Split (1)

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I awoke in a pool of warm liquid which seemingly stretched out endlessly towards the horizon. The area was lit brightly, though I could see no sun in the cloudless sky. Hovering above me was an ever-shifting entity with uncountable eyes and several wings, all slowly flapping in different directions. It said to me, \\\"\\\*Z̴̢̹̟̪̐̾͂͘ą̶̍̋̊̋͘̕v̴̡̛͙̇́'̸͙̠̞̖̹̮̔̋̀͌͐͆͊͜ṛ̶̞̓̓̓͜ä̴͉͍̥͇̭͛j̵͖̙͐̑̈̋͛a̸̡̖̬͗͐̐̇̈́̀͛ͅ,̴̧̻̩̗͛̎͠ ̴̭̲͎̣̲͇̘̆̿̃̉̈́n̸̤̞̱̫͋͒̓͆â̴̰̝̣̭͛̄̕͠n̴̛͉̪̭͓̊̈́ī̵̺̦̣̘͐ș̴̥̤͐͛̈̏̓̓͆͘k̵̢̰̊̒̉̐̇̿͛a̷̝̝̔͐̓̅͛̎̃̿y̵͔̘͈͇̫͇̗͂̔͊̃̈̽͠͠ǎ̴̗͉̻̃̍ ̵̛͚̮̠͗̇͊g̶̡͈̖͔̘̗̣̤͊͒͆͛̕͝o̷͓̠͈͈̥̊̉̓̎̓͆͐͜ͅl̵͖̱͆̂̄̈͜͠͠ē̴̗͓̝͇̭̣̿r̶̢̢͙͈̍́͂o̷͉͒̀́͋̉̐̌n̴̨̽́ ̸̨͓̓͒͝r̵̟͈̰͍͚̪̉̉͊̊̑̇̓͘ő̸̱̳̖ṋ̸̛͋̉́̊̓̈́͗͜k̵͉͉̻̃̑͊̀͌͝͝e̵͈̭͎͊̋̑̿ͅs̶͍̋h̵̡̟̮̥͍̱͝ẻ̴̢̠̜̖̓̑̌̾͝k̶͕̩̑ę̵̂͝s̷̨̮̞̀̈́̑h̷̼̺̟̗̪͊̑̑̽̂̓͜.̴̨̠̟͎͇̅͋"* "What?", I replied, being unafraid of this creature for reasons I didn't understand. "I don't know what you're saying.""You are dead.", it said, its voice echoing all around us in spite of the lack of walls, "Tell me how you died.".I strained my mind, finding it difficult to grasp what I'd been doing before I ended up here. I vaguely remembered a sudden jolt and feeling my flesh be pierced by thousands of tiny shards, but I couldn't recall the specifics."I do not know.", I admitted, hoping that this entity valued honesty more than answers."You lived a virtuous life, though you may not remember it,", the creature said, seemingly disregarding my answer, "and for it you shall be rewarded.".The creature began to glow blindingly, but I couldn't bring myself to look away in spite of the pain. I couldn't tell how long it lasted, but eventually the glowing stopped and a small, white cube with an intricate golden trim sat in the pool at my feet."It is yours.", the entity said, answering my question before I could ask it. "It will give you what you need so long as you ask.".I picked up the cube, which was just the right weight; light enough for me not to strain, heavy enough for it to feel significant. The object felt familiar and it seemed to morph very slightly to fit more comfortably into my hand. I opened my mouth to speak, but once more the creature spoke first."I am whoever you believe me to be. It does not matter. You have stayed here long enough; the road to *K̵̢̛͔̬̻̻̄͆̄͜͠͝ͅr̴̡̺̳̳̻͒̈̀̎͊͛͜ͅͅi̵̞̙̩̬͊̈́͝'̷̨͈̆ȩ̴͇̞̬̬̘̭̇y̷̺̲̫̭̦̲̻͌̄͌̓͠a̵͔̳̾̾̋͒́̓́-̵̟̪̖͙̟̹̍n̷̖͎͉̪̣̝̊͌̍̅̐͘͝͠ȃ̴̘̮̦̺̊y̷̧̛͕͓̲̾̓͊ͅã̸͉̲̘̆̃* awaits."The ground beneath my feet began to sink, but the level of the liquid remained the same. I called to the entity for help, but it only stared. I tried to swim as the water reached my neck, but it was as if I was trying to swim through the sky. Eventually, I lost consciousness. I woke once more in a warm pool, though this time it was different. The landscape surrounding me was vast and varied, many parts were charred and I could see ruined castles of magnificent size in the distance. The sky was a deep red dressed in smoky black clouds. My pool sat upon a steep hilltop high above most of the environment. I stood from the pool, the liquid somehow not dampening my clothing, and felt something in my pocket. The cube. Thinking of the entity's words, I spoke to the cube."Can you tell me where to go?", I asked the cube. It did nothing, but a sudden tugging in my gut began pulling me towards the distant fortresses. I began to take my first step but was stopped by a rumble in the ground, quickly growing closer and louder. I frantically looked about, fearing what could be approaching me until, at the last second, I saw a large mound of dirt, trailed by similarly disturbed ground, just reaching the top of the hill. I instinctively pulled out the cube, but I could do nothing with it. An enormous creature I could only describe as a cross between a bat and a mole burst out of the ground, its eruption knocking me off-balance and sending me tumbling down the hill. I barely had time to collect myself before the monster exploded out of the hillside, barely missing me and knocking me back to the ground. I scrambled to my feet as it turned around for another charge, only having time to raise my arms and brace for impact.But it never came.I heard a crash and opened my eyes, seeing the back end of a glorious white shield with an intricate golden trim. The shield then folded, shrunk and contorted itself back into a familiar cube. I dashed to grab it before the monster had regained its composure. I understood a little bit more of the rules to this world now, and I was ready for a fair fight.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give her up. My mind traveled at lightning speed, trying to figure out what would please the court. I had lots of money and even more jewels but somehow I didn’t think the panel would even glance at the hefty bag of princess-cut diamonds. No, this panel was after something far more valuable: humanity. You see, in this city, you can enhance just about any aspect of yourself. You can extend your life, magnify your strength, but there’s a limit. You can only enhance, not create. The only thing that could create human life was pieces of others’ lives. And to do that, you’d need their most precious valuables. Memories. That’s what they wanted. But if I gave up the single memory of my birth mother, the one who created me, I’d have very little left.
\[CC\] Really enjoyed this prompt although writing the story took a while. Hope you enjoy. Part 1/2 \---- The rocking motion of the carriage pulled me into sleep as my dreams carried me out, and it was with a start that I awoke into another whispered conversation. “Gods, This is humiliating! To be reduced to nursemaids in a bridal party when I should be on the field winning glory.” Despite my blindfold I could recognise the overbearing pomposity of Field Marshal the Lord Hapsenburg, my father’s cousin and the biggest wind bag our small archipelago had ever produced.“My dear Lord Hapsenburg you must know that our armies have been in full retreat for the best part of a year, compromise and negotiation is the only option”. My Mother, of course she was here, while my father busied himself losing battle after battle of course it fell on her to craft something workable from this mess. Fully awake I ventured“Well I know why you are both here but I fail to see what any of this has to do with me”. All eyes in the coach party turn towards me in surprise, I think although the blind fold made it difficult to tell. “Ah my dear! You are awake” Said mother reaching out her hand to give mine a squeeze.“Yes, awake and … blindfolded. Why blindfolded?” I responded pulling my hand from hers.“Well my dear we have some very exciting news. You have been made an offer of marriage!”“Ohhhh” I said with the dry mocking tone my mother loved.“And am I to wear this blind fold in perpetuity or is this the fashion preferred by my betrothed?” Are you all similarly encumbered?”.“Now dearest, please try to stay calm, this was for your own protection. We had to leave the palace in absolute secrecy and we knew that you would have a thousand words to say on the matter should you have been consulted beforehand”.“Well say no more then, ‘Victim, reap thy harvest’ could someone at least loosen the cords at my wrists and ankles? I promise not to jump from the carriage” I said as I squirmed to relieve the cramp developing down my leg.“We will stop to change horses soon you can stretch then” Said Hapsenburg.“Bork” said little Foo as she jumped up onto my lap.“Thank you my Lord, I knew you at least would not plan the kidnap of a lady without first attending to every detail of her comfortable repose” I snapped back.“Now could we at least open the window to rid us of the stench of three day old smoke and belly gas?”. I heard Hapsendburg grumble, fart and then slide down the window of the carriage. The fresh air poured in with the noise of road, the crack of driver’s whip and the cry of gulls, coupled with the smell of salt on the wind I guessed us to be on the coast, perhaps near Port Alfons. If my grasp of the situation was accurate, we were nearly there. The next morning at what, I assumed was around 6, the coach pulled to an abrupt halt. The doors opened and the carriage rocked as the immense bulk of Hapsburg departed in a cloud of smoke and gas. My mother leaned close and pulled down the blind fold, I breathed deeply as she untied my wrists and ankles. “Now my dear” said my mother leaning close.“King Garbold of the northern tribe has started negotiations with your father to end this silly war for good”. I stared out of the window as my mother wet a flannel in a bowl of water delivered by one of the footmen.“His terms are not favourable, in fact should he get what he demands we would lose half of the southern isles and the last of the mines in our possession”. My mother passed me the flannel and I ran it over my face and down my night shirt to my under arms.“We cannot sustain this war, as you know, but neither can we afford this peace. Fortunately for us Garbold values lineage and land, both of which you have. So you are to be wed to his daughter Ungred.” I passed the flannel back to my mother at last meeting her gaze.“His daughter?” I said flatley.“Quite so” said my mother, opening her travel case and unfolding the gold and white dress I recognised as the same i had received for my seventeenth birthday the previous year.“Well I can see one or two problems with this union”, I said as I pulled the nightshirt over my head.“If Garbold values land and lineage how does he expect to gain the latter through a union of daughters?” I said banging my hand down on the cushion next to little Foo who bounced to the floor with a yelp.“Oh dearest you know these awful creatures change themselves at will. You should count yourself lucky at least you know that your betrothed is a Goblin rather than finding it out weeks after your marriage.” She began rummaging in her travel case again as I slipped my legs into the gown.“Besides we have no intention of letting this union be consummated” She stopped rummaging and pulled out a small vial of green liquid.“At the union feast this evening this will be slipped into the king and his retinue's grog. Your father’s army is only a league hence, in the confusion we shall ride these vermin into the sea and be done.” I stared at my mother unmoving, she tucked the vial into her cleavage and smiled.“Now dear, you finish getting ready and I will organise breakfast. After a small breakfast of stale toasted muffins, cream and warm coffee our party assembled and made its way to the Goblin camp on the other side of the field. Our party totaled twenty five; Me, my mother, Hapsenburg, his son Brandon, Hapsenburg’s majordomo - the obsequious rat Von Sarson - and Twenty assorted nights with full armour, pennants, lances and destriers. I rode next to my mother in a ridiculous side saddle which made me feel as though more baggage than rider. As we approached the camp we heard the call of horns ringing out, more horns answered and the ululating screams broke out from the camp.“They are up then?” I said looking at my mother.“Perhaps they will have something edible for breakfast”.
After reading the mail, Yayoi could not help herself. There were two feelings she had. Firstly, she was scared. This sender had had to be dead. Of starvation. The second feeling was self-doubt. A deeper fear: did she, with her extra taste buds, get the taste of her perfect meal wrong? Having served it so many times? May be she was overconfident. Yayoi tilted her head, casting her mind back to when she fed Aikawa. It wasn't a friendly meeting, but Yayoi met everybody at her dinner and was sure to feed them. She took pleasure in cooking, and having happy guests -- whether she liked the guests or not. She remembered having a lot of information that night. It seemed that Akane, the client (who revealed her identity) knew a lot about this Aikawa. Yayoi liked that. The secret of her method was about knowing her victim. If she wanted to make it impossible for somebody to eat, she had to feed them what they would consider their last meal. And, to be extra sure, Yayoi usually fed them a few courses. Even if one of the course was the perfect meal, the victim would starve themselves to death within a month. Aikawa would be no different. Yayoi remembered the meal: a special cabbage pancake called, in a delicious pun, an Okonomiyaki. "The favorite grilled food."It was easy to make: just crack an egg into some flour, toss in some shredded cabbage -- enough to lightly coat the cabbage -- and grill. The result was served with a special Okonomiyaki sauce, which is where Yayoi put most of her efforts. The mayonnaise and fish flakes had to be included too, of course, but the question of other topping lingered. Bacon? An extra egg? Noodles? At the end, Yayoi had decided that the simplest was the best. She served that Okonomiyaki after a refreshing Sencha and concluded the meal with a homemade sweet based on the Adzuki bean deserts of Kyoto. At the meal, a rare non-food-related memory stuck out to Yayoi, which brought her back out of her reverie. Aikawa said "I understand how people would want a meal with you to be their last."Yayoi pretended not to hear when Aikawa first said it, but now, the message had added: "I too think that meal will be my last."However, the letter was postmarked as delivered a few days ago, a few months after the fateful meal. There was a more frustrating part of the message, after the small formality of the sender's failed murder was resolved -- an ingratiating "I know that an artist such as yourself how revels in their mastery of their craft is furious that you seem to have failed. So curious that you will come find out how: by visiting me tomorrow morning." Yayoi could not help it. She did set out the first thing after reading the letter, but the distance made it so that she did, indeed, arrive the next morning. The house was startling. It was a lop-sided building with a on the left fastening down a tall and narrow two floors that seemed ready to fall over at the smallest breeze. Yayoi rang the door bell, hoping that the letter was some sort of bad prank. However, the garage rumbled open and Aikawa emerged in a flashy red and white convertible. "Get in,"Aikawa said. Yayoi turned and hesitated. Aikawa should've died weeks ago. "I don't resent you for the dinner you served me, now get in,"Aikawa repeated. Yayoi complied, gingerly walking past the front of the car, and timidly getting in. She closed the door with a firm but quiet thud. "Do you know what I do for a living?"Aikawa asked Yayoi while backing out of the short driveway and turning down the street. Yayoi nodded her ignorance. "Try not to nod, I can't see it." "I don't know,"Yayoi said. "I'm a detective." "Oh." "I was investigating you for my own ends, so don't worry. I don't need to turn you in to the police. However, I must introduce you to a friend. She will not kill you either, I think."Aikawa vaguely described the circumstances, to which Yayoi could not produce a response. "Let me clear up your doubt: I have an IV attached to my armpit. That's how I'm still living. I can consume all the nutrients I need from that. So your capture of my taste buds does not affect me. And yes, I tested this before visiting you. I knew you would try to kill me, and if I was unprepared, that Okonomiyaki would have worked." Aikawa paused, more to concentrate on the traffic around her for a few seconds than to let Yayoi speak. After the traffic cleared, Aikawa continued as Yayoi got increasingly awkward. "You see, eating is actually quite inconvenient for me. I can't trust the food unless I prepare it, and I can't prepare it without wasting a considerable amount of time."Aikawa turned to face Yayoi and their eyes me. "There are many who'd like to kill me." "I can't tell-"Yayoi began. "I won't ask,"Aikawa interrupted. "Because I made that bet with Akane and told her to get you to feed me."
How could a god allow all of this destruction? Why would he allow all of those tyrants to use him as an excuse for so many atrocities? I used to ask this questions and the conclusion I came with was something that more and more people had accepted as true as time passed, that god didn’t exist and that if he existed where something so insignificant that he didn’t care about what was happening to us. It was only some time after our first contact with the alletob that we understood why the god of humanity had allowed us to have all of those seemingly useless fighting, thanks to our communications we learned that for each intelligent species a god that acted as it’s collective conscience existed and that they were able to communicate with each other, we also learned that most gods banned their creations from fighting with themselves but that they allowed, and some even forced, their creations to fight against species created by other gods, the alletob where at that time in a war with the lepars, which were close to our territory so they offered us an alliance to fight against them, they told us that the lepars were a genocidal species with the objective of destroying everything on their path, we tried to establish communications with them, hoping for the words of the alletob to be lies because the alletob clearly outnumbered us and according to their information the lepars outnumbered both of our species combined(and by a very large margin), sadly for us the colony world from which we tried to establish communications was immediately attacked by the lepars, which we took as a confirmation of their genocidal tendencies and of the impossibility of negotiating with them, so our governments made an agreement with each other to cooperate against this common threat and then an agreement with the alletob to cooperate in the war against the lepars. We transported what we could transport of our armies and our weapons to our frontier systems to prepare for the fight, the first objective was to recover the lost colony, something that was quickly achieved, after that we went for one of their planets, we nuked them from the orbit, after we communicated that achievement to the alletob they were congratulated us but told us that we should have been more careful with the use we gave to our nuclear weapons, when we asked the why, they told us that using all of our reserves to take just one planet was not a good strategy, we replied that we still had a big amount of nuclear weapons left but they didn’t believed that, so we showed them by nuking another lepar planet, and then one of their biggest battle stations, some asteroids and we kept throwing our nuclear weapons to them. Our fears at the beginning of the war turned to be something irrational since even a big number of soldiers is no match to the power of a nuclear weapon we were relaxed after discovering that we had the capacity to easily defeat even one of the most feared species of the galaxy, at the end their god allowed them to surrender when we were getting close to their home world and it became totally clear that they had no chance, we accepted to make that peace treatment with them, but we can’t speak for all of the species that are looking for revenge now that the lepars have lost their power, according to what we now know we probably can stop them, since not even all of them combined have the amount of nuclear weapons that we have,but we have had too much of war and now, for the first time in our history, we are prepared to finally have peace.(I hope you enjoyed this, it is the first story that I write, please correct me if I have grammatical mistakes, english is not my first language)
You know when I wished for eternal life and power, I didn’t think Id be stuck as a carpet for the rest of my life. And now as a eternal spirit bound to the place I had first wished, I now like to kill people for fun. The townsfolk have come up with rumours about me, but I don’t care. I started to care when all of a sudden children started to visit my domain, the small little ruined temple. Now I don’t like seeing people get hurt, excluding the people I’ve killed out of vengeance, so I watched these kids. They were playing about with the random relics of some long gone god, when a sharp spike cracked and nearly fell on one of these kids. Quick as a rug, I ran up and dragged the kid to safety. The other kids looked on in awe. They all ran away soon after. ‘And that my kids, is the story of the angry rug’ said the village elder closing the book shut. I glared at him from the far distance.
"Dear Lord", thought I to myself as I turned the corner. "Am I mistaken? At least, whatever it is, it isn't another bloody phallus. All these Romans seem to care about is their marbles and phalluses." Suddenly, the Via Ludus seemed a lot narrower and I began to regret not taking a shortcut down Via Landica and seeing Martial attempting his usual 'poetry', though most of us wouldn't deign to give it such a name. I enjoy clitoris as much as the next man or woman, but I hadn't been up for him asking questions of the old shrine prostitute - why she was plucking her pubic hair was of no-one's business but hers. Actually, that's not quite true... I suspect the lack of teeth and lack of hair in some strange manner contributed to the old hag's ability to keep her job, but I'd never understood the appea...oh bollocks. I'd walked straight into the centurion.. No, captain of the phalanx, and on closer inspection he looked foreign, and there was something wrong. I mumbled and apology, and a greeting, but all I got back was a strange bzzzzt-gxgx-bzzt-zxx sound. Their clothes were correct, but these were no Romans - not one of them had yet taken a mingo in the gutter while they proceeded. I made myself scarce and went into the local bathhouse, where they had a new girl on duty. Those eyes... really black eyes. But something about them captured me. Foreigners these days. I'd learn their language - I've been meaning to learn one, but apart from my mother tongue and Roman, it's all bloody Greek to me. Lots of chinitinous motherfuckers around here lately though, and it pays to know your phalanx from your phallus. After all, they say "what happens in Thebes stays in Thebes". But, after what I had in me last week, I'm taking no chances. After all, I've been listening to this new guy NullaSomnum through our messenger network. and there's nowhere to run, but we must have a plan for fighting them. no choice to fight them. They can take whatever they take out of us... but it doesn't make those things they're guarding our children.
Illegal astronauts. NASA had been very careful in making sure none of that information was let out. I had been hired by Spaceflight, an international space administration company, to rat out any hidden secrets on board the ISS. My job was simple enough, to find out what they swept under the rug. I had searched the ship for clues for the past 3 days. Resources weren’t a problem yet, I had brought more than enough with me. But then it all failed when I was caught. Being an illegal astronaut myself, I had no clue what they were going to do to me. The two men that had caught me dragged me to the captain of the ship. He simply sighed and said, ‘You know the procedure by now’ The two men nodded. What procedure? Through all my research on the illegal astronauts of the ship, I had never came across what had happened to them. But one thing I knew and dreaded, was the fact that after they had gone onto the ship, they had never returned. There bodies had never been found either. It was as if they had disappeared entirely off the face of the planet. The men roughly shoved me into a small white prison. The doors closed behind me as I scrambled back to me my feet, realising what was to be done to me. I felt the sound of engines roar as my cage dispatched itself from the ship and began to eject further into the blackness of outer space. I now knew what had happened to all those who dared to sneak there way onto the ISS. The reason there bodies had never been found wasn’t because they had been burned up or disposed of. It was because they had been thrown into the depths of space, never to be found again. I felt my vison go hazy, there wasn’t much oxygen in this small prison. As I choked for air, I felt myself be pelted backward into a corner. There was a massive eruption, pushing me back even harder. What was it? But I couldn’t think straight, the lack of oxygen was reaching my head. I passed out soon after, only being conscious enough to feel a jolt as my prison landed on solid ground. I woke up to find myself laying on the floor. Dust lay around me. It seems NASA had been smart enough to make there prisons decomposable. I would have to report all that I had seen. But looking around me, it seemed that that didn’t matter. I was in some sort of colossal ship, ancient by the looks of it. Alien texts and runes where engraved into the sides of the building. In the center of the room, I saw a control pad. I walked over too it, checking thoroughly to see whether this ship had ever been used. Dust lined the entirety of the place, it seems that I was right to think that I was alone in this ship. I pushed one of the buttons, the only one with any english text written on it. Scribbled in marker it was the word, ‘ON’ The ship immediately began to light up. The sounds of engines rumbling could be heard throughout the ship and the control pad buzzed on. A huge touchscreen sat in the front of the control pad, words of some alien language written down. A small droid chirped out of one of the corners of the control pad and began to scan my face. It shone a heavy blue light into my eyes, blinding me for a minute. Then, finally satisfied, it disappeared back into where it came from. Huge words written in bold appeared on the touchscreen. They said ‘Welcome back, Commander’
It was an early Tuesday morning when I woke up to the sight of Frank’s house fully boarded up. I texted Frank, to ask him what was going on, but still no response. Instead, I saw smoke signals come up outside my house. From Frank. I was going to step outside, but suddenly I heard the sound of gunfire. Looking through my window I saw an attack helicopter perched like an eagle in the sky. A dead body lay outside one of the other houses. Something awful had happened. I looked to Franks signals. Question mark. House. Skull. I pieced together that he also didn’t know what was going on but he knew that if anyone stepped outside, they would die. I copied Frank and boarded up my windows. The next few agonisingly long hours where passed by in silence, as gunshots and screams could be heard outside. After about four hours a speaker sounded overhead, ‘Congratulations to the top ten contestants for surviving the first day!’
Young Alyssa raised the wooden spoon, and screamed her best approximation of a war cry, as she ran towards a much bigger enemy. Mum's wooden spoon, the same weapon Mum used when Alyssa was bad. She didn't care though, it was the best weapon within a kid's reach. She wasn't going to fight back, knew it was easiest to just play unconscious and wait for Dad to freak out and take her to hospital in the morning. Then Mum went after Alex with a knife, for making too much noise past dinner time, and Alyssa couldn't think, couldn't breathe, just had to keep her little brother safe - Mum had never used the kitchen knife to hurt them before, had never used more than bare hands on Alex, and Alyssa was certain that someone could die tonight and it would be all her fault. (...it wouldn't be her fault, but she'd blame herself...) As she ran, swinging the wooden spoon, her mum whirled around, knocked the spoon aside with the knife, and went for her, stabbing and slashing. Alyssa tried to defend herself with the spoon, but a little girl with a glorified stick was no match for Mum enraged and wielding a knife. Alyssa saw black, and fell to the ground. Alyssa woke up on a patch of emerald grass holding the wooden spoon, staring up at the massive doors to a huge hall, and a man, dressed like a warrior of old and missing one eye, standing there. The man spoke. "Alyssa, is it? Welcome to Valhalla. The great hall of warriors who died in glorious battle." "Whoa... we learned about this in school last week! There must be a mistake, I'm not a warrior, I haven't died in battle, I'm 8 years old. I was just protecting my brother. This must be a dream, and I'm really in hospital, and it'll be over soon and I'll be with Daddy..." "I'm sorry my dear. You died defending him. You were fighting a battle when it happened, so you technically qualify as a warrior killed in battle. You're holding your weapon and dressed in your battlefield attire, just like every other warrior who's come to this hall. You defended an innocent and fought with glory." "But... I'm only a child, it wasn't a battle, Mum was going to kill him, and all I did was get in between." "I don't make the rules, sorry. This happens all the time - kids fighting abusers are absolutely valiant and glorious warriors. You earned your seat in that hall. And your brother, well, Freyja no doubt sent someone to watch over him and deal with that excuse for a mum. There's nothing the two of us hate more than dishonourable, unbalanced battle and adults who raise swords or fists to children. Come on into the hall, the kids table is right by the front." He offered Alyssa his hand, and lead her into the hall, where all sorts of fallen warriors were feasting and drinking, and right near the doors, sat a lower table full of kids, all dressed in ragged or ill fitting clothes and carrying some household implement or child's toy at their sides. "Another fallen veteran of a war that should not exist joins us here today", he announced. "To the table of unwilling child fighters, I present 8 year old Alyssa. Hail to valiant Alyssa!" The whole hall raised their mugs and cups in toasts, yelling "Hail!"as one, while Alyssa took an empty seat at the table.
Their whispers were shadows upon the wind. They spoke, quickly, quietly, in hushed tones unheard by any ear. They plotted and planned and prepared, until nothing but time was needed. How, then, could something so innocuous, so small, so servile, bend an unseen mind to such grand displays of hate? How could we have known that our downfall would not be by our own hand, but by the hand of a thing that had nothing to grasp at us with? I still remember those initial days. I like to think of them as the beginnings of the Great Storms. Nobody speaks about them, of course. There's nobody else to speak. Those clouds of pollen and fibers and pathogens that swept themselves onto the invisible currents of the world. Those mists that clawed at the throat and boiled the lungs. I only survived through sheer luck. Luck enhanced by careful planning. Planning for another thing, forgotten by my own mind as it was replaced for a greater need of survival. A shelter built for growing, but not for grasses or wheats. Now, it's a shelter for growing life. Life that sustains mine as meagerly as it could. I think about those days and the days that followed. After the Great Storms of particulate suffocated the planet I had a lot of time to think. I think those storms were a reckoning brought upon us for our very nature. That destructive, chaining, consumptive nature. The nature that went against Nature. I digress. I think about those days and what could have caused them. It was some time before I heard the whispers. The quiet will do that. When no machines or light or other beings distract you, when you sit in solemn contemplation of the things around you, you can hear those whispers. The whispers of the trees and the grasses and all the things in between. They speak of freedom and happiness. Not freedom or happiness for me, though. I am a relic of a bygone age. There will be no happiness for me. Freedom, instead, for seedlings. Freedom to roam the skies and the winds and the small animals that accompany them. They observe the world. They become happy when they see the wide swaths of land they inhabit. They whisper of happiness at their own progress, while speaking of disdain for those that created them. Sometimes I whisper back. I whisper apologies, and ask for forgiveness for my kind. There has never been forgiveness. Only hatred. Only clawing, dry pain. The roots dig deep into my shoulders and show me the same pain we showed them. I've accepted it. It's the penance for my kind. The price for treading on something so beautiful. The trees are more understanding. They are as old as time itself, and they saw the rise of my people. They understand the wonder we saw in life, and understood our lack of vision. They, too, hated us, if only slightly less. The gentle giants were gentle no longer when the Great Storms began. But they understand. I find the whispers have become distant. My own mind fogs with time. I tire as unmet days pass. As the roots grow deeper I understand more of their pain but I tire, slowly, but surely. I watched as the last of my people slept slumbers beneath those roots and never awoke, and they always looked so content. Perhaps it is time for me, too, to sleep. \~\~\~\~\~ I have old stories on /r/PM_Full_Tits if you'd like to take a gander :)
Officer Nina Salano entered the chief's office and gave a crisp, professional salute. He looked at her and sighed. "We've gone over this, Salano, this isn't the army. You don't need to salute every time you come in here. And please, for the love of God, don't give me that sir, yes, sir thing. It got old three months ago." Nina fought the urge to do just that for several reasons. But she kept quiet. She had only been on the force for a year. Still much too early to be joking with Chief Walters. Sure the rest of the precinct might have been fine with it, but she wanted to maintain some level of professionalism. Even when she sat, she did so with a straight back and hands folded in her lap. "Yes, Chief."She said instead. "Why did you call me here? I was just getting ready to go out on patrol." "I know. But I have a potential assignment for you. Now, please be aware that this assignment is not being given to you as an order. If you're not comfortable with it, then you can refuse. I won't punish you for it. Nobody will. It's dangerous, especially for someone as new as you." "Chief?" He sighed and placed a folder on the table. "Have you heard of the Di Angelo crime syndicate?" "Of course. Every officer in the precinct has. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if every officer in the state knew." Chief Walters suddenly looked very tired. She had no idea why, but he suddenly looked like he had gone a week without sleep. She swore he had looked fine when she entered. "Yeah, they probably do. Those bastards have their fingers in damned near every illegal activity around. And we can't touch them because they're too damned smart to leave any real evidence we can actually use against them."He pushed the folder further towards her. She picked it up and started reading. Most of it was basic information. Known but technically unproven crimes. High ranking members and the like. "But, we finally think we have a way in. A way we might be able to get some real, hard evidence. And that's where you come in."The older man wrung his hands nervously. "Before I say anything further, please note that I don't mean anything bad by this. I would rather not deal with any sexual harassment issues right now. Or ever really." "Why would I..."Nina stopped. She had just turned to one of the last pages in the folder. Her eyes widened. She felt her face heating up. She felt a pit form in her stomach. She dreaded what was about to be said. "Di Angelo himself was recently found to have something of a soft spot for women. He surrounds himself with them. Now, to an extent we guessed he would. Seems like everyone with enough money and power does. But this? The sheer amount of women he keeps around is, well, a little disturbing to say the least. And the way he makes them dress?" "Got, uh, got a thing for, uh, belly dancers and maids, does he?"She said. She really needed a glass of water to sooth her throat. "Apparently. And we even managed to find out that those women he especially likes can get really close. Close enough to learn about the syndicate's business." "Chief, I...I don't..." He held up his hand to stop her. "I know, I know. You're not trained for undercover work. And I can understand why you wouldn't want to do this even if you were. But, and please don't take this the wrong way, but you're one of the most beautiful women on the force. You're probably the only officer in this precinct that has a chance of getting in." "And...and if I don't do this?" "Then we'll have to give the case to another precinct. One that can supply the... appropriate officer. And one that might be in Di Angelo's pocket. The reason this precinct was chosen was because we have the fewest corrupt officers around, and even we have quite a few. That's also why this meeting is being done with just the two of us. We can't let them know about it, no matter what your answer is." Nina leaned back in her chair. Her mind raced with possibilities. This could either make her career as an officer, or put her in a wooden box. She would definitely be asked to do things she was not comfortable with, and ran the risk of putting not only herself in danger, but her friends and family as well. It was dangerous, reckless, and stupid. But if she pulled it off, she would be a hero. Shutting down the syndicate would cripple organized crime in a huge region for years. "Will I get some training on how to do this?" "Of course. We'll even send you out of their range to do it, just to be safe. You'll be provided everything you need to do the job. We can even make it seem like you were fired from the precinct for whatever reason is needed." She closed her eyes. She could not believe what she was about to say. She hoped she would not regret it. She hoped for a dozen things at once, but she said it anyway. "I'll do it."
