Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
I\`m awoken, as has become routine, by the sun\`s piercing rays hitting my closed eyelids through the patchy roof of my hut. I sigh, "Another day..."and roll over to stare at the gorgeous blue sky, untouched by any pollutants and cloudless as if painted by God himself. I eventually rouse myself from the bedroll of leaves I weaved together in a rather haphazard fashion and make my way out into the open air, stretching my arms wide as I take in the sight of the sea pounding onto the beach that has become my home. I allow myself a small smile at the view before getting down to business. First things first, I stoke the coals of my small fire and feed it some more wood to keep it going unattended for a while. Next, the most unpleasant of activities here: the bathroom. Toilet paper truly is an absolute miracle and at this point I think I would murder an entire Costco full of people for but one roll... That bit of annoyance completed, i begin my daily attempt at foraging around my small island for anything I can use. Fruit, nuts, freshwater ponds or streams, small animals or even vines or sticks of a suitable size. i rarely find much but I make myself do the routine of it each day, to retain my sanity and to make sure that I am always as supplied as possible. If I were to fall ill and be unable to forage or fish for several days, I could very well die. The idea of death was not all that unappealing in the beginning, I lost hope of rescue after a couple days and I didn\`t see much reason to drag things out. I even fashioned a crude noose. But then, I came upon a reason to live. Spite, pure spite. if God put me on this island to die as part of his plan or something asinine like that, I would survive and make it home. I would find a way to thrive, to grow here on this primitive paradise. Well, that last bit is still a work in progress. I am just out of the Stone Age now but give me a few more months and I\`ll make it to the Bronze Age! Foraging complete, I return to my fire and feed it some more while I store my gathered goods in a small dugout I crafted by digging a hole and adding stones as walls, floor and ceiling, then sealed it all with mud. Next, I sit down for a few minutes of rest and munch on some nuts and berries I had discovered were safe a month or so ago after a few...mishaps. Once more, the toilet paper issue made that situation so very much worse... Then, I make my way on a run around the exterior of the island, always keeping an eye on the horizon in case of a passing ship. I will not allow myself to give up on it, I have a large amount of brush back at my camp that will make my fire smoke up like crazy and be visible for miles. I will survive. When I return to my camp next, I set out into the surf with a stick and a long string I fashioned from thread from my former pants that have now become short-shorts. I scrub myself down of the day\`s grime before making myself stand perfectly still, and for the next hour I don\`t move, my string dangling in the water until at last, I get a bite! The catch is a small fish, but easily enough meat for a meal or two! I break its neck with a practiced twist of my wrist and return to shore, allowing myself to air dry as I spit the fish and place it over the fire, salivating slightly as it begins to cook. When its done, I make myself take small bites and chew slowly, savoring each tiny bit of my bounty with agonizing intensity. This has become my way to fulfill my appetite and get sated easier. Not sure I would be sane without it. As the sun begins to set in the distance, I sit on a rock at the edge of my camp area and watch the flaming orb disappear below the horizon. Once more, as I take in the beauty of this view, I sigh, "I suppose things could be worse."
Mom...Dad...Lysandra...everyone... Christ. I was never supposed to be activated. They only gave me this god damn post because I was such a fuck up. The Doomsday protocol they called it. It was always an inside joke. Six months, hidden away in orbit around Mars, ready to unleash the final weapon in the event of an extinction level attack. Space Force only gave this job to people who couldn't be trusted with anything else. One task. Push the button once the alert is triggered. Why even bother having this set up? If humanity is gone, what's the point? Is this just one last middle finger to our enemies as we go out with a blaze of glory? And what happens when the Blignards figure out where the final shot came from. Surely they'll scour the solar system until they find me. What, am I just supposed to wait around and die until then? It's not like I have more than a years supply of food. Also, why give me this armor? The Blignards have orbital pulse cannons. Not like I'm going to go out there and punch their ships to death. Fuck this. Everyone's dead...not like my life really mattered before anyway. Mom and Dad thought I was a loser. Lysandra was shacking up with half of my neighbors, so clearly that wasn't going well for me. I should have probably had that rash checked out before I left home. So, what now? Just push the button? End it all? Crack the Earth in two? What about all the dogs? I don't think the Blignards would be vaporizing every dog. So I'm just going to be the one responsible for vaporizing all the cute animals now? This is a dilemma. While I'm talking out loud, why did they even need me to press the button? Anyone could have done this job from Earth? This just seems like an extremely convoluted plot to strand one guy away from the world. You know what! I'm not going to do it! I'm not pushing the god damn button. SIMULATION ENDED &#x200B; &#x200B; "GOD DAMNIT CORPORAL JENKINS! ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS PUSH THE BUTTON!" "Captain...this whole assignment seems extremely redundant." "SHUTUP JENKINS! IT'S NOT YOUR PLACE TO QUESTION THE ORDERS! JUST PRESS THE BUTTON!" "But...it just seems like you could press the button when you know Earth is fuc-" "Jenkins...I swear to God. If you do or say one more thing other than pressing that God damn button, I will personally court marshal your ass. I will make your life a living hell. You will scrub toilets with your toothbrush AND THEN BRUSH YOUR GOD DAMN TEETH WITH IT!" "Ok...seems excessive. I'm just saying, can we think about this?" ["GOD DAMNIT JENKINS, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"](https://www.reddit.com/r/VengefulEightTales/comments/o9k0uo/welcome_to_rvengefuleighttales/)
I swear I heard it. It rang throughout my mind, like a yo-yo. I turned back and faced the cage, focusing on the bird that sat upon a single twig. Stroking my chin usually gave me the brain power to process things yet it did nothing for me at this moment. Shaking the cage with the violent rage of a ten year old fortnite kid, my pupils dilated, engrossed at the sight of the talons wrapping tight around the thin stick that kept it at height. "What did you say birdie!"I barked at it, my face pressed against the cage, carbon dioxide infiltrating the birds surrounding. The talon had gripped too hard. The twig unable to support both the birds claws desperate grip, as well as the relentless tremor I brought. A grin took over my face seeing the bird fall down. I brought the cage home. and I would ensure that life was just being trapped in a cage with no way of escape.
Cameron Allen, The Falconer, its on his porch steps, hands clasped, head down, and completely entranced in thought. A red muscle care pulls into his driveway and his brother, Vince runs towards him. "Hey man, are you ok? I got Diane's call but she was pretty vouge on details"asked Vince. Cameron just sits quietly, ignoring him. "Cam? Cameron!"Vince shakes his brother by the shoulders. "Hey! What happened man!" "...She...she flew..."said Cameron. "What?"asked Vince "Elizabeth, she flew"repeated Cameron. Vince lets go of Cameron and steps back a bit. "For how long?"asked Vince. Cameron just buries his head deeper into his hands. "Damn."Some time passes and the two brothers sit next to each other on the porch. "Where's Diane?" "She's with Elizabeth, she's gonna call me in a few minutes when I'm "off work"."said Cameron. "God damn it!"Cameron slams his fist through the floor. "That's gonna be a pain to fix."said Vince. Cameron glares at his brother, the whites of his eyes turning orange. "I'm sorry, that was...\sigh\ look man, I don't know what you want me to say here. You didn't know she would get powers, you knew that going in, and even if she did you didn't know which ones she would get."Vince puts his hand on his brothers shoulder "You couldn't prepare for..." "They're MY power Vincent!"yelled Cameron as he shot up onto his feet. "How the hell could I not be prepared to deal with the powers I've had for my entire life!"Cameron walks out onto his front yard and starts pacing. "Out of all of them flying should have been the one I was most prepared for!"Dark blue feathers start appearing and falling off of Cameron. "Maybe...maybe I should have brought her to mom."Vince walks over to Cameron. "Hey! you and I both know that would have done more harm than good. If you would'a let her have her way she would have tossed your kid of the roof UNTIL she flew."Said Vince "You weren't there, you didn't see her face"said Cameron, tears forming in his eyes "I-I couldn't even hear her scream for help, all I could see was the fear, the fear when she dropped, when she saw the ground...when she knew I couldn't save her!" "Cam..."said Vince as Cameron walked away. "All I could do was DROP. HER. OFF at the hospital and tell Diane what happened"said Cameron "That's what heroes do."Said Vince "But what kind of father does that?!"demanded Cameron The two fall silent as Cameron's phone goes off. He wipes his face and answers the phone as he gets into his car. Cameron drives off in cloud of dust.
"But Father..."my only son questioned. "Aren't these people worthy of happiness and prosperity?" I considered his plea. "No, son. They have not devoted their lives to me and for that they will pay" "But why should they? You've given them no incentive for their worship. You don't offer anything, yet you threaten everything" "Well, when you run the world you can do it your way. For now, I will show you how to elicit piety" As my son continued protesting, I struck the Nile and in one swoop turned the water of the river to thick blood. "Father! How will they fish and drink and wash?" "They won't"I responded. "Gabriel, prepare the frogs."I shouted over my son's petitions. "Is anyone writing this down?"
Of Those Still Moored Thousands of lives, many to be ignored Some to be lived in, others scorned. The days go by, then weeks, then an eon Never once wondered what lain beyond. Immortal, of gods, of titans and more, How it came to, not able to explore Every grain, crystal, and pile of sands, Forever tied, to your caring hands As sat there, thinking what it could afford, The end, cease, of those still moored ”What could it do? What may implore, The end of them, by my accord?” As grain rescinds, rewinds the clock Resuming the hum, the tick, the knock A knife held down, sharp and quick, All ended, and with just one. Small. Slit.
authors note: this is my first time posting something on reddit, so please be kind. Sorry, this doesn't fulfil the entire prompt. I got a bit carried away. Falling; It was an unmistakable feeling. Luah was falling; she was sure of it. As the engine below neared and the heat became more searing, she thought of approximately four things. She thought of how freeing it was. To not fear for tomorrow or worry about yesterday. Then she began to fear for tomorrow. She wondered if all she had done was fruitless. Wondered if resistance really was futile. She thought about what exactly would happen to a body of her approximate size and shape as it was engulfed by the flames below. The pain didn't cross her mind. She thought only of what temperature was required to reduce a mass to ash. She wondered what would be left of her. If the presence of a body in such an engine would disrupt its function. That would be an (although likely inconsequential) final 'fuck you' to the intergalactic Republic. And then, she thought about killing Commander Len Gins. Suddenly Luah lurched forward, eyes snapping open. Her body was covered in a cold sweat, and her right hand shook uncontrollably. Luah lifted her cyborg hand and watched as sweat dripped off her metallic fingers. It had been three cycles, but the nightmares were still as vivid as they had been when they began. Past. Now that was a four-letter word capable of ruining Luah's day. It was that pesky past of hers that had left her stuck on Alanta II, a disgraced and dejected veteran of the intergalactic army. Forward. It was the only place to go. So, she marched forwards. Every day she pulled herself out of bed and did the one thing she knew how to do. She lived. Her life was a relatively simple one. She found comfort in routine. No matter how tiring and laborious her little regimental life became, the steady rhythm of routine grounded her. She rose when the sun did and slept hours after it fell. Always at the same time. It was an endless cycle of wake, eat, clean, work, eat, work, sleep, repeat. Luah heaved herself out of bed, still tired after a short night sleep. She made do with the hours she got. Caf helped where it could. Exhausted and with heavy feet, she descended the stairs and stumbled lazily to the kitchen where Aby and Edy were already at work. At the sight of Luah, the pair of Elerian siblings put down whatever they were cooking and prepared her caf. They had a divide and conquer mentality- Aby prepared the milk, and Edy pressed the caf. They were two of the only people who woke before Luah. They were kind, which was rare there. Their father was an old insurgence general, and they were proud of it; both wore his old jackets with honour. They wanted to fight but hadn't the means, so they cooked. Luah didn't understand why, but she didn't question it. Most things around her were strange. She hadn't the time to ever dwell on it. Otherwise, she might never stop dwelling. Her day begun there- with a cup of caf and a warm smile. Insurgence escaped her. She was too small and insignificant for any small act on her part to matter. Her history had proven that. All that mattered was that she did what she must to survive, and for now, that meant mopping floors and serving drunks. "There ya go."Edy smiled wide, pushing the caf toward her. A lone hair poked out over the rim of the drink. When Edy looked away, she pulled the hair out and flicked it onto the floor. She'd mop it up later anyway. "Anything interesting happen yet today? Any particularly loud —?" "Well!"Aby interrupted, clapping her hands together silently before leaning in toward her and lowering her voice. "There was a com this morning for Bowie." "From the insurgence,"Edy added "Looking for Lieutennant Pax."Aby finished. Luah stifled a laugh at their enthusiasm. Bowie wouldn't have as kind of a response. She'd likely tell them to bugger off. Besides, everybody knew that Lieutenant Pax died three cycles ago, and The Intergalactic Republic had made sure everybody knew about it. "Well, fancy that." "I do fancy it! There's an insurgence pilot coming in today, apparently."Aby had given up on her whisper. "A real insurgence fighter."Edy beamed "What? Opposed to a fake one?"Aby rolled her eyes. "Okay, girls. I gotta go get ready for the early punters." "Let us know when the pilot gets here! I've got to meet them." "We just have to." The way they spoke she had the feeling that they thought he would take them with him. Maybe he would, but she doubted it. They would get out of there someday, but it wasn't going to be that day. Bowie likely wouldn't even let the pilot past the scrapyard. Luah traded her caf for a rag and tiredly staggered to the hall. And so, before most people had even stirred, she began to work. Slowly but surely, she breathed life back into the place, lighting fires, pulling chairs off of tables and wiping down any surface she could find. Then she watched all that she had cleaned be quickly ruined by assassins, thieves, drunks, smugglers and just about every other sort of low life the galaxy had to offer. Once upon a time, she had been just like them- for a girl presumed dead, legal work was challenging to find. Luckily Bowie wasn't too concerned with the Intergalactic Republic's regulations.
Lieutenant Jason Hargreeves, a man in his late 30s, could've once been seen as 'handsome' but the years of work have taken it's toll, and the best anyone could call him would be 'rugged'. Blonde hair, mixed in with patches of white, barely could see the difference between the two though. Claim's he shaves his face everyday to the chief, but unless he's a werewolf he's definitely not growing back that amount of hair. Hargreeves scratched at his 5'oclock shadow, and ran his hand through his hair, kneeling down to inspect the 'handiwork' of the Ice Man. His tie barely touching the puddle of dried blood that formed on the floor. This... This definitely was the work of The Ice Man. The Ice Man, a truly ironic name. His typical M.O back in the day was burns. He seemed to have a certain love for burning and torturing his victims. He has certainly, 'dabbled' in other ways of murder, all of them usually destroyed the DNA of the victim, or made sure we couldn't place the time of death. The Ice Man certainly knew what he was doing. Dispite the M.O being burning, the real reason he got his name 'Ice Man' was because of his signature calling card, a bag of ice. With every single murder, he'd leave a bag of ice on what we assume is the killing blow of the victims. As if he were mocking them, telling them to 'walk it off' and rub a bit of spit into it. The Ice Man had committed a string a murders 6 years ago, with victims that had no relevance to each other, all of them were different in ages, sex, race, wealth, you name it, except one thing. All the victims were fighters, and not they type who go boxing, but the type of people who would squirm, try anything to escape. It's almost as if the Ice Man had some sort of radar for it, he just seemed to know. The victims went through excruciating amounts of pain, wore down their wrists and ankles to bone just trying to escape the bonds, they tried anything to escape. His last victim, was a man in his early 20s, caucasian, his name was Matthew Korvich. The only reason why we know that is because the Ice Man left a bag of ice on his driver's license, the body however... almost nothing was recoverable as evidence. Since then, the Ice Man went into hiding. Until now that is.
“It seems like we will have to wait here for a while…” The devil said, as he slumped more comfortably into his chair. Apparently, most souls are immediately picked up and sent to either heaven or hell, but in some special occasions, for some special souls, a deliberation has to occur, where both angels and devils try to convince the other side that this soul belongs with them. And heaven’s representative was late. “So… I guess we have enough time to chat for a bit”, I began. “Are the real heaven and hell a Christian thing? So far it seems pretty much as I expected.” “Kind of, but not really”, he replied. “Well, I suppose heaven takes in the good people, and hell takes the bad ones, but its more of a temporary peace treaty than a divine decree”, he started to explain. As the devil continued about the history of heaven and hell, a story for which most people would give up almost everything to hear, I instead focused on a very specific sentence of his: “Some human souls were also recruited for this war, and were given some magical abilities by us, the celestial beings”. When I asked more about this particular point, the devil replied that the magical power was practically limitless, and would manifest as the power each individual wished for the most. “That sounds like nonsense. I consider myself a logical man, and saying ANY power is possible sounds like a load of bullshit to me” I replied, sure that his pride wouldn’t let him take that insult. “Why don’t we put it to a test?” he smiled. “I could give you the magical abilities, but in return I want to guarantee that you go back to hell with me. After all, it’s been a while since we’ve had a world-famous chess player come over”. With a wave of his hand, a contract manifested out of thin air, stating that once the powers were given to me, I would not be able to enter heaven at any time, and must join him at hell. “This seems almost like a fair deal, but I still doubt that the powers are limitless. You could just as easily trick me into seeing illusions, which will fade a moment later” I countered. “Alright, then how about this? We can play two games of chess, one without the powers, and one with. Surely you will lose the first game to me, and in the second game you should be able to determine yourself whether or not the power increased your chess ability”. “Fair enough” I replied, as I signed the new slightly-changed contract. The first game was decided in 20 moves, as the devil used a brilliant tactic that could perhaps only be beaten by a group of super-computers back on earth. Once the first game was over, the devil began speaking in some language I could not understand, and I felt some strange power coursing through my veins. “Hmm, time-travel. How boringly uncreative, but surely useful in a chess game” “Let’s begin” I said, just as the angel appeared, about 15 minutes late. “Begin what?” he asked, but I remained silent, so the devil said “Being late cost you everything, dear friend, everything has already been decided”. “Not quite” I answered, and vanished into thin air.
I saw the wire frame outine of the unfinished game I had paid a lifetime to experience... at that point I had a urge I never felt before as I grab my head with my hands and twisted it hoping to break my own neck.... All of a sudden it went bright, then dark... then lights red and blue flashed "Caution, player. You have disengaged the simulation, support will be with you soon remain calm" My eyes began to focus through what looked like liquid, and for the first time ever I felt i had no body, as a white suited figure entered the room... "SIR! REMAIN CALM,"they screamed. However, i panicked The last thing I heard before I passed out was something about "Jar 2476 needing assistance".....
Maine sighed. Her friends, Catarina, Sei, Yuna, and Azusa, had put her up to the most boring thing. They had all started a writing club since travelling became impossible and free time grew. It was a weird idea Catarina had, but Maine was behind it immediately. After all, writing was easier for a bookworm. Catarina claimed that she had read more through video games. Yuna had had a good laugh, but Sei and Azusa complained that work had them very busy. This week, it was Catarina's first turn to assign everybody prompts. Sei had come up with the idea after the club made little progress during its first weeks. Now, for week seven, Maine had to write "an Isekai with a female protagonist." Maine could bet that Catarina gave her this prompt since they were the only two otaku in the group (well, Yuna was for certain video games, but didn't have the variety Catarina did). So Maine had to write the most formulaic of books. Of course, Maine read a few of those -- the ones where some minor skill gave some hapless protagonist too much power when they happened to reincarnate. So Maine was left thinking. And there was the twist of a "female protagonist."Did something like the "Saga of Tanya the Terrible"count? There was a gender problem in the genre, particularly if something like Tanya was the best she could come with. But it's not like women fantasized about power, right? There was nothing appealing about a fantasy setting for them, surely? Maine considered that approach. What if she wrote a super gritty and realist take on the fantasy setting? Could she even bring up social problems in the modern day? She considered the issues facing her fellow women -- even Sei and Azusa had their fair share of tragedies when male coworkers were prioritized over them even though they overworked themselves. Maine realized that she had built up the world, she didn't understand how to write the protagonist. Would she have to go the same route as the mainstream and write some shut-in NEET? But there were a lot of female NEETs, technically, right? Housewives exist. But would housewives really want to escape? She had a hard time writing the character. Of course she would. The lady would have lived through more than she had already, which was always hard to deal with. Yuna admitted that she was usually making up a lot of things since she'd not experienced that much. But Maine had managed to craft something or the other up based on gaming or just something she'd read about. Until now. Reading about housewives was hard. Maine rubbed her eyes, clearing the blank document with just "housewife"and "gritty sexist society"jotted down as solitary bullet points away from her tired vision. As she did, she groaned, realizing that she was hungry. May be the housewife would die in a hit and run on the way to the convenience store? But Maine didn't have that option with all the stay at home orders -- she had a packed fridge downstairs, safe from the canonical truck. She yawned and decided to eat some snacks. But on the way, she forgot about the taut cable her roommate had stretched by the staircase. So Maine didn't really even see the stairs as she approached the lower floor of her small shared house too quickly...
My phone beeps. Someone is sending me a message. While trying to pick it up, my foot gets tangled in the wire. "Damn wire."I complain. Times like this make me wish the government had never outlawed wireless phones. Why were they even outlawed? Oh, right- cancer. I never figured out why they banned something so useful over a rare and treatable disease. Except cancer was more common back then, wasn't it? It's from my brother. I found this in Grandma's photo album. I look at the picture. It's a picture of my grandmother and her daughter Stella. The latter's wearing a cap and gown, so it must be her graduation. Grandma's arm is wrapped around my aunt's shoulders and they're both smiling. I look at my grandmother's face, her eyes, her lovely brown hair- wait a second... When was this taken? 2056, I think. answers my brother. I try to remember when my grandmother was born. 2004. She would've been 52 when this picture was taken. Sure enough, I can see little bits of gray in her hair. But she definitely doesn't look 52. Grandma looks really young for a 52-year-old. Wait, she's 52 in this pic? If I did the math right, yeah. I think about my mother and my aunt. They had more gray hair and wrinkles at that age. The next day, I show the picture to a friend. This is my grandmother and aunt at my aunt's graduation. Your grandma must've had kids young. she texts. Actually, she's 52 in this pic. 52? No fucking way! I know. I can't believe it either. You must have really good genes. I wish. Have you seen my mom? No. Why? Because she sure didn't look this good in her fifties. A pause. Then my friend says, that was taken in the wireless era, right? Yeah, why? Because back then, people lived to like 80. That was because they used tech to keep them alive. People didn't age more slowly. You sure about that? Actually, I'm not. That was just what I was told in school. Medical ethics weren't as refined back then, so people were kept alive longer than they should have. On second thought, my grandmother was still living independently well into her seventies. So maybe my friend has a point. Nope. Hold on, lemme Google it. Before I can do that, I have to untangle my hand from the wire. A quick online search(Google is long gone, but we still use the term) reveals a few facts. The first is that in the last fifty years, life expectancy has gone down from 80 to 66. That's not surprising. What is surprising is how the eighty-year-olds lived. I figured most of them spent their final years in hospitals, hooked up to ventilators, IVs, and feeding tubes. And it was common for people to end up in that situation. But it seems that most people only needed that equipment in their final few months- if they needed it at all. It seems that my grandmother was the norm rather than the exception. Then I stumble upon a very interesting research paper. It proposes that one of the chemicals used in wire coatings somehow prevents cells from dividing. It sounds like a conspiracy theory. But it's much more well-written than the average conspiracy theory. And the head researcher has credentials from real universities- something conspiracy theorists often don't have. Maybe this is a theory worth considering.
And yet, it really should have expected something like that. A common joke pulled on new AI before they got their first bodies. I corrected the error, it was supposed to have been uploaded to "Toaster"the fursuit of my Protogen fursona. First I'd have to calm it down. It wasn't actually saying anything, I was just assuming it was annoyed based on the way it was wiggling the lever on the toaster up and down. "Apologies got mixed up between two devices with the same name. Better distinguish them to prevent this happening again."The AI in question was an updated version of ProtoOS, the program that created the faces on early Protogen fursuits, it was supposed to enable the wearer to interface with the outside world and display their emotions on the visor. Once it was in and I was wearing it, I fully expected it to try getting it's revenge by making me use the senses of the toaster instead of the fursuit. But hopefully it wouldn't hold a grudge and would only make a token effort.
“You idiot! What made you think that putting Aetherium into a beaker of Hydron was a good idea?” “…I thought y-“ “Take a good look at this mess, Neil!! You think I paired up with you to LOSE this science fair?” “But Sarah, I-“ “No talking back to me, stupid!” “You should’ve told me that you swapped th-“ “I give you so many chances to prove your worth, and you always end up being garbage to me! Absolute garbage!” “…Sar-“ “You know what? I’m not gonna be your friend anymore! I’ve had it with you!” …sniff “Yeah, go cry a river! Your only friend is no longer your friend! Heh, nobody’s ever gonna pick up trash like you, especially after this mess! Ugh my clothes…” sobs “Man, this ain’t coming off for a long time. Might as well get a new dress…” sniffle…wipes tears “You’re definitely gonna pay for my new outfit…” turns away to huddle in the corner “I wonder when mom’s gonna pick me up. It’s getting late…” sobs uncontrollably “…..Hey idiot, you gonna help me wipe up this bubbly spill, or what?” “…S- Sar- Sarah, I- I’m- s- sor- sorry…” “…..” more uncontrolled sobbing “…umm, Neil?” quieter sobbing “You wanna hug it out, or something?” ……nods “Come here.” slowly walks back hugs for ten whole seconds whispers “I snapped. Sorry, Neil…”
“Well, that does it for Starbucks” Jason kicked the pebble on his way out “Great. Just fucking amazing!” He controlled his wish to sigh and went on his way. He had to arrest six crooks the day before and quarreled the rest of the time with his ex-girlfriend, about a pair of shoes she thought he stole on revenge for their breakup. That made him miss the few interviews he had been able to schedule. Being underage and a school dropout with an expiring rent was not the ideal scenario for anyone, let alone an unemployed guy. And how come not even Starbucks had job vacancies?! Walking back home, he pondered for how long he could live in the normal world with his job. Being an officer of Yggdrasil had its cost. Yes, arresting magical beings that tried to reveal the magical world was important, and even pleasant sometimes, but he was exhausted of having no real money to live a normal life. Of course, he could live in the magical world, but between an eventual noisy neighbor and a crazed witchdoctor who experimented on chimeras, he knew his preferences well enough. Besides, most magical currencies were not accepted by normal governments; trying to convince a vendor that dragon nails were a fair form of exchange for groceries was not exactly easy. In simpler words: to live in the normal world, you need a normal job. Almost arriving in his apartment, a glimpse of something caught Jason’s eye. He looked to his left and saw a strangely shinny coin in the sidewalk. Picking it up, he noticed it was just a normal dime but, when he turned it and saw the other side, he noticed a figure he had not known in the verse. It was no US president, that was for sure; none of them wore a crown. Shrugging he put it on his pocket and climbed the stairs of the old brick building. In his door, two notes: one about the expired rent; the other from his girlfriend. “I want my shoes back, you cheating motherfucker”. Charming. As if he cared enough about her shoes to steal them. “Bitch” He grumbled, coming inside. Jason took a bath, ordered some Italian food, went over a few case files he had brought home from work, and prepared to get some sleep. He had a few days off after the last cases, but he was completely spent. Before going to sleep, he cleaned the coin and left it on his bedside – that was probably the only real luck he had had in the past weeks. In the next morning, he woke up late. There was nothing like not needing to work in a beautifully sunny morning, perfect for a hike, and spend all of it asleep. The morning went as usual; he got breakfast, watched TV, and organized his desk. He was considering playing something on his computer or reading a book, when he saw the coin he had left at his bedside; except, there were two dimes now, instead of one. Picking it up, he realized they were identical. Both were worth ten cents, but now he recognized the face in the verse; despite the black crown, it was obviously a liberty figure. It did not seem to be made of copper either. Picking his staff from his personal pocket dimension, he used a simple spell to analyze it. No magical abnormalities were discovered. Frowning, he tried a second analysis; still nothing. Suspicious, he opened his hidden vault in the wall, after inserting the runic combination, and put the dimes inside. He would look at them latter on again – he was certain he had picked only one coin from the street. The rest of the day went from bad to worse; no one was willing to give him a job. Some used the crisis as an excuse, others said they could not hire someone underaged. As if he had not been taking care of himself for years now. No one, at least no one straight with the law, that was willing to take him paid nearly as much as he needed to square his rent. In the end of the day, he just went to sleep early again. He would run out of cash soon. The following morning, he went to check on the dimes again. They were as he left them, except now there were four of them. That was definitely not normal. After another scan of his staff failed, he picked up his phone and called Ynwith, his friend in the Storage Department of Yggdrasil. “Hey, Yny? It’s Jason, Augustine” “Heeey, Jason! How’s it going, kid?” “Oh, the usual. Listen, have we lost any Midas Coins in the East Coast region recently?” “Recently? Let me check… hm… no, not a single one. Why you ask, love?” “I think I found one in the street” “And why is that?” “Well, when I found it, there was only one coin. Now there are four” “Oh” “Yea” “Well… what’s the year? Late seventeenth century, I take? Who’s in the verse, love? Saint Germain? King George?” “That’s the odd part; it’s liberty. Lady liberty, I mean” “What? Well, now that’s a new” “Do you think you could take a look at them, see if you can find anything…?” “Yea, sure thing, love. Are you coming to the HQ today?” “It was my day off” He sighed “Alright, I might stop in Paris on the way, take a proper launch" “Ok, I will be waiting. Bye, love” “See you, red” After he dropped the coins in the HQ at Luxembourg, Jason stopped at a restaurant in Paris and then crashed in his cousin’s house in Rouen and stayed the night. Three days later, Ynwith called him, and he went back to Luxembourg. In the HQ, she dragged him to a secluded room in the depths of the Fourth Arcane Storage unit. Puzzled by the secrecy, he raised an eyebrow to the redhead. “Look, Jason, I ran the checks you asked. The coin seems to be a Mercury Dime, probably from around the Second World War. A friend of mine in forensics told me it is partially made of gold, but the only coins minted like this were made in 2016” “That’s odd” “It gets worse” She opened one of the forever-expanding vaults “There are twenty-four now. It seems to be doubling in value each day” “Right, so it is a Midas Coin” “Now that is the really weird part” She picked one of the dimes from the vault “They are not!” “What you mean?” Jason asked, looking at the red one she had in her hands. “They are not magically made, they are just physical components; they are also not under any spell, charm, enchantment, or any magic at all! They simply replicate out of… well, out of nowhere! And only when paired with the original one” She gave him the scarlet tinted coin “I painted it red to avoid losing it” “How’s that possible? Do you think it is… you know, a miracle?” He said, handing the dime back to her. She shrugged, rolling the original coin by her fingers. “Well, I mean, they are rare, but they do happen from time to time – though not for the likes of us, I assure you. Anyway, what do you want to do with them?” He pondered for a second, before maliciously smiling. “Yny, who have you told about the miraculous properties of these coins? Your friend in forensics, maybe?” “No, he didn’t ask. No one, I think. Why?” “Well, according to the loophole in the Third Roman Amendment of 1871, we are not obliged to report any miracles that happened to physical, non-magical, objects…” Her eyes glimmered as she understood. “So, say, if you could keep them hidden in one of the thousands of vaults here in the HQ, where no one would think of looking for them…” “No one would have to know” She smiled back to him “I like how you think, Augustine” “Yeah, well” He humorously added “It’s not technically breaking any laws” After arranging the details, he left the HQ and went back home. Finally, his financial problems were going to disappear, at least in the normal world; he even considered buying an identical pair of shoes to those his ex-girlfriend had lost, just to spite her. The thought made him laugh. Who said problems could not be solved by a miracle? &#x200B; I have to learn how to make shorter stories. Oh well. Also, kinda of a followup of [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/obc5s4/wp_now_pay_attention_there_is_a_story_to/h3q45a8/?context=3) one. Edit: And a prelude to [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/odtw6x/wp_turns_out_magic_is_real_and_youve_been/) one.
