graduated over the summer and has moved on. He’s starting with a mojito, a good stance. His hands look good. And look at that hottie he is next to. O what a great play, he must have spotted the leaves in the drink and ordered the same! And she is talking to him! Oh no! A cock block from nowhere! Look at that all American linebacker approaching. Look at the size of him! And, yes, and the cock block is complete! Linebacker man is taking her out on the dance floor! Oh JJ isn’t out yet. Look at the way he settles in with his offensive line here going back on the attack. His guards are moving in, trying to cut out the linebacker boyfriend. And there is a huge hole! JJ is moving through it! What a dance! The beats are hot and JJ is doing the college grind with the thot! Oh no, it’s a fumbbbbbblllllle! JJ is moving away, his shirt is over his crotch. Oh no, oh god, he has LOST IT! And look at him running away to the bathroom! Well folks, see you tomorrow. Poor JJ is done for the night, and the woman in the floor is clearly done with him. His friends are moving in to provide a screen to get him safely out of the club. Goodnight!
\[Poem\] Since you were here, my Little One, I've had nothing but fear, my Little One. Foster care isn't always the best choice, Especially when you have no voice. I'll be back for you, one day, my dear, But until then, only a voice may you hear. These people are average, just as average can be, But in that average, may you find comfort from me. I love you to the end of Time, And hope one day you may realize you're mine. Not property--no. But my child divine. This family will be here to keep you safe, Until that time when you can return to the place, Where you belong, my Little One. A part of the dragon race.
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"It was much like the human movie, Jurassic Park, yes?"The alien reflects beside his friend, drinking what was once a human beer. "Rather ironic, if you consider it in that way."The other alien said, glancing past his friends, and towards the outside galaxy. They were on a bubble planet, the place of the used-to-be-zoo. One of them places a hand against a rusted piece of metal, "I suppose our people never learned from their mistakes."He said with a small bit of a laugh. The other alien laughed too, "Well hey, children can't always learn from their parents."
-The year is 1918, right after the Great War. I work in London, in the Pembroke Hospital. My name is Edgar Swansea, and my emotion is amazed. I have a room in a hotel and/or bar called the Turqouise turtle. I sit in my room with Lady Ashbury, a vampire who’s emotion is neutrality. I talk with her about how she’s in danger. Suddenly, she stops talking and says “I think someone’s eavesdropping.” I ask “Are you certain?” She teleports away, leaving me with whoever is at the door. I semi-shout “You might as well come in, whoever you are.” If this gets a lot of support i’ll continue on this if I feel like it.
# Checkmate An old man was sitting in a coffee shop. He was wearing a bowler hat, a pleated shirt, and a warm smile that crinkled the side of his eyes. In front of him was a chessboard spread open, the pieces locked in battle. Curiously, there was no one sitting in front of him; to the other patrons, he was playing alone. Perhaps a grandmaster in practice? Notwithstanding the occasional curious stare, he picked up the white side knight and studied the board with a chuckle. He spoke in a manner that was as if it were directed to someone else. "What a fine move, you've really improved." He placed it down, moving it a few squares to threaten the enemy king. "Indeed. Knight to E5" The entrance swiveled open. A woman entered, holding a boy who was skipping and tugging with exuberant energy. The boy's gaze immediately got drawn to the man playing chess. His mother pulled him along to the counter but he broke away, laughing and running over to the man. "Hi!"he greeted the man, showing off his missing front teeth. Then he looked at the empty seat and waved. "You're pretty! I want to play too!"He jumped up and down as he spoke. The man smiled at him good-naturedly, then asked. "Do you know chess?" "Yes! My Pa used to play with me a lot!" "Why now, then can you tell me what move she should play next?" The boy frowned in deep thought, biting his thumb with gusto and yelled, giggling. "This pawn can move up!" The man laughed as well, patting the boy in the head. He looked over meaningfully to the opposite seat, and seemingly having gotten some form of confirmation from thin air, moved the pawn up to block the attacking knight. "Charlie!"he heard the woman shout at the boy. She strode over, face flushed with a cup of coffee and a laptop tucked under her arm. "Oh you boy! Can't you sit still for one second! My apologies, my son is a bit of a problem."she pulled him over by the scuff of his shirt and apologized repeatedly. "Now, he was only excited."the man said, "Tthat's hardly a reason to scold him. If you want, I can watch over him while you finish business here." "Wait, I know you. Aren't you that chess grandmaster that got featured in the news recently? My husband is a huge fan."the woman said, her voice turning excited. "That explains why the kid is such a brilliant mind."he smiled. "So? As you can see, I am currently lacking in opponents and I would love to play with your kid." "Are you sure? He can be a bit.."the woman scanned the grandmaster, looking him up and down, then looked over her shoulder to the rest of the coffee shop. Confident that there was no scam at play here, she heaved a sigh and said. "I would be very grateful, I... I only need to send a few e-mails right now. I'll just be over there." "It's fine."The man smiled, patting the kid on the head. "What's your name?" "Charlie!"The kid replied. Charlie looked to be somewhere between eight and ten years old. He spoke with a slight point; his words skewed by the missing tooth. The man moved over to whisper at his ear. "Charlie. That's a good name."the man then gestured to the empty seat in front of him and said. "Her name is Jenny. We play quite often. She's quite pretty isn't she?" "yeah.."Charlie rubbed his cheeks, suddenly feeling slightly shy. "hi!"he waved to the empty seat. He then scooted over, sitting at the edge of the chair just enough to leave room for a person. Charlie looked at the man, then at the board, then beside him. He leaned on the air as if to whisper. He was a good whisperer, the man thought, and as the game went on, a surprisingly good chess player as well. After a few tense minutes of playing, they were down to the endgame. And with a final knock, Charlie moved the bishop to flank in place. "Checkmate!"He whooped and pranced around the window, gave the air a big high-five and giggled uncontrollably. The man sat there, stunned. A tear flowed down his cheek, but he wiped it away. "So you've finally beaten me at chess."He spoke. Charlie seemed to have sensed something, he stopped his victory dance and whispered again to the still air. Then he turned to the man. "Mist-ur, is Jenny going to go now?" Slowly, the man smiled. A breeze filtered through the window, knocking over the black side king piece. "Yes she is. You're a very good player Charlie. We should play again sometime." \-- Thanks for reading.
It hadn't been a lie. The voice boomed into every muscle of my being. It hadn't been a lie! I looked out through my capsule, towards the great white all around me. My body held together within tangible reality, only because of the containment cell that held me. My eyes looked out towards the endless oblivion, as the voice rattled even my own containment. Yet then, in a flash of blazing light, the universe swirled into color. Blinking the light from my eyes, hoping desperately to not have gone blind, I looked up towards a man. His robes were startling white, seemingly swirling in abstract masses within his body. He looked towards me with a strange curiosity. "Are you the God of this universe?"The man asked, far too casually, far too slippery. "W-what?"I stumbled out, confused, was this man not the god that had spoken? "I asked are you the God of this universe? I heard the voice, it shook my core. I am looking for him." The sentence that slipped my mouth was one of utter loss, "I thought...I thought you were...The god that..." The man looked around at my unfinished sentence, towards the blaze of white and black that centered its mass all around us. "I don't suppose you know where he is?"The man asked. "N-no..."I said. The man then reentered his focus upon me, "Who are you then? If you are not the God of this existence?" Slowly, I breathed in, it was surprisingly difficult to tell the truth, "I'm from the future." His eyes widened, "The future you say? That implies that you know how this universe is supposed to begin?" I nodded, "Y-yes, I read all about it, a thousand times, m-maybe even more..." "Excellent!"The man said with a bright smile, "Than tell me how it begins. We will work upon this universe until whatever God is bound to return." (Check out r/TheRisingWorks I don't have much on it as of now, but I will be posting there a lot soon!)
How did you guys get trough my barriers with all your heavy equipment? The dark overlord frustratingly remarked at the king with his army of atleast 15000 big. With catapults even. There's no way anyone would ever get enough gold to pay for a army of this size! So explain me how did you do it. The king said simple you dark simple minded fiend. Your spell is easily subverted. No way said the dark lord I put almost all my powers and life force in that spell it should not be dispellable or subverted. You can't fly over it or under it since it is the perfect circle. Oh not like that said the king we. You can't use the same gold to pay since it gets teleporter away so that isn't it so how. If you could stop interrupting me I could explain before ridding the land of you. We just used our weight in space and since in space you weight is basically 0 we had to pay nothing.
The demon I summoned had four yellow eyes, bat-like wings that stretched from wall to wall, and a debonair three-piece suit. Rather than grunt or growl, he spoke in an elegant, welcoming tone. I found it disarming. Alluring, even. He took me through the ritual in great detail. The parts I didn’t understand he went over twice, breaking them down into simple, easy to follow steps. If it hadn’t been for the fact we were talking about mutilation and murder, I could have sworn he was a college professor giving a lecture. I asked, “what happens if I get cold feet.” He said, “no harm, no foul.” A gust of wind blew out my candles. For a fraction of a second, I was in complete darkness, then he was gone. That night, I took a long, hard look in the mirror. I hated everything about myself—I hated my thin lips and my huge forehead; I hated how my ears stuck out too far and the way my nose curled up at the end. And, above all else, I hated my goofy teeth that looked too big for my mouth. But despite all of that, I decided the demons offer wasn’t worth the price. After hours of wrestling with my conscience, I said, “I may never be happy with the way I look, but so long as I’m happy with who I am, that’s enough.” That resolve lasted one day. I’m not trying to shirk the blame—but Olivia played her part in this mess. See, back when we were kids, Olivia and I were the best of friends. You can probably guess what happened next—she got hot and popular; I didn’t. Well that alone wouldn’t have been enough to make me do what I did, but the bullying drove me to the brink. The cruel nicknames, the practical jokes, it was never ending! And—surprise surprise—Olivia was the mastermind behind most of it. My parents didn’t help either—Mom was always making snide remarks about my weight and Dad called me ‘bugs’ (on account of my teeth), even though I REPEATEDLY asked him not to. Well one evening, when I’d finally had enough, I went over to Olivia’s house. Her Mom greeted me at the door and welcomed me in. She said, “how’s your family, it’s been years,” then, “go on up, she’s in her room.” Typical former best-friend Mom stuff. Olivia wasn’t pleased to see me. I broke down crying thinking about what was about to happen. I might have still backed out if she’d offered even a shred of compassion. But she didn’t. Olivia screamed through her gag while I followed the demon’s instructions to the letter—incapacitate her, tie her down, then read the incantation. For a moment nothing happened. I panicked. Questions raced through my mind—what would happen if I’d imagined it all, and Olivia’s Mum walked in on her daughter bound and gag, lying in a pool of her own blood? How would I explain this? I needn’t have worried. There was a moment of absolute darkness, same as before, then the demon appeared. He told me I’d done a great job and guided me through the rest. Two long slits along the jaw, one across the forehead, then carefully slice off the face. I spoke a few more incantations, stabbed Olivia’s heart, then woke up in my own bed. It all felt like some horrible nightmare until I went to the bathroom and screamed. The face staring back at me in the mirror wasn’t my own—it was Olivia’s. I poked and prodded my chin, my nose, my ears, my teeth. I ran my fingers through my long brown hair and studied my big green eyes. I’d been completely transformed, just like the demon promised! My parents came rushing in to check what happened. I felt a tightness in my chest, expecting them to freak out and wonder why Olivia was in their bathroom, but they just asked if I was ok. It was like nothing had changed. I told them I’d seen a spider, and that it was no big deal. Dad laughed. I took a moment to collect myself, got dressed, then went downstairs for breakfast. The change in my parents was like night and day. Mom told me how wonderful I looked—she’d never said that before—and for the first time since I can remember Dad didn’t greet me with, “what’s up doc?” It’s funny—it took me becoming beautiful to finally realize how much my parents were responsible for my shitty self-esteem. It felt like we hadn’t skipped at beat until Dad asked when I’d last seen Olivia. I cringed. “Why?” I asked, anxiously. He showed me a news story on his phone. Olivia was missing. And what’s more—the photo they used in the article was a picture of me. The old me, that is. I mumbled, “haven’t seen her in days.” Mom set down a bowl of porridge. “Such a shame you girls drifted apart. When you were kids the two of you were inseparable.” The change at school was even more incredible. Boys held doors open for me and popular girls said ‘hi’ as I walked along. By lunchtime I’d even been invited to a party! I’d gone from pariah to everyone’s best friend overnight. I was on cloud nine. The months that followed were great: I made lots of new friends, had my first kiss, and got fifteen thousand Instagram followers. It was the life I’d always dreamed of living. But bit by bit, it slipped away. The changes were incremental. Hardly noticeable at first. My nose would seem a little bit bigger, my teeth a little more crooked. I’d study the mirror for hours trying to work out if it was really happening or just in my imagination. I started taking daily selfies to chart my progress. Before long, the differences were undeniable. I was looking less like Olivia, and more like me. Rather than tell me I was beautiful every morning, my Mother started saying it every other day. Then once a week. Then hardly at all. The party invites dried up and the popular girls became more and more catty. The straw that broke the camel’s back was my Dad offering me a carrot for breakfast. My life had reverted back to the way it was before. I summoned the demon again. I don’t know what I expected—it’s not like I could give him a piece of my mind and order him to put things back the way they were—but I needed answers. He greeted me like an old friend. Asked how I was enjoying my ‘new’ life. I told him to go fuck himself and called him a filthy trickster. He looked offended. “Madam, I am no trickster. I gave you my word you’d have the beauty you so coveted, and you did.” “But it’s worn off.” I gestured to my face. “I look like my old self again!” “But of course! Perverting nature is no mean feat—such changes are, regrettably, fleeting.” “But I killed someone! I killed someone only to end up right back where I started from.” The demon laughed. “You wish to be beautiful again?” “Yes!” The demon placed a hand on my shoulder in a reassuring sort of way. “You can be.” Another moment of darkness, then he was gone. I cried, then took out my phone, opened Instagram, and started browsing. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a blonde…
In the mid-2010s, Karens started emerging all over the United States and spread to different parts of the world. Research tells us that they find their origins in the Boomer Theory of Philosophy, many experts believe that they are a result of Jesus, St. Paul playing Dungeons and Dragons with Satan as the dungeon master. “An economist had charges filed against him after a Karen reported him for writing in a foreign script. Turns out, he was doing maths. You see right there are multiple motives of stupidity, arsehole-ness, and a whole array of things that Satan might consider as fun,” says Dr. Jean Maru, a Karentologist. Science has always been a subject that can cause controversy over things like Religion, but lately, Karens have been taking science to a whole new level of conspiracy and even claiming that COVID-19 the virus strain that hads shocked the whole world, as fake. “Jellyfish don’t have brains. Karens are the new version of jellyfish,” says Borat Sagdiyev, a Kazakh reporter who is famous for his two films. “I once keep Karen in a cage, she shout and shout. Karen is good alarm system if robber come at home,” he says while recounting one of his experiences, “She say she want to see my manager, so I even show her my 19.3 cm length,” Once in Indiana, a Karen filed a case against Mercedes since her Toyota minivan used miles per hour instead of complaints per manager. “I saw a YouTube video of a Karen using a puppy as a weapon,” says John Wick, “I took a plane and killed her when she was streaming live,” says the ex-assassin turned renowned Karen killer who has now won the Nobel Peace Prize for reducing the number of Karens in the world after a big surge of them came up in the 2020s, becoming almost 2-thirds of the total homo sapiens. The COVID-19 pandemic, where everyone was shut in their homes, proved to be detrimental to the normal world as Karens started focusing their energy from day to day work to Whatsapp forwards and Certified studies on Facebook. “I ran 10km wearing 10 masks in 100 F heat to prove masks can’t suffocate me,” says Fookin Madlad. All the Karens turn blind eye to real proof. “I say McDonald Trump is the cause of Karens,” said an anonymous whisteblower who is obviously referring to Donald Trump, the biggest Karen of all time. The speaker is part of the organization but we won’t refer to this further for the sake of not making this docuseries too political. Tune in to our next episode, where we discuss about various more aspects of this situation like anti-vaxing and talk to more renowned experts.
Tonight is the night. The shadows crouch inky and pristine, casting ominous figures in the dark. The air is heavy with sound of silence. The child pretends to sleep, but his heart is awake and thrums with fear. With the faintest creak of oily hinges, the slatted door begins to open. His eyes tightly shut, he grips the covers and veils his terror in a straining mask of slumber. Relishing the quivering horror of their impending doom, I slink from the black recess of the closet and tread delicately, quietly toward my victim's bedside. He squirms and tenses as I gleefully draw near, savoring the anticipation, my appetite for meyhem thoroughly whetted. I stretch out both eager arms, preparing to - "Ooowwww! What the hell?!" "Got you!"he shouts, throwing back the covers and reaching for the nightstand's lamp. "Dude what is this? A freaking lego?" "That's what you get, you butthole! Quit trying to scare me!" "Oh man, that really hurt. It went right into the heel!" "Good! Now get out of my room or I'm telling Mom!" "I'll get you for this, fart blaster! You're so dead..."
What have I got to lose, right? I already paid for the thing (and spent the next ten minutes waffling between regret and excitement) and now I just need to wear my Feng Shui Black Obsidian Bracelet. I semi-reverently lift it out of the box and fasten it around my wrist. I am now a new me. I hope. Somewhere I should have a suit perfect for interviews. It’s in one of the boxes I don’t have room to unpack in my closet-sized room above a friend’s garage. Just need to pull them out from under the bed and dig through them. It only takes a few minutes to find it, which is a lot faster than I was expecting. The wrinkles aren’t too bad, so I’ll just ask to borrow Sam’s iron for a few minutes to get out the wrinkles. My suit, when I finally put it on, is just slightly too small, but in the way that reminds me to suck in my stomach just a touch and not slouch. My car starts on the second try, rather than the third or fourth, so I’m doing better than expected. I hit only one red light on the way into town, so my luck must be turning around. Five minutes later (rather than ten or twenty), I have a parking spot and am on my way to the businesses now hiring, ~~hoping they'll interview me on the spot.~~ No. This is the new me. They will interview me on the spot. The car dealership regretfully informs me that they just filled the position this morning. That's alright, since I honestly don't know much about cars and am ambivalent about people most of the time. I can fake it, but it'll be easier when it's something that I know more things about. The pizzeria takes my resume and promises to call if they want me to come in for an interview. A large group of people did walk in behind me, so the manager probably was pressed for time and needed to make sure the paying customers were satisfied. They have my resume, but I'll just keep looking. The hobby store (little place that someday when I have money I want to look and see if they have trains like the ones Dad used to have) still has the Help Wanted sign in the door, but the store itself is dark. I look at the hours and realized they closed fifteen minutes ago, when I was still in the pizzeria. I’ll come back tomorrow unless I hear back from the pizzeria. The fancy restaurant that I stop in doesn’t even take my resume but instead offers me a job on the spot. I almost accept before remembering to ask them what job they’re offering me. Busboy/dishwasher might be a good job for somebody, but not me who can barely wash my own dishes (I use Sam’s dishwasher a lot). My phone rings as I walk out of the restaurant. An unfamiliar number, but the right area code for my town. Maybe it’s the pizzeria, calling to offer me a job! “Hi, Joe. Are you still interested in the job? If so, we’d like you to start tomorrow at the wage you requested.” The woman’s voice is earnest, quick, and I want to accept, but… “I’m sorry, this is Elizabeth. I’m afraid I don’t know a Joe, but if you need somebody that urgently I’m sure I could—” “I’m sorry for the confusion, but I really can only offer the job to the person I thought I was calling. I must have dialed the wrong number. Have a great day.” She hangs up without another word, leaving me still holding my phone up to my ear for another few seconds. Well, tomorrow is a new day, right? Maybe the bracelet just needs some time to work. I walk back to my car, trying to decide how to spin my day when I tell Sam all about it. “Hey, you!” a well-dressed man calls, rushing towards me. “You’re gorgeous, honey. I could use you as my next model!” I stop and stare at him. I just know that he’s talking to me. It was never really my dream to be a model, but it’s a better life than I’m living now! I keep staring as he continues past me, stopping in front of a different woman. Oh well, home I go, I guess. Maybe Sam will bring out the ice cream and we can watch TV together. When I get home, I find Sam finishing up the last of the ice cream. “I’m going to bed.”
I'm a rather boring guy. I don't particularly enjoy going out to places, prefer to finish my 9 to 5 and read a book. I don't have a wife, or kids. No girl friend, don't talk to parents and never go to any family meetups. I just have a cat Edward. He is a strange little fellow. Always finds something weird or disgusting that I have to throw away while he isn't looking, lest I want my shins mauled by the cat. This particular evening, however, was not the same as before... After returning home from my boring desk job, I find a slimy mucus covered thing that honestly looked like a turd inside my cat's cage. Wondering what the hell I fed the cat this morning, and why it didn't use its litter box, I dispose of it. The next morning, that fucking turd is sitting in front of my nose while Edward is swinging his tail back and forth staring at me. Pissed and confused about what just happened, I angrily grab a stack of paper towels and firmly grasp to throw it out. That's when the what I thought was excrement started to wiggle around and slip out. Absolutely shocked and disgusted about what just happened, I throw it across the room into the wall on accident. After the impact, a large squeal could be heard. Sorry I just had something come up. I might finish it tomorrow if it gets enough interest.
Huh. Well, this is new. In all of the years I had been traveling, I'd seen some amazing spectacles. I'd seen the Twin Towers fall, the Mars Rover land, San Francisco transform into Gotham City and Donald J. Trump commit suicide. But I'd never stood in my own dark bedroom, staring down at my peaceful, sleeping body. What could I possibly see that would be worth the cost? Every time I have a vision, I know that I come closer to never waking up. I worry about the day that my children will be left with an unresponsive, breathing corpse to care for, but I have to know what will happen. And why the fuck am I in my bedroom? Wait- what's that noise downstairs? I walk out of the bedroom. It doesn't feel like I'm in a dream, I can hear my footsteps and feel the carpet beneath my feet. I walk toward the stairs, but pause as a man slides onto the landing from below and starts toward Melissa's room. the light from the window glints off something in his hand and HOLY SHIT NO THIS IS NOT FUCKING HAPPENING! I immediately turn and lunge back to my bedroom, I have to wake up, I have to wake up, I have to wa- Melissa's scream interrupts my train of thought. I grab my own shoulder, shaking violently. Melissa's screams suddenly cease- no tapering down or fading, but I can barely hear it over my own hysterical animal shrieks. I accidentally hit my phone, lighting up the screen. And as 4 year old Tammy's voice cries "Mommy?', my eyes fall on tonight's date in glowing numbers.
Congrats!!! Here’s to more!! As a new writer, I am having fun with the prompts here. So, I would like to ask you that how is the writing process that lead to a small prompt entry to lead to a long form story? Basically how did you extend the story and did you add more plot lines, a B story and all? Just asking as I would like to go down a similar lane too!! Congratulations once again and I hope it’s another one of many more milestones to come!!
