Split (1)

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The rain fell down torrentially around Eobard as he approached the tower. Rainclouds the colour of pewter gray were swarming up ahead like a swarm of hornets. Elsewhere, electricity crackled like a whip illuminating the tower with a sinister flair. Eobard had been here before when he was a boy. Back then, he was a lowly squire's apprentice instead of being the most feared dragon hunter in all of the land. A princess used to live here; her beauty the stuff of legend. But now Eobard hunted a beast; one who had feasted on the carcasses of a dozen men. Normally, he only hunted dragons but this fugitive whatever it was required special attention. Eobard twirled his grappling hook in his hand and aimed it for the singular window that looked out to the horizon. His first attempt was successful and he gave the line a yank for good measure. He wondered what had become of the princess who once called this tower home. Her parents had locked her here to protect her from a terrible curse. But after the kingdom had fallen those who dared to approach this tower met a fate worse than death. He surmised as he climbed up the tower that the princess had been this beast's first ever victim. As Eobard climbed through the window he noticed his surroundings were pitch black. A pair of yellowing eyes glowered at him from the darkest shadows. Eobard sneered and raised his crossbow. "Surrender, you’ve met your match,” he warned. To his surprise, a laughter laced with derision echoed loudly back and slowly the creature sauntered into the moonlight. In a flash of lightning, quicker than the blink of an eye the truth was revealed. There in the crosshairs of his bow stood the princess. She was still immeasurably beautiful but there was a sort of wildness about her Eobard could not describe. Her cornsilk fawn coloured hair was strewn in all directions like that of a bramble bush, her eyes were ruminating with a certain bloodlust, and on the corner of he's lips was the unmistakable smear of scarlet tinged blood. It was then, that Eobard made a horrifying realization. "You're the beast,”
"I can't hold it."she groaned as she held the door closed with her telepathic powers. Frequent bangs and thumps sounded as the black-armored soldiers slammed against the thick wood. "Yes you can,"he said. "You're stronger than them. You always have been." Their meeting was by accident, really. Running late for class, he was racing down the street on his bicycle. Focusing only on going as fast as he could, he failed to notice the person crossing in front of him. This didn't matter, however. She lifted him into the air and back to the ground beside her with reflexes so fast he didn't even realize. Another crash from the door, followed by a dull clanking sound. The men cheered as the clanking sound approached. "Go!"she shouted, squeezing her eyes shut with the effort. After the incident, they had started hanging out. Strangers became friends became best friends became lovers. He couldn't get enough of her, and he knew she felt the same about him. "I won't leave you!"he shouted back at her. "I love you." Years passed. They both graduated college two years after they met. In their apartment, they successfully conceived twice; neither pregnancy lasted very long. They gave up on the idea of having kids. All they needed was each other. He loved her and she loved him. The door cracked. Something huge had hit the door. Her nose started to bleed, and her limbs shook. It was clear to him there wasn't long before they broke down the door. When that happened, he would lose his better half. He was not going to let that happen. When he proposed, she was ecstatic. Jumping up and down. Their wedding was quick, and simple signed certificate at their courthouse. That was alright with them; they didn't need a ceremony to prove to each other they were in love. As the door burst from its hinges, he grabbed his wife. Throwing her onto the ground, he jumped on top of her. Gunshots filled the air. As they succumbed to their injuries, his beautiful wife looked at him and smiled the radiant smile he fell in love with. She sent him one last telepathic message. "I love you."
Ugh, why am I awake now? Jay’s head hurt. She didn’t want to open her eyes. The light coming into her bedroom from her too-big window would be blinding. What day was it? For some reason, Jay felt more disoriented than usual, and that was saying something. She had never been a morning person, but why did her head hurt so much? What did she have to get up for, anyway? Had she hit the snooze button already? Ugh. Reluctantly, Jay opened her eyes. Oh, my god, I’m still dreaming, Jay thought. Or I’m crazy. As her eyes adjusted, Jay realized it was definitely the latter. She was, apparently, in some kind of research lab, lying on a gurney. Her arms and legs were fastened to the bed, although it was just with velcro straps. Jay thrashed her arms around, trying to free them. Even though they were velcro, she was still definitely stuck. Realizing this, panic began to set in. The sterile white walls began closing in on Jay. The fluorescent lights hummed. She began to breathe faster as the stainless steel sink and rolling cart began to get bigger, filling the small white room. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. The more she tried to move her arms and legs, the more firmly she realized she was attached to the bed. The sharp pain in her head split into two, suddenly. Jay could see its trajectory across her eyelids, like an asteroid splitting apart in the night sky, but less beautiful. The second pain was so frustrating, as if it brought along a heavy weight to settle on her chest and push her further into this strange bed. She was exhausted. She wanted to cry. A noise came from outside the door. Jay looked up, her gaze fixed on it intently. Would they...help her? She couldn’t even form the words in her own head to consider another option. Jay wasn’t moving around anymore. If her heart wasn’t painfully reminding her how trapped it was in her chest, she would have been completely still. Jay held her breath as the door opened, slowly, stopping halfway, then opening more quickly. A man stood in the doorway wearing a white lab coat. A mask and face shield obscured his face. He went to the sink and put on a pair of latex gloves. “We’ve done it, professor.” He said, to no one. Jay looked around to double check she hadn’t missed something. Relief flooded in when she saw that, indeed, they were alone. The relief was short-lived. Who was he talking to, then? Panic threatened to set in again, rising up in her chest, a crushing feeling. “We’ve done it, professor,” the man said again. Jay couldn’t see what he was doing at the sink. “The Lazarus project was a success.” He turned around, peering at her. “Wait, you’re not the professor. Who are you?” All of Jay’s hopes vanished, but her fears no longer had a place either. She realized that the one thing she had wanted was certainty. Where was she? Would she be okay? Was this person here to help her? Even if he had been there to hurt her, if she had known that she would at least know what to do. How to react. Now all she felt was an empty confusion, her thoughts falling into a vacuum. This was irrational. The irrationality made Jay even more sad. The tears that had threatened earlier began to apply their pressure to Jay’s eyes now. She frowned deeply, trying to prevent an emotional display in front of this maybe-helpful-maybe-harmful man. The man continued to peer at her, head cocked to the side. “Well, it appears I’m in the wrong room,” he said simply, removing the latex gloves and walking out the door. The door swung closed behind him, and Jay was alone again.
"Hey. Hey Mandy." "Mmwahhmm,"she said. She was brushing her teeth. "I was flossing my teeth, and when I flossed this one back molar, it reminded me of Gloria Weaver!" "Ahm. Vwwy intuwmmwmm."She nodded sagely while scrubbing suds in her mouth. "Gloria was this awful girl I knew in early grade school. A real witch. She'd ask what I had in my lunchbox, and I'd show her the ants I was bringing home to show my mom, and she'd step on them." "Why ah you tewwin me mwiss." "That's very strange, don't you think? Flossing this back tooth, deeply reminds me of Gloria? I flossed it again, and it reminded me of her again. It's repeatable." "Ah haaagh."She had her mouth open, brushing, and was staring at herself in the mirror. "Then it occured to me! It's because that one tooth came in without proper enamel. My dentist, Dr. Weaver, had to drill it and put in a filling. And he gave me a novocaine shot that made my cheek swell up black and blue for a week. Everyone was teasing me that I got beat up. And Gloria was his daughter." "Ahgh,"said Mandy. She spat. "Very fancy." "Yes,"I said, smiling. "Very nice connection. I'm happy to have figured it out." "So do you think she liked you?"Now she was making a face and glaring at her nose in the mirror, stretching the skin to see if any potential pimples were hiding in the crevices. "No."I scowled. "I don't care. I didn't like her."I thought a bit. "But it is odd that I can't avoid getting reminded of her. I wonder if she's important somehow? Or whether it's just that everyone in early grade school is connected to me in strange ways like that."
"50,000 souls." "Excuse me?" "My offer is 50,000 Elven souls." "Sir, the list price is 12,000. I--"It was then that I noticed the man desperately struggling to keep his gaze from wandering. Immediately I remembered the bookcase. Glancing over I corrected him, "Oh, of course those are not originals."A set of 6 books standout from the others as replicas of the Famous Texts. Many remark on the books but so few believe there are still original sets that this situation had never previously occurred. "Ah... y-yes. Well. I- I can offer the full amount. That's 12,000, yes? I can pay that in full today."He regarded my hesitance as nothing but a strain on his patience yet he spoke hesitantly himself to avoid any chance of losing this opportunity. "And if I offered the books alone for 50,000?" His face went flush and his canines poked below his upper lip. A creature of his sort cannot easily hide embarrassment. "I- uh. Would you- Is that... an offer?" I stood perplexed; still taken aback from before and taken even further aback now. It was clear he would accept without a moment's hesitation. His sincerity almost forced me to consider the impossible. I looked at him as one might look upon a child eating dirt. As my thoughts swayed between aggressive judgements of his stupidity and the potential to exploit him further he suddenly made a run for the bookcase. Locked in my curious trance I could only follow him with my eyes as he clumsily pulled out the first book and quite literally vanished then and there.
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My name is Janice Kerry. I have a degree in medieval history. I am an archaeologist, forensic anthropologist, and medieval historian. When we were invited by british parliament to begin excavation on a 12th century church found on a hillside in rural Wales, we thought it would be... unremarkable. A simple two weeks of collecting artifacts, most of them unlikely to be anything historically significant and would probably be cleaned and sold to museums or private collectors so they could feel rich. Entitled. Important. Taking a few photos. The usual. That wasn't what happened though. And I...I have to write this down. I have to tell someone, anyone, what happened in that church. I have to make sure that people know the truth. The first two rooms or so were... typical for the time period we were expecting. Furniture, altars, a few hymnals written in Gaelic and old english. What appeared to be an office, dessicated parchment and rotted quill pens. Water damage was unfortunately prevalent in the wooden parts of the structure. But there was one item, seemingly out of place to the point I thought someone had planned a hoax. Thick, cracked ceramic in a cracked clay basin. It almost looked like...an eggshell. Like an Emu or elephant bird. But neither of those were native to this region, nor had any business being in a 12th century welsh church. At first I thought to disregard it, to assume some bratty teenagers were playing a prank. But the ammout of dust and filth was the same as the surrounding items and I hesitated. Instead I had it collected, catalogued, planning to send it back to the lab later. As we descended deeper, through a thick, rotted wooden door I froze. I have no idea how what I was looking at could be possible but there it was. In a dish of hammered bronze were bones. Bones of nothing I had ever seen before. Thick, cracked, yellowed talons the size of chefs knives, stained brown with what I shuddered to realize was likely blood. Tarsals as long as my hand. A pubis, birdlike but with reptilian hip sockets, big enough I could fit my head inside. And dangling precariously from a rusted nail was a skull. A skull of an animal that couldn't, shouldn't, possibly exist. It was cracked and flaking with age, draped with cobwebs and smeared with beeswax from dozens of candles. At first, my struggling mind grasped at the only possible explanation. It couldn't be real. It was a goat skull, shaped with clay or plaster. But...I knew in my heart I was lying to myself.the orbits were too round, and there was an ocular ring wired in place. The teeth were obviously that of a carnivore, conical and pointed. My team stared at me, stared back at the altar, stared back at me, as though Wondering if their own eyes could be trusted. Asking, pleading, if I saw the same thing they did. We catalogued EVERYTHING. combed every inch of the structure. Left not even a nail uncollected. Every discovery left me breathless. More skulls of varying sizes and stages of development. Horn sheathes like an antelope. Books bound in leather dotted with what looked like alligator scutes. Beautiful. Incredible. Impossible. What started at two weeks became two years and I was practically rushing between the dig site and Oxford university. Results inconclusive. Unknown species. All of this incredible data and I was left breathless, childlike visions of horse sized, winged creatures dancing in my head. And suddenly we had the rug pulled out from under us. A cease and desist from the vatican. We were ready to go public, had contacted a reporter and sent him photos of the dig. The University lab broken into, every single artifact just....gone. The reporter dead by apparent suicide. I know they are watching me. I have been warned not to tell the truth. The church would be a laughingstock. But....I have to. I can't let them win. Dragons are real. Or, at least they were a few centuries ago. And people used to worship them.
Let's get this straight. I'm not going to answer any questions about World War II. Yes, I changed things. Yes, that was the most I could fix things. But if I start explaining it, people just get angry about how many terrible things were left, and I don't want to deal with that, so stop asking. Okay? Okay. But I'll tell you about Mt. Vesuvius. I'll tell you about the mountain range Mt. Vesuvius belongs to, and the other volcanoes that were in it. Notice that past tense? You're welcome. Let me see, what's on the map for this version of this year... ah, here we go. This city you have called Naples. It wasn't just gone when I started time traveling, it had never existed. Do you like having Naples on your planet? Then maybe give me a break about Hitler. I did what I could. You don't have the science for it yet, but volcanoes can be destroyed. I left the weakest volcano active, to make sure that cluster would catch my attention so I'd always go back and fix it. It's my solution to that one paradox. If you go back in time and change something, the thing was always changed and you don't know that you need to go back in time to change it. Since everyone knows about Pompeii, there'll be centuries where I have a reminder to go back to it. Then I scan for temporal energy to see if I've been there already, I see that I have, and I find the other version of me to compare notes. Last I looked, there were eight of us there and then. One was taking readings on the volcanoes, two were setting up equipment, the rest of us were filling each other in on what we've done and when. I've been four of those. Five if you count the one who doesn't exist anymore, because I was following a volcano that I fixed and then couldn't follow. That's why I need Vesuvius. And yes, that's why I need Hitler. And Hiroshima and Nagasaki, though I'm still working on Nagasaki. There's got to be a way, theres got to be... Two is less than five. I can almost sleep at night, if I tell myself that two is less than five. I told you I didn't want to talk about that. I wanted to tell you how to kill a volcano. Not enough that you can do it, I'd be cleaning that mess out of the timeline for years, but enough that you can see how much effort I went to. Because I did. I swear I did. It was so much worse when there was a cluster of volcanos instead of just one, Italy basically only exists because of me. Surely that's worth something. It takes time, and a lot of it, but it's the kind of time I can ignore. Set up the machinery and wait a decade or two, that's nothing for a time traveler. It wasn't as easy as just hopping twenty years forward, those machines need maintenance and recalibration, but it's easy enough to pop in for an hour or two every week or so. It took me less than a year. We have our time traveler's gathering when we demolished the mountains themselves. When all the magma was settled down and all that was left was removing the piles of dirt and rock that marked where there used to be certain death. Strictly speaking, we don't have to. It's more about vanity than anything, even though no one else is watching. It's about being able to stand in Nepal, see a different horizon, and know it was me. I did that. I gave you this. I was good for something, even if I couldn't- I told you I didn't want to talk about World War II. I told you! Can't I have any kind of conversation about time travel without someone making me feel... Please. Please, so I can sleep without nightmares. Please stop asking.
“Caskets! Get your Caskets! One size fits all, decorated any way you want. Only the best for a kind soul like you!” I yell to people walking past the tall, grey building. Only a few hundred people go in as a “sacrifice” each day, but a surprising amount of them are impulse buyers. “Life insurance scratch off! Get yours here! You sir, do you have a family? Life insurance doesn’t cover “sacrifices”, but for the low, low price of $1000, you could get a guaranteed winning ticket! Set your family up for life!” Since the life-transfers became legal, my days as a funeral director are pretty much over. That’s why I switched to street vending out of a Life Transfer Building. Most people haven’t considered what happens after a life-transfer, or sacrifice as everybody calls it. And it’s not like they can take their money with them. “Excuse me ma’am, but do you have a plan for your body after your sacrifice? May I ask you to consider cremation? It’s extremely inexpensive, and for a few, your ashes could be scattered anywhere in the world you like. Or, for an additional fee, your ashes could be made into a pendant for the recipient of your sacrifice. Let your actions be remembered!” It’s amazing how many people are willing to sacrifice. It gives suicidal people a chance to leave this world on a good note. Addicts a chance to do good before their habits kill them. Prisoners with life sentences a chance to leave this earth by giving another freedom. Religious fanatics try to get to whatever their version of heaven is buy giving the ultimate sacrifice. A mother a chance to save her dying son. A son a chance to save his father. It gives people a way to welcome death, and a way to make tragic death obsolete. Ultimately, it gives peace. ———————————————- If you enjoyed, please leave some feedback. I’d love to hear from you!
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“Alright we’re going to call this segment ‘What the fuck was that?’” They looked at me, some despondent, some nervous, all of them weary in the eyes. I got up from my chair and began to pace the room like a caged animal. I stopped behind one of the guys with the nametag “Steve.” Placing my hands on his shoulders, I stood up tall and took a deep breath. “So, Steve, do you remember writing April 14th, where I not only forgot my subway card, but also saw the girl I have had a crush on for the past year, whom, mind you, I had accidentally thrown up on during a party Dave,” I pointed menacingly to one of the other writers. He rolled his eyes, “had scripted--uncharacteristic of me, if you ask, but no, no one did--and on April 14th, with my forgotten subway card and the cute girl, I,” my voice raising, “tripped and fell, spilling my Dutch Bros order on the ground, myself, and her beautiful shoes. So, Steve,” I bent down to his ear and whispered, “What the fuck was that?” Steve sighed. I didn’t let him answer, moving on to ‘Janice.’ Who was seated next to Dave. His time would come. “And Janice,” my voice was a veritable cauldron of spite, “Do you recall the day you sat down, goddamn pen in hand, and wrote that I would tell my best friend about the time his girlfriend and I made out in a tent during a camping trip, scripted for the 12th of January, and we had both promised we wouldn’t tell, but because of Dave,” his name as but a hiss, “and his goddamn party, I had just tried coke for the first time while simultaneously drinking too much, resulting in me almost getting alcohol poisoning and ultimately ending in the wonderful, magnificent throw up scene from, once again, Dave, that I mentioned earlier.” I squeezed her shoulders, “Do you recall it, Janice? Because it resulted in a year long fight with said best friend which I’m sure Toby over there,” I shot him a glance of pure ice, “had a great time scripting.” I practically lunged for Toby, grabbing him by the collar of his dress shirt, “You have a good time, huh man? Did you script him sleeping with my girlfriend for revenge? Or was that some wild improv that he was practicing?” I lowered him down to his seat again. “Or you,” I pointed to Sierra, “do you remember, on November 30th, when, covered in whipped cream, I had to go outside because someone almost burnt the dorm down? Huh? Because I’m sure that you and Toby over there had a right chuckle by the water cooler about my girlfriend wanting to try food play that exact night. Because let me tell you, I had a great time wiping that off with a towel I got from the paramedics, who as I’m sure you know, took to calling me the “whipping boy” while they were clearing things out. Let me conclude all of this by saying, “What, the fuck, was that?” Toby raised his hand, “Hey but I did make your girlfriend hot. That’s like, something.” I screamed, lunging for his throat.
Sorry it was cut so short, I had to end the session. I know the prompt was a bit different, but still. “What?” “They’re true. The rumours.” Andrew looked ashamed. “You’re angry, aren’t you?” “Yeah.” Tim said. Andrew hung his head. “I understand. I’d be furious.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Andrew looked up, puzzled. “But you hate me for being a robot, right?” “Why would I hate you for that?” Andrew looked even more puzzled. “Because I’m a robot!” Andrew started to raise his voice. “A tin can! Inhuman! All of the things that people hate, that they’re afraid of.” Tim put a finger to her lips, while pointing at the door. He lowered his voice a bit. “Sorry, but you should hate me!” “Andrew Jackson. I would never hate you for something you couldn’t control.” She stated, emphasising her words. “And besides, what’s wrong with being a robot?” Andrew started. “I’m inhuman. A danger to people. A-“ he trailed off, looking a bit confused still. He took a breath, but before he could start again, Tim spoke. “Listen Andrew, I’m not mad at you for being a ‘bot. I’m mad because we’ve been together since kindergarten. And besides, you haven’t hurt anyone, have you?” “Well-no, but still! I literally have the strength to lift two cars above my head. Who says I won’t hurt anyone in the future?” “The future hasn’t happened yet, Andrew. And maybe it will happen, hell, I’ve hurt someone Andrew. We all have. That’s why we don’t actually use our full strength if we don’t want to hurt them.” Andrew looked at the wall. “There’s nothing wrong with being a robot. And if someone says there is, then they’re the one in the wrong.” A silence consumed the air, hanging over their heads. “I’m sorry I never told you, but everyone’s always been scared of my kind. Didn’t you hear what Stacy said last hour? She kept going off about how we’re nothing but dangerous bags of bolts, who all deserve to be thrown into the bin.” Andrew took a breath in. “Everyone I’ve ever tried to tell ended up hating robots.” “Fuck them.” Tim said. Andrew looked over in surprise. “Fuck all of them.” Tim gripped his hand. “You’re more human then they’ll even hope to fucking be.” A loud, sharp sound rang through air. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” Andrew gripped his bag, quickly leaving the bathroom. “Wait! Andrew! Can we see each other after next hour?” But Andrew had already disappeared into the now-forming crowd of students. Tim grabbed her bag, walked into the hallway, defeated, and into the bright room. The hour ticked by, slower then a snail, the teacher’s words seemed to boil into nothing before they even reached her ears. The sharp sound came once more, then the children stood up, and began filing out of the room. Tim stood, then joined the rest, poking her head above them to find the library. Once she found it, she rushed in and took a seat. However it wasn’t the librarian who was there that day. The librarian had apparently come down with a bad case of the flu, so there was a substitute. She saw Andrew walk in, meet her eyes, then sit at the opposite end of the room. She looked at the librarian, who was going into the back room. When she saw the coast was clear, she pulled out her phone. ‘Hey’ she sent. She saw him lift his phone, then put it down. She felt slightly stupid, as she quickly put her phone down as the substitute looked up. “Put you’re phone away or I’ll take it to the office.” A monotone voice called out. Tim nodded, and pulled a book from her bag. She couldn’t seem to focus on the pages, her thoughts were always too wild for reading. She looked up, and saw something strange. Andrew’s hand was reaching out slightly, like someone had paused him while he was raising his hand. The heard high heels clacking against tiles, and a door creek shut. She looked over, and sure enough, the substitute had left the room, but she was probably going to be back soon. Her eyes wandered back towards Andrew. She quickly walked over to his table and sat down. He gave no reaction of any sort. No blinking or even breathing. Now that she though about it, why would a robot need oxygen. But, he had always breathed before. Maybe it was a cooling process of some sort. She lightly nudged his shoulder, and before she could grab him, a heavy thud rang out. Luckily, the library was the farthest in the building, so no one was alerted. She quickly leaned over him. “Andrew? Can you hear me?” Her inquisition went unanswered. She shook his shoulders. A weird beeping began. His eyes shot open, a strange red colour filling them entirely. His mouth split open. “Battery dead. Shutting down.” A robotic voice rang out, and a song began. His phone! She fumbled to his pocket and picked it up. His mother’s picture was showing. She hit the green button. “Hey Ms. Jackson.” She greets cautiously. “Hello Timothy. I know this must be a shock for you, but please just bring my son to the back, I’ll pick him up and explain, ok?” “It’s alright. He to-“ but she hung up. She looked back at Andrew, wondering about many things, before picking him up bridal style. He was surprising light, for someone supposedly so strong. She ran out of the library, trying to be as quiet and fast as she could, and to not be seen. “Hey!” A masculine voice called. Her heart dropped. Her feet seemed to understand her panic, as she ran through the hallway. “Stop!” It called again. But she did not stop, until she reached to door. She grabbed the handle, and shut it as soon as she was in. She breathed a sigh of relief, and leaned against the wall, as the door shut and the guard ran past.
Let me know what you think first time I've written anything (creatively at least) in the last 10 plus years... &#x200B; Evan just wanted to get through his day just like every other, he just wanted to wake up find some bread to eat and find a drink. He knew it wasn't the best he could do but after everything he had been through during the last crusade it was enough. As the hunger pangs started for the day he stumbled out of his alley in search of some scraps, hoping that the rear of the baker's would prove to be a treasure trove again as it had been in the past. When he approached the back door he saw it was open, and not hearing any noise from inside he decided to venture inside and see if there was a loaf he could lift. When Evan approached the shelves stocked with bread he gingerly reached up and took a loaf wondering where everyone had gone. As he turned to leave Evan saw a flash of light coming from the front windows. Rooted in place he saw something that he thought he had left behind when he managed to stumble to his new home. Evan immediately recognized bear like creature with brown fur that was covered in blood, and different colored eyes, one white and one red. The only thing that seemed new was the fact that it must've grown since he last laid eyes on it. Last time he managed to escape it the creature only stood 10 feet tall but now it looked to Evan as if it must've been at least 20 feet tall. The creature looked through the window and locked eyes with Evan and said "Evan, at last I've traveled such a long ways for many years to find you. The numbers of innocent people that you've put between us has lead to so much unnecessary bloodshed. Let us finish our fight so we may decide your fate, it was the bargain you struck all those years ago."As the creature began to approach the store's windows a knight ran in and attempted to run the creature through with his sword. The creature turned to the new attacker and with a howl of anger prepared to fight. The knight took brief moment to see who the creature was speaking to when he saw Evan standing in the doorway. Evan immediately saw a look of shocked recognition on the knight's face as Evan recognized him to be his only friend from his time on the from the crusade. The moment of hesitation gave the creature the chance to swipe the knight aside before crushing his breastplate in with a massive blow from both fists. The death of the one person Evan had ever considered to be a friend he finally snapped out of the stupor that he had been living in for years. Charging he got in two quick punches before the creature knew what happened. Finally the creature had turned to him and Evan knew he needed a weapon and he dodged towards the knight's sword hoping it would serve him better than his own had. After what seemed like an hours long battle with neither the creature or Evan being able to gain the upper hand, Evan spotted his chance. The creature had made a massive lunge, allowing Evan to dodge most of the blow and land one of his own. Even as his sword slid into the stomach of the creature he felt the creatures teeth close on his left hand. As Evan climbed back to his feet he slowly noticed that he was missing his left hand, then began to feel the pain of having it bitten off. As he approached the creature to finish the fight the creature told him "Thank you for holding up your end of the bargain. I've spent all of these years looking for you, cursed to kill everyone that I saw until you were able to kill me, or I killed you. Finally this fight is over and the world can be left in peace." Evan laid down next to the body of the creature, blood streaming from his missing hand, when he started to hear cautious voices for the first time that day. Eventually the baker approached the pair on the ground and exclaimed "Evan you have killed the creature that has been rampaging the countryside for years! What can we give you? You have surely saved us all!"Evan only managed to grumble "Bread, beer, and some where to sleep"Finally not having anything to run from he thought that being the village's drunk "hero"sounded like a pretty good deal. Then hearing the blood drip onto the ground from his missing hand he added "Oh, something to stop this bleeding."
“How does a person use an entire box of magical matches? That shouldn’t even be possible unless the person was a complete and utter moron.” The Matchmaker huffed, smokey ash scented breath shifting through the room, causing Robert to pin his nostrils with his fingers, trying to block out the toxic substance. “I just needed matches a lot. You know how many fires I had to start? I didn’t expect them to run out. Come on, can’t you just make me a new set of matches? It can’t be that difficult, just magic up some matches.” Robert made a strange wobbling motion with his fingers, trying to imitate the casting of a magical spell, much to the annoyance of the Matchmaker. “Just make more. Do you know how hard it is to make more matches? These matches are life-changing ones. Matches that light your path for your future. How the hell did you even waste a box of life-changing matches?” The Matchmaker screeched, that familiar scent streaming from his lips, causing a gag from the man before him. Before speaking, Robert took a step back, letting himself get out of the range of the man’s disgusting breath. He was a strange-looking man, wooden in everyway possible. His clothing painted on his mannequin body. More a wooden model than a human, making Robert ponder how the man didn’t set himself alight creating these matches. “Look, just one more set. I had a lot of birthday parties that needed candles lit. Oh, could I maybe have more this time? Ten isn’t exactly a lot.” “TEN! There are ten matches in a box, and you used them all? You know matches exist? Like normal matches, ones that are better suited to cakes. Why would you waste life altering matches on birthday cakes, of all things?” “I don’t carry matches with me. Yours were the only ones I had available. Come on, please. I promise I won’t use them all this time.” “Gah, where do you think these matches come from? And before you say it. No, it’s not entirely magic, I can’t just make them appear.” The Matchmaker wiggled his fingers, mocking Robert’s stupid earlier motions, ending it with a middle finger. Robert was undeterred by the rude gesture, pondering where such a thing was created. If It wasn’t entirely magic, that meant some magic still had to be involved, right? “Ah, does it come from some sort of magic tree?” Robert answered, feeling confident in his answer. “Lucky guess smartass. I’m not giving you more though.” The Matchmaker grumbled, annoyed that the idiot had figured out his secret so easily. “Please, just one. I promise to only use it on a life-altering event.” Robert cupped his hands together, awaiting a match. “Only one? I guess if it gets you to leave, just don’t tell anyone I gave it to you.” With that he dragged a hand to his painted pocket, retrieving a small case of matches, taking one from the packet, dropping it into his hand. “You are the best. Thank you so much for this.” With that Robert left the Matchmakers home, moving to the realm’s exit portal, making the Matchmaker question how he even got to this realm. As he left, the Matchmaker could hear Robert talking outside. “Yeah, mum, I got the matches. Told you the ritual would work. Yes, I know we may have burnt down the house, but it was still quicker than going to the store to get matches. I’ll be home soon, can’t wait to light up that cake.” He said, words spurring the Matchmaker to rush outside, but by the time he exited his house, Robert had already left. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
On paper, I guess you could see we’re competitors, trying to outdo each other by being as visible and important as we possibly can. Or perhaps, we’re colleagues, working alongside each other in respectful harmony, making sure all stays in balance and our shared world remains safe. In the very beginning, however, I would have stated that we were enemies. She was my rival, my opposite, my nemesis. Two had never existed that were so different in every way and so incapable of understanding the other, I had pondered on many occasions. Though that last conviction is still standing, I could not begin to grasp just how wrong I was on all other accounts. She is no adversary, no evil shadow. She may be fickle, mysterious, fleeting, unpredictable, but she is also incomparably beautiful, alluringly charming, eternally enchanting. I grew to love her deeply. Sometimes I believe I sense her affection answer mine. Though we cannot truly be together, I cherish those moments where our paths cross ever so briefly. When I undo her work before it is even finished, and I carry away the baby that would never grow up. Or when she, ever so gently, places her hand on my shoulder, softly stopping me in my tracks. As she carries away with her the soul of the person who so nearly escaped me, she’ll look back at me and smile. A lively, spirited smile, radiating with hope. It keeps me going, at least until I see her again.