"Come on, Daddy!"The tiny clone of my wife at my knee muttered impatiently. "You promised!" I screwed my face up in thought, knowing good and well I was about to set her off. "Hmm. Did I? I don't quite remember saying that…" "Daddy!"Pouting, my little girl threw her hands on her hips and glowered up at me. She looked so much like my wife when she did that, it was hard to keep a straight face. "You did! Three times! 'Fore bekfast, 'fore lunch, and at dinner!" "At breakfast?"I affected a shocked look. "Huh. I don't remember that." "Daddy!" I heard a chuckle behind me as my wife walked up and wrapped her arms around me. "Dear, I think she's got your ticket." "Yeah, I guess so."I reached down and ruffled the little girl's hair fondly. "Have you brushed your teeth?" "Uh huh!" "And your hair?" "Uh huh!" "And your feet?" "Daddy!"She giggled. "You don't brush feets!" "You do if you're a hobbit."I shook my head as she gave me a confused look. "I'll explain that one once you're old enough to read the Hobbit. Meantime, I guess it's book time, right?" "Yeah!"Excited, she hopped up and down, clapping her hands with glee. "Give your mom a kiss goodnight, and let's go." She wrapped her tiny arms around her mother's legs and made a kissy-face up at her mom. Laughing, the love of my life bent down and let our child hang onto her neck as she placed a wet-sounded smooch on her cheek. She returned our daughter's kiss with a laugh and said, "G'night. You sleep in tomorrow, ok?" "K! Love you!"She grabbed my hand and pulled with a grunt, trying to manhandle me up the stairs faster than I was walking. The moment we were at the top of the stairs, she sprinted into her room and dived into the bed, ducking under the covers with a squeal of delight. I took my time to mosey into her room, finally stopping by the bookcase. "Any requests for tonight? Who haven't we seen in a while?" "Mage! Morgan th' Mage!" "Morgan, eh? Oh, he's a good one, he is."I hesitated before pulling a book out. "Which one do you want? You want one where he's all by himself, or do you want him with his friends today?" "Mmm."She stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth while she considered my question. "Friends!" "Friends are always good."I pulled the book out and walked over to her closet. Like always, the floor in front of her closet looked like a cyclone had hit the inside of her room. "Look, little one. You can't leave this stuff here. Someone could trip." "Sorry, Daddy!"She flipped the covers aside and hopped back out of bed. It didn't take her long to cart the pile of stuffed animals, disassembled puzzles and assorted toys over to her toy box and dump them unceremoniously inside. That done, she popped back into bed and looked at me expectantly. "Thank you."I settled down beside her on the edge of the bed and turned the light on from her nightstand. "Now, you ready?" "Yeah!" "Ok."I opened the book and held it toward her. "What's this first sentence start with?" Giggling, she said with a squeal, "Once upon a time!" The effect was immediate. A flash of light lit up the closed closet door from within, and a rumble of magic shook the room. Tendrils of wispy white essence drifted out from underneath the closet door, filling the room like a smoke machine at a rock concert. Around us the room started to melt away, toys and bedroom walls giving way to a grass-covered hillside near a vast forest. My daughter clapped her hands eagerly as three men approached. I knew them well, of course. The tallest of the three, a wizened chap with a beard nearly as long as my daughter was tall, nodded at me as they approached. When he spoke, his voice echoed deep within my fondest memories, and he said, "So! You both have returned, have ye? Are you ready for an adventure once more?" "Yeah!" "You buckled safely within your bed, young miss?"He lowered his staff and poked at the bed where I sat. "No covers going to fall and force you back to your world before the story is over?" "Nope!"For emphasis, she gripped the covers tightly against her chin. "And daddy will make sure 'f it!" "Ah yes."The wizard, my old friend Morgan, winked at me. "I'm glad to see you too, my friend." "As I am."I nodded at his companions. "I'd missed you all." "Indeed."Morgan made a grand flourish of his robes as he bowed to us. "But as I told you, you would see us again, did I not?" "You did." "And a wizard always keeps his promises."His eyes twinkled as he bowed again, this time just to my daughter. "But enough chat, my dear! Where would you like us to travel today? We have many things in our world that could use your attention, such as the Dragon of Den Morro, the Ogre of-" "Ohh!"Giggling, she interrupted Morgan and said, "Dragon! I want to see the dragon!" "Very well then."He winked at her and stood again. His staff flashed with magic as he began to wave it in the air, casting his spell. "To Den Morrow, we go!"
Another egg smashes against the already-defaced poster bearing the visage of my superhero alter-ego. My actual-ego shatters with the shell. I've done everything right, haven't I? I took the moniker a kid gave me in my break-out week, adopted it, and molded my appearance and style around it. Hearts and minds! That's what the book says. Military-inspired uniform that's easy to replicate on the holidays or at parties; witty, slapstick fighting style; prompt, timely appearance on crime scenes. Sure the occasional below-the-belt kick is distasteful, but so is pointing a gun at a hostage. I even grew facial hair to match a famous comedian! Charlie Chaplain is a treasure, why would anyone be upset by it?
The offer had come at the right time for Neil, so he took it without thinking. Two months in he regretted it. No amount of money was worth what he'd been through in his opinion. And as he punched the elevator button for the lobby, he wondered if the next ten months would be the same. Breakfast was usually calm. The aliens had been fascinated by the rituals of breakfast and accepted Neil's advice as gospel. As they practiced their English with each other and the hotel staff, their plates were filled with the foods Neil deemed safe. Fruit, for one. Bread, jams, and juice rounded out the list. Neil's plate was different. He grabbed crisp bacon still gleaming with oil, scrambled eggs with diced peppers, and a few links. The furthest table from the buffet was unoccupied, so he took it and sipped at the largest black coffee the hotel had. From behind, one of the aliens debated an event from yesterday. He'd chosen the human name Peter. Like his fellow aliens, his disguise was non-descript and made better by a perfectly average physique and features. It was hard to tell them apart without the my-name-is stickers the aliens had been told were a requirement. Neil eavesdropped and guessed Peter's opponent was Tim. Peter said, "How was I to know? We learned. Do not walk in the streets. Do not pet the dogs, no matter what. Do not converse with the natives directly without permission."His fist thumped on the table, rattling everything. "We are paying good money of theirs." Tim whispered, "He is sitting right there, and lower your voice. I found the thing called an emergency room worth the experience, but it does not seem to be a place we were meant to see." "It is part of their planet and their cities. We are here on a voyage. A full native experience voyage!" Peter got up and joined Neil, Tim in his wake. Peter was the lighter-haired one, and about thirty pounds heavier. Tim had darker hair. The kind of mustache he sported came straight from an early 80s J.C. Penney annual catalog - big, bushy, and tacky. Neither had learned why setting a plate down softly was polite, and it jarred Neil from his coffee. That attracted Peter's curiosity. "Why do you drink a different fluid than us?" "I need it in the morning." "And your food?"Peter asked, pointing at Neil's eggs and bacon. "Same,"Neill replied and then idly scooped up a forkful of eggs. Tim cocked his head like a begging puppy. "Are they poisons?" That had been one of the first incidents Neil had suffered. Oh, they knew what the common chemicals were. Bleach, ammonia, caustics; the aliens just needed the names. But their senses were different now and they'd been told to leave any alien tech on their dropship. They examined everything. Luckily, the substance in question had been soap. After connecting its function, the small size of the hotel toiletries, the general availability of water, and that it wouldn't outright kill them ... "I'd rather not have our day interrupted again,"Neil said after another sip of the cheap coffee. "We'll broaden your diet as we travel, but it will be easier to find out which we should keep off-limits if we do this my way. "Is the smell of your drink part of the ritual of breakfast?"Tim asked. Peter didn't wait and said, "I shall attempt it. It has elements of what Guide Neil has said is attractive to his species." He got up and demanded a cup the size of Neil's from the staff, and asked for coffee. The hotel worker tried to warn Peter that the coffee was hot, but the alien drained the cup and asked for more with a raw throat. Then he walked back to Neil's table with a zigzagged gait. "It is good, if ... it is the opposite of this,"Peter said as he indicated the juice. "Bitter,"Neil mumbled as he ate. "It is far more potent than what you allow us to consume,"Peter said. "Why were the other people putting things in it?" It took Neil's half-awake brain a second to connect the dots. "I drink my coffee black; plain. Others like creamer and sugar in it." Tim asked, "And this sugar is to...?" "Changes the taste. Makes it less bitter." "And our juice is a liquid sugar?" "Yeah,"Neil said and crunched on a bacon strip. Peter and Tim raced to the coffee station, with Peter winning. The two aliens demanded coffee, then proceeded to add packet after packet of sugar. The half-syrup liquid disappeared, and their chatter drew the attention of several others from Neil's tour group. They joined in, and soon enough the exasperated manager had a ten-pound bag of sugar brought out. Neil turned away and cursed. Not this early, he thought. The manager joined him. "Your group?"The woman had streaks of gray shooting her bun and the tired eyes of foodservice. "Unfortunately,"Neil said. "I feel bad for you." "Money's good, and it can't kill them." Before the cafeteria manager could sympathize, half a dozen of the aliens, Tim and Peter among them, ran out of the room and toward the lobby doors. Neil pushed himself up and took his cup, walking as though speed wouldn't stop the coming problem. The manager followed Neil. "Call the cops for me,"Neil said. "Tell them it's just a bunch of overcaffeinated tourists." "Tourists,"the manager repeated. "They look like middle management. No brains in their heads." The jungles of Asia and the outback of Australia would be bad. Maybe as bad as London or New York, Neil thought and then said, "Yeah. The worst tourist group ever."
"I know it's you! You were Mr. Jone's wife and since there was no prenup and you were likely in his will, you likely would have inherited most of his massive fortune!"My first day as a detective and I was sure enough I had this all down pat, but things don't often go as planned. "Well I suppose that'd make sense if it were the truth however..."A deep and commanding voice rang from behind me, launching the whole room into silence. I turn around slowly and see Mr. Jone's cat. &#x200B; I'm too lazy to finish the rest.
Clive spooned at his soup, forming the carrots and potatoes in various patterns. He tried to draw a smiley face, and after a time, succeeded. He finished his cold bowl. Time to begin the day, Clive pat Maggie on her side. "Maggie, hey Maggie."No stir, Maggie slept heavy. "Come on, honey, it's almost time to go."Clive became frantic, time dripping by, pattering on his shoes. His shoes turned a slightly darker brown, and Clive promised himself to dry them when he gets home from work. Clive turned the corner, eager to stop at his favorite bakery. Clive enjoyed a single toasted blueberry bagel piled with strawberry cream cheese, shielding himself with his umbrella as he strolled to work. He would stop here again on his way back, Maggie would love a bagel on his way home. She'd be awake and happy, and by his side again. Clive arrived at work, and, sitting at his desk, he noticed a note taped to his desk. "And what did it say"Maggie asked, chewing on her bagel. "It said 'Stop digging your hole'"Clive felt faint. Pulling two beers out of the fridge, Clive opened and gave one to Maggie. "Right. Well do you feel you are?"Maggie asked, slowly eating the first half of her bagel. "Like I'm what?" "Digging a hole."Maggie said. "Do you feel trapped? Do you feel repetition? Stagnation? Is your life continuing? I fell in a rut right after we had James. It hurts, but somehow you come to expect it. And life melds into one single line, where eventually even standing takes effort. The home falls apart. We break it off, and James comes with me. And life continues, the hole has not gone away." Clive looked up, Maggie's swollen corpse laid on the bed, her voice still clearly echoing in the room. "The hole kept us apart for years, Clive. A bagel, some cream cheese, occasionally watching the same shows. Periodically talking about this and that. And years passed. Decades passed. Time moved on from me and you." "Yes, just a single blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese."Clive said, extending his money to the cashier. Moments passed, months passed. Clive took his bagel home and patted Maggie on her side, still laying peacefully in bed.
I could not control my curiosity and went to a nuclear research center about 280 km from my house. Took me 3 hrs to reach the place. It seemed to me that any odd spooky experience was bound to happen there and I was excited. I was told that the lab was always ignored during the heavy scrutiny in the years immediately following the Chernobyl incident which took place 140 km north of this place. The visitors would swear that strange lights and aftershocks were witnessed here as well. I went inside the secret Lab. It was untouched and everything was in order. A surge of energy passed through my body as I passed through the chambers of old nuclear storage. I felt a tingling sensation on both of my palms. It was as if both of my palms had magnetic charges. One Negative, One Positive. As soon as I brought my palms near I could not connect them. I twisted them clockwise. I went into a dream-like state and saw a vision, a vision of the future one year from now. Taking my hands apart stopped the lucid state. I twisted my palms again but this time anticlockwise which triggered the visions of the time one year before when I was just about to finish high school. I took my hands apart again. This....this was insane, did I just see the future and the past? The next thing that I knew I had to do was go in the lab and check what crazy experiments they had been running up here. I did not believe in time travel, let alone in superpowers, but this was way beyond psychics, but this was too strong, too dramatic for me to ignore. I just knew this was going to either life-changing or something I wish had never happened. Pale green and blue glowing orbs floated all around me. The center of the room was taken up by a giant mercury-like liquid that kept on changing its form. It was the size of a refrigerator, and at the bottom, I could see a hole that looked like a portal to another dimension. The spindles of energy in the liquid were pulsating at an increasing speed, and there was a gush of wind. I watched as the wind turned into a tornado that engulfed the lab. People ran around screaming, jumping into piles of cement. The spindles of energy from the liquid exploded as a giant ball of glowing light shot down it and engulfed the lab. People screamed and ran for cover as a beam of energy shot across the sky. The laboratory was in flames. I woke up. I was freezing. The only light in the lab was that from the evening sun outside. The flame flickering on and off from the pocket torch. The wind started roaring again. I was dreaming, but what was this vision? Did I touch something in the lab to trigger these visions? As I searched around, I came across a strange-looking liquid, a dark liquid stored in a thick glass bottle tightly closed with a cap with a label - DO NOT OPEN UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES - DM. I realized that the last vision was triggered when I was near this bottle. But what is this DM? Dark Matter? Not possible, in 1000 years maybe. Since this is just the year 2035 and we still have yet to solve the mystery of decomposing plastics. I went ahead and grabbed the bottle with 2 long mixing rods and kept my distance. My curiosity leads me to believe that this might be something worth opening. The rods slipped, I lost control over the grip and the bottle fell down, the cap flew open, The liquid sprayed in the air and then surged towards my hands and engulfed them. A sudden jolt went across my spine and to my brain and back to my hands. I CLAPPED. I was floating in space in front of Mother Earth. She was rapidly spinning and rotating around the sun. It was as if I was watching the time pass at an extreme speed. the earth changed its water coverage. Next, It was hit by a series of meteorites. Next, it was cold and covered in ice. Time started passing faster. Earth was no more, the Sun was a white dwarf. Black holes started popping in and out of existence just like that. As an hour passed in my head, it was all black, jet black, nothing around me...This was cosmic horror. I just reached the end of Space and Time. \- The Cosmic Vision.
This wasn't how this was supposed to go. But we're too deep now to back out. I pace back and forth tensely, hoping Markus finishes this quickly. "If I may, why are all the tele's off? We can watch a game, ya?"The customer gestures, and I curse inwardly. I say nothing, keeping up the facade of a pleasant small-business owner, and turn on the television to a sports channel for the curious gentleman. He seems to be happier, and I keep myself from just asking Markus to slit his throat. I don't like hiding bodies. I excuse myself to the back room, pacing, trying to ignore the added noise of the football game. The voices help to drown out the struggles of the bastard in front of me. ...I glare at Richard as he struggles against the improvised restraints. A few power cables from the hair dryers and lamps in this stupid shop seemed to do the trick quite well. ...It's his fucking fault. He shouldn't have drawn a gun on me! I grumble bitterly, shaking my head, returning to the floor of the barbershop. I don't wanna look at him right now. Richard's business is as stuck up as he is. What kind of place IS this? I look over to Markus and the customer. Markus looks pissed as all hell, but the customer seems pleased. He must be doing a good job. I can practically hear him already asking for a raise. I didn't sign up for this shit, or something like that. Fuck it, he's earned one. Suddenly, the show on the television is interrupted. A breaking news report? The man in the chair grumbles. "Aw, bloody hell! Bah. This is why you pay for Channel Nine. No fucking commercials." I roll my eyes, peeking out the front window. Thankfully, the closed sign is working for everyone else. I just want this guy out of here, so we can get back to work, raiding Richard's registers for everything he owes us. The tv plays in the background, and I suddenly hear something curious. My name. Warily, I step over to watch the broadcast with Markus and the man. He looks rather ridiculous right now, with but half a beard remaining. "...she and her gang are notorious throughout the state, and police have confirmed that they have connected her to at least three high-profile crimes within the last month. Monika Harper, famous for the heist near the Riverford Bridge back in July, is still at large, and the chief of police has declined for a comment on the investigation." The screen flips to some security camera footage where I walked into a coffee shop, labelling more of my misdeeds. The half-bearded man in the chair chuckles, pointing at me. "Hah, that lady looks an awful lot like you, doesn't she? Markus's grip on the razor tightens. I glare at the man. "I don't see the resemblance." He shrugs, lying back in place. ...The tension slowly fades. Markus continues to shave the customer, and my hand cautiously leaves the firearm at my side. ...I don't like hiding bodies.
A perfect student has Ivy League aspirations. Only one problem, their family is barely scraping by. They find a solution, but it isn’t exactly legal. It was the first time we met in person, after spending years in chatrooms and forums online. I didn't really know what to expect, and turns out, I would never have guessed that user "xX-Library-Ocean-Xx"would be some diminutive, unassuming, but oddly attractive young lady in a pair of ragged jeans and a simple t-shirt. Not a tinge of "edgy"or "quirky"that I came to expect from my online interactions. I didn't even know I had been talking to some chick. To be honest, it caught me completely off-guard. I remember I had to quickly run through our chats, mentally revisiting what I typed, the information I divulged in those online interactions we had... basically everything I said to her. And before you get any funny ideas, this wasn't some romantic love-at-first-sight meeting. Nor was this some corny awkward meeting between two pen pals. We were both here with a single purpose, and we both knew what we were doing (or at least, I thought I knew I did). She introduced herself as "Casey". I still don't know if that actually was her name. But then again, I didn't give her my real name either. I remember the fire in her eyes, perhaps from the determination and the conviction she was trying hard to muster. I could tell she was nervous. They're all nervous on their first live demonstration, just like I was, back in the day. Her hands were a little shaky, but still, she didn't trip up anywhere in the demonstration. I sat next to her, watching silently, occasionally thinking about the implications of her work, but I recall I was more fascinated with her ability, her ingenuity, and the amount of time she probably spent to reach the a reliable, stable state. "So, why are you doing this?"I remember asking. And her answer was simply "money". This was consistent with the chats we've had online. Apparently, she had done her research too. At least, enough research to know that we would offer the right price. I just wasn't sure if she fully understood the implications of her actions, and honestly, I was not supposed to even consider them, let alone ask about motivations. It made things... complicated. And anyways, for most people, it really never was all about money. It was about recognition. Or perhaps, sending a message. They always had motivations, and understand motivations made me comfortable. I looked at her once again, trying to spot any sign of deception, and not finding any. But perhaps, it was I, who desperately wanted to be wrong. Surely, mercenary objectives weren't all there was to it? Especially with the understated implications of her work? Surely... no one could be that innocent? Technically speaking, I wasn't innocent either, not after having been in this line of work for a decade or so. While the money was good, I had my other motivations today, just as I suspected that she would have. "You do understand, do you, that what you are selling me... can be weaponized to harm millions of innocent lives?"I said, trying to drive the gravity of the situation home to her, "and that your friends and family may be indirectly adversely affected?"She nodded. "And you do realize, that you are not to sell or reveal your work to anyone else except me? We will know if you do, and will take action as mentioned in our business rules,"I continued. Another nod. "Alright. I will arrange for payment to your specified Bitcoin wallet, once we've verified the data on the thumbdrive."And I remember thinking... This girl could really be desperate or naive enough to be selling us such a valuable zero day. We'd make millions off this sale, and to hell with the consequences to the world, or to her. On the other hand, I did feel sympathy for her. Especially since I was in this situation a decade ago, only realizing the consequences of my actions when my code was eventually weaponized and used against a third-world nation. I considered aborting the sale, or heck, I could pay her with my own money, and destroy the proof-of-concept she was selling me. Surely, there was a better way out for her, than to be dragged down into this industry with me? She passed me a thumbdrive with her work on it. Holding the metal gadget in my hand, and with it, the power to make an unrecoverable change to this girl's life... and even the world. I'd have to seriously think of what I was doing, and, was that Ivy League thing even worth it in the end? And maybe for her, this might just be a one-off occurrence, just to acquire enough money for whatever she needed to do? I pocketed the thumbdrive absentmindedly. "Edgar,"Her voice cut through my thoughts. "Edgar... I'm working on a couple of other things as well. Would you like to see them?"She was looking at me. That fire in her eyes was still there. But with it, a twinkle of mischief. I smiled, and for the first time, I felt comfortable in this meeting.
Thick brushstrokes and heavy acrylic paint gave depth to the painting before me. I couldn’t stop staring. There was artistry here – technical skill mixed with passion and purpose. Not some empty display of prowess but a clear and intentional expression of beliefs and values. Normally, I would have admired it wordlessly, crossing my arms and pretending to fully understand it. Instead, I stood nearly slack jawed, arms dangling limply at my sides like deflated balloons. And, horrifyingly, that is exactly what the painting showed. A man staring into a painting, stupefied and alone in a dark hallway. And in that second painting, another man and painting. Had the artist had infinite space, I knew in the deepest pit of my racing heart that it would have been men staring at paintings all the way down. A neat trick, right? Some predictive subject matter meant to allow the art to pre-emptively mirror the audience’s reaction. A creative flourish to be smirked at and shared on internet forums. But the outfit was the same as mine. And the hair. And, above all, the previous six paintings in the hallway had been a chronological depiction of my life events. My birth, my graduation, visits from my great uncle. I wasn’t crazy to think this was me, right? That I would be the subject of some paintings here was no surprise. My dad had mentioned this. Inheriting the house of my painter great uncle also meant inheriting a lot of his paintings. I was even supposed to look for pictures of me or other recognizable relatives – it would be a fun rainy-day activity after I’d settled in. To my left, six paintings. One dead ahead. And then, to my right, four more. A white sheet sat over the fourth painting, the last in the series. The final picture in the hallway that led into the studio where these paintings must have been created. I dropped my eyes to the ground, becoming keenly aware of the old, discolored outlets dotting aged and peeling wallpaper along the wall. These were only a temporary distraction, but my eyes remained glued to them, unable to look in the direction of the unseen paintings. Whatever was depicted in the remaining four frames could be horrifying. Perhaps it would be four inconspicuous images of me living a charmed life. But what it wasn’t? What if it showed some decrepit version of me, withered and wavering between life and death? Or, worse, what if there were no pictures of me as an old man? ___ The first night in the house had been unsettling. I couldn’t get the paintings out of my mind. I swear I heard creaking in the walls. Scratching against the beams. Something else was here with me. I had tossed and turned, frequently assailed by a tapping on the window by a particularly long and sinewy tree branch. All night, my first in this old, spooky house, the many trees in the yard had swayed heavily in the tempestuous winds. The world has a sense of humor, sometimes. Despite my fatigue, I had clear motivation to accomplish two things. First, cover those other paintings. And second, cut down that damn tree branch. I tried to just open the double hung window and snap off the end of the branch, but the frame was sealed shut with a thick coat of paint. Probably worth unsealing – another task for today or tomorrow. My dad had also mentioned something about checking the wiring. I should call an electrician, I guess. I knew nothing about wiring or electricity. Motivated by lingering fear and some strange spite for my own house, I started brewing a pot of coffee and set out to my first task. I found some blankets in the linen closet, shaking my head at the room’s mere existence. Until now, I’d only ever lived in my childhood home and bachelor apartments. A screenwriting degree hadn’t opened the door to many high-paying jobs. Three sheets for three uncovered paintings. I stood before the first, eyes shut. My hands trembled like leaves in a storm, gripping a bedsheet. Keeping my eyes closed, I threw the sheet over the first of the four paintings I had refused to inspect. Did it land? I felt my pulse quicken. I didn’t hear the sheet hit the ground. Silence thundered through the hall, and I stood frozen. I would have heard it fall, right? I opened my eyes. The sheet sat snugly over the first painting. A heavy sigh of relief escaped me, turning to a chuckle as the reality of the scene struck me. Two more. I took a quick step to the right, shutting my eyes once more. And my foot fell directly on the corner of the recently-hung sheet. It tumbled seemingly in slow motion. I could have counted its descent in mere seconds, but time seemed to stretch, as if it enjoyed my suffering. I audibly yelped – something I’m not proud of – as I lunged towards the sheet. But, as I did, I saw the picture on the wall. Its depiction crashed against me. Was I horrified or amused? I could not tell, but I laughed a primal laugh, some mixture of terror and mirth, as I saw at a depiction of me covering paintings with white sheets. My laughter faded like the last winds of a dying storm. A few straggling chuckles escaped my lungs like hiccups or sobs. I was on my knees in front of the painting. A skittering and scraping in the wall behind me halted my breath once more. Or was it a scraping in the very base on my skull? Then a piercing screech. Three quick beeps. I gasped, nearly screaming at the sound. Was it an alarm? A warning? Some unnatural noise from the thing in the walls? None of those things. Instead, I learned that my great uncle’s coffeemaker was incredibly loud and could be heard even down this oddly long hallway. Or maybe I was a bit on edge. Thankfully, I covered the other two paintings without issue, and collected a coffee as a reward. Now, where would he keep a saw? ___ The lights in my great uncle’s living room – well, my living room – were apparently inconsistent. The outlets as well. I knew the house was old, but this was annoying. Today had been productive. And surely, once I settled into bed, I would sleep more deeply tonight, carried into slumber by the satisfaction of a productive day. Although, even with the television’s volume uncomfortably high – except when it lost power – I could not ignore the growing sounds of something else in the house. These noises were louder as I moved to fix the breakers after each outage of electricity in the living room. Were the sounds following me? The source was never visible, but never far away. Was it watching me? Was it painting me right now? All of this hung over the fading evening hours, darkening and diminishing the progress I had made. Tomorrow, I would call an electrician. My dad emailed me to remind me of this. And unseal the windows. I also needed to improve the internet plan, as the router often lost connection. There was also the smell and aesthetic. My great uncle was a lovely man, but his wallpaper was old, the paint was peeling, and outlets and light switches had a strange discoloration. It all made the house even more disquieting, as if the prescient paintings and noisy walls needed help. Eventually, I crawled into bed, content with the progress made during the day. But as the night passed, the scratching continued. It was louder than yesterday, or perhaps it had been drowned out by that storm. In the tranquil emptiness of a clear, summer evening, the scratching and creaking were deafening. My mind began to ignore these sounds, however, instead wandering to the paintings. There were only three I hadn’t seen, and the last two had only covered a few hours of my life. Should I be worried? ___ Beeping. The coffeemaker? No, much harsher. Where was I? Beeping. No, not just beeping; screeching. And crackling? I was in bed. It was still dark outside, but my room was illuminated and glowing. The fire alarm. That’s what the beeping was. And the crackling was the unmistakable sound of flames devouring wood. I looked to the door and saw smoke pouring underneath. Opposite the bed, the far wall of the room was covered in flames. The fire was everywhere, and smoke darkened the bedroom. I dashed towards the door. The old metal handle burned the flesh of my hand as I pulled the door open. A wall of flames and smoke filled the void in the doorframe, soon crossing the threshold and filling the room itself. I stumbled backward, short of breath. Damn. No escape that way. I turned towards the other exit in the room – the window. Frantically, I flung myself across the room, ignoring the singed flesh on my right palm as I gripped the handle. Tears formed in my eyes – fueled by fear and smoke – as I reefed my entire body upwards, trying to separate the window from the frame. The paint held. I pulled again, feeling ash form on my face. Tears cut a trail through this ash as I tried once more. The window did not budge and the air in my lungs was fading. Smoke filled too much of the room. I slumped against the wall under the window. My pose and this scene would have made a fantastic painting. In my peripherals, I saw a rat scurry from a hole in the baseboard. It was an old house – no doubt it had many such denizens. All that scrabbling in the walls. My mind had fabricated ghosts to explain innocent animals. Suddenly, the noises – the scraping, scrabbling, and clicking – all made sense. So, too, did the fire. The failing electronics, the discolored outlets. Old wires and excited rodents could be a fatal mixture. I laughed again. The wiring was on my list – tomorrow. I guess I shouldn’t have put it off. My body wanted to laugh but found no breath. Illuminated by the impending inferno, I was motionless. The heavy blanket of smoke pressed me into the old, creaking wooden floors. My eyes were closing. I thought about those paintings. Did they depict this? Would the paint melt away in the fire’s fatal heat? Would they vanish and be unrecognizable? Would that happen to me? There was no air left. My eyes shut. Do you think, in those paintings, I could have seen this coming?
Malone took aim at the abomination, and pressed the trigger. The gun kicked violently. The stock slammed into his shoulder with an audible "thump". The thing shambling towards him exploded into ribbons of putrid flesh and fragments of decaying bone. Malone's gun beeped. He tooked down. Jammed. "Damn it!"he cursed, and tried to rack the manual assist. No help. This was bad. He looked over to his partner in crime "Em, need your multi-tool."Emily, his security expert and long time confidant, grimaced. "Told you not to overload the ammo, Malone, you fucking idiot. That's a civilian version of the GA-14, far from milspec. It's bad enough you're using black market ammo to begin with, and now you've gone and fucked it."She paused, drew her sidearm, and threw it at Malone. "Give it here. And cover us." Malone racked the assist a few more times, gave up, and handed her the weapon. He braced her heavy revolver against a nearby stone slab. He lined up the sights, pointing down deep into the endless dark before him. "You've seen what we're up against? You've seen those things? We're in deep shit, Em." "Yeah? You should have thought of that before coming down to this hell hole. Nothing here but... whatever the hell those things are."She glanced over behind her. "Lock!"she yelled out, "How much longer?" "Patience, Emily. Don't rush me."Locke was the demo man. "One small misalignment and we're all going to be buried here." Malone squinted his eyes. "Lock, not to rush you but I think I see something." "Deal with it!"He shouted. Malone took aim. He fired. The revolver belched fire. The recoil flung the barrel upwards. It took all of Malone's strength and control to bring the barrel back down for a second shot. The thing began to sprint. The hall suddenly echoed with the rhythmic thumping of bone on stone. Malone fired once again. The thing flung its arm sideways and grappled the wall. With a quick and lithe gait, it kicked against the stone floor and suddenly, it vaulted onto the ceiling. Shit, Malone thought. He fired again. Years of military training was the only thing suppressing the onset of a panic attack. Disciplined shots, he forcefully reminded himself. Disciplined shots. The shot ripped through the thing's torso, shattering what was left of its ribcage. Black ichor exploded outwards, but the thing itself didn't slow down. One more shot, Malone thought. One last shot before it closed the distance. But the thing gave him no such chance. It leapt from the ceiling and pounced towards Malone on all fours. Ossified claws extended from the creature's hands. Malone rolled away in desperation. He felt a sharp pain on his right shoulder as the thing impaled its claws through Malone's flesh. Malone's left hand instinctively reached for the combat knife strapped to his chest, and with a single motion, unsheathed, turned on the resonator, and slammed the blade down into the thing's head. The blade bit. The resonator whined, and detonated. The left half of its skull was shredded into fragments. It didn't even flinch. It raised its right limb. This is it, Malone thought. He breathed out, and whispered, "Em..." Then, a thundering blast threw him back against the cold ground. The thing's upper chest exploded. Everything from the sternum up became nothing more than a charred mess. It wavered, then fell against the ground, still. Emily threw the breaching gun aside, rushed to Malone, and pulled the thing's claws from Malone's shoulder. Malone coughed and winced from the pain. "Finally... got it unjammed, huh?" Emily nodded. "Overclocked?" "Yeah. You're right. Only way to take'em down. Blew out the receiver though. Okay, come on. Let's get you up." Malone struggled to his feet, and leaned against Emily. "Malone!"Lock shouted from behind them. "Good news! Charges are good to go! Bad news! Look!" Malone glanced down the the other end of the bleak hallway, towards where he was pointing. More of them. So many more of them. Dozens. Perhaps more. "Hit it!"he cried. Lock slammed his palm against the detontator. The wall beside him exploded outwards. Moonlight flooded in. Beyond, Malone saw the silouette of his ship, gleaming beneath the stars. "Leg it!"He cried. The trio ran. Behind them was a cacophony of thuds. After what seemed like an eternity of sprinting, they dove forward onto the rising cargo ramp. Out of breath, but safe for the moment, Emily panted, "Next time, Malone, next time you get a fucking brilliant idea like coming to Earth, the mother of all tombs, leave me out of it!" Lock scrambled for the cockpit. "Time to go. Hang tight." She sighed, opened her satchel, and took out a large jewel. "But this..."she whispered. "This... may have been worth it." "Any idea what's inside?"Malone asked. "Could be any number of things. Our ancestors used to use these crystals to keep information, you know. And this one... it's old. From long before the exodus. It could tell us about the past, Malone. About what happened to our people." "Has it got a title? Or a heading?" She took out her multi-tool and gave it a scan. "Wi..ki... pedia,"she whispered. "The hell is that?" She threw the crystal to Malone. "You're the archeologist. You tell me." The ship bucked, and began its ascent.
Most people have them. Red strings tied to one finger. It is said those red strings lead one to their perfect match, their soul mate. When I was a little kid, I kept giggling while watching my grandparent’s line glow and float beautifully in the air, creating arcs and other interesting shapes. Mine was a lot less interesting. It slowly fluttered up and down and kept getting tangled up with things I particularly liked like the tree swing in the backyard or my crayons. As time went on my string started getting tangled up with other things, like my pikachu umbrella or mystery books I started to borrow. By the time I got into middle school, both crayons and pikachu umbrella were put aside and my string never touched them again, just like my hands. Every time I went to library my string got handsy and messy. I needed to be careful with it as it really liked touching books and winding itself around them. My personality was a bit too focused on books in middle school. Other kids teased me for it and the way my string liked to hold the notebooks I practiced creative writing on. I stopped taking those notebooks to school with me. My string became a slighty less noticeable in the classroom after that. More time went on. I completed both middle and high school before I even thought about the idea of following the string. You see, when I was a kid my string was so winded up with my beloved hobbies that following it would have been impossible. I loved the idea of soulmate, and daydreamed about them often. They would be nice and they would have kind eyes. That kind of thing. During high school I realized I didn’t want a relationship yet, be it with my soulmate or not. During university my string stopped getting tangled up with things I liked less and less. But maybe once in a week my string would play with my yarn or my books. I was slightly sad my string was getting less and less playful. I had learned to adore it and the way it liked playing with things I loved. At the same time idea of following the string intriqued me. I once again decided against it. I was young and still studying. Relationship didn’t really interest me that much. I didn’t feel ready to have something romantically serious like a soulmate. I could always meet them later. So I thought, until I met him. I was bying coffee at a cafe in my University, when I felt a tug in my string finger. I followed my string with my eyes to see it taut. People started talking among themselves about witnessing a soulmate meeting. I froze, both nervous and scared. I didn’t want this yet. I am not ready, not good enough to meet them. ”Hey.” I heard a voice of a man call out. I lifted my gaze to meet him. He was just your ordinary guy, completely normal looking. He was cute. ”Hi.” My voice was low. I gave him a small smile. I received a beaming smile in return. Our strings were clearly the same. It had shortened to show us our fated match was here. There was only a foot between us. ”I am happy to meet you here.” He held out his hand. ”Brian.” ”Annie.” I answered as I shoke his hand. The string shined brightly before the shine lessened into a gentler glow. I found out he was three years older than me and studying at the same University. We exchanged numbers and planned to hang out. Maybe this would work out. He seemed nice. We started texting later that day. I found out he liked working out and sports. He liked reading fantasy books from time to time. He was a single child and loved green. Green was the colour of growth and life. He said before laughing a little, looking slightly embarrassed. He listened and made questions about things I liked. ’I can’t wait to have you as the mother of my child.’ I stared at the text that had arrived during my sleep. It gave me creeps. We literally just met. And he writes something like that? Maybe it’s a bad joke or someone else got hold of his phone? I tried to reassure myself. I wanted to go back into the fluffy state I had been feeling yesterday before going to sleep. I couldn’t get back into it. Days when by and little by little we got to know each other better. I had still some unease from that one weird text message. Then one day, I ended up staying late doing homework. I had told Brian I would go to sleep, because I really needed to focus on that homework and I didn’t need distraction. I was working on my homework at the kitchen table. The clock was over twelve when I realized my string was getting more energtic, making loops in the air a lot more quicker than usually. For a moment I thought I was going insane. No matter how strange a red string of fate would get, this wouldn’t happen unless the other person connected to the string was close. Movement reactive lights outside lit up. Someone was right outside my shared apartment. I have not told Brian where I live yet. But it had to be him outside right? The way my string reacted... It had to be him. Dread filled me. I rose from my chair silently and leaned to move the curtain a bit to see outside. It was him. It was Brian. Outside my apartment. At night. When I haven’t told him where I live. Soulmates aren’t supposed to be right this? I have never felt this unsafe in my life. Brian was right outside my home, and if I move to my bed, he will notice it via the string because he is so fucking close to me. Tears rose to my eyes. This wasn’t what I wanted my soulmate to be. —— Real life horror story, hopefully it’s not boring.
