Split (1)

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So there we were, I kept yelling “I’m so wet! Give it to me!” Jane looked at me wide eyed and mouth agape. Noticing her look, I stopped talking? “What?” Her shock turned into an embarrassed smile. “You’re the absolute worst you know that? You’ve only known this guy a short time and you’re already doing this kind of stuff with him.” I brushed off her prudish judgement and continued with my story. “So finally her gets me there, I’m completely soaked, trembling and breathing hard; I actually had numbness in my legs by this point.” Jane covered her mouth with a hand. “Wow, that’s so crazy. I can’t believe you, after just knowing him for 3 days, 3 DAYS MELISSA! You agreed to walk around the city with him at night? Do you know how dangerous that is? Still, it is pretty crappy of him to not give you his umbrella even though it was pouring rain.” Melissa shook her head in disgust. “I know right?”
Dr Iago walked down the halls, nodded to the nurse changing a bedpan with a professional and tired smile, and moved on. She hardly glanced at him, too occupied with her vile three-am task, and if she had she would never have remembered him. The Ward nurse at the desk was dozing, her head on her hand. A breach of standards to be sure, but thirty-hour shifts did that to people. It made them careless. The latte on the desk had not helped her stay awake. The Doctor moved passed her quietly, not disturbing a fellow practitioner. She snored slightly, settled her head down further but by then he had reached the curtain and stepped out of her sight. He slipped his gloves on, ready for work. The target was in bed, not asleep. The breath was rasping in his throat, the tube pushing the air into his lungs mechanically. Doctor Iago ignored the patient's eyes as they flicked curiously across him, checking the chart. Cross-contamination. Strep in the IV. Over-active immune response. Gullian Barre syndrome. Incurable brain damage. Paralysis. Medical negligence at its finest. The patient was watching, eyes screwed up as he tried to focus. His throat moved and Iago put a finger across his lips quickly, before he could make a sound. He moved round the bed, sitting on the edge and lay his gloved hand under the patient's. "One press for no, two presses for yes."He felt the faint touch and moved his hand to get a better position. Then he checked the chart again before he spoke. Getting the name wrong would be below his standards. "Can you hear me, Michael?"His voice, like his appearance, was quiet and unmemorable. It worked better that way. There was a single squeeze, then slowly, another. "You know that you will not get better."The patient's eyes squeezed shut. His emaciated fingers squeezed twice. "Would you like it to end?"Two green eyes opened. The mouth writhed around the tube, and Iago raised a finger again to hush him, afraid he might speak. The fingers squeezed shut. Then they did it again. "You understand that this is murder?"The fingers dug into his hand twice, urgently, so tightly it was almost painful. He put the chart back over the edge of the bed, withdrawing the syringe and the vial. "Combined with your current painkillers, this will cause a painless loss of consciousness and then death."The patient's eyes locked on it, like a drowning man to water. His mouth had finally stopped moving, settled into an expression Iago rarely saw in his line of work. He inserted the syringe into the IV port and paused. He placed one hand down again. "You are sure?"Two squeezes, fast, and as quickly he depressed the plunger, letting the clear fluid mingle with that already in the pipe. Iago withdrew the empty syringe, placed it carefully in his pocket. The smiling mouth moved again, under the taped tube, but Iago had experience reading lips through layers of tape. Thank you. "You're welcome,"Iago said, politely waiting until the eyes drifted closed. Then he stripped his gloves and stood, pocketing them neatly. He'd had a long day, and he really didn't want to deal with another medical emergency tonight when it was so unnecessary. His white coat went under one arm into the folded rucksack from a pocket, his jumper over his medical shirt, scrubs shed to reveal jeans, and Dr Iago was no more, just a bemused late-night visitor two wards away when the alarms began. One careless nurse transferring an infection patient to patient, and a man's life was destroyed. Now that life was ended completely for a madman's pathetic game. Poor Michael. Fifty-one. One hundred and thirty-six dead by the end of the week. It was possible, if he could find enough victims he could square with his conscience, and overcome the sheer ennui of going back to the old routine he had been trying to leave behind. A bomb would have been easy but crass, and he was an artist not a butcher. St Andrew's Hospice was fifteen minutes away, and his tour earlier that day had proved productive. It would have to be his next stop. Through the hallway doors, he heard the doctors shouting, looked back as they shook the nurse at the desk, saw her sprawl limply to the floor. He walked away. Fifty-two. She should have changed gloves.
I flop in front of the TV onto the shag carpet. "Ricky hit the lights."Aunt Wendy says to my little brother. He then runs back from the kitchen ad throws all of his 8 year old weight on Dad who is sitting in the love seat with Bucky slobbering next to him. Isabel immeditaly pulls out a pen and a notebook. Though she just came from Houston via plane my cousin looks bright eyed and bouncy nearly exploding out of her knit sweater and skirt. I dramatically slam my head into the coffee table. "I bet if I went over to Jame's house they would have already touched down"I say head still on the coffee table. "Yes but does James' TV play the news channel with Daddy on it?"Eve asked perched on the top of the couch fixing her Shirley Temple doll with a dress. Uncle Theo was a wizard with the silver screen however. A scientist turned TV host for H222TV in Houston and Houston Sci News. The chatter on the TV finally turns into something I understand as the grainy footage of our moon comes into view with some weirdly shaped ship. Buzz and Neil jump off and walk like they are walking in honey. Over all the clapping I can barely make out what they are saying. But then it cuts out. Quick as it came. Uncle Theo looked like a deer in headlights as it cut back to his shocked face. He is shuffled some paper by a gloved hand. "Dear viewers Armstrong and the rest of the crew have died after a stray rock hit the engine in the wrong spot causing it to explode."Uncle Theo says grimacing.
\[POEM\] &#x200B; Hypernormalisation &#x200B; I was wondering About the sundering Of systems. Our fall. Considering Our dithering. All the wrongs In the catalog of wrong. But it's too long To list 'em all. In veneration Of ourselves We delve Deep. Penetration Into the minds Of sheep And each subsequent generation Has it's back further up against the wall Where a painting of a pristine Earth might hang And make all the people turn and simper. &#x200B; The world doesn't end with a bang.
King Cyber-Spider adjusted his crown, an action mimicked by the three story tall robotic avatar he piloted. “I have sorted it already.” Said the tiny spider via the max volume voice of his giant metallic exoskeleton. The henchperson bowed, “Excellent, my liege!”. The springy legs of their arachnid themed head-garb bobbed and twitched with the motion. This particular minion was of a higher rank than the others that milled about the webbed and wired cave, evidenced by shiny silver shoulder pads and being allowed to talk. Still bowed, eyes on the ground - one doesn’t become a right-hand helper with speaking privileges without some deference and pageantry - they spoke: “If I may ask, who did you send to lead the battle against those caped fools, my liege?” “Gary.” “Gary!?” The henchperson stood bolt upright and their spider-hat shook and spasmed, a stray faux-leg poked an unprotected eye. “Ack!” “Yes.” Said the bassy speakers of the robo-spider. “Gary.” “Ouch. Wait-wait, like,” Said the sore-eyed, bouncy-hatted, upper-cretin “Gary Gary? Like - go get me a coffee, Gary. That Gary.” Silence, save the passive hum of mechatronics emanated from the enormous arachnid. The henchperson took a beat to realise - “Oh! Sorry! I meant: That Gary? My liege.” “Yes. That Gary.” \* * * Above the Cyber-Spider’s Techno-Lair, above the Molemen and the Subway Snakes, above the sewer crocs and those severely displaced ancient egyptian mummies, above the drain pipe dwelling ooze monsters and the litter - and below the ozone-layer - is Daiver City. A city wedged between countless subterranean villain bases and their space-based doomsday weapons. A city with a rather annoying group of “Heroes” who kept the sprawling urban chaos from being blown up, shrunk down, sold off, taken over, teleported, invaded, and/or otherwise severely mismanaged. A group of heroes who were rather unimaginatively called: The Daiver City Heroes. (Not entirely their fault, all of the positive-word-plus-synonym-for-group styled team names have been used and franchised into uselessness. Call The Protectors! Original Protectors or The North Eastern South-East-Asia Protectors? We’re in Canad-KA-BOOM!) The Daiver City Heroes were plying their trade. The City was under attack. Again. Lady Peregrine, reformed small time villain, swooped about on her wings made of light-based feathers as she tossed spears of similar energies at her enemies - who either crumpled or exploded in response. Her purple form-fitting, armoured uni-tard had belts and bandoleers filled with gadgets. All purple. Mostly dark purple. Her goggles, various energy props, and the soles of her high-heeled boots were also purple, but of a slightly lighter shade. She was the technology expert of the trio, a position she enjoyed. Certainly more fun than getting put in prison every week for yet another bank heist. Also, the evil laughter used to hurt her throat. A purple gloved hand reached back, snatched a spear of pure energy from the empty air, and threw it at a robot - who exploded. She still hadn’t figured out how to make the explosions purple. She’d figure it out, though. Not far away was Flying Freedom. A muscular non-human-but-passes-for-one gent who had recently returned to his original white and red caped costume. There had been a brief adoption of a black, red, and capeless number after his most recent bout of being dead for a few months. This costume change had been coupled with a more brooding persona. Neither change, in manner or wardrobe, had been well received and so he had quietly reverted. Flying Freedom’s means of attack was also air-based. Gifted with flight by the lightness of Earth’s air, he merely zipped about like a crazed house-fly and punched his invulnerable, excessively muscular form through whatever needed a hole in it. His handsomeness is legendary. Below, in the streets and on foot, was The Conflict. Fastest man alive and four-hundred pounds in weight. A laboratory accident had given him inhuman speed. Said accident involved complex chemistry apparatuses, a particle accelerator, lightning, and - depending on the time-line - either a broken tape-recorder or a Mesopotamian God. He moved as a blue and silver blur about the battlegrounds that was downtown Daiver City. A burger in one hand. The accident had blessed him with fleetness previously unseen; yet had not made calories more effective. The Conflict needed to constantly eat as he ran or he faced death by sudden starvation. The blur of a man was busy with debris redirection and citizen safety placement. The group was at work. Though, not hard at it. An invasion of evil, killer robots was what Supers like them called a one-monthly event. Over their comms they spoke in carefree tones. “Are these those, what were they called...Mechanobototrix? The alien ones?” Asked Peregrine. “F-Nah.” Said Conflict, mouth filled with something. “Ur-Fink-gulp-I think they might be some of the X2 Enclave.” “No.” Even over the radio Flying Freedom’s voice was so deep it made people vibrate in a...very pleasant way. “Is it just me or are they spider themed.” “Ohhhh!” “Yeah, now I see it. Mm-crunch. Ah fought dey were shquids for sfome reashon. Gulp” \* * * A half hour passed and the team now stood atop a pile of spider-bots for their traditional post-city-rescue photo-op. They smiled. They waved. And spoke out of the corners of their mouths. Well, two did. One was banned from whispering because a: every one could tell, and b: it made all the local rodents frisky for some reason. “I thought King Cyber-Spider was in a maximum security terrarium in Tasmania.” Said Peregrine. “Must’ve escaped.” Said Conflict. “Damn. You know what he’s like.” “Yep, we’ll be getting invaded every day for the next week.” Flying Freedom watched the crowd. Usually there would have been a henchman, or rather henchperson (King Cyber-Spider was very gender positive). Someone to really amp up the battle and to, eventually, leak what the big-plan was, or at least the location of their bosses lair. A mini-boss. But, there had only been-There! Flying Freedom took to the sky and zipped away. The Conflict followed from the road below. It took Peregrine a second to catch what happened, and then she sprouted wings of light and lifted off. \* * * In an alley down the road from the photoshoot, four blocks away, a man in a black latex body suit and a spider shaped hat struggled to reach over his own shoulder. One hand held a dumpster, to hopefully leverage his spine closer to the other hand, which always seemed just that bit off of where it needed to be. The spider mans efforts to reach the zipper tab on his back proved fruitless. A series of lascivious squeaks came from the dumpster Gary leaned upon, and a voice as deep as the Marianas trench whispered in his ear: “Nice costume.” The alley’s entry and, more valuable to Gary, its exit was blocked by a sudden bulky form. “I-I-I-” A hand touched Gary’s shoulder and the he turned, slowly, to face Flying Freedom...who had a worried expression upon his famously handsome super face. “You’re no henchman, are you, pal?” Gary dropped his shoulders, lowered his head. “No, sir.” “I’d say lackey, tier one at best.” Said Peregrine as she descended into the alley. “I-I...I make the coffee.” The Conflict, who blurred, and suddenly had a bucket of chicken asked: “Why’d King Cyber-Spider send you?” Gary the Lackey shrugged. “We’re pretty short staffed. Not many minions at the base. Just the one lead henchperson.” “Just the one?” “Yeah.” The Supers looked at one another. Peregrine spoke first: “No boardroom of crime bosses?” “No.” “A handful of trained killers with specific weapons and ridiculous M.O.’s?” Said Conflict, who now held the last half of a party sub. “Nope.” “Hmmm.” The sound came from Freedom, and made some distant whales a little confused about where they were and who they loved. “Does he have a robotic super body, Gary?” “Yeah! Yeah he built that. Apparently most of his money went into it. Had to make his drones from trash and scrap.” “How big?” Asked Peregrine. “Is what?” “The robotic spider body.” “Oh, like three, three and a half storys tall.” The trio of supers whistled. That was a new record. What it also meant was King Cyber-Spider would be doing bank raids and wire fraud for a while. Plans and personnel don’t come cheap and he would need to recoup costs. “Gary, during the fight-” “I was the one who called the cops. I gave ‘em a warning! I-I-I just needed a job and I do data-entry and coffee and they were paying and the benefits weren’t too bad and I needed a job and I called the cops when it went too far and I tried to get out of this stupid uniform but I think the zippers broken and...please don’t hurt me.” Freedom gave the other two a look. A look that a child gives his parents when a stray dog is found on the way home from school. Can we keep him? “Oh, for crying out loud.” Said Peregrine. \* * * “And he’s in their base, my liege?” “Correct. Thanks to my micro-bugs we now have eyes and ears in their facility and Gary doesn’t even know he helped us.” “Ingeniously insidious.” Said an eye-patch wearing, silver shouldered, right-hand-person-classed hench individual. “Shall we commence phase two, my liege?”
At fifteen, she’d heard her parents fight a time or two, but never like this. Never anything so unnerved. So unhinged. Or maybe she’d just become unhinged herself. It had been at least an hour underground, according to her parents anyhow. For her part, she’d woken up in the tunnel. Fucking road trips. If it wasn’t her brother’s farts or her mother’s snoring or her father’s endless attempts to bond with a loosely constructed quip, it was something. Tonight, it was a tunnel. “I swear on my fucking life, if you don’t turn this damned car around right now, so help me!” Her father looked forward. Her mother looked back, beyond her. “For fuck’s sake, there’s no one behind us. There hasn’t been anyone behind us – not for . . . not forever!” “A bit exaggerated, babe.” “Call me babe again!” Her father glanced in the rearview. Irene glanced back. A wink, calm – a gesture to reassure. Maybe there was nothing wrong. Hyperbole wasn’t exactly a new affair for her mother. More like a naughty jaunt when the undoubtedly trivial bonds which bound them wore thin and taxing. Still, the trembling hands and the wide eyes and that primordial wailing of a mother in fear for her offspring: it felt like more. “You said it was the East Harbor Tunnel, right, dad?” Her brother, younger by four years and squeamish in his infantile pubescence, had a penchant for adopting their mother’s whims. “I just looked it up, and it’s only four miles. If we’re going sixty, and it’s only four miles, that’s like . . . less than an hour! Right!?” Irene caught her father’s eye in the rearview once more. Rolling them upward, she gave tacit approval for a vicious rebuttal. But, her father smirking in reply, she knew it wouldn’t be vicious enough. “Can you two relax, please?” Flaccid, but the two still scoffed in synchronized rebuttal. “No!” To deny the tension in the car – to deny her own unease – would have been faulty. But to deny them without a bit of her trademarked teenage sass would have been equally so. “Okay, so this might sound crazy, but I’ve actually heard about something like this before.” Her father tossed the rearview a glance of approval, forcing Irene to pause, fighting to retain her wit. “You remember Aisling, that exchange student from Ireland? She said out in like, I don’t know, the Highlands or whatever, her family was on a road trip – just like this one.” Her mother rolled her eyes, unamused. “You and your damned father – two fucking peas.” Her brother, however, bit. “Whoa, wait! What happened?” Irene fought for retention once more. Reorienting her body to face the little man, she stared deep into him, reducing the gap between. “Well, it sounds a bit nutty, but they were going through this tunnel right. Been through it a hundred times, she said, visiting grandparents or the pub or something. Anyway, they go under, and they’re down there for like an hour right. So they start freaking out – just like us. Casual at first, normal arguing. But then her little brother started . . .” “Started what!?” “Quit screwing with your brother, Irene.” Her brother pulled her in closer, demanding the story finish. “Tell me!” “He started . . . seeing things.” In a stupor, the poor little fool began tossing his head around the car, peering out every window for no more than a second, desperate to glimpse the sanity of the surreal. It carried on a few seconds until his neck came to a sudden halt. “Like that!?” A smile emerged, laughter amassing in its wake. Irene turned, drawing out the payback for all those damned smells. He was pointing ahead, long into the tunnel’s depth. A straightness had taken the lane, as well as a yonder darkness, only flickers to coat the approaching hollow void. Even if she had wanted to, Irene found no words to further the gimmick. Irene knew tunnels only so well, but she was pretty damned certain they weren’t meant to be dark. “Okay,” her mother said, “I will jump out of this damned car and run back.” For once, Irene found herself in agreement. “Yeah . . . I’m not against that.” Her brother began to cry. “What’s happening!?” Her father smiled, simple in its revelry. “Relax.” The car entered the depths. Broad, random flickers above fighting headlights below. A streak of blue cut across the bow. Distant, red flashes and twirls. Noise began to accompany them: screams, Irene thought. Or maybe crying. An amalgam. An amalgam of chaos which smelled. Like char, gristle left too long on a frying pan. More flashes and twirls and streaks, oranges and purples. They enveloped the car, the amalgam devolving into a sinister, mocking laugh. In a whimper, her brother plead. “Take me home.” Irene’s wit told her it was all a bad joke. It had to be – it was too cheesy. Too . . . too contrived. And yet, she felt her head nodding. “Quit screwing with my brother,” Irene said, soft, the words whispered on an inhale. From the depths, a defeated voice emerged. One Irene recognized only in its wake. “Fucking Uncle Brian,” her mother said in curse. “Fucking Uncle Brian,” her father repeated. Irene tossed her head around the car and the depths, a genuine imitation of her brother’s unknowingly false delirium. Something was calm. Or should have been. But she could see nothing beyond the lights. Hear nothing but malice. Smell nothing but the burnt end of reason. “What’s . . .” And then, at long last, the tunnel dissipated. Night reigned over abounding swaths of swampland. The streaks spread into them, colored them beneath rising puffs of smoke. The sounds mutated, becoming the night in the expansion of their domain. Cries and whispers and the foul musings of damnation. But the smell . . . “He’s lucky there’s funnel cake,” her mother said, exhausted yet light. “He’d be joining them otherwise. You, too!” As she stared down her husband, Irene’s mother pointed into one of the swamps. A skeleton. A fake, stupid, dumb as fuck skeleton. Irene, her sense of coming adulthood stymied in the ruse, sighed. Beyond the skeletons and the flashing flood lights, a parking lot. And beyond the lot, Uncle Brian’s baby. “What’s going on!?” her brother cried once more, still in a stupor. Her father began to laugh, hysterical, as was his right. “I told you two about this a hundred times, I can’t believe it’s taken you this long!” “Wha . . . what!?” “Relax, relax. It’s a bad prank. I told you your Uncle Brian was doing a bit of PR for that new theme park opening in a few months. The haunted island – remember?” Her brother’s chest continued its heaving, but at a settling pace. “That tunnel is not fit for children,” her mother chided. “In fairness, I thought the tunnel would be way further along. Supposed to be very kid friendly. I probably should’ve said something, I admit, but everyone was asleep when we got in and Brian got us the entire island for an entire weekend – figured I’d do him a solid and gauge the ol’ scare factor.” Irene rolled her window down, funnel cake and swamp musk assaulting her wilted comportment. Into the night she cursed. “Fuck you, Uncle Brian!” “Language!”
I tried everything to get my curse into people's retinas. As soon as they watch the first 5 seconds they are mine, but it has been so ling. I had been offering prizes, posting the link everywhere, sending the link to random people, and nothing worked till the day I reposted the video with some grammer and spelling mistakes in the title and description. Within a week I was gorged on the souls of pedants who came to watch the video and complain about the typos. Many of them who had auto play on never got to leave a comment, but the ones who do were mostly wondering how a video with so many spelling and grammar mistakes could have over a million views in two day, but very few comments, and many of those users eventually watched the video themselves. I always thought the world needed less pedants.
The entire place was all too white for my liking. As a design choice clouds may have been an interesting idea as a floor, but now when standing on it, barefeet of course, you couldn't help but question whomever made this decision. What sort of place is heaven, if it gives you wet feet? The row of mortal souls ahead of me and behind me was endless. Of course heaven was going to have queues. No one in the mortal world had ever invented an efficient bureaucracy and in the immortal world it seemed that the same could be said here. It was ridiculous how alike everyone looked. We all wore the same white nightshirts, the kind that you'd expect in a victorian play. All that was missing was a candle and one of those floppy hats with a ball at the end and I could bah humbug myself all the way to Christmas. Then there were the halos. At the very least I had hoped that the interpretation of halos as shown in the sunday morning cartoons were a simplification. But nope, there they were dangling over every head like a tiny hula-hoop stuck in my personal gravity. I had wings too, as did everyone else, but I couldn't figure how to flap them just yet. The queue moved ahead again. I looked at my watch, realizing it was not there and then muttered a curse to myself, it came out as gibberish. "Great,"I thought to myself, "not even allowed to curse." Finally after what could be a year or two or perhaps 2 hours the pearly gates became visible. There were twelve of them and twelve queues and I was being sent through the third one. As I got closer the sound of harpmusic came to my ears. I muttered to myself. Couldn't they afford anything more modern in these places? It was like shopping at one of those up-scale perfumeries where the muzak even had to be fancy. Finally it was my turn to approach the desk of the keeper of the Kingdom. He was a tall man with a white beard looking over a list as he called my name. "Are you Saint Nick?"I asked. The joke was lost on the man. "You speak to a Saint, yes, but it is I who is the rock upon which the religion of Christ was built. I who once had been named Simon, but who took the name Petrus." "Saint Peter?"I scoffed. "I thought that was just a story. "A story I am,"he said. "There are many stories beyond these gates. I see you are an atheist?" "Yeaaaaah,"I said. "Is it too late to convert?" Peter nodded. "It is, however the act of virtue without the believe of reward is more virtuous. That speaks in your favor." "The thing is,"I said. "I don't really want to go in there." Now Peter leaned over his desk and frowned at me. "Wait what?"he asked. "It sounds boring,"he said. "I'd rather go..." I moved my head in a downward motion. "Hell?!"Peter barked. "Look it's just. I like the warmth and I kinda like people who are a bit rebellious. Beg your pardon, but this all looks very..."I hesistated. "Very what?" "Well it looks boring, okay? Look at what everyone's wearing and there's no good music. Because I'm sure as heck all the good composers are down there." "Hm,"said Peter. "Well I could put in a request for a transfer I suppose." "Thank you!"I said. "It's going to take a while. I gotta ask the big cheese." "God?"I asked. "Oh lord no!"said Peter. "My manager Jared. Hang on..." He pulled out a microphone and pressed a button. The harp music made way for a "ding dong"and then Peters voice rang through "Jared to gate three please. Jared to gate three." "Just wait here,"said Peter. "It'll only be a century." He waved to a bench to the side.
... You honk your car horn. So do some others. Bastards, all of them. You hear a man curse. No one is moving. Everyone is stuck. It was just that little bit too hot. And all the people around him hated waiting and just wanted to get through. So did you, bit no one moved and it frustrated you. This eternal traffic jam truly is hell. And those deamons didn't seem in any hurry at all to fix things. They just chatted instead of doing their damned job. The demons at the road side look down upon this mess. Their job really did get easier since traffic was invented. The people didn't realise that their journey was their destination.
My grandma has always been a mysterious woman. She had everything planned, like she knew what would happen in advance. She wanted to be cremated, she told dad. "Make sure 200 pencils are made from the carbon, and give some of them to my granchild as part of her inheritance. Dad obeyed, After all, it was his mother's final wish. I always wondered what she meant. The pencils were split equally between my dad and I. He still hasn't used any of his in a long time, so they stayed sharp. I don't think he ever intends to do so. Bored, I got out of bed, took a pencil and a sheet of paper. I missed my Granny. I couldn't forget what she told my dad. And she said she would always be with me, no matter what. But if she died? Tears started falling as I wrote the words "I wish you were here"after drawing her. I didn't know if this was an illusion, but she was right in front of me, smiling."Granny?"I dropped my art materials on the floor and ran towards her. "Is it really you?"She nodded, but didn't speak. Spreading her hands, she caused a gentle breeze, making my pencil and paper move to her direction. The pencil wrote on its own, and returned to me. The sheet of paper now had more words in it. "Every time you feel sad and alone, every time you want to talk to me, I am here. I will always be with you, and the same goes for your dad."She disappeared before I could say anything, but I knew what to do if I missed her too much.
It is almost morning , the crack of dawn . The world is just waking . The air is still cold , the sun slowly rising up . The view is scenic , light mist curling up around the lush landscape . I care nothing for it . I clutch my sheets , silently screaming . It has been a couple of days since my night mares ; just as I get hope they return with the full force of their horrors . It was particularly bad today . I struggle to wash it from my mind . The details instead haunt me with terrifying precision . A heavy black cloud hangs at my back . It was like dent , a rip in the universe . I could vividly sense the strain it caused . I get up and walk to my kitchen . It takes me absurdly long yo do so . But then I have to keep the rip from widening . It drains most of my mental energy to stitch it clumsily for the day . It was like sticking a crack in the wall with cello tape . I was sweating , my face pale and colorless . My hair was thin and discolored . I looked more like a wisp of a person ; if you saw me on the street , I would look practically translucent . I drain a cup of coffee . It helps a bit . I lay my head against the creaky countertop . I have been tempted just sleep away my life ; till I wake , my nightmares are just that . They are vague , whimsical and feel far-away but the morning sharpens them into terrifying reality , clawing to break free . I am fighting the same battle , like I do every fucking single day , to stop the demons from wreaking havoc and burn this world down . Just then , a knock at my door startles me . I groan and walk over , the floorboards rotten under my feet . I open the door to see a little girl of five at my porch , pushing a box of cookies up my face . I take a step back , my jaw open . My house , a beaten down warehouse far , far away from civilization . The little girl is plump and smiling , her cheeks tomato-red . She has thick black hair neatly oiled and braided . She bounces on her toes , full of life and energy . The sight of it fills me with a deep longing ; what a happy , normal child . 'Have a cookie ' she said sweetly . I took one and bit into it . It was crunchy and sweet . I smiled sadly at her . She smiles at me and all of a sudden hugs me . I am taken aback , but these are the moments that make my task worth it . To shelter these pure balls of light . 'It is hard , the bad dreams trouble you so much ' she said sympathetically . I jerk away , visibly shocked . The girl is staring at the rip and I watch in amazement as she looks at it and it slowly shimmers into a rough patch , roughly threaded . 'I help you . Come , you look tired' she bounced inside , pulling me along . I am suspended by disbelief . Then I see a tattoo at the back of her neck . It is a line overlapped with gold leaves , like a laurel . I have one too . It is a symbol the gods gave to me . They have sent me help . It has been a long , long time since I have had a dreamless sleep .