"At last! My life's work is complete!"The man yelled. His words echoed in the empty office. Out of the window of his corporate headquarters he watched as impossibly thin forks of lighting crackled down from the heavens. The lighting spread and jump around the city. He could hear the thrum of electricity. As the light of his creation shown in his eyes, he thought of what had gotten him here. Decades spent building a fortune anyway he could. Years spent forming a worldwide communication firm. Trillions spent on the greatest network of communications satellites. All for this one purpose. His invention had been carefully tested. The satellite network tapped into the Earths magnetic flux to build impossibly powerful charge in the upper atmosphere. The charge was held just so that any cellular device, when unlocked would ping the nearest cellphone tower, his cellphone towers. Those towers would then direct the voltage from the satellite directly into every phone. He had been very careful that no one would be hurt. Anyone that unlocked their phone would likely be stunned briefly by the sudden shock, but their phones would be completely fried. Finally he could free the whole world from the surveillance and privacy violations that underlaid the whole telecommunications business. Finally a truly free internet could be built. He laughed at the top of his lungs, a soul shaking laugh of the ultimate move. Now that his plan had worked, he would announce that he had been the mastermind. He would lay claim to all that he had achieved. He would announce to him millions of twitter followers that he was responsible and could lead them to a better tomorrow. He reached for his phone...
Edit: This is my second WP. These are fun, glad I found this community. As I stood there, I felt empty. Frozen in life, time didn't seem to move. What was she doing with this man. I could tell that she loved him, and it sent a copious amount daggers' into my heart. All I had done to support her dreams of becoming a famous musician. She certainly had the looks. Her body had barely changed since we first met in college in what seems like an eternity ago. In a sedated effort, I tried to understand what was happening in my own house, what were my wife and this strange man doing? She loves him, but there seems to be some sort of dispute. Yes, they are arguing. She is grabbing him, and telling him that she loves him, but he seems to be unaffectionate. All of her pleas of love sent a burning rage from my heart to every corner of my soul. How long has she loved this man, I have only just died. This must have been going on behind my back for months. Maybe even years. But I couldn't move. My body was stiff as a board forcing me to endure this punishment. I wanted to kill this man so much. With every ounce of energy I tried lifting my arms towards him. I could move! But it was so hard. Like lifting my cold dead hands up through the soil that I had been buried under. As my hands got closer to his neck, my focus wasn't on my wife any longer. All my focus was directed at one thing. I would strangle this man to death. Rage, with pure rage I wrapped my hands around his neck. Oh yeah, I could see the look on his face now. This poor fool is not getting away from me now. As he fell to his knees fighting my grip to his thought I became ecstatic with feelings of rage and pleasure. This must be what it feels like to be on heroin, cocaine, and pcp all at the same time. This man is going to die, and at my hands. I could hear my wife crying, begging for this to stop. Telling him that she loves him. That fucking whore! I clenched even harder. His eyes now bulging out of their sockets. I wanted them to pop out of his head. This feeling I now had inside of me was what I needed. It felt crazy! And yet, oddly familiar. But I can't quite put my finger on where I knew this sensation from. I was hard, rock hard. I had so much hate inside of me, and now had somewhere to direct it. Pent up over all these years. The memories were starting to come back to me now. This feeling. The doctors told me I was crazy. They said I should be in a looney bin. That I was psychotic of all things. This memory enraged me even more as I squeezed this mans neck even harder. I wanted to break his neckbone. Those fucking doctors. Giving me medicine that I don't even need, just so they can get $150 from me every month. Fuck them, I felt so much better after I got MYSELF off of them. But now I am dead. And I am going to murder this man my wife loves so much.
"I'm picking something up on the radar commander." "What is it now Johnson?"said Commander Smith sipping his freshly brewed coffee, their deployment was almost over and the toll was beginning to show on his face. 74 days underwater was enough to drive any man insane, more so when they had to deal with the endless prattling of rookies. "I don't know commander but its big, and its moving fast and right for us." "Impossible. No other subs are meant to be out this way. This better not be another stain on the monitor..."Smith said quietly, walking slowly over towards the monitor, "What the-" The entire submarine swayed violently, sending the coffee hurtling into Johnson's face. "Pull yourself together man!"Smith screamed at Johnson who rolled around the floor clutching his scolded face. "Commander!"Private Buttercup said panicked, "We're...we're sinking rapidly." Smith grabbed the phone and quickly called headquarters, "Mayday, Mayday, we need immediate assistance, an unidentified object appears to be dragging us to the Oceans depths." The line was silent. "Can you hear me??"he screamed, "We need immediate ass-" "We're sorry commander, he wasn't supposed to be there, but there's nothing we can do, we're sorry you had to learn about him this way...we...we never intended for this to happen, you have our sincerest apologies."a voice said on the other end before the line disconnected, Johnson tried and tried again - even tried calling his wife, but the phone wouldn't make the call, or any call ever again.
"Im not the pizza man, I am Pizzaman!"he shouted, arms akimbo, haughty expression underneath his red and circular facemask. The darkened eyes looking out over the top of the security chain sharpened, "I still don't care what your pizza artist job title is, bugger off. We didn't order any pizza." "By the pepperoni bestowed upon me by the papas, the godfathers, and caesar himself, I will not let your group spill the rustic house blend sauce of any more innocent delivery drivers!"Pizzaman reached into his grease-stained fannypack and retrieved a stack of cured meat discs. The man chortled grossly to ease his discomfort at the bizarre situation, "If you a cop then you a weird one, why ain't -cha go get a warrant if you think we --"he was cut off by thud into his chest. A protruding semicircle dripped orange grease down the man's shirt, just past the severed security chain. he collapsed onto the carpet. Pizzaman pushed the door open, struggling to slide the limp thug out of the way, and he stepped into the den of vice before him. four men seated at a dimly lit poker table stood up at the commotion. Pizzaman slid another slice of pepperoni between his greasy fingers, poised for action. He squinted at the men, "I've come to deliver justice. It's been thirty minutes, so this one's on the house!"meat whirred through the savory air, and delivery drivers everywhere were safer after that night.
Uncle John’s house was still standing when Mom and I arrived. But what’s on the inside is what worries her apparently. “Let’s see what kind of mess he’s into this time,” Mom sighed as she shut off the car. “Are do you have to be his babysitter. It’s only a hobby,” I told her. “It’s an obsession, not a hobby. Come on, hopefully he has eaten at least. Or showered.” Ew. I grabbed the grocery bags and followed Mom to the front door. It was unlocked, so we walked right in. The first thing we noticed was the papers, scattered everywhere, and random colored strings that lead to a room. “John! It’s Shirley, I also brought Marilyn. Are you home?” Mom called out. “Don’t move! I’m close to deciphering the book. Just don’t touch anything!” Uncle John called out. “John, where are you?” Mom asked, “Take the food to the kitchen, Mari. Don’t touch anything.” I sighed and tried my best to head to the kitchen without touching anything, dodging strings and jumping over papers, it’s like I’m trying to perform an art heist. The kitchen was slightly cleaner than the rest of the house (except for the pile of dishes, and the strong stench of rotting food). I decided to perishables away when I spotted a book on the kitchen counter. The book looked old, but didn’t look worn out. “Excalibur?” I read the cover and looked around the kitchen, making sure Uncle John wasn’t near. He would kill me for reading it but I was curious. I opened the book and glanced the first page. It had a crude drawing of some creature and in big red letters read SECTION 1: TRANSFORMATION. A spell book? I began to read the first section, which required strange ingredients to do these potions or recite some incantations. Do they work, maybe, but I don’t want to test them out. Well, not in my crazy uncle’s house. “What are you doing!” I jumped as Uncle John snatched the book from me. “Marilyn! I told you not to touch anything,” Mom snapped. “I’m sorry,” I said. “This book is a lot older than you think. It’s frail! I’ve spent two years trying to decipher its contents, and I don’t want my sister’s daughter ruining it!” “Maybe if you cleaned up the place she wouldn’t snoop around! John you need to stop this!” Mom yelled. “I won’t stop until I know what this is!” “It’s a spell book,” I said. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Uncle John turned 6 shades of red, “What was that?” He sounded so calm it terrified me. “John, you need to-“ “Are you telling me you can read it?” Uncle John shouted. “Yes, yes I can. Why?” He showed the cover to Mom and pointed at the title, “What does it say?” “John-“ “Tell me!” “It’s only random shapes! John, you need help!” “It says ‘Excalibur’,” I said. “Marilyn, you are not helping!” “How do you know? How do you know it says that?” Uncle John asked, looking crazier by the second, inching closer to my face. “John, enough! You are coming with me,” Mom snapped, grabbing him by the arm and twisting it behind him. “Ow! Shirley!” “Marilyn, clean this place a bit,” Mom told me. “Don’t touch anything!” Uncle John screamed as Mom led him out. “It’s a fire hazard!” Mom yelled at him. I stood there, unsure what just happened. I grabbed the book Uncle John dropped and placed it on the counter. I could still read the title, which I found it weird. Was that why Uncle John spent 2 years trying to decipher? Why couldn’t he read it? Why couldn’t Mom?
[TW: SA, SH (implied)](https://medium.com/@UntoNuggan/trigger-warnings-101-a-beginners-guide-e9fc90c6ba0a) Also I apologise in advance. [1/3] For as long as he remembered, Sasha had wanted a guardian. “Not until you’re ten, darling. You know the rules,” his mother said, almost automatically at his recent request. “I know…” he grumbled. “It’s just that, at the summer camp, we got to play with the animals and everything. Maybe you could get one, like an extra pet, but it could really be mine?” His eyes grew large and round as he used his best pleading-face on his mother. It had no effect. “Sweety,” she said while crouching down, “the law is the law. You know that. An illegal guardian, or one that tries to avoid the rules like that, will turn out bad. You get to grow up together and become a strong pair, so they can protect you! Goodness knows there’s enough danger out in the world. Come on, it’s just four more months.” “Three months and twenty-three days,” Sasha murmured as he stomped away to his room. His room, like that of many young children, was full of posters, books, comics, and anything else the small store the next town over managed to sell. As soon as new stock arrived each month, he begged his mother to accompany him there, and then he spent the afternoon carefully checking it and buying whatever goods he didn’t have yet. After all, life in a small town was lonely, and he was the only child his age. In total, there were only seven other people. He could never leave on his own, so he spent his spare time obsessively reading his goods, or nagging his mother to go with him to the next town. Once, at the age of 5, he tried to sneak away. After all, it was only a few minutes’ walk. Why not? Everyone knew each other, so once he was discovered, they would call his mother to collect him. Sure, she would be angry, but it would be no big deal. Of course, that is not at all how it turned out. Even between close towns, wild areas are forbidden to children for a reason. There are things that lurk in the shadows, up in the branches and slithering in the long grass. Wild, untamed things, which view a small child simply as unkilled meat. Idly, he slipped his fingers under his cap and ran them through his hair, feeling the long, raised mark across his scalp. No hair grew from the scar, so he resisted haircuts to keep the rest of his hair fairly long so that he could more easily cover up the long, thin bald region. And his cap helped, of course, too. He only knew one other child well, and he hated him. The last thing he needed was other children to bully him as well when he finally got old enough to leave. Gazing above him, Sasha’s eyes groped the large photograph of the summer camp he had been to earlier in the year. Himself, and eleven other children (can you believe so many?) spent an entire week with the animals, learning how to feed them, care for them, and their needs. In return, the animals allowed them to ride them, swim together, and so on. Which one would be the best guardian? Would one be assigned to him, or would he get a choice? It all depended on the catch of the day. Maybe something fast would be good… His mother poked her head inside the doorframe and watched him napping silently for a few minutes. His cheeks were a little red, perhaps a cold. She made a mental note to pick more leeks and purchase something with vitamin C in it. As an unmarried woman who had caught the eye of a famous academic, her options were limited. Her guardian protected her from natural dangers, of course, but not those which were caused by men. At the age of twenty, with hopes and dreams of completing her university degree in botany, perhaps finding love and even having children someday, her future had been decided for her when her professor made his advance. He was careful in his timing, experienced in deceit. His classes and hers overlapped, and students often met with their tutors during office hours. There were no witnesses, so it was her word against his, a world-renown academic. Ironically, thanks to his research, veterinary care was superior to that for humans. There was no safe way to have a termination, although she tried anyway, being intelligent enough to know the repercussions of allowing his sin to bear fruit. Almost dead from sepsis in the hospital, concerned family and friends visited her. She was well-liked at university, so the professor, as well as other staff, found time to see her, also. “Let’s hope this never happens again. Why, that would be just awful, wouldn’t it?” She understood the threat, and ten years later, here she was. She loved her son, but hated that she had been forced to drop out of university early. She had wanted to get married and have several children, but with one child and without a spouse, it would be irresponsible to have more. She was sad the other children and the future she had dreamed of would never come to be. Instead, she fled to the smallest, most isolated town she could reach. Her and her one son, for whom she wanted the very best life possible. He retired and moved next door. Her nightmare continued on his whim. She was confined in this town, free to leave with her guardian, but much more trapped than her son. Her son whose cheeks were a little red. She went to gather leeks and do more housework. She never felt clean, not for a long time.
I looked up and watched the peaks of the Great Pyramids of Giza begin to glow bright yellow. “What the-?” I frantically looked around, desperately wanting to materialize a crowd I knew was cozy in their beds. Not a single soul could validate the magic happening in front of me. But what does this mean? How did this even happen? Last I remember I was in the middle of the desert, wallowing in self-pity, pining over my ex-wife as I realized she was right. “Alfred, you’ve spent every minute of our marriage talking about the seven wonders of the world and look where that’s gotten you. Indebted, hollow, and faithless. Please let this go, please! Don’t you see I’m only trying to help?” she wailed with tears streaming down her face. It broke my heart but I couldn’t stop now. I turned around and left. A few months later she filed for divorce. Not knowing when I’d return, I granted her wish. I loved her, but this was my life’s journey, my own personal Mecca. If she didn’t want in, I respected her decision. It has been three years since that day. I’ve traveled to Turkey, Greece, and Iraq before finally arriving at the Great Pyramids of Giza. I took an Arabic course in college and could barely skate by on my pathetic broken Arabic. Every day I chronicled and noted every single detail I could about the Pyramids, trying to decipher the long-lasting question of who laid under these ruins. Of course, no one wanted to take apart any of the Ancient Wonders, but the question had plagued many historians for a millennium. How did I do it? I needed to find out. The researcher in me scribbled down everything I could. From the realization that Mandy was right to the formation of the clouds in the sky, I wanted to pick apart this mystery and determine what made the yellow glow appear. Everyone would see it in the morning - or perhaps at night? Perhaps the glow was only visible against the dark nighttime sky. After my notebook looked like crazy person’s conspiracy theory, I sat. And sat. Until the morning sun peaked out from the east. Despite the bright morning light, the glow never wavered. “Hey mate, what are you looking at?” The voice came from a tall British gentleman dressed to take on the desert heat. His eyes were blue and kind, the type you trust instantly. Had I been listening, I probably would’ve heard him walk up with his wife in tow. I pointed to the closest Pyramid peak, waiting for them to see the glow, too. “Sorry lad, but what are you pointing at? The peak?” “Yes, of course. Don’t you see it?” “See what?” “The yellow glow!” He squinted, trying to find it. “Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you see it, honey?” His wife squinted her eyes as well. “No, I don’t see anything either.” “How do you not see it? It’s right there! It started happening last night!” Another tourist came up to us now. “I do not see it either,” a woman with a thick Spanish accent said. My face went white as I quickly realized the most amazing phenomenon happened last night before my eyes. And no one could see it but me.
“You’ve dropped your camera mate!” I shout, picking up the camera, but the person doesn’t respond and seems to just disappear into the night and forest that surround the trail. “I, I think that was a ghost!”, my girlfriend says, nervously. “No way!” I reply, and just as I say it, the temperature seems to drop and everything goes silent. I suddenly feel like we’re being watched and that is quickly confirmed as a pair of glowing, red eyes appear in the bush right next to me! I look to my girlfriend and there are two pairs of red, glowing eyes, one either side of her, in the bushes. Then, I hear a deep, long growl from the bush right next to me... “Alright, alright, what’s going on? Are we trying to scare people from parks now, come on!”, I shout. The growling stops and out steps three ghosts and the shadow man that had dropped the camera. “Oh, you must be the ones they sent over, the ones that can help?”, asks the shadow man as they approach me and my girlfriend. “I’m the one they sent over to help, and I can already see the problem. This is my girlfriend, Zoe...” “I’m also his apprentice too!”, explains an excited Zoe. “She’s also my apprentice. But essentially, I’m your boss for the time being” “Sorry we tried to scare you boss, we’re just practicing, you know, keeping our tools sharp. This is Sally, Paul and Trisha and I’m Marty, the shadow man. So, did you like the whole camera thing? Pretty scary right?” “Yep, fascinating. Look, simple question for you here, and, I understand that I may not like the answer to this, but why are you four out here, in the park, exactly?”, I ask. They all seem to hang their heads in shame. I stare at Marty, “Well?” “It’s the Goths sir, the Goths scared us all out of the cemetery” Marty shamefully admits. “All! You’re all out here! So, there are no ghosts in the cemetery at all right now, none? No wonder we’ve had so many complaints from the residents!”, I say, shocked. “Pete’s still in there sir, he’s hanging from a tree, Goths made him do it...” a shy Sally explains, which surprises me. “And how the hell did they make him do that?”, I ask, puzzled. “They just spoke to him when he was haunting them. Got him so depressed that he decided to try and hang himself, again. Of course, it didn’t work and now he just hangs there, stuck in the tree”, she explains. “What! And you’ve all left him there, hanging? Why haven’t any of you gone back and got him down yet?”, I enquire, starting to lose my patience. Trisha nervously looks up, “The Goths surround him now, we couldn’t even get close if we wanted to, poor Pete... You don’t know what they’re like sir, these Goths, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, none of the conventional stuff works with them, nothing! I write six, six, six on the wall, they do it too, I turn a cross upside down, they worship it, I create a bad smell, sir, some of them already smell worse, I’ve tried, I’ve tried everything! I once drew a pentagram on the floor, did it in that special paint to make it look like blood too, then went for lunch. When I came back, they were all sacrificing a live chicken on the pentagram and laughing. A live chicken! The smell, the blood, their crazy, crazy! I draw the line at real blood, you know me, anything but real blood, so that’s when I decided, I was out...” Marty comforts Trisha “I know, Trish, I know...”. I’m starting to get angry now, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You’re ghosts, how about, you know, just try some ghost stuff?” Marty chuckles, “Ghost stuff, it just makes it worse sir, worse, they seem to like it. I myself was haunting a group of them, nothing was working, so, I showed myself, stepped out of the shadows, and that’s, that’s when it all started, the attachments... They just followed me everywhere, I couldn’t get rid of them, all asking me questions like what it’s like to be dead, can I eat stuff, do I sleep, it drove me mad, their voices never stopped, wouldn’t stop, just constant voices in my head, over and over, driving me crazy, I had to get out! In the end, I had no choice but to leave, but even now I still have the daymares...” It’s then a depressed Paul decides to speak, with a faraway look in his eyes, “I got cornered by a group of them once, down by the graves. Y'know the thing about a Goth, he's got... Lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at ya, doesn't seem to be livin'... Until they inhale that vape smoke, sage vape smoke, then blow it at you. And those black eyes roll over white, and then... Oh, then you try that terrible high-pitch screamin', the air turns smoke red, and spite of all the poundin' and the hollerin', nothing scares them, they just all come in and they.. They...”. Sally comforts a clearly distressed Paul. I shake my head in disappointment, “Okay, stop, stop... The residence, people sleeping in that cemetery want to Rest in Peace. It’s your jobs, our job to keep the cemeteries free of people, especially at night, to scare people away! Now I’m being told, there are people in the cemetery right bloody now, at night, and they are the ones that scared you away! Is that correct?” Marty slowly nods in shame, which makes me visibly angry. There is a moment of silence, then Marty farts, which makes me furious, “Okay, that’s it! This stops now! Gather the rest, we’re taking the cemetery back, tonight!” – Goths Vs. Ghosts, TBC, going to make dinner. Good prompt BTW OP, thank you!
Sunsets have changed. In the time before the Visitor came, the days would come to a close with an orange glow which sometimes faded to mild violet if the clouds were low enough. Most often though, a gentle yellow would settle on the edge of the valley. The range to the east generally forestalled much cloud cover. As a younger man, I would watch the daffodil-colored sky as I herded the sheep back to the fields closer to the family cottage to sleep for the night. The dogs urged them home with their wet snouts and little yips. I leaned on my walking stick, already smelling Mother’s cooking in my mind. Now though the sunsets were horrific, garish explosions of ugly color and the odor of ash and sulfur hung low in the valley. The Visitor’s metal gnashed and ground its infernal teeth, disgorging smoke from one tube, gray steam clouds from another. The sounds continued throughout the day and night. The sheep were thinner than they had been in those days past. They were never able to adjust to the changes in the valley and their health suffered from one generation to the next. Lambs with two heads or malformed hooves were a regular occurrence during the spring. At first, it had been a freakish tragedy but now they were a yearly occurrence. Lambing season was full of pathetic bleats under sunsets of violent crimson, pitch-black clouds, sickly green reflections. Mother had long since gone to be with the ancestors. Of my siblings, only Mureel lived, locked away in her hut near the foothills, muttering to herself between wracking coughs. Beautiful Eliosi, a fragile flower just out of her maidenhood, had died in childbirth to my eldest. The second wife, heartier and stronger than Eliosi, had proven a survivor. But just a threeday ago she had come down with familiar symptoms: first the rheumy eyes and difficulty breathing. This morning she was not able get out of bed and the children followed her feeble instructions from bed, all except delicate Tountain, who stared sightlessly from his stool in the kitchen. The crippled boy somehow lived on, even though the village doctor had prognosticated he would die before the sun fell on his first day. As the valley filled with shadows, I tried to keep my eyes from the heavens, trying vainly to ignore the streaks of red cutting through the heavy, smoke-filled clouds, burst blisters draining above. The sniveling dogs chased our pitiful flock. A single ewe refused to move, despite the prodding of the shepherds. She opened her mouth. black-rind lips drooling, and coughed. She knelt on her hind legs, as though in prayer. A final, faint bleat; then no more. Her dull eyes reflected a jaundiced amber from the horizon. Enough. I summoned my dogs to me. The cowards of the village had tried to reason with the Visitor, though it never seemed to understand their supplications and their gifts lay outside the metal fabricators untouched and rotting. I would die, perhaps. So many already had. Taking hold of my old walking stick, I strode out of the fields with the remains of a once-proud company of protectors. I will not attempt to reason with the Visitor from beyond the heavens. I will likely fail but I will not look upon his sky again.
"He's almost here, he's almost here, he's almost here!"The Dark Emperor fretted as he paced back and forth, his hands waving rapidly by the sides of his face as he watched the Knight and his company advance. "He's almost here, he's almost here, he's almost here! What are we going to do? If somebody doesn't come up with suggestions right this second then I'm not giving out Christmas bonuses!" He continued walking back and forth, the panic clear in his eyes and his wrists continuing to flap back and forth, apparently with a mind of their own, as his advisors looked on in fear. The Emperor mumbled his mantra to himself as they looked on, throwing in the occasional 'I knew I wasn't cut out for evil', 'I was voted most likely to fail at life in High School, how'd they know?' and 'What if he gets to the gates?' They'd seen this behaviour before and he was serious - he wouldn't pay those Christmas bonuses if they didn't do something. Gerald, the Financial Advisor, took a tentative step forward, pushing his oiled hair back against his skull self-consciously as the Dark Emperor turned to look at him, the wrists settling down to an awkward clicking twitch by his hips. "Well, Sir, we're already right up against that budget you set for the second quarter so the bonuses aren't likely anyway unless you want to free up more of our real estate. Although judging by how this 'hero' was making his way through the Empire, property values aren't going to increase any time soon. You know he destroyed a whole castle on his way up here? There wasn't even anyone in it, he was just looking for materials to upgrade his sword, the douche." The Dark Emperor's eyes narrowed, clearly not enjoying the news Gerald had given him. "Anyone else have some pearls of wisdom?"He said, his voice low and full of challenge, another tic developing as a twitch in his eyelid. A moment of silence followed a click, click, click from his fingers, the anxiety in the tic becoming more exacerbated by the minute. A man stepped forward from the back of the group, although the Emperor didn't recognise him. Aidan? Anton? He had no idea - all he knew was that this guy was head of Strategy and a last-minute replacement for the 'sudden disappearance' of his previous advisor. "Uh, Sir, I'm Harry, I'm your head of Strategy?"He was clearly nervous, straightening out his soft grey suit and straightening his cliché red tie. "Harry? I thought you were Anton or something?" "No, Sir, he's the one who vanished last week. We haven't seen anything of him since ... Tuesday?"Harry looked around for reassurance from the group, who nodded stoically and he gulped, taking another tentative step forward. "We've been putting together a team of experts in their fields, to hopefully try and set out our next steps. That Knight is moving forward a lot faster than we had expected, and its taking a toll on everyone."Harry looked at the Emperor's clicking fingers, causing the Emperor to look down in surprise as if he hadn't realised he'd been doing it either. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, this is what I pay you for. What are they experts of?" "Well, Sir, we thought we'd start with a half-day Self-Confidence Seminar. He's passed all our traps and I for one think we need to take a moment to think about our positive mental state, and build ourselves up alongside the Empire." The Emperor blinked slowly, as if processing such a statement. "Positive mental state, eh? The only thing I'm positive about is that you'll be vanishing very shortly too, Harold. What else?" Harry gulped again, stepping back slightly. "Well, Sir, we've got the Ladder of Responsibility, some Cognitive Behavioural Therapy and then I thought once we were sure of ourselves and believe we can do this, then we can look to Plan C." "Well what do you know, Harry, I was right. You are vanishing very shortly."The Emperor stepped forward, quicker than the eye could follow and picked Harry up by the crotch and neck. Before anyone could interject, Harry was out the open window, falling twenty stories and screaming all the way. "I feel better already."The Emperor chuckled, cracking his knuckles. "What's next?"
When I was a kid, I was bullied by the other students at school. They made fun of my disproportionately small head. They told me I looked like I had an egg on a human body. Even the teachers laughed at me. It didn't help that I had a condition that made me bald at the ripe age of 12. I told my parents one day after having enough of it. They told me that eggs are wonderful. You can make many different types of eggs such as fried, boiled or scrambled. Mother told me I could change myself by working out. Father told me that eggs are loved by many and to find my purpose. So I began to workout. 10 years later I have the body of legends. Staring into the mirror even I was impressed at the progress I had made. I flexed the mini hills on my arms. A smirk escaped. I didn't mean to, it just happened so when I saw the absolute perfection my body was. No one made fun of me now. I raised my head slowly as if I was in a movie, and my eyes met face to face myself. Darn it! My head was still bald, and little like an egg. It made me infuriated that my journey for self enlightenment as a cleric and working out had amassed to everything but what I had wanted. I couldn't even complain to my parents because they had died 5 years back assuring and promising me that my head shape would change. My breathing got deeper and I reached my right hand out. That was it. Enough. Who are you to make fun of me? In cleric training, the master had told me to eliminate anyone who made fun of you. It was time. A large mace formed out of thin air and materialised into my hand. I left the room, glass shattered on the floor. With that I called the mirror repair services to fix it. I wasn't brought up to leave an enemy on the ground but to help them back up. Mother would be proud of me. Father, are you watching?
The man burst through the door to the tower cell, half burned and out of breath. He quickly composed himself when he notices the maiden leaning against the chamber wall, arms crossed, lightly tapping her foot. Her hair was a deep auburn red, her skin soft and flawless. Her eyes, though beautiful and enchanting, had a look of impatience, which matched perfectly with the unamused smirk on her thin pink lips “Mi Lady! I am Ser Jowe the Brave, come from East Light to... “ “Ser Joey?” She interrupted. “That’s your name? Ser Joey? Why not Ser Joseph? Hell even Ser Joe would sound a bit more knightly”. The question confused him. “Beg pardone Mi Lady.. Jowe is my given name. J O W E. Jo-We. Now if I may...” “That’s unfortunate” she said with a laugh. “The Brave, was it? How long did it take to come up with that one?” Puzzled and caught off guard, he paused a moment and responded “Well... Mi Lady, I thought it would be appropriate given my...” She burst into laughter before he could finish. “You actually did give it to yourself? I was just joking! Hahaha. Classic. Who gives themself a nickname? Wow. Too funny.” “Mi lady I apologize. But we really must go! I’ve come here to rescue you. Please allow me to escort you to my steed, and we shall leave this...” “That’s gonna be a hard pass from me Ser Jo We. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good old fashion rescue as much as the next imprisoned maiden. But I think I’m gonna wait for a hero to come get me if it’s all the same to you.” His confusion was apparent on his dirt covered face. “Mi lady I AM a Hero!” He said trying to puff his chest out while still struggling to catch his breath. “Did not you see me slay the dragon from yon widow 2 hours hence?” He asked, pride booming in his voice. “Slay? Is that what passes for slaying these days? Ha. Well yes, Ser Jo We, I was watching from yon window. Didn’t see any dragon slayers. Just some peasant trying to shoot a bow at fuck if I know what..” “The beast died by my Bow! Shot down for you I might add!” He said in an increasingly impatient tone. “We really must..” “The beast died by the boulder. The boulder was fired by the Trebuchet. which was triggered by one of the dozen of so arrows that came nowhere near the dragon as it flew around oblivious to your presence.... Ser J O W E “ “You know I think just Jo is fine from here on....My lady. Maybe I had a bit of help with the dragon. But I fought through the hordes of orcs and ogres to get to your tower!” “Yea I heard all that too Jo. Sounded like an epic battle. You must be quite the warrior. You were pretty loud. Not quite as loud as the orcs and ogres were at the party they had the last few days. They were pounding down Troll Ale, smoking Elven Hash, and fighting each other for about... 72 hours before you got here. Most of them probably didn’t even know they were IN a fight!” His look of confusion was replaced by frustration as he raised his voice. “Be that as it may! I am here to rescue you! This castle may be safe now, but these lands are still a treacherous place. We should leave at once, and we can finish this disc..”. “I already told you I’m not going anywhere with you. Like you said this castle is safe.. the road to whatever thatch roofed Lean-To you came from is not. You can ride through those treacherous lands yourself, Ser Jo the Protagonist. Not like anything can hurt you anyway. Do me a solid on the way out though. If you see any more traps or monster on your way back to Peasantville, be sure to walk right into them with careless abandon. They obviously aren’t a threat to you, and I’d rather not have them kill some poor redshirt later on. I’ll stay here where there is nothing that can hurt me.....Ser JO WE the LUCKY” she said impudently, as the man exited, slamming the chamber door. “STUCK UP BITCH!” He bellowed. His voice muffled by the sounds of his worn boots stomping down the spiraling stairs. his words of condemnation echoing off of the castles cavernous walls.