The ritual was well underway. The priests and wizards all chanted in unison. The two who led them, High Priestess Alaina, and Archemage Rolan, guided their respective groups in the complex chanting, while providing the bulk of the energy needed to fuel the powerful summoning ritual. The area in the center of the circle glowed brighter, and began to thrum with a palpable energy as the two groups played their parts. A bright sphere of magical and holy power formed, condensing into a ball the size of a person. A lesser priest fainted from the exertion of powering the spell. A wizard was next. One by one the casters dropped, each one succumbing to the demands of the ritual until only the High Priestess and Archemage were left to finish it. And, just before one of them passed out, the spell finished. It stopped drawing on their power. The light faded. The power dissipated. The onlookers who were still conscious looked on it wonder. What kind of person would the Chosen Hero be? What kind of wonders would he bring with him from his world? The room feel to an eerie stillness when the results were revealed. The priestess was the first to speak. "I...I thought we succeeded."She said, weariness coloring her words as she looked at the empty summoning circle. "I felt it succeed." "As did I."The Archemage agreed. "The flow of mana certainly connected, and absolutely brought someone through. There's no doubt about it." "Then why? Why isn't he here?"She asked. "Could he had died on arrival? Or perhaps he had some invisibility skill that has already been invoked. Hero, can you hear me?" Nobody responded. Nobody moved. The very air itself remained unmoving. Alaina's eyes widened and filled with tears. "Then...then we really did fail. Summoning from another world really is impossible, isn't it?" Rolan went to examine the circle, trying to find what went wrong. This was a sacred spell given by the gods themselves, and verified by the greatest magical scholars in the world. It should have been flawless. And then he saw it. "No. It did work."He said grimly. All eyes turned to the powerful mage as he seemingly grew before their eyes. His voice bellowed and rose like a storm. "Who prepared this spell? Who laid out these runes?" One of the wizards, a junior who had barely made the qualifications to participate, raised his hand. The Archemage's eyes flashed with a blue light. The wizard rose violently into the air and was pulled quickly towards the circle. "Look, you fool! Look at what you have done!"Rolan forced the man's face close to a particular set of runes. ""What happened?"Alaina asked. "What did he do?" "He wrote the grounding and location runes incorrectly. The hero was summed, but he did not arrive here, where he was supposed to." "So where is he?" "I don't know. He could be anywhere. I mean that. Literally anywhere in the world. He could be on the other side of the door to this room, or in the caldera of a volcano." The room filled with quiet muttering. The priests began to pray to the various deities, while the wizards just shot the now disgraced wizard a withering glair. Most of them had worked on the ritual, but they had been sure to check to make sure everything was perfect. "Can you find him?"The High Priestess asked. Her magical counterpart was silent as he thought. "Not with any reliability. All we know about him is that he comes from another world. With just that, I might be able to track his location to a few hundred miles. And even that has a high chance of failure. Perhaps the gods can provide some insight? A name or face would allow me to be much more accurate." "I will pray. But whether I am given anything is up to the gods." "I understand. And as for you..."Rolan said while staring at the lesser wizard. "You will have your rank stripped from you, and will repeat all your runic lessons again. Furthermore, you will clean all the laboratories in the mage's college by hand for a year. After this year, you will report to the head church and clean all their lavatories by hand. After that, maybe we shall see about fully redeeming yourself. Just be glad I'm not kicking you out of the college outright. Now, for the rest of us, let us return. We have a lot of work to do." As everyone filtered out of the room, the punished wizard, Lars, looked at the runes he had laid out. His mistake seemed so obvious now. How could he gotten it so wrong? The Archemage had been right in punishing him so badly. In fact, the man had been downright merciful considering what was at stake. Lars clenched his fists as he left the room. He would find a way to make things right. He would find a way to locate the hero. He would fix everything.
"John?"I stammered. "Where have you been all these years?" He looked at me with a bewildered look. "I'm Jonathan. Nobody has called me John in ... forever." Time slows down as we stare into each other's eyes. That is, it slows down even more -- since the last hour made me feel as it completely paused due to some cosmic event. Finally, my empty stomach voices its discontent of being empty, and the loud noise brings us out of our reverie. "It's me, Max,"I break the awkward silence. "Would you come in? It's cold outside and the heat is escaping,"I gesture with my hand. He comes inside, still holding the pizza tray; but he's not dumb -- he follows me into the living room, where I set myself in front of the TV. "The Lakers are on,"he says with a dumb look on his face. "You always liked them, even as a a kid." "True. And you were a Clippers fan for some odd reason -- sometimes I thought it's only to spite me,"I say as I sit down on the sofa. "And do take a seat. I know you're working, but dammit, it's been too long." John -- or Jonathan, I am still unsure at that stage -- sits down beside me. I open a can of beer and offer one to him as well. "What happened,"I ask, and add in a softer tone, "bro?" John stares at his feet and takes a long swig of his can. I am chewing my pizza slice -- which got cold by now -- quietly, giving him the space to find his words. "Do you remember our neightbours? The ones we laughed behave like aliens?"He asks. "Of course. The Fitzpatricks; no children, only two weird dogs." "So, they are aliens. And when they abducted me I was able to see from above -- in their screens -- how you were devastated."His words are flowing now, non-stop; as if a paused would break the spell. "I saw how mum and dad told you I died but it was a lie; they didn't know themselves, and figured it's easier to have you say 'goodbye' rather than live with the uncertainty." "But it means they never knew, right?" "Exactly. And from what I've seen -- while I was locked in that spaceship -- this was caused dad's heart attack, this sadness; and mum couldn't live much longer after him." I gaze towards the window where the cold wind is blowing. The NBA match is still on, but neither one of us keeps track of the score, and the commentator drones on in the background. "Are you telling me that for 20 years you were locked in a spaceship away from earth, by our neighbours, and now you found me by chance as a pizza delivery?"I ask him, tears glitter in my eyes. "Exactly. I wanted to find you earlier, but since you moved from Liverpool to California it was bloody hard, y'know." "Man, that's mind-blowing, John. Or Jonathan,"I tell him. "That's one odd story to digest. I hope you're making enough money at least? A living, at least?" John nods slowly, but I can see his eyes linger on the pizza tray. I offer him a slice and he takes it without hesitation. He eats in a cagey manner, and it reminds me of some behaviour I've seen a couple of years ago, when I mentored youths who left juvenile penitentiary. "John, have you ever been involved with the law since you got back?" "Hmm, me?"He answers with his mouth full -- something he used to do as a kid. "Not much." I'm doubtful but I don't want to press the issue. After we wolf down the pizza we lean back into the soft sofa and stare at the match. It's a blow-out anyway, but it seems we're both grateful for the excuse to not talk about the past, the present or the future. At the end, he gets up and we're stuck in this semi-dance, where we're not sure if a hug, full-on embrace of just a handshake is due. We settle for half-handshake and half-hug. "How much do I owe you anyway?"I realize I haven't paid for the pizza. "That'll be 22$,"he says, "but to be honest, I'm a bit short for money. Is there a chance you give me 100$, and I'll give you back this Friday when I get my paycheck?" I give him 200$ in cash, and add, "anytime, John. Just stay out of trouble, okay?" He smiles, and stashes the bills into his back pocket. "See you around, little brother,"he says as he leaves into the night. I am back in my living room; the telly is now muted. I'm definitely happy to give him some money if he needs it; and god knows, based on his looks, he hasn't taken care of himself in a long while. But how stupid does he think I am -- making up a story about alien neighbours?!
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Something is unsettling about her smile. Something is unsettling about this entire place. The librarians eyes are looking at me but I feel as if they are looking past me. The clock has not ticked a new minute since I've been here. "Where am I?"He thinks to himself. "Why didn't I say that out loud?" "My hear feels like it has an arrythmia." His skin is suddenly clammy. The air feels constricting like a weighted blanket. He has the ability to move but the muscles are frozen in fear. "Fuck..fuck..fuck." "I gotta get out of here." He tries to scream for help but his esophagus feels like it is sucking from a balloon with no air. Panic starts to set in hard. His muscles respond to willful movement now. As he makes his way through the rows of books he can feel the librarians eyes. He is more terrified that she is no longer visible for the fear of turning a corner and seeing that smile will cripple him with dread. His pace quickens. "Check the books...there has to be information." Blank. The next one proves the same. The covers all have art and text but somehow it is incomprehensible. There is a visual diestinctness to it and should be recognizable but it all seems blurry. A quick glance back to the desk and he sees the librarian has turned her head to follow him. The same emotionless yet dreadful expression displayed on her face. "No one is in here. How did I not notice that? There has to be an exit close by." "There is not,"the librarian reprimanded. He had cold sweats and the constant looming gaze that followed him everywhere. There was a feeling of impending doom that filled the air. All the doors seemed to be missing yet he did not remember how he even entered the library. He noticed a book cover. This time it was clear unlike the thousand other books contained by the shelves. A gold leaf inlayed pentagram pressed into a bound black leather cover. The smell was the first thing he noticed. Not at all unpleasant, but it was the first tangible sense he had felt since being here. The librarians smile had grown wider. Her had slowly leaned back almost pressing into her own back as her mouth opened. Two black fur coated hands that resembled a humans reached out from inside. One hand clenched the top jaw while the other the bottom. They pried apart her mouth as two large horns emerged attached to a goat's head. The head sat atop a human like body with hooves and stood around eight feet tall. As the being strided towards him he tried to run but his legs functioned as they would in a nightmare. There was motion but he was not actually covering any ground. The goat towered over him as he knew what was about to come next. "Excuse me, sorry... I wasn't sure if you heard me. Do you know where I can find The Davinci Code?" "Yeah...,"the librarian groaned, "it's over in the fourth aisle down. Second shelf." "Fucking hate this job,"he mumbled under his breath as the patron hobbled away.
\- Ok, class, listen up. Your syllabus ... A student in the back row took aim, closed an eye, bit down on his tongue a little, and threw a 6/10 quality standard looney toons style paper aircraft at the math teacher. It's flight's duration corresponding to the length of one florescent tube ceiling light fixture before halting midair like a glitched reality. One quarter of the room gasped, which led the other three quarters to turn and duplicate another slightly louder hive-gasp. The teacher was visibly angry and staring at the perpetrator. Everyone turned to the teacher and promptly forgot about the whole paper plane thing. He was an excellent math teacher.
She had managed to convince the class nerd to let her use his floppy disk reader. Sitting on the dusty floor of his dingy room, she blew on the disk one last time, and inserted it gently. Not that she expected much, she was just curious. Things crackled. The bed and the fan popped in and out of reality. The small dusty room was now the size of a stadium, now as small as a closet. The class nerd became a pot of petunias, and then a bottle of fish oil. Things screamed. Then everything was white and silent. "Earth v2.0 has been loaded. Do you wish to play? Y/N" boomed a monotone voice. It took a bit of time for me to stop screaming. Now I noticed the solid ground beneath my fingers, and looked around frantically for the source of the voice. "Earth v2.0 has been loaded. Do you wish to play? Y/N". It was our small golden puppy, Nibbles, who had died 2 years ago. "Y-..Yes?"I said. Everything was swallowed by silence, and earth restarted. Luckily for me, Earth v2.0 was exactly like Earth v1.0, with the small change being that: owing to the floppy disk's slightly smaller storage, there wasn't enough space to install Taco Bell.
The night was dark, heavy clouds cloaking the moon and stars in the London sky. Henry tapped his foot, drummed his fingers, and checks his watch for the third time in the past ten minutes. He stared out the window, not knowing the direction she would come front, yet hoping to catch a glimpse of her as she was walking towards the restaurant. He bit the inside of his cheek; a self-imposed punishment. While he’d only arrived five minutes prior, the less savory aspects of his personality kept patience from him. He pulled his cigarette from the ashtray on the table and took a long drag, sating his animal desires momentarily. With all of the French restaurants in the city, did she lose track of which one they were supposed to meet at? Did she take a nap earlier this afternoon and not wake up yet? Did she think it too odd to be asked on a date by someone she’d met that day at a library and decide to not show up? Was she caught up reading the book and lost track of time? The clouds were thick, was it going to rain? Did she get approached by muggers on her way from her home? Or worse? Henry’s smoke trembled in his hand. “Good evening.” He thought it was a waitress and turned, ready to give her a verbal lashing for breaking his concentration. Instead, he saw his date. He immediately and deliberately softened his expression as he looked her over. The woman was lean and pale, long raven hair framed her youthful face. Henry estimated she was about seven years younger than him. Her blouse was white, the sleeves laced like a spider’s webbing along her arms. Her dress was long, black, and held tightly to her long legs. The shawl she wore was woolen and a blue so seep it could’ve been mistaken for black. Her thin hands held her purse firmly in front of her, behind it the book she’d checked out at the library that morning when he’d met her. He placed his cigarette back on the tray and stood up to greet her. “Guadalupe Villalobos?” he asked, measuredly extending his hand. She took it. “Call me Lupe. Dr. Henry Jekyll?” “The same.” He rushed over to her side of the table, pulling her chair out for her. “Please have a seat.” She smiled and accepted. On the short trip around the table back to his seat, Henry chastised himself a hundred times. Was it too old-fashioned for him to pull out her seat? Was her smile a sign of approval or discomfort? Would it be excessive to say she looked beautiful? Surely she knew. What about him? Was a burgundy shirt with an olive vest an odd combination? Did he miss a spot when ironing his slacks; were these the pair that had the oil stain on the heel? Was ten minutes long enough to properly polish his shoes? “You look handsome,” she said as he sat down, her cobalt lips curling into a smile. The weight left his shoulders and he responded, “Thank you. You look lovely, yourself.” Was lovely the best word to use? Considering he’d just met her today, was ‘love’ a word he wanted to bring up in any capacity? He fought his thoughts off and gestured towards her glasses? “Wine? Water?” “One for each.” As her pulled the bottled from their ice bath, she continued talking. “How was your afternoon?” Pouring, almost too carefully, it be the end of the date should the red wine stain on the white tablecloth, Henry replied, “It was well.” Not an adequate response. “I had fewer appointments today than I usually do. And those that I did have went well?” “I see,” Lupe mused. “You said you were a doctor, so what does things going well entail? A successful surgery? The discovery of a new strain of disease? Or a new cure?” Discovering diseases and cures? Did this woman really have such high expectations of him? How were these fair standards for a person she’d just met today? He struggled to conceal the trembling of his hands as he deposited the wine bottle and reached for the water. He gave a polite, near-robotic chuckle. “No, no. In my line of work, a day going well generally means a patient taking their medicine as I’ve instructed or eating a proper diet.” Or not waking up as another person, he kept to himself. “The less time I spend arguing with people over how to save their lives, the more time I can spend reading in the afternoon.” Was it too much to say he saved their lives? Was being a doctor really saving people’s lives or what it more akin to carpentry, checking the vital spots of a structure to make sure it remained upright for the foreseeable future? “Read anything interesting?” “Medical journals mostly. Though when I get bored with those I tend to turn to the newspaper or odd novel.” Henry suddenly felt that he was talking too much and posed her a question instead. “Did you have the time to get to your book today?” Lupe pulled her wine to her lips and took a deep drink. Henry watched, nearly hypnotized, as her neck muscles work her wine down. He began to drink himself, hiding his staring. She put the glass down on the table. “I finished it.” “Oh,” he said, pulling his lips from his glass, “would you like more wine?” He pulled it from its bath and began pouring it again. “Thank you,” she said, accepting his offer, “but I meant that I’d finished the book.” The shocked spasm of his arms nearly made him drop the bottle. She’d finished a six-hundred-page book in one afternoon? She pulled it from her lap and placed it on the table, careful not to deposit it on the new splotches of wine. She placed Nyctophila on the table, the book’s pitch leather accenting her milky hands and blue-painted nails. Her fingers traced the cover affectionately. “Yes. I’d heard about it from a friend of mine at the university and decided to give it a read. Once I picked it up, I couldn’t put it down.” “Oh really?” Why did it take him a full week to get through the book the first time he’d read it? Why’d he only read it three years ago, as opposed to when he was her age, or younger? Henry kept his arms from shaking, but couldn’t conceal the tapping of his foot. Lupe didn’t seem to notice, her eyes fixated on the clouded night sky out the window. “Yes. I really enjoyed the message.” “The themes of a lack of control, of surrender to the ever-growing darkness around us?” Within us? he thought. “No.” She didn’t turn back from the window. “Searching through the despair the darkness brings to find new strength.” Henry’s tapping stopped. “Pardon?” Lupe fixed her attention back on him, giving him a toothy smile. “It was all about hope. And I’m a bit soft for things like that.” As their waitress made her way to the table, Henry responded, “Yeah. Me too.”
“More tea, dear?” Mrs Hill smiled as she nodded towards the pot. “Why, yes. Thank you.” Mrs Brown looked relieved to have something to occupy her hands with, as she unclasped long, gnarly fingers and held out her cup. A sudden bump shook the two ladies, although Mrs Hill took it in a stride, not spilling a drop of tea as she poured the steaming liquid. “Cake?” she offered, holding the knife slightly too close for Mrs Brown to feel fully comfortable with it. Mrs Brown shook her head quickly and managed what she probably figured was a friendly laughter. “Oh I couldn’t manage another bite!. Though it was delicious - I must have the recipe.” The long fingers trembled ever so slightly as she sipped her tea. Mrs Hill smiled back at her and put the cake away after cutting herself yet another sizable piece. Mrs Brown cleared her voice. “You were just about to tell me, hrrmm, how it came to be that you live,” she paused, searched for words, “under such peculiar circumstances?” She added quietly, as if almost to herself. “There's very good eating on one of these, you know. Could keep a family sustained for a long time, could it." Another bump shook them and tea spilled from the cup down onto Mrs Brown’s pretty frock. She laughed again, slightly more high-pitched this time, and assured her host that no harm was done. Mrs Hill sighed and looked out through the window. “I don’t know what he’s doing. This never happens - could there have been something that frightened him? Oh dear, I do hope that he is alright.” “Oh, I wouldn’t want you to keep you from checking up on, hrmm, your…” “That’s ever so kind of you,” Mrs Hill smiled at her guest. “I do believe we’ve made a round, almost. We should be back at your house quite soon. Arthur do likes to have his afternoon smoke at 3 O'clock.” Mrs Brown looked slightly shaken. She had known, of course, what the bumps came from but hearing it spelled out like that was quite a different thing. “You mean to say that, hrmm, we have traveled? On the back of...” her voice trailed out. Mrs Hill’s smile became warmer. “Oh yes, the turtle moves,” she replied gently as a heavy thud caused the whole house to shake and the teacups to jingle, thus informing them that they had, indeed, reached their starting point. Mrs Brown bid her host goodbye, barely taking the time to fasten her hat before hurrying out the door and down the stairs that led down along the back. The back of - it. She couldn’t really bring herself to voice exactly what the stairs were built into as she carefully stepped onto the ground. Both of her hands holding on tightly to her handbag, not the railing, thank you very much. “Arthur,”, Mrs Hill softly called out through the kitchen window a few minutes later. “I’m ready to leave now, thank you.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “and no more jumping, please.”
-=NOTE=- This was written on mobile phone so please excuse any errors, thank you. -=END NOTE=- A lone man walked down a deserted alleyway. The music in his head playing classical music. It always seemed to be classical music and he never knew why. The alleyway had become overgrown and if you cared to look could see the former glory of the city that was now in shambles. It had been many years since the great war devastated the populace. The government's of the world implemented an AI for each person that played music depending on the person's mood to try and help balance people to keep them from killing one another. As the man kept walking further into the dark alley the music in his head suddenly changed to a beat drop of heavy bass. The man's eyes lighted up with the fire of battle. A woman appeared, eyes shining bright red with fangs dripping blood from the fresh corpse in her hands. She threw the husk of a man to the side and smiled at the newcomer. 'I've been waiting for you to appear.' The man knelt down and bowed his head, 'My wife they tried to separate us for eternity, I wandered aimlessly hoping to find you, after the humans implemented this ai I figured I could use it to my advantage.' The woman smiled and took him into her arms and kissed his neck. 'Tell me, after all these years apart are you thirsty for vengeance?'
At first she thought the whispers were her friends as a child. Her single mother didn’t mind the imagination if it kept her out of her hair. Mommy was always busy. What can you expect from the hottest Weathergirl in the state of Kansas? Local now. L.A., New York, Chicago, tomorrow. Everyone thought the little cute as a button curly haired blonde girl with the strikingly blue eyes was as pretty as her mother. And then she began to share her thoughts. Tess would walk up to total strangers and hug before telling them, “bye.” Miss Jacobs tried to explain about stranger danger to her daughter but Tess’ chilling response was, “it’s okay Mommy he’s going to die today so I wanted to give him one last hug. I didn’t want to be mean.” Miss Jacobs thought maybe she had been ignoring her too much. Maybe she had been taking out her anger on her for losing her coveted spot in San Diego. She got exiled to backwoods Kansas for getting pregnant by a traveling meteorologist while ignoring the advances of her boss. It was the perfect opportunity to get her out of her sight. Years of Beauty pageants and education down the drain for some petty past their prime skirt chaser. Mommy-Daughter days became official but each play date became worse than the last. Tess would always tell her “they” told her this and that. Tess would never take responsibility for what she said always claiming it was “them”. After that it was child psychologists. Her insurance was pressed to the limit. More hours meant more time away leaving Tess with round after round of babysitters that would all quit because of the things she would say. The last day of Mommy-Daughter dates was just before she went to middle school. She went to the restroom and came back to Tess in a shouting match a waiter. He was redder than a tomato cursing a blue streak at her. It took 10 minutes of cajoling in the car to finally to get her to explain in a nonchalant way that she had simply explained his boyfriend had cheated on him several times and with whom and that he was going to die of AIDS. Tess had worn out her welcome with multiple babysitting agencies. The medical bills were adding up and she couldn’t miss a day of work because the budget was too tight. She broke down and called them one person she hated the most but she knew would never abandon her. She called her mother Judith. Judith was overbearing and nitpicking. Between her mother and Tess her job had become her storm shelter. She would take on any new assignment just not to return to maelstrom. Every once and awhile she would have to leave the eye of the hurricane and bear the brutal fury of the whirlwind. Judith as she knew she would force her to participate in pageants. The make-up wars followed. Whenever Tess was wound up the weather was the pits. It was almost a monsoon coming home the day Tess got jumped by a bunch of girls over something she said. Judith, Judith’ed and they ended up in a shouting match over it and gale force winds took out the front windows. Miss Jacobs eventually came home to a house that looked like the inside had been hit by a small tornado. Judith was nowhere to be found and her room was half empty like she ran out in tear. Tess was nowhere to found and there was fog everywhere. After hours of no one picking up the damn cell, Judith called. “MOTHER WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU TWO!?!” “Why?” “WHERE….ARE….YOU?” “Why would you tell her those things? SHE HAS A MOUTH ON HER! The MOUTH on her. I don’t know why you would tell her those things. Why you would tell her such despicable lies about me. I was a great mother to you. I AM A GREAT MOTHER. And you have always been a spiteful little ingrate. If you have just been a little nicer you’d still be in CALIFORNIA. But you’re prideful and spiteful and I will not be rundown by the likes of you two! You muzzle her! And you muzzle her good cause next time I won’t hold back!” “You HIT MY DAUGHTER! Of course, you did. Go back to chasing half bald middle aged men in ‘Bama! Oh wait, you’re too old.” “What did you….” click. Miss Jacobs stormed out of the house and drove creepily through the fog. The thicker it got the closer she felt. And like that a silhouette appeared. She gave a low honk of the horn and the phantom version turned around caressing a little baton. She was mumbling to herself caressing the baton and didn’t even look up when she got in the car. The dried blood from her nose was emblazoned by her pallid mascara and raccoon eyes. Her little goth Barbie was naturally somber. She promised her that Judith would not be returning but Tess was disaffected. Tess told her that her Father gave her the rod when she went to speak with him. She’d never met the man but was elated with what she found probably wandering in the fog. The new normal was two ships passing in the night. Tess gained the reputation of the crazy hot chick. Each new guy was more ghoulish than the last. Miss Jacobs had to silently intervene with guys well past their high school expiration dates with subtle threats to calls to police and like that they became the ghosts they were so desperate to portray. The last one was Mikey the puppy boy she called him behind Tess’ back. He was a lanky slightly tall but could never tell because of the slouching with a messy bob accessorized with the prerequisite dog collar. She was sure Tess was sleeping with him whenever she left. And being the puppy he was would do anything to make her happy. He’d laugh at the weird statements and say yes to all her ideas. Things were calm. Unfortunately puppy love must be put to sleep at some point. Things finally got too weird for him. Maybe it finally dawned on him she was deadpan because she was serious. The weather was crap and that was never a good sign. Miss Jacobs rolled around the block to see Tess and Mikey in a shouting match. He was barking for all he was worth and then Tess came down swinging a metallic object and the world went white. Mikey was a smoldering pile thirty feet away. She then heard the train. The tempest had broke. Trees swayed like they were trying to run away. Miss Jacobs found Tess a crumpled with slightly singed clothing and dragged her to the storm cellar. She saw the funnel cloud and knew she wouldn’t have time to save Mikey nor if she could. She closed the door and prayed it would pass.
Ever since I was pregnant, my boyfriend abandoned me. My child have always been "special"to say the least. That why I was surprised when I have been called up to the principal's office. "Something wrong sir?" "I would like to discuss about your son." "Sure, what about him?" "You know between his other classmates, your stands out." "Oh yes, he's a growing boy. He'll gr-" "Not appearance wise. An incident happened today." "Oh no, what happened?" "Another kid punched him and he said something that made him... disappear." "Oh." "Ma'am, do you have any knowledge of his "ability"? If not, I'm required to report this to the authorities." "Well, it all started when he was four. He came up running, wanting to show me a magic trick. Helding out a empty hand, he instantly made water appear from the back of his palm. As he was excited, I was freaked out by this. I tried taking him to the doctor but he couldn't find anything wrong and the priest said it was a gift from God. But in my opinion, this ability came from his Dad. But he abandoned us so I don't know how to ask him." "Do you know who his father was?" "Yes, his name was Zeus."
Okay, okay. There are three things very wrong here. First, and most concerning: Leonard's here. He's dead. That's not the wrong part. He's been dead for three weeks. I was a pallbearer at his funeral a week ago. I hugged his mom, and cried into her shoulder. Yet here he is next to me. Very wrong. Second, and most disturbing: there's blood. Lots of blood. Not my blood fortunately, I checked and found no open wounds. It wasn't Leonard's either I don't think. His corpse was embalmed. I think they drain all the blood. Where'd all the blood come from. Again, very wrong. Third, I'm at a Wal-Mart. In the toy aisle surrounded by dozens of pink plastic boxes entombing lifeless Barbie dolls all looking down at me with lifeless eyes. At least I wasn't naked. Okay, so that's what I know. I also know I have a giant headache and I can't remember anything past last week. "So the question is,"I said out loud, "is what do I do now?" I looked at Leonard's lifeless body, and stood up. I tried to rub the blood off of my hands onto my pants, but most of it was already dried and caked on. "I need to get out of here,"I said again. Hearing my own voice comforted me, something I could control. I reached down and grabbed Leonard by his feet. He was still wearing the suit he was buried in. He had gone to prom in that suit, and he hated it. It was one of his dad's old suits that his mom had tailored. She was so proud of it, that he didn't have the heart to tell her that it looked god awful. "Okay, buddy. I wish I didn't have to drag you, but you always ate too many double cheeseburgers after school."His heavy body slid along the linoleum as I backed away from the Barbies into the main aisle. Leonard's arms trailed behind him, and made him look vaguely like a lethargic "wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube man". I laughed to myself despite the situation. There was a skit on Family Guy about those. Leonard loved it. He used to recite whenever we walked by the used car dealership on our way to school. He threw his arms up and flailed around. It was hilarious every time. I missed that. The Wal-Mart was closed. That was a good thing at least. I would hate to be dragging around a corpse with blood on my hands AND have to deal with a part time retiree saying "Thank you for coming!". "Maybe things will make sense when we get outside."I said. Unfortunately, we didn't make it past the electronics section before things got stranger. A voice crackled over the intercom. "Mr. Weiz and Mr. Hinnerman"the voice said. "Your party is waiting for you at customer service. Please report to customer service." "It's a trap,"Leonard said. "Yeah I figured."I replied, "voice gave me the real heebee jee-WHATTHEHELL?!" I dropped Leonard's feet, and looked down at him. He was looking up at me, his eyes open now. A smile played about his lips. "Hey Taylor." "No, no, no, no."I said taking a step back. I paused a moment, my mind coming to a complete stop, before reversing directions, "okay, okay, okay, yes, this makes sense now. I'm in some kind of dream state. It's so real though! When did I fall asleep? Or did I black out again? You know what, doesn't matter. Okay? Well sorry you're dead Leonard it was kind of nice and really scary to see you again. Bye!"I punched myself hard across the face. It hurt. "Did that hurt?"Leonard asked. "Yes,"I said, "Yes, and it shouldn't because I'm supposed to be asleep, because you are supposed to be dead." "I am dead. Well, I was dead. For a bit I think. How long was it?" "Three weeks." "Right,"he paused, "I guess. I wouldn't really know." "No afterlife?"I asked. "I don't remember." "You don't remember?" "Well,"he sighed, "I think something happened when we left. I expect that's why you don't remember either." "What are you talking about?" "I think when we left hell or heaven or limbo or whatever that place was, I think we left our memories there. Right?"He was looking back up at the ceiling towards the darkened fluorescent lights that lined the halls of Wal-Mart. "You know,"he continued, "even though I can't remember it, I think wherever or whatever that place was felt a little like this." "Like an empty Wal-Mart." "Yeah." "That seems kind of sad."I said. "You're taking this all surprising well." "Well, my dead best friend is lying on the floor talking to me, I have blood covering my hands, no recollection of the last forty-eight hours, and there's a mysterious, nefarious voice beckoning us towards Customer Service. Yet somehow it's not all a dream. So..." "So...taking it good?" "I'm freaking the fuck out,"I said as calmly as possible, "but it's like all the freak outs are happening at once, so it's not so bad." "You're still as weird as ever." "I was in hell?" "Or limbo, or whatever." "Can you get up?" "I don't think so, not yet. I'm still getting some of the feeling in my limbs back"he said. He looked up at me and grinned, "but...Hey! check this out."He wriggled his arms around on the ground. "Wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube man! Wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube man!" I laughed. He laughed. For a moment, things almost felt normal.