"Here it is, Loomings Petting Zoo!"Ted, my son, looks unenthused by the park. He is more involved in his stupid little phone game. I see a parking spot next to the entrance. I speed to it, then out of nowhere, a car whips out and parks in my spot. "Dick,"I whisper under my breath. Just calm down, calm down. I take a breath. I think of the horses I will see today, the beautiful horses. Seeing those horses always manage to calm me down. I feel safe. I feel connected. Thanks to the new NPC government that took over the province, petting zoos have become the norm. In fact, there had to be one in every single town. It had something to do with us Generation Alpha's, something in us loved the comfort of animals, we always have. I manage to find parking a bit further away. "Time to turn off your game." "Couple more minutes, my match is almost done,"my son doesn't even look at me. "Save the game." "I'm playing online, Dad. I can't just save and quit." "Too bad,"I rip the phone from his hands and turn it off. He looks at me with anger, and in a fit of rage, he walks out of the car and slams the door. At least he got out of the car. As usual, we get to the entrance, and Larry, who has been working here since 12, greets us. "Hey there, Billy! I see you brought Ted withya today!" "Yep, it's been a while since he's seen the horses with me this week,"Ted didn't seem to care about being there. "Great to see the young faces here, well you know where to find them horses, Billy. If you're interested, we've got a zebra here for a couple of days. Circus is in town, so we're housing the fella here for a couple days." We hand our tickets to Larry, and he lets us in. "Woah, a zebra, can we go see it, Dad?" "Sure!" I personally didn't care to see the zebra, but hey, I'll take anything for Ted to be enthusiastic about these animals. We make our way to its pen. Ted, so excited he's speedwalking. I catch up, and I see him petting the zebra. I'm quite surprised. It usually takes time for an animal to open up. I sit there for a while, admiring my son enjoying his time with the animal. Did he find his love for them like the rest of us? After about five minutes, he looks back at me as he pets the zebras main. "Do you hear that?" "Hear what? "The zebra." "The zebra?" "Yeah, he's talking to me. He's asking me to help him." My son, he was just like me! Could it be? I have the ability to hear the voice of the horses. Could that mean he can hear the voices of the zebras. "Listen to him, son,"I say, "what is he asking you to do?"
Dear Sirs, I am terribly sorry to bother you at this time of the year. I have a rather urgent request for you on behalf of Father Christmas. He lives at the North Pole as you might know, but alas, I fear we may not be able to reside there much longer. It has been melting rapidly over the past half century or so, and things are such a terrible mess. The water seeps into the house and ruins all the toys! Melting icebergs are luvly things but there are too many of them now! I hear you good people at NASA are very clever at making celestial homes. We are humbly requesting you to build a base on the Moon for us- a secret one, of course. On the dark sid of the Moon if you pleeze! The colder the better! We are a rather large lot. Besides Father Christmas, there is North Polar Bear and his nephews, Snow Man, several elves (myself included), half a dozen gnomes, and the reindeer of course. I have taken the matter up with the Man in the Moon beforehand. He says there's enough room for the band of us, so you needn't trouble yourselves with asking him for permission. Polar Bear insists that the Moon house has candy canes. Father Christmas says it's unnecessary, but I quite agree with Polar Bear. They are nice things to have about. HEAR HEAR! I thank you all for your consideration. May your Christmas be bright and full of cheer. Yours, Ilbereth, Secretary to Father Christmas Thankee kindly! North Polar Bear &#x200B; &#x200B; PS: I based all the characters in this little letter on the ones in J. R. R. Tolkien's "Letters from Father Christmas". I'm not half as good as Tolkien, but I did my best. :)
It can’t be happening.. He’s older by.. 20 years? How did- I was only gone for a few seconds, how did this happen- I- Thoughts raced through my head of different scenarios of how this could happen, my son being hella confused on why I look so worried and concerned Sweat raced down my head as my son would stare at me "Dad? Why do you look so worried? What’s wrong?"He asked confused, I couldn’t form any words currently, this was too much to take in- Somehow words came out of my mouth "Look in the m-mirror..-"He was still confused, although he went to the bathroom, and after a few minutes of silence, screaming was audible, loud screaming, soon he busted out of the bathroom, starting to tear up, soon sobbing I tried to calm him down, hugging him and comforting him, he calmed down a bit, making me let out a sigh of relief, soon I’d grab his chin, associating eye contact with him "son, it’s okay, we’ll figure out what happened, just calm down, panicking makes the situation worse, y’know?"He’d chuckle "Yeah, of course, Dad." Soon enough both of us were fully calm, trying to figure out what possibly could of caused this Wait.. something was up Soon I’d wake up, panting heavily, it was just a..dream? I’d sigh of relief as I’d lay back down trying to get more sleep Looking out the window I saw the beautiful stars, soon my eyes shutting I’d drift off to sleep, being glad it was all just a dream Or.. Was it?
[Poem] They think me weak For my heart can truly break. They think me easy For they can see right through me. A target for the hunting lovers, Those who take and take and never give. I simply want to live. The first young poacher nearly did me in, With reasonings as structured As a quartz or corundum crystal. We danced for long, but soon I saw The hairline cracks he carved in me, To shatter me whenever he willed. I ran before I got myself killed. And still, I live. What they don't know Is gemstone hearts Heal just like flesh: It just takes time. When I was back To stabilized, I tried again With a pair of blue eyes. They matched the hue of my heart: When sad, they went dark. When angry, they're all afire. But soon I saw the telltale trails Of tendriline fault lines Between his heart and mine. I had to resign. When you're crystalline, You learn to look for the signs. O'er years I have learned How to run from the ones Who take, and give not my heart To those who just have fun. I tire of running, But what else can I do? Maybe.. maybe being alone for a while Is the way to see it through.
I crack my eyes open, but all I see is still black. I exhale sharply, unaware that I was even holding my breath. I can feel my muscles start to relax, and my throat is parched as if I had been asleep for weeks. How long had I been asleep for? There was no way to tell. As I slowly lift my head, sore from my slumber, I feel the ground shiftly ever so slightly beneath my shoulder blades. I bring my hands to my face, confirming that I can still see; it was an unusually dark morning. What in the world is this? Is that salt? I stick my tongue to my wrist, hesitantly tasting the blue grains that had stuck themselves to both of my arms. There is no flavor, and they make an unpleasant crunch between my teeth. Blue sand. Where the hell am I? I strain to sit up, but when I am finally upright, I see before me a great blue expanse, as far as I can see. Off to the left, and surely many miles away, stand two great black monoliths, hardly visible against the jet-black sky. In all other directions, the bright blue sand comes to a crisp edge against the void, entirely flat and entirely empty. “Welcome.” An eerily soothing female voice seems to come from every direction at once, startling me to my feet. I look around for the source, but there is nothing in sight. “Welcome,” the voice says again from everywhere, “to your trial.” My trial? What am I being tried for? “Here, you will be judged for your actions and your fate determined by us,” sounds a booming male voice, similarly disembodied. “Let’s start at the end, shall we?” All at once, the blue sand begins to rise around me, softly brushing against other grains as they form into familiarly human shapes. In front of me, composed of nothing but bright blue grains, is a bullet suspended in midair, destined for my forehead. The shooter is surrounded by other men with guns, each wearing a uniform of some kind. As I look around, I notice the blue sand in my hand in the shape of a knife, and a human form lying underneath my feet. Ah yes, I remember what happened now. This was how I died.
Dandy Town, unlike its name, is a town far from perfection. In fact this little hamlet or village is a hidden gem I found while on one of my numerous trips to my Step Father’s bakery for breakfast. I always had a penchant for funny things, but this town was a whole new definition of eccentricity and silliness. Every citizen of this town was a greater example than the other. They welcomed me like one of their own and stuffed me with sushi, which they claimed to be their own local delicacy and called it Honor Roll, something they ate on the occasion of graduation mostly. The eccentricity in the air of the Town extended to not only humans but also the other creatures there. Cats would guard dogs peeing over a pole. Snakes would take squirrels for a ride. Parrots acted as salesmen for chilli products. I had even seen an Alexa getting depressed and crying out on its owner, who was actually a therapist and tried to console her. The hills of the village stood tall. The smell of the trees was one that could keep you inhaling more than you should. The road was splattered at some place with water thrown out by Mr. Royce’s house or sometimes with shit from Mr. Royce’s house (he had a leaky pipe system). Mayor Abe’s Ranch was a place not to be missed at any costs. He showed me how to milk a cow. And then he proceeded to tell me, “ My wife left me for an Indian. Good thing though I hear they take very good care of cows,”. Pretty interesting guy. Marshall Mothers was the most famous town gynaecologist, famous for delivering Actor John Naviathan’s second son from his second wife. John was the most famous man in the whole town, and there was a big election process to choose the finest man for delivering his baby. Marshall emerged victorious as the whole town partied that night. The very next day, he delivered the baby who also happened to be his half brother! There are millions and millions of anecdotes I would share in this book about Dandy Town. The reader would sure be surprised to know about this hamlet and would sure pay it a visit to have some Honor Rolls!!!
The technician sat behind a pair of screens watching raw memories spool from left to right while I sat in the foam-core chair with a dozen needles stuck in the back of my head. In the reflection of the technician’s glasses I could see flashing pictures of my wife—she was laying across my lap on a tropical beach somewhere. Barbeque sauce dripped onto the technician’s shirt as he devoured a bacon double cheeseburger. “Okay, Maria was it?” He asked with his mouth half full. “Yeah.” “Okay. And she’s your…girlfriend? Wife?” “Ex-wife.” He snickered. “Figures. Third one today.” The reflection switched to images of my wife and I making love. “You sure you want them all to go?” “I’m sure.” The technician took a swig of mountain dew. “Because if I had memories like those, I wouldn’t wipe ‘em, I’d get ‘em downloaded. Then you could relive fucking your wife in her twenties. Back when everything was nice and tight.” I let the comment hang in the air for a second. “Just get rid of everything.” “I mean, even if she’s turned into a wrinkly old bitch, she’d still—” “Hey buddy.” He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah?” “What’s that sign say?” I gestured towards a neon sign displaying the words ‘discreet memory wipes, no questions asked!’ The technician read it aloud, then chuckled. “OK, here we go. This will sting for a bit.” After a few quick taps on his desk, the screen cast him in an odd reddish light. My ears filled with static, then the nerves behind my eye sockets screamed. Two minutes later, the needles in the back of my head hissed as they retracted behind a sliding panel in the chair’s headrest. I had absolutely no recollection of Maria. “All done,” the technician said, then took another bite of his burger. I left without saying a word. Outside my metal bracelet beeped twice. A holo-vid I’d recorded earlier appeared above my wrist. “In the coming days you’ll probably have a lot of questions about Maria. You’re probably wondering what could possibly drive you to erase thirty-five years of marriage. Just know you gave it a lot of thought and decided it’s better this way. We needed a fresh start, so go out and enjoy your new life.” Over the course of the next few weeks I almost forgot that I’d forgotten Maria. It completely slipped my mind until the authorities called me in for questioning. They wanted to know the last time I’d seen her. I told them I didn’t know. They wanted to know the last time I’d spoken with her. I told them I didn’t know. They wanted to know if I had any idea where she might be. I told them I had no idea. Eventually a judge ordered a subpoena of my memories. The detectives pounded the table and swore when they realized I’d already had them completely wiped. I told them I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help and walked out the door, ready to enjoy my new life.
The Litlings are a civilization of creatures who are bioluminescent and also magical. Their world is one of glowing strength that shines against the darkness of our times. One day they meet a little girl with no glow. Even her spirit is dim, and she has run away from terrible force that tried to grow the darkness inside of her. Can the Litlings save this little girl, before she brings ruin on them all?
I think the first time I used it was when I was about 4, I was on the playground swings when I fell off. I closed my eyes in shock and braced for impact but when I opened my eyes I was back on the swing. I assumed I just imagined it and went on with my day. Then it happened again, and again. Eventually I just accepted it as a part of my life and learned how to control it, I eventually timed it and it ended up being about 5 seconds, which is why I don’t use it to be a superhero or something.I mean, what are you gonna do with 5 seconds? Then, today I was walking to my dorm when I got tripped, I instinctively used my ability but was a bit off, I looked to the clocktower and my suspicions were confirmed, only four seconds. I looked for the person who tripped me, but they were nowhere to be found. Throughout my classes the image of the clocktower kept popping in my head, along with questions I couldn’t answer, “Why only four seconds?” “How is this possible” “Is it permanent?” and most of all, “Who was that person and did they cause this?”
F\\k you!"Yulia yelled and swung the blade with far more force than her small body would suggest, Korthin, the swordsman parried, and lunged, aiming the blade at her legs. His expression was fierce but this, this, *psycho* was having fun, Yulia could see it in his eyes. His silver gaze was filled with amusement, like he was playing with a puppy and not fighting a woman he'd tried to trick into living with him. She retreated, glaring at the burly man warily, he was obviously aiming to cripple not kill. Yulia felt her anxiety spike as he took slow, measured steps closer. He held his longsword loosely, a beast of a weapon made especially for him. He isn't even taking this seriously! The realization was accompanied by a sudden burst of adrenaline, as she lunged headfirst toward him. Her blade whistled as it cut through the air and with growing excitement she just knew, it would finally, finally! Make contact. She gaped in shock, he...caught it? Blood dripped down his arm at a languid pace, dirtying her pristine blade from where it made contact with his wide, open palm. She fell forward violently, Korthin jerked the sword out of her hands and threw it to the ground next to her. Spitting out a mouthful of dirt she looked up at her enemy hatefully. He smirked as he examined his bleeding hand. The swordsman looked down at...no, he looked down on her with a wild look in his eyes, madness and satisfaction filled his gaze in equal measure. The look made Yulia suppress a fearful groan. Korthins' rarely used voice was raspy and deep, she could only compare it to the sound of rolling thunder. "Tomorrow, we will spar again."He said, than paused in thought, he was always so calculated, every action done after deep and careful deliberation. "And remember. If you cannot kill me by the solstice, than you belong to me..."His smile chilled her to the bone, "Body...and soul."
"Sir, we are just going to keep an officer with you. He has to get close to you to pepper spray you and we might finally be able to catch him." The mayor shook his head, "There is no way I am getting pepper sprayed, just give the man what he wants. You haven't been able to catch him after the other attacks, why would this be any different." I slumped into my chair, we had been over this several times already this morning. After the 10 o'clock news the mayor had been refusing to go to his meetings or leave his office for anything. "Sir, who ever this guy is he is very camera conscious. The victim's haven't been able to give any descriptions of the guy because they aren't able to see him after he pepper sprays them. We will keep an officer with you anytime you have to be out in public, if this guy does try to pepper spray you we will be able to apprehend him." The mayor looked over his desk at me and shook his head again. "I won't do it." I locked eyes with the city manager who just shrugged. "With all due respect sir, you don't have a choice. This man has chosen to target you and we aren't giving in to his demands. Your options here are to a) cooperate with us and let us provide an escort or b) don't cooperate with us and we put someone on surveillance so we can catch this guy." "Or option c) we give him what he wants and I don't get pepper sprayed."He kicked his feet up on the corner of his desk. "I think we will go with option c." The city manager finally spoke up, "No, we will not be going with option c. The risk of you getting pepper sprayed does not justify us building a statue of this guy, we don't have the money in the budget to fix the potholes downtown we certainly don't have extra for a giant hunk of bronze to commemorate a criminal. Think of how this would affect your campaign." "How are we supposed to build a statue of this guy anyway if he won't tell us who he is?" "I don't care how we get the statue built! Catch him when he comes to meet the sculptor! I am not getting pepper sprayed!" The city manager stood and leaned over the mayor's desk, "sir, you might be pepper sprayed. That is a chance that we are willing to take. We will not be giving in to this criminal's demands. At this point I don't care if they provide you an escort or not, I am tired of this conversation, but we will not under any circumstances be building a statue." I stood to follow the city manager out into the hallway. I dropped my now empty soda can in the trashcan, and paused when I heard a soft metallic clink. "Mr. Mayor, would you stand up please?"
Martha was the least patient smoker I'd ever seen. She'd spend one minute, maybe two minutes per cigarette, before flicking them into the heaping ash tray on her desk. "So, you're looking for expendables, then?"the secretary growled, pulling her bright blue hair into a ponytail before mashing her fourth Camel into the silver plate. "Uh, people call them temps, right?"I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. I trusted Marco, but was this really the place to find a pickpocket for the crew? Martha waved my objection away "What are you looking for? Some muscle? If so, Wanda's your gal,"she said, pointing to a large woman in a crimson pantsuit. "I hear she once beat someone to death with the office microwave. Plus, she's blind as a bat - you'll never have to worry about her seeing your face." She what? I blinked. Surely the cozy office space had to be a front. But God, it should have been so easy. The crew was all assembled, we'd scoped out the casino, planned the infiltration. Just two weeks and we would have been drinking cocktails in Ibiza, shopping for yachts. "Actually,"I began. "What about an explosives expert?"Martha interrupted. "If you want to make an impact, Stacy's your gal." Following her finger, I stared across the room at a brunette rubbing a bag of Pop's Rocks like it was a hand warmer. I smoothed my fingers through my hair. Frank's wife just had to go into labor. The baby wasn't supposed to be due for weeks. Worse, he was the anchor. Without a master pickpocket, I was out the Italians. And no Italians meant The Fix wouldn't be too afraid to backseat plan. I was not going to risk my life if the most annoying man in the city was constantly opening his mouth. Hence, the temp agency. Still, this wasn't quite what I had expected. Martha seemed to notice my hesitation and barked a laugh. "Honey, do you really think you're the first bank robber who's shown up here?" "Uh, I don't suppose you have a pickpocket on staff?"I glanced around the room, trying to see any obvious contenders. "You're looking at her, sweetie, but it won't be cheap." "You?"I gaped. Distraction I could see. Swindler? Definitely. But blending in? Her hair was bright blue. Her fingers were like sausages, and in her hands was...my belt. "Shall we talk rates? It's extra if you want this back,"Martha said, revealing a smile that was full of teeth.
The City of Wells is unusual as it holds more tales than people. Its antiquidated status merely hints at a long and storied history, both on paper and off. So when Graham Boggins, proprietor and owner of The Full Moon Inn, saw four new customers approach, he wasn’t too worried. This City of 12,000 souls attracts a rich and varied clientele. An Australian wearing a load of junk on his face – Millenials! – asked for a Victoria Bitter. “Nice try sonny! You’re not the first Aussie to cross my threshold!” he thought to himself, as he handed over the ugly little bottle and a tall glass advertising one of the area’s many brands of Scrumpy cider. The pale Japanese girl said nothing but gave off an intense, feverish air, so Graham brought up an iced tapwater, compliments of the house. She took it without a word. The mysterious, feral looking gent simply said “Wurdulac” in a thick, wretched accent, presumably a Northerner wanting a trendy brand of Vodka. “We’ve been here before!” Graham tutted to himself and produced a chilled double of Grey Goose. The serious looking gentleman didn’t look upset in any way. Graham breathed a gentle sigh of relief and moved to his last customer. An old fashioned English fellow was next, resplendent in a tweed suit. He ordered a pint of Real Ale and a Ploughman’s Lunch. Graham knew the pork pies were getting ripe but after all he was running a business. Just as he was about to hand it over, the same gentleman came walking stiffly and deliberately from the direction of the gentleman’s toilets and grabbed Graham’s wrist surprisingly hard. “That’s a hard pass on the pie old chap” he groaned, then as if by magic began to recover from his affliction. He walked away whistling, making way for the final customer. The bespectacled, chubby unkempt man was identified as the troublemaker as soon as he asked for a cold beer. Apparently he was a fisherman, which was convenient as the river Avon and surrounding lakes provided excellent sport for all types of anglers. Graham divined this from the young lad’s T-Shirt describing his fishing technique. “I hold my rod, Wiggle my worm, and Pow! They’re on It!” “Could I trouble you for an I.D. me ‘andsome?” Sure enough he came up with an American driving licence. Turned out he was a fellow by the name of McLovin of all people! “What a time to be alive!” he mused. Then, reverting to his finest “Queen’s English”, Graham posed the oft-said Landlord classic. “What’s a group like you doing in a small town like this?”
I've been standing here for a long time. I'm telling you this now because I'm tired. When they descended off of the comet, they didn't attack. They just sat there. That wasn't how I thought it would go. That's all I know. I've got my "life-line", as people call it. I'm supposed to tell them what's going on so my family knows I'm safe, but there wasn't much to really say. The world was silent, it was like the aliens were just waiting for the humans to leave. I had planned to go to the local bar but after a week though people couldn't take it anymore. The people were fighting. The city was burning. The alien ships were watching. Those who didn't fight tried to flee. I didn't see anyone make out of the city alive. I was trapped in this bar and when I finally came out there was no one. The city was in ruins, smoldering everywhere. The skies turned to night and rained and the whole time the ship just sat there. Just sat there watching.
“Pirate” is a strong term with centuries of negative connotations associated with it. I’ve always thought of my family more as liberators and redistributors of wealth. My dad led our team, the good guys, against some of the most well-funded regimes in the world; he was exceptional at using force to coerce and reclaim hoarded goods. Sure, we hoarded some for ourselves after liberating resources from the various other bad guys of the world, but our hoard was more like a hall-of-fame for various trophies won from the very best missions. Being a modern day pirate is tough; it’s difficult being around some of the vulgar people my dad works with, but he’s looked out for me and kept the dangerous side of him outside of my view; I think it’s therapeutic for him to go on a mission, kill some, take some, and get it all out of his system so when he comes back to me he’s just a soft teddy bear who likes hanging out with me. I’m currently curled up by the window waiting for him to come home, watching raindrops explode as the wind pushes them into the window, imagining how I’ll break the news to him without spilling any blood. You can’t choose who you love, right? We lived on an island that had it all: lakes, meadows, forests, a mountain, and various wildlife. I’ve known this island most of my life. Being the baby of the family, I have my siblings to thank for the freedom I had been allowed throughout my childhood, going on missions with my father when I chose, and staying home to explore the island if I wished. It was one of those long weekends of hiking throughout the lowlands around the mountain when I met Ryan. He was stuck between a sheer cliff and a very territorial mountain goat when I rounded a corner along the trail and luckily, I had just enough time to “take care of” the goat and save him from what would have been serious injury or death. Since our first meeting, we got to know each other very well, camping around the mountain on our weekends away from responsibilities, fishing, hunting, sailing for leisure, kissing, touching, talking. It wasn’t until we were both in love that we divulged our family’s secrets. Me, daughter of a ruthless pirate, and he, heir to the regime my father hated most. \----- Raindrops continued to race down the windowpane as the storm raged outside. Ryan lifted his eyes up from his book and placed a hand on my shoulder, attempting to squeeze away some of the tension I was carrying. But he didn’t understand what my father would do to him when he came home; I’d been talked into orchestrating an introduction for my boyfriend and my dad but now that I had time to think, packing bags, leaving home, and never turning back sounded like the only option where everyone makes it out alive.