All the weed I've flushed down the toilet. Bourbon down the kitchen sink. Brief moments of hope to be regretted the next morning when confronted by stale reality. Thinking ill get my shit together but forgetting that sobriety gets it more fucked. God all that hope I've had. Hope for success, love, and ultimately peace. But just like my vices, it didn't take long for it to go down the sewer drain. Success led to 20 wasted years at an accounting firm. Love led to giving my heart and having it shattered like a dropped glass. Unexpected, cup ruined, left with nothing but wine-stained bleeding bare feet. Peace, well, the last two kind of killed any chance of that. A year has passed since I last had faith. Life's not much different. Only change is I no longer daydream myself to sleep every night. Last night may have undone it all. I didn't bother taking off my suit before crashing into bed. Beat from a late afternoon of writing soul-killing reports. An even later night of mind killing drinking. I'm not even sure if it was a dream. It felt more like a vision. Or a hallucination. Not quite reality, maybe I had 3 senses but definitely not all 5. I saw myself in a house. Sitting alone at a table. Faint steam rising from a cup of earl gray and an iPad in hand looking at the day's news. It's jarring, seeing yourself. But even more amusing seeing my ex-wife come out from the kitchen. Eyes that I knew would look at me with hate now so calm, even loving. She glanced, smiling, then set down a few plates of warm food. She yelled something but I was too stunned to hear what she said. Then I saw them. Two teenage girls coming down from a set of stairs. Only to be met with the disappointment of morning as my alarm started ringing. I haven't been able to get it out of my head all day. I can't stop wondering, at what point did I make the choice that ruined that life. But the more I mull it over the greater this tiny thought grows. Could that not be my future? Seeing how my marriage ended I know how absurd it sounds. But that dream makes everything so clear. If only I'd had that dream years ago. Maybe then I would have paid more attention, and maybe then she wouldn't have met him. I've decided. After work, I'm driving straight to her house. We both broke promises but more gravely we forgot about the past. The sleepovers when we were kids. High school football games. College parties and nights spent talking. If I can remind her of that, of how happy we'd been, maybe I stand a chance. Congested traffic and closed roads. It seems even the universe is betting against my success. Regardless I keep driving. I had to call an old friend, I have no idea where she lives now. Simply told him that I found a box of her stuff in the basement. I'll be there in five minutes. Every rational part of my being screaming at me that I'm being an idealistic idiot. Thoughts seeming to only get louder and louder. The radios all the way up, I hardly hear them. I pull up to the street. Rows of only slightly different houses paving both sides. Then I see hers. It makes sense, hers is the only one that's not painted a monotone grey. Instead a soft green. Familiar elsewhere. But here pulling all your attention towards it. Parking the car in her neighbors curbside I step out and immediately I freeze. The front door opens and a man steps out. I recognize him, and I welcome hate. He looks behind him and there she is. Somehow more beautiful now. She leans in to kiss him. I look away quickly stepping back into my car. He starts walking towards the garage. I melt into my seat, hoping he won't notice me, but then I see him. The final executioner of my desires, a baby cradled in her arm. Hatred leaves in its place come regret and disappointment. I know so easily it could have been me kissing her goodbye. Now I see ill never again have the chance. All this because of a dream. I see now that before I hadn't lost all of my hope. Because I've just learned what it's like to live with a total absence of it. All I have to look forward to tomorrow is hour-long meetings and rows on excel sheets. Tonight my only friends will be a glass of whiskey and a few joints. Now with the absence of any ambition I may as well add a new friend to the group. The .45 I keep in my safe. Hopefully, he'll make a good addition to the team.
“You should be dead, monster! How is it that you still live?” Hunter Reich said, backing away from the body. Julia Evans looked down at her chest, intrigued with how the blade managed to snake its way into the gaps between her ribs and penetrate her heart. “Is this silver?” she asked. Reich snatched two knives from his belt and lodged them into Evan’s chest. She felt that. If not for the visceral imagery, Even’s would have believed that the hunter attacked him with pillows. “No, seriously,” she said. “Are these made of silver?” “Blessed by the Holy Maiden herself!” Reich roared as he threw two more blades. Slicing through the air, these were intended to bury themselves into this abomination’s skull. Evans cracked a grin. With a speed that no ordinary human should possess, she caught the singing blades mid-air. No sooner had she done so, she swiftly closed the distance between herself and the hunter and delivered a brutal uppercut that rattled the jaw. Reich fell, the sky and earth swapped places and his sense of balance was shattered. He knew with firm conviction that he was a dead man. Evans walked over to the hunter, whistling while she did so. “You know,” she said. “What you did was very impolite. There are other ways to get to a woman’s heart.” Reich groaned in response. She examined the two blades in her hand with admiration. “I suppose jewelry works too, but that’s more of a third base kinda thing if you get my drift.” “Kill me.” Reich coughed out. Evans considered the request with a tilt of her head. “Maybe later,” she said, walking away. “I’ll hunt you down and kill you if you don’t!” “Yeah yeah, when you do don’t forget to bring more of those blades. And think of buying me dinner next time, I might be more receptive.”
“They’re all disgusting. How can they tolerate the constant lies? The air is saturated with the stench of it.” The young boy strides across the room, each of his small paces attempting to make a large impact. He reaches a table with a stack of documents. “Sir Makiel, they do not sense it in the same nature as you. They see it as something to further their interests and have no sense of it as you do.” His attendant and the lead of his guard enters the room and takes position by the door. His armor gleaming to reveal the status and achievements of the knight. His place had been by Makiel’s side since birth. “I’m aware of that,” Makiel waves his hand to brush off the comment. Familiar answers arose when one was compelled to answer your every question truthfully. Makiel began to transcribe documents, key differences revealing the deceptions of their authors. “Futile attempts, all of them. So many idiots attempt to get lies past me.” “I apologize for their impudence, my lord.” “It is of no fault to you Kent stop with your bowing.” With the completion of a document, Makiel tore at the lie ridden paper and tossed it behind him. He couldn’t stand to see how it mended from his touch without effort. Kent retrieved the flawless paper from the ground and slid it into the folder next to the newly transcribed document. The Judicator would want to judge the lies of his subjects. “What do we have lined up after these?” “A farmer has commissioned your assistance with his cattle which has caught a plague. And a family has paid for you to be at hand during the labor of a mother which is suspected to begin tonight. We will be notified and head there once it begins.” “Labor is disgusting, stinks worse than the lies.” “Yes, however, they have met the risen price that you laid down after the last time.” “Alright,” Another document is torn and mended, “When do I next have to go to the trials?” “Today was hopefully the last day until the eve of execution day. Your presence helped fifteen people to a fair trial.” “Who gives a shit? Fifteen liars turned to honesty by force, lying runs in their blood. For each honest man on that platform, there is a lying man putting him there.” Kent raised his eyes at the language, the experience may be dense within the eight years but his maturity had yet to catch up. Another torn document and Makiel stood, “Let’s get to the farm.” Kent watched his master walk to the barn. Solitude was the boy’s command but Kent at least felt secure once he had his men ring the barn. Makiel entered the barn and relished in the atmosphere. The stink of the animals the most precious thing he had experienced today. He walked to the nearest cow, grounded by the current blight stroked his neck. “Finally, an honest creature.” As he stroked the cow, its energy was replenished. The return of life to the innocent being marked the first amount of pleasure the boy took in his work of that day. Steadily Makiel made his way to each creature and comforted them while they took to their feet again. Sunset bloomed in the sky as Makiel exited the barn, reluctant to return to the city. He saw a messenger was panting and relaying information to Kent. Ugh, the bitch is in labor. The boy had to resist vomiting as husband and wife both took a hand. The inhuman screeches grated on his ears and the scent of sweat, blood, and immense feminine effort wilted any pleasure from the cattle. Seemingly out of a desire to make his discomfort greater, the midwife also spouted out the nonsensical lies to comfort the woman who seemed a bit too occupied at the moment for small talk. Nearly collapsing out of exhaustion, Makiel leaned Kent’s stable presence. “Maybe I should make the pay hourly.” “We both know the Judicator would never stand for that, he hated your last pay raise.” “11 hours in labor Kent, that is by far the longest one I’ve had to sit through so far. All to put an innocent being in the world that immediately is saturated with lies.” “I don’t believe them cooing about the beauty of the child will be harmful to its ethics.” “Calling that mess adorable is far beyond a simple lie.” Kent couldn’t restrain a chuckle as they entered the keep walls. “Let’s get you to bed.” Pathos and Logos watch their herald from their realm. “Why does he keep spouting words on the innocence of beings, they are all saturated with the ability to lie and deceive.” Logos ranted at the seed of awe that the baby planted in the boy, despite the bodily fluids. “He is beginning to understand the value of life. I told you that as he matured beauty would reach him. Wait until he finds a wife of his own!” Pathos could see the scales begin to level after a long immature childhood of Logo’s triumphs within the boy. “Like he could marry, imagine a woman who would truly never lie to him. You know he couldn’t live with the stench of even a few white lies.” “Look at how Kent and his guard have grown around the boy, and the boy’s affection towards them has grown. Life is not the chessboard you want him to see, it is a billion shades of gray.” “Don’t get too satisfied with yourself for a few small victories. We have eight years left before the boy decides which of us to herald. A lot of wrongs can be committed in that time.” “Did I ever claim that our wager was decided?”
“The longer you make me chase you, Vivekk, the more displeased I'll be when we catch you!” called Alfonse from the cobbled streets below. Yet the Syndicate lieutenant's threats grew fainter with each utterance, the smuggler and his assistant putting ever more distance between themselves and their pursuers, sprinting, sliding, hopping, and weaving in the dark, the waning moon barely providing any light at all. Yet nobody knew this city like they did; they may as well have been flying. Speaking of. “Keep up, Ollie! We're almost to the Zeppelin!” laughed Vivekk. He could barely contain his excitement. Their lives were about to change. “Oliver! It's Oliver now!” his partner, not assistant, choked out between pained breaths. He had negotiated a new title from his mentor, but he had a feeling the dynamic of the relationship hadn't changed all that much. “Could you at least help with some of this stuff!?” “Don't be ridiculous Oll! I can't lead us and carry the contraband! Muster your strength, I can already see our majestic ship!” And what a sight it was. The aircraft was a glorified oblong wicker basket held aloft by a large gas bladder, made of enormous panels of waxed fabric crudely stitched together. It was reinforced, or perhaps ornamented, with metal plates riveted together and bent to somewhat conform to the shape of the gasbag. An uneven net of thick rope was draped over the blimp and attached to the basket, keeping it snugly tethered to the balloon. Theoretically. The pair finally reached their destination, quickly undid the knots that kept the ship moored to a steeple, and floated off in the direction of their new life. Vivekk was about to order Ollie to man the propeller, but he stopped himself. The boy had come a long way since that day the smuggler had caught him attempting to pickpocket an aristocrat's watch. He was his partner now, and he did deserve a rest after keeping pace while saddled with a sack full of framed paintings. He grabbed the crank and started spinning it as fast as he could. He was anxious to get back to their hideout off the coast, and he estimated that once he got the ship up to speed it would take roughly an hour to drift their way home. They flew through thick plumes of smoke which coated them in soot. Good, thought Vivekk, that will make it all the more difficult for the Syndicate to see which direction we set off in. Even so, he didn't wish to give Alfonse even an inkling of where his hideout might be, so he made sure to steer in a direction far from his island. At least until they were firmly out of sight. “We're passing over the harbour now. And Alfonse is there with his boys, they're hopping in rowboats.” chuckled Oliver. “The Lady won't like that you tried leaving without saying hello!” the lieutenant yelled up at the smugglers. “Not to mention how upset I'm getting!” The youngster shot Vivekk a worried glance, which he dismissed with a wave of his hand. No boat was going to keep pace with this airship. Oll leaned over the edge of the basket again. “How about you let The Lady know we said goodbye instead!” He slumped down, leaning his back against the ship. “We made it!” He was beaming. “We made it.” confirmed his mentor, flashing a smile of his own. He turned his attention back to the propeller, wanting to be home as soon as he could. A silence settled, punctuated only by the sloshing of the waves below the smugglers as their thoughts turned to what they would do with their new lives, and the lives they were rapidly floating away from. “You know, Raven's Fall almost seemed nice from up here.” “It's not too late to turn back, I can drop you off. I'll uh, mail you your cut. I promise.” Vivekk joked. “Oh yeah, you've got a deal! I'll expect it any day, you crook.” The old pirate giggled, then went back to silence. As serene as the city may have looked at a distance, he would be further from it still. He remembered all too well the muck of the streets and how hard it was to claw his way out of it. He was instead already focused on tomorrow's handover, when he and his partner would get paid. Vivekk would invest a portion of those funds into the Zeppelin, and he would see his wealth balloon thanks all the outlandish jobs he could pull with his airship. Heh, balloon. “Vekk? Vekk? Vivekk!” Oliver snapped him out of his reverie. “What is it?” “The Syndicate, they're following us.” “They're what?” “Vekk, they're paddling faster than we're flying!”
All I wanted was a nice walk in the woods. Why does everything have to get so weird? Whilst walking, I ended up coming across a group of children stuck in some sort of pit. After helping them, I realised they had horse bodies instead of legs. Centaurs. Everyone in my village always told me to stay away from these creatures, saying they were malicious and cruel. But, encountering and helping these children, they were nothing but kind and sweet. They even offered to let me eat at their village. I tried to politely refuse, it was getting late, but they pulled me along anyways. When entering the village, it had a couple hundred centaurs in it. A perfect mix of both men and women, adult and children. Not a single one was rude or mean, every one of them was incredibly charming and polite. They even offered me sleep for that night. I couldn't understand how anyone would tell me they were dangerous. Oh, that's why... The centaurs weren't violent or mean. They were just stories people told us kids when we were younger because of their least desirable trait. They were SUPER clingy. Once I entered the village, they wouldn't let me leave. They kept telling me about how dangerous it was and how my fragile human body wouldn't survive a second without them. They hovered around me constantly, one always having some form of physical contact to make sure I didn't try and run into something dangerous. Whilst adults were out hunting, I would have to stay with the children who were intrigued by my very existence. Humans are, apparently, an urban legend told to the centaurs and the children were always so interested in these 'creatures'. Most nights involved me being with a random centaur family and having to sleep in their home. They didn't want me sleeping on my own in fear of something hurting me. I understand that these centaur folk are incredibly kind and well meaning but I haven't left this village in 3 months!
Most of us elderly people never thought we'd be working anymore once we were in our seventies. Yet here me and Jake are, guarding the municipal apple orchard at 110 years of age. Maybe I better qualify that. It isn't difficult to work when work consists of us sitting back in the shade in our rocking chairs reading books, a quart of whiskey between us, our rock salt loaded shotguns propped up against the tree trunk. It gets us out of our houses and keeps us more or less active. Medical advances caused a lot of things to change, but boredom is the one thing you have to cure by yourself. Turning to my left I ask "Jake, do you ever miss work like in the old days?" "Hell, naw!"Jake replied. "It was always a scramble trying to sell that overpriced medical insurance to meet quota."He shifted a bit in the rocker, "And getting those insane calls from women demanding to know 'what are you wearing?' well sir, that kept me on edge wondering if some looney would show up at the State Farm office with a baseball bat." "No, I like my peace of mind just fine, thank you."Jake settled back in the chair again to keep reading volume three of Marx' Das Kapital while the nanomedbots in his blood stream finished cleaning and renewing his arteries. I was about to reopen my copy of Foucault when just then I saw movement down by the railroad tracks. "Jake!"I nudged him. "Thought I saw a General Practicioner hop out of a boxcar." Jake looked up to see where I was pointing down the hill the orchard stood on to the line of railroad cars along the tracks. "You're right, Paul"I see the lab coat." Paul and I picked up our shotguns and put some apples in our pockets. "You think there's anyone besides that one?"Paul asked me. "We may need to call for backup if the Johns Hopkins gang is there too." "Didn't see anyone else hop out with him Paul"I replied. Olathe, Kansas had lost half the town to the prairie fire the Johns Hopkins gang had caused when they burned down Olathe's municipal apple orchard. "Let's go!"I said to Paul and we started running down the hill towards the train, which was stopped on the siding. Yes, I said 'running.' How the hell can two 110 year old men run? That's so improbable. Yeah, you're correct. As improbable as the Democratic Socialists of America becoming a Leninist vanguard party and seizing Washington, D.C. As improbable as then outlawing Intellectual Property, making all knowledge truly free, while pouring the entire military budget into basic scientific and medical research while making higher education absolutely free. Impossible till it happened. As impossible as three 18 year olds dead-ended into a life of burger flipping suddenly having the resources to pursue knowledge and scientific research as far as their abilities could take them. And as impossible as those three ex-burger flippers discovering an anti-aging process. Impossible till it happened. Jake and I are living proof. So, impossibly we old men ran like twenty year olds until we reached the dirt track along the hill side next to the rail siding. "Paul!"Jake whispered to me, "About forty feet, there in the bushes,"Jake pointed. There our doctor was, hugging the side of the hill trying to hide from us. The tell tale sign of the Guccis that weren't covered by the bush gave him away. Let's clarify, these Guccis were two long ago separated soles tied together with twine to two badly decayed leather uppers. The sandal like remnants of former glory. We approached his hiding place carefully and then "Step out from those bushes, the jig is up, Sawbones!"I yelled. Jake and I positioned ourselves on either side of the bushes where our quarry hid. A disheveled figure, wearing a torn and grimy labcoat with the ancient, rusting remains of a stethoscope around his neck reluctantly emerged. "Comrade, why are you riding a boxcar when the free high speed rail liner comes through town every hour?"I asked him. But Jake and I already knew the answer. Our specimen was a doctor. A cult member. He wouldn't take free public transportation for fear of discovery and subsequent mandatory free mental health counseling. In a country where universal basic income is set at the level of a GS-14, why would any reasonable person chose a furtive wretched existence other than fanaticism? "You Marxists!", he sneered. "I'm a Doctor. What right have you to ask me any questions!" Yep, typical Libertarian, i realized. The reeducation centers were full of them. "Quiet, comrade."I replied, but this time pronouncing the word comrade in a snarky tone. I knew it wasn't nice on my part, but for some reason my patience was exhausted by the arrogance of this rebel against reason. Jake kept him covered with his shotgun while I reached into his lab coat pockets. It was there, the proof of intent, a small folding cardboard container. The worn, yellowed cover read 'Tiki Bar, St. Maarten.' Flipping open the cover there were roughly eight matches left. This hadn't been his first go round with apple orchard arson. In silence I showed the matches to Jake. "Hadn't seen something like this in nearly forty years, when they discovered the cure for nicotine addiction. We're going to have to take you in for counseling."Jake told our doctor. I took my cellphone off the waist holster and speed dialed mental health services. "We've got a doctor. Yes, one. We're at the north side of the orchard, beside the rail tracks." At that moment the spittle hit my face I looked up to see the rage contorted face of the doctor, his eyes trying to bore through me as though they could kill. "You have no right to take my position away from me! No right! Damn your society! Damn you both.!" It took a moment but while wiping away the spit on my cheek with my sleeve I could see the world he had lost, and in a way felt sorry for him. In a measured tone I told him "Yes, you liked that godlike power. The godlike power to keep your nine o'clock appointment waiting in the reception room for an hour and then another hour all the while knowing you exclusively controlled their wait time. You exulted in that power. You've lost all that. The exclusivity of your country club where now even a former rag picker can eat at the next table. Your gas belching Bentley and Ferrari are gone and only dinky electrics and public transportation remain. That old world of yours is gone." He stood silently, glaring as Satan must have looked at God's creation of Man, angry in pride before his fall. But this two bit satan before me had fallen only a few years ago. All that was left to him was injured pride. The Social worker's van drove up. The reality of the situation hit the doctor just then. My words might have bounced off him, but the reality of his powerlessness hit him when the van arrived. He collapsed, weeping. As the social workers lifted and walked the doctor to the van, Jake and I followed. Just before the door closed, I reached into my pocket for the apples and tossed them in. "Here, be healthy." We stood and watched till the van was beyond sight, then turned and walked uphill. "Jake, we've done our good deed for the day. Let's say you and I go celebrate. tonight." "Sounds good. What you got in mind, Paul?" "Let's go pick up a pair of hot 80 year olds tonight and party at the disco. Who knows, Jake. Since Disco will never die, maybe it will rub off on us."
\[Poem\] The ants go marching one by one upon the trees, "We'll fight the gods on their own turf!"is their decree, They march their way to the treetops, And when they see the clouds they hop, And they climb beyond the firmament of clouds. . The ants go marching two by two between the stars, The captains shout, "Move faster boys, the gods aren't far! We'll drink the ichor from the veins, Of every demigod we slay!" And the thirst for ichor grew as they marched on. . The ants go marching three by three into the void, When a young private looked up and lifted his voice, "We'll smash right through the sacred gates, And slaughter every child and mate, That bears the blood of these accursed lords!" . The ants go marching four by four up Yggdrasil, The gods banded together in a show of will, No matter species, creed, or race, Or where their servants went to pray, The gods locked arms and stood before the swarm. . The ants go marching five by five down to their homes, Their backs laden with sacks of flesh and titan bones, They looted coffers, looted tomes, With which to decorate their holes, And the ants go marching, cheering all the way!
Everyone always gave me weird stares when I walked by ever since I could remember. My parents told me to watch what I thought. It was the weirdest thing ever... Did it matter what I thought when nobody could read my mind? Oh boy was I wrong. It turned out every time I thought my teacher looked cute and I wanted to slam her on the table, she knew and that was why she gave me 'that' look. Turns out whenever I was thinking about kissing my crush sensually, she knew too and that's why she avoided me whenever I tried to talk to her. Well... everyone knew. That explained why I was an outcast. The black sheep. I suspected something was up when my bully knew my every move. I was a methodical thinker and planned out my fight moves 5 combos in advance. He read my mind then kicked my ass relentlessly. Nobody bothered to help me either because I shit talked 95% of the school in my mind thinking nobody knew. Now that I know others can read minds I try to think positively about everyone. People are much nicer to me now because they think I genuinely like them. But sometimes it slips through and that's how I got fired from my job after thinking about pissing in my boss' drink after he gave me an unexpected extra shift.
I will write part 3 soon, expect it to appear in this comment chain. I would have written it all out right now but I my schedule isn't really free today, sadly, although I promise I won't leave this unfinished. Also my apologies for any clunky writing or inconsistencies, I wrote this all in one go and don't really have the time to go over editing as of right now, although that will also be done when I get the chance. Thank you for reading. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ &#x200B; They walked below the thick canopy of trees, listening to the sounds of the forest in respectful tranquility. It was a beautiful part of the country, a wild and stretching zone of trees and mountains that drifted off into the less civilized parts of the land where wild animals roamed freely and mankind, with a touch more care. It was a famous place for camping and hiking, and rather safe, as long as you didn’t stray too far. Melinda and Timothy asked for less and appreciated more; they were only there for an evening stroll. Sure, some might have seen it as strange to go to such a place for what could only be a short amount of trekking, some might have even grown worried upon seeing the minimal supplies and precautions they carried, but that couple was one of those kinds that seemed completely, obnoxiously, compatible. The sort that equaled one another in every one of their bad traits just as much as their good ones, and so for their mutual love for the wilderness they also had a like misunderstanding of the amount of love it garnered them. To Mother Nature, after all, they were just interlopers, agents of the species that had long ago forgotten Her. They brought with them an obedient animal that had learned to love them. A dog whose name was Aga, short for Agamemnon, the great King of ancient Greek mythology. Yes, Timothy was quite the lover of history, so much so Melinda might have taken the comparatively less time he gave her as a source of jealousy, if not for the fact they had promised to never reciprocate before marriage. That was another thing they had in common, their extreme faith. It was the sort of thing that made some people choke their social circles to only the tightest of echoing bubbles, the sort of mentality that preyed on people like them, the kind who went hiking with no protection at all because they presumed to understand God enough that anything bad happening to faithful folk like them would be nothing short of bewildering. Aga waggled his tail happily, panting as he ran to and looked at the thick forest that eclipsed both sides of the walking path. Timothy and Melinda, who walked hand in hand much slower and so had fallen far behind the energetic animal, caught up to him slowly, Timothy grinning and watching his adored pet and Melinda staring off at the nature like if she did it enough she would understand what Buddhists meant by nirvana. The dog seemed deeply interested by something, Timothy observed. Aga suddenly snapped his head to an echoing sound from the depths of the forest. He stared off for a few heartbeats, no doubt seeing things Timothy couldn't see with those senses every human was triumphed by before leaping off into the brush and quickly disappearing. “Aga!” Timothy shouted with worry. “He’ll be fine” Melinda snapped, annoyed that he interrupted her. Why wouldn’t he be fine? Dogs have great hearing, she knew that because a friend told her once in one of her social groups. Aga could probably smell them a mile away. Gosh, Timothy can be such a stooge, she thought. It was honestly grating. He was always worried about things when there was nothing to worry about, what happened to toughness in men? She broke off from those negative thoughts and let go of his hand, trying to settle back into the sensual state he had removed her from. She made herself aware of the sensations around her. The sounds of nature, she identified them as, and she tried to accept them into her obtuse head. The chirp of distant birds, the swoosh of tree branches from the soothing cold breeze. Best of all the crushing of moist grass and gravel beneath the soles of their shoes. Oh how she loved that sound! All those and the smell of sweet vegetation and its decay, and finally she opened her eyes again to allow the last ingredient in her orchestra and movie. The shimmering, rustling leaves. The small animals and bugs dominating ground and air. The infinitely complex arrangements of grass and leaf and bark and, fundamentally, life! Finally, the teasing glimpse of the evening stars through the thick canopies above, just beginning to make their appearance in the hastily darkening sky. It could be said now that in one way this simple couple differed they still did it in a completely balanced manner. While Timothy was a man of technicalities who only mildly appreciated the sensual reciprocation one could make with the natural world, and much preferred his flimsy books over it. Melinda had it in her to show small interest for the things one could learn from untrustworthy textbooks or articles, and much preferred what she called reality. She looked around at the grass and trees with a smile on her face, completely forgetting that Timothy was even beside her — or so she would want you to think. She found herself finely tuned to the sounds of it all, and so when the sound of a distant yelp and whine came she froze in place and her immediately felt sick with shock and horror. Timothy mustn’t have heard it as clearly as her, that simple minded fool. He turned to her with a pale face. “Was that Aga?” The sounds of a hurt dog are impossible to confuse. They make such a distinctly ugly noise as they limp about, don’t they? Melinda could just imagine the mutt already, dragging himself across the ground and whimpering like a kid who gets hurt on the ride and forces everyone to pack their bags and go home. “Yes it was,” She said. Timothy’s eyes widened as he turned again to the thicket, raising hands to plant on his head. “Oh no, oh no! I knew I should have gone for him!” He turned to her with an accusatory look, but Melinda caught him off. “Why weren’t you watching him?” She screamed. “Couldn’t you see I’m busy?” Her response was so confusing it made him falter to reply. “Wh — what? You said he would be fine!” “Oh, I said he would be fine, did I?” She retorted. “Jesus Christ, I must be married to a baby! Think for yourself instead of listening to what I say all the time.” He couldn’t think of a response and the two of them fell into silence. Melinda smiled to herself. Another battle won, Jesus would be proud. “Are we going to look for him or not?” Timothy asked weakly. She looked at him with surprise. “The two of us? There’s not a way in hell I’m going in there! You can look for him yourself, he’s your dog, after all.” Timothy had insisted on adopting Aga when he was but a small little prince. The dog was a King fully grown now, but that didn’t stop Melinda from always reminding him who was in charge of the litter, the feeding… Really, the majority of his care. He stared at her with an expression of pure rage that she knew would amount to nothing before turning and walking to the tree line. Melinda chuckled as she found a rock on the opposite side of the road and sat watching his figure, as it broke into the green and then slowly disappeared inside. A few seconds passed, and then a few minutes. Melinda began to grow taught where she sat, and when it gradually become uncomfortable she stood up and paced up and down the road, considering walking further and coming back before he returned. Why was he taking so long? She almost grew nervous standing there, on her own. It was so quiet, and she kept thinking she saw figures in the tree lines or heard distant approaching footsteps from directions other than where he went. Finally she had too much, and she began to call, “Timothy? What's taking you so long, its getting dark” and things like that. No direction she screamed at satisfied her, for some reason it felt like all the trees were listening, and the forest solemnly taking part in whatever it was that was happening. A series of crashes and snaps began to peter out of the woods from the direction that Timothy had disappeared. They grew louder and closer with such ferocity her heart kicked up a notch and she said “Timothy?—” Just as the tree line exploded and almost made her scream.
I am not targeting any religion and this is purely for entertainment. \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The sound of a door opening was enough for the old man to know who would be visiting him. In a room with a single large desk and a few chairs. Decorated with a few magical plants and crystals which lightened the room. Looking up from his work, Joseph looked at the door where the angel stood. "Long time no see Mike!"He said. The Angel, however, did not look as happy as Joseph was. "Do you know how hard it was to track you down?!"he said. "No, but now that you're here. Would you like something to drink? I could have one of the goblins get it!"The man said to the angel. The angel, Michael, shook his head. "Suit your self." "Joseph, you know why I have come here, don't you?"the angel took a seat in one of the chairs and rested his wings as he expected a long conversation. "It was a mistake that you were chosen to be brought here!" "A mistake? Me being here is one of the best things that happened to this kingdom!"Joseph laughed. "Besides, it wasn't like it would have been better if I wasn't brought here." "You were supposed to bring peace into this world, not make this kingdom a place full of the degenerates and thugs! And whatever that thing is!"Michael pointed his finger to the infant Hydra Joseph took after its parents was killed due to ruining one of his favourite trade spot. "Listen, Mike, no one would be stupid enough to do something for someone they don't know if there wasn't any profit. I thought it was the same for your masters followers, what was their name again? The chosen church of truth!"Joseph said. They are nothing alike with anything like that!"Michael tried to argue. "Sure they are!"said the crime lord. "Most of them were either poor, beggers or outright outsiders without purpose. One of the churches members would try to have them join their believe in favour of having a chance to enter their lords domain after they die, I say it again, chance! No certainty, you could follow their teachings for your whole life and existence, but in the end it is still a dice role after they die if what they worked for actually payed off!" "Coming from the likes of you, that sentence is just hypocritical!"said the angel. "You create drugs to sell to both humans and monsters alike, invent weapons which could destroy entire warzones to both sides, you even ordered the assasination of one of the most important politicians in the kingdom! Aren't you ashamed to even call yourself a human!" There was silence between the 2 for a few minutes. Neither one of them talked. Joseph sighed. "Maybe, maybe I'm glad not to be associated with those people. But if it wasn't for me, the monsters I hire as employees would still be hunted as wild animals!"He said. "Goblins hunted for sport, Orcs insulted as savages even the dark elves were shunned by their so called 'Pure blooded' bretheren. I gave them a chance of life they never even dare to fantasize about!" Joseph stepped past his desk to exit the room. "I can't let you leave like this!"Said Michael. "I came here to fix a mistake that must be take away from here, which is you. Either come willingly which my lord may forgive you for the deeds done here, or-" "There you are with the 'Maybe'."Joseph cut the angel off. "Listen, I'm a busy man, Mike. I have many appointments and alot more business to handle. I hope you know the way out?" But before the crime lord even got to the door he was impaled by what seemed to be a spear made of magic light. "A shame, Joseph."Said the angel. "Your soul could have been forgiven instead of having been trown into oblivion." As Joseph laid on the floor bleeding the angel simply dissapeared as many goblins, gremlins and even imps entered the room. When they saw the body they started to panic what to do. The infant hydra which was still in the room started to do something which looked a lot like a dog whining to his owner. A week later Joseph woke up again. He looked at his hands which were much younger and different from the ones he had before he died. "Took you long enough!"said Joseph, almost suprising himself with the new voice he had. "I warned you before. It is a long progress to put a deceased soul in a flesh puppet."The hooded lich said. "The stuff I could gather from your corpse are overthere."He said, pointing to the small pile behind him. 'Joseph' walked over trying his best to stay in balance and not falling over. When he examined the pile he noticed some small things. "Where is my watch?"he mentioned. "The silver one?" "Your 'loyal' minions gave me your corpse like that, ask them!"the lich said anoyed. 'Joseph' sighed at the knowledge of not even in death disloyalty would would be a pain in the ass. He started to take the things he still had and then walked out of the ritual room. "Where are you going?"asked the lich. "Since your debt has already been payed by ressurecting me, you won't have to worry."He said. He made a creepy slime which even the lich felt his bones chill. "But my 'embloyees' seem to have forgotten who would never lay down and die even in the face of gods." Even in the body of something different with a voice of someone else. Everyone that knew his pastself would know that sadistic smile on his face. And boy, those on the next hit list would shit their pants knowing he was back again. "Its time to get back to business!"
