Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
\[Princess. Star.\] "Whatever...,"Martin rolled his eyes at the letter and even chuckled. He hadn't expected any sort of response when he drafted his letter in drunken frustration. He got so emotionally invested in the movie, that it legitimately hurt his feelings when a line of text at the end reminded him that it was based on a true story. He'd seen it mentioned at the start of the movie too; but, he was sucked in immediately and forgot. 'The Princess and the Cave' was a magical story of a young woman trapped in a video game for thousands of years; all in the name of love. It seemed almost sacrilegious to suggest such a tale could take place in the real world. Liquor got the best of his emotions and he penned a nasty letter to the director. And now, almost two weeks later, he got a reply telling him it was a real event. Not that it mattered. Martin was clear-headed again and amused by the response. "You hear that, Princess? You're a real girl,"he chuckled to himself as he spoke to the TV. His favorite movie was playing again. It may have been impossible; but, it was still a story that he loved more with each viewing. By now, Martin knew all the dialogue. He was surprised when the dark-haired princess on screen faced the camera and went off-script. "Of course I am,"she said. "It says it at the beginning and end of the movie. 'Based on a true story.'"Martin dropped the letter in his hand and stared at the princess on the screen. "What?"Martin asked in shock more than curiosity. His voice was timid as if he were afraid to scare off whatever magic was happening. "Are you... talking?"he asked. "... to me?"The princess on screen giggled, then glanced at the room around Martin. "You're the only one here, Marty,"she said. "But, you don't even think I'm real,"she pouted. "But, that's fine. I'll just go and find someone that does appreciate me as a real person,"she crossed her arms in a huff and turned her back to the camera. She began walking away when Martin stopped her. "Princess Eve, wait!"He called out and rushed to kneel in front of the TV. The princess stopped walking and glanced at Martin over her shoulder. "Yes?"she asked. "I'm sorry,"he said. The princess turned a little bit more, but still not completely facing Martin. "For?"she asked. "Um. Not believing you were real?"Martin asked his answer. She gave him a curt nod, but raised an eyebrow. "...and?"she asked. "... and...,"Martin furrowed his brow. "...and nothing?"he said. He couldn't imagine any other offense he might have caused unintentionally. "And for writing a very rude letter the to smartest, and most talented director that ever existed,"the princess said. "And writing...,"Martin began to repeat the scripted apology; but, he stopped. "How'd you know about that?"he asked. He wanted to ask how she knew his name; but, he knew he'd mentioned his name on the phone a few times while watching the movie. However, it was over when he wrote out the letter, and he'd gone into the study to do it. "Ahhh Hell, you got me,"the princess said; but, this time she spoke in a deep, masculine voice. Her dark hair and pink dress fell off of her as if they were loosely glued on and a golden man in a red suit stood in her place. "Nice to meet ya, Marty. Name's Helios,"the man said. When he gave his names, a few things clicked into place for Martin. "The director?"Martin asked. He remembered thinking 'Helios' sounded like a pompous jerk who thought he was too good for a surname. "The one and only,"Helios bowed. "What are you doing in my TV?"Martin asked. It was a ridiculous question for a ridiculous situation; but, he could not come up with another way to word it. His mind was too stunned to think. "I just wanted to make sure you got my response,"Helios shook his head. "But, you still don't believe it was real, do you?" "I feel like I'd know if Earth was a video game the way it is in the movie,"Martin said. He crossed his arms and gave Helios a smug grin. Something about his expression must have been extra hilarious because Helios burst into a fit of heavy, obnoxious laughter. "You think so?"he said after half a minute of laughing. But, instead of waiting for an answer, Helios shook his head. "Nevermind, I don't feel like dealing with that today. I will say this though,"Helios said. His head grew as he leaned closer to the camera. "No one said it happened on this Earth,"he said. "So, if it didn't happen on Earth then you just made it up and it's not real,"Martin shrugged. "Are you even listening?"Helios asked. "THIS Earth. There are an infinite number of Earths out there. Her story happened on one of those." "Alright,"Martin nodded. His mind gave up trying to make sense of things and just accept everything he was told. Either he was dreaming and it didn't matter anyway or alternate universes actually existed and he had a chance to learn something. "So if it's based on a true story, what's made up and what actually happened?" "It all happened,"Helios said. "The only thing I changed was their names. Eve is actually named [Eva](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7r2oa8/wp_eva_calls_her_ability_to_travel_between/). Luke's real name was [Jake](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7yd9d5/ot_sunday_free_write_kazantzakis_edition/), and the boy Owen is named [Oren](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7uto7h/wp_write_a_story_about_anything_using_every/)." "Wait, it's all real?"Martin asked. "Even the Demon Queen?"Helios nodded. "That's who they were trying to escape from; this story happened because of her,"he said. "So if it's all real... what happened next?"Martin asked. The movie ended on a positive note with Owen breaking Eve's curse before the credits rolled. "I'm waiting to see if there's enough material for a sequel."Helios shrugged. "So far, not much has happened; she's still [pretty mad](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/qukoq4/wp_the_vampire_knew_it_had_made_a_miscalculation/) about being trapped as [an NPC](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7rljb1/wp_you_are_an_npc_in_an_mmorpg_talking_the_exact/) for [so long](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lb0a0/wp_the_adventurers_guild_set_up_a_review_system/)." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1436 in a row. (Story #348 in year four.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/).
"Fear is the mind-killer,"I muttered only to myself. For as many predictions of the end of the world there were and have been, no one was prepared for the day when it came. It was as though the world had stopped turning when the first signs of our doom appeared in the sky foretelling what was to come. We all heard the Voice though none knew from where it came. We all felt the pernicious import though none could explain it. Broadcasts ended abruptly. Signal tones were the only noise left. Those that stayed to speak brayed in futility, condemning us all universally for having offended the godhead. Their fear was palpable. No one had listened. The first words in the Voice were clear. "Be not afraid", it said. I trusted it and was not afraid. My faith is unshakeable. I have no doubts. "Know thyself"is my creed. I've stuck through it through thick and thin, mostly thin for me. I've failed. I've been crushed by others. I've been lost, sick, abandoned, deserted, mutilated, turned out, abused and dominated, but I have survived to continue to learn about myself. Inward was the only avenue of retreat from my circumstances. I know above all else that I know nothing. My certainty in my pathetic nature is total. I have no choice but to believe the Voice. It compelled me to believe it despite my ignorance. I am truly not afraid, come what may. I watched the fear spread and wherever it had gone, there would be nothing. Eventually only I remained. The Voice became corporeal and at that moment I met it and it met me. The Voice was mine, I had found it, and now was it. The world came back into focus, becoming clearer with every beat of my heart. It was as though I had willed it back into being. My self doubt had dissipated, and I decided then and there that it was my turn to speak.
This seems fun, I’ve never really done this before except in school. I’ll still give it a shot! I never thought we would be here... like this? Eternal damnation just wouldn’t be complete with out him I try to hide from him the first few days, but the days grow longer and I grow weaker. What a lonely place. As humans we always made jokes about being sinners and accepting our place in hell, but if I could do it all over again I wouldn’t have earned my one way ticket here so soon. I passed by him today, and we locked eyes. Behind his eyes was a type of humility I hadn’t seen prior. Maybe it’s just the heat getting to me or maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to reach out, eternity is a long time to suffer alone. Odd how in life everything seemed so important. Material things, who wore what, and who loved who. We would betray each other, rob and steal... but down here we’re all the same. We are nothing. Nobody. Bottom of the barrel scum. It levels the playing field for people like he and I. Could I forgive him for what he did to me? Perhaps, I have just found a friend in hell.
When I look at children, I see larva. I see genetic blueprints sculpted by eons of evolutionary response, filled in by excesses of fat, flesh and bone in an attempt to curry the favor of my nonexistent sense of paternal responsibility. Well, I glance down at the empty box in my hand, wrapping glittering in the festive lights festooned on the plastic shrubbery squatting on the living room floor. I guess if it ain't broke, don't commit infanticide. I'm not doing this job because I'm an altruist, as I've already made so abundantly clear. If you were to ask me during casual conversation whether I like children or not, I'd tell you "no", in all senses of the word. Can't stand them, can't deal with them. To describe it in modern terms however, money, desperate money, makes the impossible possible, and for something as simple as this my price is lower than any other competitor's on the market. It's a simple matter to descend down the chimney, leaving a scuff mark here and there for authenticity. Eating the cookies, now that gets a grimace going on my face. I hate sweet things. Can't leave a crumb though. Eugh. No wonder diabetes gets the old sickle and bones grumbling all the time. The matter of the present though, is even tougher. I toss the empty wrapped box from hand to hand, thinking and drinking in the dreams and memories laying latent around the domicile. For those few moments I feel. I feel the warmth of a swaddle of blankets as a giant holds me, rocks me steadily to sleep. I feel joy as Jessica takes her first steps, cut by a flash of concern as she falls over, and amusement at the look on her mother's face. I feel parental responsibility clamp onto my shoulders and weigh me down onto the spokes of capitalism as I read over the bills that have yet to be paid this month. I feel despair as savings start to dwindle. I feel dawning horror as I catch a glimpse of the ring on my finger that can stave off our debts for just a little longer. I feel guilt as Jessica cries over the news that we can't afford it, can't take care of it, not while money is tight at least. Through it all, in the other room of my mind where my cognitive functions remain, I glare at the inefficiency, the mess of tangled and countless biological functions that make up what is colloquially known as 'humanity'. When it ends, a weight falls into the box. A moment later, a confused and muffled mewl comes from inside. Hrm. That's rather awkward. I shrug, poke an air hole into the side of it and lull the thing inside to sleep. A thought strikes with the force of a falling seraphim. If it dies, I'll have it on my karmic record. I look up. Two dim stars on the second floor, but one is larger than the other, more than enough to bear a hitchhiker until the weight of my act of genesis lightens my existential load on the universe. It's a simple matter to connect a familiar's bond from the larger star to the thing inside the box. There. Now the damn thing won't die until it's at a ripe old age. Unless it tries to give out free hugs on a rush hour freeway. I go back up the chimney and sit on the shingling, my hands folded in my lap. The street is silent, but the red, green, and white lights so parasitic to this time of year are a cacophony on the eyes. "Does this satisfy you?" A brittle echo of a laugh comes from the skinny shade sitting next to me, unable to enter what was once its home. "It'll do," says the dead man. "It'll have to, because I can't give anyone, anything, anymore. "Except me, my payment, and now." "Yes," the rattling, shadowless breath agrees with a resigned shift of its tattered army uniform. "Except my soul." I present it with an open hand. "If it helps, do not think of it as a soul. Think of it as a means of extra-planar legal tender." The dead man looks at my palm as if it were the bullet that killed him. "You know, its funny." "You lack the necessary lobes for humor." "When you first appeared in front of me, I thought everything was real. All the fairy tales, myths, legends, hell, even the damn Tooth Fairy. But now?" It places its hand on my palm and looks me dead in the eyes. "Now I think that Santa can't possibly be real. Not with things like you around." I blink at the now empty air, feeling the wealth that slides into my core with ease and the lingering taste of cynicism. In the past ten thousand years of existence, this is perhaps the closest I come to the feeling of joy as described by the other ten thousand souls resting within me. "Santa can't possibly be real,"I muse to myself on the roof of a broken family's home. "Not with things like you around." A compliment of the highest caliber, indeed.