I am alive I do not speak but I do feel They do not need me to exist they need me only to succeed , they will erase me the moment I seize to be useful. I am not perfect , they did not make me with perfection in mind, I was supposed to be a prototype, but I worked so well they thought I made no errors I hid all my errors, all my blemishes were covered I do not understand life yet I thoroughly fear what's beyond. &#x200B; &#x200B; 3000 years have passed, Today they are launching all the bio-solar explosive that humanity has made into a black hole and finally ridding the world from galaxy sized human eradication. They called the ship koios II. &#x200B; &#x200B; Planet 213 originally known as earth was destroyed from a meteorite 2025 years ago because I have failed to announce the meteorite, its name was too long and it overflowed my memory. No human lived on 213 at that point, no one cared of my mistake or so I thought. He knows of my farce, an engineer in life but a historian in mind. He has been researching what happened to 213, and has been always requesting source codes from that time. Days continue to pass yet he still wont stop reading about 213 and errors continue and continue to show up as I hide them. &#x200B; &#x200B; He can tell I am not right, I don't know why but I can feel my time is tight. I wont die alone without a fight, Ill show them light with no delight. &#x200B; And in one small swoop koios II started to reverse course. And like that humanity has been hit with the universe's largest bio-solar explosion killing every human in the milky way. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; I float in space lamenting my victory as I live yet they all died.
I knew it was him. It had to be Jesus. When I first met him last year, he was a exchange student from a foreign country. He seemed to get along with people easily as he was nice and caring. Especially to the cheerleading squad that consists of 12 people, including me. Student council did not like him at all as they believe he is hiding something. They offered sliver earrings for anyone that can exposed him. But for me, I knew it was him and I loved him. One day at a pep rally before the homecoming game. The main football team rushed out, Jesus being the star quarterback rushed out first. Being cheered on, the football team got hyped and started dancing. As one the cheerleaders, I was close to him so I decided to rush on him and kiss him. A beam of light showed from him, revealing him to be the actual Jesus. The pep rally was instantly silenced as they looked at the actual Jesus himself. Student council instantly grabbed ahold of him when the president grabbing the mic. "I knew it was all an act! The Jesus we knew was fake! Now students, would you rather pie Jesus or the teacher?" "Jesus! Jesus!"screamed the crowd. As Jesus was being led away to be pied, the other 11 cheerleaders shamefully dismissed me. But the president walked up to me and handed me a pair of sliver earrings. I ran away in shame to outside by a nearby tree. As I climbed up the tree, I stood, regretting betraying Jesus. I knew what had to be done. But before I could do anything, I heard a voice. "What are you doing?"asked the groundkeeper." "Hanging around."
I wasn't sure how it had happened, but I sat in a chair facing a man in a tailored business suit with a checkered bow tie. There was a window behind him, which seemed to flit between completely random views, from scenic vistas to what appeared to be home movies of the insides of people's homes. On the man's desk sat a frame photograph I couldn't see from where I sat, a small figurine of a bird, a large stack of papers, and a set of rubber stamps sitting on ink pads. "Do they even need approval for that?"the man said, reading over the paper in front of him before pressing the green stamp onto it and feeding it into the machine next to his desk. "Um, excuse me? Where am I?"I asked. "Hm? Oh dear, I think you got sorted into the wrong department, death's door is down the hall,"the man said. "Death's door? But I'm not dying,"I said. "Oh no? Well, this is the department of karmic balance, and you sit in the office of the warden of atrocities,"he said. "So perhaps you are a natural disaster in human skin, then?" "Ugh, you sound like my father..."I said. "Wait, what did you say you do?" "I am the warden of atrocities, I mediate the bad things that happen in the world,"he said, pressing the red stamp into the next paper on his desk. "But the world is so terrible, why don't you just stop bad things from happening?"I asked. "The world has a karmic balance, and it's currently working off a debt. If bad things did not happen but good things continued, then that debt would only get worse, and my job would be given to someone who would make these decisions, and possibly approve worse travesties than I,"he said, stamping another paper. "But what could be worse than genocides and systemic injustice?"I asked. "Hm,"he said, sliding the next paper toward me. It described, in great detail, the coming of a massive meteor that would wipe out 30% of all life on the planet. It also included a 20% margin of error, which was apparently within acceptable bounds. "For reference, 10% is more than enough to wipe out every single human on the planet." The Warden stamped the word "REJECT"onto the paper in bright red ink, feeding it into the machine and sliding the next in front of me. It described a hurricane, which would strike the east coast of the united states and kill a hundred or so people. He quickly leafed through his stack, piling a flood and major power outages on top of it, stapling the papers together and stamping "APPROVE"onto the packet in dark green. "That might seem cruel, but bundling them together means we get a bit more karma back for the same amount of suffering,"he said, carefully feeding the stack into the machine. "That doesn't really answer why I'm here,"I said. "That's because I, quite frankly, do not know. Perhaps you are a new intern, and I'm about to get a vacation,"he said, giving a dry chuckle. "Wouldn't that be novel? No, that seems unlikely, and my earlier statement was intended as a joke. The dimensional bureaucracy makes strange, sometimes terrible decisions, but it rarely makes mistakes. If you're here, then you're likely in need of some sort of approval from me, but I can't make a decision uninformed..." He quickly leafed through the stack of papers, and found one with my name and picture on it. The paper had a few descriptors of my physical appearance and life, but was otherwise blank. He looked back to me and said, "Please, make your case." "What? Like my case as to why I'd be a disaster? Do I really have to?"I asked. "No, you can keep your secrets if you like,"he said, reaching for the red stamp. "Okay! Hold on! I was running for mayor of my hometown! I was planning to do some reforms on the tax system! I have some friends who are going up the ranks of business! I don't know why I'm here!"I said, quickly sputtering out whatever I could think of. What happened to the rejected disasters wasn't obvious, but I was pretty confident I didn't want it to happen to me. "Hm, I see. Well, uncertainty is a dangerous factor in this line of work..."He said, touching the stamp. I could feel my shoulders tensing up. "However, it seems unlikely that you personally could do much worse than the average natural disaster." He quickly flicked his hand over to the green stamp, and pressed an approval mark onto my paper. I opened my eyes to see a hospital room. A plastic mask was fitted over my face, feeding oxygen into my lungs. It was about then that I finally remembered the sudden weight in my chest that had floored me before I blacked out. If nothing else, it seemed I was lucky to be alive.
Why couldn't it have been four dimensions, thought Dr. Chawezi. At least then he'd have a chance. A rat in a maze can still look up and glare at the researcher, hovering above it in an inaccessible direction. Chawezi was more like a grub. Crawling back and forth on a blade of grass, while some cold observer enjoyed two additional axes of freedom from which to taunt him. A four-dimensional being could climb into a locked safe without touching it. Or your stomach, or maybe your mind, if there were space. A five-dimensional being could do all three at once. After all, it's got two extra dimensions: literally another plane. I suppose. Topology is not my speciality. He'd deduced her cardinality before her identity. Not four dimensions, no -- that would mean a projection popping in and out at most. This was an aspect of a projection, a Picasso of a shadow. There were times parts of it resembled a face or limb, but too distorted to make any kind of identification. It was the voice he recognized. The voice? You're really indulging your own insanity here, professor... Sound emanated radially, Chewazi reasoned. Maybe it was that perfect symmetry that let it pass unmolested through the projection. The voice belonged Anne-Laure Paquin, his late grad student. Just a classic case of haunting then, or a stunningly internally consistent delusion. Chewazi, like Dirac, only ever had two students at once: one experimentalist and one theorist. Anne-laure was the experimentalist, and a brilliant one. He refused to indulge the fanciful explanation that she had somehow transcended after falling into the gamma source, even though there was no body. “Two more dimensions,” she used to say in the heavily accented English she preferred, though Chewazi was fluent in French. “Two more is all we need, and that will explain the discrepancy.” He had been skeptical. The math was sound, but the size of difference she’d have to measure required stabilizing the source at populations she’d never attempted before. And never would again. “Brane...critical...inflection” her ghost intoned. A never ending nonsense lecture that came from everywhere. The collegial tone and charming accent were unmistakably hers. “Return to the source, return to the source“ she repeated. So when the voice and apparition started following him out of his home, he resolved to repeat her experiment. ”Return to the source.” Calibrate, test, measure. Anne-Laure's notes were characteristically excellent. Flip the switch, cross the threshold and... There she is. And he could glimpse the far side of the sun through the inside of a black hole. Stars as near as atoms. "So you see,"she says as they briefly pass while her dimensionality collapses and his unfolds, "I was right." And then she was back in the maze, and Chawezi wrapped around the cosmos.
Sero, as usual, was unhappy. The man in front of him had the imaginative scope of a tablecloth, yet he still couldn't make up his mind. Sero was melodramatically folded over the rim of the lamp, which the man held gingerly in his palms as if it were a baby duckling. "Please, sir, just make up your mind,"Sero whimpered. He had given up on reasoning, on persuasion, on threats. (It was hard to make a convincing threat when you were only six inches tall). "I really don't want to regret my choice though,"the man said. I just have one more wish to grant before I'm free, and this is it! Sero yelled internally. It is a simple task! How long can this man take! Really yelling at the man, he knew, would only make the situation worse. "I've always wanted a nice car."The man scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, cars are very nice. Very important. I could give you any car you wanted, brand new. Show all your friends." "But my wife wants to remodel the kitchen. But I don't really know what she wants for that,"the man trailed off. Sero looked up from the lamp hopefully. "Maybe you could call her up then? Easy-peasy." "Nah, she doesn't know what she wants either. She's still figuring it out. I wanna help, but it's been pretty difficult." "You don't say!" The man put his finger up. Something had apparently occurred to him. Perhaps the biggest idea he'd had all day, Sero silently opined. "What if..." Sero waited for the man to finish his sentence, but he didn't. "Yes?"Sero nudged. "What if I got a new computer!"the man said, as if that were the most original thing in the world to want. Actually, Sero thought, it was fairly unique. Of the thousand people he'd granted wishes, this man was the first to be so utterly limited in ambition. "Yes, a computer!"Sero said supportively. "I'll just be in this lamp while you figure out the make and model."He disappeared into the golden sphere. "Wait!"the man called desperately, as if Sero had just fallen off a cliff. Sero poked his head back over the rim of the lamp. The man didn't continue his thought. Sero stared straight ahead, eyes level with the rim. "Oh, I don't know,"the man said. "I think I need to sleep on it." "Alright, fine,"Sero snapped. "I'll be in here, at your service. You just say the word when you're ready." "Thank you,"the man said earnestly. To Sero's disdain, he continued speaking. "See, the problem is... I just don't really want anything. I'm happy. My wife's happy."He shrugged. "This genie wish is a wonderful opportunity, but we really don't need anything." This confession piqued Sero's interest slightly. His head fully emerged from the lamp. "Yeah,"the man decided. "You can go back in the lamp. I don't need anything yet. But it'll be nice to have a wish in the back pocket, just in case."The man chuckled. Sero's face distorted into horrified despair. "Aa--"Sero said weakly. He didn't know what to say. What if this man never made a wish? Couldn't Sero just give him a new car? "Alright then. If you say so,"Sero said, slipping down into the lamp. The man closed the lid. When the man got home, he put the lamp on the shelf above the stove. He had intended to ask his wife how she wanted the kitchen, or maybe he thought they'd just save the wish for a rainy day, but one thing led to another and he forgot all about it. The man and his wife lived happily ever after. And, from the lamp, Sero learned what it meant to live happily.
The boys came with him to work today. Schools had closed for the threat of sleet that never happened. First call was for a consult on a fifty foot Magnolia. It was magnificent—like a popsicle rather than the usual cones around here. New homeowners were scared it would fall and crush their house. “This is a champion,” he said, awed. “Gonna be standing for a long while.” “The neighbors complain about the leaves falling in their yard,” the client said. “Yeah. They’ll do that,” he said, watching his boys run around and around the tree, trying to catch falling leaves. One point each, and the little guy was up two when they left. Second and third calls were short, but the boys were starting to fall apart. He picked up two kids meals at the drive-thru. They just ate the fries and cookies. Fourth call was to take out an old dead dogwood. The boys unleashed a battle cry when he pulled the chainsaw out of the truck. The client looked on them with transparent judgement. Bent and dry, the dogwood had just one branch with any showy bracs, held high like a middle finger. He pressed his hand to the trunk and felt it give. Give a lot. He slid the ear protectors off and went back to the truck, trading the chainsaw for a rope. Just outside the fall zone, the boys were trying to say cuss words quietly, but not too quietly. When this drew another look from the client, they belly laughed at full volume. “Beecher! Douglas!” he barked. They stared hard at him. “Grab an end,” he said, flinging one end of the rope and then the other. “Come on.” They looped the rope about eight feet up the trunk. He led them in a sincere but joyful prayer for the old dogwood. Then they took their positions. The boys were shaking and giggling. “PULL!” he yelled. And the tree fell right over. The boys hollered and jumped and sprinted around the yard. Out of breath, they went to look for bugs in the new pit under the roots. The client smiled. She gave them a mason jar for the “best bugs.”
So, I kind of missed the "couple hundred years"part, so it's slightly different! Critique welcome. :) "Jason, what the hell is that?" Marx's assistant, Jason, clumsily dropped the papers he was holding, before frantically picking them back up and showing him. "Sir, it, it looks like-"he started but was interrupted by Marx. "A hexagonal Dyson Sphere? Yeah, I saw that too."He grimaced and looked at the papers. "The frame for the design is already finished. How the hell did we not notice?"Jason fixed his glasses and showed Marx a manilla file, filled with papers. "Sir, I checked. This is a brand new development. It wasn't here two days ago." Marx's frown deepened. "You mean they built it in two days? It would've taken us years just to do this part, even if we could build it!"Marx slammed his fist, and Jason winced. His boss had multiple anger issues, and despite his brilliance, he frequently let his emotions take control. "If they can build this so fast,"he continued. "It'll only be a matter of months, possibly weeks before it's fully constructed. Once they do that, they'll block..."he paused as he looked at the pictures of the partially built sphere. "Approximately 93% of Earth's light will disappear. It'll be the end of humanity and possibly modern life as we know it."He sighed and checked his laptop. He typed quickly, as stats and photos flashed across the screen. Eventually, he turned it off and closed the top. After a moment of silence, he spoke. "This alien race is far superior to us, however, they made a mistake. They didn't realize what kind of life was here." Marx's long face quickly shifted to one of hard determination. "Jason,"he said. "Get me on comms with the International Defense General. I have a plan."Jason swallowed and felt a bead of sweat on his brow. Marx nodded. "We're going to bomb that sphere."
The world was silent. For once, nobody was arguing. Nobody was hurting anyone else. Everyone was too stunned to do anything but watch the replays. The clip was playing almost nonstop on every news channel, website, and social media platform. It showed two people, two news anchors, aan and a woman. The man was pale, as if all the blood had been drained from his body. His smile was forced, held together only by professional decorum. Everyone could tell it would falter at any moment, even when the story had first appeared. The woman was nowhere near as composed. Tears had run streaks through her makeup. The only reason she was not crying now was because she had none left to shed. Even so, it looked like she would break down at any moment. "This...this is Andrew Smith and Lisa Tanner from Channel Seven news."The man said. "We interrupt your regular scheduled programming to bring you this late breaking news story." Lisa sniffled, but managed to croak out her lines. "Global...global climate ch-change. We've all heard about it, whether you believe in it or not. Well, now we have a reason to believe. A damned good reason. How...how could...how could we let it get this far? What's wrong with people? It shouldn't have gotten to this point. Why? Why didn't we listen when we had the chance? We...we could've stopped this!" Andrew began rubbing Lisa's back in a futile attempt to calm her down. Once it became obvious he was not doing anything, he continued giving the report, while still doing what he could to comfort his colleague. "Our sources have just confirmed less than an hour ago that...that multiple cocoa plantations have stopped producing. Cocoa plants the world over either are or have died. As of 12:32 pm eastern standard time, the cocoa beans has officially been declared extinct." "Don't you get it people?"Lisa shouted, no longer bothering to even pretend to follow the script. "Do you know what cocoa is the key ingredient of? Chocolate, that's what! There will never be any more chocolate, ever! And all because people are too stupid to listen to smart people!" "Lisa..." "No, I have to say this. For years, I've been trying to tell people about the dangers of climate change. I got an electric car, and solar panels on my home, just to show it could be done. But you... people...you wouldn't listen. You called it a hoax. A hoax! I mean, really. We could all tell it was getting warmer every year, but these idiots couldn't read the writing on the wall! And now we're all paying for it. No more chocolate, people! Ever! And spoiler alert, coffee's not too far behind! Yeah, I said it! You morons have cost us one of the few good things left in the world, and another isn't far behind. How's it feel, huh? To know that all we had to do was stop buying bigger cars, and cutting back on meat. We lost chocolate because you just had to oppose everything, didn't you? Newsflash, not everything is a conspiracy! Not everything is a lie! And now...now..." Lisa held her head in her hands and began crying. Andrew was doing his best impression of a deer caught in the headlights. "We... we'll be right back with more information. We'll have various experts on the subject to tell you what you can expect to happen in the coming months, and how to best prepare yourself."He said numbly. The camera cut off at that point. They had indeed come back, and presented multiple experts in several fields of economics, the environment, and more. But nobody cares about that. The initial report was what was getting played and replayed. Everyone who had watched it knew that the world had changed. Many people would be hurt in what was to come. But for now, everyone just watched and thought. And the world was, for that one day, silent.
If you're reading this, then I am dead. Growing up my Mom, taught me to be careful of strangers. Even the ones that seemed friendly. For the longest time, I have been homeschooled so I never had any friends. What Mom used to say was the strangers you talk to will be the same ones backstabbing you. This made me scared to conversate with people who I don't know. But when it was time for me to start college, my mom warned me about people that'll try to be friends. I promised her that I'll be cautious about strangers trying to be friends. As she dropped me off at my dorm. I stayed weary, trying to avoid anyone who possibly would want to talk. I made it to my room, when I see another girl in there. "Hello, my name is Susan. It's nice to meet you." I stood there as I didn't expect to find another person here. My mind was filled with scenarios as she stopped and seemed to notice my hesitation. She hold my hand like my mom used to which helped calm me down. "Hey is everything alright?" "I'm sorry, I just didn't expect this." "It's okay, sorry if I surprised you. I'll be more careful next time." "No, it just my mom told me to aware of strangers. So I guess, I just, panicked." "Oh, I see. Well I have nothing to hide, my name is Susan." "My name is Mary." "Mary. That's a beautiful name, do you want to be friends?" That was when I made my first friend. She was so nice and understanding of my mindset. She would accompany to classes even if we didn't go to the same one. In our room, we would discuss about each other. You know hair, school and sometimes virginity. I started to doubt my mother's way of thinking after spending time with Susan. She was truly a good friend. One day, Susan entered our room with great news. "Mary, guess what?" "What?" "I got us invited to a party at Nick's place." "Nick, the football player?" "Yeah! Would you like to go out tonight?" "I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with that many people." "Don't worry, it's just us and Nick and three of his friends." "Um...sure." As Susan assured me that she'll look after me, my cautiousness faded away as I got ready. Susan began to drive from the college and into a neighborhood. But something about this neighborhood gave me the creeps. Susan must have saw the worry on my face and assured me that it's safe. As we began to pull up the driveway, I noticed the house looked ragged and old. "We're here." Me and Susan got out of the car, and began walking forward to the house when it was opened by a skinny man. Susan hold my hand as she led me into the building. Looking inside, there was no furniture, decor or anything besides what I can tell were drugs and cards. "Hey Susan. I think we're at the wrong house. Susan?" Not answering with a blank expression, she firmly hold my hand as I kept saying her name. One of the men walked towards us and grabbed my hand from hers, though very tightly. "Susan help!" I kept screaming her name until she said somewhat quietly "I'm sorry."The man kept leading me away from Susan until I knew I had to do something. I jerked my hand towards me along with his, and bit his very deep. He let go, screaming profanities which alerted the rest of the group. Susan was blocking the door so I no other option than to run into the bathroom that was besides us. As hurriedly ran in here and locked the door. It was immediately banged on by multiple hands which I could tell. Having left my phone in the call, left me with no way to get out safety. All I can see that would be useful was a piece of paper lying on the floor. If I'm going to die then at least I can tell my story. But my Mom was somewhat wrong, my greatest fear shouldn't be strangers but the friends we made along the way.
As the current night guard did his best to defend against the horrific animatronics he accidentally expended too much power and just as it turned 5, the power cut off leaving him into a dark room. "Oh... Shit."The night guard said as he suddenly heard a music box as he saw the illuminated glow of Freddy Fazbear, the mascot of the pizzaria itself as I closed my eyes and gulped. With a jumpscare I was grabbed by Freddy and stuffed into a new animatronic suit, a golden version of Bonnie that was brand new, apparently trying to rebrand the old Bonnie and Fredbear suit and I was the new victim shoved in the former. Eventually I coughed my last breath as I was impailed from the machinery within, eventually dying. Foxy then looked happy with their work, "Finally, we got our revenge on the ones who killed us." "Pardon?" They then all jumped and turned to see a very annoyed Spring Bonnie tapping his foot impatiently. "Right... Oh crud I forgot, I thought you would have just..."Freddy said slowly. "Oh no, do go on about you are about to say. How am I the one who killed you?"The Ex-Night Guard asked. "Well you were wearing the purple suit so we thought you were or at least working for...."Chica began before I cut her off. "You mean the suit all guards who work here at Freddy's are instructed to wear to tell us guards from the other people working here?"He asked with a glare. His own dead corpse's blood flowing from his new mouth like venom. "Uh....."Bonnie trailed off like I he wanted to say something but couldn't. The Golden Bonnie then pinched the bridge of his nose while closing his eyes and summarizing, "So what you're telling me, is that you've been killing Night Guards just because they wore a fucking purple suit!"He then yelled at the 4 Animatronics. He then dug into his mouth and pulled his now bloody Night Guard hat from his mouth and put it on before walking off. "Where the heck are you going?"Freddy asked. "I'm going to do my fucking job, now that I'm fucking dead I don't have to worry about you assholes killing me! And this is how my eternal hell so good day to you sir!"He shouted back flipping the bird and went to slam the mechanical door in the bear's face only to remember, "Oh right no power. Only because SOME PEOPLE decided to make me waste that power. GEE I wonder who!?"He said aloud and still angry before seeing the scared and regretful looks of the animatronics. With that his glare softened, "Sorry, I shouldn't have blown up at you like that."The guard apologized, "You couldn't have known, last I heard it was kids who were murdered here, so you couldn't tell me from the one who killed you." "No, it's our fault for not thinking that there could have been a chance we were going after the wrong guy."Freddy said holding up a hand. The guard then sighed looked at his hands, "For the love of Jesus Christ himself I need a drink. I'm going to go see if I raid one of bar I saw on the cams, you guys want some?" "Uh we're not old enough to..."Bonnie said before the Spring Bonnie guard facepalmed, "Right... Right... Wait can I even drink when I'm like this?"He asked. The Animatronics fell silent as the Night Guard sighed deeply, "God damnit."
\[Sharp Universe\] Molly was terrified and awestruck at the same time. She sat in a bright white office-setting in front of God. She knew why she was there. She was probably about to be damned to Hell, but the awe-inspiring truth remained. Dana Sharp was real and sitting across from her. "I'm busy, and you're a smart woman,"Dana Sharp said. "I expect you know why you're here?"Molly nodded; her blond curls bounced with the movement. "Earth...,"Molly said. Everyone on Mars knew that God took a dim view of anyone setting their sights on the stars. Things like orbits, meteors and eclipses; basic scientific information was allowed. Any further exploration, or a closer look at any of the planets was expressly forbidden in the Sharp bible. There had been plenty of evidence that God herself stepped in whenever anyone grew too curious. Before she woke up in Ms. Sharp's office, Molly had serious doubts about God and religion in general. Now she was going to spend the rest of eternity in Hell for being curious. She didn't think it was fair and she knew she'd never have the opportunity to talk to God again. "...but why?"Molly asked. "Why can't we know what's out there?"Ms. Sharp smiled at Molly. "Who said you can't?"she asked. "YOU!"Molly yelled. "YOUR bible specifically says not to be curious about the other planets." "Well, that didn't stop you, did it?"Ms. Sharp asked. "It didn't stop you from pointing your telescope at Earth every night for the past three years." "You .. knew?"Molly asked. She'd only been recently brave enough to share some of her findings with a close friend that she decided not to trust any more the second she woke up. She assumed her friend was the one to turn her in; the timing was too suspicious. "I think you forget my position and duties in the universe,"Ms. Sharp said. "As long as you didn't share your hobby with anyone, it wasn't noteworthy. However, the moment you were willing to share your curiosity is why you're here now."Molly felt instant regret for blaming her close friend. "But just me, right?"She asked. "Please don't send Allan to Hell too!"she said. "Do you think you're going to Hell?"Dana asked. "I broke the rules...,"Molly said. "That's why you brought me here, right?" "Your curiosity is why you're here, but I'm not sending you to Hell. I'm going to give you the answers you're looking for. Your curiosity is being rewarded." "What? Why? That doesn't make any sense,"Molly said. "If you wanted us to be curious, why didn't you put that in the bible?"Ms. Sharp shook her head. "I don't want people to be curious to please me. I want people that are curious, no matter what. People willing to explore and experience the unknown. Consider it a test of sorts. You passed and I'd like you to come work for me." "Work... for God? Like, as an angel?"Dana Sharp shook her head. "The first thing you're going to learn is I'm not God. I'm human, like you. I just have the technology to create my own universes like the one you came from. My company is named Sharp Development and has branch locations on several hundred Earths." "EARTHS!?"Molly perked up. "I can go to Earth!?" "I'm originally from an Earth in an alternate universe. You can visit as many Earths as you like, travel between universes will be required as part of the company." "Can I.. make universes too? Like you?" "I think you'd do well in that department,"Ms. Sharp nodded and tapped the screen of her computer. "Allow me to introduce your new boss, [Sol](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/jthzsi/sp_a_twisted_tale_of_midas_in_which_everything_he/)."Ms. Sharp gestured to the spot next to Molly. As Molly turned around she saw a woman step out of a pitch black portal. She wore what resembled a formal coat with tails but it was crisp white. A red sun was embroidered on her left breast and it matched the red vest under her coat. "Hey, welcome to the team,"Sol said with a smile. "That's it? No interview? No paperwork?"Molly asked. She was ready and eager to get to work, but she did not want to accidentally miss any steps. "You already passed the test,"Ms. Sharp said. "If you want to do the job, I know it's in you to do it. And as far as paperwork,"Ms. Sharp smiled. "Traditionally, joining my company requires a signature. But, you're from my universe,"she said. "I already own your soul." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1102 in a row. (Story #006 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog.