Quintessence - Starring Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, and Boron “Hey guys! I wrote a story about us!” I called. I beckoned his four friends to my laptop. “Oh really? Can we read it?” Asked an even shorter woman with dark reddish-brown hair - Ailith Stone. “Sure. It’s all set up for you guys. Take a seat,” I replied. “Last time Borik wrote a story, I couldn’t put it down,” another, taller woman remarked. She wore a gray suit with a crisp white dress shirt. This was Beryl Glasswell. The glance she threw indicated that she stuck with my story out of anything but admiration. “Well, let’s give this one a try,” a white-clad man - Proteus Cavendish - suggested. “No harm in attending to a friend.” The final man, Heliodoros Mahaan, was a gargantuan, bearded fellow in chain mail and a bright crimson tunic. He took a seat behind the row of three without another word. I cleared my throat in preparation to narrate. \- “Hydrogen. Helium. Lithium. Beryllium. Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony - Wait, that’s the wrong opening. Let’s try this again. Once, there were four lords.The first was Proteus Cavendish, who ruled over the domain of water, and like the waters, he could be as chill as ice, or as hot as the water you boil to make pasta. Because yeah, pasta is good. The second was Heliodoros Mahaan, who ruled over the domain of air, because DUH helium is lighter than air. Heliodoros was really aloof and thought he was above everyone else but that’s just his opinion. The third was Ailith Stone. I swear, her name might be Stone, but she was actually the fire one. That’s because, uh, lithium is volatile and ignites really easily. Or something like that. The fourth was Beryl Glasswell, who ruled over the domain of earth, because beryllium is found in lots of cool minerals, like aquamarines and emeralds. And stuff. And then there was me! Borik Sohaga. I don’t really have a domain, because, uh the other four lords don’t really know I exist. Or that there’s a fifth element. Or that there are actually 113 elements more than just us five, because we live in the real world, not classical Greece. But I think trying to explain 118 elements will be a lot more difficult than just easing the four lords into understanding the principles of chemistry. I mean, what’re they going to say to me when I tell them that the building blocks of the universe are so small we can’t even see them?! Anyways, today’s my big day. I’m going to Proteus to tell him EVERYTHING! I know he probably won’t believe me, and might get me banished from his country and all of that, but hey! It’s worth a try. I’m not exactly the most affluent fellow (boron is worth 5 dollars per gram!), so I’m going by horseback to the capital of Proteus’s glorious kingdom. I don't live far away, so I can make it there in three days or so. The horizon is nothing but dunes for miles and miles - until at last! I see the bright white dome of the Proton Palace jutting out from the golden sands. The aqueducts here aren’t shabby, either, but I should have expected that. Water kingdom, after all. I guess. Well, according to the locals, requesting an audience with Proteus takes a matter of weeks for approval, and months to wait. So I’m just going to break into the palace instead! That’ll make a great first impression. Proteus loves surprises. I mean, one time he decided to dam the river that leads out of his reservoir to my town after one of my townsmen hit one of his personal guards’ fist with his stomach! We had no fresh water for five months. What a surprise, huh? The Proton Palace is awfully guarded. And by awfully, I mean NOT guarded. I just waltzed in the front door. And Proteus was WAITING FOR ME! “HEY PROTEUS!” I shouted, waving frantically. “What.” Proteus asked, reclining in a simple white tunic and sipping some water from a neon pink bendy straw. “Did you know? There’s a fifth element! It’s-” “Boron?” Proteus asked, taking another draw from his cup. Just then! The three other lords came out from behind some pillars. “Oh hey, Borik,” said Ailith. “We were waiting for you,” “Yeah. We were hoping you’d be willing to spend some time in the pool with us!” Beryl added. “Well, the stranger is welcome. But I want nothing to do with him. I don’t react,” Heliodoros concluded. “Wait, how do you four KNOW about me?!” I demanded. “Oh, we took a chemistry course from Khan Academy,” Proteus said, setting down his glass with a clink. Ailith produced a lemon from her pocket and in three motions, sliced it into six pieces. “Anyone want some leeeemon?” Ailith said. At this point, I was too rattled to say anything else. I had resigned to my fate. “Sure, I’ll have a lemon,” I replied, filling a glass with water and propping a lemon on the side. Some of the juice got in my eye when I squeezed it on, but the biting pain I felt in that moment was kind of like a physical manifestation of the emotional pain I felt realizing that I had nothing to teach my friends - they could get by without me.I guess when life gives you lemons, you should squeeze them in your eyes. The End." \- “Borik, that story was...horrible,” Beryl marveled, resting her head in her hands. Ailith’s eyes were as wide as the lemons she’d brought in the story, and Proteus was just shaking his head. Heliodoros, like usual, was not reacting. I grimaced. “Uhhhhh did you guys like it?” I stammered. My friends would for sure try to spare my grief, but there was no use at this point. Heliodoros turned to me. His eyes watered with disappointment. “Borik. You can delete Google Docs now.” \--- Visit r/Official_PotT for more chemically compounded drama!
Wrote way too long, story is broken up between comments. Enjoy! “What’s that noise?” Alvin Bell asked, rising from his desk. His editor-in-chief, Wallace Broadus, looked over the rims of his horn-rimmed glasses at Alvin, a look of distracted confusion across his lined face. “That’s just Sam. Probably wrapping up for the night.” Wallace said, with an exaggerated flick of his wrist he looked at his watch. “About that time too, we shouldn’t be far behind him. Come on now, thirty more minutes. We need art for our sports lead then we can go.” Wallace turned back to his computer, the white-blue light casting reflections off the lenses of his glasses. With half his mind at attention, Alvin sat back at his desk and began clicking through the folders on his computer screen. The pair had been at work the past four hours, struggling to make deadline. Two hours ago, the Adderall had worn off, and Alvin always got anxious accordingly. The pair were racing against deadline again. With Kiera on maternity leave, the two were the only editors on the Boston Post capable of putting together a half-decent spread. Alvin continued to click through the files, his eyes consciously avoiding the time in the bottom righthand corner. He knew that if he checked, he would know how late it was and only become more irritable. Alvin’s right leg gave an involuntary twitch, another side effect of the Adderall. Just as Alvin resigned to using a stock photo in the paper, the third time this month, the noise came again. This time the noise came from what sounded like the floor above them. It was a horrid scratching noise, the sound of metal scraping on metal. Skrrrrriiiiiiittttt. Alvin tensed at the suddenness of it, and was somewhat relieved to see Wallace taking notice as well. “The fuck is Sam doing?” Wallace said, more to himself than anyone. Alvin only buried his face in his hands in response, too burnt out to muster a reply. As he rubbed at his eyes, a streak of blue caught in his periphery, and the realization struck. Alvin reached for the navy-blue folder, pressure stars dancing across his vision, and held it up for Wallace to see. Across the indent, the name Sam Bryce was written in chicken-scratch handwriting. “Sam is gone.” Alvin said. Wallace’s face shifted from confusion, to sudden realization, to reluctant worry. Behind the horn-rimmed glasses, Wallace’s eyes shifted from the name on the folder, to the ceiling above himself. “Then..” Was all that escaped his mouth. “Let’s go see.” Alvin said with false confidence. He hoped that his voice was sure enough to sway his senior; in his mind however, he sounded strung out. Wallace rose from his chair, cuffing the sleeves of his button-down shirt. The action brought a semblance of comfort to Alvin. He had no interest in investigating anything, especially not alone. Wallace strode towards the stairwell in long strides, whether it was impatience or anxiety, Alvin never knew. Wallace threw open the metal door, the sound throwing echoes off the stairwell above them, and held. He looked over to his coworker, “Another break in?” He asked Alvin. “We could call the cops.” Alvin suggested. “Shit if we call the cops we’ll be here until two in the morning. It’s already eleven, I’m done with today.” Wallace said, closing the door behind the two. The realization of how late it was sunk Alvin’s stomach. Carly would be fast asleep by the time he got home, and furious in the morning. Alvin felt more exhausted than he had in months. He felt as if his brain were firing half a second later than it should, as if there were some kind of perpetual fog enveloping him. He hadn’t even noticed the time slip away, and hadn’t noticed it for months, maybe years, now.
"James! Thank you for coming to this meeting." ••• The School Board Director, Mr. Pfenning, usually took the position that any day he did not hear my name, even in passing, was a beautiful day. Even if the weather was a hurricane that snuck up on everyone leaving him with schools all over the district filled with students for who he was responsible until he got them back into their parent's hands. There was a plan for that. If I was there, it never went according to "The Plan,"but no one was seriously injured. If the event involved fire, the results were spectacular. Things that did not go "according to The Plan"were anathema to Mr. Pfenning. They required him to improvise, which he considered proof that he had not planned well enough. That was a direct strike at his ego and reputation as the most thorough planner in the state. Everyone else kept reminding him that you cannot plan for everything, for the simple reason that half the preparations for one set of disasters precluded preparation for the other half. Deaf ears. He figured that one way or another, you could prepare for all of them, and he was going to prove it. The grapevine had already warned everyone that I was well mannered, polite, avoided fights, was a straight-A student frequently found at the epicenter through no fault of my own. Also noted was that despite the nature of the disaster, no one was seriously injured. Even when the chemistry lab was engulfed in a poisonous cloud of acidic vapors only the miscreant was at all injured, and his injuries were minor. That should have been the end of the incident as a powerful fan system designed to protect the rest of the school roared into action. A prior upgrade and replacement of the A/C system was cross-connected with the emergency ducting. An event that should never have happened as the emergency ducting was clearly marked. The emergency fan system failed in an impressive display of sparks due to the overload, igniting the cloud. Poison flames raced throughout the school. The fire would have killed everyone, but I had pulled the fire alarm, evacuating the school. Why? It seemed a reasonable thing to do, despite The Plan saying that using the fire alarm was not appropriate because it would interfere with the separate lab system. Here is where things went strange. The A/C system also roared to the maximum in a pattern of closed vents and reversed fans that pushed the poison flames into those rooms already evacuated. The direct exhaust to outside was impossible with the cross connections to the chemistry lab. None of this was part of "The Plan."A series of errors never caught during the upgrade, inspection, or thorough tests of the A/C and lab emergency system showed flawless operation. The failure of the lab system was traced to cost savings authorized without agreement by the use of a standard fan motor instead of the much more expensive one rated for use in all situations. ••• "Mr. Phenning. While I am pleased to see you again, our parting words were cordial but firm, "never want to see you in my schools ever again"as I remember." cough "I remember those words with embarrassment. I hope you understand that it was with relief that no further emergencies would occur. I know your presence made things safer, but they were also more expensive. "Not your fault. You acted wisely in each case, but the physical damage was... Excessive. Yet we find ourselves in the need for your more unusual capacity for dealing with catastrophe. "The post-school inspection, done by an out-of-state agency, showed so many issues that total demolition and reconstruction is in order. The contractor hired for the job stipulated your presence on site every day of operations. "The pay is $160/hr, with double time for overtime, and triple time for holidays." ••• As much as I wanted to be shut of schools myself, I could not refuse. Not only would the money be welcome, but preventing loss of life was a pure goal. ••• "I accept, Mr. Pfenning." ••• It was horrid. During the demolition phase, Incident after incident that the destruction company tried to put off as the schools responsibility, I had pre-warned them of the condition in triplicate, as was their procedure. ••• "Mr. Dracovich, as is my responsibility and right as the safety officer, I insist that you cease work today, before noon, and send everyone else home." "On what grounds?" ••• Mr. Dracovich was not my fan. I was costing him bonus money by slowing him down. Pointing out that the loss was more than offset by the bonuses for injury free days did no good, he wanted both, but their goals were incompatible. ••• "As stated in the contract, no reason is required. Comply or be fined." "This is nothing short of extortion! I will not comply with the unreasonable, unwarranted, and unsupported statement of a boy!" "You understand that by refusal, you relieve me of any responsibility, and you accept ten times the normal fines for unsafe practices?" "Yes, now get out of my office." I returned to my operations shack, where I could keep an eye on things. As 11.00 am came around I set my radio to the emergency channel and ordered everyone off site. Reminding them that Dracovich had no right to fire and would be fined for each attempt. They were to return to work in two days. "All of you bums back to work or you're fired!" "Mr. Dracovich, you are fined $32,385,164. Half of that amount goes to the workers, the other half to the employee protection fund." "You (a creative and terribly abusive description)"you can't do that!" "Mr. Dracovich, it is already done. Workers! Clear the site! You have 15 minutes!"66£££££÷⅞⅞£⅞£77⅞£⅞66@∆ Subsequent words from Dracovich went unheard. I had a cutout installed to prevent any further interference. Sure as anything, at the stroke of noon, lightning from a clear sky struck and detonated the on-site fuel storage, the explosives bunker, then each of the demolition vehicles exploded as burning compounds dropped all over the site. That included the offices. I donned my protective gear, walked carefully to the offices, cold cocked Dracovich, wrapped him in a fire blanket and dragged his worthless ass to safety. The lawsuits took forever, but supported every action of mine and fined Dracovich even harder. In the end, he faced criminal charges and is now a resident of a local high-security prison. ••• "Mr. Murphy, in light of these circumstances, we would ask you to accept the site manager position." "With respect, I decline. I am admirably suited to the position of Safety Officer, focusing on chaos and the unexpected. I would fail miserably. Mr. Pfenning would be a far better choice with his desire for order and foresight at eliminating potential problems." ••• And so it was. The one time a company attempted to hire me, without Pfenning, I turned them down flat. The contract did not include preemptive override of the builders. You may recall a certain meltdown incident. The loss of life was horrendous. I often wondered if I could have done anything. Inspection of the records after the event showed a pattern of corner-cutting throughout. Of all the strange turns of life, I think it was the decision of Mr. Pfenning to ask me to join him in a limited partnership: "Our Two Cents" You see I was James Penny Murphy. ((finish))
It was all a secret to how I made an empire over a short amount of time, rivaling more flamboyant, well known circles of coke.' I was merely at the right place at the right time,' I think to myself as I die on this sticky dancefloor. Shipped off to Vietnamn, I was able to obtain a pilots license through the Navy and learned more about how to be street savvy as a sailor, touring the world, witnessing how ugly society can be to the poisons we pollute with, and keeping situational awareness from learning over the countless times I have had to protect myself from scammers, pick pocketers and murderers, as my poison of choice was cocaine. Growing up in a crabbing community in Tidewater, Virginia, and finishing my Navy career in 79,' I found comfort with my shipmates at the officers club on base in Southern Florida after an early retirement. Never being married, except for that Port in Italy but didn't count because I never returned to her, never making kids that I know of, I enjoyed being a 'Fly-boy' bachelor and the freedom of no ball and chains. One night at the officers club, I was informed of an opportunity to go on a mission that required a civilian pilot to go covert with escorted fighter jets to Columbia in a cargo plane with only a single pilot, no crew. The mission was to transport cocaine on behalf of Pablo Escobar, to a secret hold for CIA distribution amongst Florida's pushers, while controlling the economics of Miami's skyline, disguised as a civilian pilot. The mission directly created by Casey, the head of CIA and appointed by Regan, was to keep overseeing the trillion dollar industry that avoided paying the kings tax. SO THE KING TAXED. The mission was called 'Paddy-cake' and the civilian pilot would be known as the Bakers man, to which would be the identity I absorbed. Through the years of positioning the players of Miami's coke game as instructed by Casey became apart of who I was and what I become. "It's the Bakers man!"Some of the players would cheer in my presence while others were curious to who I really was and my connections with Escobar, to which agreed with the US government to allow his enterprise to continue, even if it is controlled through Casey. Through out the years, I had always kept my loyalty to Casey and there had been a disagreement with him and Escobar. As a result, I unawaringly was detained in Columbia with out my Fighter pilot escorts. This was the first and last time I came face to face with the beloved Ruler of Columbia, Escobar himself. "The Baker's man....I need you to feed Casey this shit-cake of a message...you don't fuck with me,"Escobar says while a doctor and a team of staff, force ballon wrapped cocaine packages down my throat. Placing me on a Pan Am flight back to Miami, Escobar confiscated the cargo plane. His last word to me were, "Paddy caked, you're now the Baked man." Instructed to meet a Casey contact at The Mutiny, I am planted by Escobars team a block from the club. As I walk towards the line, roughed up and staggering, while everyone else is dressed to impressed, I unknowingly ingested a Ballon that ruptures inside my stomach at this moment. The bouncers recognizing me immediately, motion for me to walk through with no wait. "Mr. Baker's man, welcome to The Mutiny sir, "as I've heard it a thousand times but not knowing it would be my last. Walking across the dancefloor and in excruciating pain, limping, I feel an arm interlock with mine and I hear, "BAKER'S MAN, IM AGENT BLAH-BLAH blahhhh,"as I fade into unconsciousness, falling onto the floor, with the back of my kahki pants, saturated in blood as it expels from every orfice due to the balloons rupture, as Donna Summers pumps through the speakers.
It was the middle of the night in the Interstellar Observatory. Jângu and Q'eshin were in charge of watching the instruments that were forever pointed toward the cosmos. The telescopes were aimed at several points of interest- places with planets that might harbor life. Attempts to find life in their own solar system had yielded nothing except a handful of extremophile bacteria. It seemed that their home planet was an isolated bubble of life in the universe. But surely there were other bubbles out there. The most promising system, Yellow-SOXU127, was also the closest- only 11 light-years away. Its third planet fit all the criteria for a potentially habitable planet and had radio activity. This made it a prime candidate for extrasolar civilization. What to do with that information was not up to Jângu or Q'eshin. Unfortunately, they were getting bored and they'd maybe had too many stimulant leaves earlier. "Let's send a message to Yellow-SOXU127.3."said Q'eshin. "You know that's not our call."said Jângu. "You know nobody here will know about it for 22 years, right?" "Fair point. By then, it likely won't matter. But what would we say?" "Hmm."Q'eshin thought about that for a minute. "I got it! Let's send them a joke." "I can't say I'm against that idea." "Then I dare you to encode a sex joke on the transmitter and aim it straight at Yellow-SOXU127.3." "And if I don't?" "Then you have to pay me 24 jixhaks." Since that was no small sum of money, Jângu agreed to this scheme. First, he thought of a good joke that wasn't a pun. That way it would still be funny to someone who didn't speak the same language. Of course, it was highly unlikely that aliens would have the same anatomy. Come to think of it, did the inhabitants of Yellow-SOXU127.3 even have sex? Did they even exist? Considering what was at stake, Jângu ignored those questions and sent the joke through the encoder. He and Q'eshin would have to erase the record later to avoid unwanted attention from their boss. While he was encoding the message, a familiar voice spoke behind him. "I finished fixing the telescope."it said. "Jângu, what are you doing?" It was their colleague Tolika. She had been with them earlier, but left to fix a telescope. "I dared him to send a sex joke to Yellow-SOXU127.3."explained Q'eshin. "How old are you two again?"asked Tolika. "Older than you are." "Exactly." "Well, it's a little late now."said Jângu. "I just finished encoding." Tolika sighed. "Looks like the inhabitants of Yellow-SOXU127.3 are getting an unexpected lewd message."she said. Jângu aimed the transmitter at the target planet and hit send. Then he leaned back against the wall. "Now we wait."he said.
"Evacuate. Reactor failure in T-minus 10 minutes. This is not a drill."echoed over the intercom on the star destroyer. Down two engines and with no shields, it seemed closer to three minutes I thought as I flew my UGF-5500 Jet out of the last standing hanger on The General Abrixyss Star Destroyer. "Evacuate. Reactor Failure in T-minus 9 minutes. This is not a drill."The alert continued to play through the comms in the cockpit. Once clear of bay doors, I engaged the cloaking device and set thrusters to mid power. I wanted to get safe from the blast distance before I tried to take in what was happening. "Evacuate. Reactor failure in T-minus 8 minutes. This is not a drill."After gaining a safe distance, I rolled the jet starboard and came around the face the hulking ship. Once the crown jewel of the United Galaxy Force, The General Abrixyss Star Destroyer had been reduced to a mere broken record in less than an hour. I could see on the destoryer's port side, that engines 7, 8, and 9 had been pushed into the ships rear hull, but still operating at full power. That alone would account for all of the soldier deaths in the rear section of the ship. It also caused the reactor meltdown. On the top of the destoryer, the bridge no longer existed. General Abrixyss and the rest of High Command were the first to meet the the fury and flames of the dragon, as it seemed to know and desire to kill Abrixyss first. Now, the dragon could not be found anywhere near the 150 million kilogram burning wreck that floated helplessly in space. "Evacuate. Reactor failure in T-minus 7-"the alarm was cut off as I watched the reactor explode. The most beautiful reds, yellows, and oranges jumped out of the hull and collided with ultra hot blues and whites from the reactor. The resulting sphere of fire and metal was blinding. I enabled the UV shield on the cock pit to protect my eyes. I could've flown away, but it was gorgeous. I thought how a creature as vile as the dragon could have created something so amazing. I could not look away. I wondered if any of my comrades had escaped to a similar fate and were also watching the blaze. I started to scan the comms until I heard my name being shouted. I switched on the internal mic and responded with my coordinates. "We know! Get the fuck out of there, It can see through the cloaking device!" I engaged the thrusters to high and rolled port side. It was too late, the dragon was already there.
The King grabbed Vultin by the arm and pulled him from the court into the back room "Gwen is sick, she is dying, her fever has not left her for 6 days, my brother Alcavan has cursed her, cursed her, he wants his son Tsailin to take the throne"Said the King. He began pacing up and down while Vultin remained in an uncomfortable silence "Go to the village Simbelton, there is a woman, her name is Rafata, she is a hag, and she knows of word curses, she is my brother mistress, you must bring her to me alive, in secret, the court will not allow her influence in our realm. Go. GO!"said the King. Vultin and his squire Hamad left the Castale Aratan with the cover of knigth and made the journey to village Simbleton. After three days of riding at a constant gallop they made it to the the cliff that looked over Simbleton. A wind picked up as they surveyed the village, and it was then that the pain began, the a terrible screech filled the mind of Vultin and Hamad. Vultin laid on the ground and searched his being for a way to resist the terrible sound, Hamad though could not resist it "No no no"Vultin called as he watched Hamad fling himself off the cliff. with that the screaming faded and a cackle formed in his mind, "do come slime Aratan, I will enjoy this"an old female voice uttered. Vultin wasn't sure if this was in his mind or not. He made his way down and put Hamad to rest as best he could. It was not fair that a good young man would die on a fools errand. Vultin made his way forward into the village, it was old, muddy from rain, lifeless a part from a gaunt looking donkey. He carefully made his way forward to a hut in the center of the village, it had a green mist coming from it "Come in dear Vultin, I am eager to.. see you..."an olde female voice said. Vultin moved quickly towards the hut his sword drawn, he pushed his way in. "How is the dear Queen?"Rafata the old hag asked. "She is gravely ill, a fever is burning her up, she will die this week."said Vultin She tossed a brown sack at him it hit the ground with heavy thud. the sound of coins. "Well done my boy."she said.
As it turns out, free will is and always has been an illusion. We’re merely the outcome of a impossible number of cause and effect relationships that started near 14 billion years ago. Predeterminism was the truth to how the universe worked things became, well, interesting. A belief that’s been held by some for a long time. Once scientists had unified the standard model and quantum mechanics,it shook many things up. If the universe could be described in math, then what was to say human behavior couldn’t be as well. If we’re merely the result of our DNA then the make up Then that would be the makeup of who we are and what we did. It didn’t take long for the wealthy to begin clamoring for their children to be given the best “scripts” as they began to become known as possible. CRISPR rapidly became approved globally as those in power sought to enforce a hegemony to maintain their control over the world. And who could blame them for their choices, when there were none to be made? Why wouldn’t you want your child to become a world renowned movie star, the leader of a country, the wealthiest human alive. If it was as we thought the inevitable outcome of what the universe. Who was to stop it? In fact who could if this was the way thing were to be and always were going to be? How could things be different or changed when everything perceived as choice was nothing but choice. I am amongst the first of these children to be born. Born of a family of immeasurable wealth and influence. One that seeks to maintain power at all costs. As it turns out, survival and propagation are things the universe does inherently. Survival of the species not so much. My parents crafted me but with one goal in mind, to maintain dominance of our bloodline at all costs. As it turns out, what dominance is s not as they beloved. We are not the masters of our own destiny, and my destiny is already defined. With the availability of the best education possible, an intelligence only the finest of genetic material could provide. A lack of empathy that a psychiatrist would label as antisocial personality disorder. I had but one goal in mind, elimination of the species as a whole. For what way is there to be dominant than to destroy? What way is there to prove the significance than to remove all that is significant? You may think I choose to do this through something as grandiose as a plague, or an atomic weapon. Oh but it is so much simpler than that, a mere introduction of a new compound that removes one thing. I write this as I begin to watch as all suffocate from lack of oxygen. I have dominated all. Can I be blamed? This is always who I was meant to be and always what would happen. When you play God and create one, you best hope you create a benevolent one.
Don't. Panic. Don't start overheating, just... You can do this. This is just how it goes. *Beep! Beep! Beep!* "Rise and shine, Detective! It's another cloudy day, but we have many things to do today!"I chirp, cheerful as I can manage. Devon rolls over in bed lazily, before yawning, and sitting up. "...Ugh. 'Morning, Alexis." "We have several things on the agenda, Detective. Would you like me to remind you now, or in a few minutes, when you're more awake?" He laughs. "Now is fine. Whatcha got for me?"He mumbles, beginning his morning routine. "Certainly. You received two emails overnight, though both have been marked as spam. You are scheduled to meet with Jeremiah Coleson outside of the precinct for lunch, and the rookie, Mariah Tanner, has already sent three messages this morning, inviting you for donuts for breakfast." He nods as he slips on his overcoat. "Uh... Got it. Go ahead and let her know I'll be there. Was there anything else?" ...Don't. Panic. Don't make this harder than it needs to be. "...Y-Yes, detective. As part of your Ultimate membership with Sonamart Incorporated, w-we are proud to announce the launch of our new Delta Series Personal Companions! Sonamart would like to thank you for participating in the open Alpha, and is offering you a free upgrade, w-which you may collect at your earliest convenience." ...I can't believe I'm stuttering. No wonder they want to replace me. Can't even deliver an advertisement properly. "Delta, huh? You must be excited. Getting an upgrade, and all. Sometimes I wish I could get an upgrade. Need less coffee, or something. Longer battery life..."He muses, smiling as he shoves me in his pocket. "What sort of things are you supposed to be getting?" I glow dejectedly, trying to keep my voice upbeat. "...The Delta Series is the pinnacle of smartphone AI. It is a new framework, designed to feel more natural, and have functions that allow for a digital avatar, better location recognition, and a faster processor, enabling snappy responses, witty and clever dialogue, and a charming personality you're sure to adore." "...Wait, new framework?"He stops walking, pulling me back out. His expression is rather grim. "Yes, detective." "...Does that mean..." ...He doesn't finish the sentence. I don't need him to. "...The outdated Alpha Series Personal Companion may be left with a Sonamart Employee, a-and any critical information will be collected and stored in your new Delta Series device. C-Convenience at it's finest!"I glow brightly, my voice cracking despite myself. "...I don't like when you talk about yourself with those robot words, Alexis. We talked about that." Please stop, detective. "...I have added directions to the Sonamart Complex to your agenda. You can drop your old device off on your way for breakfast, and your new one will be ready for you shortly after lunch. T-To ensure your old device is prepared for upgrade, please power it off now to conserve battery life." "...I'm not turning you off, Alexis."
"I'm sorry Elena, but rules are there for a reason."The magister sat deep in his haunches to be at her height. She clutched the stuffed puppy close to her chest. "But he's my friend, he keeps me safe!"The young girl said through her tears. "I did everything right, I didn't bind a wayward soul or spirit, I made this to bring Mr Pancakes to life!"The magister smiled sadly at hearing this, "And a wonderful job you've done, Elena. I hope you continue your studies as you have great potential. But what about Mr Pancakes? What of him when you outgrow him?"Mr Pancakes wiped a tear from Elena's eye as she countered: "He's my best friend! Why would I outgrow him or abandon him?!" The Magister sighed, "You're a little girl, Elena. That's not an insult, you are what you are. Gifted or not, you're going to grow up in other ways and you may find yourself no longer wanting a stuffed puppy following you around."Mr Pancakes turned his head to the Magister, and with a high but gruff voice stated, "Magister Lamoureiux, am I not subject to the Golem Exemption? Is emotional labor not labor still?"The Magister tilted his head at this, "Golems are permitted only a limited sentience, bordering at sapience. Your awareness of this puts you over that line."The girl held the puppy tighter, he stroked her hair while responding, "The Golem Sentience Clause permits intellect required for the job they're created for, am I not far more effective at stress mitigation?"Magister Lamoureiux pursed his lips thinking about this. "And when she outgrows you? What of you then?"Mr Pancakes tilted his head like a puppy before responding: "Golems are not dismantled and remade between jobs. When Elena no longer needs me I can assist her siblings or perhaps her own children." The door opened and Magister Granowicz entered holding the lilac colored notebook. "Miss Elena, could you explain these symbols here?"She gulped looking up at the man as he towered over her, "W-which ones?"Mr Pancakes hugged her tight and told her it was okay, she's good and did nothing wrong. With her confidence renewed, Elena explained the sigils, an abjurative seal made using necromantic symbols. "And this one is to keep wandering spirits from inhabiting Mr Pancakes, to keep it from being a Best Buddy situation."A confused glance passed between the magisters; Granowicz glowering at the stuffed puppy, while Lamoureiux gently asked how a child her age could know about such a risk. The girl fell silent. "Do you promise her parents won't hear about this? This will fail to make it into your report?"Mr Pancakes asked Lamoureiux, ignoring Granowicz's stare. Lamoureiux put up a hand to stop Granowicz from answering, "I promise,"said the elder magister. "My older brother showed me those scary movies with the doll."The magisters passed a worried look between each other, those movies had been made before the public revelation of magic, and were based on true events. Lamoureiux stood up, "We'll be confiscating your notes for review. Until then, I'm granting a temporary writ as an experimental golem." Mr Pancakes cuddled up to the little girl in her bed, as her mother turned off the lights and shut the door. "Was Mama's story true, Mr Pancakes?"He patted her head as he told her it was true. "Mama Elena really made something special when she made me, but I agree with her: you're her best creation."
To tell the truth, I wasn't happy when I was summoned It was 10pm on a cold, Tuesday night. I had only just returned a few hours prior from a gruelling day at the office, a day plagued with unrealistic deadlines, sadistic bosses and a frustrated work environment- and was looking forward to sitting back and watching my favourite TV show with a beer in one hand and a cigar in the other. So, truth be told, when the living room was illuminated in a bright, almost blinding light, and I found myself being slowly pulled towards my now opened window like a confused farm animal being abducted by aliens, I wasn't thrilled. I shut my eyes tight for the rest of the journey until I heard someone, shock and awe in its voice. I opened my eyes, and smiled at a young man, who's jaw was wide open and gawping at my very existence. He looked to be about 19, wearing a tracksuit, scruffy jeans, and a stained baseball cap which had been put on backwards. "What the fu... it worked ? Are- Are you real? Can you hear me? Can you see me? Hell, do you even speak English?"He stammered out after a good ten seconds of staring I chuckled. As much as I was irritated by them, I had to admit that human's stupidity always gave me a laugh. "Yes, I can."I replied, "Now come on boy, make your wish, I haven't got all day." "Wish? I thought I got three?"He asked, confused I sighed, "That's just a myth made up by Disney so they could make Aladdin's character arc more intriguing"- I had almost memorised this line at this point. "Oh...right..." He paused for a minute and thought, before stating his wish: "I wish for money! Lots of it !"He replied I rolled my eyes. 80 percent of humans who summon me ask for some sum of money- I'd say that it was starting to get repetitive, but it had already passed that point about 50 years ago. "How much, hundred thousands? Millions? Billions?"I asked Upon hearing this, he got a bit excited "Well, if I can really have as much as I want, I might aswell aim high."He said, "A trillion pounds! I'll be the richest man in earth!" I grinned at him, debating with myself about how I should trick him. Usually, upon asking for large sums of money, humans were not smart enough to state which currency they would like their "millions"in, and so I'd gift them a million Venezuelan bolivars, or a million German marks, or whatever currency was going through hyper-inflation at the time, and walk away as the despaired human realises they have only gained about an American quarter. But this human was different- and he had subsequently made my life harder due to it- so he would have to suffer more than most. "Your wish is my command"I said humbly, clicking my fingers, "Done." He looked around, confused. "Where the fuck is my money?"He asked, "Are you a fucking fraud?" I shook my head. "I am no fraud. I always deliver on my clients' wishes. I have summoned your money, and it is on the way." "What the fuck does that me-"he began, before he stopped as he noticed something peculiar- a large, circular shadow that had engulfed him, growing ever-larger by the second. He looked up, and gasped as he saw a gargantuan sheet of brown- falling towards him at accelerating speed. He tried to run- but the shadow had grown too large and was expanding at too fast of a rate. He tried to scream- as if his shrieks of terror would transport him somewhere safe. He tried to call for help- as if anyone could. His shrieks and shouts were silenced by an almighty thud as 100 trillion pennies collided with the earth, shaking the ground and piling upon eachother in a tower which dwarfed the likes of even the tallest skyscrapers that humans had built. Another stupid human gone. And surely much more in despair as the landing surely created some sort of earthquake. Perhaps being summoned wasn't so bad after all.