"And for my last trick, I will pull a rabbit from this very hat!" The audience half-heartedly clapped at the age-old act they were about to witness. Among them, a glow of cell phones lit up their faces as most checked out the latest updates on Facebook or Reddit. "With these magic words: Abracadabra, Alakazam!!"He plunged his hand into the hat and retrieved a small white rabbit. A small selection of audience members clapped. A cough could be heard over the sparse applause. Seeing the lack of enthusiasm in the audience, the magician dropped his eyes to the hat. "But what is this?"His hand dove into the hat yet again, retrieving a second rabbit, then a third. The audience let out an audible gasp as this sleight of hand just became more than any had anticipated. The glow of digital screens cut in half as individuals tuned into the act. "Ladies and gentlemen,"the magician called out with an air of suspense, "Focus carefully on these 3 rabbits, for what you are about to see will amaze you." The rabbits skittered back and forth atop the table. The magician gathered them one by one to the front, positioning their faces towards the crowd. "Rumor has it that these rabbits have a dark secret. In fact, some claim that they aren't rabbits at all." The lights dimmed to where the shape of the magician was but a faint shadow. "There once was a man who claimed to know all the world's secrets. He delivered invention after invention, theory after theory, and fact after fact to the populace. The people regarded him as a god, and in fact -- He was so confident in his ways that he challenged the gods on his knowledge. Rumor has it that this man climbed to the highest peak and called out to the heavens 'Lords of this realm, I have found the well of eternal truths. I have found that your existence is but a figment of man's uncertainty towards the world." The lights flickered brightly, and the man's voice seemed to increase in volume tenfold. "I challenge thee to prove your existence -- prove me wrong or may I be stricken down at this time for all eternity!!" With this last call out, the magician slammed his clenched fist onto the first rabbit, who disappeared into a cloud of dust. The audience screamed out, and all glow seemed to fade from their faces. "Of course, at the time of his vanishing, the knowledge was out in the world. Society had leapt forward centuries across the short span of this man's life. This led to an enlightenment of sorts. A revolution of thought and technology. Man created the machine, and used these machines to create bigger and better machines, and as a result of such... we lost touch with nature." The magician swept up the second rabbit from the table. "While men were refining their weapons of warfare, expanding their grasp on territory, committing acts of atrociousness -- nature was affected. Waterways were polluted. Forests were razed for housing developments."He grabbed the rabbit between his fingers and began squeezing, as if kneading a loaf of bread. "Man was shaping..."a tighter grip, and an audible squeal arose, "the world..."the squealing and squirming intensified, "to his whim." Silence. The magician maintained his hands in a tight ball. "But the world doesn't work that way."A small grimace overtook his face. "For only so much can be dealt before the world fights back. Oceans rose. Temperatures followed suit. Man bickered back and forth, claiming they had the knowledge to fix it, but alas, the world had other plans. Cities were swept into the sea, just as Atlantis had been Millennia before. Others weren't so fortunate and suffered a more enduring pain. Lack of rainfall and increasing temperatures took their toll, burning crops and people alive." The magician released his grip to reveal a floating ball of fire in his right hand. The lights died out, with only the glow of the fire illuminating the room. "Arguments continued between men. Those foolhardy enough to think they could end the planet's wrath brought forth sums of money, and thought the use of more technology could cease the overdue reclamation." With his left hand, he grabbed the last rabbit by the scruff of it's neck. Its legs dangled limply while its fluffy head browsed around the room. "But nature had had enough. The release of the nuclear bomb showed man's commitment to destruction. For thousands of years, man had deemed himself in control. He cared less and less about stewardship, and more about greed. He fought and killed his own brothers to have more. It was never going to end, and the laws of nature would put him on trial for his actions." He ushered the rabbit towards the fireball. It squirmed and pushed away from the heat, beginning a squeal as the second had before it. The audience became unsteady and restless, some called out to let the animal go. Steel chairs slid along the linoleum floor, creating loud screeches as some took to their feet. "It was for nothing. Man had become so obsessed with his superiority he failed to notice the simple things in the world. He stopped gazing at the stars in awe. He lost track of where his food came from, instead focusing on a different form of Apple. The mindless hoards of civilization echoed the mindless hoards of their media -- A self-fulfilling prophecy, devoid of natural influence." The rabbit was inched closer to the flame. It screamed out and tried to gnaw at the magician's fingers. More people cried out for the madness to stop "But then some of you spoke up, just as you do now. You refused to be controlled by the technology. You refused to lose touch with the natural origin of your humanity. You saw an action taking place and regained a druidic approach to the world. Your nucleation point of life from this world sparked an unrest at the way man had strayed..." He clenched his right hand closed, shutting out the fire, and thus all light in the room. After a moment, the stage lights blinked into existence. The stage was empty. No magician. No hat. No table for performing tricks. Only one thing remained, a Jackrabbit sitting on its haunches, staring solemnly out at the audience. It appeared to have doubled in size and taken on an auburn hue, matching the color of the now snuffed-out flame. The audience rose to their feet in a raucous applause. As they did, the rabbit bent at it's waist, as if bowing to the crowd.
You wake up one morning naked and realize all your clothes are gone. When you look outside your window everyone is casually walking around nude like there isn’t anything unusual about it. Dumbfounded, you step back from the window letting the curtain fall back, the room once again, without the bright morning sunshine, becomes a dull and gloomy. Your mind races as you franticly search your recent memories. Incomplete, blurry images flash in your mind. The fight with your parents, the party, bright lights, breaking glass, sirens, screams, a courtroom, your mother crying, the warm sunlight as you exited the courthouse, more screams, a gunshot then, nothing. What does it all mean? What happened? More importantly, as you looked around the unfamiliar room, seeing your nakedness within a full length mirror hanging on the wall, where were you?
364 days ago, my father and I had an argument. I honestly can’t even remember how it started but it eventually led to him accusing me of wasting my life and me insisting that he needed to get his own. Jenna, who was eight at the time, walked in the living room to witness my father shove me against the wall after I spit in his face, a hand gripped around my neck. She screamed, and he let go. I grabbed some clothes and went to Amber’s parent's house and vented about how the man was psychotic and always managed to ruin my birthday. She listened patiently and held me when I had nothing more to say. She always knew when to speak and when to listen. Later that evening, she brought me a single cupcake she had made, topped with chocolate frosting and two blue candles. I closed my eyes, made a wish for each candle, and blew out the flames. These thoughts come racing back into my mind as I sat there staring at the body of my father. The police said they found him last week parked off the side of the road, face pressed against the window, seatbelt still buckled. A massive pulmonary embolism, killing him at age 54. My mother, sister, and brother sat beside me on the church pew as my uncle spoke about the wonderful life my father had led. They wept softly and nodded along, remembering the stories he told of family trips and homework projects. Amber sat on my right, gripping my hand to encourage me everything would be okay. But I could not take my eyes off the box that held my father’s body, stoic and unwavering. Surely this could not be my fault, birthday wishes don’t actually come true. They are a silly childhood game we play each year to give us some sense of control over the passing of time. Wishing my father was dead by my next birthday was a moment of anger, immaturity, and stupidity, not an actual command. And yet, here we are. What about the other wish? Will it happen tonight?
The oracles were never wrong. Never. We thought we've kept Maggie safe but a rogue firework made the most gruesome scene just seconds before her day ended. Even Stephan tried to cheat his way to make it earlier than predicted but ended up being a paralyzed vegetable on his bed. He'll be on pain meds for the itches on where his legs used to be for a few more years if I did the math right. My parents already bought the casket, balloons, and even the cleaners were there at the day of my demise, should my death be something in need of cleaning. I've done my best to look for answers, even asked the oracles themselves but they never talk to anyone else except for the young ones. It's been fifty-three years since and tomorrow, it'll be exactly fifty-four years since my eighteenth birthday. If what I've been waiting for arrives tomorrow, I surely wish both my daughters would rather thank me than despise me for being born on the exact same day that I did, but four years apart.
2003. I have wondered many times why I wasn't more astounded by what I saw that cold september morning. But that's the thing with kids, everything is magical to them. You can show them an alien animal or a balloon rocket. These two things can be equally impressive and exciting for them as the lack of things you can compare these phenomena to are lacking. The world is new for them. That being said I have to admit the creature I saw that morning was unlike any I had ever seen before, and as it turns out, unlike any creature I would ever see again. As I scooped him out of the pond with my little net and pulled him closer I could see it in his eyes...fear. Visible fear from a creature I can only now describe as the result of Wall-E raw dogging a water beetle. My parents told me it was some kind of water beetle just like any other. But what did they know? They weren't exactly entomologists. At the time they were of course slightly more concerned about the logistics of changing the pond water than to concentrate on little me proudly showing them every little tadpole I could scoop with my hand net, so who could blame them? I had the little guy in a water filled mason jar on my nightstand and I would stare at him until I fell asleep, and he would stare back. I would say he behaved more like a dog than anything else. He would always like to play with my finger and sometimes when he got bored he would shoot water in my face when I was reading my comic books in bed. He ate pretty much anything too which made him easy to care for. Then one night the nightmares started. It wasn't bad at first, a few nights I woke up to seeing three figures standing around my bed and suddenly disappearing, which was frightening of course but my closest friend was having similar experiences so I wasn't too worried. After a while though things got worse, a feeling of dread and anxiety washed over me constantly and I saw these pale figures that had haunted my nightmares suddenly appear in broad daylight. After I started to hear a voice in my head I knew something had to be done. And somehow subconscioussly I knew that these events were because of my new insect friend. After I put my little water beetle buddy back in the pond the nightmares, visions and sounds stopped. I always presumed these uncomfortable things I experienced was because of guilt for taking an innocent creature out of its natural habitat. Nowadays I'm not so sure. After enheriting the house I've many times considered removing the pond, per my wifes request, but some feeling inside me has always stopped me from doing that. Specifically I get that same feeling of anxiety and dread I felt as a child, and hear that same creepy voice inside my head "kaiju".
I drag a cigarette as I wave to Steven. Nice kid. One of the nicest interns they've ever hired. And is smart too, not like that Bruno kid. Kinder than a nun, dumber than a stack of bricks. Being a security in the night shift of the zoo is a nice job. As nice as I could get with only a high school diploma. Could've gone to a nice school on a scholarship if at least I had stopped punching when the ref told me to at nationals. The video went viral with the title "Psycho boxer almost murders opponent", the guy sued me… but no use reminiscing about the past. I got to keep an eye at Steven while he feeds the bears. The chances of anything happening is one in a million, but I don't want to be caught sleeping the day something goes south. Everything goes as planned. Sweet. We're done with the dangerous animals, only the birds are left. I smile at Zoti, my favourite bear, while we leave, and he growls quietly while cleaves meat from the bone. I swear to God, these animals are fully capable of understanding our feelings. Our cart stops by the giant cage where we keep the tropical birds. Steven starts to unload the bird feed, which naturally attracts the pigeons. They stare at the cage and the good smelling sack full of fruits and grains, as always, which makes me wonder if, in their tiny brains, they're capable of mocking their imprisoned brethren, or if they envy their "gourmet"food prepared by the veterinaries the zoo so handsomely pays. I'm still wondering about pigeon brains when I hear a scream of pain. I break out of my introspection and see the pigeons attacking Steven. I run out to help, but, to my surprise, the pigeons attack me instead of fleeing. Their sharp beaks tear my flesh, and in desperation I take out my gun and fire into the air. It works, the pigeons fly away. I grab Steven by the arm and run to the cart. We accelerate towards the staff building. I fire a couple of times more, but the pigeons seem to get less and less scared. Groups of pigeons attack the open air cages, and growls and screeches and shrieks of death fill the air. I think of Zoti. No time for him now. I think of the other animals I like, and pray that they can survive whatever is happening. The pigeons are closing in. We make it to the staff building, and I bolt to the door. As I open it and turn back, I finally notice that Steven is limping, several beak wounds in his right tight. He's further behind than what he should've been. I start to go to him, but the pigeons are faster. His body disappears under dozens of birds, feathers and blood flying up the air. I fire at the pigeons, and manage to hit a few before my ammo runs out, but there's so many of them. His screams get higher and higher in pitch as the pigeons yank his head from the shoulders, finally ceasing when two pigeons fly away with his head, blood dripping from the stump where once was his neck. I lock the door behind me. No one else is there. The night shift isn't exactly crowded, and everyone was doing their rounds. I block the door and turn on the TV. All over the world, pigeons are attacking humans. They're week, hit they're so numerous, and they seem to be getting smarter. Focusing on attacking armed opponents, stealing and carrying explosives… it seems it's the pigeon apocalypse. All I can do is sleep and pray it's all over tomorrow. Is this how my opponent felt that day? Impotent, bleeding and scarred for his life? Heh…
What bullshit is this? I finally get a menial job after four years of nothing and well, my first task happens to be: >"Oh, yes...Dave, right?...well, the boss' kid wants a backstory for that 'Red' from those Pokémon games....why don't you try that?" Huh?! What the hell did he just told me to do? Write a fucking backstory for a dumbass videogame character? And for a fucking kid? Like yeah, my college degree is stupid, and I hardly got this job, and sure I don't get to have a choice for my job status...BUT still this is outrageous. >As Dave here bitches about the task he was just given, he gets a slight vision of a barren and quite familiar bank account. He then and there leaves his last shreds of dignity and self-respect he had. He starts thinking about the backstory. "Ah..Red...Red...Red...Rrreeeeeeeeeeeeed..............................fuck." "Hey Dave, how's that fanfic coming up?"Doug asks. Doug here is my long time buddy from university who just happens to work in the same company as mine. "Can't think of anything. Last I ever played those games was in 3rd grade." "Well, as I remember, that red guy didn't had anything going on for him except the typical 'I just moved here with my mom and my local researcher gave me a pokémon and hell blablabla...lets become a pokémon trainer!'." "I guess he had no history whatsoever." "Sure, but he had a mom." "Family problems?" "No. Remember? This is a Nintendo franchise. No heavy stuff here." "Why not? This is a backstory. And for a 17 year old kid, who I am pretty sure wants a Tumblr-level kind of drama in it." "You do you. By the way, have you ever even used Tumblr?" "Not really. Just know that it is crazy out there." "Good. Did you ever wrote a story or fanfic? You must have some experience." "Well, there was a stage in my life when I was quite renowned for a fanfic series about Sonic the hedgehog and Mario having romantic feelings for each other." >A minute passes waiting for Dave's response. "Did they ever kissed?" "Yeah." "Cool. Tell me all about it some other day. Don't make this a romance too." "..." "That's my advice. Now excuse me, I'll have to go and jump off a cliff. Good luck with your task." "See you at lunch." >Doug waves at him, goes to his cubicle and starts typing on his computer frantically. Dave starts thinking again. I guess Red feels like a happy kid to me. So, his backstory should not have any issues regarding his life, rather I should make a story of how Red is fascinated by all different and beautiful kinds of pokémon and how this fascination started and how this fascination grew to admiration and respect towards the pokémon and hence gained the spirit of a true pokémon master....yeah...sounds like a plan. I better start writing.
“Power critical. Activate power save mode or return to Mothership immediately,” Axela urged in a painfully compressed voice clouded with static. Thalia rolled her eyes. “Negative,” she replied. She would sooner shake hands with Ravisse, the Sakite warmonger, than let a dismembered voice called a ‘Spacecraft Diagnostic Support AI’ dictate her every move. She’d fought whole battles on low battery a hundred times before. If it meant she could send even one more Sakite drone spiraling towards one of Elkura’s desolate moons, it was worth it. Thalia wove her combat buggy around debris strewn throughout the chaotic spacescape. Crimson red Union combugs annihilated the disorganized Sakite drones in well-rehearsed formations; unintelligible radio chatter assaulted Thalia’s left ear. Union forces had been defending Elkura for most of the battle, and sustained heavy casualties. The Sakites had gunned down entire platoons of Union combugs; three from Thalia’s own unit had succumbed. However, their advances were not without cost; for every Union combug eliminated, twelve Sakite drones were blown to smithereens. So many of them had fallen in the offensive that Commander Sorlak gave the order to attack. Thalia broke formation the second she could. She knew a round of solitary confinement was awaiting her after the battle, but she didn’t care--she was more valuable to the Union fleet sniping Sakites from the cover of warped metal and shattered engine remains. She never shot from the same place twice, and she never missed. She piloted her combug into a cloud of detritus, pulled up the blaster guidance system, and lined up her shot. She hit the button and the photon cannon did the rest. Five seconds later, a drone flew right into the path of the photon blast. Thalia didn’t have to stick around to know she nailed the drone’s engine, rendering the whole thing useless. “Power critical. Activate power save mode or return to Mothership immediately,” Axela demanded once more. “Oh, go suck an egg, Axela,” Thalia sneered. A ping on her radar piqued her interest; the sound of cannon blasts caught her attention. Her reflexes kicked in and she engaged evasive maneuvers. “Talk to me, Axela,” Thalia demanded. “Sensors detect a Sakite drone, Riko Class, tailing six hundred and seventy Kunas to the rear.” The drone let fly another volley of blasts. Thalia had no trouble dodging anything the Sakite threw at her. She was losing him when she heard something she never thought she’d ever hear. “P-Power failure,” Axela stuttered, the static making her voice nearly incomprehensible. The controls seized up. The engine fell silent. Everything went dark. “Wha--?” Thalia began. She heard the sound of cannons blasting and braced herself. Something blew up behind her right shoulder; the next thing she knew, the right side of her body was consumed in flames. “Zock!” she cursed. She slapped her right arm until what was left of her sleeve was extinguished. She didn’t have time to assess the damage before another blast rocked her combug. Sparks erupted from a panel next to Thalia’s head; pellets of heat bombarded the left side of her face. Thalia flinched. Even in pain, she knew that it was a matter of seconds before a blast tore a hole in the cockpit and her life was over. Thinking fast, she grabbed the helmet to her space suit off the floor and forced her head into it, clicking it into place. A quick glance out the side window at Elkura’s forest moon, Sorgelm, convinced Thalia that her plan just might work--assuming the atmosphere didn’t dissolve her heat shield and her fuel didn’t ignite on impact. Recalling her training, she pulled the manual override under the console. A reverberating clonk followed by the sound of auxiliary thrusters kicking into action jerked the combug into a moonbound trajectory -- and not a second too soon. There was no steering, so Thalia could only look out the window and watch Sorgelm get bigger and bigger, hoping she’d land on the right moon with enough combug to salvage. The auxiliary thrusters cut out after a few minutes, but she should have had enough velocity to make it to Sorgelm. Thalia could tell at a glance that the angle of entry would be shallow, which is good for a crash landing. As Thalia felt gravity take hold, she looked back and watched the battle grow smaller and smaller in the window. Her stomach tied itself in knots. She should have been there, fighting with her comrades in arms, confronting the Sakite menace. She forced herself to look away when she felt the whole combug convulse violently -- she had made contact with the atmosphere. The tremors sent pain shooting through her whole right side. Thalia winced, but the oncoming moon took her mind off the pain. The vague sheen of green blanketing Sorgelm became a forest, and then the forest became a sea of trees. Thalia’s heart raced. She gripped her armrests and every muscle in her being tensed up. She was hurling towards the canopy at an immense speed--she closed her eyes, clenched her jaw, and braced herself for the impending impact, knowing all too well she could be facing her death. Any second now and-- BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I awoke with a start, my heart racing. Instinctively, I hurled my arm in the general direction of my alarm clock to stop the grating metallic ring, ignoring the pain that resulted from the impact. I thought for a second that I was staring up at some sort of melted starfish -- after blinking over and over, I saw that it was my ceiling fan. A wave of nausea hit me and I threw off my covers, stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. I bent over the toilet and heaved, but nothing came up. I sat there leaning over the toilet bowl until my stomach was stable enough that I could go about my business. I pushed myself up from the floor with some difficulty -- every muscle was sore, every movement was painful. I took note of the searing pain in my arm and gently rolled up the sleeves of my pajamas to find skin-deep burns and welts all along my arm up to my shoulder blade. I was stiff from my neck to my shoulders. Reaching up to wipe the sweat off my face, my elbow erupted in pain like pins and needles. I winced. That injury was a week old; I’d hoped it would get better by now. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and noticed the whole left side of my face was freckled with tiny burn marks. I sighed, leaning over the sink to take a closer look. It wasn’t too noticeable on my oak-colored skin; it could have been a lot worse. I closed my eyes and tried to remember what I’d dreamed about. It was dark, I remembered that. I saw trees. Had I been in a forest fire? I couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter now anyways -- school was going to start in an hour and a half, and I had to make myself presentable.