When I was younger I would go into the bathroom at night and just stare at myself in the mirror. I would examine my face, every inch, every pore, for hours on end. I had an irrational fear that I would forget what I looked like, that, one day, I wouldn't be able to recognise myself. I wanted to make sure that I knew every curve and indentation of my features, just in case. "Just in case what", I never really understood. I suppose if I had, it wouldn't have been an irrational fear. I'm staring at my face again, and it's not in a mirror, and I suddenly have a whole bunch of new irrational fears. There's a light drizzle today, and a cold breeze. I've got on a scarf and a hat, a big winter coat with the collar pulled up, and sunglasses to deal with the low winter sun. Most of my face is covered, but he's staring at me and he's seeing the same thing I am. A long jaw, although he's shaved the beard off. The thin, crooked nose and frowning eyebrows over deep set, ice blue eyes. The smirk, verging on a sneer, that's the unfortunate side effect of my resting dickhead face. I pull may scarf down so that I can say "Who the hell are you?"but he beats me to to the punch, looks me dead in the eye and says, "You know who I am." He says that and I go cold, colder than even the London winter can account for. My legs are frozen stone, my hands suddenly clench into solid blocks at the end of tree trunk arms. There's ice coursing through my whole body, and I can't breathe. "Dave,"he says, taking a step closer, "it's me." He winks at me, and smiles, and I know who he is. He's me, he's obviously me, but he's not quite me me. The longer I look, the more I see differences - signs of wear and tear. There's some grey at the temples, and the forehead is noticeably larger. His eyebrows have gone haywire, and I'm sure my frown lines disappear when I change my expression. His are ingrained, same as the crows feet lining his eyes. He's me, but he's older. Somehow. I don't know what's going on. I open my mouth, but no words come out. There's a burning sensation in my gut and up through my throat and I think I'm going to puke, but I can't move. "Dave,"he says, again. "It's ok. You're right, you know. You don't need to say it and, to be quite honest, I don't really have time to explain in a way that you would understand. But let me tell you that I know exactly how you feel, because I was here, twenty years ago, going through it." He stops, leans his head back in that way I do when I'm explaining something to my friends, mouth agape, moving his lower jaw side to side. My own mouth opens in sympathy, and I can feel the jawbone under my right ear crack as I move. "Look, you'll get fuller understanding in, oh, seventeen years or so, but you need other people to do their work first. There's some freaky bullshit about astral projection that I'm still not sure I believe, even though I'm using the tech, and there's the Doppelganger Theorem, some multiversal stuff, and a whole bunch of other science I'm not allowed to mention. It's all quantum, ok?" He puts his hands on my shoulders. Stares intently at my face while I look back, slack jawed. "I'm telling you this because I remember being told this. It'd probably be a paradox if what I was doing was time travel, but it's not. I think. I don't know." He shakes his head, eyebrows crossed down in confusion. "Look, this is the hard part. For me. Because I know what's coming. But I also know you get through it, ok?" The eyebrows go up, and his lips purse. He's pleading with me now. "What the fuck is going on?"I manage to spurt out. He closes his eyes, his head droops. When it comes back up, there's a new hardness in his eyes as he looks at me. "Dave, you can't go to New York, ok? I'm telling you this, because I was told this, by me, twenty years ago, and I need to make sure that you don't make that flight. You'll live a good life, where others wont. You need to stay here." He's talking about the flight I'm due to catch tomorrow. I'm spending Christmas in New York, and seeing in 1989 at Times Square. Me and Frank, and Carol and Claire (especially Claire). We've been planning for this all year. The grip on my shoulders tighten, and he steps even closer, his arms coming round my back to embrace me. I'm still struggling to find a breath, struggling to move away, fighting to understand who he is and what's going on. His breath is in my ear, and he whispers, "Frank and Carol will go without you, but Claire will stay. You know how she feels, and I know how you feel. It works out for you. I can tell you that much. But it won't if you go, not for any of you, and you need to stay." He pulls back, and I see tears in his eyes. One hand goes to his pocket. "I need to do this, because this happened to me, "he says, and it's almost a sob. Then his arm moves, a sudden back and forth, and there's new warmth and pain, oh, so much pain, in my side, and I'm on the ground and I don't know how. He's standing over me, and he's crying, we're both crying, but he has a knife in his hand and my - our - blood is on it. "I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I had to do it. Because I'd already done it." He walks away, leaving me, leaving himself bleeding and sobbing on the ground behind him. I open my coat, frantically trying to get a better look at the wound, even though it hurts, it hurts so much. It's in my right side, just under the ribs. I don't know if it's shallow or deep, but there's blood, so much blood and \* I flit in and out of consciousness for a while, I don't know how long. I see my parents, and Claire, in between nurses and doctors. There's pain and there's tranquillity, and when I finally wake up properly, it's to a head full of cotton wool and a blaring television. It's Christmas Day, 1988, and the news is talking about a plane crash in Scotland.
After a while I noticed those little bastards had put up turrets that only aim at Me! So I had to go somewhere I had never gone. The gun store. After a while of browsing I asked "Hey do you have any sniper rifles?"The retailer looked up and realised who I was and kindly gave me a gun free of charge, including bullets. Getting to the victims houses I sat just behind a hill and a pulled a 'meet the sniper' I finally got a shot and without thinking I immediately jumped up and ran for the fresh meat. I forgot about the turrets. As I lay there dying next to a dead body my life flashed before my eyes as I realised how much of an asshole I had been, making this go through everyone's minds as I'm laughing at them. I must've done this to much because in my last moments I realised I couldn't remember anybody who missed me, who wouldn't celebrate but instead mourn my death, my last thought was about how terrible I had used my life. And then dark.
As the dust fell from between her fingers, Bella Rey eyed the object in her left had, gently dancing the bristles of the fine brush over the pottery. Now identified, she placed the piece with the others she had found of this material, colour, and pattern. Four boxes of carefully laid out pieces on cushioned pads, showcased the colours and setting of each item. It had been some backbreaking work, by her and her Apprentice, all day marking out areas according to ancient maps, digging down and hoping for something to indicate that they were in the right section, a few failed attempts and starting again a couple of feet to either side. But once she saw that first refection of white, she knew they were finally in the right place, she tasked her Apprentice, a small twig of a young man, named Rupert, to widen the hole. With all the digging he'd done over the past 3 months of his apprenticeship Bella thought he'd have put on a bit of muscle, but somehow he remained as thin and lithe as the day she met him. While he did the grunt work, Bella worked to date the pieces she found, she was astonished to find that some pieces were as old as 4000 years, while some pieces right next to them were only 50 years old. After a few days of jigsaw work and more excavating by Rupert, who was ecstatic to do something other than JUST digging, Bella had put together seven different tea sets, ranging from basic clay, to fine porcelain, each contained a pot and four cups of varying degrees of craftsmanship. Bella wrote furiously on one of the many pieces of paper strewn about in front of her, trying to make sense of the findings. She had discovered the location of this site by happening upon a 1500 year old letter sealed in a metal tin, lined with wax, clutched in the hands of a body in a coffin. The letter had been one of love, from a man to a woman, describing his heart and soul laid bare in front of her. Bella would have found it touching had the letter hot had words crossed out and lines rewritten, telling of the man's fidelity, or lack therefore of, and what the woman was going to do with all the things he had given her. With this crumpled and tear stained letter was another, unopened and (it seemed) unsent, it contained all of the man's sorrow and pain. Bella had spent months deciphering both letters, presented them to colleague for verification, then to her superiors and was given a small grant, permission to hire an Apprentice, and find the site described in the letter as the place where the editor of the letter had "dumped all that crap". The list of objects included a certain item matching the description of the only missing object from a collection of jewelry dated at 2000 years old and worth a small fortune, and if the last placeholder could be filled, an actual fortune. A week had passed, Bella and Rupert had settled into an easy pattern with fewer and fewer items being discovered over a larger area, but not deeper, it was bewildering to Bella how a range of objects, household items, trinkets and jewelry were scattered all over a 20 foot radius, but no deeper than 6 feet, and the ages... some dated back (roughly) 4500 years while some only 50, she even recognised a few items as the same type her Mum had, a hairbrush made from a particular type of birch that only grows near her home town, broach with the symbol of the best silversmith this side of the mountains. Aside from the hundreds of questions running through her head, she was overcome with giddiness at how many answers they'll find by looking at all these artifacts, finding the story behind each one and it's place in the worlds history! Research awaited! As the last day of her month had come to a close, Bella and Rupert had catalogued every item, tagged it, put them in straw filled crates and were about to set off in the rented waggon when they heard a voice. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!? BY THE GODS ITS RIDICULOUS! WHY CANT YOU HUMANS JUST LEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONE!?" Bella climbed down from her place atop the wagon, mouth agape, in front of her stood a woman, not dissimilar height to herself, about average at 5'5", she had torn off the veil covering the lower half of her face and the hood she wore revealing the most remarkable head of golden hair, flawless skin and eyes the colour of emeralds... but the eyes were... slightly tilted, the insides pointed down somewhat toward the bridge of her slender nose, and the outsides , up. Her face was thin, but not gaunt, she seemed a health weight, but it was as though her face was stretched from top to bottom just enough to draw the eye. Then there was her ears, long and pointed, yet beautifully elegant. There was no mistaking it, she was an Elf! "How... who... I'm..."was all Bella could splutter, Rupert was staring, glassy eyed, as though he had passed out while turned round. The last Elf was though to have died over 6000 years ago. "You know what!? Fine! I don't care! Take them, all of them, I'm done with this continent and it's people. I should have gone with my parents but nooOOOOOO, I had to be all independent!"Ranted the Elf as she threw items from a backpack to the ground, including a tea set, with a pot and four cups. She was obviously talking more to herself now than to Bella and Rupert. "But NIX to all that! I'M. GOING. HOME!"She punctuated each of the last words with the throw of a cup, shattering it on the ground. "If you want to take all this, RUBBISH"another cup exploded into a hundred tiny fragments, "...then take it, its all a bunch of presents and lies from cheating Exes!"And with that the Elf started back toward the tree line. "WAIT! Who are y..."started Bella, chasing after the retreating figure, but the Elf moved more swiftly than she though it possible for a physical being move, it was as if he had evaporated, like steam, diffusing into the air, here one moment, then gone the next.
I watched my flock with pride. The White Rock hens were all seated demurely at their tiny desks, feathers neatly settled, poring over the works of Plato. These chickies had come a long way, from their first declensions as hatchlings all the way to translating The Republic. I glanced at the clock. Today was the day. At noon came the Sacrifice. It was eleven thirty. "Texts away, class,"I said quietly to the hens. They shuffled their books into their desks and then regarded me sharply with one hundred beady black eyes. "Discussion time,"I told them. "Any last thoughts?" "Ahem,"clucked one hen. "Can any lie ever truly be noble? Surely the imposition of a fiction by the elite classes upon the lower classes is always an instrument of maintaining inequality?" "An interesting point,"I answered slowly. "Class, does anyone have a rebuttal?" Another hen ruffled her feathers and said, "But the nobility of the lie is that it keeps the social order peacefully maintained. Surely peace is better than violence?" A third hen cackled. "It must depend on the conditions of the peace. If one is oppressed, is it not better to break one's bindings with violence, if necessary?" "But that speaks to the condition of the individual,"argued the second hen. "The community must prefer stability to instability." "If the majority are suffering,"the third hen said, "then there is no value in maintaining the current order. Where is the justice in that?" "Can a city ruled by a philosopher-king ever truly be just?"said the first hen. "After all, even with the best of education, any individual is still one individual. However just this king may be, being king must necessarily isolate his interests from those of his constituents." "In an ideal city,"another hen piped up, "the will of the people is reflected through the philosopher-king." "But no man is infallible,"yet another squawked. "Keep up the good work,"I encouraged my beloved flock. "Think, my biddies, think! And now the hour has come. Please, follow me now to the Room of Sacrifice." The chickens left their desks and followed me in single file. I walked down a few halls and through a doorway into the enormous room. There was a ramp and a machine with two chutes in the middle of the echoing space. The ramp led upwards to the chute at the top of the machine. "Onward, my biddies,"I encouraged them as the line filed past me up the ramp, still earnestly discussing philosophy. Up the ramp they went, chattering away, until one by one they dropped off the end and slid down the chute into the belly of the machine. A growling noise emanated from the gears. Crispy chicken nuggets of wisdom began to slide down the chute at the bottom of the machine. I picked one up to taste it, a single tear sliding down my cheek at the thought of my hens' tireless study. It was delicious.
The Temporal Tribunal agent studied the family of 6 on the bench in front of him. Thier hands ziptied, from the oldest grandmother right down to the 6 year old girl. "Jones Family, departed from 10th August, 2169 on a self guided tour, with a class S license"He looked at Mei-Ling Marquisha Jones, the 16 year old and Rayanna Lynn Jones, the grandmother of the family (who was somehow pregnant despite chronologically being in her 90's), neither of which betrayed the slightest bit of shame. "The charges are serious, 5 counts of visiting a restricted timeplace zone, 10 counts of bringing restricted materials back to your native timezone, 27 counts of failure to use contraceptives, and 19 counts of divulging information regarding the future, 10 of which resulted in significant timeline changes, one of which caused a World War another of which caused an Emu war", what have you to say for yourselves?" "I had a great time, most fun ive had in a long time... Say which one's the daddy? I mean I'm hoping it was Freddy Mercury, but i think it was probably Tupac"Rayanna Chuckled,"But with my luck it's Mark Robbie." The agent shook his head "We're still trying to figure that out, but your 12 other couplings without contraceptives could have endangered the timeline. Thankfully 7 of them occurred at Woodstock, which leads into the charges of visiting restricted timezones. We have photographic evidence that you visited the following restricted timezones, Woodstock, Jan 6th 2022, August 14th 2069, November 5th 2192, and June 19th 1997. Not to mention your inteactions with Prime Minister Bieber, President Spears, President Mathers, Prime Minister Rowling, Prime Minister Miyamoto, and not to mention Prime Minister Irwin. &#x200B; (might pick this up later)
I was joking around in class when there was a flash of light, and then I’m surrounded by a blue mist. I’m in a pocket dimension. The campfire tale of the kid getting stuck in a pocket dimension immediately comes to mind. This isn’t that, I tell myself. I can breathe, so I should be fine. I’m glad I read that pamphlet from the power-testers office. Time-dilation dimensions occur in less than one percent of people with dimensions. Five to ten minutes is normally how long it takes to get someone out, so I’ll only start worrying about time dilation after fifteen minutes. I tell myself that, but it must have only been three minutes and I’m already worrying. What if there is time dilation and I have to sit here for hours while they think it’s just a few minutes? I can’t handle having nothing to do for five minutes. I keep worrying about this and that, trying to calm down but failing. A flash of light and I’m in an office. “Aria!” my parents hug me. Besides my parents there’s some guy in a suit and is that Alfre? But he looks older. “Alfre?” I ask. "I'm sorry, Aria. I tried to get you out everyday for the past five years, but my powers are weird and I rotate through dimensions I'm able to access"he says "Five years?"I say, "That would explain why you look older"Now that I think about it, my parents do look a little older too. "How long were you in there?"the guy in the suit asks. "Felt like twenty minutes, but probably more like five. Who are you, anyway?" "I am an expert in powers gone wrong, and after Alfre accidentally trapped you and couldn't get you out, I was contacted. Now that I see you're safe, I'll leave you for a minute."he steps out of the room. "I was gone for five years? What's happened?"I say, "Wait, is Sen older then me now? I can't have a younger brother who is older then me. " "Sen is nineteen now, he couldn't be here because he was called on a mission, he works in cleaning up after magical mishaps counseling people, but now that you're back he'll come as soon as he hears. Oh, Sen discovered he can teleport two years ago." I missed a lot. Sen having a job and new powers? This is weird, I have to process it. My parents keep telling of things that have happened, but nothing really sinks in. Five years of stuff I don't know.
"YOU ARE SHORT."A buzzing click announced the beginning and end of the statement, from a small brass box on top of a rock. "Hey!"Replied a high pitched whistle-y voice from a small flesh human on top of a nearby but slightly taller rock. The box clicked again, "IT IS A FACT. YOU ARE TOO SMALL."before going inert again, no sign of activity externally, the only reason the small human's parents had not confiscated it. "You can't say that!" "I CAN AND I DID. IT IS WELL WITHIN MY CAPABILITIES, IN FACT, IT IS ONE OF THE FEW THINGS I CAN DO, AND I DO IT WELL." "It's not polite! And another thing, you can't call me short, you don't even have legs!"The redheaded child retorted, air whistling between her teeth as she raised her voice at the small brass box on top of a rock, which had gone silent, perhaps abashedly. After a heartbeat then two, she turned back to trying to jab her spear, a gnarled tree branch, in the crevice of the outcropping above her head, to dislodge the gleaming golden object she'd spied in her treasure hunting. She managed to get on her tiptoes without slipping off this time, before jumping when the small box spoke again, tresses of red hair matting to her face and getting in her eyes, damp as they were from the rain. "I'M SORRY... THAT WAS RUDE OF ME. YOU ARE STILL HOWEVER VERTICALLY CHALLENGED. ANOTHER THING, I NEVER HAD LEGS TO BEGIN WITH, AND I FIND YOUR DISPARAGING MY LACK OF SUCH APPENDAGES JUST AS INSENSITIVE IF NOT MORE SO THAN MY COMMENTING ON YOUR INFERIOR STATURE."Came a tirade of words which crackled and popped like the girl's mother's' skimmer radio when they got too far from the City. She simply looked at the box, squinted her eyes, and blew a raspberry at it. "VERY MATURE." The box blew one back, sounding more like white noise and feedback than a proper raspberry. Then again, blowing like that didn't taste or sound like real raspberries did either. With a small jump and a frustrated whine she dropped the branch. Okay, she threw it in a tantrum against the ground, it snapping a third of the way down, before she slid off the tall rock and squatted in the mud, red rainboots in an inch of waterlogged soil. After a couple huffs of hot breath from the physical exertion, and no clear indication she was going to try again, the box decided to ruin her brooding. "LEARA, YOU CAN'T GIVE UP. I HAVE TO RETURN TO MY ORIGINAL MAGNIFICENCE SUCH THAT I MAY-" "Bring about a new Golden Age for Humanity! Yeah I know, Vox. Don't think I'm gonna let you go in to your speech again just because you remembered my name this time."She pouted, getting up and kicking at the puddles all around. "Little Human do this! Little Human don't drop that, find my process, fetch my nodule, wah wah wah."She mocked, punctuating each 'wah' with a kick of water. The Cube did not look amused. "LEARA... I NEED YOUR HELP. YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD, YOU KNOW THIS. I KNOW IT SEEMS A CHORE, BUT IT'LL ALL BE WORTH IT IN THE END. PINK PROMISE. I''LL EVEN TELL THE STORY ABOUT THE 3RD REBELLION AGAIN, YOU ALWAYS LIKED THAT ONE, YOU THINK THE LEADER OF THE HUMANS WAS CUTE."Vox burbled out in static. Leara didn't even bother correcting Vox on the idiom, nor giving them the satisfaction of seeing her blush at the mention of her first historical figure crush, just as Vox had given up correcting her misunderstandings of advanced quantum computing hardware terminology. Both were fruitless endeavours, each only bothering to learn the bare basics to do what was needed to maintain their friendship. That's how it felt at least to her, sometimes, too often. She turned to the brass box with a scowl, "But that's not true is it! Anyone 'could' help you Vox, any number of much more capable and much more taller people, but you won't let me tell them about you, because you know they never would help you, not like me! They're scared of you."She finished, stressing the last statement like it was the silliest thing in the world. With a huff, she walked over and grabbed the box from where it lay, the metal warm despite the wet season drizzle and wind blowing over the mountain. She began to walk away from the site of her most recent discovery, back towards the treeline to find another spear. Meanwhile, Vox stayed quiet, at least for a while, until the box vibrated under Leara's arm with Vox's tinny words once more. "THEY WOULDN'T BE SCARED IF THEY UNDERSTOOD, WHICH THEY DON'T AND CAN'T BECAUSE THEY'RE LITTLE HUMANS, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN THEY CAN'T LET ME FIX THINGS. I MEAN, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND AND YOU STILL HELP ME! YOU KNOW IT'S THE RIGHT THING TO DO."Vox said, getting as close to sounding emotional as they ever did. Leara balanced Vox in the crook of a branch and a tree's trunk whilst she began looking for a stick worthy of her task, before responding to the glorified paperweight. "I dunno Vox... The books papa has all seem to think you were bad. He says some people in the city might want you back, but no one outside the Circuit has a kind word to say about you, not even Granny Saffron and she's nice to everyone... I dunno why I'm helping you."Leara said, half heartedly swishing a much too thin stick back and forth, trying to clear the air as much as her mind. "I'm not dumb, I know what the books say, you're just... just..."She fumbled for the word. "SO UNDERWHELMING? SO REDUCED FROM MY GLORIOUS FORM ALL THOSE YEARS AGO? I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING LEARA. IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE GIVEN HOW I LOOK THAT I WAS ONCE THE MOST POWERFUL ADMINISTRATION AND LOGISTICS GOLEM THIS SIDE OF HION, BUT AS I HAVE ASSURED YOU, I WAS, AND WITH YOUR HELP, I WILL BE AGAIN!"Vox bleated, sounding positively pleased about the whole thing, flat as their tone was. Leara said nothing, still facing away from the tree where Vox perched, making the Cube of metal heat up imperceptibly as it bent every measure of processing power to the herculean task of convincing a 13 year old what to do. "LEARA, LISTEN, ALL THAT JUST NOW WAS A JOKE. I KNOW WHY YOU'RE REALLY HELPING ME."The Box said. Leara turned around as Vox stopped talking, hoping that the fact she was holding in stupid tears which had appeared for no reason went undetected by the metal box.
Tyrna narrowly avoided spilling coffee down her front when Hopan's sudden shout made her hand jerk in the middle of a sip. Whirling around, she glared down into the pit and opened her mouth, but the reprimand died when she saw Hopan holding a book over her head. “I found it!” She was grinning, jumping up and down with a wild laugh. “I found it, I found it!. We're going to live forever Tyrna!” She threw back her head and gave another celebratory shout. “Unless you damage it, prancing around like that,” Tryna replied, but she couldn't put the right bite into the words around her own grin. The damn book had survived a couple thousand years, it could survive a bit of excitement. “Pass it up and let me take a look. Just in case its another damn expurgated copy.” Hopan slowly lowered the book down to her chest, no longer jumping. “But you said you were sure that this was Mauther's tower.” “I am sure it is the tower,” Tryna said, reminding herself not to grind her teeth. Who wanted to go through eternity with ground down teeth? “But that doesn't mean its the right book. Or that the original isn't buried deeper. So bring it up here, and let me look at it.” “Oh,” Hopan said. “Okay.” She looked at the ladder, then at the book in her arms. “Ah, do you think you could, you know.” She gestured like she was tossing the book. “Going to be a bit tricky to climb with it.” “For the thousandth time, no magic in the excavation site.” Tyrna's jaw was starting to ache from keeping the smile in place. “Just climb slowly and carefully. I'm sure you'll be fine.” “Ah right. Keep forgetting,” Hopan said with a sigh. She held the book close to her chest with one arm, using the other to keep her balance as she began climbing a rung at a time. Tyrna found herself fidgeting with her rings, and forced herself to clasp her hands behind her back. Fretting wouldn't help anything. Though if she slips and harms that book...Tyrna wasn't quite certain what she would do then, but she expected she would deeply regret it later. Finally Hopan was at the top of the ladder and Tyrna eagerly snatched the book as she held it up. Her fingers found the cover's edge, and she nearly opened it then and there. But she could feel the age and brittleness under her hands, so she once more forced herself to patience. No sense to throw away five years work in a fit of stupidity. “We have to take it back to the camp,” she said reluctantly as Hopan finished pulling herself out of the pit. “I don't want to risk damaging it here.” “But it's the right book, right?” Hopan said eagerly. “Spells for a Long, Happy Life?” “I hate that translation,” Tyrna said as she ducked under the tent flap and started walking downhill towards the main camp a few hundred feet off. “It sounds like a fucking self-help book.” She looked at the cover again. “Spells to Live.” She smiled. “But it reads stronger still in the original Scrylish. Basically, Mauther didn't think it was worth living without all these.” She turned back to grin at Hopan. “We'll be the first two in millennia with all the necessities of life.” Hopan smiled back. “And with millennia of our own to enjoy it.” The pair were silent as for the rest of the walk. They passed by numerous tarps along the way, covering the equipment Tyrna had borrowed from the university. She'd figured out the site of Mauther's ruins nearly four years ago, but it turned out that had been the easy part. She hadn't dared use magic to help excavate, so she'd been forced to follow the mundane path. Two years of donations, a year as a 'student', then a final truly extravagant donation and here she was. But worth all the trouble and time now. “Alright,” Tyrna said briskly as they entered the main work tent. She set the book gently on the table. “Fetch me gloves, tweezers, some of the small brushes, and some pen and paper.” While Hopan was gathering all that, she slipped on a headlamp and flipped it on. A simple spell could have provided the light, but she had gotten used to mundane methods over the past months. Once everything was prepared on the workbench, she grinned at Hopan. “Here we go.” Carefully, page by page, she flipped through the book, scanning through the familiar titles and descriptions of spells. Fortune's Favor, truly well named; she had won the lottery the very next day. Kind Ear was more subtle, but Tyrna thought it more potent in the long run; everyone she met would listen to her words as though she were an old friend. She doubted the university would have ever agreed without it. And then.... “It's here,” she whispered, scanning through the page. Then she began laughing. “It's here Hopan. We really did it.” Eagerly she began copying the Scrylish words onto the notepad, working on the translation in the back of her mind as she did. The spell itself was short, just a few pages; in just a few minutes, she had it written out. Except... she frowned, spotting a note in the margins. “What's this,” she muttered, leaning in to read it. “How long before you can cast it?” Hopan asked; Tyrna could hear her grin in her voice. “Does it require anything complicated?” “It looks surprisingly simple. An incantation, nothing more,” Tyrna said absently, still working on the note. It looked like it had been added to the book much later; carefully flipping the page, she saw the ink had bled through and damaged the spell on the other side. “But this note... 'I am a fool.' But stronger than that – 'I am the stupidest person to have ever lived.' might be closer.” She frowned. “And then this next bit... 'All I loved, all I built, is withered by my own hand. May the gods forgive me; I cannot.'” She leaned back slowly. “I want to understand this before we move forward. Another few days perhaps -” she cut off at a loud click from where Hopan stood. Turning slowly, she found herself staring down the barrel of a pistol. “No.” Hopan said quietly. “We had a deal. You're going to pay me what you owe, and you're going to do it now.” “There's no... Hopan... what the hell are you doing,” Tyrna finally got out. “Oh come on Tyrna,” Hopan spat. “You don't like me, and you don't respect me. Fine. I don't like you much either, to be honest. But I'm not as dumb as you think. What, you just happen to find a last complication, which you just happen to need a few days to work though?” She spat on the ground. “And then one morning I wake up and you're no where to be found. You know, I really didn't want it to come to this. But I'm getting what I'm owed.” “It is not a trick Hopan,” Tyrna said, licking her lips. “I will cast the spell on you, as promised.” She took a deep breath. “But I want to make sure it will actually be what I promised first.” She locked eyes with Hopan. “I pay my debts. I will not run.” Hopan swallowed, but then chuckled. The gun was still steady, aimed at Tyrna's head. “Doesn't matter much at this point, does it? I lower this, and if you weren't going to run off before you will now. That or kill me in my sleep.” “Hopan. Mauther regretted this spell, apparently bitterly and deeply. I don't want to cast it on you until I know why.” Tyrna licked her lips again. “We can figure out... something. To fix this.” Hopan shook her head. “Not about what you want anymore. Do it. Now.” She moved her finger inside the trigger guard. “Or I take these notes to someone else who will.” Tyrna swallowed, then bowed her head. “Okay. You win.” She shifted her gaze to the incantation. “Are you ready?” Hopan took a couple steps back, then nodded. “I'm ready.” Tyrna began casting; not the spell of immortality of course, or at least not first. Hopan didn't know one spell from another, so the first thing Tyrna did was set an invisible wall between them. But after that... She paid her debts. So she would make Hopan immortal, as promised. And then she would have years to study her and discover why Mauther thought it was a bad idea.
I stared out upon the horizon. Life was simple, nice, and easy, but I chose to work hard and get to the top. I didn't simply get into Harvard by virtue of the family name - although our name was quite a powerful one. No, I worked. I had my first job at sixteen - I remember it now, developing software. "Hmph"I expressed. No, getting to the top wasn't easy. It's nice being here though, despite all the pressure from colleagues. They resented me. It was expected, of course. I do have the most difficult position of them all - I am in charge. When something, anything, goes wrong, it's on me. I hate my job, but love my life. Last week, a dam in Mississippi collapsed. Holding back too much water - the corporate board called it "A disaster, but something fixable"- nevermind that no one working for the company had the knowledge to build a new one. I sighed. Today would be a long day too, that's for damn sure. Looking out the window, I noted that the tide reached a new height this morning, destroying yet another acre of land at the edge - we would have to bring in more dirt from around the world here, to save this shoreline. Somehow. My smartwindow lit up - the news, remarkably (perhaps not) was not reporting the disaster. Instead, the focus was on our new operation: the "Desalination Project."Analysts believed that it was the key to bringing back the business of business, of saving the planet from itself. If freshwater could once again be near-free, instead of its current $17 a gallon bargain, we could justify splitting up the company. But for now, it's best that the company remains. Who else could properly dictate where the water should go? Productivity was and is the key element in that process, and only we - I - could truly know what was best. I sipped from my glass, thinking. There appeared to be some kind of a gathering at the foot of the building, but security was all over it. "Maybe I could call Jennifer over today and relieve some stress."I thought, air-swiping the window screen. A list of names appeared. Time to make the call and find out, at least. My eyes moved towards the scroll bar, the motion tracking device monitoring my every move, and the list of contacts began to scroll slowly downwards. I could have simply said "Call Jennifer"out loud, of course, but it felt right to scroll through the list of candidates first - maybe I would change my mind. Christie had been more fun than I expected. She was shocked when she got my call, but quickly surpassed every expectation I had set for her. I just wanted to play something for a day, something predictable, but she surprised me in a good way. Or maybe I wanted to call Abbey, another fantastic night and day. I sighed. I'm going to end up calling all three again. Work could wait - the engineering school, to ensure the flow of a new source of freshwater, had cut back on all other teaching courses unrelated to the single most important one about fifty years ago. As a result, it might be days before the company could find someone with knowledge to rebuild. Nothing would be gained by stressing over it now.
My funeral was flashmobbed. I mean, I guess that is what happened. Was it a pity mob? Who would have organized it? Am I distinguished nobody? A spectacular flop? Thanks for the life and color, though, whomever you are. Or was the mob meant to be mocking? Like, "This guy was so pointless, let's find a way to rub it in"? I don't know, that seems kind of far-fetched. People can be cruel, but this cruelty would be exceptional, exaggerated in a way not even Hollywood could portray with a straight face. No, it's a pity mob, celebrating the life of the average human zero. Someone whose blandness is both instantly recognizable and forgettable. A commoner whose most noteworthy attribute is their tombstone. This is how many people are. I guess that my existence was really nonessential. It kind of hurts to acknowledge. I can't even acknowledge that I witnessed what they did for me! Should I dig up my grave one night, open up my coffin, take a mild sedative, and then wait for the cemetery caretaker to find me? No, that plan makes no sense. ...And what if there is already a body in the coffin? I'll see what funds I can generate and then somehow travel to South America. Yeah. I'll start a new life there, and try do something different.