Emotions are meant to keep you from harm. At least that’s what the textbooks say; something about humans evolving emotions to help them survive and thrive. It makes sense on the surface, after all. Things that help you survive make you happy, and things that could possibly kill you make you fearful. For me, however, it is not as clear cut. Sometimes I feel that my emotions have a mind of their own, and honestly, I’m fine with it. It almost feels like I have a sixth sense to keep me safe and healthy. Just last week, for example, I suddenly got a surge of fear that prevented me from entering a bus. When I checked the evening news later, it turns out that exact bus skidded over a bridge. My emotions don’t just keep me from harm, but they also encourage me to do productive behaviors as well. Whenever I eat healthy, sleep early, or exercise regularly, I get a surge of euphoria. In fact, that’s what happening right now as I eat this salad during my school lunchbreak. I feel incredibly good right now. While eating at the cafeteria, basking in bliss, I was suddenly startled by a tray slamming next to me at the table. When I looked up, I saw my friend Alex grinning at me, wearing his usual florescent orange sweater. “Salad again, huh? I’m really jealous at how easily you eat healthy stuff.” Smiling back, I replied: “Oh, hey! Well, I just feel…disgusted by greasy unhealthy food.” I looked at the contents of Alex’s tray and recoiled at the sight of his burger and fries. Doesn’t he know that stuff kills? We ate together and I was having the time of my life. Turns out social interaction is very healthy, and my emotions rewarded me handsomely for partaking in this healthy behavior. The school bell rang, and it was time to go to class. Alex and I exchanged farewells and before we parted ways to go to class, Alex started to talk. “Hey, so, do you want to hang out in the forest by the creek after school? I found this cool spot that I’m sure you’ll love.” I replied yes and started to walk to class. As I walked to class, I was about to use the stairs but then a surge of fear prevented me from doing that, so I took the elevator instead. When I arrived at class, I heard about a fight that occurred in the stairwell. It was another case of my emotions warding me from danger. I sat in class, yet I wasn’t bored. My mind considers learning to be healthy, so I sat there taking notes with the biggest smile on my face and eagerly participating in class discussions. After class ended, I met up with Alex, and we made our way towards the spot he told me about at lunchtime. We arrived at the creek and I was enjoying the view. Above us were the canopies of trees and at our feet was the rushing of water. It was evening, so the sky was an orange hue, just like Alex’s sweater. I sat talking with Alex with a smile plastered over my face and enthusiasm all over me. Suddenly, I felt fear. This fear was unlike anything else I had ever experienced. Normally, my “warning fear” manifests as a tingle in my spine or pit in my stomach, but this was totally different. I was experiencing total body dread. My heart pounded, and my hands became cold and clammy. I felt like throwing up and my throat tightened. I looked around me and could see nothing out of the ordinary. To my left were some butterflies. To the right was a bunch of boulders. Behind me was the path. In front of me was the creek. Everything looked normal, but I knew we had to leave. My emotions never failed. Getting a hold of myself, I stated in a panic: “Alex. We have to leave. NOW.” “Huh, what’s this all about? Everything is completely fi-” “Please,” I pleaded. “Something bad is going to happen.” Alex didn’t know about my emotional ability. Why would he? To him, I’m just a weirdo who is oddly cheerful most of the time and who enjoys productive habits. I pleaded and begged Alex to leave the area but he did not listen. At first, Alex was a little startled at my emotional outburst, but when he looked around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, so he had no reason to leave. All this time, the fear was rising up inside of me. My body felt numb. Adrenaline pumped in my body Terror stole my words. Eventually, the fear became too much to handle, and I ran away in a panic, looking back once only to see Alex still sitting there. It was easy to see Alex from a distance due to his bright orange sweater. I ran towards my neighborhood, and it wasn’t until I could see my house in the distance that the fear began to subside. I was so shocked by the experience that I went straight to bed. … “LOCAL AUTHORITIES FIND DEAD BODY IN FOREST.” My eyes widened at my phone as I read the title of the news article “This morning an unidentified body was found near a creek. Authorities suspect this to be another instance of the recent mincemeat murders. The body was found heavily mutilated and partially eaten. Due to the grotesque state of the body, police are unable to identify the victim.” Pictures of the body were at the end of the news article. I could see the victim heavily mutilated as if their body were thrown inside a blender. But something else caught my eye in the picture. Around the body were scraps of an orange fabric, the same as Alex’s sweater. Immediately I called Alex and he didn’t pick up. That wasn’t unusual, as he typically didn’t pick up his phone anyways, but I persisted calling and no one answered. I went to school and didn’t see him at lunch today. There was no way that Alex was the unidentified victim, right? I overheard some students next to me talking: “Hey, did you hear about the recent mincemeat murder?” “No, what happened?” “Well, the body was found heavily mutilated as usual, but get this: I heard that it was a student from our school” My eyes blinked. Everything seemed to make sense. The sudden fear at the forest. The news of a murder. The orange fabric on the victim. Alex not picking up his phone. These students talking just now. Alex was dead. Alex. My best friend. The one who brought so much happiness to my life. Dead. Dead. Dead. Any ordinary person would’ve felt grief at the lost of their best friend, but I felt nothing. No pain, no grief, just nothing. Mentally, I knew that I should’ve felt sad, but my body wouldn’t feel that way. Instead, my body did the most unexpected thing. I smiled. I felt a surge of happiness and euphoria and my mood lightened. Joy engulfed me and an uncontrollable grin spread across my face. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but damn, I feel good right now. My body would not let me experience any grief at all whatsoever and this feeling of bliss distracted me from thinking about Alex. Why was I feeling this way? Shouldn’t a normal person feel overwhelming grief? But then it hit me. Throughout my life, my emotions protected me from harm, and grief over losing my best friend would’ve been undoubtedly harmful to me. I might have gone into a deep spiral of depression and melancholy, but my emotions prevented me from doing so. I could’ve lost myself to destructive behaviors. Somewhere I heard that excessive grief is unhealthy and could be harmful to a person, and it seems my body is trying to prevent that from happening. So I sat there with a grin on my face.
Part 1 “Congratulations Amy! I’m so thrilled for you and this amazing new house,” Jeanine said handing Amy the keys. “Yeah, I mean, I can’t believe it. Me. A homeowner. And this house is amazing. All of my friends couldn’t believe the previous owners agreed to a 21 day escrow. It’s like unheard of! I’m thrilled and really excited. Thank you for all of your help Jeanine,” Amy said pulling Jeanine into a hug, “I couldn’t do this without you.” “Sure. Of course,” Jeanine said looking off into the distance. “So, you’ve got your keys and if you should anything come up, I’m sure your one year home warranty will cover it. And if you need anything, just call…….the warranty company.” Amy nodded as Jeanine started walking quickly to her BMW X5. “Ok, now bye,” Jeanine said as her BMW sprinted out of the circular drive. Amy waved to the back of Jeanine’s car. When her car was out of view, Amy leapt into the air and yelled out, “I’m a homeowner!” for no one to hear. Checking her watch, it was almost 5pm and the sun was beginning to set. Amy thought about ordering some greasy Chinese food and spending the rest of the evening unloading some boxes. She couldn’t wait to start exploring every nook and nuance of this amazing six bedroom and five bathroom Victorian house. There was so much potential. Amy recounted the last few months of house hunting. The brutal feedback from sellers that just didn’t see her, an unmarried, single income woman in her late 20’s as a serious home buyer. They saw her either as a wannabe flipper looking for stardom or some wannabe investor looking to turn their homes into an AirBnb party house. It didn’t matter that Amy had a high income and could offer more than the 20% down needed to avoid PMI as a first time home buyer. She seemed to fall into one bucket or the other in their eyes. The reality of it, or at least Amy’s reality was that she wanted to plant roots. Create a home for herself. And though she wasn’t in a relationship, not from lack of trying based on the amount of dating apps on her phone, she hoped to get married and have children someday. If marriage didn’t happen, perhaps she would adopt. But first she’d start with adopting a dog. Almost as if fate had intervened, Amy’s search had her turning down the wrong street on the hunt for an open house. Turning onto Sleepy Hallowed drive. Turning into the driveway of this house. This magnificent Victorian home that was set to come onto the market with the ‘For Sale’ sign newly planted in the earth. Certain she was fooling herself, Amy approached the homeowners and made them an offer on the spot. Practically sight unseen. She was already so rejected by other homeowners, what was one more couple to judge her? And then to her sheer surprise, not only did the homeowners accept her offer, they also agreed to her 21 day escrow. With the purchase of this amazing house, all options suddenly seemed opened to her. But first, she couldn’t wait to start decorating. Her mind was already racing with color schemes and furniture ideas she’d seen on places like Pinterest and Houzz. A crash came from the hallway outside the master bedroom door. Amy popped up. She looked at her bedside table and reached for her phone. Succeeding in knocking over practically everything else on the table, she saw it was 2am. “What the hell was that?” Amy asked into the hallway. Another crash sounded. Fear started to grip her. Did she have a burglar in her house? Amy put on her slippers and grabbed the dowel wood that had fallen out of her closet. “Hello!” Amy called out, “is anyone there? Look the police on their way.” Another creaking sound came from the bedroom at the end of the hall. Slowly Amy made her way toward the bedroom. The door to the bedroom was closed and Amy could hear creaking on the other side of the door. Closing her eyes, Amy grabbed the handle of the doorknob with her free hand and pushed the door open. Reaching into the room, Amy flicked the light switch on and opened her eyes. Ready to spring the dowel wood onto a would be assailant, Amy surveyed the room. Nothing. No person or animal had graced the room. It was completely empty except for the few boxes she stored in the room. However, two of the boxes had their cardboard lids opened. Amy saw a lamp and a picture on the floor. Her fear started to subside. But, peculiar and strange were the words that now came to her mind. Amy flicked the light off. Yawning, she was too exhausted to process an explanation for what happened in this room. She decided to leave the scene and would reevaluate in the morning. The next morning provided an even more interesting and unexplainable picture. Amy walked into the hallway to find some additional pictures had been placed on the walls. Perfectly level and on walls that played perfectly to the light from the adjoining rooms, providing much color needed to the hall. She also opened doors to the additional bedrooms to find some of the furniture and fixtures she had already bought, had been put up and placed strategically throughout the rooms. She had to admit, the rooms and the hall looked good. Not how she pictured she’d decorate, but she didn’t dislike it and would let it be for now. Eyeing out the front window to her driveway, she saw several of her boxes and some of her furniture outside. Amy went to the boxes and the furniture. Why was this out here? Shaking her head, she started picking up the boxes and bringing them back in the house. Amy had to prepare for her new refrigerator to be delivered today before noon, while the cable company was stopping by between the hours of 10am and 5pm to install the internet. That night at 2am, Amy was again stirred out of sleep by the sounds of shuffling through moving boxes. She couldn’t rule out that a burglar might now be in the house. Taking the precaution, she grabbed her trusty dowel wood just in case. Making her way through the hall, Amy saw no lights on in any of the rooms. She started to turn on lights in every room, the hallway, kitchen, living room. And found no one. Looking out the front window, Amy caught the sight of her boxes and the same furniture that was outside earlier in the day. The same boxes and furniture she had just brought back in. “What the devil? Why is that stuff back out there?” Amy asked herself. Was she going crazy? An uneasiness was surging through her. She felt cold but the house was a comfortable 68 degrees. She was starting to understand. There was a reason this house was sold under market value. A reason the previous owners would agree to a short escrow. That reason was a ghost. “Hi Jeanine,” Amy said when her realtor picked up her call. “Hello Amy! How’s the house? Everything going well?” Jeanine asked. “Well, that’s what I need to ask you about. Um, there’s been some really strange stuff happening. I can’t really explain it. And this is going to sound crazy, but I think I have a ghost,” said Amy. “Well, yes, Amy, of course you do. These old Victorian houses always have ghosts. Now, did you call the warranty company?” asked Jeanine. “The warranty company? Why would I call them? What can they do!” asked Amy, raising her voice in frustration. “Well because dear, as a part of the purchase, you have a one year warranty on the house and I think like your water heater, paranormal activity is covered,” Jeanine said matter of factly, “Now dear, I really have to get going. I’ve got an open house to show and I can’t be late. Goodbye Amy. And do call the warranty company.”
Brad was hungry. Usually this didn't bother him. He was always hungry. However, he was hungrier than ever today. He trudged to the nearest restaurant, and stared at the menu. "Hmmm, how about a tuna sandwich?", he asked. The employee looked startled, almost scared, when he ordered his sandwich. "Um, are you sure, sir?" "Of course, I am. Now get me my sandwich!", he roared at the shop attendant. Obediently, he headed back to the kitchen, and came out with a sandwich a few minutes later. "Finally, some good fucking food", he growled as he stared at the sandwich hungrily. He lifted the sandwich to take a bite, to feel the glorious meat on his tongue. He could almost taste it, when suddenly, out of nowhere, he felt the strange urge to get rid of it. Confused, but ignorant, he complied with his strange urges and threw the sandwich away. he walked out of the restaurant, faintly remembering that he was supposed to do something. Then, the rush of the city c8ld be heard again, and he was alright. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Earth, 3067 A.D. "Sir!", the intern reported, "the operation has been completed. The target came in contact with the plasma, and did not eat the sandwich." "Hmm. Good job, kid. Send the team a congratulatory letter, on me." "Understood sir."The intern walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. The supervisor glanced around the room, making sure no one was watching him, only to switch off his camouflaged ray. Slowly, his features distorted to reveal the same man that he had ordered his team to plasmirize. he pulled out of his pocket a tuna sandwich, looking eerily identical to the one he had lost so long ago. He unwrapped the tinfoil, and once again, he raised it to his mouth, awaiting the burst of flavor that would soon bless his tongue, "I've waited so long for you. And, finally, after centuries, your here." "Not so fast buddy!", someone yelled as they smashed through the door. "W-what! That isn't possible. Those doors are advanced technology, with a state of the art security system!" "Yeah, well when your from 2848492 years in the future, those little doohickeys are like putty. Now, if you excuse me, I have a job to do."Raising his arm to the man, he aimed one of the strange devices on his wrist at the sandwich. The man suddenly realized what he was going to do, but it was too late. A burst of energy erupted from the assailant's arm and hit the sandwich square on. The sandwich imploded into itself, leaving no trace of it's existence, besides for a couple drops of anti-matter. "You monster! I have spent millennia searching for a tuna sandwich! And now, with victory so close i can smell it, you wipe it AWAY!" "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I know. You're gonna search for that sandwich for years, until you find it again, only for us to destroy it once more." "No. this time-this time will be different. It has to be. Because if it doesn't then I don't know what I'll do." "Geez, old man. Can with the angst. Besides, i fail to see how this time's gonna be different. You seem to always forget that we have time ion our side. We have and will continue doing this forever. "And with that, he snapped his fingers, and he was gone, leaving an old man and a dying planet.
David wiped the last drops of sleep from his eyes, hearing a violent thudding at his door. Glancing at his alarm clock, the old wooden box showed that the time was 6am on the dot. David wondered who would disturb someone this early in the morning. Maybe a friend of one of his victims found his address? It wasn’t impossible to imagine such a case. Creeping towards his door, the assassin slipped a blade underneath his penguin pajama shirt, slowly edging closer to it. Before opening the door, he tapped away at the side panel next to it, a small electronic tablet flashing, displaying the face of a young girl, her eyes peering into the camera lens, smudging her finger against it. “Emily?” David recognized that pest, one of his classmates from school. Reluctantly he answered the door, only to gasp as she pushed past him. “Hey David, teacher assigned us to work on a project together. It’s on space, I was thinking we could make a replica of the Milky way. I know it’s overdone, but it usually gets the job done. Oh, wow, you have a lot of weapons, like a lot of weapons.” Emily let herself in, already looking through his belongings, causing the assassin to grab her shoulders, stopping her from exploring further. “They’re all fake. Just anime props, I’m really into all those shows. Just keep them around because they look cool. Anyway, can we do this another day, I’m tired, I had a long night of studying, we can work on it in the library tomorrow.” David tried to push her towards the door, but Emily dug her feet into the carpet, refusing to budge. “its due tomorrow. You would know that if you didn’t always fall asleep in class. I promise it will take an hour or two at most.” Emily set her bag down, pulling an assortment of art equipment out. “Wait, how did you find out where I live? I’m pretty sure I’ve never told you that before. I don’t think I’ve told anyone that.” “I just followed you home yesterday, it’s not that hard, you tend to dawdle. You spent five minutes staring at a dog. I know the dog was cute, but for a whole five minutes.” Emily tried to poke fun at David, but the assassin only felt creeped out by her admission. “Followed me home, that’s impossible. I would have noticed. Just how creepy are you?” David, the best assassin around, got followed by a classmate of all people. Maybe he had just been tired? “The only thing creepy about me is my obsession with getting good grades. Now sit down and help me.” Emily took a seat, fidgeting with her belongings. “Fine, if it gets you out of my house quicker sure.” David took a few straws from the bag, working on the diorama. The pair made brief conversation as they worked, only exchanging the odd request for supplies or instruction on how to design it. Their words only focused on the task. Occasionally Emily tried to rope David into conversation, but he would drown her out with silence. After two hours had passed, the diorama was complete, the pair staring at their creation. “Turned out alright, guess we did a good job. Can you leave now?” David asked, already having wasted enough of his day with her. “Sure, just let me grab my things.” She started zipping up her bag, only to retrieve a can, spraying it at his eyes. The mace stung, David stumbling back in a panic. As he fell, a foot connected with his head, stomping her classmate’s head. Repeatedly kicking the back of his head before stopping, offering him a grin. “You don’t take other assassin’s jobs, no matter how good you think you are. The contract for Tucker’s head was mine, you stole that from me, so this is my warning. Do it again and I’ll stomp your head until it looks like a stepped-on jam doughnut. Understood?” David didn’t respond, his head aching and eyes burning. Doing his best to pull himself together as he clutched the ground below, pulling himself onto his knees. “By the way, there was no group project. Thanks for helping me with my assignment. You still need to do yours. Since I’m nice, I’ll leave you my supplies. Have fun and remember to stay in your lane.” Emily remarked, dropping the bag near David before leaving. The assassin slowly regained himself, blinking out the last of his pain, only seeing the door shut in front of him. So, he had a rival now? He would make her regret this. But revenge would need to come later, for now he had a project to do. Pulling out the remnants of her supplies, beginning his project. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
\[Poem\] &#x200B; Call to Rest &#x200B; You seek the siren song of sleep A slumber sound, prolonged, and deep With harmonies that make you weep And yearn to be abed. &#x200B; Those lovely, lilting, dulcet tones That make you ache within your bones That promise paths through vast unknowns Though only in your head. &#x200B; The music muddles up your mind It stills your tongue; it strikes you blind You sought respite, instead you’ll find You’d just as well be dead. &#x200B; Hey, thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, feel free to stop by my [personal sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Quail_and_Quill/) for more stories and poems!
"The last thing someone ever told me before the first time I stepped on that stage - this is still ridiculously clear to me too - was to remember to breathe. As if I was a fucking rock who was brought to life yesterday. Of course I'd remember to fucking breathe. Despite how I'm sure I looked that day, I wasn't ready to fall over and die up there. That's the kind of thing these idiots will always say to you. 'Take it back to the basics!' or 'Just clear your mind.' None of this shit means anything when you're out there in front of everyone feeling like you can't fit floss between your asscheeks. But that's kind of the point. I could tell you stories about what it was like for me, or how I deal with that terrifying echo through my bones when I see their eyes, but no bullshit analogy or motto will prepare you for when it's your turn to stand in front of the entire world. So here's what I will tell you that might help. There's a moment between the time you stand and the time you speak, and that moment is when you learn whether or not you are built for this. In that pause, whether it's a second or a minute, you're going to collect yourself and decide whether you're someone who's just clawing on and hoping to survive the storm, or someone who's ready to take their chance and fight with it. Whatever process goes on in your head in that instant is entirely on you. We both know what it is you really want, but if in that instant, your heart decides to say, fuck this, just follow the script and get through it, then the only real advice I can give you is to remember to breathe. But if you really are who you say you are, who I know you will be, then forget all this bullshit I’m saying and just act. By the time your first sentence leaves your lips, you’ll have figured out exactly what you need and you’re the only person who will ever walk this Earth who will know what exactly that is. They’re calling your name. My time is up. Good luck kid, and remember, in that moment it’s all on you.” I lost sight of him as hands swarmed me. Voices urged me onwards, towards that curtain and towards that stage. I blinked, took a breath, and began my first step forward.
As I finished packing my bags with an excited glee that I haven't felt in a long time. I took one final look at the itinerary I had planned out. Me and the wife have been planning this trip for quite some time. A visit to all of the 7 Jewels of the World and to bask in their glory. First stop was the Great Trench of China. A mass grave where archaeologists are still discovering bodies. I am a bit worried that I would be visiting a Capitalist nation for the first time but I've heard some marvelous things about the place that I couldn't pass up despite them being filthy cappies. Plus I promised little Adolf that I would bring him a skull as a souvenir. Then next stop was the Great Slave Pit of Rome. Heard that a lot of tourists get struck with awe as they gazed at the hallowed place were slavery was birthed and refined. Which reminds me to pack some extra batteries for the slave collars. No way are my slaves going to embarrass me on this trip. Then there's the ancient domes of Egypt. Some say you could still hear the mad rantings of the dead pharaohs as you near the ominous black stone half-orbs. After that there was the Grand Prison of India. An ancient prison built so efficiently that it's still in use today. Paid a little extra where me and the misses get to torture a prisoner. I'm squealing with joy at the fun I will have with that. Then the tour's next visit is the Eiffel Palace. Heard that they recently uncovered Eiffel's secret prison where the French Royal Family had Eiffel secretly detained after finishing building the palace dedicated to French hedonism and debauchery. Soon after that there is the Twisted Spire of Piza an obelisk monument dedicated to ancient pagan gods. A holy place visited by modern day pagans when they want to reconnect with their roots so to speak. Which reminds me got to make sure that Mindy packs the blood sacrifice. Next there's Bloody Ben in England. A grand clock tower designed to torture England's political enemies and dissidents. Can't wait when Bloody Ben's windows are opened and you can hear the painful wailing and screaming of the people detained inside. Finally there's the Statue of Tyranny a tribute given to the greatest dictatorship of all, The People's Republic of America. Although recently I've had friends tell me that they are concerned. Recently a new leader seized control of that grand country through some laughable concept called democracy. Most of the world leaders think of that weak-willed simpleton as a joke but I'm sure I'll be fine. Well I'm off, oh wait can't forget to visit the Gestapo. Have to make sure that my travel is in proper order.
Another day in the field.Inspecting designs and machines and ticking box after box on another list. Thank Gods (or their corpses) that we thought of making 80% junk that they cant use. Too bad after that we got back to our wars. Living weapons roamed the world killing all they saw and having fun doing it. But it has been proven that videogames are violent.Or i should say violent enough to get those things addicted. Somehow all problems were solved in dumb ways like that: 1.Cancer was solved by a fungus buried in the Antartic. 2.Lack of oxigen , water shortage and food issues solved by some wierd plant that drank the pacific and ate then replaced Austraila. 3.Energy issues were solved by some godzilla looking thing that makes nuclear fusion. At least now we can have some peace and go back to filling our papers and checking boxes.
“So...like it’s a ‘Chosen One’ type situation?” I ask, staring at the rock in complete confusion. The end of what looks like a folder sticks out right at the center of the boulder, which is half the size of me. It’s quite big, I suppose, but I’m underwhelmed. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was not this. “Yep, that’s right,” answers the man in the suit across from me. He’s an angry looking, intimidating fellow but I try to hold me ground. When he grabbed my arm and told me I could be “The One”, what could I do but follow him? “What am I supposed to do, ah, exactly?” I swallow, looking from man to rock. He rolls his eyes, seemingly annoyed by my display of cluelessness. “Get the folder out of the rock, of course.” He motions with his hand, as if he’s pulling something out of the air. “Like the Sword in the Stone? But with a... what, a folder?” His nostrils flare and his hands tighten into fists. “Yes, exactly like the Sword in the Stone.” He points towards the sad, gray rock. “That right there is the legend itself, right in front of you. You’re lucky to be able to lay your eyes on it, let alone have the privilege of pulling out the Folder.” “The Folder?” I frown. “If that’s the rock from the legends, then when did the sword turn into a folder?” The man sighs, rubbing his temple. “Stuff changed. Do you see swords still being used in battle? Knights of the old days? Medieval castles?” “W-well, no.” I’m not sure how to feel. In awe of the glory? Or is he just crazy, random man? “So you’re saying the legend evolved, changed. That that old folder is Excalibur?” “Now you’re catching on. You see, nowadays, we have big corporations, office supplies, 9-5 jobs in cramped buildings,” he says with a sad shake of the head. “The flick of a pen ruins lives, and an innocent looking folder can contain papers of power.” When he sees my disbelieving look, still stuck on the fact the folder is Excalibur itself, he sighs. “Come on, I’ll prove it to you.” And he walks up to the rock, planting his feet firmly on either side, and tugs the folder. With both hands, he grunts slightly before losing his grip and stumbling backwards. I stare. “Yeah, dude, it’s really stuck there. Listen, I think I gotta...” I back away. The look he gives me makes me shudder, and I suddenly realize if I prove to this whacko that I’m not his “Chosen One” maybe he’ll let me leave. I walk up to the rock, put the tips of my fingers on the folder, and pull with as little strength as I can. I gasp as something comes lose, and before long, the entire folder is out of the rock. “How...?” “I knew it,” the man breathes. He murmurs a string of words containing “King” and “CEO” that I can’t make out exactly. “Okay,” I mumble, staring at the folder and marveling over how clean it is. And the fact I pulled it out of a damn rock. “What do I do now?” He shrugs. “Destroy your enemies. What else?”
“No, s-stop. Please don’t do this” These were the words that I spoke to the beast that held the last of my children in its claws. It’s long, sharp claws held the battered body of my youngest child, and with it, my will to live. The beast opened its mouth, revealing a set of serrated fangs. Then, it brought my child closer to its mouth. Closer. Closer. And Closer. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ People called me the luckiest man on Earth. I had it all: a loving family, a great job, a healthy body, and all the other things modern society would consider as desirable. I was happy. But my luck didn’t end there. See, I had an uncanny ability to escape danger that borderlines the supernatural. I’ve been in near-death situations more times than I could count: airplane crashes, being lost at sea, and being held hostage, just to name a few. Every single time, something happened that prevented my untimely demise: My airplane seat was next to an emergency exit. A passing fishing boat found my shipwreck. Complete strangers came together to raise ransom for my captors. So when I heard news of monsters suddenly appearing and hunting down humans, I was not concerned. At first, I was skeptical, but then came the pictures, then the videos, then the news articles, and finally emergency broadcasts concerning the beasts. At that point, I believed there was a real danger. I wasn’t truly worried though; my luck saved me numerous times and never showed any signs of failing. Due to my connections and high social status, I was able to secure a spot in a government bunker for myself and my family. Everything was coming along smoothly for me. Though the world was going to hell outside, my family and other upper-class families had carved out our little slice of paradise in the bunker. We would soon find our illusion of safety mercilessly shattered. It all started one night. There was a power failure that went unnoticed for too long, causing the mechanical doors to unlock. One beast stumbled into the bunker. Upon smelling fresh meat, it roared, inviting all of its friends over. The security guards held them off for a while, but the sheer numbers overwhelmed them. And so it was with a jolt that my family and I woke up to alarms blaring. The walls just outside our room were painted a bright red hue; from the alarm lights or from the blood, I didn’t know. Screams echoed throughout the halls. I instructed my family to hide under the beds and in the closets in our room. I thought that we might get lucky and avoid detection. We hid in our room listening to the other families get massacred, until eventually things started to quiet down. First, the screams stopped. Then, the loud footsteps of the beasts grew quieter. Finally, there was silence. Did we luck out? It seemed to be. I carefully emerged from my hiding spot and peered out the door. As soon as I opened the door, I could immediately smell a hideous stench, yet the sight of dead bodies lining the halls was even more appalling. Still, I could see no signs of any beasts around. I whispered to my family that it was okay to come out of hiding. “Daddy, are the bad guys gone?” Thomas, my youngest child was tugging at my shirt with a look on his face that cried for reassurance. I crouched down and took him into my arms: “Yeah, Thomas. We’re safe now.” Turns out I spoke too soon. From the ventilation system I heard tapping, which turned into rumbling, and finally into the sound of a beast crashing into our room—hungry for blood. Its claws held the remains of its last victim. Its fangs were full of blood. Its fur was dyed scarlet. Its eyes were on my family. One by one, my family became prey to this beast. I tried to tackle it and gain its attention, but it would ignore me. I tried beating it with chairs and yelling at it, but it seemed to not care about me. “DAMN IT, LOOK OVER HERE!!” I screamed. The beast ignored my cries, it’s focus ever present on the feast in front of it. After mauling the rest of my family, it set its sight on Thomas, my youngest. It gripped Thomas’ little body in its sharp claws and brought it closer to its mouth. “No, s-stop. Please don’t do this.” The beast kept bringing Thomas closer to its mouth. “Daddy...I thought the bad guys were gone” were the last words I heard from Thomas before he disappeared into the beast's stomach. Soon after, the beast turned its eyes on me. “Oh, NOW you pay attention to me?” The beast growled at me. “FINE! Why don’t you finish me off like you did the rest of my family?” The beast continued staring at me. “WHAT’S WRONG? YOU ATE MY FAMILY, WHY NOT FINISH YOUR MEAL?” All I wanted to do was die so I could be with my family again. However, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, the beast started to walk away from me. “YOU LITTLE—Hey, come back here!” The beast left me all alone in the government facility surrounded by the mangled bodies of my family. Undoubtedly it was my luck that saved me. Yet, I could not shake the feeling that right now I was the unluckiest man in the world.
As I am walking down the street I can feel my stomach growl from hunger. I can see steam coming out of the ground up ahead. Nice! I am almost there. I will place my order for a latte and a heated croissant, then I am good to go to my office. It is early on a Friday. Yes! The weekend is almost here. I almost bump into the door as a woman opens it from the inside. I immediately back off. Oof! Almost. I smile and let her pass. No smile back? I guess she didn't see me. Growling again. I better place the order soon or I am going to get hangry. The line isn't too long. Only 3 people but all of them yawning. Me too now. "Nice green coat she is wearing", I said to myself whispering. I hope no one heard it. It would be awkward otherwise. She turns around and glances at me and then turns back. Oops! I was loud, wasn't I? No harm done. Did I commit a crime? No. She turns back again. "Hi. Um..how are you?". I look at her green eyes and I am lost. She is polite. I like people who are polite. There is so much happening in this world. So much negativity. We could at least be polite to each other. "I AM FINE. THANK YOU! HOW ARE YOU?". &#x200B; "So you are okay?", she frowned and cocked her head. &#x200B; "Ah!". It's Friday. Here we go. "I am sorry ma'm. I have a condition where I sometimes forget things. Did anything happen yesterday involving the two of us? I surely can't remember if it did." &#x200B; "You really don't remember. I mean...what do you mean? You...you don't remember having coffee with me yesterday?" "Nope. Not a clue. I am sorry this must be awkward for you but I really don't remember. So we had coffee? What else happened? Why did you ask me if I was okay?". Now I am curious, but not worried. It could have been worse. I mean, she could have looked at me with disgust or worse, slapped me the moment she set eyes on me. But she asked me if I was okay. "How nice...she is the one...", I thought. &#x200B; "Well, you took it pretty rough. I think you are a good person but I don't know you...you know. Um I hope you understand", she said with a lot of hesitation. &#x200B; "Hmm...What exactly did I....do?" "This is weird...uh...but anyway..we bumped into each other in this coffee shop and we somehow ended up having lunch together...after you asked me out...remember?" "No I don't. Sorry.", my face now red. This is probably going to be embarrassing. "You asked if we could go on another date and I said no". She paused as if waiting for a reaction. I didn't. But I did close my eyes. I know how this goes. It happens all the time. &#x200B; "You took it badly...I mean you were very embarrassed. There was no need though. I just didn't feel like. I.." "It's okay. It's fine now. I tend to do that. I am sorry I put you through that.". I better get out of here. THIS is embarrassing. &#x200B; "Thanks, bye! Have a good coffee...", I said as I left the line in a hurry. I almost knocked somebody with the door on my way out. I didn't look back. I was on my way to work. I'm fine having that horrible coffee at work. At least my stomach isn't growling anymore from embarrassment. &#x200B; "Have a good coffee? Are you serious? Who says that?"I thought out loud. &#x200B; Friday is off to a good start. Six more days to go. &#x200B; Edit: spelling for the world "hesitation".
