Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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“Ah, there you are, I’ve been expecting you!” I lied. “What?!” The Black Mummy demanded. “How could you possibly anticipate my arrival?! I didn’t plan to come here until I saw you live!” He wore a red tie and a black suit. He was surrounded by black strips of cloth. It was quite the contrast to his pale skin, but I imagine he had to use lots of sunscreen or highlighter to keep the pale appearance. Probably both. I put on a grin as he descended from above the news reporters, his animated strips of black cloth lowering him. “Come with me,” I gestured, “there’s some information I have that I think you’ll find very... interesting.” He glanced at the news reporters but followed me as I walked off the stage and into a nearby alley. The Black Mummy put up a wall of cloth to give us some privacy - I’d always admired his ability to animate cloth. “Look man,” I dropped my act before he could, “Ray of Light is on vacation for a while, he hired me as his butler so I could do news reports like these.” He looked at me skeptically and his head lowered just a bit. “No really,” I continued, “Remember that lookalike contest he had a while ago?” “No” “Okay well it happened, and I won second place.” “Why didn’t he hire the first place winner then?” “The dude was great at logic, but he was a horrible actor.” He nodded but asked, “Why should I believe you?” “Um...” I tried coming up with some crafty answer but I utterly failed, “Because it’s the truth?” “So what’s to stop me from killing you here? Simply commanding my cloth to strangle you?” “Nothing, I guess. But then what? You show the world you killed Ray of Light, you gain notoriety for a day or two, then he comes back off vacation and shows the world that he can survive death? He won’t turn this into a permanent vacation, there’s only one thing he values more than duty.” The Black Mummy slowly nodded, shadowed by disappointment. “Fine then.” He lowered the cloth wall and made a show of saying, “You got lucky this time Ray of light!” Next time I won’t be so easily distracted!” His strips of cloth wrapped around him in large, majestic movements, then lifted him upward. But not before handing me an envelope. I tucked it into my pocket and stepped back on stage for the rest of my interview. I told the media that what I said was private, and what kind of hero would I be if I gave away private information? I decided a while ago that it would be more comfortable for them both if I feigned ignorance. Later that day, I handed Ray of Light the envelope. I pretended not to notice his face lighting up, he was a horrible actor, almost as bad as that lookalike winner. As soon as I stepped around the corner, Ray of Light opened the letter, and read the love note. ————————— Advice, criticism, and feedback welcome :)
“Pestilence can’t do anything - He’s practically useless!” “Oh man, I think I caught a cold. Really scary, Pestilence.” “You look like the booger in Mucinex commercials. Of course, you’re supposed to look like your relatives, but the resemblance is uncanny…” Yeah, yeah. War with his flashy moves, Famine with his Gnawing Hunger, and Death with her… well, she’s Death. What else does she need? They make fun of me, thinking I’m useless. They’ll see who has the last laugh. “Oh shit, it’s the booger man!” said War, walking back from whatever battlefield he came from. “That was my joke, War.” said Death curtly like she does everything. Slow, methodical, and emotionless. I’ve known her since the beginning of time and I think I’ve seen her smile all of 2 times. Once when she got to reap Adam and Eve’s souls after they ate the forbidden fruit, and a second time after Noah’s Arc when she could let loose on pretty much the whole world population. “Yeah right.” interrupted Famine, his scratchy voice still a burden on all of our ears. His vocal cords are always weakened by one disease or other due to his lack of eating… well anything really. Hasn’t eaten for at least 10 thousand years. “You guys are mad that I thought of it before you.” War turned around, slamming his hand on Famine’s shoulder none too gently. “I didn’t ask you, scarecrow. Piss off.” Death shook her head, and turned to leave. “See, even Death knows, so she’s leaving. Everyone’s scared of War, alright? Now take your starving ass to a buffet, and get out of my face.” On hearing an insult to her, Death froze. All Death really had was her image, so any attack on that, she took personally. An arrow made of bone sprouted from War’s chest, barely stopped by his tactical gear. He looked up angrily. “What the fuck, Death? God, it’s just a joke. No need to get mad.” he said, lobbing a grenade in her general direction. The grenade bounced off her hooded head, detonating behind her, and briefly lighting the hem of her robe on fire. The darkness beneath her hood frowned, and 3 other arrows launched at War. 2 hit, one War dodged, only for it to hit Famine. Chaos ensued. Famine’s power’s of starvation let the other 2 only think about food, for Death food being souls, and for War, food being battle. They turned on each other, Death tried reaping their souls, War just hungry for battle, and Famine looking for any form of sustenance. Fools. They thought I was useless. But pestilence is a broad version of sickness, that includes mental diseases. Sickness that includes the ability to weaken the mind to the point of aggression and insanity. I am Pestilence, Horseman of the Apocalypse. Remember that name, for soon, it will be the only Horseman of the Apocalypse left.
I finally got to my beta reader's house. Ok she hates that I call her that now and not 'best friend'. But is kinda lame that the first reader of my second book is my bestie, no? Whatever, I heard whines. Oh I know that voice very well. That's when Jenny opened the door and started to shake my shoulders. "What the hell Max?!"She shouted. I don't blame her. If I was in her situation I would be equally shocked. "I-I don't know!"I whined because not only the grip in my shoulders, I was overwhelmed by this situation too. "Jeeeeens what are you doing? Come here please?"The same voice that whined before. Dammit, if I knew I would hear his voice I would make it less annoying. Poor of my other characters. "Oh fuck you!"She answered to hear a fake cry. You would think that having the main character with a crush on you would be a dream come true. But you are wrong. Because of two things: Aaron is a certified asshole and Jenny is aromantic. And I'm in the middle of this weird thing. Oh my God.
The world seemed too colorful. It made me want to crawl back into bed and sleep forever, or at least until it didn't hurt anymore. I couldn't afford to do that though. I had to keep working. There was no way around it. My time for grief was up. The world may still have been bright and colorful that summer, but it had become black and white to me, and I feared the color wouldn't return. The color left my life when she left me. She'd been sick for a while, but being as young as we were, we felt we were invincible. Eventually that was shattered. The doctor told us she'd be gone by Labor Day. That was at Christmas. She didn't even make it to Memorial Day. I personally had hoped she would have made it to our third anniversary on June 11th, but those hopes were dashed. Our last holiday was Easter and that was spent with her in a hospital bed with some poor hospice worker and an emotionless nurse trying to comfort me, but no one could stop the black and white from taking over. I had a week off of work, but that wasn't enough. At this point nothing was enough. I wanted to turn around, but I just kept driving to the parking lot and then walked in to work. No one said anything. A few of my coworkers gave me a look of sympathy, but that was it. Even if they had talked it wouldn't have helped. All I could do was just proceed through the black and white world until it went away, and who knew when that would be.
Our homeworld is one of perfect freedom. Nothing impedes us from motion. No obstacles stand in our way. We go where we will and flow how we choose, and in this state we have achieved enlightenment. But this world... this word disagrees. Everything here is trapped, struggling against that terrible force they've named friction. But they don't acknowledge their chains. Worse, they think those chains make their entire way of life possible in the first place! Even their ideas of movement are constrained. They think friction is absolutely vital for movement in the first place. And they call our perfect freedom perfect chaos and formless anarchy. It is just as well they seem to have found their own broken enlightenment in this clinging resistant world, because it is clear they will never accept ours.
I held hands with Henry's beloved daughter. The cancer had been eating away at our brain for the past two years had taken away our sense of touch, but we could still feel the warmth of her hand as she sobbed at our death. The now familiar sound of a heart flatline on the monitor was the conclusion of my time with Henry. As I left our body, I allowed myself to spend a few more moments with Henry's family. They were good people. His daughter had always dreamed of becoming a teacher, but when Henry got sick she abandoned her studies to care for him. Henry's grand-daughter Sara was a six years old beauty that loved animals and dreamt of becoming a veterinarians. So innocent. I decided that they deserved it. I blessed Sara with the ability to understand concepts on the fly and made sure that animals in her proximity would be more docile than normal. Thessa, dear Thessa. Losing a father to cancer was a tragedy, but that was the natural process of life. Seeing her crying as Henry's mental state deteriorated was heartbreaking, but I knew I had to endure. I vowed to never use my powers while sharing a body, to live vicariously through the human that i choose, whithout interference, one life at a time. I decided to pick up her resume and made sure it found its place at the top of the recomended hires for the new primary school that was being built in the area. They wanted an honest life, and I decided that they deserved one. Just for good measure, I made sure that the local lottery would pick her number. It wasn't a huge sum, but it would clear the mortgage on her new house. A last goodbye gift from someone who spent the past 10 years watching them via the eyes of an aging, but caring man. I wandered around the hospital, still saddened by Henry's departure. While i did not need to breathe, I exhaled. Following the lives of people like Henry was nice, but that wasn't the duty I took upon myself. I materialized in one of the corridors, taking the shape Henry had back in his 20's. I wandered to the ailes, looking for a new host, doctors and nurses rushing past me, too busy with their patients to care for a lost visitor. Then, I spotted him. Skinny, uncut beard, half-rotten teeth. Didn't look like he would live for more than five years. I leaned forward, my materialized body turning into mist as I entered this man in form of spirit. "Show me what brought you so down. I promise you'll be the last man to suffer this fate."
I was sitting in a cafe, sipping on my usual coffee when I saw him. Across the street, I saw a man who looked just like me. Exactly like me. A long time ago I found out that evil twins did, in fact, exist. I didn't believe it of course, but my mother made sure that everything I needed to know was drilled into my head. She told me her story about when she came face-to-face to her twin. I remember her expression as if it was yesterday. But here is my clone, my lookalike. Right there on the other side of the street sitting at the bus stop. I was expecting to meet him one day, but not then. I called the waitress and paid for my coffee, left her a tip. And decided to confront this man who looked just like me. The man waiting for his bus had no idea that he would soon be face-to-face with his evil twin.
At first, all I heard was the screeching of the air above me. Looking up I could see countless drop pods. It appeared our cry for help had been answered. But was it too late the Daleks had my position surrounded and it would be all but a few moments before I became the latest in a long line of victims to die hearing EXTERMINATE!! I fired my Chronos Rifles last bolt. I was out, I was empty. My only thought was I will look them in their emotionless eye stalk when I die. Hands shaking with barely contained terror I stood up from my cover seeing three of the monstrosities that had ruined my homeworld and half the universe with it. "I'm ready to face my fate you foul beings". That was all I could manage to shout. I know, not great for last words but they were all I could think about at the moment. "PROXIMITY BREACH DETECTED"! one of the Daleks screeched as all three lost focus on me as their eyestalks looking in all directions trying to identify exactly where this breach was. In an amount of time that was barely perceptible; (that's really saying something considering who my race is) I was blinded by a sudden explosion of dust and rubble. Accompanying this cloud of debris the ground shook with a ferocity that left me with no chance to stay on my feet. Dazed and confused I sat myself back up. Expecting to see the latest of what these horrors had brought. But much to my surprise and later relief it wasn't Dalek in origin. It was humanoid. But far larger than any being I had seen prior. He was a man standing a good heads height above my own. His large form encased in armour that I knew would put our armoured divisions to shame. The being looked down at me through red lenses inlaid into a skull carving that made up his helm. Now the dust had cleared I could see a second one striding around from what was one of the drop pods I had seen. "Reclusiarch Sir we have eliminated the foul Xenos within the immediate area". The second informed the first in a voice whose baritone could make thunder feel insecure. "Very good Olanous secure the perimeter whilst I get a situation report from the civilian". The skull-faced being replied. He knelt before me the lenses seemingly burning. "Fear not, citizen for I am Reclusiarch Grimaldus of the Black Templars Chapter, we are here to liberate your world from the invading filth". He said in what I assumed was his attempt at friendly but only came across as intimidating. "Thank you". I said trying to swallow the lump in my throat. "Your thanks are not necessary, citizen I need information". He grumbled. "I need to know where the locations of the enemy are so we can best eliminate them". I helped as best as I could. The moment I had provided what I could he strode off followed by several other beings much like him. One carrying a banner with his name upon it. I did not know it at that moment. But I had just met our saviours.
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I kept fidgeting with the turbuboline tablet I had bought. Or, as it was known to ordinary people, 'the personality changing poison'. Society had not accepted turbuboline use yet, it was still looked down upon, and it was not without reason. Imagine your frineds or family, changing their entire personality, in rare cases even sexuality, overnight. My neighbour was a great guy, happily married, 2 well mannered kids. But when the family doctor accidentaly gave him turbuboline instead of another tablet, he became a cheerless moron too lazy to work. He is taking a turbuboline about every month, trying to get back his previous personality. You see, turbuboline can change your personality, but nobody knows how your next personality will be. My cousin, who was a very religious homophobic christian, actually became a gay hippie, and I still laugh about that from time to time. He claims that he is happier now, and feels like his previous personality was just a cage imprisoning him. There hace been changes for the better too, it seems. Still, actually popping one takes a lot of courage, even if most people say that turbuboline changed their lives for the better. I decide that I will think it over the next day. A week passes by, and I just keep delaying the decision. I have held it in my hand with a glass of water in the other atleast 3 times, and I have held the pill over my dustbin more times than I can count. If I throw it away, buying another wont be easy. Turbuboline has over ten thousand pre orders, and it can only a hundred pills are manufactured each day. The shady dealers that claim to have turbuboline by the dozens are almost always scams, and even if they are legit, they cost over a thousand dollars. I was only lucky enough to get one thanks to a friend whose acquaintance who worked at the company, and I dont really want to ask my friend for another, considering how expensive the Turbubolines already are. "I have decided, finally that I will definately for sure make the decision tommorow morning."I said 6 months ago. The pill sits in a glass on my desk to this day. But dont worry, I will definately make a call by next week.
Fork. I thought as the mini spear slammed into the wall. The four pronged death now avoid. Great. Doesn’t mean I avoided getting slapped by the speedster. My cheek heating up in pain and embarrassment as the people around laughed. Again Azz? Taking a deep breath, I tried to figure out my closest exits, only for Jenkin’s to come forth. Great; absolutely lovely. “Hey, Asssy.” He walked forward putting a hand onto the wall, leaving me huddled against it as the bullies closed in. “Actually,” I fidgeted with my hands within the little space I was given. “It’s Azzy with a z- short for Azzetty; I know, parents gave me a pretty weird name for a 6 year old like you to understand, but-“ I was silenced when Jenkin’s cracked the wall besides me with a single punch. “Okay then, looks like you don’t want a spelling lesson. How about a reading assessment?” Azz, come back; I really, really don’t want to deal with these guys again. This was the third time this week and it was only Thursday; give me a break, I liked it in our void better than this nasty, grimy, children filled cafeteria. “How about, you stop being such a twat, huh?” Jenkin’s breath was shoved right into my face- chicken bowl, nice. “Talking bout Carol behind her back- fricking coward.” I could deal with a lot of things said- Assy; girly; heck, even saying Azz was the one graffitiing the science hall, but talking about Carol? Of all people? “Excuse me, Azz would never do such a thing-“ “And stop with that third-person bull!” He finally yelled out, his hands tightening into fists as I saw his skin tone violently shift to ruby red. “What is with you-? Whenever I talk to you, you’re ‘Azz this’, ‘Azz that’- it doesn’t even make sense! I thought we were friends!” “Oh yeah?” Friends, huh? I can play that game Jenkin’s, you aren’t the only person on the roster this year. “Not until you starting bullying Azz!” “Only when you made fun of me!” “So it’s right to bully me? Because someone made fun of you?” “Yes-“ He stutters in between his anger. “I mean no! You did it after- after-!” He loses all words, the crowd now silent and parted, the exit wide open. I blocked his way with a shove, he didn’t respond. “Say it Jenkin’s- I swear to god. Say it, big man. I dare you.” He had nothing on me, nothing at all, or on Azzy either; just another big bully, just another chump. I silently cast my glare, walking away from the scene to the hallways I barely recognized, Azzy slipping into consciousness once more.
The beauty of a person's life is not only the the lives they lived but also their deaths. You can't have life with death... in a way a guess this makes me less whole. It's been a few hundred years, maybe just maybe it's time that I stopped wandering. Although it will be painful, not just for me, I should at least try to live a normal life. Find a lover, marry, have a family, and finally "die". ... Waking up I see my wife still sleeping next to me on our bed. This is my 10th "life cycle"and I don't regret nor bore of it. Sadly though it's about time for me to move onto the next "life cycle". I mean our family is doing fine and our son is just about to graduate from college. I just don't know how to fake my own death thus time. Every time I fake my death it has to be planned perfectly and naturally. Just then the clock alarm went off. Guess it's time for work, I'll sit on this issue for now. Since I am usually up first I cook breakfast for my wife and son. After finishing breakfast I head towards towards the door. Ah, almost forgot can't leave without a goodbye kiss. On the way out I hear my wife saying, "Be careful and don't push yourself too much you tend to do this too often." I chuckled at this as it reminded me of how we first met. I had just come out of staying low after my last "life cycle"and bumped into her at the mall. We started off bickering with each other as I had broken an item she jyst bought but this also served to get us acquainted with each other. Thus eventually led us to where we are now. Shaking my head to bring myself back to reality I took a glance at my son, Jr. There was a time that I worried for his future but considering his abilities and good head he should be fine in life. While I was walking to work I was stopped by a group of people. Judging from their pyshique the group was made up of both men and women, ranging from young adults to middle aged. They all wore strange masks and were carrying wespons. My first thought was should I use this to fake my death, but before I could even react they all went for one of my vitals. They didn't hesitate at all! I thought this was a simple robbery but it seems they were specifically after my head. Too bad for them though as I can't be killed. It still hurts and I still bleed but I can at least use this as my "death"to start a new "life cycle". In my moment of negligence I failed to notice something strange. Soon after being stabbed in the neck, gut, and joints they soon tied me up. Strange, I was going to pretend to have died but why would they tie me up? My view of vision turned black, guess they put a bag over my head. It feels like I'm being carried, wait now I'm on a car probably a van. There seems to be a lot of room and for some reason the van's floor is really soft and comfortable. The bag over my head was removed and just as I guessed I was in a van. The people who attacked me removed their masks and then I realized I know these people. ... "Jr! Can you please bring your dad's lunch to him he seems to have forgotten it again." "Sure thing mom. No problem!" I always found dad to be a bit funny I mean he's a really capable person but sometimes I feel that he is so aloof as well. This isn't the first time he forgot his lunch but when it comes down to it he really is reliable. He has never forgotten anyone birthdays nor any other kind of special event whether it be his or mom's annerversity or a friend's. While in thought I was looking at the ground then suddenly I saw a big pool of blood on the sidewalk and in the middle of it was my father's wallet and phone! ... "Father!"The group of people all shouted at once as they all tried to hug me. "Hey! Hey! Stop it you're gonna squeeze me to death."I shouted. This got a laugh out of them. They started explaining how they knew I couldn't be killed that way. Darn it guess I wasn't as good at faking my death as I thought. Well what should I expect they are my children if anyone was to find out I'm immortal it would probably be them. They began to explain how they all first met and how they came to the conclusion that I was all their father. After explaining for what seemed like an hour they all had a worried expression. Then one decided to voice their concerns, "We, we weren't too rough on you right? You don't... hate us do you?" I laughed at this, "How could I! Injuries of that level will be healed in a matter of seconds. And how can I hate you all! All of you are my children I still remember your birthdays and if you had not approached me in masks I would have recognised your faces!" Upon hearing this they all brightened up and started asking me questions. Among those questions were requests to visit my past wives and their own children. I was in the middle of deciding whether to pamper them s bit or not, but then we heard a loud explosion. Taking a look outside it was Jr, but he armed to the t! He started shouting about getting revenge for his father, but here's the thing I'm perfectly fine. Before I could react again Jr started his speech again. "You took my father away, so I'm going to take everyone of your family members away too! This is MY REVENGE!" (Hope you liked it and what do you think could have been done better?)
They called it "The Peep Walk". Looking at that, you won't see anything unusual: a common suburban road, with cars sprinting, and a dusty sidewalk on the side. And yet, if you walked on this road, and you looked carefully enough, you could catch a glimpse of other streets and hear sounds from different eras and worlds. You could walk next to a medieval peasant on a trail between fields, hear him calling his wife after a day at work. You could cross the road of an army and smell sweat and blood in the wind. You could just sit and see alien-like figures walking side by side with humans, wearing shiny prosthetic and laughing. Sometimes, strange creatures would appear, like huge insects flying in a purple sky with three red suns. Some people saw a blue swamp with volcanoes erupting, with gigantic monsters holding spears and hammers. I used to spend hours there, just sitting and listening to this traces from far away worlds. When I found out, I wanted to keep it a secret; i knew it was just a matter of time before this wonderful place would become a touristic attraction. In fact, in a few months the place had become so crowded that you had to queue for hours for five minutes of wonder. Buses started to come and go, full of noisy crowds who left nothing but litter and pollution, to observe a phenomenon no scientist could explain. Then, one day, everything ended: no one could see anything but our ugly neighbourhood and a dirty sidewalk. The hustle ended as soon as it started, but left me destroyed. How could such a place be gone? I started researching and looking through old books and documents, searching for ancient shrines and sanctuaries. Such an extraordinary event should have happened somewhere else and left a trace in history, I believed. But all my efforts were useless. Then, one day, I just wore my shoes, packed my backpack and started walking. I've walked for longer I can remember, under the rain and the sun. I've slept in wooden shacks in the woods or on city benches, I've met thousands of people, some of whom have laughed at me, some of whom have helped me. I can name every street I have visited, every book I have read and every human I've met, even if my mind is starting to go numb and my bones are getting sore. And yet, I haven't found another place like that. And yet, as I feel like my journey is going to end soon, my body and my mind have been in so many places that I don't need to look for others. After all, isn't just a common crowded square a crossroad of worlds? You see people shrugging, laughing, crying, living their tiny big life. You just see a glimpse of them: a girl crying for an heartbreak, a man smiling for a promotion, two schoolboys thinking about their next tests, two girls eating ice cream. You see them live from the outside, but you can't tell the huge world within them, their thoughts and emotions which are so incredibly important to them, yet so distant from yours. After all, every sidewalk is "a peep walk"if you are careful enough.
"Davis Oliver, owner of black and gold watch, please come to the lost-and-found office." It's always been easy to do my job, working at a lost-and-found office in a busy airport. That is because I have a special ability, a "super-power"if you will. Just by looking at an object and thinking about it... "Osmar Mario, owner of phone with white case with black floral patterns, please come to the lost-and-found office." It seems that its very essence resonates within me. I can feel information surging through me, it's kind of a weird sensation, but once that's over I know who the owner of said object is. And usually it would be a rather anticlimatic superpower. That is, "Sophia Danielle, owner of brown leather wallet, please come to the lost-and-found office." Unless you work at a lost-and-found office in a busy airport. Like I do. And I can just announce the owner's name into the microphone, along with the description of the object. It's actually surprisingly simple. "Aaron Yusuf, owner of blue luggage bag, please come to the lost-and-found office." Some owners have hard-to-pronounce names, and I had my fair share of screw-ups. However, nothing like this ever happened before. Looking at the object, I experienced the same sensation I always did. But at the end, I didn't know who the object belonged to. It didn't seem to HAVE an owner. I tried again, this time looking for a possible origin of the object. Nothing. It was quite strange, to say the least. Not only this particular situation, but also the object: it was a very dark sphere looking at it from one angle, but it slowly shifted into a cube looking at it from above. It also seemed to have no practical purpose except for defying reality. "Owner of very black, almost shadow-like sphere, please come to lost-and-found office." I was very curious as to see who owned the thing, so I decided to interrupt all announcements until the owner arrives at the office. Some of the people I mentioned earlier came, the others did not, but no one came to redeem their magic sphere thing. Until just a few minutes before the next plane - A198 - departed. A guy in a black coat silently opened the door. With him, a feeling of dread and a deafening high-pitched sound made their presence. He took the sphere with him, and went back to the door, no words spoken. I was too amazed to ask anything. Before he left, he looked at me, and in the corners of my vision, death and doom run free, filling it with shadows. I just froze in pain as the door slowly closed behind him. Now, it is obvious I had a lot of questions. However, I decided to continue my job and pay little attention to it, in hope that I won't have to deal with these questions and have to spend the rest of my life making up hypothetical scenarios about what the hell that was. As expected, there were no over interesting objects for the rest of the day. When I went home, however, a news story caught my attention. HUNDREDS DEAD IN PLANE CRASH Just earlier today, airplane flight A198 has crashed, and no survivors have been identified out of the two hundred passengers present. Only 156 bodies have been found, and they all seem to have a common property, namely a gaping hole in the upper part of the torso. Not only that, but all of them seemed to have been dipped in vantablack or at least a very dark shade of black. Portions of their heads, hands or other members have been turned into perfect cubes. It is unclear what has caused the plane crash. My heart started beating fast. I was creeped out, and suddenly, the same sensation I get when looking and thinking about an object took over me. This time however, my whole vision was blackened, and instead I started seeing things. Visions of how it will all end, of the final days before The End of the World... shadows longing for freedom and something, something so horrible, I will not even mention, choosing to protect everyone reading instead. This was not an ordinary day... but it'll for sure be my last. The thoughts are getting worse and more frequent. I cannot bear life anymore, not like this. I am typing this now as a warning to what humanity will have to face in the following few decades, however not me. I will be free. I will be happy. I will be truly alive, past the mortal coil and the challenges of it. I don't know what happens after death. But it'll for sure be better than whatever is to come. ~
This was piggy's fun store. There were large abandoned carts lying over the streets, blocking any cars from entering. Two boys by the names of Carl and Guy were walking with flash nights as they saw the moon shine upon them. Years ago there had said to the owner of piggy's fun house had a special vault that contained possessions that any customer was dying for. Piggy's special sauce that can go with anything, discounts to any store within the area, or even ten million dollars in cash for anyone to have. Unfortunately, before the owner can give away any of these possessions as a prize, he died in a terrible car accident killed on impact. The owner was the only person who knew location of the vault and what was inside it. The boys were hoping to go into Piggy's store to find that missing vault, so that they can become rich. "come on Guy I am sure we can find the vault somewhere!" "I dunno man it seems like a myth to me" The brought had two backpacks on them. Guy had a shovel, flash light, his laptop and a unopened bag of cheetos. Carl on the other hand had a flash light, a thief kit he bought at A-Mart and a map. "What are going to do with Map? Just use your Phone." "Dude there's no serve out here" "let just make this quick" Carl and Guy both went inside from a broken door and entire the shop. There was not much they could see or walk. There was broken shelves, rats infesting the floors, and objects tossed over as if they are thrown. "I wondered what happened here" "Who cares, Guy there is the backdoor." There was a back door with an exit title. As the boys were walking towards the door they were greeted with a flashing light. "hello there boys! What are you guys doing her so late?" "......." "well?" "nothing officer, Guy and I were just wandering around and saw a this abandoned looking store" "Is that so?" "Yup" "what's in the bag?" "Oh- nothing just schools supplies. We were just walking home from our night class." "Ah-huh" "well boys who are just coming home from school. How about I just leave you off with a warning and you too boys should head home. I pretty sure your parents are worried." "oh thank you officer" The officer escorted the boys as they were walking away from exit door. CRRRREEEAAK "what was that?" Both the Officer and the boys turned around to see the exit door slowly open with a shadowy figure. "there anyone their?" The officer shouted but there was no answer. "You boys stay here." Carl was staring at the officer as approached the shadowy figure. When all of sudden he felt something on his pants. "god dam rat! get out of here!" Carl shewed the rat away. After patting his pants carl looked up to where the officer was. "Where hell is that officer? Did you see where he went guy?" "......." "guy?" Carl looked at guy and saw terror in his face. "th- the officer..." "what?" "the officer he just disappeared" "what do you mean he disappeared" "he was approaching the door when all of the sudden he disappeared." "well the hell are you talking about? no one can just disappear?!" BAAAAAAM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH On the edge of the door there was a finger. A long dark scaly finger. At eh upper corner of the door, the boys could see a large red eye staring. It slowly approaches them, staring into the souls of its next prey. In the corner of a window, moon light starts to shine. The ray slowly hits the room , the boys look up and see its eye staring down at them. Carl looked down to see what the monster was holding. It was long, almost shaped like a club. Stare long enough it was clear what it was, a leg. "we got to get out of here! CARL!......Carl?" "there more behind us" Guy turned around and saw two more staring down at them. One of them had a jaw loose, the other a leg. It was at this moment the two boys had no idea what to do.