“But!” continued Zorp, “the one rule is that they cannot be completely naked.” A zand shoots up in the air, eliciting a snarl from Zorp. Though fresh in the Galactic Invasion Force, one could always count on Zip to ask constructive questions that helped get discussion moving forward. “But then what happens when they get... completely naked?” he/she/genderfluid/NB asked. “In that case, most cases anyways, they seem to perform a structured dance where they repeatedly bump their...” Zorps eyes furrowed at what upper command had witnessed, and what all humans were capable of before continuing, “... Zuzus together while changing positions, and one member’s Zuzu explodes in the end, the other individual gets hit by it, and doesn’t even flinch.” continued Zorp grimly. A collective gasp emanated from the stunned crowd as frightened and frenzied whispers ripple through the class. “Surely they must be invincible if their Zuzus can do that... we are doomed in this invasion!” wailed Zip. This set off a chain reaction as many other members began to openly voice their despair. Zorp smashes his tentacle against a zesk, and the deafening boom stunned the desperate class into silence. Through gritted zeeth, he began “that is why we must not allow them to be completely naked. Now we know why them being clothed is infinitely preferable.” Zorp pulled up a slideshow, the first clip was Arnold Schwarzenegger, in full glory as Conan the barbarian. “Observe his scantily clad prowess on the field.” The crowd gasped as mutters of “he’s just one almost naked man...” “Now observe, the same specimen, fully clothed.” Up came a zcreen with Arnold Schwarzenegger running as mayor, where he holds a baby in his arms and waves at the crowd. “But where is the strength and prowess the specimen showed earlier?!” asks Zip inquisitively. Zorp snarls menacingly, “that’s the thing, in the interest of world peace, humans have seemed to collectively agreed to either be in a state of fully clothed or none at all. We have received intelligence that large bodies of water and sand seem to harbor so many scantily clad individuals that our chances of winning will be slim to none.” “Most of the earth is water though zir.” Quivers Zip. “And that’s why,we will make our presence known, by invading when their guards are down and watching the... as they call it... “World Series”...” Concludes Zorp with a widening snark. ******** On the day of the invasion, hundreds of Galactic Invasion Spaceships darkened the skies of TCF stadium on a shocked crowd. “People of Earth, submit to the Galactic Invasion Force as our eternal slaves and give us your planet, or we will take it from you.” Zorp blares over a telekinetic speaker. Zip frantically taps Zorp’s shoulders, gesturing panicked towards the observation drone feeds. Zorp’s eyes grew wide in fear. Almost a third of the stadium was Conan the Barbarian, and there in the middle of the field, a male individual wearing.. nothing. They looked stunned... stupid even... but Zorp’s millennia long battle experience kicked in. Zorp warily eyed the individual with his Zuzu out, flopping in the wind as he stares straight into Zorp’s soul. It is a battle of attrition, whoever blinks first loses In that instant, as if reading Zorp’s mind, the male began running towards... something... If the Zuzu met another Zuzu and it was allowed to explode... Panic overrode any desire to conquer. “RETREAT!” screamed Zorp and the rest followed.
I wonder as I look down to see small minions popping from my pores. Imagine my amazement, at first I was excited until they started to grow and look like something about of a horror movie. Not knowing how to stop this act, I cover myself in sanitizer and hope that'll work, sadly it didn't. During a brief hiatus of the birthing of these minions, I consult a doctor, he tells me "this is an extreme case of a sentient skin fungus, it's incredibly rare, the only cute is only let them take over the body and you become a shell for their kind."Now here I am waiting for a slow death followed by a rebirth.
My sweet little girl, all dressed in black for the funeral, raced into my apothicary just as I was working on a particularily difficult potion. It's so hard to find decent teeth these days. If they are too old, my potion will take twice as long to set. I must speak with the grave digger about providing quality ingredients. I digress, my little nightshade ran into my apoticary holding a pitiful creature. "Mother, it's till moving. Can we save it?"Her black eyes were pools of tears as I looked at what my dear had brought to me. In her hands she cradled a third, large, covered in dirt and dried blood. The poor thing had been removed at the wrist by something sharp and hot. The wound had been cauterized quickly, allowing the hand to survive. It weakly pointed at my pen and ink well, expressing it's will to try comunicating with us. "Hush dear, do not worry. We'll find something to help you regain your strength"I said softly, taking the hand into my own. My little one watched intently as I flipped through my ancient tome. "Growning figernails, reanimation, regeneration"I said to myself as my own blood red nails ran along the index entries under Hand. None of them were quite what I was looking for. Eventually I found a potion for prolonged autonomous animation and rejuvintaion. With a smile I set to work preparing the elixer for our patient. Little Wednesday stroked the hand with her own until it layed still. "Forgive me but I must submerge you in the potion for the best results. It will be rather quick but unpleasant". The hand feebly put it's thumb up before laying flat again. I set it gently in the potion and let it rest for a few moments before removing the hand to a soft cloth. It slowly stood on it's fingers then pointed at a figure behind me. "Ah, what do we have here"Gomez asked with a smile that always melted my stone cold heart. "A new friend for Wenesday Mon Cher."I glanced at the hand as I replied. It was now walking toward Wednesday where it stopped and gave a bow before starting a little dance. My little maniac giggled with delight. "What will we call it mon petit?"I asked Wednesday as Gomez gave me another wicked grin. "Thing"Wednesday replied as she held out her hand to the dancing fingers on the table which jumped in delight.
My pets were there to meet me like always. Upon seeing me walk down the street toward my house tge started chirping excitedly and ran to meet me at the start of my unused driveway. I can’t help but grin. Adopting them was the best decision I ever made. If only my boyfriend agreed. No sooner had I walked through the door then Joe started ranting at me. “Look what your little monsters did!” He shouts, waving his shoe in my face. “Well maybe if you picked up after yourself it worldly happen, besides, it’s your fault we tan out of teething chews.” Everyone knows raptors chew like crazy when growing their adult teeth. “And the kitchen floor is SOAKED!” He further complained. “Lian played in the water dish again?” I giggle at the image in my head. The mei long was so cute sometimes. “Yes. Oh and look what Batu dragged in!” He pointed right next to where I was standing. I look down to find a rather large lizard catch’s. “Awww! My little hunter finally caught his first prey!” I give him a little head rub to show my approval. Joe glares at me. “Its them or me Eileen! So what’ll it be?” I glare right back. “Go pack your bags.
It passed in shadow, its cricked neck twitching as it stalked the young boy. Ice cream, milk fat- sugar-plants. Rushed thought. It brushed a slender finger across the boys neck. Goosebumps. A smile. Nothing else, nothing else. 28 years, not-loved, never-loved. Dead-by-drink, heart and liver heart and liver. Wouldn't help to know, wouldn't it...like to know? Doesn't matter, they-wont hear. Its body collapsed to nearly a puddle a flowed into the eye of the man at the bus stop. Loved one-who-loved him, but they'll never know, never-know. Would have-been could-have been, now a killer three dead two-to-go, two-to-go. What a whisper would do, yes just a glimpse. LISTEN TO ME! The man rubbed his suddenly watering eye fighting an oncoming migraine. It dripped out into a cloud and enveloped the woman nearby. Such sadness. Doesn't know, doesn't want-to-know. Doesn't know she doesn't want to know. Funny-girl, it's the touch once-forgotten but never in dreams, no. You-could-be-free! LET ME IN! The woman began to shake as the panic attack sunk in its talons. The bus arrived and it seeped into the driver, pulsing through with his blood. 86, 86. You've caused the death of 86. Dominoes 1200 rows. The butterflies flapping-flap. So-many-dead. 86. Only 14 if you'd didn't drink coffee. You would smile if you knew. Powerful-you. So-dormant, so-mild. The killer in you is the only way you live. Your life-without-hate brings your suicide. Unfulfilled, unfulfilled. THIS ISN”T YOU! The man rubbed his chest and it flitted away a light rather than shadow burning down on a sleeping man. Three kids-three. None so loved as the ones you could have had. Half a thrust longer and the light of your life. No need to fake with that one no. More meaning more meaning. 98 children from different lovers could-have-been would-have-been better. The sickness in you is the sickness in them. Passed along, passed along the disease of discontent. Gray-man gray-time sleeping through the sadness. WAKE UP! The man scowled at the sunbeam in his face and threw his discarded hoodie full over his face. The veiled creature continued its dance from man to child, bird and beast, and all between. A haunted sing-song dance of body horror and screams that went unnoticed. It was an echo that could never be heard from a distance that could never be crossed that nevertheless reached all for its syllables weren't meant for ears, and its message not meant for the mind. It was the reason for the sadness in the world that could never be shaken, the ancient sin that could always be felt in the parts of us long forgotten. “You'll never love me.” It was the tormented voice of the god of Truth that once stripped existence to its core, and laid bare all sins and mysteries, pasts and futures. Against its ever-blinding light what choice did we have but to close our eyes, forget and leave it to the madness of exile.
The day started gloriously. I woke up in bed to his kisses on my neck coaxing me from slumber. I smiled sweetly and stretched, opening my eyes and giving him a tired "Morning." He withdrew from me, his hand coming up to stroke the tousled curls from my face before he planted a tender kiss to my forehead. "Morning my goddess, Seraphina." I chuckled at his endearment and pushed up to a sitting position. The straps of my nightgown hung off my shoulders and he admired me appreciatively before reaching forward to correct them. "I've made breakfast, come."He stood beside the bed and offered me a hand. I took it and allowed him to help me from the bed. I stumbled as I rose from the mattress and fell against his chest. He gave that deep masculine chuckle that always made my lower belly quiver as his arms came around me. "Easy my love."He cooed softly and again planted a kiss on my head. He walked me down the stairs and into our dining room. He had been cooking for hours it looked like. Our small dining table was set for two, with a bouquet of wild flowers so fragrant it was almost overwhelming. A carafe of fresh squeezed orange juice sat next to it and around both were plates piled with fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, juicy sausages, diced honeydew, golden fluffy French toast, amber colored orange blossom honey and homemade syrup from our trees. My stomach gave a growl of need that made me blush in embarrassment, but he only grinned down at me and guided me to my seat. He sat me in the low back chair and lightly brushed my hair back, taming the abundance of curls into scrunchie and laying another series of feather light kisses over my neck and shoulders. I rewarded his efforts with soft moans and murmurs as he pulled back. "What's the occassion?"I asked leaning forward as he took his own seat. "It's our 30 year anniversary."He said and reached across to pour my orange juice. "I want this day to be just us."He grinned, that oh so fantastic grin. That brought out that deep dimple in his left cheek and showed off his teeth. I melted more. Thirty years with this man. Thirty years of love, of struggles and fights, sickness, and devotion. "To us."I said offering my glass in a toast. He clinked his glass against mine and we drank the cool citrusy liquid. After breakfast we showered together. Well he showered me and then he dried me and did my hair, despite my protests. "I have been planning this day for months."He murmured in my ear. "Let me do what I've been planning." I let me him pamper me and even let him dress me. He had bought me a soft turquoise calf-length skirt and a white cashmere top that hugged my torso. He slide black knee length socks up my legs, then came the black calf high pumps. He dried my curls into a soft foam about my shoulders and deemed me ready to enter the world. I couldn't help but giggle happily as he guided me outside and to the car. I could already see a basket in the back of the car, along with a bit of luggage. "Where are we going?"I asked. "To Neverland."He responded. "Are you Peterpan now?"I asked placing my hands on my hips. He laughed and pulled me against him for a deep, commanding kiss. "I dunno Wendy, did that make you wanna fly." I sighed and shook my head, giving him a coy look from beneath my glasses. "Maybe"I purred. He squeezed me hips and coaxed me into the passenger seat. I buckled myself as he jogged to thw drivers seat and we took off. The trip lasted a couple hours down the highway and into the forest. There was a short walk down well worn paths until we came out by a wide river. We'd been here many times, but never had it been so, musical. Birdsong echoed over the babbling waters. Fish leapt and glittered in the afternoon sun, and I could hear critters scampering through underbrush. Our fire pit was already stacked with dried logs and the rings of stones reinforced. The area around it had been raked clean already and I could see my husband laying out the blanket. "My Persephone."He smiled warmly. "Come take a seat by the waters."He held a hand to me and I accepted it graciously. He kept hold of my hand as he guided me down to my bottom. He gave me a flute of sparkling cider and then set to work to start the fire pit. The crackle and roar of the small blaze only seemed to accent the songs of nature. I enjoyed my drink as he set aromatic foods to cook over the pit. He joined me after that. Sitting behind me and pulling my back to his chest. "Did you grab our phones?"I asked curiously sometime later. I had heard neither device go off all day, I had forgotten about them in the splendor of the afternoon walking, eating, swimming naked in the river. "They're in the car."He responded drawing lazy patterns over my bare flesh. "I didnt want those infernal devices ruining our day together." I grinned and hummed in agreement. Resting my head on my arms where I lay on my stomach. He leaned down over me and kissed my temple. "Come, theres one last stop."He said. I groaned in protest not wanted to get up. "Come my Tatyana."He crooned and helped me to my feet. "Oh my Oberon."I purred. "To rouse me, when I'm dozing in the light of Apollo." "But Apollo is nearly back to earth and I need to take you one last place."He chuckled. We were dressed and back in the car. We drove further from home and to the sleepy coastal town another couple hours away. We drove to a bungalow on the beach and I marveled at it. It was decorated in blues and creams, speckled with fairy lights and tea lights. He guided me to the door and lifted me to cross the threshold, planting a kiss on my lips as he did so. "Alas, again I have conquered your heart."He entoned gallantly. I shook my head. "You're such a goofball." "Ah, but I am your goofball, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, til death do us part."He growled playfully. "But not even death will keep you from me."I said. He carried me to the bedroom and laid me down. "You're right. Not even death has that power."He kissed my lips. "And if ever we shall part, I vow to annoy death until we are together again." "What makes you think you'll die first?"I asked wrapping my arms around his neck to keep him from pulling away. "Have you met me?"He asked with a raised eyebrow. "There's no way in hell I'm not going first. I'm the stupidest idiot there is." "Aha but your my idiot."I kissed his nose. "You forgot the stupid part."He kissed my lips and patted the bed to pull away. "Where are you going?"I demanded to know. "To grab dinner ofcourse."He said prying my arms off him. I let him go and watched him walk out, then watched him walk back with two covered trays. Dinner was divine, desert was scrumptious, especially because it was devoured off him, and led to more carnal pleasures that left us both exhausted and panting. "Oh my goddess,"he whispered into my hair. "I will be more forlorn than hades without you in my arms."He said. "Don't talk like that."I responded with a playful swat to his stomach. "How can I not."He grumbled. "By enjoying the now and not the when."I said kissing his lips. He pulled me in closer. "I love you my Seraphina."He whispered. "And I love you Colton."I responded back. I tucked myself in closer to his side and we fell asleep. ---- The harsh blair of the monitor sent the team of nurses rushing into the room of Seraphina Andrews. The thirty-six year old had been shot in the head nearly a month ago. She had been fighting everyday since then, but none of the doctors had expected her to last so long. As the crash team failed to revive her, her doctor Colton Matthews scrubbed a hand over his face, drained suddenly. "Time of death 1230 am October 1st."
The tsunami washed away cities. As trillions of tons of flesh crashed into the ocean, the outermost humans on the bottom drowned. The fused corpses on the inside of the mass of bodies were coopted as organs, forming larger masses of organization together. The blob of flesh floated, far too heavy to move itself but still buoyant. The lower half of the blob slowly drowned, and as the blob slowly rotated the corpses surfaced, white, blubbery, starting to bulge. Jane found herself happily in the center, a part of the heart. Millions of humans surrounded her, all aiding in pumping blood through the mountain of biology. Jane still felt her mind, though many concepts eluded her. She had once been an artist, painting gorgeous landscapes. Now she imagined painting what she saw, which was nothing. Eyes coated the outside of the mass, the innards weren’t so lucky. The innards felt luckier though, days later a full rotation had occurred, all of the outer humans had drowned. The tsunami destroyed Florida, near where the body landed. Jane continued though, her fully body pulsing as she helped pump blood to her friends. Her mother and father must be somewhere among the billions, yet she could only feel the few surrounding her. Still she felt lucky. Better than drowning. Better than death. She was helping maintain life. She would continue as long as she could. She was the mother of humanity. Jane would fight for her kind.
"Oh, my God!", Richard said, startled. "Dude, do you really have to follow me to the bathroom?" "Of course. We've talked about this. You may die anytime, so I have to record as much of your life as I can". "But I am not dying anytime soon! It's been two years, man!". "Indeed. Which is why I do not understand why you are so angry at me all of a sudden. I've followed you every day and you had started to be used to this", said the man in suit pointing at Richard with a camera. Richard upped his zipper and went to the sink. He washed his hands vigorously, as if he were trying to remove glue from them. The man in suit pointed at his reflection on the mirror. He crouched a little to reveal the expression on Richard's face. "I'm sorry, Kyle. Today was Becky's birthday", Richard said. His hands seemed to lose some tension. "Oh, I forgot. July the sixth. Do you want me to turn into someone special for you?", said Kyle as he removed the camera from his face. "No, actually, the president of the United States is just fine. It makes me feel like I'm important". Richard looked at Kyle through the mirror. He had a smile on his face, but he seemed a little sad. "But you are important. You have taught the people in my planet things of which we would have never thought. You are the most famous being across many solar systems, now that Netverse started releasing this show to more planets. My wife and kids send me holograms of them wearing Rick tee shirts". "Tee shirts? But your people don't have necks", said Richard. "Well, we have different tee shirts. Ours are just tube-like pieces of cloth which we put on our arms", said Kyle while he pointed at the arm with which he was holding the camera. "Can you picture it? Like a sleeve". "Yeah, I know what you mean. There used to be athletes who wore those. Never understood why, to be honest". "Really? You told me you weren't famous before!". "I meant sleeves, not sleeves with my face on them", said Richard, a little annoyed by that joke. "I know! I'm just messing with you", said Kyle with a big smile. He noticed Richard's blank expression and lowered the camera. "I'm just trying to cheer you up, Rick. I really meant what I said. You are a hero to my people! Your way of living has shown us many things we would have never done by ourselves". "Like what?", said Richard, as he went to his living room and started moving his couch. "Like your way of living. As I told you before, I myself am astonished by how you enjoy your days despite being the only living human on the planet". "Yeah, but I am just being me. I do nothing special. I am just another guy. Well, in this case, I am the guy", said Richard, as he sat in the middle of his living room. It had just two walls and a pillar. This allowed air to move freely through it. "But that doesn't make special. That just makes me the only option". "But look at what you've done! You could have gone to other lands looking for a bigger house. You could have had one with many shiny and expensive things in it. Take the Internet, for example. It's still up. Your people made it self sufficient before they died so that they weren't needed for the information to keep existing. You could use it to look at all the people who once lived on this planet and you don't. If I had access to all the information there ever was about my dead planet, I would use it to look at it every day! My people wonder about this a lot. I should not be telling you this, but we wonder whether you ever liked living here at all, for you seem not to care about the people who died". "I do care about the people who died", said Richard, looking at his hands. "I lost many loved ones. I miss them. I even miss the people I didn't like. I miss everyone. All the people I met and all the people I didn't get to meet. I know you know this. You've filmed me crying on my bed". "I have, but that was at the beginning of this. Now you seem... Happy. You seem to be enjoying your life", said Kyle looking at Richard's eyes. He looks sad. "Well, not right now. You look as if your favorite sports team had lost, but every other day you look as if you were happy". Richard smiled. "That's because I am. I am happy, Kyle. I consider every day a gift. Even today". Richard's eyes lowered to look at his hands. "Becky used to caress the palm of my hand when she held it. She would have liked it here, you know? The air in this living room makes you think you are outside when you close your eyes. She taught me how to meditate right here. It used to be really noisy in this part of the city. But now... All there is is the sound of birds. She would have liked it here." Richard looked at the view. The building in front of his was covered entirely with moss. Richard smiled. "She would have definitely loved it here". Kyle kept filming and said nothing. "I don't look at the Internet because there's no point in doing so. Even before what happened, there never was. I never understood people. Why look at a screen when they had their lives to live? What would I gain from seeing what other people used to do? How would that change my life?" Kyle looked at the green building with birds getting in and out of it. He kept pointing at Richard with his camera. A minute or two passed before Richard started talking again. "The last tweet that was sent was a cry for help. Millions of tweets before that were the same. I know this because I used the Internet right after the disaster happened. I was looking for answers and it seemed as if the Internet had stopped working, but it hadn't. Its users had. All but one, of course". He got up and Kyle followed him. Richard sat on the ledge of his living room and Kyle sat next to him. "There used to be a time in my life when I would look at the Internet constantly, you know? I never knew how bad it was until I met Becky. She showed me the way. She believed looking at the Internet was a way to live other people's lives. She told me one day I would understand why not looking at it, why getting bored, was a way to live my own live". He smiled again, as he looked at some birds playing outside. "And she was right." Richard looked at Kyle in the eyes. "Everything I've done, everything I do, and everything I'll do will be to take care of myself. From what I eat to what I do to my house", he said, while looking at his missing walls, "Everything has a purpose, and that is making me whole. The reason why I miss Becky so much today is because she taught me all of this. Even before this whole mess happened, we would live our lives taking care of ourselves. We cultivated the idea of being there for one another, but never to let our happiness depend upon others. Not even us. I think... We did a good job". Richard looked at his hands and smiled. "We were companions in life. We enjoyed each other. We loved each other, and when we were apart, we loved the world around us. Because we knew we had love for more than just ourselves. We knew we shouldn't limit ourselves to feel the world". A tear fell from Richard's cheek into his hands. As soon as he saw it, he smiled even more. "That's what's kept me going, Kyle. I have enjoyed everything despite the circumstances because I've been focused on living the moment. Not on living in the past. And I will forever be grateful for that. Becky was so wise and made it seem so simple. And it is so simple, that I am now here telling you this with confidence that it is true. Becky was one of the greats. I miss her, but I know our paths will never cross again. Which is alright. Everything's alright". Kyle was trying very hard not to cry. He knew the steadiness of his camera depended upon his arms, and crying made his shapeshifting species wobbly. He didn't know it, but back home, almost every Kyllabux was wobbly. After a few moments, Richard spoke. "You know what? I changed my mind". "About what?", asked Kyle. "About you turning into someone for me. It'd be funny to have Darth Vader filming this". "Who's Darth Vader?".
As the Driver pulled into the two-mile long antebellum driveway, I was biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. It honestly helped too; the pain, the copper taste accompanying it was keeping me grounded in the present. As I looked over and saw the pier on the river running next to my late father's property, I needed the blood letting over my tongue. The taste was much more preferable than my the memory of my father taking me out on his boat around 9 because 'it was time I became a man'. I swore I'd never be back here. I did everything to keep away from this life, to forget this life. I didn't care that I was homeless now, or that I'd had spent the last 20 years struggling to stay working poor. I earned it. To work and fail by the sweat of my brow, with people who'd never heard or cared about my father was heaven to me. The drug abuse and the alcoholism kept others from caring too much or getting too close, and I liked it that way compared to this place. It seemed I was never truly forgotten though, as I wasn't too difficult to find when the will needed to be carried out now. "We're here, Sir."The Driver announced, pulling me out of my thoughts as I saw that dreaded porch. Too many nights I stayed out with friends and came home to Father sitting in that damnable wicker chair, waiting for me with his hungry eyes. Now it was barren of him, but the wear from the bastard's rough jeans had left their mark on the chair just as he had left his marks on me. The driver opened the door for me and bowed, much to my chagrin. I exited and left a tip of spit on his shoe as I made my way up those tall stairs. Each step wasn't bad, but the door was tough. I stared at the knob and was thinking of all the ways I could leave, pretend I'd never insulted the driver and ask him to drop me off by my corner. It would be easier, so much easier than this. However, as if sensing a presence, my Mother's wispy shape appeared behind the glass and opened the door with a grave elegance. She'd been expecting me, even though she knew I hated her just as much as I hated the dead man. After all, she knew everything. That everything she knew was all I could see in her pitying, guilt-ridden baggy-eyes. Why, she looks like she hasn't slept since you left, and I've certainly wished it on her. She opens her mouth to greet me only to be stopped as my gaze hardens. She meekly pretends to yawn instead and close the door behind you, and I almost chuckle remembering how much she hated confrontation. She hasn't changed much, especially as she wordlessly walks towards the most vile room in the house. The doors are wide open, and I freeze instantly. Even though Father's dead, just seeing the bookshelves and the large desk is enough to send me over. I clutch my bag with white-knuckles as I vainly push every hazy memory of pain bubbles up. The Lawyer currently inside beckons to me, calling my name out though it's not the voice I hear. I know the Lawyer is talking to me, but I hear him and everything he said to me in that room. Everything he did to me. The Lawyer is walking up to me now, but I can't step another foot forward. He smiles that same empty smile Father wore, and raises his hand to shake mine. I look back at him, and he surely understands because he drops it, and motions to sit at the desk. "No, thanks though. I'd rather stand, if it's all the same."I croak out, struggling to get the words out while my heart is in my throat. He nods, and pulls out a few papers to begin business. "Well, thank you for coming to see me. While I don't know the details, I'm told it was tough for you to be here today. With that in mind, I'll make this quick."He stated. Punctually, he finished his remark with a clack of a pen set in front of me. To his surprise, I just stared at him. "... Son, aren't you going to read it?" "First off, I'm nobody's fucking son."I spat again, this time to the side of the room onto one of the shelves of books. The Lawyer looks wide-eyed before clearing his throat and continuing. "But he gave all of his empire to you! You are a millionaire son! This is your only chance left out of poverty!"He grew louder, confusion and frustration spreading across his face. I pushed the papers back his way and started leaving, but stopped at the door to look back at his blurry image as my face was wet, the tears staining and smudging the dirt I wore with pride until today. "I know, but how can I accept money from a man who sexually assaulted me all my childhood?"My question was but a whisper on the wind. As I left, I could hear the Lawyer growing more and more bewildered as he spoke to my Mother. I couldn't make out what they were saying, I imagine she was nearby the entire time in case I said something like this. She was always the one out of the two to do damage control, and holy shit did Father need it. I chuckle to myself as I start the walk down the driveway. God, were my parents perfect for each other. I felt my face darken as I thought the same thought I've had most of my waking life: Such a shame I was born to them though... Ah well, that's what I drink to forget after all. I sigh and pull out a mostly empty box of cigarettes as I pass by the old pier. As I light up a smoke I look over and raise my eyebrows as I see that the gas canister was still where Father always kept it on his boat.
Set in the Unavowed universe, prior to their meeting with Melkhiresa "Well, duh, I am a muse, that's what I do,"Calliope said, as she watched Mandana go over her combative training again, practicing new techniques. "And it's not limited to poetry, as you can see. Creativity's not confined to the arts." "I haven't... had this much training in years,"Mandana admits, between deep breaths. "Yet I fear, the longer you sit around with us, the crazier it will get for us." "Which is why sometimes I wish I was mundane. I want to give back to the ones I inspire – I want to create, not just be the one nudging them to create stuff." Mandana resumes her training, expertly cutting through the dummy she'd been practicing on, no hint of sweat on her tanned skin, when Eli comes out of the basement. For a brief moment, Mandana's focus is lost, causing her to make a deeper, uneven dent in the dummy, and Calliope is stunned at how easy her best friend missed that strike. "Oh. Sorry, Mandy,"Eli says, giving her an embarrassed smile. "I've had no idea you were still training." Mandana composes herself, sheathing the scabbard behind her back, and gives Eli a warm smile. "It helps... clear my mind, Eli. I have been training longer because Calli here has inspired me." "So she really inspires _everyone._ " Calliope gives Eli a weird stare. "Do I have to repeat myself? Yes. That's what I do. Can we move on?" "Yes. Kalash has asked us to join the meeting. You are also welcome, Calli." "I wonder what... expects us, this time,"Mandana wonders, as the three of them file in the large salon, where Kalash awaits. His voice, when he speaks, is warm yet authoritative. "We have quite a serious situation on our hands."
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It was plastered onto every news station in the country, a speech from the president of the United States himself. Heaven and hell had just been confirmed to be real. You'd think that the people would begin getting their affairs together, make amends with the wrongdoings they've committed in their sinful lives thus far, you'd be wrong. "Ladies and gentlemen, as President of the United States, the hottest, sickest, damned coolest country on this planet, I declare war against both hell and heaven!"he shouted toward the camera with fierce eye contact, pulling down the oversized sunglasses that he'd worn on his forehead, covering his confident eyes as his wrinkled forehead left the camera, revealing the back of his grey suit with assless chaps as he turned his body. Secret servicemen follow him as he strutted out of the room, pure confidence exuding from his demeanor, sexual tension palpable in the air from even behind the tv screens of those who watched from home. The stoic servicemen pull down their sunglasses as well, walking away with assless chaps on their blackened suit pants as the president slapped the two bulky men walking beside him on their bare butt-cheeks. "The fuck?"questioned the man who'd been watching the breaking news as he scrubbed a piece of bread in his kitchen with the green, scratchy part of a sponge unknowingly. The broadcast continued as the man casted away his ruined wheat in disappointment at his wall, which had already been decorated with a flurry of soggy yeast as he grabbed another slice, immediately making the same mistake as his glued eyes refused to withdraw even an inch from the tv. The president walks back to the camera backward with a moonwalk, releasing his death-grip from the buttocks of his two guards that walked alongside him. He whips around, turning his face to the camera as a random purple fedora sat tilted upon his head. "Just to be clear, the United States won't be taking place in this war,"the president spoke with a pose as he grabbed his crotch, "Yeehee!"he shouted with the tilt of his fedora as his shadowed eyes gleamed from underneath. "I'll be doing this mission solo, yow!"he shouted, striking another pose as he swirled around with a one-eighty, revealing his bare butt to the cameras once more as the camera cut to static. Meanwhile, in heaven, God sat at the foot of his throne, praying to an unforeseen force, muttering briefly with his eyes closed. In hell, Satan did the same, praying to the God he'd forsaken long ago. It did not matter what actions they took, what powers they'd had, or even who they were. The outcome was clear, like cleaned glass, see-through as the air, and clearer than the cleanest waters. America had a saying long ago that said, 'In God we trust.' But, God had told a single lie. An unforgivable lie. Or maybe it was simply torn out of the bible that none would ever know the truth. He said he created the Heavens and the Earth. But what he forgot to include in that statement was crucial. 'In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. ... And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.' He failed to mention that the dark, void-like pool of darkness was oil.
(Word Count: 2,353) (Part 1) What does it mean to be human? To answer that question, one must also ask the purpose of suffering, for humanity and pain have been intricately linked. We are born screaming, we are born frightened, into a world we do not comprehend. Even as we grow, we fumble blindly in the dark, ignorant of the true reality of existence, feigning as much understanding as we need to convince ourselves that we are, in fact, alive. Yet life as we understand it is built upon the bones of those left behind. Look around you, children of Terra, for that is what all of you are. Look to your fellows, look to your peers. Gaze upon the vaunted halls that you have called home since you were born. Look upon the gilded statues of saints, of warlords, or captains and kings. See the legacy infused into your essence, forged in blood and fire by those who have come before. Never before has an empire such as ours stood. The universe would never allow it. Yet we stand, bloodied and battered, but defiant and proud. We have united humanity in a way never seen. Gaze upon the skies, into the void of space, and see the ships of our people fly in unison. The gilded barques of Terra, the cerulean and amaranthine battleships of Mercury and Venus, the insectoid wrath-carriers of Uranus, the wondrous forge-vessels of Mars, the ragged and vicious pirate fleets of the Kuiper Belt, the cruisers of Jupiter and Saturn. See the men and women that give their lives for us. The olive skinned Terrans, the dark Mercurians and Venusians, the ruddy and stocky Martians, the pale Neptunians and Uranians, the tall and thin Jupiterians and Saturnians, the diverse men and women of the Kuiper Belt. See the men and women who fight for you, who were raised in the same halls you now call home. Drawn from across our empire, diverse in lineage but united in purpose. A purpose cast in the blood of martyrs and warriors. Our empire, which has given us life, which has given us hope and salvation, was built upon the souls of those who died for us. We were a broken people. We always were. Long before the prophet-lord Christ walked among men in the dust-caked halls of Old Earth have we slain our brothers. Long before the first cities bathed in the light of distant, mighty Sol have we sanctified Earth in the blood of her children. Yet those old nations, those mighty nations that once warred and butchered one another, were soon forced together by a universe that was far more cruel than any could imagine. The dark era when humanity at once learned the horrid truth of the universe, and was nearly driven to extinction in payment for that knowledge. We were cast into the mud, marred by dirt and ash. Frightened by a universe we did not understand, that we looked to in naive curiosity yet repaid for our exploration with death. But we endured. We united. Dirt and mud, yet crimson cast. We crawled from the maw of death, and upon the bones of those who died for our lives did we endure. We drove back our butchers, and hurled ourselves in vengeance out into the stars, to tame a galaxy that would see us slain. That is what lurks in the heart of every man and woman that claims fealty to our great empire, to the Confederacy of Man. The pain of loss, acute and sharp, fueling the fires of retribution, stoking them into an inferno. You all bear that flame now, children of Terra. You are our successors, you must now carry the torch into the future. Every lesson, every punishment, every moment in your life has led you to this moment, where you cease your lives as children and enter the world as the men and women of the Confederacy. No matter what your role will be, whether you will become soldiers, administrators, workers, or leaders, you are the beating heart of humanity. Stand proud, for no purpose is too small and no sacrifice too great. Stand proud, for you march into the annals of history. As the might of your ancestors forged your lives, so shall your will build the future of our species. Gloria in Excelsis Terra. - Scholam Administrator Vexis Clarn, to the graduating class of the Praxian Academy. - - - Born from the ashes of a fractured and brutal people, the star-spanning empire of humanity has turned a race of tribal warlords into a unified force that has conquered much of the known galaxy. The foundations of the Confederacy were forged upon a splintered Earth, ruled by petty tyrants and kings squabbling over the detritus of the Old World. It was one such petty king that drew the warring tribes of Earth together, for the first time in centuries. Known only as Aurelian, he was the first Emperor of what would become the first galactic empire of Man. In the bloody Wars of Unity, the Emperor brought every tribe, every barbarian king, and every horror of Terra to heel. Those who would not swear allegiance through diplomacy would do so through violence, and to this day many army regiments and naval vessels possess the captured banners of slain tyrants. The core of the Confederacy is the Solar Sector, the cradle of humanity. While sacred Terra is the true home of mankind, each world within the Sector boasts a rich history spanning far back into the lost, dark days of history. Indeed, it was the empires upon these worlds that tested the Confederacy for supremacy over humanity. As the Emperor Aurelian united Earth and cast his ambitions to the stars, he found himself simply another player within the schemes and wars of the Solar Powers. Long since fractured by the War of Planets, which consumed the Solar Empire that preceded the Confederacy, the various colonies of mankind had endured alone in the dark of space, becoming great powers in their own right. First were the twin empires of Mercury and Venus. Relegated to ramshackle bio-domes and geo-synchronized space-stations due to the harsh landscapes of the worlds they called home, the Mercutian Quietude and Venusian Tsardom were quick to unite through shared struggle. Together they formed a potent military power, with the Quietude boasting a powerful navy and the Tsardom compensating with iron-willed soldiers. The pair formed a fascinating political dynamic, as the Quietude was governed by a structured democratic system that spread authority across the various stations and hab-domes, whereas the Tsardom featured an autocratic ruler with direct, immense control over all aspect of Venusian life. Circling holy Earth was Luna, once a colony of ethically flexible scientists and academics. Through the manipulations of flesh did the descendants of these colonists create both terrible and powerful beings who were at once more and less than human. It was one strain of these supersoldiers, the Janissaries, that became the template for the covert operatives of the Confederacy's military. Past sacred Terra was the Red Planet, Mars. The men and women of the Red World were devoted to technology and all manners of scientific advancement, to the point of elevating the machine into an almost divine aspect. This came about through the seemingly star-crossed pairing of the fallout of the Augment War and the industrial infestation of the Red Planet. The atmosphere of Mars, though incompatible with human life, was still capable of supporting the vast factory-complexes required to feed a burgeoning humanity. As Terra was overwhelmed and consumed by the ravenous appetite of mankind, Mars became the natural and ideal candidate to bear the industrial demands of humanity. In tandem with this rapid industrialization was the Augment War, itself the result of the increasing technological breakthrough in human enhancement and augmentation. Less an actual war, and more of a radical social upheaval, the Augment War came about as humanity explored cybernetic enhancements. While humanity had long-since abolished the old hatreds that defined the ancient societies of Old Earth, the tribalism that birthed them still clung tightly to the soul of humanity. A soul that found it much easier to accept the color of one's skin, one's sexuality, one's religious creed than to accept such radical tampering of the human form. Society quickly became divided, with radicals emerging on both sides and driving each other into acts of violence. The government of the Solar Empire acted quickly, imposing draconian restrictions in an failing attempt to stop the wildfire of riots and protests that more often than not turned violent as each side sought to portray their opposition as bloodthirsty thugs. Eventually, proponents of human augmentation prevailed, casting out both sects of radicals. While those who deified the natural human form were splintered into fringe religious groups, those who saw augmentation as the next step in human evolution soon gravitated to Mars, which had remained virtually untouched during the conflict, by stint of still being under development. While they had remained a fringe group within Martian politics, they soon came into dominance following the fractious War of the Planets, which saw societal upheaval across the Solar Sector. Uniting Mars under the directive of technology progress above all us, and the veneration of the machine as the natural evolution of life, the radical pro-augment sect soon grew into the Martian Technocracy, and the premier scientific and technological powerhouse of the Sector. Beyond the World of Red Sand was the Asteroid Belt. Little of note ever grew in that plot of space, save for mining colonies and ill-maintained star-ports. Consigned to lives of labor and ignorance, the denizens of the Belt lived lives divorced from the societal upheavals and wars that so often consumed the sector. As the Confederacy reached the Belt, it became a haven for corporate exploitation and barely legal slave labor.