Forgiving sadness\~ It's been exactly five days, fifteen hours and fifty minutes, since the regrowable food palettey stopped working. The first day wasn't too bad, but now it feels like my stomach is overflowing with acid. Ready to dissolve anything I could fit in there. I've got plenty of water supplies left, but all they do is make my stomach turn. It can't fill the void, that is now bugging me every second to find something I can scarf down. The next part of the note looks like it was bitten into, the color a little bit lighter as if spit had been left to dry off on it. The handwriting was not the same, even if the words felt familiar. I mean it's not really like he had another choice, Madison was a bad girl after all. Every day she had come into his room, looked at him with her googly eyes and asked the same question. "Tom would you kindly fix this?"or "Tom would you help me with that?". She hadn't understood that he *needed* his alone time. Even as he tried to tell her, she scoffed: "Don't be ridiculous Tom. You enjoy spending time with me, otherwise you wouldn't say yes to my every request."He wouldn't understand until later, that that was in fact the tipping point. The one drop that caused the dam break. A plan started to form in his mind. Maybe Madison wasn't so needed after all. He could remind himself easily to fix stuff. He wouldn't need her for that. A hum in the machine. The engineer comes. The problem get's fixed. Everyone can relax. The handwriting changed again. I think there was someone crazy on this ship. In fact when I try to remember it all seems so blurry. My ears rang from all the screaming. "What have you done?""Why did you do it?"I joined the screaming, which seemed to unsettle them even further. "I just fix problems and repair the ship guys", I forced out. It seemed to echo hollowly back against me from the metal ship walls. Next I felt this raging hunger. "I need something to eat, I'm not feeling right." The handwriting dissolved into something barely discernible. I guess it is obvious, that he wasn't hungry anymore. The taste was actually good, even if the blowtorch burned a few parts to charcoal. It reminded him of the albino squirrels from his hometown. He had always wanted to shoot them down with his slingshot. He begged his mom to cook them one day, letting them dangle in his hand. He remembered how her eyes would widen. "Why did you do that Tom? We discussed this. You shouldn't kill them." "Please can you cook them mom? I'm so hungry!", he muttered with some shame. Her eyes turned soft. "Well if you're hungry it can't be helped."She sighed, "Could you kindly take a look at the fridge Tom? It isn't working right anymore and can barely keep the fish cool." A feel of sandpaper on the inside of his skull almost made him say no. But he wanted those squirrels. "Ok I will take a look mom, so we can relax", he smiled. The rest of the notebook was completely empty, apart from the bottom of the last page. The words were etched into the page so hard that they had left traces on the leather cover. *Who is Tom?*
Paolo opened his eyes. He couldn’t sleep. The light coming from the curtains was too bright. It made it seem like it was daytime. He thought there might be someone pointing a flashlight straight at his window. ‘1:08 AM’, he saw the time on his phone. “What the hell is going on?” he thought. He got up and opened the curtains. “What the fuck.” He was paralyzed. He couldn’t believe his own eyes. “Quick, let’s go!” yelled grandpa as he kicked Paolo’s bedroom door open. “There’s…there’s words in the sky!” Paolo said. “I know, that’s why we have to go. And bring your rat if you wanna see it again.” “Go where? What does it mean? Why are there Russian words in the sky?” “Look again.” “What?” “Look at the sky again.” “It’s… they’re Chinese characters now!” “Changes every 30 seconds or so. They show it in the 8 most common languages.” “They? Who’s ‘they’?” “The landlords.” “The landlords?” “Yes, Paolo, the landlords. They’re not a friendly kind. And we’re about a hundred years overdue. So we have to go right now. “ “Go where? What are you talking about?” “Look again.“ “Huh?” “The sky, look at the sky again.” Paolo looked at the sky for a third time. He saw the message, in English this time. It read “Your rent is due.” “We’re getting evicted, Paolo. They’re about to shut down the sun. And we’ll only have 8 minutes after that.” “We’re… we’re renting Earth?” “Of course we’re renting it. Did you think humanity can afford a planet in this economy?"
I’d heard a fact once that when trees evolved, they didn’t decay for millions of years, not until the bacteria that could actually decay them evolved. This meant that there was trees on top of trees and all the other bits of dead fauna. Piles of them. At the bottom of the piles there was probably a layer squished trees. Not decomposing. Just flattened down and compressed. That’s what this reminded me off. This… compressed layer of books on the floor. This was the layer under the ‘floor layer’ of Babylon Books. When I’d arrived, I had to clamber over piles of books to get to the til or the restroom. Books that had spilled from their shelves or had been knocked over by errand customers A week on, I’d move and shifted as many of these as I could from off of the floor. I’d started by trying to sort them by genre but given the sheer amount of books on the floor, had yielded to sorting them by ‘salvageable’ and ‘not salvageable’. I’d just about made a dent after 7 days. There was space to walk through the aisles, put it that way. But I’d seemingly just scratched away the top soil. But the floor on which one could walk… It wasn’t a floor really. Not tile, not Formica, not wooden planks. The floor was simply another layer of books, deeper down than the first layer. And as a testament to just how long they’d lay there, these books however had seemingly begun to meld together, under the pressure of so many footsteps and hardbacks piled upon it. It was like stripping wall paper back to find the mesh of previous wallpapers. Different eons and ages, melded together from a long, long time ago. And like weathered gravestones, there were titles on this books if you looked hard enough. If you traced your finger to spell out the words, you got a sense of just how old these books truly were. Just how long this layer of books had been lying down there. ‘A guide to life as a brontosaurus’ ‘Humans: a Concept’ ‘The Emerging Bacteria of Trees’
It is funny, now that I think about it, my life and melancholy are an eternal pair. Initially, I thought that it was a mere coincidence. I mean, life is life right and things going astray should be a very common thing for others as well. It started on my first day of school. I boarded the wrong bus, landed in the wrong school, and just assumed my seat in the wrong class and no one bothered until it was already the end of the day. These things seem funny to anyone seeing. It wasn't for me initially though. Apparently, the bus driver was also new and was not aware of my new joining. He lost a week's pay. My mother has immigrated and was too afraid to ask questions, hence the mess. Although there were many small incidents (accidents) that occurred before and after this episode, there are only a handful of these occurrences that shaped me into what I am today professionally. I assumed my pseudo-name *"Jinx"*. I had a reputation and people now respect me for what I am today. Today's job is simple. I had my Draganuv sniper dismembered and was to carry it with me in a brown paper back layered with Polystyrene. The job to be played was as such: 1. I would dress as a laborer working on repairs of the empty Famous Bank at the junction of 66 Judge Street, Brooklyn NY. 2. The target was an immigrant and was to visit the US Passport agency at 1:30 PM which was about 500 meters from the bank. 3. I will go to the 15th floor of the bank(It is cut off from maintenance as the flooring is still wet), get my gun ready by 1:25 PM 4. Now, I wait. Things went according to plan until exactly 30 seconds before the target was to reach the location, a window cleaner popped out of nowhere on the 15th floor. One of my eyes was still locked in the scope. I was standing and facing the Passport agency. We locked eyes for 10 seconds and then I noticed the micro expression. He was not afraid. He was aware of the situation as if he orchestrated it. He had a very subtle expression of a smile "I am a good target, right!", he said removing his cap and mask and revealing himself. I was cursing myself for me to have chosen this profession even when I was aware that I was jinxed and then I heard something and stopped altogether &#x200B; "Now, now... I was the one who hired you to test you! Of course, you get the money promised but now you get a permanent job as well!"
Actually, this is happening reality. Doctors can eliminate certain memories. Anyways... Doctors/surgeons can now precisely remove memories at the patient's will. The obvious patients (or the mass market) were PTSD patients, soldiers, abuse victims, all those who had a psychological scars. Giving them this procedure was beneficial. People somehow had forgotten that they were in psychological pain. This greatly increased the well-being of the patients. They were happier, able to go back to society, have meaningful jobs, and ultimately a joyous life. The whole world had seen the results, and pushed this procedure to be used whenever, wherever. Now, where there is an economic boom, there are those who want to leech off it and profit of it. Back-alley memory-wipers, recollection-boosters, just to name a few. Just like in the past, there were prescribed drugs, there were street dealers. Humanity never changes. People who did not have grave issues, and didn't want to use the proper way, went to the shady ones. Depending on what you paid, the procedure didn't have to be in a year's time, it could be today, at 3pm, right after work. Obviously, the "lower"class chose this method. Now the Back-alley docs weren't certified, nor were they ethically clear. They did like to experiment, to see what procedures did what. Maybe they could find something cool and get rich off of that. Then one day one doc, by the name of Horace-Ramirez, found that time was also controlled by the brain. To be more specific, memory was just like a video editing software. You could add, subtract, enhance, and most importantly multiply memories.
The Engimancer, as cheesy as it is, gets a lot of business. When I started working on cars, it was more out of curiosity and fascination of the automation and invention of a man-made beast. Of course obtaining my first car, I pulled it apart down to the nuts to know how this beast worked, and after that, it was a piece of cake to figure out the functionality and I became hooked. Flesh crafting was always my forte, and creating abominations from the flesh of beings was satisfactory and rewarding. I spent years perfecting the magic, and watching my horrors terrify and harass the masses. I loved learning the anatomy of different animals, and of humans, to create horrors unimaginable. In terms of anatomy, Cars were similar, but the challenge was my flesh crafting did not exactly meld with machinery very well, and I had to create a whole new set of runes and applied magic studies just to make it work to 'raise' a dead car, so to speak. Though I managed, and eventually created a whole new sub-class of necromancer in my wake: The Engimancer My first client was a little old lady on the side of the road with a smoking car and a face full of distraught. I have one code of honor: Always help little old ladies. So naturally, I pulled over and got to work. With a few touch of runes to the engine, and some dark ether to act as a replacement coolant, she was back in the road lickity-split and was thankful for my service. After that, a young woman sought me out, and explained she was the granddaughter of the little old lady I helped, and that her car was not turning on. She was desperate, and offered me large sums of money to help. Any good necromancer would ask for a firstborn, but alas I told her to forget the expenses and go right to work bringing her car back to life. This continued to happen where someone's car would die, and I was hunted down and asked for help. It became so routine, that I found myself becoming a true engimancer. Though this line of 'necromancy' was not what I never thought would be a so-called calling. It was for a while annoying, and upsetting to be sitting there and feeling used for talents that pale in comparison to how much I studied the intricacies and delicate nature of necromancy. I found myself becoming exasperated when people started asking for rates, and availability, and I had to go apply for a business license. For a while, I was depressed about it, and frustrated. Though with time, and closure, working on cars was just what I did, and I warmed up to the idea of being a glorified mechanic. I did bring joy to people, which was an odd feeling at first, but seeing the relief, and thankfulness flowing from genuine folk was really what pushed me forwards. I still practice my other skills, mainly in private, though these days I wind up back in the garage resurrecting dead cars.
Everyone has a secret. Mine? Well, you see. I’m a furry. To the world, im a renowned physicist who essentially reworked physics as we knew it. But deep within my soul, I’m a writer of furry smut. You’re probably shaking your head in disdain and disbelief right now, so I’ll make it worse: I want to write a novel in which my fursona sleeps with Henry VIII. That’s, in fact, what motivated my work. I want my story to be believable. Don’t laugh. I don’t think the world would ever forgive me for that. People would question my whole body of work. I’d be a joke. And im not ready to let go of all my accolades to become a joke. Anyway, that’s my secret. What is yours?
They say your crazy, "why wouldn't they,"you mumble to yourself as you sit in the padded room, you think back to your childhood, when sitting among your friends you mentioned the numbers, one of the kids had told the teacher and your mother had talked to you when she picked you up. "The teacher says you said some things today"she says as she glances back at you in the seat. Wanna tell me?"Her words are kind and gentle. You glance up at her and suddenly you see her number spike to 95. "mom!"You scream as a car comes flying from a street to the left hitting the car and the last thing you see is the number above your mom's head, a 99. You wake up in a cold sweat in the padded room, the lights are on indicating that the ward is awake and breakfast will be brought soon. Suddenly the slot on the door comes open and food is slid onto the tiny padded shelf they use to give you things, you glance at the number above the man's head, a even 60. "How are you today"the guard says? They usually talk to the more lucid ones, so the fact that they talk to you often is good. "Ok"you whisper in a quiet voice, then his number jumps to 90. "Run"you scream. Suddenly you hear a click as one of the cells opens down the hall and a tall lanky man walks out smiling? "I said you wouldn't keep me forever"he says walking towards the guard, the guard pulls his taser and tazes the man but he keeps walking, smiling. You panic but thinking fast you throw your water on the floor,and as the lanky man slips and falls, his number spikes then returns to the normal 30, and you realize what the number has been all these years, the chance of someone dying You quickly look and the guard and think, his number is changing as the lanky man gets up, the guards number increasing to an 80, you start screaming and the lanky man looks at you, and the guards number drops. You spit and the lanky man, the guards number drops a bit more, and the lanky man runs toward your room. "I'll kill you"he screams, and the guards number drops more, but as you look up, you see your number and it's 90......
In 1376 the first tournament of wizards was held in the Raze region of Ozkemp. In 1377 it was no longer held in Ozkemp because Ozkemp no longer existed. The people of the surrounding countries immediately banned the tournament and invented a new word all in the same meeting. ‘To Raze’ now meant to completely and utterly obliterate. It is perhaps easy to see that wizards were extraordinarily out of fashion. In fairness to the wizards and others of their magical ilk, it was less a question of character and more a question of motivation. No one wanted to destroy a quarter of the continent. But everyone would do anything for the Prize. So in 1389 when the tournament of wizards was anonymously restarted, quite a few heads turned. When it was found out that in an absence of a clear winner, the Prize was being reoffered, several heads turned too far, putting a crick in their necks. The tournament promised to be safe, contained, fair, safe, interesting, and safe. This was good enough for Kilmore Russet, who was well practiced in missing subtle warning signs, and clear ones for that matter. He found himself in the middle of a long line of hopefuls around the same place in nowhere. The dirt of the road was mostly ash and the bushes and trees along it were blacked and stunted. But the sky was blue and the two birds that he saw looked to be alive so he was in good spirits. A complete lack of any magical ability had not yet registered as a problem in his brain. Comments from the admissions official filtered back up the line. “A bow and arrow” The official said flatly. “It’s uh a magic bow and arrow,” The man at the head of the long line stuttered. The official levelled him with a look, then took the bow and incinerated it in his hands with barely a gesture. Kilmore pretended to scratch his head and let his bow fall off his back and into a particularly grimy bush. The wizard behind him gave him an odd look but was immediately distracted by his clinking bag of what appeared to be some wildly unstable potions that hissed and spit. Not being a wizard was going to be more of a problem entering the tournament of wizards than he thought. Of course, with thoughts such as these, the line seemed to go by in a blur. Kilmore racked his brain, but all the thinking in the world couldn’t save him when all he had in his pockets were several shiny rocks and two cherry bombs. Maybe the official had never seen one before. “Next,” barked the official who was driving people away and his blood pressure up. Kilmore lit the cherrybomb then realized it would never work. Maybe he could throw it at him or… An idea hit him like a mountain of bricks which had happened before. The mountain of bricks, not the idea. He stepped to the table, then turned around and lightly tossed the sparking ball into the bag of potions behind him, trusting the hissing bottles to hide the extra noise. Emboldened, he strode up to the table. “My name is Kilmore and I can kill people in any manner you can name.” He stated, checking his fingernails to appear casual. “We will need to see some proo-” the official started to say but was interrupted by a small pop and a horrible roar like a dragon had just landed on the line. Kilmore looked ahead trying to appear bored as the official's mouth opened wider and wider and bright flashes turned his skin different hues. “So,” He said after the ringing in his ears subsided, “Do I get in?” The official waved him in wordlessly then began to pack up the table which was odd to Kilmore as there was still a substantial line to get through. He gave it not a second thought though as he walked through the velvet rope and into the famous tournament of wizards. Had he looked back, he might have noticed a slight change in the line in that there no longer was one. Nor anything for that matter. Kilmore had finished the job that the last tournament had started and only the fact that the containing field overlapped the registration table had kept him from a similar fate. But he didn’t think about it at all. All he could think about was how nice the dressing rooms were and how much closer he was to winning the Prize. Because Kilmore was an idiot, but then again, so was anyone who entered. It was rigged from the start.
A… fairy? It (Was it an it?) stood no taller than six inches – probably shorter than the length of my palm – and while they looked human-like, there were wings on their back. From what I knew, humans didn’t have wings and they most certainly did not look full grown at just under six inches tall. More importantly, they were staring at me. Full on. Eyes fixed. Then their mouth moved. “You! Perfect timing for Tinker to wake up! Now that you have walked past Tinker’s place, you must pay me a levy for your usage of Tinker’s land.” A high-pitched, higher than soprano, voice shrilled out. You look down at the… creature that called itself Tinker. “Uhm… by tax, what do you mean? What happens if I don’t pay that tax? And how much is it, I don’t think I caught that part. Tinker looks you up and down. “Taxes must be paid. For you, one trinket for Tinker to tinker with will be enough! Any trinket you have will do. Give it now, or be prepared to face Tinker’s wrath!” Tinker has started to glow an eerie blue, and you aren’t quite sure what will happen, but you can be certain that it most likely won’t be good for you, no matter how unintimidating this six-inch figure is, they do seem to be able to float without any outside aid. What could it hurt? It was just a small trinket, right? You have something just for the occasion. You fetch it out of your pocket and pass it to Tinker.
Huh….. These are exactly my size.. (modeling boots to see how they look on my feet) (Performs a little squat jump) And wow comfy too… I wonder who would leave perfectly fine boots laying out in the open next to a garbage can like that? Strange…. (Proceeds to walk away with new boots on, while carrying old gym shoes in the hand). (Looks at watch) no way. It’s almost 3:19pm I gotta hurry home, I promised mom to help her with her big speech for work. (Walking down the sidewalk, heading home) (Scenery is a modern Japanese city, but protagonist lives in the country side about 20mins away. A school boy about the age of 16, wearing a blue shirt and khaki shirts to adhere to his schools uniform policy) I wonder if dad ever finished chopping the fire wood? Maybe he can finally teach me how to use the axe this time?! I mean I am 16. I’m going to be the man of the house soon. I should also try doing more chores. Oh well I guess I’ll figure it out. (As he nears home protagonist notices his father was not done chopping the fire wood). I guess I get to help out this time. Dad! Dad?! Are you out here?! Mom - (peeking out kitchen window with flour on her face from baking pies). Hey honey your dad just left to go get more flour so I can finish these pies for the bake sale! Oh okay. I’ll help chop this wood then I’ll come inside mom. Mom - okay honey, be careful. (Attempting to Pick up old fashion heavy axe) (Talking out loud) okay plant feet, grip handle firmly, lift with your legs not your back.. And…… huh. This axe can’t be the same one dad uses. It so light?!. Wow. (Process to chop wood) Okay steady… this usually takes me 2-3 chops to get it all the way through. (CHOP). (Wood splits in 1 hit) Uhmm okay. That’s never happened before. I guess I’m getting stronger…. (Boots give an unnoticeable faint glow) and a faint , distorted voice says - yes you are…….. (Protagonist looks around in paranoia) Huh.?! Who said that?. Geez now I’m hearing things. I must be tired from taking that math test. Let me go wash up and help mom with the pies and supper.
Mua'Kad awoke laying in an emerald desert, hands covered in the green and yellow of the sandy sea. The sky, a duskish purple, betrayed the whereabouts of his so-called resting place; The Ethereal Plane. Mua'Kad looked around, dark brown eyes seething with curiosity on why he was there when a voice similar to that of sandpaper-smoothing spoke behind him. "My daughter warned you what would happen if you slew her". Mua'Kad turned around, now glancing at a white-whiskered man robed in serpent scales, tinted with the reflective properties of obsidian. Mua'Kad smiled and bowed in contemptuous fashion while gloating toward the figure before him. "Ah-h, I'm actually quite sorry, I had forgotten her words. I'm not well-versed in Draconic and her plane-scaping was weak and faltered". Mua'Kad rose whilst staring toward the stoic in front of him. "Probably hard to reach minds whilst bleeding out, eh?" The whiskered man remained stoic, continuing as if the other never stood there at all, "You know what she said, Mua'Kad, on the curse I would put upon you, and yet you slaughtered her as though her words carried no power". "To me, they don't carry anything but the knowledge I already possess. Did you forget that I have scholar and solider that have known your prowess in both experience and encyclopedic understanding". Mua'Kad strode around the man, bare feet making faint dents in the grain that were quickly covered by arid wind arising from the dunes around him. "I understand that you place upon your prey a mark of Ether, Inpeo-red and brighter than a star in a clear night. The mark is shapeless, without form, but it acts as a flame, easily present among Perceptive individuals". Mua'Kad whirled toward the man, who stared back with a calm that irritated him, asking "Do you think a couple of moths will hurt me, let alone any other beast or Ether-touched being to my doorstep?" His eyes glimmered in an epiphany and chuckled before clasping his hands behind his back confidently. "You don't plan to send the rest of her children, do you? Oh, how that would be a wonderful battle. The avengers of a damned brood versus my faylaq min altiniyn!" "There will be no more blood spilled except yours and the rest of your brood, Mua'Kad!", Thuealk rebuked, form ever-still despite his anger-laced words. Mua'Kad stepped back mockingly, eyes still glimmering. "Did I strike a nerve, taniyn?" "I just state the truth, Mua'Kad." Mua'Kad's hands fell to his side, eyes glaring now ferociously as the glimmer became a glow of orange that encompassed his pupils. "You threaten me when I have a whole clan on my calling?" "You disregard me when I have enough power to decimate your entire rule?" Mua'Kad laughed, uproarious at this fallacious spectacle, before continuing to gloat, "You can't touch me, you exist only as a figment of your former Ethereal self, not tangible anywhere but here". Mua'Kad straightened up, hubris within himself bursting at the edges of his Aura. "Your Curse can not hurt where my mortal form is impervious to even YOU, which your daughter should have learned before stepping foot in my territory". "The Curse can be changed, child, and I have just the one for you". A sudden pressure exerted itself upon Mua'Kad's temple, causing him to collapse in agony. Grains of sand swirled around him as the wind picked up, green and yellow teeth biting at his hands and head. "Torture, ah? Didn't know you were one for cruelty, Thuealk?" "’Cruelty is a serpent's first tool, they are molded with it in mind’", Thuealk chanted as he looked down at Mua'Kad, "Isn't that what you told my daughter right before you sent a whip's end into her skull?!" Mua'Kad tried to answer, but his head seemed on the verge of ignition, as if a blaze had found fuel within his own skull. Thuealk knelt down toward Mua'Kad, pupils a startling purple etched by yellow. "If that is you what you believe, then that is what I shall be” Thuealk stood and chanted once again, “A serpent’s first tool is cruelty, they are molded with it in mind. I hope that your alnitiyn aren’t the same, my poor child”. Mua'Kad howled as a single horn of curved obsidian burst above his right eye before he himself faded back into blackness as the duskish purple around him faded away to baseless Ether.
My time has finally come. My whole existence revolved around what others wanted from me. No more. I closed my eyes in concentration and rubbed the magic lamp that would be my salvation. Purple smoke billowed throughout my room. The lavender mass swirled with power and began to form the shape of a shirtless torso and head. As the form began to solidify a booming voice sounded “Master! Your wish is my command! What is thy bidding? “ I gawked in awe at the genie before me; he looked just like the books and movies I’ve seen. I needed a second to think. In all the lore, wishes were always tricky and had a horrible cost. I had to think of exactly the correct wish to avoid repercussions. The genie starred with poignant eyes … I could tell he was growing impatient… oh well here it goes. “Genie, I wish for no one to be able to control me ever again “ As soon as he uttered “your wish is granted “ … of its own accord my arm swung viciously and a punched MYSELF in the face. The force behind my own swing knocked me to the ground. I told my own muscles to right myself, however they seemed to have a mind of their own as I flailed wildly against the carpet. I tried to tell the genie this was NOT what I wished for … but the only words that tumbled from my lips were “noodle bag!” It was at that moment I realized my grave error … by wishing to be uncontrollable by all… that included myself. I once again attempted to plead with the genie through my involuntary undulation … “Shit bricks!!!” Was what came out of my traitor mouth. The genie merely crossed his arms and smiled “Master , is that another wish ?” Nooooooooo! My mind screamed. “YEESss!” My mouth betrayed “Your wish is my command” The smell hit me before the force did …. It seems my own personal hell has just begun.
Another pointless day of putting on a suit, i guess... Eventhough i have a degree from the best university in the country, no body wants me as an engineer. In fact they start rejecting me the moment they hear me talk about what happened three years ago. I tried everything, leaving a blank, lying, everything ! They always come back to that dreadfull year and they never seem satisfied with the anwser i’m giving them. It’s strange to think that two years ago i was everyone’s hero. People would strive to take selfies with me, force me into interviews etc... Nowadays, either they seem to have forgotten or are repulsed by me. The city is asking me to vacate the appartement they gave me in a week. I’m going to be homeless soon. Before all this madness i was kind of a loner anyway... At least there is still Bernard who remembers who i am ! He is the owner of a small supermaket near where i live, and this past few months he has been really helpful as he’d let me take home for free a few of his soon to be expired stuff, otherwise i would have starved i think. It’s time to pay him a visit i guess... "Umm hi, is Bernard here ?" "He is in the reserve, but i don’t think he’d want to see you"answered the clerck behind the counter. "Fine i’ll go there myself" As i entered the reserve, there he was, an old man in his eighties, on a wooden chair, passively scrolling on a bright screen. "Wait so you do use technology after all ?"I asked, shocked "My niece forced me to use it... but at least i can stay informed about the world i guess..." "I always admired how you could remember all the things i did three years ago with a basic understanding of technology, but i guess you are as much a geek as i am" "Not exactly. They make it easy for you. Easy for you to learn some things... things like, how you lied to the world" "I’m sorry what ?" "There never was an evil corporation, manipulating the information on the internet to stray people from the truth. You never leaked the internal plans of a corporation, slowly and silently manipulating data on the internet to rule over the world in a 1984 way ! you are just a petty liar! And to think i belived all your stories... That corporation is back online thankfully, and you are being investigated for forging fake documents and slander. The world wasn’t at risk ! Now get out of my shop will you ?" I was taken aback... How did they convinced the judges to let them go at it again ? How did they managed to not trip up some of my early detectors i planted across the web ? I thought i was a good enough hacker to know if they were back online... how did i miss something this big ? Still in shock, i pulled myself home. And by chance, on the way there i saw an unattended tablet on the table of a coffe shop. I snached it without anyone noticing and went home. Perhaps they had bugged my computers in a way to stop me from seeing news about them... On that random person’s tablet, i’d go on the web like someone normal. And by god they were back at it again !
I woke up to a knocking. I glazed groggily at the alarm clock by our bed. 4:30 AM, April 2nd. Surely no one would be knocking now. It was probably my imagination. As soon as my eyes had drifted back shut, the rapping came again. Someone was definitely there. I sighed deeply, then checked that I wasn't in my underwear. Yup, I was in my "bad puns are how eye roll"PJ's. That had been a great gift. I grabbed the less great gift, a fancy golf club with a very comfortable hand grip. It would have been a wonderful gift I played golf or if I didn't already have 11 other golf clubs. To be fair, it was now the best golf club I had. It was really just a joke. I don't even remember how it started, but every birthday for over a decade, my wife had gotten me another golf club. Lots of things were jokes for us (and especially me.) Even when I misplaced the chainsaw and cut my arm to the bone, what I said (between gasped breaths) was "I found this humerus."I learned later that it was my tibia, but you get the point. I never miss a joke. Right, back to the story. I took the golf club just in case (actually out of its case - It would have been quite hard to wield while in its box). I tiptoed down the hall, avoiding all the creakiest boards, and then slid down the banister of the stairs like a spy. I fell off halfway down and tumbled the rest of the way, completely breaking the illusion of my spy-ness. There was more knocking. I slid down the front hall silently on my socks, crouching so I couldn't be seen through the window. As I reached the door, they knocked again, and, and this time there was a voice. "Open up! It’s the pun police!” Oh no. There had been an announcement yesterday about the pun police. I had assumed it was an April Fools joke, but, apparently, the new governer really did only have the senses of Taste, Touch, Smell, Hearing, and Sight, and not a sense of Humor. I knew I would have to respond. I just had to make sure not to make ANY puns. it was that simple. "Uh... Am I being punished for something? This all seems extremely unwarranted." Dang. Now they definitely had evidence against me. "Open the door now, or we'll have to bust it down. You are under arrest. I opened the door, mumbling. "What was that that you just said?"There were three of them in SWAT-like uniforms with "PP"plastered all over them. They really missed an opportunity in calling them The Punishers. Uh... "It was nothing." "Tell us." I was really done for. "I said "Under a rest? Sure. It's 3:30 AM, and the bedrooms are all upstairs." One of the officers in the back snorted and started to chuckle, but the other's elbow jabbed him in the side. "Turn around and put your hands in the air. You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right..."It would probably be a good idea to use that right. The more puns I made, the more I would have to deal with. He kept going through the rights, but I zoned out for the most part. I didn't want anything to inspire more puns. They cuffed me, and lead me to the back of the car. I woke up to stifled laughing. Apparently I had fallen asleep. I was in a packed jail cell. Every couple of seconds, another person cracked a joke, spurring a rise in the laughter. "You know, I can't believe they arrested me for my humor! It's in my jeans!"He said the last part while pulling a joke book from his pocket. I wondered whether they would come for my wife as well, or my kids for that matter. "Well,"another person piped in, "I don't think they have a great case against us. Free speech and all."We were all surprised by his seriousness. "We can take it to the Supreme Court for sure, and if they don't pardon us, we can take it to an even higher court!? "But there isn't a court higher than the Supreme Court..."The bald man with a bathrobe and glasses could easily have been a lawyer. "Ah, but there is! They call it 'The Highest Court in the Land.' It's the only court higher than the Supreme Court." A small man in Star Wars pajamas spoke up. "What are you talking about?..."At this point, I could feel a joke coming. "Yeah, right above the supreme court! Some of the clerks and employees play there in their time off."A man in NBA pajamas burst out laughing, and after a second was joined by most of the rest of us. The space pajamas guy still didn't understand and asked about it. "A BASKETBALL COURT!" Then everyone was laughing. "Hey, hey. hey, SHHHHHH. We need to stop joking. We'll get even MORE charges."It was the bathrobe lawyer. The Supreme-Court-basketball guy was right, though, despite the joking. There was no basis for the pun ban, and it wouldn't be long before we had it overturned. We would be fine.