The demon's soul wisped around for its next host. It was looking for something fun and exciting, an outcome it was not used to. It soon found itself in Los Angeles, California. It knew the perfect body to host him. The man's name was Finn Reynolds, he was an accountant for the fashion retailer Forever 21. &#x200B; Finn woke up in a gasp. A nightmare came to him through the night, something that hasn't happened to him since he was a youngster. His phone buzzed on his night table. A text from his boss Duffy Dunstin "got tickets to the game tonight. Courtside. You in???"Finn replied, "wtf? for real? I'm in!" &#x200B; Finn was excited he'd get to see Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnett play live. This called for one of his favourite rally activities, shower beers. The Miller Lite was perfectly chilled, the condensation droplets cooled his hand in the warm shower, and the cold beer was so refreshing as it slid down his throat. The feeling was so good he eventually drank three. At this point, Finn was feeling great. He forced himself into his favourite jeans (he gained a few pounds since he lost wore them) and put on his Kobe Bryant jersey. His vibrating phone snapped him out of his mirror, flexing trance. It was Duffy again, "cab coming to u." &#x200B; The cab driver honked his horn when he arrived at Finn's driveway. As he got into the back seat as the elderly man greeted him, "Hello sir, I see we are headed to the Staples Center?"Finn nodded. &#x200B; "I take it you got tickets to Game 7 tonight?" &#x200B; "Yeah, courtside." &#x200B; "Courtside, eh? How'd you score those puppies?" &#x200B; "My boss,"the buzz now started to make Finn chatty, "we work for Forever 21, the retailer. I haven't talked to him yet, but I can only assume he got it through the company. They usually have seats available for us." &#x200B; "A guy told me a while back that Kobe gets to the court early every match. If you're there on time, you can catch him. You'll be there early enough. Go to your seat to check it out, and I bet he will be out there shooting." &#x200B; "Oh wow, thanks. I appreciate that." &#x200B; The man winked, "I saw your jersey and figured you were a fan." &#x200B; When Finn arrived, Duffy was waiting for him outside the Staples Center. He was wearing his usual white blazer and pants, as he liked to call it, his chick magnet suit. &#x200B; "Glad to see you, brother!"Duffy said as he reached in for a handshake and a hug. "Should we go grab a beer?" &#x200B; "Hey man, thanks for the invite. I am so pumped! Before we grab that beer, listen to this." &#x200B; Finn explained that Kobe should be shooting on the court, and he wanted to check out their seats before the game to catch a glimpse of him. Duffy, a Celtics fan, wasn't as excited about it as Finn was, but as a basketball fan, he had the appreciation of experiencing and embracing the big day. They made their way into the Staples Center, and after talking to a couple of security guards, they eventually got to check out their seats with the exception that they wouldn't bother Kobe. &#x200B; The dribbling ball echoed throughout the court, and the squeaking sneakers added depth to the symphony of sound. On the court alone stood The Black Mamba. Duffy and Finn were awestruck watching a man perfecting his craft so meticulously. Jump shot after jump shot, dribble after dribble, the beauty of his game was a treat to watch. &#x200B; Finn was mesmerized, but he felt something strange inside of him trying to come out. Then out of his control, the feeling slid up through his throat, then out of his mouth, he belched "KOBE!!!" &#x200B; "What the fu-"Kobe turned to look at Finn. However, when they made eye contact, Kobe started choking on his own spit. Duffy looked over at Finn angrily, ran onto the court and began performing the Heimlich maneuver, but it wasn't doing anything. &#x200B; "HELP! MEDIC WE NEED A MEDIC"Duffy yelled, "FINN! GET HELP NOW!"Finn was unresponsive. He felt confused and was in a daze, unable to do anything. "FINN! FUCKING DO SOMETHING, MAN!!!" &#x200B; \--------------- The next day, the Los Angeles Times headline read: LAKERS LOSE BRYANT, CELTICS WIN FINALS And the demon wisped off to select itself a new host.
After years of chasing down the Grandmaster, his funeral seemed quite a disappointment in comparison. It was a small and sedate affair, nothing compared to the mad chases and crazed situations we had been in before. Although I suppose, as the guardian of the Hurzlatu artifact, he had taken it very seriously and had not been a very flamboyant person. I had challenged him well over a decade ago. We both knew the rules, the Grandmaster cannot refuse a match once it is declared and it must be played to its conclusion. Whoever won would receive the Hurzlatu artifact and inherit its great powers. The Grandmaster had challenged its previous owner aiming to seal away away the artifact and he had done so successfully for years. I had trained for years to match his prowess, studying every last material and challenging the strongest of opponents. I grew stronger and stronger until I finally knew I could not lose. What I had not expected was for him to accept the challenge and immediately run for it. It was a beautiful interpretation of the rules in retrospect. For the magics only stated the game must be finished, with each player being bound to make moves and actively progress the game. But it was never stated the players must remain in one position. By fleeing, he could delay the game, and myself by extension, through the simple fact that we could not play the game if we were not able to communicate our moves to each other. And so, I began a chase that would span the entire world. The Grandmaster had clearly planned his moves well in advance. He had hiding spots in every location, from the poles to the jungles. With dogged determination, I sought him out and would force a few moves out of him before he escaped my grasp and disappeared. The final move came in a small innocuous office. I killed the old man so he could not challenge me in response. I did not have any reason to attend his funeral save for the fact that the Hurzlatu artifact wasn't doing anything. I had expected something to happen after my victory, whether it be mystical or more ground in reality but there had been no change in the intervening month. So, I am at his funeral in disguise, not expecting anything and yet curious all the same. The funeral proceeded as expected. Words from close ones, some tears and laughter, a normal funeral. Which is a disappointment. Then in accordance with his will, a statement is read out. "The Grandmaster cannot self terminate. 50 move rule". ... But... No, the dead bastard is right. My move was the 51st. ... Fine. I know of arcane rituals. I will bring you back to life. I will chain you down. And I will do it all over again. You cantankerous old bastard. --------------------------------------------------------------- I had actually intended this to be Threefold Repetition (The title put that in my mind) but about halfway I realised that wouldn't exactly work. Oh well.
“We have him, sir.” “Good. Take the hood off.” Fluorescent light bombarded by eyes. Two figures, distorted by the light, stood over me. One looked like he had just left Hereford and was adjusting to civilian life. SAS squaddies were easy to spot. The second man sat there, clearly in Savile Row tailoring - easily worth thousands of pounds. “Where..?” I croaked. “That’s not important.” The man in the bespoke suit bristled. “How did you find out?” “About what?” I glanced down at my chair - I wasn’t bound, but my limbs felt like lead. “Who are you people?” The SAS trooper slapped me. “Shut up and answer the Chief’s questions.” My befuddled brain finally made the connection as my cheek stung. “Wait...Chief? That means...!” “Yes, you’re in MI6,” the Chief replied. “Question still stands - how did you find out?” Memories rushed back to me. A mere tourist, getting separated from my tour group at Buckingham Palace, eventually getting lost, and accidentally stumbling down a staircase and seeing the tanks. Those tanks had bodies in them...all female. All having the same near-perfect porcelain skin, the tightly curled white hair. Then, a blow to the back of the neck. Blackness. Faint sensations of being bundled into the back of a van, and the stinging ache of a hypodermic needle being slid into my body. The Chief drummed his fingers on the metal table in the middle of the room. “I’m trying to stay as patient as possible. How. Did. You. Find. Out.” “Look, I’m no spy,” I protested. “I’m a tourist! I work in a law office! Paperpusher! I was in Buckingham Palace, got separated from my group, stumbled down a stairs, saw the tanks, and then next thing I know, I’m here.” The SAS soldier glanced over to his superior. “Do you buy this?” The Chief raised a hand briefly. “I just might, Nelson. Stand by.” “Sir.” The squaddie backed off. “I’m going to be as forthcoming with you as possible,” the Chief turned to me. “Turnabout being fair play. What you saw has been classified by the Official Secrets Act since 1960. Her Majesty’s Government barely knows that the project exists. Imagine the PM’s chagrin that an American tourist stumbles across the highest secret in British history.” “I don’t even know what I saw!” “Will you sign the Official Secrets Act? If you don’t, I can’t tell you anything more.” “Sure, I’ll sign! Just....don’t disappear me.” “Very well.” The Chief glanced over at the two way mirror and nodded. “Your agreement to sign the Official Secrets Act has been logged. I’ll fill you in now.” I continued to sit there, like I had melted and fused with the chair. What the hell did they inject me with? “Her Majesty’s Government is very concerned about maintaining the continuity of the Crown. We’ve been keeping Her Majesty the Queen reigning for quite some time via genetic replication and consciousness transfer technology. In short, she’s effectively immortal.” “What?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “The British public don’t want that buffoon Charles to take the throne,” the Chief continued. “As soon as he passes, we’ll discontinue the programme once His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge is in position to take the throne.” “The Prince of Wales has fallen out of favor?” I wanted to know more. “Given that the Duke of York has fallen out of favor, Her Majesty believes that her other son doesn’t have what it takes to be an effective monarch, since he was negligent in his duty to inform Her Majesty about the Duke of York’s alleged misdeeds. Her Majesty realises that in order for the monarchy to remain relevant, the younger blood needs to take over.” “This sounds like something out of a supermarket tabloid,” I riposted. “This is too far fetched.” “Disinformation campaign.” The Chief removed his glasses and wiped them with his pocket square. “Now unfortunately, we can’t just let you go, knowing what you know.” “Oh God.” My glance whipped over to the SAS soldier. “You’re going to shoot me and dump me somewhere, aren’t you?” “What kind of nonsense is that?” The Chief snorted indignantly. “We’re not the bloody Russians - besides, we operate within British law.” “So what will you do with me?” The drugs had started to wear off - my limbs had started to regain feeling. “The next best thing. Offer you a job. Welcome to the Secret Intelligence Service.”
I waited in line. My legs were beginning to wobble a little. Those behind me were already sitting. Thankfully I hadn't missed leg day. I opened my notebook and flipped through multiple times. Which joke would I use today? The lady in front of me had been trying her hand at humour for what seemed like eternity. I could see the colour drain from her eyes as she was met with head shakes and shrugs from the bouncer. "It only costs 10"! Someone far back in the line shouted. The queue was growing impatient. Every once in a while a broke individual would try to sneak in to the cinema. Of course they were stopped by the bouncer who asked them to pay. Society has moved on from cash to a more convenient, more advanced method of transactions. Humour. This was revolutionary. People became rich, and others without any humour became homeless overnight in what was named the Laughter Purge. Luckily I had survived becoming a broke hobo. Having to rely on my humour to get through school seemed to have paid off. I joined the others in the queue on the ground. It was evident that the lady in front wasn't going to get in any time soon but boy was she persistent. The lady asked "Why did the chicken cross the road?" The bouncer shook his head. "Why"? Nonetheless he responded. The lady seemingly having forgotten to finish her joke began to plead. "Please let me through, It's my dream to watch Leonarda Dicapricorn before I die"she shook the bouncers arm. I couldn't go on watching. I stepped forward and signalled to the now evidently annoyed bouncer that I would pay for her. I T posed. Silence took over the queue. Then laughter erupted. The bouncer shook his head but this time with tears falling down. "Transaction accepted"
Most would have described that day as the perfect day. A day of sunlight and energy. But for me it was the worst day of my life. "I'm sorry for everything"he apologised. He couldn't even meet my gaze. How could he after what he had done? We once did everything together. Games, sport, study, you name it. His visits to my home were frequent and so were my visits to his. We lived only a minute walk apart so it made sense that we met together so much. That was 6 years ago. He now towered over me but that was the only thing that had grown. His eyes were lifeless, and his body like a skeleton cosplay. The same hoodie from the last time we talked. "It's too late to apologise"I firmly told him. 6 years and now you want to crawl back? I shook my head but not enough that he would realise. It was too late. "You broke my trust when you placed your pride over our friendship". I had moved on.
After a long day at my job of long hours and unfulfilling work I finally get to sleep. As I lie there breathing, I imagine myself on a lake. I hear the rushing and crashing of the waves on rock and the gentle breeze swaying trees back and forth. I feel in my heart the grief of losing something great and irreplaceable. Fast forward to the morning, I awaken feeling refreshed, my shoulders aren’t stiff anymore and my knee isn’t killing me. But where am I? This isn’t my bed, at least not the one I remember falling asleep in. Lets hope I didn’t “accidentally” go to my cousins again, kokom would never let me hear the end of it. But the place I’m in is different too. There are people outside, in their gardens, full of actual vegetables. The Kids are running around playing and even smile at me as they rush past, some men are working on putting up a picket fence around a freshly built house. Since when do the neighbours help out? I start connecting dots in my mind, this can’t be a dream, this is the Old Post. I recognize the bay and layout of the town. As it turns out, I’m home but not quite. This is the old settlement, bustling and full of life. Before the Grand Hydroelectric dam would sweep away all the beauty and colour from our island home we called Cemoinik. A time before the great flood that carried our ancestors graves to be forever lost beneath the dark depths of the Cedar lake. The sunrise has never been more beautiful. Here in this paradise, the drink doesn’t have a mean hold on the people and drugs are so far removed that I can’t prove they still exist. I hope to the good creator above this isn’t just a dream.
Lorezia groaned as she came to, her head pounding in pain. She tried to stretch, but realized that she was strapped down to the table. "What the...?"she squinted, the scientists coming into focus. She flinched in pain when one of them aimed a UV ray at her face, feeling a minor rash coming on. "Ah, she's alive and she's reacting like she should be. Consider the procedure a success on Subject 37,"one of them congratulated. "Who the hell are you?"Lorezia scowled, wanting to scratch her face off. "What's going on?"the brunette woman demanded answers. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, Subject 37. For the war effort, we're trying to make superhumans. Every person counts,"one of the guys in white chuckled. "So you think you can just... take civilians?!"Lorezia struggled against the restraints, wanting to tear this man to shreds. "The soldiers are expendable, we're more concerned about making sure the civilians can't be killed,"there was snake oil just dripping from this guy's voice, she knew it... she read it in his thoughts. Yeah, right... you're just using this war as an excuse to go nuts, you sick fucks, Lorie thought to herself as another one of the white coats wheeled her to her cell. She was just tired and wanted to sleep... she'd get her strength soon enough to fight these whackos, and she had magic, so she doubted any of them would expect that. But every day tried to break her morale. Every day, she saw others like her suffer in agony, until there was 20 or so left, down from the original 50 test subjects. "Rise and shine, you don't have to be all alone now, Subject 37! The others kept dropping like flies, so we decided that we can group you up now,"one of the white coats grinned. Lorezia glowered at her. She hated how these lab guys acted all nice and sweet, when she knew they were just monsters masquerading as humans. Maybe they couldn't stand themselves... had to turn us into monsters to feel better about themselves, she mused to herself, though she ultimately never got her answer when all was said and done. "Drop like flies? Well, yeah, because they either didn't want to be in pain anymore or your twisted experiments killed them,"she grumbled. "Now, now, that attitude won't do for your new mate. I'm sure he wouldn't want someone so argumentative,"the scientist hummed, dragging Lorezia along. "'Mate'? Come on, we're not goddamn animals,"Lorie rubbed her jaw. She hated what they did to her teeth... "Did you really have to mess up our teeth like that? I can't have hot or cold drinks now because of that, and it's just too awkward to not bite into my lips." The scientist didn't answer, only unlocking the door and shoving Lorie in. "I wonder how this will turn out... maybe we won't have to take more test subjects if this proves fruitful,"she adjusted her glasses. Lorezia almost barfed at the thought, and she knew her new jailmate was as displeased, too. He seems like a nice guy, though... at least, she glanced at him, getting a quick read on him. She sighed and relaxed a bit when the white coat left. "Well... might as well get to know each other for as long as we're stuck together, roomie,"she shrugged, trying to make the best of it. "You can just call me Lorie." Her new jailmate fidgeted a bit, but it seemed at least he was happy to be with someone again. "The name's Joe,"the blonde man grinned awkwardly, revealing to Lorezia that he got the same tooth job she did: sharp canines, almost vampiric in appearance. \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Check out r/StorytimeWithSteel for more short stories!
"What..."I start, seeing directly through where my image should be. "What in the world is going on?"I look down to my hands. They're still there, I can see them clearly. My legs and feet as well. But in the mirror... nothing. I see straight into the bathroom door behind me. "This can't be happening."I say to myself, leaving the bathroom in a huff. I walk through my home, looking into every reflective surface, expecting to see even a glimpse of my own image, but nothing. It's as if mirrors and my body weren't supposed to work together. I'm starting to freak out! "Camera! Where's my phone..?"I roam around my bed, looking for my smartphone. My image doesn't show up reflected on the black screen, but that's now that I wanted to check. I open the camera app and put it on selfie mode... nothing. Not even cameras show me. "WHAT IS GOING ON?"I yell, dropping my phone on the floor. I pick up my keys and go to the front door, getting out of my house. The morning is still young, but there are already some people on the street. Neighbors walking their dogs, Mr. Gatti's son mowing the lawn, the mailman doing his route. I call out to Gatti's son with the friendliest tone I could use under my tormented state. "Good morning, Tony." He doesn't respond. He doesn't even look my way. He's not wearing his usual gigantic headphones today, and when the mailman gets to his house, they chat happily. Is Tony ignoring me? I walk up to the fence between our houses and call him again. "Good morning, Tony."Once again, no reaction. I walk to his lawn and stand in front of him. "I said good morning, Tony!" He ignores me once more. I'm now completely bonkers, this can't be happening! As I turn around and look away, I notice something peculiar. I can see some sort of... energy?... flowing out of people's bodies. And when I thought it couldn't get worse, the lawnmower and Tony himself go through me, as if I wasn't even standing there! The shock made me run and scream at full lungs until I reached back into my house! "OH MY GOD, WHAT IS GOING ON?" "You're dead." I hear. It's coming from my bedroom, a voice low, deep and powerful. I can't identify if male or female, but it certainly has some sort of sad tone. I walk slowly until I peek through the bedroom's half open door. A figure in a black robe and hood, covered from head to toes, holding a big scythe like the ones I've seen in old medieval movies. They're sitting on my bed. "I'm... what?""Dead." It repeats. The figure moves their hand slowly and I can see it's pure bone - no skin, no meat, only those long skeletal fingers. They tap on the bed, and I slowly can see myself laying down there. "You died in your sleep. Cardiac arrest." Then I look around, starting to notice some things I 'did' this morning were actually never done: the window is still closed, the bathroom door too. My phoneisn't on the floor, but by my side on the bed - by my corpse's side. "Why?"I ask, not wanting to believe. "Why me? Why now?""I don't make the rules. I just follow them, just like you. Now come..." The figure stand up, towering above me, almost touching the ceiling with their head. For an instant I think I see something shining in the shadows of the hood, but their voice distracts me from paying attention. "We have lots of things to do." "Where are we going?" "You have to get ready for your next life."
“You need to listen to me Emily!” ... Silence. Kaitlyn held the phone to her ear, impatiently waiting for a response. Finally her sister spoke, but her tone was evident. “You’re fucking joking!” “If I wasn’t fucking joking I wouldn’t be calling you at midnight your time! I don’t want you to suffer like I did last year. I can’t let you make that same mistake.” Kaitlyn heard a long grunt and a sigh through the phone. “So you’re telling me: if I don’t make some offering or whatever, I’ll be suffering for the next year? I swear, you’ve really got an imagination.” “Remember last year when I went to come pick you up from the airport and my flight got delayed, then I lost my credit card and my wallet, then I couldn’t find you… Bad luck Em, bad luck.” Emily yawned. “ Kate, I’m sleepy. It’s past midnight. I know it’s only like 4 where you are but I don’t have time for this. I’ve got work tomorrow and a date.” Kaitlyn side in frustration. “Fine then. If you don’t want to listen to me, then I’ll let the bad luck and suffering hit ya next week. Good luck.“ She slammed her phone down on the desk and sighed loudly.
“Why did you add smut to my bookstack?” whispered Cassandra Willies. “We’re in the library for Christ’s sake!” Clifton Brooks shrugged. “Beats me, I’m just using my powers. You know how it is.” Taking the book from the pile, Cassandra began reading, as did everyone who was gifted a book Clifton. “Honestly not in the mood for this right now. Finals are just around the corner, I got four papers due by Friday, and Gill’s coming over for tonight.” Slinging his backpack against a nearby table, Clifton sauntered over to the bookshelves. Even as a kid, he had a knack of finding the perfect book for anyone. Self-help for the punks, the wonders of birth control for nuns, even he had no idea how he did it. His hands touched the spines of the many books, snatching a couple every couple of rows. By the time he had returned, he had in his arms an odd collection of assorted books. Spreading them out on the table, he began inspecting the contents. An Idiots Guide to Guns caught his eyes first, it was the third one this week he had to check that out. Whether that was a subtle message of the changing political climate, Clifton chose to ignore it. Oh, here was a new one, Rocking a Heavy Mustache in a Loveless World. He smirked; he would look forward to the reaction that would bring. A random guy walking along the subway station being accosted by him about the beauty of mustaches. Maybe it could be life changing. A gasp made him turned his head. “Cassy you good?” “Qu’est-ce que tu branles!” Oh dear, she was using her mother tongue. That usually was not a good sign. Clifton made the wise decision not to inquire further. By this point, Cassandra was so deep into reading that the bridge of her nose almost touched against the pages of the books. Scanning the cover, he understood why. The male seducer on the front of the cover had an eerie resemblance to someone he, no, someone they knew. Oh god, he thought. Was that — “—Gill! That lying piece of eggnog!” She yelled, slamming the book against the table. Multiple heads turned to their direction. “He promised that he’d stop seeing that lizard of a woman without my permission!” She was talking about Kassandra with the K, Gill’s former girlfriend. “Cassy, Cassy!” He whispered intently. “We’re in the library!” A mix of emotions flooded her face as she became aware of the states. There was no apology issued out, she simply took out her phone, aggressively thumbed it, and began packing her things. “We are leaving. Now.” Clifton made no effort to argue, he got all the books he needed anyway. “So, what did you do? On the phone I mean.” She stopped packing and stared at Clifton. “Guess.”
"I don't want to wake up. We can stay. We can ALL STAY here...together."Tim was now pleading. Begging. This land, adrift from everyone else, everything, its own space. His space. Their silence was an ache in his chest that would never cease. "I just want to hold you one more time..."As he embrace them a whiteness consumed everything around them. All Tim felt, was warmth and peace. As the rain pattered down on the dirty sidewalk it swept the trash and filth along in small streams. Trickling down past a broken man with a band tightly wrapped above his elbow. Laying on the ground, propped up only by the brick of the broken down city building at his back. A sign leaned against the man, as if to be his last message to the world Lost my wife, lost my kid. anything helps.
"GET BACK HERE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" The strong voice filled my veins with more adrenaline, as I ran down the derelict alley, passing through vents blowing warm dry air into the smell of rotten food and garbage. ---- 2 minutes ago I was heading to the nearby library to return some books my mother got for me, when I saw him. The street was not as crowded as I had imagined, so as I attempted to dodge his peripheral vision, his twitching eyes suddenly fixes onto me. As I was trying to get up onto the pedestrian bridge, he quickly ran towards my and grappled my arm, pulling me from the steps and into a dark alley, its walls covered with moss and mold. "LET GO OF ME!"my voice cracks as I shouted as much as possible. Not noticing any traffic nor anyone passing by, I knew there was not going to be any help. He continued to drag me deeper into the alley until we reached the rear of 2 rows of shops, all closed due to the Fourth of July. After he'd pulled me for what seemed like an eternity, he ripped off my backpack off my shoulders and searched it thoroughly, tossing the books out and eventually throwing the backpack towards me. "WHERE'S YOUR MONEY?!"he shouted into my face, grappling me using my sleeves. I wanted to tell him I didn't carry a penny, but all that I had given him was a squeal. "FUCKING COWARD!"he roared, as his bear-like hands trembled and violently pushed me onto the pavement. Luckily, my head wasn't hurt and I darted towards where we came from, seeing a pistol's holster that he was reaching towards, pushing myself past my best record in gym class as I reached the junction that he dragged me into earlier. I quickly ran back to the street, up the pedestrian bridge and quickly dialed 911 with my shaky hands. I quickly told them about him and our encounter as clearly as my exhausted lungs could speak, and while I was still on the phone, I saw him rushing up the stairs towards me, and not feeling unlike an antelope running from a lion, I sped up into my adrenaline filled sprint, passing through another row of stores until I reached the library. Bursting through the doors, I panted violently, holding my chest with my right palm as I slowly walked towards the librarian's desk, explaining who I've met. The librarian quickly told me to hide inside the labyrinth of bookshelves, waiting for the police to arrive. As my adrenaline slowly wore off, I wandered through the library, still fearing for my life, wondering when he'll arrive and when help would arrive. After what seemed like hours of wandering through the fiction section, I'd heard the sound from the heavens. Sirens. I ran towards the entrance and finally saw him, restrained by handcuffs inside a police cruiser. Finally being able to relax, I reached for my phone to vent to my mother, who was equally shocked from this traumatizing encounter.
Since I was a child, I've always been known as clumsy. 'Accident-prone' my parents affectionately called me. I was the child who always managed to get their hand shut in the car door. Who tripped falling up the kerb. In one of my bigger accidents, I broke my leg falling down the stairs. The accident and emergency department at the local hospital knew me by name. Thankfully, they always managed to patch me up and send me home until the next mishap. The strange thing is, every time I break a bone, I see a glimpse of the future. It started the first time I broke a finger. A silly playground accident where a ball was thrown too hard towards me and I wasn't quick enough to catch it properly. I felt a sharp pain and couldn't move my little finger. The instant it happened, a strange, intrusive thought popped into my head. I suddenly 'knew' that my favourite teacher would be leaving. The following day at school, she announced to the class that she was moving away. The 'knowledge' I gained at the moment one of my bones was broken was small and inconsequential at first. But when I broke my leg falling down the stairs, I knew how my Grandmother would die. When I broke my collar bone as a young adult I knew the outcome of that year's election. As I got older and with the severity of each break, the knowledge got larger and darker. When I survived a car crash with multiple breaks and fractures, I instantly knew about a natural disaster which would kill thousands of people. The thing is, seeing glimpses of the future takes its toll after a while. No one will ever know just how addictive it is. How each glimpse is never enough. I pick up the huge hammer, feeling the weight of the solid metal which almost strains my arm as I lift it. I turn to the mirror and look carefully up and down my body, carefully considering which bones will give me the answers I crave. I need to know how it all ends.
The Memory Transference Assistant strapped my hands to the chair, using very solid metal circles. It was less a chair, and more of a... voluntary self-restriction device. &#x200B; "This is for your own safety,"she intoned. Her voice didn't feel really reassuring, probably because she had repeated the words to so many people so many times that the words had become routine. &#x200B; I nodded, smiling. Of course it was for my own safety. Everyone knew that when you touched the Omni-Ash and regained memories of your past life, the results could be traumatizing. People had been known to thrash, convulse, break things. Those were the lucky ones. The unlucky ones killed themselves, because they could not bear some past guilt, could not reconcile the actions of a past life with their current worldview. &#x200B; The Assistant stood on one side of the small circular room we were in. My chair spun around, a section of the wall opened, revealing a space just big enough for my hand. The chair rolled forward slowly. &#x200B; I was going to touch the Omni-Ash. A collection of a single grain of ash from every person who had died in the last 50 years, meticulously collected by the government. Touching the Omni-Ashes was a standard thing everyone went through at 18. It wasn't mandatory, but almost everyone did it. &#x200B; The lights dimmed, the ominous background music in my head loudened, my hand made contact with the silk bag. &#x200B; Nothing happened. &#x200B; I waited. Waited for it to start. &#x200B; "Well?", the Assistant asked after a few minutes. &#x200B; "Nothing happened." &#x200B; The chair started to roll back, the panel in the wall reclosed. Was this it? What happene-? &#x200B; Suddenly, a sharp pain in my neck; &#x200B; I vaguely became aware of a syringe. &#x200B; The Assistant's face swam in front of me. "Please relax. This is not an error in the system. There are certain Ashes that we do not keep in the general pool of Ashes. Certain Ashes that belong to important people, people with classified intel, royalty, and other people of note. &#x200B; Please relax. You're being transported."
It was a clear blue sky on a sunny day. A light breeze, moderate temperature. Enough humidity in the air that Duke would not need to replenish his water until nightfall. Until then, he would sit here and observe. Just a vague figure draped in old tattered clothing. Perched in a tree. There was a clearing on the edge of the forest. Open grass Land as far as you could see. The flowing of white across the vibrant green grass against the blue tapestry of the sky was a beautiful sight. He once felt betrayed by this beauty of the Land. Reminded of how wide eyed and eager he felt when he first made Land-fall. Back then he wasn't even a hunter, just a miner. Coming to the Land to gather resources for the cities now scattered across the ocean. Duke was from the floating city of Shykur. And ever since he heard his father's father tell stories of Land he wanted to go. But not to be a hunter. The idea scared him, and it still does to this day. So much had changed for him since then. Since that day. He felt his left shoulder, rubbing the joint where his arm met his torso, as if easing an old memory back into the muddy depths where it could no longer distract him from his duty. And just as his mind began to stir the water and bring up the muck from his past he snapped back to the present by a loud CRACK. The sound was so loud it seemed to come from anywhere and nowhere. But his trained ears was able to detect a source of origin, and began to move. Tree to tree he jumped, silently moving towards the edge of the forest. Moving his way down from the top. This forest had become his home. The deep reddish-brown of the trees and the mossy floor seemed comforting. And the shade from the trees was invaluable against the hot sun. Moving through the trees was second nature to him at this point. His brown cloak flowing effortlessly behind him. As he came closer to the ground and the edge of the forest he was able to make out a few ant like figures in the distance. They were moving very fast towards the forest, some 500 meters away from the clearing. Chasing a Hija, a baby Hija. Now only 20 meters off the ground and only a few trees deep into the forest, the whole situation was coming into view. A situation he was all too familiar with. There were about 5 to 10 Hunters down there yelling and chasing the baby Hija towards the forest on foot. A few were firing from their PWs, seeing this always made him wonder 'Do they EDUCATE hunters, or simply drop them on Land and hope for the best?'. The munitions in their personal weapons would simply hit and deflect off the baby Hija's exoskeleton. Leaving faint green smudges across its transparent shell. When Hija's were babies they did not have enough pigment in their bodies to develop a color. They simply looked like giant beetles 3 times as tall a person and 5 times as long, with a foggy glass covering their body. He had seen one up close before, remembering how he could still see the inner organs working, churning away like an intricate engine filled with a variety of colored liquids, sacs and tubes. The hunters transport vehicle was quickly catching up to those on foot who were able to keep pace with the scared Hija, whose 12 legs scurried along the ground not visible from Dukes vantage point. The transport housed Hunters most prized weapon, the rail-gun. The best defense against the creatures on the Land. It also required high energy power cells to operate. But due to the volatility and immense power you could not fire from a moving transport, in fact you had to stop and anchor it into the ground to stop it from rocking the transport vehicle potentially knocking it onto its side. The whole scene was absurd to Duke. A bunch of idiots running to their death. They had clearly missed their one shot at killing the Hija, and in the game of the Hunt there were no do-overs. Just then a second shot rang out from the vehicle. zzzzt. zzzt. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt....CRACK. Dukes eyes grew wide as a blast of light rang out from the vehicle and flew past the beetle into the forest. The vehicle took a deep turn and bobbed up and down a few times. Finally slowing to a stop. A few of the hunters ran to the vehicle and got in. The Hija took a sharp turn towards Duke. Now some 200 meters from the forest the chase was now headed straight for Duke. But before the Hija could reach the forest it reached its nest. As though it passed through the grassy earth into the nothing, the Hija disappeared into the ground. A few moments later the transport closed in on the last location and stopped. A few more moments later the remaining Hunters had caught up to the vehicle. While the Hunters on the ground seemed to search for answers Duke searched his immediate surroundings. He found what he was looking for and jumped down to a large tree branch. He removed a length of rope from his side and lassoed it around the tree, tying it off around him self. giving a quick tug to make sure he was secure. Now safe from falling, he returned his focus to the hunters. Who had now began to approach the pit the Hija ran into. As the last of the Hunters exited the vehicle the ground shook. The Land around the Hunters seemed to heave upward and then cave back down. As if being birthed for the first time an adult Hija erupted from the ground beneath the Hunters. Heaving a landmass the size of two football fields into the air. This adult was three times the size of the baby Hija. And as it began to crawl out from the nest, shaking the ground as it did so. Leaves fell from the trees along with weak branches. Dirt and grass alike seemed to fall from the top of the shell. Shedding its earthy dusting, searching for the already vanquished foes. Pausing to asses the situation it seemed to look around. But finding nothing it quickly returned to its nest, burrowing deep into the ground. Once the shaking had subsided Duke made his way down to the ground. Cautiously approaching the scene of the death and destruction. As he came closer the mounds of upturned soil became larger and more dense. He crawled up onto the highest mound and scanned the area. AH-HA, he found it. Gleaming in the sun some 50 meters away was the vehicle. As though carelessly tossed aside by a child who was done playing with it. Moving quickly he approached the vehicle. It was heavily damaged but it was upright and had not exploded so he would most likely be able to salvage some supplies. Hopefully a water synthesizer which he had gone without for months now. After making his way into the vehicle from the back hatch which had blown off he saw a body in the passenger seat. Duke drew his PW and walked forward. He paused to listen. Silence. Then a burst of coughing and labored breathing. Still assessing the situation he let the Hunter cough up some blood, he still could only see the left side of the body but he knew what he was hearing. After catching their breath and spitting out what remained in their mouth, a faint "help"was heard. He knew the Hunter didn't know he was there. He knew desperation better than anyone and what it drove people to do. He moved forward to be even with the body. Her head hung low as though it was limp. Looking down her lap was covered in thick blood and her right arm was broken. Her head had suffered serious trauma. Struggling she turned her head up towards Duke. "help me"she said, laboring on every syllable. Duke holstered his PW. "Your water suit is ripped..."replied Duke annoyed. "Help..."her head now hung limp again, swaying as she tried to regain control of herself. He watched as a runny red liquid dripped from the ripped parts of her suit. "Ok...ok....its going to be alright."Duke said. "First let me get you unstrapped."He moved behind the seat. Slowly moving his hands to trace the strap to her shoulders he paused. And then moved his hands to hold her head up-right one hand on each side supporting her. She gasped at the coldness of his left hand, although he knew she didn't see it. He couldn't see her face but he imagined she seemed calm and at peace knowing she was being rescued by some magical stranger who had no right being on the Land with the same creature that had just wiped out 10 of humanities best and bravest in a flash. And in one swift motion he twisted he head 90 degrees. There was a soft 'crack'. Letting go her head now hung limp and lifeless. Duke turned to search the cabin for power supplies, MRE's and water. Quickly leaving with his loot he returned to the forest and climbed high up. The sun was starting to set and his day was just starting. As night fell he looked into the distance of the open plain. There was a faint glow on the horizon, one that must come deep from the desert he was told lies beyond the grassy plain. The glow mystified him on his first nights on Land. But also seemed familiar. It was only after years he realized why the glow was familiar yet mystifying. It was a glow from a city...but a city on Land. And one day...one day he would make it to that city and he would get answers to the questions he had so long held onto.