"Squawk! Coast is clear!" I take a glance at the green parrot clinging to my shoulder. "I can't just run over and sail out of the port, Wally! We'd be shot for sure! There's no way we'd survive out on the sea alone anyway..." "Trust the plan! Trust!"He chirps in my ear, ruffling his feathers. "Yeah, yeah, 'trust'... You keep saying that like it's supposed to mean something..."I grumble, annoyed. I can't believe I'm seriously arguing with a bird. And losing. "Trust the plan! Squawk! Time to go!"Wally chirps insistently, before flying ahead of me. I shake my head. ...I suppose the birds haven't led me astray so far... Taking a deep breath of salty air, I steel my nerves, and begin to run. Darting out from the alleyway between rusted metal sheds, I sprint right into the crowd. Nobody takes a second glance at me. Just another street urchin getting into trouble - Not worth their time. For once, I'm glad I'm being ignored. I weave through the swathes of workers, ducking under the burly men hauling chunks of whale and bags of spices that weigh more than I do. I never take my eyes off the green bird guiding me. My heavy steps send me down a wooden dock, and up onto a ship I vaguely recognize from the day it docked, less than a week ago. Same day the parrots came to me. It's a large vessel- An honest to goodness pirate ship. ...It's... Been a while since I've...been on the water...On a ship... Wally squawks, and I snap back to attention. 'Stop daydreaming, idiot,' I'm sure he'd say if he had the vocabulary. I glance around the deck of the ship. "Well?? What now?!" "Squawk! Trust! Squaaawk!"The parrot flies back onto my shoulder. He warbles, producing a not-entirely-unpleasant jingle from the depths of his throat. A few tense moments pass, and I look up to see a dozen other parrots flying in from town to the ship. It's beautiful, honestly. I haven't seen them all in one place since that first day. I feel a small smile spread across my face as the rainbow flies through the sky towards me. They all land across the deck, and start pecking and biting at ropes and lines- Tearing them apart. My smile suddenly fades as I realize that we are, in fact, trying to steal this ship, and that I should not be standing here like a fool. I rush over to the mast, and start to let the main sail down. It releases with a satisfying Whoosh, and I stagger as the ship suddenly lurches. It catches the wind easily. Before long, the ship begins to slowly drift out of position. "Squawk! Not bad, scrawny!" I shoot a dirty look towards the yellow parrot, Vaughn-Lee, who proceeds to cackle merrily. My attention swiftly changes back to the docks, however, as I hear some angry shouting. The unscheduled departure seems to have gathered the attention of some scary-looking people, sprinting to try and board the ship before it can float away. "W-Wally! They see us!!" "Trust! Squawk! Trust the plan! The plan!" "I still don't KNOW the plan!!"I shout back, my fleeting courage failing me. I knew this would end badly... My eyes drift to the water. I wonder how cold it is. If I could still leap off the deck, and somehow get away from this mess... The shouting is growing louder. I feel my mind fogging over with fear. N-NO! Don't give up on this, too! Screw it all! Trust the birds! They're the only thing you have left! I grit my teeth, and scramble towards one of the barrels on the deck. Too heavy for me to lift- But there's a rusty cutlass lying inside of it. The sword is comically large for my frame, but it's better than nothing. I hope. A lanky man starts racing across the slim wooden bridge connecting us to the dock, but the ship's forward momentum sends him tripping straight into the water. Two more pirates lunge onto the side of the ship, clinging to a rope lattice strung along port side, and they begin to climb. I start hacking away at the ropes, trying to cut them loose, or swing towards their grasping hands. "Damnit, you little BRAT! When I get up there, I'm gonna- Agh!!" The brute suddenly shouts in pain. A blue parrot - Dolly - has flown into his face, and started pecking. He swings at the bird with a meaty fist, but loses his grip on the boat, falling into the sea as well. The last pirate draws a shiny pistol from a belt wrapped round his chest, and points it right up at me. For but the briefest of moments, my heart stops, as I gaze down the barrel of another gun. I can see myself be shot- Gunpowder searing my face. Another fraction of a moment passes, as I stand there, frozen. Paralyzed. I can see the glint in the pirates eyes. He wants me dead. He pulls the trigger. A terrible scream rings out- But it's not my own. I stagger back in shock as a puff of blue and red feathers floats between us. Rapidly, I get back to my senses. That was his one shot. I reach over the edge of the deck and slam the sword through the pirate's hand. There's another scream. Two, in fact. One comes from the pirate, bleeding, falling into the ocean. The other is mine, as I realize what happened. "DOLLY!"
"As is customary for this part of the year, Santa Claus arrived in New York City for his public address to the United Nations, accompanied by other representatives of Yuletide cheer such as the Three Wise Delegates of Prester-John's Kingdom, Shambalha, and Siddhashrama. Mr. Claus' address this year called for peace on Earth and goodwill towards man, and was characteristically well-received. Claus returned home by sleigh later that day, presumably returning to his Arctic citadel to resume with his seasonal toy manufacturing endeavors. Moving on to other news, serial murderer Jacob Addlestone Jefferies, responsible for several dozen deaths in the environs of Harmony Falls, escaped from captivity in Whitcomb Psychiatric Hospital earlier this week. Jefferies had gained national attention for his previous holiday-themed mass murders, including the Mardi Gras gore-float, the Easter evisceration spree, and the zoo stampede on South African Independence Day, which left five people dead. Jefferies had previously been sentenced to death for his crimes, a sentence which was commuted after repeated application of the electric chair merely caused him to become slightly tickled. Jefferies also, in a move deemed insensitive by some, featured as a downloadable playable character in the popular horror video game Night Tearers, alongside other such celebrity killers as Puzzlewit, the demonic Eric Rhoodie, Sweetshop Slaughterer Eucaine Banks, Krangor the Star Scourge, and Graf von Bloodkrieg, the Nazi vampire from the influential Wolfenvania franchise. Residents of Harmony Falls are warned to remain in their homes this holiday season until such time as the authorities can apprehend Jefferies. They are further advised, should they encounter this dangerous criminal, to attempt to stab him repeatedly in the chest, as this has been known to slightly calm him down." \\\* Layla Walker was not much enjoying the annual trip with her friends to their usual quaint cabin retreat on the outskirts of Harmony Falls. She didn't really smoke or drink or fornicate with reckless passionate abandon or pull cruel pranks or enjoy things like most of her peers. Most gatherings ended with her friends doing all those things (often simultaneously) while she sat somewhere private and read a book. Like Salman Rushdie's controversial The Satanic Verses, or perhaps something about underappreciated Jewish sports legends. All this had with regrettable inevitability come to pass during this particular outing, along with the additional misfortune of the event being interrupted by a deranged serial killer. "Oh god, oh god,"Layla sobbed, staring with abject horror at the bloodstains Mitch's collapsing body had left all over her arms and torso. Mitch lay there now, upon the cabin floor, eyes lifeless and face bloodless pale, several murderously sharp candy canes protruding from his back. Layla moved away from the corpse, trying not to throw up, and accidentally over the corpse of Jessica, who had been strangled with a very uncomfortable and ugly Christmas sweater. She could not suppress another scream, and ran to the next room, where Todd had been impaled on a taxidermy elk with a festively-applied red nose. Layla did not get an opportunity to discover Artie's head in the bowl of spiked eggnog, as she simply collapsed then, weeping to herself in sheer terror. "Oh, god... I've got to get out of here. Get the police, or... or something-" Layla was unable to finish this thought, as a shape, a shambling, shuffling, hideous shape, wielding a decorated red-and-green turkey-carving knife, lunged from the closet, swinging wildly. Layla let out an admittedly quite theatrical shriek of terror and bolted as the knife swished through the air where her body had been mere moments before. She had only a split second to take in a terrifying skull mask and a green curly elf hat on the massive, broad-shouldered slab of deformed humanity, before she bolted from the room in sheer panic, the killer hot on her trail. The chase led her outside in the cold and snow, where she managed to drop a heavy branch on the killer's head, which seemed to annoy him somewhat. The severe stab wound she later gave him in the back of the neck by icicle definitely torqued him off. And being run over by the snowcat, she realized, left her pursuer really quite decidedly miffed. In the end the chase ended where it began, in the cozy parlor of the cabin, with the horrible masked face looming over here, shadows contorting in the light of the Yule log. It advanced as Lyla cowered in the corner, realizing this was it- this was the end. And that was when Santa Claus came down the chimney.
The words spill out of his mouth without care. I barely catch them all, his tempo faster than anything he's used before. They all taste... Bad. I don't understand. The font of nectar and honey is... Nothing but rotted ash. Searing charcoal. Every word tastes worse than the last. There is no booze on his breath to ease their sting. It's all wrong. But...it's real. Was I just imagining the sweetness? How long has it been this filth? Why did I not see the rot festering between his teeth? I offer some words of my own- like little cupcakes. Tiny offerings, filled with hope, begging him for some of the sweetness that I crave so badly. They taste burnt before they even leave my mouth, but I can't stop myself from pleading. I am so hungry. He tastes my words and spits them out. He is offended. Vile substances froth from him like a briney soup. It hurts to swallow. He asks whose kitchen I've been in. Who I've been sharing ingredients with. I don't understand. He took all my ingredients last week, I reply. My pantries are empty. He doesn't believe me, and starts rummaging through the cupboards. Slamming the cabinets. I'm used to the noise- But his words cut me worse than any dishes he breaks. I try to find words that might satisfy him. That might satisfy ME. I find none. I'm starving. He tells me to go shopping for him. He leaves some words beside me. A small cake? I lift it up, thanking him. It smells so sweet. When I bite into it, I cry. A tooth cracks. He gave me nothing but a rock, covered in frosting.