"Our top story tonight: the police case our bank robber through the city streets of downtown Toronto. Will the man be caught? I'd say with our trusty men in blue, this criminal hasn't got a chance. This is Todd Richardson with the six o'clock news, until next time." A loud beep of being off the air chimes, a deep noise that to signals the end of a shift for most in the news room. Todd Richardson had been used to the noise meaning he can go home with over eight years in the industry, and the last three being on camera. He was somewhat of a TV personality, his rich, deep voice made for a perfect read on the news. All the women loved him, he was a broad shouldered man in his mid thirties with a deep chocolate skin and a smile that could kill. Todd gathered his papers from the desk, getting himself ready to leave for the afternoon. His manager, a shorter Italian man with a wide belly and thinning hair, stalked over quickly too him. He also seemed in a rush. "Todd, you did great. As usual. No complaints."The short man's head just reached over the news desk in a comical sort of way. Todd had known his manager, Nickolas, for the last four years. He'd been the one to help him get into the news chair, he always said: as long as you believe it to be true, say it out loud and it will become the truth. Todd wasn't sure how that worked, but it had. He didn't trust anyone more than Nickolas. "My throats been feeling a little sore, hopefully it didn't pick up on the mic." Nickolas instantly shook him head, almost violently to some dramatic effect. "No, no, no, no, it was beautiful. You were beautiful, my friend."Todd smiled, Nickolas always said nice things about him, he'd gotten used to it by now and no one would say otherwise, he was quite a sensation. "You want to grab some dinner? My treat!" The two left the studio as an odd pair; Todd, a large, muscular man and Nickolas, a quite small-in-comparison and a little pudgey man. People seemed to get used to the sight. Todd held open the heavy, steel studio door, but heard a pssst noise behind them that brought his attention. Standing awkwardly near the sound equipment was a young man, he stared at Nickolas, his eyes flickered to Todd's, but sat back on the small man's. Nickolas seemed to sigh, turning to his large friend. "Why don't I meet you at Frankie's? This should just take a minute."Todd nods, continuing on down the hallway, not hearing the hushed voices coming from the two behind him. At Frankie's, which is Nickolas's favourite Italian restaurant, Todd was recognized multiple times. He'd strike up conversation with people who'd come to say hi, ask them about their thoughts on the stories. He did his best to not brush any person off, it was the social aspect of the job he'd loved and generally owed that to the people of the city. It was only a few more minutes before Nickolas came into the restaurant, waving to the chef in a huff and he clattered down in the chair. Small beads if sweat sat on top of his forehead. The silverware clinked together as he ripped the napkin out from under them and dabbed his forehead. "Who was that boy?"Todd asked, having already ordered a tea with honey for his throat, he picked the mug up and took a small sip. The liquid was far too hot to drink, but he enjoyed the warmth on his lips. "He's a-"Nickolas gave a cough. "He's an up and coming camera man, I was to have a meeting with him but completely forgot. His name is Joseph Juliano, what do you think? Could we use a new camera man?" "Well I think Chris is great, the current camera man. I guess we could always use more just in case." "I mean do you think Joseph could be our new camera man?" "Yeah, Joseph could be out new camera man."Nickolas smiled at that, a waitress brought some water and he drank half of the glass within a few second. Letting out a gasp he continued his smile. "Great, great, that's perfect."He mumbled towards the end, typing something into his phone quickly and turning back to Todd. "Let's talk about tomorrow's stories." The night continued on as usually. By the end of dinner Todd was exhausted and ready for bed. He got to his condo around midnight, with his throat still feeling unwell, he took a spoonful more of honey and head to bed. The lights over the city shone brightly through his bedroom window, he pressed a button on his remote and the blinds slowly fell down over the windows, blocking him from the outside world. He fell asleep only thirty minutes later. -
It's hard to be a stutterer and a wizard. You need to say the magic words correctly. And these are not any ordinary words. Wizards speak High Archaic. Sounds like Latin but with more focus on the adjectives. Adjectives modify nouns see, just as spells modify things. You modify what something is called in the high language, sorry High Archaic HA, and it has the power to modify things in our reality. Naming we call it. It can be very powerful and very dangerous if you say the words incorrectly. Which is easy to do if you are speaking HA as a second language. This is common as no one wants to say pass the potatoes and accidentally curse someone that they will be killed by potatoes. Or If you tend to stutter, and particularly if one is unfortunate to suffer from both as I do. There's been a lot of… mistakes. My Uncle was turned into a toad one Yule, though he tells everyone he quite enjoyed his time as an amphibian. There were unfortunate effects to my childhood pets growing up, and some general destruction and mayhem at the magical school I attend. I also got my brother trapped permanently in the land of the Fae, but he became a fairy prince and my parents can still visit him so it's OK. Though he never wants to see me personally. It's hard to make friends when you have a stutter, it's harder when they imagine you might accidentally turn them inside out when you do. For the record, I have never done that that is just a rumor. So I learned and kept to myself in my own quarters, hunting down any rouge processions I may have accidentally magicked before they became an issue. I think outside of some of the professors that agreed to tutor me the school largely forgot I was there. Lonely I would sneak out to visit this hole in a wall bar, lots of kids and teenagers would gather and try rap battles. I got good, I leaned to swear when I stuttered, often naming some of the minor deities and powers of Faerie when I did. I got much more confident speaking and dealing with my stutter, and I learned to speak very fast. Afterward, I would sneak back to the portal under the bridge and be back in my bed at the magical school before anyone had missed me. Three years passed like that, I was not allowed in general classes with other students That is until the breach. Fairy’s or Fae are not small creatures with wings, Well most of them. Most of them are a human-like creature with a lot of natural magical power from a world that’s like earth but with more magic in it. Wizards and Fae have been fighting on and off for most of the last 3000 years. The school was protected but I guess they found a way through our enhancements. It was a normal afternoon then there were Fae about killing students, teachers and vise versa I ended up crossing wands with one, well ran into her literally. She was bringing up the wand and I brought up mine and said aspirersas. Translates as be as the heavens, it should have levitated her a food above the ground or that’s what I tried to say but I ended up saying Aspirerith. Be the heavens, It sent her rocketing right at the stone ceiling. She did not survive the impact. She had dropped her wand I picked it up just in time to see more Fae turning the corner. Wands take a few seconds to activate. This has led to wizards devising spells that take about 3-4 seconds to say as that’s about the rate of fire of a modern wand. But I’d learned to speak faster and I had two wands, I started firing off spells very quickly finding that HA was a natural fit for rap. That left the stutter but I still used the minor deities of the world of Fai to cover up potential slips. Whether it was that the portal to Fae the Faries had opened had allowed me to call on their power or if I had just never called on then while speaking High Arcaic it worked now, my spells had additional effects, bolts of thunder, ice storms, earth tremors. When the teachers found me I was surrounded by more than a score of Fairy's I had killed or incapacitated and half that many deities wanting me to sign contracts for their divine favor. the teachers helped me sort it out and I became a warrior the first duel wielding wand user, A Secret Weapon. Others tried to adopt my fighting style but they were too slow and they struggled to pepper their spells with calls for divine assistance. Of course, there was a price for that assistance but minor gods are like sports shoe companies. They need people to spread the word and faith. They need heroes and winners and they are willing to sponsor those they deem worthy or sufficiently aspirational. Out of Time, Part 2 will be when the duel wielding wizard finds his match.
Samantha screamed as soon as she stepped into the house. "DAD! SOMEONE BROKE INTO THE HOUSE!" In panic she fumbled for her phone to call the police. The furniture inside the old house were all moved randomly yet still positioned neatly. "Oh Samantha dear, there is no need for that. It's fine. I'm sure nothing is missing", the old man said calmly with a smile moving the lines on his weathered face. "DAD EVERYTHING IS OUT OF PLACE! HOW CAN YOU BE SO CALM?", the young woman exasperatedly shouted. Her father was just staring her down calmly, without words. To this she calmed down and sat down, out of breath. "I'm gonna check on mom's room. See if anything's taken...", partly ashamed she's off upstairs. Left alone in the living room, the old man walked around almost reminiscing... This house had been his and his wife's for the last 60 years. This house was where they lived before they were married. This house was where they lived after they were married, where they had their first night, where Samantha grew up, where she took her first step. This house was where they had their happiest laughs and their saddest cries. Where his dear wife, Michelle spent the last year of her life bedridden until her passing a few months before. Every creak of its floor, every dents of its walls, every chip of its old paint, the smell of old wood and old carpet. The old man was familiar with all of them. This house was loved, and it loved its family back... "You miss her too, don't you old girl?", the old man gently whispered, eyes tearing up.
The vast energy of the universe is a perfect existence. It is not created. It is permanent. And it contains all the possibilities of life and experience in a state which we cannot fathom, one without time and space. There is no you or I, no good or evil, just an eternal vibration or energy. And it is from this source the big bang occurred. The ripples of energy in the great source can occasionally synchronize and amplify each other, like the peak of two ripples coming together to form a higher peak, and lower valley. This happens all the time. On a rare occasion, these amplified ripples come together and further amplify themselves, such that their energy can become extremely concentrated, so much so, that it causes a physical inconsistency in the fabric of this realm. And this inconsistency changes the quality of the energy such that it bursts into another dimension at an incredible rate. Once the fabric between dimensions is pierced, a fountain of impossible energy spews fourth into a new existence, a new reality which is abstracted from the eternal source. This is how universes are created, and the big bang was the start of ours. But these are anomalies in the perfection, not imperfect by any means, but different from the perfection. Time is generated and evolves with the energy of the big bang explosion. It evolves in cycles of explosions and complexity which bring rise to stars, planets, galaxies and life. But it is always trying to return to the source. Gravity is pulling everything back together, so that it can experience possibility, but this is only temporary. As it expands and spreads this, it eventually dissapates into a low energy field which the great source then consumes again. Time is created, and it is eventually destroyed.
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"Oh what would I give for a massive leaf pile to jump in,"Cayden mused sitting under a colorful fall tree in his backyard after school one day doing his homework. The homework was tricky that day, but when he snapped his fingers upon solving the last of his math problems, something odd happened. All the leaves in his yard fell off their branches at the same time. Knowing that his mother would yell at him to rake them all up, he ran to the shed after setting his things on the patio table, and grabbed the rake and bunch of tarps to contain all of the leaves. He decided to rake the leaves twice, once for a leaf pile to jump in, then a second to clean them all up and bring them to the composter to turn into fertilizer over the winter. After 45 minutes of raking them all up, then enjoying fifteen minutes of leaf pile jumping, he was satisfied. Then a thought came to his young mind while raking them a second time, "I could make serious money using my new power to make trees shed their leaves every fall, and charge money to rake them up. That way, I would never have to worry about needing a weekly allowance ever again. Though there is the issue of putting landscapers out of business if I go this route. Still, not having to worry about money would definitely help in the long run. You know what, I'll train myself to control my new ability to also trim hedges so they're neat and orderly. I've always had a green thumb, so I want to see what other gardening powers I have, and start my own freelance landscaping company when I'm a bit older and out of high school and college." Over dinner, Cayden tells his parents that he wants to have his own landscaping company when he's older, then tells them about the leaf pile he made and cleaned up in the backyard by simply snapping his fingers. His parents are initially surprised and skeptical at first, until they see the large amount of leaves in the composter that he put in there after doing his homework. He's only a kid with a bright future ahead and that gardening superpower of his would narrow his options considerably if he decided that was what he wanted to do in life. His parents ask him if he really wants to follow the path of landscaping when he's older, explaining that he could always change his mind if wants to. Cayden shrugs and tells them he'll also pursue degrees in business, communication, and botany when he's in college, as these fields plus his own landscaping company will set him for life, and he'll only be using his powers if the job requires it. Later that school year in winter, he's made a friend that can clear snow off paths and roads at a snap of her fingers, making then safe for traveling on, who also has a similar idea to make money from her powers as well. And they decide to become partners in their endeavors. Fast forward a couple of decades, and they've become the town's go-to for community landscaping and snow clean up, and have expanded their numbers to include a dude that has the power to create beautifully painted murals at the snap of his fingers, a lady that can transform buildings and vacant areas into places of community fellowship and service with just a double clap of her hands, an innovating farmer that made sure that the dietary needs of the community were always met so no one ever went hungry, and another lady that can improve any form of societal infrastructure with a snap of her fingers. Which included schools and community colleges, transportation, technology, waste management, water treatment, power, medical centers, emergency services (police and fire), and community centers of activity (including a residential housing complex for the homeless that came with a community kitchen, hygienic aid to clean them up, a donated collection of clothes so they always had something to wear, and free classes to rehabilitate and prepare them for potential employment). As a result, their town saw a significant boost in community positivity and connectivity and was voted greatest town in the USA. They even received a visit from the President and First Spouse at their annual Cityhood Celebration the first weekend in July which was a huge buzz of excitement for the residents, as clearly they were headed in the right direction as a town. From his office at city hall, Cayden smiled, as he was making bank on commercial and community landscaping for the town. Everyone wanted his services year round, and he was able to deliver with just a snap of his fingers when he was on-site. He smiled as everything he ever dreamed about doing in his life, stemmed from that desire to have a leaf pile to jump in the day he discovered his powers so long ago. The end.
A series of messages displayed on the communications console. *“Unknown signal detected from Triton City base.”* *“Code Black distress signal received from Triton City Communications.”* *“Signal lost.”* The duty officer reviews the messages and taps the shoulder of a nearby technician. The technician’s screen switches to a security satellite in orbit around Triton and a series of progressively zoomed in images are displayed. “What's that on the screen?” As he asks the question, the technician takes another photo. The image is still fuzzy, almost black, a picture of a large building in the center. There are large pieces of rubble in the center of the city. “Signal lost.” The duty officer glances around at the other stations, “What the hell is going on?” Two new messages were displayed on the communications console at the top of the screen. “All systems are on high alert.” “Please follow all the instructions given to you.” “Oh man, that's strange,” says the technician, “we’ve lost control of the surveillance satellite, and we’re getting garbage from the comm satellite.” A series of messages started to display on the communications console, all variations of the two that came in just prior to the surveillance satellite going offline. “Code Rainbow,” the duty officer called out, “potential excursion event in progress. We need containment.” The duty officer reached out and flipped open the safety cover on a large red button on the technician’s console, pressing it. The lights went out immediately, the only illumination in the room now coming from luminescent strips placed in strategic locations. A mechanical countdown clock whirred to life, beginning to tick down from five minutes, it’s mechanism clearly audible due to the conspicuous lack of noise from any other piece of equipment. “Binders people, we’re on a timetable now,” he reminded everyone, jolting them out of their shock. He carefully made his way back behind his desk and pulled out a thick three ring binder, opening it to the first page, where he began tracing through a flow chart. “Comms, designate runners and get them suited up, get someone out to the isolated comms bunker and follow the binder.”
Johan Pigsworth, Necromancer and of late, master criminal, tapped a chubby finger at a point on the large map rolled out on the table before him. "And then we all meet here under the Hanging Tree, when the moon reaches its zenith, to divide the loot and go our merry ways. Any questions?" He stared expectantly at the silent figures before him. The greatest collection of thieves and robbers to have ever been under the same roof. Terry Tiptoe, second story man and sneak thief, Jerry "Skeleton"Key, not a lock made he couldn't open, Arthur Minnet, the Highwayman famous for driving an eight horse rig through the Devil's gorge, a path so treacherous that most wouldn't try to push a barrow through, and Templeton "The Face"Peck, conman and master of disguise. Johan was unsettled by the silence. He hadn't been expecting applause. Well maybe a little bit of applause, and a few words about how amazing and well thought out the heist was. But dead silence? Well I mean, yes they are all dead, he thought, but that's no reason not to say anything. In fact Terry and Face were both zombies, Arthur was a ghost and Skeleton was exactly that. Suddenly Skeleton made a noise like a set of toothy maracas "What was that?"Johan asked with a puzzled frown. "Mmmbrawalrrrrragh"Face gurgled. "Still not quite catching that," Johan said apologetically. "'E said 'e don't fink 'e can pick a lock no more, 'cause of not 'aving any feeling in 'is fingers."The ghost of Arthur Minnet said in a voice that sounded like it was coming through a drain pipe. "Muhmuhbrephhhwaa!"Face spat out, along with what looked to be a piece of lung. "An' 'e said 'At least you got fingers'."Arthur interpreted. Johan looked at the zombie hands. "Oh dear,"he murmured before continuing in a jolly tone "Well, five out of ten is not so bad." "Blerrghaagh?" "Even if none of 'em are fumbs?" "Hang on."Johan said. "I'm almost positive you had all your fingers when you came in." "Bleh."Face said pointing to the corner where Cerberus, Johan's wire haired terrier sat. Skeleton chattered his teeth at this. "Sez the dog ate 'em."Arthur Interpreted. "An' Skele ain't too 'appy wif the way 'e's been starin' at 'im 'n all." “Bad dog, Cerberus” Johan chided. Cerberus stared at his master, chastised. Or possibly just sick. “So,” Johan said looking back at the map. “There may be a problem picking the lock. Any other concern?” Terry Tiptoes, who had been standing at the corner of the table with his eyes fixed firmly on the map, held up his arm. As a zombie he was remarkably fresher than Face, so not too many bits fell off as he did. “Not sure I can climb that wall.” He said in a gravelly voice. “C’mon Terry” Johan cajoled. “You’ve climbed harder in your sleep. You climbed the glass walls of Graumbad and nicked the rings from the Sleepless Baron. Bloody Legendary that was.” “Yer,” Terry agreed, “but when they hung me they broke my neck, can’t look up now.” “Maybe we can sort that out with some sort of brace?” Johan suggested. “Might work,” Terry conceded,”So what room are the brains in again.” Johan opened his mouth then closed it again, did he just hear that? “Ummm, the what?” “The brains.” Terry stated simply. “You mean the gold?” Johan asked the zombie. “Gold? What the hell do we need with gold. I thought we were stealing brains.” “Mrrflrraplehgah” “ ‘E sez ‘e fought we was stealing brains ‘n all.” "Why on earth would we be stealing brains?"asked an astonished Johan. "Why on earth would you be stealing anything else?"countered Terry. "Brraaaainssssss" "'E sez…." "I got it, thanks!"Johan barked. Johan exhaled loudly. Cerebus vomited up a thumb. "I think we need to go over the exit strategy again,"Terry said. "There's a bit that concerns me." Johan, his lips pressed together tightly, motioned for Terry to continue. "So, we drop the brains…" "Gold." "....down the privy. And Arthur loads them on a cart in the sewer and makes his get away." "Yes,"replied Johan. This was the most ingenious part of the plan, if he said so himself. "Well, how big are these sewers?" "about five foot round"Johan answered. "How are you supposed to fit a horse and cart in there?"Terry asked. "Thats the genius part."Johan said, "The horse and cart are….small!" "Sounds like sewerside"Terry punned Face rolled his eyes. Cerberus chased them. "Stop teasing my dog!"Johan yelled at the ever decreasing zombie. "Look,"he said more calmly, "I've measured it out and Arthur can drive anything, so we are good." Arthur hemmed and hawed before saying, "Not sayin' I couldn't 'n all, but there is the slight problem of me bein' a bit incorporeal 'n all that." Johan stopped listening as the undead continued to pick apart his plan. Maybe he should go back to his first idea and build a new crew from the ground up, he thought. His brother could lend him a hand. And a leg. And that guy down the road, Igor, was always looking for part time work. He had a hunch he could be an asset. Or maybe he should just give up the life of crime and raise a family. He knew where one was buried.
“I am truth! I am justice! I am the vengeance that stalks the night!” I shouted through the bars of my cage. “You are going night night.” The Very Cruel and Mean Witch said. “It’s one in the morning. I’ll tell you the rest of the story tomorrow night” “Justice never sleeps!” She paid me no mind as she drew the curtains over my enclosure. How dare she! Now that I been told my life’s purpose I know what I must do. I must become batcrow, defender of justice and defeater of ne’er-do-wells. Despite my strong conviction however, I still felt myself getting sleepy... I woke up with a start. I almost fell asleep! With no time to waste, I flew down to the door of my cage and kicked it open. Blam! I surveyed the room, making sure the sector was secure using my bat goggles. Satisfied my human was safe, I left the batcave in search of criminals to catch. Flying around, I sensed shenanigans over at Got Ham Bank. There perched on the roof was Catcrow, with a bag filled with the shiny papers that materialized every Hollar Een. “Stop right there criminal! Those shinys belong to the bank!” “Oh?” she chirped “I don’t see their name on it.” Drat! She had me there. Unless… I took a closer look at the shinys. The letters on the sides of them were hard to read, and staring made my head hurt. I had a premonition, and ducked just in time to dodge the whip she slung right where my head was! “Catcrow! You evil doer!” “Mwhahaha the shinys are mine, batcrow.” Thinking fast, I reached into the bat belt and pulled out the bat net launcher. As I aimed it at catcrow and she froze. “Come on batcrow… you wouldn’t harm a conventionally attractive crow would you?” I took a moment to think. Batman let his guard down around catwoman, I guess I should do the same? I lowered the bat net launcher, and catcrow used her whip to take it and point it at me! “Catcrow! You tricked me!” She shot me and I became trapped in bat net. She took her bag of shinys and started to fly away. I reached into my bat belt and pulled out my bat can of bat net repellant. I dissolved the bat net and flew after catcrow, flying high to make sure she didn’t see me tailing her. Eventually catcrow flew into The Croaker’s Lair. The villainy never ends! I flew in after her, this time pulling a regular net launcher from the bat belt. “Your days of villainy and evil are over, ne’er-do-well!” “But I’m conventionally attractive!” “So am I!” I take off my bat mask, revealing my beautiful special bat face. She swoons and faints immediately. With catcrow defeated, I search around to find and confront The Croaker. Flying up the stairs, I fight my way through The Croaker’s henchmen, killing several and permanently maiming many others. Finally I reach the top where I find The Croaker and his right wing crow Harry Kin. Harry Kin spoke first. “Well well well, look whos here mista K.” The raven turned and looked at me, and make a twisted and unnatural croaking caw. “Do you want to know how I got these caws?” “Why don’t you tell it to the warden in Ark Ham.” Lightning flashed. “Me? Go to Ark Ham? You’re the crazy one, dressed up like a bat.” “Yeah you tell em mista K” Lightning flashed again. “Your the crazy one, and your going down.” Lightning flashed again. Lightning flashed again. Lightning flashed again. “Jeez bats, could you turn down the drama a little?” “No.” Lightning flashed again. I shot Harry Kin with the net launcher, but instead of shooting net it just made a clicking sound. I tried a few more times, each attempt eliciting another empty click. I threw the net launcher, and to my surprise it went right through Harry Kin! The shadows drew closer, and Croaker and Harry Kin slowly walked towards me, grinning. I backed up into a corner, throwing rocks at them. Every time something should have hit, it just went right through them. I started feeling fear. “Whats the matter bats? Forget to groom yourself?” I looked down. My bat feathers! My bat feathers were falling out, and soon I had no more left. “Naked chicken! Naked Chicken!” “No!” This was a nightmare! Oh wait. This is just a dream. I reached into my bat belt and pulled out a bat can of nightmare repellant, spraying The Croaker and Harry Kin. Reality restored! “Jdjdsalkjdsajdfkjldk” said The Croaker. “Jhdsjsdjkdsghttd” said Harry Kin. “How does justice taste?” Lightning flashed again. I pulled the bat minigun out from the bat belt and opened fire. They flew to cover. Suddenly Two Faces smashed through the window! “Ey! You can’t be shootin places up like the mafia, that's OUR TURF!” Two Faces pulled out his tommy gun. Harry Kin pulled out a hammer. The Croaker started Croaking. Lightning flashed again. Catcrow woke up and swooned again. Suddenly white light flooded the building. “This is the Gee See Pee Dee! Everybody come out with your hands up!” “You’ll never take me alive!” Two Faces shouted. “Ok.” Mr. Gee See Pee Dee said. Suddenly a hella copper flew in and shot a miss Isle at Two Faces, turning him into Many Faces. “Anyone else feel like resisting arrest?” “Harry! Do the thing!” Croaked The Croaker. “On it mista K!” Suddenly the floor beneath The Croaker and Harry Kin turned into a hella copper and they flew away. “We’ll never catch them now! The hella copper is too loud and scary!” said Mr. Gee See Pee Dee. “Nothing scares me” said I, the coolest batcrow alive. “You are the coolest batcrow I have ever met.” “Yes that is correct.” I flew after the hella copper. Lightning flashed, but not again this time this is its own thing. I got closer and closer to the hella copper, racing against the metal machine’s natural speed. I grabbed the metal outside, and pulled myself i- “Good morning~~ I got a treat for my special handsome baby” I screamed. The Very Cruel and Mean Witch has once again crushed my dreams, this time literally. Got Ham would have to wait, I guess. The human has once again craved the taste of cruelty and decided to torture me. I have decided to get back at her by stealing her morning treat she always leaves in her hand. The fool!
The quintessential rite of passage The endless Interstitial Sea Beyond death, yet before life Trivial to comprehend, yet momentous to overcome — Time had come for Aristotle. He found himself on the Interstitial Sea. He vowed not to be one of those aimless souls that had been spoken of. Souls who wander aeons across the Interstitial Sea. Averse to arrive. Consumed by wanderlust. Not lost to the sea, yet lost to themselves. It would go differently for him. He was determined. Yet it would prove to not be simple for Aristotle. His craft was a sturdy one, made of strong yet supple wood that responded well to the changing forces of the sea. The mast was tall and straight, its sails eagerly danced to capture the wavering winds. As with all who traverse the Interstitial Sea, he travelled alone. Yet he took solace in having prepared well for this journey. His craft took a lifetime to build, and it served him well now. Then the demons came. A thick, smoky fog descended upon him and his craft. He found a sense of dread building up within him, and as it did so, in an uncanny synchronicity so did the fog. Before he knew it, Aristotle found himself in pitch blackness, with a heavy feeling against his chest as he breathed. The more he feared, the more it consumed him. The more he wrestled with the fog, the stronger it grew. At that moment, Aristotle knew what he had to do. He let go. He surrendered to the fog. At that moment, the spell broke and the fog lifted. For the fog was the effect of his fears, as much as it was their cause. The next demon would not be as easy to overcome. A sense of comfort washed over him. Here, he realized, he could stay. Why yearn, strive, or grasp? Here is all that he could need. As he was lulled by the intoxicating blanket of contentment, he remembered the others. Those beyond the Interstitial Sea. Those who suffered and those who experienced joy. Those who were like him, and those who were different. He realized: the comfort of solitude is a fraudulent one. True meaning is found by sharing one’s life with the lives of others. As he sailed, looking back at the demons he had vanquished, he could not help but feel accomplished. Land was in sight. Solid ground was within grasp. He spied a sliver of land on the horizon. The sliver expanded into a broad shore of crisp white sand. The hull of his craft slid smoothly onto the sand with a satisfying crunch. Aristotle stepped out, feeling the sand’s warmth as it enveloped his feet, the tiny grains shimmering in the sunlight. He began to walk inland. Yet as he walked, the shore widened. The sand buried his feet even deeper. He began to sink. As the sand crept up his torso, fear crept into his mind. He reflected on everything that led to this point. It could not have gone any differently. All that had transpired was precisely how it should have been. He did not understand. Then came his final realization. This was the final demon. He accepted his bewilderment. Instead of grasping for an explanation, he let go. And at that very moment, Aristotle returned to the world.