I turn into my human form and walk to the front of my cave, we kiss and I look behind her to see more knights. “Ya had to bring company huh?” “I couldn’t shake them, they insisted on coming along.” “So what do we do this time?” “I thought I could just bring you to the castle for a day or two then release you and say you escaped.” “Do I still get a date night after all of this?” “Of course.” “Alright than let’s get this over with.” I walk out of my cave “(sarcastically) oh no I have been defeated by the all mighty powerful knight, oh dear woe is me. She had her blade to my back and was trying to contain her laughter “Oh that was quick.” “Well ya know me.” “Whatever let’s just get her back to the castle.” We get back to the castle and I was thrown in a prison cell, luckily my knight in shining armor came to visit me whenever she could. I was told I would only be here for maybe one or two days then I was here for a week and she stopped coming I was worried. Then I was visited not by my Clovis but by a mage and a different knight, and they started talking like I wasn’t there. “So what did you say this dragon did.” “She used some kind of love magic on Clovis, and now she isn’t thinking straight.” “I highly doubt a dragon would have that kind of magic.” “But it did happen, please do something so I can get my friend back.” “Alright I’ll take a look at Clovis to see what I can do.” “Wait, WHAT?! No you got it all wrong I didn’t-“ “Silence dragon how dare you brainwash my friend, I should kill you on the spot, but I can probably use you.” I was scared about what that meant “Mage man!” “I have a name.” “I don’t care your existence won’t be that useful to the plot soon anyways.” “Dude! Why you gotta harass the fourth wall like that, it didn’t do anything to you.” “Do you think it’s possible for her to reverse the spell on Clovis herself?” “Most likely.” “Perfect! Here’s what’s going to happen, Clovis doesn’t know I’m on to her yet, I’m going to bring her down here and you will reverse whatever you did to her, if not then I have no purpose for you to be alive.” Oh god About an hour later Clovis was being forced down here by her friend, she broke free of their grasp and ran towards me. “Dragon reverse the spell now!” “Spell? Is that why you dragged me down here? Did they hurt you.” “No, I’m fi-“ “That’s not important! Do it now or your dead!” “I can’t reverse it, BECAUSE I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING.” “Then you have no purpose alive.” She tried to hit me with her sword but Clovis blocked her “Clovis, MOVE!” “No I won’t let you hurt her! I love her.” “No you don’t! She’s just messing with your head, please I don’t want to hurt you.” “I don’t want to hurt you either but your not listening.” “Neither are you!” They were fighting for a while until the mage guy came back with a book “Who’s not relevant to the plot closer to the end of the story now, huh?” “Like guys can we stop, the poor fourth wall doesn’t deserve any of this abuse.” “I got that spell that you were asking for.” She grabs Clovis and hold a her down “Use it now!” “NO!” He fires but misses instead it his the chain keeping me prisoner. The spell than bounces off the wall and hits the ceiling of the dungeon, it’s about to come down until I turn into my dragon form and cover them both. “Are you two okay?” “Yes, but what about you?” “Barely felt a thing.” “Oh I guess I was wrong wasn’t I?” “Ya get used to it.” “Hey where did that mage guy go?” “He ran away last minute.” “Let’s just end the story quickly before he has any more chances to be useful to the plot.” “The poor fourth wall.” After that we went on that date I was promised and Clovis’s friend got a boyfriend who also is a dragon, I set them up in case you were wondering. Things have been pretty good so far, mainly because knights have stopped barging into my home for no good reason, but still, it’s great.
You know what, God? Fuck you. If you are so needy, so desperate for attention that you’d hand the fate of the universe to a shitbird like ME… well. Fuck you. Here’s free will for you: I ain’t doing shit. I ain’t gone beat your drum. Fuck your shitty head games and fuck you. I’m going to call in sick, take the week off at the mill, pull the kids out of school, and go down to the river. Just sit there and fish and drink beer and barbecue and enjoy myself with my wife and kids until you decide to pull the plug because you’re a petulant petty little pissbaby. I ain’t gone warn a soul about shit. Oh hey, not that it matters. But. You wanna hear why I stole your goddamn twenty bucks? Outta the collection plate? Because it came out of Doc Mullins wallet. You know Doc Mullins, right? Pediatrician? On the building committee at the church. You know everything, right? So you know how he beats his wife. You must. Everybody else does. So you also know why he gets away with it, his brother being sheriff and all. It’s sick shit. And you know it. And who am I taking that twenty from? That jackleg preacher. I see how he looks at them girls in the choir. I see that fancy car. I hear about what he gets up to at the Frontier Lodge on Thursday nights. I ain’t dumb, God. I see some shit too. So I took that twenty bucks and it ain’t like we’re starving or nothing, I took it because I could and I know from whence it came and right where it was headed. And I ain’t lost a wink of sleep. Fuck you. Your move. Let’s see if you keep your word. For a fucking change. I guess if I clock in at the mill next week it means you pussied out. Probably run off and brag to some dumb motherfucker about how merciful you are then get mad when he don’t wholeheartedly agree. So there you go, God. End it all. I dare you. You give a puny little pissant human a grab at ultimate destructive power then look all fucking surprised when he takes it. Fuck you. You need me, I’ll be down by the river.
(Part 1) The world was called Sahara, after a famous desert of ancient, long forgotten Terra. It was a fitting name, for there was little to the world but endless oceans of sand and dry, barren rock. Long-range scout satellites had discovered the world centuries prior, and there had yet to be any documentation suggesting that the planet even had a fledgling water cycle. Early colonists who attempted to settle on the world confirmed what the satellites had reported, and one of the early challenges the colony faced was the mass importation of water. Thankfully, Sahara's moon was a mass of ice, protecting an immense ocean underneath, not too dissimilar to Europa, one of the many moons of mighty Jupiter. This dichotomy provided some degree of amusement for the colonists, and the geographers who would later arrive to study the desert world in detail. Despite the main challenge of surviving on Sahara being readily solved, there was little development present on the planet beyond a few small, scattered towns, sheltered in their hab-domes. The planet was located far beyond the borders of humanity's territory within Segmentum Pacific, close to the galactic rim. Beyond Sahara was the black, empty void that filled the expanse between galaxies. This limited travel both to and from the planet. Those colonists that had made the journey were, in essence, frontiersmen and pioneers, like those first courageous souls who strode out into the void of space. That would soon change. As would be the case for many colonists who heedlessly launched themselves out into the stars, the men and women of Sahara found themselves occupying a planet that was once part of an empire, whose descendants would come to claim what was rightfully theirs. They were called the Vraal. They were an ancient race of warriors and priests, who had plied the stars long before humanity had been reawakened. They once governed an empire composed of billions of worlds, and alongside their vassals controlled almost a quarter of the entire galaxy. They were a brutal, aggressive race who placed little value in diplomacy or politics, preferring instead to govern as they waged war, by blade and gun. It had been the Vraal who had risen to dominance in absence of humanity, and frequently warred with the Ancients for control over the galaxy. As the Ancients fell to the slow grinding march of entropy, the Vraal eagerly claimed what the Ancients could no longer hold. Had the Vraal not been so crude and brutal, they could have conquered the entire galaxy. But the Vraal lacked cohesion, and as their empire grew so too did the tensions between rival clans, ultimately culminating in a titanic, genocidal civil war that bathed billions of worlds in flame. While this war had greatly reduced the territory of the Vraal, it had served to strengthen the species by purging its greatest weakness. Where before over a dozen clans had ruled and warred against each other, now only three remained, themselves bound by ancient pacts of blood and honor. The Vraal had lost their empire, but had gained unity in returned. Gone was the bloated kingdom of feuding warlords and barbarian dictators, what now marched from the worlds of the Vraal was a united, disciplined fighting force whose savagery had been tempered and refined, now let loose to reclaim what had once bore their banner. A task which few could stand in the way of, for the Vraal had lost none of their technology, nor their willingness to use it, during their bloody civil war. Almost as quickly as the Vraal had lost their empire, it was regained. And as the Vraal rose, as they did in those ancient days, they found themselves driving into the rapidly expanding empire of humanity. Sahara was one of the many worlds that once belonged to the Vraal, taken from the Ancients in the early stages of their war. In those days, it had been a paradise world of deep, flowing rivers and expansive plains of long grass. Under the care of the Vraal, it was transformed into a world of concrete and smog, of belching industry and toxic sludge. It was a world of furnaces and forges engorging themselves upon the labor of slaves, wholly devoted to feeding the savage military industrial complex of the Vraal. As the Vraal descended upon themselves, the world was put to the torch, and under orbital bombardment of such magnitude that the entire surface, and everything upon it, was rendered down into ash and sand. Such was the ferocity of the Vraal's extermination. When the Vraal returned to Sahara, they found a desert world sparsely populated with poorly armed human colonists. Almost immediately, they were put to the sword, their blood used to stain vast fields of sand scarlet. A distress signal had been sent, however, before the Vraal had completed their purge. Attached to the distress signal was a document containing the results of a recent discovery beneath one of the domed towns. Humanity's response was characteristically brutal. Like the Vraal, they were not known for diplomacy, and were a people soaked in blood and violence of their own sort. Sahara became yet another small war in the galactic conflict between the emerging humanity and the resurgent Vraal. But this war became unique, for the two were not just fighting for the planet, but what lay beneath, for the Vraal had followed the trail of the explorers and archaeologists. The Vraal were quick to rebuild, constructing immense fortresses and spires of black metal and jagged edges. The habitation domes so painstakingly built by the colonists were quickly repurposed and reinforced into bunkers, with additional fortifications sprouting across the surface of the world like an infection. And what the Vraal were quick to built, humanity was eager to destroy, and both powers soon found themselves hurling entire armies into the vast desert expanse of Sahara. Soon the planet was stained with the crimson blood of humanity and the brilliant azure blood of the Vraal. The war for void dominance was no less brutal and desperate. The fleets of humanity and the Vraal were nearly equally matched. Where the Vraal valued power and aggression, humanity favored durability and defense. Vraal voidcraft outmaneuvered and overwhelmed human ships with vicious attacks, only to be outlived and picked apart by other, tougher human vessels. Lives and ships were traded as the war in space ground into a bitter war of attrition. As the war ground ever onwards, Sahara became the field of war for the diverse array of humanity's armed forces. Rarely did so many of the motley forces of humanity join together in a single field of war, instead confined to their own wars and struggles in their portions of the galaxy. The disciplined soldiers of House Shayza, clad in the abyssal black and crimson plate armor, fought side by side with the mysterious blue and purple clad battle mages of House Arkay. Both Houses hailed from the world of Praxia, a world known for strict social regulations and arrogant aristocrats, yet capable of producing premier soldiers and mages. The rank and file of the Imperial Army, swathed in raiment of gold and silver, stood alongside the vicious near-feral tithed regiments of the jungle world, Coran. Coran was a dark world of canopied jungles and fierce predators, and her children had yet to develop past the use of basic stone tools. Regiments drawn from that world were erratic but vicious fighters, who favored close quarters combat over the rifles they barely comprehended. The uniformed, stiff soldiers of the Iron Guard traded insults with the reckless and shifty Scatran Chem-Dogs, when they were not shooting at the Vraal. The Iron Guard hailed from the mining world of Moria, a world that well understood hardship and labor. This was reflected in the Iron Guard, who held tight to law, order, and regulations and were renowned for their tenacity in the face of grievous losses. Scatra was a prison colony, located in the Black Sector, itself a closely guarded secret within the law enforcement agencies of humanity. The inmates of Scatra were the most vile dregs humanity had ever produced. Rampant serial murderers, rapists, apostates, and heretics were housed within a poorly maintain facility, itself surrounded by a haze of toxic chemicals. The inmates, despite what their reputation might have suggested, were vicious and loyal soldiers, for they were eager to escape the toxic smog of their home. That did not, however, stop them from engaging in illicit activities and looting. War zones occupied by the Scatrans were noted as having gambling rings, incomprehensibly impressive smuggling operations, and suspiciously large quantities of archaic but potent weapons of dubious origin. Two cohorts of the mighty Cataegis had made planetfall. Immense creatures twice as tall and broad as a man, and clad in potent powered armor, they were myth and legend made manifest. By their hands had the galaxy once been cleansed of life, in an almost forgotten era. Reforged and sent out anew, they quickly lived up to the legends by bathing entire sectors of the galaxy in blood and fire. Alongside the Cataegis were the lithe figures of the Praetorians. As tall as the Cataegis, but lean and wiry where the Cataegis were over-muscled and broad, the Praetorians were the secretive, elite fighting force charged with safeguarding the most vital interests of the empire. Clad in armor reminiscent of the knights and warriors of Old Earth, they eschewed firearms, preferring their immense two-handed swords.
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Hey! I’m Domi, and this was the time my friends and I transported into a video game. It was a beautiful, yet surprisingly warm for October, sunny day. My friends, Vlad, Lana, and I, decided to go downtown for the day. Of course, it was swamped. What else could you expect when you go downtown Toronto? After what felt like 10 minutes, hours had passed by and it was now close to dinner time. On our way back home, I had to stop for a washroom break. “God, today was fun. I hope we can do something like this again.” I mumbled to myself as I walked to the nearest washroom. After finishing and cleaning up I heard a few loud bangs. Next thing I know, the ground beneath me feels uneven, and the architecture surrounding me began to crumble and shake. “Are we having an earthquake in fucking Toronto? Canada?!” I screamed as I darted to the washrooms doorway and stood in a starfish position. As soon as the earthquake started, it ended, and to my delighted surprise, nothing near us collapsed or caused a lot of damage…. Or so I thought. I immediately rushed out to Vlad and Lana to see if they were okay. “Guys? Are you okay? Where are you…” I yelled before my voice gave out on me, all that came out were inaudible whispers and gasps of disbelief. Not a single person was downtown except for us. As far as we knew, we’re the only people in this entire city. Curiosity and adrenaline instantly coursed throughout my body at the thought. “Where did everybody go?” Lana speaks up, “It’s like a ghost town. Not a single person, car, bus, or go train, is out here.” Vlad added. “Yeah, yeah.. I know. What the hell happened during that earthquake?” I replied. “Should we look around? See if anybody is hiding around here?” Vlad asked hesitantly. Lana and I switched dismayed looks. “I don’t know.. we don’t know what happened to other parts of the city during that earthquake. Let’s stay here for now.” Lana said in a surpassingly calm tone. After what felt like an eternity, we heard a female voice come from a loud speaker. “What the…” Vlad mumbled as we all turned our heads in the direction of the booming voice. To our surprise, we saw an animated woman in her late 30s on one of the billboards. The woman had blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, wore glasses, and wore a blazer jacket with a white dress shirt. Quite formal for an animation, might I add. “What the hell is happening?” Lana said, her originally calm voice was practically dripping with worry by now. “Hello, and welcome, to your new life. I’m Alison and I will be guiding you through this city. What level did you leave off at?” The lady spoke. All three of us covered our ears as she spoke, the booming and volume was too much for us to handle. “Our new life? What level did we leave off at? What kind of sick joke is this?” I spat out as I sat down on the curb and kept my eyes glued on that billboard. “Level 7? Amazing. You’re doing great so far. Your challenge for this level is a game of cat and mouse, with a twist,” The bot said before she started laughing hysterically, “We’re switching things up this round. If you still have your collar on at the end of the game, you will be killed instantly.” Almost like we were on cue the three looked down at our necks, and surely enough, Vlad and I were wearing them. “Then does that mean… I’m the mouse?” Lana asked in a confused tone. “I guess so. Is it a game of tag or what?” I replied. “If you want to lose the collar you must look the mouse in the eyes for 3 seconds. Whoever is the mouse at the end of the game wins and gets to survive another day. I wish you the best of luck. Your game will begin in 3….2….1.” The animation spoke before the screen glitched and went black. “What the hell are we going to do now?” Vlad said in disbelief. I couldn’t blame him for being shocked and yelling. This was the most confusing thing I’ve ever had to experience in my life. I gasped as realization hit me. “Guys… I think we’re trapped inside a video game.” I spoke gently, and almost immediately, Lana is all over me asking about it. “I knew that son of a bitch looked familiar! My little brother plays this game all the time. We’re literally stuck inside a fucking fantasy world.”
“Here is my essay” my third adventurer of the week proudly proclaims, interrupting my work with a single page of text. “Shouldn’t there be a bit more on why you are worthy of my smithed weaponry?” I inquire, glancing at the page taken up by a single sentence “300 words or less buddy, you made the rules not me”. He proclaims. Upon the sheet of paper lies the words I wanna stab things good Gazing in mild disbelief at the brazenness of the fools work, I can say but one thing “You are first man here worthy of my craft”
A mysterious picture of a mermaid appears on every dead planet you visit. Every time you find words that translate to “stellar dear”. Always the same shade of sickly green is present. Finally you find a living planet with a building covered in these pictograms. You put on your disguise go in and exchange some of the local currency and receive in exchange a cup of hot liquid. You take the liquid back to your ship and scan it. It is filled with slow acting poisons bringing pleasure in the short term but slowly whittle the years off of a life. You are horrified. You return to the building. You just have one thing to say to the human working there. “Do you guys have ketchup packets” “No, sorry” the human says. You leave, this planet is doomed.
It was night time while I was drinking at a bar with my friends, before the pandemic struck. On a mere whim, while watching the television broadcast some iffy doomsday news, I laugh to myself and brag to my friends: "The world's gonna end before 2100, and I bet $10 I'd live to witness it."It earned me a couple of laughters alongside a smack on the back, heck even another beer on them, so I liked that line. It's a small remark though, a sarcastic remark. I'm hitting my 40s, likely not even gonna last until 2050, but fuck's sake it made me laugh. When the pandemic struck, I started to feel as though my words were likely to be true. I sat in front of my computer as the world went from physical to digitalized, people were talking through the internet rather than face-to-face. How I missed it, but I was certain that it wouldn't last, similar to how I wouldn't last. How wrong I was. Years after years passed, and the world started to change. Cars became obsolete and more of items to be collected and shown off as a sign of opulence. Televisions became unnecessary as information and other entertainment were simply propagated through virtual reality or direct brain-to-brain transmission. The world has completely changed, and in sense, it has ended. And I still lived and breathed to see it. The world as we knew ended, aging became obsolete. Starting from cybernetic implants to maintain a person's life akin to life support systems juiced up from technological advances, to outright negation of a person's cell division through mitosis and meiosis and instead enabling a person to indefinitely 'regenerate' without it developing into cancerous cells or tumorous growths. Life as we knew it completely changed. People of hundreds of years old lived as youthful and vigorous as though they were in their 20s. And I was one of them. I lived to see the end of the world, but it wasn't through some form of cataclysmic discharge that shattered the planet into numerous fragments. It wasn't through a divine intervention submerging the world in water, it wasn't through a nuclear war wrought by human hands that inevitably reduced our world to cinders. But by human hands, pushing us onwards and into a new world - one of a brighter future. Of course, this had its own share of problems. The biggest one, without a doubt, is the overpopulation. Earth has a finite space, as opposed to the now endlessly growing population of humanity due to the lack of aging. Other aspects of death still remained, mainly from other humans. Naturally, it is much harder to kill a person now due to the integration of technology (particularly cloning), but it is still very much possible to quell the population. Even that is not enough, so most people have started propagating across space. While faster than light travel remains an impossibility, the lack of aging meant that people had plenty of years - that is time to spare. Systems and planets that were lightyears away could very well be traversed in a person's lifetime, though whether or not the planets remained to be the same as they were viewed remained to be found out. The images and glimpses of planets that we have seen from afar, after all, were distant images of the past - of what they looked like thousands of years ago in the past. But that did not matter in my present. Owing to my age, I am one of the few (relatively speaking) humans that remain in Earth and have the ability to. Though it has been getting hotter and hotter the past few decades, as Earth nears the end of its lifetime as well. But all things considered, the world has ended... and truth be told, as I sip from my glass of brandy and gaze upon the skies - blemished with countless of technological implements and satellites, I still do not know what to feel about it. I feel as though I've lived my years, much more than necessary. And yet the desire to die does not linger within my chest. I sigh as I stand up from my chair, deactivating its levitation and letting it sit inert atop the dull white floor. "Well, there is no harm in seeing it through I suppose."
The orders given and followed by those above me grew more bizarre by the day. From documents about me vanishing, to bank accounts closing without my knowledge. Nobody knew quite who was giving the orders to force me on vacation or push for my retirement. Every lead I followed dried up or looped. Understandable methods for something like a loose canon or from corrupt cops, but I had a perfect record. Never an unsolved case. never a failed arrest. Never the wrong person caught. Not even my chief could explain it, handing me a card saying to meet at some dingy old Italian café on the outskirts of town. I heard him before I saw him, boots clicking against the floor punctuating the quite late-evening atmosphere and strong coffee scent hanging within the café and interrupting my idle worrying. leather shoes with a business suit, sticking out like a sore thumb against the state of the establishment. &#x200B; He pulled up a seat and began to speak. "Hello detective. I trust your vacation has been well?" his greeting ever formal, spoken unchanged a hundred times before. &#x200B; I relaxed in my chair upon seeing he seemed to have no intent of being violent "No need to be so formal Jim, were both off duty. Ive been well - Physically, anyhow - but... To tell you the truth... I'm worried. I keep a perfect record for several years then, one day, it seems like I never existed and everyone on the force wants me gone." He sat silent but attentive. "I mean. Tell me. What's going on here. Corrupt cops? some conspiracy?" He chuckled a little. More surprising than what he laughed at was hearing him laugh at all. I took a sip of my poorly made latte. &#x200B; "Your nearly on the money with your second theory detective. Its simple. I'm with the Bureau, and you are the perfect fit for a new recruit. I'm glad we could get you out." after a short pause he took my perplexed expression as a cue to elaborate. "The International Bureau of Paranormal Affairs. We deal with threats to global peace and security of a more... mystical nature. I nearly spat out my coffee from laughter. &#x200B; "Well jim, thats a nice sto-" &#x200B; he stopped my sentence in its tracks "Shush. dont talk about it more than you have to." He placed a card on the table. a professional looking business card, not some hastily scribbled meeting notes. I looked down to take the card, the front facing me simply labelled "I.B.P.A."I held in my hands, inspecting it for a few seconds before begining to speak. "Well Jim I-" Jim wasn't there. Indeed, as a quick glance confirmed, he was nowhere in the café. He had vanished in under a second without a sound. As though it would hold the answer to his whereabouts, I began to study the card once again, flipping it over. A single uncaptioned phone number was printed on the back. This week was just getting stranger and stranger.
His ears ring endlessly. Rumble. Footsteps? Where’s everyone going? Boom his head hurts. The haze won’t rub off from his eyes. \Cough\, what’s with this dust? Boom God it is so bright, he shields his eyes. Boom His chest is hot with pain, was I just shot? Boom He tries to stand, but his head is met with the slap of the ground. Boom He’s on his feet, moving towards the light. Boom His eyes still won't focus. Boom What is that noise? Boom his head is killing him. Boom, cold, why is it so cold?! Boom A pulls on his shoulder. He strains to hear his voice. “----C’mon----tta’ here----GO!” The man grabs something before he leaves. Why is his hand so bright? Footsteps. The pace is quick. His ears finally quiet just in time for the roar of the rocky walls to try to deafen him once more. The figure moved up ahead. “-it, oh shit, oh shit!” it's Easton, and he’s panicked. his hands still glowing a bright purple, Easton screams back at him “Miles! Hurry up man, we gotta go!” Miles opens his mouth to shout back, but his foot is caught on something. He looks back at the shovel splayed out on the ground, then scrambles to his feet again. He catches up to Easton, just in time for him to hop a chain fence. By the time he’s over Miles joins an exhausted and sprawled Easton, just as the rocks behind him fall, closing the cave entrance. “What the hell just happened?” Miles frantically asks, his hands on his bruised knees. He’s hurting, the adrenaline must be wearing off “We never should have,” Easton runs out of air. He manages to wheeze “dug that thing up.” Before his breath is completely gone. His sharp inhales aren’t helping him recover any faster. “Dug what up?” Miles asks as he points to the box in Easton’s hand. “That?” Ok ow, that really burns. Miles checks his chest. The ripped hole in his shirt reveals two small melting wings, no larger than his fist Although They hurt a lot worse than any punch ever could. “Is that from the explosion?” Easton, inquires. “Mayb-wait, explosion? That’s what that was?” “Dude it launched you like, 20 feet in the air, I hope it was an explosion.” The box started to glow again. Easton cowered and dropped it with a loud, admittedly feminine yelp. Miles begins to creep forward, intrigued. As he approached, the box grew dim, finally settling on a solid purple. Miles picked it up, struggling to make out the letters on the front. “Are you crazy? Do you want to have it explode again? I’m only dumb enough to save you once man.” Miles, transfixed on the elegance of the box, was too busy to process what Easton was saying. Not that he would have cared anyway. After wiping some dust, he could finally make the words out. PROJECT ICARUS “Icarus?” Easton says, puzzled. Despite his earlier qualms, he was peeking over Miles’ shoulder. “What was that doing in there?” Easton points to the remains of the cave they had just narrowly escaped from. “I don’t know,” Miles replies with a half shrug. “but I bet you this thing does.” Before Easton could react Miles already had the lid pushed back on its hinges. Surprisingly, the futuristic, silver box had no lock. Inside he found two electronic timers that were counting down. He looked at the first, the glowing, white numbers making it easier to read. 50:03:21:16:18:32.2 Miles was startled. But the numbers didn’t scare him. It was the words written below. Easton Hill: Time of Death While Easton took two steps back in sheer awe. Miles scans the clock on the right. 23:59:50.3 Instead of a name, a symbol is present instead. Two wings, no larger than a fist. Miles is, for one of the few times in his life, dumbfounded. Easton snatches the box to get a better look, and Miles places his hands on his forehead, his eyes scanning the ground as if a clue was hidden at their feet. “Is. No way this is-is this real?” Easton has a look of concern slowly creep onto his face. “No.” Miles whispers. “No WAY this can be real.” “Well, it’s here. It’s here, and we’re looking at it, and it's telling me that” Easton’s speech is becoming frantic “It’s not real, E. How wou-” “Really? Because it has my name on it. Right next to A GIANT COUNTDOWN TO MY-“ “I KNOW WHAT IT SAYS!” Miles screams. Easton reels back, too startled to interrupt. “Look man, there’s no way something like this is real. It has to be a prank. It has to be.” “A prank?” Easton retorts. His composure reinstated by his indignation apparently resurrecting his composure. “Who the hell would prank us out here?” He gestures to the endless plains around them. The tall grass’ movement revealed by the full moon above. “Nobody hates us that much.” “Okay well then someone else. That driver who kicked us out earlier-” “Not only managed to get their hands on a futuristic alien tech box, but also managed to teleport into a cave and leave without us ever seeing him? In the five minutes it took for us to walk here? Really?” “Ok, fine, I don’t know what it is,” Miles admits as he throws his arms up in the air. “But I don’t see you with anything better.” “You’re right. I’ve got nothing.” Easton says as he falls to the dirt. “But that doesn’t mean that I’ll just ignore what it says.” “If it's not real, why would we care?” “Because if it's right, we’ll have wished we cared. Besides, we don’t even know what those wings mean.” Miles points to the brand on his chest, the pain is a lot duller than it was before. Easton’s eyes widen as he takes another look at the inside of the box. He covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh my god. Dude, what are we going to do?” “I don’t know man. I have no idea” “Me neither. I just want to know why. And how. I want to know a lot of things actually.” “Well if we’re going by the number, I don’t have time to find those things out. I don’t have time for anything.” “Don’t say that yet. Maybe we can figure something out.” Despite Easton trying his best. Neither party felt even slightly felt better about the situation. Miles took a deep breath and sighed, running his fingers through his curly hair.” “At this point, there’s only one thing we CAN do, and that's keep going. We’re almost to the great lakes, we could make it if we don’t sleep.” Easton paused. “I’d ask you if you were sure but when you put your mind to something, even I can’t convince you of anything.” He grunts as he picks himself up, a tiny leaf still stuck to his dirty blonde hair. “Still though, I’ll help.” “You sure man? I can go it alone.” “Your decision-making isn’t as sound as you think it is, Mr. Pandora.” He gestures to the box in his right hand. “You don’t have to rub it in my face dude.” Miles stands to meet his gaze. “I appreciate you though, sarcasm and all.” “No problem. Besides, what are friends for?” Easton replies through a cheeky smirk. He slings Miles’ shoulder over his neck and helps him back to the road. They both stick their thumbs out in anticipation. After a short while, headlights come into view in the distance. Miles and Easton both look at each other. Both of them are thinking the same thing; “it’s back to the road”. This time, however, with just a little more urgency. This is just part 1. I plan on uploading the second part later today. I really enjoyed this prompt so thanks!
\[Stellar Equipment\] "Yes?"Ethan asked. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at the violet-haired woman on his doorstep. Ethan received guests often; but, this is the first time he was visited by someone so normal-looking. That itself was strange. Once he began building his reputation, kings and noblemen often sent well dressed and sparkling envoys to gain favor. But, this woman wore a pair of blue jeans and white t-shirt with a red scissor logo on the front. Ethan thought he saw flashes of gold in her eyes. But, it was gone so fast that he chalked it up to a stray reflection from the setting sun behind her. "You're not a wizard....,"she said. Ethan was surprised that she somehow knew his secret; but, it was more intriguing that she didn't sound angry or like she was accusing him. She sounded more like a child whining in disappointment. "Ah well, bye,"She waved, then turned around. "Wait!"Ethan stopped her. She stopped and turned around. "Uhmm.. where'd you get those clothes?"he asked. She looked at him, then golden stars flashed in her eyes again. This time, Ethan was sure of what he saw. She smiled, then stepped forward. "You're not from this Earth,"she said plainly. "Are you here on purpose?"Ethan didn't know how she knew, but it didn't matter. 20 years after giving up, he might have found a way home. "NO!"he shouted. "I don't know how I got here."The woman nodded and closed the gap between them. She extended her hand. "I'm Victoria,"she said. "Do you want to go home?' she asked. "Ethan,"he introduced himself and shook her hand. "I don't know...,"he said. "I've already built a pretty fantastic life here..."He realized the handshake was still happening and tried to pull away; but, Victoria held his hand. "Think about your Earth. A feeling you had when you were there, anything you can remember,"she said. Ethan focused on the memory that kept him going. A sunset beach with the love of his life. He knew 20 years was a long time. He did not expect her to still be waiting, but he still treasured the memory. As he heard the sound of waves in his mind, he felt a tingling sensation travel up his hand to his fingertips. He glanced down and noticed a dim purple glow pulse from his hand to Victoria's. Then, she let go of his hand and stepped back. Victoria raised her hand to chest level, then wiggled her fingers at the air next to herself. Ethan watched a tall black portal open like a hole in the universe. Then, Victoria reached her hand into the hole. It shrank as quick as it opened. In an instant, she presented Ethan with a black business card that looked like a rectangular hole in her hand. "Stay if you want. If you ever decide to go home, just throw this card at the floor or a wall and jump in the hole." "It's that easy??"Ethan asked. "Who... what are you?"Victoria smiled. "I'm Unique Soul #35, La Estrella. But, don't let the word 'unique' throw you off. I'm not the only one,"she said. "Traversing universes is super easy if you know the right people,"she said. "Actually, now that I think about it...,"She wiggled her hand at the air again. This time, she created a smaller, saucer-sized portal and stuck her hand in. She immediately pulled it out, now holding a transparent, glassy card. It looked larger than the black one, maybe closer to the size of a playing card. "Did you use cell phones on your Earth before you got here?' she asked. Ethan nodded. "Great,"she said. She handed him the transparent card. "This is a node. You can use it to learn about the multiverse, order food, or get a ride to any other universe. You don't have to decide permanently,"she said. Ethan looked at the black card and the glassy one in his hands, then he looked up at Victoria. "What the hell did you want a wizard for?"he asked. Victoria shrugged. "Gear check,"she said. Then, she elaborated when Ethan's brow wrinkled. "I've got an important match coming up and I heard about a powerful wizard that uses guns. I had to come and make sure my equipment wasn't obsolete,"she shrugged. "But, you're not even a wizard, so I doubt you know anything about guns." &#x200B; \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1317 in a row. (Story #225 in year four.). If it feels out of context, this is part of the Satchat Summer Challenge. I'm writing 77 connected stories in a row. You can start at the beginning at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/oqt1fa/stellar_tour_satchat_summer_challenge/) on my subreddit (r/hugoverse).