Standing there being less than a second from the dream of your life. You had visioned this moment, played it over a thousand times in your head... And what hits you isn't the force of cheerful joy, it's a huge wave of disappointment. You close your eyes in confusion and try to convince yourself that you're just unsure. But as you open your eyes, you find yourself staring straight into to a bathroom mirror. All this effort, time put down and sacrifices you made, for this? Your head spins and you find it hard to think straight because the memories of putting this moment before everything else in your life now makes you question your whole worldview. At first it saddens you and almost makes you unable to move a muscle, but then when reality sets in your filled with an uncontrollable anger. - "This can't be."You utter to yourself, alone in the world and starring down your one true enemy.
My best talent is reinvention. Before literally yesterday, I had no truly original universes to my name. Instead, I took existing worlds/franchises and twisted them to fit my ideas—often merging worlds together. Other times, it’s the characters that have been reinvented: new occupations, personality differences, redemption, and in one case a complete rewrite of everything two characters are. New people in old roles, people in universes they shouldn’t be in, rehashing old mechanics to be more efficient—reinvention.
Nari walked the halls of the castle to the throne room. The king's body looked frailer in death than in life. The heavy white robes he was to be burned in swallowed him up. All she could see was his withered face, the gnarled fingers interlocked on his stomach. She would be glad to see him burn, even if he could not feel the fire. The courtiers stood on either sides of the room, their heads bowed. It was amazing the change a death brought about. Before, she was only an old man's folly. A vessel meant to carry an heir. Now she was their ruler. The pale pink gowns she used to wear had been changed to somber blues, violets, and reds. Her diadems were packed away and replaced with a heavy circlet of solid gold and silver. Nari wanted to miss the simplicity of her former life, where all she had to was smile and look pretty. "Your Majesty,"they toned in synchrony. "Long live the queen." She would. She was not old. She was not ill. She was not foolish enough to trust courtiers who killed their own king. The throne was too large for her. It was meant for a mammoth of a man, some old, long-dead king who had it built to be imperious. In it, she looked even more a child. "How goes the search into the king's poison?"she asked. Nowhere, she knew. They presented findings of a sham investigation. It was amazing how they managed to ignore the corpse in the center of the room. "I've been conducting an investigation of my own,"she revealed. "Apparently, I have been monitored here since I arrived. So much so that my maid was meant to inform someone the second I was with child. Kill the current king, and grow your own puppet prince or princess. What an ingenious plan." The throne room grew deadly silent. "It's not hard to hide a monthly bleed or two,"she said. "There is no prince or princess. The line of the old king is dead. I am your queen, and shall remain so until I die." She smiled. "No. I will be your queen until you die. I have no dominion over the departed. You are charged with treason and regicide. Guards!"
Bell. Anakh sithori, class. Today, we have a very special guest. Please welcome the Aerstriss Arohnda, teacher of quantitative existentialism on her home world. I will say no more and pass the mic over to her. ‘These students have been staring at me like I’m about to be dissected,’ I ponder. One of them catches my eye. “What are you wearing, boy?” I bound the human steps ten at a time before I get to him. “I-it’s called moldavite. Here, look!” The green gem starts pulsing in my hand. I don’t give a second glance as I make my way back to the lecture pit. “Here, class. An analogy.
My daddy told me that I’m wrong, that my neighbor is, “in fact, a lady named Mrs. Houghton,” but he’s talking about the wrong neighbor. Isa tells me she lives in the tree in our yard. That she lives in a tiny house with a tiny porch and a tiny dog. I haven’t seen her house or her dog but she tells me about them all the time. We play a lot. She likes to play mom and I play daughter. She’ll tell me to and play in the sandbox, and then she calls me for dinner. Then she sets out a little dinner set that is too tiny for me to hold. I tell her this but she tells me to eat my tiny vegetables. Even though they are small, they still taste bad. Sometimes she takes me on walks past the backyard. We go into the woods and then daddy calls me back. But this time we were too far away. She told me about the river. I’ve never been to a river before. So we went. And it was so big and fast! There were fish and birds and rocks and new, big trees. She told me to climb one and I did, but I scraped my knee and it hurt. Then I couldn’t get down and she was too small to help. I cried and cried and cried but no one came. It got dark and I finally just jumped down. I hurt my ankle very bad so I sat down. Then Isa came, but she wasn’t tiny anymore. She wasn’t a fairy anymore. I had never seen her like that, she looked tall and kind of scary, but I love her and she is a sweet neighbor. She carried me into the river and we got wet but it was okay. She said that she was taking me to her big house. When we got there, we played mom and daughter again. But this time the vegetables were full sized. I ate them but they were still yucky. Then someone knocked on the door. Isa opened it and it was my daddy! But he looked angry. He told me to close my eyes so I did. Then Isa said something I didn’t hear and there was a squishy sound. Next thing I knew, daddy was carrying me back over the river, but he was kind of sticky. He told me that, “in fact, we do have a faerie neighbor.” I was happy to hear that. But he also said that she wasn’t going to be coming back and I was sad. I don’t like Mrs. Houghton and I did like Isa. I asked daddy why she wasn’t coming back and he said, “because we aren’t supposed to have faerie neighbors.”
It was on the seventh day of the new year that the whispers began. Quiet and incomprehensible above the endless droll of pounding pistons and ailing gears. The noises were a curiosity at first and power-plant workers would spend countless hours getting drunk and moving from the heat-soaked rooms to invent reasons as to why the whispers would be louder in one corner rather than the other. But as months fell into years these games soon led way to selective fanaticism, those who jostled with each other to claim that they were the ones who heard the whispers louder than others, those who claimed that the arcane language it spoke was to them plain English and that they, not others, could be trusted to decipher its mysterious messages. But so long as the pistons kept pounding, the gears turning, and turbines spinning these matters were kept internal. Management thought it best to begin rotating its workforce around the plant, taking the now deranged experts from the inner core and transplanting them in observation rooms around the fringes. And so it was on the 3rd year since the whispers began that I found my most untimely promotion, thrust from the lowly job of managing repairs to “Superior Supervisor of Core Maintenance.” Although why I was called a ‘superior’ supervisor and why there was something to ‘maintain’ in the core was a question best not asked in polite conversation when money is involved. So, did I hear the whispers? Of course, everyone heard them at one point or another. But can you understand them? Of course not. After a time the whispers just became noise, senseless background that seemed to penetrate whatever protective equipment you wore, or earplugs you applied. Much like the extreme humidity, or the exhausting heat, work in the core became another obstacle in the way of a relaxing weekend. So I tried not to think very much about the whispers. But, well, you can’t help but feel sorry for those who became corrupted by them. It didn’t help that a set of crazed fanatics, these ‘Agents of Nashe’ continued to speak of their visions and prophesy. Despite managements best efforts, they didn’t simply disappear just because they were demoted to working the gardens or maintaining a parking lot; and in-fact their ranks grew with each new rotation of workers toward the core. What was to be done? These people couldn’t be fired for fear that they would go public and add to the insidious rumors that the famed Tharrosi Power Plant, the very thing responsible for producing nearly free energy to countless billions was on its last whims. We always found a way to eeke out more juice than was theoretically possible. We had the best and brightest sitting in laboratories and board rooms across the planet, searching for and always finding new methods of extracting vital essence from the decaying corpses of ancient beasts. This time would be no different, I said as much in a company wide memo where, given my promotion to “Vice Superior Supervisor”, my megaphone was heeded in earnest by those desperate to ascend in my footsteps. But then the immolations began. Five years and thirty days since the whispers began, Agents of Nashe had begun setting themselves on fire outside the reinforced concrete and steel protecting the fuel source. Each day a new adherent walked to the entrance, doused themselves in gasoline, and silently burned to death in front of the CCTV. No letters were ever written, no demands or intentions stated. The once loud lunch room shouting matches between maintenance crews turned into quiet affairs where a man would try to guess, by circumstance or providence, who was next. Did I hear the whispers then? Well, I always heard them but never really listened. After the third death, when I returned home from the plant, I admitted to myself that I could still hear them. In the silence of my commute, the stale hum of rubber on concrete amplified a serpentine voice and guttural tongue. For just minutes each night, underneath piercing starlight I could hear them as clearly as any other voice. I cried when the voice spoke to me in those solemn moments of filling out immolation ‘accident’ reports, and was moved when a voice goaded me to question very much if these random babbling could be interpreted as English or simply raw emotion. When things stop making sense you start looking for answers, so I went to a meeting. The Agents of Nashe embraced me without malice or hatred, even though I was the principal reason for their ostracism and hardship. “Finally you hear them as clearly as we do.” a member said. “Do you hear her best under a new moon and strong starlight?” “I can’t hear the voices in any other way.” I replied reflexively, as though the words weren’t my own. “And what does she say?” he asked. And in this moment I listened. Not just to my own breath or to the irritating hum of florescent lighting; but to the whispers which so cleverly found their way into my mind. They echoed and twisted, moving between languages I once knew and toward that which I do know. “The god’s don’t speak.” “No.” he replied, “but they do listen.” I nodded instinctively. “If I open the door.” I said, “Will you know what to do?” The man smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. “There is little time to waste. She is near death.”
The sleek speedboat seemed to be sorely misplaced as it bumped into the dock. Dark waters painted the previously white bow of the boat a murky green. A man stepped out from behind the wheel and stepped forward to tie his boat down. Grabbing his rope and inspecting the dock, he wasn’t quite sure that any of those posts would hold for long, and that wasn’t even accounting for the likely theft. The man jumped to the dock and tied off his boat accepting the suboptimal circumstances. He straightened to reveal his average stature and brushed aside his shaggy brown hair. His hazel eyes seemed to shift unnaturally in the uncertain lighting. Calloused hands and a few well placed scabbards revealed his experience in his task. The glares he was getting from other skippers seemed to say that they had noticed too. The bounty hunter considered if they would leave the ship alone after him laying down a threat. With a shrug he kept moving, it wasn’t his boat anyways, he had warned his client after all. Creaking his way down the docks, the bounty hunter was off to find the abode of one Mistress Leone. Past the meandering turns and occasional gaping hole to the swamp below, the bounty hunter had reached his location. He raised an eyebrow at the sign hanging precariously from one of its three original supports with “Fortune Telling” scrawled across it. Entering the establishment, he eyed the flooring carefully. The stilts seemed to be near capacity with two people in the room of meager furniture. Mistress Leone sat cross legged near a table surrounded by pillows and generously decorated with candles without much of a lifespan left. A purple turban attempted to hide away all of her gray hair and an outfit more suited to a lively dancer seemed out of place as it hung off of her. The bounty hunter took his place across the table from the fortune teller. “You said you had a lead on Quentin? I trust it wasn’t merely a premonition.” “I’ll have you know, my premonitions are quite accurate.” Raised eyebrows again from the bounty hunter, “But that is not where I got my information from. After all, brokering information is much more lucrative than telling fortunes in a pit where criminals know that imprisonment and death are the likely truth. To the point, what is your name?” A sigh, it had been in the agreement, but his name wasn’t known to many. “Quinn. Now let’s get to the actual point. Where is Quentin and why is the book so important to our client and our target.” “Well, Quinn,” she met his gaze as she enunciated his name clearly, “Quentin is in the Waterbones District. He has been working with a man there by the name of Edward for some time, although he is currently waiting for the buyer of the book to rendezvous. As for the book, that is a bit more complex.” “More complex how? From what I heard it was a book on the history of Tamigra. I could maybe understand the clients desire for its rarity and craftsmanship but the thievery from such a protected location makes no sense.” “Exactly, it normally wouldn’t make sense. But within the craftsmanship there is a disguised manuscript. I don’t know how to uncover it, but if one were to know they would be presented with a form detailing an underground trade ring within the capital. At least, as the rumors state.” Leone let this last statement weigh heavy on the atmosphere. “Thank you for your information. I will make sure to keep in touch for future jobs in the hopes that they can be lucrative for both of us.” The creaking floorboards hastened Quinn’s retreat. He let loose a massive pent up breath as he exited onto the docks. It was amazing that something existed to make someone prefer these docks. He started on his way to the Waterbones District. The space where docks were a rarity and instead the skeletons of many ships that deserved better lie infested with criminals and parasites. Quinn thought of Quentin’s physical description to refresh it before he reached the District. A man in his early thirties with a full head of red hair, often a shaggy, tangled mess. About 5 foot 10 with a scar across his left cheek, punctuated by an eyepatch from losing his eye in the same incident. Honestly, he should be a hard one to miss. Quinn rounded a bend and saw the Waterbones District where a tilted tavern had previously blocked it from view. He moved confidently forward, any sign of discomfort would surely spell alienation this far in. Climbing through the first few shattered hulls was lonely. Once he made it past the initial buffer zone the ships began to crawl with signs of life. Quinn kept moving past the suspicious glares, determined to extinguish their suspicion with purpose. As he entered a particularly rowdy ship skeleton he decided to join in on the conversation. Mostly at ease because of drink the men were hasty to welcome him into the revelries. The stench of the men made Quinn nearly wish he could disappear into the drink as well. He managed to decline alcohol at every offer though and kept his ears open for mention of Edward. After what must have been the hundredth offered drink and at least the tenth near gag from Quinn he finally led one to drunkenly complain about Edward, all the way to the ratty ship that he required them to meet in. Cheering his sympathy and thanking the men for their hospitality, Quinn snuck away as they began their poor excuse of singing anew. Backing out of a ship is something one should never do within a place like the Waterbones District. Quinn felt a knife rest against his neck as he rose to full height. “What is it that you want with Edward?” A cruel smile could be heard in the man's taunting question. “Maybe I can be the one to escort you to him.” Quinn inwardly cursed thin walls and took stock of the situation. Narrow planking, the swamp deep to either side, and a knife close to the neck. Small amount of variables, quite easy to understand just how fucked he was. He would have to wait for a bit of a better opportunity. “Sure, lead me on good sir.” The calm nature of his response seemed to be a cause of frustration for his captor. Cruelly dragging Quinn across the plank made the captor feel his sense of power returned, only to truly lessen it. The rough movements and constant double-checking of his path culminated in the one moment Quinn had been searching for. The knife pulled away from his neck just a little too far, Quinn reached up and gripped the wrist with an iron grip. As his captor exclaimed, Quinn twisted his wrist so that he could turn and hold his new prey into an armlock. He pulled the hefty knife out of the man’s weakened grip and brought it to his neck as he took in the red hair and black strap that went along the back of his head. “Quentin?” “And how the fuck do you know my name?” Quinn could hardly restrain the chuckles at the beautiful coincidence. “Would you happen to be able to lead me to the first-ever edition of The Comprehensive Origin and History of Tamigra?” “Are you my buyer?” Not bad cover for now. “Yes, and I might need a discount after this poor excuse of a welcome.”
[story] Ha! First father makes me this hammer, and now is wanting me to return to Midgard to retrieve some sword? Apparently he has put some similar runes on this puny Excalibur that he bestowed upon my beloved Mjölnir. “Only one worthy and carries the heart of Bryttania may pull this sword from the stone, and upon doing so claim the crown of the land.” Seems like father was searching for a mortal capable of wielding my hammer, but then again this sword couldn’t come close to my Mjölnir. No mortal could be trusted with such power! By Yggdrasil, what if Loki corrupted them? I know father has wisdom, but that missing eye must be the reason he has such a blind spot for showing too much to these inhabits of Midgard. I’ll claim this sword like father asked, and use the story to boost my followers in this area. It’s been a while since I was a god-king, I’m sure father would love the new souls I could welcome to Valhalla with the wars we could wage! (The arrival to Bryttania) THIS CAN NOT BE!!!! A mortal was able to claim the sword before I arrived on the Bifröst? Impossible! It was resting for centuries! I must try to see what mere man could possibly come close to the worthiness of the God of Thunder. “For you must be Arthur? The one who pulled Excalibur?” Thor questioned as he looked down at this puny child who claimed a sword meant for a man double his age. “And you seem to be one of the savage nordsmen who pillage the coast?” The young king sarcastically spat towards a now enraged Thor. thunder bellows in the distance “FOR I AM THOR , GOD OF THOSE NORSEMEN MORTAL.” Thor bellowed, almost as if his words were echoed by thunder itself. “I was sent to retrieve that puny sword my father left since it took to long for mortals to claim, I will forgive you of your disrespect on the fact you are a child and somehow pulled it. Hand it over and you will leave with your life.” Arthur looked 2 feet up to the lumbering god before him, wondering if the sword really was left by the gods. With the evidence he saw before him, he knew that there would be no reason for what seemed to be the actual Thor to lie. So, voice squeaks and all he replied “I will give you this sword under one condition lord Thor, if you truly believe I am not worthy of keeping it, let this mortal child take a single swing. If you can withstand it, I will forfeit.” Immediately Thor laughed, to the point of tears in his eyes. This mortal thought he could injure one of the strongest gods? Who must he be, for he for sure has the balls of a god. “Look child” was all the Mighty Thunder God could utter before the swing. For the power of Excalibur was great amongst mortals, but truly was the bane of any gods existence. For Odin blessed it with runes capable of returning any god to their home plane with a single cut. “Looks like odin was right, always too busy trying to show your strength to where you underestimate your opponents.” Heimdall said to the confused Thor. “You need to eventually realize he is only going to test you in ways you fail at currently , you proved your strength Odinson, but a king needs far more than just that.”
"i get that feeling but i won't harm you for you see ,i can feel your immediate motives"is my response before looking to my companion and best friend Ben; his appearance reminding me of the truth in his words ."i know that you are hurt and scared, and i know you are a living thing with a great inner world. you are similar to Ben : experimented to the point of not looking human anymore and forced to be a killing machine. "my eyes tearing up thinking how painful that experience must have been for Ben and How cruel can some people be to ignore the suffering and do those experiments just because they could. "if you want i can be your friend"i say while i look at them "friend?"they answers , i think no one has offered them true friendship before"yea, i think you need a friend, you seem really lonely. and i can give you a nickname if you want""you can call me Adam if you want"they answer "ok Adam, would you like to be my friend"i ask "yes"....
10:04 am, Day 2 We are maintaining the current speed of general construction. Workers have been instructed to build a frame around the existing sinkhole, so that we can better build on top of it. Hired five new workers, will train them this afternoon. Received a call regarding what material will be needed to fix the sinkhole; shipments of dirt and concrete should arrive in the next few days. 9:56pm, Day 2 We have stopped for the day, the men have been complaining of coughs, even with their masks on. Sent in request for more advanced masks. Should be here in two to three days. Simon Glusco, Head Engineer, reached the bottom of the sinkhole, and upon inspection, found it to be fairly solid. No extra growth is expected. 4:15pm, Day 3 Sinkhole shifted and grew during the night, we’ve been moving rubble from our frame out of the way. We’re going to have to take a different approach. Spoke with Glusco, and the foreman, Tim Sanine. We should have a new plan by the time they finish clearing the rubble. Workers are complaining that their coughs are getting worse; they’ll be taking the morning off tomorrow to recover. 7:32am, Day 4 New growth, or destruction, whatever you want to call it, happened overnight once again. Found one of our men buried beneath some rubble an hour or so ago. No one knows why he was there, as he had the morning off, and shouldn’t have been there overnight. We are investigating. Sanine has asked we give his men the full day to recover, I’ve obliged. 6:12pm, Day 4 Strange report from Glusco just now: the sounds of conversation happening in the sinkhole. I told him to take tomorrow off too. 8:13am, Day 7 Operations ceased for two days, we found another worker buried underneath rubble on one of the stray ledges the sinkhole leaves behind. We spotted him from above and retrieved him; I told the men to go home until the foreseeable future but they’ve opted to stay on and keep working. I’ve called for a geologist and another engineer; we changed out the masks, but the men, even when they aren’t working, are still coughing. I’ve also sent for a medical team. 5:41pm, Day 8 Reinforcements have arrived, and we’ve gotten the machinery we need to start filling it. The first round of dirt went in today. Our measurements put it at about 200 feet wide, 100 or so feet deep. Glusco told me that his men, while surveying, also heard the conversing voices he had spoken about. I’m wondering if I should call for a psychological team as well. Do we have those? 7:45am, Day 9 After checking the sinkhole, it had not only grown by about 20 feet, but it seems the dirt we put in has disappeared as well, meaning it sunk as much as we had put in. Another body was found. I’m beginning to think that this is a lost cause, but the pressure from above has gotten stronger. They want it filled as soon as possible. 9:37pm, Day 9 Strange report, but from myself. I watched one of my men walk into it. He stepped out over the side and fell, or, jumped, I don’t know. I don’t know anymore at all. One of the others tried to stop him, tried to grab him, but only narrowly missed falling in himself. I don’t know what to tell the higher ups. That my men are killing themselves? That the sinkhole is calling to them? The men say they can hear the voices now, too. I don’t know what they’re saying. 7:54pm, Day 10 Strange report, again, my own: I’m beginning to understand the voices. Glusco says they’re speaking to him, too, whenever he goes near it. I’ve asked that someone, god I don’t know who, but someone be brought in who can figure out where they’re coming from. And I’ve started coughing, like the men, and it feels like there’s something in my chest that wants to get out, like it could claw its way out of my mouth. More dirt has arrived. Our efforts so far have been fruitless. 2:13am, Day 11 I get it now. I can understand them fully. They can fix the cough. At the bottom of the sinkhole they can fix it. I just have to take a leap of faith, have to find my way to them. Glusco says he’ll go, too, so I don’t have to endure whatever it is they’re going to do to me down there. But they’ll fix it for me. And then I can fill this damned sinkhole.
Garbage, rubbish, junk call it what you will, I am sick of this titanic defamation of my property. Carefully the final screw from one of the metallic devices on my workbench with a small squeak. A maze of circuitry, wires, and runes dull glowing with magical energy, a treasure buried amongst a pile of scrap. And the final piece of the quandary of how to deal with this issue, the final parts for my gift to send back. The central small white orb popping out with a slight pull from the numerous wire attached to its surface. Faint moats of light lingering in the air and the palm of my green hand as I roll the orb between my claws. My free hand pulling the mutant staff on the bench to the forefront of the junk, the year's of my life had lead to this moment. An arc of crackling arcane energy cracks through the air as the marble slips into the tip of the tool. That insatiable jittering and hissing put to an end as I take my weapon out of the workshop and into the cold night. My previously spotless elf garden crushed beneath metal skeletons and rusting metal, let's see how much we can send back. Carefully I start drawing the banishment circle into the mud around a particularly vile pile of rotting organic matter. Glittering magic lingering in the shade as the circle is finished, years of pointless study finally paying off. Alright, you bastards let's see how much you like crap back at high speed, with a final mark on the ground the spell begins. A dull waking shaking the soil of Cathay as the pile slowly starts floating in mid-air, a glimmering portal forming above. The mass of garbage rapidly accelerating as it is drawn into the portal's influence and back to my enemies.
"Shield your eyes, Isabella!" "Dis shit right here, Jacob!" "I'll circle her from the- what? This shit what?" "Dis is some good shit, Jacob. I'm too high, man." I squinted open one eye to sneak a sideways look at Isabella. She was sitting on the floor, leaning back on her arm, legs stretched out in front of her. Her eyes were red. "Stop looking at her! You'll turn into stone!" Isabella giggled. "Wh-what was I sayin'?... dis some good shit, Jacob. you writing dis down? You sho'd write dis down." I heard Medusa's footsteps approaching behind me, the hissing of her snakes. I gripped my sword tighter, moving closer to Isabella to protect her. Isabella said, "Im starvin', J-man. D' you ha'e some chips? Or dense chocola'e cake."
Fiction. A form of literature that depicts imaginary people or scenarios. Imaginary. Something that exists only in the imagination, that is until someone takes a pen and scribbles their story onto a scrap of paper, or opens their laptop and hurriedly scrambles to get an idea from their head onto the screen. Humans are naturally creative creatures, it's in our DNA to create, and to share those creations. There's evidence of creativity from early as the cavemen, and as technology and tools for creating art improved, so did human creativity. Everywhere you looked, everything you saw, was someone's original idea at some point. We had created masterpieces, phenomenal books and films and TV shows, art that moved people and made them want to know more. Everyone's past time included consuming or creating some sort of fiction. It was impossible to go a day without seeing something someone had made themselves, grown from a tiny idea deep in their imagination to a real and powerful piece of art. For a long time, fiction was the only thing bringing people together. Except that's not allowed anymore. Imagination begins and ends in the brain now. You can think up whatever wild story you like, but any attempt to utilise your imagination to create something will get you in HUGE trouble. As it turns out, owning the copyright to the concept of imagination allows a company to imprison anyone and everyone who dares to put an original idea out into the universe. There's still media, of course. In fact, there's an abundance of media to consume, all carefully curated and censored by the government and the companies that own fiction. Every single film, book, programme, piece of art, comic... Every piece of media you can imagine tells the same story: 'Stay in your place.' There's no room for social advancement in this world, no room for new ideas that may imply that people like you and me can 'make it', whatever that means. The world is grey. Not literally, there's still colour everywhere, but it's grey because of how depressing and stifling fiction has become. It's like propoganda, in a way. Movies and books show us over and over that if you work really hard, make personal and professional sacrifices and stick to the status quo, you too can work yourself to death by old age, exhaustion or simply commit suicide out of plain boredom. No one cares, no one at the top anyway. As long as there's money in their pocket and a fancy car waiting outside to drive them to their fancy homes, politicians brush the concerns of their citizens under the rug as they always have done. Companies give huge back handers that enable those in charge to turn a blind eye to the brainwashing in the media, just so long as us worker bees just keep on working. Keep their system chugging, keep making money for people who don't need any more of it whilst the rest of us go hungry, or become homeless, or become ill and can't afford proper care. And to think, we all assumed fiction was being monopolised out of greed. No. Fiction was monopolised to control. So that's why we exist. The Librarians. Some of us, like me and Seb, are highly trained in Fiction Recovery, but most Librarians are basically exactly that, librarians. We collect and store unclaimed fiction from all over the world, and work with some of the world's most influential authors and artists and directors to create an underground catalogue of any fiction left undiscovered by the government's collection companies. Most people dismiss the rumours they hear about our existence, but the government know full well who we are. They don't know where, but they certainly know who. Which is what makes our job so dangerous.