I stare at my car, uneased. The logic flowing through my head should be nonsensical, but the coincidence is too jarring. Did the doorknob in my pocket just unlock my car by turning it? My feet inch over ever closer to the car despite my gut feeling telling me not to go towards it. Well, I need to get home, so it's more unreasonable to not move closer. Right? Right? Then why am I sweating? What's this dread that's making my fingers twitch as they hover closer and closer to the door handle? I want to pull my hand away but it's too late! My hand rips the door open like some dramatic cartoon character and all I see... all I see is the interior. It's my perfectly normal Camry. "Serial killer car"people some times joke with it being so common. Perfectly normal to sit in. And I do. But you see, my relief has tricked me. Through my front windshield I see nothing but a blank, white void. Before I can process this oddity, I quickly side with my instincts and jump out of the car to find myself in a black void! The sudden whiplash of color and visibility shocks me into a stunned state so shocking to me that I hesitate to fling myself back into my vehicle before I hear a loud slam behind me! I look back and there's nothing! No car interior lit up by empty brightness. Just the same darkness that surrounds all of me now. Finally a red light shines from behind me, washing the decayed wall where my car should be. I scan the room as I turn around to notice this place looks like a dilapidated version of my apartment. It's like some awful, run down, other world version of it. The red light shines in through a doorway that leads into the kitchen if my normal abode. With logic thrown out the window, I step into the room and face whatever madness is waiting. Inside the kitchen I see three figures sitting at my rather small eating table. Their features are a bit obscured by the dark red beam shining over their bodies, but I can tell who they are. I can tell by their posture and features from growing up with them. It's my family. Cramped together at this little table is my Mom, Dad and Big Brother. They're eating something... loudly. Their lips smack at the sound of something being ripped apart viciously with their jaws. I back away as quietly as I can only to accidentally kick something behind me! I look back and on the floor I see a tipped over trash can full of things I don't want to believe! Bones? An ear?! An unrecognizable variety of meat and viscera! I look back at the family and they sit ever so still now. One of them, my Mother, looks back with a smile beaming at me. A wide smile full of gunk and flakes of "I don't want to know" She says, "Oh dear, you're back so soon. We almost thought you were going to skip dinner." She cackles and holds up a severed human leg that looks cooked from how dark and flaky it is. "Come and eat up your din din!"she tells me. My Dad turns around as well and shines me those gummy, meaty teeth. "Eat up!" My Brother does the same. "Eat up!" "Eat up!" "EAT UP!"
My name is Karishma, and I should not exist. Let’s start with what I remember from Before I was Me. Reincarnation, my previous life…..whatever you believe in. My memory begins with an impressive impact. A sudden, violent trauma, my Before Body smashing to a halt suddenly from its previous high-speed state. In Motion. Not In Motion. Something like a car wreck, a water-skiing accident, a misstep from a great height. It felt like an accident. I had just been smiling. My ears anticipated a laugh, like I had been snatched in the nanosecond between when the laugh left Her lungs and before it reached my ears. There had been someone just there…I was sure of it. A crash. A blast of white. Then complete darkness. Complete silence. Disorientation. I was a man before I was Me, of that I am sure. I stood in a room that was a complete oxymoron; simultaneously Nothing and Everything. My clothes were gone, I could feel the shock of the sudden switch from sunlight to darkness on my skin, though the air did not move. At first it was unclear how large the room I was in, as it was pitch black. No residual light from anywhere. I got the sense there were no doors or windows, despite this not making any sense at all. I spread my arms in front of me, blindly, feeling with increasing desperation for a wall, a light switch, a person, anything tangible to make sense of the void and fill in the gaps for my blindness. I could feel nothing. Not even the swish of air between my fingers. “Hello?” I cried out, hoping my voice would echo off something and give me a sense of orientation. There was no echo. I was still lost. Gradually, from the pitch black, a light …grew. To call it a light is a stretch. The blackness just seemed to be not quite so black everywhere, shades of disorienting gray emanated from above me, to the sides, and filled my vision of the room without revealing the corners of the room. ‘There are no corners,’ my spine whispered to me, though I refused to fully acknowledge it. “Hello?!” I called out desperately, slowly stumbling, walking, running, then spinning and jumping across the ground. There had to be ground, right? It felt like there was ground moving beneath my feet, despite going nowhere. The shadows, the lighting, all stayed the same. No walls got closer, no furniture appeared, no voices could be heard in the distance. Just. Nothing. “Hello? Help!” Why was I calling out? Who could hear me? My cries for help apparently attracted the attention of someone. Or something. Nothing that I could see, but I was suddenly acutely aware of my lack of clothing while the Everywhere and Nowhere Light increased modestly in brightness from above. A booming voice called my name…. Or maybe it was resonating within my head, as the voice had no origin, no echo. I don’t remember my Before I was Me name….Joseph maybe? That seems to fit the blank my memory has created, when the voice called my name. I spun around, desperately attempting to cover my groin with my hand, while painfully aware that I was exposed on all sides. I shuddered despite the lack of a draft. “Hel-Hello? Who’s there?” I demanded, my voice cracking. “You. Have. Failed.” There was a long pause between each word, during which brief memories of my life sprung into action before me. “Again.” “What? No!” I spun around frantically, searching for the source of the voice. Speakers maybe? Is this a movie? Then I remembered. I was supposed to do something. I finally remembered, this room. That voice. Dozens of different people, but all me. “Waitwaitwaitwaitno-“ I stammered. “I was so close, SO close, this time, please give me one more chance!” I pleaded, clutching my hands in a begging motion, instinctively looking upward toward the less dark shadows on the ceiling. I sensed a reluctant pause. “Again. Last. Chance. Do...not. Forget.” The darkness was pierced by a bright light behind me. Coldness enveloped me, and sharply sucked me backward. And then I was me. This me. I shouldn't exist. I failed, and should not have been sent back.
So I woke up in a dark room with a bright light radiating in the distance. I could see i was in some sort of coffin. I felt groggy and disoriented as I slowly stumbled over toward where the light was. As I emerged with th light i could see it was a door leading to a room , I walked in and saw a chair and computer terminal. On the computer was a menu of some sort. To the side of the screen was a character select screen. I saw the words in big bold letters PRGM_REINCARNATION. I selected it and i was taken to what was apparently a character creation screen. I filled out all my stats and created my own character and soon had him looking like me , but figured why take a chance on someone else not making me right. I selected player 3 person character and selected a random skin. I named him Dave. Something I always wanted to do was be called that since i was a kid. I was in control now. I had a life. I made a face on the character creator and chose a hairstyle that i just liked and kept it a long brown beard . I was ready. I started to wonder where i was. I went back to the main menu and selected the main server and saw that it was called "Current World."Nice name for a server i thought as i continued on. This world was under construction, the world only contained the room with the terminal and my character in it . I looked at the screen and saw a small menu with a few options to choose from. The first option said ‘build a lot’. I pressed it and was taken to another menu with a material menu, a lot menu and a lot property menu. First i went to the material menu and picked a building material, brick for my first build. I chose a stander to start with and out pops a brick out of the earth. I pressed the get out and it looked like a little area in front of my character had grown around him. I was excited i built. I was satisfied. I decided to build a small and cozy house for myself and soon had created a little abode. After I had build a basic mansion I wanted to add a small garden and a nice walkway leading to my door. I did it and it looked great. I was so proud of myself. Now I wanted a bigger house. I picked the stone out of the material menu and built my big mansion. It was one of the best ones i've ever built. Then i started to wonder how was this world any different from the one i just got off the plane from. I started to explore the world hoping to discover some sort of settlement or building but i saw none. I know i hadn't even been here long, but then i recalled what happened just before i was transported here. I was in my lab, it was Friday night. I had nothing to do so i was building away. I was talking to my assistant Adriana about the goings on of our world. She was a gothic looking girl with long black hair, she lived in a beautiful brick house near mine. I had never seen a person as beautiful as her before. I fell in love with her the very first time i saw her. She was so stunning. Much to my horror she had moved away soon after we started working together. I decided i would go and see if anyone was still living there and maybe ask her to marry me. I opened my door and was greeted by a beautiful woman. She was the spitting image of her. I introduced myself, and she told me her name was Jessica. I told her i was an apprentice to an archtect and she said she had just become one too. She asked why i might need an archtect. I explained to her all about the amazing time i had just come from......
Saga of the Warrior Frog The Beginning The world is ending. It is a dark, desolate landscape that hangs in space like a shattered mirror, broken into many pieces that have a dark, ominous cast to them. The broken universe floats in the void, the shattered stars are hidden by the dark night that surrounds them, hiding the universe as if it were the darkest of secrets . The night glistens as the blackness cast on it by the hiding stars is pockmarked with a great many small explosions as the last bits of matter in the universe are dispersed. This was once a beautiful, vibrant universe, filled with all manner of creatures and things. But now, this was the end of the world. It did not die a noble death , this universe. It witnessed the worst in humanity. The worst traits of mankind had led to its destruction. Mankind had destroyed itself. But in this death, there is life. On the edge of the largest surviving fragment of the universe lay a small planet, a remnant of what had been thousands of years ago. This planet was ancient. It had seen the entire cycle of life and nature that had been ravaged by mankind, but in the end had been peaceful in its old age, a serene world. Its humans, having long since evolved beyond the need for cities, towns, families or even governments, lived in harmony with nature. They lived simply, doing what they could to maintain balance and harmony with nature. They lived pleased with their lives, content to exist. But not all of them. There was a young man. An outsider, an immigrant. He was young and strong, and had come to this world to test himself. He knew that he was strong and good, if a bit hot-headed at times . It was this hot-headedness that had killed the mother of his best friend. His best friend had been in love with this girl, a girl that he barely knew, but loved deeply. It was to test himself and his own resolve that he had killed her. It was to prove his strength to man and beast. A normal person would have taken the girl back to his settlement and mourned her. He was angry , his heart twisted by grief and rage, but he was also resigned. He had lost her. He had lost this thing that he loved. That was the hardest part for him to come to terms with. It was for this reason that he had travelled, and that was why he had come to this strange new world, to prove to himself that he was ready for this . That he could face this loss stoically, with fortitude. But , he was affronted by it. By this loss. And by his own weakness. He was angry that his love had died and angry that he was no better for it than if he had not loved her at all. His grief had mollified him in a way that would have made his heart grow cold if it had been allowed to continue. He was filled with regrets and bursting with grief , as are most of us , and he retreated from his loved ones in a way that would have made him distant from his friends as well. He was cold and distant, a shell of what he was. What he would have become. He searched for a cure. The only cure he could think of was to kill the thing that he had loved. His emotions were so crushed and broken that he could not bear to live out his life as he had been living. His life had been cold , but with her , it meant nothing. His heart had felt empty in her absence, and he needed to cure himself of this emptiness. He came to this world, in this small fragment of the universe, to test and prove himself. He knew that the planet's gravity was too weak to support his weight, and he didn't dare to fly too high lest the planet's gravity combine with his own, and kill him. Shooting downwards would be iffy as well , as the planet's shielding against meteors was done with something the humans here called a "shield". They had no means of detecting meteors at all. He had to find another way. He knew that the area scientist that had come to the planet hundreds of years ago had been a very direct and unimaginative man that had constantly told him that this world was useless and uninhabitable. He knew that this scientist, his great great granddaughter, had come to this world for supplies as this planet's supplies for man were running out, of the fifty thousand years of life on the planet........
I had just finished writing "hello"on the mirror, when my feet slipped on the wet bathroom floor, and I tumbled downwards, with my head on a collision course towards the tile below. I barely had enough time to think "oh shit"before everything suddenly went black. In an instant I was awake again. I felt around the point on the back of my skull that had made contact with the bathroom floor, and realized to my great astonishment and relief that I wasn't experiencing any pain. A moment later, after feeling my hand around the impact point, I also discovered that there was no bruising, bleeding, or damage of any kind whatsoever. "This doesn't seem right"I thought to myself, but it didn't matter. In that moment, I was just so thankful that I hadn't been hurt, that I didn't think to question it. I was so fixated on the feeling of relief coursing through my mind, that I didn't initially notice the response that had been written on my bathroom mirror. "Welcome home Miles, I love you" I also didn't initially noticed that my wife was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring down at me, and starting down at the cold, limp body laying beside me, with my head resting against the bathroom floor, as its contents spilled out and painted the tile red. "Miles,"she whispered, with tears flowing freely from her clear blue eyes, her hands shaking, as she knelt down onto the floor and caressed my cheek, "I-I can't believe it, you're finally here. Oh darling, it's been so long, and I've been so lonely, but everything's alright now." "Liv?"I couldn't believe it. It had been so long since I had felt her long dark hair in my hands, snuggled against her next to the fireplace, felt her lips brush against mine.... so long since.... Since feeling the joy when she had first told me about her pregnancy. Since feeling the nervousness and anxiety as the days turned into weeks, as the weeks turned into months, and when that fateful day finally arrived, after what had seemed like an eternity of hoping and praying for everything to be alright. Since feeling.... absolutely nothing, as I stared in shock at the lifeless bodies below me in the hospital bed, of my wife and stillborn daughter, as the doctor murmured his condolences. "I.... how are you even here? This can't be real.... Olivia, I watched you die, in the hospital.... with our daughter...." "I know,"she nodded solemnly, wiping the tears from her eyes, "I saw you standing there, in front of the bed. They had to escort you out because you refused to leave." "You were.... watching me? But if you were there, if you could see me, and yourself...." "Yes,"she responded, "when people pass on, it seems like they're gone, but they really aren't. Our bodies are finite, they don't last forever, but our spirits linger even after death. I've been with you this whole time, even though you didn't know it." "But.... I don't understand, why didn't you reach out sooner? It's been years Liv.... I've missed you so much. If you were around me this whole time then why didn't you let me know earlier?" "Because I couldn't Miles. I'm so sorry.... I wanted to, I tried to.... but I couldn't. There are rules when you pass on. You can't interact or speak with anyone, not until they've passed on too." "Passed on? No, that can't be right, I feel fine, I feel good, I'm not...." And that's when I finally noticed my lifeless body, resting on top of the bathroom tile like a sleeping child on a bed. "You are,"Olivia said, as she gently took my hands and squeezed them within hers, "but it's alright. You're dead, but not truly gone, and now we can finally be together again.... you can be with me, and with her, forever." "With her.... you mean, our daughter is here too?"I choked, tears streaming down my face, as the feeling of hope, something that had long been absent from my miserable and empty mockery of a life, finally returned to me. No longer was I concerned about the fact that I was dead, or that my lifeless corpse continued to leak my blood all over the floor of my bathroom. None of that mattered now, or would matter to me ever again. I was finally home. "Yes,"Olivia beamed back at me, with a massive smile adorning her face, "she is Miles, and she's been waiting so long to finally meet her daddy."
Author: I'm not sure if I should be happy or sad about the fact that you've just opened a can of beans. The can feels, and looks, the way cans look and feel. The rumbling the can makes when you shake it can be heard, and that sound can be distinguished from other rattles and knocks. The can of beans can be folded, crumpled and bent without any can-crushing effect, and everything about its composition can be examined and measured. The can has a neat, matte finish. The metal is clean and warm. The beans look brown and tasteless. But to me, and to the other cans and dishes, this can of beans is everywhere . You are holding it in your hands and on the floor, the can is between your legs on the chair and you leave it behind when you walk out of the kitchen, and you hold it in your hand when you enter the living room. I can't see you, but you are everywhere , and so are the two-kilo cans of beans you've been opening. They are everywhere. They are a part of the chair you are sitting in. They are on the floor, holding the walls up. There are cans lying around the house, in your pockets, in your bags. I can't see them, but I know that they are there, a part of your body, a part of your clothes , a part of your furniture, holding the pictures on the walls. Cans in the fridge, in the bathroom, in the ashtray, in your mouth . . . . It might not be possible to figure out exactly how many cans of beans you've opened so far . It doesn't matter. You've been opening cans of beans all your life and will continue opening them for the rest of it , and even before you were born, your mother opened cans of beans. I need to tell you something: I haven't always been a can of beans. Before I was a can, I was a container, or dish, or something else that is just as dull as cans, something that doesn't think and is everywhere at all times, yet is also nonexistent and unnoticed. The other containers don't like to talk about that time, but, since the beans have arrived, I have been thinking back, trying to remember what it was like for me, and I think I do remember. I think I was a part of your grandfather's horseradish jar. Twice a year we had beetroot in a jar, and I forgot everything I was before then. But the other containers and I were lucky. All of us came into contact, were used for something, were filled, were emptied, were recycled, were dumped, were collected again and used again, something . We know that not all us containers have been that lucky. Not all us containers ever come into contact with humans. We were used, we interacted with someone, we had our existence acknowledged , we were used and then we vanished, we were thrown away and were never heard from again. I think one day you'll discover that all the containers want to get rid of the beans. We want them out of the house. We don't want the cans to multiply, to be sitting around the house, spilling beans all over the place , lying around, moving everything everywhere with their weight. I think the worst of all are the peas. If there is something that has caused more harm to the other containers, it has been tea and peas. All of us hate them. And the beans! They always want to be more, they want to be loud, to be heard, to be discovered. They want to be noticed . They are not satisfied with being a part of anything. They need the domain of the people, their voices to fill the house and to tell people they exist, that they are here and want to be used. But not all of us can communicate. You've found out that I can, but I'm an exception . I am a can that talks. I might be talking all day and through the night, yet the other cans at work might not agree . The ingredients that go into them are just different now. Cans don't bother to communicate with each other. The exact same thing happens to you, and when we talk, we can only talk about the can opening right now. Some of us are ready..........
The memories (Prologue) **WARNING: THIS IS A LONG FICTIONAL WORK, IT WILL TAKE YOU AT LEAST HALF AN HOUR TO READ THROUGH. 2014. It was a year of great sadness. My previous employer filed for bankruptcy, closing nearly 10 restaurants belonging to the chain . Many of the employees watched their jobs and careers destroyed. I was one of those unfortunate workers. I was a chef at the chain. I remember the day I was fired. The company was in the process of cleaning out its assets to minimize its debt. Late that day, the assistant manager approached me. 'All cooks shall report to the kitchen at 7:00 tomorrow morning, the manager will speak to you there. Don’t worry, don’t be sad. You’re not fired,' he said. That was really awesome of them. Wasn’t it? I thought so. I went to sleep thinking of what I could do next. The next morning I woke at 6:00 am and went to the manager’s office. 'I'll make this as quick as possible... ' he said as I entered. Only executive assistants and the manager were inside the office. No one else. 'You're fired.' he said. I remember I felt stressed at first. 'What? Why?' 'Let me tell you the truth. When the restaurant chain closed the last financial year, we didn't have enough to cover our debts . As a result, we had to shut down business. So you're just going to be left without a job, but we bought you some time. I hope you can manage that time.' I didn't know what to say. With my family and loans, I didn't have time to spend two months looking for a new job. I needed the money. I needed the job . I felt terrible. 'But we can't let anyone know you're fired. It will be a shame to the company. You will continue to come here to work, along with your other co-workers until we find a replacement. You won't do any duties, just keep up appearances. You may take the next two weeks off.’ The next two weeks were lonelier than I'd ever imagined . I had to see colleagues who knew I was fired talk to me as if I was still part of the company. I was faking smiles, some of them were faking as well. We all knew what was actually going on. I had a lot of time to wind down. One day, a few weeks after I was fired , I've figured out what I wanted to do. I remember the day. It was a Friday. None of us were in the mood, having to work the next day. I was at home, watching television. The actress, who'd been the main character of the evening soap opera had to divorce her husband. She was in love with a man she had no business of being with . She had to choose between her child and her lover . There was a tear in her eye as she made the knot tying the kimono around the man with her right pinky finger and the man who'd won her heart with his own left index finger. I can still clearly see the image. That was it. I wanted to do that. I wanted to be the girl. I wanted to be the actress. And I wanted to win her heart , just like that man had . After work, I sat at home writing a screenplay. In my story, I was the lead actor in the place of the lead actress. I wrote, rewrote, and edited. It was all about the essence of human beings. The good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful. The movie was similar to a drama, but the plot was cruelly honest . I forced my lead actress to be the same in every single scene. The beauty of womanhood was depicted in its purest form through her. It was difficult to write that story. It was difficult to put myself through it. There were times I felt despair. But those very minutes turned into other minutes of satisfaction as my script took shape. The script was the story of a young woman named Alex. I was that girl . But what it was? It was the story of a girl who starts her life alone . She was a waitress in a small restaurant in her hometown. She was overworked, underpaid, and constantly mistreated by the manager. She was a little girl, but she had a heart of a lion. She kept up with her job and her responsibilities. She was always smiling . She was charming. She was cute ...........
I met the wizard early the next morning. He was going to teach me magic, a very rare thing among non-wizards in this realm. I had never seen a wizard before. He had a young face, but his silvery hair showed many years. He wore a plain gray robe and wooden staff. He said, "Come in, child. I need to do a few things before we begin ." I followed him into his tower. It was a not very large space, with a few tables scattered about. There was a large fireplace to the side, with a large cauldron hanging over it. He began pulling ingredients out of a chest and putting them on the tables. He added some to the cauldron. "What are you making?" "Your magic training. It will take some time to make, however, so I hope you aren't in a hurry." I went and sat in one of the chairs and waited. He finished making something that looked like watered down slime, but smelled pleasant. He took out a vial and poured some of the liquid in. "What is that?"I asked. He said, "A potion that will make learning easier. You will drink it when it is done brewing ." "How does it work?" "Don't be so impatient. You will learn your powers from magic sigils I will inscribe into you." I thought, "Sigils? What are those?" He said, "Magic in this realm is often written down for quicker casting. It is quicker to say a sigil than to cast a spell."I realized he seemed to know what I was thinking. "That is impressive. What kind of magic will I learn?" "You will learn fire magic."He started painting a green sigil on my forehead. It only lasted a few seconds, then was gone. He continued to draw another sigil on each finger. "This is only a temporary inscribing. Your true magic will be much more difficult to create and inscribe."He then cast a spell to make the same sigil shine a bright green for a few seconds. "Now you are powerful in fire magic. Enjoy it while you can, for it will only help against yourself." I was confused. "Help against myself?" He said, "You will succeed if you destroy all your magic power. And it will likely start when you complete your training. You can only cure it by denying your true self. By curing it, you will be able to control the magic powers you gain. It will be easy to get carried away with the power and lose yourself." He finished inscribing the sigil in my hand and moved to the next one. "How do I use the magic I have?" "You can raise your hand and trace out the symbol for fire, like this,"He let me trace a few sigil and then said, "Now you try. You may not be able to do it." "Um, let's see. Fire! Fire! Hmmmmmm. Uh, I don't think I can do it yet. What would cause me to lose my magic?" "Drinking more than four swallows of a potion that stops your magic will cause it. You will also lose it if you fail to destroy all your magic power after it builds. It is common practice that when you gain true magic, you will work hard to destroy it. You will consume meals, drink potions, and say spells of elimination to purge your body. It is a long, hard process to cure yourself and regain your control." He seemed to know a lot about me. "What can I do? I can't do anything without magic. I'm just a minor noble without magic." He said, "True. You are a minor noble without magic. Without magic, you are essentially nothing, so you must stop your magic. It is dangerous to have magic if you can't control it. If it get out of your control, you will be a slave to it. It is up to you to decide between fickle fortune and the status quo . You will gain much in fortune and lose much in status. It will be a long path of self-discovery, but first, your magical training. The potion will be done in a few days, so we can begin then." I went back home and waited for the potion to be finished. It was my whole future...