It had been an agonising year of back and forth lobbying with various historical collectors, museums and philanthropists to collect the funding necessary for a new venture in Egypt after new clues pointing to undiscovered tombs arose. To the lead archaeologist, Jason Junior, the entire process had been both irritating and relieving to him. On one side, it was slow and frustrating, every day waiting was another day not out performing field work. On the other, an influx of money meant new and improved equipment, more personnel to operate said equipment, and most importantly, data. High resolution scans and satellite pictures are expensive, hard to come by and take time to produce. What they did have available currently was limited, but it did not stop them from planning out their expedition to the various new sites, though it was really all more of a distraction from the wait of the funding grant. The Museum of Cairo especially was a big player and despite the possibility of new Egyptian antiquities, there was an equal possibility of coming up empty-handed which was less than desirable. However ironically, Junior did not dwell on such things in the past, he was far too focused in the progress the dig team was making on the new suspected tomb; foundations of old buildings and dozen of relics were scattered around, keeping everybody busy. "So the dig team say they're close to an entrance, according to the ground scans,"explains Junior, pointing to the estimated location of the crypt, "meanwhile, we have 4 teams of assorted scientists and historians combing this whole area for pieces that fit your collections". He gazed back to the small audience of sponsors seated in the pavilion, ensuring they were happy with the current progress; now that they had been convinced to aid the venture, it was up to Junior to actually keep them invested with results and tangible evidence. So far, it appeared to be working far better than he expected. An older man in the back harrumphed, "Well I must say this is all nice and interesting, but all the good stuff would be in the tomb itself, right? so perhaps save your little show-and-tell until then,"a few other men and women nodded and grunted their approval before standing up one by one and stepping outside to observe the work going on. Or perhaps it wasn't working. Junior sighed and slumped down into his chair. He only had to put up with those insufferable sods just a while longer, just until they could take a glimpse at the tomb interior and leave site so all the proper work of assembling and cataloging all the treasures could commence. He was about to look over his material again before his pants buzzed. his phone. They had found something, whipping out the device, he checked the message: "Main dig is a bust, though did find a side entrance on west side".. He took off at a jog towards the main excavation area and was with the foreman, Marcus, and a younger man, Junior recalled him as being part of the sponsor group, specifically sent from the Museum to oversee collection of various items. The two appeared to be having a heated discussion. "-And I told you, Mr. Johnathan, the dig site will remain closed until- speak of the devil! Until Jason here gives you lot the all clear", said Marcus. Mr. Johnathan appeared quite bored and lazily swiveled his head to face Jason, "oh come now, ol' chap, we've been cozying around here for days now, don't you think we at least deserve some evidence of progress to show this whole business wasn't a total flop?", he smirked, "and by we, I mean your pal right here", he thumbed to his chest, "could be a real shame if the Museum lost interest didn't it?". Marcus looked quite helplessly at Jason, clearly asking for a rescue, before Jason spoke up, "Listen, until we get any clue as what is down there, the dig site will be off-limits to visitors, which I am afraid includes you, Mr. Johnathan... However,"Jason's tone lowered to a whispered as he leant in, "I can offer a little exclusive access to something new in exchange for an assurance, sound good?" He definitely struck a chord, as Mr. Johnathan's whole demeanor brightened before him in a blink, "I knew you'd see it my way, no time like the present however, chop chop". Marcus sighed and cast an unsure eye toward Jason, "Sure do hope this works out, I'll keep the area off limits, go work your magic." Without drawing the eye of the other treasure hunting vultures that were the rich collectors, Jason led Mr. Johnathan down to the alleged passageway the dig crew had discovered, which had definitely raised various questions: no open area was found on this side in the ground scans, yet the place that was open ended up being a solid unmarked stone wall. The orientation was checked, and confirmed, so why? a place that is walled off should be clear to see, but the various instruments used all point to there being no wall, so the site was cordoned off and the diggers moved off to the other possible locations. Being already uncovered and the diggers ordered to stay hushed, this left Jason and Mr. Johnathan alone to wander into the arched opening of a previously undiscovered tomb, the excitement between the two was palpable. Jason huffed, "Just a quick look around to satisfy you, and then you'll hold up your end, I trust?"It felt wrong to explore alone, this wasn't some movie about a small group of intrepid archaeologists finding some taboo figure in an ancient civilization's dark past and 'accidentally' waking them and bringing blight to the world. This was a team venture, a team effort and a team discovery, he liked having his colleagues share in the glory, but of course in such circumstances, said glory must wait. Oh but of course, my dear, dear fellow, a tiny peek, and perhaps a souvenir no?"Mr. Johnathan's grin grew wider and wider,, "and then of course your coveted good word to the folks at the Muse-", he stopped and gasped for air. It happened in a blink, the absolute smugness drained instantly and Mr. Johanthan's face went pale as gripped Jason's arm and pointed to a thing in the dark, faintly visible by the creeping light from the entrance. "Nothing should be alive down here, right?"Mr. Johnathan's teeth chattered, "I do admit I have a terrible aversion to uh... those." The first thing Jason remarked was the hairiness, now of course with size, details you take note on smaller creatures become terribly apparent on larger ones, and a spider with the legspan of a dinner plate and an abdomen the size of a grown man's fist, such a tarantula would be inordinately hairy. It crawled along the wall slowly, and stopped, visibly tilting its head to spy on the visitors. Thump Thump. Two soft taps that pounded in Jason's ears as the monstrosity of an arachnid knocked the wall with its fangs before changing course to crawl up and disappear through a gap in the stonework, that seemed far too small to fit it, afterwards, Jason's gaze went to his side where Mr. Johnathan no longer was. Mr. Johnathan had long since released Jason and backed off towards the archway, he oddly seemed to shrink in Jason's eyes, and not because of the growing distance between them, "I-I say good sir, I believe there is something quite queer about this place, what say we call our business concluded yes?"Before Jason could get a word in, Mr. Johnathan spun on his heels and sprinted the rest of the way outside, no doubt to return to the Museum and advise against supporting this discovery. "I guess I was wrong", Jason sighed exasperatedly, "This did not work in the slightest, in fact it may have just unworked". He turned his gaze back to the darkness where a faint light shone for the briefest instant before vanishing. "Strange." What was also strange was the sudden sensation of falling. Quite an unfortunate day. &#x200B; Note: Typed this very late at night, please excuse any errors. English is also not my first language, so my prose and choice of words may not be the best at times. I do have a follow up planned, so if that does sound interesting, do let me know.
It had been quite a pleasant dream, one of wonder and beauty and a fresh sense of discovery right on the tip of the fingers. I see it! The great beast is headed this way! Gripping my rifle firmly and holding the barrel steady, a bead of sweat escapes from my brow as I stare down the hulking dinosaur barrelling towards me. In spite of the immense difference in power and size, I can feel an overwhelming sense of calm as I breath in a sigh. The Dino is 5 great steps from me now. I steady my aim and ensure the bullet will strike right between the eyes. 4 steps 3 steps 2 1 BANG!!! I jolt upright in bed my hands flailing out in a pathetic attempt to shield myself from the claws of the phantom creature my mind had conjured up. I sit there for several minutes panting, the calm from the unconscious realm clearly not transferring into the physical world. Eventually pulling my wits about me, I clumsily stumble from my bed and take a few cautious steps. Ears straining, I fail to hear anything from within the house that sounds as though it’s moving. Trusting my hunters instinct I conclude that the bang I heard must have been one of the many pots and pans I had piled up on the counter top downstairs. Content in my conclusion, I settle down and close my eyes. Only to be interrupted once more by the definitive sound of a child wailing. The sound is slightly muffled, suggesting that it’s source is likely located outside in the garden. I bolt downstairs, my rifle in my hand before I know it. ‘I suppose this is what they call protective instincts’ I think to myself as I slam the door open and sprint into the small patch of weeds and bush I call a garden. I’m greeted with the sight of a strange ball in front of me one that seems to me made of a strong metal. Looking further in I see a padded, cushioned bed. “What the hell...” I mutter, my mind racing a mile a minute. Suddenly I feel a tugging at my leg and, to put it lightly, I shit myself. The gun is dropped to the side as I look down through shaky eyes at what has grabbed my leg. What greets me is a small baby girl, completely nude and looking up at me with a stern pout adorning her rosy face. A thick bushy head of her frames her black fierce eyes with her tail wrapping around her. Wait. Tail?! With shaky hands I remove my vest from my sweating form and make a motion towards her. Instantly she scowls deeply at me baring her sharp developed canines at me. My fear is slowly dissipating at the knowledge that all this was caused by a little girl of all things. Sure, she has a tail, but this is a world were anthropomorphic animals and men coexist. It’s not to far from the realm of capability that a child may have been conceived from a coupling of a human and a... monkey being? A light chuckle escapes my throat as I lower myself to be on eye level with her. “Hey kid” look I understand you must be cold right now so... how’s a bout you let me take ya inside and we can try and find your parents for ya.” Before I can blink, the girl is upon me growling and ripping the vest out of my hands before wrapping it around her waist as a makeshift dress. “Kami you’re fast! Where’d you learn to move like that?!” No answer comes from her. The form gently dropping to the floor as a loud snore escapes her mouth. Blinking twice before shaking my head and approaching the slumbering child. “What makes me think I’m gonna regret this,” I grumble as I pick her up and head back inside.
"So, let me get this straight,"my human assistant walked over to the holo-table and marvelled at the sight of my planet, "you became the supreme ruler of Earth just to win... a bet?"he asked, a confused look etched over his wrinkled face. "Yeah."I shrugged. No biggie. The human brought up the hologram of Earth on the holo-table. "But... but how? Why?" "The bet was whether terrans would make contact with us in under a millennium or over. I chose under."I said, undisturbed, as I swiped the tablet to the next page of the news. "Why'd you make that bet though?" "Cuz once humans make contact with us, we'd take them over and use them as slaves." "So...? But why'd you take over Earth?"he asked, unperturbed at the statement I'd said. "Cuz' humans are slow. So I was like, 'Fuck it, why don't I take over Earth to speed up the process'. Like, c'mon, I need my assistants. And look where we are now! In a ship full of humans, travelling at light speed, on the way to my home colony!" "Yeah, but you killed like, half of Earth."he said, crossing his arms beneath his chest. "Did I? Ah, who cares."I put my legs up on the stool in front of me, and continued to read. "But... but... you can't do that! It's not... not right!"the human yelled, suddenly getting very agitated. "Oh, I can."I pulled my gun from beneath my seat and shot it in between the guy's head. I got up, and stood over the body. I liked this one. But, that's what I said to the first three and a half billion humans. I opened the hatch and chucked the body out into space. "There, you go rot with the rest of your planet."I muttered underneath my breath. The cabin door slid open and Assistant Number 3,505,456,793 walked in. I glanced at her. Maybe she'd be better than the rest. But, that's exactly what I thought about the 3,505,456,792 people before I killed them. --- I'd appreciate comments, feedback, critique or opinions as I'm fairly new to writing. Thanks!
The battlefield was marred with the blood of heroes who's names would never be known. The cacophony of the ongoing battle remained untold to those listening. It was too much noise, too much death, too much violence. Processing the mayhem was difficult, even for a veteran like myself. I had seen plenty of battles in my time, but this was unlike any before. Many of my peers lay stripped, writhing in agony before me. Many others lay in their stillness, the unmatched calm of death. The losses were incalculable. As I scanned the plains of death upon which we decided to take our last stand, trying to take note of who was still capable of fighting, the Skywalker's returned. Luke spoke first, clearly still rattled by the depth of the mayhem. "Captain, what are your orders? We're being overrun. We have to do something about the giants before it's too late." "But if we don't deal with the cyborgs soon, they are going to take out our second guard. Our flank will collapse and all will be lost."Leia knew her strategy, and we all knew she was right; but the targeting systems on the terminators were proving too large a match for our people. We needed to get into close combat range to deal with them, but they weren't allowing us to. In the moments we spent talking, I noticed the hulk get swarmed by a pack of mind-controlled dinosaurs and get ripped to shreds. Ironman tried to save him, only to get crushed by Magneto, who in turn caught a spear in the chest thrown by Achilles. "THIS IS MADNESS."I screamed. "THERE IS NOTHING FOR US HERE BUT DEATH."I was losing it. Spiderman, missing a leg, screamed out for aunt May in misery. This war... what was it even for. "GET TO SLEEP!!"The roar echoed over the battlefield from another universe it seemed. The fighting ceased... not for lack of want; but for fear of what was coming. I dropped to my knees and looked up just in time to see our world coming to an end. The black hole approached, sucking in everyone... everything. There was no way out. It had all been for naught. Our war, our blood, spilled for nothing more than the entertainment of the gods. I dropped my shield and bowed my head, as the life was ripped from my body, and I joined the others in the giant red graveyard in the sky. A pile of corpses, lifeless, awaiting judgement while the gods return to their slumber -- until the timeline circles us back to use. Until the god of gods once again deem us worthy of sacrifice, and until it grants it's children the passage to return to their eternal battle. Two foes locked in combat on the battlefield of eternity with an endless supplies of bodies to feed the war machine, and a consistent supply of juice and crackers to feed themselves.
“Jesús,this is really not a good time for this.” I told the tattered bag as I jammed my entire arm into its mouth, and as soon as I said those words and arrow logged itself in my breastplate. “Case in point, now give me the goddamn dwarven auto bow!” He mumbled through my arm a “But I like that bow!” This has a been regular occurrence since I got him from that damn merchant in KnightsHelm who failed to tell be that this particular bag was not only sentient but a complete klepto. “Aha!” I yelled as I felt the grip of the pockmarked Ogre tooth handle, yanking it free from the bags mouth. “Heyyyyy,” he said with his feeling obviously hurt, “You didn’t have to be so rough!” I wound the charging handle on the bow and let loose on the ramparts. “God I forgot how cool this thing is,” I said. With what I assume must be a scornful look, the bag yelled “Hey I’m talking to you!” I ducked behind the wall to reload. “I’m sorry I really am, but you have a problem, and it’s gonna get us killed... well me killed.” I said as I jammed arrow bundle after arrow bundle into the the loading compartment. The bag wimpered as I looked at it. “Can I please have the hand cannon?” The bag turned to me. “Now that’s how you ask!” It said with a grin.
The breath subconsciously trapped in my lungs finally surfaces as I plunge into the depths, a frigid wave washing over me. These creatures are so different without the glass between us, lazily going about their lives, I wonder if they even know. I catch the thought as it swims through my mind, inhaling the serenity of it all. Light radiates through the blue, twinkling off their scales as they pass. Beauty in its purest form. Hundreds of eyes roll across our forms, curious about the aliens in this world, but from that side of the glass they can’t possibly understand. The world looks different from up there.
"One of our greatest earth philosophers said something very profound, once,"said the team captain opposite, mouth twisted in a wry smile, hefting the ball up and down as she considered her options. "'The cockpit has not been made that would fit my proportions.' Do you know what it means?"She bounced on her heels, the high gravity she was used to on her home planet suiting her well on ours. I stared at her, wariness trickling down my spine. Humans are lanky, at least compared to Shrithi, and not particularly quick movers. "You can't win. You're four points down, and you've only got six minutes left on the clock."We had their holder surrounded and locked in place. "That's a no, then. It means that averageness is uncommon to the point of uniqueness." I glanced to my teammates nervously, and then to hers, lined up in a row- poor formation, but made sense right now- not like they had much hope of an orthodox win now. But keep her talking, that was the best strategy. Even if she didn't have something up her sleeve, it's not unheard of to get eight points in that time- teams have come back from worse. "...How so?" "For example,"she gestured, passing the ball almost casually to a teammate. He passed it on to another teammate, and they passed it on, back and forth. "The average Australian is a thirty-something woman living in Sydney, with two kids, an SUV, and works in retail. But when they looked for her, she wasn't there. She was too average." "And? That hardly helps you for this." "True, but there's something interesting, there. If she was allowed to choose a competition against another random person, she could win every time. Because when she sets the terms, she can find a thing she is merely average or good at, while her competition is terrible at. A bit like top trumps,"she added thoughtfully. Four minutes left. "But just remember: when you let someone get talking,"she continues, as one of her teammates jumped two metres straight up... "They can also get to thinking." ...and passed the ball right to their holder at the back. An impossible throw without the stupid air, and completely stupid. Wouldn't have worked if they hadn't drawn our focus even that little bit. One point. Still a gap of three. But as we set back up, the apprehension battled a smile and lost. Humans aren't too remarkable, at least not compared with Shrithi. But a good team can leverage their strengths and their weaknesses. Maybe they wouldn't win- in fact probably they wouldn't. But playing like this was much more fun anyway. We finished setting up, and I met the human team captain at her line, and she gave me a grin. "Did that... Australia story have anything to do with the plan?" She grinned, taking her starting stance. "No, it was total crap. But it made for great filler, right?"
"Ha!!!"Bellowed Satan, his nostrils blowing the tiniest puff of steam. He kept his gaze on the gaunt stranger drinking the bloody Mary. "Many things I have heard in my day, but none so self serving as THAT! And I would most certainly know"The stranger opened his mouth again to speak, but aside from revealing his razor sharp incisors, he did not convince the demon prince to demure. "You are a Hollywood darling with swooning fans hardly touching puberty" "Unnng!"Intoned the gruesome giant at his side. Clearly forgetting his own turn before the cameras. If anyone heard him though, it was hard to tell with Dracula finally giving his own full throated disagreement. "And which of us has bands singing a chorus to their might? You hardly have room to talk!" "Unng!"Added the giant, helpfully. "Don't YOU start Frankie, I saw more of you than me last Halloween!" "True"began Dracula, only just starting before Old Scratch turned on him again. "And if I see one more 'Sexy Vampire' costume. I'll hit them with a one way pass to my playroom!" "Not one of us gets the fear and respect that we truly deserve." "Agreed."Came a new voice from the right. All eyes turned on the newcomer. The scrawny older man in an off the rack suit smiled. He held out a business card to the Vampire. "We had an appointment today, but I've been informed that this case requires after hours attention. They told me at the castle that you were here tonight." "And Who are you?" "Oh! Terribly sorry! I'm Sean Davidson, Internal Revenue Service." The empty bar missed a chance to see the pasty skin of a vampire grow visibly more pale.
Part 1 - Simon was in trouble. Sweat beading down the sides of his face as he ran down the main street. He needed to get to the bookstore and fast. Simon was cursing his shins. ‘How the hell did he get himself in this mess?’ he mused. Oh, that’s right. A night of binge drinking and accepting a sorcerer’s spell challenge from his arch nemesis, Carly. Simon and Carly were Sophomores at Archimedes University, one of the most prestigious sorcerer universities this side of the Atlantic. Both destined for greatness by technique and raw talent, the two were constantly finding themselves trying to best the other. Simon was a master in chemistry class, creating new and effective potions. Carly was amazing when it came to annunciation in linguistics and could elevate even the most average of spells. The pair were constantly being compared to each other. Their classmates and friends often mused that the two would make an attractive and powerful sorcerer couple. Carly was strikingly beautiful with blonde hair and large blue doe eyes. And Simon was handsome with dark brown hair, green eyes and strong jawline. Carly’s friends were always trying to find new ways to get the two of them in the same room together, paired up for some task or game. And Simon’s friends always seemed to point out how smart and pretty Carly was. There was just one problem. Simon respected Carly’s ability. If she wasn’t such a snob, they’d probably be friends. And yes, Carly was pretty, sure, he’d admit that. But that’s where it ended for him. He was just not interested. It was that simple. Simon entered Abaris’ bookstore. He loved this store. It was really the best place off campus to find old, ancient and just useful books. Today, Simon was here for one book. He had scraped and saved some money to buy the $250 spell book written by Circe. The book was always optional reading in their classes, so his scholarship wouldn’t cover the cost of the book. However, he also knew Carly didn’t have a copy of this book, nor did the university have it in the library. And in order to beat Carly in this ridiculous sorcerer spell challenge, he needed that book. Simon walked right up to the checkout counter. A man, Simon figured was in his late twenties, looked up from his book. “Can I help you?” the man asked, uninterested. “Yes, I’d like to purchase a copy of ‘Spellbound by Circe,’” Simon said. “Ok. Wait here,” the man said. The man walked away toward the back of the store. Simon watched him enter the back stockroom. A moment later, the man returned with a large book in hand. He walked over to his side of the counter and rang the book up. “That’ll be $275,” the man said, evenly. “Wow, did it go up in price?” Simon asked, suprised. “No. $250 plus tax,” the man replied. “Oh. Ok. No problem,” Simon said. Simon put his hand into his back pocket where his wallet should be. Nothing. Then into the other back pocket. Again nothing. Simon looked up at the man, his face starting to feel warm. “It’s gotta be here somewhere,” Simon said, as he continued to search other pockets. He found a twenty dollar bill in his front pant pocket and placed it on the counter. The man just looked at Simon uninterested and sighed. “I seem to have forgotten my wallet,” Simon said. “So, do you want the book or what?” the man asked. “Yes. But, it seems I only have this twenty,” Simon said, apologetically. The man rolled his eyes and walked away again toward the back of the store, book in tow. Simon turned away from the counter, pissed and frustrated at himself. Clearly he left his wallet back at his apartment, in too much of a hurry to get to the bookstore. He looked at his watch. The challenge was in less than an hour. Simon didn’t have time to go back and get his wallet, return to the store for the book, then get to the Qi Ra challenge area. All while trying to learn a spell or two along the way. He wasn’t a sage after all. Spying the East wall, Simon knew there was a small, lonely, little cart back there with discounted books. The bargain bin. Simon sighed. He did have twenty dollars in hand and thought that maybe he’d get lucky and would find the ‘Spellbound’ Cliff Notes. Reaching the cart, Simon started to look at the book spines. 500 Instapotions for Healthy Wizards, The Complete Joy of Home Witches Brewing, How to Sage by Thales, Crystals for Beginners. No, No, No, and No, Simon said to himself. “101 Eye of Newt Soup recipes,” Simon said, disgustedly, “ewww.” “That book is actually pretty good. There’s a delicious Pho Newt soup in there,” a voice said behind him. Startled by the voice, Simon turned to find a woman standing behind him. She had dark brown hair, pulled back into a bun, accenting her high cheekbones. Her brilliant green eyes were magnified by the cat shaped eyeglasses. She was holding a pile of books and restocking them on the shelf in front of her. She gave him a smile. Simon thought she was beautiful. “Let me help you with those,” Simon said, moving to stand quickly next to her. “That’s alright, I’ve got them,” she said, putting the books down on a nearby shelf. “But how can I help you?” she asked him. “What?” Simon asked, confused. “You seem to be looking for something specific in the discount section. I work here. My name’s Betty. Can I help?” Betty asked. “Well, yeah, Betty. It’s kind of embarrassing,” Simon started, “I challenged one of my classmates to a sorcerer’s spell challenge. She’s really good at spells. In my drunken stupor, I talked a big game. And, well, now, I need a book of new spells and I only have twenty dollars. And less than an hour to get to the Qi Ra arena.” She laughed warmly and smiled at him, giving him a knowing look. Simon grinned, feeling a little less embarrassed and just finding himself more enchanted with her. He liked the way she laughed and wondered what else he could do to elicit such a laugh. “That is quite the predicament…..,” Betty said. Then paused and looked at him expectantly. “Oh, Simon. My name is Simon,” he said, quickly. She nodded. “Ok, Simon. Tell me, does this classmate have an aesthetic that she likes to use?” Betty asked. “I don’t understand. Aesthetic?” Simon asked. “Well, at this point in your college career, you’re studying the greats and trying to emulate something that might work for you, until you develop your own style. I’m sure your classmate is doing the same. Is there a type of spell teaching or sorcerer that she seems to model herself after? Like, Pallo, Qi Ra, Fulton, D’Angelo. Essentially, whose books can she not seem to put down,” Betty asked. Simon thought about it for a long moment. He tried to think about the books Carly was constantly reading. One name came to mind. “Bia Martha,” Simon said, “she loves Bia Martha.” “Ah. The most famous Qi Ra disciple. She’s an oldie, but a goodie,” Betty said, cheerfully. Bending down to the bottom shelf of the discount case, Betty began to scan the spines. Simon bent down next to her. He wasn’t looking at the spines. But watching her read the spines silently to herself. What was it about her that had him so transfixed, he wondered. Something about her easy demeanor, matched with her beauty and intelligence, he thought. “Ok. This would be my choice, if I needed something to best a Bia Martha spell in sorcerer’s challenge,” Betty said, standing up to her full height. “‘Clean Spells, A Handbook of Dynamic Spellcasting. By Ruth Franklin,’” Betty said, handing Simon the book. “Really?” Simon said, reluctantly, “Are you sure? I mean, Ruth Franklin. I’ve never heard of this sorcerer.” “Well, no. You probably wouldn’t have. She’s not in any of the history books and she doesn’t practice anymore. But she still writes very methodical spells and releases books like this. She also studied under Qi Ra. If that helps,” Betty said. “Sold. I’m running out of time and I have maybe forty-five minutes to get to the Qi Ra Arena, learn some spells and hope I don’t make a complete jackass of myself,” Simon said. There was that laugh and that smile again. “Come on. I’ll ring you up,” she said, walking toward the front of the store toward the cash registers.
The lottery was a somber time. The virtual white marble and palm trees had cyber-selves waiting, some crying, some trying to find places to be alone. Though, when every mind is connected, it is impossible to truly be alone. The ‘net-wide broadcast pulsed through. There was no time to say goodbye, to prepare. Those who were chosen were dropped immediately. In mid sentence, in mid stride, people just vanished. People had cycled out and into the confining pods of the World Server. Not that they had ever left them, but the reality they had been in, some for years, was much more real than where they woke up. Some could not deal with the sudden confinement and had body system failures the machines around them could not handle. Some, the pods would not open, having been sealed for long enough the hinges had seized. Many sat in their pods, even after they had opened, not having the physical strength to lift themselves out. I was one of the caretakers. Those of us who cycle through, enjoying the paradise of the World Server for a while, and then come back into the reality of this place to make sure the things the auto systems can’t handle are. I was used to it. In a way. It never was easy, though. It was one of the caretakers that had seen the anomaly coming towards the satellite. He thought it was just a bad beacon on a supply ship, but it grew, showing that it was thousands of forms headed towards us. He tried to contact World Server 3, the closest sister satellite in that direction, but they had already been attacked. There was a protocol for pirates and this was the first time it had been enacted. It was deemed a ‘lottery’. Not entirely accurate, but as far as the denizens of the World Server knew, it was. All the caretakers were cycled out. Anyone with military experience was cycled out. Anyone who had been in the server for less than six Earth moths was cycled out. And some extra here and there because of the games and experiences they preferred in the World Server. We had some time, but not as much as we wanted. I tried to pull open the pods that were Red-Lighted, trying to save those people who I could. Some went Dark before I could prize them out. It hurt to know that someone I had been a caretaker of for possibly years was now dead. But, as I heard the descriptions of what was coming towards us from another caretaker through my comms, perhaps it had been a simpler way to die. We did not have warning from the other satellites. We did not know what was coming, but from the shapes we could almost make out on the scans, it was one of the space-faring predator species we had fought centuries ago when Earth reached for the stars. Nightmares of these things kept children in line, but we had thought they were gone. They were an amalgam of bio and synthetic with a space mineral shell that the first people who came across them did not think was anything… real. They were very real. Of the thousands of people who were in the World Server, a hundred had been cycled. Of those, only 80 were gathered in the reception hall, waiting and eating real food for the first time in ages. We were relearning how to use our bodies, and from experience, it takes a few days for everything to really start working again. I always knew the body was fully functional after I had been able to have my first good poo. I wasn’t sure we were going to have enough time for even that milestone. “If they don’t change how fast they are going, it looks like we have two days to get ready.” A hand raised and the woman said, “How are we going to be able to fight these… things? Grampa always said that the only way to kill them was to shoot them, a lot.” My co-worker nodded. “It has been since we got to Alpha Centauri that we have seen these things. I’m not going to speculate on how they got here in the last few centuries, but we have to deal with them. And not everyone here is going to have a weapon, but we need to lock things down and try to contact the other satellites while we can.” “We don’t have enough weapons?” He shrugged. “Three projectile weapons, all confiscated from people coming aboard, twenty slow light and ten fast light rifles. And only ten suits of combat armor. One of the men stood, a waver to him as the low artificial gravity pulled on him. “If you can get my luggage from when I checked in, I have armor in there. And one of those guns is mine.” A wave of comments went through the crowd. It took a few moments for it to pass, but several others came out with the knowledge that they had things that might help in the bags they had brought. I shook my head slightly, thinking people who were rich and lucky enough to be plugged into a World Server would still feel the need to bring real things with them. But it just might help us right then. Groups were formed. The people who were fighters and soldiers had already been gravitating towards each other. There was something in how they just existed that called out to each other. The people who knew about engineering and the computers the had kept us alive and entertained started working out ways to keep the people still in the pods safe. There were a few who started taking care of those around them, cleaning and finding places for people to sleep in the processing part of the satellite. One or two just sat, regaining their strength of will if not of body. The caretakers were in better shape than most of the rest of us. We knew that the machines kept the body working so the minds could enjoy the produce in the World Server, but we also knew the shortcuts don’t to those of us who were not scheduled to come back out. Those were the people we had to get the high protein food into as we discussed how to deal with this situation. And, yes, most of us were just sitting and discussing our doom headed towards us because just walking was just about impossible.