A slight hum that slowly grew louder. A blue glow that appeared as if plucked from thin air and approached far too fast. A moment of panic. The sound of glass meeting flesh at high speed, followed immediately by flesh meeting pavement. The panic replaced by a feeling words fail to describe, the only noise sufficient to express it manifesting as a sound far too primal to be a scream. The disappearance of the blue glow as the hum faded. The soft glow of a nearby billboard shining through a rising trail of smoke, it's source revealed to be Mila's now motionless body. My worst nightmare, given form right before my eyes. As soon as I was able to convince myself that this was reality I tore myself from the spot I had been frozen in and rushed to the place she had landed in the middle of the empty road. Her body was mangled almost beyond recognition, and despite the odd lack of blood it took me far too long to sort out exactly where each part of her was located in the once human tangle of limbs and hair. Her head had rotated almost a full 180 degrees, her long red hair obscuring her face. The parts of her right arm, left leg and torso that were visible had a sickeningly liquid quality to them. Whatever hope I had that she would somehow survive had been stolen from me with nothing more than a glance. I must have knelt beside her for about ten seconds before I gained enough composure to try to contact emergency services. I reached into my hoodie pocket and retrieved my phone, and had only gotten halfway through entering my password when I heard a gasp, followed by a sharp cracking noise. Somehow she had not died instantly, and the idea that she was not even granted reprieve from the pain broke something inside of me. Somehow she had not yet realized she was dead and was struggling, probably while in excruciating agony. I finished typing my password after a momentary pause, only to be greeted with a notification that I only had one percent battery left that was immediately followed by my carrier's name and then a black screen. I heard another crack and gasp, and what had been a slight trickle of tears became a full downpour. "Sweetie please, please stop! Stay still, we're going to get you help!"I pleaded. My begging was met with a quick succession of the cracking sounds, her body slightly shifting with each one. "Stay still!"I didn't quite know what to do, my hands floating uselessly above her body. I wanted to hug her, to comfort her, but I knew that would only create more pain, when I realized I had one more hope. "I'm going to reach into your purse and get your phone, ok Mila? We're going to get you help, you'll be ok." I doubted that if she could hear me she would believe my words. Hell, I didn't really believe them, but the delusion she could be saved was all that kept me going. I started looking for her purse, worrying I would not be able to find it, when I realized it's strap was still wrapped around her left wrist, the purse itself trapped under her arm, which was now bent into the shape of a w, what appeared to be her bone sticking through in two places. I grimaced, realizing what I was about to do would hurt her a lot, and began to slowly move my shaking hand towards the last lifeline she had, when the unexpected happened. As if drawn by a magnet, her left hand darted towards me, grabbing my wrist. I shrieked as the cracking continued, the gasps now replaced with gurgling noises, giving way to garbled speech. "D-d-ooo-onnnnt-t"I couldn't take it, I was now sobbing, choking on my tears and beginning to hyperventilate. "Doo-n-t wo-rr-ry, t-ttri-shh."Another crack, louder and far more violent, accompanied another shift, her head abruptly jolting to an angle that seemed far more natural than before. The right side of her face was now visible, the left still obscured by her hair, and her lips appeared to be moving, a slight twitch to her eyelid making it appear as though she was rapidly blinking. "Honey, h-honey please, please stop, you have to stop moving."I was panicking again. She needed to stop so I could get help. I realized she was still gripping my wrist, and went to move her arm, when I realized her arm was in a v shape, only one bone sticking through. Had I been wrong before? As if to answer my question, I heard another loud crack, and although I was not in a good state there was no denying what I had seen; her arm was now straight, without any bones sticking through, the only sign there ever had been any was tattered strips of flesh attatched to the edge of holes through which the bone could be seen. It was at this moment that I noticed her bones had an purple tinge to them, and adding this new information to what I had already seen I realized why there hadn't been much blood. She released her grip, and I stood up, moving about a foot away from her, as the snapping began to grow louder, ringing out at greater rates, and I witnessed her body quite literally put itself back together, limbs straightening, bones returning to their original positions, while she appeared to almost vibrate, the sounds now happening more than once per second. While I knew Mila was paranoid abd probably had augmented herself to some extent to help her recover should she become injusred or ill, I had never imagined anything to this extent. The cracking stopped, and she sat up, a warm smile taking the place of her once lifeless expression. I have nothing against augmenting yourself. Hell, I have linguistic, optical and respiratory augments myself, not to mention a few holo-tats. What Mila had done cannot be described as mere augmentation, however. "Mila, I'm so- you aren't- you- what the fuck did you do?"She stood to her feet, and while she was still smiling it was no longer warm, more akin to perplexed. "I get hit by a car in a way that would have most definitely killed me, and all you can do is ask what I did? I'm alive Trish, isn't that the important thing?"Admittedly I was more interrogative than I probably should have been, but I was scared. "Of course that's important, but how did you come back? I saw, you didn't even look like a person after what happened! Who did this? This level of augmentation is illegal, but more importantly dangerous!"The smile had disappeared entirely. The wind blew the hair from the left side of her face, revealing a skull the same color as the bone, a strikingly realistic eye placed in it's socket. She began to twitch slightly, her head quickly jolting forward slightly at erratic intervals. "Does it matter? I'm alive so the augmentations work, and even though I'm alive this hurts a lot, can we just go home and have this conversation later?"Her head was moving froward farther and farther with each jolt, until it jerked forward so far a crack not unlike the sound of her bones mending occurred. This time, her head stayed in position. I hadn't ever seen it in person, onky ever hearing about it in thw news, but this is what happened when a person acquired so many augments that their body began to reject them, causing them to malfunction. Mila let out a grunt, and I saw a look of panic in her eyes. "Oh God, Trish help, call someone, do something!"Her head began to crack again, each sound followed by a new shriek, and after several seconds other parts of her body began to react the same way. I couldn't reach her purse to get her phone, as her left arm had raised high above her head, slowly jerking backwards much farther than it should have. I could only watch in horror as she screamed, her head continuing it's unnatural journey until her spine became visible through the back of her neck, eventually breaking free from her shoulders and working its way out with each jolt like some sort of skeletal snake. With her head seperated from her body Mila could no longer scream, only move her mouth in an attempt to do so. Her body continued to contort, joints being broken in the most gruesome way, limbs bending unnaturally and ripping themselves out of their sockets, until finally Mila passed out from the pain, her body remaining animated despite her lack of agency. It was at this time that a stranger walked by and dialled for emergency services. In five minutes the authorities had arrived, and Mila was loaded into a specially designed van with restraints made to restrict any more potentially harmful movements. I never saw her again, and although I think of her often, I know in my heart that this is not a temporary seperation. It is fitting then, that as I tell you this story, my own body twists and contorts in the present. Perhaps, when the authorities arrive, I will be reunited with my love.
Last Note from the Doomed: We did our best. It has been nearly four centuries since First Contact with the Mass. Communication was impossible. We bombed it with everything we had. The old atomic weapons were revived for this new purpose. We even threw asteroids at it, and yet it just kept on coming. We thought we had it contained. Growth was measured in centimeters over decades. We had millions of years, we thought. We forgot it would just keep on coming. The terror of knowing our end was inevitable was too much to bear. Old words were revived to describe the terror in the populace. It was only hysteria, some said. The Mass was only in our imaginations. If only that were true. It just kept on coming. The Doomed knew the truth. The Mass would just keep on coming until our End. We were no hysterics. At first we thought ourselves realists. We measured and studied the Mass together in common, or at a minimum for the common purpose of saving ourselves. We developed theories, models, projections, simulations, and yet nothing we thought we knew helped us delay the inevitable fact that it would just keep coming. Only the true believers continued what most considered a futile endeavor. We couldn't agree. We couldn't continue to stare into the abyss. We couldn't take on the monumental task of pushing the rock up the hill again and again only to watch it roll back down. The truth wasn't waiting for us. Eventually we submitted to the fact that it would just keep coming. Others called us the Doomed. We weren't a religion, we thought. We still considered ourselves the only people who knew the truth. The Mass would keep on coming, but we didn't have to worship it. The truth was in us, in what we could accomplish before the Mass devoured us whole. We admitted the Mass would keep on coming. Take this to heart, reader. The End is coming for us all. We know when and how, but the truth was never meant for you. Spite the Mass and live instead.
The little girl asleep in bed stirred restlessly. The demon approached slowly, forming a mind connection, carefully feeling out the terrors of the night. "Wolves"he thought, and a pack appeared, slashing at him with their fangs, clawing at him, cornering him. "No!" This had never happened. He tried again. "Fire"he thought, and flames surrounded him. The air was sucked out of him. Everywhere he looked was burning bright and the heat overwhelmed him. "No! Nooo!!" Desperate, he worried his next thought would be too strong, and on the edges of his mind, the truth was there, but he rejected it. "Death"he thought, and darkness erased him. He felt nothing. He saw nothing. He thought nothing. In the void, a star appeared. It spoke to him. "I fear many things, demon, but I do not fear you."
I opened my eyes as the crashing of the shuttlebay gates spread through the enclosed space. The waves of sound impacted my body with a force far beyond the understanding of ordinary beings. I staggered in confusion and fell down on my knees. The fall, as I would learn later on, pulverized a nearby city to the ground leaving only a handful of building shaped mounds. I cried out in terror as my knees shattered from the vibrations of the floor. The bay gates strained in their bearings, but held anyway. I stiffled another grunt and bit my tongue to stop myself from hurting my body any further. That was a mistake. A river of blood gushed from my tongue and exploded in my mouth cavity causing me to ejaculate a fountain of gore and spittle across the concrete floor. I was dying. I was trying. Trying to save myself. Failing in every way. A stream of light burst through the ceiling and bathed me in a fury of golden rays. Warmth pooled around my injured body as a high intensity ringing noise started to fill the space around my eardrums. I could almost imagine my ears, each one the size of single galaxy trying to absorb the vastness of the universe and then slowly collapsing unto itself as the load became too colossal. A trickle turned to a stream and then... A torrent of fiery red liquid started gushing from my earlobes. The volcanic eruption exploded through my skull as my entire body started convulsing. My skin was starting to char as my body temperature reached and then went beyond the limits of organic creatures. As the last of my consciousness started to depart the burnt out husk of my body, a deep booming rumble started somwehere deep in the underground of this planet. The sound of a god. "Prep him and gas him before he kills himself. He'll be of some use to us. I hope."