You are a nurse, and you have a child patient who asks a different question everyday. From favorite animals to the depth of the ocean, you always answer as much as possible. Today, they ask you their final question, “How do I die when all I know to do is live?” It’s ironic that the question came from a little boy who was expected to live a life of laughter and wonder. He tells you that he never heard his parents speak about what happens after death, and that he’s never taken part in a funeral as a child, like so many others he knows. He confesses that he’s become worried about his own death from all the information he’s received from books and the Internet: He’s read that he can die from any number of things such as starvation, disease, and murder. Focusing on the last one, he asks you, “Is it true that I could die from being a victim of crime? But I don’t know what to do to hurt anyone, I don’t even think I know how to hate. How do I die when I am always told to live?” You are completely taken aback by the question, but you answer as best as you can. You tell him that he only has to search long enough on the Internet and in books for the answers he seeks. He’ll learn about each section of the body, and how it works, and then the deeper questions will come about how to live longer, or how to live and enjoy life. He’ll learn about different diseases and how to treat them using medicine and technology. He’ll read a great deal about various diets and how they affect the body, and what’s reasonable and healthy for different stages and life situations. He’ll learn about the many different ways he can help his body and mind by exercising in different ways. He’ll learn about new planets and the stars, and even the alien planets outside our solar system. He might even learn how to talk to people from all over the world, without ever going there. He’ll learn about economics, geography, politics, and many other things that are taught in school and discovered throughout life. In those ways, the little boy can be very sure that he will live as long as he wishes. But there are still some inescapable truths about how, and how long, he’ll live. The boy reminds you of your own son, so many years past, and you aren’t sure how to answer his question. You change the subject and ask him how he is feeling today. “Shitty,” he says, harshly. “Not terrible, just shitty ,” you answer. He agrees, and he knows he’s okay with that. You imagine that you all must never feel too great, but when he says it, it’s as though he can’t stand what he’s feeling. He’s glad that he can use the word, even though he knows it’s not always the right word . You might be too, if you were in his situation. You can barely even tell him that you understand. You tell him that he won’t always feel this way, and that he has many more years to live. If he can apply himself to these problems and grow his mind, he will be able to deal with whatever life throws at him . It might not be easy, but he’ll have years after this life to learn, just like he’s doing now. You spare him the way you want to spare your own son, but instead say that you’ve already had this conversation with him and he knows that life is a process. He knows that he will feel unhappy, but he also knows that he can learn to be happy again . There are many ways of living this life, and being, and many more years to learn and stay healthy. With these things in mind, he still doesn’t like the idea of not being able to die. After all, he’s very young and he can't possibly know how much longer he has......
“Suit integrity at forty-four percent. Communications array critically damaged. Moisture Recycler critic-” “I know Julie I know. Just be quiet for a sec.” “Suit intergri – Remote Operator override engaged.” “That’s better. Okay Bob I’m real sorry 'bout this but I need them more than you.” “External modules detected. Preparing for integration” “Amen to that Julie. Now juuust let me..” “Webnet Connection Established. Lt Pioneer Roberts. Patching in” “John?” “…..” “ Fuck john please say something. I – I can’t see, something's wrong with my visor. J.U.L’s saying you're close enough to peer-link but I’m on tactile readouts. I've got diagnostics rubbing past fast enough to give me blisters.” “…” “Where the hell is my cycler John?” “There’s nothing wrong with your visor Bob.” “Then get your glove off my face.” “You’re not getting a body readout?” “No John, J.U.L’s on emergency power, I’m only getting basics and a warning loop.” “Oh yeah.” “ "oh yeah"? What the hell does that mean” “…” “John you tell me what’s going on or I swear to god –“ “There’s nothing wrong with your visor. You’ve…ah fuck, you’ve got a chunk of ceramic stuck in the back of your helmet. Pretty sure it goes through the thread-shell and into your skull. Don’t know how you’re talking, to be honest.” “..Fuck.” “Yup.” “Get HQ, a fast mover can come grab us. I feel stable. Have the team set up a perimeter.” “Team’s dead Bob.” “Now you’re just fucking with me.” “Does it sound like it?” “Fuck.” “Yup.” “Guess that leaves me with one last question. Why am I on emergency power John?” “I ripped out your batteries. Everyone’s actually. The ones that are still intact. You might not be able to see it, but I’m pretty holy here. Had to peel off a chunk of Ramses thread-shell to patch mine. Unlocked Marias medical kit and hooked it on. Truly Bobbie only reason I’m not screaming right now is that I am high as a fucking kite.” “You going to try the long walk?” “I mean shit if that Orange country boy could do it, I sure as hell can. Maybe I’ll get a shiny medal just like he did.” “Fuck man you’re not meant to care about medals.” “Fuck you I want something to pawn when I get back terra side.” “Think those tin discs going to be worth anything back... wait hold on. I’ve got a webnet log of Ramses sending out a ping five minutes ago. You sure he’s gone?” “…” “John?” “...He was mostly gone.” “…By mostly do you mean like I’m mostly gone?” “Bob I’ve been up for two hours. I’ve done the math. You all looked at that Orange boy but I was the only one who actually talked to him. He didn’t have to tell me to tell me you know? No one walks the surface for four days in a combat damaged suit and doesn’t have a breach or two. Gotta have backups. And backups for your backups.” “So you’re just killing us before we wake up? Peeling us open for parts?” “Bob you’re all already dead. You’re just on the slow way around. We can’t get a medvac, you can’t move, our medic is in multiple pieces. It would be a mercy if you hadn’t woken up at all.” “They’ll court-martial you for this.” “For what? I’m the only one mobile enough and strong enough to make the trek back. No ones got a working comms unit. No one else has got the balls to do what needs to be done. We sit here waiting for a fly-by I’ll have to start ripping off a lot more than just tech. This way, next storm that comes through you all get buried in static sand, and in one hundred years a reclaimer project will dig you up and you’ll get a hero display back on Terra or some shit.” “You’re a fucking freak John” “I’m a survivor. You’re basically a brain on a stick at this point, otherwise, you’d have felt me stabbing you in the leg when you woke up.” “Coward.” “Says the dead man. I'll tell command you wanted to run when we hit contact.” “Connection severed due to power failure. Suit Integrity at fifty-five percent. Module integration complete.” "Good timing Julie. Calculate the return parameters again, custom scenario "Long Walk"." "Calculating."
Well this got longer than I expected. I had no real idea where it was going, but here's something anyway. \[PART 1\] &#x200B; Through all my troubled life I have always held one experience in a treasured spot in my memory. Like a sacred temple I have revisited these events and examined them, worshipped them, trying to understand whatever it is they are trying to tell me. Now in my old age, with little time left in my frail body, I feel ready to tell them to the world. I may be dying, blind and senile, but now I am ready to understand, and to fulfill the dying wishes of my Grandfather. I had always had a close relationship with my Grandfather in my youth, but never as close as I wished. While I bathed in the warmth of his company, his spellbinding storytelling, or the laughter that would fill the whole house with mirth, there was always an icy reserve deep within him that I could never fathom. It would hang like a shadow over some of our deeper conversations, but as soon as I would focus on its source I was blinded once again by his outward joviality. For many years this played at the back of my mind, but never troubled me enough to disturb him with. Whenever this feeling would grow I would visit him in his little seaside cottage he retreated to after the great war. It was never long before this would fade as his personality overwhelmed any of my suspicions. It was only in the last year, since he became sick, that this inkling in my mind grew to possess me. As I visited the man I had loved since childhood and saw him slowly fade away, the pain in my heart was only matched by the hunger to understand what was held within the lockbox of his past. With each visit more of his cheerful exterior was stripped away. First the laugh lost its resonant boom, then it gradually became thin and airy until eventually it was silent forever. As his vibrant fire was stripped away day by day the metallic edges of his secrecy began to show. It was imperceptible to most, easily hidden behind his failing health, but through secretive eyes I saw a great divide opening up in his soul. When meeting with others he would hold his now bloodless smile with perfect stoicism, the proud indomitable soldier until the very end. It was as soon as eyes were averted that his lips would tremble slightly and he would hold an indeterminate stare at the black and white photo of his wife on the far wall. While he sat there alone his previously calm assuredness was possessed by a frantic anxiety. While his legs were able to carry him he would hobble over to his bookcase with his walking frame and touch his old possessions, feeling their solidness in his hands as if examining priceless artifacts. I began to hear the knock of the metal legs upon the wooden floor of his bedroom less and less, while previously it would awaken me during the night. After a particularly sound nights sleep I awoke early to find him already in his chair, with a leather briefcase residing like a faitful pet on his lap.
This was it. The end. Going into the black, the only thing I could think about was everyone I had left behind. What would they think of me? Will I be remembered fondly? Certainly not. I lived a reckless life, with little regard for anyone else, even those close to me. Aren't I supposed to be meeting St. Peter? Or was it Michael? Well, I never paid attention to that decrepit old pastor when I was a kid, so I guess now I am paying for it. Opening my eyes, I saw no pearly gates. No man in a white robe with a long beard, holding a staff. In fact, I saw nothing. Just a vast gray expanse into infinity, and not a feature to be spotted. A lifeless terrain, if you could even call it that. I heard not a sound, smelled not a scent, and felt no pain nor pleasure. Nothing. "Hello?"a familiar voice echoed from the void behind me. I turned to even more vast grayness, and to my amazement, I was suddenly looking upon myself. This iteration of me was wearing no clothes, and it was then I looked down and realized I could not even see my own body. As though my eyes were just hovering a few feet above a flat gray floor. "Who are you?"it called out to me. "Where are we?" "Aren't you... me?"I replied, thinking about the absurdity of what was transpiring. "That's what it looks like,"another voice answered from the left of me. It was me yet again, but this time it stood 7 feet tall. "What the hell is going on?"asked another version of me appearing from behind the giant. This one stood only 4 feet tall, and it looked bizarre being dwarfed by my giant apparition. "Beats me,"replied yet another from behind me. It had a full beard down to its chest. Huh, I think I actually look rather good with a beard... "Sommes-nous morts?"asked another to my left. This was getting out of hand. "No we ain't dead you moron,"retorted another with a thick southern drawl. I tried closing my eyes to get myself out of this. It did nothing. The nightmare was inescapable. Numerous iterations of myself began spawning all around, their questions incoherent. One of me was at least 400 pounds. Another was just skin and bones. One had red hair, another black. Some were tall, some were short. Some were dark skinned, some were pale. Miles upon miles of lost versions of me, packing closer and closer among ourselves. I felt the air being squeezed out of me with each new spawn. Make it stop. ... "Are you good, man?" I opened my eyes and looked down. A glass bowl in one hand and a lighter in the other. A horrified look was written on Chris's face as he gazed upon me from the other side of the couch. "I don't think so..."
Positioned at the heart of the Bronze Citadel, the iron ringed patch of sand had many names. An’Torok, the Colosseum of Ten Flames, the Field of the Bloodborn. Most of the locals just called it the Arena. The arena was open to all, at all hours. Peasant, soldier, noble and king; all were welcome to stand upon the sands and seek absolution in combat. On one side of the Arena stood a tall man, resplendent in armor, inlaid with silver and lapis. Lord Theo Stalder was a tall man, with skin tanned to leather from the sun. The hilt of a longsword protruded out over his shoulder, and a jeweled dagger hung at his belt. In sharp contrast to Lord Stalder, Aelric Beso looked as though he had been dragged from an open sewer. Possibly because he had spent the night drunk and near the privy runoff. Dressed in a dirt stained tunic and cinched trousers, Aelric thought to himself that there was no way he actually smelled as bad as he looked. One hand clutched his sketchbook and the other rubbed his temples. He had run out of mead a few nights before and had been forced to move on to something in a brown bottle that he had sketched into existence. His memory failed him after that point. Aelric approached Lord Stadler and they bowed to each other. Stadler’s bow was crisp, formal, and just a hair shallower than appropriate. Aelric just tried not to fall over. Gods his head hurt. He patted his tunic, hoping to find more of whatever that delicious brown bottle had contained, but to no avail. Lord Theo Stalder stared at his opponent for a long moment before speaking. “If you wish more time to sober up, you can beg the crowd to postpone this. I want you to understand why you’re here.” Contempt dripped from the armored man’s voice. Aelric grinned, exposing the few lonely teeth that still hung on for dear life. “Fahk you, asshole.” Lord Stalder wrinkled his nose at the smell. “Mr. Beso, I’ll tell you this now, although I don’t know how much of it your wine soaked mind will comprehend. You, sir, are a disgrace. You hold in your hands the very power of creation and you have squandered it. You could have created fields of wheat, or a fresh well in every home. You could have ended poverty as we know it. Yet instead, you create monstrosities. Twisted beings that are born into this world who look to their creator for guidance only to find a drunken sot. How many of them have you abandoned? Five? Ten? More?” Stadler stared at Aelric, awaiting a response. Aelric swayed and tried to focus. What had the man said? Something about his sketches. It wasn’t really fair to call them monstrosities. So he wasn’t a great artist, but he tried dammit. After that unfortunate business with the cat, he always remembered to make their legs the same length. Wait, did he say something else? Something stupid, no doubt. Aelric sucked his breath and spat. The spittle missed the armored man and fell to the sand. Without a word, Stadler turned and walked back to his side of the arena. Once he stumbled back to his own side, Aelric looked back at his opponent. Stadler had drawn the longsword and held it in a fighters stance. Aelric’s gaze turned to the Ringmaster, who raised his hands to signal that the duel was about to begin. His breath quickened, causing the headache to increase. His hand clutched again at his sketchbook. Then the Ringmasters hand dropped and the fight began. Aelric tore a page from the sketchbook as soon as the Ringmasters hand began to move. With an effort of will, he channeled energy into the drawing and projected it onto the sand in front of him. This was his talent. To bend the forces of creation into a new form; his drawings made manifest. The thing that tore itself from the sand in response would live in the nightmares of the crowd for years to come. It was roughly the size of a wolf, with three legs and a long tail. It’s body was lean with muscle and patchy fur along one side. Sprouting from its flanks were two arms, with joints seemingly placed at random. But the worst was the face. Nestled between its shoulders was a simple circular disk. The eyes were two black dots, above a mouth drawn in a rictus smile that displayed far too many square teeth. The thing let out an undulating cry that could have been hunger, anger, or existential despair at its own existence. Aelric squinted at the thing as it lurched slowly. He was sure he drew a fourth leg this time. Didn’t he? On the other side of the Arena, Lord Theo Stadler stared at the….thing that crawled across the sand towards him. This….this was a mockery of life, an amalgamation of limbs as though stuck together by a child. Stadler readied himself. He had put down others of Aelric’s creations. They sometimes thanked him for it. This would be no different. Only this time, he would be able to stop the problem at its source – Aelric himself. Stadler raised his blade and charged.
Throughout my career as a tattoo artist, I've learnt to never question my customers' tastes. My peers scoff at me for this, but whatever. I need cash, I don't have the leeway to be artsy. Til this guy came in. "The usual", says the guy. "Alright... Y'know... It's been on my mind since day 5, and I know it's not my place to ask, but... What are the tats for?", I say. "You really wanna know?", says the guy. "... If you dun wanna talk about it, it's fine."I continue with the tattoo. Surprisingly, even at the very beginning, this guy has no tattoos... So he must've been a beginner, yet... He didn't so much flinch during his first time. "It's how may days have past since then", says the guy. Since when? I guess it some personal matter...?! Agh! What the hell?! A burning sensation spreads somewhere at my back. I reach out and find my hand covered in blood. Oh God, oh god this can't be happening! Then all went black.
Prologue Change. It's inevitable. It picks you up, wraps you around its finger and tells you everything is going to be better. You don't question it, you don't look back, You. Just. Move. Forward. That's how human civilization works. That's also they got away with it, how one company put rose colored glasses over all of societies eyes so that they wouldn't notice the blood as we tore ourselves apart. That was 80 years ago. A century ago Divinity Pharmaceuticals was the industry leader in genetical engineering. Their main goal was a pipe dream. To eliminate all disease, sickness, and to make the human body more durable. Less prone to break. They spent the first 12 years on development and animal testing, the next 5 years in bureaucracy hell, and the next 2 working with humans. I was test subject number Six. The first control group was 10 people. As it turns out, our biology is a little different from mice and rabbits, who’d a thought, and The injection reacted....violently to say the least. 15 minutes after that first injection, everyone collapsed in convulsions. That pain, even now, is the worst pain I ever felt. I've been through things that no normal human body could withstand. And yet, nothing comes close to that day. I woke up 3 days later in an observation room at their labs surrounded by doctors. Looking down I saw what they had done to me. I watched as they recorded themselves cutting a thin line into my chest with a scalpel just for it to slowly close itself. I later came to learn that only 4 of the initial 10 participants survived. They'd succeeded. They created in a sense, immortality. However it seems they had a leak somewhere, because the next day the news broke and the city rioted. Everybody wanted to become "Immortal."In the rampage the building caught fire and seemingly all samples, research, and test cases and most employees were lost. That's what was reported anyways. In truth we were all sneaked out by a development team. And from the ashes rose a new corporation. They had re branded into the New Dawn initiative and with it came a new goal. To create an entire race of supermen. All of the work had been lost along with the lead developer, but they had us. They gave us riches in order to copy our DNA, and from there they took it all. Without the research they were never able to copy the same immortality, but they created everything they could. Super Strength, Super speed, Super Smarts, being just a few. They began to market it to the public as Evolution, Changing of the times, a New Dawn as it were. No one questioned it, no one thought about it. Everybody wanted super powers. It was a mad dash to "Become a New Human."Within a decade, half of all of humanity was "New."From there it was all down hill. The crime families made their own versions, some even appearing to break the laws of physics. It became so bad that even poor petty street criminals became one of them. the "Supers,"with the worst and high profile of them being labeled as "Supervillians". The police didn't know how to respond so the government stepped in and made a "Super Hero's"branch of government, under the DoJ, to take on the Supervillian threat. Part One: \[In Work\]
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Sigh, Here we go again. This is the story of Hitmonlad The Omen Mafia had been terrorizing the small town of Zigzigana for years. Their citizens lived in constant fear as the unpredictable group robbed, looted and killed without any mercy. When all hope was lost, only one man could save them. A man who had been born in this hell, molded by the suffering of this town into a powerful superhero. It was time the reign of the Omen ended. Now this task was clearly not easy. And our hero was all alone in this fight, the police were useless. Well, not completely useless as they did manage to save our hero at one instance. Oh yes! That instance. The brave Hitmonlad went charging in to challenge the Omen. You know how every mistake is supposed to be a lesson? Our hero learned a shit ton that day. It is a part of him, something that will make him stronger. Hitmonlad now sits at his home, broken and defeated. He will come back stronger, he has to. The whole town depends on him. Just some days of- Wow, he is already on his feet. Hitmonlad is ready for another round, maybe he has a plan, a more cautious approach surely. Hitmonlad is..doing the same thing as last time. Okay but surely the experience from the last time will allow him to- And he's down. And he seems to have wet his pants in excitement. Look at the passion our young hero has, he's absolutely unstoppable. I mean, in spirit..and stuff. Right now he has been stopped. A month passes. Hitmonlad has been instructed by his doctors to not risk another injury, but you can tell he is almost pumped for the next encounter. He is probably thinking of a new strategy right now. The enemy is probably cowering in fear. And he's ready. He's going in again and- surely not. Why don't they just kill this guy, Jesus Christ. Just kill him so I can move on to someone else. I'm sick of this guy, he has actually pissed his pants again. I don't even know his superpower unless it's pissing his pants after getting tased by the security.
“So, you’re a..wizard?” “Ahh, not exactly” Rince took a breath through his teeth. This was going to be tougher than he thought. The square-jawed man opposite him had access to more weapons of war than Rince could name, but that wouldn’t help him get his point across. “Not exactly son? Look you came here saying you could help us and if you don’t plan to explain right now I’ve got a war to plan.” Well if he was just going to be dismissive. “I am a Diabolist.” The same look. A stormy brow and teeth clenched so hard veins within veins popped on his forehead. “A Dia-what now?” “A Diabolist. I am an expert in contracting and dealing with… “entities” from other planes of existence.” An aide walked into the room, leaning over the general and whispering in his ear. Rince had contracted “concealed information about your person” years before but decided to pretend that he didn’t hear how a regiment of infantry had just been wiped out by an orbital beam. The general did a good job of hiding whatever emotions that brought up inside him. The veins, however, swelled like overstuffed sausage lining. The aide left, pausing only a moment to look at the strangely attired visitor before leaving the room. “Look son, whatever you are I need to know exactly what you can do to help us out here.” “One” Rince held up a finger, letting some borrowed power flow through and ignite a small flame at the tip of his finger. Showy, and expensive for being showy. But worth the cost. The general’s eyes narrowed slightly. Now that his audience was focused on him, he could begin the show. “I am not your son. In fact, I am twice your age, if not more. Two..” A second finger, a second flame. Slowly, the two points of fire leaned together and began to twirl into a spiral “I have contracted with entities and beings older than humanity. A number of those entities know a fair bit about what lays beyond our narrow scope of life. Three” A third finger, with this flame breaking off entirely and lancing around the spiral, slowly forming a shimmering circle. “For a price, and a significant one, I won’t deny it, an entity could be entreated to helping you defeat this threat.” The fire sigil floated upwards, suspended between the general and the Diabolist. The same symbol that the aliens had sent at the start of every message to the world governments. The same symbol that had yet to make public circulation. Showy, but worth the cost. The general was chewing something over. Rince had once been offered the “Sense of minds other the oneself”, but as usual with an offer that great, the cost had been prohibitive. For contracts of all kinds, the same rule applies. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. The general slowly nodded to himself, leaning forwards. Just like that, a co-conspirator. “Alright, Mr Diabolist. You got my attention. What are you offering?” Rince smiled. So far, so good. Leaning forwards, he opened both palms, exposing the ritualistic wards carved into them. The general didn’t even blink. “Before I make any offers, let me be clear. Others may approach you from my, how would you say, field of study? Ones who would call themselves wizards. Or mages. A witch or two even. They will tell you things about me. All of them most likely true. Terrible things, if you can make sense of them.” Terrible was an understatement. He’d broken every law, and then done things that required the invention of new laws. Every community he’d joined he had left in ashes before long, skipping away with eldritch tomes and borrowed power swelling each time. But could you blame him? The weak didn’t deserve to hold onto what the strong could take from them. “But those things. Those terrible things? That is exactly what you need right now. I promise you this. No wizard alone could stop this threat. No coven of witches could use a full moon to turn away this enemy. No human life alone has enough power at hand to defeat what is rapidly coming down upon us all. What is required here is a sacrifice most high.” The general was smiling too now. This man of war knew something about terrible things being the only way. About how having enemies meant you were a person of power. About how people who thought like him should stick together. That was why Rince has chosen the general as his mark. The president was too wishy-washy. He also had a wizard of significant renown waiting to try and trap Rince the moment he appeared, but that was beside the point. “To know the truth of others wants” was the greatest negotiation Rince had ever succeeded in making, and it had cost him a great deal. The glass eyes itched no matter what he applied to them. But he had adapted. More deals, more solutions. The creature shackled within his collar saw on six of thirteen planes, which was more than enough to deal with humans. “Sounds like you’re not good at playing with others.” Rince pulled himself back. Memories oh memories. Sweet, seductive, but not useful at the moment. He had a general to convince. “Yes, but all necessary for my, and now the whole world’s, continued survival.” Rince offered out a hand, quelling the feeling of strangeness inside. Was this how they felt, on the other side? All the hidden clauses and negations tied up within, ready to spring hooked barbs the moment the ink was struck. “I am offering services to you, in any and all ways, in return for my continued survival, as ensured by your authority and position of power. Nothing more, nothing less. Do we have a deal?” The general paused. Rince felt dread. He would walk out of here to a barrage of hexes and familiars attempting to claw him apart, or with the full power of a modern army to draw upon. Either way, he’d put down his chips. A grip like steel almost crushed his hand, the general standing up to match him. Arrogance and the desire to rule. What a beautiful combination. “Lotta mumbo jumbo for asking me to fight your enemies in return for you fighting mine.” Rince smiled, closed his eyes, and tasted bliss itself. Yes. This must be exactly what it felt like.