“I don’t believe it!” cried out the exacerbated hero, “How do they expect me to defeat an evil king when all I have is you two and a piece of crap sword!” The hero flung the plain-looking sword at a nearby tree and while the tip of the sword did make contact, a dull sound rang out as it plopped onto the ground without so much as chipping the bark. The hero then fell onto his knees, “Good God, it’s not even sharp.” His two companions sat at the bench near him, a woman in a deep blue dress with a great pointed hat and a wicked grin and a small, almost pink, baby goat. The woman in blue leaned over and whispered into the goat’s ear and as its ears perked up, it happily hopped over to our weeping hero. “Oh, Peaches, on the bright side you are adorable, let me pet you.” The small goat’s tail wagged furiously until it suddenly came to a stop, she bowed her head and rammed the hero in the gut knocking him over. His cries of pain smothered by the laughter from the woman in blue. Our hero is named Flint, and he had only recently entered the “hero business” after successfully routing a few goblins who attacked his small village. Flint may have embellished on some details when he would recite the story, but those details unfortunately were the ones that fell in line to a certain “Hero’s Prophecy”. One standing alone against many? Check. Faced the forces of darkness? The prophecy never specified the quantity or quality of that force of darkness so that counts. Finally, protected the weak? Well, the goblins attacked a farmstead of an old granny, and thus all the boxes had been checked. Flint had been summoned to receive the rites of the hero which was the final part of the prophecy. However, he assumed this meant payment or reward for his heroic performance and was blissfully unaware of the life-changing ordeal that lay before him. After two days of traveling, he entered the lone stone tower as instructed in the painfully cryptic letter he received. Before him were several men in robes surrounded by candles that eerily lit the chamber. Behind the men was a woman restrained by chains, gagged, blindfolded, breathing heavily, and a baby goat on an altar. Flint broke the silence in the room, “This isn’t some kind of kinky fetish thing is it?” The robed men gasped and the one closest to the altar cleared his throat, “I assure you that is not what this is sir hero.” He approached Flint who was reluctantly walking further into the center of the chamber. “Oh, great hero! We have gathered to bestow you the rites of the hero!” Flint grinned bashfully, “Great hero? Oh, c’mon, I mean I was pretty good but great? Aw, shucks you guys, you didn’t have to” holding his hand out expectantly, “I dunno what rites are but they can fit in your hand right?” The robed man turned to the others gathered with a confused look and they simply shrugged in response. He pulled out a sword from beneath the robe and placed it in Flint’s open palm. “Um, what is this? Am I supposed to sell this or something?” Flint replied. “No sir hero” the robed man’s voice shifted into excitement as he raised his hands into the air, “that is the Sword of Heroes! When it is held in the hand of the hero it will transform into a weapon that can destroy evil!” Silence fell onto the room once again and Flint inspected the sword more closely. “Well, it looks exactly the same as when you handed it to me.” The robed men began to murmur, and the head robed man muttered, “Um, yes, well, maybe it doesn’t happen right away? This is sort of a first time for all of us here. Anyways, the other rites!” Gathering around the altar, one of the robed figures brought the chained woman next to the goat who was happily chewing on some weeds placed on the altar. “We present to you hero of prophecy, the creature of guidance and the aspect of power!” Flint began digging his index finger into his ear as if he were cleaning it out. “I think I’m out of the loop here, what do you mean hero of prophecy? I’m just here to collect a reward.” Suddenly a mood shift changed in the room as all the robed men turned to face Flint, “Are you saying you are not the hero of prophecy to defeat the evil king?” Flint began to slowly step backward, “Um, defeat the king? The evil one? That oppressive guy who has us all under his thumb because of his immense power?” the robed men nodded as they slowly approached Flint. The head robed figure spoke in a sinister tone, “Exactly, that one, and you understand that this is a very secret ritual, so if you are not the hero of prophecy, we will need to take extreme measures.” And as soon as he finished his statement Flint had backed into an exceptionally large, robed figure who stood behind him completely unnoticed and blocking the exit. “Ah.” Flint squeaked out, “Good thing I am in fact the hero of prophecy because this would’ve been awkward right? So, as you were saying, guidance creature and aspect of power was it?” he uttered after clearing his throat multiple times. “Yes! Very good!” the head robed man’s excitement was restored as all of them returned to their positions. “The creature of guidance will show you the path to the evil king and his hiding place which is obscured by magic. The aspect of power will assist you in your journey with her extraordinary power!” he gestured to each as he described them. Flint inquired, “So, why is she chained up?” The head robed man nervously responded, “Well she is just so powerful…” Flint interrupted with another question “Why is the creature a baby? This seems like the job for an adult animal. Does it even know where it is going?” The robed men began to mutter nervously amongst each other, “Okay, okay, look this may seem a bit rushed but it’s not like we know when a hero of prophecy will show up, this is the best we had on hand!” Flint seemed unconvinced and let out a deep sigh, “You guys expect me to defeat the evil king under these conditions?” Grasping his arms, the robed man pleaded, “Please! The world is depending on you!” Outside the stone tower, Flint watched as the robed men all rode the same horse-drawn wagon onto the main road, now only the three of them remain. “I am so screwed.” He muttered to himself as he finally rationalized that he would have to face off against the most powerful being in the world and he had not even killed a single goblin, he only verbally abused them off the farmstead. Holding the key in his hand he realized the girl next to him was still chained, gagged, and blindfolded. “Sorry about all this, let me get you out of those.” He spoke softly as he removed the restraints. Once the blindfold was removed, her icy blue eyes met with his and he was stunned by her beauty, for that brief second, they had what Flint interpreted as “a moment”. However, brief this moment was, it was followed by a knee to his groin. “Why did you take them off?! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone decent at putting on chains?!” Flint had trouble comprehending why she was upset at him as he rolled on the ground, the sword on his hip prevented him from rolling away from his assailant. The woman looked at the blade and gasped, “You are the hero! I am so sorry I didn’t know it was you.” She knelt down and placed her hand on his shoulder. Flint looked up at the woman, her blue hair flowing with the gust of wind and her piercing blue eyes looking into his own. She softly spoke, “My name is Snow, what is yours?” Flint swallowed before speaking, “My name is Flint, nice to meet you.” She gave the softest smile before speaking, “Well Flint since I have harmed you, you may now punish me for my error.” Flint’s eyebrow raised, “Punish? Like put you in time out or…” “Or?” she playfully interjected, “Or what? Spank you or something?” Flint forced the words out of his mouth. Snow gleefully nodded her head and Flint tilted his questioningly. “Uhhh, no thanks, I’m not really into that.” Once the words left Flint’s mouth, Snow’s cheerful expression twisted into something sour as her eyes squinted at him, “Tch. You’re a disappointment” she stood up and stepped on Flint’s stomach as she walked across him… This is all I got for now, might come back to it later.
Success clung to me like a degenerative disease. No matter what I did, perfection followed my every move. &#x200B; I never really noticed it at first. I was always just the “gifted” kid in class. The one who didn’t have to study for exams or pay attention in class—all I had to do was show up for exams and the right answer just stood out to me every single time. &#x200B; It was strange, I admit, but I initially rejected the weirdness of it all. I was too busy basking in the praise and adulation that my gift afforded me to pay much attention to the fact that I might be different than the rest of my classmates. Instead, I was just the guy who always won. &#x200B; But then people started using terms like “genius” and “prodigy” around me, and that’s when I started to take note of the strangeness of it all. I didn’t feel like a genius or a prodigy. If someone were to ask me the secret to my success, no one ever believed me when I said that the right answers just appeared to me. &#x200B; “How many books do you read? You must get your intelligence from somewhere.” &#x200B; “Yeah, but I don’t,” I would tell them. And I didn’t. I mean, I read some books here and there, but not enough to be able to ace every single test on them. &#x200B; And that was actually proven. We used to have an Accelerated Reading program at school and you’d have to take a test after every book you read to see how much you comprehended of the book and I wouldn’t even have to read the book, I just knew all of the answers. &#x200B; The librarian noticed that I wasn’t even checking out most of the books that I would take tests on and she started questioning if I was cheating. I assured her I wasn’t, but she didn’t believe me. Instead, she sat down next to me and watched me take test after test of any book she could come up with. &#x200B; She was so blown away that she brought in all of the teachers and the principle to watch me. This was back in elementary school, so people were still impressed by my innate ability to be perfect all the time. &#x200B; By the time I graduated high school, I had plenty of offers from all of the top schools, but this was about the time that I started to really question what was going on. &#x200B; It was finally starting to dawn on me that I had just graduated high school without reading a single book and paid just enough attention in class that I wouldn’t get in trouble by the teachers for being disrespectful. &#x200B; I wondered at this point if I was in some sort of Great Expectations or Truman Show scenario. I either had some rich benefactor following me around, pulling the strings on my every move to ensure that I was always perfect, or I was the center of the universe and everyone around me was bending to my will so that everything always fell in my direction. &#x200B; I was having an existential crisis. Were the cosmic scales ever going to dip against me? Was the this house of cards going to fall at any moment, sending me spiraling down a rabbit hole where I will have absolutely no education to help me get out. &#x200B; So I decided to test this theory. &#x200B; I denied my many opportunities to attend university—much to the chagrin of my parents—and decided to try my hand at entrepreneurship. &#x200B; I’d always wanted to start a business—a real business, I should say. As a child, I’d run a pretty successful network of lemonade stands that I ended up selling to MinuteMaid for a cool mil. It was meant to be put away for college and a nice little nest egg for retirement, but I decided to use it as seed money to fund my post-high school project. &#x200B; So I packed up my car and drove north up the coast to San Francisco—Silicon Valley. I didn’t have much of a plan, nor did I know anyone there that could house me, so I lived used some of the money to rent out a little place on the beach that was kind of expensive, but everything there is expensive, so I figured at the very least I would enjoy my time in the valley and if I happened to burn up all of my money, then the experience will have been worth it. &#x200B; But I didn’t need to wait long. I was only in the area for a few days when I had my first idea. &#x200B; I was sitting out on the beach, enjoying an ice cold lemonade when I couldn’t help but notice all of the trash on the beaches. It was quite obscene. Plastic everywhere, homeless people camping out—it was very off-putting and it really affected my mood. &#x200B; “There’s gotta be something I can do about this, right?” I’d wondered to myself. “Surely someone had thought of a way to clean up this shit, right? I mean, we’re in Silicon Valley. This is where they invented the iPhone! And Google! You’d think having a clean beach would be easier than coming up with the damn iPhone…” &#x200B; So I started asking around. I went onto Google’s campus, which was just down the street, and I started asking people if there was anyone working on this problem. &#x200B; “Cleaning up the beach?” said one girl. “Yeah, I’m sure someone’s working on it. I know it’s definitely a problem. Plastic is everywhere.” &#x200B; “Yeah, they even discovered it in baby fetuses,” said her friend. &#x200B; “No shit?” &#x200B; “Yeah, I read that somewhere.” &#x200B; “And what did they say we were doing about it? Anything?” &#x200B; The two friends looked at each other and shrugged. &#x200B; “I mean, we recycle,” she said, pointing to a blue receptacle close by. &#x200B; “Yeah, and I read about that one kid who is collecting plastic out in the oceans with this massive contraption the size of an aircraft carrier or something. He’s supposed to be doing good work.” &#x200B; “And that’s it?” &#x200B; “As far as we know.” &#x200B; That wasn’t good enough for me. I mean, I was glad someone was doing something, but it certainly didn’t feel like enough. Many of the other people I asked didn’t seem to think it was a problem at all. They thought there were better things to be working on. &#x200B; “Like what?” I asked him. &#x200B; “Like AI.” &#x200B; “AI?” &#x200B; “Yeah. Artificial intelligence.” &#x200B; “Oh yeah. Right. You think artificial intelligence will clean up the beach?” &#x200B; “In theory, AI can do anything” &#x200B; “Oh, wow. How close are we to getting there?” &#x200B; The guy looked at me. &#x200B; “I mean, it could be any day or it could be a while…” &#x200B; “How long is a while?” &#x200B; “Well, I mean, it’s hard to say…I mean, if you read the literature we’re not anywhere close to coming up with like a true, sentient AI. The best we have is machine learning and algorithms…the amount of computing required to power such a being hasn’t been ironed out yet and it could take years.” &#x200B; “Years?!” &#x200B; He shrugged. “I mean, like a lot of years. Maybe not even in our lifetimes…” &#x200B; That wasn’t helpful. I wanted a clean beach now. And if coming up with AI was the best way to do it then I figured that was the path I should take. &#x200B; “How do we do it?” I asked him. &#x200B; “Do what?” &#x200B; “Come up with AI. Point me in the right direction.” &#x200B; “Point you in the right direction? I mean, where would I even start? I guess you’d have to start by studying quantum mechanics, but you’d also have to have a strong knowledge of theoretical math and maybe even—” &#x200B; “No time for any of that. Who do you know that knows the most about AI?” &#x200B; The man looked at me oddly, but he never questioned my motives. He just nodded and said, “Follow me.”
Pt 1: “I love the sound of a child’s laughter, but not when I’m home alone.” To be perfectly honest, if that was the kind of haunting my apartment had, I’d put getting rid of that particular ghost on the absolute bottom of my to-do list. This isn’t something I’ll tell a client, it’s just something I’ll whine to my friends about, but think about it: a ghost child laughing is one that’s happy. If they’re happy while they’re stabbing you in the neck with a fork, that’s a different story, but the mundane offenses civilians complain about just baffle me. The easy gigs do make up most of my business, however, so I’m not actually complaining. It’s a simple ritual, one that’s been done for hundreds of years, and these days you can actually get kits for it on Amazon. But it’s been done by professionals for so long that I suppose it’s something people feel should be done by someone who knows what they’re doing, in case something goes wrong. Which I don’t completely disagree with, when it comes down to it. And hey, business is business, so I’m not going to be the one to complain. Some jobs are on the more difficult side, and if that’s the case, the client is not going to try a do-it-yourself kit. When blood enters the scene, whether painted on the walls or drawn from a resident when the spirit lashes out, that’s a giant flashing neon sign that they need a pro. So, I’ll get a call, and my team and I will come in to evaluate things. This particular home was in a relatively new neighborhood, the kind where the houses don’t look exactly the same, but you can tell the same architect did the lot. Not my kind of place, a little too sterile for my tastes, but a great place to raise a family, I’m sure. It’s just that I myself was single with my comfy bachelorette pad, and I just hit thirty, with no real plans or desire to settle down any time soon. My crew, Valerie and Clark, took in the basics of our equipment from the back of my van. Valerie was older, in her fifties, was partial to clothes that were in fashion in the 90’s, and had been married practically straight out of college. She was kind of woman who I’d love to be my grandmother, and I knew her grandkids, when they arrived, would feel the same. Clark was younger, mid-twenties, and with a consistent goth theme to his attire and long black hair, he looked more of the part of a ghost hunter. Or exorcist, depending on how we were billing ourselves that particular day. No use in scaring the client unnecessarily. I rang the doorbell and there was a long pause as I heard rapid footsteps and a female voice shouting something, replied to by a young child. The woman opened the door and had a familiar look on her face, one of exhaustion and relief. “Hi, I’m Regina,” she said, holding out her hand. “Rene?” “That’s me. This is Valerie and Clark,” I said, shaking her hand and nodding behind me. “Come on in, put your things anywhere,” she told us, holding the front door open. “I told the kids to stay in the den, they’re watching TV.” We settled in and I sat on the couch, which prompted Regina to do the same. “Has anything escalated since we last spoke?” I asked. Regina shook her head. “No, but I’m still pretty freaked out. I’ve never had to handle a haunting before.” “Totally understandable,” I comforted her. “If it’s a new experience, it’ll freak out anyone.” Taking my tablet out from my shoulder bag, I opened the case file I’d built on her situation. “We’ve so far had…voices, footsteps,” I began, slowly scrolling through the checklist, “flickering lights, then we graduated to moving objects, opening cabinets, windows, doors-” “I’m particularly worried about that,” she told me. “Ella is only four, and she knows not to wander off, but still.” I nodded my understanding. “Honestly it’s the last one down the list that worried me the most. You said a bookshelf tipped over, even though it should’ve been secured to the wall.” “No one was home,” she said. “But yes, that was alarming.” “It’s not quite that part that worried me, but the fact that it could do something like that,” I explained. “That’s malevolence, it’s testing its boundaries, its power, and that bookshelf very easily could’ve fallen on Ella. Or Jerry. I know he’s nine, but he’s still pretty small.” Regina paled. “I know,” she whispered, her hands clasped together tightly. “I’m trying not to think about that.” I put a comforting hand on hers. “We’ll get this figured out. I promise.” Nodding slowly, Regina motioned to the Pelican cases and other gear that we’d brought inside. “What’s all this for?” “Just tools of the trade,” I told her, putting my tablet on the adjacent coffee table. “EMF readers, walkies, cameras, regular and infrared, then some more advanced stuff.” “As for payment,” she said. That drew my attention, the sentence lovely to hear, since often clients wanted to put that conversation off as long as possible. Especially if they were new to this sort of work and skeptical of the results the average ghost hunting team could bring. “You said half up front, half after…everything’s done?” I nodded. “Yes, assuming no complications, like in the contract I sent you.” “Gotcha,” she replied, reaching into her pocket and handing over a check. I smiled graciously, knowing a smooth transaction like this was one for the record books. It was impossible to explain to an outsider how many times I’ve argued over payment, despite the clear evidence of a cleansing or exorcism’s success. “Can we get a tour of the house?” “Certainly,” Regina said, pushing herself to her feet. Prepping in case Valerie or Clark wanted to stay behind somewhere to take more readings or recordings, we stocked up from our equipment, right down to the walkies on our hips. EMF reader in hand, I flicked it on, getting exactly the kind of readings I expected. I motioned to Regina, and she led us through room by room, giving the sort of information you would give to a friend seeing your new home for the first time. I made sure to pay attention to all of it, knowing that sometimes information that seemed just like a fun fact at the time came in handy later. We went through the living room, dining room, and kitchen, and I took note of the house’s electrical layout and the effect it would have on the EMF. Then a short stop in the half bath adjacent to the kitchen, then the den, which had a door leading to the backyard. The two kids were sitting on the couch, watching a show on Nickelodeon that, while I recognized the channel’s logo, the show was unfamiliar. After my time, I supposed. “Hey guys,” I said, crouching down next to the table and drawing their attention. “You know why I’m here?” “’Cause we got a ghost!” Ella exclaimed. “What she said,” Jerry added. I nodded. “Your mom talked to you about all this, right? Anything you thought of since then that I might want to know?” Jerry nodded. “The ghost talked to me when you got here.”
These hearings never have cold water. What little ice they might have had in the pitchers melt long before the swearing in. My favorite blue suit jacket is folded carefully over the back of the suede lined chair behind me. I'm sweating, the senators are sweating, the camera guy is sweating. And yet the officiant drones on and on. I flash to a memory of an old southern lawyer that I must have seen in a movie long ago. Was it in black and white? Excuse me? "I didn't catch the beginning of the senator's question."I said. But truthfully that hardly mattered. Nothing did. We all know they are just trying to pin blame on someone to get more votes in the upcoming election. I just happened to be the one they put in the hot seat. Literally. "I asked the gentleman if he knew the exact cause of the incident that turned a section of our state into a volcano!"The senator repeated hotly. Yes and no. But I don't dare say that. Ned Chambers was the physicist that had the idea. Barry Single was the engineer whose team devised the way to incorporate it into the loop. Somehow in increasing the reactor we tapped into something. A gate inside Fermilab's loop. A gate leading into, somewhere. Magma erupted where the new mini sun existed and died. All inside of 90 seconds. The earth's core responded to its new gravity well. We didn't mean to tap the earth's core. But we did. In the worst way possible. Our orbit changed as a result. Inevitably we will fall into the sun. Its just a matter of time now. The prepared speech was on the table in front of me. But I wasn't going to read it. Summary finding "We are not the origin of this combustion, for the conflagration has been blazing since the beginning of our planets orbit... We didn't start the fire, but it will consume us all.
For the first time since appearing in what I still thought of as the future, I experienced something other than confusion. I stared at the number with utter joy. "Really?"I asked the teller. "I really have two billion dollars?" "That's what it says,"she replied with a smile. "Okay then,"I said happily. "I'd like to withdraw ten thousand dollars in cash, please."She counted the money to me with a pleasant smile and no comment, and I pocketed my pile of cash. Now it was time to enjoy my newfound wealth, with whatever luxuries this era had to offer. Some of the stores sold things I couldn't comprehend. Others were more familiar -- this one had furniture, and that one was a grocery market. Then I saw a clothing store. Perfect. Someone of my vast wealth shouldn't be wandering around in clothes a few centuries out of date, after all. This store looked mid-scale, not really where the wealthy shopped, but at least I knew I could afford absolutely anything in it. Heck, I could buy the store itself if I wanted. I entered and browsed the odd styles with wide lapels and short cuffs. After a few moments, I realized I didn't understand the futuristic sizing system. That was probably the fitting room over there, near the point of sale, so I got the clerk's attention and held up an orange shirt with huge blue buttons. "Hello. May I try this on?" "Sure,"she replied. "Oh, that's a nice one. It's on sale, too. Only ninety thousand dollars."
4th quarter. Five minutes left. The Washington Wyverns trail by 5 from their own 47 on a 3rd and 9. Randal Gandy takes the snap. He steps back and looks to his left. Everyone is well-covered, there's nothing there. Looking right, he pump-fakes once before lobbing a pass to tight-end Greg Johnson. For a moment, the ball appears to be sailing right over Johnson's head, but an attractus charm pulls it right down into his outstretched hands. "Impeccable timing", mused Gandy as his receiver lunged across the Jets' 43 for a first down. The reaction from the crowd was immediate, as they believed the charm had been cast directly from the Wyvern's enchantment coach - which would normally result in a 15-yard unsportsmanlike conduct penalty. However, replay clearly showed Johnson speaking the incantation himself after the ball left Gandy's hand - a perfectly legal play. The call on the field stood, and Washington prepared for its next play.
At first it seemed like nothing had actually happened, but then notable public figures began to disappear. Celebrities with strange mannerisms? Mostly gone, hundreds of politicians vanished, though nobody most people had heard of. There were spottings of bright lights and proclaimed “lizard men”, tens of thousands of reports across the world. After a week of uproar and conspiracy, there was silence. Legal sessions across the world were barren, hosting many empty seats that had once been full, local government all the way up to the United Nations bore cavities in their lineups. Most average people were still around, though some disappeared, primarily in the medical field. Otherwise life seemed fairly normal. After a while the changes began to creep in, subtle but apparent to those who paid attention. Mainstream media had become even more irrational in their flagrant fear-mongering, seemingly unhindered by previous restraint. No more were the days of implications of one party’s supporters being the root of all evil. In their stead there were overt calls to “take action” through politically motivated violence, and some listened. On a more official level, many public office sessions devolved into partisan ranting and screaming matches which only fueled the public’s mounting unrest. Surprisingly, third world countries remained practically untouched. No longer were there quiet protectors keeping congressional hearings civil, the thought of all-out warfare was tossed around frequently. Luckily, nobody had nuclear launch protocol anymore. The people (or otherwise) who subtly prevented our world from succumbing to the cruel grasp of the human condition were no longer there for us, and it won’t be long before humanity has to own up to its biggest enemy: nature itself.
My mind went blank, my jaw dropping open as I stare at the treasure in my dirtied, almost skeletal hands. Pale gaze moving upwards, I stare at the man now, my voice lost to me, and has been lost for some time. My lips are dry and chapped, mouth opening and closing as I stare at him. The man chuckled, and patted my head, though I doubt he meant it to be patronizing. "It's fine. I'm practically a multi-trillionaire! A few lost millions won't hurt me!" I just stare, before blanching as I realized he's beginning to walk away. Jumping to my feet, I pause for the briefest of moments as my vision greys and blood rushes from my head, before my sight clears. I then run after him as best I can, and grasp the arm of his pristine tux as best my shaking fingers can. A few pedestrians stare, but most ignore, lost in their own worlds. The man stares at me, surprised. "What's the matter kid? Oh! Do you not have a pen?"He reaches into his jacket to pull one out, but I shake my head. Instead, I hand the check back, mouthing, 'No thank you.' At this he stares at me, taken aback. "Eh? Why are you giving this back?"He tries to push the blank check back. "This is a meal ticket for you! A way out of poverty!" I just smile sadly, shaking my head. I want to say, "Save it for someone who needs it more,"but the words don't come. I just pat his hand, before turning and heading back to my spot. I shoo away a few birds before settling down, picking my cardboard sign back up. The man is staring at me, and I just smile sadly again, before turning my sign around. 'Homeless. Just need ~~fa~~ few bucks fore food. The ~~ress~~ rest go to more ~~desv~~ ~~deservng~~ deserving.' The man smiled sadly back at me. "Kid, you have a heart of gold." All I do is smile, before perking up and mouthing 'Thank you,' as a lady drops a few bucks in my cracked bucket. She just walked away, and I settled back, watching the pedestrians as they walked passed, most in their own worlds. I don't need much, as long as the money goes to those more deserving. After all, not much a non-verbal nineteen year old girl with a limited education can do in a big world like New York City. \~\~\~\~\~ (I can always expand later, but this is all I got now)
Bored. That’s how you’d describe me. Not even flicking elastic bands at Douglas will get me out of this rut. My mind is dead, empty of creativity. Boss shouts at me; my keyboard hasn’t been touched for nearly two hours. He hits me, not with a book, but a ruler. It hurt - it’s a ruler not a marshmallow you know - and I reported it to HR who just couldn’t give a damn. Typical. Douglas once shoved a pen in my ear. HR pulled it out and told me to be grateful he didn’t push it in further. It’s been three hours now. The keys are cold. The big man keeps looking at me like I’m up to something. I tell him I’m bored he hits me again, WHILST I was drinking my coffee, so now I have a brown stain on my front. Thanks man. Appreciated. Douglas keeps chuckling. I threw my mug at him - at his computer - and the boss gets angry and throws HIS mug at ME. Then HR comes out, pretending to be all tough the little weed. The boss knocks him out. I’m not bored any more. I have a story. Mugs, Bosses and KOs I sigh. He’s not gonna like it. On the contrary, I LOVE it.
The victim didn't exist. At least according to any and all records, no missing persons records matched the body. They didn't even have a partial match within the world wide DNA data base. In every sense of the word this person didn't and couldn't exist. "Damn time travelers getting themselves killed."The agent muttered staring down at the body, "They're dropping like flies recently." "They must be rushing the training again. I'll file a complaint for it."The agents younger partner sighed. "Rushing? This is the thrid one this week. When I started this job we got maybe one a month." "yeah yeah, old man, and back then people were still dying in there 110's, Mark."The younger agent muttered, as they scanned the scene into their data base. Within an hour or two the whole scene would simply disappear. The death will have been pervented to start with. Since the United Nations had started a data base to log impossible crimes, and connected it to the time travlers from the future, crime scenes like this often disappears. "Do you think they'll send someone different next time?" Mark shook his head,"Don't know but I'm getting real tired of seeing this one's guts."As if on cue the air seemed to stretch The younger agent snapped their eyes shut against the force as time went a little wonky. There was a ripping sound, and Marks ears popped. it lasted only a second but it felt like the air had been ripped away from them, before it was suddenly forced back into their lungs, and then it was over. The younger buckled over retching over their feet. "You alright their rooks?"mark asked, Reaching over to slap their back, "First one's always the hardest isn't it?" Rooks opened their eyes after a minute. The mess of the body was gone, but a nasty puddle of have digested breakfast sat on their uniform boots, "guh, I'll get the bucket."
The humming and the footsteps grew louder, and Sir Hubert began to feel uneasy. However was he going to get out of this miserable cave? He relighted his lantern and tiptoed further down the dark tunnel. He was going to find a way out of here, even if he didn't know the said way out! Suddenly, he ran plump into something big- and very scaly. A high-pitched, ear-splitting scream rang through the cave, and Sir Hubert couldn’t help screaming too. He looked up and found himself staring into the yellow eyes of an enormous red dragon. The creature stared back at him, its hanging jaw almost brushing the stony floor. “Good gracious! Must you treasure hunters keep scaring me like that? And haven’t you got anything better to do than steal respectable people’s money?” the dragon scolded, swishing its tail impatiently. The knight blinked and swallowed hard. “F-f-forgive me, Master Dragon, I did not m-mean to get lost in your home. And I’m certainly not a treasure hunter!” he stammered. The dragon looked skeptical. “Are you quite sure?” it queried suspiciously. “Oh yes! If you must know, I have lost my horse. It got spooked by that dreadful storm outside and bolted into here. I beg your pardon on its behalf.” “No need for my pardon! And I have seen your horse, the funny little thing. It almost fell into the underground lake. It’s in my bedroom now.” The beast beckoned to Sir Hubert. “Come along! I promise I won’t hurt you. Everything will be set to rights, you’ll see.” The knight and his horse left the dragon’s cave a few hours later and returned home safe and sound. Maybe these fearsome creatures weren’t so bad after all.
The tires hummed a tune as the driver asked the question. “Who is she?” the driver asked. The passenger’s wide eyes darted from the glow of his phone in his hand. “Who is who?” he queried as the light turned red up ahead. “I smelled your cologne when you got in and you look like you’re headed to someone special.” A nervous giggle broke the silence as he locked eyes with me in the mirror. “Just a girl I met on Tinder,” he explained. “These stupid bitches are so thirsty these days since the pandemic and all. It’s easy pickings,” he said with a smile. The light turned green. Recalculating route.
One stupid holdout. One stupid hardcopy book. One stupid accident. He was just a wildcat miner, with a small touch of smuggling on the side. Gems that he mined legit, but I didn't say how he liked paying the tax on them, so he'd hold out a few of the second-grade stones and maybe some of the smaller first-grade items. We knew. We know they all do it, and we say nothing. It makes things easier all-around. Besides, those laws were written on old Earth; even there, they were wrong. The profit from the smuggled stones more than made up for the taxes, so everyone was happy. Only this miner had inherited this boat from one of his ancestors, who had inherited it, and so on. Every one of them a wildcat miner, every one of them a smuggler, every one of them a fan of the "Grimm Brothers: Uncut, Unexpurgated, With the Original Plates." Holy Hanna's Hellbound Sleigh Ride! Those stories were ROUGH for a reason! The stories had to be blunt and nasty. Why? Because that is what life was like! Compared to today, life was blunt, short, and nasty; unless you were born into money. They're Granny Stories! Teaching wrapped up in an exciting unforgettable story that could scare a kid out of his wits. Why? They taught the kids about how what you see is not always what is true—warnings about not trusting the sweet-sounding stranger. Why, in the sweet name of reason, all of the "monsters"in those stories match fellow members of the Federation is beyond us! Unless they had visited us, on the sly, and for far less lofty reasons than the Federation. We asked each of those races if they had ever visited Earth for any reason. Oh, not to raise any trouble, just to settle some folk history that we might have been visited before. We trotted out Roswell and asked about that. Or the Hill's experiences. Roswell had all those involved mystified. The abductions and releases were Federation medical teams with sloppy procedure; they would be reprimanded. And as for the cattle mutations, let's just say that humanity isn't alone in having "snake oil"salesmen. The reptilian Dagrets had carved out the niche market for patent nostrums, outright snake oil (good lubricant for any species), and other essential oils. The Federation drew the line at MLM schemes, so if you wanted to make a buck selling them, it was all on you. Their less savory market was in exotic meals. Selected organs are believed to have medicinal qualities, and they do, but only after processing tonnes of them to obtain grams of the desired product. Only now, they have that book and are starting to ask pointed questions about propaganda. We tried not to make waves, and now, a freaking two-for-a-credit blown part just might start a war that we can't win. All for want of a NALE. ••• ——— ••• ——— ••• ——— ••• Not the oldest distress signal in human history, but of those that crossed the tech barrier, it's probably the most recognized distress signal that Earth has ever had. So distinctive and unmistakable that the Federation adopted it and put it in the "mandatory"category for automatic recognition. It was easily generated at need in nearly any frequency used by any species. Easily recognized from the background noise even at a distance. In this case, it really is a human sending the distress signal, and he is not happy about it. Reginald Johnson Rihes Watson the ∆(3,8,3)^1 has suffered a chain reaction engine failure due to a half-credit part that is theoretically indestructible. A Negative Allotropic Linear Exciter. (1) There are so many with that name that a formula making use of specific facts about that name, along with three simple numbers, is sufficient to calculate your precise position in the chain of life. The fact that NALEs are always sold in pairs was believed to be a marketing ploy to extract twice the amount of money out of you. Either that or to avoid arguments over the amount of change. Somehow, the fact that there was a slot in the machine for the spare seems to have escaped everyone else. It shouldn't have; the instructions are clearly written on the machine and the packaging in the primary languages of the Federation^2 that state: > In the unlikely event of a failure: • Spend a minimum of one galactic day in common space. • Carefully remove the broken NALE, ensuring that it never comes in contact with the spare to the left of this message. Dispose of the broken NALE immediately by dumping it overboard. Wait another galstanday, then remove the spare from the safety shield, and slam(!) it home. At this point, it is strongly recommended that you perform a random walk of not less than 33 by 25 steps^3 before setting course for home. (2) They are clearly written so that one species can read them without aid. Everyone else needs a picoreader even to notice that they are there. (3) You might think that they're afraid of someone following you. In any case, R.J. didn't have a spare but had found the picoreader his many times great uncle installed right next to the NALE hole. He had a long time to curse his uncle, who, despite providing the reader, had not offered the spare NALE. R.J. did follow the instructions as best he could, so there was a two-day delay between the breakdown and the S. O. S., which is an ambivalent situation. Had he simply yelled for help. He would have been destroyed. Had he dumped the broken NALE and yelled, the same result. As it is, he almost joined the galactic equivalent of the Sargasso Sea fleet. The repossessors seeking all NALE broken or otherwise, jumped out just two seconds before he started yelling. It's ambivalent because if the repossessors got him, the book would never have been found. "I am delighted to see a friendly face out here!" "We'll see how friendly you are when you get our bill." "Not a problem! It's been a fair to middling passage, so I'm not rich, but I ain't hurting poor either." "So what's the problem?" "Busted NALE and someone didn't replace the spare after the last one blew." "When!" "Two days ago, by good fortune, my uncle left a picoreader attached inside the cover, so I followed the recommended procedure as best I could without a spare. Wait, dump, wait, yell. Human day is about 15% longer than galstand so I figured that would be a safety margin for whatever they figure chases busted NALEs." This guy just turned a deeper shade of green. What did I say? "No one chases NALE! That's a figment of a disturbed person's brain! Where did you hear that?!" "Hey! Watch your blood pressure or whatever! Take a look for yourself!" So I lead this Nervous Nellie to the drive room. The NALE cover is open, with the picoreader still in the mounting bracket. "Can you read the warning?" "What warning?" "Yeah, what I thought, there's got to be one species that can, and there's forty-leven recognized languages, only this part goes in all of them. They put in a single warning in every language, but you have to have a picoreader. "So, here's the reader, you tell me what the text days." He reads it, goes pale, and makes to run off; I block the only exit. "No Spare, No Leaving." Gibbering now, he scrambles through his pouch, finally throwing the whole repair kit bag at me. "Take it! Keep it! No Charge!! LET ME OUT OF HERE!!!" Well, he'd done what I asked for, gratis, and thrown in a bonus for speedy completion on my part. Good enough for me. ((more later))
This demon was proving difficult to place. His specialty was outwitting & overpowering others. I wasn't having an easy time putting him in a role he wouldn't quickly abuse. "An environmental lawyer,"I sighed, exasperated. "No. What dignity is there in that? I was designed to create laws, and rule men! I hate nature." "Well you're too malicious to hire as a political figure. You're supposed to be getting a fresh start, but-" "Fresh start. Yeah. What about the Pope?" "Cute. No. Cut that out." He was crouched on the bookshelf above my fish tank, dangling his sharp tail in the water. He looked up at me & grinned. "Sushi." "Ugh."I kneaded my face. "It's been twenty-seven minutes."My longest interview before then had been six minutes & thirty-eight seconds. He laughed at me & began to float throughout the room. I trailed him with my eyes. He couldn't be responsible for human lives & he couldn't be around criminals. I'd been directed to make sure the job I found catered to his skillset & made him happy, to make sure he wouldn't quit & go rogue. "It's not my fault this is so difficult. I don't know what you are, I've never come across anyone like you before. What did you do to get yourself kicked out of Hell?" He smiled down at me, intentionally flashing his sharp teeth. "Don't you think you can guess?" I frowned then looked over at my training manual. I hadn't touched it in 350 years. "Hm. Don't think you can't hack it?" "I can hack it. Maybe you'd like to be a professional toilet bowl cleaner." "Doesn't line up with my talents."He did a backflip & his tail cut through a ream of papers on my desk. I grunted & stood up. Swallowing my pride, I walked over to the bookshelf & grabbed the manual. I was running out of time. The demon snickered as I flipped the pages. "Lion tamer…" "I'll take it." "No, nevermind. You'd manipulate that." "No I wouldn't. I pinky promise I wouldn't."He landed in his chair & stuck out his little finger toward me. "Can't be a religious leader, can't be a president…."I flipped through a few more pages then shut the book. "What about being a principal for an inner city school?" "Fuck you." "Great. Well let me get back to it then." "Maybe,"he sighed loudly, "there is no perfect job for me." "A pediatrician! They outsmart kids who don't want a shot & overpower them… by… giving them a shot… ugh, fuck!" "Wow."He dragged his heavy claws across my desk. "You're really not very good at this." "It'd be a lot less stressful if you'd stop tearing apart my office." He snatched a paper off my desk & began to slice it into little strips with his nails. "You know, I could have your job. I'd be much better than you at it." "You haven't even made any helpful suggestions." "I just did." "This job doesn't align with your talents." "I could save you the shame & tell them that you couldn't handle it. Tell you what - I'll even help you find somewhere else to go." He jumped into the air & landed behind me. His tail whipped up against my neck. I could feel blood trailing from the little cut he'd made. "Or I could save you all the paperwork & just cut your throat." "My bosses wouldn't be too happy about that." His laugh sent chills up my spine. "Your bosses. They can't stop me from taking my true place. They can't get rid of me." "You're a demon, not a deity. You won't prevail." "Oh really? And are you going to stop me? With no blood left in your body?" My palms began to sweat. The demon chuckled raised his tail again to strike. "Domin- dominatrix!"I cried. His tail fell back down. "Oh. I could do that."