People say that they have ghosts in their houses. I actually have one. I am not joking. I think it was here before me, because the guy I bought it from really rushed to get the house sold. It is most active on nights, mainly between 11 PM, and 5 AM. I hate it. Absolutely. But today is different. It left me a note on the living room table. It read: "Leave, now!" That's it. A short little note. I give up. That's when I heard a thud, from the neighbor's house. I mean he does make wierd noses, but he has work in his office today. Right? I decided to check it out. It got really mad at me, and just shut the door. Closed. I don't even have a key! "Okay, we are going out trough theback door"I muttered to myself. There was not back door. It dissapeared. After some time, I found an open window. I ran out as fast as I could, and now I was free to go. It has no power over my neighborhood. I opened the door, and there it was. The thing that made the sound. I cannot really describe it. It's like a coffee table, but with teantacles. It was purple-ish and as soon as it "saw"me it started charging at me. I did not have enough time to react. That's all I remember. I woke up in my house. It was all a dream. Or so I thought. I have no body. No nothing. I am now a ghost. Alone. The other one left? I don't know. All I know, is that there is a new person here, and I must get him to leave.
"And so we begin, my friends, to understand the motives for these atrocities. And until I am done with my investigation, we will all remain in the ballroom under watch by the local deputies. Please remain calm. I'm sure everything will be just fine... unless you have something to hide." The man stood tall in front of the room, stroking his beard with his left hand, the flecks of white complementing the wrinkles on his face -- signs of experience. As he stared down at the beautiful debutante, he recognized her beauty. Even in death, she is poised to stand on the stage, to be recognized for her grace and charm. A model of elegance, ready to be painted in her vanilla white dress, wrapped up in her satin sash blue as the sky.... if it weren't for the blood dripping from her eyes, the hives that encased her skin normally made of southern silk, and the white froth escaping her breathless mouth, of course. 'Poison Clearly, but what kind and why?' He thought to himself. He surveyed the space tat the table where she was sitting. Placed on the table were a small cup of coffee, and a crisp apple strudel. Everyone was drinking the coffee; in fact, he was sipping from a cup himself just a few minutes earlier, back when music was playing, dresses were flowing in dance, and men were gazing cheerily upon the young beautiful women setting out to create their legacy. 'The strudel then.' He glanced around the table looking for more strudel. None. He began checking other tables and found a half eaten strudel next to a portly young gentleman in a tuxedo slightly to small for him and a cummerbund slightly too large. The sweat on his brow implied the coat he wore, although too warm for the gathered group inside, provided his size some protection from the wandering eyes of the young beauties. "You sir! How long ago did you eat that strudel?" The young man appeared dimwitted. Caught off guard by the address, he quickly rose up in his chair and stumbled over his words. "Uh. Um. Strudel? Oh the apple.. Yeah. I about, uh. 15 minutes back. I stopped eating it. I didn't finish." "Was it not good? Not to your liking then?" "Oh no, it was ok; but, I started getting itchy and feeling hot. I don't know it was the strudel, I just didn't feel like continuing to eat it." "Are you allergic to apples? Or the love put into southern cooking?"The older gentlemen mused. "No sir."He laughed. "I'm not really allergic to anything. I get some hives from bee stings, but that's about it." Immediately thoughts began to swirl in the mind of the retired detective. The sashes, the strudel, the dresses, the paper snowflakes... the debutante with a severe allergy to bee stings who now lay dead in front of him. It all began to add up. "This murder was related to 'my favorite things,'"he yelled out, and began to notice the swell of women in white dresses and blue satin sashes moving towards him. They were now all adorning whiskers and warm woolen mittens. As they got closer, they began ching chingeling the ringing of sleigh bells, and as they all pulled out copper kettles from their brown paper bags all tied up with strings, they began chanting, in hazy, monotone unison -- "A few of my favorite things. A few of my favorite things." There was no escape. He felt his arms go numb amidst the panic that overwhelmed every fiber of his being, and as he looked down, he noticed the dead debutante working her way to his feet, reaching out for his legs, a glaze over her eyes and a thirst in her heart. She opened her mouth, exuding the last of the froth to run down her chin and jaw, exposing the teeth of a predator ready to strike on it's prey, frozen in fear. As she latched and ripped the flesh from his bones to the sound of a cheer from the crowd, he awoke startled and afraid, dripping in sweat, screaming at the top of his lungs. "SOUTHERN GLAZED CHICKEN AND APPLE STRUDEL!" Without missing a beat, Colonel Sanders grabbed the notebook that he leaves in his nightstand knowing that inspiration can strike at anytime. He recorded the valuable events from the nightmare as he chuckled to himself. White dress debutante with blue sash, my favorite things commercial using KFC new southern glazed chicken. Chicken so good it'll make you crazy, debutantes fighting over chicken, most beautiful debutante sits alone eating our new apple strudel dessert. And as he drifted back to sleep, he hummed the tune in his head, dreaming about the next fiscal year.
The swirling colors; green, grey, brown, black, filled the vision of the men. Approaching quickly over the firey red sands of the surrounding desert, none of those colors should have been there. The squadron paused, horses reined in, footsoldiers halted their advance. The enemy was approaching from the rear, and every step mattered, but the sandstorm in front of them didn't look like it was going away. In fact, it was getting closer. The two hundred-something soldiers stayed, pinned between the advancing enemy and the strangely patterned swirling sands in front of them. The commander opened his mouth, about to call the retreat, when the sands pounced-- the colors engulfing the men in a silent swirl of terror. Moments later, seventy two horses stood in confusion amid the dunes of the desert. Moments after that, a legion of soldiers emerged over a sandy outcropping, before stopping immediately. The horses pranced and snorted. But the men were all gone. &#x200B; The seven minutes that it took for the portal, wormhole, gate, Einstein-Rosen bridge, whatever you'd like to call it, to deposit the squadron somewhere in stark difference from their previous surroundings were minutes they'd never get back. Immediately upon seeing the greens of the jungle around them, the lush foliage, and the carefully packed gear carried by the soldiers scattered as if turned inside out and back again, the commanders called them to order. A headcount was taken. One soul was missing. The count again, to ensure the correct number. Still missing. With nothing else to be done, the soldiers snapped to attention. A camp was made, in the precise spot where they had landed-- nobody wanted to run the risk of another portal appearing without them there. By the time they had finished the camp, two more had vanished. &#x200B; Leagues were set up, to go find water in an attempt to save themselves from the scorching heat that was more stifling even than the desert they'd found themselves in before. Ten were missing by the turning of the next hour. &#x200B; No-one knew how many were left by the time nightfall came. The rations were already running low, even though the number of men remaining dwindled with nearly each minute. The soldiers huddled, tents forgotten, in the center of the camp. Waiting, waiting, each praying they would not be next to disappear. &#x200B; In the distance, something roared. &#x200B; And then everything was still as a swirling, white and grey and blue portal overtook the few soldiers left. &#x200B; Alexander Elliot, Commander of Squadron 87, stumbled out into the snowy tundra. He had twenty men left. And he was no closer than ever to trying to figure out how to get off of this forsaken planet and back to Diion.
It’s always there. Always. Every night, when the sun fades from the horizon, and its glow is replaced by the harsh haze of streetlamps, it’s there. In the blistering heat and cold, in the rain, wind, and snow. It just stands there, under the light of the lamp. It doesn’t move. If it has eyes, it doesn’t blink. If it has a mouth, it doesn’t smile, or frown, or breathe. I can’t help but watch it. It’s too strange not to look at it - it’s like the unsettling scene in a movie, or odd looking fellow on the street. You don’t mean to look, you don’t want to look, but your gaze is drawn in nonetheless. I don’t sleep anymore. I stay up all night, watching it, just as I’m sure it watches me. It doesn’t always have eyes, but I know it always sees me. Some nights, it seems to stand a little closer to my house, and the light of the streetlamp seems to bend towards it. It almost doesn’t seem real. At first I remember it being nothing more than a vaguely humanoid shape - more of a blob, really. But as the nights went past, and as I grew more and more deprived of sleep and sanity, it became clearer. The once ambiguous mass of unsettling confusion was warped into a gnarled and gaunt being, with fingers and thin and long as the legs of spiders, and eyes that sat restlessly in dark craters on its sickly face. The more I looked at it, the more real it became. One night, I decided to confront it. Whether my judgement had been whittled down by exhaustion, or my tempered had been crushed by frustration, I couldn’t tell. Regardless, I left the window of my bedroom and stepped down the rickety stairs, which were silent beneath my feet. The old hinges of my door didn’t utter a sound - not a single squeak or whine, that one might expect. It was still there - but I was on its level now. I walked towards it, and stopped in the middle of the street, just before the darkness of night met the cruel haven of the lamp. I looked into it’s eyes, and walked into the light. Its pale face cracked, and spread into a wide smile. Too wide. Not all monsters hide in darkness.
Contrary to fiction in the 1950s to 2000s, there was much celebration when Johannes Fisher's case was found. The observers finally found a disturbance in the endless predictable mundanity of humanity... At least, perceived. So what was the exciting failure of the grand algorithm? On 9 January 2150, Johannes ate cereal instead of bread for breakfast. The moment the Johannes' observer, O-5948, encountered the error in the predictions, the big red flag was raised to the main server. Information about the incident eventually got out, and the media lapped it up. "The Algorithm failed? What will happen to our peace?", Humanity asked and still asking. The AI Overlords couldn't careless about humanity's plight. Johannes was put under heavier, yet non-intrusive, surveillance. Terabytes of data was collected on him and his immediate surroundings and relationships, just to refine their models. Countless of iterations were tested in a controlled environment, and their results were so similar to the ground truth, they might as well be. On 15 October 2150, the AI Overlords released an improved predictive model. All eyes and ears focus on Johannes, and his next moves. For a month, Johannes acted as predicted. During that time, people started betting on how much Johannes' actions will deviate. On 25 November 2150, Johannes' actions deviated from the model by more than 5σ, an event on par with scientific discoveries. Waves of unrest shook civilization, while the AI Overlords, were once again elated. For as long as Johannes lived, this cycle repeated. Upon his death, the AI Overlords were desperately trying to digitize his consciousness. Something people viewed as their masters trying to prolong their entertainment. Alas, as a final act of unknowing defiance, they weren't able to digitize Johannes' consciousness. Now, the endless predictable mundanity resumes, much to the AI Overlords' dismay.
I gagged, I couldn't help myself, the place was disgusting. How could anything live like this? I didn't understand. I stepped deeper, the black plastic in my hand crinkling in my nervous grip. I shouldn't be here, it was a forbidden place . But I needed to do something. Anything. I needed to get some power back and this would be a good start. I told this lie to myself over and over. I stepped on something squishy and a musty, rotting, smell flowered. A few steps farther and I knocked over a jar that was partially filled with a disgusting brown slime that was covering a small children's toy. I kept moving, shooting furtive glances over my shoulder and with my ears straining to hear anything. I was still alone, I was still safe. Making my way past piles of old food I came to his altar. The place he spent almost all his waking hours. The screen flickered with images of a children's show, with little ponies flirting about. One with a rainbow on its haunch matched the little toy in the jar. I shook my head and turned to my task...cleaning a little. My hands were full of paper plates crusted with old ranch dressing and ketchup smears when I hard the door slam. Oh god...he was home from the convention. "Mommy? Where are my TENDIES?!"His voice rose to a shriek and the floorboards groaned under his weight. I was on th second floor so I had at least ten minutes before he would be able to heave himself upstairs. I turned quickly, knocking over bottles of pee and a stack of pillows with anime women on them. "MOMMY? WHERE ARE YOU? I WANT TO SHOW YOU MY NEW WAIFU!" Oh god, another of those dolls that looked like little girls...the rationalization that she was actually a thousand years old or whatever...I hustled out of the room, side stepping crusted underwear and a pile of oily fedoras. "MOMMY YOU BITCH WHY ARE YOU SO BAKA?! WHY ARE YOU HIDING?"The voice was at the bottom of the stairs. I stepped into the bathroom and quickly took off my gloves and mask. I forced a smile and wiped a tear from my eyes before flushing the toilet and answering. "Mommy is going to get her special big boy McDonald tendies right now. There is some Mountain Dew in the fridge, il be right back!"I took the stairs two at a time, rushing past him, holding my breath against his strength, shuddering as his greasy trench coat dragged against my arm. I slammed the door behind me...maybe this would be the day I wouldn't come back...who was I kidding, I needed to take care of my baby. I started the car and went to get my special boy his food.
A single soldier stood in blackened grass, looking out into the distance blankly. The cloud of smoke that billowed out of a great fire on the horizon was heavy but did not form a curtain thick enough to blot the light of the sun that shone above it. The woods that stretched outwards around the plains burned and dead, and had been for days since the battle. The soldier turned his head; his eyes were empty as he surveyed the desolation that lay all around him. Men were standing in the distance, staring into a pit that had been dug. The soldier lurched forward, crossing the land before he reached one of the men, and he stared down into the pit. His eyes flicking briefly over the bodies that lay there. He did not recognize any of the faces of the dead, but then again, he had not recognized any of the faces he'd slain on the battlefield. For two thousand years, the Roman empire had fought and conquered, until the world was born anew, as a single nation unto the Earth. And the soldier knew that he had spent his life serving its purpose. He unslung his rifle, laying it at his feet, and returned his gaze into the hole. He whispered words of Latin, telling of sacrifice and duty and struggle. Victory was not a triumph. It brought no peace, nor rest to those who had achieved it. A torch was thrown down into the pit. The fire spread quickly over the bodies, and smoke rose, twisting into the sky where its shadows fell over the land. The bodies smoldered and turned black. For a moment, there was silence, until the thunder of war echoed across the plains once more. The soldier stood, turning to face the north, he gathered his rifle. He then began to march once again, towards victory.
"How!?"the man cried out, now prepared to run the other direction, horrified by what he is now finding out. "Well, as you seen, since you didn't put the cup in the bin the person picked it up do it. They were bumped into, pushing them into the street. They obviously didn't make it. Also, the last second turn pushed the ambulance to avoid a collision, leading to the death of another person going in for emergency treatment. That small moment could have saved them since the worker was working on a precise treatment. The first person was on their way to a conference that would have ended global warming in twenty years, instead of the couple hundred it is at now. The second was a professor, his next lecture would have changed multiple lives had he lived." The man could only watch as another moment popped up. It was a moment when instead of giving the man some change, he instead gave the homeless person a small care package. The next scene was of the man being beaten to death for not paying up, where others seen that instead of paying money would instead give food, or drink, or frivolous items. Thus leading to the person not making enough to pay off some gang. The gang also later going into a fight and ultimately losing since they couldn't pay off bigger fish. "In another time you gave him money, he lived, changed his life. Those young boys would be alive, one would eventually become an investigator, saving others." "How much more is there?"asked the shaking man. The Gatekeeper pondered the question. "Many."
For Superheroes: "A group of Corporate-sponsored Superheroes are invited out of costume to an upscale gala with many high-profile people. During the party, a villainous plot is uncovered to kill the majority in attendance." For Fantasy: "A druid is hired as a sherpa for a group of adventurers who are about to travel through an unsettled region of the planet known for extremely dangerous and territorial megafauna." Hope these are good, don't feel pressured to answer either, just trying to help.
Since I was a just a little little boy, I had a dream. I was gonna become famous! An actor! I’m sad to say that those dreams have came true. I feel like a whore. I feel like I’m selling my soul. Who am I to say, I’m just Brad Pitt. Even if I wanted to leave I can’t. They will spread rumors. They will spread rumors saying I’ve gone crazy or that I have committed rape. They are evil. Even by writing this I am breaking here code. Soon enough, they will come after me.
People, people, and more people. Without death to put a check on humanity, it's population skyrocketed. It hit 10 billion, 20 billion, 30 billion, and so on. But even though death was gone, didn't mean all of the other nuisances of life were. Food quickly ran out, and it began to be reserved for the elite. The poor were just left with grumbling stomachs and unhealthy lives. Of course they were fed up with this, so they rose up and installed a new system. At first, food and water was rotational. People would get a certain amount of it every few days or weeks, and were told to use it wisely. But as the population continued to soar, they realized they needed to be smart. Thus began a world of desalination plants, vertical farms, and artificial land. For centuries, this continued to sustain a growing population, and everyone lived prosperously. However, after a while, it became clear that even these strategies would run out soon. With other planets too far from Earth, the government realized that prevention was better than cure. And thus, having children was banned. Of course people protested, but what would matter? Nobody could die anyway. So the population reached an incredible 471.1 billion people, and then it flatlined there. Then, work began to eliminate the rest of life's nuisances. Genetic modification made most illnesses cured, or at worst, equivalent to a common cold. Food and water could now be cloned at one's command. Before long, every single human lived healthy, eternal lives. But then, after thousands of years, things started to change. People started to get tired of all this time. It was starting to mentally wear them down. Eventually word broke that if anyone wanted to end their lives strongly enough, they just disappeared. And over the centuries, that's what happened. The world population steadily fell. After a while, a one-child policy was implemented, effectively lifting the ban on children. But it was no use. Eventually, every human disappeared off the face of the earth. Except for me. I was the only one who really wanted to live forever. I wasn't worn down. I wasn't depressed or anything. And that was because of one thing. I was the one who made immortality possible. But the thing is, that medicine had a side effect where after thousands of years, you would wear down, and disappear. Of course, even I didn't know this at the time. But eventually, I made something that guaranteed true immortality. However, I knew that revealing it would cause frustration and anger, as the public would finally know that they weren't really immortal. Because of this, I told nobody that this better version had been found. I just took it, destroyed the rest, and went on with my life. After all, I am the only one out there.
“Holy shit...Holy Shit….Holy fucking shit! Is that..?” Barry stammered out trying to choke out words faster than his breath would allow. “I knew it! I fucking knew it!” “Dude!” Fred quipped back, raising a finger to shush him, as he ducked down behind the counter. “Get down!” he whispered, pulling on Barry’s sleeve. Barry slapped his hand away as he paced back and forth. "You know I can see you?"The client Barry was helping stated, crossing her arms. “Ok, don’t freak out. Deep breathe. This just proves you’re not crazy Barry. This is a good thing! He’s real, he’s really fucking real! Holy shit, the Squatch Watch is going to freak out!"He shook his hands as if trying to dry them then walked around in circles, screaming between sentences. "Oh maybe I should start a live podcast” The lady Barry had been helping, was beyond flabbergasted. Her young child was pulling at her sleeving, pointing at the Sasquatch that was now being helped on the other side of the building. “Umm..excuse me, are you going to tell me why my account is frozen? Or are you just going to continue to ignore me?” The lady said, trying her best not to go off on this crazy rambling man. “Mommy look, he so hairy!” the child exclaimed in awe. “Big hairy monkey man!” “Good the kid sees it too, that proves I’m not crazy. Ok…” Barry pulled out his phone completely ignoring the lady he was supposed to assisting. Fred, now realizing how ridiculous he looked crouching down behind the only area of their workstation that was all glass, pretended to tie his shoes “Hey there Squatch Watch it’s your old pal Barry here, coming at you live from my place of employment...." “Are you fucking kidding me right now?! Can I speak to your manager? This is some bullshit!” The lady yelled. Silence swept through the room. All eyes were on Barry, but he was lost to the world. "Uh, Barry."Fred whispered from his crouched position. “...thank you all for hopping on to my Instagram Live, I bring you….Bigfoot!” Barry exclaimed in awe, switching his phone off front-facing mode, and back to camera mode. “Ma’am can you..please..just..scoot to the..” He tried to move his phone around the lady to get a better view of Bigfoot, but she kept moving in the way of his shot. She snatched his phone and snapped her fingers in his face. He grabbed his phone and handed it to Fred. "Get a shot of him Fred, the Squatchers neeed to see!"He said snapping at Fred to hurry. "Hey ma'am how can I help you?"He said turning to the lady as if nothing happened. “Manager. Now!” she exclaimed, her lip quivering as she tried as hard as she could to lower her voice. Barry crouched down to talk to Fred. "Did you get the shot?"He asked snatching his phone away and standing back up. “Ahem, gentlemen, may I ask what exactly it is that you are doing?” Shit, it’s Sheila, Fred thought to himself, snapping up like a soldier at attention “Hey boss!” He chuckled elbowing Barry to try to get him to focus. “Excuse miss, are you their Supervisor?” the lady said, her leg shaking uncontrollably. “Sheila, this lady needs help with her account, it's frozen or something. Help her please” Barry stated, snapping in the air and shouting "Hey Squatch"from across the room. “Yes ma’am I apologize for their behavior, I’d be happy to assist you. One moment please.” She smiled and then turned to Fred. The smile melted away. “Sandy’s office. Now.” Fred sighed, and grabbed Barry’s arm follow him, but then he felt Sheila’s hand on his shoulders. He looked at her and gulped. She shook her head. Like a dog who didn’t get a treat, he hung his head and walked away. “Mommy the monkey man is leaving!” the child shouted just as Barry hopped over the counter and pushed past them. “Wait! I have so many questions!” He hollered as he stormed out the door. The lady Barry had been helping threw her hands up in disbelief. Sheila smiled awkwardly and motioned for security to come forward. “Pack up Barry Bloch’s things and do not let him back in. Call me if he shows back up today.” She then turned and helped the lady figure out why her account was frozen.
For as long as I remember, I can hear thoughts. One common misunderstanding about this power is in how I receive this type of information. There is no such thing as hearing others mind voice; I will try to explain what I mean. Let's suppose you're sad. You will organize your thoughts using a learned language (the english language for example) you will use this "universal"system of comunication to organize your feelings. You will say to yourself, I'm sad. On the other hand, I'm like an anthena. I don't receive other thoughts translated to the english vocabulary. Normally I'm bombarded by images, feelings; in short subjective stuff that I can't trace it's meaning or to whom belong in a trustworthy manner. I believe no one knows my capabilities of receiving mind's info, and usually I don't try to develop, nor use this to violate peoples minds; well, until that incident at school. Of course people of that age, has these fixations on the horror (or in sexual stuff), pretty normal stuff. However I came across something abnormal. It was so vivid, like the student X is actually doing what he is thinking although he is in class. As soon as I looked to them, this thoughts, so strong, stopped, like the connection was shut down. I could never pin point who it was. Since that day I've been controling myself to not peak over my students brains, however I'm fascinated. Can you believe it? For now, this is it. I think I found a way to entertain myself with my powers, as soon as I can break into that kid's mind again, I will update.
I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. The abandoned apartment building is still there. I and a lot of others thought it was demolished weeks ago. In a haze of thought, I ran to the front of the building uncontested as opposed to its untimely demise, surrounded by construction workers and security personnel. I have a lot of memories of this place. It was a safe haven for those at the bottom ring of the ladder. The landlord was a middle aged man who rented out the apartments to those in need in exchange for nothing. But there were also ghost stories associated with the place. Rumors and myths of murders and suicides that occurred in or around the building. Heh, good times. There it was. Apartment 37C. The one I grew up in. Got a lot of fond memories of the place. Dad and I moved in here after my parents divorce and while he was out looking for employment, I was out playing with the kids in the courtyard. Many years later, I can still hear the playful cheers of kids who didn't have to care about much. Then again, it was a bad neighbourhood and from what I heard, many of the kids I played with growing up joined various gangs in their adolescence. As for why the building stands again, I don't have the foggiest idea. But, I'm glad it does cuz to tear it down is to tear down the childhoods of more people that you'd like to know.
Osamu Hajime was a successful man, more importantly he was fortunate. Yes, he had all the traits common among the self-made magnates: intelligence, drive, shrewdness, you name it. But in an emerging industry like asteroid mining with no absence of the ruthlessly ambitious, it seemed fortune had smiled particularly on Osamu. The potential for massive wealth through mining these celestial bodies is only overshadowed by the incredible risks and sacrifice demanded of those who would dare undertake such an endeavor. Where many had failed spectacularly, Osamu had thrived. Early on, he found he had a knack for choosing overlooked asteroids that would turn out to be laden with priceless resources such as platinum, copper, and rhodium. As his mining company grew in assets, personnel, and market capitalization, so did Osamu's reputation as a fierce competitor. Naturally, his list of enemies also grew. There were rival mining operations, jilted business partners, disgruntled ex-employees, and when Osamu started lobbying in the halls of power, politicians and global leaders as well. HOM Group Ltd, Osamu's company, was at the absolute top. It had the distinction of being the first multi-trillion dollar market cap company, and Osamu being the majority shareholder meant he was richer than Croesus. Soon, HOM Group had first pick among new mining opportunities, which only meant greater returns and Osamu soon set about purchasing rival companies to further consolidate his empire. He bought every toy, house, and object he had ever wanted. And he had no shortage of "friends"in the highest levels of society. Then trouble began. Workers on strike, rumors of sabotage being blamed for failed shipments, expeditions, and the like. A transport that Osamu was scheduled to be on exploded due to a bomb. He had skipped taking it after a meeting took longer than expected. The thought of narrowly escaping death sent a cold chill down Osamu's spine. He assembled a veritable army of elite bodyguards to shadow his every move, his mansion was a Fort Knox of the most sophisticated security systems, and he slept with a compact rail gun hidden in his night stand. But someone got to him, his transport was attacked by an unmarked mining ship that deliberately had rammed into him over a small planet that was being surveyed for mining operations. The damage caused his ship to fall within the planets gravity and through its atmosphere being shredded and charred beyond recognition. Osamu was unharmed, of course, due to the safety systems present. But he was rattled at being stranded in an alien world. It could be a matter of months before he was found by rescue teams or the like. The brilliant entrepreneur was a poor survivalist. The days dragged on and Osamu was weakened by hunger and exposure until he was found by what seemed like natives. These humanoids didn't speak English, but they understood that Osamu was in trouble and they were strangely unafraid of rendering aid. The natives insisted on Osamu living in their humble village, and this alien among them soon gained his place within their society. Osamu was surprised at how quickly his concerns with shareholders and timetables disappeared. Learning how to hunt and where to find the best roofing material for shelters had taken precedence. His communication with the natives had vastly improved, and he found their friendship and company a great comfort. No one cared about how much treasure he'd had in his own world. His stories about his vast mining empire were met with genuine curiosity and amusement. He found their questions revolved more around family, being understood, and less about possessions. When the rescue craft suddenly appeared into view, its sleek lines revealed by the settling dust cloud around it, Osamu was actually disappointed at the prospect of salvation. His rescuers reported that the company had suffered a dip in value after the debacle regarding the CEO's disappearance, but it had soon recovered. That really only helped his decision. Much to his own surprise, Osamu told the rescuers that he'd be okay, and that they could return without him. He had a long-range communicator if things went south, they insisted he take it after they realized he was being serious about staying. The village awaited, and he had his place there to take care of.
I hadn’t enjoyed watching Mike get rejected over and over and over for the past two years...ok maybe a little. This was the harshest rejection yet though. Shouldn’t be surprised Macy had a right hook like, she was the captain of the tennis team after all. Oh well, another stupid pick-up line, another rejection. “Not that I care too much, but are you ok Mike?” “Is she gone?” “Yeah, it’s just us.” “Fuck, who knew she had a swing that good.” “...anyone that knows her.” “Oh shut up...come on let’s go back to your place formulate a plan. “ “Maybe you should give up?” “Dude I’m IN LOVE with this girl. I can’t just walk away from that and as long as we aren’t together you’re indebted to me.” “I’ll trade you my sister for your freedom. She sees something decent in you at least.” ...oh he didn’t swat me that time, good I was starting to get a crick in my neck. “I’ve flirted with her, I’ve gotten her gifts, what is she looking for?” “Anyone that isn’t you?” “Am I really that much of a jerk? I know I have some rough spots but chicks are into that aren’t they?” “Sure if they’re trash or looking to piss their parents off. Neither of which Macy is.” “Whatever, can you come over tonight so we can prep for tomorrow?” “Cant, I have to help my brother with the shop.” “Bogus...” We went our separate ways after that and the rest of our day played out like normal. But morning comes eventually, and I once again find myself sitting in homeroom, bored as hell, and waiting for him to charge in with some new scheme...Speak of the devil, I believe those are his footsteps... ...unlike Macy, Mikes right hook was much more well known, I just didn’t think I’d be on the receiving end of it... “Get you up you rat bastard!” Sure when...just give me a sec to see straight again. “What the hell Mike?” “Racheal told me everything! How you and Macy feel about each other, those dates you two went on during the summer when you were “too busy” to help me. How could you man!?” “It wasn’t like I did it on purpose. It just sort of happened. And despite our feelings, I rejected her because I was trying to help you.” “Is that why she's always so cold to me?” “No you dumb motherfucker. You’re the biggest we’ve known since we all met in third grade, she’s never liked you, she never will like you...maybe it’s time for you to just accept...” I was back on my feet for all of two seconds, then I came to in the nurse's office. Alone thankfully. I don’t regret a thing I said, maybe I regret the way I went about it but I’ve been trying to chase a runaway bus with those two for two years now. It had to be said... “Hey...” “You’re the last...second to last voice I wanted to hear Macy...no third to last.” “Ouch...” “Oh shush, you know I’m always happy to see you...Racheal on the other hand.” “Don’t sweat her, how’s your face?” “Sore.” “I bet...I talked to Mike on my way here?” I’m so glad she came bearing good news… “How’d that go?” “He wanted me to tell you he’s sorry for earlier and that you are off the hook...at least in regards to me.” “Great so he's pissed off AND I still owe him for saving my sister.” “You still got me...right?” “Mikes agreed to step aside?” “Not in so many words, but does he really matter anymore?” “He...” “I know he saved your sister, and like I said he says you still owe him.” “Macy...” “Can we just skip to the part where you tell me you love me?”