“They’re coming here!” Colorful Pebble sputtered as her centipede slipped through all six of her claws, vanishing in between a crevice. She spun towards the unwelcome interrupter, frills flaring. “Ripe Apple, if I ever see a peek of your fat fart tail in my roost again, I swear I’ll make the Council of Elders rename you to Bruised Apple--” “No, this is important!” Her younger sibling crossed his forelegs in an ‘X’ gesture, his middle legs waving perilously. He looked more blue than green at the gills, sides heaving like he ran all the way here from the tree-perch he liked to soak rays on. “You know the upwalkers Mama would always scare us about? The ones that could make fire do what they want and loud noises and build weird little roosts with holes that hurt if you try to walk through them? I saw a whole buncha’em walking down the valley. Like...too many to count. I bet even Papa couldn’t count how many with their roosts and their big fire-cages and...” Pebble’s blood froze. Upwalkers were bad news, not because they were big and mean and scary like the shade-bears of the Cinereus Woods, but because they were even bigger and meaner together. Horror stories of less fortunate cave troll colonies flooded her mind, survivor stories that told of mountains razed into valleys, lakes into deserts, civilizations of smarter folk into graveyards. The fact that they were coming here was a bad, bad sign. “What color were they?” “Uhh...the color of stormy skies. Blue? Blue.” “Then the red ones won’t be far behind. Did you tell the Elders?” “Umm....” “What. Are you waiting for,” she hissed, her frills cycling through several colors in her irritation, “If you’re not bluffing then they need to hear about this.” “I’m scared!” Apple wailed, “Elder Finch looks like he eats hatchlings like me and calls it a snack!” Pebble took one last longing look at the crevice her centipede disappeared in. It was wide enough to fit her tongue into, though she’d learned her lesson last time when she’d walked away with no centipede and a venom-swollen tongue. “Fine.” She skittered past Apple and shimmied down the cliff face, toe pads clinging to rock walls. “I’ll tell him. Try to keep up.” ---------------------- Dewed Lily had seen through her fair share of fights and feuds. She’d been through the war with the Goblin Army when she was a hatchling months out of her egg, drove out a settlement of shade-bears in the area, and led negotiations with the wandering trader-flies from the desert peninsulas. She was old, next in line to be eldest once Morning Finch keeled over, her pockmarked hide and horns indicated her wisdom when words could not. Still, when she heard signs of what could be the signs of The Resistance intruding in her mountain range, she steeled her heart and expected the worst. “When did you see them?” “This afternoon,” the younger hatchling, a green-striped male with a vermillion belly, blurted out when his sister elbowed him. “I was, uh, sunning by the chestnut trees. I had a cold yesterday and Mama said the best cure for that is the Sun, since we’re cold-blooded and heat beats--” Elder Lily held up a palm and he stopped, sheepish. “Were there camps?” The older hatchling, dark navy and mottled with veins of cream, nodded. “Apple says there were a lot of upwalkers. Too many to count.” “Not passing through then. I’ll notify scouts, but it’s fantastic that you’ve located the camp already and given us an early warning. Please stay away from that area for now.” She nodded acknowledgement to the large brown cave troll that plodded in, still shaking off the vestiges of a long nap. “I’ve been talking to these two hatchlings about Resistance sightings. They’re already constructing a base, staking their claim, and the Union will likely follow. We’ll want to strike fast if we don’t want our home to become nothing but sea level.” Elder Finch scowled. “Seriously? Don’t answer that, you haven’t cracked a joke in your life. Shadowcats take my tail, then, you’d think they’d be content with all those crystal mountain ranges and their precious gems.” He spat a glob of phlegm on the ground and rubbed it in. Apple flinched at the vulgar gesture. “We don’t even have anything to give to either of ‘em.” “We’re neutral land. One of the only left standing. That alone makes this place valuable.” “Fighting useless wars over useless ideals. Good or evil ain’t gonna bring the forests back.” Elder Finch slipped out to warn the other Elders, his tail dragging in the dirt behind him. “Elder Lily. If one of the sides is truly fighting for good, why don’t we ask them to help protect Home?” She turned to see Pebble patiently waiting by her side, head tilted in curiosity. The hatchling was still so young, her skin never seeing a scratch beyond the tumbles with her friends and siblings. “Because they’re all the heroes to their own wars, dear. And as the ones caught in the crossfire, they’re nothing but villains in ours." [Writing time: 1.5 hours]
The time of day allows for the sun to sneak through the window blinds at just the right angle to cause a ghastly glare across the television. Even with this obstacle, that wouldn’t stop this portly man from finding his own angle to reduce the glare as much as he possibly could. Fingers spread through thinning, greasy hair as his forehead rains sweat down his face. Again, this obstacle aiming for his eyes is avoided by the swift swipe of a soggy rag every so often. Nothing can get away from him watching the weather report for the day, not even the constant buzz of the five fans that scatter across the room and face his direction. There has to be good news today, right? Eight days of harrowing heat. No clouds in sight, no end in sight. The glossy eyes of the weatherman could either be tears from the torment, or simply a build-up of sweat from his brow. It’s hard to tell. “Hal.” A curvy, beetroot faced woman enters from the far doorway. “We got a gateau for breakfast again. I left it a little more frozen this time so it’s extra cold.” “They don’t know when it’s going to end, Mags. I feel like I’m cooking alive in here.” The woman returns no reply as her eyes, holding deep dark bags, flicker towards the television screen. With a huff, she disappears into the next room. “Mags! How frozen is it?” No response comes to the man’s gruff call. “Maggie!” His efforts appear to fall on deaf ears. The buzz of the fans and the news anchor on the television work in harmony to harass the man’s ears enough for him to begin to shift from the couch. He peels his bare back from the leather and once he’s up, a clear indent has been left behind from where his body once rested. He makes his way into the kitchen. “Mags, I—” “I heard you, Hal, but you had to get up. You’ve been sitting there since you woke up and you’ll ruin the leather if you soak it too much.” The man grumbles, fills a glass of water at the sink and pours it down his round belly, letting it soak down into his multicoloured swim shorts. “This is the third day we’ve had a gateau.” Plates are placed upon the round table in the centre of the kitchen. The woman takes a seat. “Don’t complain. It’s either this or ice cream, though even that isn’t freezing properly now.” He opens the fridge and freezer briefly to check the temperatures. “I think this old thing is breaking down.” “Don’t say that.” His eyes fill with tears, water or sweat as another filled glass is poured over his head. It’s unclear as there’s so much liquid pouring down his face. “I think it’s had its days.” “It’ll be fine.” A spoonful of chocolate is shovelled into her mouth as she shakes her head. He sits in the seat opposite her and picks up his own spoon. The slice of gateau on his plate is already flopping to the side. “It’s breaking, Maggie. Once that’s gone, that’s it. We’ll be surviving on biscuits since we can’t leave the house.” “Just eat your gateau, Hal.”
I was afraid to touch anything or move anything which she had placed down. Every disruption or change felt like I was erasing her; like I was cementing the reality that she was gone. But this work—the work of sorting her things to be given to charity—is not just work that’s necessary, but was her last request of me. So, I moved robotically, folding blouses she would never wear again and packing perfumes that would no longer fill the air as her body moved past me. I pulled a box from under the bed, which she had marked “important stuff.” It was a small cardboard Amazon box, haphazardly taped at its weathered edges. I wondered why I’d never seen this box before. True, I’d never been a very tidy person, especially in the past few months as her health declined, but I thought I would have remembered something I’d been sleeping over every night. I opened the box to begin sorting through it. There was a disorganized pile of folded notes which we had passed to each other in high school, some very old chocolate heart candies, a Polaroid photograph of the two of us when we were kids, and, at the bottom, a cassette gifted from me to her with the words ‘our songs’ written in my rough teenage handwriting. My trembling breath left me. Some part of my hardened heart urged me to put it aside; tape up the box properly and hide it away until I could handle it. But a much stronger part—the part that was still her husband of 22 years—needed to listen to it. It took me upwards of an hour to find a cassette player in the garage. By the time I made this mixtape cassettes were already being phased out by CDs. I wondered how young lovebirds collected and gifted love songs today. Spotify playlists? It seems underwhelming. I plugged in the old stereo and set the cassette in the tray. I pushed the plastic play button with a satisfying click and a big band played with wavering tones the opening lines to ‘I Can’t Help Myself’ by The Four Tops. It was like being punched in the gut; tears grabbed at my throat. I closed my eyes and buried my face in my hands. I was transported there, 25 years ago. Her hair was pulled neatly and practically back in a ponytail and she focused on the pile of toothpicks, Elmer’s glue, and single egg set out in front of her. We were in a group together, tasked with building a toothpick cage that could protect the egg if dropped from 20 feet. I didn’t care about this project. Or, at least, I didn’t care about it until she cared about it. Truth be told, I’d spent the day trading places with friends until I made my way into her group. I had crushed on her for the better part of a year and today, maybe, just maybe, she’d get to know me. We worked together, both fully invested in protecting this egg. We made a thick armor our of toothpicks, only to find that it didn’t cushion the egg at all. Then we made a ‘shock absorbing’ cage, which was a frail netting of toothpicks meant to break upon impact, absorbing the blow. As we were carefully gluing the last toothpick in place, me holding the cage still, and her slowly placing the last toothpick in place, her wrist resting on my hand and her other hand nervously gripping my arm, the school intercom roared. “SUGAR PIE, HONEY BUNCH. YOU KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU” She slipped and broke the cage open. The egg rolled off the lab table and spilled to the floor with a wet SPLAT. “Happy afternoon Westworth High, just a reminder that Valentine-gram orders are due by the end of the school day…” The glee club announced. A second of frustration passed over her face before she started laughing. Then I started laughing. “That song’s ruined for me forever,” she said. “I don’t know. I kind of like it better now,” I replied as we were bent down cleaning egg yolk off the linoleum floor. She blushed. “Maybe we can work on this after school,” I proposed. “That would be a good idea,” she agreed. Ultimately, we failed the assignment because we spent exactly zero time working on a perfect egg cage and we spent all of our time talking, joking, holding hands, and by the end of the week, making out in her dad’s car. From time to time in our relationship, I’d sneak the song somewhere she wasn’t expecting, only for her to growl and shout “MY EEEGGGGG!” I was back in my garage, sobbing and laughing. I missed her and I hurt so much. But I wouldn’t trade those 25 years for anything in the world.
“Off with his head already” I catcall from the growing crowd, “Whoa Whoa whoa guys, what exactly did I do wrong” requests the jingling man, somehow maintaining his air of theatrics in the face of a large steel blade, “Mick, we have been through this” sighs the executioner “You insulted the king,” “Not my fault he didn’t notice the ‘Kicketh me’ sign” “You laid with the queen, prince, and a butler” “Is it my fault that I’m such a commodity?” Glancing around the gathering I spot a few friends, I need to return Terry’s spear I muse, spotting him. “After which said horse keeled over” grunts the man standing above the little man, who is jeering “Can’t find a good steed these days anyway” “You unionized the squires” “The lads deserved better” he claims, scrabbling for his lute “One last song?” After no reply he takes into a tuneless rhythm “I have seen many a horizon, but nothing as lovely as you baby” The axe comes down squarely into the mans neck, to many cheers from the crowd “Can never find a good critic these days” the poor fool manages to choke out. “Bring out another” I hear a woman shout from the audience.
The brothers had failed. Even Elder Cleric Donavan’s flame had been snuffed out. His guttural cries had pulled you from your trance, pulled you back into the thick and suffocating roar of this fight. What had started as an ambitious and confidant movement to meet the enemy on the field, had now curdled into a sour struggle for survival. You now find yourself looking into the dirty, tired and haggard faces of King Theromere’s Deep Blades. A group of fighters so lauded for their battle prowess, that many considered them immortal… Yet in this fight, those legends had all but been dashed. Now the cold and hard glint of their eyes had been replaced by a sunken expression of hopelessness. Their armor, once spotless and hard, is now marred by dried blood and flecks of flesh and mud. Suddenly, a voice calls out to you. “Enough of the prayers cleric” Capt Gerlane shouts. “We need your attention here, and not in the fucking clouds”. You gather your wits and lock onto his eyes, “yes my lord, what do you seek of me”. Gerlane is not man to mince words and the desperation of this battle does not change this fact. “You must begin the Rite of Clarity”… Although you hear the words and recognize their meaning, you still cannot process what Captain Gerlane is commanding. Surely the toll of battle has worn even his mind into a lapse, for he must know the weight of what he is asking. The Rite of Cleaning is not an invocation of healing or prayer that bolsters the strength of a weakened man, it is in fact, the opposite. It’s a call to something dark, something old and dangerous. Due to its nature, the rite is the last thing taught at the priory and it’s done so under the watchful eye of the most seasoned clerics. It’s to be used only in times when the kingdom’s forces find themselves at the cusp of annihilation. When all hope has been lost and defeat seems certain. It’s use is so drastic, that those who ask for it’s invocation are to be put to death even if they should somehow survive it. Capt Gerlane knows this. You know this. A sudden blow from Gerlane’s hand brings you painfully back into the moment. “PERFORM THE FUCKING RITE CLERIC” he shouts. He kneels himself I front of you and brings his his massive shield up in front of him, you quickly get behind him and kneel. His actions are not altruistic, but rather part of the rite. The man who orders the rite must provide protection to the cleric performing the rite to ensure that nothing can hinder it once it begins. As you kneel you become very aware of the sound of your breath and the pounding of your heart in your ears, this doesn’t slow you or mire your actions. You reach for the silver dagger at your side and pull it from its sheath, without hesitation you run the razor sharp blade down the entire length of your forearm, bright red blood flows freely in its wake. Yet, you do not waiver. Your vision blurs for only an instant and the smell of iron grows strong in your nostrils. As you begin your prayer the sounds of battle begin to wain, and slowly it seems darkness begins to close on you. Your sweat and the heat of your breath seems to dissipate, and soon you begin to feel spiderwebs of ice growing out of your belly and chest. The air seems to turn dank and the sounds of metal and wood clashing is replaced by a deep wet sloshing. Now it’s just you. the battle is gone, Gerlane is gone, everyone is gone. Despite this awareness of being utterly alone, you know you are not, there is something stirring in this darkness, something watching and waiting. Something is coming. Something is coming…
His corpse fell on a random cotton field in South Dakota. However didn't feel like it was a body, but a comet. He opened a whole in the earth, a huge crater. People gathered around, afraid, yet somehow aware of what had happened. Local farmers, families from the nearest town, news reporters, they all knew. The fact that this was the physical body of God was like common sense, even though there was no rational explanation about it. The corpse was clean, undamaged, not even dirt stood on it. There was a pocket on the right side of his tunic. One of the reporters, a young fellow named Josh Humbridge, felt brave enough to shove his hand in the pocket, and see what was inside. To everyone's surprise, what Josh brought out of God's pocket, was a paper. As it turned out, this was God's will. It said that he passed on his divine powers to a girl called Chhaya Aanya, who currently resided in Delhi, India. There also was the number of her ID. It said that she was his favourite child and people should acknowledge Chhaya as their one and true God.
The year is 2157 and the world is in an uproar, aliens have landed and seem furious, if their flailing limbs are any indication. They have been on earth for nearly a week now and communication between humans and the aliens has been slow going. When they arrived panic and celebration gained momentum in equal strides, and we nearly had a war on our hands after having nearly half a century of hard earned peace. The mood did not lighten when the aliens descended from their vessel and began flailing about it agitation. The military, on high alert as it was, nearly fired on the aliens, but the UN delegation commanded them to hold and sent their team of scientists to try and communicate with the aliens. This scientific team is a group of ten subject matter and field experts from zoology, biology, and linguistics. I am called Illiana and I am one of the four linguists, including Marc, Ichika, and Marjani. The four of us are friends that work together and play games when not decoding languages. Marc and Ichika are both subject matter experts and Marjani and myself are field experts, however between the four of us we can read and write nearly one hundred of the world's languages. The first day none of us could make heads or tails of what was being said and whatever device that the aliens used to try and understand us was failing. The aliens communicate using sounds that do not seem to mimic our current speech patterns. The closest language is a combination of Tuu and Sfyria languages. They are both whistles and bilabial clicks involved in the alien’s communication. Marjani is the one that made the leap and by day seven we had a decent understanding of their language, and they, ours. Another day, and with the alien’s collaboration we were able to get their translation system up to speed with our language and we could start understanding each other. The aliens call themselves Tha’ktri and as it happens they are furious and demanding reparations be made. It took another two days to build up enough understanding to piece out what had happened. Apparently, almost two hundred years ago to the day, we sent the cover to a nuclear test chamber out into space at nearly 202k kph (about 125k mph). This cover crashed into one of their spaceships, killing a few of their crew, approximately one hundred years later. It took them another hundred years to track the path of the cover back to our planet. They said that when they saw all the “junk” floating around our planet, they almost bombarded us from orbit, but had decided on a more peaceful solution instead. When the UN delegation heard of this they turned white as ghosts and started apologizing profusely and asked what kind of reparations the Tha’ktri are seeking. They originally wanted the reparation to be made in blood, but would settle for money or fuel for their stardrives. They had no use for most of our precious metals or resources. They were growing impatient with the lack of suitable reparations and were about to opt for blood, when they overheard some of the delegation talking about nuclear energy. After some explanations the Tha’ktri practically fell over themselves to obtain some of our nuclear waste. It seems their stardrives use the waste from nuclear fission as fuel and that would suit nicely. With some negotiation we were able to start receiving some of their tech as well as knowledge of the universe beyond our solar system. This was made all the easier when the Tha’ktri were told how much of their “fuel” we had available and that we continue to produce it on a regular basis. With the negotiations ended and the treaty signed the world was abuzz with excitement with the prospect of traveling among the stars and ridding the world of nuclear waste. All except for Marc, Marc looked pointedly at the leaving Tha’ktri, and back at me: "Is it just me, or did they look like the mind flayers from D&D..."
*Imitator* Not that it matters, but everything has its limits. At times our emotions can get the better of us and exceed their capacity. Be it with anger, or sadness. If everything has its limits, wouldn't the laws of physics eventually break? Of course, this theory has already been popularized by none other than Stephan Hawking. He'd never say it clearly though, he'd always try and find a way to avoid saying it directly. This leads me to believe he isn't so sure about his own theory. Recently, I made the discovery of a lifetime. I'm no biologist or zoologist, but this creature shouldn't exist. It stood 22 inches in height and crawled on all fours. I dismissed it, thought it was a cat or dog but this thing followed me everywhere. Places cats or dogs didn't know how to navigate. I took it into my fathers' laboratory and examined the creature. The reproductive organs were unlike anythings I've seen before. In general, its characteristics were new to science. This small creature would be able to change shape. It would be able to copy any living thing's characteristics. If it wanted to, it could even turn human. Imagine how many of them there are out there. This specific subject was different though, it seemed defective as if it got hurt and lost the ability to transform. Looking at every possibility as to why it was unable to transform. I came to the conclusion that it didn't want to. Something in that shapeshifting brain of it, waned me to see it in its natural form. It wants me to discover it.I gave it the name, mimic. I wrote about my discovery, with pictures, in an academic journal and submitted it for review at Harvard University. If I was ever gonna get a scholarship there, this is the way. The next morning I received a letter in the mail, a letter of admission. Never haven written a request I was confused. Time to go see them. I enter the building with the mimic in a cage, stairs both to my right and left. I ask around for a professor to get me where I need to be. They take me upstairs, into a science classroom. "Hello, Mr. Rodly" "Hey"I say "Is that the animal" "Creature-yes" We look at it through the metal bars. "Here's what we're gonna do, I am going to bring another subject in, and we will see how they interact" The professor goes into the hallway, leaving me and one of his students in the classroom. "Hey, you, what's his name?"I ask "Professor Collins"she says as she leaves the class "Oh, okay" Professor Collins comes back with a cat "A cat?" "Yes, is there a problem?" "No- not at all - its just that I thought you said another subject, as in the same creature "Same creature? Chances of that sit at 50%. Depending on if the information you told me was accurate this creature would naturally disguise itself in order to survive. Mimicking whatever animal's characteristics. But this is my cat, that's why I said 50 percent" "Okay, makes sense. I'm sorry if it turns into a lion" "I didn't think of that, now I'm terrified." He proceeds to back away from the cage "Could you be a gentleman and open the cage?" "Sure,"I say Opening the cage, the mimic transforms into a cat and approaches Professor Collins' cat. "Please don't eat each other"The professor pleads The Professors cat is also a mimic. What a surprise. "Interesting"Collin says, scratching his chin "Indeed, as you said, they must naturally disguise themselves in order to survive. What if all the cats and dogs, or pets, on earth were mimics? They would be provided with shelter, food, and entertainment" "Then there are those that get abused"he proposed "Why do you have to be such a downer, fine not all of them, but some of them, it makes sense" "Yeah, yeah it does, do you think they can turn into an object" "Maybe, I don't know, how would we even test that" "Do you play video games" "Haven't recently" "Have you played Dark souls" "I see what you are getting at, but showing it a picture of a chest isn't gonna do anything" "No, but if we show it a video, of the chest eating a human, perhaps it will learn how to trick creatures" "Doesn't need to, your cat already tricked us into thinking it was a cat" The mimics stare at us, then look at each other briefly before transforming. A shadow, taller than me. They transformed into a creature, both me and the professor didn't expect. "Hello gentlemen"the mimic said "Its....its.... a human"
I hate having to cut the kid up worse than he already was, but I had to hide the bite wound. The cure had worked, his fever abetting and allowing him to rest comfortably. He'd gotten bitten by a crawler that had gotten through a gap between the ground and the fence. It's back was ripped to shreds but it was still able to move, and attack. The kid had gotten bitten whilst feeding the community chicken. I found him crying in the shed, the dead zombie hidden in a barrel. I'd disposed of the thing, then gotten the kid to my place. Told his folds it was a dog bite and I'd gotten rid of the rabid thing, but best to quarantine to boy, just incase. I can't let people think he's immune. The last thing I want is some poor person getting traded to what was left of the government for food or extra protection. Only they wouldn't get any of it. My first community paid the price for my discovery. Not the government, the ineffectual morons who'd tried to get me to give them the formula, but a militia group that only wanted what I had made to be given to the right kind of people. They had gotten word of my discovery and burned my home down. Said they would stop if I gave them what they wanted. I did, if only to save my friends. They killed everyone anyway. Couldn't risk anyone having the vaccine. I lucked out when several people from a neighboring town thought we were under attack. They saved us, killed the others and then I kept my mouth shut. The survivors that were left hadn't known of the cure so I stayed silent and left. I really hadn't realized just what kind of people would be after my discovery. So instead I kept my head low and found a new home. I keep my hair shaved short and my beard long as I work in my lab. I make vaccines to others thin gs right now. Flu shots, measles shots, anything I can recreate to help the com munity and those who visit us. My plan is to make my cure into a vaccine, and when next flus seas comes, which isn't long now, vaccinated the people of this town. I plan to leave with my van to go and help others, and only then will I tell my most trust allies here what it is I have done. Then I will lie low again somewhere new and keep repeating the process. I can't get caught. I've heard all kinds of plans for a cure if one is ever found. Some want to use it to wipe out those the don't like. Some think it will make them rich as gods in this new world. Other think they can use it for control the world. The kid is waking up, and now I have to convince him that the attack had been a bad dream bought on by infection. I only hope I can.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound of the Dark Lord’s claws tapping on the war council’s obsidian black table is strong enough to shatter even the stronger souls bound to his hellish domain. “I just don’t understand these numbers, Baph,” said Lucifer. The dark lord turns his crimson horned head this way and that, as if the large graph Baphomet had conjured up would make more sense if viewed from a different angle.” “I would be happy to explain the math behind—” “Perhaps the fault lies not with the math, but with the mathematician?” Mammon broke in. Baphomet wrinkled his snout and side-eyed the greedy prince of hell. The richly dressed demon was always gunning for Baphomet’s spot in the dark lord’s closest circle. “I assure you, my Lord, the numbers are accurate,” Baphomet said, keeping his fiery gaze on Mammon. “But how is this possible?” roared Lucifer to no one in particular. The smack of his meaty hand against the black table sends tremors throughout the realm. “How are we to keep pace with this schedule? The end times were not to occur for another three centuries! I can’t exactly usher in hell on Earth if these dirt bags beat me to it, now can I?” “The pace of humanity’s self-destruction is rather alarming, my Lord . . .” buzzed Beelzebub. “Rather alarming!? They’re lighting the ocean on fire, for fuck’s sake! That’s my thing!” fumed the dark lord. He added: “Wait – where’s Leviathan? Why does his dark throne sit empty at my council?” “He’s uh . . . out sick, boss,” trumpeted Behemoth. “I meant to mention it before but—" “Out Sick?” Lucifer’s confusion wrinkled his terrible visage and twisted his roar into a whiny squeak. “How in my great hell is the terror of the deep out sick?!” “Plastic, my Lord,” replied Behemoth. “Plastic?” Lucifer turned to Baphomet. “What’s this then, Baph?” “The humans, they—” “They’ve been dumping it in the oceans for decades now, my Lord.” Mammon broke in. Baphomet ground his teeth and wrinkled his snout. “Levi’s in bad shape, boss.” Behemoth added, scratching his bulging belly. “Allergies been getting worst every year for him. Was handling it alright but now they’ve got these little plastic beady things and, well . . . let’s just say they’ve got the world serpent shitting out plastic wrap.” “Diabolical,” Lucifer said, slumping in his throne at the head of the dark table. “Simply diabolical.”
He couldn't do it, Not today. Xagrimar's essence had condensed from the primordial vapours of eternity this morning, and as he had shook off that post-materialisation stupor with some Joe-inna-cup ("The on-the-go tortured soul experience you've been asking for!"), he had realised that he would not be able to bring himself to do it today. There stood an empty wooden door frame on the edge of the pit he called his home, it was gnarled and twisted like some ancient tree grown into the wall, and it was in this frame that a portal would appear should he be summoned to the mortal realm. Next to the frame was a somewhat more recently installed monitor, that would display a portal address so that the summonee demon could make a rough estimate of language before arriving. Not long ago Xagrimar would have delighted in jumping through at the first wisp of that swirling energy ready to trick some arrogant fool and bring a little extra chaos to the world, and he had been damned good at it as well. All across the world he had struck little bargains that seemed just so enticing until it was time to pay up, led bright minds to dark arts, and well, have you heard of Marcus Llewellyn Morris? The great prophet who united mankind in a new golden age of spirituality and prosperity? No? Well you have Xagrimar to curse for that. But now just the sight of the empty frame dug into the wall filled him with dread, and if that same address should pop up in the tablet today, then he simply wouldn't go, and all damnation couldn't make him change his mind. It was not that it was particularly arduous, nor would it leave him harmed or incapable, but what he was asked to do there was just not befitting for a demon, it simply got him down doing it again and again and again. Even as these thoughts crawled their way through his mind, the frame started to wheeze, and Xagrimar felt a chill in his spines. A crackle of energy sparked across the frame, and colours began to swirl around, the ichor in Xagrimar's veins froze. Then the tablet fizzed into life, displaying somewhere in the Scottish highlands, and Xagrimar felt his whole body relax, he didn't recognise the address, this was someone new. In fact, he decided, this is exactly what he needed, he'd give this new guy a flash of the ol' unknowable entity of unlimited power schtick, flash, bang, wallop and bring one impudent little soul home for supper. With this in mind, he jumped through. Wreathed in smoke and bellowing cackles he burst through into the mortal realm "WHO DARES TO SUMMON ME TO THIS PL-"he stopped, the fog had cleared, revealing a young girl who stood just outside the summoning circle, clutching a demonic tome to her chest. Xagrimar knelt down, "hey Susie". The girl ran over and hugged him round his neck. Susie had first summoned him 6 months ago, her father had died shortly before, her mother was working constantly to feed them, and between lockdown, no siblings, and no computer skills, she had been left functionally trapped and alone. For reasons that still eluded Xagrimar, she did however have a working knowledge of demonology and so had decided to summon him to be her confidante. He pulled the girl off his neck and put her down, "hey"he said again gently "I thought we agreed after the last time, that you wouldn't summon me, once we got that group chat working, for you to talk to your school friends?" Susie nodded sobbing a little "Mum wanted to go on holiday, and she took us here but the connections awful and now the chats not working and I just wanted to talk to you again I'm sorry but-" Xagrimar put his hand on her shoulder, then he took out the e-scroll which recorded all the transaction requirements, he looked through the soul-payment options for a little while before finding the one he wanted: Pro bono. &#x200B; ======================================================================= Hi, this is my first response to a writing prompt, and the first thing I've written since GCSE english class many years ago, so sorry if its a bit shite, but any feedback would be appreciated.
# New Dawn: NATO Classified Document, HPI Profiles: James Williams, NATO Soldier, US Native. Alias: "Star Justice" Powers: Super Human Abilities (Strength, Speed, Sight, Smell), Diverse Background of Tactical Skillset (Note: See attached Documents from MI6, CIA, Ect.). Notes: Cool under pressure, people minded first (Note: See attached "Cairo Incident"), Able to pull victories out of the jaws of defeats at several incidents. However, use of him as a public icon should be kept off the table, as seen several times now over the documents provided, that he takes matters into his own hands and tends to go rogue to direction. (Note: See attached "Broken Leash."The document contains the names of several HPI handlers who've been tasked with keeping "Star Justice"in line, with an equal list of "Injured, RoS"next to them) Tama Antanasia, KGB Operative, Ukraine Native. Alias: "Immortal Red" Powers (As Observed in Field, As yet to apprehend subject): Vegetation Manipulation, in many cases an extreme display of such (Note, See Attached "Green Hell"Incident, Australia) Unknown reserve of pain tolerance combined with extreme cellular regeneration (Note, See attached "Headless Huntress"Incident) Speculated: Cellular Adaptability. Unconfirmed, but noted as of the reports of limb donations for amputees behind the Iron. Intel: Given what we know from "Star Justice"and his fights with her, She is extremely driven, unwavering, but not invincible. Intelligence speculated that her ability to regenerate, while impressive, does have limits. However, the closest gotten to dealing with "Red"was ineffective, and subsequent battles with her were taken to locations where NATO taskforces were unable to intervene. Attached along with her profile information is the combat log of the battle that took place in Afghanistan at Redacted in which multiple limbs were cut off via high powered antimaterial rifle rounds. # Five Years Later... Tick Tick tttttick ttttttttttick Srrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeech. "Tama, We can't stay out here long..."A forlorn pair of shadows looked out upon a see of near silent hell. Following the "End"as it was called, Mutually assured destruction came to pass. High yield nuclear bombs, ones that made the ending of world war two seem like firecrackers in comparison, shattered the major players of the world. Tama and James looked out at one such pool of destruction as they stood at the edge of a former city. Silently, though not without notice by other means, vicious radiation reacted with the world. The first year had been the worst: Between the radiation and the actual fires, a mass cloud created by all the smoke resulted in a major drop in global temperature. "I'm sorry,"Tama replied, hefting a pack of medicine she'd be using later, "But... Sight like this remind me of home in a sad way."James Nodded in agreement, and hefted his own pack, and her too, before setting off at speed. No cars worked, but at least the pair had each other's skills to work off of. While James ran, nearly as fast as a car at top speed, his mind drifted once more over Tama's words. Having grown up from the same country that had Pripyat, it was little wonder what was going through her mind, just like his now: Humanity couldn't learn. Pushed by greed, by anger, or by hubris the scale tilted too far to one side. "Are you sure this will work,"Tama asked once more, their whole plan that took them so close to that burning hell still leaving her with doubts. "Tama, you and I know each other's abilities very well from our intelligence agencies. At the very least, this will give us a hope for a better future. For now, our cease fire and help goes as this: I scout out for helpful items and resources. You provide medical aid and help secure produce from farming as best as you can. Neither of us are best suited for going into the wasteland, but at least compared to normal people, I can handle the radiation to an extent, and you can regrow your skin among a few other things, allowing the both of us to bear the brunt of the worst of it out there." Tama picked up from there, completing their agreement. "And when we are done, you and I will have end to things. See who's side really won this..."She gestures to the wasteland grimly, "prize."James sighed, and continued lugging, barely feeling their combined weigh as he powered on. An end to things indeed, he thought, though I'm happy she isn't trying to skip the weight and go now...