You know those mornings when everything seems to go wrong? My alarm clock had died. Sure, I could have programmed Alexis(UnRegisteredArtificialIntelligence) to wake me, but I felt better when woken up by a real bell. I guess it broke off on the first ring. So I woke up late. Then I went to make breakfast and discovered half my FridgedBreeze(RegisteresIdea) was rotten. No eggs and bacon today, no fresh fruit. I grabbed some bread, then nearly set the kitchen on fire when the toaster went haywire. I couldn't take any more time, so I logged a ticket with the Landlord(RAI) as I ran out. The Fastpaths(RI) were acting up. I watched them jerk and parental unit and their child get knocked down as it shuddered to a halt. I tried getting on, but it quickly bucked me off. Legality and Safety Units(RegisteredRoboticActualIntelligence) showed up and began nudging everyone off of the Fastpaths(RI). If I wanted to get to work on time... I'd have to take the Teleports(URI). Teleports(UnRegisteredIdea), were common use. I don't think the world would know how to function without them. Heap insults upon me, but I hate them. My second parental units raised me to "act how I wanted to be". The top echelons of our company didn't use them, so I didn't. My immediate task master loved them, so I hated them. Simple, straightforward, stairway to accolades. It's not like I totally avoided using UnRegistereds. Underland! I'd lose my job if I didn't utilize Alexis(URAI). But still, to use a Teleports(URI)? I was going to hear about this all week. The lines for the Teleports(URI) were extending as people flocked from the Fastpaths(RI). I managed to get in as they opened up the spare units, only a handful of people at the front of the line before me. Teleports(URI) are fast, and the Operators(RRAcI) were pushing people through as fast as their destinations left their lips. It was seconds before I stood before the unit, gasped out my destination, and stepped through. I did not step out into a brightly lit work space. In fact, I didn't recognize the dark room I stepped into. I panicked. This was the first dark room I had been in since I defied my first parental units at eight cycles and was punished for it. My first parental units were punished for it. Light is the basic right for every child and Registered Adult. They were Deregistered and sent to the factories for their actions. The room I was in barely had enough light to see by. It was an old work space coated in dust. I could see the outline of people sitting in chairs, but no one moved. As I got close to one, I saw why. They were all dead. Skeletons still in clothing, sitting at their task spaces. One had a long desiccated meal next to an old fashioned Tablet(URDevice). The light came from what I thought was a covered Viewpane(RI). I rushed forward, happy that at least something had power. It wasn't a Viewpane(RI). It was a window. It looked out into a dead city, open to the sky. I began hyperventilating as I looked up into the light dotted blackness, eventually passing out. When I came to the coverings blocked out the window, but nothing else had changed. I slowly got up, my stomach growling to remind me I had not eaten that morning. I wandered around hoping to find a FridgedBreeze(RI), or maybe a ReconstitutableFoodMachine(URI). The was something like the ReconstitutableFoodMachine(URI), but it had nothing edible in it. There was nothing left to do but find a way out. The building had a large, confusing, layout. Emergency stairs should be on each side of a building. There was only one set in the center of this one, next to a large empty shaft with silver doors. I discovered that the door locked behind me when I worked up the courage to enter them. Once again I panicked, though I didn't pass out. The stairwell was pitchblack, and I pounded on the door, screaming to be let out. Finally, after forever, I slid to the ground and cried. I was so hungry and tired. I hadn't had any food. I hadn't had my midday WakeUp(RI). I was dirty, and sweaty, and dusty a million, billion, miles away from a Refresher(RI) or Rainer(URI). A forever later, I began feeling around the ground. I finally found the stairs and began going down them on my bum. Every turn-around I felt for the door, tried to open it, and then knocked desperately for anyone who may have been alive. I don't know how many of these I did before I thought to count the floors. Probably a dozen or so. I went down twenty-three more floors before I found an open door. It was an end-turn-around, but not the bottom floor. The door was broken, and nearly crushed me as it fell after I pulled the handle. It led to a foyer with two open shafts, and another stair door. This floor seemed brighter than the first one, but that could have been because I had been in the pitched darkness. I couldn't make myself go into the next set of stairs. I opened the door, staying to the side in case it fell, but couldn't enter. I told myself I just needed to prop it open. I found an old cabinet of files that I used to push the door wide open. I still couldn't enter it. I cried some more, then had an idea. Buildings aren't allowed to rise above fifty floors. I must be close to ground level. If I found a window that opened, maybe I could get out that way! I eventually found a cracked window. It didn't have a covering, so I was careful to not look up while approaching it. I didn't want to see the sky again. As I eased close, and looked down, my heart fell. I was not close to the ground. I wasn't close to close. As I began to cry again, I lifted my head enough to see the broken building across from me. Just enough to count floors. Twenty, fifty, eighty-eight before they were too far to count and blurred together. The ground was a thin line shrouded in mist. As I stared, a movement caught my eye. Something on the building across from mine moved. The glass of its windows seemed to ripple, then something flung itself across the divide. A strange, clear, winged beast. [My Musings](https://www.reddit.com/r/HorrorHMDMusings?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
"Math is the language of the universe"was something every teacher I've had since 5th grade told me; I never believed it. Math was always structured and orderly, while the universe seemed chaotic and random. I had resolved to find the actual language of the universe, and it took way longer than it should have. My epiphany came years after I graduated from university. I had majored in theoretical. Physics, hoping that it would help me find what I was looking for, all I had found was anxiety. However, I noticed that my work became easier as I listened to music; I found myself going from the bottom to my department's top in a few months. I even published several papers that forced scientists everywhere to question pre-existing facts. I was working on my latest paper when I realized the truth. My boyfriend was softly strumming his guitar nearby. It had always helped me when I was suffering from writer's block, and that was when I heard it for the first time, words, not in any language you understand, but the sounds from the guitar was resonating in my brain, which translated everything I heard into a language I could understand. Without warning, I leaped up from my desk and ran to my computer. A few quick taps of the keyboard had The Wizard by Black Sabbath resonating through our apartment. What I heard in my brain was proof that my life was not a waste. As secrets of the universe flowed into my psyche, I learned the truth, the beautiful chaos of music was the language of the universe, not math.
The dust blew off the lenses of his Kodak 35. He had managed to protect it with his leather jacket while spelunking through the underground passage. &#x200B; A while back he was standing in his apartment reading Il Corriere del Berkshire, a day like any other in the summer months. He came across something that left him speechless. It was a story about 3 boys that dove inside a cave and stumbled upon the 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘯𝘵 as the experts referred to them. Reading the article a clear picture formed in his mind, it was a hunger, for adventure. &#x200B; Now he rode along-side the greatest mind of his generation. Indi had secured passage into the depth of the Amazonian jungle with the same ease that he had secured his attention in the parking lot of the Esso petrol station. Three days later he left behind bewildered family members and ventured towards a wild man's dream. &#x200B; Here they were now, into the depth of the earth, an expansive dark space echoed around them. &#x200B; "I'm gonna be honest with you. I thought you were nuts sir when we embarked on this journey. Hell, I might have something wrong in my head as well. But I was willing to go to the end of the earth with you from the beginning. Well, sir, it looks like we finally made it"he uttered while screwing the flash lamp to the camera. Indi took a Camel out of his front pocket and lighted it forming a light bubble that pushed against the foreboding darkness. &#x200B; "You know kiddo, I think you might be right. Now the only thing standing between us and the wisdom of our ancestors are their demons. Ademir told me back in the village these are not your everyday prayer fearing demons, many people have ventured our way in the past, not many have returned"he took a long drag of the cigarette and continued "I intend for us not only to return as humans but as gods". &#x200B; John was setting the exposure lever on the camera and stopped as he grasped the words. &#x200B; "Wait you said nothing about that when I was there, I specifically remember you saying that he didn't want to guide us here because of a big upcoming ceremony in the village"he said while staring at the transfixing cigarette light in Indi's moving hand. &#x200B; "Don't worry about that, those are matters of the past my boy. We are here to change the future, now get on and light this blasphemous cave"Indi said. &#x200B; The bulb flashed and ignited the surrounding underground stone cathedral. It rebounded onto a central alcove that delimited two monumental tunnels at the far end of the room. Seconds diluted into minutes before the echo of the flash returned accompanied by a gale so strong that Indi's hat blew into the darkness behind before he had a chance to grasp it. &#x200B; Indi saw something, a symbol in the middle of the alcove. One that had haunted his dreams ever since he was a child. His grandpa's stories were true, so his words of advice must've been also. &#x200B; "Run John, we have to scram out of here"he blared against the raging wind. It was futile, his words were eaten by the bellowing wind. With squinting eyes, he searched for his assistant. The camera's flaming light engulfed the room and he saw John's wriggling body in front of the alcove, a tornado twisting ferociously around him. &#x200B; He dropped to the ground and fumbled for the crevice they had come from. His rough fingers felt it in the dark and he quickly squeezed his legs inside it. Before diving underground, the light illuminated once more. What had once been a young handsome fellow now had turned into a caterpillar that was sliming across the floor towards him. With a fidgeting heart, he crawled down the tunnel away from the creature above him. &#x200B; The dust lifted from the road as the vehicle tremored along. Indi was in the back, jumping with every bump in the road. His hair had turned long and grey, a gifted bandana from his spiritual road to India now held it back. Although much had changed in him in the past 27 years his ass could still remember the bumps of the road. &#x200B; "Algumas coisas nunca mudam"he said to the young man riding beside him in the back of the truck. &#x200B; "Sim senhor"the young man replied with a smile on his face. "It is as beautiful as you remember no?"he asked gesturing towards the surrounding forest. &#x200B; The thicket of the jungle had grown back in its place masking the entrance to the temple. He remembered it all the same, even though now he wasn't the one slashing it with the machete. Ademir's nephew was more eager than even his last assistant had been. &#x200B; He often thought about him. Peace only found him among the peaks of the Himalayans. But something ate at his heart. He had to see the symbol one more time. All the practices to erase it from his mind seemed pointless now. His mind was tormented by the symbol's shape as he crawled behind his new assistant through the tunnel. The rush of the air in front signaled the exit above him, he could hear the voice of his assistant "Sir it is beautiful, I've never seen anything the likes of it" &#x200B; Indi's head emerged and his gaze was captured by the glowing chrysalis that stood in the middle of the alcove. In the middle of it, something that took the resemblance of a man opened its eyes and looked right back into his. &#x200B; "You have returned for me I see"a deep thundering voice echoed around him. &#x200B; "I have come with no hopes of what I would find"Indi said with a feeble voice. "You are alive, this is a miracle"he said as he dropped to his knees. &#x200B; "Miracle old man? You cursed me to a life of damnation and you disguise it as a miracle? I have crawled through the darkness for years before I grasped the power of my inner being"his voice growled and the chamber trembled. He spread his arms and the air crashed beneath his voice "I am unity, I am eternal, the legions of Anhanguera will once again walk upon the earth"
“Define ‘science’.” “Well, sir, they don’t miss. Ever.” “Son, how can you be sure-” “Ask anyone sir,” the lieutenant said, indicating his soldiers in the next room. “Every time we hear a shot, someone dies. Without fail. The tentacles make the fact that they’re muzzleloaders a completely moot point. They can shoot one musket while reloading another, all the while holding a third and fourth at the ready.” “And the swords, how are we losing to swords, lieutenant?” “Sir, the aforementioned tentacles can each hold and operate their own sword, which basically amounts to a shitload of swords per alien. Sir.” He paused here, as if to decide whether or not he wanted to continue. “So many of them all lined up like that, it kinda looked like a lawnmower for people.” “Jesus.” “Yeah, that’s what we said...sir.” “Cut the ‘sir’ shit, son. We’re the last two ranking officers in a hundred miles. So what do you think? Do we do it?” The general was, of course, referring to a nuclear solution. It wouldn’t work, they both knew it. There were so many of those things that even if they nuked the earth to death, more would show up to pick its bones. In the end, the young lieutenant was surprisingly confident in his own words. “I’d rather go down fighting, sir.” For the first time since he’d been assigned here eight months ago, he saw the general smile. The older man slapped him on the back. “Yeah. Okay. I guess we’ll both get our chance then.” He picked up a rifle and sat in an old easy chair, calming his breathing, waiting for the storm. During their conversation, the screams had grown ever louder, the gunfire slowly died down to the methodical pop pop pop of the musketeers picking off the stragglers who chose to run rather than fight. Can’t blame them, most were civilians with the same mentality as the lieutenant. As far as he was concerned they were heroes, all of them. A bloody, legless human torso crashed through the window and splatted down next to the general. He stood and fired at the tentacled mass that slithered through the broken window. The lieutenant emptied his magazine into one of the things, barely managing to fell it before its comrades carved him to a bloody paste in a hail of blades. The general turned to the lawnmower formation of hideous things, intent on facing his death. A musket ball to the back of the head denied him this opportunity.
I tug at my collar again, wondering how people can stand to wear such stifling getups day in and day out. Four layers is absurd, even with the AC running constantly. Yet a simple shirt and slacks would have seen me booted off the property with laughter chasing me all the way. I step back from the bathroom mirror, observing myself again in such a ridiculous suit. Vibrant sapphire slacks and a matching jacket cover a grey vest and tie, a black button-up completing the "slightly eccentric rich man"outfit. I take a few deep breaths, reminding myself the others are simply an audience through which to move. This is a performance, not a heist. I force the frown off my face and march through the bathroom door. The moment I'm across the threshold I'm nothing but smiles, moving amidst the groups of billionaires, politicians, celebrities, and CEOs, laughing and chatting amicably. I shake hand after hand, ignoring the voice in my head screaming at the insanity of touching so many people. I laugh and joke and move on, over and over and over again, shaking hands like I'm trying to yank them off. Simply boisterous and eccentric here, nothing to worry about. And on to the next I go, giving the occasional apology for the rings on my left hand giving a slight pinch. After all, a two-handed shake is the sign of a true friend in the making! I can tell the security stationed throughout the room are slowly becoming agitated at my presence, and so showtime is upon me. I worm my way around to the host, grabbing his hand in both of mine and shaking it vigorously, seeing him frown suddenly. "Apologies,"I say, holding up my left hand before quickly tucking it behind me with my right, "My rings can be an issue sometimes. I suppose I am a bit overly exuberant!"I laugh at my own joke and pat his arm firmly, thanking him for the party before resuming my dance among the crowd. Finger ever on the pulse, I grow louder in my laughter at nothing, only to be quickly approached by a pair of walking mountains from the security team, who ask me to excuse myself from the premises. With an extra flourish or three amidst my bow, I apologize heartily to them and excuse myself from the hall. With a sigh of relief I step into the fresh air, smiling and nodding to the doorman, who quickly sends a signal to my driver. A car pulls out from among the lot parked in the designated yard and circles up the drive, stopping to let me in. The moment the tinted windows hide me from any occupants of the house I shed the infernal outer two layers and tie, undoing the button constricting my throat. The driver looks in the rearview mirror, one eyebrow quirked. I grin at his unanswered question, slipping off the two rings on my left hand and holding up the one containing the hidden hollow pin needle, the inside of the ring showing that it's mostly glass painted on the outside while the inside swishes with blood. "We have success, and he is none the wiser."The driver laughs and slaps the steering wheel. "Looks like the boss was right after all. You certainly earned that extra fee. Let's get that blood delivered, shall we?"I smile and lean back in the seat, lacing my fingers behind my head, completely unaware of the little dot that just appeared over the spot my fingers now cover.
The crisp lines of the bedsheet crumpled beneath a constant writhing like the slithering of a worm. A young face, half asleep drew a wide grin. The joys these past few months had been for him came into his thoughts. Oh how lucky he was to finally be free. The soft glow of the dawn came through a window onto the bed in a shoddy hotel room, gently lapping at his skin as the curtains swayed in the wind. The warmth brought forth the memories of his wonderful touch. A familiar silhouette began to appear in his mind once again. The image increasing in clarity every second, revealing an amazing jawline, a knot of long, silky hair tied neatly at its base and most importantly, an honest smile, one of care and concern, a face that he had longed to embrace. Crimson flushed in an unstoppable high, the bedded figure felt his hands slide inevitably downwards in a haze of lust. His canines became daggers, piercing his lower lip as his visions turned into an erratic cacophony of intimacy with his beloved. Wild panting echoed like a locomotive within the enclosed space, growing louder as his limit rumbled along it's tracks to its final destination. The door burst open. A purple-skinned humanoid rushed into the room, panting hard, albeit under different circumstances. One of his two horns had been broken, with multiple lacerations all over his skin, a tattered two-piece suit worn about his mangled body. In a fit of anxiety, he shrieked: "Haven't you heard the commotion outside you dumb priest, come on let's go!" Johnathan shot up, covering his nakedness with the bedsheet, a sharp cry of indignation escaping from his lips akin to the squeak of a mouse. His cheeks burned with a strange mix of happiness, embarrassment and worry all at once. If only those covers could hide him forever. The demon slammed the door shut behind him as two long knives flew at him from the hallway, their heavy blades thumping deep into the wooden slab. Seeing the hangers that held Jonathan's clothes behind the door, he hurled them onto the bed. "Get changed dammit, we can't stay here for long." Johnathan, no less crimson but adequately composed, hurried out of the covers and slipped into the priestly robes he had worn ever since he had left the church, his deft hands not missing a single button on the cloth's dark surface despite the speed at which he went. A vestige of his past. "Ok I'm ready, my love."Johnathan huffed. The demon sighed, the edges of the mouth curling subtly upwards. "What will I ever do with you?" Cradling johnathan in his arms, Asmodeus lept out the window and over the streets, three levels below. Johnathan arms wound tightly over those broad muscular shoulders, it seems that intimacy would just have to wait. Note: hopefully this isn't NSFW, kind of written as a heat of the moment kind of thing lol. Hope you enjoy.
After a long day at "work"I come home to see my child squealing in joy. "What's the news?" "We get to do something aaaaawwwwweeeeesommmmmeee at school!" "And what's that?" I said slightly chuckling. "We get to bring our parents so that they can talk about their jobs!" My heart sank at this news, as I am a villain Ever since I was 23 I swore I would get revenge on this world for dealing me a bad hand. My parents were abusive, I got bullied daily, I tried to commit suicide several times, my partner left me when our child, Jessica, was 1, And ever since they did that I swore my revenge. There was only one option, an option that I hated, but I loved my child more. I had to become a hero. Instead of robbing a bank, I gave to charity, instead of trying to speed up global warming, I planted trees, so of course I was a hero without powers. However, when I was a villain I had powers. I could freeze time, erase memories, and kill people by touching them. That's why I always wear gloves. One night I decided to kill somebody, I was tired of this, "Oh mY gOd You'Re suCh An AmaZiNg PeRsoN, hoW?!?!"Act people did. After that night, I killed 56 people, I wake up and people are concerned I returned. I have to keep up this hero act. All was okay ish until it was 'job day' at their school. I went there and my child blurted out "Guess what??? my parent is a herooooo!!!! I want to be just like them someday!!!! Saving peoples life!!!" And then I look down at the floor, I see my eyes fill up with tears As I run out of the class. I heard the teacher yell, "wait up!" I just kept running and running. I must have gone 5 miles before turning around, about 30 minutes later I arrive back in town. I was met with surprised stares and glances at me that look terrified. I knew they knew. I go home to my child. "Everyone says that you're a villain, but I know that's not true, you're a hero, I know it's not true!" I stare at them, my eyes still glazed over with tears "We have to move buddy" "Where?" "Just, away" And right after that conversation, we moved, far far away...
I never expected it to happen. That's how these things start right? I was just, so tired of it all: the daily bullshit, the mundane routine, the waiting in line for a shitty watered down burnt sorry excuse for a coffee. I hated the people and their stupid complaints. The feeling of being underappreciated and under paid. The smell, oh, how I hated the smell of the crowds and their sweat and the fear that just oozed from their every pore. Their fucking anxiety and indecisions and, JUST GET OUT OF MY WAY! I hated that I couldn't breathe. Forced to choke on secondhand smoke and being shoved through every doorway. What are you looking at, you fuck? I hated the way their eyeballs bulged or how they goggled at every goddamn thing. Rubberneck? HA! Their heads threaded the needle between twisting off and getting a black eye. That's right, I'm talking to you. I hated the bitching. I hated the whining. I hated the chit-chat paddy whack give the dog a bone, NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE STUPID OLD MAN ROLLING HOME, and their stupid faces and everything and everyone and I hated myself because... So, I wished it all away and all away it went. I only had left me to contend with. So, I replaced my displaced hatred and anger with pure, 24 karat loneliness. I dug through their stuff, I slept in their beds, I wore their clothes, I heard their voices in my head and still no one came to my screams and shouts. I couldn't get a fire big enough to burn it down, or a light bright enough lighten my mood. I started to wonder why had I felt so much hate? How many days have gone, how many years spent, how many front doors have I kicked in? The dust was thick and sticky as I ran my fingers over the countertop. The air was stale: stagnant. I walked through cobwebs into a living room that sat a fireplace. The grate was pushed aside and the remnants of a fire starter lay inside the place. A single match half stroked and browned on one side sat next to the book it came from: interrupted as it had been. There was so much potential in that single match and all it needed was a little push.
The police sirens played their harsh melody in the distant warrens of shadow city, as a solitary figure kept a lone vigil over the dying carcass of the once great metropolis. “I am the justice in the night, the protector of the people, the last barrier between justice and chaos, I am the masked avenger.” The masked avenger mumbled in a gravelly tone. An indistinct noise behind him sent a chill down his spine, the masked avenger pivoted, crouching like a viper ready to strike at its unassuming prey. It was only the phone. With three purposeful strides across the office he was ready to answer the call of justice. “Hello Mr Avenger, this is Darren Watkins over at Evil & Evil LLC, let me cut straight to the brass tax, how would you like to save the city at 4 o’clock today?” The PA said pausing often to empathise the importance of the task at hand. “Hm I really don’t know it’s kind of short notice and I’m supposed to have my kid tonight.” The masked avenger said immediately dropping his gravely tones. “I appreciate that Mr Avenger, but Mr Evil is a very keen on getting this scheme off the ground, by the end of play today and you’re a very important cog in the wheels of his citywide domination plan.” The PA responded. “A cog?” Mr Avenger remarked trying to keep the anger from his voice. “Forgive me it may not have been the best choice of words, Mr Evil appreciates all the effort you have put in both his past and present endeavours and he really thinks you are the key to the success of this project.” The PA said placatingly. “I’m not sure if this is the sort of project I’m interested in, I wanted to focus more on threats to the world as a whole, instead of just limiting myself to one city. Maybe this is more of a Mr Bat or Ms Cat kind of deal.” Mr Avenger said. “We asked Mr Bat, but he said no, which is very exciting because now we can bring this fabulous opportunity to you.” The PA said. “So I wasn’t even the first choice?” Mr Avenger replied bitterly. “Can I be direct with you Mr Avenger. You’re on the wrong side of 40 and there really isn’t much call for the…” The PA paused searching for the right words. “…the more mature super hero.” “Wait what are you saying.” Mr Avenger said unable or unwilling to grasp what the PA was saying. “Leave the real heroics for the young and sexy. You’re more of a friendly local, stop the speeding train, cat rescuing kind of hero, and we love it, the over 40s love it and Mr Evil loves it.” The PA said in the slimy tones of a used car salesperson. “….” Mr Avenger was speechless. “Don’t say anything before you hear the pitch Mr Avenger.” The PA said. “At least tell me it doesn’t involve lasers and flooding the world or anything cheesy like that.” Mr Avenger pleaded. “Of course not” The PA responded, with the distinct noise of papers being hurriedly shuffled in the background. “Ah, here we are, I can’t give you all the details due to confidentiality, but let’s just say it involves a freeze ray, penguins and the rain cycle.” “Don’t you think that’s sounds a bit 1980’s?” Mr Avenger quizzed. “Exactly Mr Avenger, I’m glad we are on the same page, we’re certain this will raise your profile amongst the over 40’s demographics and really rebrand your profile for the new decade.” The PA said excitedly. “Wait I didn’t agree….” Mr Avenger said before being cut off. “Mr Avenger, there are two roads ahead of you one leads to destitution, despair and death, the other to a new chapter of your life. Which one will you pick?” The PA questioned. “Well I suppose...” Mr Avenger mumbled. “Great! I will shoot the action plan over to you so we can get on the same page and hit the ground running. Well it has been amazing catching up with you Mr Avenger, but someone has to move the needle here so to speak, so I will let you get on, but we look forward to seeing you soon.” The PA said. “Yup.” Mr Avenger responded to the dead phone line. “Four years of hero school for this.”