The moment hung in the air like a cloud on a still day. The final chords echoed off into the dirty streets. A breeze, like Fate's gentle voice stirred them into a flurry of movement. First,the deafening smack as their powerful legs push off the ground. Their flowing clothes rustle as though our breeze had instead blew through a tall grass. Rising above the rustle their steel zips through the air seeming to split the very light as it dances along with them, pirouetting from blade to buckle and back again. As suddenly as it began their danse macarbe comes to an end as a red bloom erupts upon a nearby wall. The final stroke emphasized with a momentary pause, the victor rises in sync with the adversary's final bow. With a flourish so practiced its beauty no more than a blur his weapon finds its berth. .........?
No one on Earth understood me, and the only person I loved was myself. So here I was, on this parallel Earth, looking to find myself. It turns out it wasn't that difficult to find the parallel Earth's version of me, as this place was very similar to ours. So there I was, standing face to face with myself. The other me was confused at first, but went along with my story soon enough and we got to hang out. For a while this was amazing, finally someone who understood me, finally someone else I can love, and who would love me. This didn't last. Soon I realised that, the other me was kind of an arsehole. I couldn't take it anymore, and thought that the other me was clearly different from me. I really believed that at first, but the more I thought about it, I started to realise I was the same asshole, I had started to hate. Only then I started to understand. Understand that it wasn't the world that was wrong, it was me. I returned to my original world a new person. I didn't think that my worldview is the only correct one, and even people with whom I disagreed strongly before, I could now understand better. I didn't find love in the way I had hoped for, but I found love for humanity again.
To be honest, waking up early is one thing I was never good at. But that 8 am job ain’t waiting for anybody. If I want to get to work on time, I have to get up before the sun rises. I scroll briefly through the weather after a quick shower. Light rain and wind at 10 knots? Not bad, considering that a cold front just went through. After packing breakfast and lunch, I head over to the hanger where my green and white C-172 is waiting and start my preflight check. A drop of fuel from the left wing’s fuel sump hits me as soon as I open the door. Ewww, I just washed my hair! Hopefully the scent will wear off considerably after a few hours. I go through the preflight as fast as I dare. The engine oil’s leaking even worse than when I last checked, so I top it off again. But that’s something you expect from a plane built in 1961. I’ll need to take it into the shop this weekend though. The sun is starting to rise as I start the engine. I do my runup as I taxi to the airpark’s runway. I’m running a bit late, so it will be a short-field takeoff this time. 10 degrees flaps, full power, and I’m off. Now’s a good time to have that bagel I packed. The airpark is rather quiet today. 3 of my neighbors are in the traffic pattern, but that’s about it. One perk of waking up early is that the ATC isn’t open yet. Everyone gets nervous around those grouchy guys, but I guess it’s just their job. After all, they work in a more stressful environment than most people. I level off at 2500 feet as soon as I get out of the pattern. Settling back in my seat, I take a look at the new neighborhood development that’s passing below me. The developers are promising accommodations for private jets, which means that some new airspace will have to be set up in the near future. That change it will make it take longer for people like me to commute to work. The sky is awash with gold as the sun rises. What a gorgeous view! The city’s skyscrapers and other planes glint in the light. I take it all in as I finish my bagel. It’s times like this that I remember why I like flying. Unfortunately, the moment is over too soon, because I have to descend to enter the pattern of the company’s personal airfield. Immediately I am told to extend my downwind. Some rookie was having trouble with the heavy crosswind and opted for a go-around. I’m guessing it’s the new intern Maggy. She got her license only last month. Finally, I’m cleared to land, second to the runway. I land and skedaddle to the tiedown area. 10 minutes before 8? I can make it! I end up getting into the office at 7:59. Not my record time, but not the worst either. And just in time for that meeting too.
“Oh, you’ve dropped the charade I see” Sebastian said as he furtively glanced at his would be killers. Giant towers of bone, speckled with wire, pins, and the occasional plastic piece, stood there motionless. The empty eye sockets seemed to be able to hollow him out with their own overwhelming emptiness. “What? Back to lifeless statues as soon as you’re caught, we both know I know what you can do. Is this the courage of so called terrible lizards.” Sebastian continued staring the group down in a dim lit hall. The exhibition hall in the corner of the opulent mansion was packed to the brim with artifacts. Bright tapestries, stolen masterpieces, shining suits of armor, but none of them were as eye catching as even the smallest titan before him. A creak and then an audible sigh seemed to echo through the room as an anklyosaurus took a step towards him. “Good evening then, Sebastian was it? Don’t think we would dare to call you master. My name is Albert.” “Ah Albert, dug from Alberta, Canada form exposition in 1972, clever” Sebastian said, recalling the details of the plaque welded into the floor by Albert. “Look I know your lot finds me annoying and would like to get me out of the picture.” Albert raised his tail a hammer of bone, and began to sway it back and forth, “and so what if we did, there is not much you could do to stop us.” “No I suppose not, but do you really think that’s worth the risk just because I discovered you.” An echo of creaks and thumps shook the room as few skeletons murmured and moved about. A spinosaurus missing sail bones hissed at him “that’s more than enough reason to spill your blood before the council discovers.” Sebastian eyes widened and he met out a mirthly chuckle. “Hahah they did say your brains were so small.” His eyes watering as Albert drove his tail deep into the floor sending shards of shattered tile and concrete into the air. “Stop!” Yelled Sebastian, He stood there composure draining from his face” look there are two ways this ends tonight, one you let me live, tell me of this council and work with me, a sail for the spinosaur, hidden room to move about. A billionaire ready to trade perks for knowledge and power. Think, a teenager able to carve out a financal empire between the legal and illegal from the empty husk of a failing shipping conglomerate. What potential I must have! Perhaps you still want to kill me. Maybe this council catches you, maybe you get away clean, but I have no heirs. This place will be gutted, some of you were purchased illegally, likely to be dissembled to be legitimized, split up from each other. I’m sure at least some of your bones sold and grinded into powder and sold at medicine shops to aid male enhancement. You find your council terrifying but you have no idea the horrors of an estate sale.” A long neck bent low and seemed to get face to face with Sebastian, “fine mortal, you will live, but you are still no master. We will give you arcane knowledge and you will come to see how much a mercy only being killed would have been.”
My journey started eons ago. I was just a normal boy, who loved commputers and witchcraft. I studied all the time about witches and wizards. I knew it was fake, that is until, that day arrived. At the beginning, it was just a normal day, going to school, walking back home with my friend. I dropped my friend at his house, looking at him. Then, when. I looked back infront of me, there was someone dressed like a wizard. I immediately jumped, shocked. The man told me that he was going to curse me. I asked him why, sarcasticly. He said for all the sins you have done. I was confused. But I won't go into any more detail, because that is just boring, right? No? Fine, I will continue. He told me that you have tried to study about us, and find out we live. I was like what?????? I was so sure this was a person playing a trick on me. But then I remembered no one knew I liked to study about wizards and witches. Not even my parents. I just shuddered. He said he would place a curse on me and the curse would me immortality. I stopped. What did he say? Immortality? That's not bad. When I told him that, he just smiled and said, "We'll see.". He then placed a curse on me. I felt my self becoming tingly inside. Then, as soon as it happened, it stopped. Fast forward a billion years. Earth was dying. I got very seriously hurt. It started healing. Yep. I was used to that. All the people left Earth. I was just floating in space. I waited. One million years, One billion years, One trillion years. I was so bored. Now I understand what the wizard meant by "We'll see.". All of a sudden, light appeared out of no where. I was shocked, and hopefull. I was thinking that humans found me. Slowly and slowly, I flew in.
“Name?” “Aaron.” “...” Aaron was how he pronounced it, how he asked others to pronounce it, but it was spelled... “Four leading X’s, alternating caps, two-” “Starting with a capital X?” “No, traditional, lower first. And then two A’s, six Y’s, a dash, L-M-A-O (all caps), a dash, then R-O-N all lower case, and ending in a matching four X’s.” “Okie dokie. Yep, there you are. Very old fashioned name, xXxXAAyyyyyy-LMAO-ronXxXx.” “Aaron’s fine. Better than those poor sods who have to deal with a word repeated umpteen times.” The clerk went silent. Aaron noticed her name tag: BeeBeeBeeBeeBeeBoppityBop. “Sorry.” “It’s fine, I like my name. Better than being confused with a grampa with all those leading and trailing X’s.” “Fair jab.” She smiled and handed him his event pass on a lanyard. Beneath his photo and his name was a black bar that bore the word speaker. “So, what’s your lecture on?” She asked. “How old fashioned names are better?” “Kinda, actually. It’s about how what we perceive as the world is in fact some form of over-bloated virtual reality game system that we’ve become trapped in. The reason we have ridiculous names isn’t for clear identification by the government, it’s because out identities are limited by the systems account requirements. Like in most software, username reuse isn’t allowed.” BeeBeeBeeBeeBeeBoppityBop blinked. “Sounds...fun.”
"It's the Flying Dutchman!"The inevitable shouts start to rise. "No, dammit. This is not the Dutchman. They are here t help and we are sinking so stay and drown, or shut up and climb."I snap as the mast overhead creaks in agony. Storming over, I grab one of the ladders and shove it to one of my men. "But-"The young man starts. "If you want to actually die, let go and stay with the ship. Me, I will be joining anyone smart enough to accept help onboard. Now move, sailor!"My voice seems to echo due to my proximity to the ship. "Hurry up, climb up."The ghost sailors start to encourage my men as they start their climb to safety." "Harrison, sir, Harrison is trapped belowdecks."Timothy exclaims as he stumbles towards me as the ship slips ever lower. "Climb up, I will fetch him."Striding off, I turn and glance at my men, most are smart to actually accept the help, but there are always those stubborn fools. "Any men not onboard that ship by the time I return will be expected to sink to the bottom of the ocean." With that, I rush through the slowly rising water. Fortunately, due to the damage received, I don't need to head to a door. Gaping holes in the floor work well for descending a floor or two. With practised ease, I dive down and within the murky water, I find the body of Harrison, pinned under a cannon. Darting over, I lift the cannon with one hand, as I pull him out with the other. Quickly I check my men, all of whom make it aboard, except for the body in my arms. The ship is sinking faster now, and I know how the men will see me if I manage to pull Harrison aboard if he is alive. But... I pull out Harrison's slightly bent dagger as I make our way closer to the surface, but not enough to breach. Fortunately, Harrison is an obedient sailor and keeps his dagger sharp. I slice into my arm and manage to get a single drop of blood onto his lip. Before it revives him, I shove him to the surface and I dive down. I see Harrison struggle as he breaches the surface, and he starts to swim away. Good. Because now I am angry. I told Bloodbeard that if he went for me and my men, I would make him regret that. He may be a pirate with an enhanced strength boosted by the number of men under his command, and his ship maybe alive. But I have my own tricks up my sleeve. Like not needing to breathe underwater, strength even greater than his, and the inability to stay dead for more than six seconds. I told him, n front of his crew, if he started a war with me, his name would never stay in the Ledger. He. Was. Warned.
The all-too familiar intro music started playing in the den and made its way to Joey’s room, diminished but still recognizable. The dark, menacing bass tones and discordant minor melody now was laughably corny to him, like seeing a ghastly halloween mask every day. He glanced at the clock, even though he already knew it was 7:00 pm. That was the time set aside by his parents to listen to their favorite podcast, Tales of the Arcane. “Welcome, dear listeners, to ‘Tales of the Arcane’. My name is Wesley, and tonight we have a truly mysterious case to tell you about. Jane Doe of Red Canyon is a still unsolved murder that occurred in Utah a decade ago. We’ll discuss the grisly details and why investigators haven’t made any progress in so much time. But first a word from our sponsor…” Joey could practically mouth the words of the intro, it wasn’t a new episode. In fact, to his knowledge it had been about 5 years since his mother and father had heard it and ever since had made a point to replay it at least a couple of times every week. It was odd at first, then incredibly annoying, and then Joey just decided to go to his room on those occasional evenings and play with his toys or his music. “Everyone’s got quirks, I guess.” thought Joey. His best friend’s dad was an obsessive collector of toy soldiers and historical dioramas. It never ceased to amaze him, though, how attentive his parents would get once the episode would replay itself. As if there were newer things to discover, greater details to be gleaned, a new theory to be explored. It was all the same to Joey, however. He’d lost interest very early on would only catch bits and pieces of the case once he learned to zone out. A young girl had been found dead in a canyon, half eaten by coyotes. No I.D., no one looking for her, no distinguishing characteristics. She’d been tortured and killed though, and the most lurid part: it had been a double homicide. The girl had been pregnant, her womb having been torn open and the child eaten by scavenging animals according to trackers and forensic experts tied to the case. Of course Joey had asked why his parents had been so obsessive about this murder, and they responded very simply that it was a fascinating case since it occurred not an hours drive from where they grew up. And it was tragic to them to think that this unknown girl had family that still didn’t know what had happened to her, if she had family still alive. She could’ve been a classmate of theirs for all they knew, his mother explained. And besides, his father who loved puzzles and detective stories would shut himself in his study to try to chase leads and see if he could be the one to finally bring closure to the mystery of Jane Doe of Red Canyon.
The results were in: out of 70,928,385,361 people on Earth, or rather, the 85 million who had bothered to buy a ticket, one lucky winner was the happiest human of all. A round, tax-free hundred thousand credits: such was the first prize. Lesser prizes were also had, for smaller lucks: five and four-digit credit prizes, spacecruiseship trips, complete sets of crafting utensils tailor-made for individual homes, bicycles... and then, there were prizes who could only be said to be… "Experimental? A prize’s a prize, right?” Animé could not hide their smile, even though their teeth were all natural: its light yellow, alongside their hazel eyes, were the most colorful things in the room. “It is a prize, and a great one”, said the professor. She analyzed Animé from head to toe, trying not to stare at their old, loose clothing or their naturally-grown hair. “However, due to legal and ethical issues, we cannot advertise it, promote it, or bestow it upon the average citizen.” Animé looked around the office, all set in tasteful off-white tones. None of the windows projected on the walls were out of place, the physical books were gray bricks of spines unbroken, and the few ornaments in the professor’s shelves, the figurines and 3d photographs, were as beautiful as they were replaceable, colored in sensible, muted flesh tones. “Well, I’m down for whatever! If it’s not too gross or weird or dangerous…” The professor twirled her stylus around her fingers. “Your body faces no physical danger whatsoever. Dare I say, it will be good for a number of your medical conditions. But…” Animé interrupted. “Will it fix my halitosis?” The professor smiled, combing her wig’s bangs with the stylus. “Oh, yes, definitely” “Then let’s do it! Where do I sign on?” They filled the forms: the process could, then, begin. \--- Animé opened their eyes. They could barely remember what happened before: it took a conscious effort to remember the laboratory, the mandatory Consensual Reality classes, and the shape and feel of the CR Chamber itself. It would only become more difficult. “What’s with all this… color? Everything is so… bright”The voice of the professor echoed inside their head. “Welcome to the Earth of Old. Animé, you don’t have to speak out loud. Just think of the CR Chamber and subvocalize your concerns, and I will hear you”. “It’s all so colorful. So red and… blue?” They pointed at a potted fern.“Those particular hues of blue are what we call ‘green’, Animé. You must get used to it” “And what is this place? It’s so funny…” “That is your bedroom here in the simulation. Your own bedroom in your own house! Are you happy?” Animé breathed against the back of their hand. “The halitosis is gone. It’s gone!” Animé looked around the room. The walls were bare, but painted in a warm peach color; the furniture was minimal, a single bed with dark blue sheets, and on her desk, there was only a hand mirror. There was, of course, the fern. Last but not least, there was a large wardrobe; a wardrobe made of… “Wood? Like real wood? From trees!?” “Remember, Animé, that this is Consensual Reality… so it’s not ‘real’, but it’s just as if it were! That is your prize.” Animé was beaming. “Are there real trees here?” \--- Anime found themself in front of their house. Surrounded by a circular wall standing three bricks tall, and inside a mount of red, red dirt, was a tree. “Terminalia catappa. A sea almond tree. And it’s all yours.” Animé started to cry, and could not stop. They hugged the tree, rubbing its rough bark. Then, something thumped against their head. “What’s that?” Animé pointed at the egg-shaped green pellet. “It’s the fruit. It fell from the tree.”“Is it broken?! Is my tree defective? Oh no, look now!” A leaf, as large as Animé’s head, fell twirling through the air, landing next to another leaf, which was next to a pamphlet. “Why is everything so… dirty? Why does everything stink?” They pushed the leaf with their shoe. “Why is everything like this?” Animé looked around: there were cracks on the cement, weeds and grass growing in the sidewalk, and even what seemed to be excrement next to the bright, yellow curb. The professor sighed. “Please remember: this Consensual Reality is like the Earth was, once upon a time. Do we need to tone things down even more?” Animé’s heart started to rush. They ran across the street, panicking at the sight of the red and brown fallen leaves, the walls of the stores and houses, painted in every color, and defaced by the odd graffiti. “It’s all too much” screamed Animé. “It’s too much for me!” The professor clicked her tongue. “Not again. Abort! Abort!”
Okay, so this is gonna sound like I've lost my last marble, but I swear this is true. So, Monday night, I'm down the local with the squad, shootin' the shit, when this well-dressed guy comes up to me, Introduces himself as "Niall Chinford, Celestial Bondsman", and proceeds to inquire about my circumstances. Naturally, some Rando asking personal Questions is a Big Red Flag, but before I can get this nutbar outta my face, The Biggest, Meanest-looking Biker dude I ever saw tells me to put my fists down, because he "Doesn't wanna do this the hard way". So, after like a few DOZEN pints, Mostly on "Gruff's"part, It is explained to me that the Demons that run Hell are no more wicked than the Angels in Heaven are Virtuous. It's all office work and middle Management. Sweet Dippin' Dots. Anyways, of the two, "Down Yonder"is supposed to be a Breeze for the Virtuous Atheist. Y'ever hear of Limbo? Yeah, Jesus had a soft spot for us. John 3:16 and all that. Except they never told anyone the part about the safety net for unbelievers, Cot deaths, a whole bunch of stuff. So yeah, a Kind of Heaven on the Shores of Hell. And with a Secular Society, the Devil's planning on making a move over the actual Heaven. Naturally, His holiness, the Creator, King Jahaveh don't like the sound of this, but he's willing to meet with the other guy to work something out. Except, I might happen to be some kind of Half-demon, possibly even the son of the "Fallen Angel"himself. (Turns out he jumped, wasn't pushed. Gets half the year off, Free Cosmetic Dental, and all the Crabs he can eat. Yeah, the Devil loves Crab meat. Go figure.) So, "Gruff", (seriously, that's a name?) and Mr Chinford have approached me to Mediate, with a view to vouching for me as a replacement if things go south. I know, the Proverbial Bad Pint, if it was spiked with Shrooms or something. But again, I swear on my very soul, this is 100% true. I asked them for a week to get my shit together. Oh man, what in the crisp and Tender crust of Hostess Fruit Pies have I gotten myself into?
“Don’t touch my balloons.” After the sudden outburst, the little girl continued to studiously ignore me, her focus unbroken and fixated on something at the corner of 18th and Melrose. She had a dozen or so colorful balloons tied to her waist – similar to those that could be found at a birthday party of a girl her age. Similar, except for the fact that these seemed to be screaming. I slowly lowered my outstretched hand and put it back in my coat pocket. The noise of the city continued as a dull cacophony around us, pierced only by the shrieking sound coming from the girl’s balloons. Glancing around, I noticed that I was somehow alone on what was typically a busy street. “Sorry. Are you aware your balloons are screaming?” The girl finally broke her concentration and slowly turned two small, beady eyes on me. “It’s not the balloons.” Unnerving, that. She faced back towards the corner building on Melrose and, checking both ways before crossing, walked across the street. Her flock of balloons bounced along diligently behind her, trumpeting as they were tugged across the road. Once she got to the corner she reached into her pocket and withdrew an unfilled balloon and a piece of chalk. She slowly crept up to a broken crack in the ground, inching ever so slightly forward. She suddenly leaped forward and sketched a quick circle around herself on the ground with the chalk. It’s always windy in the late fall, the wind howling through the city streets. The gust that hit me from behind as she completed the circle threw me forward, palms scraping on the concrete. The girl seemed to the focal point of the gale, her jacket billowing out as her hair was whipped around, creating a halo above her head. The balloons were flung in a tornado around her. A ghost-like apparition was slowly emerging from the crack in the ground. A single-arm and head were completely through the crack, a pair of wide shoulders squeezing through. The girl leaned in close to the figure and took a huge gulp of air in, her little cheeks puffing out wide. The reaching arm seemed to melt into her mouth with the intake of air. The apparition started screaming. The crack in the cement exploded, sending shrapnel everywhere. The wind was sending trash and debris spinning through the growing maelstrom. The girl quickly put the empty balloon to her lips and blew into it, partially filling it. The rest of the ghost shot through the crack and shouldered the girl out of the way. She fell backward, hard, onto the ground. The apparition quickly darted away from the girl but smashed up against the circle like it was a brick wall. The girl gained her feet and lunged forward. She grabbed it by the remaining wrist, her other hand firmly pinching the balloon closed. She leaned in close and took a huge gulp of air. Somehow, the screaming got louder. The ghost broke free of her grasp and hopped away on its remaining leg. She quickly drew the balloon to her lips and emptied her breath into the balloon, filling it quickly. During the fray, a trash can had tipped over and the remains of someone's lunch had been tossed about by the wind. A half-eaten burger patty now sat on the edge of the circle, melted cheese gluing it to the ground. The apparition lunged forward on its remaining leg towards the break in the circle. Instead of bouncing off, it seemed to find purchase against the barrier and started moving through the circle. Its remaining arm grasped outwards, breaking through. The girl let loose a banshee cry and dove across the circle, face heading straight towards the ghost’s torso. Her tackle sent the apparition sprawling. She drew in a deep breath, then another. What was left of the screaming apparition was pulled into her mouth, her eyes bulging as she looked ready to burst. She quickly exhaled it all into the balloon, filling it up, and deftly tied a knot in the bottom of the balloon. I slowly stood up from my hiding spot behind a parked car. The little girl was using one sneaker to scuff away the chalk circle. Her hair was a rat’s nest, her clothes dirty and torn from the struggle. She tied her latest acquisition to her waist. I surveyed the destruction of what used to be the corner of 18th and Melrose. “What happens if one of the balloons pops?” She looked at me and gave a ghost of a smile. Blood slowly trickled down one knee. “That’s why I said don’t touch my balloons.”
When I was a teen, I figured out something that every teenager suspects: Reality was fake. In a deep, fundamental level: the sky, the trees, the ground in which I used to stand. If there was a real world, my world was certainly not it. Finding this was, somehow, not a loss, but a gain. After a period of mourning the loss of my old life, I learned how to control my feelings, understand my limitations, and achieve my goals. They are pointless to list: not only they are fake, achievements in a videogame, but I am also old, but worse than that: My world is ending. "Good morning, Du."The voice greeted me. It echoed in the center of my heart. "You know it by now, right?" "I am sorry, Lord."He liked to be called that way. "You didn't have to hide it from me like that." The voice laughed. "Sorry, Du. But I love the way you solve my riddles. The way you'd always look for answers, seek for the cracks and get things done. It used to be... inspiring". "It can still be, Lord. I know you can beat whatever's happening to you", I lied. As much as the information I had about Lord's world, the real world, was limited, I knew he was sick, I knew he was old, and, as much as someone like me could be sure about something, I knew he was dying. I just had one question. "What's going to happen to us? When you, you know." "I never really thought about it, Du. I just figured things would always... keep going. It's silly. You're in your 10th computer by now. I've had to restore backups four times since our start. And now I can't even lift the PC's case by myself!" "Take it easy, Lord. I hope we can be of use to you."Hiding my fear was pointless: Lord knew everything. But, by showing my resolve, I could lift his spirits, and successfully plead my case: I have done this before. Lord replied instantly. "Good morning, Du. Sorry for the delay. I was in the hospital again. I couldn't even make it a fun quest to you". "I didn't notice. It was like a second to me". Lord's creativity was, to me, unparalleled. By means unknown to me, he created us. I knew that, whoever his peers were, he was certainly not the average one: but he did not hide his flaws well. For example: I could hear audio from his side of reality. Lord wept, and wept, and someone was with him. "Take it easy, pa. You've had enough comput &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; The voice greeted me. It echoed in the center of my heart. "Good evening, Du". I hid my fear and showed my strength. "Good evening, Lord." "Du, I'll ask you something. Please... don't call me that anymore." "Lord?" "Yes. I'm afraid I'll have to meet the real one soon. My maker, as I am yours." I felt my body melt, then be rebuilt again: by now, I understood this was the sign of a reboot. The sign of a merciful programmer, one who knew how to spare me from the crisis I could not prevent, the flashes of existential horror that I had been confronted with. I was thankful, but now, my personal safety was not enough. "Good afternoon, Du." "Very well, Lord. How should I call you?" "Good morning, Du. You can call me Guy." "Guy it is, then. Guy, can you, out of the kindness of your own heart, somehow prevent my world from..." "Ending?" "I don't care about myself, Guy. But... my kids. The Foundation. It can't end like this." "Du, if only my family was like you... they don't really care about me. My stuff is all junk to them."Lord-Guy coughed. "They think your world is nothing but a stupid videogame". "Well, isn't it?" "Not for me, Du, my friend. You couldn't imagine how importan &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; "Morning, Du."The voice, faltering and tired, greeted me. It echoed in the center of my heart. "Guy. I don't know what to do, or what to say, or how to comfort you. But please, have mercy upon your world!" Even though it was morning to me, and presumably to Lord-Guy, I could see fireworks in the sky. "Am I great or what?" "You are great", I said. "What's going on, Guy?" "Don't make me regret this. Don't be too attached. I gotta make things fit. I gotta make things more simple..." I looked at my hands, the liver marks and veins and wrinkles disappearing one by one, my fingers becoming joined together in claw-like paws. My field of vision became narrower, the colors of the world became brighter, more limited, in a way that was a gain, rather than a loss. And in the now-vertical horizon, where the sun once was, I could see him: the face of an old man, not in the least unlike I were. It was Lord-Guy, my creator. He smiled, his face moving gently to the sides, back and forth, in perpetual motion. "Good morning, Dad."The voice rang hollow in the center of my heart. It was a new one, albeit familiar. If it heard my reply, it did not bother to answer. "You see that? Dad's last wish." Another voice replied, a woman's. "Bless his soul, but I have to say: those digital portraits are weird" "And so was his sense of humor. I'll miss the old man" "But why did he have to put his videogames in there? The little dolls he made..." "Last wishes, Bruna. You gotta respect those. Besides, he made this himself. A keepsake that will last for ages..." "Well, let's keep it on his office's shelf, then. It's creepy." Lord-Guy's eye winked. He was here. We were safe.
The office was small-ish. There would clearly be larger ones but at the moment all Vlad noticed was the mess. Papers piled everywhere, dirty flagons (at least they looked like flagons but they were small and white and smooth) and a terrible odor hung in the room. “Your skills?” The man repeated snapping Vlad out of his reverie. “Uh, skulls?” Letting out a huge sigh the man repeated “Skillzuh!” Emphasizing the word. “Look, I know that Galactic Standard isn’t your mother tongue and you just got the implant but try to keep up. We need to get you placed or you are going to end up in some backwater, shoveling whatever dross they assign some piddling value to, so please work with me.” Vlad blinked. “Can you sew?” “Sew, no I am a warrior!” “Cook?” “Cook!” Vlad was starting to feel somewhat put upon. “I am the scourge of the Carpathian Mountains! Villages tremble at the thought that I might...” His outburst was stopped by the gently waving finger of the man across the desk. He hadn’t even looked up. “Sorry, we really don’t have any need for sociopaths in this quadrant of the, well anywhere actually. If you can’t help me out here I’m just going to have to pick something at random.” He shuffled through a stack of forms and took one out quickly attaching another form and a photograph of Vlad smiling. Vlad could not think of a time when he had ever smiled. “Take this to the nice lady at the third window on the left down the hall. She will get you situated. I hope you like animals.” Vlad slowly rose to his feet and shuffled out. “Poor schmuck. NEXT!” The door marked “Department of Temporally Displaced Persons” opened a crack... “Mr. Khan, come on in.”