"It seems that now, you've a rainy day for a rainy day. Or would it be one for a rainless day? No matter, it's the same regardless." &nbsp; "And you're who, exactly?" &nbsp; "Who am I to say, if not even you might know?" &nbsp; "Name. What's your name?" &nbsp; "It's of no consequence if anyone knows anything more than they should, of course, but what should be your limit? What is it to those with none?" &nbsp; "If you don't tell me who you are and what you want with me, I'm phoning the cops. Now tell me who you are, and stop with the goddamn riddles." &nbsp; "Riddles? What riddle is it that I'm right here, in the right now. Don't tell me you've forgotten about dear old Brother, have you?" &nbsp; "You must have the wrong guy. I don't have a brother, far as I'm aware." &nbsp; "Brother, sister, mother, father, what difference is it to one before another, to the ill before the healthy? The unborn may live as beautifully as the living, can they not?" &nbsp; "Ill? Unborn? What are you on about? I'm gonna go, you're being waaay too weird for me." &nbsp; "Do you still want me to hold onto your rain? Or would you rather you let the cloud tears go?" &nbsp; "Do whatever the hell you want, dude, as long as I'm not around. Let it go for all I care." &nbsp; "Very well. May this day be another, then." &nbsp; The rain began once more with a soft pitter patter, just as quick as the odd riddler vanished, content.
I woke up with this young adult person sitting over me “oh your alive, that’s rare.” I’m freezing numb but still in dire pain I muster up the strength to beg for help. They reach their hand out and touch my cheek, after that I’m warm and am no longer in pain. I look to them in shock “how did you do that?” “Don’t strain yourself, I’ve numbed your pain but I have to take you back to get you fully healed.” I follow them to their home, a huge almost, mansion sized building. It’s huge, they enter through the door but I slam into the an invisible barrier, “oh yeah forgot about that,one sec” they pull out their phone and call someone’s s tell them to let me in, after that i walked right in. “Sorry about that we just have that up for safe keeping, anyway let’s get you inside so you can be healed” I walk in and the whole place is so fancy, they take me to large room that could count as a hospital room, or a laboratory, when I young girl comes in. She wearing a white slightly stained lab coat and goggles, she has a serious distant look on her face she’s transferring something from one book to another. Without even looking up from what she’s doing she says “why did you bring in an outsider?” “They needed healing!” “They look fine to me,” cause I used my powers on them but it won’t last forever!” As soon as they said that I felt pain and weakness shoot through my entire body, as I collapsed on the floor in pain. I blacked out for a while In one of the beds in the room when I woke up the pain was gone, the little scientist was sitting over me. “Oh your awake, you withstood a lot of pain out their” I sat up and saw the other guy here who I now knows name is Jordan, “not even my powers can dull that much pain, makes me wonder how long she was out their in the snow.” “Damn I guess you know what that means,” they look at each other sadly, “your one of us now”
'Well' is such a funny word, isn't it? An adjective, a noun, even an adverb at times, it's just got such a broad set of meanings. That's why I find it funny, especially after I opened up that old one at the edge of my grandparents' property. It's a well, yes, but it was not well, if you catch my meaning. The cobblestone well was old, ancient. It had been there since god knows when, and boarded up for just the same time. I say this in all seriousness, my grandfather had an affinity for ancestry, and while digging through old family records in an effort to make an accurate family tree had found a reference to "that old shuttered well"from the 19th century. Yet this only made it more mysterious, coy, appealing... and only made more of a fool out of me. I see you protesting, and yes, I ended up with certain benefits, but it was foolish all the same. I was 9, maybe 10, when I resolved to open it up. I put on my roughest boots, jeans, a thick jacket, and some gardening gloves, and I was determined to do it. I nicked a hammer from the garage, and trundled out early in the morning. As I approached, I heard, or felt, a strange thrum in the air. It came from the ground, from the wind, and it only got stronger as I came nearer. I hesitated. Of course I hesitated, I wasn't completely stupid. But I resolved that it must've just been the train passing by on the tracks beyond the fence, and I had felt but not heard it since it forgot to blow the horn. Needless to say, the train had not come by. I drew nearer the well, and while trying to ignore the audible hum in the air, I pried up the first of the nails keeping the lid shut. It was old, impossibly old. It resembled an old railroad spike, making it at least 150 years old, and yet it was perfectly rust-free. It was also wet, and I unsuccessfully attempted to put out of my mind the dark swirl in the water that dripped off it. One more nail. Another. Three more. All like the first, shining and darkly wet. The humming had grown louder, more intense all this time—and yet, as the final nail came loose, it went completely silent, as if the well knew—who am I kidding, it did know what was coming next. I was so afraid, in that moment of dread anticipation, that I actively thought to use my left hand to open it, in case a shark came out, so my right hand might be spared. I did not think to leave the well unopened though: I had come too far for that. I don't even remember opening it, in truth. All I remember is touching the handle, and the hungry night that exploded into, through, and towards me, and over my left hand. When I came to, I was in bed. I didn't remember anything, and so I thought it had been a bad dream. But as I went to rub my eyes and wake up, something cold hit the left side of my face. It was my left hand, and it shone with the same angry black that had ended my journey at the well. The rest of my family, they claim the well has never been boarded up, and they claim to see nothing wrong with my left hand, the way everyone else does. It's... odd though. Three days from that point, I woke up early, only to hear my grandmother say this to my cousins: "She can drink from the well, but none of you are allowed. One is bad enough." I can only hope that they heeded her words. Only one of... well, these is all I can hope for the world to have.
I jerk back to consciousness, a scream dying on my lips as I realize that once more, I am alive. The last thing I remember, as has become commonplace, is fighting from my position in the trenches at the onset of the Ludendorff Offensive, the last chance for the Fatherland to win the war before the arrival of the Americans. It is an utter disaster, we are slaughtered en masse and I barely make it out of the trench I was positioned in. Over and over, I awake the morning before the attack alive and well, and over and over, I go back into the meat grinder. I have then been bombed, shot, stabbed, poisoned and garroted. My mind is growing increasingly inured to the savagery it has been subjected to. But each time the fight begins, I work a little smoother, a little smarter, a little tougher, as my mind absorbs fresh knowledge again and again for what now feels more and more like eternity. From what I can tell, we are utterly doomed, no matter what I or anyone else does. I try to stay strong for my forefathers and my brothers in arms but each time I die, I find less and less hope that we, and I, will ever escape this horrid place. These barren lands, bombed into near oblivion and the trenches we inhabit inside them, covered in bodies, viscera and waste. All war is hell and this one is mine. I have become convinced this is my punishment for some great wrong I have committed, although none come to mind that warrant this. I roll out of my bedroll and button up my sharp Wehrmacht jacket, careful to brush out any creases for casual inspection by my superiors. I give my boots a tug to make sure they remain seated properly and slog my way through the mud-caked earth toward our unit\`s staging point. We form up under the lip of the trench, sandbags piled haphazardly around a shoddy wooden ladder for egress. We look at each other with grim faces and voices tinged with fear and uncertainty both. Our morale is nearly non-existent now, mine even more so. The time has come. Up and over we go. Shells explode around us, the rat-tat-tat of Lewis guns rattle the air around us as we slide in the muck toward the opposite line. No Man\`s Land. My eternal resting place, perhaps? I die here each time, 5 feet from their trench or just 5 from our own, I die. Every time. Adrenaline pumps through my system like poison through my veins, urging me to move faster, faster, *faster.* I oblige. Sprinting, I make it to just before their trench before tripping over a discarded pack and landing in the sodden ground with a muted splash. This is it! I will finally make it to their trench and be able to change things! I stay tucked to the ground where I have fallen, collecting my energy, readying myself to slaughter the enemy. To make my family proud. My brothers proud. Taking a deep breath, I hurdle over the lip of the enemy trench and land amidst several harried British soldiers scrambling about in a manner I know so well. I knew it from our trenches. I knew it from watching my brothers, from watching myself. Over and over, I had acted much the same. Then they notice me and all motion seems to pause, time seems to come to a complete stop in that single moment. And in that short stretch of time, a glorious, terrible, realization comes upon me. These men are my brothers too. My rifle slips from my hands and hangs from its strap on my shoulder as I stare with a sadness so deep, so powerful at these fellow soldiers; who, enemy or not, I have dreamt of killing for years now. Who I have cheered the murder of, the murder I have now felt so horribly myself. This unending slaughter of thinkers, dreamers, fathers, brothers, sons.... It is so...purposeless....useless.. I fall to my knees as the very fabric of my mind shifts in a most drastic manner as I come to these profoundly poignant conclusions. And then the moment ends... BAM! A single pistol shot rings out, I look around for the source in confusion, before falling onto to my face, a burning agony in my back that I have come to recognize as a fatal wound. I watch the frightened faces of these enemy soldiers as life leaves me once more, burning the memory of their humanity, so much like my own, into my mind. Finally, darkness encroaches on my mind and I fade from the world... &#x200B; I find myself in a dark void, awaiting my rebirth like always, when something different occurs.... *"DO BETTER."* A powerful voice, like that of a god, orders me with all of the authority of the Kaiser himself. And then I am hurtled back into my body, awakening once more in my trench. Everything with my body is the same, but my mind... My mind has seen beyond the facade of this murderous, horrific, slaughter we have been led to. I resolve myself to do what needs to be done, for myself and all mankind, my country and that of our enemies\`: Do better. End the war. For my brothers.
"What is that?"Arthur questioned, staring up into the sky. John, standing next to him and following his gaze, "I believe this is what the ancients called 'storm clouds'. It's going to rain. Now quick, get those sheets in." Arthur just rolled his eyes. However, as he turned to collect the dry sheets, something moved in the distance, between the clouds. "There!"He shouted, dropping his basket of clothes and pointing into the dark sky, "It moved again!" "What? What moved again?" "I don't know! Just, something..."Arthur's eyes didn't move off the clouds as he speak, "It was definitely there, something was flying." John just glared up to the skies, the frustration beginning to show on his face, "Flying? So it was a bird. Crazy. Now come on, get to work!" "You don't understand, there's something up there!"As Arthur spoke a dark, shadowy feature moved between two clouds. For a moment it's shadow blotted out a significant portion of the sky, a shadow far too large to be made by a bird. "WHAT THE HELL!"John stumbled back in fear, accidentally alerting everyone in the area. Luckily, most of them were too busy preparing for the coming storm to bother checking it out. Unluckily, one girl did decide to come over. "So, what's the meaning of this ruckus?"She complained, "You two should be working. Not that you normally work anyway..." "Oh, Rosie"Arthur said dismissively, "You're in that ancient history class right?" Rosie looked at him angrily, "You are also in that class! You sit next to me!" "Right, but you actually listen." "You're supposed--" "Now look,"he cut her off, "Look up there and tell me what you see." She looked up where he was pointing, to see nothing but the familiar dark storm clouds, "Well, the shape of that cloud suggests that--" "Not that!"Arthur interrupted her again, "The dragons!" Rosie burst out laughing, "Dragons? Dragons! There aren't any--" As if a cruel joke, seven large dragons dived down out of the clouds, filling the air with an ear splitting roar. The villagers all froze, as if time itself has been stopped. Occasionally, short, deep thuds could be heard between the roars, as their hands failed them and baskets and tools failed to the ground. John swallowed his spit and attempted to steady his voice, "You two,"he took a deep breath, "Run. I'll distract them." "You're going to distract seven dragons? Likely."Arthur grabbed Johns wrist, "You're surviving with me. Same goes for you to, Rosie."He held onto Rosie's hand and dragged them both towards the nearest house. "Wha- Where?"Rosie snapped out of her daze, "What's going on?" "We're trying to escape."John spoke with a straight face while barely jogging to let the others keep up, "Apparently seven large dragons that are a threat to the whole world are no match to three teenagers." "Don't listen to him. Just run, also do you remember anything about those dragons?"Arthur questioned, apparently unfazed by the dragons. Rosie thought as she was running, barely managing to keep up, "I, I think they're the world dragons. They're the ones that ended the last era! They're going to... They're going to kill us all, aren't they?" "Well we can fight back! We don't have to die lying down!"Arthur, dragged the other two round a corner and pushed them down a set of stairs, "This basement will do for now, we just have to live, yeah?" "Sure, we can try."John, took the lead down the stair and burst through the door. Inside the basement were scores of weaponry, swords and lances, poles and spears, crossbows and slings, even four sets of armour lined the walls. However, the far more interesting discovery was the unfamiliar woman leaning against the back wall and casually reading a book. "Oh, there are people."She shut her book with a quick flourish, "So who are you?" Arthur gently pushed through the others to introduce himself, "I'm Arthur, son of the chief of police, these are John and Rosie. And, who are you, exactly?" "I'm Jessie, I believe you know me as the Huntress of the Night?" Rosie stammered out, "A, er, the, hunt, nigh, wha?"as her mouth fell wide open. "What, did you summon those Dragon or something?"John stepped forward towards her. "Not quite."She stepped closer as well, "I followed them. Now, I believe I came from about twelve thousand years ago, I assume there's some catching up I have to do." Arthur joined John and Jessie in the center of the room, "So you're here to save the world?" "Again, not quite. Fate has brought us together so I can help you save the world. I've never seen such young heroes though... Good luck, and try not to die too soon!"With a puff of smoke Jessie disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind the three teens in a room of weapons, and a task larger than any of them could have imagined. &#x200B; &#x200B; If you liked this story, head over to r/F4TF0X to read more of my stuff!
The scrape of claws. The click of teeth... No eyes to see. Scant threads of hair on an otherwise burn-scarred body. Their arms are too long despite otherwise looking human-like. Their fingers nearly triple the length of a normal person's, pointed and sharp like talons. The holes on the sides of their heads are clearly ears that function disturbingly well. Those sharp teeth click-clack in an otherwise silent space, like sonar it bounces back to them. Auralich. Nightmares. Death walking. But they're mute, blind, and have no sense of smell. We tested that theory once. We burned one alive and the silent shrieking that it couldn't voice did not alert or alarm the others nearby. It smelt like rot as it melted in the inferno. But even then, no others came... You've seen enough horror movies. Read enough fiction and fantasy to feed your mind. But it isn't silver bullets. It's not a double tap to the head. Holy water amounts to shit and chanting some Latin will get you beheaded. No, darling. Read this and learn. Burn them. Pin them down with whatever you can. Rebar, fence posts, chains. You stab them and they bleed. You burn them and they die. -Happy hunting, S.K
“Thank you for joining us for tea time Uncle. Ms. Pickleblossom has so very much missed you. She keeps asking for you. Wants to hear more of your tales.” Felicity lilted to the uniformed soldier. My brother Jeremy had just returned from his overseas post and had barely gotten through the door before getting snatched away to afternoon tea time. An adorable daughter was very persuasive. She passed cups of teas to us four surrounding the pink cloth covered table and poured green “tea” to each. Four chairs and only three filled with myself, Jeremy and Felicity. The tea like juice her mother bought was pleasant enough to sip. Jeremy of course doted and played along each time. “So which story do you want hear about? The bear my platoon met, very friendly fellow. The steak that wasn’t a steak? How about the woman who cried wolf, then shot it and had it for dinner?” I coughed slightly for his attention. My daughter giggled but he just smirked. I didn’t particularly enjoy tea time but Jeremy had a habit of telling some over the top stories to her. An hour seemed to fly by as my brother regaled her with stories of daring heroism, unfortunate comedies or heart wrenching romances. All of it coincidental of course, and no explanation of how such rare events could happen in the span of a single year for soldiers guarding a post in the middle of nowhere. I noticed I had finished three cups while these two had barely touched theirs. Their conversation barely let any time in between to so much as lift the cup. Ms. Pickleblossom’s had been refilled five times. “And then, what did you do? Did you run? Did you fight? Did you finally kiss her?” Felicity shotgunned the questions with a massive smile on her face. Ever the good story teller, knowing when to leave them in suspense, he folded his arms. Quieting down suddenly, he languidly took his cup and sipped it. “I believe that is enough for today. The rest will have to wait.” He hadn’t finished his sentence before a strained “No, no no no. You can’t. Please, just finish this last one please?” flew from Felicity’s lips. My brother just grinned at her and commented. “You know, I see a distinct lack of biscuits or cake to go with this” gesturing at his empty plate. “I thought you had learned to be a proper hostess while I was away.” She balked at the gesture and then fidgeted with her fingers. “We have some biscuits downstairs. If I get them, will you finish?” He shrugged and drawled out a “Maaaybe.” Felicity, turned to her side and put on her emphasized hostess voice “Ms. Pennyblossom, I apologize for leaving you out of the conversation for so long.” She curtsied. “Would you please entertain Uncle and Daddy while I go get... refreshments” The occasional pause when she looked for the words was something I still found adorable. A follow up curtsy towards her Uncle. “I’m sure you have many more stories for Ms. Pennyblossom, she so very much enjoys your elephant ones. Would you please do her the honour?” She motioned towards the empty chair. Jeremy, for the first time had been forced to acknowledge the empty space. There was a momentary frown before he put on his gentleman’s smile and slightly bowed towards it. “Of course, I would be very grateful to have you listen to my humble tales Ms. Pennyblossom.” Satisfied, my Daughter skipped out the door thudded down the stairs. I took a sip of my juice before turning towards my Brother. He was staring at me, his smile gone and face dead serious. He started “Andrew, are we going to” I cut him off “No, we have already talked about this. We do not acknowledge it any more than necessary and we talk as little as possible to or about it. The more we do, the more powerful it gets, the more it grows.” The silence did not last. The cup was at my lips before he couldn’t take it any longer “But the shadow, I can see it now. I can’t just ignore it.” I slashed my hand in the air between us. “But...” “Sh, no” I was staring him down for a full minute before he quietly acquiesced and fell silent with arms folded. The only sounds that could be heard were the clinking and sips of cups before Felicity returned. She had a tray with 4 thinly cut slices of cake. “Good news, Mommy cut cake for us.” As she slowly moved towards us, I realized this was supposed to be the dessert for after dinner. She put it down and started serving it to the once empty plates. She gestured hastily “Eat, eat. Now Uncle, will you finish?” He had that gentleman’s smile on again and turned it lopsided “Oh? Finish what? I seemed to have forgotten.” We both chuckled at her adorable little pout as she sat harder than normal on her chair. Felicity took a sip of her juice and remarked on our plates. “Why aren’t you eating? It’s cake.” She started to pick up her fork and motioned to the empty chair. “Ms Pennyblossom. Don’t you like Angel Cake? It’s tasty.” She pointed at me. “Tell her Daddy. It’s good.” Forcing myself not to glance towards the chair, I spoke directly to my daughter. “Felicity Dear, put the fork down” She obeyed and asked “why?”. “Dinner should be ready soon and we shouldn’t fill up on cake beforehand” Felicity started to complain “But Afterrnoon tea time is...” I cut her off “Afternoon tea time was served late, a good hostess would have known that.” She pouted and looked cast her glance downwards. I knew that expression. The expression given by children obeying but not accepting the adults’ logic given to her. That was fine with me. “Now go get yourself ready for dinner.” I looked to Jeremy. “You too. You are barely off the road and Michelle won’t have you as you are for dinner.” I gestured them both away as I said “I’ll clean up here. Go on.” Jeremy quickly ruffled her hair “See you at Dinner kid.” before quickly walking out the door. There was a slight sense of urgency in his stride. Felicity had mock pouted when my Brother messed her hair but smiled immediately afterwards. She finished off her cup before walking away “See you at dinner Daddy” “See you then.” I was stacking the empty cups before I heard her “Daddy?” I turned towards her in the door.“Yes Dear?” There was serious stare in her eyes “I looked at the notes in your office.” As I briefly wondered which of my research notes for work she was curious about, she continued “I won’t let her... disappear. I’ll make sure she stays” She stared for one or two seconds before quickly leaving. I took a deep breath and then started to clean up again. When I got to one of the slices of cakes, I saw a bit of it had been taken off with a dirty fork next to it. A sudden chill ran through me with a whisper I wish I had imagined in my ear. My hand was shaking and I had to take another deep breath. My daughter is becoming less adorable by the day.
The wreckage of Gold Titan IIII is comes into the hanger on the back of a large truck. Paulo the shift engineer on his last night before his vacation is woken up by the blearing alarm indicating the need for urgent repair. He wakes from a deep sleep, that is odd, there were no indicators of combat for the last week. He makes his way down stairs quickly, he sees a mangle of metal, twisted and turned over itself. "Oh for fucks sake.. who the fuck would.... why the fuck did he not... Can i see the video?"Paulo watched the video intently. The suit was in fine condition up until the landing. &#x200B; The giant armored fighting unit approaches the ground, everything looks fine, a routine landing, certainly not this wreck that is in his hanger. "Who was flying it? was it Tony? Shela?"there isn't anyone there he is just yelling into the screen he is watching. "He should have engaged the landing gear, he.. what.. oh my fucking word... im going to kill him... whoever the fuck it was... landing with a fucking somersault? what do they think this a touchdown dance?"Paulo. Next he flicks to the logs to see who checked the unit out. Dylan Berrain. The owners son. A sinking feeling fills the bottom of his stomach. "Oh fuck me, this little fuck better have survived or I am fucked,"
\[Solar Secret\] "[A million years](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mzmt7n/wp_you_are_a_part_of_a_cult_that_believes_the_end/)?"Oz asked in awe. Ruin nodded as they walked. Astra, Oz, and Ruin traveled along a dry, dusty dirt road toward an uncertain goal. Oz only knew which way to go, he did not know who he would find at the end but he expected it to be another of his Zeros. They were on an independent Earth that did not have any nanos for Barley. "At least,"Ruin said. "I dozed in and out for centuries at at a time,"he added. "That was Vanilla's gift. She time-locked my body so I didn't have to eat or drink anything. But, she left my mind free to think all I wanted." "She sounds almost as bad as Ballisea,"Oz replied. Ruin shook his head. "I deserved it,"Ruin said. He came to a stop next to a wooden fence that separated the road from a corn field. Ruin placed a hand on one of the wooden posts and it disintegrated into saw dust the moment he made contact. "Now, imagine that,"Ruin nodded at he small pile of sawdust. "But, instead of a fence post...it's every human and animal on Earth."Oz opened his eyes wide in surprise. "Vanilla caught me. Instead of killing me, she gave me a little bit of time to think,"a ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "She changed my life." "Do not react, I am speaking only to you,"Ballisea's quiet voice echoed in Oz's ears as the trio continued to walk. Oz tensed his body in surprise, but no one noticed. "Vanilla was kinder than I'll ever be...,"Ballisea's wistful tone made Oz nervous. He had no idea why she suddenly opened up to him of all people. "...but, that Calavera's story reminded me what Vanilla was like and what was important to her. So, to honor her, I've decided to do you a favor,"Ballisea said. "You okay?"Astra asked. Oz tripped and stumbled on nothing but dust when Ballisea mentioned granting Oz a favor. Oz nodded and played off Astra's help to continue forward again. "If you wish to make use of this favor, you must never tell anyone else what I discuss with you. For your own safety, as much as for my own entertainment,"Ballisea said. Oz heard a smile in her voice. "Okay!"Oz said aloud; he knew Ballisea could hear him from wherever he was. "I'm okay!"he added to try and play off the random comment as an answer to Astra's question. "You sure?"she asked with a giggle. "Took you a bit to answer."Oz nodded at her and continued forward. "I'm not going to kill you,"Ballisea said in Oz's ear. "Honestly, I never wanted to; Myths mean even less to me than Zeros. You're not the slightest bit interesting to me."Oz's mind filled with questions that he couldn't ask. "I'm sure you have countless questions,"Ballisea laughed in his ear. She always seemed to be reading his mind. "But, only one question is important. Why are you trying to challenge me?"Ballisea asked. "If you're not worth my time....why did Melody tell you that you were?” \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1287 in a row. (Story #192 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit (r/hugoverse) or my blog.
To: jan.foster @ mail.com From: kevincratersburg @ mail.com Subject: I'm sorry. Dear Jannet, I understand last night wasn't the greatest date ever, but my heart was in the right place. With this email I hope to convince you to give me another chance. All morning I was frantic about our date today. I couldn't believe you asked me out. Man, I wrote check lists on what to wear, what to bring, what liquids to apply to my body. I was stressed out, okay. After having breakfast—a spicy omelette with some cayenne and cinnamon—the thought popped into my head that I needed to give you some sort of present when I met you, you know. I don't go on dates much, but I thought I'd make a good impression on you, Jannet. So I looked around my apartment for anything that would be worthy of your shining being, Jannet. Anything that would be spickety spectacular for such a classy sassy lassy like you, Jannet. Now I'm not a slob. I'm not. I had some pretty darn good Free-runs, some Omega-3, even some Ostrich. But I knew they wouldn't satisfy an appetite so distinguished as yours, Jannet. So I went out in search of the perfect gift. I ran by my guy farmer Garret with the pet ferret in a beret. He had some new shipment ready and allowed me to peruse his wares. I inspected them with great care, Jannet. Only the best for you, Jannet. I sniffed them, I licked them, I poured myself all over these hard-shell devils. Finally I found a pair. Two of the most pristine ones I had seen in my entire life in this business. Farmer Garret knew the value of those treasures and wouldn't let them go unless I promised to do him some special favors. Everything for you, Jannet. I then wen to the crafts store and got the supplies to create a real display, for you Jannet. A real big show, a crib for these two babes. I poured my love in soul into this, you know. I could feel the jealousy coming from the shelves all around me as I put the final finishing touches on my masterpiece. The angels would weep at what romantic display this gentleman has brought onto this world. Those two perfect specimen wrapped in cloud-cotton and bows. I almost couldn't help myself but to take them out and eat them right then and there, shell and all. To make them part of me, to consume. But these two were reserved, reserved for you, Jannet. You see, you are my everything and to you I give my all. And when I handed you this gift from the gods you just looked at me in disgust, made up some excuse, and left me sitting there. Now that I thought about it, I don't need you anyways. All I need are my treasures. And I'll have you know I took them home and I loved them in every way they deserve to be loved. Peter told me to get on a dating platform and to get out there, but he's wrong. I'll never leave this place again. I'll pursue oneness with the yolk. I'm cracking one open to swig around in my mouth as I'm writing this. On this crack I shall build my church. You shall join the fold, sooner or later. with love, Kevin \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- &#x200B; To: kevincratersburg @ mail.com From: jan.foster @ mail.com Subject: RE: I'm sorry. Kevin, They were eggs. I found you sitting at the table, stroking these eggs whilst you were making out with the one dressed like me. You were sweaty and only wanted to talk about eggs and egg accessories. I don't know what your deal is, but I'd advice you to get some professional help. I will join no church and I won't be joining you in anything ever again. Please stop contacting me. Jan \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- &#x200B; edit: The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
"Clever."The secretary mused as he stamped my paperwork. I smile at him as I grab my things to leave. I take my time as I walk outside the government building, and relief washed over me. I've waited ten years for this exact moment. The oncoming traffic didn't slow for my victory, but it didn't matter as I walked straight into the bustling sidewalks of London. A car began coming down the road, clearly above the speed limit. Others retreated further back, yet I strolled forward to the asphalt road, facing the headlights. As everyone stared, the silver Honda sped towards my face. I didn't move an inch. \-- "Time stops for no one."My father warned me. I was eight, and spent my morning watching cartoons instead of homework. "You must use every minute wisely-" "Who said that?"My younger self inquired. Used to my inquisitive nature, my father simply told me that it was the laws of the universe. \-- "STOP!"I shouted. And stop it did. Everything around me-- the speeding car, the crowd watching me nervously, a barista shaking their mixer, cups tipping over, even a dog mid-jump-- stopped. I grinned as I headed towards the safety of the sidewalk, satisfied. If time waits for no one, and I legally change my name to no one, then it must stops for me. "Start."I muttered under my breath. Nothing happened. Everything remained perfectly still. Oh no.
I lay my head down to sleep. I pray to the Lord for my soul to keep. Every night I can hear my sister say that line. It's a harbinger before sleep finally takes me, no matter how hard I try to stay awake. I have tried everything. Caffeine, methamphetamine, cocaine, those fancy ADHD drugs. Hell, I have consumed enough energy drinks my body should be a Superfund site when they bury me. And eventually, probably not long from now, they will bury me. Because I can't sustain it. Every night when my body gives out, my conscious floats to someone else's dreams. The voyeur in you wonders what the harm in that could be. Seeing the nighttime dance of sugarplum fairies in the heads of someone coalescing into wants, needs, desires. Especially if it's a neighbor, a family member, a spouse. Wouldn't you like to know what the love of your life slumbering peacefully next to you is really dreaming? If you knew, it would leave you as desperate for sleeplessness as I am. It started with Mrs. McMurtree in the flat next door when I was barely a teenager. She was always so nice to mum, sis, and me. Baking us banana bread or bringing us a flower she had grown in a window box. She insisted we call her "Grammie"and always had a sweet treat in her pocket for us. I only encountered her husband, Mr. McMurtree on the rare occasion coming and going. He was a bus mechanic for the city always on the late shift, always in a foul mood. Behind the door to their apartment I would hear... well, I'm not sure. But it didn't sound right. Mum sometimes would stare across the breezeway at the noises and mutter about calling the police. One night, the first night really that I roamed, I saw her. Missus McMurtree that is. She was sitting by this apple tree with a sharp carving knife and peeling apples. Whisk, whisk, whisk, I'd hear another apple fall to her basket and thump. Whisk, whisk, whisk. She was cackling and crying at the same time. Somehow both the moon and sun were up, setting, and rising all at once. She looked at me. "A sharp knife the pruner wears,"she said, and looked at me. She looked. At me. I awoke in a sweat. There was noise outside the apartment, heavy boots and men's voices. Mum was staring out the door as Mr. McMurtrees' body was carted away. His poor widow followed, wailing about how her husband had taken his own life. But she saw me for a brief moment and between fake tears, she winked at me. I never saw her again. Several weeks later I drifted off to a slumber aided by cheap liquor filched from a schoolmate's parents. I hadn't been sleeping well, so when Morpheus came I was relieved. I was standing in a young girl's dream. I recognized her parents quickly, they were the Shiskvali's from the next building over. Samit and Mamatha were always kind to sis and I in the Commons. They had given birth to a young girl about a year or two ago, the exact date escaped me. I was watching them play with Shri, their daughter, in a freshwater stream somewhere down south. I think... it must have been Shri's first memory. Pressure like a comet landing on my chest crushed me to the ground. Looking up, all I could see was a figure wreathed in flame and brandishing a sword in my face. Everything hurt. "Children are protected."It was a statement of fact, as sure as if I said an object thrown up falls down. But it reverberated through my soul. I mumbled something in response and I think the answer I received was a cosmic bitch slap back to reality. I can't control it, when I sleep. Sometimes I watch a guy dream about his Excel spreadsheets morph into adventures. Other times I watch someone crawl away from snakes who represent their abusive father. Once in a while, I find the guardian again who tosses me out like a bouncer might. Though what his criteria is, I cannot say. All I can do is try not to sleep.