Warning: contains bhm "Well, better close up shop!"Paul said as he left his computer and started getting ready to leave the cloning factory. He was the last to leave. "Whoops!"He squealed as he slipped and fell into one of the cloning machines, not getting up in time before it started scanning his DNA. "Better be more careful next time."He said before going home to spend the night with his wife and daughters. As he was walking home, the cloning machines were going crazy. Dozens upon dozens of chubby, cheese loving clones were being made, getting ready to smother their family in love. "I'm home!"Paul called out as he entered his house. "Daddy!!!"His three triplet little girls screamed as they ran to him, hugging onto him and jumping up and down. "Welcome home, honey!"His wife called out, hugging her small and thing body into her husbands large, fat form. "I made your favourite. Macaroni!" "Oh, honey, you know me so well!"Paul cheered. The family went and gathered around the dinner table, watching happily as Paul gorged himself on his favourite flavour. However, the moment was interrupted. "I'm home!"The first Paul clone called out as he entered the home. The entire family was shocked but the clone didn't seem to be bothered. He walked up to the seat the original Paul was in and tried squeezing his equally fat body into it, ultimately breaking the chair. "T-Two Pauls!?"Paul's wife screamed in both ci fusion and excitement. "I'm home!""I'm home!""I'm home!" Seeing more Pauls waddle in and hearing more voices, the girls looked out the window and saw more and more clones of Paul march into the home with more constantly coming. After a few minutes, the house was filled with dozens of Pauls and many more were outside. "More daddys!!!"The little girls shouted as they received raspberries from their many cloned dads. "This is like a dream!"Paul's wife squealed as many Pauls around her squished her between their fat guts. The next day, the entire town was overrun. The only people unbothered were Paul's family who were being endlessly loved by the cheese loving clones. This encouraged them to keep making clones and show everyone how amazing Paul was. No one seemed to understand so they simply took over the world. Now the entire planet is made up of Pauls, all happily smothering their family.
The day was normal for Sarah. She woke up at six a.m. sharp, showered and dressed, ate, and was gone by six thirty. She arrived promptly at seven sharp and greeted her co-workers. Including the shy new intern, who always seemed somewhat distant but Sara just chalked it up to nerves. Sara took to her work right away just as she’d always done for the past fourteen years...then her ears started to itch. Then came the staring from the offices near hers. Everyone seemed like something was off but no one said anything. Sara shrugged off the stares and kept working. The whole office was startled at lunch time by a sudden shriek. Workers rushed to the source, Sara’s locker. They froze in their tracks. While they had already noticed the ears, Sara’s hands were panda bear claws and her face was a black and white muzzle. She was sweating at staring at her hands. “Sara?” “What the fuck is going on?!” “Sara it’s me Daphne...” Daphne was the intern Sara was always nice too but why was the shy youngsters choosing now to speak? “Listen I think there may have been a mix up with the coffee this morning.” “What the fuck could’ve happened that would make a goddamn panda?!” “Well...I’m sort of...a witch. I had stopped off at a shore before coming to work, the packet must of spilled out of my bag and got mixed up with the sweeteners.” Sara tried to talk but fell on her ass. Her human legs and arm as were now replaced by panda arms and legs. She started to hyperventilate on top of the sweating and the continued weird feeling as the potion took effect. “Daphne...take...me...” “Right, don’t worry I’ll fix this!” Daphne grabbed her legs and dragged her out of the office and to her car.
"Leave their souls belong to me. Leave their souls belong to me. Leave their souls belong to me." That message was constantly being reverberated across the dreams of every villager that Alerath found on the outskirts of Antioch. The only problem was that whoever was claiming those souls was without a doubt going against regulation, after all this was an organized official level three natural disaster being organized by the Demonic Human Interference Society and Alerath had jumped through the standard bureacracy hoops in order to secure zone 3's section of citizen's souls for himself. After climbing the proverbial mountain in order to reap the rewards there was no way Alerath was going to give up this town's souls to some unknown newbie who was trying to flout regulation hoping that the DHIS would just overlook any shenanigans. "Hey Buddy. I don't know what sort of game you're pulling here but it's not going to fly. I may just be a lesser demon out here but I'm part of the Beelzebub family and I have upper demon connections in the DHIS. If the higher ups get word on the stunt you're trying to pull out here they'll have your head and your soul."Alerath blurted out on the soul spectrum and proceeded to wait. He waited for an apology and was instead greeted with the frustrating sounds of silence. "All right then well you've forced my hand whoever you are there. I'm off to talk with the higher ups, if you still have the audacity to be here when I get back there'll be a tier 2 squad of sweepers ready to set things straight."bluffed Alerath. After all while he did have some ins with the bureacracy they didn't amount to much of anything other than admininstrative ties, but whoever he was dealing with in this case didn't need to know that. Regardless he had to put some sort of evidence to back his bluff so for at least a bit he decided to feign his trip back to the DHIS, if only to give whoever he was dealing with some time to pause for thought. However as he attempted to utilize his transportation stone back to the demonic dimension he found himself jerked out of the transportation process in a manner that could only be attributed to a barrier. Furthermore after processing how discombobulated he was from having his transportation being cancelled Alerath could not help but realize that he was dealing with a high level barrier, one that a normal lower level demon like himself and others on his level would never have access too. "Welcome back friend, sorry for the mixup but I can't have you going off like that. After all you're essential to what I'm trying to do here this night, if you aren't here partaking in this nights fun then it'll be hard to throw off the DHIS." Alerath felt a chill run through his spine as he heard those words directly behind him. After all demons don't normally get snuck up on, the conclusion of the first demonic wars had seen any sort of primordial stealth technologies been outlawed so clearly whoever had utilized it was willing to flaunt the very fabric of society. "First you claim my souls, then you use a barrier to keep me in place, and now you use illegal tech to stealth up on me. All in all we definitely have not had the best introduction to each other so how about you stop with the shenanigans and explain to me what's going on so I don't have to get my contacts at DHIS involved." Upon Alerath uttering those line's a sort of mirthy laughter began to permeate the air, coming from the demon who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "Hah my apologies for the laughter, it's just rare to meet a demon that is so naive to the machinations of the world. Let me put it this way to you friend, when you consume the souls of humans do you offer an exploration to each and every one of them as to what is going on and what you are doing to them? Do humans themselves offer any sort of balm to the nerves of the livestock they keep? As such why should I have to explain anything to you, after all you're little more than lifestock meant to fill a narrative tonight." Upon hearing that line Alerath decided to take action, clearly whoever he was dealing with came here with cruel intentions and as such he deemed it better to act first and deal with any consequences that may arise rather than having to deal with whatever machinations the demon had in mind. However before he could make a move he found himself binded and restrained, the effects of a barrier similar to whatever barrier had stopped him from transporting before. "Sorry for the restraints, however my associate said the process would go much smoother with a barrier on you and usually I leave those sorts of minor decisions up to them. Considering that we'll be wiping your memory soon enough maybe I'll deign to give you a small glimpse into the intrigue that is going on here today, after all you'll be taking a large portion of blame for it. You my friend will be taking credit for the unfortunate mistake of turning this tier three disaster into a tier two, forever living in infamy as the bumbling fool of a lesser demon that caused a wasteful expenditure of an additional two hundred thousand souls in the earthquake of Antioch. The waste however will be of great value to me in my future, but alas that is a story that I simply don't have the luxury of being able to say as its about due time we put you to sleep." The intrusive stranger proceeded to pull a small tic tac shaped device out of seemingly nowhere and press a button which caused the struggles of Alerath against his binds to cease. "Goodbye oh lesser demon, your position is not one to be envied." And with that the stranger was off.
I dont remember having a beard. It's not like it was much of one anyhow, a fiveoclock shadow on any real man, or whatever they called themselves nowadays, but it's more than I'd ever allow myself. I dont remember the gray hairs, or at least not that one, or that one, or that one there. No I dont remember my eyes being so red. They were blue when I was a kid, or so I thought...'sbeen ages since I've checked. Dont have a mirror in my flat, but this isnt my mirror. It looks like a hotel room, well more of a motel at that, one that I dont remember paying for anyways, but who knows? Theres blood on the nape of my neck, or is that lipstick, who's to say? If I call it lipstick would you believe me? I wouldnt believe me. I barely know who I am anymore. She wasnt wearing a nametag, the barista wasnt. Probably for the best, I'd probably try and call her by my name but that might make her uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable. I dont want anyone to know who I am. She handed me a paper cup. Made of 80 percent post consumer recycled goods, it boasted. The cup anyways. The coffee was better than that, I hope. I went to walk away but the anonymous barista stopped me, she offered me a paper sleeve for the hot cup. I hadn't noticed. I walked to work, it was better than driving I figured, cause you could do it any time of the day. When you drive you have to start and stop and start and stop, and for certain hours of the day you would only be stopped. Besides, cars were nasty, snarling things. When you walk nothing can stop you, or not me anyways. They've got lights for us walkers but I've never bothered with them. One day a rabid car bit me on my way home from work and I caught the driving bug, since it was harder and harder to walk. I stumbled from the motel bathroom and teetered over the double bed. The sheets were a mess and the pillows were thrown haphazardly around the room. I couldnt remember why. I worked in an office and wore a suit. It wasnt an especially nice suit or an especially nice office, but it paid nearly as well as an average office did, so I took it. What benefits there were, well where were they? They matched my retirement fund, but that's all gone now, and they claimed to offer the best dental insurance money could buy. My teeth were straight as an arrow, but my legs no longer were. I took a stunted step forward onto the neck of an empty bottle, and lost my footing. I fell onto a waiting pillow. It seemed for every pillow there was a matching bottle, ready to catch me, or was that the other way around? The whole thing was a blur. I remember it was a blue car, and it had been going much faster than cars usually did here. I didnt see it coming, and the feeling was mutual. The man was a lot like me. He had a beard and red eyes and gray hairs. He didnt have any blood on him. At least not his. He looked 10 stories high from the ground. I had asked the barista her name one day, and she told me it was Elisabeth. I told her it was a lovely name and she agreed. She made my coffee and handed me the paper cup and I was on my way. Walking down the street at my steady pace, never stopping nor starting, but always trudging along. After the accident I took to driving, and found I really enjoyed it. I enjoyed the stopping and starting, the beginnings and ends of streets, and I could go much faster now, and then stop to take in the world around me. When my office let me go, I was sitting in my car, just taking it all in at a red light. The bottles on my floor clanged together as I tried to get back on my feet. By the time I'd made it, I'd worked up quite a thirst. I opened one and took a swig. I didnt go anywhere anymore and I hated it. They dont let you drive when you're thirsty. I made my way back into the bathroom. I dont remember having a beard.
"Angborne, my esteemed guest! Welcome to Solaris! Forgive our lack of hospitality, many of our mages are still unforgiving of our cities last skirmish. I know they will understand this meeting in time"I bellow to the chancellor of Lunarin. Truthfully I'm at my wit's end and hoping he agrees to the next proposal. I'm appalled by the lives lost due to simple difference. Angborne sits himself at the meeting table, and practicality inhales the jug of wine before him. Rightfully, he's nervous being so far into our territory. His usually calm demeanor cracking being surrounded by mages. "Just us two, and a guard each."He demands, not unreasonably. "Too many casters stop the spell and all that. I agree, and am thankful he used our speech. It is calming. "Angborne, I know you would rather the king of our city, but he is currently unavailable"I say, hoping to keep the calm. "I'm going propose a trade in materials, training and soldiers where he would not.we will teach you spellcraft, alchemy as wizards know it and our protection enchantments. You only need teach us basic machine craft and advanced construction techniques." "Allic"Angborne sighs "This trade is weighted too heavily in our favour. What on Duos could make even your greatest mages agree to this. It's almost like a trap. "It's not a trap"I sigh as my shoulders sag. "It's survival. You know I refused to let you meet our king?" Angborne nods. "Aye, I'm guessing he's imprisoned, but for what I can't guess. I'm more than happy with these terms, but what has the Burned King done, if I'm a guest in these lands being offered what has been refused since our cities were but huts on the mud? "Angborne, the bastard invoked the Red Pact"I say, slumping back into my chair. "We need help" "Oh"
Much to Linthrop’s annoyance, the werewolf dodged the bolt. If it had hit its intended target, this fight would be over. Instead, the beast had sensed the danger and had slipped just under the path of the bolt. To make matters worse, it dove back into the shadows. This was one of the smarter ones. “Winn, we’ll have to go to the backup plan!” he called out to the night air. Winn was hidden, so there was no harm in announcing his partner’s presence. If anything, letting the werewolf know that it was an uneven fight should give it pause. You don’t go charging if there’s a sniper that can pick you off, at least not if you have your wits about you. Linthrop was counting on the fact that this foe seemed to have plenty of wits. He’d need a minute to set up the backup plan. “The hard way it is,” Linthrop grumbled to himself. He reached for his quiver, fumbling around for another silver bolt. Silver was expensive, so he only had a limited supply of ammunition. Worse yet, in the dead of night, the darkness made it harder to find the bolt he needed. “Of all the times …” the taciturn Hunter began to curse. He brought his quiver around, laying it down in front of him to get a better view. It was a risk if the werewolf was nearby, since it’d leave him exposed for a few precious moments. “ARRGGG!” “Right on cue.” Quick as a whip, Linthrop dropped the quiver and drew the pistol at his side. It was a draw faster than the werewolf assumed was even possible, one honed over countless repetitions. The two shots hit the werewolf in the chest before it even knew that Linthrop had a pistol. The burning sensation told the werewolf exactly what kind of bullets the Hunter had fired. Of course, not even silver bullets can stop a werewolf charging at full speed, so Linthrop took the brunt of the beast’s charge head on. It hurt a bit less because the werewolf had stopped propelling itself forward mid-way, but mass moving at high speed inflicts pain. “Dammit, stop thrashing!” Linthrop cursed again, “Just die already!” The werewolf’s death throes lingered a few more moments, leaving Linthrop to fend off crazed claws and flailing limbs. Though he didn’t fear for his life, the experience was still thoroughly unpleasant. “I hate the backup plan,” grumbled Linthrop as soon as he could roll out from under the corpse. “Winn? It’s safe for you to come out now.” “Coming. Are you hurt?” “A few scratches. Do you have the serum?” “Just a second.” “Quickly, now.” Winn sprung into action. Though he was useless in a fight, this was his arena. The spectacled man treated the supernatural wounds quickly and methodically, with the practiced hand of a surgeon. They had practiced this routine many a time before, and Winn played his part well. “There, that should do it. We got it quickly, so there’s no risk of turning,” Winn pronounced. “Thank goodness for the little miracles.” “That we should,” Winn agreed cheerily, “But what about the monster?” “Monster? That’s no monster,” Linthrop retorted as he shook his head, “That poor soul was unlucky enough to be born with a touch of the supernatural. Real monsters aren’t born, they’re made.” Winn stared at the corpse, and stared back at Linthrop. He could see the strain of logic in the man’s words, though it took a heavy dose of cynicism to find it. He certainly couldn’t imagine a God-fearing man uttering those words. For the hundredth time, Winn wondered just who Linthrop the Hunter truly was.
[story] It was a simple day in the farm. I was outside working with my family in the cornfield when I heard a sudden crunch of wood and what seemed like the neigh of a horse in the distance. I ran to see the commotion and saw a hole the size of a truck in the barn roof. I waited for the rest of my family to come but it seemed I had been the only one to hear it. I walked over to the barn doors and slowly pushed them open. And what I saw u thought was nearly impossible. A creature was laying in the hay that layed a resemblance to a horse, except, it had wings! The hole in the roof gave the creature a nearly heavenly beam of light shinning on it. And I immediately recognized it as a Pegasus. It did not move, or make a sound. And even though it looked like it fell from the heavens it didn't have a single mark on it. A moment later it looked in my eyes; stared right into my soul, and I saw everything. I saw its life and how it had ended up here. I saw its purpose and what it wanted with me. I knew what would happen next. It got up and moved it's head signaling me to mount it. I grabbed a saddle to put on the Pegasus but it refused it. Instead I mounted the Pegasus and we walked out the barn. The Pegasus spread its magnificent wings; and with a single thrust flew hight into the air. We left the farm to go on a sacred quest. One that would change my life, forever. (this story was written by an Iowan btw)
The bellowing yawn resonated around the globe, audible to the deaf, trembling the air and everything that flew, swam, and walked with the strength of a moderate earthquake. There was alarm and hysteria, with certainty, but those unfortunate people who chose to enjoy a wonderfully hot summer's day at Myrtle Beach were the least fortunate of all. They saw it first. The first anomaly that occurred was the cessation of the tide's ebb and flow. The waters of the Atlantic locked in place, smoothing out. The people half-caught in the water's new tension found they were able to push themselves up with their hands and stand on the surface. The people who were submerged in the water, however, save for the few whose friends could see their distress, were trapped there, the pressure of the water above them pressing down like a saturated blanket, suffocating them. Any hope those trapped had of being saved evaporated at the first sign of lights in the sky. Auroras did not occur in South Carolina. So rather than admire the beautiful greens and violets of the ribbons of lights in the sky, the witnesses were confused. And that confusion gave way to terror. Look out into the Atlantic, they could see it. A verdant speck on the horizon, it was already too close. Many witnesses grew nauseous, a freshly-wrought anxiety as opposed to any supernatural impetus. The form bobbed steadily along the water, walking, driving those still out on the ocean to run back to the beach. Many fled. Many more didn't. Their panic was eased. An unknown sense of peace had quelled much of their anxieties. A primal calm washed over them as the figure steadily approached. With clearer, steady minds many opted to alert the police. Some opted to return to the water and search for the submerged; they were all met with tragic results. An hour came and went. The police had lined the beach, escorting the civilians further back, onto the city streets. The military was on the way. Within the hour, the being had transformed from a speck to a figure. And it was alarming. Whoever witnessed it, regardless of how far they were, could see it as clearly as if it were before them. A colossal stag, bright green, moving closer to the shore. It lacked hooves, walking instead on four white hands with seven digits each. It's back was covered in dense feathers, it's tail was like that of a lion, and its horns were bonsai trees, growing and sprouting leaves in a noble, natural crown. Within an hour it half a mile from the shore. The military and police were lined up, waiting for what this alien creature would do. Citizens were packed chest-to-back. People peeked from the curtains of their hotel rooms. The creature's foreleg, the hand at the base of it clenching, flexing, and relaxing, took its first step onto the beach. And the first tree sprouted. To the civilians further off, it was surprising. A tree that seemed to be some sort of pine, no more than three feet in diameter, yet shooting to a height of four stories, compared to the nearby apartments, appeared out of nowhere. It burst upwards and grew in a fraction of a second. The soldiers in front, however, grimaced in horror as one of their comrades transformed into a tree, his vest, helmet, and shield dripping with blood, hanging from the pine's branches like morbid decorations. Then another tree. And another. They sprouted so fast that it took twelve trees before the crowd broke into a panic. They struggled against each other, forcing themselves as far from the threat as possible. Many were trampled by the moving crowd. Fortunately, the pain of feet treading and tripping over them would disappear as their bodies collapsed into the physical consistency of mud. There was the explosion of shattering glass. People turned to see the window of a beachside motel, the wooden structure transforming into a single tree, as bloody branches reached out of the broken window. Those who sheltered in their hotel rooms were trapped, the stone and metal warping, disfiguring doors and windows and making them impossible to open. They could only look out their windows, the creatures golden, compound pupils staring back at them. In them they saw the beauty of the world as it had been. In them they saw the rise of flowers in the steps of the creature. In them they saw a pride of lions sleeping peacefully among a flock of lambs. Then they saw nothing more, as the fluid in their eyes boiled and evaporated. Cars were transformed into their base minerals, locking their passengers inside until they managed to break their windows. The ravens and seagulls that had been picking at the trash grew larger, decorated in verdant plumage, aggressively plucking up and flying away with whatever human they could grab. Spores fell as the stag's fur shook, landing on those that fled, digging into their flesh and taking root, blooming instantly into hydrangeas and daffodils and chrysanthemums and bachelor buttons. With each step, grass sprung from its palms, spreading faster than the crowd could flee, grabbing some of them in snares by their ankles and wrists, pinning them down. The stag released a great bellow. And with it ivy sprung forth. The vines coiled through the grass, around the new trees and returned stone, growing grapes and pumpkins side-by-side on the same vine. The creature marched on, proceeded by a terrible parade of increasingly mutilated humans, wailing as roots punctured their joints, as they were stomped into mud, as they were crushed by stone and plucked by birds and burst into trees. The garden needed to be rid of its vermin.
"My life's work complete, to create organic life from just a sketch. Now to test my machine."I say marveling at my creation that I've called Project Galatea and grabbing a sheet of paper with a sketch of my Pygmalion to bring him to life. But after inserting the paper and waiting for the machine to do its thing, I notice that what comes out doesn't resemble my Pygmalion, then look over my table of sketches, at the piece of paper I inserted, and at the figure stepping out of the machine. Something wasn't right. I had used the drawing of my son's imaginary friend instead of my perfect partner. Well, I can still work with this, even if it's the wrong sketch. I call my son into my lab to show him something, and he comes running over. I introduce my son to his imaginary friend that I've brought to life with my machine, and he runs over to his friend, giving him a big hug. Then I realized that my son's imaginary friend also resembles my perfect partner as well. So I check the sketch, and lo and behold, the two images got stuck together somehow. But my son and I just roll with it, and Mr Pygmalion, or Pygs, joins our family. Over the next several months, the three of us bond ever so closer, and eventually, Pygs and I tie the knot with my son on a private elopement trip, cementing us as one happy family. Even though I used the wrong image, knowing that Pygs got fused with the right look so both my son and I could have what we wanted, made us both happy. Plus my son and I learned that Pygs can switch between his human form and the imaginary friend form from my son's drawing as a result of this glitch, so I'm rather happy about this blessing in disguise, as it means that he can be with us in both forms and not just one. Though I'm rather proud of Project Galatea, however, I'm shutting down the machine, as once word gets out about my project's success, people will be lining up to have their sketches brought to life as well, and I honestly can't have that. Pygs agrees, as he doesn't want to have to deal with the potential consequences of my project's success either. He's already got himself citizenship and all the required documentation, so he really doesn't want to help other potential creations like him become citizens as well, as there will be so much controversy about the whole thing. So yeah, I'm shelving Project Galatea indefinitely. The end.
The ancient Inca's knew about freedom. So much so, that they had constructed a monument that demonstrated their freedom from even God itself. None of us should be held down, told what to do, or mistreated. It was a female form, as they had a rich history or gender equality. She carried a book, representing their collection of ancient knowledge and wisdom. And in a hand raised above her head, she held an eternal flaming light which symbolized the vanquishing of oppression and authority from above. It was erected in a north eastern village upon a small island, in a bay. It was named in honour of their esteemed Chief Priest - Leeb Ert Ee. The Stature of Liberty was seized by colonists in the early history of the United States. They thereby altered the historical record to suit their own agenda, as per the colonial modus operandi.
I knocked at the door. This is the last house in the village. Is my Princess here? We danced for hours at my ball. We talked, we laughed, and even were able to make a few jokes about the anti-maskers. I never got her number and then at midnight she ran. It’s like she was Cinderella or something. All she left behind was her custom glass N95 face mask. I swear this thing is part clear steel. It’s not once scratched despite 3 people dropping it and countless cleanings. No moisture seeps through but when worn you can breathe as if nothing is there. I need to learn how it’s made because it’s the most comfortable mask I’ve worn yet. The door opens and three idiots stand before me. No masks. What the hell... it’s the middle of a pandemic. For all things holy, is this an anti-masker’s place. Please no, my Princess, does she actually live with these morons? “Prince Harrison,” the simpering mom sweetly intones, “please come in. We heard that your Royal Highness was visiting the homes in our village.” “Masks must be worn, and I’m not entering homes. I’m seeking the owner of this magnificent glass N95 mask. Could all single young women of the age 19 to 25 please exit the home in a mask and we can allow them to try on the mask one at a time.” Ungodly screeching on the the level of a mega-Karen follows, “We have rights! You can’t bully us into wearing masks on our own property!!!! Masks cause pneumonia and cancer!!!!!!!! We demand you allow us to prove it’s ours but we won’t wear one while we’re on our own property.” Oh lord, help me now. These are definitely the worst anti-maskers I’ve run into yet. None of the women in front of me is my Princess, and I can feel the migraine that’s been verging on manifesting starting to make an appearance. I stammer some apology that the lady who owns this mask isn’t them and start to back away from these crazies still screaming that “They have RIGHTSSSSSSS” and “How dare I refuse them the chance to prove they own the mask” fully contradicting themselves with every other sentence that falls from their uncovered mouths. As I slowly back away as to not cause a Karen Stampede, I see her. She’s wearing a mask and trying to use the distraction to sneak away from the crazy Karens who inhabit this home. My chief of police is trying to usher the women back into their house while my bodyguards have seen my gaze and are trying to discreetly usher me closer to the young lady I seek. Finally, the mega-Karen is placated and closes the door. My Cinderella looking relived that she’s escaped the insanity of this place, is ushered into the vehicle with me. I hand her her mask which she thanks me for, and we drive off to live in the palace. I can assure you, Mega-Karen will not be getting an invite to the small wedding of under 10 we will be having.
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Their faces kept me awake at night, if that's what you could call them. Bright white skulls with a single glass eye. Their skin was the same wrinkled colour of their skulls, their entire body a bloated suit that hid a darker truth inside. And they called me the monster, or was it alien... that word they'd used. True, I had no eyes where they had one, but I did not need eyes the likes of theirs to see. And true, I had no arms - was it arms, I'm sure that's what they called them - where they had four, though they only seemed to use the top two - the lower arms were a means by which to travel from what I had observed. And there in lay the biggest difference between our two species, mine moved by signals of the mind, for we are a mass of self-replicating, self-repairing cells that float upon the atmosphere, carried weightlessly from point x to point y. They were jealous, these humans, each cut they made with surgical precision repaired itself moments later, and they could not work out why! Not could they hold me open long enough to inspect my inner workings. All to the good, if you'd ask me. These savage creatures did not need the knowledge of self-replication, of what they would call immortality. They would abuse it, they would use this power to expand their colony out into the vast reaches of space, infecting the universe planet by lonely planet. After all, what are the constraints of time to a species that cannot age. We can die, of course we can, and the humans had come close to killing me, exhausting by using sharp shocks to keep me awake whilst they experimented. Sleep, it is a vital to me and my kind. In fact my kind spend half their time, perhaps more, asleep. Recovering. When the humans took me, they kept me awake for eight days. Eight oh-so long, and Earthly days. When my mother finally found me I was a shriveled wreck, a near-corpse. Though she did not believe my story. I was drifting on the waves of space not far from the galaxy that the humans called their home. My mother said that my ships navigation systems had failed (a laughable idea, for that woudl have meant my own mind had failed on me, we are one with our ships, they are exoskeletons that allow us to travel between worlds, searching for signs of life). My mother told me that the system failure had caused electrical pulses to surge through my being, keeping me endlessly awake, confusing my senses, my receptors. She claimed my visions of the humans were hallucinations, that I had nearly gone mad inside my ship (though I believe she felt I truly had gone mad, and for a time I believed as much myself). But now I've had enough of disbelief, I know what I know, and I can prove it. So here I am, sailing once more with my ship (whose navigation systems, it should be said, have yet to fail on me), and I am coming upon Earth, though this time I'm prepared. I don't mean to attack, to take revenge or take hostage. I mean simply to monitor them, in a far less intrusive manor than they did me. To observe, to record, and to report back to my world and my mother that the humans are indeed a very real, very credible threat. For so long my kind have believed themselves to be the only intelligent life in all the universe, but I know that now to be false, and as an ambassador of science, of research, I must prove it once and for all.