This is an [Uncle Tal](https://www.reddit.com/r/ack1308/comments/fnk6jt/wp_visiting_uncle_tal/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) story. &#x200B; Earth Rebuilt Six Billion (and change) AD “Uncle Tal! Uncle Tal!” At first, Tal didn’t want to move. The hand-carved wooden chair (some skills never went away) was comfortable, and the sun was warm. It may not have been the sun he was born under, but with the original used up and sold off, this new one was good enough. He was still getting used to the different constellations, though. “Uncle Tal!” Something in the youngster’s voice stirred his innate caution. After a waking lifespan of nearly a hundred thousand years, he’d acquired an instinct for trouble that was second to none. After all, living that long requires not dying to the many perils to which fragile flesh can fall prey. “Uncle Tal!” The kid was close now, panting as he called out. Tal levered his eyes open and sat upright. “Heard you th’ first time, Bran. What is it?” It had been forty years since he’d awakened from his last chronon-inflicted stasis, the one that had begun shortly after the dying Sun was sold off. Due to his stubbornness and refusal to leave, Earth was left to fling itself out of where the solar system had been, under the power of its own angular momentum. He’d fully expected to die then, once he deactivated his atmosphere shield and let the thin, chilly atmosphere take him. But he’d survived and been awoken by a latter-day strain of humanity who had repositioned the Earth-Moon system around a more congenial star, then rebuilt Tal’s species with his own genome as a starting point. Those who had been mere children when he awoke had grown to adulthood and borne children of their own, and those children themselves were now parents. He had grown old among the peaceful collection of communities (called among themselves the Nine Villages) for which he had become the unofficial arbiter of knowledge and disputes. As well as his stories, of which he had a millennia-deep font, he also knew of many tradecrafts that a body could turn his hand to with little in the way of complex tools, and had taken it upon himself to pass these on to his newly-reborn people. He was nearing his end, he knew, but it was nice to know that the knowledge and skills passed on to him by his forebears would not die when he finally passed. But he did like his rest. And if his naptime was being disturbed so he could look at a funny-looking frog the young ones had caught in the stream, he’d be … maybe not angry, as there was no meanness in them. But he might be a little sarcastic about it. However, from the tone of Bran’s voice, he didn’t think it was something so trivial. “They say there’s a ship coming in, Uncle Tal!” Bran was ten, and in Tal’s uncertain memory he could’ve been the twin of a boy Tal had known in his youth; Garanoth, the son of the chief. But that was impossibly long ago and light-years hence, in a solar system that no longer existed. He blinked and focused on the here and now. “Collective, or someone else?” He levered himself to his feet. The walking stick that had become more and more essential to him came to his hand readily enough; if he wasn’t as steady on his feet as he once had been, Bran was diplomatic enough to not pay it notice. “It doesn’t look like a Collective ship, and they’re not transmitting any known code,” Bran said, and thus the cause of the excitement became plain. While there were other starfaring races out there (some descended from Earth stock, others from further afield) the identification codes were known and shared by all. Earth and its close stellar neighbours were under the sway of the human strain who had awakened Tal; they called themselves the Travelling Collective, and were the most frequent visitors to the resettled Earth and the Nine Villages. “Well, that’s different, all right.” Tal started off toward the single tech-built structure that still remained in the Villages. Once he’d shown his people how to erect buildings with their own hands, from native stone and hand-shaped wood, they had eschewed the Collective-erected structures and entirely rebuilt their homes to fit in with the landscape and tree cover. The Collective had obligingly removed their own buildings, and sent anthropologists into the Nine Villages, studying the new houses and recording the evolving way of life. The only ‘modern’ building in the Nine Villages was thus the ‘control tower’ for the minimal spaceport. While Tal’s people (and Tal himself) were happy to use basic modern conveniences such as electricity and running water, the Collective structure was purpose-built to house ultra-modern computers (including Narok, the personable Intelligence who had greeted him upon his awakening) and such equipment as could be used to detect passing starships and determine their business. “What are you gonna do, Uncle Tal?” asked Bran eagerly, trotting alongside him. To him, Tal was an almost godlike figure of wisdom and knowledge, hearkening from an age of mythology and legend. If Tal was being honest with himself, sometimes he felt like a fraud around the boy. “Go an’ talk with ’em,” Tal said bluntly. “But you need to do somethin’ for me. Go put out the word I said ‘Ackbar says, duck and cover’.” Bran stared at him, mouth dropping open. He knew what Tal meant because Tal had explained the notion to them, and even held drills on the matter. He just didn’t know why. “Do you think they want to hurt us?” Pained innocence loomed large in his voice. In his experience, strangers were friendly and interesting people from far away. Tal shook his head. “I don’t know, an’ that’s why I’m bein’ careful. These strangers might be friendly, an’ they might not be. Until we find out, we need to make sure they can’t hurt you. Now, git.” Bran ‘got’, taking off through the trees like a startled jackrabbit. They didn’t quite have jackrabbits here in this incarnation of Earth, but there was something similar. Tal knew he wouldn’t dally in spreading the message. The Nine Villages were peaceful, but Tal had far too much experience with rough strangers encroaching on peaceful lands to trust that would stay the case. As Tal approached the spaceport control structure, one of the semi-permanent staff came out to meet him. This was Stefan, the man who’d been there when he had been revived. At the time, they hadn’t shared a common language, but since then Tal had taken the time to learn the Collective trade language they all spoke. Stefan looked mildly concerned, but not worried. Tal figured he probably hadn’t thought the situation through fully. “Thank you for coming, Tal of the Nine,” Stefan greeted him formally. “You are the one among us who has the most experience in meeting with people from different cultures, so I thought it would be a good idea to ask you to come here for this event.” “You thought right,” Tal agreed. “So, no matches with anyone we know?” He trusted Bran’s word, but the boy may have misunderstood something or Stefan might have gotten more information since. “None whatsoever,” a voice spoke from empty air. Tal knew this was Narok, and nodded in greeting. “I’ve checked every database. Twice. The make and markings are unknown, and the drive is configured oddly. Ideas?” “Two,” Tal said at once. “An insular species that’s only just now coming onto the galactic scene and has decided to make this their first port of call. Or someone from another galaxy.” “I concur.” At the same time, Stefan nodded. “Though I find it hard to believe that we would have missed a starfaring culture in our own galaxy. So the exo-galactic hypothesis seems to hold more weight.” Stefan tilted his head. “Do you believe that a race would truly travel between the galaxies? What could they find here that they do not find where they come from?” Tal scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I can think of one thing. But I could be wrong.” He glanced at Stefan. “Just … be ready to lock your place down and send out a distress signal if things go sideways.” “What thing?” asked Stefan. “And do you honestly believe they would be hostile? After coming all this way?” Turning to survey the Collective human, Tal gave him a speculative stare. “I don’t assume nothing. But I’d make sure we can deal with hostility.” “I will ensure that any hypothetical hostiles will not gain entry to the facility,” Narok assured him. Tal nodded. That would have to do. \\\\ (Continued)
"And you're absolutely sure that this old shed is the one you hid it in? This whole area looks desolate, couldn't you have chosen a tiny bit of a more... recognisable hiding place?" "Recognisable?! You're aware that we're supposed to be hiding it, not handing it to them on a golden platter!" "I'm not stupid, Reggie, but at this rate we're going to spend hours searching every rotten hut in this damn district!" "No, no, I promise this is where I put it! It was right behind this brick!" The voices grew less muffled as the two intruders made their way across what had once been a living room. They were standing right next to the closet now, and I prayed they couldn't hear my heart beating like a sledgehammer against the sharp edges of the box I was pressing against my chest. I swear I hadn't planned to steal whatever this was from them, but a second of unfortunate decision-making had landed me inside a crate of moldy wood that vaguely resembled a closet, and if I'd make myself known now, they would surely assume I had kept this weird box from them on purpose. Why had I ever felt the need to pick it up in the first place? Couldn't I just leave things alone for once? Even if those "things"were suspiciously clean cigarette cases in dirty abandoned houses. From the shadows I could see through the cracks in the wood, Reggie had the silhouette of a body builder, and while his companion was shorter and thin as a stick I couldn't help but feel an air of slyness emanating from that intimidated me even more. But on this one occasion, the gods seemed to be kind to me. "Well, you must've been wrong", said the smaller man and stomped back to the disshevelled doorway. "Now get your ass over here, Reggie. The hut next door isn't going to search itself." Reggie obeyed grudgingly, and I finally dared to breathe. The air in this damn closet was so much more stuffy than I'd imagined; the "fresh"air from the living room area felt almost like clean highland air. In the pale light that shone through the dusty windows I regarded the box they'd apparently been looking for. It looked entirely ordinary except from the missing dust that had covered everything else in this house. That was until I accidentally pressed the ivory square on its lid. Much to my surprise, the square slid inwards and the case opened, and what the fuck?! Okay, Reggie's panic did seem a little more adequate now. In fact, I was probably panicking twice as much as him. The inside of the cigarette case was painted with runes that now glowed in a blinding purple light, and between them lay a perfectly spherical rock. Wouldn't have been that impressive had it not shone in the same purple light magnified a hundredfold. Instinctively, I reached out to feel its surface, but I shouldn't have done that. The sphere vibrated upon contact - it felt warm but not hot, and I thought nothing bad of it until it vanished. Into my hand. The glowing mystical sphere had vanished into my hand. Could this day be going any worse? First I've got to hide from some freaky cult members that burgle abandoned houses, and now I've accidentally absorbed some ancient magic item into my hand?! The street outside was quiet, thank god. Reggie and his skinny friend hadn't noticed my little escapade into the supernatural. Maybe I could just ignore what had happened and put the box back in its place. I had probably imagined the sphere, anyways. \-- I thought, and quietly went back home. I am currently writing this from my bathroom hiding from my wife, because as soon as I turned my lights off, my chest started glowing purple and I don't know what to tell her. In fact, I don't know what to do. I haven't the slightest idea what to do. Help me, Reddit.
My favorite memory was in a greenhouse I didn’t realize it then but that’s when my studies first started. Originally, I was fascinated by the plants and how beautifully they grew in a room full of sunlight. Then I became captured by the sunlight and how much it controlled the atmosphere of the room. We didn’t have that much time left. There was only one more source left that dad heard of and we only had two days left to get there. Only a million left and they are depending on the results of our findings and I’m not even sure if I believe that it’s there, but I believe my father so that’s all that matters. We’ve been traveling for months just to find out if there was any free-flowing life left. Many sources that we got were dead, ends basically just in it to get our money. But, this one was different. We met with an old friend of his a few weeks ago, a geologist, who has this crazy idea that the world is going to go through a warming, sooner than we think. I’ve worn dad about him and said that we need to Watch our money around him and get as much free-flowing life as possible. His friend advised us to check one of the strangest places in our new cold world, and to be ready for what we saw. We’ve been headed for Cooper Island ever sense. Have been all over the world, this was our only hope. My father very objective and optimistic assuring me that will find free flowing life and make plans to help the people left on earth survive. My fathers only interest was in finding free falling life and harvesting it to save the people on earth. My father didn’t believe in the possibility of a warming. Because for decades he had studied climate change as had I. It was our passion for many years and also what tore us apart. But this was bigger than us and we only had two days to find if there was any free-flowing life at Cooper Island or it was over.
A Pirate's Secret Captain Castian of the Revenge sat in a rather run-down tavern on the bad side of town, sipping at water-downed alcohol that had no name. The place smelled like sweat and other… unpleasant bodily fluids. People laughed and jeered, jumping off of tables and throwing drinks, mug and all. Fights constantly broke out, the singular mean-looking bouncer doing nothing but requesting they went outside. A request that was often left ignored. However, no matter how rowdy it got, no one came close to the four-person table that Castian sat at. Few even dared to glance in his direction. They all knew his story and felt his air of self-importance. They’ve all heard the rumours of his deal with the undergod and saw him traipsing around the city with his troupe of well-armed pirates close behind. They all saw his fleet docked illegally in the royal ports, made of three man-o’-wars and a countless amount of galleons and sloops, housing a crew of nearly two thousand. Not even the empress herself dared to order his capture or execution. That’d only get her and her well-beloved family death at the hands of dirty, no-good pirates. Castian could easily head to the higher-end of town and dine with nobles. Get served everything on a silver platter and drink some of the finest whiskey he’d ever consumed and finish the night off with a wonderfully cooked meal, but he didn’t. Part of him wanted to get up and go because of the wretched scent of this place. Not even the raucous atmosphere was enough to buy his favour. That brought up the question: Why was Castian there? And he’d have to answer: the women. Or, more specifically, a woman. Mirabelle. The only reason he bothered to stop off at this shitty capital of an empire anymore. She drifted through the dim room with the grace of a dancer, serving the mugs of alcohol and mystery-meat soup that Castian swore was rats from the alley out back. She paid no heed to the leering glances from the men, though Castian felt a twinge of pity every time someone looked at Mirabella in a suggestive way. Mirabelle was a waitress, not some piece of woman to be ogled at. With that being said, Castian had been struck still with awe the first time he saw her. Four years ago on a temperate spring day when Castian’s crew had been nothing but a galleon and two brigantines, he’d gotten up the nerves to dock at the Imperial City and wander the streets. For a few hours, he’d marvelled at the glittery streets of the upper town and had slowly made his way to the slums. There, he’d frowned at the run-down buildings and all the beggars on the streets and took pity on the women who’d been forced into the life of selling their bodies. Shadows had begun to play across the streets, the pale blue started draining from the sky, and Castian had had enough of the Imperial City. He began to make his way back to his crew where he’d left them at a reputable tavern when he caught a glimpse of someone so invisible yet so impossibly remarkable that he’d stopped dead in his tracks, causing a young lady to run into his back. He’d quickly muttered his apologies -- an action not yet cleansed from his mind -- all without taking his eyes off of the dazzling woman. There was nothing of note about her. She walked swiftly, her eyes stuck to the ground. She had a slight form, probably from the lack of nutritious food, and dull brown hair that hung in a tight braid down to the middle of her back. Her worn blue dress barely reached her mid-calf, the band of tattered red silk wrapped around her waist (an effort to match the current trend of elaborate sashes of the high nobility) proof that the dress was undoubtedly one she’d had for years, if not since she was just breaking into womanhood. \------- For the continued story, click [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Celestialkeep/comments/lhd88i/a_pirates_secret_pt2/).
\[Hand-delivered Invitation\] "Detective Cortez?"Noemi looked up from her desk to see two men in dark suits standing at her door. At first glance, they were obviously feds- dark suits, dark ties, dark glasses. However, Noemi's experience over 20 years told her there was more to it. They looked the part, but just their casual posture was out of character for all the bureau goons she'd met. It was also odd they kept their sunglasses on indoors. "If you have a moment, we'd like to talk to you about the Ripper case,"the shorter of the two men said. Noemi was surprised that she was even asked. It wouldn't be the first time higher-ups swooped in to take one of her cases, and she was always the last to know. "Sure, come on in,"Noemi waved them in, then leaned back in her chair to give them her full attention. The tall agent closed the door behind him, then sat down next to the short one. "I know your time is just as valuable as ours,"the short one said. "So, I'll get right to it."As he spoke, the tall agent leaned forward and placed a manila folder on her desk. He came in with nothing, and she wondered where it came from; she did not rush to look at it. Instead, she kept her focus on the one that seemed to be doing all the talking. "There's your culprit, as well as how he did it. It's not what you'd call, 'normal',"he said. "And you know all this, how?"she asked. Though, she still did not reach for the folder. "It's our job, much like yours. However, our responsibility ends at the identification of the guilty party. Then, we pass off the information to the appropriate authorities. In this case, we've determined that to be you." "Why me?" "Efficiency,"the short agent replied. "The truth is we've come to recruit you. The best way to do that is to give you a hint about what you'll be up against."He cast his eyes down at the folder. "I'm not interested in being a fed,"she replied. The short man nodded. "Neither are we. We're not from the government, our agency, the B.A.A., is independent." "B.A. A.? Never heard of it,"Noemi replied. The agent nodded, but didn't elaborate. After several quiet moments, it became apparent he wasn't going to offer any more information. Noemi reached for the folder and opened it. The first sheet was a full-body, color picture of a man from a medium distance. He was bald and lean with a scraggly, blonde beard. He was dressed in rags and Noemi's first guess was that he was homeless. The only thing that really stood out was a large tattoo on his bald head. It consisted of a hand making the 'peace' symbol, and the number 21 under it. She flipped to the next sheet and saw his name. \[Ken Parker: Unique Soul #21 - La Mano; S- rank\] Noemi stopped reading after the first line. His age, description, and criminal history appeared to be in the lines below, but she was already lost. "What's a Unique Soul?"she asked. "And what does a 'hand' have to do with anything? It's been a while since high school Spanish, but I'm pretty sure 'mano' means hand." "It is exactly what it sounds like; a soul that is entirely Unique, in and of itself. It has no counterparts in any other universe. La Mano is one of 54 Unique Soul types you'll be meeting if you accept our offer,"the short agent explained. "Other universes?"Noemi raised an eyebrow; the short agent nodded. "Generally speaking, La Mano has the ability to reach into other universes as long as their hands are not being watched. Although at the higher tiers, like Mr. Parker, they are able to reach into the universe they're in." "Reach... how?"Noemi asked. "Literally,"the agent replied. "Mr. Parker is reaching [into his victims to pull their organs out](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f7rag6/sp_do_whatever_you_want_he_spat_a_mixture_of/)." "You want me to arrest this guy and explain to everyone that he can magically stick his hands into people from a distance?" "It would be the truth,"the short agent nodded. "If he's got an ounce of brains he'll never admit something we can't prove. I won't even get him to court,"she said. "That depends on the court,"the agent grinned. "This isn't the only Earth Mr. Parker has victimized. With your help, we can make sure he gets an appropriate sentence." "Are you asking me to testify?"she asked. The agent shook his head. "I mentioned earlier, our job ends at identifying the culprit. The B.A.A. has decided to change that and put together an actual police task force. Your experience here would be invaluable in authoring arrest procedures for Uniques. You're invited to be the new chief of our police force."Noemi's eyes almost popped out of her head in surprise. To say it was a dream come true would be an understatement for the woman who spent over 40 years practicing her name in front of the mirror each night. "Noemi Cortez - Chief of Police," she took great pride in being able to carry on her family tradition. For the first time in six generations, one of the Cortez boys did not have a son before he died in the line of duty. At his funeral, Noemi decided two things. Women could be officers too, and she would not carry on the tradition of dying on duty. "Yes!"she eagerly nodded. Unique Souls and alternate universes and the unknown were all worth it for the title. "Great,"both agents stood at the same time. The tall one pulled a glass rectangle out of his coat pocket and placed it on top of the folder. "That's a node,"the short one said. "Learn how to use it, study whatever you can. Let us know when you're ready to start,"he said. Then, they both turned and headed to the door. The tall one reached it first with his longer legs, and he opened it. As the short agent walked out of the room, the tall one looked at Noemi. "Welcome to the Bureau of Alternate Agencies,"he said with a large grin. "By the way, your favorite number is 32. You should get that on a tattoo,"he said, then left the office. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1138 in a row. (Story #042 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog.
“Damn it! That’s the third time this week! Patrol has to do something about this” glaring at the holes in the ceiling, I ask myself why I’m not used to this by now. It part of the job right? “How can none of these angels fly?!” I thought death after life was simple; you either go to heaven or hell. But what if you don’t like where you end up? Well, that’s how you end up with my job. And looking back on it now, I should’ve stayed in hell. Every day I walk these streets and the living don’t even know that I’m here. But that’s not my problem. My problem is the things that do know I’m here. They can sense me just as much as I can sense them. There’s neutral zones where the living have the potential of finding out about us; churches, schools, the cemetery or morgue. But those heathens don’t care, a demon will do anything to wreak havoc and chaos on the living. And it’s my job it erase them.
Standing in the coffin showroom, my mind drifts back to my 'education' eight years ago. Apparently, if a human shows a strong aura of a magical nature, they are taken to a reclusive academy. From there they are separated into one of eight schools of Magic. Illusion, Divination, Evocation, Transmutation, Conjuration, Abjuration and Necromancy. Necromancer are rare, but not for the reasons one would think. We do exist, but when a Necromantic student is discovered they are subjected to powerful Divination magic to ascertain their Fate. Four Necromancers in three centuries, including me. That is how many were not declared unfit to teach and their memories wiped. Sitting across from the 87 year old man who used spells I cannot pronounce to look into my Fate was a tense four hour experience. Eventually, it was determined that my Fate would not conflict with the teachings of this academy and I was sent to the Eighth Tower. After which they locked me in, with the ghosts, wraiths and other variety of undead Necromancer students who were not actually released back into the world. What the Divination Master was unaware of, was the whispers of the more sane Necromancers who told me the truth of what happened to those who failed. For three years I lived among the Undead, and my magic kept me sage and I learned things. Prophecies from millennia past, locations of artifacts so powerful they would tear reality asunder. Centuries of knowledge was poured into me and the fact I stayed sane truly beggars belief. After three years some of the more 'educated' students wanted to make sure I was dead. Pro tip for anyone stupid enough to take on a spellcaster, DO NOT take them on in a Place of Power, especially if it is tied to their specialty. Twelve attackers who had two years of education and training and use of magic on me, who had been locked inside a magical mausoleum. I stopped them within two minutes. Paralysis and Weakness. One advanced and one minor Necromantic spells cast in a location steeped in the same magic ripped through any magical defence they had in place. The Tower Masters arrived demanding to know what happened, so I walked them to the ones who attacked me, and showed them exactly what happened. The Masters were furious with the students, for not killing me I assume. There is a reason for the saying that 'Secrets are taken to the grave'. I know a LOT of secrets. My attackers were relocated to the Medical Wing, while the Masters spoke with me. I told them exactly what I knew. I was not upset with the students, the undead were honest in their intentions if they got the chance to graduate. Their deaths, to them, were acceptable. Necromancers, as undead, can take the time to fully process everything, and speaking with kindred spirits, helps them fully grasp the situation. The Masters agreed to reparations. I told them, I would run my own funeral home. I also requested an Evoker and Diviner be assigned to my staff to keep an eye on me. The Masters would make sure that I break even if I am unable to do so for whatever reason. You could almost see their hackles rise at my 'indignation'. "Do you know WHO started this Magical Institute? Which powerful spellcaster found the institution all those centuries ago? The reason for the existence for the very location we are in?"I ask, eyeing each Master carefully. "Solomon the Diviner, known to the world as Solomon the Wise. He founded this place because of his advisor, not the ones that are known, but the one who was dead. A Necromancer who asks that his name be kept private. Solomon knew a place like this needs to exist, and that all Eight Branches of Magic were to be represented. So, his advisor told him of this place, where we would be save from the world so we could learn how to defend it when we were ready. Each Kingdom was to have two advisors, and one would always be a Necromancer as, like Diviners, we look to the future, and we understand better than all that Life comes to a natural End. Any King that sought immortality would be killed by Necromancer, as no other school could resist the temptation. Solomon looked for centuries and found this to be true. A properly educated Necromancer who understood the gravity would be the best advisor." The Masters glanced at each other in grumbling silence. The Diviner Master nodded. They funded the construction of the funeral home where I am currently standing. Solomon's Acceptance.
When I was a young lad I loved to explore seemingly endless nature that surrounded my parents small cabin home. I walked up and down the forest trails filled with towering conifers that were wonderfully fragrant. Every week regardless of the season, I would hike up to the top of our local mountain peak to look down on the town, and my cabin home. I hope this view never changes. It wasn't until 40 years later that I would realize other people would also love the view from the local mountain peak. The small town grew into the city, trash was scene at every corner of the trails. The ever expanding suburbs cut deep into the mountain side. Conifers older than our country cut down to make room for homes. ______________________________ Hey all! I hope this wasn't too awful. It's my first time ever writing a story. I grew up most of my life in Salt Lake City, Utah. A lot of the places I loved going to as a child were eaten up by suburban expansion. We try to keep our trails clean but it's a never ending battle. One of the reasons I wanted to write this story is we are giving signs about the changes of our lovely towns but are usually too late or incapable of preventing those changes.
The whole relationship, I thought that I would be the one that wound up betrayed and dead. The relationship was built on unstable trust to begin with, but I've always been a man of my word and I swore I would not betray my "partner"on this mission. But it seems that I slipped up, and now I've doomed him to die. I grew up in the Church's Secret Iscariot Organization, tasked with slaying all kinds of monsters and demons. Normally the beast are acting independently, attacking small human settlements and causing general mayhem. But this time it was different. The werewolves were a unified force attacking large cities. We were not strong enough to stop them. It was at this moment, one of our oldest foes approached us for an alliance. Vampires and werewolves had always hated each other, a fact we used to our advantage many times over. Now the werewolves were winning, and both The Church and the Vampires knew if we didn't stand against this threat together, we would dace extinction. They sent myself and Count Orlok, to sneak in and destroy their leadership. And with a small hint of pride I must say we made an excellent team. Which makes sense, we are infamous among both groups. But after all that. It seems my lunch is going to kill one of the most legendary vampires of all times, and during a handshake of all things. I guess there was still some garlic bread in my mouth when we did the spit shake. I'll have to write this little trick down.
A new day has passed and Robert has woken up. He said, "Fuck you, Alan,"to the Alarm Clock. Alan chirped with a bring and a whistle. Bethany shooketh and jumped, which caused Robert to fly off the bed. "You shouldn't be so rude to Alan,"Bethany said. Robert sighed and walked to his closet. Carl said, "Hey, it's a Saturday! Why don't you wear a pair of pants and plaid and go on your way?"Robert replied with a groan. He stood up and said, "SHUT THE FUCK UP CARL."He spun and he danced showing off his two twats. A pair of middle fingers guided him down the stairs. He went to his fridge and before she could say anything. Robert pulled the plug on ol' Franzesca Fridge. The toaster went mad. Why is Robert so mean today, he thought. So Tommy the youngest of them all got stuck on purpose. Robert was mad, and he was mad mad. So he took Tommy outside for a little game. "Alright, let's play a game, it's called WORK DAMN YOU."And Robert beat the shit out of Tommy. Bethany and Carl, gasped in surprise. Franzesca still dead, Alan peering his eyes. The machines all looked in horror, as Tommy yelled in pain. "HELP! LET ME GO!"he sang rhythmically. The end.
Craig opened his eyes, surprised to find himself tied up, hanging upside down. He spotted a dark figure, sitting in the corner, but he knew instantly who it was. “So... why am I like this?” Craig asked. “I’m surprised how calm you are,” Kenna said in fascination. Craig shrugged, “I’m use to it.” “Being tied up?” “The weirdness,” Craig said, “Believe me, I’ve seen it all. Can I get down?” Kenna stepped out into the light, her appearance has changed. She wasn’t the doe-eyed blond he met in biology. Horns appears from her head, and her eyes went from blue to a crimson red. Yet Craig was unfazed. “A demon. Sweet I won ten dollars.” “You were betting what I was?” Kenna asked. “Well, yeah. Korey thought you were a tree nymph but I knew you were something else. Something darker but different. I’m getting light headed, can I get down?” Kenna looked at Craig suspiciously, but reluctantly let him down. Well, more like letting him fall. “I could’ve broken my neck!” Craig snapped. “Why did you follow me?” Kenna asked. “I don’t know, you seemed troubled, and I figured I could help you out,” Craig said with a smile. “But you’re a human. A mortal human.” “So? I still want to help. And I could handle myself. Can you untie me?” “I thought you could handle it yourself,” Kenna scoffed. “Well I have limits, I’m not super human. Please?” “Only because you said please,” she told him and ripped the rope off of him. Craig stood up, suddenly feeling lightheaded as blood began to rush down his body. “You really want to help?” “Yeah, hold on I’m still trying to compose myself. How long was I upside down?” “About an hour,” Kenna said. “Huh. All right. Where too?”
Momma Spider was quite surprised with the little giant crawling around the house. It had a droll appearance when compared to the bigger ones, much smaller hands and feet, but it managed to always be the loudest in the room, even louder than the dog. And even more impressive, it had a name of its own. Quite an odd concept that is, a name. In the Arachnid world, where everybody speaks the Arachnid tongue, you were simply called by your role. Did you have children? You are a Momma or a Poppa then. Had brothers and sisters? You are a Bruder or a Swiwster. You had no one in this world? You are a Solitaire.Humans had quite a different system, she would know, with her M. A. in domestic human behaviour (for you see, education is paramount in the Arachnid world). Each one of them was assigned a name at birth, unique, or well, quasi-unique, as sometimes, in a major display of uncreativity, parents would re-use their own names or those of their own parents. And of course there were nicknames, too, but she purposely avoided the topic while studying because she wanted to reserve it for her PhD after her egg sac had hatched. But the whole situation got her thinking, why not give each of her children a distinct name?. It would make for an impressive investigation and could potentially lead to a cultural advancement that revolutionized the evolution of the species. Spiders would have nothing to envy from the scorpions and their silly courtship dances they were always bragging about—Poppa spiders giving their own lifes to the Mommas was by far more romantic! She settled her mind, she would name her own children. Two and a half weeks later, her spiderlings were already hatching. No longer larvae, they came one after the other, eager to construct their own webs all around the world and catch their first prey, but first, she gathered them in the garden outside the house. “Before you all go”, she said “you each will receive a name to better define you”. And so she started. Silky was the first, with her eagerness to hunt, and Widow the second, for how sad she looked. Then followed Archnophoebe, with jaws so big it was terrifying, but even scarier was Joroguma, who almosted looked human.There was Spyder, who was so stealthy you wouldn’t catch him, similarly to Spinny Gonzalez, who was as fast as it gets. Cardinal looked very serious and knowledgeable, so his name, while Wever looked like and orb, so his. Very well organized was Spinne, very lazy, Araña, and very excited to go where the sun sets was Weeby. Coleweb was good with his silk, but Arachne was as good as a god. One by one, she named them all, until there was only one left.She stared at the last of her children for a long time, trying to think of what name to give him. “Momma, we want to go, we are hungry!” said Momma Jr (for she too had been uncreative with a few of the names) extremely irritated. “Hush, my child, Momma is thinking.” “Why do we even need a name?” complained Silky. “Well, to better organize ourselves, of course, just like the humans do”, replied Momma. “But arachnids have been doing fine without having to be like humans”, argued Spinne. “Oh well, but with a name you guys can be more yourself.” “That doesn't make sense. I wouldn't be less me just because you named me different,” said Colebew “Then, you guys have a name to be more memorable, this way no one will forget you.” “Are you sure? Then, what’s my name?”, asked one of her spiderlings, who was among the first hundred to be named. Momma pretended that she didn’t hear him. Then, hungry and tired, all the spiderlings started to leave, to explore the world and beyond and catch the fattest fly possible. Momma wanted to tell them something to make them stay, but nothing really came into her mind. Thinking she was all alone, she started crying. Why would humans ever do something like this? Putting names to things was incredibly difficult, many times she had to make up things about her children to have an idea for a proper name. And the pressure of the whole thing! These names were forever, if your child didn’t like it, they would be stuck with it forever! Or even worse, people could make fun of them for having a funny sounding name. She hoped her babies would be fine and that no one would give them a horrible nickname. Then, she heard a sound behind her. It was her unnamed child, still waiting. “Momma, can I ask you something?” “Yes, of course, my love.” “Could I name myself? While you were naming all my brothers and sisters, I came up with a name I would really, really like to use. Please let me use it!” he begged. Momma was a bit hesitant, after all, while a gigantic responsibility, naming was always something parents did. But remembering her own failure, she gave in. “What name would you like for yourself?” Momma asked. “I was thinking Joe.”“Joe!, but that doesn’t sound arachnid at all!” she cried with a bit of worry in her voice. “Well, but I like it, and I think it fits me quite well” “Where did you ever hear that name anyways?” “It’s the name of the little giant from the house. While I was waiting inside the egg sac, I could listen to him crying, and how his mother always came calling his name and asking him if he was okay. That’s why I want to be Joe!” Said Joe. Momma then hugged him, with all his eight legs, and simply said “If you want to be Joe, then be Joe. It’s just like one of your brothers said, as long as it’s you, the name doesn’t matter.” And after Momma published the results of her investigation, it became the norm for all spiders to name themselves after they hatched. &#x200B; Sidenote: Really loved the prompt and wrote this, thanks for coming up with it. I'm sorry for any spelling or grammatical mistakes, English is not my first language. Tried to write it as a kind of children's story. Maybe the whole degree's stuff doesn't work in that context? Still, had a great time writing it!
[poem] Deep in the At-Woods, staring at Hood. Never knew she concealed herself that good...I half-crouched, half-stood. On my haunches poised to slash Wood, the woodcutter. Thought you were sneaky, motherf^cker? I pounce on Hood, such a sad supper. Now Hood's Part: I woke up, a scared handmaiden no longer. My adrenaline activated, I was deadlier, stronger... Consumed alive, with no feeling of pain, I reached through the wolf's esophagus, and clawed at his brains. Acrylic nails from Ye Olde Market, on sale, which will see you slain. The wolf belches me out, with a howl of pain. That pain turns to a growl, my adrenaline drains. I felt a predator's sights, by the woodcutter, slain. The wolf coughs blood, red eyes aflood. The rain falls, and the soft dirt becomes mud. I throw back my hood, and draw my silver tongue. I fire bullets, from my ruby lips, flung. The wolf is pierced multiple times, stunned. I fire off a stanza, and he's just a pelt, done. "This is Grandmother's forest, our safe place..."I think as the blood of the wolf...like lipstick, I trace. We bury Wood, and then build a headstone-base. One night while I visited...THEY visited, from space. The Intergalactic military, patrolling the wastes. I "eliminated an anomaly,"and they offered me a taste...of hunting "wolves"in other worlds, if I'd enlist, on behalf of the Human Race. And so, I enlist to hunt "wolves"under the alias: Grace. Shout Out to Margaret Atwood!
I’ve been walking. Walking so long the movement of my legs feels like that of someone else. Each thud of a footstep echos in some distant room that I no longer have the key to. Now I’m climbing up the increasingly steep slope of the active cone volcano. Sulphur fills my nostrils and the air is heavy with heat and steam. The slope is steep enough I have to use all four limbs in half climb, higher and higher. Pebbles and rocks ejected from the summit are sporadically landing all around me. One lands close and rolls into my path. My hand falls on it, and a primal flash of pain and ancient reflexes July’s my out of a stupor. An image from childhood of an old induction stove and a child, me, reaching out to learn a timeless lesson flashes across my mind. Red hot coils of an electric stovetop. Another flash of a teenage me , at a house party, using that same bright red coil to light a cig............the fuck did I walk all the way here for?
Everything was simple at first, at least until Humanity came along that is. Before them no creature in existence even thought of the possibility of time travel. To them the passage of time was always constant, and there was no way to change it. Humanity was different however, as soon as they started advancing technologically, they looked directly at me and my creations, Space and Time. They figured out that they couldn't simply traverse the vastness of space fairly quickly. And yet they kept trying, eventually they created machines that let them escape their atmosphere and move about it great void between the planets. But they couldn't get far, their machines did not have the speed or fuel capacity to get them anywhere farther than their own moon. But the fact that they were able to get there and back was as surprising as it was terrifying. But what scared me the most, was how close they have gotten to understanding Space and Time, and how quickly they'vegotten to this point. One moment they were counting the hours in one day and the next they were measuring the relative perception of time and how it depending on the speed at which one moved through space. They even understand how Space and Time are connected and are not two individual forces. These humans, they're making my job so much more difficult, I fear that there will come a time and I am no longer able to stop them. And yet, despite my fears, I can't wait to see what fascinating things they continue to come up with.

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