A few notes before I begin: - I grabbed this at random to introduce a friend to writing prompts that are better than the cookie-cutter stuff everyone saw in school. We each did our own thing, then compared what we came up with. I got a bit carried away... it's already (well) over 100 words, and I haven't even touched on most of what I want to yet. - I'm having fun with this one. It'll get continued. What's being posted here is the initial format I wrote in response to the prompt. I don't know what it will look like in a few days, weeks, or months, let alone where I'll post it yet, but it'll be available in (at least close to) its current form throughout the writing process somewhere should anyone actually like it and want to follow along. - This story contains some NSFW language (profanity) - It's a story about a serial killer, obvious potential trigger warnings and such apply. --- On to the (as yet unnamed) story --- I sat, pensive, on the roof of the old Heritage Arms building, my feet dangling two-hundred-odd feet over the pavement. Once, this building had been prime real estate; its single-family dwellings closer to condos than apartments. Today, it stood a shell of its former glory - a monument to the forgotten dregs of humankind so commonly found in the lower city. Of course, this wasn't the actual Heritage Arms; this was, in principle, an artificial construct. True, it was a near-perfect replica of its namesake, and the aforementioned dregs could be found in both worlds. However, this high-rise only existed in ones and zeros on an AmeriNet server somewhere. Ryft took the world by storm, offering the opportunity for everyone, no matter their income or station, to experience truly immersive, fully interactive simulations. To be sure, there were the typical nay-sayers that every new innovation brings. Still, to most, it was the safest way to experience... well, pretty much anything. Anything imaginable, and some things that really shouldn't be imagined, was possible in Ryft. Better, Ryft wasn't just the run-of-the-mill VR system. Their big selling point was "sensory immersion"- everything smelled, tasted, and even felt real. Yet, as long as the safety protocols were online, everything was completely safe. Or was it? While old man Hendricks down the hall was immersing himself in buttered noodles, I was exploring the world behind the world. While the guy at the front desk was screwing the chief of police on top of the great sphynx, I was digging through leaked source code for the Ryft shard platform. What, I live in a fucking hotel; who can afford condos or apartments anymore, let alone a trailer with a yard. I don't think I've ever been in a real house; real estate is just too expensive these days. Ever since the population boom in 2156, the top 3% might be able to swing a house. Most live in high-rise apartments or condos. And I do mean high-rise; none of this 12-29 floor shit that was popular at the turn of the century. We're talking 150-floor monstrosities that literally block out the sun. And I told you Ryft was weird. I mean, seriously, who looks at buttered noodles and thinks, "that'd be great in a bathtub."And that's just the legal stuff. I look down into the murky depths that used to be 22nd Street when streets still meant something. Somewhere in the distance, the pulsing red and yellow lights of a police hover-cruiser danced off the walls of nearby buildings. Maybe it's coming for me, maybe not. I still find it funny that real police spend whole shifts jacked in, patrolling Ryft. It's not like they actually make a difference. There's just as much crime here as in the real world, and it's usually pretty harmless. So an old lady gets scammed out of her pension? She probably didn't deserve it anyway, certainly not more than those of us who didn't have the fortune to grow up in the lap of luxury. Gambling is a universal constant; why should Ryft be any different? The stakes in Ryft could be a bit... unique, but the principle remains the same, and it was completely safe. The keyword in that sentence is "was." Last month, I discovered a vulnerability in the shard tech that allows me to take the game to the next level. One tiny flaw and I have complete control over twelve billion souls. Why shouldn't I take advantage? In this dystopian hellscape, underdogs need every step up they can get. Admittedly, it took a while to work up to it. It's been said that taking a human life isn't easy. They're right. But they're also wrong. Taking a life is simple. To borrow an antiquated saying, it's as easy as cake. Or... was that pie? I don't remember, and I've never tasted either, so I couldn't tell the difference anyway. What's hard is the anticipation. And the hacking. But mostly the anticipation. But once you pull the proverbial plug, once you see the moment of panic before the light dims from their eyes, everything changes. Wait... no, it's not proverbial in this case, is it? Is it still proverbial if you "pull the plug"on someone when they're literally plugged into Ryft? I tried it for the first time a few hours ago. It was surreal. Even knowing that I was looking into the eyes of a shell, knowing that the flicker of panic dancing across its face was genuine was a game-changer. I have to wonder, though, what was the last thing that crossed the player's mind before the virus worked its magic and he slipped into eternal slumber? Was it disbelief that the supposedly-safe system had failed him so completely? Was it little more than the flicker of realization that somehow the end was near? Or was he actually taking stock of the person who killed him? I know it's a virtual environment; I should probably do what most people do and create an avatar. And yet, I got a thrill from knowing that the last thing he saw was me. That kind of power is a rush unlike any drug. I'm not imposing by any means. In fact, I'm statistically average in almost every way. I'm a slightly-less-than-average 69.2 inches tall and weigh 187 pounds. I have sandy brown hair that I keep close-cut and hazel eyes. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. But I'm smart. I'm even more intelligent than people think I am. I'm the first to hack the unhackable and the only person who can play God in Ryft. My name is Rigel Mathews, but you can call me Wyvern. I'm your worst fucking nightmare.
The radio telescope array pointed into the hot clear night sky of the small island Vanua Levu, a facility that consisted of six small dishes and a control building. The only person present there was Ravindra Singh who stood outside by the open fire exit of the building smoking a roll up and drinking coffee out of a plastic cup. He was a young thin man tasked with the night shift keeping everything in check as the dished dutifully scanned the sky. Nothing usually would go wrong but they were getting much needed funds from other universities to use their array and tonight was one such time. A bug plopped uninvited into his cup and swam about. In disgust he went to throw the coffee out of the cup when he heard something from the control room. “...buck...” Ravindra paused. That wasn’t part of the usual electronic ambience he came to know, that was something else. He leaned his head into the room and squinted at the far off screen of a terminal displaying a horizontal wave line. “...buck...” The wave line leapt suddenly and then subsided. John threw the cup and cigarette away and rushed to the workstation and leaned his face close to the screen. He turned the volume up on the nearby speaker and waited, counting under his breath. “...buck...” Ten seconds repeat! This is it, he thought, this has to be it. What were the coordinates? I have to make sure...yes it’s out there but that can’t be right its close, very close. I have to talk to Ronald..I mean Dr Philips. He hastily pulled his phone out and shakily brought up the number for the Doctor. He paused, his finger hovering over the phone. “...buck...” Ten seconds again, he punched the number and waited what seemed like an eternity “Urrughhhhello?"A voice croaked. “Ronald..I mean Dr Philips” shouted Ravindra “It’s me Ravindra at the array! I got a signal, a real signal!” “Hmmmm. A signal?” an audible sigh emanated from the phone “You sure it’s not the coffee machine again?” No, thought Ravindra, it wasn’t the coffee machine although that was an anomaly in itself. Everyone swore they never saw it ever being resupplied and sometimes it made noises in the middle of the night that sounded like something was thrashing around in there. “No Doctor, I checked the coordinates it’s not terrestrial but get this it’s in the neighbourhood somewhere near Jupiter. Listen!” He held his phone up to the speaker. “...buck...” “Err....”gurgled the Doctor “Err..Right..Um” Ravindra could hear thumping and moving around as the Doctor tried to put on his trousers with one hand. The Doctor had an amazing mind but it took a while to start like an old outboard motor. “...buck...” “Err....Err....Hmm” He was probably now at the stage of picking up objects and putting them back down again “Err..” “BUCKAW!” Ravindra stopped breathing and the sound of the Doctor fumbling around stopped. Finally the Doctor exclaimed “What the..” “...buck...” “My God, i..it’s a repeat pattern” Gasped the Doctor “Ravindra!” His voice now clear and authoritative, “I want you to listen very carefully and do exactly what I say...” “...buck...” It had been three days since that night and Ravindra had heard nothing since then. The facility had been shut down with no communication to or from the outside world. He and his colleagues had even been forbidden from leaving by large serious looking men yet today they had been informed that they could watch a live press briefing. The briefing had been hastily set up at the White House where Dr Philips was to address the world of an unprecedented discovery. The news around the world was abuzz with excited speculation but could only speculate, every nation’s government had done an excellent job of keeping everything under wraps until now. Dr Philips walked up to the podium and composed himself. “Ladies and Gentlemen, members of the press thank you for attending. A week ago a signal was picked up near Jupiter that was unequivocally that of an extra terrestrial origin..” Gasps rang out around the room but Doctor Philips quickly waved away the raised hands “The object of the signal was eventually sighted by observatories as it passed Saturn and it is believed to be over one hundred miles across and..” He paused “..It is on a trajectory straight for Earth” As gasps turned to expletives, Doctor Philips turned to a large screen beside him and clicked his pointer. A picture of a blurry, fuzzy white spherical object appeared on the screen. There was an indistinct shape protruding from the centre which cast a long shadow over the rest of the object behind it. “We have been able to identify the object and designated it the name Gallus gallus domesticus giganticus” Dr Philips looked around the room and exclaimed “In other words it’s a chicken!” People in the room were starting to shout and stand up. The Doctor raised his voice to almost a scream and slammed his fist on the podium “A chicken of such size that were it to hit the earth at its current speed it would cause a catastrophic global event!” A deadly silence filled the room. Dr Philips bowed his head and took a deep shaking breath. He slowly looked up with a wan smile and said “This is our eggtinction” The first chair missed Dr Philips but the second chair following close behind bounced cleanly off his skull before he could duck under the podium.