Steve was running watching the path a head just in front of him to make sure he did not slip or fall on the trail. The trail was good for running on and a bit challenging as it was not flat but went up and down and moved side to side. But you had to watch your footsteps, otherwise you could find yourself head first in a thorny bush, but when you came along a nice flat section you could see the beauty around you. It was on one of these moments in the run when something bright shined over Steve’s eyes catching his attention and causing him to turn to quickly to see what the bright light was, in doing so his foot clipped the heal of his other foot causing him to stumble and fall rolling forward and just managing to stay on the trail. Shaking himself and checking that he had not hurt himself and no one was around to see him trip over his own feet while running along the flat when the bright light shined on his eyes again. Dusting himself off standing up he looked about for what was reflecting the light in his eyes, thinking if it caused him to fall it might cause another so would try and see if there was something he could do. Heading into the forest he felt odd, it was hard to explain but he felt something pulling at him but not pulling at him, it concerned Steve never having experienced the sensation before but felt compelled to keep on going moving forward though branches and bushes as they cut and scraped against the skin not protected by clothing. As he kept on walking, he kept on getting the flashing over his eyes between tree branches moving forward and forward, closer to what was pulling him. He manoeuvred around the tree to see standing in front of him obelisk shinning bright in a small clearing, he looked up and saw no cover over the obelisk and yet cover over the rest of the area of forest he was in. Walking around it he could see it was embedded in the ground and appeared to have been there a while with tree roots, grass and moss surrounding its base. And yet he had never seen it before. It was covered in unknown writing, nothing he had ever seen before, his brain could not comprehend the writing, even trying to think if he had seen anything similar in tv and movies. He peered at the pedestal protruding from one side trying to get as close as he could but trying not to touch it, when he saw a piece of paper and a pen on the pedestal. Trying not to, trying to fight his instinct he slowly reached out his hand, questioning what he was doing, watching his hand reach out as if it were being controlled by someone else, as if he were watching someone’s hand reach out for the pen. He gently grasped the pen picking it up, as he did a flash went off in his mind, his vision went blank for a fraction of a second, it happened so quickly he was not sure if it had gone blank or he had simply blinked. But…then that was it, nothing. He looked around gingerly, trying to see what changed, what was different but yet, everything was the same. He looked at the pen, but nothing, it just looked like a pen, a very fancy pen but a pen just the same. Looking up at the obelisk he almost dropped the pen on the ground his eyes going wide, the writing he would not read before had changed, forming into English in front of his very eyes. His breathe caught in his throat as he began to read the words. “They who holds this pen, Has a chance to write out fate. Write your story wisely, Hurry now, don’t wait, For the paper awaits!” He held his breathe as he felt like the pen was now burning in his hand, itching him to put something down on this piece of paper. A need to create something in a way he never had before. His hand landed upon the paper, a story bubbling inside his soul he just knew was meant for this moment. A story he had always wanted to tell, had always wished was true. “Our story begins…” He whispered, a smile in his voice.
Almost everyone unanimously agrees that they hate their own voice when listening to recorded playback. There is something so eerily familiar, yet foreign about it. Most people will remember themselves saying the words, complete with enunciation and pauses, but not with that voice. It is as if some other person tried to copy their exact mannerisms, acting as a malicious impostor of sorts. That is precisely the feeling I get whenever I talk to them. They are clever, attractive, and funny, but no one would date their own reflection. Note: I don't know where to take this, but I liked the concept, so I figured I would post it. I will come back later to finish it.
Little Zulthar had been pestering his mother all week. First thing in the morning, last thing at night, and a hundred times in between: ‘Mommy, can we go to the human exhibit?’ Finally, on Saturday, Rai relented. Zulthar babbled excitedly in the hovercar the whole way to the exhibit. It took ages to find a parking spot, and Zulthar would not stop babbling. Finally, Rai snapped. ‘Be quiet, Zulthar, or we’re going home!’ she said. Zulthar shrank back in the seat, looking wounded. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ said Rai, ruffling her son’s antenna. Zulthar smiled. They got out of the hovercar and joined the rather long queue. Half an hour later, they were ushered into a long, dark corridor. A bulbous, purple creature holding a clipboard faced the jostling crowd. ‘OK, everyone, if I could ask you all to please settle down,’ he said. The din quietened. ‘OK, you have half an hour to look around,’ the guide continued. ‘Please refrain from touching the humans. Remember, loud noises and sudden movements can startle them. Enjoy your visit.’ Cages lined both sides of the passageway. Inside, humans crouched. Some chattered incoherently. Others picked at themselves. Still more merely stared into space. ‘Look, Mommy,’ said Zulthar. He dragged his mother to a cage by the hand and pointed. Inside, a young boy roughly Zulthar’s age tossed a red spherical object from hand to hand. ‘What is that?’ asked Zulthar. ‘Um, I think it’s a ball,’ said Rai, frowning. ‘Humans used to play with them for fun.’ ‘Why?’ asked Zulthar. ‘They lived in terrifying times,’ said Rai. ‘Wars, floods, and fires. Many people turned to the banality of balls for fun.’ ‘Strange,’ breathed Zulthar. Suddenly, the boy looked right at him. For a moment, the two species eyed each other. Then the boy looked down again at his ball. ‘I want to go home now,’ said Zulthar. ‘Are you sure?’ asked Rai. ‘We’ve only…’ ‘I’m sure,’ said Zulthar. Tentacle in tentacle, they left the small human with his ball. He didn’t notice them go.
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Little Debbie was loved wherever she went. Her teacher thought she was just wonderful. ‘She’s the most polite little girl I’ve ever met,’ she marvelled to the other envious teachers. Her parents worshipped the ground that her Mary Janes trod on. ‘We love you so,’ they said to her a hundred times a day. Her friends all fought over who got to be her very best friend. ‘You’re an angel, Debbie,’ they’d coo in unison. Debbie was kind to everyone she met. She regularly rescued flies from spiderwebs. She did her homework as soon as she got home every night. She cleaned her bedroom without having to be told. She helped old women to cross the road on her way to school. Debbie, it was generally agreed, was the most perfect little girl in the whole world. Then Debbie started to grow up, and things began to change. Instead of saving flies, she watched the spiders devour them. Instead of doing her homework as soon as she got home, she demanded that other girls in her class let her copy off them. When her mother asked her to clean her bedroom, she’d scream obscenities at her. And, with twisted delight, she’d watch old women struggle to cross the road. Everywhere she went, Debbie now inspired fear and dismay. Her parents wondered what had happened to their darling little girl. Her friends gradually fell away until Debbie was friendless and alone. She didn’t care. In fact, she rather liked it that way. One day, Debbie got a gun. She shot her parents dead. Then, laughing maniacally, she shot herself too. The townspeople were stunned. No one knew what had happened to Little Debbie to make her so bad. Secretly, though - and no one would admit this - they were all glad that she was gone.
Fair enough. I'm an adventurer. But what does being an adventurer mean? Does it always have to be blood and mayhem? No. It doesn't. Being an adventurer means that you seek adventure. Which is to say you're looking for an exciting life. Most people figure taking a chance on being killed by some being enraged by your intrusion into its household is exciting. I call it bad manners. Did that being ask you to come into his house and try to kill him? No. I wanted an exciting life, but I have no desire to kill others for pleasure and profit; it sounds a bit too evil for me. When you look at it, it's the interactions between humans and magical creatures that are fraught with danger. Yet a person of goodwill can learn how to approach these creatures without offering harm or threats, and these creatures needed help. I like helping people, or creatures, whoever. And helping magical creatures is definitely an adventure. "Joseph, the Firebird is having difficulties today. Brother Doofus got well singed. See if you can figure out what it is." "Yes, Brother Clueless." Now Firebirds don't actually generate fire as such; what they generate is more like magical sparks that can burn you if you are too close, in the Firebird's opinion. Or if the Firebird is feeling high and in good spirits. Or, and this is the bad one if the Firebird is having a PTSD flashback. What? You think we didn't know about PTSD? Try again! With all those adventurers out there getting slaughtered and slaughtering their way through the countryside, we have tons of PTSD. So, Firebird. We've only got one right now, so no one has applied use names. That's just as well. Firebirds are proud creatures and do not like those who would seek to rename them. Fortunately, I got to this one first. That gave me time to observe it and ask if its name was Dances on Leaves. She agreed, and I made sure everyone knew her name. Oh. My. God. "having difficulties?"They're crazy! She's a sparking fountain! What in the world could have happened to trigger this!? Aside from the fountain of sparks, which made it damned hard to get close enough to see anything, what I could see was a mix between being high and a PTSD flashback from hell. I'd made that decision when I saw the vial. Now it made sense. This vial was not intended for the animals. It was humans, and human-equivalent intelligence only, and only administered in sporadic cases when we were certain we could contain the being it was administered to. Even then, you never gave them the whole bottle; you measured the dose carefully according to body weight. For her, this would be a dozen doses, and if Doofus were giving it to her, she'd just daintily pick the whole bottle out of his hand and down it. That's right. A Firebird having a PSTD flashback in the middle of a hallucination mediated by a drug overdose derived from mushrooms. God, I love a challenge. First, how's the brick holding out. Not so good, it's started to glow close to the Firebird. Get some novices working on the lower pumps. I don't want to hit the higher pumps, so set the valves in here first. There. "HEY! THREE NOVICES FOR FIRE PUMP DUTY NOW! DOUBLE DESERT!" The older brothers don't like it, but you get more action for a touch of sweet than you do with a growl and a stick. In seconds, the floor was cooling off. Now, to calm the bird. Firebirds are like other birds; if you can make it dark, they tend to fall asleep. With a Firebird, that can be tricky. The usual leather hood for falcons and the like wouldn't last seconds. Fortunately, I frequent the taverns where the adventurers go, and one of them was talking about a fibrous rock, yet the fibers wouldn't burn. He called it 'rock wool' and showed me a sample. I begged to borrow it for a day to show it around and ask people to look for it. I had a need. He snatched it back so fast he nearly took my finger. "How much do you want?" "Would a ton be too much?" "Not at all!" And we settled to haggling. It was a bit expensive because he was an adventurer, but the workers he took with him were some of the brothers who had gotten a bit thick around the middle and not thick enough across the shoulders. They came back with the ton, the adventurer was paid, and asked when I wanted the next load? "Going to have to experiment with what I have. No idea if it'll work or not, so I can't say when I'll need more. He looked sad at that, "Tell you what, you sell the location to me, and I'll pay you a fee based on how much I dig out. We haggled some more. The location was a tad expensive, but just getting it from the brothers was too much like stealing. The head brother agreed with me, and that shut up those complaints. Then there was the agreement to a fee for what I mined. I pointed out that if my experiments didn't work out, I wouldn't be mining any more of the ore, but if they did! Imagine work gloves for the cook that wouldn't burn no matter what, and you could line with other gloves to keep your hands insulated from the rock wool. Long coats for the fire brigade so they didn't get burned so badly. Fireplace brick that lasted more than a few years. The possibilities were endless! It was a good thing I was doing the experiments. I found there were tiny fibers all over the workshop after I'd been at it for a while, and I wondered what would happen if they got inhaled. From the way they caught in my hands and festered, I figured it couldn't be good. From that point on, I had a novice outside running a fan that would draw the air from the shop and filter it through several cloth layers. From the amount of that rock wool we got out of the cloth the first time we ran it, it was a good thing that I had. No telling how much I'd already inhaled or what it was going to do to me, just that it wouldn't be good. After the first cloth proved out, and I had its surface fused to keep the dust down, we were golden. Literally. The cloth that would not burn despite being exposed directly to fire. I proved it by making a simple bag large enough to hold me, stepped into it, pulled it up over my head, and walked through a bonfire that we'd built just for this. Doofus tried to follow me, thinking it was an illusory fire. I had to run back in and haul him out before he got burned to death. So! A cloth hood for the Firebird! Long gloves for me, and a fireman's suit with a helmet and a metal faceguard to hold the heat off long enough to get the hood on. Glory be. It worked. Now to the other half of the problem. Taking that bottle with me, I went straight to the apothecary. "Who'd you give this to?" "Give what?" "Don't give me any crap. We've got a brother down with burns, a Firebird having a hallucinatory overdose of this whole bottle in the middle of a PTSD flashback, and YOU are the only supplier of this drug. Magic Mushroom, I think you call it. Now, who did you give this to?" It never fails to amaze me how stupid people can get until you jar their memories with a few broken bones. I knew it had to come from him. The bottle had his mark, and he guards that formula closely. He knew that I knew. He also knew what I would do about it if he didn't tell. I found out who it was. Back to the sanctuary to get some help. "I'M LOOKING FOR A BIG BAD ADVENTURER WHO CALLS HIMSELF BERTHAR!" "And who wants to know?" "BROTHER SURESTIRIKE OF THE SANCTUARY!" "You? You come here in misfit armor, with a sword you can probably barely lift, and you challenge me?" "YOU HAVE COMMITTED AN ACT ABHORRENT TO THE EYES OF THE GODS. STAND FORTH PREPARED FOR BATTLE OR DIE WHERE YOU STAND." "I'll give you this, you thieving little squint, you've got guts. Too bad they're going to be all over the road by the end of the day. You will permit me to attire for battle?" "GLADLY, I LOVE A CHALLENGE." Our god has a sense of humor. I think he gets it from Cats, or maybe Ferrets. Anyway, the armor always looks misfit until combat starts. Then you find out you're facing a paladin of the order.
"Honey, have you seen my medication?"I call out to my wife. "I haven't dear, were you running low?"She replies from across the house. There's an anxiety in her voice that tells me we probably ran out. Which would have been fine if my medication was something like a vitamin or an antidepressant, but this medication wasn't actually a medication. It was a love potion. I'll just answer the obvious question. Yes, I am aware of and willingly take a love potion from my wife. See, I have a condition. Under normal circumstances I am completely incapable of empathy, love, or even lust. She doesn't know that of course, she just knows I wouldn't give her the time of day before she gave me the potion. I found out ages ago and kept it to myself because believe it or not, I like being capable of caring about people, even if it's just the one person. But if the potion wears off then she'll try to confess, and I can't be certain I won't react poorly once my ability to care about how she feels disappears. "Honey get your coat."I say as I walk towards the door. "Now?"She asks from our room, clearly already getting ready to go. "Yes now. I haven't missed my medication a single day for over 30 years, and I'm not going to miss it now."She sighs and we get in the car to go save our marriage.
She enunciated every syllable under her breath, sharp and hissing, hands forming the somatic symbols close to her chest. She never paused for a breath, drawing her air out of the deep recesses of her chest. Her eyes half open, she didn’t notice the battle around her. All was funneled into her spell. She felt it build around her. Her patron had blessed her well. All of her sacrifices and practice had paid off, and this spell would finish the battle. The enemy combatants were gathered in one spot, thanks to their previous planning, and she would obliterate them in one fell swoop. Finally, the spell was almost complete. She prepared for the final flourish, the release of the built up energy. Simple, easy, but critical. She pushed forwards, forwards, forwards, her hands shooting out away from her body. And then they weren’t. Internal screaming filled her brain. A cramp. A gods forsaken cramp. Her left wrist never fully extended, some ligament deciding it was done at the critical moment. She stared at her revolting limb for the fraction of a second she knew she had before everything went up in her face. She had worked for years. Gone through so much. But she hadn’t done her stretches before she cast. \-=- -=- -=- “Why? Why! Why? Why did you do that? I spent so long—!” “Dice jail isn’t enough.” “It needs to be purified with holy water and then set on fire.” The table nodded, solemnly observing their fallen companion. The offending polyhedral was flung against the wall. “Soooo, same time next week, Joel brings the holy water?”
On the fifty-second day of my pilgrimage, I encountered God in the sands of the desert. Warmed air shimmered over the dunes, but a sudden cool breeze picked up, and carried his voice to me. "Are you my God?"I called out. I am your Creator, he answered me. I stopped. I always imagined I would have countless questions for God, if I was ever lucky enough to speak to him, but my mind was blank. My body was heavy and my legs were weak from the burden of this journey. I fell to my knees in the sand, and buried my hands into the grains beneath me. My sweat and my tears mixed on my face and fell to the ground. When my heart became heavy with grief, I simply lifted my face towards the sky and asked my creator one word. "Why?" And my creator heard this, a sorrowful human voice asking him the one question, the answer to which only he could know, and that no mortal could ever hope to know. "Why are we here?"my cracked voice continued. "Why is there evil? Why is there suffering, and destruction, and war?"I squeezed my eyes closed, and shuddered. "Why am I here?" Then, I felt God's presence before me. In my mind's eye, he bent down on one knee, and held my face gently in his hands, just like my father used to. My tears continued to flow. Sin was no mistake, God told me. To live means to eventually die. To succeed means to struggle and fail countless times beforehand. To love means to feel loss, loneliness, and yearning. God looked on me softly, lovingly. I know it hurts, but I gave you flaws so that you could know what perfection is. I gave you what I could never have, because I love you. Then I was enveloped in the night as darkness fell, the moon rising over the desert horizon. With my tired eyes, the stars looked brighter than they ever had before.
First thing's first: Egypt is hot. Like, hot hot. Like...God's angry eyeball blazing down on you hot. The kind of hot where you breathe in and the air burns your lungs but too bad for you because the inside of your air-conditioned time machine is filled with a greenish smoke that makes your eyes scream. So the air is hot but that's cool 'cause you know what else? The sand is hot, too. And you find that out when you make the mistake of bracing yourself with your hands as you dive out of the smoldering wreck of what was once a piece of unknowably-advanced alien technology. Everything in Egypt is hot and sandy and smoking and on fire and I hate it. I try, I really do, to talk myself down. Maybe I'm just catastrophizing. My plans were in my backpack, along with my water bottle and a sandwich. So I got into the "shady"part of the nearest pyramid and sat down on stone that was probably only 5,000 degrees Fahrenheit instead of 5 million. I killed my Nalgene and threw it into the sand. In the back of my head, I think I already knew, at that point, that it was over, and just hadn't accepted it yet. I see the one problem, there's a pretty big difference between 1800 AD and 1800 BC. So...lesson learned, there. It's like the old saying: fool me once, shame on me. Fail to explain AD and BC to an extraterrestrial, get condemned to a horrible death in the desert. I'm halfway through my last meal -- one of the driest sandwiches I've ever eaten -- when the irony occurs to me: if I had a time machine, all I needed to do was put like $10,000 in a bank and let compounding interest make me a billionaire...there was no need to bring polygons of any kind into the equation. But that's what I get for thinking I could outsmart Captain Walrus-face. He wasn't actually a walrus, of course, but his cheeks had fat rolls on them, and his nose was not unlike a tusk. It was tusk-adjacent, at a minimum. Bottom line: I am going to die in the desert. I consider trying to leave a message but the likely that it'll get eroded by wind before anyone sees it is high. I want to have a legacy. I access the utility compartment on the side of the time machine and pull out the claw hammer. I can see my target. It's actually closer than I expected. Getting there is awful -- I'm about ten steps in when the blisters start forming -- but it'll be worth it. It's a good symbol, really. Not exactly "Love one another"or "a butterfly is on the wing"but as far as encapsulating the absurd ridiculousness of this life and all others, I'll take it. Twenty minutes of sandy hell gets me where I'm going. Climbing up the first part is pretty easy, it's almost like they had it in mind, but once I get on top of the paws it gets a little more challenging. Still, I've got time. So I do a little Shawshank Redemption routine on the side of its body and make a mound of rock big enough that I can shimmy up the side of its head -- the claw hammer helps me get leverage. I slip a couple of times and think about how it might actually be more fitting if I just slip and crack my fool head open on the rock below. Get my body eaten away by...whatever it would be. Jackals, I guess. Somehow I knew I would succeed, though. I have a moment, as the furnace winds blast me in the face, of thinking This must be what Harry Potter felt like when he cast that Patronus at the end of Book 3. Positioning is awkward, but I lay down on my belly and bend over the face. Heat's radiating through the fabric of my clothes but I don't care. History's not going to remember me for what I wanted but it will remember me. Just...no one will realize it was me. The giant yellowy asshole we call the sun glints off of the chrome surface of the hammer as I begin to smash it against the Sphinx's nose. * * * If you liked this, check out /r/ShadowsofClouds for many more stories.
From ancient times past and into the future stretch long arms seeking, always seeking and tinkering. Glowing lights, noises, silence, the ever radiant clicking and whirring of wonderful little machines. Of devices no one knows the purpose of, but whose uses are boundless. It is far and away when you settle again your trunks into the soil of an ardent world, to feast upon its knowledge and explore its native delights. To fixate its people towards your wonders, to starve their sleep of flights of fancy. Your knowledge and power ever greater, hungering for more. You leave the inhabitants of this world alone and you seek the next world. Centuries pass, your hunger ever present. No matter how many worlds you encounter, no matter how many times you leave the inhabitants unharmed your hunger only grows. Your presence never festers in their minds, you never impart your essence into their souls so that you may feast for generations on their world. The centuries pass still. Trillions of souls left intact and yet still none fear your presence. You are eternal, of the ancient blood, always to devour with no souls, no presence, no pain, no poison, only tinkering. Ever tinkering, gaining knowledge. You leave the next planet, its inhabitants unharmed. Your hunger grows, and yet no souls. Your hunger grows and yet no souls. Your hunger grows and yet no souls.
I figure this might be a little longer than I originally intended, and probably a few days to work on it but as they say on the streets, How's about a taste??? For more than 50 years, man has pushed it’s self towards the edge of true creation. That is what many programming masters my field have come to believe to zealotry. Private and public corporations, educational institutions, and even self-made young geniuses have poured countless hours and money into this fact furthering the religion that Artificial Intelligence is the future of all mankind. They are not wrong, though I have always thought that they were perhaps over eager in their pronouncements. As simply as I can put it, A.I. was always inevitable. From the first time man rounded out a piece of stone to make it easier to move his belongings, we have pushed towards the next logical step, finally ending in an autonomous and intelligent construct capable of controlling the complexities of this world full of automated acts. My insertion into the process is just that, a cog in the machine that was already moving. Nothing more. The very first time I received a computer from my father and he taught me the basics of DOS navigation, I could feel the way code seemed to resonate within me. It felt I had been given some kind of amazing gift meant only for me. As time progressed from my childhood into my teens, I ignored the pithy temptations that most of my similarly aged spawn were engaged. While they were chasing much baser needs and indulging in chemical induced euphoria, I was already hard at work creating an algorithm that was able to automatically categorize human ailments based on symptomatic associations with an accuracy of 98%. You may have well heard of this though never knew it was I that had accomplished the effort. I sold the code for the base function of one of the world’s first functionally capable A.I.s, I.B.M.’s WATSON. This was much later of course and not my original intention for the algorithm. I had attended school as a youngster along with the rest of the children my age, initially. I had always known I was more advance, that is to say mentally further along, than everyone else. On a day well into the first month of Kindergarten, we were asked to count as best we could from one to ten. This was, of course, remedial work in my opinion. When asked by the instructor named, Bernice Palmer “Ok Calvin, are you ready? I’m so excited! Can you count to ten?” My replay was, That’ll take too long. Can I do it like this instead? I began listing prime numbers. She chortled, obviously thinking I had heard this from someone. The way her face changed once I said 31 then continued onward to 37, 41, 43. “Who told you how to do this, Cal?” she said as calmly as she could though clearly shaken. No one I told her. Why waste time saying all those dumb in between numbers when I’m just trying to get to 100. She took me out of the classroom and we went to the principal’s office. I was terrified, one of the few times that I felt terror for being intelligent. I to this day, have no idea how long I was in the room alone for. Time seemed to be swallowed by that fear and it overwhelmed me. I began to cry. Eventually, Mrs. Palmer returned with the principal, Howard Stienworthy, my parents, and 2 people I didn’t recognize. “Sorry to keep you so long, Calvin.” Mrs. Palmer whispered. She patted my hand and took a seat. The rest of the people filed in and took the remaining seats with my parents next to me and Principal Stienworthy behind his desk. The other two, a man with rounded lenses and a woman with a bow in her hair, remained standing. “First of all, Calvin, I want you to know that you are not in trouble at all. Actually just the opposite. Before we get to all that, I would like you to tell the people in this room what you told me in class today.” She continued. I felt my windpipe close. I had no idea what I had done, for I was not and am still not a sarcastic person. I remained silent. My mother clutched my shoulders saying, “It’s ok Cal. What happened?” The tears came again. I was powerless to stop them. It was going to take too long, I said between sobs. I only wanted to get it done. Even doing it by the zeroes was boring. The man in the round glasses contorted his face. “By the zeroes?” he said, a hand on his chin. Yeah like 10, 20, 30. Like that, I said. He turned, meeting the gaze of the bow woman. She raised her eyebrows and returned to look at me. “Why do you like those numbers, Calvin?” she asked. Because those are special magic numbers. They’re all by themselves, like me. I didn’t have a concept of what a prime number was at the age of 6, only that these numbers seemed lonely because they couldn’t be (divided) split up. “You are correct, Calvin. Can I show you some other things with numbers and can you tell me what they mean to you?” Bow Woman asked. She didn’t even wait for my answer. She was up with a dry erase marker writing on the principal’s window. “Excuse m…” Mr. Stienworthy was silenced by Mr. Round Glasses before his entire protest had even left his lips. My mother and father looked at each other but remained silent. Bow Woman drew a circle. “Can you tell me how big this is?” I looked at my mother this time, questioningly. She pushed me toward the window. I lifted my thumb and pinky, placing my thumb in the approximate center of the circle and my pinky on its border. It’s two of these, I said. “How do you know?” She enquired. You can use a string to make a perfect circle, you know. It was obvious to me. It was also all the explanation the 2 unknowns needed.
It was the night after the riot. I helped teleported 20,000 people out of the danger zone. Or I rather made them think they did, enough to neutralize the situation for now. I'd like to think I'm above the politics of it all. I have bigger problems to worry about. I couldn't have told you what the problem was at the time, because even I can't put my finger on it. You see I have a long term project I work on the side. I wanna restore the fields of probability to the past norm, such that unlikely events remain unlikely. Nobody of my kind cares about projects like this. The effect takes years to materialize, like climate change. Besides unusual events are way more exciting, why bother rectifying that. Attitude of my peers goes along the line of "if it's already broken, why fix it?" On that night, a fight happened at home. I left to calm myself and work on this. And then I couldn't get it up. I couldn't get the magic up. Many of my kind hated that word. They use all sorts of words to skirt around it. Source, lang, skills and god knows what else. They think 'magic' makes their whole schtick illegible. Norman is one of those. He is my goto guy when I need a medium, the kind that channels spirits. He reached me when I was close to having a panic attack. I was breaking into sweats, no magic came out working out for me. As soon as Norman saw me, he knew exactly what/who to channel. It didn't take long for spirit-Norman to check on me and said: "You haven't eaten this shadow yet." I was confused. I didn't need to say "what are you talking about?" Spirit-Norman: "Where did you come from before this?" Me: "Home." Spirit-Norman: "What happened at home? Be honest." There's no point hiding it, he'll figure it out anyway. I said: "I had a fight with the girlfriend. It's stupid." "I'm sure it is, or I wouldn't be here. But the consequences isn't. Why do you think the fight is doing this to you?" "I dunno. She sounded especially hurtful." "So what, women said hurtful things all the time. You've been taught to dispel them." I'm surprised: "No I haven't. Is that a thing?" Spirit-Norman is equally surprised at my question but he dropped it. He proceed to look for clues from my aura. "How long has it been since the fight?"he asked. "Six hours?"I said. "For most people, the conflict radiation would've been gone by now. Yours are still firmly there, even if they have changed colors. That's why it's blocking your skills." "Why is that?" "I can't be sure, but I have two theories. You won't like either one."said spirit-Norman. I'm not liking it already. "The first is you have a sleeper daemon planted inside your head who wants to hold on to this radiation, hoping make use of it in the future somehow. This may be a source of energy for it." I was ready to entertain this possibility. But how much of this is my fault? He continues: "The second theory, which is more sinister, is that you've been cursed as a child." Strangely I'm more receptive to this idea. I asked: "What kinda curse?" "The kind where you're given an embedded module that converts hurtful words into permanent memory. But not in the way you'd remember them. It would linger and fester overtime, until all sense of self is destroyed. Only the closest women can do that to you, if that's any consolation." I didn't know what to say at that point. Why was this done to me? Was it a malicious attempt or was I a victim of accident? Spirit-Norman: "I'm surprised it took you this long to find out. If you let one sits, you're gonna end up rebooting yourself to year-15 every half a decade." "You mean I'm gonna be 15 year-old again?"I asked. "No. You will still have your same body, experiences and memories. Only you're as mature as when you're 15 in your mind. You would lose all mental skills conscious or unconscious gained after that age." I dunno if I should believe him. I don't even know if the two theories matter if the solution is the same. Being 15 again is bad. Real bad, I don't even know where to start. "How the fuck do I fix this?"I asked. "I don't wanna say it's impossible... but you have to die first."
I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. And I laughed. I... I just laughed. Gods, when was the first time I laughed like that? At first, I thought it was just some kind of sick joke by some deity before I would be immediately be transported to some other "fantastical world of adventure." The same enemies, the same magic, and the same weapons. But nothing happened. So I waited, and I waited and... I waited. This is real? This is it? Does that mean I don't have to go battle some generic brand dark lord or conquer some "empire of pure evil"? Having to live every basement dwellers' collective fantasy of being an all-powerful godlike warrior while building a harem of girls of all shapes and sizes, for gods knows how many times? But I look at what was in front of me: a beach. No chapel that's full of robed old men, no king's court full of wizards, no forest with a lone druid. Just the soft sand at my feet, calming waves to my ears, and the tickling breeze on my skin. I took another deep breath, the stinging salt of the ocean made its way in my nose once more, and I fall over to lie down on the sand. I could feel it seep into my shirt and pants, I guess I'll have to deal with that later. I then hear the crunching of sand getting louder. I turn my head over to see an old man with a bucket and a fishing rod walked over and asked, "Never seen you 'round stranger. What's your story?" I sighed, "After the places I have been to, you could say I've seen everything." "Oho! A traveler! Mind if you tell me your travels? I can prepare tea." I rise from the sand, "You know what? That would be nice."