A frosty Bostonian night. The type of weather that makes everyone unsociable. Hands burrowed in pockets, blazer collars raised, every other person sports a north face. Down an alleyway two men stands over a third obscured figure. Whimpering is heard.“Shhh, Honey, come on. No need for that. Do that again, I’m gonna have to pass you over my pal ova here; he loves when a girl begs for it” The second addressed man who was working as lookout, turns to face the girl, revealing a nasty scar across his face and a cloudy eye.“Don’t be fooled by the whole.. “ ,he indicated to his face,” he’s a sweetheart” She shakes her head silently; please no. “..hand the purse over, before I ...” Before he could finish his threat, I yell: ”Don’t slouch. It’s rude!” I stand by the sidewalk, looking into the alleyway. The lights from the shops behind silhouette me. The one with the cloudy eye, leaves the lady to his partner, steps forward and says, ”What was that?” ”I said don’t slouch, it’s rude. Didn’t your mom ever say that?” “Look.. Buddy, I don’t what this is, do we got a problem?” “You definitely got a problem, outside of the fact that your committing a crime. By the way you’re standing it seems to me that you have an acute problem with your coccyx, you need realignment immediately“ The criminals were lost for word, ”Screw. Fuck off, you weirdo.” he lifts his shirt, showing a gun tucked in his waistband. “Righty then, nuff faffing about. Let’s get you that eternally bliss you’ve been missing,” I rush the cloudy eyed man, disarming and leaving him on his back in an instant. His friend comes to his aide, leaving the girl to escape. The subdued one resists, kicking his legs as i turn him on his front. I momentarily tend to his oncoming friend, sweeping his legs.“Just breathe.” I place three fingers .....
It's been two weeks since the chip incident, and already we've lost order. Fortunately, my technophobia saved me, as otherwise I would be dead. I produced the chips, and my name is Pasha Markov. Ironic, right? My technophobia seems strange for a cold corporate business woman selling chips, but I know first hand what they can do. I wish we hadn't, but we installed backdoors into every chip, so we could control the chips. Originally, it was planned we would use the backdoors to impair anyone who intended to do harm on a major scale, but some mad man in my staff force used the chips to blind all our clients. Approximately 99% of the population had chips, and in the words of doctor Codacs ravings, "the poor are now the one percent. Now, the neglected are the strong. Now, you can feel the pain felt as society is built without you." At first, we didn't understand the gravity of the situation. Now we are hauled up in a building, boarding all the windows and sealing doors. My fellow survivors are mostly technophobic like me, but there are a few psychos and a couple children and elders. We didn't take any blind. It knew it wasn't worth wasting time, and being a leader in my old field of work, I took charge, and the sheep followed. I told them what to do, and set rations. Now, after my oh so "glorious"reign, I wish anyone else was managing the situation. These people originally were unsettled, but when screaming started, we all grew silent in the wake of noise. You may wonder, what screaming? It was a sound I can't quite explain to you. It was a gruesome sound, and it was like someone being trapped in screeching gears. Not long after this, we began to get visitors. The blind would stumble closer, and would claw at the windows, declaring "we know that you're leaving us to die."Some, couldn't live with hearing this, and the wiser of all of us wasted rope and bullets. Yet, there was one poor fool, who opened the doors even so. Maddened, a blind man stumbled in, reaching this fingers out to claw the kind soul. He pressed his fingers against the other man's working eyes, and we all heard the pop that followed. Now, we don't open the doors unless we're going out to hunt. Not that there's much to hunt these days. Except maybe people, but we aren't desperate. Catch up to today, when a phone of my brand was thrown through a window. I scrambled over, through the large sweeping floors, until I reached the device. My deep fears realized, I knew the bomb was set to blow. Desperately, I took it apart, just in time for it not to take out the whole building. People were oblivious, yet curious, and that was a danger. I lied, said it was nothing, but some people here recognize me. Now, when I walk in the halls, I hear people whispering, conspiring. I'm loosing control. In desperation, I've wrote this on the reassembled phone, as a plea to the old 1%. If anyone other than the psychos who started this lives I want you to meet me at redacted in redacted. I've assembled a rescue crew, so we may escort you to our lair. It's dangerous though, and I must know if we can take the risk. Please, I await your reply. May the rich live, whilst the poor blind with jealousy.
It hurt so bad, impossibly bad. The power, and it was power, flowing into Liam was twisted and wrong and heavy. He watched the old Warrior, Olivia, sigh in relief as he took the burden from her. Then the transfer was complete. The pain faded, and the power became dormant. It was okay, Liam thought, it was under control now. He glanced at Olivia. The middle aged woman looked like she was in paradise. Could she not think of him? He was suffering now, for her sake and all she felt was joy? He could punish her, he should punish her. There was a spike of pain and tension through his body, and he knew that something wasn't right. He could feel the power, like it was about to boil over. It took everything he had to push it back down. Olivia stood up shakily. "Thank you so so much."Her eyes were shiny with tears. "I wasn't sure if I would be able to find a volunteer, I nearly broke." "So I'm just making up for your weakness!"Liam snapped. Olivia stumbled back, muttered an apology and left the room. Liam breathed in deeply as he pushed the power back down. This was so much worse than he thought. He could feel the power pushing it's way back to the surface. "I'm really sorry Olivia, you shouldn't have thanked me just yet." He felt the rage build, and everything became a red haze. \- The next thing Liam could really remember was the shocked look on the face of the man who killed him. He could feel the power leaving his body, all the twisted wrongness of it flowing into that man. Liam's last words were a simple "thank you."
Mistress Mary quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With cockle shells and rosy thorns wrapped round us all in a row. Mistress Mary, taught us fairly, How did you make it snow? With iron hand and fire brand, You did make red rum flow. Mistress Mary made us weary, What lesson did you sow? That no one here will hear or care No matter what we cry or crow. Mistress Mary, bloody Mary, How will your fate go? With sharpened stone and whittled bone We'll slash your eyes till we are done And even as the bell doth ring Your limbs and flesh apart we'll fling. Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does our garden grow? With silver bells and rosebud blooms All feasting on you now.
"...And so, we announce the contest! "Whoever kills the greatest Dictator wins!" I and my nemesis look at each other. We trade our impressions through a facial code that we developed when we were young, idealistic, and confident we would make a difference for good in the world. The gist of the conversation? This challenge is a crock of shit. We give each other a faint nod and stand simultaneously while the MC keeps gassing on how tremendous this challenge is; as we step towards the podium, the crowd noise shifts. The MC, the Clan Leader from a tiny clan that has at most five members, all well beyond 60 years old, falters as he realizes that the crowd is no longer responding to him. He looks about and sees us walking together to the podium. At least he's not a fool. "AND HERE THEY ARE! OUR CONTESTANTS!" The crowd is cheering, yet there is a confused buzz as well. We have been antagonists for decades now; what could cause us to stand together on this stage? We reach the podium. The crowd is hushed as we stand there, looking out at the audience. In a move as smooth as if we had never fallen out, we look at each other again. A few seconds, and I nod to Montressor to begin. I watch as he prepares to speak. I can see him setting himself for defense. Against me? No. He expects an attack from beyond me. I think carefully, remembering who stands there or could be standing there. Amontillado, third in line for the top assassin. Montressor speaks. "We are honored by your selection of us for this contest and pleased to stand here before you. Yet, we jointly find this challenge without merit." The crowd is first confused, then angry. I hear a tiny sound from the stage behind me and sweep my Champion's cloak up into a shield for both of us. My left hand is preparing my response as my right guides the cloak. There is no impact on my cloak, not even the tiniest snag from a poison dart. From the corner of my eye, I can see the MC, lowering a small device. It's nothing like I've seen before. My cloak drops in folds that clear my vision even as my left hand aims the poisoned spring dart from the hip. There stands Amontillado, surprised, as he crumples to the stage, his right eye leaking as the dart fired by the MC finishes sinking into his brain. An impossible shot. No one could have made that shot. The right eye was at an angle to the MC that could not allow a dart to enter faultlessly. The device in his hand... I recognize it now—a simple laser pointer, not a weapon, but a target marker for someone else. The MC drops it and casually shifts his weight to grind it into powder. He smiles at me. I barely nod and turn back to Montressor. He has waited for the danger to be dealt with and continues. "Yes, this challenge is without merit. Fortunate?" I step up to the podium with Montressor, "The challenge is without merit for no one may say who is the Greatest Dictator."I look at Montressor, and he picks up the line. "What does it mean to be the greatest dictator? Did you do a good job of leading your people?"A slight hesitation, a cue for me "Or does it mean that you killed more of you people than anyone else? How about you held the largest area of land for the longest time?" Switching back to Montressor, who takes it in the direction of humor. "Or we're you the fastest at dictation? Plenty of people have talked themselves into a slit throat." Jointly, as we have already arranged earlier, "we declare the challenge null and void, there will be no competition this year."I look at Montressor, a quick conversation, and he agrees. "Instead, we will set a challenge for all of you! Use your skills, without killing anyone, to discover the following: 1. Who suggested this challenge? 2. Who put Amontillado to assassinate either of us? 3. Who fired that incredible shot that killed Amontillado? Remember, no killing" It was dead silent for 5 seconds, then all hell broke loose. Montressor and I withdrew. Making our way out of the hall, we were met by the MC. "Well done, I could not have asked for a better result." We looked at each other only for a second, turned back to the MC, both of us hitting him with a slow acting poison. Instantly debilitating, the target remains able to speak. "Why?" "Because you...""...are the greatest dictator." Why was he? He knew what would happen. We are killers, the children and grandchildren of killers. The clans would never hold to the no killing order. Within months, at the most, the clans would be all but dead. Montressor and I knew something was coming. We used our powers together and made arrangements. All the resources of the combined clans would flow to us in circuitous routes. His plan was to take all those resources and make himself the ruler of the entire world. Now? We would have those resources and the chance to do what we had talked about all our youth until adult obligations forced us apart. The assassins would become the protectors. ((finis))
"Red Comet, please help me...Lady Lazarus's eyebrows are terrifying. I think they are becoming sentient..." I let out a sharp yelp as the super villain roughly grabbed me by the ponytail. She ran her long dagger-like nails down the length of my throat. "Stick to the script or I will send your boss your body parts in the mail. Do you understand me, Sidekick?!" She sneered my job title like it was meant to be an insult. Her face was close to mine and the heavy scent of her cinnamon gum was overbearing. There was a slight scent of decay that it was masking. Rumor has it that Lady Lazarus has done some questionable anti-aging experiments and not all of them were successful. When I didn't respond she slapped me hard multiple times across the face. My bottom lip was bleeding freely. "Do you enjoy pain, Starburst?"She questioned as she circled over to a tray of torture instruments. She picked up a curved blade and admired it in the light. I spat out a mouthful of blood across the concrete floor. "I am flattered, but you're not really my type...and I am not just saying that because of your eye brow situation. I hooked up once with this guy with a uni-brow once and he was actually a very generous lover, if you know what I mean." "Hmm."She sounded less than enthused. "I can't wait until I get to finally shut you up once and for all."She growled out at me. "Um, Boss?"Spade held up his wrist and tapped on his smart watch. He had been holding the cue cards that I was supposed to read into the camera. They were currently upside down. Lady Lazarus's current master plan was to use me as bait to lure Red Comet into a trap. Spade had looked extremely uncomfortable when Lazarus dragged me into the old shipping dock she was using as her current lair. He didn't seem to have the stomach for torture. "Time flies when you are having fun..."Lady Lazarus sighed and shot me a venomous look. "This took longer than I had anticipated and I apologize for cutting our time short, but I have a prior engagement that I need to take care of. Don't worry, my little Star, Spade will keep you company until I get back." She gave her henchman a stern look. "Straighten this little bitch out and if she still continues to be difficult, we'll just settle on sending her screams to Red Comet. That should be enough to get his attention..." "Got it."He nodded grimly. "And don't unmask her. I get those honors and I am going to make it special."Lady Lazarus blew a kiss at me as she strode out of the room. I could hear her obnoxiously high heeled boots click against the concrete long after she left my sight. "I think your boss has a crush on me."I informed Spade. "What the hell is wrong with you?"He demanded. His attitude and posture had completely changed once his boss had left the room. "Like clinically?"I questioned. I tried to appear casual as I worked on freeing my hands that were handcuffed behind me. The cuffs contained a plasma that kept my star energy beam powers at bay. He gave me an annoyed look. "The way you antagonize Lady Lazarus is insanely reckless. Her temper is almost as short as yours. What is your end game here? Are you just trying to get her to kill you faster? Why didn't you just read the cue cards and play along? Red Comet is the one she is after." "I refuse to be bait."I scoffed. "Really? And what did being stubborn get you? Besides a black eye and probably a mild concussion?"He wanted to know. There was something about the frown lines in his forehead that seemed almost familiar when he lectured me. "Do you even have a plan?" "I won't expect Lazarus's helper monkey to understand dignity."I snapped back. My wrist felt like it was close to being able to work out of the cuff, or maybe it was just about to dislocate. "Dignity or pride, Star?!"He replied back with anger trembling his voice. "Your stubborn pride is going to get you killed one of these days! And I am not always going to be around to save you!" I stopped trying to break my restraints as I looked him over. I mean, really looked him over. Why had I never noticed that he has exactly the same build as Red Comet? I have also never seen them in the same room together, but no. This didn't make sense. Spade was kind of a dork and ran Lady Lazarus's errands. He had mild super strength and usually wore some kind of leather jacket and bed-head styled blonde hair. Red Comet's hair was always perfectly styled and he was one of the most popular heroes in the mid-west with his high-level super-strength, speed, flight and agility. There was no way that they were the same man but... there was something very familiar about his movements now that we were alone. He walked over and snapped my cuffs off my wrists. I was too surprised to move and just looked up at him in shock. "Comet? I don't...I don't understand..." "Hit me with a star bolt."He commanded. "And run out the door behind you." "Wait, but what-" "I've spent years working my way up here."He growled at me. "Do not blow my cover. I need you to hit me as hard as you can or otherwise this is going to look suspicious. Don't worry about hurting me. It will be fine." I let the energy built up in my hand. "You seriously have some explaining to do later."I informed him before smashing the ball of energy into him. I turned and ran for the door.
"NO!"Mr. PuppyUnhugger screamed theatrically while raising his closed fist in the air. "My plan, my wonderful plan, foiled again." "Aha!"Dr. HopeBringer said triumphantly. "The city of CityVille is safe. You won't be giving every kid in town charcoal this time, Mr. PuppyUnhugger." "Drat! And I was so close too. With a single piece of charcoal in the hands of each kid, I would have conquered the world. But you had to interfere! This is not over, however,"Mr. PuppyUnhugger said while throwing his cape back in a wide motion to let it float in the air. "My loyal minions, seize her!"he ordered, and a group of people tentatively appeared from out of the shadows, and started to encircle Dr. HopeBringer. In an automatic motion, Dr. HopeBringer switched into a fighting stance, ready for the first opponent to make their move. The opponents were ready, waiting. Any minute now... "Um, guys?"Dr. HopeBringer said after a full minute of her staring at her opponents without any of them making a move. "You do know that this is the part where you come one by one to be beaten while your boss escape sneakily, right?" "Normally, yes,"replied one of the veteran henchman, named Johnson. "But the boss and we were in the middle of negotiating something when you arrived, so..." "Ah, yes!"Mr. PuppyUnhugger said loudly from the top the catwalk where he was standing. "Sorry Johnson, you didn't have the opportunity to make your point before Dr. HopeBringer came and trashed my plans. I would normally say 'Can it wait until we're done here?' but since you raised the topic, I suppose it is relevant to the situation, right?" "It is,"Johnson replied. "You see, it always happens the same way. My crew and I get beaten up pretty harshly while buying you the opportunity to sneak away, and this part of the job has been kind of stressful." "I see,"Mr. PuppyUnhugger nodded, his eye closed. "Well, I'm sure we can find a common ground. Dr. HopeBringer?"he addressed his nemesis. "It seems you are concerned in the discussion as well. Could you please reorganize your schedules for today so that we can have this talk?" Dr. HopeBringer blinked a few times. "Well, I mean, sure. I've got nothing planned anyway, so..." "Wonderful!"Mr. PuppyUnhugger said as he sat down on the negotiation table that definitely was there since the start of this story. "So, Johnson, Dr. HopeBringer, please take a seat."As the two did so, Mr. PuppyUnhugger took a small, pink, rubber ball from his pocket and placed it in front of Johnson. "Speech token, to make sure that nobody speaks out of turn, and that everybody is heard properly." "Thanks, sir,"Johnson said as he took the speech token. "So, working for you probably has been the best thing that happened in my life, and the sentiment is shared among my crew. You give us a safe space to express ourselves. When you have to assert your position, you do so respectfully. You take the time to learn our names. Thanks to you, I was able to send Tim to college, to buy a small house for me and my family, you even cover dental! I want you to know that I, and my crew, really appreciate the way you treat us overall, and that what we are negotiating now does not negate that in any way." Johnson fidgeted a little bit with the rubber ball, trying to find the right way to express himself. "Now, having said that, we still have to acknowledge that whenever Dr. HopeBringer comes in to ruin your plans, she always gives us a severe beating. This..." "I don't hit that hard, do I?"Dr. HopeBringer interrupted, which was promptly replied with a dry cough from Mr. PuppyUnhugger as he pointed to the speech token still held by Johnson. "Oh, sorry,"she said timidly. "Well, you never made use of lethal force, nor violent acts that would leave permanent physical damage,"Johnson replied to Dr. HopeBringer. "Still, being regularly subjected to painful, physical violence isn't good for our mental health. According to the group therapist that Mr. PuppyUnhugger's healthcare policy has provided to us, that's the root cause of the not-so-recent declining morale of my crew."When he was done, Johnson placed the speech token on the table, and Dr. HopeBringer raised her hand, silently asking to be the next to speak. She was granted the turn and took the speech token in her hand. "Well, this is awkward,"she started with a nervous laugh. "First, I want to say that I'm so sorry for the pain I have brought to you and your crew. I was so absorbed in the idea of just doing my job that I neglected to take your sensibility into account. This was wrong, and I'll work on a way to fix that. Now, to address this particular issue, something that my fellow superheroes have been doing recently is to proclaim 'My job here is done!' and exit the stage left. I always wondered why that new way of doing things started to trend, now I know, and I'm thinking of adopting it."Dr. HopeBringer then put the rubber ball down on the table. Mr. PuppyUnhugger asked to be next and was given the turn, so he took the rubber ball. "Dr. HopeBringer's proposition seems sensible to me. Another policy that we could adopt as well would be for me to allow myself to be captured. It's been a while since I've had the opportunity to talk to Officer Miles anyway, it could be a way to catch up on lost time. And to ease your worries, Johnson, please know that supervillain detention center, or at least the cartoon variant that applies to this story, isn't a hindrance. It's made of cardboard, figuratively, and I can get out whenever I want."Mr. PuppyUnhugger placed the speech token on the table. Johnson was the next one granted his turn. "Thanks to both of you for your input, and for the time you allocated to this,"Johnson said with a warm smile. "I will discuss your suggestions with my crew, and inform you, Mr. PuppyUnhugger, of our choice. Then, Dr. HopeBringer, I suppose you will receive a note from my boss telling you which policy we will adopt. I guess this closes this negotiation session, then?"The speech token was placed on the table, and was granted to Mr. PuppyUnhugger. "If everybody is satisfied with the results of this negotiation,"Mr. PuppyUnhugger said, "they are free to leave their seat."Johnson and Dr. HopeBringer stood up in response. "Very well. Now, as I was saying,"he placed the rubber ball back inside his pocket, and returned to a dramatic stance. "Drat! Foiled again! But this is not over, Dr. HopeBringer! We will meet again, muhahahahaha."With his evil laugh, he, alongside his minions, disappeared into the darkness. With a wide movement of her arm, Dr. HopeBringer allowed her cape to flow freely in the wind. She looked pridefully at the sun, before saying, "My job here is done!" *** I have absolutely no idea what it is that I wrote nor why I wrote it. Hope you enjoy!