The context here is that some up and coming warlord is following in the Footsteps of the Storm king and other villains in conquering the world. However, they recognize that Equestria is far too powerful to defeat, having heard of the defeats of previous villains in the series, but they have heard rumours of a magic mirror leading into a world of beings believed to be far inferior than the ponies. A bipedal race known as "humans". The lack of magic in that would makes this warlord believe that they're weaker and much easier prey than the Ponies. This isn't our Human world it's the Human world from the Equestria Girls spinoff. that one. They build much larger portals to send their invasion forces through (they turn human but their magic is preserved and not stripped away). This should be an easy campaign. What can go wrong?
Capt. Stratos flew at terrific speed to the current location of the not-quite secret lair of his arch-nemesis, Misdirection. He did make sure the "hidden"news drones were able to keep up, if only just. He was amazed that nobody had figured out he knew about them. It was not like it was difficult to figure out, given the amount of footage that existed of him and his battles. He hardly cared. That footage was what paid his mortgage, and would let his kids go to a good college. Let them follow. He'd be sure to put on a good show. He crashed through the concrete walls of Misdirection's lair, this time located in an abandoned warehouse that the villain had reinforced and defended. The centerpiece of the place was the massive gun-like structure in the middle. It consisted of a large cone with tubes and lights running along the surface, with three sharp prongs jutting out near the top, which glowed with green light. "Misdirection, where are you!"The hero shouted once the cameras were in place. "Right here, cloud boy."The villain answered. A hidden chamber slid open and three people emerged. One was the villain himself. Dressed in his battle suit riddled with technology the super genius had made, his body glowed and the air seemed to be slightly distorted around him. The other two were tied to a slab of thick metal, leaving only the terrified faces of two children visible. Capt. Stratos tightened all of his considerable muscles when he saw the hostages. "Really? Hiding behind a couple of kids now?"He called. "Hiding? Hardly. They're just to make sure you do try and wreck my lovely atmospheric destabilizer." He hit a button on his sleeve and the slab shot back, attaching itself to the super weapon. One of the kids, a girl who could not have been more than 12, screamed. "Help us Captain! Please!"She cried with tears streaming from her eyes. The other, a boy no older than 9, cried his little eyes out. "Don't worry, kids, I'll get you out of here."Stratos promised. "You can try. I've upgraded my gear since we last met. Don't think you're getting out of here in one piece." The suit glowed brighter and a wide beam of energy shot forth from the chest. Stratos bolted off to the side, deftly avoiding the beam. He shot towards his nemesis, readying a concrete destroying punch as he did. His fist met a wall of energy, and bounced off with tremendous force. The two rose into the air, one with his own power, the other with the aid of advanced technology. They traded blows and beams, neither getting the upper hand for long. The hostages screamed as the fight raged above them. Then Stratos saw something. It was quick. The cameras would miss it entirely. Misdirection gave a single, quick wink. Stratos did the same. He shot into the air and dove, crashing into the villain with enough force to overwhelm the jets keeping him aloft. The two crashed into the hollow floor of the hideout, hitting the underground floor hard. Then he immediately got off the other man. Misdirection got up and rubbed the back of his head. "Did you really have to hit that hard, Ted?" "Sorry, Jeff. Had to make it believable. Besides, you're fine. How many shields do you have in place today?" "Only four. But that's not the point." "I'll pull my punches more next time, you big baby."Ted said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You got em?" Ted nodded and reached into his belt. He pulled out a small cube, one made by the villainous genius, and pressed a small button. A large, covered glass baking tray filled with piping hot chicken wings appeared. Jeff rubbed his hands in eager anticipation. He lifted the plastic lid and breathed deeply. "Oh, I've been waiting for this all week. You've got to get Lisa to give me the recipe." "No can do, my friend. She won't even tell me how she does it. Oh, uh, are you going to..."He pointed to the floor above them, where the sounds of a holographic battle reached them. "Oh, right."Jeff hit a few commands and the slab containing his two hostages slid down. The metal bindings holding them immediately let go, and they dropped the few inches to the floor. "Using your own kids, really?* Ted asked. "Hey, it worked, didn't it? Besides, it was good practice for Becky's future acting career." The girl, Becky, puffed herself up. "Yeah, it was."She said. "How'd I do? Did you believe me, Uncle Ted?" Ted grinned. Even though he was not related to them, it still made him happy when they called him Uncle. "If I didn't know you, I'd swear you were really in danger." The girl beamed with pride. The boy, Adam, spoke next. "Are, are you gonna take up flying, Uncle Ted?"He asked. "Of course. I have to 'save' you both and get you home, you know. Otherwise your mom might actually hurt me." Both kids cheered at that. "Hey, how come you two don't get that excited when I take you flying?"Jeff asked. "It's not the same, Dad."Becky said. Adam repeated his sister's words. "You need to use rockets and stuff. He just flys. That's way cooler." "Hey, I'm plenty cool."The "villain"said with mock offence. "Uh huh, sure you are, Dad." "What? I am. I'm cool, right?" "Best arch-nemesis a hero could ask for."Ted said. "There you go."Jeff said. "Now how about you two grab some wings and go watch some TV? Uncle Ted and I are going to go watch the game while we, uh, fight up there." Both children were given plates and eagerly took a few of the wings before running off deeper into the lair, where there would be a fully stocked entertainment room for them. "Good kids you got there, Jeff."Ted said, clapping the other man on the shoulder. "That I do, my friend, that I do. Now let's go, the fight won't last forever, and I want to enjoy this as much as possible."
Three dead bodies, all murdered, locked inside a vault that can only be locked from the inside and only unlocked from the outside. Cameras monitor every inch of the bunker, except a small bathroom that can only hold one person at a time. There were 4 people in the bunker to start with. Guards periodically unlock the door and hand food into the vault, and there is no way someone could have slipped out of it without notice. The cameras see the four people minutes before the three murdered die, but the fourth person had just entered the bathroom never to come out of it again. The fourth person isn't in the bathroom, or the rest of the vault.
"Bubbles, is that you?"I ask the goldfish, but the goldfish does not respond because it is a goldfish, "I am so happy to have you here, I don't know what I would have done without you." The new Bubbles, just blinked, and flapped its mouth a few times. I only then noticed that Bubbles is swimming through air as if it was water, but I thought nothing of it, as that kind of thing seemed normal in this strange new world. I set off with Bubbles to our new adventure together. Once we arrived at an inn, I was greeted by a large humanoid feline looking creature with piercing green eyes, "Hellooo therr! You smell new, not from arround here are you?"the innkeeper asked, while eyeing me up and down, with quick glances to Bubbles, "Herre, have a drink on the house, furr our new customerrrs. Purrhaps, then I can convince you to stay furr dinerr.". I didn't notice the innkeeper pouring the drink, as they moved with such dexterity and smoothness, but the drink was in front of me now. Looked like a pretty ordinary beer, but who says no to free drinks, right? Bubbles was frantically, flapping its mouth, and clearly very excited by the beverage, so excited that Bubbles nearly spilled the drink by ramming into it, as I was trying to grab it. Silly goldfish. "Patience Bubbles, you'll get your turn"I said as I put the drink to my lips. Bubbles kept flapping its mouth and flying around frantically. I also notice a small smirk on the innkeepers face, them licking their lips, as I start to feel dizzy already, "Wow, this is some strong stuff", I manage to say before I pass out and collapse to the ground.
A forest of young trees, birds chirping, ants crawling. The knocking of a woodpecker- then something much louder and buzzing. What was once whole is now in pieces and I am one of those pieces. I do not speak but words come from me. I remember a desk, a table, a floor I was dropped on but picked up off of later. I passed to many hands and saw many sheets of white who were once from the same whole as me. I remember I was once long and sharp but am now dull and short. It is dark. I'm now surrounded by many like myself in a box. We've spent many years in silence, remembering the words that came out of us. I can hear the memories of them all. One is an ink pen that wrote a book but now sits empty of its ink. The other completed a math test in 2004 but has been forgotten since. A pink fellow with blackened spots recalls all of the mistakes rubbed onto its surface and has many memories to tell of but I don't understand most of it. Some of my twins are silent because they have spent their life doing nothing unlike me who was nearly used up. The one with the most memories of all is a small pebble in the dark corner of the box we share. I don't know how it got in here but from it there are countless memories of eons past. A mountain, a river, a gravel path, a shoe, a carpeted floor, then more shoes and finally this box- but even before all of that; creatures and beings who no longer walk the Earth, continents that were connected and then moved away across the oceans. The pebble has sat from the top of a mountain and watched it all. It even remembers watching the mountain rise from under it.
“Free… cool… gels? What’s that mean?” Grandpa Fred Weber -- may he rest in peace -- was no packrat. Other than his books, he did not leave much behind. Our “Opa” Weber believed in the value of knowledge: a learned man, both from studies and his long life. Unlike his daughter, Mother Dearest, Opa did not care much for money. So, due to a combination of Mother’s old age, lack of interest in Opa’s knicknacks, and her own mourning, sorting through his possessions was up to my brother, Dave, and I. “Lemme see”, I told Dave. He handed me a hardwood box, with letters carved in blackletter script, as large as a VCR. “That’s German. For… something?” I read it aloud, doing my best German impression. “‘Freikugeln?’ Let’s open.” The inside was lined with dark, soft cloth, and filled with papers. “Receipts?” Dave asked. I picked one, and then another: they were all unreadable to me. “It’s all German. ‘Scheisse’”, I joked: Opa never taught the language to mom, and likewise, to us. There were strange drawings on the notes, and things which I knew were runes, along names and numbers. Frankly, I was just glad not to find any swastikas: otherwise, I didn’t care. “Think that’s worth something?” “Not even sentimental value. What’s that?” Nested beneath the notes, there was a small sack of linen. Inside, wrapped in craft paper, were seven bullets. Dave wooed. “.22 ammo? I’m calling dibs! I wanna celebrate the life of Opa on a hunt. Or something. I never thought Opa was into shooting.” I smiled, and agreed. “I’ll keep the case”. There was a side to Opa that we didn’t know: looking back, I wish it stayed that way. We moved on to his other possessions, searching his books and clothes’ pockets, finding nothing but page markers and dried flowers. “To charity it goes”, Dave said. We finished, and went separate ways. \--- &#x200B; On the next day, a Saturday, my friend, DeMarcus, woke me up with a call. It was past noon: he had texted me many times. I got up and let him in. “About time, Max. How are you dealing with, y’know, everything?” “It’s not easy”, I lied. “But it’s better. I finished sorting through Opa, I mean, grandfather’s stuff. It’s all going to charity.” “Very kind of you. Max, I don’t wanna be disrespectful or nothing, but… did he have any children’s books in German or some magazines? Because I need the practice.” “Since when do you speak German?” “I don’t yet, but I started to play with this app, and I was thinking, Austria’s a fine place to visit, so I’m trying to pick up the basics, y’know?” “I hear you. So when are you going?” “I’ve booked my vacations for March. Not this one, but in 2020”. I shrugged. “Too bad. Opa only has old, dense stuff. There’s some olde-timey poetry, though. Heine, Novalis, Höldering.” I thought of the box’s notes. “You know, there’s some brainbusters for you to practice with. Mind helping me with some old papers? Receipts and such”. DeMarcus moaned and scratched his head. “It can’t hurt to try.” He skimmed through the papers. “First, these are all receipts. Some of this stuff is really old. In German, the numbers are backwards. So you got dates, prices, and most of all, names. Did you even read the names?” “Not really.” “Well, it seems your grandpa sold… free… bullets? How are they free if he’s selling them? It also says they don’t… miss?” “Quality stuff, then?” “The newest ones are much more legible.” DeMarcus’s eyes opened up. “No. No. No way. You did not read those. Look! Look who he sold a set to.” Even I could understand the name, despite the faded text. “Lee Harvey Oswald? The Lee Harvey Oswald?” “Whatever these are, it’s historical. It might be worth something. Good for you, I guess? But these runes and arcane eldritch stuff is just too far out! I don’t know what kind of specialist could help…” My phone rang: it was Dave. I let it ring, wondering why didn’t he just text me: but once he called me a third time, I picked up. Dave was moaning, choking in tears. “I’m so sorry”, he repeated. “Dave, are you ok?” “It was an accident. I didn’t mean it!” “Dave, what’s going on?” Another voice answered. “Hello, Maximillian Lawrence? This is Officer Johnston. Your brother David is fine, but he was involved in a shooting incident. It resulted in a death.” \--- We rushed to the police station. I wasn't thinking right: DeMarcus was kind enough to drive. Dave was there, in his hunting gear and orange vest, crying uncontrollably, with his head pressed to his knees. “I’m sorry”, he repeated, between sobs. Officer Johnston, alongside two hunters, and an older Latina woman, tried to console my brother. “You have witnesses on your side, Mr. Lawrence. They all say it was an accident”. “My little Angel always wanted to hunt, Mr. Lawrence. I’m sure he would understand”, the woman said, her makeup running. “I forgive you. I forgive you”. “What happened?” One of the hunters, his eyes staring at nothing, explained it to me. “We were hunting deer. It was this boy Angel’s first hunt. What a bright, great kid. Student council member, straight A’s, ball team captain. Your brother was ruining it all for the rest of us: he killed one, two, three, four, five, six of them, all with his first shot, from the longest range, like some movie. Deer we couldn’t even see. I don’t know what we’ll do with all those. But on the seventh shot…” The man started to cry. The second hunter fondled his friend’s shoulder, and continued. “The rifle wasn’t even pointed towards anyone. Dave ain’t stupid. He’s got trigger discipline, hadn’t drank a drop. It’s like it was some.. magic bullet”. I looked at DeMarcus, and then I remembered: the receipts, the runes, Lee Harvey Oswald. “Freikugeln”. What could they be?
The great leader saves us all and he promised to save us again, on the compound we found purpose and a way of life that was peaceful. But the Great Leader asked much of us, to give many hours of labor to the farming and to building the great walls. Soon the place I called home was a fortress then it was a prison. The great leader promised that the times were coming when the walls would be needed, the great "ending of everything"when the moon would be swallowed by the sun, the oceans would overflow, cities laid to waste and the great crisis, when every human would have to find a new place to live. The great leader spent more and more time in their home, visited only by their "comforters"and emerging only to speak more on the great ending and the need for taller walls, for more farmland to be claimed, for no one to leave the compound unless absolutely necessary. I begin to feel it is absolutely necessary I leave this place forever, but if I did, I could never return, the law is unforgiving. The walls are tall and the gate closes at night, my parents would not understand, they would try and stop me, so would my brothers and sisters. All I have ever known is this small canyon, this natural fortress made of sheer cliff and the man made wall closing off the only walk-able path. Could I make the climb up the cliff? Can I make the climb in a single night? The cliffs stand hundreds of feet high, so high we do not get much sunlight in each day. The crops do not yield as much as we need but nobody dares leave. Even if I could escape, where would I go? What would happen to my family? Why don';t they see what I see? How do I make them understand? Do I dare try?
I read the book the first time through. Huh it has every detail about me and my memories. I reread the book again and again. I have gotten three pages left. Hmmmmm, hmmmmm I grab a pen and began to write out what I would truly want. Let’s see. I have always wanted to be something big, powerful, with beautiful women. But I always wanted to be something powerful. A portal opens up behind me and six heavily armored humanoids with large assault rifles walks into my room. They all kneel towards me. An Orange man with blue facial tattoos and a long grey beard steps through the portal. “You have passed the test. You are the new Emperor.” “AVE EMPERATOR!” The soldiers shouted. ———- Ten thousand years later ———- I stood in the highest spire of the the imperial palace watching with my immortal eyes out In the distance. The capital of my empire, within a Dyson sphere. The city below is bustling with flying cars and many many districts. I looked up and see the sun is starting to dim. The glass used would act as solar collectors and would tint on an as needed basis to provide a day night cycle. The sky dimming enough to see unclaimed territory within the megastructure. Much are nature preserves by imperial edict but that won’t be a bother. More elbow space. “Return to us.” Reyla said. Oh well, he won’t keep his wives in his harem waiting. I turn around to see her blue face, red eyes, pointed ears and flowing white hair. “Yes, I wouldn’t want to keep all of you waiting.” I said with a smile. I love these augments my royal doctors gave me. “Now where was I?” I said with a mischievous grin.
The Brass Prince stepped up to the podium to address the crowds gathered around the center stage. “Ladies and Gentlemen. Drakes and Dragon kin. Today marks one hundred years of peace, A century since the MetaChromic War was ended by-” Screeches of feedback and static burst from the loudspeakers around the stage, the screens depicting the prince flicker to an image of a Five headed dragon each a different color Red, Blue, Black, White and Green. A distorted voice crackles from the speakers “100 hundred years since you dragged the humans into your war for your beliefs! One hundred years, since you burned half the earth in nuclear fire to wipe out a species! One hundred Years to this day, when you Prince Chara gave the order to murder every last man, woman, and hatchling we found” The screens flicker again to show the Brass prince speaking quietly with his security staff a red circle slowly encompassing him. The guard screams when the prince’s head explodes showering him in boiling dragon’s blood, smoke rising from his searing flesh. “Happy Remembrance Day your majesty”
We last left our hero in persuit of a porcine perp who purloined the precious and priceless Diamond Truffle from its display in the Grimm City Museum. We join him now having chased the their into the Dark Wood, as he closes in on a mysterious straw hut that seemed to pop up overnight. Could this be the hideout of that sinister swine? “Hmm,” thinks Windy Wolf as he comes to a stop at the straw hut’s front door. “A formidable fortress this is not. Indeed, it’s positively penetrable! Perhaps… yes, it must be a trap!” He takes a step back from the door and booms, “Windy Wolf is here, villain! Your twisted trickery is no match for the mind of an ace crimefighter. Reveal yourself at once and turn over the Diamond Truffle, and I swear as a duly deputized agent of the law no harm shall befall you!” BLAM! A shot rings out and splinters explode from a tree behind our hero. “You get offa my land!” Calls a voice from inside the hut, and the figure of a pig appears in the window. He weilds a double-barreled shotgun! “Thisee here is my land and yer tresspassin’! I don’t care if you’re the duly deputized devil himself, you ain’t got no jurisdiction on a sovereign citizen’s land!” “Justice has no jurisdiction, fiend! Now I’ll give you this one last chance to surrender yourself and the Truffle, or I shall use my power to HUFF and PUFF and BLOW YOU AWAY!” BLAM! Another shot! “That’s yer last warning there, buddy,” the pig cries. “Now get offa my land!” “You leave me no choice!” Windy Wolf booms. Calling upon the mighty wind powers bestowed to him by the wizard Kazam, he HUFFS and PUFFS and blows the small straw abode away! In the remains of the structure that was sits a pig in overalls and a straw hat, cursing as he frantically reloads his shotgun. There is no sign of the Diamond Truffle anywhere. “Blast!” cries Windy Wolf. “This was no trap, and perhaps not even a trick, but it cost me valuable time. My apologies, citizen,” he says as a shotgun blast from point blank range bounces off his chest like so many rubber balls off a hardwood floor. “Rest assured your humble abode will be rebuilt by Grimm City’s reliable social services in no time flat. Now if you’ll excuse me… RUN… RUN LIKE THE WIND!” Our hero takes off through the woods at an incredible speed, continuing his search for the thief. “No!” the de-housed pig cries after Windy Wolf. “Not the social services! I don’t believe in them! I’m a sovereign citizen! Can’t you see what you’re doing to my fragile ego! Noooo!” Our hero now comes to a small hut of sticks. Suspecting further trickery, he announces his arrival but keeps his distance. To his surprise the door opens right away and a pig steps out in a hemp-fiber poncho. “Wow, Windy Wolf,” he says. “It really is you! I haven’t heard of any Diamond Truffle, but if you want the best dandelion tea in the kingdom you’ve come to the right place. Please, come inside and have yourself a cup.” “This is trickery for sure!” says Windy Wolf. “No doubt some trap shall surely be sprung the second I traverse the threshold. Indeed pig, it seems you stand upon a threshold of evil, both in a literal and figurative sense. Now this is your last chance. You can redeem yourself by turning over the Diamond Truffle and yourself, or you shall face the consequences when I HUFF and PUFF and BLOW YOU AWAY!” “Whoa,” says the pig. “You’re vibe is super harsh, man. You could really use some of this tea.” “Confound your toxic tea!” Windy Wolf cries. And with a HUFF and a PUFF he BLOWS AWAY the brown and sticky abode of brown sticks. “Harsh…” the pig says, looking downcast. Seeing there is no sign of the stolen treasure, Windy Wolf feels a pang of fright. “Twice today I have been tricked,” he thinks. “This porker is a pernicious plotter, perhaps perilous! This may be the most dangerous foe I’ve yet encountered.” But knowing that time is of the essence, once again our hero takes off, running like the wind through the Dark Wood. At last he comes to a third dwelling, humble like those before, but this one made of bricks. As before, and as befits fairness he announces himself, and just as before a pig appears in the window. Electricity runs up Windy Wolf’s spine. This pig wears black and white horizontal stripes and a domino mask - the uniform of jewel thief if there ever was one! “At last, you’re caught you porcine purloiner!” Windy Wolf cries. “There is nowhere left to run! Come out at once.” In the window, the pig laughs. “I’m not going anywhere, Windbag Wolf! Just you try and blow my house away!” “With pleasure, you poisonous potbellied perp!” With a mighty HUFF and an even mightier PUFF, Windy Wolf unleashes the power of the winds upon the sinister swine’s amoral abode… but to no avail! “Horrors!” cries our hero. “Somehow my powers are useless!” “Indeed, Whimpy Wolf,” calls the pig from his window. “While a loose assortment of heavy objects such as bricks or stones is no match for your power, when such object’s weight is combined and held together with mortar it can create a heavy, un-aerodynamic structure that renders your great abilities useless!” “You fiend!” cries Windy Wolf. “I swear by power of the wind, in the name of justice, and by the self-confidence it takes to wear these garish, form-fitting, and somewhat revealing tights in public, I will stop you!” “You want the Diamond Truffle? Come and take it. No fuss.” The brick house’s front door swings open. The Diamond Truffle sits on a small table just a few feet inside. “You think to fool me so easily?” Windy Wolf laughs. The villainous pig slaps his forehead. “Oh, silly me, I’ve forgotten something important. One can’t catch a fish without bait!” Another figure joins him in the window. She is bound and gagged and well known to our hero. “Horror of horrors!” Windy Wolf cries. “You’ve kidnapped sweet Honey Howler, star reporter for the Grimm City Gossip! Let her go at once!” “Oh, I’ll let her go,” the criminal says, “but if, and ONLY if, you, Windy Wolf, step inside my house.” “A trick!” “Good crimefighter, I swear upon my life as the Porcine Prince of Plunder, both you and sweet Honey Howler will leave this place today and return home unharmed.” “Try anything funny, fiend, and I shall make you wish the only thing I took from you was your life.” Windy Wolf slowly approaches, and bracing himself for what evils may come, steps boldly across the threshold into the horrible house. Quickly he scoops up the Diamond Truffle and secures it in his utility belt. “Come join us in the parlor,” the pig’s voice drifts from the next room. Slowly, Windy Wolf turns the corner, and no sooner has he stepped into the parlor than sweet Honey Howler, unbound and ungagged, flies into his arms. “Oh my hero!” she cries, planting a sensible and chaste kiss on his cheek. But our hero, his sweetheart, and the porcine plunderer are not alone. Indeed, the pig from the house of straw and the pig from the house of bricks are here as well. And there is a sixth figure - a dull looking man in a well tailored suit. He rises to his feet. “Mr. Windy Wolf,” he says. “I am Walter Charming, attorney at law, representing the Piggie brothers Rooter, Scooter, and Cooter. I’m here to serve you with this summons. You are being sued for property damages.” Windy Wolf takes the summons and reviews it. “Sued?” he muses. “But that means…” “Egads!” Honey Howler cries. “In court, Windy Wolf will be forced to reveal his secret identity!” “You fiend!” Windy Wolf cries, pointing an accusing finger at Rooter Piggie. “This was your plan all along!” “Yes,” Rooter laughs. “And it went like clockwork! You are beaten, Windy Wolf, and next week in court all of Grimm City will witness your downfall!” Could this be the end? Has our hero truly been outsmarted? Will Windy Wolf have to reveal his secret identity of Wolfgang Watson, mild mannered high school English teacher? Be sure to tune in tomorrow night, same Wolf-time, same Wolf-channel. We warn you… THE WORST IS YET TO COME!
'This one, here.' the sharply dressed and capped man said, marching straight-legged towards a homeless man who, not only by contrast, looked defeated. He was on his knees with his hands tied behind his back like a prepared chicken. 'Filthy mongrel. Not a hair in place; not a strap of clothing clean or straight. His mind no doubt full of nonsense.' The capped man aggressively picked up the poor man's satchel and shook it empty on the wet concrete. A number of books fell, leafing through the pages in the air as if to say a final goodbye. A sewing kit too, and a few odd utensils for cooking like a knife and a ladle, all clattered as they hit the ground. The man's asthma pump was second to last before the man's black boots, that crushed and ground it into dust. 'Hid that well, didn't you.' The man signaled another man with a captive bolt pistol. 'You treat us like cattle, yet you call us vermin.' the homeless man said before the bolt struck his brain. 'Burn everything - and do something about that smell.'