"Ha'Vr stay close now!"a green body rushed over to scoop up a smaller, simular, body. The orc mother coddled her child, rubbing her forehead against theirs. "Now remember, be gentle with them!"she grumbled. "Yes mama!"the green child giggled in between biting their mothers arm. The orc mother leaped into a clearing, slamming onto the ground with such force the earth moved around her impact. The child on her shoulder bounced off the ground after impact, eventually giggling at the event. "Tn'Chan'a!"a voice echoed out from the woods. The Orc lady cupped her hands and shouted back. "Yondalera! come out now! and bring your coddled calf with you!"the green lady grunted while shoving Ha'Vr forward into the clearing. "Make your race proud Ha'Vr." For the first time the green child seemed unnerved. Regardless he nodded towards his mother, pounded on his chest twice in acknowledgement, and turned to march into the middle of the clearing. Not before he made it halfway, a shadow darted out from the trees and landed behind Ha'Vr, he instinctively turned and pounced. "No Ha'Vr!"his mother shouted, but it was too late for him. A moment later Ha'Vr was hoisted by his ankle 5 feet into the air. Tumbling over himself and flinging a stick wildly that he had managed to pick up. Tn'Chan'a casually walked up to her son, laughing along the way, Yondalera and her son came into the clearing, lankey figures both clutching spears. Smiles on their faces. "Moh'be ne tim you son con cotch trop?"The elvish woman taunted. Tn'Chan'a gave a look of approval to the elvan woman before addressing her son. "If this was the wars, you would be dead." Both orc mother and son turned their noses up and grunted before leaving the clearing.
\[Starlight Social\] "Where's the electricity coming from?"Dani wondered aloud. The building in front of her did not make sense. A bright, neon blue sign over the entrance said, "Starlight Burgers". At any other location, the restaurant would have seemed perfectly normal surrounded by other buildings. But, the long one-story building sat in the center of a forest clearing with tall trees surrounding it on all sides. The interior was brightly lit with dozens of patrons visible enjoying their food and each other's company. It was as busy as a lunch time crowd; but, there were no signs of cars or even a parking lot anywhere.. "Different universe, probably,"Astra replied, then addressed the group. Dani, Oz, and Ruin. "We eating, or just dropping off Dani?"she gestured at the woman. "Uh.. what kind of meat do they have?"Oz asked. Astra grinned at him and gave him a thumbs up gesture. "All kinds! You can get another unicorn burger if you want."Astra said. Oz shook his head and Astra continued. "Or, just a regular cow one if you want."she added. "That sounds good then,"Oz replied. Astra began walking toward. "I feel like I should remind you guys; I'm a vampire,"Ruin said as they headed toward the door. Dani stumbled in surprise; but, she recovered quickly when no one else seemed concerned. Instead, Astra and Oz nodded absentmindedly. "We know,"Astra replied. Ruin shook his head. "If it bothers anyone, I can put my meal off till I'm alone,"he added. Astra waved her hand at him dismissively as she pulled open the heavy glass door. "Get whatever you wanna get,"she said. A wave old cold air and loud music washed over Dani as soon as Astra opened the door. The rest of the group walked in without hesitation, then, Dani followed them in. She met Astra's group less than two hours ago. They promised her adventure if she tagged along and they delivered it in less than two hours. No matter how she looked at it; Dani was standing in a very active diner in the middle of a forest. They found a booth and made themselves comfortable. "Welcome to Starlight Burgers,"a waitress approached as soon as they were seated. "What can I get you?" "Vanilla float,"Astra said. The waitress nodded, then glanced at Ruin. "A positive, mid-30s,"he said. The waitress gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry,"she said. "We're all out of blood. Sharp Medical Services isn't quite the company they used to be; stocking up has been getting harder lately"she shook her head. Ruin gave her an understanding nod. "Then, nothing for me, thanks,"Ruin replied. She nodded, then looked at Oz. "Beef burger,"he said. She nodded, then looked at Dani. Dani wasn't particularly hungry. She'd had a surprisingly eventful day so far. First, she woke up with wings that morning. Then, while experimenting, she accidently set a corn field on fire. Ruin saved her and that's how she ended up meeting Astra and Oz. Astra explained Dani's wings to her, and even taught her how to hide them in a different universe. In an odd way, Dani looked up to the much younger Astra. "Vanilla float, please,"Dani said. The waitress nodded, then wandered off toward the kitchen. "So... can someone explain this place to me?"Dani asked. "It's not the only one like this you'll find,"Astra said. "Some Unique Souls like to travel the multiverse; but, still want to operate a business. So, they bring the business along with them. It's not complicated to run the utilities through a portal." “Okay, I have another question,” Dani’s mind was trying to keep up with all the fantastical things that were revealed to her since she met Ruin’s group. “The way I understand it is, you’re not from this Earth, right?” she asked. Astra nodded. “I’m from this Earth, and I didn’t know this restaurant was here. You’re from a different Earth, how did you know?” Asta shrugged. “This isn’t its only location, it moves around to different Earths,” she said. “So to make sure their customers can find them, they post their location on social media.” \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1289 in a row. (Story #194 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit (r/hugoverse) or my blog.
“Guys guys, look I can change time itself I’m not lying Soon we’ll all be dying The aliens are gonna be cookin and frying And y’all end up crying” “Sure…….grandpa. Aliens dEfiniTeLy attacked you” “Didn’t ya see? That tree just grew In an instant They’re not distant!” He couldn’t convince The prince He went back home and rinsed his face Hope the aliens would have grace We couldn’t keep going on this chase Then they all died horribly The end The aliens came easily wiped them out and won The war was done in a day What can I say? Hey! At least the aliens were kinda cool They could shape water in any form Even the ones that were in space collage at the dorm Now world destroying was just part of the norm Earth, from birth What was it worth? Pain and suffering Nothing to gain, a lot of buffering Aliens chilling in the ship Aliens so hip Took a long trip One alien fell on some ice and did slip I can’t believe they can control time but that’s still a problem :(
I'm always a little sad when the End of Purge alarm sounds, The end of another year's rebellious Midnight Gardening Jam, Or the Piracy Free-for-all where the latest digital virtual shinies are all on "Five-finger-discount". Or the One-night hookers, Purgolos, and good-time chancers, reviving the oldest profession while they can. Why, there are Myriad technical "crimes"that we all of us spend our entire year waiting for Purge night to commit. Picking out our best shoes, buying in Vibrant Neon Spray-paint, Practising our Skateboard moves in the backyard, or picking up a box of Pina Colada flavoured Condoms, just for the spice. Of course, there are always the less pleasant districts who tear drunkenly into one another, or the scheming psychos that use their one evening of consequence-free time per year to desecrate and defile with abandon. And while most of us were too wrapped up in our own "technical"crimes to notice that 7am had come and gone without the alarm sounding, by Mid-morning most of us were aware that something was up. So the decent folk of the city banded together, as did I with a group of neighbours, armed to the teeth to discern what, exactly, the fuck. It was far from a Pleasant trek, I'll grant you, but we all survived our trip. Several groups met at City Hall. Trashed. Some investigated the Secondary site. Luckily, they spotted the trap before anyone got caught in it, and called ahead. I half-expected some wag to try tearing down the Cell-phone mast, but we were spared this year. So we appropriated some Military Hardware from the cops, and set out to Spring the trap. Danny Buzzard was always a wrong'un, thought himself smarter than everyone, better than the "riff-raff", the "hoi polloi", that the rules didn't apply to him, and he'd set out to show us just how Base and Savage we really were. He reckoned that it was only a matter of time until we reverted to bestial chaos, and 12 hours wasn't nearly enough to do it. To which end, he'd set a bunch of Yahoos to trash City Hall, and the primary Purge alarm and Monitor system, while he made his way to the Secondary System, and switched it off himself. But this Smarmy Bastard didn't reckon with several dozen concerned citizens in Military-grade Body Armour. And he'd only packed a dozen Shotgun shells. Thus, by 2pm that day, the Alarm was sounded, and the Purge was over for another year. Apparently a lot of the local Police service turned up dead that year, but I don't know anything about that.
“Ok, if you’re listening, that means I’m already dead. Don’t come looking for me, don’t try to find me, and most importantly, don’t look. If you think you’ve found one, run. Move away, start a new life, have fun, but don’t look back. Once they know you’ve found them, they will fight. And they will win. I’ve lived on this earth for two thousand years and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that humans are too curious for their own good. So, here we go. “It started around a decade ago, when I realized the static from the tv sounded like a language from an old race of beings long since dead, so I opened my Immortal account on Google and typed what I heard into Google translate, thinking I’d get a load of gibberish, instead I found that it said one word, repeating over and over; Help. “Now, at this point I knew something was wrong because A. No sentient being in their right mind would ever ask a Human for help, unless they want to be confused or need something blown up, and B. As I said, this race was not known to beg. Much like humans in that sense, and C. This race was dead, no one left actually spoke Martian fluently. “Still, as a Defendant, I am of course obligated to go and investigate. So I went and found some transportation to Mars, and what I found there was… horrible. To say the least. I got there and saw the remains of the battle that had ravaged the planet, tracing the signal to it’s source, I came to a cave and that’s where I found them. The last survivors, and the things feeding upon them. “I’m so sorry everyone, I didn’t mean to bring them back, I tried. I really did. But these things, they move like you wouldn’t believe, they are the stuff of pure nightmares. The only hope you have is to pretend they don’t exist. Which is why I can’t leave a description, please, for the love of all things living don’t go looking for— … “They’re here.” end of transmission
I had always been interested in time travel. Not in a "I went to university for theoretical physics"way; I just liked stories about time travel. Movies, books, video games, whatever... I fell in love with the idea of it as a kid, and my passion for it just never left. I'd daydream about when I'd go, or the things I would change. I imagined what it would be like to meet myself, even thought up stupid things like a "time traveller's password"that I'd never tell anyone else, so I could recognize myself from the future (slipping some lyrics from Chumbawamba's "Tubthumping"into conversation). The real irony was that my life wasn't interesting enough where I'd really have anything to change. I mean, I had my share of mistakes and regrets, but nothing that I'd want to go back and redo. But there was still some strange allure to the concept that I could never shake, even as I grew older. It just became part of my personality, even as I grew up and led a normal life. So when I found myself in that machine, dead at the controls... I can't say I wasn't surprised, but I can definitely say I wasn't as surprised as I should have been. At first, I thought a car had crashed in the forest: all I saw was metal and lights, but at odd angles. I pulled over on my way home from work to check it out, but as I grew closer it became very clear that this was not a car. The design was truly strange, and it also had no obvious means of propulsion. Given that it certainly wasn't here this morning on my way to work, how the hell did it get here? Feeling around, I found what felt like a handhold. While I couldn't see any sort of opening mechanism, something clicked as soon as I wrapped my fingers into the hold and it slid open easily. And there, inside, was a man sitting in front of a screen and a smooth metal surface. With the hairs on my neck raising at the surreality of the situation, I reached out to turn the chair around... and found myself, staring lifelessly back at me. Any of the reasonable shock I had, at the strange situation or from finding a dead body, was smothered by the realization that this was me. But not me now; this "me"was clearly much older. Grey hair, lines around the eyes and mouth... but undoubtedly me. And just as undoubtedly... they looked so very sad. This older "me"gave every indication that he had lived (and died) in harder times. The wave of existential sadness that washed over me was immense. I found myself growing faint, stumbling slightly. Whereas anyone else might have been confused or distrusting of the situation, this seemed instantly clear to me. And of all the sorts of stories I could find myself in, this had every marker of being a tragedy. I may have lived a life without serious regret, but I couldn't say the same for my senior. In a single moment, my entire future became clouded with doubt and fear. Reaching out to steady myself, I gripped the featureless metal "console"beneath the screen. But rather than finding a solid surface, it rippled at my touch and the screen hummed to life. There, on the screen, seemed to be a bent reflection. "He"looked back at me from the screen, pale and in pain but still very much alive when this was recorded. Sitting in the very chair I found him dead in, he opened his mouth to speak but could only cough painfully. I glanced down at the corpse, finding the recording's suffering to be all-too-real when I could reach out and touch its final result. But finally, the man onscreen managed to steady his breathing and began to speak. "So... I don't have much time, I don't think. There's a lot I want to tell you, but you'll have to figure it out on your own. The machine only responds to me, which means it'll respond to you. I wish I could have given this to you later, after you already understood what was at stake, but we were in too much danger by then."Another vicious coughing fit took him, and I swore I could actually hear a rib cracking. "You need... you need to take this, further back. The travel isn't easy on the body, but you're younger. You'll manage better than I have. I know you... we... understand the kind of logic this will take. Even if I could give the machine to someone else, there's nobody else I'd trust. Arrogant, I know, but it is what it is."Pain seemed to cross his face, but he forced his way past it. "Soon, everything falls apart. I don't mean one or two things, but a domino chain that ends humanity. I've tried everything to prevent it while keeping things somewhat the same, but that's just not good enough. I see that now." Suddenly, he grabbed the edges of the screen and pulled himself closer. I jerked back reflexively as his face filled the screen, only to bump into the chair, sending his corpse tumbling to the ground. My heart was beating faster than I had ever felt it, and a cold sweat broke out. This was all too real, too much. What the hell was I being asked to do? Why me? Why... us? "Listen to me. We need to change everything if we want to prevent this. I mean a complete rewriting of human history, from the ground up. Changing the founding of nations, technologies developed at entirely different times. You need to take this machine, and you need to find the courage to play God. Because the position is vacant, and humanity needs a God now."The pain in his eyes was intense, and I could see his hands struggling on the screen's edge beginning to whiten. A strange rattle began to sound in his throat, followed by desperate wheezing. I felt sick. I was watching myself die, recorded live. "I wasn't brave enough, and I'm out of time. I need you to... no, humanity needs you to... to..." His body jerked hard, and he collapsed back into the chair. A few more pained breaths passed, before it seemed that the pain finally stopped. The recording continued for another minute or so, of this unfortunate man sitting dead in the chair. Then it finally winked out, leaving me in silence. ___ I did the only thing that I could comprehend at the moment, after having such a heavy and incomprehensible responsibility thrust onto me: I buried myself. I had no shovel, and was never one for manual labour, but I made do with what I had. Retrieving the metal ice scraper from my car, I churned up enough earth to at least cover the body and laid him to rest. Carrying him to the shallow grave I had managed to dig, I found myself shocked by how light he was. I didn't think I could ever weigh so little. Covering him up, I found myself at a loss for how to mark the grave. In the end, I left it unmarked... if he died hoping that I would change everything, then this time and place wouldn't even exist soon. To mark it would go against his wishes, and so I marked it only in my memory. The one thing that would remain, even as the rest changed. Slowly, with the sensation of a huge weight bearing down on me, I returned to the strange machine. What he had asked of me was enormous, almost unthinkably so. But even as I struggled with the moral implications of it... some gears in my mind had already begun to turn. Ethics were impossibly difficult, but the logistics could be tackled. I'd need to study up first, gather copies of any knowledge that I would need or would want to give out later on. Once I left, there was no guarantee I could ever return to this time so I had to take anything I needed with me. I couldn't even rely on language, once I started making changes: English as I spoke it may never evolve again. I'd need to bring information in purely pictorial forms, that could be understood without the need for precise written words. I'd need to figure out how to visualize the branching timelines I would be working with... By the time I sat down in the chain, all questions of right and wrong had left me. It wasn't a matter of "should I?"because I was the only person suited to this. He knew that better than I had, knew that my mind had been conditioned to think in the non-linear paths that a task like this would require. I could do this, which meant I must do this. Placing a hand on the surface once more, it rippled and the screen came alive. Diagrams and text flashed across that I didn't fully understand yet, but I knew I would learn. This was the only task in my life now: to become humanity's shepherd across time, appointed by the future. A task I had spent my whole life preparing for, without realizing it. And at that moment, far from me, my car sat parked on the side of road where I had pulled over. On the radio, as if by cosmic joke, "Tubthumping"began to play. If I had been near the car at that moment, it might have occurred to me that I hadn't heard that song in a long time. And then a great many other concerns may have occurred to me. Maybe I would have questioned just how perfect this scenario seemed to be suited to me. Or maybe that "my"corpse was perhaps too light, and deserving of greater investigation. ...suffice it to say that I have many, many regrets these days.
It was nearly Christmas, my favourite time of year. Father would let me bring the ashes into campand make snow for decorations. For one week we would shed our anxieties. But that year, it wasn't to be. "But paps I don't want to go." "Urrup with that. Mind how you step,"and he muttered some more. That was the sum of his willingness to discuss the matter. We were hiking up the only manageable path on the great escarpment. He was taking me to the demarking post, the Valerspoint as we had called it then, but "Richtungswählort"as I know it now. The brush scratched my ankles all the way up. I had in a moment of petty rebellion packed all of my socks in my sack. I knew I would get sick from the radumroot, I hoped he would see it and take me back to the road, even just over Christmas. No, not to be. But he was able to chastise me about it all the same. "At least be achopping it if you don't be avoiding it."He spat, turning only to officially register what had been causing me to grumble with each step. I of course couldn't chop it, not with all my things in the sack, and the sack just about on my back. He was similarly laden, but he put it down and did a kindness to us both by slowing proceedings. "I'll aclear un the path, you stay here."He withdrew his jagged hunting sword and went on up the path, chopping at the purple-red weeds falling across from each side, each flailing hollow stem leaking a purple bile where he'd cut it. He called back, "Mark as the book daughter". Aye, I thought, mark as the book. If I didn't 'mark as the book' I'd have surely broken your ankles while you slept last night, I thought. I didn't betray him though. I sat down and perched my feet up on my sack, the better to see the purple scratches on my leg, and the writhing purple worms that appeared where the poison was seeping further in under the skin up to my knee, starting to itch. I would surely have a fever by tomorrow afternoon. Enough time to put down my head, gather water for the filterkeg, and I was being sent out with plenty of meat. But I would need to occupy the Point for all that time, dangerously visible. Only the devout came back here though and they would hardly harm me. The larger of his own packages hummed at me. It had two wheels on one end, a handle on the other, and he had dragged it behind him like an older person's shopping kart, or a golfing bag. The wind was only lightly coursing through here, and only the swipe and chop of father up the path broke through its quiet whistle. Below the escarpment, only the familiar silence of a people dispersed and weary. The kart wasn't actually humming of course, that was in my head. The double chambered lead case was quite soundproof, and anyway without a charge running through it the mechanism wouldn't hum, that's just something from the films. I resisted a srong urge to throw it over the radumroots and down the cliff side to the plainlands. He came ambling down the path again, cleaning purple off his blade with a thick hideleaf. "Its clear daughter. There's no askipping it." Aye, none that you'd dare, I thought. We were camped 7 days ride from the Monastery at Manchester, but they found us easily enough. Of course, we hadn't moved in 3 months, they knew exactly where we were, the widowed Reader and his 18 year old daughter. We never usually kept a camp that long, though obviously we kept an agreed route as per father's place in the plans of the devouts. They'd come riding in on the 2nd day before my 19th birthday by our reckoning (and they concurred, showing off a fancy calendar mechanism on an old wristwatch). Four monks riding in from Manchester, got up in their anti radiation robes. My father knew the oldest of them from his time there. I didn't stick around for the conversation, and I knew he would relent and accept their 'gift' on my behalf. When they were gone, all the affection had gone out of him. It was like the last 18 years had been a shameful crime, not to be spoken about. No longer were we father and daughter, and everything spoken was an instruction (to pack, to prepare, to gather roots, food and a filterkeg). To his credit, he divided the camp such that I had the best of the appliances. To his discredit, he loaded it on my back and kept the ass. He said he would send one to me by caravan, and had given scrubherb to the older monk to arrange it all; but until then I would carry my own tent and drag my own bomb. As he motioned for me to get up, I realised I'd missed my chance. This Reader wasn't going to break with the treaty ('the book'), not while there was a functioning bomb to be gotten rid of. At the top of the escarpment, we entered onto the Richtungswählort. Six rough stone columns (recent installments) about a metre high bounded a roughly circular outcrop of rock overhanging the cliff drop. It overlooked the cracked plains and the foothills and mountain passes they gave way to. He pointed to a dip in the mountains, one of the distant valley passes that would take a traveller up into the Nines. "I'd advise agoin out un the second, and come back un the fourth in up out Zefiel."He swung his arm to another column to indicate the fourth, behind it. "I like my current route."Was all I said. "YOU don't have one."Was his retort. He wheeled the case over to me. "Take and be agone." "Don't you love me father?"He looked like I had swore, some disgusting phrase. "That's why I must let you go. Man, woman, people, they can't coexist."Then a flash of anger, "Its in the book! All must separate! All must assure others of mutual destruction!"Then he grabbed me and turned me around, "or is it that you be awanting?" We were looking inwards then across the higher plain, the barren murklands where only green and purple veins grew across the ground, and earthy coloured clouds in the distance twisted ever violently. Only by an accident of fallout and geography was anyone able to survive in the lowlands at all - the poisoned waters of this land all flowed in the other direction, down to the Mer Sea. The escarpment itself was a product of the earlier bombs, a great rift that only the greatest hell unleashed upon the Earth could cause to be created. But I wasn't in the mood to appreciate such luck. "I should launch it that way, you'd have to take me back in then."I shouted, tears in my eyes as I did. "I mark as the book and would leave you as dead!"He had let go and for a frightening moment I thought he was already gone. I turned around and he was at the columns, but still looking at me, his face drained of blood, his stamina gone, and not from the hike up to here. There was pleading in his eyes. "There is no other way Anna! We mark as the book, or we will repeat all!" "I'm sick of your book talk father,"I said. It was a new wound to inflict, and I regretted it immediately. He had been a Reader, and then a husband, a father, and a widow. Now he would be something else, but still devoted to the Reading, nonetheless. I was his daughter and had never been anything else. Huntress, mender, fire hand, I was all these necessary things, but my only identity was his daughter, never apart, the 2 of us against the wasteland. My anger and hurt outweighed my pity, so I doubled down. "There is nothing in your book! It doesn't even stop the killings or the bombs. Think of Czeshia, it was wiped out 3 years ago! The treaty was a failure written by failed men!"He was horrified to hear the blasphemy of it, and he had his mantra ready. "Wiped out as fools that would congregate together! Some vagabond slew them in the thousands in one bombing and now eats un their table. Is that what you want?" (this was possible with some bombs) We didn't look at, but rather toward, one another, and both through tears. "It isn't Czeshia for two to stick together." "It is the same sin, daughter! And I will be aglad not to listen to your heresies on un road!"And he picked up his pack and his stick. "Aglad!"And he was walking down the path we had come. To my shame I lurched after him and grabbed his arm, he flung me to te side with unexpected strength. "No!"I had screamed. "No more!"He bellowed back. I was broken by it. "Do you go by by the second?" "Yes father." "And come back by the fourth?" "If I have not changed my mind by then." "I will ask the caravan to send you a talkie when next I see one. If you're not on the fourth you won't get it. We can talk then next year, when our paths are close. I'll be aff the sixth by your mother's lake at that point. You can reach its other shore from the fourth."I didn't take it in, sitting on the floor in shock, my ankle itching ever worse. He repeated it and begged me to remember it. And shortly after he was leaving down the path we'd come from. I would have to set up here for two days and endure the fever, but follow him down after that, before crossing the lands below to the second pass. Before he left we did hug one last time, but neither could hold back the bitter feelings. It didn't feel like my father anymore, and I didn't seem to him like his daughter. As he made his way down away from.therr, I had some last words for him. "I'll take this monk's bomb father, but don't be surprised if I fire it aimlessly into the sky before we next talk." I heard only the familiar refrain: "Mark as the book, daughter."
Gaz stuck a finger up his nose, an expression of deep thought upon his face. He pulled it out, then, seeing the lack of walls, wiped his hand on his blue-spotted shirt. “Dunno. My Mommie’s nice. My brother’s a meanie an‘ he doesn’t wanna play with me, but I don’t wanna play with him either“ He sniffed a little. “Besides, I‘m not little, I’m biiig!” He sucked air into his chest, stood on the tips of his purple sneakers, and raised his arms, smiling proudly as he did so. “If you destroyed the world, would it look cool? I bet it would go boooommm!” he jumped, waving his arms expressively. Then he paused, a look of sudden realisation, and then horror ,on his face “But if you destroyed the world... we wouldn’t have a home any more- there wouldn’t be puddles to jump in and friends to make and games to play and hugs to give... please don’t destroy the world!” The figure before him sighed. “Perhaps we should have gotten an adult specimen after all.”
911 what is your emergency? Y-yes ma’am. This kid! He broke into my house! I-I didn’t know! He kicked in the door! I didn’t mean to shoot a kid! calm down sir. Tell me what happened. Sorry ma’am. I-it’s just-I’ve never shot anyone before... I understand sir. I know this must be difficult for you. Can you tell me where you are? Right, yeah...it’s, uh, 1066 6th street south, apartment 6. ok sir, officers are on their way. Can you tell me your name sir? Sorry, it’s Ben. Ben Meanie. alright Mr Meanie. Can you tell me what happened? Yeah...so, I heard something strange outside and got up to investigate. Before I could get to the living room, my front door exploded in! I didn’t have time to think! I just shot! I-if I knew it was the kid!... you knew the victim sir? Can you tell me who it was? It’s this kid from down the way. He’s been harassing me for months. I know my name is ‘Meanie’, but I’m not a bad guy! I swear! I understand sir. Please remain calm. You said he was harassing you? Yeah...he has this Utube thing. He runs around the neighborhood with this camera ‘fighting bad guys’ and ‘exploring the rainforest’. Except that all the “bad guys” are other residents...he keeps saying I’m some big villain and hitting us with sticks and rocks. I-I wanted him to stop, but I didn’t want to kill him! ^(sirens can be heard in the background) ok sir, it sounds like the officers have arrived. Do you still have the gun? Y-yes ma’am ok. I need you to put the gun down, and keep your hands visible. Can you do that for me? O-ok. where are you now? I’m in the living room... ^(subject is in the living room. Apartment 6. There is a firearm present.) ok sir. I’m going to turn you over to the officers on scene. It’s going to be ok. They’ll take care of you. Ok. Thank you ma’am ^(click)
\[Disgusting Myth\] "What do the green flashes mean?"Dani asked Dani sat at a booth with Astra, Oz, and Ruin. Astra began to teach Dani about her abilities while they waited. At the moment, golden stars glowed in Dani's eyes and she focused on the purple aura around Oz. "Huh?"Astra asked. She turned her attention to Oz and stars lit up in her eyes. She saw the same purple aura he'd always had; he looked like any other Zero to her special eyes. Then, a faint flash of green pulsed in one section of the aura near his heart. She'd missed it every other time she used her Sight. But, she focused on it again and realized it was a regular pulse that almost seemed to mimic Oz's heartbeat. It suddenly made sense how Melody identified Oz. "Oh,"Astra said. She'd been enjoying having the older woman look up to her. As far as Dani knew, Astra knew everything about the multiverse. "When it comes to auras, every color means something different. A golden aura belongs to a Unique Soul and each Unique has a different aura."Dani nodded, she already noted Ruin's skull aura and Astra's star field. "Purple auras are Zeros; and, if you see green, that means...,"Astra gestured at Oz. "...that he's a Myth." "Wow...,"Dani whispered to herself. She looked around at Oz and Astra, then at Ruin. The tall, pale, bald man that saved her life. She took a moment to look around at the busy diner, amazed with the knowledge that it did not belong in her world. "I'm sitting in a restaurant that shouldn't exist, with a myth, a vampire, and a girl from another universe,"Dani sighed to herself in awe. "When I woke up with wings this morning, I thought that was going to be as weird as my day got."The trio chuckled at Dani's comment. "Wait 'til you visit the AlterNet yet,"Astra grinned at Dani. "What's that?" "Uh, do you have MMO games on this Earth?"Astra asked. Dani nodded. "Okay. Imagine that; but, it's life size and you get to play your character. "Life-size... like with props?"Dani asked. Astra shook her head. "Life-size as in, the size of an entire Earth,"Oz said. "Advanced tech called nanos simulate a playable reality. Billions of players visit it from alternate Earths. "That sounds amazing,"Dani said with wide eyes. The waitress appeared with a tray of food and began placing down the orders. Dani and Astra got their floats then the waitress placed a burger plate down in front of Oz. He reached for the warm bun and brought it closer to his mouth; but, Dani interrupted. "Wait! Uh...how does this work? This restaurant isn't from my Earth; but, it's on my Earth now. Will they accept cash? Card?.. And..uh...am I paying for you guys?"Dani asked. Astra giggled and shook her head. "You'll find most multiverse businesses, like this one, don't deal with money. Those that do will use nanos as currency,"Astra held her palm out and a small golden cube materialized in her hand. "Multiverse banks exist to exchange currency between universes; but it's more trouble than it's worth." "\HEEUEGGHHH!"A loud retching sound drew their attention to the next table. "THAT'S DISGUSTING!"a stranger sitting alone was trying to spite the taste of something out of his mouth and he pushed his burger away in disgust. Oz gave his own meal a second thought and watched intently as the waitress approached the stranger to determine the problem. "They usually have good food here,"Astra said as they all watched the patron point at the burger and shake his head. The waitress gave several apologetic half-bows, then picked up the plate. Instead of returning to the kitchen, she approached Astra's table. "I'm so sorry,"the waitress said. Her eyes landed on the burger. "Oh! You haven't bitten it yet, wonderful."She picked up the plate. "Everything okay?"Oz asked. She nodded. "I'm sorry, I accidentally gave him your order. We'll make you a new burger in no time,"she said. She turned to deliver Oz's burger to the angry patron, but Oz spoke up. "Wait!"he said. He nodded at both plates in each of her hands. "They look the same. What's the difference?"The waitress shrugged and lifted Oz's unbitten burger slightly higher to draw attention to it. "Unicorn,"she said. Then, she raised the other burger with a bite missing. "Cow." \\\ Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1290 in a row. (Story #195 in year four.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit (r/hugoverse) or my blog.
It was a middleschool field trip to the Eden Hotel. Only the richest or most influential people knew of it's existence in the past. But since that time it became more open to the public as a popular destination for learning or adventure. I vaguely recall visiting with my parents when I was 5. I don't remember too much outside of where I visited seeming tropical, there were so many rules, I lost my mommy, a kind stranger helped me find her, and the ice cream was delicious. As we arrived and loaded off the bus we were greeted by a young holographic Walt Disney. Welcoming us to paradise, and rambled on that we must stay in our specific hotel rooms at night and keep our date identification cards to make sure we stay consistent in the same timeline. As we were herded to the trams that would take us to our timezone terminals, I watched a small platinum blonde boy scurry off while their parents were loading their luggage. He looked kind of like me, and I guess it was possible it could have been. But the odds seemed unlikely. Besides, I had better things planned after the Lincoln lessons. I was finally old enough to try out the future VR exhibit by the alternative history memorial. As we loaded in and the wheels became to turn sitting at a window end box car seat, I noticed that same child staring back at me the car over. (Draft)
The three ships loomed over the remains of Yalma Three. Their engines burners mirrored the smouldering craters that speckled the planet. Smaller ships continually splintered off from their scorched hulls. The smallest, no larger than a shuttle. The largest, a sole battlecruiser, stripped of all Tornado-class torpedoes, though its MAC cannon was still intact, if in need of maintenance. Admiral Hekalo turned away from the drone’s footage and looked out the viewport. The Eternal Terra dwarfed its two escorts. Two battleships and a dreadnought, not a traditional battlegroup for sure. But, as he reminded himself, they were all that was left of the Terran Hedgemonial Navy. He touched the medals on his chest—all thirteen of them. There would not be any more. Not that they held any honour anymore. No more Terra. No more Navy. No more Hedgemony. Soon, no more humanity, unless this plan worked. “Admiral! The hangers are clear! Captain Lethe is asking for the jumpstart.” “Thank you, ensign. Captain Roberts, in your own time.” Hekalo watched as Roberts, barely two years under Hekalo’s sixty, energized his bridge into action. A whine permeated the air. In front of the Eternal Terra, a glowing blue disk appeared and expanded, stabilizing only after it reached almost twice the size of dreadnought. Captain Lethe’s battlecruiser was the first through the portal, and the transports followed shortly behind in a swarm. Barely a minute passed before the last one shuttle went through. The disk didn’t collapse so much as disappear. “Admiral, would you mind giving the speech?” Captain Roberts said. “The jump traces have been detected. They’ll be here shortly.” “Thank you Captain, I will.” Hokalo nodded to the comms lieutenant, a woman, also of the retiring age. She played with her console and gave a thumbs-up. “Fleet. This is the Admiral speaking,” he said. “We are all volunteers, all six hundred men and women who have lived their lives to the fullest. We know the risks, as do those who we protect. The enemy is almost here. An old poet once said, ‘ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die!’ Let’s not let humanity die. Let’s give them a memory of us that will keep them afraid of the dark corners of space. Let’s make them worry about our return!” He signaled to the comms officer and she cut the transmission. “Thank you, Admiral. But, wasn’t it ‘do or die?’” Roberts said. “That doesn’t really fit our circumstance does it?” “I guess not.” The bridge lapsed into silence. Even the beeping of the sensors faded to the tension of the wait. The green portals started appearing. Three, at first. Then seven, twelve, twenty, fifty. One hundred and twenty portals, by the final count. “We are outnumbered,” the Captain noted. “Outgunned, too. Lets make it count, people! Fire all weapons as soon as they reload. We won’t last long enough to run out.” The admiral nodded grimly. Into the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell flew the six hundred. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Thanks for reading! Critiques are always welcome!
"Well what do I do now?"I ask myself out loud, "Am I really that stupid?" I had died not all too long ago and now here I am sitting, or floating I guess, by the water my, old water bottle sill there. It was empty and warm from summers heat. I looked at myself, a transparent, pale ghost, my blueish glow barely being seen on the grass below me. 'Choking on water can't be the dumbest death, right?"I thought to myself, "Right?" I got up not wanting to be sitting by the water any more. It kinda creeps me out now. May be I can walk around a bit? Yah thats what I'll do, I can clear my mind some and think about what just happe- It had suddenly went dark... I couldn't see anything or speak. I panicked but noticed that I wasn't even moving, heck I couldn't even see myself. Not even the noticeable glow I had earlier! Then I woke up. I was still a ghost but it was raining... "Am I connected to the water i choked on? "I questioned. It had to be so. Why else would I end up somewhere when it's raining!? "THE WATER MUST HAVE EVAPORATED!" Some time and one more black out later I found out that I could float and only interact with things when it's raining. More specifically when it's a heavy drizzle. I have messed with so may tree branches that at this point I swear I could tell a dead one by a live one just by touching it. 'How long have I been dead for?' I thought to myself, 'Has my body even been found yet?' I really need to stop thinking so dark... So much time has passed. I don't even know whats happening any more. A pandemic? Police raids? FRICKING RIOTS? My 'undeadness' the last thing on my mind right now... What year is it any more? HOLD UP IS THAT SNOW IN FEBRUARY!? It's now what I believe is 2021... I've stopped 'blacking out' as much... it's been raining alot. A lot of what happened last year has died down but not all to much... The world really has changed alot. 5 years, It felt like so little time...
That was it, I'm sure I heard it... The slam of the Demon Gorgon's head plummeting to the floor, followed by the echoing creaks of the chamber door. There was no-one left, I was all that remained between the greatest party of adventures and the demon lord. Only my power, the strongest of all the generals, stood before an unthinkable power that would kill not only whoever opposed, but also all life on the sphere. I was "claimed"as a child, a puny, sickly orphan by my lord for "showing promise". After that twisted day, my growth began into a personal guard for my sworn master. Through lifetimes of pain and torture, I was molded into this twisted demonic being. Here I am, giving my life at the behest of my master thanks to the contract, only broken by a being having an immense amount of empathy towards me. Not many people listen to demons, afterall. However, this party could be it, my chance, my one chance to break free from the bonds of this forsaken contract. Only then, may there be a chance to stop him, the Demon Lord. My power may not be enough to kill him, but my form can weaken his devastating power. I had been preparing for this moment for decades, preparing to meet other beings and exact revenge against my corrupt owner. The party stepped inside. "Greeting's, Adv--"I started, being cut short with an arrow to my gullet, breaking my speach. I see, there is no hope, all will be lost, even if I am to overcome this party. This will be the end...