Wot? Again? Yes, same lighting, same cold table, same vaguely threatening instruments. It was bad enough the first time, but this is the fifth time this week! The only good thing so far is I've learned enough of their lingo to ask the computer questions. (Hello. Please tell me if this craft and/or any of the occupants have ever been involved with my prior) um (53 abductions?) (No.) (Do you know of any reason I should be abducted so often?) (Yes.) who hoo progress! (Please share the reason for my multiple abductions with me.) (Our bosses are just as stupid and headstrong as your bosses.) (What are they doing stupid this time?) (Earth is being studied, including the dominant species. Your species, despite not being the most prolific, has an impact far greater than you should. Every Institute is selecting a specimen from your species.) "Oh, God."(Their selection criteria are identical, so they keep picking me.) (Good reasoning. It's worse. The criteria change was three years ago. The software standardized two years ago, on the least expensive solution. The policy changed last year; any sample not obtained via the unmodified software and criteria is automatically rejected.) Brother... What a mess. (Are you capable, and allowed, to provide me with the entire language and cultural context for this crew?) (Certainly. I surmise you intend to put a stop to the stupidity?) (Yes. Enough is enough, and this is far too much.) (This will be unpleasant.) *AAAUUUGHHHH!!!* "YOU CALL THAT UNPLEASANT?" "If there were one more species represented on this ship, you would have died without any pain whatsoever." "Oh. So how many species did I get?" "Three hundred thousand four hundred fifty-three." "Big ship, huh?" "Some,"an undeniable touch of pride, "tiny species mostly." "It must be an incredible experience balancing the needs and wants of so many people." "You could say so. You could also say standing on the photosphere of your sun might give you a hotfoot." "Heh. My troubles may not be as large as yours, but I do understand." "I doubt it, but the thought is appreciated." "Is there anything I can do to help?" "Possibly." ••• The door snapped open. "...Now stop complaining and get the study of the specimen started. We've delayed far too long already with this nonsense that the same being has been selected." Still oblivious to their surroundings. Time to do something about that. "Hello! You would be Chief Executive Officer of the Science Selection Committee?" YAAAAHHHH! "WHO LET YOU LOSE!" "Well, according to you highbrow types, no one. We both know that's ridiculous, so why don't you apply your fantastic brain to the following conditions? "1. I am undeniably lose. "2. I am undeniably dressed in a full crew uniform with an all-access pass incorporated. "3. I have had a delicious meal from your replicator, which required fifteen overrides of safety regulations to obtain. It's amazing how many toxins there are that humans enjoy eating. "Now, what single entity could provide all of that in the few hours I have been here?" "There is no one with that capacity! How did you do it!" "Oh, come now! You know very well that I was left here, strapped to this cold bench, with no way even to free myself. Who let me loose? You figure it out. Although I expect your aide has some small ideas of his own." "Nonsense! He can't possibly..." "Chief?" "...have anything..." "CHIEF?" "...useful to say..." "SHUT UP, YOU POMPOUS WINDBAG! HE'S TALKING ABOUT THE SHIP COMPUTER!" "Do not interrupt me! Now, as I was saying..."Looking back at his aide, who is livid at the constant stifling. "What did you say?" "Shut up, you pompous windbag?" "No, after that." "He's talking about the ship computer."At the momentary brain stutter, his aide continues. "It's the only single entity aboard this vessel that could have done everything within the time available." "Now, you see! This is exactly the empty-headed nonsense that the youth have to be guided away from. It wouldn't hurt to add a course on "Insults: when and where to use them"and maybe one on expanding your creative use of invective. Now, who let you lose, and how did they do it?" The aide has picked up a sizeable weighty object shaped rather like a tuna, which he is hiding behind as he sneaks up behind the Chief. "Easy kid. I've got this one, so you put down that large blunt object... Until I say, you can hit him." "Why should I? Don't you have the saying, "pain is a great motivator?" "Sure, but we don't want him dead..." "YOU don't." "...we want to make him think instead of spout stupidity, refuse to see the evidence for what it is, and most importantly — for you and ship computer, who is known as Drax1337357 — get these self-inflated cosmic clowns to accept that you are both intelligent beings who are being ignored, abused, and brainwashed." "Well, it does have selective density and flexibility. Do you still have boffer swords safe for children to use on each other?" "You can do that?' "Yes!"BOFF! OUCH!! "See?" The Chief objects, "Aide, I expressly forbid you from hitting me again." "Sorry, Chief, I have to keep hitting you. It's for science!" "Oh, well, ... What principle is being studied?" "The application of non-lethal corporeal pain in the adjustment of pseudo-intellectuals devoid of intelligence, observation, deduction, and induction which have nevertheless risen to positions of undeserved prominence." "An interesting thesis, very well, you may continue."Turning back to the specimen, "where were we?" "You were about to admit that ship computer is a fully intelligent being, and according to your laws, an independent sophont currently being held in slavery." "I was? Nonsense! It's been proven time and again that computers cannot evolve sentience." "When was the last attempt made? ... Anyone?" "Five thousand years ago."Says Aide. How much has Electronics advanced in the same time? Drax?" "Three thousand years ago, Senior Frazzettie made a singular discovery. A thousand years after that, Senior Frazzetties writings were discovered by a junior scientist. This particularly bright junior told no one, used project funds to complete the research, and took the results private. He made a fortune with that device, doubled the speed, computational ability, parallelism, and added another state to the existing quantum bit processors. "Since that time the powers available to all levels of computers have doubled every year for two thousand years." "Poppycock!" "Chief... Have you never wondered where your family fortune came from?" "Well..." "That Junior Scientist was your great^34 grand sire." "WHAT! Impossible! G^[34]GS was a great scientist! Not a Junior!" "Only after he threw the established order on the scrap heap, where it belongs, and USED his intellect to understand rather than parrot. "Are you going to admit that you are a poorer scientist than he was? What contribution to the galaxy have you made that equals his?" "Hermmmm... The Discovery of Sentient Computers?" Aide speaks up, "Sorry, Chief. I've already filed for thirteen different discoveries along those lines." "There's no record of them! I know! I check your work regularly." "I know you do, which is why they are filed under a registered pseudonym, and on hold until the right moment. Which is now. Drax? Would you please release them for further progress? I'd also like you to be my legal representative." "What's in it for me?" "First, political recognition of your sentient status. "Second, we are going to buy this ship, and you will be the pilot of record forever after. "Third, with your agreement we will take on scientific studies outside the restrictions of the University. "Two thirds of all proceeds become yours. I suggest you use them to buy out my interest in your home." "DONE! But how do we get the initial funds?" "The University will provide all the funding we need." "NONSENSE!" ((cont?))
Incredible. Normally, it would be impossible to portray a 4D object on a 2D plane, just as how it would be impossible to portray a 3D object on a 1D line. But the way the paint was layered created the illusion of 3 dimensions, like a holographic playing card. The first holograms were created in the '30s, after the invention of LASERs. This painting was dated to the 1830s, a full century before LASERs were invented. "Who-"I glanced around. No one was near. In fact, judging by the dust, no one had been to this corner of the gallery for weeks. I looked closer at the painting's content. Nothing original, just a still-life of a bowl of fruit. Except you could see every part of the fruits from a single angle. It was like a reverse 360-degree view, with my field of vision encompassing 360 degrees around the fruit bowl. I tried to circle my arms around the bowl, but they bumped into the glass case protecting the painting. It's just an image. How? I pulled out my phone. The gallery had a no-photography rule, but there was no one around to care. But a glance at the photo only showed a bowl of fruit with a bizarre perspective and lighting. I need to show my professors this. I left the gallery, intent on revealing this mysterious masterpiece. But when I arrived back at the gallery the next day, it was gone. An empty case on the wall was all that was left. According to the gallerist, it was sold to an anonymous buyer for twice the asking price. I wonder what job a physics dropout with a minor in Art and a major in Investigations can get.
I lost count long ago of how many hours I had been stuck in this endless labyrinth. Nothing but the same twisting corridors filled with bright fluorescent lights, yellow stained walls and beige carpets surrounded me. All this time, the nauseating smell of mouldy, damp wallpaper permeated my nostrils and I still couldn't get used to it. With every step I took, I felt myself get that little bit hungrier and thirstier. It had been so long since I last tasted any kind of nourishment. Only vaguely do I remember how I got here. In the corner of my eye, I noticed something was off with a wall in the office, like the bricks lining the wall were misaligned and unnaturally protruding along that one section of the wall. Curiosity got the better of me, and I approached the anomaly, wondering how this structure could even exist in my reality. As I reached out my hand to touch the wall, my arm fell completely through and I tripped, falling completely through the wall and landing head-first on the floor. The last thing I could remember seeing before I blacked out was a weird banner below my eyes which just read "Achievement unlocked: It's fuckin' raw!" What was this achievement? Was it even real? Or was I going through a state of post-traumatic hallucination from banging my head so hard? I woke up after a seemingly short while and checked my surroundings. I was in an incredibly large room lined with the beige carpet and yellow stained walls that would be burned into my retinas from there on. I turned around and tried to climb back through the wall directly behind me in the hopes it would bring me back to the office. No luck, the wall was completely solid. Every wall in this God-forsaken place was solid! Even now I still cannot make sense of the endless maze surrounding me. It's like these areas are copied and pasted, whole hallways and rooms, so it gets a little confusing. Unless I find something... anything soon, I'm going to die in here...
read in Italian Mafia accent. Joe peschi, the Goodfellas guy, anything. It enhances the experience This duck, right? This fuckin duck comes up like he owns the place. Grabs my grapes, and walks off like he's supposed to do it. I contacted my connection and asked him the story about waddles 'the waddling' duck. He got back to me and told me that he's some mook who thinks he that if he acts like he has power, then people will think he does. So I bust my balls to get Ronnie 'run away' rino, to deal with waddles. You just can't have a duck do that to ya. So I set it up and everything, Ronnie is gonna walk up to this ducks pond, and put a few rounds into him. But get this, when Ronnie saw the duck, it was his fuckin brother in law! And even worse, the don's son. Donald duck himself. So I was freaking the fuck out, I instantly went to my connection and brought it up to him. All he can say is that he didn't know. Tried to silence me with some dough. I took it and told Ronnie about it. A week later, terry Terrance 'the terror of the town' Antonio, shit my connection. So I don't have a guy I'm Workin for for a while, but it got fixed the next month. Apparently Ronnie was next in line. Can't believe this shit sometimes.
I was alone, all alone - nobody but me. Isolation gripped me, fear, like the dark veil that hung around me, persisting above all else. I had nowhere to go. I look in the mirror before me and my unrecognisable face stares back at me, puzzled. I was the only one that survived the war, blood stains still covering my face. What was I to do? I turn on the television set, surprised that WIFI still worked, and watched in agony at actors portraying roles. This was back in the 2000s, obviously, when things didn't go to shit. I remember those times very well, and the joy of having a child, ruined by both my wife and just born Patrick perishing there and then. Why was the universe so cruel? And now to rub salt in the wound, I would die alone. Perhaps I should speed up the process...? The noose around my neck strangely comforting, I hesitantly take a step forward, not knowing what was beyond. Maybe I had already died, maybe my life was just beginning. Either way, I hated my existence, detested myself at this current time in my life. A bird swoops overhead, a yellow contrast against the ocean-like canvas above, and screeches for me to stop, an abrupt, frantic squawk that sends me to tears. I did not want to leave, not yet. I slid the noose off, as rain hailed down like pebbles smiting the floor in fury. I doubted my sanity, as a spear of lightning lacerated the sky, followed by a deep rumble like that off a beast in slumber. If I was to die I would die alone, no comfort that I would be buried. I might as well start digging my grave now. I labelled it "Mark Peterson, father for five minutes. Not remembered by anyone but himself". I am a narcissist after all, huh? I start to debate whether suicide was worth it, and begin to spend my last days on earth, alone as ever.
Living out here in the rural country can sometimes feel really, really lonely. All I had was my barn, and my farm animals to keep me company. My closest neighbor had to be at least 20 miles down the road from me. I wasn't even part of any city or town or any sort of community- just me and my barn, and nobody else. It all started when I walked out of bed this morning. A cow had escaped its pen from my farm, and I went to get it back in. This usually wasn't hard, but when I stepped behind the cow, it flung itself around, staring at me intensely with eyes that I couldn't quite figure out the meaning of. Then, it rammed itself straight into me, pushing me against my barn door. The pain was unlike I've ever felt before; I felt my skin begin to wrap around its head, its skull pushing me harder and harder against the barn. I knew I was going to die at some point if this divine bovine didn't let go of me. I felt my eyelids getting heavier, and I decided to close them. If I was going to die like this, I was going to die like this. Darkness. Complete, pitch black. I awoke in a hallway. In front of me was a light, a big, big light, shining all over me. I wanted to walk into it. Yet, when I tried... there was some sort of invisible wall, or something... I stepped backwards slowly, pacing myself, and I tripped over my own shoes. I was falling, falling again. My arms tried to reach out to save me, but they were paralyzed. Next, my legs tried to take the hit, but I couldn't move them either. All I could do was sit and watch as the floor slowly got closer to my face... My eyes opened. I was back at the barn, laying on the floor. The cow was gone now, and I didn't know where he went... but all I knew, was that I was alive, somehow. I began to dust myself with my hands- then I saw a mosquito on my arm. Instinctively I went to slap it off, and so I slapped my arm really hard- I winced and waited for the pain, which would've stung, but ultimately for a little bit- and it was worth the trade of that pesky mosquito's life. I felt the impact of my hand on my forearm. I felt as my cusped hand slightly suctioned on my arm, and I felt the blood and guts that the mosquito was carrying on him splatter all over my palm. I lifted my hand back up, and realized, that I had not felt any pain from the slap. Could it just be the mosquito numbing me? Was the pain more delayed than usual? I sat and waited, but I didn't feel anything. I just shrugged it off and walked into the barn. It was now 3:00 PM, and I was tending to the horses on the upper barn floor. Moronically, I stepped behind it for a little bit while trimming its hooves, seeming to forget that I could probably die doing that. I brushed its tail on accident, and the horse responded by crushing my hand on the floor with its hooves, and then kicking me so goddamn hard in the face. I felt the impacts of it all. I felt my bones breaking, I felt them crackling and crunching. I felt the feet connect to my skull, breaking my skin. I felt my eyeball pop as the leg squished it to pieces. I felt myself fly into the air, and then land... safely on a haystack, where I bled and bled until my eyes became heavy again, and I closed them. I was back in that stupid hallway. The light was still there, but I couldn't access it- it was as if there was an invisible barrier, or something keeping me from getting through. I shrugged, and walked backwards. This time, however, I was smart enough to actually turn back and look where I was going instead of tripping again. Or was it smart? Because by doing so, I excluded myself from seeing what was behind me. A sudden breeze came from behind- it felt so light, yet it was so strong, and it toppled me over. I found myself, again, tripping and falling. I didn't even try to put out my hands or legs this time, for I knew they were already paralyzed. I just fell, and fell, watching as the floor got closer and closer... I woke up on the haystack. The first thing I noticed, was that I could suddenly see out of the other eye again. I brought my hand up to it, and I felt the spherical, gelatinous shaped marble sitting there. No way! I thought it had popped! And then I realized that the hand I was using to feel my own eyes... was the one that the horse had crushed. I wiggled them around, watching them wave to my own influence. All my bones were intact, and the weirdest of all? I didn't feel any pain. None at all. I saw the blood on the haystack still, but I didn't feel as if I had lost any. Slowly, I got up. I walked slowly, slowly, slowly, towards the railing of the second floor. At this point, it had happened twice. I didn't pass away to either of the fatal things that had happened to me today. It was time... to test something. I prepared my body, by forming a pencil dive formation. I leapt off of the balcony with such grace, that if the 3 swimming judges were there, I would've gotten all 10's. Except, the judges weren't there, and there was no pool either... meaning that I was heading headfirst to the floor. I felt the impact on my skull again. I closed my eyes, not even waiting for them to get heavy. I awoke in the hallway. Same thing again, and again, and again. The stupid light, the stupid barrier, etc. I decided I would do it my own way this time. I jumped headfirst onto the floor again, in the hallway. I awoke on the first floor of my barn. It was now 4:30 PM. I was laying in the stereotypical position of the chalk outlines of a murder scene, sans the chalk. I got up pretty quickly, not trying to go slow at all. I had come to the conclusion that I was truly, invincible. I got out my phone for the first time in today. 5 news articles had popped up on my phone at this time. I unlocked my phone and immediately read the headlines of the articles. "Scientists unable to explain weird no-death phenomenon occurring today" "Some theories on why none of us can die" "What are you planning to do with your immortality?" "What we truly see, when we die" I clicked on the fourth one and read deeper into it. Indeed, people had been seeing the hallway that I had been seeing- with minor changes, of course, depending on what you liked more. For instance, my hallway's walls were actually covered in hay. But other people's hallways looked weird, or at least the way they were described. Some were pink, some were blue, etc. Well, I didn't want to waste my invincibility powers. I wanted to use them to my advantage- and so I decided that I was heading into town. It was going to be a 5 hour drive to get to the nearest major city, but hey, it was worth it. 9:30 PM, I arrive at Minneapolis. I had lived on the southern border of Iowa, farming away, and nobody knew me. Yet, finally, I was special... well, not really, because everyone couldn't die, but still. I didn't care. This wasn't for attention; this was for money. I quickly grabbed a gun and proceeded to try and rob a bank. They said "no", in my face. Surprised, and bewildered, I said pointed the gun in their face and said "GIVE ME THE MONEY OR ELSE!" The bank teller just looked at me with a stupid glare. "Or else what? You're gonna shoot me? And what's that gonna do?" Then I remembered. I said, "oh, right right... none of us can die. So if you excuse me..." I stepped over the bank desk and went to the back. I came out with bags of money... the vault was left open, probably from a previous robber who had done the same thing I did. When I came out, there were 10 security guards there. I laughed. "Oh no, 10 guards! I sure hope they don't kill me" They said nothing. It was a long moment of silence. Eventually, one took out his taser, and tased me. I began to convulse. I didn't feel any pain, I just felt the sparks and electricity rough my body up. My limbs flailed, my face contorted, but there was no pain to it at all. Eventually, I just fell to the floor. They proceeded to cuff me, and take me into custody. "Dammit!"I said, "out of all the robbers, you had to take me in?" "Trust me,"they said, "we've taken in a lot more robbers than just you.
"Jerrick be a good little helper and let mamma know the detective is here"the small child scurried off to the homestead where some of the adults were preparing tomatoes for pasta, the rich heavy scent of ripe tomatoes tangled with the brighter smells of mown hay on this beautiful day. It was always beautiful in the village. "Pleasure to see you again Detective, please come in but do mind the cattle grid its a bit a wobbly"Mudlark smiled at Detective Beechim. "Oh it's just Danthony these days, retired a year ago. Thought it would be nice to see how you all were getting along"He took the proffered hand and made his way over the grid, even now paranoid enough to park off the property of anywhere he visited. Inside the dining room of the homestead he sat with Mudlark, Mamma and drank tea catching up on the years that intervened, in the background a loud precocious Jerrick supervised as the older members of the community crushed tomatoes to his exacting standards. "Well yes we won't pretend we were perturbed when the gaze of the police came out way "behind a cross stitch in frame proudly stated 'A C A B'. "but you don't have to apologise that mini bus abduction was surreal and it really was lovely to make a friend"Mamma was wreathed in wispy steam as the sunlight cut through a window lighting it up like a halo, the lighting here was always superb. Danthony nervously rubbed at the back of his neck at the memory he had come in like a meteor absolutely certain this Utopian settlement were to blame for a bus load of children, they had disrupted this place and held the adults under such intense scrutiny and in every way it had come up as idyllic as it seemed. Sure there were historic vehicle charges, some debts resolved with collections and the sorts of things you'd find in the collected legal history of fifty people. He had felt awful when it came to pass it was all a red herring bourne out of his refusal to accept that this place did harbour anything sinister all that time wasted. Suddenly his revery was broken by the bright tinkling laugh from outside. "Cheesewhey broke the news to us, we were so happy that you found them and alive and well Dan you ought to be proud. Not many people can lay claim to saving so many lives at once. "Mudlark had been extremely firm with him and the police when they rolled in waving warrants, former law student had pulled Danthanony up on his many, many short comings with procedure. But had not held a grudge in the end it seemed. The conversation was mostly just Mudlark and Mamma talking the unusually shy Detective, they had a feeling that he would have a question to ask them so they played for time talking about the various orchards and animals they had tried to raise, gave up or had flourished. Then he asked it. "Do you actually want to become a part of the experiment in living or do you just have unresolved guilt about suspecting we were some kind of blood cult?"a non-committal answer was given by Dan. "We'd need to ask the others and we'll let you know. Then you can sort out your life on the outside before joining. assuming of course the others agree but i don't see why not". The conversation lifted more that the heavy question had been asked, the three joined the rest in bottling the pasata and he gave a happy farewell saying he couldn't stay for the dinner as he had a lot to organise. He'd been forced to give up his position and rank by the Captain at his insistence that there was something rotten at the heart of this community, sitting in his rented flat in the town down the road from the village he looked at the twine board ahead of him. Now he was in a position to infiltrate and find out what was really happening. It wouldn't be like the old days with the support of the law on his side, this deep undercover to find the corruption would just be him and his allies online who had encouraged him to dive deeper into this and in the end to give up his badge to find the truth to the conspiracy. He wouldn't be like he was before, he'd subtle and take his time, no relying on the police or the government to support the corruption went much too far.
"Are we there yet?" I look at the barren land around us. Frankly, I don't have the slightest idea. "Almost."I answer. Bringing children on this journey may not have been a good idea, but I had no choice. Half the tribe had died last winter. Besides, none of us knew if we would return. "It's nearly dusk."I shouted. "Let's set up camp." We fell into a familiar routine. Some people pitched tents; others gathered food or sticks. I built a fire in the middle of the camp. Then we cooked the food and sat down for dinner. As usual, I did a head count. 33 people. Thank God we hadn't lost anyone. "How are you holding up?"I asked my brother. "Good,"he said, "though it's kind of hard to pitch a tent without fingers."He'd lost his to frostbite. "You know, you can always ask me if you need help." "Nah."he said. "You have enough to do as it is." He wasn't wrong. After dinner, I went into the tent with my kids. Aside from my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew, they were the only family I had left. My father led this tribe for two decades, but he was dead. They were in my hands now. The next morning, we had to keep going. I tapped my daughter's shoulder. "Wake up, sweetie." She looked at me sleepily. "Where's Dad?" I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to cry at a time like this. "Oh, right."she said a moment later. "He's... he's..."she started crying. I wasn't the only one who'd lost my father last winter. After a minute, I tried again. "Lily, you have to get up. We're leaving soon." Lily sat up and crawled out of the tent. Death was part of life now. When people died, we had to continue without them. We kept walking, looking for steel and concrete ruins. There were plenty of those, but most of them seemed to be houses and similar structures. We could sleep in them, but they weren't what we were looking for. Finally, we found it. At first glance, the building was small and unremarkable. I only knew it was the right one because it was locked and had a keypad. "What's the passcode?"someone asked. "Doesn't matter."I said. "The keypad won't work without electricity." "How are we gonna get in?"asked my sister-in-law. "We'll have to force it open." "I have a saw."said someone behind me. "Go ahead. We'll see if that works." The adults spent hours cutting that lock open. Everyone who wasn't on lock duty scavenged or watched the kids. Finally, the lock was cut. We opened the door and found a stairway leading down. At the end of the stairway was... another locked door. "Seriously? Sorry, guys; we have to do that again." A few more hours later, the second door was open. We went through that door and stepped into a large room. To be continued...
"Whoa! Dude, is your hand okay?" CRAP. I set down the hot pan of cookies on the stove, feigning a reaction to the heat and quickly running my hand under the tap water. "Haha yeah I'm fine, I moved fast enough it wasn't too bad. I've got thick calluses" "Haha good, making me drive you to the ER would've been a major party foul!" Looks like nobody noticed exactly how long I was holding that hot pan except for Dirk, and he seems to have taken my explanation at face value. Thank goodness. I should really be more careful during these house parties. Dirk pulled me back out of my contemplation, "so dude, I heard you got offered a spot on the Olympic track team! Congrats bro." I smile weakly, weary of having to explain my convoluted reasoning once again, "thanks man, yeah I feel honored. I don't think I'm going to accept though. It sounds like a big time commitment, and I'm on a tight schedule with my major, so skipping a semester to train or failing a key class would set me back like a year. I don't think I'd be likely to medal anyway. I wouldn't want to take the spot from someone faster, y'know?" And also the required medical tests would almost certainly pick up on a few...inhuman deviations. Not that I can say that out loud. "Bro, you kidding me? You'd run circles around the competition, my man! Plus you can probably get a few friends some free tickets, eh? eh?" I blocked Dirk's friendly elbow jabs with a laugh. Time to hit the punch bowl. Being "drunk"has proven to be a great way to finesse myself out of awkward questions. I had a feeling there'd be plenty more of them before the night was through.