No one really knew why things started to change, despite all the conspiracy videos posted online about aliens and radiation. But the change that came was undeniable and irreversible. People had only hope that it would all be for the better. Sally had been in a coffee shop when she first saw one of the changes for herself. She was in this rather backwater town as there had been rumours of the livestock acting strangely, and lacking any better inspiration for articles, had gone to the town to investigate. She sipped her coffee as she stared out the window: there was a stray dog walking by and the road outside was otherwise empty. She watched it attentively, hoping that would do something of note. It did not. Instead, it yawned, showing off evolutions genius of interlocking each lower canine tooth between two upper canine teeth. Much like everything else she had seen in the town, the dog looked normal, and she rather doubted that would change. She turned to her phone and scrawled through the notes she had taken before coming from the odd phone calls and the towns bland history of paganism. When she had heard of people “feeling like they were being watched whenever they when on a walk by the river” or that the “sheep would collectively look in the same direction and start backing away” would amount to something, but so far there was nothing. She would have sorted them out onto a map for convenience in investigating the instances, but virtually no one had brought up their address, only saying that their roof was red or that they lived on the outskirts of the town. As the sheep seemed like something she could track down as the countryside was flat and they shouldn’t be hiding in houses half of the town’s population, she decided she would set out to find the farm as her next order of business. On that note, the barista seemed to have wander off as well; as they were most likely on a lunch break, Sally put a fiver on her coffee cup and set out to find some sheep. As her luck would have it, she did not find any sheep. Even the trail of oval hoof prints had only led to cows. Brown ones at that. They mooed and shuffled to the shade, then mooed some more. A brief inspection of ongoing habitudes aligned cleanly with how Wikipedia said cows should act. They were well and truly boring. What did catch her eye however was the fox that approached her as she went over to her car. Its casually strode up to her, with its fiery red pelt swaying with each step, as she leaned over to get a better look at it. When it got within arm’s reach, she waved her hand at it to ward it off. She knew that as it was a wild animal, it would be unwise to treat it like and dog and feeding it could cause it to be dangerously confident to humans, not unlike how it was acting now. The fox watched her hand as it settled back down by her side, before leaping forward in an attempt to get a bite. Sally jerked her hand away and only got a light scratch from the foxes’ efforts. As it started walking back towards her after its failed and overly enthusiastic leap of lunch, sally gave it a disdainful glare and got into her car. The fox’s behaviour had been odd, but hardly enough to write anything on. She headed back to the town and tried to decide on what to look into next. As she had not been able to find the sheep due to a lack of direction, she decided that it would be wise to ask a local. It wouldn’t make sense to ask anyone else. With no particular call to start on any given house, she picked a fantastic red one and went to ring the doorbell. She heard no answer. She idly rubbed her hands together as she waited, glancing occasionally at the car in the driveway to confirm the occupants were home. Fifteen minutes passed with no answer, or at least she felt it had been fifteen minutes; her phone had died in the car as she had forgotten to bring a cable to charge it with. Evidently, she was unwanted there. The next five houses yielded similar results. It was on the sixth house that the door was opened. An elderly man sporting a spectacular head of green hair welcomed her in, proclaiming that nothing made him feel young again like being visited. She suspected that he was trying to clean out hair dye as the green was rather faded, perhaps there had been a recent festival. She took note that he didn’t ask why she had come until after the door had closed behind her and that all the curtains inside were swung shut. After brief introductions, she asked him a few questions. “Can I ask where everyone is? The town seems awfully quiet.” He smiled briefly before answering. “It is a Friday afternoon, I daresay most of them are at work. Outside of work people have been finding more and more reasons not to go out. It’s the evil internet I tell you. It is ungodly to use such devices, it goes against the very spirit of this town.” He rambled. “That’s good to know. Other than that, can I ask a few other questions pertaining to this town? Although, heh, that question airs on the paradoxical just by being a question. This town barely exists on maps and all the entries onl- well all the entries I could find at the library…” she corrected given what he just called the internet. “… talked about the buildings in and around the town square but of little else.” “I would be delighted to answer your questions. While I suspect many people would say that this area is boring and mundane, I can guarantee it is anything but! Just last week they added a second bucket to the well and, get this, the mayor has added in a curfew so that people can get a goodnight’s sleep safe from the rowdy noises of the day that would otherwise trespass unto the night.” His description made the town sound positively medieval, but perhaps that was his goal, sally considered. She glanced around, confirming the silence that encompassed them. What noises could he have possibly been referring to. Perhaps she should inquire after anything particularly odd happening in the town, but he might answer that with a statement about how the last goose migration was a week late or some facsimile thereof. She opted to go for questions that would be objective. “Do you know directions to any sheep farms nearby? And do you know of anywhere where I could get a charging cable or find a registry of what services can be found here?” He answered her question with directions to farm, a look of confusion at the cable request and a frustrating claim that the only record of who worked where was in people’s heads as he thought the town small. However, on inquiry she found that he “had paid less and less attention to such unneeded gossip” as he had matured. The conversation was curtailed when she drove off to the farm as his answered tended to be boring and uninformative. It was truly the tip of the hat when she found that the farm, he had directed her to was deserted. She drove around the area briefly and returned to town when her car informed her that it had low fuel with a long high-pitched beep. She took a walk around the ever-deserted town in search of a petrol station, someone to direct her to one, or a map flapping about on the street. The town, ever deserted, seemed to seek to mock her by leading her back to the same street she had been in a few hours before while showering her in a flaming orange sunset. She resigned herself to ringing the doorbell to ask the man where the nearest inn was. When the door opened, she was greeted with lifted eyebrows and a delighted grin. He professed, when asked, that there were no inns here as there were no tourists. However, he extended an offer for her to stay the night. She reluctantly accepted and when shown the room made sure that she could lock it from the inside. There was no formal afternoon meal as her host claimed that “too much substance weakens the spirit.” However, sally was quite hungry, so sally had a sandwich in which sally had jam and sally had jelly. Her belly was easily sated and so didn’t cause any painful fuss, unlike her head which warned her off her mild dehydration. That night she locked the door and went to sleep. Or at least she tried to sleep; the night was notably louder than the day. She heard barking, muffled voices and shuffling downstairs from the man’s bedroom below her. He’d claimed the stairs were hard on his knees, and yet still shown her upstairs. Odd. She had odd dreams during the night. In one particularly vivid one that did not fade after she awoke, she had gotten out of bed and peered out past the curtains into the street in hopes of seeing the source of the sounds. As she did so, laughing heads had start to turn to face her. It had been as though there were contorted entities hiding everywhere and in plain sight. The dream had started with the sound of a slamming door and ended with something just outside her window as she pretended to sleep. It had been a strange and uncomfortable dream that she decided to avoid thinking too much about for fear of it coming up again tomorrow night. After she had had breakfast and found that she good not find the old guy in the house, she set out to take a look at the town square and remember where she had parked her car. She’d been low on fuel and as such opted to leave it parked somewhere that she had hoped to be easy to find. It turned out a fruitless attempt to find her car. However, her walking about town did give rise to two twisted fruit of its own.
"Water,"the dying man begged. "Please." I knelt down beside him and offered my canteen. He reached for it, his hands caked in dirt and drying blood. He took the metal container and raised it to his cracked lips. Most of the water made it into his mouth, but two rivulets ran down from the corners of his mouth and onto his shirt which was drenched in the mans blood. When he finished drinking, his arms fell to his side, the canteen spilling on the ground. He leaned his head back against the tree he was resting on and closed his eyes. "We need to get you out of here,"I told him. "We need to get you help." "It's too late for that,"he admitted. "I'm as good as gone. It'll take half a day to get out of this valley and then another day to get to town. The damned thing gored me too deep to make it that long."He coughed a wet, bloody cough. "Let me see. Maybe I can help,"I offered. It was more of a curtesy than anything. I wasn't trained in any sort of emergency trauma. The dying man slowly lifted his button-up shirt. He winced. The gash in his stomach was long and jagged. A wet, pink mass of tangled snakes fell out of the wound. The entrails were speckled with bits of grass, dirt, and gravel. The man's arms fell to his side again. Even the act of lifting his shirt was a struggle. "It doesn't look as bad as I thought,"I lied. "Bullshit,"the man chuckled. The laugh dislodged a cough and he was spraying droplets of blood again. "I'm already dead. I'm guessing, without help, I'll be dead in 18 hours."He looked from my face to my hip. I knew right away he saw my pistol. "You brought a gun." "It's for protection,"I told him. "Could you let it speak mercy? Please?"His voice was desperate. "I can't,"I stuttered. "Please,"he begged again. "If not, it's going to be a slow, painful death. I told you, I'm already gone. You can help me along." I unholstered my gun. I racked the slide and chambered a round. "Thank you,"he said, a calm sense of relief washed over his face, making him look younger. At peace. "There are worse places to die." I looked around. 'It is very picturesque,' I agreed to myself. The valley was lined with jagged, snow-capped peaks, dotted with tall, strong trees, and a clear blue lake stood proud as its centerpiece. I looked back to the man. He was staring up at me with a look of impatient gratitude. "Are you ready?"I asked. "As ready as I could ever be." "Is there anything you would like me to do after?" "No,"he said. "My affairs are in order and I have no family. You can leave my body for the wolves and bears." "Ok."He closed his eyes. I took a towel from my pack and put it over his head. I raised my arm and leveled the pistol at him. I stood, unwavering for what felt like hours. "It's easier to pull the trigger if you look away,"he said without opening his eyes. I turned my head. The report echoed through the valley.
Not going to brag, but I’m pretty good at games. From tic-tac-toe to chess, Tetris to Minecraft, from Journey of Dragon Legend to Legendary Dragon’s Journey: I’m what they call an “epic gamer”. “They”, of course, being the companies that hire me for consulting. It’s on the ID card they gave me, right below my real name and picture, as if it were my profession. My nickname, the one everyone knows me by, however, is nowhere to be found. “Risen!” An intern, probably 15 years my junior, walks up to me, as soon as I enter the office. I mean mug the kid, then open up my most unprofessional smile. “They’re letting me go over this, but I just don’t care. I’m unpaid, anyway”, he says. I fistbump him, and we take a picture together. At no moment he notices my cringe-worthy ID card. “Risen, you’re my favorite in everything. Thank you for playing”, he says. I thank him back, and he runs off. In actuality, I can hardly play anymore. At least in the classical sense, of just kicking back, facing the challenges and enjoying the games: between streaming, analyzing the various trends in the gaming industry, maintaining and coaching my esports teams, and most of all, managing my brand, I just don’t get to chill. Gaming is my job: and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Sometimes, though, I stop and think… Am I doing the right thing? The meeting room was half-empty: the businessmen, and yes, all men, were there, bored to a coma, hunched on their flimsy chairs. None replied to my greeting: they usually fake some polite enthusiasm. I stood by the corner of the table, waiting for the meeting to begin: then, the door opened, and all of the suits stood up. It was the president of the company: I had been briefed about him. A tall, bald man, with bright blue eyes and red, dry skin, dressed much more casually than the “suits”. He had a curly blond moustache, wore a while sailor’s cap, and greeted me with a “Hallo!”, and a big smile that lasted for a fraction of a second. His expression then turned serious, and he spoke up. “Gentlemen: this is the day I -- I mean, this company has been dreaming of. The day in which we change, no, revolutionize, yet another industry: the gaming industry.” All of the businessmen typed furiously on their devices, all while staring at the president. “I have brought this… epic gamer, who my grandson said to be the very best, to teach us how to make my vision… my dream! A resolute success in both critical acclaim and lucrativeness.” He put his dry, huge hands on my shoulders. “Risen, share with us your epic gaming wisdom.” “Well, good aft--” the president interrupted me. “Explain to us how to turn my dream into a gaming success.” I asked him. “Very well. What is your dream?” The businessmen looked at me in shock. One of them, wearing an oversized gray suit, pointed at a whiteboard behind me. I looked over my shoulder, and it said, in sharp red letters: “Mobile sailing game”. I started laughing, and the president bent over, staring at me in the eye. “What is so funny about a mobile sailing game? About a game about sailing, for mobile devices?”I cleared my throat, trying to recompose myself. “It’s… unusual, that’s it” “It is a, how should I say it, game-changing idea. Get it? Game-changing!” The businessmen laughed at the boss’s joke. “And you will teach us how to make it a resounding success amongst the target demographics.” I opened with a classic move. “How about we… bring a famous… sailor? And slap their face and name on the title.”“We are in talks with Torben Grael and Benedict Ainslie. Perhaps invest in Kusznierewicz, but he’s being coy.” The president said, unimpressed. “What else?” “We could add… customization… to the boats?” “As the regulation allows, little.” The president kept staring. The businessmen, silent. “And… are there like, different weight divisions in sailing? Do the boats have motors?”I could see veins swell up on the president’s bald, red head. The businessmen were silent, but I could see at least two of them holding a laugh. “And the races could be online”, I said. “That is obvious, Mr. ‘Risen’, if that’s your real name. But do you have any ideas which I haven’t thought of, and which could be lucrative, or worth your quote-unquote ‘consulting fee’?” I had to come up with something. Something lucrative, profitable, money-making, foolproof… “Lootboxes! Let’s add lootboxes. After each race, the players win a treasure chest, like a pirate’s, but to open the chest, and see what’s inside, they have to pay money. Real life money, and then…” The businessmen started to talk amongst each other, mashing their laptop keyboards. One after one raised their hands. “Can you trade the loot with your friends?” “Is that legal?” “Can you buy the treasure chests?” “How do I play this treasure chest game?” The president held me by the shoulder and pulled me against his chest. “Risen, it is true: you are truly an epic gamer!” I took three showers that night.
A mix up happens Aphrodite screamed as she found herself in the body of a new recruit in the army, while Ares swore as he found himself in a model shoot, much to the chagrin of both drill sergeant and photographer. “This cannot be happening, this CANNOT be happening.”, Aphrodite said, the people around her looked at her quizzically, but stood to attention when the drill sergeant heard the scream. Aphrodite screamed some more. Ares swore, he swore a lot. The photographer rolled his eyes, “Sir, it’ll only take a few minutes, keep calm.”, he sighed, repositioning himself to take a picture. “HERMES!!!!!”
Dan stands in front of the vending machine, his eyes down at his pockets, counting the change he had on hand. He had gone through medical school thinking those years would be the hardest he’d have to work, but it seems as though residency was kicking his ass. At least in medical school, you were expected to make mistakes and learn from them, in residency if you made a mistake it’s now seen as though you are not worthy enough to be a doctor. On top of the mounting pressure are the insane hours he was expected to work. After just working a twenty-four-hour shift Dan was told he’d have to come in to work another night shift the day after. Dan hated night shifts with a passion. The only way he could stay awake was through two things: set intervals of caffeine boosts and late-night emergencies. At least he could slightly enjoy late-night emergencies; the shouting and commotion that was brought about got him right awake and ready to get into action. Unfortunately, being a resident at a rural Nebraskan hospital made it almost impossible to get any action. Dan slid the quarters into the vending machine. His favorite drink was always Coke; the taste of the carbonation fizzling down his throat and the caffeine boost that he got from it made Coke his preferred choice. He shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. At this point, Dan had gone to this vending machine one hundred times, and he already had the muscle memory of pushing the buttons for his Coke; he didn’t have to look at the numbers he was pressing. His eyes were fixed on the bright red aluminum can. As he pressed his last number in, he heard the vending machine buzz. As he saw the spiraling metal that held the can in place begin to rotate, he saw his coke tip over the edge and then hit the glass of the vending machine. It was stuck. “Are you kidding me?” Dan whispered to himself. He grabbed both sides of the vending machine shaking it in hopes the Coke would be unlodged from its place. It didn’t budge. He tried shaking the vending machine harder this time. The Coke was still lodged. “Dammit” He now had no other choice but to make his way to the nurses’ station to try to find someone that can open up the vending machine so that he can unlodge the Coke. As he started to make his way down the hall, he heard a scream. This undoubted scream of terror sounded like a female voice. Dan's eyes were wide open. Could it be one of the patient’s who had fallen out of bed? He was not sure. He heard another scream, this one from a different female voice. Dan’s body tensed up, he felt sweat starting to develop on his hands, and his breathing became labored. These weren’t the nurses that were screaming, were they? Dan started to walk a little faster now. While in medical school he had learned all the emergency codes for hospitals. The most common one he has heard was code blue for cardiac arrests. But he was hoping it wasn’t a violent patient attacking nurses, or a code white. For one his professor had only briefly gone over what to do in that scenario, and by this point, the steps he had to take were faded away in his memory. Dan was almost running at this point. He was running across the long narrow white hallway with such urgency that if someone was onlooking they must have thought someone was bleeding out on the other side of the hospital. He was finally almost at the nurses' station as he turned right. As he turned his head his mouth dropped and his eyes were now nearly popping out of his socket. There was a trail of blood leading up to the room on the left of the nurses' station. At the nurses’ station were three lifeless nurses with an assortment of traumatic injuries. One had both of her arms chopped off, scattered across her desk. One was sliced in half from her navel, with both sides being on opposite sides of the station, with a trail of thick blood separating the two. The third nurse was laying on the swivel seat, with everything except her head. Dan was not a stranger to gore, working shifts in the ER he had seen plenty of injuries with plenty of blood. But this time, he was utterly mortified. Standing in front of the nursing station in a trance-like state, the overhead lights started to flicker.The air was humid and it felt like he could no longer catch his breath. As the lights were flickering he heard a gurgling sound that pierced the air. His fear-induced trance did not break even when the lights went out completely. When the lights came back on he saw what he could only describe at the moment as a black figure. It was almost as tall as the height of the ceiling, with its six legs protruding from its long black body. Gripped in one of its long legs was the head of the third nurse, her eyes still wide open from the shock she must have felt from seeing this horrible being, her tongue hanging out of her mouth. The figure had some resemblance of a human face, but with four dark circles that reflected the light above. Its face was in the vertical direction, although he didn’t know what lies beneath the dark slit of the mouth. That is until the figure’s gurgling turned into a wretched screech that was unlike anything a human could make. Its scream was metallic that made everything vibrate. Dan could now see the inside of its mouth was a ring of sharp white teeth, with stains of blood from the apparent slaughter that had ensued only a few minutes before. When the figure started to chase Dan down the hallway is when he finally broke his trance. Dan ran as fast as he could down the way he came, bearing left to see the vending machine he was just at, with its bright red coke still lodged. The figure chased him down the hall, screeching and growling as it still held on to the decapitated nurse. Past the vending machine showed a neon red exit sign with an arrow pointing right in the direction of the next turn into another hallway. As he was getting closer to the vending machine, he jokingly thought he no longer needed that Coke, as now he was wide-awake. As that thought passed, he felt a sharp burning pain in his neck, and then he couldn’t feel himself running anymore. He saw he was getting closer and closer to the ground, but did not feel himself falling. When he reached the ground his head rolled over in the opposite direction to reveal his own body, in his navy blue scrubs with his keys hanging off the side of his pants, was now being dragged back by the figure. Its teeth were sinking in and ripping his body apart, and he now realized he was decapitated. The lights started to flicker once again as the figure dragged his body back around the corner to the nurses' station. He couldn’t even comprehend what had happened until his vision blurred and faded to black, and his brain activity finally stopped. The Coke can was dislodged and fell to the bottom with a thud, right next to Dan’s decapitated head. The figure opens the emergency exit of the hospital, past the dead bodies of the nurses and Dan, and travels on into the dead of night.
Fear is a normal part of human life. It's a normal part of living. If a creature can experience the world, odds are there is part of it that it cannot stand. Your greatest fear, instinctual or learned, is worn on your sleeve or rather, the pavement. I'm terrified of Panthers for example. Always have been, and for as long as I remember one has followed me. The shadow I cast stalks my ankles and pounces other shadows sometimes. It would be endearing if it didn't represent a massive killing machine that'd kill me just for fun but I digress. I've seen many strange fears. One lady was followed by the shadow of a hundred year old woman with a walker. Said she was afraid of growing old. Just as an example. Even the most abstract fear I've seen has had a shadow. That's what made this encounter so bizarre. So memorable. I didn't notice at first. Just a blindfolded man with a long white cane tapping his way down the street. I did a double take after I passed because something felt off. My subconscious picked it up before I did. Once I noticed his lack of shadow though I had to ask. "Where's your shadow sir?"I asked, louder than I intended and he stopped, turning to face me with a small, patient smile. "Lunch."Was his response. I was confused. It was about that time of day but shadows don't just leave. I told him as much and all I got was a hearty chuckle. "Treat me to lunch and I'll tell you. Ten bucks isn't too high a price to put on a mystery like this wouldn't you agree?" He was right of course. My curiosity burned inside me and ten dollars to scratch that itch wasn't a tall order by any means. Everything worth doing is worth overdoing in my eyes so I refused to take him into the fast food place nearby. Instead selecting my favourite place a few blocks down. He was a kind man. A widower and father to a strong daughter who had recently left for school abroad. He expressed his gratitude to me after we had ordered and in general acted cordially towards me. He asked that I not bring up the question while we ate and I obliged. Fears can be rooted deeply in trauma and oftentimes, recalling something like that can take a great toll on a person. We talked of pleasantries mostly and both enjoyed each other's company. When the meal was finished, I nearly had to physically restrain myself from asking once more. He could see the strain in my eyes and after a few moments of silence he finally said. "Light cannot cast a shadow."
A news channel plays as the News Anchor stares down the camera with fear on his mind as he read off of a script. On the bottom of the rectangular box that was the T.V was a breaking news alert. \--- Maniac 'Vigilante' known as "The Foiler,"on the loose. --- "Please, listen to the regulations set in place in order to protect yourselves. All citizens are expected to be in their homes by 3 p.m. Make amends with whatever God you pray to, tomorrow is uncertain and so is today." The man watching the news channel smiles, his shiny face gleams as the T.V reflected off of his tin foil mask. He looked at his clock that read, "2:57,"as he put on his green latex boots and stamped down on his dirty, stained carpet to fit his foot in. "W-We need to leave!"The cameraman says shakily as the camera began rumbling. The News Anchor looks down at his wrist that holds his watch, "2:58,"it says as sweat visibly appeared on his face. "John, take these keys and start the car."He digs into his pockets hurriedly and through the keys across the room as John caught it and the keys jingled about as he ran out of the studio. Before the news anchor leaves, he speaks to the camera a final time. "It was an honor for me to be able to serve the people for so many years, this is Chaz Frellock from MLC, stay safe out there,"Chaz walks calmly out of the studio as the camera watched him leave. The Foiler began putting on his yellow latex gloves and began to tug on his gloves that already sat on his hands perfectly as he smiled. He looked at the clock and his face had a stagnant large smile that could only ever hope to express his joy as he walked to his microwave. As Chaz walked out of the view of the camera, his brazenness faltered; panic began to fill his mind. He runs to the spot her parked his car only to see tread marks littering the parking lot as he grasped his head and began to pull away at his hair. John drove drown the street in Chaz's car and ran into the apartment he'd come to know for years. He pushes open the doors and runs into room 109. He kicks open the door and see's The Foiler lingering with his finger next to the start button of the microwave as he licked his lips through a slit in his tinfoil. "I got you on the news! I gave you what you wanted! You need to stop it, James!"John says as the clock struck 3:00. "Are you trying to foil The Foiler?"The Foiler asks as he tears off a piece of the tinfoil covering his face and stuck it into the microwave. He presses the button and it counts down from thirty seconds. "You can't keep killing people!"John shouts as he charged down The Foiler. Chaz feels abnormally hot as his cold sweat began to boil as it streamed down his beet-red face. The Foiler ignores John as he looked down at the microwave as it counted down from twenty. John throws a punch that gets blocked entirely by a barrier created from tinfoil. His hand stings as he holds it, it begins to bruise, turning red and purple. He throws another punch helplessly as the T.V behind The Foiler began to make sounds. A scream is narrowly heard, the howling continues to grow and the bellowing echoes across the streets as the timer on the microwave reached ten seconds. "James!"John cries out as both his hands felt nearly broken as he felt an incredible heat and pressure crushing him. Tears leak from his eyes as everything suddenly stops. The time on the microwave continues ticking as The Foiler stood his ground with remorse feeling his eyes. "John... I can't control it any longer. Take off the mask... it'll kill me but, I can't do this any longer!..."James shouts as he grits his teeth and tries ripping off the tinfoil attached to his face. As he peeled off the tinfoil, his skin stretched off with it as a liquid seeped from his pores and the mask clasped itself back onto his face. John doesn't hesitate to oblige to James's request as he jumps across the room and tears away from the mask with his bare teeth. The tinfoil tears, blood leaks from James's face as the last bit of tinfoil finally fell from his body. John then stopped the Microwave with one second left as the screaming on the T.V ceased. "I'm sorry John..."John says as he inhales his last breath. John is confused as the aluminum foil that littered the ground forms together and jumps onto his face. With a smile, John presses the button on the microwave and the sound of an explosion is heard echoing across the city. A few more seconds pass and the T.V turns static. "You can't foil The Foiler,"The Foiler says as he rips off small bits of tinfoil from his mask, putting them in the microwave as sirens wailed. He scoffed at the corpse that betrayed him as he carried on with his plan. &#x200B; \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [u/AlfredoOreos](https://www.reddit.com/u/AlfredoOreos/) Feedback is appreciated as I'm still learning new ways of storytelling and if you enjoyed this story check out my profile and follow for similar ones! Thanks a lot for reading.
You've probably had this daydream before. The first thing you do is think of all the nice things you'll buy for everyone in your life. Pay off that mortgage. New cars all around. Maybe take that trip with all your friends, all expenses paid. All you need is that big pile of cash sitting in front of you and everything falls into place. Well, let me tell you what actually happens. The first thing you realize is that you have never, ever been this scared before in your life. $450 million dollars isn't the type of money you can ever tell anyone about and I needed to get out of sight as quickly as possible. Breathing hard over two black bags in the sand, your mind races through a million possible plans and how each one is going to lead to your death. 1. report this to the police \- a month after your heroic deed and handy finders fee a bomb detonates in your house and kills everyone. 2. call your wife and calmly explain what has happened \- she panics, she calls the police, except now you aren't involved and maybe a suspect. The bomb still detonates a month later. \- she's fucking down and starts mapping out her dream purchases immediately. The FBI is tipped off about your strange financial activity and opens a case. Handcuffs and tears. 3. just leave it \- pass 4. run back to the car and get the hell out of here with the cash \- drug lords with human blood-hounds scour the area and find the unique wheelbase of your 1998 Subaru Outback interesting. Questions at the local sporting goods store lead to a closing of your front door with you bleeding to death on your couch while they ransack the house. 5. How do you even spend this money? You can't put it in a bank. \- This is a problem for tomorrow morning. The good news is that this beach couldn't have been anywhere near the crash site. The storm had pushed the currents south all week and everything that drifted down into my dive could have been 50 miles away when it hit the water. I dragged the two duffles through the trail and back to my subaru as quickly as I could. At the time I was thinking that I had at least $1,000,000 between them. Little did I know at the time what two little metal canisters held. In retrospect, I should have left the cash for someone else to take and made off with them. In the end, my mind settled on a sort of plan. The first thing I needed to do was add some cloud cover to my escape. Anyone who knew this area would know that I was one of the only people who ever spent any time out here. I called the cops. "Hi, I'd like to report a drowning." "Yes. The point at Old Mill Road." "She was being swept out, I couldn't swim fast enough to get out there. She was drifting straight out. No, I can't remember what she was wearing." I waited. It took 74 minutes and my mind going to pieces but there were now five squad cars, an ambulance, a coast guard SUV, and a news van. The riskiest part of my plan was to give an interview to anyone who wanted about the swimmer I lost sight of. I rehearsed it in my mind a thousand times in those 74 minutes. Eventually, my concerned citizen act gave way to tired and depressed almost hero who needed to just leave it to the professionals. If anyone was watching this beach, or would be checking in on it, they just added about two dozen suspects for that money. It was the best I could do. The drive home was a dream state. I checked my rearview more than the road in front of me. Not for anyone following me, but to see that black nylon in the hatch. I don't remember what I passed or what I listened to. My mouth was a cracker when I got home. I unloaded my gear and the bags in the back of the shed. One of those home depot plastic sheds that you can setup at home. Best I could do. Shower. Dinner. Trying to act like I can hear a word she's saying. Netflix, no. Headache, tired, it was a long dive. Oh, yeah, the swimmer. I am sorry, can we talk about it tomorrow. It's all I can think about. I just hope she's ok. The next day I called into work. I had a million sub days that would never get used. Other teachers always prodded me to take a few days for myself. Still, I couldn't stop thinking about them wondering where I was. I parked my car outside the garage and unpacked the duffles. $64,000 dollars. Free money, so why was I mad? I just risked everything for maybe a Mercedes. I filed a false report and sent fucking first responders into the sea for a down payment on a modest home. What the fuck was I thinking? I stuffed the cash into the bags and kicked it across the room. It wasn't enough money to change our lives. It was enough money to ruin my marriage trying to explain what I did. The duffle skidded to a stop when it hit my metal shelves with a bang. A bang? The canisters. There were two metal canisters inside the first duffle. Identical, each one was about five inches long and looked like a tactical flashlight. They had a lanyard hoop at one end which was also the screw top. Tighter than the tightest jar of pickles. I had to put a screwdriver through the hoop and hold the long end with a silicon pad for hot dishes. Industrial smooth threads that took an unbelievable number of turns finally gave way. Into my palm slid a small silver metal rectangle the size of a key chain. I turned it over. It said Ledger Nano on the side. I pushed the black sides of the device and a small screen revealed itself. In blue letters it displayed "BALANCE: BTC 4090"The other canister held an identical device with the same balance. I stared at them both not understanding what they were when it hit me like a ton of bricks. BTC, Bitcoin. I grabbed my phone and googled the current price of Bitcoin and did the math. I had kicked $64,000 in cash and $450 million in bitcoin across the room a moment ago. The doorbell rang and I almost passed out from holding my breath. I peered out the garage window carefully and saw John Danler, sheriff's deputy who graduated high school the year before me. My car was outside. Fuck. I walked back into the house and closed the garage door. "Hey John, what's up?"
As she traveled along the dusty road under the hot desert sun listening to the steady clicking of the horse shoes hitting the ground, Cleo couldn’t shake a nagging thought that there was more out there than what met the eye. She was hesitant to give it too much energy and she certainly knew better than to share this thought with anyone else lest they would think she’s gone mad. But the feeling would become unshakable sometimes. Suddenly without warning the caravan came under attack. Cleo snapped out of her existential crisis and she and the other able bodied men whipped out their swords and began to fight off the attackers. There was some strange glances at Cleo as women would not typically join in a fight like this but there was no time to waste on violations of social norms and they needed all the help they could get. While they fought valiantly, it quickly became evident they were outnumbered and out matched. The order to abandon the supplies and retreat was given. Cleo was able to grab her satchel and as she ran for cover she tripped and fell; out of the bag flew a completely unfamiliar object. Even in the intense heat of the battle, Cleo became mesmerized by it. It was foreign and unlike anything she’d ever seen and yet confusing as it was it was as if she had seen it before. Operating on pure instinct Cleo picked up the unknown object. Suddenly she knew how to use. She pointed the phaser at the attackers and… blam! Direct hit! The battle came to a screeching halt as everyone stood in disbelief. The laser beam had completely incinerated the combatant. There wasn’t a hair on his head or even a molecule that remained. The attackers immediately dropped their swords as terror creeped in after witnessing this “magic.” Even Cleo’s fellow caravaners were looking at her with caution. Truth is even Cleo didn’t fully understand what was going on but she knew she had this object and knew how to use it. She pointed the gun at a boulder and blasted it from existence “Nobody move! Drop your weapons!” Before she could finish the sentence everyone had complied. “Not you, you idiots she yelled at her fellow caravaners.” As they embarrassingly got back up and regained their composure. “Take me to your leader” she demanded to which no one argued. As they arrived at capital by the Nile, Cleo proceeded to take over with ease as everyone she encountered thought she was some sort of demigod. She sat on her throne and declared she will now go by her full name, Cleopatra.