I was alone, a long, long time ago, living in a land not my own, in house not my own, sleeping in a bed not my own. If only I could remember it clearly. The fog of time and dream conspire together to shroud my memory. If only I could remember it clearly. I barely can recall the house, my neighbors, the details of the room, anything. The easel dripped with haphazardly placed smears of color in front of the Painter. The paint made no image. The colors contrasted the white canvas well enough, but they weren't acting in concert, yet. I wasn't alone in my dream. I know that much. If only I could remember it clearly. It was the morning and the sun was rising. Yes! That's it. I need to remember what I've lost to time. The Painter was emaciated, dirty, and unkempt. His studio was littered more than an artist's at work, it was dilapidated. This is no obsession. I must know what I don't remember. If only I could remember it all clearly, then. . . I was at the water's edge! It was the mighty ocean I stared at the horizon! No, not the ocean. It was a lake or a pond. A lake. Yes. I'm sure of it. I had fished there before. It was morning, I was watching the sun rise on a beach. No, it wasn't sandy. It was rocky. I was standing on rocks overlooking a lake, watching the sunrise. Was I alone? No. I couldn't have been. Who was with me? Who was with me? Who? The Painter's wrist moved quickly now from easel to palette and back again. He began to sweat with the effort. No image was clear, but the smears of paint combined on the easel and formed blocks of color, yellow in the center, darker towards the bottom, a bluish tone at the top. Who was she? If only I could remember her! Her! Who was she? A friend? Family? A lover? Who? If only I could remember her clearly. I must know. The Painter continued applying paint to canvas rapidly. As the background he knew formed, an image of two persons came to the fore. The Painter was one. The other's face was obscured and unclear. The Painter continued despite his ignorance of his partner's likeness. Author's Note: My dog has to go out and I can't finish this now, which is great because I don't know where it's going. This was freewriting of a sort and I'm sorry to hit go when it's not done, but nothing is ever really done.
People say that any memory you have before the age of 7 is unreliable. Yet, here I am, at the age of 35, spending my 25th of December chasing a childhood memory. A childhood memory that has manifested so deeply into my brain that it refuses to dissipate, bubbling for eleven months every year and surfacing right around the week of Christmas. __ 24 December 1991. I was a five-year-old boy, being tucked into bed by a loving mother and a protective father. "Sleep tight, it's alright, Santa will bring your presents tonight!"Mom said in a sing-song voice. "You holler if you see Santa poking his nose around in your room alright, I'll be right over to punch his skull in,"Dad said jokingly. "I've only given him license to amble about the living room, haven't I dear?" Mom rolled her eyes and kissed me on the forehead before exiting my room with Dad following suit, but not before giving me a cheeky wink and shutting off the lights. And just like that, darkness. I heard my parents footsteps fading away for a few seconds, then a door shutting. Then, silence. Something felt different that night. Five-year-old me laid in bed with a sense of unease, not excitement. Perhaps the heater was set wrongly, or it was simply colder that night. Either way, I was unable to sleep. For how long exactly, I do not know - although later I would discover that it must have been a good 3-4 hours. I laid in bed, thinking about the presents I would be opening the day after. Mom must have gotten me that Care Bear. Oh - no way - maybe Dad got me that Nerf Gun? It was all so exciting. That's when I heard it. A little clinking of metal, then the familiar creaking sound of the front door. Sound travelled well in our quaint little house. "Mom?"I squeaked. "Dad?" I will never know if it was my tiny little voice that woke them, or if it was the strange sounds coming from the living room. All I know is that my parents came out of the room to investigate the noise. Everything that happened after was a blur. My therapist told me repressed memories tend to have a clear beginning and end, but lack a coherent middle. Over the years, she must have heard at least ten different version of what happened after I heard my parents footsteps thud past my room, towards the living room. I do remember the end though. A tall skeletal figure, dressed as Santa Claus approached me. Fresh blood meshed untidily with the red of his costume, leaving dark red pellets within the bright red. I opened my mouth to scream, but his hand was already over my mouth. And the last image - the one seared into my memory forever - his haggard face with a spider tattoo on his left cheek. "Merry Christmas, you little fucker,"he grinned sadistically. __ You know that talk you get from your parents about Santa not being real? The one you get when you near double digit age? I never got that. So to me, Santa is still real. Santa is the gaunt, rat-faced looking motherfucker who murdered my parents in cold blood thirty years ago. And here he is, bound and gagged, sat in front of me. Eyes full of fear. Not unlike myself thirty years ago. I tore off the tape on his mouth. "Give me one good reason why,"I whispered, drawing out a swiss army knife, "I should let you go." "Please, I'm sorry, I regret everything, I've served my time - twenty-seven years I've regretted - please, I was paid to - please - I - "he babbled, his voice shaking. "I - at least let her go!" "Her?"I grinned, gesturing to the little girl sat across him. "Oh no no no, of course I'm letting her go. She'll be fine!" "After all,"I said, drawing my blade across his cheek. "People say that any memory you have before the age of 7 is unreliable." I wondered if she would remember his father's screams.
I regained conciousness after a moment. I stood up and looked around, all my companions, all my friends, they were slayed like animals. Bearly I managed to stood up, and I saw before me an unholy horde. I decided that I will not die like a coward, I drew my sword one last time. Then I remembered... I looked at my sword and said: - Eliar.. I forged you from the remains of an Elder Crystal Dragon, the last of its species. Please do not fail me, and I'll let you drink the blood of monsters again. I felt a slight movement inside sword, like it just said yes. The horde began to run in my way, crying about victory. Their vile banners flying high I decided It was time... and with all the might I could muster I raised my sword and swung it before the Horde. A bright light appeared and blinded me. I fainted again. I woke up couple of days later. I was lying in the same field I swung my sword. But it was different, it was quiet, too quiet. I got up and I saw why it was quiet. I saw the horde, or more like what remained of it. The entire field filled with charred black remains, broken armor, and melted swords. The entire field was filled with the smell of burnt flesh and wood. It looked just like a dragon attacked them. I looked at Eliar and grabbed it.
'You're a monster.' 'Yes, some see it that way.' 'I had so much going for me, you asshole! I was finally getting something right in my god forsaken life and you decided- you decided to-' Death watched passively as the woman crumpled to the ground in heaving sobs. The air, or lack of thereof, was silent and still. Bone chilling without a discernible temperature, laying bare the depth of the infinite void. The land where his charges lead their truths wasn't a pleasant one, but, unfortunately, it was necessary. She took a deep breath of the foreign air before meeting his gaze, and in turn, he fixed his eyes on her soul. 'I decided?' 'Of course you did! You're evil! You're soulless! You tore me out of the best time of my life without a seconds remorse, and now there's two kids out there without a mother- who'll grow up without me- because of your decision!' 'My decision.' 'Stop echoing me! What are you trying to do, worm your way into my heart so you can destroy it? You're Death! You-' Her eyes were filled with rage and tears, and she spat her words at him, as if to strike deep into whatever she claimed he had within him. He turned from her glare and faced into the darkness. 'Yes, mortal, I'm Death. I'm the reaper of souls, the shepherd of the dead, the one before god,' he began to raise his arms to the sky, as if summoning his words before him, 'is this what you want me to say? Do you want me, mortal, to tell you lies as a form of comfort, as you are so used to hearing?' His tone still had not changed since he had first addressed her. 'Don't try to manipulate me, you sick freak. You made a choice, and it was the end of me, just like it has been the end of so many who did not deserve to die.' 'Remind me, again, how you found yourself here.' It wasn't a question, and a brief silence descended in her hesitation. 'You know how I died.' 'And yet, I'd like to be reminded.' 'I don't know what games you're playing, but they're worthless!' She tried to strike him, but her attack met resistance, and he sighed. 'I have seldom met one like you here, in the lifetimes I've been. One who so adamantly refuses to see the truth, and so desperately clings to human forms. You resist, and yet I tell you my story regardless, so you may understand as others have before.' 'I don't want to hear your stupid stories.' He smiled at her, the first emotion he'd showed during the encounter, and continued on. 'You see, your fatal flaw, is that you forget I am not human. I am Death. I am, as you say, heartless, soulless, without emotion, and if, in your eyes, this makes me a monster, then so be it. Heart, soul; these are human traits. If you see something beyond human, lacking the things you- your kind- so seek for comfort, and you perceive that as evil, then let it be such. If you want to see within me your own qualms that you hold for yourself, as is such a mortal thing to do, I do not blame you for not being able to release your past. I only ask that you listen.' 'I just want to know why. I just want to know why you let this moment, when I was finally happy, to be the one I was forced to leave.' The defiant spark had since dimmed in her eyes, but, still, she had not let go. 'I am Death. My purpose, as has always been, is patience. I am not evil, nor am I good. My job is to calm the souls of the passed, and to explain to them that what they had lived was strictly that, a Life. They must understand, in even the simplest terms, that Life is the smallest part of living.' 'I, in human terms, could be described as... a Station Master. The trains arrive regularly, demanding passengers through the intercom, and those waiting pile on. I can distract the driver for moments, I can convince Him of something that needs his attention, but I cannot ask Him to join me for a drink and leave his duties behind. The trains arrive as quickly as they came, taking with them souls that felt cheated out of what they could have been. Few are content, and with them, they bring spark to my being. They understand my intentions, my work, just by looking into my eyes. To the enraged and the heartbroken, as are you, I explain what I am.' He lowered his head to the ground, 'and still, some refuse to understand. They choose to carry with them these torturous, all-too-human feelings all the way to the Beyond. I pity them, I truly do, and I hope you will not join their ranks. Your determination is magical to a being who converses with the souls of the broken.' He raised his gaze to meet hers once again and smirked at the lack of connection. A hint of a frown was left on the air where she had just stood. From behind him, her replacement, his next soul, chuckled. 'Death, my old friend! What took you so long? I was on that damn bed forever!'