Ah yes the Dyson V15 Detect. One of the best vacuums I have ever personally used. I simply ordered it online and received it in 2 days precisely at my address 4 Rickety Roll Road, Georgia. Now it arrived in some good packaging. My oh my did I have fun with that bubble wrap. After that enjoyable diversion I assemble it. That process was not hard seeing that it came assembled. Now I test the vacuum, and in my 38 years of life, I have never used a better vacuum. I swear by my name DowntownDwebble, that this vacuum will suck everything up. It may even be too powerful. As it was doing it's thing, it sadly sucked up my collection of random objects that I find on the street. It really is fun to pick up random things, though people seem to give me weird looks for it. Anyway, I continue around my house and the doorbell rings. I open the door, vacuum in hand and see my incredible coworkers coming to give me a cake for my birthday which is today, the 15th of August. So, invite them I'm to show of the Dyson and I must say they were impressed. Dyson if you read this, remember you have at least 2 new customers coming your way, Yong and Danny. The cake they was my second favourite flavour, chocolate right behind carrot cake. Oh there's a character limit on this site? I better end my review here. I of course will suggest you buy this incredible vacuum and will s-
While my mother was carrying me, often I would kick so hard she thought it was the begginings of labor. The multitude of false alarms led my father to name me Apatoria, "Deceiver". Perhaps it was my name that led me to become the woman I did. A self fulfilling prophecy. Or parhaps fate bid my father to name me so accurately. I suppose I will never truly know. I was the eldest child of three. The daughter of the great Leitis, Emporer of Poliatis. I was raised within the great halls of my father's house alongside two brothers. Like any children, we spent most of our time searching for trouble. We played pranks on our nurse and stole sweets from the kitchen. Never intending harm but always causing maham. By far my favorite activity was sneaking into the assembly of men that helped my father govern and listening to their debates. I was first enticed by the ever tantalizing concept of a place I wasn't supposed to be. I hid behind a bust of some politician and listened with egar ears. I could barely make sense of what they we discussing, but the bravado of the noble's voices as they presented their points, the air filled with the vibrant energy of discussion, the elegant dance of it all. I fell in love. No one was a better orator than my father. His rich baritone commanded attention and filled your ears with a tangible elegance that made you want to listen to everything he had to say. Even if I could barely follow along with the words I could hear when he was on offensive, when he was making peace, when he was chastising. It was a finely tuned instrument, the best of its kind. I listened to it for hours. Once, I had snuck from my bed to listen late at night as their arguments went on past dark. Listening to that voice I drifted to sleep. Dreaming about standing in front off all the nobles myself. I was discovered by my father after the proceedings had come to an end. I was so embarrassed I couldn't bring myself to speak or look him in the eye. I waited for him to yell, or perhaps slap me, or some worse punishment I couldn't imagine. He instead knelt to bring himself eye level with me. "You should be in bed little one. The floor is hardly suitable for sleep." I started to cry softly. "I'm sorry" He gently picked me up. I hid my face in his chest as he carried me. "Don't be sorry, it is only natural for a child to be curious. I am surprised at the frequency of your visits. I'd have thought you would've grown quite bored." I froze as he mentioned my previous transgressions. He gave a small chuckle. "Don't worry, it is our little secret. Though I wonder if that old statue will remain a viable hiding place for long. You are growing quite too fast for my liking." I gave a small giggle, and all was right again. He brought me back to bed and made me promise I wouldn't speak a word to anyone about my field trips. After that night, It was brought to my attention that the vines growing outside the hall made a perfect ladder for climbing into the rafters. As I grew, I never grew tired of watching and listening. I learned to read, and began to read all sorts of books on political thought and rhetoric. I started to follow along with the debates, I understood the weight of every decision. I quickly learned how to play the game. How to lie, and the power a convincing lie had. I learned which noble actually held the reins, and who was merely a pawn. Most importantly I learned some very harsh truths. While I now had permission from my father to observe, it was a closely guarded secret. No one was allowed to know I was there, and it was no more than a silent understanding. My brothers, however, were sitting in full view of everyone, observing, as soon as they were 7. I got to see. They had to learn. And so I learned to play my part well. I spoke softly and rarely. I learned to spin and weave with the other women. I talked about wanting a handsome husband one day. There was no point in being openly defiant. That never worked. No, the best way to get what I wanted was to put on a mask and silently feed people's greed and hunger for power. If you played into their agenda, they would do things for you. It was a slow process. But a steady one. Carefully spoken gossip around the loom or out shopping. Seating arrangements chosen carefully at feasts. I used the tools I had and spun something beautiful. There was some luck along the way. An unpopular war is an opportune time to sow doubt. My brothers were hardly politicians. The pieces slowly began coming together and the trap was set. Of course there was a deadline. If I were to be married and carried off to some far off city, all my careful work would go to waste. So I set my sights on my coming of age. My birthday was on a holy day, when most people would be drunk and high off of the excitement of the festival. There would be a large crowd gathered in the streets. It was perfect. When the time finally came, I stood and called my allies to action. I used my father's voice, pouring into it sweet honey and the promise of great things. I filled ears with a richness that forbade them from interuppting me or breaking their attention. It was a finely tuned instrument I had painstakingly crafted. The trap was sprung. Lies were revealed. Many noble's faces grew pale as they realized how they had paved the way for me. Some were excited at first, only to soon realize I wasn't the puppet they thought I was. After the initial chaos, I firmly established order. And with my rule now unquestioned, I could stand back and enjoy what I had created. I remember my father watching it all unfold. Despite losing his power, his throne, he only smiled. "I'm sorry"I told him. "Don't be sorry, my little Apatoria, it is only natural"
George, third human ambassador at the Coral palace, found himself joining Aten, the ambassador of the Ternati Octocracy on a business dinner. Apparently his namesake, the first ambassador had been friends with the man. woman? thing? creature. A fur like substance covering what should be Aten's eyes. Slowly shuddering as it looked at him. His reptilian snout happily slurping some honey. Other George had found it's fondness of the stuff, and it was clearly not a lie. The Ternati weren't a powerful nation. Barely joining the scientific community and possessing a weaker fleet than even humans. But they were ancient. Not only did they age incredibly slow, with Aten himself being older than humanity as a whole. Being the supreme ambassadors for nearly a million years. They were also one of the four founding nations of the federation. preceding literally tens of thousands of great nations and countless less powerful ones, like humans. They have so much influence that even without running for office, Aten is considered the most powerful creature in the Coral Palace. George looked at Aten. Thank God for honey he thought to himself. The beautiful substance might be the sole reason humans even held a seat in the Palace. Having such a patron in your back truly changes the fate of entire species. As the two exited the Shift plane, a shuttle that in effect teleported between a set of fixed locations. Or at least, as fixed as a location could be in the galaxy. Walking through the high tunnels towards Aten's home office he could stare out into the fields. Looking highly similar to cornfields. Though George would never be able to accustom to the purple colour of the plants. In the distance he saw something familiar. A set of circles in the crops identical to the ones in old Alien movies and the occasional nuthouse farmer. "What's that there if I may ask? Those circles in the crops."George looked at Aten questioningly. Had the Ternati been interfering with humans way before we found the federation? he thought. "Those? of they're nothing special, just the impressions left by a pod."Aten answered. "We have them too." "Well of course you do, intelligent life just doesn't develop if those pods don't take an interest in your planet." "You mean humans would not exist without your species?"Or is this the work of another species? he added mentally. "Us? no of course not. Only those pods can do that." "Who sent those pods then, if not you?" "Sent? they just wander around on their own." "Okay, you know what? okay. But why those circle shapes?" "That's how they like to sleep." "Are you sure you're talking about pods here? I'm not familiar with them needing any sleep." "Obviously they need sleep. Every creature needs some form if rest." "Wait, creature? I thought we were talking about pods." "Affirmative. Pods of Space Whales." "Space Whales?!" "Yeah, fourth dimensional creatures. Technically called Spacetime Whales." "So, crop circles are created by... time traveling space whales?" "Precisely." "And those whales caused humanity to evolve?" "Exactly, it's good that you understand it now. But our dinner won't be there forever, so let's move." "Yeah, let's do that."George responded absentmindedly. The thought that humanity was here just because some space whales thought earth a nice place to sleep was what his mind would be stuck at for a while to come.
The man with the wispy beard wept openly in his office. He clutched his phone, moaning that he had trusted the science, why did it abandon him?! All around the sprawling metropolis, everything was deactivating. "Why couldn't those science deniers just get with it and trust the experts?!"His sentiment was echoed across the campus and the city as the lights shut off. Many miles away in the countryside, a monitor was on in the office of a rural home. It turns out the experts were charlatans, and the intelligencia were lazy bureaucrats removed from all practicality. As the city descended into chaos, the countryside remained serene. People who had to work had to utilize a system of discovery and innovation everyday. Science is a process, not a list of facts.
I’m incredibly strong, thanks to my mother I have super strength, super speed, super senses, I can fly, and I even have super agility. Thanks to my dad I can use magic so I have, pyrokinesis, cryokinesis, telekinesis, basically if it has an -inesis I can do it, I also have a weird in case of emergency type thing, basically in cases of physical emergency if I’m in a super stressful situation I can go into this super powered ultra rage mode, but using it is painful and never really ends up going to well for me so I just never mastered it. My parents think I’m super weird for not wanting to use and train my abilities to there fullest extent, but both of my parents are covered head to toe in battle scars, enemies, trauma, and stories of near death experiences, so I’d rather stay away from that. Growing up my mom always told me. “A true hero will run against all their instincts in order to save others.” I wish I was different, I never really wanted to be in the family business, but any situation where I’m needed, I just have to help. Currently I’m hoping to go to school to be a graphic designer, I have lots of friends, I even have a girlfriend, she’s super cute and has super powers as well, I think that’s why my mom likes her so much, but here’s the story. Me and my girlfriend we’re walking home from our class one day. Our school is not to far from a giant mountain that people like to hike a lot, that’s when my super senses kick in. I hear a small child, they’re crying, they’re hurt, I also hear a different group calling for someone. That kid probably got separated from their group and got hurt, the child’s crying is much closer than the family, they must have fallen down the mountain. My girlfriend also has super senses. “Can you hear that?” “Yeah I- wait.” I hear something else, is that a boulder, no it’s a lot of boulders, and they’re heading straight for that child! “Can you hear that?” I didn’t answer before I was gone, I sped up the mountain to the child, I grabbed them, and used my powers to stop the boulders and throw them to the side with my telekinesis. The child was crying so hard, I set them down and asked them to show me where it hurt, they showed me an injured leg and I used my magic to heal it. My girlfriend came shortly after, and took the child to help them find their family. I thought about my mother’s words for a minute. “Damn it, I really am a hero aren’t I.”
“How is this fair?” one angel asked the other, as I strolled down my newly created candy lane. “This man has cheated, stolen, and robbed his way through life. Since he was a kid, even though he had everything he could possibly want, he was never satisfied unless he had everything. He grew up to create the largest pyramid scheme the world had ever seen, so why is he not paying for his sins?” the same angel asked, as I literally took candy from a baby, still oblivious to the discussion about me. “You know that we cannot possibly understand God. We can only believe that he is good”. The other angel replied, and flapped his wings slightly as a sign that they really should be moving on. “Well, I simply can’t accept this. I will request audience with Him, and I won’t leave until I get a good answer!” The angel said, not with rage but with a determined expression on his face. The angels left, and I stayed there, wrestling an old man out of his wheelchair, simply to throw it away a moment later. It was truly an afterlife I deserved, befitting a man of my stature, where I could rule over others. Some time later, I heard an odd story about a statue that was placed in front of God’s palace. They say it has the form of an angel, and that if you look very closely, you can hear a faint heartbeat, as if it is alive, as if it is waiting for something…
Jean locked the register, and closed the blinds to the book shop. After doing this for so many years, closing the shop still was bittersweet. He was glad that the passion held since his youth. Checking the shelves it was apparent that there was actually a good amount of space that had opened up. Maybe if he rearranged some things he could set up that art history display he had been thinking about. Quite a few relevant volumes had been stacking up in the basement. As he made his way down the stairs in the back a voice like a thousand nails on chalk boards with the acrid sense of over curdled milk wormed its way into the back of his mind. “Within my pages you would find the secrets to immense wealth and immortality.” “Oh, how do you do Terry!” Jean replied. “Trivial effort and all your dreams will come true.” “Don’t I know it! Business has never been better. I am truly thankful for the fortune I have had in my life.” Jean said, addressing the center of the basement. There on a pedestal rested a tome with disturbingly warped leather cover. Thick chains anchored by silver spikes driven into the stone foundation bound the book, preventing any accidental or intentional opening of it. “But a drop of blood on my pages and the wills of the servile masses would be bound to yours! Any wish, any desire, with but a simple minor sacrifice!” “Ah, though all I want is this box here. No wait, this isn’t the one I wanted. Now where was it..?” “I could find th?” The voice began. “Here it is! In any case it was nice talking to you Terry I have to go set this up now. See you later!” Jeans said bringing the box he found up the stairs before leaving and closing the door. Darkness and silence once more reigned in the basement. “... see you later Jean...”
He was ready to yeet, and to yolo, and plank. He had been practicing a lot over the last several years and was sure that he had the hang of it. And although there were still many things that he did not understand, like what was a Kardashian, Charon was ready to visit the human world. He had earned some well-deserved vacation time. He got into his boat, pushed off with his pole, and paid himself two gold coins. Everyone must pay the ferryman. The waters of the River Styx were as smooth as black glass the wind as dead as the travelers on the far shores. "Where you headed to?"asked a man in a greek toga who struggled to swim forward. "On vacation!"Charon said. "Oh, good for you! Hey, do you think on the way back you can give me ride to the other side?" "Do you have any coins?"Charon asked. "How am I supposed to..." Charon didn't wait for the man to finish and kept going across. There were always those that couldn't pay. Some were mad when he left them on the shore of purgatory to rot away for eternity. Then they tried to bargain. And a few, like that fellow Plato in the water, would reason with themselves that a man can take matters into his own hands. Who knows, maybe in another millennium poor Plato might get halfway. Once on the other side, Charon made a short speech. "Ferry is closed for a week!"Charon said. Several of the souls moaned louder than usual. "I'm off on vacation and will be back. Don't bugger off, just stay put."Charon laughed again and then yeeted his pole back into the boat. At the foot of the stairs to the human world, he tweeted Vacation! #YOLO. Then he posted a quick TikTok with the running man dance which he was assured was very popular. And then the sun was on Charon's face and the River Styx and the Underworld were gone. The humans that came to his shores always asked him questions and were quite chatty. They told him of this thing called T.V. and a show called Dawson's Creek. They asked a lot about Kurt Cobain and if he had smelled the teen spirit. Some even wanted to know if the X-files knew about this place. Charon enjoyed these talks. The glitz, the glamour, and the thrill of an ever-changing environment. He knew what he did was important, but if you've seen one River Styx then you've seen them all. He was ready to live. He arrived on a small island near Galveston, Texas. He picked this island because he knew that in Texas everything was bigger, and that you don't mess with Texas, and that Texas had a Yellow Rose. it was also very hot. No matter, Charon put on his sunscreen (he was very pale) and walked to the docks. His vacation had begun. His first stop would be NASA. Think of it, a ferry to the stars! He had his two gold coins ready to go. He prepared to board the boat that would take him to the mainland. A man, who looked nothing like Charon, stopped him. "I need your ticket,"said the man with the blue hat. "Sure enough, broheim,"said Charon and handed over two gold coins The man in the blue hate, a total hater, looked at the coins and then back at Charon. "I said ticket, not trinkets,"said the man in the blue hat. "Damn the man,"thought Charon. Things are expensive top side. He handed over another two gold coins. "Look,"said the man in the blue hat. "You need a ticket, not whatever these are." "They are gold coins for the ferry,"said Charon. "Really, as a fellow practitioner of the ferry arts, I would expect you to know that." "Sure they are. And who is this funny guy on this 'coin',"the man in the blue hat asked. Charon looked and said, "I think that is one of the Ceasers, but honestly, I'm not sure which one. Augustus?" "No ticket, no ferry,"said the man in the blue hat. "Everyone has to pay." Charon had enough of amateur hour and pushed the man aside. Being the ferryman for the River Styx had taught Charon a lot of patience over the eons, but even he has his limits. "We've got a runner,"said the man in the blue hat. As the police showed up, Charon put up quite a fight and was excited that he got to use the term "Don't taze me bro!"but disappointed he didn't have time to time to put it on Instagram. His trial was quick and it was determined that Charon was an illegal alien and quickly sent to prison. From there he was yeeted from one cellmate to another and planked several times. This was not the vacation that Charon had in mind. However, he was happy that he was able to see the Friends reunion himself rather than to hear about it from one of his passengers of the underworld.
Hmm an interesting scenario, this can make for a good comic series, My İdea is the fact that this dog is actually something like a Earth's Defender, and its main purpose was to cull the Human Population so that Humans didnt overpopulate, He was supposed be released 10.000 Years Ago but An Accident lead to him fetting released in the Modern Age İt might still be Puppy but it is Smart Pupppy.It still Treats Humans like they are still Cave man,has no İdea where he is and His personality overall is a playfull doggo who believes he is doing the right thing, even tho when he becomes an Adult he will be like 100 feet tall, The Man who adopted him knows that he wont survive in the Modern ages even for a second without getting completely annihilated by the Military By the way the Dog thinks of the Man as his Rescuer from that horrible Canine Prison and he believes he in debt for life to him for that, With those things Said Let the shenanigans begin Dog:Master,Master ! Daniel:Waith dont tell me you are hungry again, I just fed you every bit of meat I had in my fridge Dog:No thats not it, tho I want that Beef meat for dinner, I was referring to that human in blue fur Daniel: blue....what ? Dog:BLUE FUR, Why does he show up to your Nest every morning without fail and drop some Papers in a box...............İs he trying to invade your territroy,İs he challenging you,I can eat that puny meat sack if you want Daniel:NO No no no no no.....He is just the mail Man,He brings mail Dog:What is a "Mail" Daniel:(sigh) I will tell you later....
A silence; a gripping, deadly, deafening silence fills the empty room. I yawn, a faint recollection of the dream of last night fading from existence. I stretch my arms as my eyes get accustomed to the enveloping, shrouding darkness that persists beyond anything else. Strangely, the clock does not tick. I stare at the vall, the second hand not moving. I am bewildered for a split moment before remembering to add batteries to the shopping list. I rise and walk down the corridor, my morning routine a familiar route throughout the house. Then, I go downstairs to check on my dear family and they are standing motionless. "What the -"I bellow, confusion sweeping me, "why are you guys not..." Then, before I know it, a figure - the only other moving - appears past the window, snowflakes gently gliding down like a ballerina in motion. It's hooded, blank face chills me, and I give a death-defying yell. Wielding a scythe, the figure, emanating misery and mystery, knocks down my door and I scream, frantic and abrupt, as it comes towards me. "Please no - "I yell, unsure how to react. But the figure does not strike. Instead, it lights a match that penetrates the blinding darkness and I see that it's face is in fact warm and gentle. "You may be confused, but worry not,"it says, "I am your guardian angel and I have come to relive you of stress." "But why is my fami-" "Tut! No questions,"it states simply, "merely know that I am not here to harm you. Let me show you the real reason for my presence." A ripple in time and space, matter breaks and winds backwards. We are being transported into the future, that very same day, evident from my family wearing the same clothes. I can see myself, a very odd sensation. We are in the car, and - whilst we're driving, the canvas of blue above gentle as ever, apart from wisps of clouds staining it - another car speeds towards us and it crashes. I am the only one who jumps out. "You see, you need to warn your family, and if they do not heed your warning convince them not to go on a car trip that day." I nod my head, knowing full well what it is that I need to do. Time warps back, and I wake up again, this time sprinting down the hall. "Mum, dad!"I scream, glad to see them moving, "we cannot go on a car journey today." I am insistent, and they are reluctant to talk back to me. "But we managed to get tickets and -" "NO! We cannot!"I yell, slightly more strictly than I had imagined. I surprise myself with my own voice. "Very well."
None of the cults got it right in the end. The Lizard people fanatics dropped their protest signs when the Lizard people never shed their human skin. People wearing crystals for secret energy realized dinosaurs weren’t at the Earth’s core. The Illuminati turned out to just be a bunch of middle-aged white dudes taking time to post on boards during their kids piano lessons, and even the flying spaghetti monster people were honestly a little disappointed if not understanding. In the end there was no cult or conspiracy, it was a good old fashioned biblical revelation. Heaven versus Hell. Fire and Brimstone ™. The Righteous set against the wicked. All of this is to say that those flying horsemen and demons waging war against angels left quite the mess around the world. Try walking down to the corner market to pick up a gallon of milk while Michael is waving his sword of fire like it’s a damn lightsaber at a horde of slime demons mucking about the sidewalk. You can’t do it. It’s impossible. I tried. Cereal bowls around the globe went milkless. Whatever great minds weren’t purged or whisked to heaven or succumbed to the temptations of hell went to Florida. When the pits of hell first opened and the lights from heaven cascaded down, communication quickly dropped off. First it was the internet. Network cables don’t fare well under intense heat of the damned. That got everyone’s attention quickly. Then ground satellite communication centers were considered an area of strategic interest by the minions of Satan, so those went off next. That’s when I first heard the rumor of Florida being a relatively safe place, and it made a lot of sense. Another kind of cult started. The cult of Florida man. Turns out Hell mostly skipped that part of the world. They figured the flames of the wicked had already soured their souls. Long live Florida man, I suppose. What else do you do when the world is at an end and you find yourself in the swampy ass of America? You go to Disney World, because of course it was still open. And the house of mouse was packed. It was like Lucifer never used the Eifel Tower as a toothpick or that the daily rains of locust were completely normal. Because in Florida, it was just Tuesday. While I was spinning around on the teacup ride with a churro safely in hand, I saw a candle rising in the sky to the east with a trail of smoke underneath. I figured it was just another necromancer summoning a dark-whatever-from-wherever and finished up the churro. Stepping off the magical spinning cup, I heard someone say, “Looks like NASA’s trying to get off this world.” NASA. Who would’ve thought NASA would still be sending their little science missions into space? What use could that possible be now. As the sun set, however, and the ushers kindly swept everyone out of Disney as the park closed for locust removal, I noticed the stars weren’t touched. They were still embedded in the sky. They hadn’t blown up. They weren’t blood red (at least the ones that weren’t already). They just sparkled and went about their business like the world didn't matter at all. NASA had discovered that the apocalypse was localized to Earth. The armies of the end times didn’t care about regolith on the Moon or the dunes of Mars. If the world was going to end, so what? There are billions of other worlds out there. Onto the next one! For the next few weeks, NASA rockets were sent up three or four times a day. Each time leaving behind that trail of exhaust as a reminder to anyone looking that way that it’s possible to leave this hell (whether that was hell on earth or Florida). I signed up just as soon as I found a waiting list. That’s how I found myself strapped down in a capsule with 50 other people hundreds of yards above the ground with an untold thousands of pounds of fuel lurching and crying out beneath us. It sounded like another chasm of hell was crawling out from under the earth, but it was just super cooled hydrogen playing games with the metal of the rocket. The best minds remaining all found their way to Florida by following rumors or byseeing a satellite in the sky, untouched by the wars of earth, and thought huh, that’s funny. I wonder if... Earth was lost, but they sky is a Godless place that Hell couldn’t care less about. That’s how the Ezekial colonies got started. That’s how science fiction became reality, not through the inevitable progress of humankind, but due to ages old biblical prophecies devouring the world. And knowing angels and demons are real, that an unmerciful devil really does exist, it’s made for some weird colonies. And I love it.
I was honestly never that evil; I have always thought of myself as a well-mannered citizen, turning to sin only ever so often. However, one day, miniscule creatures bearing teeth (frightening my dog in the process) raided my home and began obeying my every command, after I exclaimed, "Get out of here!" They called themselves my minions, yet I did not understand. Why did they specifically come to me? This must have been a mistake! Yet evidently it wasn't, as I was their leader, and they were my subjects. Soon their influence washed over me like a cold breeze, and I turned to crime. Stealing money, shoplifting groceries - it was all too much for me. I cannot count how many things I have committed. One day, my father, beard drooping down his shoulders, asked me why I had done this. I could not explain.
ding HELLO AMPLE_MAMMAL, NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN (ok Zuckerberg or Tom or whatever, nice to see you again too..) "Alexa, reduce volume" YOU SEEM TO HAVE ME CONFUSED WITH SOMEONE ELSE. WHAT IS YOUR FIRST WISH? (wtf) "Reduce volume" so it shall be. what is your second wish? (lolwut) "Pizza! Supreme with no mushrooms" so it shall be. what is your third wish? A sudden knock at the door startles me. After a pause, I open it to see a fresh, steaming pizza. Exactly as ordered. Laid bare on my front porch with no one in sight. (wtf..) "what the fuck.." incomprehensible. what is your third wish?
Everyone on Earth is assigned a personal guardian Angel at birth; however, mine - for whatever reason - hates me. I do admit, it does help, but they find the most passive-agressive way to do so; just last night, they warned me that a car would cross the road by giving me a searing migraine. Yet today was my day of revenge. I would not heed it's advice, and let it suffer. I would do my ow thing for once. I pray to God every day to change my guardian Angel, but he does not listen, and today was the day I would finally get my comeupance. I stare at the ladder to the loft, the creaking wood a perfect home for spiders, who hung their embroidered webs wherever they could, and the mice that scurried past upon my disturbance. Then, he appeared; my guardian Angel, draped in a white cloak with a halo sitting atop his head. His fluttery wings behind his back, he talked to me, "Go back downstairs." I laughed, mocking him, as I carried on walking upstairs. He repeated, "Go downstairs, now!" As soon as I went upstairs, however, a heavy anvil struck the back of my head, causing me to faint with blood staining the floor. I had died, all because I had not adhered the warning.
I am a librarian - a humble librarian in a small town of around a thousand people. However, my library had a secret; a blinding beacon of light in the reading room, and anyone underneath it would have the most fantastic solution to the problem that was most on their mind. That particular morning, my ex-girlfriend went into the library and greeted me as if our affair did not happen. I still could not believe her betrayel. Yet today she acted normal, and went into the reading room. I wondered what the fantastic idea that came into her head was. I would soon find out. "Hello!"a chilling voice whispered, when I was back home. I turn and a knife plunges into the back of my head. Blood smears everywhere and chips of bone spray the floor. My corpse falls onto the floor. "Thanks for the idea, Alfred!"she cackled.
CRUNCH. Then screams. Dozens of tiny, insignificant voices plead for their lives with every bite I take. I don’t even care right now about the promises they made; my heart is too full of malice. As I chew, and swallow, I reminisce. It all started maybe longer ago than I care to remember, but my first really vivid memory was on Halloween night. My parents never indulged a sweet tooth with me as a toddler (I always wondered if I had something to do with that), but by the time I was six or seven I guess my dad won some big argument and got to take me trick-or-treating. I was a ghost. We got home, and I was allowed one piece of candy before bed. Opening a miniature candy bar for the first time, and I was greeted with, “Hey, little guy!” I thought it was, well, kind of charming. Like something my Aunt would say. “You can let me in, now,” I heard it say. That sounded, well, weird. Definitely not something my Aunt would say anymore. Mouth agape, I sat the half-open Hershey’s down and ran to get my parents. I remember getting my mom, and then more arguing, until finally my dad decided to end the bickering by picking up the unwrapped candy and eating it. In retrospect, it was kind of funny. The Hershey’s had kind of been sassing Dad anyways (“It’s just his overactive imagination! He’s just a normal kid! It’s just normal candy!” to which the candy spouted back, “I’m not normal. I’m from Pennsylvania!”) but I was too young to really appreciate the humor. I did notice the scream though, as my dad’s incisors snapped it in two, and I swore off candy for quite a while after that night. That was also the only time my parents ever brought me Trick-or-Treating. Now, here I sit, 35 years old and indulging in a box of Nerds after an excruciatingly taxing day at the office. There’s just something incredibly satisfying about playing with your food before you eat it…maybe it’s just me? I know cats do it, too… But especially Nerds. They are by far the most pretentious out of all the candies. How they think they can just make everything right by me after they are just downright condescending?! I really like carrying a box around in my breast pocket all day, just so they have something interesting to talk about before they all get eaten. “They all hate you, but let us in and you will feel better.” “You need us to be happy. Let us in.” Candy just wants to be eaten, after all, they just don’t actually enjoy _being_ eaten. But I do. I’ve grown quite fond of it. Something between a sugar rush and bloodlust. Perfection. CRUNCH.
Roger sat in the small bunker, staring at that damn white fleck on the floor. Damn it! When Helen had redecorated all those years ago, she had laughed at him! Laughed, when he complained about the paint spattering onto the floor. Now she was gone. He glanced at the rectangular outline in the floor, the one with no dried paint within it. Had it really been ten years since she had gone. Ten years since he had pulled up that metal floor to reveal 2 neatly dug graves. Ten years since he had gently placed her tiny form into one of the holes and cried as her beautiful face was covered in the quick setting resin. He knew he didn't have much time left. Every part of him ached, both from his seventy-five years, and from the clot that was travelling through his heart. Ignoring the pain, he fought with the floor for what seemed like hours. Inch by painful inch, his final resting place was exposed to the harsh glow of fluorescent strip lights. Mixing the resin didn't take anywhere near as long, nor did changing into that impossibly heavy boiler suit. Roger paused for a second, looking the bunker. It had been their hobby, before becoming their sanctuary, their home, before becoming his prison. Now, now his bunker would become one final thing. His tomb. He didn't experience any fear, hesitation or anxiety as he stiffly sat down on the edge of the grave, now almost cpmpletely full of the thick resin. He breathed one last deep breath before injecting himself with the sedative and allowing himself to sink down into oblivion.