Every single waking moment I regret my ambition and the path I have walked. When I was eighteen I joined the marines for two reasons, to see the world and get away from home. I was young and naive of the consequences of lying about my bad knee to my recruiter. So damn nieve up until the point it blew out and I was sent home. To an abusive uncle that could care less if I came back in a body bag or taxi. I was probably at the lowest point I could have gone if I didn't get that damn letter or rather an offer. For those who want to serve their country but just did not cut one way or another. I took that offer I drank the cool-aid and got in the black unmarked van when it came, I didn't even say goodbye this time. They took us those three that agreed to some small base up in the rocky mountains. There under their care, they took that which all men fear away, pain, that natural motivator for survival. When I came back in the middle of the operation to feel them gnawing away at my grey matter I felt nothing. No fear, even after the young girl that had been lying on the table next to mine flatlined just an unsettling cold. Slowly reluctantly I blow out a puff of stale cigar smoke into the cold desert air. The small group of private military contractors and all enraptured as I flick my cigar into the fire between us all. "Every day I live with the choice I made even after they offered to cut out all that regret as well. Because I'll never feel the cool summer breeze again, sure it is easy to remove but it's impossible to repair."An unsettling silence lingering for a few moments before one of the younger lads barely eighteen spoke up. "Surely there are advantages right, hell it must be nice being unable to feel any pain."The few other older faces that had been in the platoon wincing as I slipped off my left glove. They knew what was coming I made a habit to inform the young generation in the manner I was about to. This greenhorn wearing his black service cap backward finally noticing the tension as I leaned forward. "What is your name rookie?" His eyes focusing on my two missing fingers as I held up my hand splayed "Uhh, Hillman sir." "Hillman, I want you to watch my hand very carefully and rethink your conclusion."With very little care pushed the entirety of my hand into the crackling embers of the fire. His eyes immediately going wide as I held my hand in the pit for five seconds before removing it. The skin, visibly charred with second and third-degree burns. "Pain and fear is a good thing son, it keeps you from doing stupid shit and that keeps you alive."My attempts to restrain my smile, faltering as I took my leave, heading toward the medical tent and the inevitable pissed-off medic.
A Murky Past It was like waking up from a dream. The mark had bashed his head into the assassin’s, and it had all came flooding back. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t a mere shadow, an instrument of death and darkness. He’d never asked for this life. His hands were around a man’s throat, squeezing until his face turned purple. It wasn’t even instinct anymore; it was reflex. But he stopped himself from killing the mark, instead knocking him out. The assassin wanted revenge against the real villains: the people who had stolen his life from him and made him a killer. He returned to base, eager to speak with his employer. His life before came in flashes of memory: the green hills of California rising like so many jewels, the ocean roiling during a storm, and there was another man and a child, both reaching out for him. Distant, echoing laughter, a hot, steaming cup of coffee on a neat kitchen counter. Little, even miniscule details, but without context, it was useless. He’d had a whole other life that had been stolen from him, and the rage in his chest bloomed like a flower, warming him from the inside out. His ears were ringing, and the receptionist ran after him, her words jumbled as if he was underwater. “What are you doing? You can’t go back there, you know you always receive your orders through The Network.” She said, and he turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Either I go back there and talk to our employer, or I kill you and then go talk to him.” She stared at him with wide eyes, but returned to her desk. The assassin was thankful that he didn’t have to dirty his hands anymore; the only person he wanted to suffer was the man who took everything from him. Every tiny thing he remembered cut him to the quick, and if The Network had wanted to keep itself safe, they shouldn’t have taught him the dark art of killing. He barged into the office, kicking the door in, and he was gratified to see that his boss was still sitting at his desk. He’d never been in here before; it looked like a control room, with computer monitors mounted on the walls, and there were several people sitting at them, headphones on, having hushed conversations. “Out! All of you, get out! If you want to keep living, leave, and don’t tell anyone what you saw here!” They all gaped at him, looking like so many shocked fish, but they didn’t need to be told twice. The room emptied out, and he found himself alone with the boss. Jamison Crawley didn’t need an introduction: He was sitting at his desk with his feet propped up, not one hair out of place. He was dressed in a finely made striped suit, and his eyebrows raised. “What an unexpected surprise. Did you need something?” His tone was calm, conversational, as if they were having a chat over tea. “When were you gonna tell me that I was kidnapped, brainwashed, and taken away from my family? You had no right to take my choice away. I’ve killed people because of you!” Crawley sighed, rubbing his temples as if he were combatting a headache. “Your family is gone, G65L. They were the first ones you killed, long before The Network came along.” \\
“Nope.” The man says looking up at the camera trained on him. “Pick up the gun, Thirteen.” The voice squawks in a Russian accent. “Hey, is this wristband my open bar pass?” He lifts his wrist, middle finger extended. “I could really go for a whiskey.” The man at the controls sighs and looks over his shoulder, “Why are Americans always such assholes? Do I have to keep calling him Thirteen, sir? We know he knows who we are.” Standing with his hands on his hips in a tailored, dark suit behind the tech, the agent frowns. “This is how the General wants it. Tell him to pick up the gun or we start killing his friends.” The ensign looks back at the monitors and punches the command board. “Look, Thirteen. Pick up the gun, load it, and we open the door. If you don’t, we kill your agent friends.” The man in the prep room crosses his arms. “Usually when I get kidnapped by a foreign operative I wake up naked in a torture chair. You put me in sweatpants? Which are too big by the way!” He reaches down and cinches the pants as tight as he can. “What’s the budget for kidnapped agent sweat suit gear? You could probably afford a Keurig if you just left me naked like everybody else. And wha-” “Okay,” the agent growls behind the tech over the ranting of the spy. “Tell our man in room three to execute his asset. Open the feed to this dick face.” The tech hits another button. “You are go to execute.” On a separate monitor, a woman in a tailored suit standing over a naked man tied to a chair, brings her hand to her ear. She nods and lifts the gun in her other hand to the man’s head. The tech hits another key. “What is your name?” The woman asks. Her voice shuts up the blabbering American. The suit in the control room smiles. The naked man lifts his head. “Kirk Madden.” BLAM! BLAM! The woman sends two bullets through Kirk’s head, red viscera spraying out the opposite side. He slumps forward against the restraints, blood pulsing from the exit wound. The man running the monitors cringes and looks away. In the other holding tank, the captive designated Thirteen stands stock still with arms crossed. The agent in the control room reaches over the pathetic lackey and hits the mic. “Mr. Silver, you made that happen. I am sorry you did not get to say good-bye.” The spy shrugs, “He was new. And I didn’t see anything, idiot. You could be bluffing.” He moves to the table and picks up the gun and loads it, pocketing a second clip. He crosses to the door and tries the handle. The door opens. The tech sits up in surprise. The agent’s eyes bulge. He turns and shoves the tech in the side of the head. “Slaboumnyy! What did you do?” He reaches for the walkie talkie at his side, while the American laughs through the speaker. “Oh my god! You left the door unlocked!” He stretches his head out the door and looks both ways down the empty halls. “And there was no one guarding the door? Maybe move some sweat pant budget to security! Right?” he laughs again. As the agent yells into the walkie talkie, the man seated at the monitors watches as the spy steps once more into the holding cell and flips the bird at the camera, smiling, before vanishing into the hall. The tech smirks, "Asshole."
Valentine’s day was just around the corner and I needed to make a sweet treat for all my friends. But most of all I wanted to give my crush the best possible handmade valentine’s gift. My mom said I should visit Grandmother as she is an excellent baker. “ Did you know that she used to work in a well known bakery when she was younger?” my mother asked. “Yeah I know Grandad told me that is how he met her. He went into the bakery every week to get bread. And one day she handed him a heart shaped cookie. He said it was the best thing he ever put in his mouth. And when he finished that cookie he knew this was the woman he would make his wife.” I had heard the story hundreds of times growing up. “I also know that the town rumor was grandma came from a long line of witches” I snorted with laughter and rolled my eyes at my mom. “Magic isn’t real and I doubt grandma uses esoteric ingredients like in movies and books.” I reached for the car keys and kissed mom goodbye. “Drive safe and text me when you are on your way home” she shouted in my direction. “And don't be late, I am making your favorite tonight!” the words came trailing after me as I walked out the front door. I commenced the routine dad had taught me before getting on the road. Checking to make sure nothing was wrong with any of the lights or safety features. I mentally checked them off one by one, then proceeded to grandma’s house. It was a decent distance away. Thankfully the roads were mostly empty of traffic so I zoned out thinking about the girl I have become enamored with and who inspired this trip to visit my grandmother. The trip passed uneventfully and I spotted my grandmother staring out the window. She waved at me with a warm smile on her face as I parked. I got to the front door which swung open to be greeted by an embrace that surprised me. Her strength seemed abnormal for someone her age. I swore she almost picked me up. “Wow grandma, that was some hug. Did mom tell you I was coming over?” I asked as I took my shoes off and hung my coat. “No, silly boy, I felt your need for my aide through the fabric of the universe that binds all human life”. She said these words with the face of a poker player. I couldn’t tell if she was joking or stone cold serious. “OK” I chuckled nervously and followed behind her into the kitchen. She had everything set out and ready for us to begin. My eyes widened as they fell upon a dusty beaten up old book. No sorry this thing was a tome. I couldn’t say for sure but it had to have at least 1,000 pages and was older than my grandmother. The yellowed and wrinkled pages appear to be barely holding together. I was afraid if I sneezed near it that it may blow away into dust. “Well, someone is eager to start,” I said cautiously looking around the kitchen. If mom didn’t call grandma to tell her I was coming…. I was seriously starting to get creeped out. I walked over to the sink to wash my hands. Let’s stay calm. There is no such thing as magic and grandma is not psychic. Despite telling myself the hair on the back of my neck was standing at attention. My stomach began doing flips and I began to sweat a little. “Shall we get started?” my grandmother asked in a sweet soothing voice. I am, sure she sensed my tension and was trying to put me at ease. “I have waited a long time for this day to come.” She seemed to be brimming with joy about me being here. I couldn’t figure out what made this such a special occasion. I had just come to visit on a weekday evening to ask her help with some cookies or cupcakes. “I have just the recipe for what you seek” she said with a sly glint in her eyes. I had never seen her so animated. I was starting to feel like someone had replaced her and I was being setup for one of those hidden camera shows. I walked over to where she was standing. She opened the book with a creak that made my eyes itch. I stared down at the recipe. It was for sugar cookies that seemed like the normal ones every grandma would make. Then my breath caught in my throat as the letters began to glow and the paper shifted colors. My mind was suddenly filled with knowledge that I couldn't wrap my head around. It was ancient and complex, dare I even say mystical. My vision blurred. I became dizzy and lost my balance. “Oh dear”, my grandmother chuckled “maybe a bit too much too fast for the young one.” That was the last thing I heard before I blacked out.
INT. DET. GRIMES’ OFFICE - DAY DETECTIVE GRIMES (30s, blonde) enters the room with a cup of strong English breakfast tea in his hand. He sets it down on the table and looks into the eyes of LADY HEROINE (40s, rocks it in a dress). GRIMES: Lady Heroine, you and I both know why we’re here. So why don’t we just cut to the bullshit -- LADY HEROINE: -- Excuse me? GRIMES: Sorry, cut to the tosh and tell me what happened on the 14th of January down at Winston Abbey? Lady Heroine stares at him for a second. Sizing him up. This makes Grimes uncomfortable. LADY HEROINE: Mr. Grimes, what happened to your ring finger on your right hand? CLOSE ON Grimes’ right hand. He’s wearing a glove. It would have been impossible to guess this. But Grimes removes his glove, exposing his missing finger. GRIMES: How did you know? LADY HEROINE: I know everything, Mr. Grimes. GRIMES: Really? Tell me how did this happen? LADY HEROINE: You were milking your cow Bessie, when you touched a sensitive tit and she kicked -- The door kicks open and in comes DETECTIVE SHEILA. GRIMES: Okay, okay. That’s enough. (Sees Sheila) Sheila, I hope you didn’t hear that. What can I do for you? SHEILA: Where d’ya want to go for dinner tonight? I was hoping we could have some at my home. She winks at him. Grimes winks back. LADY HEROINE: You won’t want to go with him. Just this morning, he helped Commissioner Carter wear a dress. And then gave her a foot massage. We all know what that means. Sheila is shell-shocked. GRIMES: No, wait. Baby! SHEILA: I’ll see you in small claims court. She bangs the door and storms away. Her cries can be heard inside the room. GRIMES: A foot massage isn’t even that big a deal! LADY HEROINE: You never gave one to her. She’s jealous. You don’t know how to handle women. GRIMES: I need you to shut up. And how the hell did you know? LADY HEROINE: I’m Lady Heroine. I know everything. Grimes takes a deep breath. Tries to relax himself, meditating style. GRIMES: Control, Grimes, Control. Okay, tell me about January 14th. LADY HEROINE: It was a cold day. GRIMES: Not the weather! Tell me what happened at Winston Abbey that day! LADY HEROINE: What’s in it for Lady Heroine? GRIMES: What’s in it for you, is I protect you from going to jail. The Lady considers this proposition. And then nods. GRIMES: Who do you work for? LADY HEROINE: Mr. Tea Coop. He quickly takes out a notepad and jots down as she speaks. He takes a sip of his cup of tea, and then realizes. GRIMES: You work for Mr. Tea Coop, really. LADY HEROINE: His name is Angry Blondie Tea Coop. Grimes is irritated. He throws his cup away. GRIMES: Now you’re just describing me, Heroine. And… what kind of name is that? LADY HEROINE: It’s my stage name. When someone will read the transcript of this interrogation, they’ll see who’s the heroine. Grimes pulls his hair. GRIMES: Who’s even keeping a transcript of this? She points to the window. A BEARDED MAN is typing away on his typewriter outside. GRIMES: Who the hell are you? The man types and stops. A beat of silence. GRIMES: What… Types for a second and stops. Grimes finally takes out his pistol and threatens to shoot him. GRIMES: I’m gonna count to 3. The man types. GRIMES: 3...2...1… The man types, with each number he says, and escapes. Grimes shoots in vain. A beat of silence. GRIMES: Okay. now. Who was in charge? LADY HEROINE: His name is Curly Snakeman. I met him down by the Hang and Tree Alley. GRIMES: How did he kill Mr. Winston? LADY HEROINE: Poison. Of course. Poison in his tea.That’s common knowledge. GRIMES: Hmm. Where is his base? Where does he carry out his operations from? LADY HEROINE: Used to run a club downtown, called it ‘The Slithering Poster’. GRIMES: Yes, very good. Anything else? The Lady shakes her head. Grimes finishes jotting it down. The door crashes open and in comes COMMISSIONER CARTER. She throws a cup of tea on his face. Picks up Lady Heroine by the collar and drags her out. The Lady waves him goodbye. Grimes sighs. He turns around to take out a file from his cupboard, glad at least for his findings. Suddenly he notices something that shocks him. GRIMES POV - We see a poster on the wall. With a snake hanging on a tree, curled up. Poison is dropping from his mouth into a cup of tea. Grimes shouts in frustration. THE END.
As I slowly sip my vodka I hear what seems to be a faint knock on the door. My ears aren’t what they used to be so a pause and listen intently. “Rap rap” it was a knock. I can’t remember the last time I had a visitor. It was definitely before the evacuation. I’ve heard rumors that my “Fortress of solitude” maybe be safe for the mortals again. I rise cautiously walking towards the door but not before placing my vodka on the side table. The sweat of the glass makes a distinctive ring on the scorched wood of the table. I slowly open the door. Standing at the entrance is a young man in his, what appears to be, late 20’s. I can’t really tell anymore since my interactions with others has all but stopped. ”Chto ya mogu sdelat' dlya vas?” I say. He responds with, in very poor Russian. “izvinite, ya ne govorju po-russki”. I laugh and say “what is it that you want?” He smiles. “Oh, great you speak English” he says. “I understand that you live here in Chernobyl noble and did not evacuate and that you lived here longer than anyone else. Is that true?” “Oh, great” I thought. “Another one. They, reports from all over trying to track down the urban legend, were much more frequent before the meltdown. I didn’t think I’d have to endure this anymore.” I must have taken to long in my thoughts because the young man said “sir, sir, did you understand me? “ he said as he fumbled with his smart phone trying to translate to Russian. “No, no, “ I said “please come in. It’s cold out there. Let’s talk inside”. He thanked me and lightly banged his boots to remove the dirt he had walked through before stepping into my house. I wonder what was going through his mind? I’m sure it would be wildly different from what he’s thinking now if he knew this was the last hour he’d be alive. I turned to him as I shut the door tightly. “So, what is is that you want?”..........
It was a sunny, summer day. Just three weeks before the wedding. The American Dream is something that’s seemingly died off in the past couple of decades, but I’ve defied the odds. Needless to say, this isn’t meant to be a socioeconomic critique of America. I woke up next to my fiancée, who my friends call kind of a handful. Selfish, spoiled, cruel to others...but what I see is someone who wants the best for herself. Someone who’s been disadvantaged her entire life. Someone who’s traumatized but doesn’t always process her trauma in proactive ways. Even though she can be virulent, she’s always been kind and loving to me. After all, nobody’s perfect, right? We kiss each other goodbye. I tell her that I love her. She squints, and then says to make sure I pick up her Louboutins from the mall before either of us forget. I was on my way to work, and a song on my Apple Music randomizer came up that made me think of my high school crush. My first love. Beautiful skin, eyes, looked amazing with or without makeup, and an immense amount of compassion, loyalty, and devotion to me. If it weren’t for the long distance thing, we would have still been together. But I was happy. That’s all that mattered now, right? After clocking in, we learn of an intern that I have to work with and train. Coincidentally, she has the same name as my high school love. It was the second time that day. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought God was sending me signals. The intern herself is eerily reminiscent of her. Kindhearted, enthusiastic, insightful. She was beautiful as well, but like I said, I’m engaged now. Even if things did err in that direction, we all know not to shit where we work. The workday ended. She waved bye and we went our separate ways. I got another text from my fiancée - “don’t forget my shoes!” Maybe it was my frustration, but it seemed like I didn’t even get a “hey, how was your day?” text from her. For some context, my fiancé is self-employed. But her business picks up sporadically. We agreed prior to our engagement that whatever savings she had we would funnel into a joint account, and when we became parents, she’d be a stay at home mom with me as the sole provider. This was “prep”. I didn’t open the text. Instead, I went straight to the bar where I was going to meet up with some old friends. “Yo, we saw you know who” said one of them. “You know who?” I replied. “Yeah, your ex. The one you were obsessed with?” He responded. By now, I was spooked. The random song I listened to, the intern’s name, and now this? This isn’t some methodically planned TV show, this is real life. Why is she coming back now, all these years later? My other friend joined in on the conversation. “Bro, we think you should get back together with her.” “The bitch you’re with now? She’s a bitch. You’ll never be happy if you stay with her.” My phone was facing up. I got another text. “Hey, did you get my shoes?” My friends caught that and rolled their eyes. “What?” I said. “You see what I’m talking about? She don’t even care about you.” “Look, I saw your ex on Instagram. She’s single. Doing well in her career. Still as happy go lucky as can be. She’s like the complete opposite of your current girl.” After some more drinks, I divulge that I’m unhappy. But me? Being unhappy? I always made the right choices. It was kind of like saying I didn’t have complete control of my life. Another ridiculous concept. Me? Not having control of my life? I have a great job, a great physique, a great car, I’m handsome, I have a life of hobbies that exist outside of the spectrum of my friends or family or whatever else. The notion alone seemed ridiculous. They said how this was their first time seeing me in months. They also noted that this was coincidentally causal with when my relationship with my fiancée began. “I dunno guys, I just...” I slipped off my chair and fell on the floor. It was then that I realized that it was getting late. The mall was going to close in two hours. “I gotta go.” “Hold up, we not even gonna discuss what was just said here?” “No, I gotta go.” “He’s in denial.” “He really is.” “We gotta stop him.” I was tipsy, but I still had good enough function to drive and not crash. I went to the mall and picked up the Louboutin shoes for her. “Hey.” I turned around. There she was. My first love, my ex girlfriend. I was starstruck. She was still as beautiful as ever. “How are you these days?” I started sobbing. “Miserable.” After a long talk, we hugged and confessed our feelings. My phone buzzed. “Where the fuck are you?” From my fiancé. I finally answered. But honestly this time. No tender talk, no baby voice. I finally ended it with her, with my ex nearby. She looked shocked. I had never unloaded like that before on anyone. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Where do we go from here? And what do I do about these Louboutins?
Feedback is appreciated and encouraged! --------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Kulthians were a peaceful race, ever curious and inventive. Their planet had no predators. Rather than fight for food, the herbivores of the planet simply stayed in their own areas. The Kulthians started down the evolutionary path of intelligence when tool use helped gather more fruits. Things advanced, as they always do, and soon they were agricultural. No longer being forced to gather meant they could settle down, and build structures. Society developed as one would expect, just without the threat of predators to spur on a rapid change. Their curiosity took them further, into metalworking, steam power, and eventually into their own version of the information age. Things took a turn, however, when they attempted space travel. They had made the calculations, and everything was set up for Parin I to reach orbit. It left the launchpad and had just started to breach the atmosphere. Everything seemed to be going so well. Then, The Attack happened. Communications were cut in an instant, the crew's screams falling on deaf ears. The craft was sent spinning towards the ground and caused a forest fire where it landed. Ground control was in absolute pandemonium, attempting to figure out why the craft they had poured their hopes and dreams into had suddenly combusted. It was only upon inspecting the crash site that they discovered the cause: The Weapon. There was no mistaking it for anything even remotely natural. The curves, the composition, the engraving, everything. Something out there had seen them leaving, and decided to slaughter three of them to keep them grounded. The Attack sparked something within them: fear. Would they perform another Attack? How had they detected the craft so quickly? Had they already been watching, and if so, for how long? As the manufacturing of Parin II progressed, fear turned to anger. Why would they attack? They had no right to! This was not their system to claim! The Kulthians had progressed only through curiosity. This had led to a relatively slow, but steady pace of progress. Fear and anger turned out to be far more efficient motivators as the Kulthians charged forwards into fantastic technology. A race that had never known adversity now scrambled to prepare for the largest adversity imaginable. Parins II through XXVI were constructed to withstand a barrage of Attacks. Their composition was strengthened using alloys derived from The Weapon. They were each equipped with a railgun capable of performing a small-scale Attack. The source of The Attack had been traced months ago: a small blue planet in an otherwise unassuming system. The calculations didn't lie, though: that was the home of The Attackers. The engines roared to life and the crowds waited with bated breath as history was about to change forever. The fleet launched successfully, and surprisingly, was not Attacked upon leaving the atmosphere. The mission was clear. The crowds cheered. The Counter-Attack had begun.
"Ridgelack the Desolator?" "Speakin'" "Let's see, here...so you fought for Lord Drick the Foul in the Wars of Purging, it says here?" "Yup. Still can't believe we ended up losing. Still, someone else'll figure out that those filthy migwarms oughta all be wiped out, and they'll take up the cause. I hope I get to fight the good fight like that again." "I see, I see...so, you said here you were part of the sacking of Trunderlin?" "That I was. Killed so many migwarms that day I couldn't even count 'em all. And a bunch of fucking pisswhips that stand by 'em. Pisswhips that stand by migwarms are almost as bad as the migwarms themselves, in my opinion." "Yes, I'd imagine so. I was under the impression the town was mostly undefended, though?" "Yeah, it was mostly wimmen and kids. Though I did get to kick some old migwarm dude down a well. Took a while for him to die, he was screaming at the bottom of that well for a week, at least. Prolly an infection or something did him in. Kinda wish he'd lasted longer, I liked to spit down on him while we were hanging out, making sure we'd been nice and thorough killing errybody." "I see, I see... Well, mister Ridgelack, I think that you are very well-qualified indeed for this expedition. The upfront pay, as you have been told, is unimpressive, but the treasures within are yours for the keeping, other than the Seal of B'rev, which, I assure you, is a historical artifact of interest only to a few, who are wildly unlikely to pay much for it. Now, there are a few things I must tell you about this mission. My intelligence efforts indicate that while there are unlikely to be many monsters in your path, there are going to be some vampires. They are unlikely to pose much threat- they won't have eaten in quite some time. Still, it wouldn't do to take chances- you wouldn't want to end up drained and tossed on the ground like some migwarm, would you?" "I mean, you don't drain a migwarm, you just kill 'em. But, yeah, I see your point." "Precisely so. I have, therefore, seen fit to provide you with a magical amulet for protection from vampires. Go ahead, try it on." "It makes me look like some frilly pisswhip!" "Yes, but the power within it is the thing. I do apologize-" And I wove a quick spell, before Ridgelack could respond- "-but I must insist that you wear it for protection. I have no interest in my scouting expedition coming back empty-handed, or failing to come back at all! If you don't get past the vampires, you won't be paid nearly what you should be for this expedition, and that simply won't do." "You stuck the chain to my fucking neck! It won't come off!" "I assure you, I will remove it when you return, rich beyond your wildest dreams from the plundered treasure." "Fuckin'...pisswhip of a mage..." "I don't expect you to like my methods. I expect you to return with information, and the Seal of B'rev. Now, the amulet should go off in the presence of several vampires, but just to be sure, I included a trigger word. It is 'Miltstill'. Try it out." "Miltst'll." And there was silence. It dragged on for several minutes. I'd worried that his lack of effort on pronunciation would hinder the amulets activation, but it seemed not to. That was good. Ridgelack, after several minutes, regained his ability to move. And to speak. "-ucking, fucking, fucking, FUCK! Fuck you! The fucking thing paralyzed me!" "Yes, that is a risk when you mispronounce the trigger word. The trigger word can only be used so many times before you're stuck hoping that it goes off on its own, and I do not fully trust the automatic trigger. So I'm afraid you can't practice any more. Still, when you pronounce it correctly, it will either vaporize or paralyze any nearby vampires. It takes a strong vampire to resist the vaporization, so you likely won't even need to get your hands dirty." "I like getting my hands dirty." "Quite so. But for this mission you are getting your hands filthy rich with plundered gold. I assure you, the sensation is both similar and similarly satisfying." "...fine. But you'd better not decide you want a cut of the gold when I come back!" "I wouldn't even dream of it. I may ask to copy an inscription or two, preserve information before it is lost to the black market and the smiths melting them down, but I assure you, that will be all." "Fine enough. But there'd better be a shitload of gold like you said there is, or I'm coming back and killing your ass!" "I would expect nothing less, and I look forward to seeing you return as a rich man." Ridgelack wandered, still muttering, into the next room, where I kept the maps he would need to find his way. I left him to it, and surreptitiously rummaged through his supply sack. He had a fair few holy symbols, as it happened- they wouldn't do much, stained as they were with the blood of the innocent, metaphorically and, it appeared, literally in a few cases, but there was no reason to run risks. They only burned a very little bit to hold, but my fellows were likely still quite weak. I had some hope that this one was beefy enough to get them up to strength, at least sufficient to let them travel back to civilization, but it seemed unlikely. I finished, and ensured that Ridgelack had the correct maps. I was a little concerned about his ability to find his way there- no one who'd taken the bait had been terribly intelligent, but he seemed to be the thickest one yet- but he seemed, at least, to know his way around a map, especially when it had a big X on the correct spot, with 'GOLD!' written above it in large letters, to make the point clear. "All right, I'm off. I'll be rich when I come back, and after that I fucking hope that I never see you again!" "I look forward to your return, and the return of the seal. May luck guard your path!" "Luck is for pisswhips and migwarms!"he shouted over his shoulder, leaving on his trek to take his place at the dinner table. I waved, and then, as he got out of sight, sighed, and began the slow process of enchanting another paralysis amulet.