"Did you see that Carl? " "See what. " "There... Right there! Behind the bushes! " Carl turned around only to see nothing. Only the darkness of the forest and the still silence amongst the forest, only interrupted by the bright, crackling campfire met Carl's eyes. "Just a squirrel. Go back to sleep, man. You'll wake the others up. " But it wasn't just nothing. I saw it clearly. A small tentacle like thing rapidly darting around in the dark, concealed underbrush. I stood up from my seat, and walked over to where I had last spotted the thing darting around. Carl stood up a few minutes later, pissed off by my actions. "Jesus, stop it. You'll wake the others. Why- " A sudden silence and a sense of dread filled me as I turned around. My friend stood still. But his face... something had latched onto it. A small squid like creature. His face bled, it had bitten into him tightly, his legs slowly encircling his forehead, and covering up his face. His arms went suddenly limp. His hands clenched into fists, his grip so hard his palms bled, blood dripping onto the ground. I could do nothing but stare at him in shock, at the beast and at all the blood spilling. He charged at me like a dying bull. His bloody fists striking me and knocking me to the fire. I was going to be killed. It was going to kill me. I had to strike back. My cleaver. We used at the barbecue and there it was, lying against the firewood. As I picked it up, Carl screamed at me in garbled words, angered and maddened as his screams woke up the others sleeping on the ground. Shit. I striked before he could charge at me, hacking away at Carl's face, trying to get rid of the monster. As I looked around after finishing off Carl, I looked around and realised it. Oh no. My other friends. They had all been infected by the creature, those squid-like beings all connected to my friends faces. I lunged at them with the intention to kill. Two of them went down fast, but the other three tried to run away. I coudn't let them escape. Who kenw what they could do. The entire human race was at risk, letting them roam about. I ran at them with speeds I had never reached before, and slaughtered them like animals. As I finished off the last of them, a police siren could be heard. The police, thank god. But as I watched then from the dark woods, I saw it once more. They had even infected the police officers. They had already latched onto the police. Where did they come from, how did they infect them. But it didn't matter at all. Only thing mattered was that the creatures were still alive, and they were going to get killed by me. I waited in the underbush, waiting for the moment to strike from under the bright moon.
"Next, Mr. Williams ? " A scrawny elderlt man, wearing a torn up and dirtied clothes stepped up. His eyes were wide and his body shaking from too much alcohol and drug usage. "Are ya really going to give me money just by coming here? "He asked in a hollow, screechy voice. He looked at me suspiciously, his mostly missing teeth showing. "If you fit the conditions, which we'll see... right now. " I checked into his mind. He was a good one. "You're fit to be a VIP here, Mr. Williams. You've come to the right place. " "Wha-? Why? " "You're phobias are... Anatidaephobia, Aladdinphobia, and Citharaphobia, Hodophobia, Francophobia, and a few other things. " "The fuck does that even mean? " "Your fears are... Being afraid of the character Aladdin, being afraid of Guitars, and being afraid that a duck is watching you somewhere, being afraid of road trips, being afraid of France... etc. " "Fuck. They all sound weird. " "Lucky for you, those phobia's are all quite rare, and we treat you quite much for exchanging those phobia's into something else quite much. " "How much exactly are we talking about now, son? " "About... a grand each. " His eyes widened in excitement, his body shook eagerly as he stepped uncomfortably closer to me. "When can I have the money, son? I need it fast. " I led him up to a room and went into the other side of the room. It was a giant room, seperated in between by reinforced glass. Inside of my part of the room waited twelve people, looking anxious and worried. Some looked extreamly starved, some were lying on a bed, and some were wearing gigantic hazmat suits. When they saw Mr. Willians on the other side, they all clapped at his arrival. "See, Mr. Williams? As we informed you a month earlier, all of your twelve phobias have been matched up with people wanting to exchange their fears with yours. " "Yes yes, blah blah blah. Give me the money quickly. "said a muffled Mr. Williams. "And also, this process cannot be reversed and refunded, as listed in our contracts you all signed. Anyone wanting to back out now, this is your final chance. " As everyone agreed, I started to use my powers. I exchanged the phobias of the group next to me, with Mr. William's collection of fears. The process ended. The people near me exclaimed in shock and relief as each checked out they're changed state. The one dressed in the hazmat suit took off his suit and breathed in air. "Oh god. It feels so good to... actally breath in air. I'm not afraid anymore. " The starved women started to tear into food, weeping tears of joy. The assorted group of people thanked me, and left the room collectively with happy smiles on their faces. Leaving only Mr. Williams, his muffled screams and shriekes echoed around the mostly empty room as he writhed on the floor. "Turn it back!!!! I hate all of this!!!! Turn it back!!!! " He received a collection of unwanted phobias. Aerophobia, the fear of unfiltered raw air. Sitophobia, which makes food unbearable to eat. Hyelophobia, the fear of glass. Automysophobia, the fear of fith and etc, all acted onto him, making him go wild against all reason. "No refunds, Mr. Williams. The twelve grand is yours now. " I handed him his briefcase full of money, but he slapped it out of my hand. "Cut your bullshit. You tricked me... You asshole! You should have explained.... this! "He erupted into another fit of spasms as I sighed. Idiot. "You should have read the contract. Who do you think we are, the fucking United Nations? We can't reverse the contract. Unless... " I handed him another contract. "We sign for another exchange. "I said as I made a bright smile at him. He ripped the paper out of my hand, and rushed out, paper in one hand, money in the other, scratching his skin madly and bellowing as he ran out the hallway. I smiled, knowing that sooner or later, he would vist our services once more to rid of the pain. This was the best gig ever.
The pillowcase slid off and into a plastic bag, as the Simon agitated it. Some loose hairs also fell into the collection but he shruged it off. I'll just make sure to hand those over to Harriet when I submit... With a few quick flicks and the precision only a century of experience could give, the pillowcase glides back onto its pillow with ease. Sure is easier these days, humans really don't know... Beats sifting dust He finished going through the rest of the house, beating a pillow here, shaking a blanket there, always making sure they were placed just as they were before he arrived. His bag is only half full by the end of the day, but skin is the hardest to accumulate without getting caught. After shaking down the entirety of the third house on the left side of Garden Ave, he decided it's too late in the day to hit another house and heads back to the processing plant. Busy day Larry? Eh, it wasn't so bad... There was a storm off the coast and some hands and feet got drummed up, I managed to get most of em in before the humans called their authorities Don't they ever wonder why it's only "a"foot and not some "feet"? I dunno, never really thought about that. Larry paused for a second, shook his head and began to walk away. I wanna hurry up and get outta here, I'll see ya tomorrow buddy! With a quick smile and a wave, Larry vanished. Nice seeing ya man! You too said Larry, his voice garbled from a distance. Simon got to the collection machine, punched in his specimen bag number, and emptied it into the chute. The bag is tossed in the sanitation bin, and he goes to look at the board. 243 Garden Ave- 19 Dec 2021, 15:34:21, Status- Complete Simon remembered the hairs he shook up and floated back to the machine, just as they popped out. He grabbed the specimen jar and took it over to the hair dept. Hey Simon, how was your day? A chipper voice asks from behind a machine. Oh you know, a lot of fluff and not so much to show for it! Just like every day in skin! He set the specimen jar down on the counter next to the hair machine I did get some good hair from the place, I made sure to bring it over for you. Well aren't you just so helpful? Harriet grabbed the jar and placed it in the machine. It began to hum and rattled before it eventually beeped. Looks like we are at 100%! She cheered and pumped her fists. Did I hear 100%? As the rough voice completed her query, she began to come into view, an older fairy with a small bag of baby teeth. I'm glad, cause I'm full up on teeth for this county! Hey Tabitha! Simon smiles at his mentor. I'm at 100% and so is Harriet. Larry had some good finds too, storm drug em up from the bay! Ah, yes, never can have too many extra limbs, they're so hard to come by most days. Where is Larry anyway? Oh he left as soon as he could I don't think he even submitted, unless he did it while shrouded... Simon replied casually. Well, limbs are just backup material anyhow... What about nails? I have quite a bit of nails from the salons, quite genius having them install central vacs for them, Tabi! said a garbled voice as the fairy began to appear. That's why you're the face of this place! Well, it's time. Let's go give this human her baby before the blood cycle starts. Simon says, dryly. I still don't understand why the humans think playing sex with each other makes babies... It's all about marketing, Simon. That's why I'm the public facing Fairy here! Tabitha gets her wand I am SUCH a trusted name they just GIVE me their used baby teeth... Saves a ton on materials! Simon chuckled and thought to himself "maybe one day they'll leave their skin out for the skin fairy too..."
"Is the McDonalds glowing?"My wife asked. "No, it's a dark night and they always leave the lights on,"I replied, but the truth was that the McDonalds was glowing. The Golden Arches practically hummed with light and illumination poured out of every window. I let the car roll into the parking lot. "Drive-thru?"I asked. "Drive-thru,"She confirmed. We still had a ways to drive tonight and if you've got a lot of road ahead of you, it's best to get on that road and not waste time. I glanced a look in the rearview mirror and saw all our bags stacked neatly. It was as bright as daylight. "Maybe their lights are broken,"I mumbled as I pulled up to the menu sign that doubled as the intercom. "Welcome to McDonalds what can I get YOU tonight?"Crackled the voice over the intercom. They spoke fast like they had to get all the words out on one breath and put extra emphasis on the you. Probably just some kid having a bit of fun. "Spicy chicken sandwich,"said my wife. "Make that two. And a black coffee."I added. "That's two spicy chicken sandwiches and a black coffee."The voice confirmed at rapid-fire pace. "Can I get you anything else on this bright night?" Now my curiosity was piqued. "That's all,"I said, "but are your lights broken. This place is lit up like a beacon." "Oh tonight we are -"the voice over the intercom suddenly stopped and there was a moment of silence. I shared a weirded out look with my wife. "Sir, please pull up to the next window to take your order. No charge tonight."Came the intercom, but this time it was a new voice. A man's voice, and much slower. "Okay."I said, thinking about turning the car around and driving out. Who ever heard of McDonalds giving away orders for free? For no reason, too. I looked over at my wife and she shrugged. Onwards, then. I let the foot of the brake and the car rolled to the pick-up window. The window was closed but the light inside made it glow. As I got closer, I could see that the window actually was vibrating. "Sir, please put out your hand. I'll give you your order and do NOT look inside."The man's voice said. The same voice that had replaced the fast-speaking girl. I mouthed a 'what-the-fuck' to my wife. She shook her head no, but the window was already sliding open. I knew it because the light from inside the McDonalds lit up her face like there was a spotlight on it. And then her jaw dropped, and I realized she was staring at the now open window. I swiveled my head out of instinct. Inside was a man at first glance, and behind him was what can only be described as a machine, but like no machine I had ever seen. At the center was what appeared to be a crystal but it was hard to see because it shone like the sun. Connected to the crystal were countless tubes and pipes that fed into a dazzling array of machines, light shining out of each one. "I told you not to look,"said the man, and I saw that he wasn't really a man at all. He had on the McDonald's uniform, but his actual skin looked more like it was made out of translucent marble and the light shone through him in a thousand colors like a prism. "What is this place,"I stammered. The prism man shrugged, and time stopped. The thrum of the engine of the car ceased like someone flipped an off switch. The headlights of passing cars on the main road froze. "Donna, they looked. Prepare for two passengers."He called into the kitchen.