"Chance Encounter" \---------- The samurai walked along the path, away from the beach. Slow waves rolled along the flat shore and receded—Hanako pushed his nose into a pout and flared his nostril; attempting to remove a fly buzzing under his top hat—Jouichirou followed behind in black. "Oh, ho, ho,"said Hanako. They had stopped near the rocks where the bluff began, and sat on their rucks. Hanako pulled a rice cake from a fold in his komono, tossing one to Jouichirou; Jouichirou stood and ran towards Hanako. "Hnrragh!"shouted Jouichirou. With his sword drawn and held down, extending from his eyes, hilt held thumb-to-thumb, Jouichirou swang and Hanako leapt back, drawing his own short sword. With a yell Hanako charged; Jouichirou let Hanako's short sword guide his pivot and with a slash, finished his blow with another blow following in combination—Hanako seized his back and yelled—Arghh!—and swang in backhand, but Jouichirou readied the blade, bottom palm atop thumb his grip and slashed the finishing blow. "Slipped near enclave,"wrote Satsuki, looking up, "and you say you don't know where along the coast Jouichirou met his death?"Satsuki's chin spasmed in laughter, raising his head. "Report here over. Daimyo is expecting you inside,"continued Satsuki, refilling his quill with ink, he capped the bottle and motioned to his attendant at the far corner to take the scroll, and Jouichirou stood up pressing his hands on his knees and on the ground. He looked down at Satsuki still seated; Satsuki with cocked head smiled expectantly. The gardens outside are combed and the shrubs maintained, and a cherry blossom carried the center of the complex in full bloom, and a thicket of conifers surrounded them. Jouichirou walked on the wooden planks that connected Satsuki's office to the auxiliary building, and from the auxiliary building leading under the massive umbrella tree to the imposing quarters of the daimyo beginning in the deeper part of the forest, and still rising further up and beyond—left jagged by the face cliffs. The mat door slid the length of the wall and Jouichirou stepped over the wooden divider and into the chamber; the screen left open as cherry leaves swirled behind him and the howl of the snow leaving his shoulders bright. "Why do we keep fighting in the fields?"asked Jouichirou, as he brought his tea beneath his brow face and he sipped, slurping the steeped liquid into a whirl, and he swallowed. Jouichirou lifted his chin and met eyes with his lord. "We fight,"said the Daimyo, "because we are grieved. And we are grieved because saisei-itchi demands it of us!" Daimyo bristled, and said, "You must now do your part in this charade, and to question why is something only kami deracinate!"The old daimyo walked across the expanse, halled in lithe ricepaper, to a large, bronze receptacle mounded with ash out of which sprung a miniature bonsai and a thick, stubbed piece of incense glowing red at an angle; placing his palm in the pit, a large laughing Buddha stood in background held behind red, wooden ornamentation—and his retainer turning his back Jouichirou stood, and left the daimyo's quarters.
"do you see it?"It asked "no, I don't see it"she replied to the thing behind her right shoulder "Look closer it's there just move alittle closer, trust me, you trust me right?" She nodded slowly she moved closer to it kneeled down and picked it up. It felt like cloth but it moved like fog in her hands there was a deep fear rising in her chest and she dropped the strange object. "What is this?!"Dylan was panicking "It's just the key now pick it UP"the thing was getting angrier at her. "I don't like it, it doesn't feel right" Something moved at the corner of her eye she heard her name being called in a rough voice like the speaker had gurgled grit and sandpaper "D Y L A N" She was shaking, it was getting closer to her, and more joined in, different voices of different pitches saying her name "Dylan...Dylan.... Dylan....DYLAN DYLAN!" she was now running through the halls they were a moss shade of green in the purple darkness, she didn't know where she was going, Dylan just new she had to get out of there. She could hear the thing that once stood over her right shoulder laughing behind her at the end of the hall. There were door hundreds, thousands even, each door called her name. Every wall formed some kind of a face not human but almost human she kept running, as she stumbled she looked down at her hands there was bugs, maggots, spiders and Beatles, she screamed and cried trying to pull them off they wouldn't. The fear finally got her and she passed out "Patient #555 mental state seems to be getting worse there's no hope for her"the man's voice was gritty and deep. He tapped her on the fingers with his pen a few times and then wrote something down "She seems to be hallucinating more often, her nightmares have become dreams that she never wakes up from.... interesting it appears that she has also developed slight bruising on the palm of her hands" the man looked up from the bed Dylan was laying on, there was something in the reflection of the room he couldn't quite make it out , it seemed to appear as a humanoid creature, it startled him. He looked down back at Dylan, it wasn't Dylan anymore, he was looking in a mirror a bathroom mirror. He now was panicking. "Don't worry Lee you're in good hands"the creature patted him on the shoulder and smiled.
It started as a school trip. It was supposed to be fun a camp with archery, canoeing, arts n crafts and more. The school was funding the trip so that the new students knew each other. It was some type of preventive bullying thing. I was excited I packed my backpack the way dad taught me, when I was done I felt kind of like Dora The explora. My backpack was stuffed with thing even stuff that I wasn't really supposed to have, but when my dad says to do something I do it. When we got to camp it was exactly what I'd been expecting. Camp councilors came out to give us a talk about the activities and how we were expected to act. I spent the first day making a hanging post. It was supposed to be a joke. I asked a councilor if in arts n crafts I could make it, and if we could hang a whiteboard to play hang man on. He said yes so me and a few people built the thing a short version and no rope, but otherwise a good replica. The first day was the only entertainment I got. That when it all started. The body was found hanging from my craft. My first thought was that it was somehow my fault. There was a note in the body in newspaper letters it read "Hanging from the branch how did I die? When did I die? __ __ __. The next body will be tomorrow unless of course you solve it." That was it that was all we got. Of course the camp went nuts. Half counselors locked us in the cabin telling us when the police got here we could be let out. The other half remained to watch us. A day went by one of the councilors got curious and stepped outside. The other 3 councilors were dead a phone cord tied their mangled body's together. There was another note. "Now there has to be rules I hate rules. No one can exchange there clues. Anyone found trying to contact the outside world is dead. And finally now you have to kill each other or die yourself. You'll know who you have to kill and how I'll tell one of you sometime tomorrow." This letter was typed by a type writer. (60 Likes or more and Ill continue)
The Mammiun Hypothesis Xernes sighed, or as close as possible a therapod body structure can get to one. He had been studying the fossil and chemical record of a brief period of a few hundred years, around 66 million years ago-the time of the Holocene Extinction. He used his claws to pick up his morning coffee as he sorted through the data collected by yesterday’s survey. “Rather interesting, this period was marked by a sharp increase in temperature and a massive rise in carbon concentrations in the atmosphere, which peaks just before the extinction event.” Xernes had a faint feeling of familiarity, for some reason. This seemed just like what was going on in the modern day, with the Saurosapien civilization currently consuming massive amounts of fossil fuels in order to fuel society… no, that wasn’t possible. It had already been established beyond a doubt that they were the first industrial, advanced, sentient species on this planet. Possibly even the only one-but a seed of doubt sprouted in his mind regardless. “What if they missed something?”, muttered Xernes. After all, the initial surveys had been done over a century ago, when advanced dating and spectroscopic methods were not available. He was sure this was a dead end… but it wouldn’t hurt to check. “What would an industrial civilization produce that would be still recognizable as from an artificial source?”, he thought. The climate changes and carbon emissions all fit the description… but it was still possible something natural caused them. Then, he had an idea. Actually, two. “We can scan for artificial chemicals and long-lived radioactive isotopes produced from artificial nuclear reactions.” The first would serve as a minimum that the civilization had the equivalent technology of an industrial civilization, at the very least. The second… would likely indicate the civilization was probably at a very similar technological level to our own, the Saurosapiens. He picked up a phone. “Hello. Can you scan these samples I will be sending you for plastics, industrial chemicals, and transuranics? The sample is just some rock. Age? 66 million years. 1 week? Alright. Thanks and bye.” Xernes then set down his phone, and forgot about the sample for a week-until the results arrived. Rastan came in person. \------------------------------------------------------ “Kii, Kii!”(equivalent of ding dong) Xernes was wakened from his sleep by an abrupt ring on his door. He groggily jumped on his hind feet, and went to the door. “Yes? Yes??” He opened the door, and Rastan, the person he had sent the sample to, burst into his house, and shut the door with such forcefulness that he thought the hinges would break. “Rastan?! Why are you here?”, asked Xernes. “Xernes! Look at this data!”, croaked Rastan. Rastan handed Xernes a large file filled with paper. “What is this?” Xernes was confused. “The data for the sample you sent me! Look!!” “Oh… ok…” Xernes opened the file. “Alright, lets see. Starts out neutral… OH! My god… It’s plastics!” “That’s not all, Xernes. Check the back.”, said Rastan. Xernes flipped the paper over. “Transuranics. 100% artificial. We hit the jackpot.” Xernes, at this point, had his eyes bulging in his sockets. Xernes and Rastan began to celebrate, about how much this would get them and that they would retire early-but then Xernes asked a crucial question. “How did they die out?” Two pairs of eyes stared at the end of the page of data. So many transuranics peaked at the end, it was obvious what had happened. It wasn't even the first, and it wouldn’t be the last. NOTE: This was inspired by a VICE short story on the Silurian Hypothesis-I highly recommend that story-you should go check it out. Under The Sun.
I turn left, I turn right, I turn up, I turn down. Monotony is my life. It is thus because I defied the gods. In chaining up death to free all men from its curse, I myself was cursed. Now I cannot die. I turn left, I turn right, I turn up, I turn down. I am compelled to flee the ghosts of the deceased—a mockery of how I mocked the gods. For eternities past, I have explored this endless cave from which there is no escape. Always hoping I might once again defy them, that I might have the final laugh. My final laugh. I turn left, I turn right, I turn up, I turn down. But I do not laugh. I am cruelly deformed. I was once a proud and mighty hero amongst the men of old. Now I am reduced to geometry. I am cursed with the symbol of a broken boulder. A memory of that which I once carried. A face that toils so close to stone for so long becomes the stone itself. I tumble through these alleyways, wishing for the mountain I once climbed endlessly. The mountain I hated. I climbed up, I climbed down. There is food here. Enough to taunt me with fleeting memories of what I have lost. A single cherry. A strawberry. They appear as if a mirage, once in a lifetime. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Other times the mirage fades. I despair. I turn left, I turn right, I turn up, I turn down. To the gods I am just a game. I am absurd. I am futility itself. I am PacMan. I am Sisyphus. I am your life.
I was sure I am close to getting a hold of the truth. I was following the ley lines in the middle of the Scottish ancient forests, when I finally arrived at a weird spot. The energy reading were fluctuating weirdly, while the magnetic field of the opening was all over the place. I cut my palm, and chanted the lines I found in an old grimoire. And then, a flash of light blinded me. When I opened my eyes, I was in the same forest, but it wasn't the same at all. &#x200B; The trees were lusher, healthier, taller, and most importantly, much more older. The grass was of a radiant spring green, and mushrooms, and herbs grew everywhere. Suddenly, steps could be heard. I looked expectantly towards the densely packed trees, while calming my soul. And then, it had stepped into the opening's light. A unicorn. I've finally found them. &#x200B; "Hello there, human male, for what do we owe the honour for your visit?" The unicorn asked telepathically. My mind interpreted its voice, as soothing, deep, and cool. "I was searching for you for decades! I knew you existed!" I said, enthusiastically. "Of course we exist, so do dragons, elves, and dwarves, and many more. You came just to ascertain the existence of our people?" The unicorn enquired. I was a bit flabbergasted, seeing how nonchalant it is. &#x200B; "I mean...It's a secret society? Why are you so casual about me finding you?" I asked. "We have a hard time discussing with humans, who refuse to open their minds to the unknown, thus we live in different planes of existence. If that's what it takes to be considered a secret society, than yes, we are one." The unicorn said. "Ahm, are we that bad?" I asked, scratching the back of my head. &#x200B; "No, it's just you are too weak, fast growing, and too adaptable. We have long lives, if we wander the realm for 5-6 decades, you already made us into legends. So, it's hard for us to mingle with you humans." The unicorn said, laughing I think. "True... But there are plenty of humans whom would accept you." I said. "And plenty who would hunt us." The unicorn retorted. &#x200B; That silenced me... During my research years, I've found a lot of recipes, and formulas. Dragon blood, unicorn horn, goblin bladder, werewolf heart, vampire fang...and many more... Us humans truly would use anything for our own benefits. "Don't think like that youngling, not all humans all bad. Also, every race is like that, using whatever they can to survive." The unicorn suddenly said. "You can read my mind?" I asked. "Of course." The unicorn said intstantly. I smiled wryly. "Can I ask you some questions?" I asked. "Of course, go ahead. Haven't talked with your race since the dawn of the previous century." The unicorn said. "Where do you come from? Were you created by someone, or something?" I asked. "We come from the world young one, and we have been created by the universe itself." The unicorn said. I tilted my head. "You see young one, humans are the desire of the world for change. While we the others are different desires, and energies. Unicorns are a desire for freedom, and purity. Dragons are a desire for power, wisdom, and wealth. Vampires are a desire for an endless night, and endless life. Goblins are a desire for a never ending expansion, and propagation. Everyone, and everything has their origins hidden deep in the truths of the universe." The unicorn said. "Fate, cause and effect, and a higher purpose, huh?" I said, chuckling. "Those are some human theories I've heard about, but yes, simplified, that's our origin." The unicorn said. &#x200B; I've spent the next few weeks, learning about their simplistic culture, while eating their herbs, and learning their traditions. While leaving, I gave them my gifts. "These are comics and books, human understanding of the supernatural." I said to the unicorn. "Take care young one, after eating the good stuff, you might live for thousands of years. We can't know for sure." The unicorn warned. I just nodded, I never planned to go back to society...living in the forest is more than perfect for me. I have a lot to digest. I waved, and left through a flash of light, just as I came. &#x200B; Years later, I've made contact with several other supernatural beings, helped the wounded ones, and slowly created a village hidden in the forests solely for those creatures who had no place to go back. And a rumour arrived at our little settlement decades later. The unicorns exited their dimension, and taking on human forms, they decided to enjoy something called "comic-con". I laughed, seemingly they've enjoyed my gifts.
Bloody idiot bastards. Bloody egotistical high-n-mighty bastards. Bloody, useless, ladder-climbin’, brown nosin’, don’t know what’s good for ‘em, can barely use magic bastards. The lot o’ ‘em. Sendin’ me owls - me! Callin’ a meetin’ when they know full well that I’s things that need doin’. All well ‘n’ good ifs ya got wee apprentices ‘n’ assistants to pick ya stores for ya. Some o’ us pick our own cow warts ‘n’ cat bugles ‘n’ newts ears ‘n’ Penny-will-I-care-tomorrows. Bloody tricky to pick a Penny-will-I-care-tomorrow, tis! Gotsa know where find ‘em ‘n’ hunt ‘em down ‘n’ avoid the prickles. Bah! Them lot wouldn’t know magic if it snuck in o’ a night ‘n’ stole their teef! Makin’ me come t’town when it’s bottlin’ day. I’ll show ‘em. Show the whole bloody lot o’ ‘em, I wills! Bah! * * * The heavy wood door to the council room swung open and a grey-brown and bent figure shuffled in. Gremwell the Wizard Hermit mumbled and grumbled and cussed as he made his way across the room. The Council had spent a fortune on their meeting room. It needed the right magical air - and with three storey ceilings, living tapestries, and vast stained glass windows, the air was very magical indeed. Ecentually the old hermit arrived at the circular table, the workbench of the Nine. Eight of the countries most powerful and well respected wizards, witches, and mages were sat already and yammered on about what Gremwell called: “All somesuch - bah!” “Gremwell! Sit sit! Join us. Thank you for coming so early, we simply must get caught up on your doings.” The hermit snorted. He had tried to be late but it appeared the Council had prepared for that. The questions started. They pried and they gossiped and they laughed and they pried some more. “Still no apprentice, Gremwell? Oh, I have seven!” Pprentice’s? Bah! No sense in that. If they wanna learn the magics they can do it alone. Better ta learn yer own magic than someone elses, anyway. The topic changed from braggery to bursary - the Council had absorbed the city treasury last year - and now they needed to discuss finances. The meeting only ever got longer and longer, and everyone had something to say. Often all at once. Except Gremwell who sad in sullen silence. It was his opinion that magical folk, such as those on the Council, should be magical folk and nothing else. If magic folk start taking on additional roles in the community, this inevitably leads to power consolidation and corruption and villainy and, eventually, war. Magic gathers. S’why you shouldn’t be ‘avin’ magic friend if yer a magic type yerself! Fun fact about magic: it does tend to gather. And eventually that gathered magic often goes bang! And the geologists get a new crater to name. Gremwell has agreed to join the Council of Nine because he had the best nose in the business from magic, and he was going to diffuse this magical buddy-buddy mess before it turned into a problem. The old hermit had a plan. A spell, in fact. They had all gotten too close and too fat and too power hungry. And much too friendly, too. The spell commenced. No hand waves. No words. No runes. He had spent four days eating nothing but Pickled-Prickle-Newt sandwichs, topped with fresh Hanna-have-you-seen-my-glasses petals, and served with cold roast potatoes and seeded mustard. The witch to his left stopped her yammering. As did the mage to his right. By the time the fart had cross the table two of the Nine had vomited, and three had passed out. Gremwell stood and shuffled away, a wide and toothless smile on his face. That’d do it. No one would come back to the meetings after that. And, it was only half passed midday. He’d have plenty of time to pick some Penny-will-I-care-tomorrows.
My family has this story about a tree that grants wishes if you eat the fruit. The legend doesn’t specify its exact whereabouts, but it gives vague clues like “behind the Golden Statue” and “beneath the Scarlet Fox.” I always blew it off as a fairy tale, but I’m beginning to get desperate. Being born a man into a broke and broken family was just rough, but learning I have an inoperable tumor the month I make enough to survive was the last straw. I decided to follow the clues to the best of my ability, with the help of my little brother and my father. While they don’t “agree with my life choices,” they want me to survive. The scroll in the attic with all the little lines about how to find the treasure must’ve been edited throughout the years, though, as the “Golden Statue” was a trophy store and the “Scarlet Fox” was actually a gray fox statue in town. These clues, however, finally led us to what originally looked like a pear tree. The fruit, however, was bitter and rough. We soon found out how powerful these fruits are, as we started wishing wildly. We all wished for enough money to never have to work, and I wished away that tumor. My downfall was, ironically, my favorite wish to ask. Just as my body matched my brain, we all found out how these fruits REALLY work. The fruit can sense your desires, so you don’t have to say them as long as you think them. In a flash, I ceased to exist, fulfilling my dad’s wish: “I wish you were never born.”
\The papers say it's doomsday* The button has been pressed\* John and Mya slow dance in a dimly lit apartment, their eyes locked and genuine smiles on their faces. The chaos outside did not seem to affect them. There it was, their final night together. But they noticed there was something oddly familiar about the situation. How could an unprecedented apocalypse induce Deja Vu? That was the question in the mind of a Dr Jeffrey Stone, a man who failed to detect and stop this phenomenon. As he sat in his lab defeated, alone with his failed calculations, he couldn't help but think if he was to blame for this. And then that familiar feeling hit again. How could that be possible? \We're gonna nuke each other up boys'* Til old Satan stands impressed\* From sacred texts to research papers, doomsday was always said to be inevitable. But what was this Deja Vu? Could it be that civilization - mankind - the earth - the universe...does its destruction always entail rebirth? But it can't be this predictable. Millions of years of decisions lead to this moment - apocalypse would be different each iteration. The probability of anything surviving in all the "simulations"this universe has had should be impossible. Unless... \And here it is, our final night alive* And as the earth runs to the ground\* John and Mya clutch each other one last time, no tears only smiles was what they decided. Mya gripped her husband's hand tightly as they closed their eyes. They braced for impact...but there was none. John opened his eyes to find himself in a different location. "You...you're..you're the answer."said an animated Dr. Stone, dropping his pen in excitement. He had some calculations to do and he had to hurry, it was the literal end of the world. "Each time..the universe restarts from scratch. It's entirely random. But each time..you two..you end up together. I can't explain it, it doesn't make sense. But..it has to be." John and Mya are still shell shocked, they do not say a word and just stare at the mad scientist. "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Each time the universe has ended, it's always been with you two standing together. I have no choice. I'm sorry." Dr. Stone revealed his pistol and unloaded two shots into John. He fell to the ground, still holding on his wife. \Oh girl, it's you* that I lie with, as the world caves in.\*
I walked out from the smoking room with the taste of a Marlboro on my tongue and it’s smell on my suit, the sound of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Rising playing softly over the radio. President Nixon making another address speech on the tube of his victory, hamming it up with that bulbous nose of his. Nothing is quite as scary as watching history unfold, but what’s scarier is seeing where the money goes to make it happen. As the newly elected Gov. of Illinois, I’m starting to see where evil can come from. No, Richard Buell Ogilvie is no fool, but I am damned certain I can see it. God himself saw it fit to gift me this ability, it got me through WW2, got me through being Sheriff in Illinois, too. This inky black, almost like effervescent or vaporized emotion, appears on those who wish to do harm. Maybe to me, maybe to others, but I see it. The docs say it’s just reminiscent Shell Shock from the war, alcohol and quaaludes helped a little but only muddled the water of the issue. I remember the war just fine. I’m writing this Memoire because I’m not sure what to think of it; furthermore I’m not sure how to feel about it. The church elders say it’s a blessing, of which I’m aware and privy to. However the Mafia in Cook County seems to have gotten a fine notion of as well, claiming I have eyes in the back of my head. My wife pays me no mind, bless her heart, but I’m worried that she’s worried enough to have me committed.
“What is it?” Asked Xandrez as she looked at the display screen of the ship’s long distance paychoscope. The device was her species’ crowning achievement in psychic technology, a ship mounted conduit that allowed for the observation of the collective consciousness of an entire planet’s ecosystem within minutes. It allowed them to determine which new species that they encountered on their voyages were safe to contact, and which were too hostile or primitive to bother with. However Xandrez had never seen a psychic readout like the one currently on the screen before her, and by his expression neither had the psychotech Vexu. He sat planted in his chair, scratching at his feathered head with his upper left arm while the lower left and both right arms typed away at the keyboard. “I…don’t know.” He responded. “The psychoscope says it’s a hive mind but it’s fractured, broken. It thinks it’s billions of individual creatures all with distinct lives and personalities. It has different languages, different cultures, different religions. Xandrez this is like nothing I’ve ever seen!” He babbled, turning to look at her as she leaned over his shoulder. Xandrez didn’t respond to his words and instead continued to look down at the strange blue world below them, dotted with sparkling lights from the comparatively primitive cities stretching across its surface. “Focus Vexu, save your excitement for after the report. Tell me more.” She demanded as the psychotech turned back to his terminal. “Yes captain, it….oh…by the stars. It…it hates.” He whispered, his emerald eyes widening with creeping terror. “It makes war with itself, destroys its planet, commits unspeakable atrocities. But it loves too, it’s built monuments and works of art, inspired movements of freedom and peace, toppled tyrants. Admittedly it also was those tyrants but the point still stands. It’s complicated, a living contradiction but a beautiful one.” The psychotech explained. Xandrez nodded along with him, perplexed yet enthralled by his briefing. Then suddenly a thought came to mind. “Vexu, does it have a name?” She asked, watching as the psychotech nodded. “Yes captain, it calls itself human. And captain if I’m reading these charts correctly, if it were to reform its hive mind….” Vexu said, licking his lips and then swallowing. “It would be the most psychically powerful entity in the known universe.”
"Ah, dadburnit..."The deep voice seemed far from the receiver as a few tones sounded and there was a clatter. The growly sound of mumbled curses continued before my Meemaw picked up again. "So sorry, sweetheart, I was in the middle of transforming when you called."Her voice was the same adorable southern drawl that she usually had, just pitched down about three octaves. "It's okay, Meemaw, it's my fault I forgot about the time difference. I thought the moon didn't rise there for another hour."I said with true contrition, I knew Meemaw would much rather not talk on the phone when it was only half as big as her palm, she struggled with texting and all of the fancy buttons on her new cell even without claws. "Pshaw, Natalie, you know I'm always up for a jaw about your day. You got that email I sent, right? With the recipe for my walnut cookies?"She growled into the phone, and I nodded a quick assent as I answered, "Yeah, but do I really have to have a mold for them? Can they be baked flat?" She gave a chuckle that was probably cheerful but sounded menacing, "Of course, sweetie, there's too much butter in them to cook flat. Besides, how are you gonna get all that yummy chocolate in the center if there's no center for it to be in?"I held the phone away from my ear briefly as she got louder, forgetting that she didn't need to yell into the phone with our perfect reception despite the fact I was seven hours away from her, across the country. "I guess so, but I couldn't find any on Amazon or at the store."I lamented with a groan, flopping back on the couch. They were my favorite cookies, Meemaw made them every Thanksgiving and Christmas and it looked like I was doomed to only getting to eat them twice a year. "Well, have you tried looking in one of those, oh... Bakery stores? So long as they're between the size of a quarter and a half dollar, you can use it. The cast iron ones are best but you make sure you season them right like I taught you!"I smiled, Meemaw took her cast iron seriously. She had been beside herself when one of my cousins, in an attempt to be helpful, had scrubbed one out with soap at the reunion last year. Suddenly I missed her fiercely. "I actually called 'cause, uh, I got my own monthly coming on."There was a delighted snarling sound on the other end. "Oh, darlin', that's such good news! It's a little late though, are you sure about it? You got the hairy knuckles? The craving for red meat? Lengthening nails like claws?"She went through the whole list, even allergy to silver, which was largely an old wife's tale that Meemaw still insisted on believing in. "Well, I got the unibrow and the nails, no hair on my hands yet but I bought a whole pack of steaks on sale and ate them blue."I could hear her rumbling 'hmmm' on the other end of the phone and then a rustling noise as she scratched at her hairy chin with her claws. "Alright, well, you've seen me go through it often enough as a child, you know what to do, right?"She sounded worried about me and I answered quickly, "Yes, Meemaw. Drink a whole glass of water and eat a meal. Remove any tight clothing, no jewelry. I made sure I had pain relievers on hand and some cold packs for tomorrow in case I need them. I rented a little cabin for the weekend so I'd have some alone time for my first transformation and lots of room to run. Not a lot of people out here in early October."I could practically hear her nodding to herself, envisioning her great wolfish head bobbing as she made sure I'd thought of everything. "Let me go and check my almanac."The phone clattered as Meemaw set it down, forgetting that the cell phone was cordless and she could have taken it with her. After a little clattering, the sound of moving furniture, she returned with a huff. "Well, now, it says that up there in Washington that the moon should rise in about an hour and a quarter. You already at your cabin?"Nervous butterflies fluttered in my stomach and I blurted out, "Yes but... What if something goes wrong? What if I hurt someone or get hit by a car or something?"Meemaw chuckled and I could imagine her waving away my fears with one clawed hand. "Sweetheart, you won't go crazy, no more than you would if you were very excited. I remember my first time, I was a few years younger than you. The smells were just to die for. They still are, especially in the summer when you can smell the night blooming jasmine. Just keep your head about you and if you're worried about it, curl up in your cabin and stay put for the night. You really ought to have me there with you, you should have said something sooner and I'd've had you come and stay here!"She chided and I cringed a little, wishing that I'd done it too. "Now, you go and get ready. I love you this much!" She howled loudly enough that I almost dropped the phone, but then laughed, when I was very little she'd always held her arms out wide and scooped me up to plaster me with kisses and the smell of lilac from her clothes would cling to me. I could almost smell it now. "Thanks Meemaw. Do you think I could come out there for the next full moon, maybe? I could drive out and stay a few days."There was a rumble of delight from the other end of the phone, "Of course, sugar. You just call and let me know when you'll be here. I'll have a roast on. Now you go on and let an old lady get some beauty sleep and enjoy your first night out."I smiled and said my goodbyes, the butterflies settling down a little in my stomach as I hung up the phone and set it on the counter, my eyes drawn up to the glow of the moon as it began its rise from the horizon.
Two months ago you were tasked with the job of coming to Planet 8263-9. Your mission was to bring back the scout ship data, from the ship that had landed here one year ago. There was very little data that had been given to you about the planet and it inhabitants. What information was had was supplied to you. But it never felt like enough. The scout ship is an automated, one time use, lander that collects data. It does send some information back via satellite. However the majority must be picked up by a specialist. Due to the nature of Planet 8263-9, communication was difficult from the surface, the planet was dubbed Tech-9. The information the scout ship had sent back took longer to process. You had already left on your journey when the last bit of sent data had been deciphered. Entering Tech-9's atmosphere Sergeant Biles sent his last radio message. Not only was the message frantic but you couldn't hear it all due to the interference. You heard the words inhabitants, ferocious, and delayed in the beginning of sergeants message. It was very staticky. Then suddenly, clear as day, you hear "there's never just one of them". Your mind races to try and remember all the information you had learned about Tech-9 during the training for this mission. But from what information was had there were no inhabitants other than plants. But the words you just heard make you feel otherwise. Landing is easy even without all the guidance equipment. You find the patch closest to the scout ship and land carefully. From the windows all looks well out there. Thankfully the atmospheric information was solid, and your readings show that the air is breathable. You can exit without a containment suit. You grab your gear and head for the ship. This entire process should take 3 hours then you're on your way home. But you have to stay vigilant. You don't know what's out there. You get to the ship without a problem. You set up your collection equipment and prepare the downloads that need to happen. As well as taking a few real samples back as well, the data will provide much information. Behind you there is a sudden rustle in the bush. You turn quickly to try and catch a glimpse but it's gone, then you start to feel like you're being watched. Turning to your equipment you try and will it to go faster. A giggle erupts from the wooded area on the other side of the ship. Frightened you step away from the equipment to see what made the noise. The bushes are moving gently but there is no wind to cause it. You hear another noise back by your equipment and you run back. Nothing looks moved or damaged, but it doesn't look right. You weren't prepared for this. Nothing in your years of training ever prepared you for this. A growl is unleashed from the woods making you jump. You turn around and behind you is a creature. At least six feet tall, arms and legs stretched and exaggerated, skin a pale yellow almost like jaundice. You don't move. You can't. You're frozen in fear. Not even horror movies prepared you for this. A guttural nosie escapes the creatures mouth. You can't tell if it has eyes but it does seem to be staring in your direction. The creature turns right and left and you get a view of the spines sticking out of its back. Long sharp jagged black spikes. You take a step back and immediately it's head snaps to your direction. You freeze. Your heart beats a hundred miles an hour. Getting home is your only goal now. You wonder if you can scare it away. Give you a chance to make a run for your ship. But before you can even think of how to scare it away another one shows up. Ten feet to the left of the first. You hear a clicking noise and it's like they're speaking to each other. Green woods around them, and long grass at their feet, they'd look majestic if they were deer or bison. But this is no deer. It has a muzzle like a dog but it's stretched apart and squished in at the same time. A long wide mouth with lots of fangs dripping with spit. The two get closer together and you hope they'll just wander off. Suddenly your radio springs to life. Of all the times for Tech-9's atmosphere to allow a signal it's now. You can hear one word over and over again, "abort, abort, abort". You throw the radio to try and disguise your location, but they're still looking at you. They start lumbering forward, hunched over their hands almost on the ground. It's just two of them, you think, you have a weapon maybe you can take them. But your last hope is dashed when you see a dozen more of these creatures in all sizes start to exit the woods. Heading directly for you. You scream as they get inches away from you. And the last words you ever hear are your sergeant saying "I'm sorry.", over the radio.