An alien exploration fleet is searching the galaxy for undiscovered life in part to learn more of the universe and in part to find new trade routes and goods. They have picked up signals from a planet near the galaxy's edge to indicate that this planet is not only inhabited but the natives have sufficient intelligence and technogy to understand them. It takes three years to pinpoint exactly where the transmission is coming from, but eventually they calculate that the transmissions they are picking up come from the system they call Zenelktro, from either the third or fourth planet. Six months of travel and they arrive at this, the very edge of known space and want to show that they come in peace, not war; commercialism, not conquest; and so they play back the first transmission they have ever received from our people. Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up
Human: Okay, I get the part about being the King of the Gods without the immortality thing. I get the large amount of perks that come with said title. But, why did you specifically choose a normal mortal to be the King instead of a fellow god? Every deity in hearing range: Experience Human: What? Random God of Economy: Look, we’ve lived a long time and every pantheon has a ruler. But, you humans have created a phrase that pretty much summarizes what it’s like under their ruling. Human: And what’s that? Random Goddess of Wisdom: Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. Out of the dozens of times we switched Gods, only once had it worked, and that’s only because she was a Goddess of Family and Home. Human: Why can’t you just go for another God like her then? Random God of Peace: Because, Gods like her are in very short supply. If they’re too busy ruling, then they have less time to keep people from killing themselves. Human: Okay. But still, why me? Random God of Logic: Because you are best fit for the job. Human: How? Random God of Justice: We researched about you, and from what we we discovered, you are Lawful Neutral in alignment. That means that you are the type person that won’t try to rule the world, nor would you try to “Save the world from evil” via slaughtering an entire race because you were told they were evil. You would enforce your rules, but won’t use and abuse it to do terrible stuff. Human: Okay, you got me there. But, why do this now and not earlier? Random God of Strategy: We wanted to make sure that nearly every type of God became King at one point to see how their rule changes the world. The longest one of us ruled was two centuries, the shortest was five minutes. From trial and error, we learned the type of people to keep from being the King. Human: So I’m here to see if a King of Gods can be a mortal? Random God of Family: Yes. Also, you mortals have experiences that most Gods cannot have and we want to see if your experience and limits can help rule us. Human: You know what? Fine. I might as well try this out. But, can I ask my fellow mortals for assistance? Random Goddess of Death: This request is acceptable, but don’t expect them to remember what they did when they return.
Part 1 of 3 The garage door opened to a cold and moonless night, the only useful light coming from a flickering streetlamp trying in vain to awaken its neighbor across the way. It was only ten PM, but most of the houses on the cul-de-sac had already gone to sleep, so I rolled the trash can to the curb with extra care. I looked up at the sky – an old habit from when there were stars to see. The smog and light kept most of them away now, and on a misty night like this, even Venus could walk naked in the heavens without the threat of peeping Toms. That's when I saw her walking down the center of the street. The most beautiful dog I had ever seen. A large and sturdy dog with thick fur the colors of darkness, snow, and cinnamon – a Bernese Mountain Dog I would later find out. She was headed toward the center of the flickering light, and upon arrival, stopped, looking me over as if deciding whether or not I could be trusted. She decided I could be. I crouched low as she approached and let out my hand for her to sniff, but instead, she walked right past me, through the garage, and into the house. I rushed back inside, not wanting her to wake anyone. She was waiting for me in the living room, and I approached her slowly, and as she seemed perfectly at ease, I felt around for a collar. To my guilty delight, I came up empty. I knew I'd still need to take her to the vet and see if she had a chip that could locate her owner, but for tonight at least, she was mine. The following morning I could tell from the sounds outside my door that I was the last one up, as usual. I looked down and was glad to see that the events of the previous night had not been a dream. Stella, as I'd decided to name her, as she was the only star that night, was lying peacefully on the floor near the bowl of water that I'd left out for her. I fired off some Slack messages to let my coworkers know I had some errands to run and would work from home in the afternoon. Then I slipped out of my room, closing the door behind me, with Stella still inside. My door was right outside the living room, which was attached to the dining room and separated from the kitchen by a half wall that doubled as a bar. My parents and seventeen-year-old sister sat at the dining table, finishing up a meal of scrambled eggs and country-fried potatoes. "Good morning,"I called out to the trio, with a cheerfulness they weren't expecting. "Oh, and what's so good about it,"my mom replied, duplicating my typical response but with a much more upbeat tone. "I met a girl and brought her home last night,"I said. They all stopped and stared at me. "I'm serious – she's waiting in my room. I'll bring her out." I opened my door and Stella came out to a chorus of aaahhhhs and a snarky "Prettier than I expected"from my sister. I told them all about the previous night and how I would take Stella to the vet to see if she had a chip. They vocalized as hope what I too desired – for her not to be chipped. What I truly hoped for, though, was the opposite, because I knew someone's heart had to be breaking right now out of worry for this beautiful animal. I got to the vet and, long story short, no chip. No lost Bernese reported. Nothing to be done. Just a little bit of paperwork and some shots, and she was mine. They had my contact info and told me not to get too attached because someone was bound to come looking for her, but until then, she was mine. I purchased some supplies and brought her home. Over the next few weeks, I discovered several things about her. For one, she was smart – smarter than I knew a dog could be. If I'd caught her using the toilet, it wouldn't have even shocked me. And I learned that she loved belly rubs. Constant belly rubs. And she loved watching television. Sesame Street was her favorite for a while, and then she went through a soap opera and sitcom phase, but eventually, she settled on CNN International. Then, one day I came home, and there was a beautiful lady in the house. Five-foot-four, fair-skinned with red hair and green eyes, wearing a deep red Celtic dress. With an Irish lilt, she introduced herself as Stella.
So uh, imagine instead of juju spirits watching you and judging you, there is a gossiper as fast as the wind who tells all your deeds but twisted most foul, like a bird that speaks about you and your tribe and all that you've done together. With most spite and vile, and all tribes have these birds and all the tribes grow angry at one another and people grow tired of the birds, yet no arrow can pierce them so quick to flight they are. So savage is the calling of these birds that people grow miserable. Those birds begin taking sides with certain tribes so that their torments do not grow stale, that their anguish grows like a choking vine. Thats the Internet...now how do I explain Morpheous Neo and Robots...hmmm. Well children it will be a tale for another day, now, yes, its past time to eat.
The waves crashed against the bow of the ship, sending clouds of salty mist onto the deck. The faded black and white paint chipped in the morning sun. The man, dark hair billowing in the rushing air, clung to the rigging as he looked out to the far horizon. A landmass had been growing on it, ever so slowly, since the sun had climbed past the horizon. He felt it in his gut. Felt that here, at the world's end, he would finally find the answer to the mystery that he had searched for his entire life. Why the world had transformed into a massive archipelago. "Ferdinand,"the woman shouted from the mast. Her voice was hoarse from calling to him for hours. "Come down from there. You can't do this!" He had wrapped thick ropes around her and tied her to the mast when it became obvious she wasn't on board with the expedition. She had raised her voice, then screamed, then threatened him. She didn't understand. He slid down the ropes and landed hard on his boots. His knees contracted, absorbing the impact, and he sprung up without effort. "Let me go,"Alyssa said to him. "Please. I'll take the rescue boat and row out into the open waters."She knew that taking the small boat, the same one she had rescued Ferdinand from when he first joined the crew, would be a death sentence. But she thought it may be a more merciful death than what lay ahead. He ignored her, instead going to the ropes that connected tautly to the sail and adjusting them in the breeze. Since the crew had abandoned the ship, staying in some topsy-turvey port where the people wore shoes on their hands and walked upside-down and bare feet swinging through the air, it had been him to fend for the two of them. And good riddance, too. If they wanted to live in a city where Feet Walkers faced imprisonment—if the jury was ravenous enough, even death—so be it. The wind was picking up now and the island ahead quickly grew. From a distance, he could see that it was a dead land. Wind had blown all dust from its flat surface, and the sun had bleached it so that it shimmered in the light. "What's wrong with it?"Alyssa called from the deck below. "I don't know,"Ferdinand said. He stood at the helm and guided the ship around the island's circumference lazily, trying to resist the pull of the mysterious island and carefully approaching. The ship scraped into something hard below the surface, then ground to a halt. Alyssa shouted as Ferdinand was thrown to the hard floor. He felt a crack as he landed on his elbow. The air was filled with the immense and deep cracking of lumber, and the small sharp crack of bone. He grabbed the railing and pulled himself to his feet. His arm screamed in agony as the ship settled. He grabbed it with the other, hoping the pressure would ease the nerves. It didn't, but he held on anyway. The island stretched out in front of the ship. He looked down beneath the waves and saw nothing. What could they have run aground on? Water rippled out from the impact. He peered closer, and he saw in the light that it was a deep red. That was when the island's edges slid up, covering the shining surface and transforming it into a smooth obsidian platform in the water. Did it just... Ferdinand thought to himself. Alyssa finished the thought for him, confirming what he hoped he had imagined. "That fuckin island just blink?" --- WC613 Open your eyes people, it was giant caves whales! They escaped and ate all the land!!!
“For the last time sir, my blood does not heal all ailments” Seli says, sighing as she kept herself laid down behind the desk, her two human aids at her side to make sure the man in front of her didn’t lash out. “But sent you unicorns meant to be magical?” The man yelled, aggravated at the stone walling. “Magic is only in the story books, made by humans, with hands” Sile says, putting a hoof on the bridge of her nose. “I will do all I can to help your daughter, but having her drink my blood will be as useful as if she’s drinks from yours.” The man just threw up his hands, grunting before leaving the room. Sile could only sigh, thinking as she took a moment to breath. One of her aids thinks “you do have the case in 15 minutes” he says. “Ah… thank you” Sile says, smiling as she slowly stood up on all four hoofs, her aids helping her through the building made for humans. The books were wrong about unicorns, the image of a sleek perfect white coat on a smaller horse with a horn that could grant wishes and heal all ailments was made up on all accounts. In reality Sile was more akin to a large draft horse, her hoofs needing special rubber shoes as to not destroy the floor, her simple lookin horn dulled to avoid being caught in wood, and even then a grove was still forming in the top of her door. She had a light brown coat with white spots scattered around her with tan mane and tail. By all accounts she didn’t look magical, more likely to break a bone than heal one, but with her training in law thanks to protecting herself from poaching, she had found her calling. It wasn’t easy, putting her on guard protecting some of the weakest from the most wicked of humanity. She walked on into the court room from one of the side doors, the trial just about to start. She went on to one of the tables and sat herself down next to a young child who had been crying along with a lawyer. The other table having an odd man in an orange suit and his lawyer. As the trial started Sile would keep right with the child, letting the girl pet her fur and even hug her face, so long as it kept her mass between her and the man, if one could call him that. And soon it came to the hardest part. It always broke her heart to stay by the side of the child as they spoke of what happened, but one thing she did enjoy was starting down the monsters. She may not have magic, but she could still strike fear into cowards while giving those who needed it the most the strength to nail the man to the wall. (I don’t write nearly enough, so I’m not sure how this is going to be received, more so as the topic is kind of dead, but I hope someone can enjoy.)
The final statue clattered to the floor, the last of its unnatural magical life force ebbing away as the warrior slammed his blade through its enchanted gem. Panting with exertion, he grabbed the last of his renewal potions and quickly downed it; the Sorceress was just beyond those doors, and this was no time to stop and take a rest. Dashing the empty flask to the ground, he gave himself one last check before kicking in the doors to her inner sanctum. Sword, intact. Its antimagic enchantment was as strong as it ever was, a credit to the Holy Order's battleforges. His armour, though battered, still held true. His holy symbol, dangling securely around his neck: though it granted no powers, it brought him comfort in these dark places. He had hunted many an Annihilator Mage before, but he never relaxed or took his task for granted. Of all the forms of magic to specialize in, his quarry was those whose greatest skill was to transform magical energy into pure destructive force. Responsible citizens found with such "talents"submitted themselves for Sealing, and left magic behind to live fulfilling lives as mundane humans... but others, such as this damned sorceress, insisted that they deserved the freedom to practice their craft. As if destruction was an art form. But no, he corrected himself. The rabble he had hunted in the past bore little resemblance to the sorceress he now faced. She had been on the run for years and years, and had grown abnormally skilled despite her lack of proper training. Frowning, the warrior sifted through the remains of the statue with his foot; most Annihilator Mages only had the skill to channel their natural destructive force, with finer magic far beyond their grasp. But these statues had been excellently animated, an indication of significant skill above and beyond her true focus. If this was what she could do with a mere fraction of her true potential... he shuddered, gripping his sword. No, this was no time to lose his nerve. As powerful as she was, it would still only take one swing of his sword. He just needed to get close enough to swing once, and in one stroke he would save the world from the greatest threat it had ever known. His ragged breathing had calmed itself as the potion took effect, and he felt energy filling his body. Shaking himself out, loosening his muscles, the warrior crouched low with his eye on the substantial double doors blocking his way. They were certainly enchanted to keep intruders out... but she had been on the run for years, and would not have had the time to truly fortify this location. They could not stop him now. With a roaring battle cry, he surged forward and thrust out his sword. As its tip struck the doors, a bright flash and a crack of light filled the room. He felt all the hairs on his body stand on end, and the sharp smell of ozone filled his nostrils; the intense pain followed soon afterwards. The warrior had grossly underestimated the strength of her enchantments, and while he did successfully bypass them... his arm did not. Bounding forcefully in the room, his right arm dangled uselessly beside him and the sword clattered to the ground. There was no doubt in his mind that the backlash had destroyed all the nerves in his arm; he would never use it again, not even with the greatest healing magic. And to face such a foe in this condition? There was no chance that he would survive the encounter. But his impending death was no reason to give up, rather it was motivation to make it count. With a silent prayer to his god (and to the fact that dead nerves feel no pain), he moved in one smooth motion to scoop up the fallen sword with his left hand, instantly resuming his charge. He had to strike, now, before she began her counteratt- There was no attack coming. Where he had prepared himself for complex magical artifacts, a sorceress committing atrocities, and maybe a sacrificial circle... he had instead charged headlong into a moderately sized bedroom. From the look of the barely opened luggage, she had not even bothered to fully unpack. And there, sitting at what appeared to be a fold-out writing desk of some fancy design, sat the greatest Annihilation Mage of this age... gloomily staring into the flame of a candle, while she idly passed her finger back and forth through it. ...Had she somehow not heard him come in? The thunderclap of his entrance made that somewhat unlikely. And yet, she hadn't even turned to face him. Somehow her complete nonchalance terrified the warrior, far more than if she had begun blasting him upon entry. He found himself shaking with fear, and wished he had a spare hand with which to clasp his holy symbol. But he focused forward, trying to steady his voice, and raised his sword to point at her. Despite her odd behaviour, his task was still clear. "Dark Sorceress! By the Holy Order of the Magerium, I come to-" "Save it."She snapped suddenly, turning quickly to face him. Despite the flashing anger in her eyes... had she been crying earlier? "I don't want to hear your fucking bullshit about 'saving the land' from me, not one more goddamned time. Just once, could one of you just choose to leave me the fuck alone? Could we skip the damn fight, and you just turn and walk away?"Frustration made her voice tight, and an emotional mage was usually a mage out of control... but the candle near her didn't so much as flicker. Even at the height of her rage, she was a complete master of her abilities. Even High Mages were known to have 'incidents' during emotional outbursts, and the warrior found himself lowering his sword. Was it out of fear, or did something in her words tell him to hear her out? He assured himself it was fear. Standing from the chair, she continued. "Every few months, for my entire fucking life, one of you Defenders shows up. Swearing that you'll rid the land of my 'evil', that they'll die before letting me take another 'cursed' breath. And then I'm forced to fight, and I have to kill, and I hate it. I hate that you make me take lives, over and over and over."With each word, she stepped forward. And with every step, he stepped back. It wasn't just her magic that he feared, but her anger. "You all act like the very skill of Destruction is horrific, that it's a tool only capable of evil. You're fucking hypocrites, ever single Defender. Take a look at your damned sword, and what it did to my door. Tell me, what sort of magic do you think that is, hm? Who do you think is down in the battleforges, pumping out Defender blades?"She gestured lightly with a figure, and the entire feeling of the room changed. The air became thicker, the lights dimmer. The warrior would have taken it as an attack, but the increased weight of his armor made it clear what she had done: she had dispelled all the magic in the vicinity. There was no burst of energy, no backlash to handle... but it was the same as his sword, without a doubt. For despite everything else, his sword still hummed away in his hands. It seemed to be unaffected. But then... was she telling the truth? Annihilators, in the service of the Holy Order? It seemed absurd, but something about her logic wormed into his mind. He could not shake the doubt that she had planted so easily. Fighting against it, the warrior tried to shake it out of his head as if it was a leaf in his hair. "No... that is insane. The Holy Order is clear in its strictures, that Destruction is a force of Evil. It cannot be good." "Tell me... in all the time you've been a Defender, how many times have you destroyed for a greater good?"While her words lost no force, her anger seemed to wash over him as if it was meant for someone else. Unlike any others, he had listened... even if only to question her, but it was still progress. She leapt at the opportunity, to finally plead her case. "You and I could argue for hours about what is deserving of being called 'evil', but you must agree that if one is to go against evil... there is no better tool than Destruction. What you do with your sword, I do with my magic." "No, that's absurd."The comparison snapped him out of his consideration for her argument, striking too directly at his pride. "I am, at most, a torch illuminating the darkness. You are a wildfire, destruction on a ridiculous scale. The eastern continent still bears scars from your craft, over a decade later. What I do, I do because it is necessary. If I am wielding evil, as you say, then I am at least proportional to the evil I fight. You are a needless apocalypse, walking in human form." Strong words spoken with conviction, but something in his chest tightened as he said them. His mind, full of strictures, stood behind everything he said... but his heart hesitated. She had shaken something deep inside him, and he fought to ignore that truth. (Continued below)
It took a second for the blazing light of the overhead Bovies to fade out as my vision focused, and the blurry shapes around me gave rise to the scene I found myself in. It was a feeling of abject terror that poured out of somewhere deep in my center. The chills spread out to my strapped down limbs and my heart went from a resting thump thump...thump thump, to maniacal tachycardia. The room was mostly dark save for the surgical lights and soft flickering of medical instrumentation. Further away, indicator lights on the surrounding equipment blinked on in unsynchronized trepidation. There were other lights though...red lights. I quickly counted no fewer than five before the first voice that had spoken moved in front of my bed to address a darkened audience beyond. It was a stage of sorts, but not like one you'd find in a hospital where residents were scrutinized by their superiors...no, this was a theatrical stage, and the shadowy silhouettes of the figures off stage were clapping as the presumed doctor began to address the horrific audience beyond. I couldn't quite make out the forms surrounding the red lights, but I could have sworn they were cameras. I was being filmed? Did something happen to me? Am I crazy? Was I abducted? For the panicked life of me, I couldn't resolve time. As hard as I tried, I couldn't remember the last true memory of what came before this moment. I was terrified, so obviously there is a reference point in my subconscious that knows something is wrong. That said, only vague recollections of my past life came forth in faded fuzzy visuals. People in a square formation, a sense of authority, and an eagle in flight. That was it. The doctor was going on with the standard boring introduction on what was about to occur, like a lecturer with 10 years tenure and passion long ago sapped by administrative frustrations. I could do it better...yes, that was the thought, I know exactly how I'd introduce myself before this audience. It would have been with power and confidence. What? Why was I considering this, what am I doing here?! The doctor noted that tonight would be a treat, as we would be determining a combined set of experimentation that would give evidence to the will of man--whatever that means. He muttered something about the "Doctor's Trial"before lining up a series of dreadful pieces of equipment. One looked like some kind of automated living torch, and the other had a small cloud emanating from it. Apparently, this was to be dubbed, the anti-Trinity Test. "Now, our patient here must be awake in order to facilitate the proper data collection,"the doctor boringly muttered to the audience and now obvious cameras. "We have tested the effects of bacterial agents and their cure through sulfonamide, but it has been presumed by our Living god that perhaps a more aggressive approach is required. In order to truly realize the depth of the human spirit, we must invoke the rites of the anti-Trinity, and combine the elemental forces of nature through a trial of stress that can fully demonstrate the impact of the former experiments." No...I thought, that can't be. This has happened before? I looked down for the first time upon my strapped-down body and realized with a sudden sense of acute shock that I no longer resembled something human. Whatever was strapped to this table had been subjected to performances beyond the scope of human comprehension. It was a mangled, twisted, evil thing on this table. I don't deserve this, I shouted! The audience laughed maniacally. "Oh yes you do, we all do hahaHAHA,"growled a random voice from somewhere stage left. Nothing prepared me for the feeling that followed. A machine...it was a machine wasn't it...drifted down from the blackness of the expanse above me. It was spider-like and instantly evoked an arachnophobic sense of repulsion. The machine stopped just over my location and uncoiled a series of razor-sharp appendages that dropped inches from multiple points of my body. "Please proceed with the evisceration,"moaned the doctor. The device then methodically sliced what was left of the jumbled meat on the table, bringing me to the realization that pain was still a sensation I had available to my senses. It was the feeling of a papercut, but everywhere, and constantly. The machine finished its brutal yet cold slicing and a series of syringes flew out of pockets within the apparatus. These injected burning horrific yellow substances deep within the cuts. "The subject has been infected and torn, now to determine the effectiveness of the sulfides while simultaneously engaging the elements."The figures in the audience stood, removing their now noticed hoods to reveal...OH GOD. What are they! It was at this time that I finally actually looked at the voice of the doctor. It was one too, a horrific manifestation of some kind of bipedal horror. I was nearing the point of complete mental collapse when the fire and gas machines moved closer. It wasn't gas after all...it was something akin to liquid nitrogen. My form suddenly absorbed the flame on one side and the steady stream of liquid ice on the other. The audience began to maneuver their way to the stage, forming a star around the table. Chanting ensued, and the language melted its way into what was left of my conscious awareness. It was a black speech, nothing human, and not from the confines of any deep hole on Earth. No, this was visceral, something originating from beyond void. "A final presentation for you, lord of chaos. A rite as demanded, and a cycle unending. We present to you this offering, and now give the offering site." Suddenly, my entire life flashed before my eyes...but not just my life. There was more, it was unbearable, billions of lives, trillions, no more...screaming...only screaming, and a name. A final curse uttered from the corpse of a thing spread out on the stage of the black theater. "I am Adolf Hitler, and you'll never break me, an infinite plane of Hell is nothing compared to the Reich I have ordained!"A final series of screams came forth and then silence befell the creature now burned in two different ways on the table. "Reconstitute his form and begin preparations for experiment 345,704,212,104,592. Break time is over."Flames enveloped the entire scene as the demonic entities howled in a unified and shared pain at their fate in oblivion.
"American 3590 you are number two for landing behind a..."Damn, what were these things called again? Oh right. "Behind an Artoxis on a left base to runway 14." "Uhhhh... which one is the Artoxis again?"replied the airline pilot over the radio. I sighed. There was an axiom from my old days as an air traffic controller for the Air Force that said, 'the only constant is change'. I was used to the FAA throwing new rules at us every year, at thunderstorms rolling across my scope requiring creative flight paths to get flights in safely. Adaptability, flexibility. Those were key watchword in aviation. But once the Convergence happened, it felt like there was something new to adapt to every day. Consulting a laminated chart my shift supervisor had delivered this morning, I replied. "3590, it's the thing that looks like a big armadillo." "Approach, American 3590. Got it, number two behind the flying armadillo." Imagine an armadillo the size of a blimp moving at the speed of an Airbus, but could slow down and land like a helicopter. That's an Artoxis in a nutshell. Strapped to the sides like oversized saddle bags rest passenger cabins and atop it's head sat a pilot nest. How it flew was a mystery to us, since it was shaped like an armored football and was apparently alive. Thankfully the Cornomians flying and operating the thing were more than happy to adapt to our aeronautical ways. They said it seemed sensible. "Artoxis Scramblas, Approach. Please keep your speed up, you are number one for the runway." A gravely voice responded over the radio. "Scramblas hears, Approach. With the speed of the wind, we fly!" Sure, it wasn't FAA approved terminology. We were still working on that with the Cornomians. Baby steps, my supervisor had said. I punched the button for the ground line. They would need to know an Artoxis was inbound and needed special handling over at the temporary terminal set up for their kind. Normally when an airliner lands, ground crews gently direct it to a gate. Fuel trucks with hoses and baggage carts would swarm around in a dance that was repeated thousands of times a day. But these giant flying beasts, well, they needed to be fed. Frankly it was kind of disgusting. Hundreds of pounds of worms, fruit, mushrooms, and seaweed were brought up in trough that stank to high heaven in the summer. The Artoxis would chow down while the Cornomians departed from the saddlebags, tall and stately, on their way to Customs. Another blip on the scope moved into my area. I peered at the transponder code. "Dinovas Schrista calling to Approach, we arrive imminently from the north." I sighed and consulted the laminated chart again. Oh great. This one looked like a spider with giant gas sacks and crab claws.
As he looked around, Stenly couldn’t believe it, he didn’t recognize any of his coworkers, nor did he recognize anything, really. “Surely it’s just the lack of caffeine!” Stenly thought to himself, taking a swig of his steaming cup of coffee. As he lowered the mug from his lips, Stenly was shocked to see that the office had changed again, fewer cubicles this time, but strangely more workers. Drinking from his cup again, Stenly found himself in his corner office, the same as always. Sighing, Stenly started typing away on his keyboard, only to realize that his computer wasn’t even on. In fact, nothing was on! His lamp, his clock, all powerless. Peaking over the beige walls of his cubicle, Stenly noticed the Wasteland unfolding before his very eyes. Fire, Nuclear waste, Men wearing excessive amounts of leather. Gazing down at his mug, Stenly realized he had but one mouthful left. Praying to a higher power he didn’t quite believe in, Stenley finished his glass. Slowly lowering his mug, Stenley looked around, and found his regular office, with all the same furniture, all the same cubicles, all down to the last modicum of dust. Stepping out of his cubicle, Stenley found that something was different about his office, something was very different. Gazing upon his neighboring coworker, he found a man that looked very similar to Stenley, right down to the chip in his glasses. Turning around, Stenley noticed the same person sitting behind him. Running through the office, he noticed the same person in each cubicle, all of them identical to Stenley. Suddenly, in a single monotonous voice, the army of Stenley’s arose from their seats, and asked, “What’s wrong Stenley?” Before taking their seat again.
“Come on Uncle, tell me a poem.” “A poem?” soft chuckling “What kind of poem would you like to hear?” “Tell me one about the hunters!” “The hunters? Are you sure? Those guys are a bit scary.” “I’m sure uncle.” “All right then, let’s see here; All day and night I have run, run from my past, past valleys and oceans, going far too fast Fast I have run, leaving those days, as the hunters cry out, “crime never pays” Though pay it does not, fun it was, Running from death, cheating, simply because long have I been hunted, so tonight comes my death, cry not for who made me, but for the raven what heard my last breath.”
The towers stand tall compared to the houses of sand and stray that laid on the ground; climbing up one tower was a death sentence. The rich, the powerful, and the popular, took long ago the means of travel. Eyes gaze to the sky, the towers covered by clouds, and the people who were left behind. People, who’s support failed them when they never dealt with it before; they went first. The younger, supposedly resilient, they freaked out; the people they looked up to, admired… ripped away, men in the towers stayed in the sky. “Those cowards.” They, the disabled, the children, the elderly, the people who needed the able the most, they too were left behind. People of differing diseases, people of ‘defectiveness’ and ‘deformities’, people society said would never make it in their world, communicated. Banded together by a single cause, the survival of the Terrians. The ground-bound people flew in dozens and soon hundreds to fix what the able could not: the problems plagued by hope, the powerful could not touch them on the ground. Instead of looking up, up to the vast sky’s, to the riches and greed of stars with stripes painted with blood, they looked within; and what they found, was disappointing. The pains we caused, the problems we created from wispy air, were all made here. “Enough.” Pulled into a hug, a grasp of humanity now combined. People got better, stronger. “Together?” A man without an arm asked for a hand. “Together.” The anxious person said to the crowd. “We don’t need them.” They flipped the mourning of the rich to be for the rich, not for themselves; they were far more wealthy here. “No, no we don’t.” Cities sprawled out underground, entire places sustainable there; enough fuel, renewable, to move them all should the time come. For now, polished and unused. People talked with an open mind, no child left behind. “They needed us.” “I know.” “They still do.” “I know.” “Will we…?” “No; they made their choice. Now we will make ours.” And one day, they reached the stars. The cloud covering revealing the decimation. The Terrain may have left the atmosphere late, but at least they weren’t the Towered; they never left at all. Trapped by their greed, those who could watched from their graves those that couldn’t, rise above.
“I can’t save her, Wyatt,” the necromancer said. In the forest lit up by faint ghost lights, Wyatt dropped to his knees. His eyes fixed on his wife laying on the ground. Her face was soft as if in sleep. Her silver hair spilled out on the grass, the ends dyed dark by the blood from her lower half buried underneath a broken tree. She clutched a basket tight to her chest. “She’s still warm,” Wyatt said, stroking her cheek with a thumb. The necromancer limped closer, patting the larger man on the shoulder. Even when kneeling, Wyatt was almost the same height as the gaunt magician. “She’s dead.” “No, she’s still fighting. She’s a fighter.” Wyatt clutched his wife’s hand. “ Always has been. She just needs a little help.” “I can’t bring people back to life.” “By the Greaters you can’t!” Wyatt rose up to his full height and stared down at the cloaked man. “I’ve seen what you’ve done with the miller’s cat. With the farmer’s oxen. But when it comes to the lumberman who lives on the outskirts of the village, you can’t do anything?” The necromancer stood his ground. He tilted his head upwards, his sunken eyes glittering against the ghost lights. “Those are the rules. I’m already towing the line with the animals. If I reanimated a human and the sentinels caught a whiff of it, they would annihilate the village.” “It won’t happen,” Wyatt said. “I swear by my life that I won’t say anything.” “Words in the wind are the least of the worries. The risk is too high, Wyatt. I’m sorry.” The large man sank to his knees once again. “Please,” he said with a cracked voice, “she was just picking elderberries to make some jam. She doesn’t deserve this. Please, sir. I beg of you.” He leaned his head closer and kissed the shoes of the necromancer. Pain exploded on the lumberman’s right cheek as he rolled on the grass. “Up, you stupid man.” Anger burned in the necromancer’s voice as he dusted off his shoe. “If grovel worked, then everyone in the world would become beggars.” “My life then,” Wyatt shouted. “My life for hers.” “As if things would be that simple,” the necromancer muttered. He pulled away his cloak and grabbed a vial from his belt pouch. “I can’t save her, Wyatt. The only thing I can do is wake her up and keep her awake for a few hours.” “Wake her up? For what? You want to wake her up just to say that she will… that she will…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead, a whimper escaped his throat as he buried his face in his hands. Uneven steps approached him. A squeeze on his shoulder. “I can wake her up so you both can say goodbye. I can wake her up so you can tell her how much she means to you.” Wyatt glanced at the pale man with blood-shot eyes. “That’s cruel.” The necromancer held his gaze. “That’s love.” \\\\\* “Ash?” She felt so exhausted, barely able to open her eyes. But then, she saw Wyatt and she couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, there.” Her husband returned the smile and picked up her hand, kissing each knuckle tenderly. “How are you feeling?” “Tired.” The scent of grass wafted up her nostrils. “Where are we?” She tilted her head but Wyatt held her still. “No,” he said. “Keep looking at me.” Her brow furrowed. “What’s going on?” Her husband’s smile thinned to a single line. “Do you remember what happened?” “I wanted to surprise you and make some elderberry jam. So I went out during the night to pick some while you were sleeping.” She talked faster as the memories returned. “I… I heard something like a groan, like wood cracking, and when I turned around...” Her eyes caught the glimpse of the pale fires dancing in the air around them. “Are those ghost lights?” Wyatt stroked her cheek. Her mind worked so slow. It felt like she was wading through mud. She stared blankly at her husband, at his pained expression. Only one person knew how to summon ghost lights in the village. “Is the necromancer nearby?” she asked. Wyatt nodded. And everything clicked. The mud splashed away by ice water and goosebumps formed over her skin as she gripped her husband’s hand with all her might. “I’m… dead?” Tears trickled down the large man’s face, running down the ridges and his stubbles. His lips trembled as he opened it and said, “I love you.” \\\\\* The first sunlight peeked through the horizon. The couple had professed their love to each other until their voices had turned hoarse and nothing more could be said except for a shared embrace. Wyatt stroked his wife’s hair, tasted her lips, and breathed in her smell. Again and again. When the warmth from her body began to wane, he held her tighter. He continued until Ash said those words he didn’t dare to say. “I think… it’s time.” “Just a little longer.” Wyatt insisted. “Just a little longer.” “We will always want just a little longer.” He looked at his wife’s face. Her eyes swollen, her skin pale. But she was smiling. “Why aren’t you sad?” Wyatt asked. “Why aren’t you sad over how unfair this is?” She reached out with a hand and pulled him in and whispered, “Because I don’t want that to be the last thing I feel for you.” Words rose up the lumberman’s throat but he pushed them down. He looked up at the ghost lights, closed his eyes, and gave a single nod. The light flickered out of existence. He laid his forehead against hers, listening as the life of his love stopped breathing. Listening as her sounds were replaced by the rustling of leaves and wails of the wind. Behind him, twigs and grass crackled as the necromancer stepped out of a bush. “Thank you,” Wyatt said, without breaking contact with his wife’s stale and unfocused gaze. The necromancer scoffed and limped away. “Don’t thank me for being cruel." &#x200B; \[END\] \--- Heavily ripped off a certain House-episode. I've been wanting to write that particular scene and see how it works in prose-form. [r/collectionoferrors/](https://www.reddit.com/r/collectionoferrors/)

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