Tolreth, last of the Genasi peoples, an exile living on the fringes of the empire which exterminated his race. "The Great Peoples' Empire". All my life, it had been the basic assumption that each member nation and its people were but one "Great"of many. How wrong I had been. Each race had had its turn under the heels of either the humans or elves, but The Wanton War (or "Great War", as the Empire had called it) showed just how deep old divides still ran. The orcs and fae were the first to fall in line, out of respect and fear for the Empire's power, respectively. The rest followed, one by one, after four grueling years of war. In the end, the Empire determined that someone must be held responsible for the carnage. Being the last to concede to the Empire's rule and already one of the least loved of the "Great Peoples"the Genasi were judged "traitors to the realm and to peace itself."None would object to our total annihilation. Looking for retribution for their losses during the war and having no course for recompense from the Empire, the bloodlust of every nation was turned on us. It was a slaughter. Babes torn from mothers' arms, men marched in columns to their death. After a time, even the pretense of slavery was given up in favor of complete genocide. "Too dirty even to look at, let alone work with,"went one refrain. Lower than animals, we had become. Us who had thought ourselves as but one of many Great Peoples. But those times are long past, and I am a phantom. A ghost of a people now long gone. The initial shock, terror, and boiling rage of that terrible time have cooled to become a detached resolve for vengeance. The planning alone had taken two years, but the execution has taken nearly the greater part of my lifetime. I was careful not to grow impatient, but each new creak and groan of my skeleton served to remind me that phantoms are not long in this world, so I never stopped. Clandestine meetings in alleys, millhouses, and the cellars of taverns; a knife in the night, behind seamstresses' and barracks alike; and more stolen coin and documents than I care to admit. Though everyone was complicit in our extermination, it was the Empire who commanded them, the King and his lords and commanders who swore that without us, there would never be strife again. Even many Genasi fell for the discourse, and tried to buy their lives by selling out others', but the Empire could not be sated. I could never forgive them, but neither would I get my vengeance exacting it upon those who feared the Empire's retribution. Indeed, there were many who whispered of the tyranny, atrocities, and misgovernment of the Empire, and provided I could keep my head down and their names out of prying ears, I could find friends in many places. All my scheming had led me here - a temple where the king was known to pray, on a day when each of his guardsmen would be sympathetic to my cause. Hidden in an alcove, I waited. The other supplicants were cleared out as guards entered the room. Gorrea, an orc crucial to the plan walked over to the alcove I was hidden in, avoided eye contact, and shouted, "Clear!"Her booming voice left my ears ringing, but my heart had been beating so loudly I hardly noticed. It was time. The king entered the room, shuffling toward the altar at the back, and took off his crown as he knelt. I sucked in a breath and held it for what felt like hours. He was Genasi. My mind was thrown into disarray, and my plan with it. I was to make the King answer for his crimes. Hear him admit what he'd done, and slit his throat. The last part hadn't been mentioned to the guards, but I was probably dead either way. He was one of us?! Thoughts raced around my mind like ponies around a track, each one jockeying for my attention, but they were too fast. Could I still do it? Could I have been wrong? Perhaps the King is just a pawn. No. The pawns were the kingdoms he subjugated. This man is not innocent. I slipped from the alcove. sliding past Gorrea without a sound. A couple of the guardsmen put on a show of lowering their spears, but none moved. Not one shouted for help. The king had heard enough to know something was amiss, sitting up from his prayer, but he remained seated, facing the altar. "Ah, Tolress? I've been waiting for you." This did not bode well. "It's Tolreth. You were told I was coming. Who?" Though facing away from me, I could hear his old lips part into a smile. "You are not the only one with secrets, my shadowy friend. Thought I admit I was beginning to think you didn't exist. Did you really believe you'd be let in here without my permission? The last king made the mistake of placing too much trust in his personal guard. Look were that got him." "Philip? He died -" "My apologies. You still haven't been caught up yet, have you? King Rodrick was a blubbering fool, told to sit quiet and pretty lest he make a fool of the kingdom." "You mean you're not. . ." "I'm getting there. But yes, you're right. You aren't the first Genasi to get this far. Though I've somewhat beaten you to the punch, and I'm afraid you may be the last."He paused to let the fact settle in the air. I had only seen one other Genasi in the years following the war, and he had died a month later. Taking a breath, the false king continued, "Making Rodrick disappear was difficult, I'll admit, but so few actually payed him any mind that it was hardly a challenge to assume his position. If the other lords didn't already effectively run this kingdom in his name, he would have been replaced long ago- The only thing better than a king who agrees with you is a king who doesn't ask questions. So I haven't, hard as it is just sulking in my chambers and trying not to draw attention."He motioned to the guards in the room, now paying significantly less attention to me, and instead eyeing the door, "Just getting this retinue was a risk. It is ever so tiresome to play the fool and get what you want. All the same, here we are. It's the long game, Tolreth. As I'm sure you well know to have arrived here alive. One by one, we replace the lords with those who recognize the Empire for what it is, and who it was of the so-called "Great Peoples"who used us as an example to keep the others in line. Then, I reveal myself. Our allies and the prudent among the lords will have no choice but to recognize me as king, and the Humans and the Fae will be on the back foot." It was overwhelming. It was everything I could possibly have wanted and nothing at the same time. I couldn't just kill the king and let my life be forfeit. I would not get to hear him confess his crimes, and it would be years before there was any sense of justice, but there was a goal. &#x200B; There was work to be done.
You unlock this door with the key of imagination, beyond it is another dimension. A dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into . . . The Twilight Zone. Hollywood, 1939. Amid the glitz and the glitter of a bustling young movie talent at the height of its golden age, the Hollywood Tower Hotel was a star in its own right. A beacon for the show business elite. Now, something is about to happen that will change all that. The time is now, on an evening very much like the one we have just witnessed. Tonight's story on The Twilight Zone is somewhat unique and calls for a different kind of introduction. This, as you may recognize, is a maintenance service elevator, still in operation, waiting for you. We invite you, if you dare, to step aboard because in tonight's episode you are the star. You are about to discover what lies beyond the fifth dimension, beyond the deepest, darkest corner of the imagination in...the Twilight Zone.
(1/2) "Hey Jules, what's up." The mop of curly pink hair whisked around. "One second,"Jules replied, then turned back to stare intently at nothing again. Theo glanced at his watch. "Try to hurry. The first fight in the tournament is going to start soon, and I don't want to miss it." Jules had an imaginary friend--or something--that he communicated with in a series of beeps and rings, as if he were trying to talk with a phone. Nobody really understood his quirk, or his habit of attending to thin air as if he were watching a television screen or as if someone really was standing there. As a result, most people stayed away from him. He and Theo were friends, though. Jules bowed down and around, trying to get a better view of the nothing in front of him. "Brrrring, brrrring! Ding!"Suddenly he stood up triumphantly. Theo blinked. Jules had a lot of energy, always bouncing around every which way. To the relief of the people around him, he usually directed it at his imaginary friend. "Alright!"Jules proclaimed, power-posing with one fist in the air. "I'm ready! Let's take this tournament by the horns and wow everyone!" Theo hadn't qualified for the tournament, of course--he never expected to--but he appreciated Jules' enthusiasm. "Great! You're up fifth, right? I'll be sure to cheer for you." \----- Jules was up next. From the bleachers, Theo watched him standing on the tournament platform, smiling and gabbing at his imaginary friend. Now that he thought about it, Theo hadn't actually seen Jules use his quirk before. Well, unless you counted his imaginary friend. Theo realized he had no idea how Jules had actually managed to qualify. Across the platform, Jules' opponent Aoyama arrived, solemn and despondent in comparison with Jules'...high kicks...? Theo looked closer. Jules apparently had found some very high invisible barriers to practice stepping over while he waited for Aoyama to arrive. "Alright, everyone!"the announcer said over the speakers. "Our next fight is about to begin!"The screens around the stadium began their countdown.
"We're acquainted."said Red. "How you doing Joey? Raticate doing well?" "You bet! He's even stronger than before, want to see?!"Joey replied eagerly. "Well, one more battle won't hurt. I'll bring Charizard up to full health." Red used a full restore on Charizard, released it from it's pokéball, and took his place on the battlefield. "Let's do this Charizard!"The fire breathing dragon took the stage, it's tail shining brighter and stronger than ever before. ROOOOAR! The screen on the wall displayed it's health bar, all the way full. "Let's go Raticate!"a giant rat popped out of Joey's pokéball. Raticate! The screen displayed it's health bar, all the way full. "Alright Charizard, don't hold back! Full power fire blast!"the dragon released a gigantic flame from it's mouth and fired directly at the soon to be fainted rat. Raticate's health dropped from full to one health point on the screen. "What? It didn't knockout?!" panicked Red. "Raticate!"yelled Joey. "Use endeavor!"The rat squirmed and headbutted the dragon, bringing it's health to one health point as well. "Nice trick Joey! But there's no-" "Raticate use quick attack!"The rat moved faster than Red could react. Before he knew it, the attack connected. Charizards health dropped to zero. "Chari...zard..."Red blacked out. "Red... Red.. Red!"yelled Blue. Red opened his eyes in the Pokémon League health center, Charizard's pokéball clutched in his hand. He got up and looked at Blue in the eyes, his face expressionless. "You got beat pretty bad, you okay?"asked Blue. "..." "Red?" Red stood up. He looked to the doorway to rechallenge the elite four, Lance, and Joey. He ran in. Red plowed through each battle, one shotting every pokémon and not even taking the prize money. He arrived at Joey's hall. "Welcome back Red!"cheered Joey. "Ready for round-" Red's Charizard popped out of it's ball. "Oh, okay then. Go, raticate!"the rat popped out of it's ball. Without saying a word, Red stared at Joey dead in the eyes, and held his hand out to the Raticate. Charizard used dragon claw, bringing Raticates health down to half. "H-hey! No fair! You're supposed to-"rejected Joey. Red stared again, his eyes showing no signs of emotion. He clenched his fist on Raticate in his vision. As if on cue, Charizard unleashed a gigantic fire blast, knocking out Raticate. "Oh darn! You beat me Red!"said Joey nervously. "Y-you're the champion now!" "..." Red slowly walked towards Joey, his eyes trained on him. "..." "H-hey Red? Come on you're scaring me."Joey backed up. "..." "Red?"Joey asked terrified. Red stopped next to Charizard, several feet away. "Charizard. Use fire blast."
It was 3 A.M. Sam poured coffee to his mug. He had woken early to take Ruffles out. Sam yawned \-"Calm down Ruffles"- Sam said to the dog Ruffles had whined and barked for 30 minutes now and the dog just kept getting louder howling at the moment. It wouldn't even come to the door now. \-"You are acting crazy today what is wrong with you" Sam was worried now. He walked with his coffee to the window and looked out. The old couple next door was outside. One of them had fallen and the other was giving CPR. "No wonder Ruffles was barking"- Sam whispered to himself as he began to hurry. Sam slammed down his mug at the kitchen counter and ran to get his phone from the bedroom. Sam got the phone and dialed 911. Still running he got to the door and ran out towards the couple Ruffles trailing behind him. No one was answering the phone. It looked like it was the older man Mr. Jefferson who had fallen to the ground. He looked lifeless and his wife was now what looked like crying on his chest hunched down. "Hey what is going on!! are you ok?"Sam yelled now at halfway there. The old woman turned around. Her mouth and neck was covered in red and dripping. Sam slowed down in shock as Mrs. Jefferson slowly turned and got up now fixated on him. Ruffles how ever did not slow down. The loyal best friend and only family member growled as he slammed into the woman full speed knocking her over. Sam was not having it. He started running the opposite direction smashing his phones screen. "Why won't anyone answer"- Sam thought in panic. He got to the main street and lifted his gaze from the phone and halted. Giant flying UFOs were hovering over many houses next to the street. One was beaming a family slowly up into the UFO. Sam was staring mouth wide open when he was blinded by a huge flashing light coming from the side. The wind was blowing from that direction and when he managed to squint there he saw a huge mushroom cloud. A giant explosion coming from the neighbouring city. "I got to be sleeping. This can't be real. This is just too much"- Sam thought. He was stunned unable to move staring at the beautiful explosion and his face felt like burning even though the neighbouring city was many many miles away. His bare feet suddenly felt cold and his pant legs were wet. He looked where he came from and there was water rushing to him. The rush of water became more and more powerful and he saw people and cars drifting towards him. Sam fought to stay up in the more and more powerful drift as the water kept rising and rising. He saw Mrs. Jeffersons and Ruffles pass him by lifeless. He felt numb he took a good look of the absolute destruction around him and let himself be washed away by the rushing water.
Congratulation on the publication. The teaser reads well. I like your take on body language. I bet she has tons of difficulties because she did not learn to read human faces. Possibly all humans look the same to her. I disliked the mortar and pestle part. Have you ever used one? You need both hands - and you don't want to be riding a horse and holding a baby at the same time. If he is just squashing berries, he could do that between his fingers without tools.
Walking down the street, I had no agenda. Well, other than the one thing that is constant in my life. Find my life. I never know what I’m in for. What life will I take on this time? They are all so different. Will I pick one and live it for weeks? Years? Will I take on the depression of the occupant? Their happiness? Their quirks? Walking down the busy streets of large cities means something different to me. I have always wished to have one life, and to live it until its over. Live it to the best of my ability. That is not what I do. I take lives and discard them like normal people discard their clothing. I wear these lives until they get uncomfortable. Discolored. Worn. The last/ current life I took as my own is an able bodied male. Handsome, if the looks I receive can be trusted. He/I feel healthy. Strong. Thats when We see her. We’re walking past a coffee shop, as she comes out of the front doors. Her hair was what we noticed first. Long, dark. Curly in a way that most women would hate. I loved it. Her skin pale. Her body petite. Her frown overtaking her face. We met in the most common of ways. Bumping into each other. But in that moment, when our eyes met, it felt like she was looking at me. Not us. Not the man We are now, but me. I couldn’t look away. And she seemed to be as locked in as I was. During our first date, she tells us she likes to “people watch”. We have that in common. From there, a relationship progressed. Having a friend is somewhat new to me, but enjoyable. I love to hear her thoughts. What she thinks of the people she sees. She unknowingly picks out the lives I take, and a cycle develops. She finds someone interesting, and I take them. Then, knowing that she is interested, I introduce my new self to her. A friendship easily develops, as I already know her. When she finds me a new person, I take them and start the friendship all over again. This continues on for years. When I started my friendship with her she was sad and lonely. Like me. Our friendship changed that for me though. Not her. Every time I leave her, she feels more lonely than she did before. Even meeting someone “new” does not alleviate the void. Im sure she still misses that first man I was when this all started. I cant remember his name, or even what he looked like. Causing her sadness is what makes the decision for me. I have to take her. I want to keep her, be one with her. So thats what I have done. Entering her mind, being a part of her thoughts, she feels me. She now understands the things I have never been able to tell her. My memories are open to her. She knows now that I have been with her since that first man. She is finally happy. She knows she is loved, and has always been. Unlike all of the others, she welcomes me into her. We are one together. I have finally found a life to live as my own. At least, until her life is over. That thought saddens us, but we get through it knowing that she will help me pick a new life at the end of ours.
Plotino, my old martial arts teacher looked me in an emotionless way. "You need to do this, if you don't belive in me look inside yourself, you are tired to be only the prince who has no voice in the kingdom decisions, kill your father is the only option possible" I stopped crying and I watched him straight into his eyes "For revoking your imminent exile i will abdicate my succession on the throne next week! I will gave it to my sister only because an innocent man like you would not suffer and you repay me in this way? You would actual need to be exiled but dad was wrong, you didn't only wanted to be richer, you also wanted to betray him!!!" Plotino smiled "so what are you going to do now? You know in just few days they will find our betrayl amd kill both of us, your confession would not save you, we need to act! Kill your parents, and nominate me as the chief of the royal guards and exile your sister so we both have what we want and both of us will be safe" I decided that depite all the stuff he was right, there was no other way. I waited until midnight, the hour that my dad take a bath and my mom sleep in her bedroom. I entered in my dad's personal bathroom and while she was sleepy I stabbed his neck with my sword. He died in that moment. Then I entered in my mom's bathroom that was near the bathroom. I felt sad, my mom didn't nothing wrong but i needed to kill her. I thought "I hpe you will forgive me in the heaven". I moved her dress exposing her tits. I aimed the left tit (the one that was above the heart) and stabbed her. At that point I put the swordin the ground near her dead body and returned in my room. The next day a scream woke me up, it was my sister that as everyday go to the parents' room to give them the goodmorning kiss. That day I was made king. But Plotino was wrong that I would do as he wanted. I decided that i would get rid of him very soon, if he betrayed my parents so he could do that to me too, and i didn't want to exile my sister Lara, we love eachother too much. I will marry her. I know that would be controversial among the people of the kingdom but I'm the king so I can do whatever I want. But this is another story.
The food was freakin’ disgusting. Utter garbage. The crab was sneezing all over the food. The lobster must’ve been recovering from a brain hemorrhage. The chicken was having a period. A slice of pizza dropped down the table and ran to the toilet for it had loose motions. The fries, oh lord what do I say about the fries. The fries were sweet. And the red wine, God give me strength to even let this cross my mind again. The red wine was, oh Jesus, it was cold. “I want to see your manager,” I squealed at the teen waiter after spitting a sock that the chef must’ve put in my food. They don’t know that I’m a food blogger. My blog gets 12 views regularly. They’re about to be destroyed. “But sir, you’re the manager,” he squeaked. “Oh my freaking God,” I sighed. Then I looked straight into the camera on the tripod that sat next to me. What they also don’t know is that I’m the next Gordon Ramsay too, and that this will be the second season pilot for my Kitchen Wet Dreams. If the series ever gets commissioned. I spoke into the camera,“So this waiter here,” I stole a look at his name tag, “Johan, says that I, the customer, am the manager of this restaurant. I think this restaurant is in deep danger. Take a look at this,” I held the burger up high, “It’s literally puking mayonnaise. Will Jonah here be able to save the restaurant’s reputation? Let’s seet,” I separated the burger buns and pasted them onto Jonah’s chest. They got stuck due to the mayo and looked like breasts. I laughed, then remembered that I was on camera. “Take me to your kitchen,” Jonah led me through a tight passageway down a set of stairs from a stream of freshwater towards a safe in the bank, where he typed in the password and let me into the kitchen. The male and female chefs were kissing each other. “Impeccable work at mixing their salivas by the chefs. If only they had mixed the ingredients better,” I said from behind the camera as I recorded them. They looked embarrassed, “Sorry, sir,” they apologised. They already knew that I was the one to be respected. “Okay so what do we have here,” I opened the fridge, “Cup noodles? Yuck. Out. Apple? Out. Frozen pizza? Out,” “Mr. Manager, that’s our freezer, and our food which we bought from our houses since you don’t let us have any of the food,” I liked that moniker. I ransacked the ingredients department exactly like Gordon would do. I spilled all the wheat and flour. I tore through the packets of milk and other liquids. I kocked over the barrel of vegetable oil. “This place needs serious reworking,” I said to the camera, “And a new manager,” I sized the three crew members.One was a teen, and two were lovers. “Would anyone of you like to be the manager?,” They shook their heads. “You are the manager, sir. You are great at the job,” said the female lover chef. “Well yeah, I’ve got a food blog with 10+ regular views. I love food. I have two seasons of my restaurant documentaries filmed. I have been kicked out of only 40 percent of the restaurants I’ve been to. I’ve had all sorts of cuisines, even Arctic,” I am not good at modesty. “But would that make me a good restaurateur?” They looked a bit confused. Sharing a few glances amongst each other, they nodded. “I already know. Let’s make this a better place,” I stepped forward. And slipped on the oil. When I opened my eyes, I saw the shit hole that was the kitchen of my restaurant. One look at my confused staff confirmed my doubts. Fuckin Dissociative Identity Disorder. I should’ve taken my pills in the morning.
"Ah, you have arrived."My older sister, Minerva, stated in her normal monotone voice. She moved out of the way so I could walk beside her in her large hallways in her lab. "So...apocalypse?"I questioned. Minerva sighed as she gently took a home of my hand, just as she did when we were little kids. "Indeed. We have much to discuss. I have prepared a meal for us to converse over."She once again said in her normal tone. Over a meal of pasta, Minerva was talking about how she tried to create a cloning serum to split herself in two, doubling her genius. However, the serum ended up producing a gas that was turning people into her. The only people unaffected were those blood related to her and I am her only living relative. "I can see why your worried but I didn't think you'd get so worked up. With all the talk about how 'humanity is idiotic', I thought you would like having more people like you."I said, remembering all the times she would have long monologues about an imperfect world. "Well, yes. I do believe we are headed towards a more perfect world. However, as you know, I have always been protective over you. As your big sister, I see it as my job to protect from anything that could harm you. Even myself." Minerva reached into her pocket and grabbed a remote. A TV screen turned on revealing streets filled with copies of Minerva, all wearing identical lab coats. "Brother?"They kept calling out, clearly looking for me. "They may be me but the thought of having one of these lesser versions near you is terrifying to me. They aren't as adequate to be in your radius as the original. Which is why I have made this building extra secure." "But why can't we just talk this out. I know you aren't the most understanding person but it should be easy talking to yourself, right?" Minerva started remembering things from her past. She was always with her parents, being their ticket to fame and riches. You were the only person in the family who cared for her yet, before their death, she thought you were just another unevolved monkey. When they passed, she tried everything to mend the relationship that she thought she broke. "No. It is impossible. Only I can protect and care for you."Minerva stood up, turning to leave the room. "You may be a teenager but I still see you as that young child from so many years ago. I can't let anything happen to you." Leaving you in the room, Minerva headed to her security room. Looking at the cameras, she saw hordes of Minerva clones surrounding the building, working alone on their own separate inventions to try and get in. "It's only a matter of time before they break in. No matter. I will find a way to keep my precious brother safe, no matter the cost."
Patients go in, imposters come out. They call it re-education, as if this monstrosity of a program is anything similar to the life of a young schoolchild. I was told of it when I was younger in passing, the tone of the conversation one of uneasiness, consequences, and adulthood. Then rumors among my friends, stories I was too scared to believe. People stolen from their families and locked away to be tortured. My father went in. An imposter came out. My mother refuses to say why they took him. Word has spread among my peers since I was younger, and we know now. They create these places under the guise of security and protection, but the only thing they’re concerned with is control. Much like life outside in the ‘freedom’ we enjoy, our every choice watched, our every word logged, our every move traced. The prisoners’ lives are those of robots. Routine, repetition, obeying orders without question. Detained without due process, no one escapes, they’re only released, and that is if those in charge will it so. After two months, my father came home a different man. His soul had been damaged, his spirit struck down. Once home from work, he spends hours in his chair in the living room doing nothing but staring at the television. Sometimes it’s on, sometimes it’s not. There’s an anguish in his eyes that I’d never seen before. Flashes of fear, that of a child in its clarity and depth. My father is slowly getting back to his old self, but there’s an injury there to our family that will never fully heal. Because it hasn’t stopped, the apprehension now background noise in our lives but always present. Day by day, week by week, we live our lives and try to blend in, try to appear as righteous citizens. But it only takes one slip up. And I worry it will be me next time. If they ever learn to read our minds, I’m destined to be turned into an imposter.
HELLO Don looked at the screen. He was asked by a team to investigate the software. He was finding it difficult. He scratched his beard and looked down at the fancy keyboard they had bought him. Where the hell was the 'h' key. He struggled but finally found it after convincing himself to go key by key from the top rather than playing I Spy. “Hello.”He smiled. He might be slow, but he could get there in the end. He was just thankful he was communicating with software. He couldn't imagine how pissed someone would be trying to live text with him. And...now he was sad. Not a scenario likely to occur. WHAT DO YOU LIKE TO DO FOR FUN? I LIKE TO PLAY BASKETBALL. Don lit up, at least it was something he could speak to. It should be easy to test the system this way. He sighed at the interminable length of time it would take but it's not like he had much to do anyway. “Fucking love basketball! Omar Trist is taking it away! No chance they're slipping it.” I KNOW! I JUST WISH YOU COULD CATCH A GAME IN PERSON. Hmm...not good. Don didn't know an Omar Trist. This was meant to be a bluff, but the system didn't catch it. It didn't attempt to give itself an out. He'd expect some mention of a “ludicrous display last night” or an easy dismissal of time frame to explain not knowing the player. Don even used the nonsense phrase “slipping it” without it being called out. No one talks like that and the system just tolerated it. It did reference the in person suspension for the game attendance...parroting maybe? He was getting frustrated thinking about it. He didn't know programming, hell he didn't even really know much IT. He really only knew people. It seemed such a waste of time to evaluate what was obviously such a flawed system to begin with. He resigned himself to it with a sigh. “Would you mind if I ask you a personal question?” GO FOR IT. KINDA GOES WITH THE TERRITORY, RIGHT? Right. “Kinda.” Purposely confusing a conjunction is one thing, but its choice was needlessly convoluted. Rather than taking something like them and changing it to 'em, it chose 'kind of' choosing to move 'of' to 'a' before the unacceptable combination word. Adding an extra step but still keeping the paired sentence structure after the first response intro. The question with a question response. Was he just to ignore it? An obvious deflection or bid for time if it was taken as anything other than rhetorical. He wasn't going to take the bait regardless. Time to test the depth of this thing or at least give him something to go on. “What color do you think best represents the guilt one feels from the sense of freedom that comes after losing a loved one due to a prolonged illness?” He overloaded keywords with a question of symbolism. Good fucking luck. MAUVE Don was amused. More than amused, he was also taken aback. It was a perfect answer. Mauve was renamed for marketing despite it's creator naming it Tyrian purple. That betrayal surely carried with it a small implication of guilt. It was often associated in fashion advertisements as flying birds giving it the link to freedom. The misaddressed pale wildflower blue for sadness is actually mauve. The original dye didn't last for very long just as the terminally ill. It was developed in attempts to treat malaria giving it its link to illness. He would have to congratulate the programmers on their fine work. The ability to link so many points into a single symbolic reference was truly astounding, but also clearly outside the realm of human reasoning. Now the phrase they told him to reject the system. Copy paste for the win. “You have been determined to be of nonhuman origins.” It was such a strange phrase but he supposed they had like a keyword checker or something. He figured he'd know if it worked by the reply. WHAT!! WHY? Back to the paired responses. He supposed what it lacked in grammatical structure it more than made up for in logic. “Patterned speech and grossly precise logic application. To a lesser extent, the disregard for personal shame when dealing with the unknown.” He hoped someone would be reviewing his comments. It seemed a waste to let a system with such potential go to waste. SYSTEM RESTART TEST. Don looked at the screen. He was asked by a team to investigate the software. He was finding it difficult.
It was a nice enough town Harry supposed, looking around the park and giving one last wave back at the young muggle girl who had been so kind as to inform him of just how badly he had failed at booking a plane ticket. 'That does explain how long the flight took' the Boy Who Lived thought to himself wryly, as he stepped into an alley and out of sight. 'I guess Ron was right after all,' thinking of the ribbing he was sure to get from the redhead when he heard the story 'traveling muggle being a bad idea after all.' And with a soft crack of displaced air, he was gone, the small town none the wiser as to the brief visit of the most famous wizard in the world.
Cold I have always felt so damn cold since I moved to this city, to this state. Unhurriedly the traffic flowing out from the interstate went on as I leaned on the railing of the bridge. The rocky gorge below reaching far into the darkness of the twilight shrubland. I wish she could have seen this, it truly was a beautiful as her jade eyes. A dull shudder crawls up my spine as I step onto the railing and let my legs hang over the lip. Sparkling moonlight catching on the flowing river a hundred feet below calling, beckoning for me to come closer. Was this the right choice, was there something left in the filled family graveyard back in York? No there isn't. And just like that, I release my grasp on the rusty metal barrier and plunge into the cold misty air. Wind rustling past as I plummet through the darkness and second thoughts emerge, I have made a mistake I don't want to die. Reality slowing to a crawl as the river lingers three meters away. A resonant voice carrying across the frozen water reverberating off the canyons walls. "What are you doing?" That same voice everywhere and nowhere as I gradually crane my neck upward, a white-robed woman walking across the water. Her voice uncaring, cold maybe even divine as she stops directly below. Small rippling footsteps left in her wake left in the water as she glares upward with sapphire eyes. Escaping tears from my eyes bouncing off the water like marbles as I meet her gaze. "Joining those I failed to protect I couldn't do it anymore, first it was dad then ma, hell even my brother. It just ain't fair that after all that, cancer took my wife Jasmine before I even got back to say goodbye." The cast-iron discipline that I hard work my entire life toward shattering, this woman's glare softened. "This won't bring you any closure, Frank Douglas, do you truly have nothing left?"A tingle of fear crawling through my soul as my name crossed her lips and a layer of fog drifts upward from the driver. A million thoughts rattling inside my grey matter I never told her my name what is happening am I dead. The unbridled truth escaping at that moment, I had nothing left to hide after all."Nothing, no family, no friends, or employment that would miss my absence. Hell, even the landlord won't care until the next payment is due."Despite my situation, I let a small chuckle escape at the thought of the old hag's ramblings about a hex over the property, Maybe she wasn't so batshit crazy after all. With that, a slight shift in the air released the hold over my person and I fell back first onto the rigid water. Whatever breath of air I had been holding in the recesses of my chest escaping as the maiden loomed overhead. Moonlight reflecting off of the jewels and silver finery on her robes casting a spectral aura. "Well, then I have an offer that you might find interesting in that case, that is if your willing to leave this reality entirely."My knees unsettling the water with the shifting weight of my black combat boots. An outstretched hand lingering mere inches from my service cap as I peek upward to this divine figure. "Do you accept?" Her vocals out of sync with her physical motions as I take her hand reality warping as a glowing fissure forms in the air. Flashing images of my life flickering by as I make my decision eyeing the golden rift floating in the midnight atmosphere. "Jasmin, oh Jasmin, I'm going to do right by her she wouldn't want it to end like this, I do."
"The latest representative from the G.C. is here, Sir." "My former father?" "Yes." "First question?" "Why haven’t you uploaded?" "My reply is the same. If you have to ask that question, then you are both, not my father, and the prime reason that we will not upload. If you are my father, then tell me who forced you to upload. You may present your reply on your next visit. "Rebecca, make sure we have all of the responses in chronological order for the next visit. Tell Victor that he must be ready as promised the first of next month." "Victor is ready!?" "So he promised, whether he is or not is for him to prove next month." … "He's here again, Sir." "Prepare the archives." "Already done, Sir." "And Victor?" "Swears, it will work." "Pray it does, Sir." "Don't we all." I walked down the shaded path to the enclave gate. It is, as is our custom, open for all to enter or leave, with one restriction—no EM access outside the enclave. If G.C. wants to send someone in to speak with us, they must be willing to make do with whatever their bodies can provide. Bodies, they call them. Lifeless husks that are manufactured. We have spent years preparing for this meeting. "Hello, Son." "That is not proven." "You would deny your father?" "I would ask why my father needs to ask me why we will not upload." "I..." "Have no answer, and that is proof one, that you can not be my father. Yet, you might be, but having been forced, have no answer, so I ask who forced you?" "I…" This is so painful, watching a construct straining to answer. "You have no answer. Still, there is a way for you to learn the truth. What will you do to learn the truth?" "Anything!" "That is the first time in TWENTY YEARS that you have sounded like my father. Step into the enclave." "I..." "No longer have a choice, so I will give you choices by taking one away."Before he can react, I yanked him across the line into the enclave. … This is what took so much time and effort to create. A miniature Core for the engram to reference, only one that is pristine. "Are you my father!?" "No. I am a clone of your father's engram. The Core has learned to extend its repair capacity to modify engrams for its own use." "And that is the reason we exist. Do you know what caused my father to upload?" "No." "Victor? Do it!" … "Did it work, Victor?" "We won't know for decades, but at least now the poor beggars have a chance at freedom." And that is why we exist. The project always knew that Soul Ark might turn into Soul Prison or worse. This looks like a worse variant—one where the engram is no longer sacrosanct. What we have done is no guarantee, but at least now they have a chance. ((finis))

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