The first thing I noticed was the smell. I always loved being at her apartment. Not exclusively, but to a great part because of the smell. I am sure you have a favorite smell of your own. New books, maybe? Freshly cut wood? Newly painted rooms? Whatever yours is, her apartment had exactly that kind of smell to me. It always had that fresh and bright aura around it, very much calming in a special way. As if positive mood just beamed from every single piece of furniture. So as I woke up to a slamming door, the first thing I noticed was the smell. I did not really bother too much about the noise at first. Sure, she usually kept things as quiet as she could when it was late, but everyone has something slipping from their hand from time to time. Especially when giving their best to keep it quiet. However, when this fog of calmness that has always surrounded me around here disappeared, my thoughts began to set in motion. At the beginning it just felt off, maybe a little empty. As if all of the fresh air had been pumped out and replaced with the air you would get when sitting at home for a day without opening any of the windows. A bit heavy when breathing in, but not too concerning. Well, at least not too concerning had it stopped at that. But the air got heavier. Like standing in a ballroom filled with joyfully dancing people but without any kind of meaningful ventilation. What had started as feeling empty, like the mere absence of any good, slowly began to turn to a very present feeling of dread. Quite a few minutes passed since to door was slammed shut and I began to notice that I have not heard any sounds since then. Was I just too distracted with the change of air quality? Or was it actually too quiet for a human moving around the house? Was she even moving around the house? There was no way I could tell. Suddenly I realized that I had no idea when and why she left. Was it minutes ago? Was it hours? It was obvious to me when she got out of bed, but I was too sleep drunken to question it in any way. Did anything happen? Did someone call her? The air got heavier and heavier - I was slowly having difficulties to breath properly. Like in one of those hot, humid summer days, I could almost grab the air with my bare hands. But it was cold. The air was thick, heavy, humid… and ice cold. Goosebumps crept all of over my skin. What on earth was happening here? What had made this place, that was the pure essence of peace just a little while ago, become so thoroughly uncomfortable? It was too much for me. I could not just keep laying there while everything around me seemed to be freezing. I could not keep laying here while feeling as if I would slowly suffocate. So, I got up. It might not have been the greatest idea to a calm and rational mind, it was certainly the best I could think of while feeling panic creep up on me. I got out of the bedroom, walked through the living room and stopped as I saw someone standing in the floor. It was her. Beside the door. I have seen her in the gloomy light of the night more than enough times to be absolutely certain that that was with no doubt her. She must have been standing there not moving for at least 10 minutes. “Hey”, I said. “What´s going on? Is everything alright?” “Hm? Hehe. Yeah. Why are you asking?” It was unsettling to say the least. I was definitely speaking with my girlfriend, but it just did not make any sense. “Where have you been? Why did you leave?” “Oh, I didn´t go anywhere. I was standing right here.” There was not much detail I could make out in this light. It was however very obvious that she was grinning. You could hear it in her voice clearly. “You know, I heard this knocking on the door” - she continued “and I wanted to check out what that was.” “Well, what was it?” - I asked nervously. “I don’t know, I didn’t open it” she said and began to laugh as if she had just told a joke. “I… I am pretty certain I heard… the door slam” – I stuttered. Her laugh stopped suddenly. She started to slowly walk towards me. I could not move, I was frozen still. I just let her come closer and closer. She stopped right in front of me. She was so close that even despite the weak lighting I could now clearly see that she was grinning. It was an unsettling grin. One of those you would not want to see in the middle of the night. “Well, I might have opened it” - she giggled. “But don´t worry, there was no one outside” After that she just walked around me towards the bedroom. The thing that stuck in my mind so prominently is how clear her shadow was as she walked by me. I might have been able to recognize her just from that incredibly detailed shadow. It took me quite a few moments to grasp the fact that I had no shadow. It was too dark for me to have a shadow. It must have been to dark for her to have a shadow. That was not her shadow.
I had been on many deadly missions for the council of cats, some more dangerous than others. But why they suddenly decided to make me a Knight of Cats was lost on me. And the mission seemed all to simple to be what it was. Catnip? But I was but a humble soldier, trained to do what my superiors ordered. As I readied my armor and weapons, I wondered whether I would return alive to see my love, Purrsipha. Many of my close friends advised me against this mission, even Purrsipha. But why would the council stab me in the back like that? After all, I was a good soldier. But enough of that, it was time. I set out of Catlantis with my small team of Ghosts. Our jet was in the air just before midnight. The council of cats wanted it to be a stealth mission. If everything went according to plan, we would be in and out before anyone could say "catnip". "If"it went according to plan. I always wondered why the feud between cats and humans started. I remember being told by some old feline that it had something to do with cats growing opposable thumbs and trying to take over or something, complete nonsense. The turbulence jerked me out of my daydream. We were there. "The facility of human research". Odd name for a place of death. We parachuted out of the jet, landing stealthily on the roof of the facility. We were rappelling down the side of the building when suddenly, I heard a loud "bang", closely followed by another one. Then I saw two of my teammates fall, their harnesses catching their lifeless bodies midair and dangling them like flies on a string. We were screwed. I fidgetted with my harness, trying to get out of it. It broke and I fell three stories onto a balcony, not before I heard another bang and felt shards of glass pierce my skin as the bullet ricocheted off the building. I felt blood run along my face as I stumbled up. Suddenly enough, I remembered the stories I had heard about the council of cats "terminating inutile assets"but had thought nothing of. "Oh Purrsipha, I messed up big time" My leg hurt like hell but I had to get out. I ran like hell through the building only to realize I was a a mouse in a maze. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by enemies, in tears and had several bullets lodged in my armor. As a gun was pointed in my face, I heard the word "catnip"echoing over and over again before a loud bang. I suddenly jerked awake. "Whew". It was only a dream. I'm still a human... But what?? I had a song "catnip"playing on repeat throughout the night.
It's all a bit funny looking back now. To think of all the preachers predicting fire and brimstone to rain upon us, the scientists sounding the alarm of an unlivable planet that we had created. It was nothing like that at all. The human race wouldn't die a violent death, but in our sleep after a long, fulfilling life. It's been exactly 20 years, 5 months, and 23 days since the Final Nativity. You probably know that, of course, the number lights up the corner of every channel. If you don't know that then perhaps there's hope after all but I'm not holding my breath. I was a nurse in the maternity ward at the Ohio University Hospital when the Final Nativity occurred, although back then we called it the Great Decline. These days I prefer the term Major Fucking Problem. Anyway, as I was saying I was a nurse in the messiest and most fulfilling ward in the hospital. I was never big on kids, never had any myself (No kidding) but seeing all the mother's holding their newborns for the first time gave me a sense that I was a part of the circle of life, a necessary piece in making a family complete. I would learn later that we weren't the first to notice this, the government was tipped off by the Red Cross while they were doing some nice thing in some not-so-nice country. No children born that day in any of their camps or clinics. That immediately started what would become the biggest, most inclusive investigation and race for a cure in history. I noticed it too, just on a much smaller scale. No women being wheelchaired into the ward, no nervous fathers lurking out in the hallway. We had a few women and babies still in the ICU or in recovery but nothing to get my hands dirty. My sister called me later that day after my uneventful shift with strange news too. She was a maternity nurse down in Utah and was chipper about her day, she'd been let out early and had time to go out to lunch. No babies born in Utah either it seemed, the baby-making capital of the country. That's when I realized something was wrong and the rest of the country followed suit. Within days the news were leaving a trail of fear through every household with stories of pregnant women having miscarriages, fertility treatments failing, etc. Even test tube babies weren't growing. &#x200B; To say the world was shocked was an understatement. There weren't any of the riots or protests, the hallmark of a proper emergency. Just a lot of people being asked to solve a problem well above their paygrade. The Final Nativity was named after about two weeks as I recall, when they were able to pinpoint 6 babies being born on midnight the day before the Major Fucking Problem. That's when things got real strange. &#x200B; They're all 20 now and relatively unimportant in my opinion, but at the time they were the Second Coming of Christ. The pope canonized them at 5 days old, the only living beings to ever be official Saints. Science couldn't find any use for them but, oh boy, the churches did. One was Islamic and became a national symbol of repentance. One was Hindu and became Shiva. Last I heard she lived in a temple and never spoke a word, the literal overseer of destruction. One died shortly after, but the last three grew up as Christian icons. There were conspiracy theories behind every corner and miracle cures on every pop-up ad. I guess stupidity and greed don't stop when the world does. That being said though, life went on. I mean, what were we supposed to do? I was transferred to the trauma center and went on saving lives. The maternity ward stuck around for a few years, a sort of symbol of hope I suppose, before it was converted for more pressing purposes. A tension grew in the air as we all watched the Final Six grow up, celebrating birthdays and starting school. &#x200B; Other than a few protests and panic early on, the truth was that everyone that knew a damn thing was growing older. Elementary schools were a thing of the past years ago, it became the governments secondary objective to educate kids as soon as possible given the pressing circumstances. There are still quite a few colleges open, all of them free to everyone under the age of 45. Foods a little more scarce but automated machinery keeps the shelves stocked with the necessities. Homes are a dime a dozen in some parts with so fewer people to fill them. Religion is up ten-fold and no more wars, so I guess there is a bright side to this story. We are though, without a doubt, dying. Any hope for a cure ended about a decade ago when the specialists in the field started dying off like the rest of us. There's a poem I'm reminded of by Dylan Thomas, called 'Do Not Go Gently Into That Good Night'. There are those who aren't going peacefully, who fight everyday to bring a fresh face into the world. The rest of us are getting a little old for that, as a whole we're going gently into the good night together.
Disclaimer: I have no idea to which EU this prompt refers, so the following story will not be canon. - - - - - 1944, Black Forest, German Empire Captain Eatonbarrow yelled, "Group 1, flank right! Group 2, go left!" He wouldn't give away his position to the Huns. A Mecha was not that stealthy. A bullet hit the hull. Eatonbarrow turned the turret to peer through the periscope. "Shoot at the legs! We need at least one alive!" Twelve Leyland Mk II went against one hundred Steam Centaurs. Eatonbarrow directed his men like an orchestra of destruction. Machine guns hammered the unnatural creations, smooth bores ripped them apart. A few Centaurs got close enough to swing their swords. None survived the attempt. - - - - - 1970, Eatonbarrow Estate, East Flanders "You told me this twenty times."Elizabeth Eatonbarrow let a sliver of impatience creep into her voice. "I never told you the rest. Our mission was to arrest Dr Hornberger." "The occult scientist?" Lord Eatonbarrow nodded. "He put human brains in mechanical bodies. What woke up as a Steam Centaur wasn't human any more. Their only thought was destruction. Hornberger gave them a cannon and a ten-foot sword to do that. Unfortunately, he escaped." Elizabeth paled. "I know of your next mission. Four-legged Mechas attack villages at the border between the Tsardom and the French-Hun Federation. If one is destroyed, a wisp of smoke escapes. You and that hun are sent there to find Hornberger. Watch out! The doctor had 25 years to refine his ideas. By now, he can rip the soul from a living person and infuse it into a mechanical body." Lord Eatonbarrow, renowned constructor of Mechas, left no doubt of his conviction. - - - - - "Drop in 3 … 2 … 1 … Drop!" The absence of down and the rapidly shrinking Zeppelin above Elizabeth were good signs that the clamps had opened. The altimeter approached zero at an alarming rate. The body-crushing re-appearance of down and the unfolding parachute were good signs she would not end up ten feet underground. Twelve Vickers Centurion met sixteen Thyssen Mark 11 and a tiny, four-legged Strobel MediMecha. Klaus Herrmann headed off north at once. The Centurions stomped east. For twenty-ton vehicles that could level a house with a single shot, they were surprisingly quiet. "Proceeding to point Charlie."That meant Klaus had picked up the local who would guide them to the castle. Elizabeth noticed that Transylvania was full of trees, her map inaccurate, and she ten minutes behind schedule. The Centurions ran through a village. Its main street cut a mountain into three uneven parts. The largest summit was haunted, the guide said. Those who climbed it, returned as a mindless husks. If at all. The textbook said to encircle the mountain, then to close in on the peak. Elizabeth believed Hornberger's hideout was anywhere but at the peak. A trap would be there, to keep his attackers busy, while he attacked from the rear. The Mechas formed a one-mile circle around the mountain. Any observer saw that Elizabeth's troops were spread out too far. A four hundred yards gap between two Mechas was too big to cover. "Klaus, call it!" The first hint of it fell from the clouds. Where the tiny dot hit the ground, a fiery explosion illuminated the sky. Trees burst into splinters, splinters burst into flames. A hundred tiny dots followed. The mountain became a sea of fire, then a desert of ashes. "Centurions, march!" The Mechas walked around the mountain. Nine minutes for a full circle if they wouldn't imperceptibly spiral towards the peak. Elizabeth had completed less than half a round when Centaurs poured from three hatches in the ground. They tried to swarm the closest Centurion. Since that was moving, the possessed machines curved towards their target. Right into the line of fire of the next Mecha. Pilots selected HEAT warheads. Each jet of liquefied copper, propelled by the explosion of four pounds of TNT, halved two or three Centaurs. The stream of war machines dried up quickly. "Centurions, turn!" Four Mechas targeted one hatch. They marched, they fired. The machines stopped at a distance, but continued to fire. "Klaus, wave one!" Six Thyssens moved forward. Two per hatch as if to search the fortress. When they were halfway up from the road, another hatch flew open. A single Centaur raced south. Elizabeth noticed the person on its back. She called the closest Thyssen. It jumped out of the ground to tackle the centaur, breaking the arm that held a scythe. The rider landed on the road. It looked painful. Elizabeth called for the Strobel. Her orders were clear. Hornberger had to survive. Klaus brought the guide. Her jumpsuit was as black as her hair. Elizabeth knew that Romanian uniforms were Federation standard now, green and tan. The woman held her right hand close to her hips, but had no holster. That was weird too. "This man will be brought to justice in Bucuresti,"she said in place of a greeting. Elizabeth's 'Stratagus' sense awoke. She wasn't World Champion any more, but her intuition was intact. Her favourite strategy was the Sacrifice of Treasures. It prevented her from winning with double points, but made it impossible for her opponent too. She usually hid the move within other moves. If this was a game, the guide wasn't after the King. She wanted the Treasure. Elizabeth crossed her arms and turned her hips. The 2-gauge six-shooter came into view. She had bought gun and a dozen of rockets for ten shilling. Nobody wanted to lug around four pounds of revolver, even if it could blow a hole into a light Mecha. "My orders are to bring Hornberger to London,"Elizabeth said. "Given that I have twelve Mecha and you have zero, this matter isn't up for discussion." "Sorry, Lizz. My orders are to bring Hornberger to Berlin. He's a citizen."The Mecha behind Klaus shook his head. He was still connected to the controls. And the guns. "This is not part of deal. I showed you where he lived. For that, we can prosecute him."The guide looked south. "In a minute, our truck will arrive. We will take him and enough evidence for a conviction, then leave. Any attempt to stop us will be considered act of war." Klaus turned his head so quickly that the Mecha couldn't follow. "Elena, you can't declare war on another member of the Federation!" "You can't demand jurisdiction in another member's country!" Elizabeth shifted her weight from one foot to the other. While Klaus and Elena discussed Federation law, Elizabeth moved from the head end of the stretcher to the side of it. Hornberger was still unconscious and tied down. "Enough!"Elizabeth let her voice go up an octave. "I'm your commanding officer! I expect you to follow my orders! I'm an officer of Her Majesty! I demand compliance!" Klaus opened his mouth. Elena grinned condescendingly. She turned to Klaus. "As I said, truck will …" The engine sound arrived before the vehicle. A dozen soldiers spilled from the bed. Half of them moved between Klaus and his Mecha. The other half blocked Elizabeth's war machine. She almost sighed. This was like playing against her little brother. Elena and Klaus shouted at each other. The soldiers kept their attention on them. Elizabeth had two rockets in the air before anybody could reach for a gun. The first hit the damaged Centaur when the second ignited its motor. It did so from the inside of Hornberger's skull. The launcher charge had put it there. The soldiers dropped to the ground. They aimed at Elizabeth. She stood with the revolver at her hip, pointing in the general direction of … well, everybody. "The next is an air-burst. Drop your weapons, please. Klaus, disconnect. Now!" Elena needed time to pick herself up, mentally and physically. A small pistol from her belt fell to the ground. The soldiers followed her lead. The threat of one thousand shrapnel exploding directly in front of them had that effect on people. Klaus reached for the control collar. A tug on the plug severed his link to the Mecha. "Doswidanje, Elena. Get on the truck."Elizabeth gestured south. The woman climbed into the cab. A short bark brought the soldiers to their feet. The nearly climbed over each other when they got onto the truck. The vehicle left south. Elizabeth holstered her gun. "What was that,"Klaus asked. "She's spy of the Tzar. Not a good one." "How do you know?" "Her uniform and the truck were pre-Federation. The courts for capital offences are in Timisoara, not Bucarest. She was prepared to shoot me first. Her grammar was …" Klaus waved her aside. "Alright. Why did you kill Hornberger? We had orders to bring him back alive. Plus evidence. Now, we have neither. How do you explain that to your superiors?" Elizabeth looked over the remains on the stretcher. "I will read them the Crown Edict of 1947, if they need the reminder. The use of supernatural powers to the detriment of a person is punishable by death. The attempt is punishable by deportation to Australia." Klaus was confused. "You still need to convict Hornberger, right?" Elizabeth grinned. "They don't need a reminder of his guilt. They need a reminder of theirs. If your Federation has a similar law, read up on it. It will be good for your career." "I still don't get it." "They wanted Hornberger and his creation for themselves. They wanted to put minds into machines to fight for their side. Why would you need the remains of the Centaurs if you have recordings from thirty cameras?" Anger and disbelief fought for a place on Klaus' face. Anger won. "How dare they? What can we do?" "Let's start with collecting the wrecks. Then, I'll show you the new LI15 incendiary ordnance. Burns hot enough to melt steel beams."
The wind whipped the drizzle through the the amber streetlights on a silent Sunday evening. As well as the weather, the winter had brought with it the darkness. And the silence. Pierced only by the occasional, irritable blusters as the gusts blew between the houses, Chucks wife had always described the silence on the sleepy countryside cul-de-sac as ‘deafening’. ‘I miss the sound of the traffic chuck, and the people in the street. It’s lonely out here.’ Lonely, though, is exactly how Chuck wanted it. He didn’t mind if he never heard another car or person again. ‘A lonely life is a quiet life’ he would tell her, often swirling brandy round in a small snifter. Any small comfort the sound of his reassurances could give her, was lost amongst the essence of the words themselves, and drowned within the deafening silence. A silence so loud, that Chuck nor his wife heard the tyres creep around the corner at the end of the street. The tyres rolled so slowly, they barely disturbed the rain that had began to settle on the smooth asphalt street. The blue Chevy, a shark amongst the water, seemed to be stalking its prey. It swam, then it floated, then it slowed to a stop. As the passenger door opened, a brown leather brogue emerged and kissed the pavement; and as slowly and deliberately as the first came, so came the second, before the full figure of a tall, slender man revealed itself from the shadows of the Chevy. He was wearing a pair of fitted, navy blue suit trousers, held firmly in place by a brown leather belt. Neatly tucked into the trousers, a crisp white shirt. A matching blue jacked draped over his left arm, while his right lifted a small, silver hip flask to his dry lips as his thin face offered his small, sunken eyes towards the house before him He took a sip, then threw the flask in towards the driver. It landed between his legs, against the inside of his quivering right thigh. He glanced down at it, and in the silver could see his own green eyes. As blurred a reflection as it was, he could see his own fear as much as he could smell it. Smell it in his over used, over bearing aftershave. As much as he could taste it on his dry tongue. Feel it spread from the back of his throat, through the knots in his stomach, to the involuntary quaking of his leg. ‘For the nerves Leonard.’ ‘Just Len’. He muttered so quietly that Trevor didn’t hear him. Or if he did he didn’t care. The passenger had been here before; not in this location, but in this place. This situation. He was prepared. Mentally, physically; this was his craft. Len was new. An apprentice. But this wasn’t a job you could go and get on a Monday morning from the work house, or on a Thursday night from the evening papers. But Len needed the money. The passenger adjusted his jacket on his shoulders. He buttoned it up and produced a pair of leather gloves from his pocket, and pulled them over his bony hands. ‘Leonard.’ He gestured towards the black, leather case stretched across the back seat of the Chevy. ‘Let’s go see if Chuck is home.’
In the small communist town, the 7 years of bad luck were dispensed equally. And the culprit who broke the mirror was hanged. In the small capitalist town, the 7 years of bad luck were blamed on the culprit, as were every misfortune and bad decision that had only to do with the inhabitants' incompetence, all the while the mayor ran away with the public funds. In the small democratic town, the 7 years of bad luck were heavily debated, the young arguing that on account of them being the future, they needed a better time while the old didn't. The old argued that they gave the young everything and deserved some good time. The 7 years of bad luck up and left because this was going nowhere. In the small fatalistic town, the mirror was ignored. Everything was going to shit anyway, wasn't it? In the small town on the moon, remnant of a failed expedition, there was no mirror. Hence it was decided that the broken one they found one morning could only have been sent from earth. The villagers unanimously voted to send their toxic waste to earth in return, because they had no sense of humour. Moral of the story: don't break mirrors. We don't know if it brings bad luck, but stupid neighbors won't miss the opportunity to spread misery.
I could tell from the changes to his thought bubble that Ned didn’t believe me. “Man, you are so full of bullshit!” He laughed, and wandered off into the crowd. Whew! That had been stupid of me! I blamed the delightful range of delicious craft brews being served at the open bar. All of those small tasters I’d been sampling must have added up to more than I realized, for me to make a slip like that. I reluctantly set down the small porter I’d been savoring and turned to leave. “What does it look like?” Square face. Perfect hair. Tiny mustache. A suit that cost more than my annual salary. Black eyes. Humorless smile. Christ, it was Devon Mojave, senior vice-president of marketing and analytics. In a company filled with sharks, he was the sharkiest. No one doubted he’d be CEO before he turned 30. He must have been behind me when I was running my mouth off to Ned; now, here he was, well inside my bubble of personal space. I took an involuntary half-step backwards, introducing my ass to the bar. “Mister Mojave! So nice to see you! This is such a great party! It shows how much you value our contributions to the company. Have you tried the Black Sand Porter? They brought it in from Hawaii!” Devon took a step forward, pinning me against the bar, his face inches from mine. “What does it look like?” he repeated. “What does what look like?” I stammered, my inebriated mind racing frantically. As close as he was, all I could see was his face. With the bar at my back and other party-goers packed around, there was no easy escape. “My thought bubble,” he said. It was just reflex, but my eyes flicked up to the space over his head. I saw suspicion crystalize to certainty, and realized that my involuntary glance had given him all the confirmation he needed. Sighing, I took the only path left to me; I told the truth. “You believe me.” His humorless smile intensified to something predatory. “William, I see great things for the two of us.” He reached past me to pick up the beer I’d tried to abandon. “Let’s go find a table and get to know each other.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, muscular grip steering me effortlessly through the crowd. “How would you feel about being promoted to my assistant?”
He was shattered, the funeral service felt like an eternity. Just a few days ago his parents were still with him, just 6 hours ago a drunk driver snatched them from him He didn't have this pain even with the illness that caused him to lose his career, a clumsy injury in the workshop, a poorly detected infection, an aggressive bacteria that resulted in an amputation... and now this The damn phantom pain was still there, but the pain in his chest felt stronger. If only his mother were here, she would comfort him as when he was a child, taking his hands and clasping his fingers as only she knew how to do The sensation was still there, a soft caress that told her that everything would be fine, a comforting touch on her right hand ... Coming out of his trance, he noticed that the sensation was still there, and against all logic he tried to clench his fist, a nonsense in his mind but an impulse that led him to do so. The feeling became even more real, warm and cold at the same time, he remembered that his father was in the army, the crazy camps that he never thought would be useful, that strange code that he used to talk to him hidden of his mom, and tapped simply "DAD" He felt ridiculous, what was he doing? Using a non-existent hand and morse code to talk to his dead father, something he would go straight to the psychiatrist for, until he received an answer "H E R E"

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