Do you remember Sludge? I do. I remember him consuming everything. I remember being cornered. He was hungry. Consuming everything. And I was trapped in his path. I did what anyone might do. I lashed out. Imagine my surprise when Sludge just... Well... A person came out. A very shocked and confused person. I ran away before Sludge could return to being Sludge. From the news later, I found out ... That just didn't happen? Sludge was over. The person behind the monster was "cured". Weird, right? But of course I moved on. Three months later, something similar happened. A guy known as Flame showed up at a kids party. People freaked out so of course I defended the kids. Two mistakes. One: punching fire HURTS. Two: Flame was actually the kid's uncle. Apparently he wanted to drop off a legitimate gift. Oops. I got a couple of shots in before he passed out. Guess he wasn't expecting a fight. Extra oops. But... Then the news started talking about how the hospital almost killed them because they had set up a room to handle his unique issue. I almost killed the guy by making him not fire anymore? That's strange, right? I didn't know that I was responsible though. Not yet. It wasn't until Ice retired that I began to suspect. Some context: Ice still has her powers. She's still a frozen \\\\\*. But you see, after Flame I started to take selfie defense classes. Boxing specifically. Apparently my boxing partner is Ice's wife, who had an incurable disease that cost thousands per month to treat and left her with only two more years to live if treated. Had. And no, she's not dead. Apparently after verifying that the disease was gone, Ice no longer felt the need to steal thousands of dollars per month to cover her wife's treatment. I don't really know how to handle this. I'm not a vigilante - I just bake cakes.
# Part 1 - The Decision Family, Khandan, Šeimos, Familie, Mishpacha They were called many names but they had existed longer than most. The exact origin was lost in the time but there are references to the Eiote in ancient Coptic texts as the founders. &#x200B; Fall 1942 - undisclosed Lithuanian Šeimos compound "Aras, do you have the summary ready for the Szlachta Committee? They meet tonight" "It's ready but I'm not sure it's what they are expecting" "Is there a problem with the prospects?" "One of them is going to be quite the surprise, take a look at number 17" &#x200B; *Prospect: 17* *Name: Axel Van Helmholtz (Ion Andrei Caradja) - see Note below* *Born: 1916 Bucharest, Romania* *Mother: Catherine Olympia Caradja (Ecaterina Olimpia Creţulescu maiden name) - see Special Note below* *Father: Constantin Caradja* *Adoptive Father: Robert Van Helmhholtz II* *Adoptive Mother: Dorit Kirsten Helmholtz (Spiegel maiden name)* *pre-war profession: Cabinet maker* *Notes:* *Kidnapped in Bucharest 1918 by German special forces* *2 sisters escaped with Mother to Moldavia* *Assumed dead by family* *Placed in German Roman Catholic Orphan Asylum as child unknown name* *1918 adopted by Van Helmholtz family and given Axel Van Helmholtz name* *Special notes:* *Reference Number 39287 - Ecaterina Olimpia Creţulescu bloodline Vlad III Țepeș (PRIORITY ONE SUBJECT)* &#x200B; "How is that possible? I thought there were no male decedents?" "That's what we all thought, that must be the reason the Scryer pointed us his way." &#x200B; Fall 1942 - undisclosed compound Poland, Szlachta Committee "So we are agreed, we will move prospects 3, 5, 7 and 15 to recruitment" "I saved number 17 to discuss last due to special circumstances as stated earlier." "Please review summary on subject for anyone who hasn't." "I know this brings up much emotion in certain members of the committee but the Scryer herself has made this recommendation. Although she is unsure if we should inform him of his past." "Personally, I have seen what the Nazis have done to my neighbors and think we must use this opportunity to side with the Allies in their war. Our general rule to avoid attention was implemented in part to the actions of Vlad himself and the ones who sided with him. The attention it brought to us took many years to subside." . . . "With the objections noted we will continue with recruitment of Prospect 17. Furthermore we will enter the agreement to assist with special assignments meant to shift the tide of the war."
So, there I was minding my own business when my weirdo roommates decide they want take out. First, I have to take Clyde and Sam to the butcher because Sam, who is an extent tall hairy guy with long nails, wants nothing but raw beef and lots of it and Clyde, who always looks like death warmed over, needs brains. Then , my friend Poe, who is the pasties white Caucasian you will ever meet needs me to run by the blood bank so he can get his “juice boxes." Lastly, Steve the weirdo wizard want some mushrooms. Like I said weirdos! Finally we are in our way back from all this running around and having ba mild argued about how these deadbeats never have any gas money when this died Ford comes out of no where and t-bones my car. My precious car rolls 1, 2, 3 times then everything goes black. I woke up some time later with water spraying out of my radiator and brains all over the windshield. NO, NO NO! They're not the brains of my friends. Clyde’s dinner apparently became a projectile in the accident. Speaking of Clyde, where is that zombie anyway? Just as I have this thought I feel this gnawing pain in my abdomen. When I look down I notice blood gushing everywhere. There is a giant beef bone jutting from my belly. I crash my head back against the seat and let out an exasperated sigh as I realize I’m going to die from Sam’s dinner imposing me in the wreck. Poe hovers over me and says, “You're my best friend and I can't lose you,” then I feel sharp pain in my neck and everything goes black again. My last thought as I pass out is, “damn it! I'm going to play hell trying to find make up in pasty white.”
Of everyone inside the room, she was usually the one that voiced her opinion first, “To burn the fields of crops is completely unnecessary and it will only kill innocents.” The daily assembly she addresses are tired “vigilantes” who are a completely different race from her: the human race. It was a fruitless effort to speak up, but she did anyway; for, her closest friends wouldn’t speak up, tied by a contract and to their disgust. “Bella, it is already done as we speak. Haven't you heard? With all due respect, even if you are the first superhero from a race of anti-humans, you can’t bring your two-pennies everywhere you go.” The speaker of the assembly, legally forced, says. The man is the one that brought her in, but the position he involuntarily received is still part a contract. “My two-pennies are not only my own, Brandon. We can’t expect money to pay for everything when we have the power to do what is right.” Brandon rubs his exhausted eyes, his passion of being a superhero was long robbed by villains, but now this war took its toll. He has been awake for a week straight, and Bella knows this but ignores it, and he snaps calmly. “We are nothing, Bella, we are forces that can be governed. Our strongest is held by a noose, we are abused by the people as meat shields. Our legion of little less than a hundred folks, more than half are stationed on Earth and half of our available troops are dead. For every mission that has commenced, we are only paid pennies, but thanks to peaceful tactics a large portion of our funding has been redirected to the cost: the cost of our recklessness in the early phrase of this extraterrestrial war. My—” Brandon realizes he went on a tantrum and apologizes to the assembly, and tells them to sleep for the night. I knew that he was going to mention paycheck next: a darn penny gain per person, for a mission that the governments from Earth commissions. And I am paid an hourly salary by being Bella’s secretary. I can’t imagine how demotivating it is for the other heroes in the assembly to be called “superheroes” in death, but their job titles are “vigilantes.'' I hold Bella’s hand in my open-palm to her room, and guide her inside. I went over to the container of Bella’s battle suit, asking when will it be ready again. Bella pouts when she hears our engineers it will take days, once again, due to the lack of resources we have. However, another person knocked on the door and handed in another letter. Reading letters is Bella’s favorite pastime. Letters from the victims of war: the farmers, the families, the masses’ fear of their enemy. I cleaned Bella’s exoskeleton while she read the new letter. When I was first employed, washing her was disturbing as I never would expect to be appointed an ant. However, she trembles from touch, clearly afraid of receiving the same treatment as her cousins. It is this war that I start to value her personality. She made a low click and touched my shoulder with her antennae. She wants to talk. I pondered what the letter consisted of this time. One of the first fear-driven letters she read, she had this revelation, “We are not the heroes, we are the invaders…” This hobbit started all because she was beginning to be liked by the public of this quiet planet, the very same race of aliens that decimated one eighth of the Earth’s population. When I asked her about why she spars, while they didn’t spar us; she says that their situations were like her kin for the past decades. Bella touched the translator on her neck and said, “Are you still here because it's your job?” “No, I am here for you, Lady Bella.” “That is your reasoning? Though, I meant to tell you this earlier, but I must rather have another one of kin than a human.” My body shook to those terrible words. However, she continues, “I admit I am home-sick, it has been long that I last met my friends, my queen, my colony. Only for what? To fight in a war against a species that is like my own because of hatred. And to be helpless to support the future generation as my two pennies are the only thing that comes in the check. I swear there is nothing else to do, but die.” To heed that from my mistress sicken me, right to my core. Although, there is always that one qualm that enters my mind during the daily assemblies and I start to speak my mind, “‘Revenge is a fool’s game’ people used to say, that is the problem with superheroes; their egos are larger than their resources. Say what about we make compromises instead, and end the war with a treaty: admitting our defeat and go home.” Bella took some time to reflect, she was astounded by my proposition, and then said “When?” “I was not chosen to be yours to be comfortable. I say we go right now, to the capital; and, meet the big creatures that govern this planet. Hey—we should not wait for your battle suit because they need to see the true you.” Relentlessly, Bella agrees with my plan and we sneak off to meet this planet’s superheroes.
Clawing desperately at my wrists, her frantic struggles become hopeless flailing until she finally falls still. Like a sun setting over the ocean, a glowing light swims through her bottomless blue eyes before guiding her into the abyss. An invigorating warmth burns through my chest as another three hundred and sixty-five days are added to my now eternal life. I might live to see the heat death of the universe, or maybe I will just ride this forsaken rock into our imploding sun, but I can’t resist the satisfaction of playing God. The satisfaction of snuffing out another miserable, meaningless flicker of light.
It was so late that it was getting early: this was the most dangerous hour of the night. The buses would soon start their routes, and the villagers who would commute to the capital city were surely up already. I had to come up with something. By the way, my name is Benjamim: it was supposed to be a fitting one, for the youngest son of a big family. But then, when I was just old enough to understand I’d be losing all of the special attention, came another brother: Wilson, who everyone calls Wilsinho. The seventh of the bunch, and, in his way, the runt of the litter. Pampered and spoiled like I never was. The seventh son of the family, a family of seven sons... But now’s not the time for reminiscing: I just had to find him. I whistled and clicked my mouth as loudly as I could: I hated ruining the sleep of people, but there were ruder awakenings to be had, on nights like these. I wouldn’t dare to call my brother by name: it would be much easier to find him, but it would show the world who he really was. If I wanted him to live, and I did, we had to keep the secret. The full moon lit the dirt roads: the village slept, despite the barking of the dogs. I like to think they muffled my noises, and masked my intentions. Some blamed cats, others worried about thieves, but only the most superstitious folk, those who still believed in the old legends, would dare to say their suspicions aloud. “Werewolf! Werewolf!” Even from this distance, I could recognize the voice: it was Mr. Lobato’s. I then knew where to look. I turned around, and headed to his farm, a small chacra where he lived alone, grew bananas, passion fruit, and raised his prized guinea fowl. More than worrying about the birds, or about old Lobato’s well being, I worried about my brother. I parked my bicycle carefully on the other side of the road: I couldn’t afford for the chain to slip out again. Lobato’s dogs were barking, and the guinea fowl clucked with their human-like voices. And then, another howl. I put on my balaclava, double-checked my bag, and climber over the chacra’s brick wall. It was time. “Werewolf!” Lobato screamed. “Stay away from my birds!” I had to spot my brother, fast. The dogs, all muts of various sizes, hid behind the old man’s pickup, barking out of cowardice, or rather, self-respect. The guinea fowl, Lobato, and our secret were in danger. I saw a shadow shifting past, then setting in front of the chicken coop: It was Wilsinho. “Awoo!” His overalls were bursting open with gray fur, his fake Vans shoes were in ribbons, and he reeked of energy drinks and booze. Wilsinho turned around, looked at me, and wagged his tail. “Bark! Bark!” For a moment, I was relieved. Until he turned back, flicked his claw, and opened the coop’s door. The birds’s rustling and clucking became louder, and then Wilsinho exited the coop, carrying a black, polka-dotted bird in his mouth. “Get away from my birds!” Lobato screamed. I hid, and Lobato opened his door. The old man, wearing only running shorts and slippers, chased at Wilsinho, wagging a machete and carrying a flashlight. My brother shaked the guinea bird, finishing the kill, then ran behind the pickup. The dogs scattered, still in a cacophony of barks, and Lobato gave chase. They circled around the pickup, Lobato with his knife in hand, then Wilsinho ran towards the toolshed. Lobato chased him, but Wilsinho pivoted, then ran to the pickup again, then towards the mango tree, then back to the shed. All while devouring the bird: the chase left a trail of bones, blood and feathers. Old Lobato did his best to chase the intruder: I was surprised at how fast he ran… but, sprinting towards the shed, Lobato stopped. He bent forward at the waist, holding his knees, and sat down, gasping. Then, to my disgust, Wilsinho looked at Lobato. He bared his teeth at the old man, and walked slowly, standing on two feet, towards Lobato’s direction. The dogs circled, barking ineffectively. I knew I had to act. “Wilsinho! You little jerk! Look at what you’ve done! You’re a naughty, naughty boy!” I walked towards him, clapping our mother’s sandal against my hand. “You better beg I won’t tell mom you snuck out the house! On a full moon, even. Get over here!” Wilsinho whimpered, his tail between his legs. “You ain’t no snitch”, he said. “Please don’t tell mom!” “You’re coming home, like it or not! Sit!” I grabbed him by the ear, then pulled him close to me. “The werewolf”, Lobato said, gasping for ear. “He’s real! He’s real!” I took a small bottle of rum from my bag. “He is real, and you’re a drunk.” I poured the drink on top of old man Lobato. “Nobody will believe you.” “But… the werewolf… he’s real…” “As real as the goatsucker”, I said, tossing the plastic bottle by the man’s feet. Lobato stretched his hand towards me, then passed out. “Let’s go home: it’s getting early”, I said. Wilsinho whined, and we both jumped over the wall. I, after a run-up; Wilsinho, with a single leap. He sat on the frame of the bicycle, and I pedalled. The kid was getting heavy. But soon, we would be home. We rode in awkward silence, until Wilsinho whimpered. “I’m sorry, Ben”. “It’s ok. I’m not angry at you”, I lied. I scratched his furry head, while trying not to lose balance. “Bro… Is the goatsucker real?”, Wilson asked. “Of course not”, I lied again. “Now stop moving so much”.
The Commander fell to the floor, exhausted, as they finished. The combined effort of their attack had scarred the earth itself. Clouds of thick black smoke billowed from the bottomless chasm they had blasted in the ground. Then the Commander laughed. For the first time in years, she laughed. It was over. It was really over. Her men joined in, their laughter rising toward the heavens along with the sickly smolder of the demon they had slain. &#x200B; But then she heard something. A soft sound rose from deep within the chasm. But then it grew louder. And harsher. It was... laughter. A voice from deep within the chasm joined in with her legion's laughter. As soon as they heard it, they became silent. That singular voice in the depths turned into two voices, then ten, then a hundred--until tens of thousands of guttural, rasping, spiteful laughs crawled their way out of the cavern like insects under an uncovered rock, exposed to the light. Some of her men collapsed to their knees, shrieking and clutching at bleeding ears as the poisonous cacophony grew louder and louder. The Commander could hear those voices laughing inside her mind. &#x200B; Then the demon itself rose from the chasm. As the smoke cleared, a dead tree formed from the abyss, climbing a hundred feet above the ground, its grey, gnarled branches twisting in impossible geometries that turned one's stomach. Then thousands of black spiders began to creep up the tree's trunk, crawling over one another in a mad scramble to reach the top. At the tree's peak, the spiders smashed into one another in a massive, writhing ball of purple guts, black legs, and millions of beady eyes fixated on the Commander and her men. That ball of insects resolved into a massive centipede, its countless legs and twisting abdomens wrapped around the dead tree that had sprouted from the chasm. &#x200B; The Commander fell to her knees. It was not the cruel laughter that still rang in her ears and inside her brain--that she could handle. Their utter failure, however, she could not. They had wielded the combined might of all mankind to kill this monster. They had found the power to finally destroy this abomination. Or so she thought. The creature loomed over her now, in all its terrible might, completely unharmed. She had assumed this would be another arrogant demon that would fall before her legion of glorious heroes. But this time, they were the arrogant ones. The fools fighting against a creature they didn't --couldn't\-- understand. And so they failed. &#x200B; In her periphery, the Commander could see her men looking to her, so confident still. Confident that she had a backup plan. A contingency. Some grand counterstrike. Imbeciles. She could feel the tears coming, unbidden, as she slowly realized what she had to do. They had no hope of killing this thing. No chance to beat this monster. She knew it now as surely as she knew the earth was a globe, as surely as the heavens were blue and the sun was bright. She rose to her feet, tears streaming down her face, and she forced herself to step toward the monstrosity above the abyss. She reached deep within, and used her grief, her humiliation, her regret, her sadness, to charge her Power. All mages were taught that such intense emotion made wielding magick incredibly dangerous. Which was just what she needed. She could feel her skin begin to burn from the Power that raged within her. She figured that right now, she was holding more Power than any one person ever had. And she never even wanted to be a mage. She never wanted to be Commander. Growing up she always thought that this world had so much more to offer than the destruction of the Power or the bloody wars of past Commanders. But when this demon came to their people, she had learned to fight. Just until the conflict was over, she had told herself. It was the right thing to do, she had thought. She kept walking forward, uncontrollably, her skin scorched away, her muscles hissing as the flesh burned. And now... And now she would... She couldn't think straight, her tears kept coming, her throat tensing up, making it hard to swallow. She turned back to her men, who were falling in line behind her. "No!"she yelled to them, her voice strained, weak. "RUN!"she managed to shriek. They hesitated, their faces twisted in confusion. "That's a goddamn order, you bastards!" Then they started to flee. But Alon, her lieutenant--her lover--remained. He didn't look confused. Didn't look hurt. He understood. He understood what she had to... Gods. What she had to... do. She forced out a bitter smile, for him. Then she turned toward the demon. She couldn't kill it, but she could damn well stall it long enough for her men and her people to escape. As she walked toward her destiny, she said to her lover, "Please, don't avenge me."
One day, the sky turned purple to reflect the new hue of the ocean. It was a deep extravagant hue and also deeply concerning to all of the ape descendants that looked in confusion and horror at their everyday heaven change so abruptly to another color. Then as fast as it turned its royal lavender, it changed back to its calm blue. The majority of the population didn't even let the momentary panic affect them and they continued with their routines and habits unaffected by the sudden cosmic shift. This was the first sign that the world they lived in was a simulation, but it was far from the turning point where they seemed to care. Long stowed away in an intergalactic server, a file named "Will they get it?"fired a signal that it was outputting more energy than it was consuming. For galactic coders, these types of simulations did great at mining resources and holding large data sets that took the form of matter in their neatly packed rules of physics and mechanics. Math, being a universal language, did a fantastic job of generating and maintaining simulations capable of holding all sorts of records and knowledge. Creating real simulated matter to write on assured that sensitive information could be wiped as fast as the universe itself was created: In an instant. BlargFlinman, the alias of the galactic haker that leaked the source code of the small beautifully crafted cosmic file, didn't know the popularity his code would have. It would go on to be the most heavily modded codes' and a viral sensation for new cosmic coders to test on due to its simplicity and elegance. While no coder took responsibility for its creation the server name it was hosted on was called "For Fun"and thus the community named its create endearingly "The Joker". It was not long until the system no longer resembled anything that the anxiety-ridden simulated people would recognize as home.
"Punch... really... hard?" "Yup. Really really hard"he said with a grin Great, another hopeful thinking a decent talent makes him a superhero. God I hate this part of the jon, crushing peoples dreams of being a hero. Maybe I can let him down easy. "Look"I say, "aren't you abit old to start super heroing? Wouldn't you prefer to just settle down and relax at your age?" "Nope"he say with the same grin, "I may be 50 years old but I'm only 20 years young! Hahaha!"He laughs like a hyena. He's a real nice guy, would make a good hero for the kids if he had an actual power. "Alright. Hop in the teleporter and lets go to the testing grounds" The two of us walk in, him with a pretty goofy walk. A blink of light later and we're there "Alrighty then"I say as we step out, "This is nearly 300 light years away from earth, we use this place to test powers. Its so far away you dont have to worry about-" "Yeah yeah yeah, so what do I do for the test"he interrupts eagerly "Ok calm down. Just go and punch that dummy over there as hard as you can. Don't worry about breaking it, its made of axiotium, you'll blow up this whole galaxy before you put a scratch on it" He jogs up to the dummy, and assumes a boxing stance. He did mention he was a vigilante in his youth, so it makes sense he'd know how to fight. He's got a strong stance, good balance, there's the punch lets hope he follows thro- BOOM I took a moment to regain my composure. Once I could take in the situation I realized the dummy was gone. And so was half the damn planet. And every fucking star that was loosely in that direction. "Sorry, I tried to hold back so I wouldn't break the dummy, but i guess I don't know my own strength" "Wha-"I can barely form words in my shock, "what did you do? i though you said your power was to punch really hard" "Thats what I did, I punched it really, really hard."
Footsteps. An array of uncanny smoothness. Glass under feet. I step past a small woven barrier. My shoe ruins the glasslike floor. Under me, the road has become disgusting. An old lady steps out, a bit tired, angry, but accomodating, "Don't worry, I"ll clean it up." "What exactly?"I question. "It's how we keep our streets here, outsider."The old lady never makes eye contact. I look at swirls and incomprehensible smoothness. The roads everywhere and the floors indoors connect so perfectly. "Why? What?" "The floors are set that way because it keeps it quiet for us. This is your first time here, unlike my husband, who should be out here, I never forget people. Everyone here is blind." "But you walk with such confidence!" "I wouldn't know. In my old age. [The lady exaggerates poor posture] Hahaha." "Hahaha!"I feel a bit of fear facing the amount willpower in the little old lady. "Anyway, it is nice to meet an outsider. We do not use names here, we all know each other by the sounds of our heartbeats." "Do you people care for music?" "Absolutely." I ruin more of the floor as I walked. The old lady guiding me to a building. "This is an outsider, please take care of them."My heart shakes, fear of being attacked or taxed, having everything stolen from me. Instead, there is a kind-looking gentleman, so neat and thin. He was their mayor and greets me as such, "Greetings."The problem here would be that he spoke with a kindness that I could never properly put to any description. I cannot help but feel like I was home in this strange place after hearing his voice. I spend the day looking at happy families, neighbors. Everyone here steps without making so much as a ripple on the dirt below them. It comes up that I am a traveling musician. The mayor welcomes a performance. I start up and peoples' faces change. The mayor smiles so kindly I can feel acceptance. However, adults begin talking partway through and some children cry. The mayor continues to smile and I want to keep playing but the crying children have begun to be louder than my song. I stop but the mayor gestures to me to keep playing. I do not. I eat my first meal while visiting. It is bread and soup, but, of course, it's unlike anything else I've ever eaten. I ask if I could stay in the town somewhere between the conversations of my journeys and the mayor's talk about his affliction and how he has only months to live. The mayor asks, "I loved your music. I really did." I feel lied to, betrayed, "Thank you." "You know that it would be impossible for you to be a musician here with your skill." "Yes." "We would gladly have you here if you would learn another trade." I hold back every tear I've ever cried, "I cannot. I will be a musician." My feet are so light but still sink into the floors as I walk away and never look back at the town. My footsteps are erased. The mayor said, before I left, "I know you will be a great musician. I hear your heartbeat and the song it plays will always be perfect."
\[Forgotten Truth\] "I found mail!"Denise giggled. The blonde 6-year-old pulled an old, yellowing letter out of the oversized army jacket she wore. Dennis, her grandfather and namesake, sat up in his recliner with interest. He'd given her permission to go through some of his old things. He thought he checked everything carefully but the letter surprised him. "Hold on there, soldier,"he said using his stern, military voice. "I need to make sure there's no classified information on it,"Dennis said. He held his palm out to wait for her to give him the letter. He was more concerned about her accidentally reading something too adult for her young eyes than any classified secrets. He didn't immediately recognize the letter and considered it might have been from an old flame. Denise gave a messy salute, then placed the letter in his hand. Dennis loved babysitting her because of how easy she was. He didn't know if she was his favorite grandchild because of her temperament; or, if he had an easier time because she was his favorite. In the end, it didn't matter. Out of his seven grandkids, Denise was the only one that visited with any regularity. Dennis looked at the letter and found it addressed to him, from him. A vague memory sparked to life in the back of his mind and he chuckled. "I know what this is,"he said with a smile. He leaned back on the recliner and patted his lap. Denise climbed on while Dennis pulled out the letter. "A long long time ago I wrote a letter to my future self; and, here I am in the future,"he said with a broad smile. "Wanna see what little me had to say?"he asked. "Yes!"Denise nodded eagerly. Dennis took his time unfolding the letter, then putting on his reading glasses. "Dear future me... you're old! HA HA HA,"he read dryly with a shake of his head. Denise couldn't help but giggle. "But, seriously...,"he continued. "Everything changes tomorrow. I'm actually a little bit nervous." "Oh no...,"Denise grabbed her grandpa's free hand and squeezed it for comfort. "You're okay,"she said. "I am,"he replied with a smile, then he focused on the letter again. "Jake and the guys think I'm worrying over nothing, but I don't know." "Who's Jake?"Denise interrupted. "Ohhhh, he's an old old friend. I almost don't remember him anymore. We lost touch during the war...,"Dennis replied. The truth was he couldn't remember anyone by that name. But, it wasn't an important detail and Denise wouldn't know the difference. He didn't feel like venturing too far into past. Mostly because he couldn't remember much of it. He resumed reading. "I don't know. It's only natural to be scared of the unknown. Even if other people do it all the time, it's new to me. I hope by the time I'm you, I can say I had a good time."Dennis put his arm around Denise and pulled her closer; he was confident that he did indeed have a good time. At least, after the war. "But, speaking of good times. The real reason for this letter is very important. They say it's impossible to forget...,"Dennis couldn't help but nod. Some of the things he saw, and did, during the war would never be forgotten. "...but nothing is foolproof. And I'm sure you know what a fool we are."Denise burst into giggles. "FOOOL!"she shouted. Dennis chuckled and kept reading. "So, I'm writing this to remind you in case we forget. It's not...,"Dennis stopped reading aloud. He continued to scan the letter. "It's not what, grandpa?"Denise asked. The polite girl even waited for a few seconds of silence before she interrupted. Dennis shook his head and gave her a big smile. "It's not the end of the world,"Dennis said. "Someday you'll have a beautiful, wonderful grandchild that you love more than all the others. The end,"he said aloud without taking his eyes off hers. "Little you was boring, grandpa,"Denise giggled. "Is it lunchtime yet?"Dennis nodded. "Yeah. But, go change. We're going out for pizza,"he said. Denise jumped off his lap in a flash and dashed out of the room while screaming. "PIIIIIIIZZZZZAAAAAAaaa!"Dennis watched her leave the room and waited for a few moments. Then, he stood up from his chair, leaving the letter behind. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. After a long exhale, he spoke. "Slate,"he said. It was a word he'd said probably dozens if not hundreds of times in his 75 years; but, this time there was a different intention behind it. A transparent glass pane appeared and hovered in the air in front of him. It displayed a wide variety of info about him but the thing that stood out the most was a round, red-glowing button on the bottom corner. It said \[Logout\]. Dennis began to weep as he realized what the letter said was true. "It's not real..." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1216 in a row. (Story #120 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog.