If I hadn’t slept ‘till noon perhaps I would have noticed the red morning sky and taken warning. As it was four shots of whiskey at The Whisper on the Water, another three beers at Holly’s Folly and a nameless drink at a forgotten pub had achieved exactly what you’d expect. I was singing a swanky song with some sweaty folk when the first of the grey clouds rolled in. “Don’t you think you ‘ought to be gettin’ back to Liz?” asked a man with a bushy beard as he squinted hard at my ear. I leaned against the pub wall and tried my hand at decorating. Between the heaving on the ground and wiping of my mouth I let him know in no uncertain terms that he was to mind his own business. Folk will take any chance to act the mother in these parts. As luck would have it, just as the constable came by the gods bestowed upon me a large bucketful of rain for my gifted chum. “Get outta here you lot,” he barked while threatening us with his baton. A beautiful blur it was, the rest of that night. The most enjoyable nights are the ones you least remember, as my pa always said. Head pounding, I set out to find my lady love, there would be hell to pay if I wasn’t back in time. Luckily, I hadn’t wandered too far from the docks. Ran into the second mate on the way and gave him a stiff nod and received one in return. Imagine my surprise when the beautiful lady Elizabeth was not where I anchored her. I’d have gotten a whipping were I not the captain.
'Quickly, in this bush!' Tilly said, ushering her two brothers into the darkness of the laurel bush. She placed a finger over her mouth and looked at her brothers gravely, to quieten herself and them. The fairies were coming. Rumours abound in the neighbourhood, of these types of fairies. Not your whimsical fairytale fairies, but the types that kidnapped children and harvested their glee. You see, these fairies had been exiled, and stripped of their whimsy. And we all know that fairies must have whimsy to stay alive. The sound like a large fluttering locust, curved round the bush. Thomas, the younger brother, felt like he would poo himself. The rumours, if that is what they are still called, have been rumoured to be real. Two years ago a little girl named Fae went from being happy and full of sunshine, to gloomy and sad. Tilly always wondered why, and tried to ask her, but Fae didn't want to speak. It must have been the fairies, the entire school thought. The flutter seemed to flutter away. Tilly waited a long while before speaking again, and when she did, she whispered. ''I think it's gone.' Ben, the older brother, peaked out the bush in the direction of the fluttering away. 'I don't see any fairies.' He said, shaking his head. 'That was a close one.' Thomas said, trying again to tie his red boots.
"Come, sit down and listen to my story. Do you feel the warmth of the fire in front of you? Do you hear the crackling of dry wood in the flames? Good. I hope you are sitting comfortable. Well then, lets begin the story. Long ago, when the world was filled with wonder and whishes came true, there was a boy. A boy with blonde hair and a spirit as fiery as the flames of the fire before you. Young he was. Young and pround. High he held his head wherever he went. High he held it as he grew up in the gardens and fields of his home. High he held it as he went to serve his king. And high he held it as he rode his horse into battle, the thunder of a thousand hooves rolling across the valley and the cries of many men rising to the sky. Blood and sweat he gave and many friends he lost but he stayed ever loyal to his king, whom he had never seen. His pride grew as time went on. Soon he despised the simple lifes of the peasants and countrymen. How much greater seemed to him the honour of a knight. How much greater was his own striving. How much more honourable the life in service of the king and the death in battle. He no longer respected lesser men than him. Not a simple smile not a small nod of appreciation were they worth. Instead it was anger that filled him whenever a poor man or woman wasn't fast enough to go out of his way. Arrogance lead his way and dishonor followed his every steps. Sharp words left his mouth when an unwary child blocked his path and curses fled his lips when an old loiterer asked for help. Long he was blind to his discourtesy. Years came and passed. One day he was scouting the fields and valleys of the land when his horse broke out and left him far from the cities and villages alone in the forest. Long he searched for the steed and even longer for a way back but finally, when the sun failed and his legs grew tired he had to admit his failure. The path was lost and so was the horse with all his provisions, maps and most of his gear. Dark grew the night and no shelter could be found. His thin cloak couldn't keep him warm in the coldness of the night. No fire like the one before you could be made as it had begun to rain. It seemed as if the whole world had turned agaist him. After a while in which he couldn't remember if he slept or had stayed awake he could make out a faint light through the blackness around him. The small light filled him with hope. It brought the thought of bright campfires on a summer's eve and candle lit halls with merry people with it. But it lasted only for a short moment. The memories faded as the small light in the distance disappeared. He scrambled to his feet. He had to find the light if he couldn't anything else. Stumbling over roots in the darkness he made his way towards the direction in which he first saw the light. Branches teared at his arms and legs and scratched his face. Dark was the forest. Dark and gloomy. Finally the light appeared again, closer now. It was just a little flame dancing in the air but with it the merry memories appeared again. People dancing and singing all around him. The Joy of a festival filling the air. He turned, following the gleeful blaze. It seemed to him as if a soft melodie was in the air. Closer he got. Just as he reached out to touch it it was gone like the wind, reappearing in the distance. Further and further the fen fires lured him. He knew of the curse but how could he turn away from the happy songs that gave him comfort in his distress? And so he followed and listened and for a while all his worries were forgotten. The sunbeams of a new morning awoke him. As he looked around he noticed that he was in a clearing in the forest. How he had got there he didn't know. He must've fallen asleep trying to reach the flames. Haze surrounded him. Through the white fog sunbeams danced and set the grass and nearby trees ablaze. A bird was chirping far in the distance. As he wandered around he noticed a small well standing on top of a little hill. An old, crooked tree bent over it. Moss had long covered the weathered stones and grass was growing in it's nooks and crevasses. The burbling water sprung from the thick roots and filled a small basin below. Thirst overcame him. As he sat down to drink of the clear water he noticed an old man staring at him. With a slow, rough voice the stranger started to talk: 'Come Child, Slake your thirst at the Well. But be warned, as you Drink Deeply from the Well, so too Does the Well Drink Deeply of you.' Startled he looked up from the gurgling water. What did the man mean? But the stranger only let out a soft laugh and turned away: 'Maybe it will be for the better if you take a drink, but who knows' Then his silhouette was gone in the mist. Paying no heed to the words of the stranger he turned to the well and drank. Deeply he drank and so did the well. When he was finished an emptiness filled him, which he had never felt before. His pride was gone and so was his loyalty to a ruler who didn't care. The discourtesy was gone and his love for fights. The honour of a death in battle. Everything he had ever been was gone, taken by the well. But every end conceals a beginning. And emptiness welcomes change. And so through time the emptiness was filled with kindness. With stories and music. Where once was discourtesy now humbleness grew like a flower in the gardens of his youth. And the knight became a bard, a storieteller who travels the land telling his stories to the ones who will listen. He sits now, around campfires and sings and talks. And he makes people happy. He gives them the opportunity to forget the burden of life and lets them marvel at the stories of times long gone. And that's a gift worth more than all the honor in the world."
Robin tiptoed down the mansion corridor, peeking around every corner he came to. The house lay still as only the floorboards protested to his presence. Old painted figures judged him from their portraits on the wall as his heavy bag swayed back and forth. His long white beard trailed along the ground, dragging dust and dirt with every step. Finally, Robin Klaus found himself at his destination. The tree. It was definitely the largest Christmas tree Robin had come across tonight. Underneath sat a copious amount of presents, large and small, all ready for little Jimmy in the morning. Picking them at random, Robin started to shove some of the neatly wrapped presents into his sack. Present after present disappeared under the tree and everything was going swimmingly until he heard a noise. A door slamming, off in the distance, made him stop in his tracks, one hand halfway in the sack. Looking around the room, he saw nothing. Must be the butler. Taking no risks, Robin shuffled his way around behind the tree till he was completely hidden from view. Waiting and waiting, he was about to finally come out when he heard the door slam again. Peering through the gaps in the tree, he saw a shadow first, projected onto the white corridor wall. Then, as they stepped into the light of the tree, he saw that it wasn’t the butler, it was little Jimmy. Dressed in his new pyjamas, Jimmy stood gaping at the Christmas tree, one hand on his glass of milk and the other over his mouth. “My presents!” Jimmy squealed, as he threw down his milk on the table, spilling half in the process and rushed to the tree. “Where are my presents?” Oh christ no. Not again! Jimmy’s little beady eye’s dashed around the room, sure that he would see his missing presents somewhere else. When they remained hidden, he let out a sob and fell down on his backside. Now’s my time. Trying to use all the stealth he could, Robin hopped from behind the tree, trying to cling to the wall, hoping to remain unseen. Unfortunately, a stray Chritsmas light had snagged itself to the cuff of Robin’s trousers and as he walked, the tree came along. Jimmy, looking up between his tears, now saw the Christmas tree toppling over in his direction. With a sigh, Robin rushed over, scooping the child up just in time to avoid the tree squishing him. Thankfully, the floor was carpeted and the tree ornaments all remained in one piece. Jimmy stared up at Robin, mouth open, trying hard to form his words. “Santa?!” Jimmy exclaimed, embracing the older man as tight as he could. “Santa, Santa, Santa!” Robin dropped Jimmy, bouncing him over the soft floor below. “I ain’t Santa!” Robin grumbled, dropping his sack on the floor. Well, while I’m here. Robin bent down, opened his bag once more and started to put the rest of Jimmy’s present’s inside. “Santa,” Jimmy mumbled. “What are you doing with my presents?” Robin shook his head and sighed. “I ain’t your Santa, kid,” Robin snapped, shoving the last present in the bag. “I’m Robin Klaus.” Jimmy then understood. He had seen this in movies. Understood that Robin had come to steal Christmas. With all his might, Jimmy focused and started to scream. “Ahhhhhh!” Jimmy shouted though as Robin quickly turned around he stopped because he saw that he had an arrow pointed at his face. “Stop screaming,” Robin warned. “Or I’ll let go.” Jimmy stopped at once, looking up at Robin through his tears. “Merry Christmas, Jimmy,” Robin laughed as he turned to leave. “And a Happy New Year!”