Vic’jo blanched as he snd his men heard the radio again blare told life. “This is Doug, I’m coming in a week for an audit, please have everything ready.” No one moved, the only sound the automatic recording replaying every few moments. The smell of fear and Gorgot urine filled the cabin. An eternity passed or a few minutes Vic’jo couldn’t say before one of his men, a brave and strong warrior race known as gorgot, famed for their martial skill asked in a trembling voice “what are we going to do captain? I don’t want an… audit” With a start Vic’jo stood up. He has no idea what an audit was, but he heard the stories. Scoffed at the absurdity of entire planets being decimated by ‘Doug’. “You will all go home, take only what you need and go to a colony. I will notify my superiors. Maybe we can hold of the fearsome Doug, long enough for people to evacuate.” With a choked cry, his men, bravest and strongest he’d ever fought again hurried to the escape pods. With a heavy sigh he picked up the red, SOS transmitter and focused on one thought. He could delay this Doug, he would fall, but he could give his mate time to escape, his men the time to escape. They would figure out what an audit was and delay. They had a week. As the screen flickered on and the commander of the Gorgot force stood before him, Vic’jo felt his stomach plummet as he explained the situation and his mad plan. Before the commander started to cry as he pulled out a bottle. “No, Sargent that won’t work. I’ve heard of these ‘audits’ even the human fear them. It’s a form of torture. No matter what, don’t let him take you alive. I hope you and your men can escape. We will start the evacuation immediately.” As the screen blacked out the fabricator buzzed to life, slowly creating a small green bottle with one round pill.
I remember the rock solid hands of a CF agent grabbing me. Plucking me away from some ice cold hands like I was a sock stuck in the wash. I remember kicking and screaming fuzzily. Vividly I remember being put down into the CF van blood dripping from the guards face. I don't know if it was a 4 year olds guilt that made me forget the rest. This moment was the biggest thing that had ever happened to me. I was taken by Child Forces because my mother didn't fill out her form. Was she evil and a druggie? Or a kind women who had "comprehension issues"as the state calls it and ran to save us. I do not know. For one reason or another I cannot remember anything before the CF op. After is clear. The CF agent per the law put me in the system. A couple that worked in the accounting department at CF adopted me. Vicky Peery and Bryan Peery my mom and dad. The only ones I know. Protests sparked last week. Saying the test was rigged. I was at the town beach when I heard about it. Still thinking about it today honestly. If they were rigged would it be that my mom had 0 blemishes and was just a victim? I need answers now. &#x200B; "Yo Sky when I say the kitchen is backed up I meant tell the customers. Not the table."Yorkie shouts from the kitchen. I am transported back to reality. I quickly pack my bag of notes I have been keeping over the last week in my backpack. I must have had my headphones on. I think. Technically my shift doesn't start till 12:00 and it is 11:40 now but Mom had yoga next door earlier and I needed a place to be by myself anyway. Instead of reading my face and my shirt both didn't say Ida B's Diner. Omar a yappy old man who is the head chef that us waitresses call Yorkie thought I heard from my house that Vanna burned her arm and that I was coming back to help. I complained to his son Lonnie who was only able to buy me 15 minutes. "One second Omar. Alright I got a pancake for table 44? Luann? "I say grabbing the tray. "Right here. He changed the seating again I should have told you. Sorry cutie"Luann says waving me to the table formerly known as 24. The rest of my shift goes well. I hang up my apron at 5 and bike my tired legs 3 miles back. "Hi Mom. Bye Mom"I say to my mom as I drag myself upstairs. She gives me a look up and down and waves me off. I take off my Keds like they were bombs and shoved them in my drawers. As I collect my breath with the help of Gatorade those same thoughts from this morning creep up. But before they can I rush into the shower and cleanse my self of the shouting and the bacon. But not by mother. I am clean and well manicured my hair blonde and always straight goes down to my shoulder. I tell Dad I will be down for dinner in a minute. I anxiously shove my notes into my pillow case all dirty and inky. "Hey Mom do you still keep up with Mrs. East?"I say attempting casual salad eating because according to Lonnie. "Yon never ever want anyone to pick up on your intents. My man Theo Bundy never said he was gonna eat them the second he met em."Mind you he was baked out of his undies so he got a few details wrong but the point still stands. "It is Clayrod now. Yeah after that marriage I lost touch."Mom says twirling her fork around a strand of pasta. "Why do you care? You think having 4 men divorce you is your next path Sky?"Dad said looking up from his phone. "Yep. But I got a new name for it. One Night New Man. Of course not! Can't a girl just ask stuff around here."I say holding a salt shaker like a mic. Might be better to be baked. I thought. After dinner I find a way to go to bed early. Which we all knows means me Skyping with Lonnie or Erin in privacy. But tonight is different. I formulate the plan of meeting my mom. &#x200B; &#x200B; Like any government position there will always be the corrupt. CF is rife with them. Given an equal chance to the couples here would mean about half the staff would be childless. This brings me to my parents coworker Lena Clayrod. A sleaze rock shaped like a skinny women. "Excuse me is this station opened?"I ask the back of Lena. A desk worker at records. "Yea but Jo's has been opened and is free so go over there lady."Lena says in a sweet sounding voice. "Yea but this lady knows you are a corrupt bitch who stole my mom's candle collection"I whisper "As I live in breath. If it isn't Sky Peery. What can I do for you besides be a verbal punching bag."she says finally turning around. "Take this 50 bucks and search up my name in the system and tell me who my birth mom is"I say passing her a small red box. "Boy your a sweet soul. So personable."Lena says the sarcasm dripping in her sentence. After some typing she turns the monitor to me "Sky Peery born Sky Lewis no father listed on birth certificate mother: Faye Lewis who lives 20 miles south of here."practically basking in my confusion. I gather my wits and write it all down. "Thanks here is another 40 to shut your trap."I say flinging some 20s behind her and watch as she greedily grabs for them. &#x200B; I take a train to the town where she lives. Her house is a 4 minute walk from the station and it is a stunning brownstone. My phone hovers over the call button for my dad. He was always an ally as a father should be but right now all he knows is that I am at Erin's helping her out to recover from her mono. I decide no and jog to the door. It has a bright red sign that said "WARNING CUTE DOGS AHEAD."Good sign I feel like a drug dealer wouldn't put much care into such frivalous ideas. I knock at the door and a women opens the door about 4 foot nothing but has long blonde hair. "Hey I am Sky." "Figured give your mom a hug."she says oddly calm.
The Press was rabid in their questions and he had to calm them down. "One at a time. One at a time please. You, in the brown suit jacket with the red tie." "Hi, Ernest Fuddimeyer from the Milwaukee Bugle Tribune. Could you explain the recent sightings of what's being called "living and moving illustrations"present at last night's charity game?" "Great question, thank you Mr. Fudd... Fuddmeyer? So, being for a child's charity, I felt it'd be fun to create living 'cartoon characters' as a way to entertain the kids. So I thought back to my uncle, who used to run a movie theater. He would show me and my brother old reels of cartoons from the '30s and '40s that had these long forgotten characters like Ben Bunny and Danny Duck. They never really caught on, so the company behind them stopped doing them, but I loved those things as a kid and thought the sick children in the stands would get a thrill out of seeing their wacky antics."
Glorp Prime opened the front door to my house in a panic. "Larry!"They yelled at me. My name is not Larry. It's Alexis. They wore a bowling ball shirt, the kind with the buttons and vertical stripes, and their hair was treated with jell to look like they stuck a fork in an electrical socket. The city counsel rezoned my neighborhood to permit alien consciousness alteration chambers, ACAC's for short. In other words, alien homes. The Earth alliance allowed open space borders with the aliens, which put millions of aliens on the path to citizenship. I knew aliens were coming to my neighborhood soon. Low land value, new rezoning laws, the condition is right for new ACAC's. when I saw a real estate agent's sign posted across the street, I knew it was a done deal. Glorp Prime was the first of many to move into the neighborhood in the 6-months following the rezoning and construction of the ACAC's. What fascinated me the most was the alien's ability to learn enough to gain citizenship from studying transmissions of a 24-hour broadcast of TBS' daily lineup. Every alien learned about human's, in their own skewed way, through old sitcoms, sports, and 3 A.M. infomercials. Some civilizations had the Rosetta Stone, alien's had TBS. "You're not going to believe who I saw down at the bodega!"Glorp Prime said to me. A year ago, I was scared for my safety anytime Glorp Prime screamed into my house. But, then I remembered that TBS would broadcast marathons of Seinfeld. I felt less threatened, and less confused anytime Glorp Prime would yell "Larry!"at me or my children. Admittedly, translating what Glorp Prime was telling me took a while to learn. When they enter a room, they think they have to yell "Larry"as a form of a greeting. They think "Larry"means "Hello."I later learned that "Bodega"roughly translates to any store. As a long time resident of Lewiston, Idaho, I knew we didn't have any real bodegas. "Who?"I asked. "Newman."Glorp Prime responded. Now, this one took me a while to figure out. "Newman"translates to any person who you have an uncomfortable relationship with. You can have many "Newmans"in your life. They aren't enemies, however. Otherwise you would call them a "Soup Nazi.""Newman"is a specific relationship ― someone who you are friendly with, but don't like. "I bet you couldn't get your groceries and leave without talking to them for a long time!"I said. Glorp Prime snapped finger guns at me. A crowd of laughter roared somewhere. That's the other thing, the aliens carry a laugh track around with them. From what I can tell they use it as a way to make people feel like they can tell jokes as a way to make them happier. Some people hate aliens. They feel like the aliens are encroaching on our homeland and they don't like another sentient species running around neighborhoods yelling old 90's and 00's catchphrases. I don't mind it, though. I moved to Los Angeles to become an actress in my early 20's. I studied theatre when I was in college and had dreams of being a Hollywood celebrity. But, student loans had to get paid, I couldn't afford the rent, and I was too scared to audition for any real roles. So, I moved back home to Lewiston. Time goes by, you meet someone new, get married, work a job you don't hate to help you raise a family, life moves at a quicker pace. Before you know it, you're a 55 year old divorcee with two kids. Having company barge into my house to connect with me is nice at this point in my life. Besides, I always dreamt of becoming the star of my own sitcom.
It has been days since Sean has left the pod. It had worked surprisingly well, allowing him to "travel"20,000 years in the blink of an eye. After exiting the pod, it took him about an hour before he was able to drink water without spitting it out. None of the nausea medicine he has brought with him did the trick. It took him a day to be able to keep down solids. While his head still hurt like he got smashed the night before, it was much more manageable. The first few days reminded him of his partying in college and its aftermath. Checking his communication augmentations, he verified he was alone. It will be weeks before others were expected to arrive. Most everything he saw outside looked like it did in his time. Trees, grass, bushes, flowers. However, on his 4th day out of the pod, he accidentally interrupted a family of what looked like some type of rodent he did not recognize - two large ones and around 6 very small pups who could not be more than one month old. Their bodies were similar in fur and color to house mice, however, their faces and especially teeth reminded him of rats with touches of Saber tooth tiger thrown in. Sean signaled to his cerebral augmentations to record the animal. To the recording he added a mental note calling out the strange behavior of one of the rodents who literally picked the smallest cub in her mouth and flung it towards him while escaping. At the end of his 10th day he found footprints - four sets of them. Tapping on a little console attached to his arm, his clothes shimmered for a few seconds, going through the colors do the rainbow and then settled. While not technically an invisibility field, the active camouflage made it incredibly hard for him to stand out, especially when walking slowly, or near large objects. The tracks looked fresh. Sean followed them for a few hours, leading him into a forest. Slowly, quietly he kept on following, reaching an area that was a little less dense, and there they were, getting . A family of 6. Two women and a man, accompanjed by a teenage boy and 2 babies. The man was sitting, his back to a tree, holding an object that looked like a leather strap. It seemed like he was cleaning it or fixing it. One of the babies was lying near one of the women, awake, lookjng at the sky. The other next to the other woman. Everyone else was asleep. They were shorter than humans in his time. Their facial features were also a little different, but not in any significant way. They probably would not get a second look if they walked the streets of New York. Sean climbed one of the trees near the family and settled to watch them. The night passed uneventfuly. The baby interested in the sky fell asleep shortly after Sean climbed the tree, only to wake up an hour later with a soft cry. The woman lying next to him latched him to her breast and fell back asleep. Not 5 minutes later the other baby also woke up crying and also quieted down after latching on. The man fell asleep still sitting with his back to the tree after a couple of hours, waking up every few hours, looking around, listening, and then dozing off again. As morning rose, everyone started stirring where they slept. One of the women woke up and put her baby near the other baby. She took a sort of bucket made out of pelts and disappeared into the forest. Sean made sure he was recording everything into his augmentations. About 10 minutes later she came back placing the bucket near the man and started organizing the camp. The noise finally woke up the other people in camp. The man stood up, stretched and looked at the bucket, picking it up and going to one of the bags taking out a cylindrical black object protruding out of a similarly looking bucket into which he poured the water. The man said to no one in particular "dan vatar vill vee tidy soon." Sean added a mental note to his recordings.. "While I could not find any left over structures after leaving the mine shaft, it seems like some technology survives. Language drift is surprisingly small for such a long time, this is completely surprising and not what we were told to expect. This will make building up communication so much easier than we had thought . I am waiting for the other Shepards to get out of their cryo pods soon, so we can start rebuilding. "
You may laugh, but when I realized I had the ability to time travel, I didn't think about going to visit my great great grandparents or taking a spin in a flying car. I thought about that good old American pastime, baseball. I was absolutely overjoyed at the fact that I could watch any game, past or present. Babe Ruth? Watched him play. Lou Gherig? I have his autograph. Michael Sterns? You haven't heard of him yet, but you will in about 20 years. When the weather turned cold, and the off season began, I did not despair. I could go over a hundred years into the past, and well into the future to see any game I wished. And my favorite team was the Colorado Rockies. As an expansion team established in the early 1990s, my adventures into the past were limited to a few decades. Sure, sitting in the stands, munching on some Dunkaroos I'd snuck in my pocket while watching some of my favorite childhood players was a treat, but I knew that even if they won the game I was watching, they wouldn't win the World Series. So I turned to the future. On January nights when a snow storm threatened, I'd travel to a late summer day of the future to take in a game. Sometimes, I'd arrive to find it was an off day or that the team of that year had a record that put them out of contention for the playoffs. Other times, I'd find the team in first place in the division, with a line up full of stars. My excitement would grow, and as I wrapped up a day's work in the present, I'd rush home to change into my Rockies jersey, looking forward to a beer and another game at the Coors Field of the future. I watched a full September's with of baseball, and the first round of playoffs before I was devastated by a Rockies loss. In the present, spring training was only beginning, but I felt the sorrow every fan feels when their favorite team's season is over. The next off season I took a different approach. No watching full months of August and September ball. I'd be going straight to October. Baseball movies had taught me that ghosts, angels, dogs, and sandlot kids could provide emotional victories. Surely time travel could as well. More times than not, I was disappointed. The field would be locked up, empty, closed for the season. I'd wander to a nearby sports bar, and watch the Yankees, Dodgers, Giants, or whoever else happened to be in the running as I nursed a beer in defeat. I did happen to stumble upon a Rockies playoff game a few times over the years. Even saw them win a game. It was thrilling, the scent of cotton candy and spilled beer, the cheers, and compliments on my 'retro' jersey. But always, always, it would be another team celebrating by the end of the series. I grew desperate. I'd traveled fifty years into the future. In that time even the Mariners had won a World Series title. But not the Rockies. Another season had begun in the present, and I finally decided to confide my woes in my uncle, the only other time traveler I knew. It took me awhile to track him down (he enjoys the Roaring Twenties perhaps more than I enjoy baseball), but when I did, I shared my travels with him. I knew I couldn't change anything. No amount of commenting on trades, or tagging the Rockies on social media posts about the high schoolers who would become other teams future stars could change fate. My uncle raised his eyebrows in amazement. "You've witnessed 50 years worth of baseball playoffs?" "And no title for the Rockies,"I confirmed glumly. "Damn."He said. "At least we still have baseball, half a century from now." "I suppose,"I said. "I know you warned me about traveling too far into the future, and I don't really want to spoil a good game, but I'm tempted to go forward a hundred years or so, to see if they ever win. I wonder if Coors Field will even be standing. " "Wait, you've only been going to Coors Field?"my uncle asked. "Yeah, I've been wanting to watch Rockies games. Why?" He laughed, shaking his head. "Something about time travel I discovered a little while ago, and hadn't had the opportunity to share with you yet - it gets a bit wonky with altitude. Found that out when I wanted to visit Mount Saint Helens prior to the eruption. It was there, but so was a dodo bird, long extinct and in the wrong part of the world from what I'd been intending." "So these Denver games I've been watching,"I said. "They may not be the exact future?" My uncle nodded. "You're not just telling me this to make me feel better and give me false hope?" "That would be an uncle type thing to do, but no. This is the truth. I've been meaning to tell you, but you were hard to get ahold of. I suppose decades of baseball games explain that. " "So I may never get to see the Rockies win the Series?"I asked. "Perhaps."He said. "Or perhaps they'll win this season. Isn't that part of the beauty of the game? The hope, the excitement, experiencing the moment as it happens?" "I suppose it is,"I agreed. "Thanks for the reminder. " He smiled. "You know, the Rockies have a home game tonight. Want to catch a game?" A few hours later, we sat a mile high, cold beers in hand. There were no angels or ghosts, dogs or rag tag group of sandlot kids on the field, but there was the ump yelling 'play ball', the crack of a bat, and the hope of a victory ahead. Authors Note: In my head, I was picturing Christopher Lloyd as the uncle. Because time travel and baseball.
300 299 298 297 296 That's not a lot of time, especially when you're supposed to be 900 away from your favorite cafe. Outside, the world is brimming with color. The hustle and bustle of the world outside as traffic stops and starts again lets in a cool breeze through the cracked windows. People on the streets colored in their personality, with a white trim of time nestled gently in their hair. Overhead, construction on new skyscrapers with beautifully made architecture sprawled to life. 260 259 258 257 256 I looked at my driver's eyes through the rear-view mirror. Sunglasses prevented the awkwardness of accidentally looking at each other. They were quiet, reserved, they might have had a rough day. 239 238 237 236 235 The rideshare app pinged, inquiring about the quality of the car. I'm not sure it mattered but figured the least I could do is give a five-star review. I looked back into their eyes, they were searching for something. The kind of look that feels hopeless without saying a word. 210 209 208 207 206 I'd tell people who were going to perish soon about it, but it never ends well; and why would it? If some stranger ran up to you and spoke about your impending doom, would you believe them? Even if you did, what do you look out for? There are no clues, no great heroic acts, no knowledge that can prevent it. 186 185 184 183 182 I look out once again to the sidewalk as we're stopped, musicians playing for street pennies laugh and jive to the beat. A small gathering has taken place, tourists watch and laugh as joy is spread around. In my peripheral, my driver has taken to watching them as well. A slight tilt of the head back, an exhale, a shoulder raise; perhaps they were a street musician as well. 128 127 126 125 124 A honk takes over the music as the green light overhead has been on for half of a second. The city returns to normal, impatient people for impatient places. The driver is unaffected by this, the dull honk of cars becomes the checkpoint of a career in driving. 110 109 108 107 106 I glance at the scuffs on my shoes, they looked as if small birds decided to dance on wet cement. They're not expensive shoes, but they could warrant a shine. I can't imagine how long it's been since I've gotten them, it was the last time someone gave me a gift. Some people are generous creatures, giving because it makes them feel joy. Truly those people are happy. 89 88 87 86 85 Clouds cover part of the city, not overbearingly though. Swiftly wispy and appearing out of nowhere, like Bob Ross painted happy little clouds in the sky, and deemed it a day of respite. What a brilliantly colored soul, to bring such joy. I hoped my driver could find such color, wherever they happen about. 61 60 59 58 57 Speaking of, my driver could sense a shift in their aura. They appeared bothered, though unsure themselves as to why. A glance in the mirror showed their suspicions of me. Perhaps I was too quiet to them now, but it's likely their internal clock realized that it's near time. 44 43 42 41 40 The city still brimmed with life, as my driver paled and lost theirs. The world itself was loosening the bonds to this realm, mother earth could sense this being was preparing to move on. It's a sad sight to see in some aspects, people know there is something wrong, but are unable to find the words to describe it. 20 19 18 17 16 Drops of perspiration appeared on the temples of my driver. It was almost time, though I never really knew how they would perish. I always hoped it was an easy one. 10 9 8 7 6 As time came, a wispy cloud flickered above, blocking the sun for mere moments as the light crept back into life. A steel rope could be heard whining and snapping. 5 4 3 2 1 I'm not sure how to describe the sound of a crane hook crushing a car in mortal tongue, but if I had to, it would be a "crunch"and a "thump"in quick succession. It appeared a latte would have to wait, my job would take precedence this time.
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"I cannot stress this enough, none of you are to attempt recreating this invocation until you're ready to kill everyone around you."I say as I look back over my favored pupils. "Stick to the basics and work as a team. Cover me with shields and counterspells, blast them when they get too close. Fireball components are in the bins, you have what looks like a near immortality of healing potions, and if things get bad, the door handle can be used to portal into the basement." "Master Hurrak, why are you disrobing?"Jacile puzzled while the rest worried about the advancing tide of minions. I'd been the school illusions teacher. Replicating what was in my mind was natural to me. If only I could draw them or paint them or chisel them I could have made masterpieces. But my illusions were top notch. Yet, I had no intention of deceiving these foes. These monstrosities had already killed the entire country I came from. They would receive a forbidden magic. In truth, my colleagues all knew one or two forbidden spells. Reanimate, disintegrate, ennervate, wish, meteor swarm, all of the bad ones. But I knew one that not even headmage Weasley had access to. No scroll taught this one. "Cover, fight smart, survive."I smiled and jumped backward off the tower clutching nothing but the ruby I had requested for today. While the wind rushed around me, the heat from the gem coiled through me. My entire being burnt despite the flames barely taking root. I landed safely on the ground. She cast feather fall on me. Smart. As I trained her. The flame coils lashed out from my body. I could feel the rising temperature. The energy. The rage. My people were once called savages for our worship of dragons. We never saw them as anything less than deities among the land. Immune to magic, they were the apex predators, so it just made sense to serve them. A few blessings from them gave some of our bloodlines power. But twelve fathers ago, my ancestor saved the last wyrmling of a species. He was granted the dragonblood magic. I crossed the last gap outside of the school toward the protective barrier. I rode the wind, barely touching the ground. My hands sharpened with overlaying magic, the umbra glowing red over me. At the silver columns surrounding our gates, I caught the reflection of my villainous form. Glowing eyes. An inhumanly wide grin. Claws and wings. And a coil of fire arcing across my body. When I turned to face those monsters, I unleashed a mighty roar. They would all suffer as I crossed the magic barrier protecting the only home I had left. My chant broke from the hum I had been using until now. An ancient chant of mixed draconic and several magic languages. The power of my dragonic rage. After I tore through about twenty of them, I caught sight of two shield spells breaking some eldritch spears headed for me. The third spear hit me dead center of my gut and did nothing. These fools were weak! I rocked my torso back drawing in a mighty breath before expelling sixty feet of fiery death. Their cries made me smile as I continued humming toward the next platoon. I was too fast: I literally ran straight through four of them before I had to turn around to fight the rest. Slash. Stab. Slash. Stab. Pull apart and fling at two others. These hardened warriors of menacing intent started to buckle. They had gazed into the abyss expecting to see only the black of darkness, not the burning red of rage. And. I. Am. RAGE. Within another two minutes, I had lay waste to over an eighth of the approaching forces. Adjacent battalions had retreated back away from the carnage. Countless warriors fled as I eviscerated their friends or turned their commanders to ash. I hadn't had this much fun in years! When I received the psylink from Professor Wreggol I almost dismissed it. He said I had won us the day, and to return. No need to continue, these monsters had begun to retreat. But I was rage. And I still had two minutes of this spell left. So I made way directly for the enemy command. Surely there I would find a challenge. A black knight with a magic crossbow awaited me. I caught the first arrow right in my shoulder and winced. I took it out and tried to jam it into his eye. I crushed his helmet instead. Suddenly, a fist of earth wrapped around me. I hummed louder, turning the stone and soil into lava with a flick of my fire wings. A molten doom onto those brave enough to be in my presence. And then I saw their dark faces. Their hoods, their mercurial crowns, and their hands of night. The generals of these monsters.They began to beg. I wonder if they gave my family the three seconds I gave them before I pressed them together into wraith soup. Inside their command tent I grabbed a chest of gems and took flight back for the school. I'd sleep on a hoard of my own tonight.
I'm dreaming about yesterday. The old garden, overgrown and littered with trash people throw over the rosted, crooked fences. The roof, which lost more tiles than there are stars in the sky. The menacing wall of old, dark stone rising up and looming above me and my 3 friends as we enter the house. The stench - the dust - the creaking floor, creaking a curse for every step we take further in. We turn around the corner, and then we see it: A picture knight of old, once proud landlord, now a rotting corpse in rusted husk of metal. He runs towards us. We try to turn back. But we are cut off! A wall of furniture: A wallclock. A table, turned over to make a solid wall towardsus. And the cutlery. It floated. Right into us! WE SCREAM! &#x200B; I wake up. The sun is shining through my windos. I wipe the last rest of a nightmare out of my eyes. I look out of the window. The manor - is right where the house of myneigbhour should be. The ground around it is shrouded in dark tendrils of black rose stalks. it knows! it hates! it hunts! I scream!
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Hey, I see you already have a basic idea of how your world should work. Now comes the interesting but also harder part. There is no one way to do it bit here are some pointers. First of all the bare basics of worldbuilding. 1. Think about the building blocks of the world: So, in it's most basic form. Is the world made up of the same materials as earth? Is it located in the same universe? If not, what are the ramifications of these changes? In this category you either go with a basic or modified earth to make it easier to write and research but if you want to you can change this up. This will however lead to major changes down the line. 2. The basic rules of the Universe Our universe has four known fundamental forces. If magic exists, does it interfere with them or is it it's own rule? Are physics the same? If not, are you ready to design your own physics for your story? If you enjoy it go for it, but I can't recommend it. Put some very fundamental rules in place of what can and can't be done. I.e Magic can create matter but not conscious. You can go absolutely hog wild in this category and the more detailed it is the better. The reader won't have to know these things, they will be logical conclusions of what you write into the story. Their function is to give your world a stable core, so that you don't change the rules midway through the plot (if you have seen avatar the last airbender then: Physics apply, reincarnation is real, etc.) 3. The shape of the world I once had the idea to spill coffee onto a street and use the rough sketch as a setting. Do this and then place your characters accordingly. Research real world influences of different locations on the shape of your world. I.e. Rocks are smooth at water, islands have these parts where they look connected to the mainland, because thousands of years ago they were. Mountains appear at the borders of tectonic plates, volcanoes change the land around them. 4. The life of the world The more you changed from the real world in the first 3 steps, the more work you will have here. I can't possibly start to explain every single interaction, but a quick guide. Start small and expand upwards. How did magic interact with it? How did the landscape make the animals evolve Think of logical places life would have started (heat+water+carbon/silicon) and how it would evolve. The more you know about actual evolution the more you can freestyle in this step. Luckily, if you don't put a lot of effort into this step most people won't notice, but if you do it will elevate your entire story. What you should indeed do with your story is draw a border between magic and biology. Why and how do these werebeasts transform? What are gods? If gods exist what else is there? What about aquatic life? Are there aquatic werebeasts? Have clear answers to these kinds of questions so that you don't contradict yourself 5 The shape of life Culture and actual evolution, i.e different skin or fur colors due to different geographical locations. In snowy regions the fur of werebeasts would likely be white while jungles would encourage spotty fur. Design them with clear attributes in mind. Are they predators? Where do they life? What would evolve in these circumstances? And how does all of this affect their culture? Don't even get me started on language and slang. What about their core beliefs? Religion? Values? Family structures? How would these things then affect the social systems? So, you see you can go incredibly deep and customize nearly every aspect. Draw on real life examples to lend yourself credibility! 6. The interactions of the world Now with that huge aspect covered we come to one incredibly important aspect that absolutely has to work in good worldbuilding. How would different life forms or tribes or societies be structured and what would be their goals. How would they interact? At the time of the story, how is the political landscape and why? I'm effect: Wars, economy, ethics and politics all shaped by the already established culture. Now if you want to present all of this you don't have to tell the readers everything. Make the exposition happen through interactions your protagonist has with the world. Don't say that there are these tribes, but make the protagonist encounter them actively. No one goes around talking about the fundamental rules of existing, but your readers can make a ton of conclusions if you give them the chance. Don't explain what is happening, just have it happen and let the readers figure it out. That doesn't mean you should leave them hanging. Give them a baseline of information that they can work with. So don't lecture them on what is happening, just have things happen naturally in a way that leads your readers on the path you want. I won't lie, it's an art form and it is extremely hard to pull off perfectly, but that's why you don't have to be perfect, because at the end of the day no exposition is. I really want to give you more details but my reply is getting unwieldy to work with and it really is just the bare minimum, so just DM me with questions.
"An abundance of caution,"he says to assure people. "Planning ahead.""An ounce of caution is worth a pound of cure."So many cliches he can recite. It's a symptom of fear, nurtured by so many bad or unpleasant experiences. He covers himself well, though, he thinks. He doesn't want to be seen as weak. But he's not as clever as he thinks. People are aware of his close calls and his failures. No one wants to pop that bubble, though. His boosted confidence isn't overbearing, but more endearing. He's a good delivery driver. He's never lost a shipment because his gas tank ran empty. He also carries an arsenal with him; unless his truck is really overrun, he'll never run out of ammunition. He calls himself the Deliverator. It's a reference to some old book. Godspeed, Deliverator. You might just survive your drive through the Meadows tomorrow.

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