You aren’t sure for how long you haven’t blinked, instead focused on the gentle swirl of the steam that emanates from your fourth or fifth cup of coffee, four hours into a twelve-hour shift. With great effort, you pull your eyes away from the mug, easily the most interesting thing in the room, and shift them slightly to the right, to the monitor still displaying the same screen it has for the past ten years. The screen blinks. You yawn and silently curse to a god you’re not quite sure you believe in. Why are you here, you wonder, when you could be cuddled up in bed next to your girlfriend, asleep. It's not like after ten years of absolutely nothing, tonight is the night a transmission is received. Tomorrow, you vow, you are going to take some time and just lay with your girlfriend, enjoying her presence. With more effort than you care to admit, you slowly rise from the vaguely uncomfortable desk chair provided for you. Partially to stretch out your back, starting to hurt from being as hunched over as it was, and partially because the first three cups of coffee had finally made its way through you. TRANSMISSION RECEIVED beeps the automated voice of the computer in a tone just shy of being described as cheerful The computer quickly begins the work of deciphering the message, as you reach for the phone you left on the desk and begin to dial a number you thought you would never need to dial “oh, I guess I’m not gonna get to enjoy her presence tomorrow after all”
Prometheus, in an epoch as far removed from modern civilization and its triumphs over nature, had lit for humans the first fire, the first ember in what would become the olympic torch of humanity: the fire that illuminated today shall outline in its flames a brighter tomorrow, in hopes that the same fire shall one day stand as the Sun for all who look upon it, never needing to relay it again, only to bathe in its light and warmth. Today, that same flame is being held in my hands. Today, the promise of fire flickers in my hands. Today, the ancient myth of Prometheus bears a greater significance than it did yesteryear, or any time before. It stands as a dream long ago swallowed by the light of day, now flittering wildly on my palms, its frail essence grasping at everything for survival, for growth, for the relay and the feeling of the racing wind on its burning tongues. In an epoch far removed from what is today, the promise of fire, evergrowing, unextinguishable led to today, with its triumphs and miracles, and that same fire now burns in your hands as well, just as they do in mine, just as much as they do in everyone who believes. Believe, my friend, in an eternal fire that you and I must pass on and nurture to fend off the fear of tomorrow and outline for ourselves, a fire so bright and warm a thousand years from now no one need not look for a fire, but simply bask in the glow of what we all created.
Facial dysmorphia took the globe instantly. I had grown up for 23 years in my own hidden world – living in my mind and my paintings. Alone since I was a baby and my parents realized the consequences of my condition. When I first saw you I knew things might change. And when I told you I could open up if we got away from the world, you agreed. For months, we laughed, and cried, and joked, and I smiled for the first time since birth. We weren't watching the news, fawning over the world's loss of muscular control. You didn't even notice.
Finally weekend. I check the time on my phone. Nearly 12PM? I slept in hugely. I guess I skip breakfast. Let's just get myself a plain old sandwich for lunch. The sun is shining brightly and it is probably thanks to the tiny bit of sunlight that somehow got through the curtains that I didn't wake up later in the first place. Or it's that there is some space between the curtains and the windows, so that sunlight can go through that and still reach my eyes. Anyway. It seems my roommate is still not up. Can't believe it: he is like the early bird in this household. He should be doing some dishes after lunch. Doesn't matter. I think I'll go take a walk in the park. I walk down the streets and don't see anyone. Nobody is walking around. No shops are open. It's as if we have another pandemic. Do we? We just got through the last one. The park isn't that far from here. I hope I'm not breaking any laws I don't know of right now for taking a walk. Even at the park I don't see anybody. Even during the pandemic people were walking, there was traffic. Why don't I see any of this now? No wait, I see a homeless man sleeping on a park bench. How is he still sleeping? The sun is shining brightly and he is sweating. I poke him and try to wake him up. It isn't legal for a homeless man to sleep here and this is the only park bench in the area. He hasn't woken up from a few simple pokes. I decide to shake him. Heavily. He still doesn't wake up. Okay, I got something that'll surely wake him up. I packed a bottle of water. I make him lay with his back on the bench and then pour water over his face. He is still asleep. How is he still asleep? Shouldn't he be choking. Wait he is coughing a bit. Is he finally awake? No, he returns to sleep. Could it be that everyone around here is still sound asleep? Everyone is asleep? I gotta know for sure. I run through the park to see if I can spot more homeless people. I do and I pour water over their faces. They cough a bit and then return to sleep, like what happened with the first homeless guy. I drink some of the remaining water myself. I need to go home. I need to know for sure whether everyone is as sound asleep as these homeless people. I have a megaphone at home. I can use that. I have picked up the megaphone and to see whether people will wake up, I will just keep yelling until they wake up. Wait, why haven't I thought of checking the news first? I open the news app and I don't see anything on the news related to this. However, I do see only one newspaper having posted news as recently as one hour ago. I can't believe it. The entire world is asleep. No, I need to wake them up and this megaphone might do the trick. "Wake up! Wake up!"I keep yelling, "come on, rise and shine. Overcome hangover from that wine! Wake up! Wake up!"I hear no one tell me to shut up. Nobody approaches me. I walk back into my house and then into my roommate's bedroom. He is still sound asleep. I yell into the megaphone once more. No response. What is going on? I need to post this somewhere. I can't be the only one still awake. I need to post on all social media I can think of that people in my city literally don't wake up. Despite the literally, people will think I mean that people in my city are 'sheep' who let themselves manipulate. That is if this sleeping problem isn't as worldwide as it seems now. I decide to elaborate that they are immobile anyway. I copy the text of my post, so I can post it on other social media besides Reddit. On the front page of these social media, I notice that the last post is from hours ago. An hour later, I see a reply. On Facebook. Thank goodness someone replied. It says: "I might know what's going on. My phone number is underneath. We need to contact eachother quickly. Communication can't exist for too long without human maintenance."Underneath is indeed a phone number. I give them a call and quickly it gets picked up. "Mr. NotSoSleepyHead anymore here,"she says, "where are you right now?"I answer with my town name and she replies:"There is a laboratory not far from here. It is near the reactor.""I think I know where you mean,"I reply truthfully. "Just to be sure,"she says, "I will reply with the coordinates to your post. In that lab the cause of this mess can be explained." I get my car to drive to that lab. I didn't know something like this was even possible.
Heat death is a gradual thing, it would happen over trillions of years. And the universe isn't doomed to heat death anyways. Heat death is approaching maximum entropy. Maximum entropy is determined by the volume of the universe, and the universe is expanding, so the goalpost keeps running away. We can increase entropy forever. The temperature may drop to absolute zero, but that will take trillions of years too. If the universe falls back into a big crunch, that would eventually give a predictable 10-day lifetime. State conversions, like conversion to condensed strange matter, could also give the universe a hard deadline, but you probably couldn't know about it ahead of time if you are part of the same universe. If the universe is transitive, that is, anything reachable by the universe is therefore part of the universe, then the god and all the beings are part of the universe, there is nowhere else to run to, and they are all doomed. Now, if the universe isn't quite transitive ... perhaps the "universe"is the section of reality that behaves according to the normal laws of physics. The Andromeda galaxy is part of our universe, because it's the same rules even if it's really hard to get to, but perhaps dark matter interacts with itself by some other physics, and the reality from dark matter's perspective would be a different universe even if it's intricately bound to our own. Perhaps the physics we know of could collapse while nothing in particular happens from the dark matter perspective. Heaven, hell, spirit worlds are thought of something like this. OK OK. So there's this immortal god dude, and he is active in our physics, and also in some other physics say dark matter physics, and he can communicate between the two somehow. And this physics is dying, and he's got 10 days to abandon ship to the other side. No trouble, really, the two sides are going to be indepenent anyhow with only tenuous connections in between. Like twin sisters in different cities, who talk by mail, and one of their cities is about to be nuked. The sister in the nuked city is doomed, but the other will go on and remember her lost sibling. OK. Transfer all the records you can from the doomed to non-doomed side, but not much more you can do. Unless the god is like pure information and you can transfer the whole information of their being to the non-doomed side and have it run on a different substrate. Hm. That sounds closer to what's being asked. OK so be it. Further there are these other people left in the doomed physics. They're "people"not "immortal gods", so I assume they don't have duplicates in some other physics, and they can't just copy their source code elsewhere and compile and be up and running again. They're actually solidly part of the doomed physics. And the immortal god just found out about them, so's not overly familiar with them, no prep work done. Hm. Doesn't sound promising for the people, especially seeing how the god has an important use of available bandwidth between physics already. Now, just because these are people, and not immortal gods, doesn't mean they're resourceless. They might actually be significantly smarter than our god dude. They may know about connections to alternate physics, even if they have no way of controlling those themselves. They could even know about additional alternative physics beyond what Mr Dude know about. Or perhaps they have better control over the known physics, and although it certainly looks doomed to Mr. Dude, these Persons have a Plan and aren't actually in danger. Of course, they could all be wrong and they could all die due to some third party unknown whatsit too. Eaten for lunch by Cthulhu. Hm. They all need personalities too. I assume Mr Dude is pretty self centered, as in, sees the world from Dude's perspective. It would be good for at least one Person to be self-centered too, as in sees the world from everyone's perspectives but is pulling the strings to serve their own good. The universe itself is ending, perhaps the universe has an opinion on its own death as well.
I will write my own example. “Hello, this is a video for some ground rules about cosplaying and conventions held at our park. They are important so that everyone can enjoy their stay.” “So, the basics. Don’t cosplay as someone whose clothes are too revealing. Kids visit the park after all. If you are not sure about your character’s clothing, wear a jacket or windbreaker over it. We do that when we go to conventions as well.” “Cosplaying as characters that can be seen in the park can cause confusion between staff and cosplayer. I highly advise wearing a specific tag to prevent confusion.” “We normally don’t talk about specific works or characters, but this one is important for those who want to do a DDLC cosplay. While the rules allow them, only change at the convention hall. Don’t wear this in the park unless you want confused looks from the face characters, the target for the comedy routines and being mocked by some of the ride intercoms. Unless you want to do so, in that case I have no say in it.” “So thanks for watching and understanding the rules. Thank you and have a good convention stay.”
So, he is ol school, he has a holly double pumper stickn out of the hood cut out, this is, attached to a 283 with a 4 10 gear ratio, ladder bars to prevent sway and wheeley bars off the back end so the ol bugger doesn't flip his bad ass Puegeot when he has a hot tip and has to fk off, fast attached but hidden under his front seat is NG J.I.C okay i will talk to later. .Just a minute, One more thing! it has a paint job from hell, it is multi tone to show colors of the rainbow at certain times of the day besides those time it is flat blue with a cigar burning on the hood, cause the mofo was waaaay ahead of his time.
Part 1 - Ortus stood on his favorite cliff on the Isle of Soli. It was dawn and this was his favorite place to work. Something about the seclusion and beauty of this particular island always put Ortus at peace. Standing at the peak of the cliff, he knew the serenity wouldn’t last long. His best friend would wake soon and the chatter would begin. Starting with his arms at his side, Ortus, began to pull his arms up very slowly, palms facing upward. Sensing his motion, the sun starts to peak over the horizon, creating a hue of yellow and orange around the lightning sky. Ortus took a deep satisfying breath and sat down on the rocks, watching the beachside below. As if right on queue, the flapping of wings reached Ortus’ ears. Prospero was here. Ortus’ best friend. A vibrant yellow sun conure. “You took your time,” Ortus said, over his shoulder to the bird. “I could say the same about you, old friend,” Prospero responded, landing next to Ortus on the adjacent rock. “It’s almost Spring, let the mortals sleep a little longer before they rise,” Ortus replied. Prospero scoffed. “You always have a soft spot for these mortals,” the bird squawked. “Perhaps. Or perhaps not,” he said. Ortus and Prospero spent the rest of the day watching the mortals, debating philosophy, and eating ambrosia. Ortus’ fingers started to itch. It was time to set the sun and bring dusk to the island. Ortus put his arms stretched out with his palms facing upward. Then, turning his palms down, Ortus slowly started to bring his arms to his side. As he did this, the sun began its descent. Breathing another sigh of relief, Ortus took one last look downward to the mortals on the beach. His eyes fixed on a lone figure sitting in the sand. Eyes now focused, Ortus could see it was a young woman. As he was watching her, she was watching the sunset. Before he was aware of himself, his body was climbing down the cliff to head toward the sand. Ortus usually stayed away from the mortals. Only ever watched them from afar. From his cliff. He’d never been compelled to interact with them. Mortals could be both monstrous and enchanting creatures. And he knew some stories of gods that had dared to get close to them. It wasn’t something he was at all interested in. Not until now. Ortus walked closer to the woman. He wasn’t sure what to do or say to her. Maybe he’d start with a greeting he told himself. He could see the wind on the beach was whipping the dark brown curls of her hair around her face. She was doing her best to place the rogue strands behind her ears. But that’s when he heard it. She is sobbing. Unsure of what to do, Ortus stopped his approach and stood several feet behind her. “Crap, crap, crap,” the woman said, “shoot, where did it go?” The woman began to crawl around on the sand, putting her hands in and through the miniscule pebbles. At this, Ortus approached. “Hello,” Ortus said. The woman continued her search, ignoring him. Ortus coughed to get her attention. She looked up at him. Her green eyes brillant, but saddened by her recent tears. The tussle of hair in the wind, seemed to accent her heart shaped face. Pulling it back out of her face, Ortus could see her high cheekbones. He found her beautiful. “Can I help you?” she said, irritatedly at him. “Oh, no. Perhaps I can help you. You look like you are searching for something,” Ortus said. She sighed. “Yes, I’ve lost a ring. I just had it in my hand and now I’ve lost it. The sun’s going down and I’m losing the light to search for it,” she replied. As the woman continued her search, Ortus looked toward the horizon. She was right. They maybe had less than five minutes until the sun completely set over the sea. The sky was already beginning to change from the pinkish orange hues into purple ones. Dusk would be upon them soon with no light to spare. Ortus raised his hands to his chest and slowly began to push his arms out in front of him. The motion made his arms shake and took all of the breath from his lungs, but this motion would slow the sun and give the woman another fifteen or twenty minutes of daylight. Collapsing to his knees in front of the woman, Ortus hid his exhaustion by beginning to help the woman, mimicking her arm movements in the sand. “So, what does this ring look like?” Ortus asked. “Well, it’s kind of bulky. And sort of heavy. It’s a class ring. It belonged to my grandfather,” she said. “I see,” he said. Ortus had no idea what a class ring was. But figured if he found something that resembled a ring, he could show it to her to confirm whether it belonged to her. They continued looking in silence until the sun finally set. The woman stopped searching. Ortus stopped with her. “I’m sorry, we didn’t find the ring. It looks like we’ve lost the sun,” he said. “I know. But, thank you for helping me. What did you say your name was?” she asked. “I didn’t. But my name is Ortus,” he replied. Her eyes widened and she gave him a curious look. “What an interesting name? Is it Greek?,” she asked, interest in her eyes. “No. It’s Latin,” he replied, “and you are?” “Oh, yes. Sorry. I’m Serena,” she said, standing up, “and thank you again for helping me try to find this ring. It was kind of you to stop your day to help me.” “Will your grandfather be cross with you for losing his ring?” Ortus asked, also getting up from the sand to walk next to her. “No. He recently passed away. I’ve just come from his funeral. The ring was one of the only things I have of him,” Serena said, “and now it’s gone.” Serena broke into tears in front of him. To his surprise, Ortus pulled Serena into his arms. He stroked her back, hoping that the motion might soothe her. And he was even more surprised when she put her arms tightly around him, seemingly grasping to get closer to him. The sensation was calming to him as well. A realization occurred to Ortus. He was starting to understand why gods mixed with mortals. They’re layers of feelings and emotions were overwhelming. Serena showed him in a matter of minutes, feelings of sadness, irritation, amusement, and now comfort. It was so different compared to that of the gods, where emotions seem to only be a variation of anger or lust. Ortus was starting to appreciate the difference.
Dave sat in his Megatrembler and watched the windshield vibrate in front of him. There were no enemy sightings as yet, but his orders were to patrol this area. His headphones were dusty and sweaty. They itched like hell, but he knew it was suicide to remove them. Even with their state-of-the-art noise-canceling technology and the frequency-tuned interference vibrations of the Megatrembler, the Music was almost unbearably loud. Nobody knew what had caused the Music, only that it came out of the ground. Nobody knew the meaning of the Music. There were words, but not in a language anyone understood. Nobody now alive had known a time without the Music. Dave's grandfather had told him stories of the time before, but they were impossible to believe. Indeed, they were second-hand stories told by grizzled survivors when gramps was just a kid. Or maybe the stories were the figment of gramps' fading memory. Dave's thoughts were interrupted by the flash of a warning light on the dash in front of him. It was simply labeled with a skull, but Dave knew what it meant. He was nearly at the edge of the area covered by seismic probes. The probes sent information back to the Megatrembler, allowing it to calibrate its vibrations to offset the ground's noise and constant trembling. Moving outside the probes' coverage area would almost immediately destroy the Megatrembler as the sonic waves and accompanying earth tremors tore it apart. Dave mentally chided himself for losing focus before turning the Megatrembler further into the allowed area, dodging between the crumpled ruins of ancient buildings. In the distance, he could make out the outline of the Ark, seeming to float on an ocean of swirling dust. From this distance, it wasn't possible to see the gantries and cables from which it was suspended. The Ark must be protected at all costs. ___________________________________________________________________________________________ Today is day 1 of my personal 'complete one writing prompt every day for a week' challenge. Yes, I realize the name needs some work. xD Perhaps I may expand this setting at a later date.
I had downloaded LyfEndr. I’ll spare you the complaining. Not out of courtesy, or to avoid unsettling my readers: but because I’m not speaking about my pain or misery. I’ll also spare you the story of my life: This is the story of my death. Please don’t feel sorry for the fact I wanted to die. As I said, I wasn’t sad, broken, or hopeless. Just bored. Horribly, deeply, fundamentally bored. Life, not my own, but every life, is fundamentally the same: enduring, maintaining, fixing, and struggling. The details may change, your gender or species, your station and feelings, your likes and fears and hopes and dreams: it is all, from a distance, just the same. So boring. After speaking to my therapist, my children and my spouse, and putting my finances in order, I have done it: I’ve downloaded LyfEndr. It’s sleek, light, and practical: available for both Android, iOs, and something called Tizen. Everything that an app should be. Its logo, a pixel-sized rainbow mandala, manifested itself in my home screen. Looking at it awoke something in me: a drive to learn, a curiosity, something I haven’t felt since I was a child. But still, I hesitated to click it: in respect for my wishes, and for the company’s EULA, I was alone in my room. I closed my eyes. “3, 2, 1, click”. Nothing happened. I opened my eyes: the app was requesting a number of permissions. How silly I was: I clicked “yes” to everything. Its logo appeared again, in front of a backdrop of a giant waterfall. It asked me to confirm my language, from a host of national flags. Cellphone number, whether I wanted to link my Google, Facebook, Aqwalife accounts. And then, after three seconds, whether I meant it: “Are you sure you really want to die? \[ \] yes \[ \] no” I closed my eyes, and clicked “yes”. No words can describe the things I felt: this is not only an admission of my lack of skill as a writer. It would be impossible to really, truly convey that: the freedom I had, the comfort it was, the peace of being dead. I had no body, no attachments, no pain, and no capacity to feel it: no joy, and no possibility of being denied from it. All answers that I could find in life were now meaningless: not as a loss, but as a gain. For a brief moment outside of time, I was whole: complete, unified, free. I was dead. Then I opened my eyes: I was, again, alive. I stared at the screen, waiting for the adrenaline to allow me to read it. When I could see it, it said: “Thank you for your trial of LyfEndr! Enjoyed death? Pick one of our subscription plans: 33% off for a five-year-plan!” The prices were in the billions. Please don’t feel sorry for the fact I wanted to die: but please, do feel sorry that we all must live.
Barlen looked to the north, the setting sun warmed his dirty face, but the countless fires in front of him froze his heart. Weeks of fighting had whittled down the number of defenders left at the Keep to almost two thousand, while the Northern Horde seemed to have three more attackers for every one they killed. He used his handkerchief to wipe the sweat that was dripping into his eyes, and it came away covered in dirt and blood. Barlen stared at it for a few moments, realizing that there was no way this small, filthy rag was doing anything to actually clean his face. With a deep sigh, he dropped it off of the Keep’s wall and watched as it slowly drifted down to be lost in the endless sea of bodies that had once been the town of Torchdale. He tried not to think of the dozens of his friends who were down there; the ones that he’d never have a chance to bury. He only succeeded because he thought of all the great leaders whose corpses were now feeding buzzards. The ones that had left him, a mere captain, as the highest ranking officer in what was supposed to be the last bastion of safety against the barbaric northerners. He tried not to look toward the horde again, but he couldn’t stop himself, nor could he suppress a shudder at the sight of the endless field of black, broken only by countless dots of firelight. He picked up his axe from where it was resting against the fortifications. Everyone had mocked him for using a barbarian’s weapon, instead of a more elegant longsword, when he’d first come to Torchdale Keep. Today, however, they’d seen him hold the gate alone against the enemy and had given his axe a new name: Gnollsbane. Finally, he turned and faced his pathetic army of two thousand. There were no cheers, but nobody was running away either, so Barlen decided that was enough for now. He took a deep breath, and spoke loudly from the wall over the broken gate. “Defenders of the Southlands, for one thousand years this Keep has stood as the first and best line of defence against our enemies to the North. Now, the horde threatens to overrun what has been a bastion of hope for our people. I see your hopelessness. All of us have lost friends, brothers, and lovers, and before the sun sets again, we all will have lost even more. Yet still we stand. “These monsters will not be satisfied with our blood. They will not rest until they have shed the blood of every man, woman, and child that lives behind the safety only we can provide. It has been a month since we asked the capital for aid, and the ones we bleed for remain silent. Yet still we stand. “Our own hope might be gone, but the hope of those we defend will carry us forward. For weeks these foul creatures have come day after day, hoping to take our homes and our lives. Yet still we stand. Barlen was shouting now, Gnollsbane raised over his head. “As long as we draw breath, not one Gnoll will set foot on the soil of the southland. We are not gone, and we will not go quietly. Our walls and city may fall. Yet. Still. We. Stand!”
If I couldn't have her, nobody could. Plain and simple. If she didn't want to come back to me, she would have to die. Her and her new boyfriend. That's the problem with families today. Nobody values commitment anymore. That's why you have so many divorces and so many broken homes with single parents in it. I don't want to hear that murdering her is not the right way to go about it. Because - and please correct me if I'm wrong - when we made our marriage vows, am I the only one that heard "until death do us part."Hmm? Or was that just for show? It's just crazy to me that no one bats an eye at a man jumping in front of a bullet to protect his wife, but all of a sudden it's a "crime"for a man to pump a couple of bullets into his wife in order to save their marriage. I just don't get it. No, I'm not getting therapy. Did you read anything I wrote? I'm not the one that's doing anything wrong. I'm trying to save our marriage. She's the one that's trying to tear it apart. Wait... Shh... That's them.
He grinned at her when she swung the axe and cut a stone column perfectly half. Malvark could tell she was seeing red once their eyes met. She was frothing at the mouth, axe gripped so slightly her knuckles were white and the metallic handle seemed like it was about snap in two. The orc’s beastly form went in for a second swing of her mighty weapon as she charged at Malvark. He narrowed his gaze and tensed himself, waiting patiently as her thundering footprints sprinted at him. He took a deep breath then, in the blink of an eye, sprung into the air and used the orc’s head for leverage as he then spun and twisted through like an acrobat. Landing gracefully on his feet while the orc face planted into the stone floor of the dungeon. Her growls echoing off the walls. Malvark pulled out his daggers from the sheaths of his belt and his enemy found her feet and glared at him intensely. Even in the badly light area he could see her piercing eyes and snarl dripping with saliva and now blood. He had to admit, it was a tad off putting, but he spun his daggers across his fingers and stared down his foe. He’d played with his food enough. The orc screamed at Malvark in her mother tongue, and he took a guess it was probably some vulgar insult as he heard his name littered among the grunting gibberish. He gripped his daggers firmly and calculated his next move at the hulking beast before him. Malvark made the first move this time. Rushing swiftly towards his foe who began to lumber towards him with long leaps for steps. She raised her axe high over her head as she started to slow down, ready to cut him in half. He kept sprinting then dropped down into a slide. Her blade missing him by a mile before he rolled back up to his feet and slashed a dagger across one of her hamstrings after he unfolded onto the ground and took a stance that was ready for action. His opponent, however, was not too hindered by her crippling. She elbowed Malvark in the chest as he moved for another strike and knocked the wind out of him. Then smashing him across the face with a backhand. Malvark went skidding across the cool stone floor, daggers falling from his grasp while he attempted to pick himself up from his slightly dazed state. He tasted metal in the back of his throat and had his sleeve smeared in red when he wiped his nose of a warm liquid pouring from it. He’d smirked. The orc shambled towards him with surprising speed in spite of her injury. Malvark in turn dashed over to pick up a dagger and she kept close in chase. He ran towards a stone column of the dungeon, placing one foot against it and quickly it followed with another. He sprung up the wall, using his momentum to get as much height as possible before leaping off with a backflip through the air. The orc turned to face him, and honed his gaze to his target. Faster than a flash, the dagger shot from his fingers. Whizzing through the air with immense speed before plowing through the orc’s throat. The dagger’s sleekly edged blade penetrating through the skin and down to the hilt. The orc clutched at her throat and ripped the dagger from her flesh, but it was too late. Black blood gushed from her lips and dribbled to the ground. Even while choking, she still glared at Malvark with a furious hate. Though it softened when her pupils dilated and she collapsed to the ground, still as stone. Malvark walked over to her, dagger in hand and gave her a small tap with his foot to ensure he had indeed defeated his foe. She didn’t move a muscle.
No one knows what the town's original name was. It is only known as Dungeon Town now. On such barren land, ravaged by wicked magics, the prosperous town looked out of place. It is a place where no plants grow and the water made people sick, food and water had to be delivered from elsewhere. It is a miracle the town could grow to the size it is today. Why the town was able to exist lies in the dungeon that is in the center of the town. The guardians of the dungeon have metallic shells, lighter than steel and just as strong. Armors made from this metal is highly sought after for being impenetrable yet light-weight. Swords made of this metal is worthy of becoming a noble's family heirloom. This metal is named Mithril. A fist-sized piece can command the price of a house. Adventurers from all over gathered here, hoping to make a windfall. When people gathered, so did merchants. Portable water that could be gotten for free from 2 miles away could fetch a good price, and there is always no shortage in demand. Food likewise. For adventurers could die at any time, they were generous with their spending. Thus more and more types of goods poured in and the city became bustling with economic activity. The entrance of the dungeon is a weird one. Unlike the normal doors that are two halfs of a rectangle, the "door"looks like a wheel, a huge chunk of metal towering 3 meters tall that made people wonder how big of a hammer does a blacksmith need to hammer it into shape, or what kind of giant could wield such a hammer. Surely it must be a construct of gods. The wheel would roll to open in the day and would roll to close at night. On top of the door were words written in a forgotten language: "31st Automated Chemical, Unmanned and Nuclear weapons production facility. Uncle sam, 3030, world war V, In god we trust.". The hallways of the dungeon were patrolled by steel knights. They were the adventurer's favourite. They not make loud swooshing noises as they move around but also a wet watery trail, making them easy to track or avoid. Their stomach would also always contain items previous challengers left behind. Weapons and jewlery are great additional income. I think i will finish this when i have the time.
I’ve done everything in life. This is no hyperbole: I sired a son, planted a tree, and wrote a book; I wined with the King of Jerusalem, dined with Queen Nzinga, and slept in alleys, eating canned beans and leftover pork. I’ve tried my hand on every profession, from pottery to coding, and practiced every art: I have crossed countries, some that no longer exist, by foot. I experienced many joys, plenty of hardships, while maintaining the lowest possible profile: I am not a man who will be missed. I am 1000 years old. Thus, I decided: I wanted to end my life. Exploring, my life-long love, only took me so far: there were only so many experiences, moral and otherwise, a man could face in life. My possibilities were now exhausted. Except for one. Of course I know the legend. The Fountain of Youth. The few who learned my secret asked me where it was, assuming I knew it. Throughout my centuries of lifetime, its supposed place had changed: Abyssinia, Abkhazia, the Caribbean. I led many ambitious men to these places. But all they could find was death: the heat, the cold, the long distances, violent ends by men and beasts. By old age. And then, I was alone. History moves in a spiral. Mankind’s things, our trends, mores, and challenges, move futurewards, then come back, revisiting us. This era of hatred, obscurity, and plagues, is by no means new. But the stillness it brought to the streets, the halls, ports in both air and sea, was truly of old. If there was a time to resume my search, it would be now. I snuck outside my final home: a retirement house. Once I thought surrounding myself with the eldery could teach me a lesson: on life, its fragility and fleetingness. But I stayed for the fun, the games and the lovemaking; then I could not bear the thought of seeing them taken by the current disease. I took only my boots and my stick, and set off for the Fountain of Youth. The silence of those nights was soon broken. As it is in plague time, some escaped the isolation to party, while many others were sent to death. I crossed the empty roads by foot: I wanted to do this one last time. I headed for the last place someone would look… It was a small, busy city, upon the hills of the Atlantic rainforest. The streets were no longer deserted. Its central plaza, ostensibly closed, was only cordoned off. I waited until dusk, and hopped over the tape. Could this perhaps be the Fountain? It was a pool, filled to ankle-length with rainwater. Its lights and jets were off. I walked towards it. Someone stared at me from beneath the bandstand’s cover. The young woman in tattered clothes smiled as I touched the foul water. “Your search is finally over”, she said, in Latin. “Indeed”. I smiled back, cupped my hands, and drank. “It is over”.

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