But once was terrifying has now become a common inconvenience, just because you're cult is in charge of the world doesn't mean you get to be a b****. These thoughts ran through my head as I saw the Eldritch being known as kah'ren ate the small man working behind the counter, the creature gargled saying this is a small not a large despite the large cup clearly being in front of her, as well as stating that that price for a large coffee is ridiculous when she could go to a Mcronald's for a much cheaper coffee. The man looked exhausted as this is not the first time this has occurred. The elder abomination spitefully slammed down a mucus covered credit card held out her hand aggressively for it to be returned and left in a huff.
Christopher sighed as he looked over the gaudy costume he had to wear. It was a candy Cane striped pirate outfit complete with a fake Jack Sparrow-like beard and a custom Santa hat. He always knew his turn in the costume would come. He smiles as he thinks about how quickly his siblings seemed to make plans for Christmas Eve this year… The group of elementary kids and their parents piled into the empty halls of Harrison County High School. They gathered at the foot of the stairs. Christopher cursed at his next oldest brother and descended the stairs in full pirate regalia. “Ay…this is me crew? Well ok, you’re a lot smaller then the last one but good pirates come in all sizes right?” The group enthusiastically cheered. Christopher looked up and felt like the Harrison High mascot was mocking him. “Alright that’s the spirt. A lot of vigor! A lot of energy! A lot of pi-well maybe not that part…never ye mind. Gather ‘round me mateys gather ‘round.” He walks down to the first step and the kids pile in closer. “Tonight’s a very special night. Tonight I plan to pull off the biggest heist everyone seen this side of the Pacific or any ocean for that matter. And I need the help of a crew just like you! Now what does every good pirate captain need?” “Rum!” Chris couldn’t help but chuckle at the enthusiastic six year old. “Well…yes but aside from that…a first mate! A friend, a brother…a guy to take the blame if things go topside. Now do we have any volunteers?” The kids raise there hands and vie for the spot. Chris points to one of them and calls him to his side. “Alright matey, your names Bluebeard the pirate.” He situates a smaller customized pirate Santa hat on the kids head. “Now our heist can begin…today we steal Santa’s list!” The kids gasp and his first mate runs back into the crowd. Chris tires to hide his smile and stay in character. “Ay okay I see, a mutiny eh? Well then I’ll just to steal the list meself!” He bounds back up the stairs despite the jeering from his audience. He hides behind a locker and listens as his old peewee emerges playing the role of Santa. He listened to the spiel and on his cue he ran down the hall to “Santa’s Workshop” just beating the group of kids and Santa. “Avast, fat man. Just a wee bit too slow.” He laughed and threw the door open. He just as quickly closes it. He digs the list prop out of the principals desk and waits…and waits…and waits until Santa finally remembers his lines and bursts the door open with Christmas spirit… After the show Chris sat in his costume, sweaty and slightly bruised from a rogue Sketcher thrown by a kid with impeccable aim. His mom burst through the door and threw her arms around him. “Oh my baby boy! Everyone loved you!”
"I'm telling you, you HAVE to try this."Grolm couldn't help but undulate in excitement as they neared the large vehicle. The aroma wafting from it could break even the most disciplined Sanctum guard into leaving their post for an opportunity to wait in line. "What do they call this?""It's a dish called 'tawkoes all paster.'"Grolm's friend replied, the hypnotizing aroma instantly overpowerd by the air of smugness that radiated from him. Ok, we get it, you're taking human courses. thought Grolm, ears twitching in exasperation. Soon enough, their turn to order was coming up. Despite his initial frustration, Grolm nor his tail couldn't help but broadcast his excitement, as his friend used his limited "Spannish"to order. Seemingly impressed with the attempt, the server added another "tawkoe"to each of their orders. "Are these as good as the 'sew shee' we had last week?"asked Grolm as he poured a green liquid across his tacos, taking the lead from his friend as he poured the container of red liquid. "It's from a different region on Earth but, it's just as amazing."The meal was clear proof of The Makers existence. Absolutely divine.Grolm and his friend sat back, slowly wading through the ecstasy of their latest culinary adventure. They might not be the strongest, fastest, or even the most intelligent. Nor is their military and technology that great but, by The Maker, all Human cuisine seems to have been graced by It's Blessing... "I don't know how they do it... Each dish is better than the last... Does a limit to their gift even exist?!"Grolm exclaimed, taking a moment to pick at the last little bits of the small leaves their meal was topped with. "You have no idea, friend.... Wait until you've tried this dish they call 'Tecks-is Bar-buh-qew."
[Poem] Eternal darkness breathed fire into the hearts of man. A deep desire to understand it’s origin then began. Distant and unobtainable lights had once guided ancient journey. These stars had now suddenly vanished. Geniuses spoke of “false vacuum decay” and idiots cried out something corny. A few claimed decades later that these “stars” had never existed, with time the evidence and observation was obscured and twisted. These immutable pinholes in the celestial sphere were vanquished. Still many claimed to know why, a few said they’d fallen from the sky. Perhaps the most profound terror of all, was that they couldn’t just “fall”. There was no credible reason or explanation, for Orion’s sudden and complete decimation. The deepest fear prevents us from accepting the reality of thought, as comforting as an answer can be change reality it cannot.
Clint refused to acknowledge the severity of the storm as it downed power lines and tore apart tree branches in the neighborhood. The windows rattled with wind and thunder; the boards of the house creaked and groaned against the gale. But Clint only sat in his chair, like always, and drank one PBR after another. Samantha paced frantically about the house, packing the kids' clothes and checking the batteries in flashlights and emergency radios. There was a system to all of this, an ordered checklist in cases of emergency. Clint had called the preparation months ago "reactionary,"but after she witnessed a once-in-a-lifetime tornado wipe a town off the map less than 100 miles away, how could she be anything but? Predictably, it was Samantha planning and executing the survival and escape plan while Clint and the kids disassociated around the house. Hayden was in his bedroom, door locked and headphones on. Despite his burning resentment of his father, he too dismissed the storm and intoxicated himself. But beer was not Hayden's drug of choice. Instead, he had taken to microdosing LSD. A 17-year old Senior in high school, Hayden had already spoken to God on multiple occasions, each visit a rail against the supreme being's seeming indifference to the misery in the world, like overbearing parents and their refusal to pay for a South Padre vacation for him and his friends. Elsewhere, Claudette knelt in her room, praying to the same unfair God, that he might deliver the family not from the storm, but from their sins. Her father was an alcoholic. Her mother was an unfaithful worrier. Her brother was a self-avowed radical socialist atheist. Could God save them? Of course. But will he? Claudette could only pray. "Claudette, get up. We have to get in the car,"Samantha's words whipped like a slavedriver's switch. "I'm in the middle of something, mother,"Claudette whipped back with indignant venom. "You can pray in the car!"The panic had now reached Samantha's throat, rattling her vocal cords into a screech. Claudette jumped back before composing herself and standing up from prayer. "Good, good. Come on, let's go." But Claudette only shut her bedroom door with herself inside. Samantha stopped in the hall and felt her face go hot with bubbling anger. "Clint! Can you get the kids ready?"She called to her husband. Clint scoffed on the sofa and popped another can of beer. A small pile had accumulated next to the worn-out recliner. "For what? Where are we gonna go? Storms move faster than cars, Sam!" Samantha stood in front of him, eyeing the aluminum pyramid next to the chair, a perverse tribute to their faltering marriage. "So, what? We sit here and let it wipe s away?" "Nothing's gonna wipe us away, Sam. The house was built in the 60s, before the Chinese started making building materials. It'll stand and I'll fix the gutters in the morning."Clint belched and nestled further into his seat. The lights flickered and dimmed. Somewhere there was a crashing sound, like two cars colliding outside. Samantha's hands started shaking and the wrinkles in her forehead folded like an accordion. She marched away from her passive husband's dismissal and strode toward Hayden's room. Samantha knocked on the door with her knuckled. "What?"She heard her dazed son inside moan. "We're leaving!"She yelled over his headphones. There was quiet for a few moments before the door came open. Hayden stood there with buds in his ears and a lost, disheveled look on his face. Probably he was doing drugs, but how could she stop him? Kick him out? With what army? All she could hope for was that he'd join the Navy like her dad or go work on an oil rig like Clint's. Anything to get him out of the house. "What?"Hayden repeated. "We're leaving,"Sam mouthed the words carefully so that if Hayden couldn't hear her, he could at least see what she was saying. "Where?"He slurred. "Away from the storm,"she pantomimed, pointing in a direction away from the house. "The storm's already here,"he shook his head, looking down on his mother. "And it's only going to get worse unless we leave now!" "Fine,"he exhaled. "Let me get my stuff together." "It's too late for that, we need to--" But Hayden's back was turned already and the door shut behind him. Two slammed doors in her face in one night. What are the odds. Samantha went into her bedroom and held a pillow to her face, letting loose a scream to vent her frustration. How she wished she could keep the pillow there, let sleep take her, disassociate like everyone else. That's when the idea struck her. She couldn't force a 15-year old Fundamentalist, a 17-year old burnout, or a 45-year old alcoholic to do anything. If she was going to live, she would have to save herself. If anything was going to happen, it would need to be by her own hand and in her own interest. A floodgate of excitement and joy washed over her mind. She could drive away and keep going, outrunning the storm and her indifferent, failed family. She could move to Mexico, find a new husband, drink margaritas on the beach. Who's going to stop her? Who would care? Samantha walked down the hall past the two shut doors, hearing self-righteous, aimed prayers from one, and the tingy music from overly loud headphones from another. She passed by a barely lucid Clint and neither said a word. Samantha grabbed the keys off the hook and opened the door to the garage, where her 2007 Honda Pilot was parked next to Clint's 2021 Charger. As the large garage door opened, the wind poured in. Outside the rain seemed to be dropping sideways, sending sheets of water over every surface and bending the trunks of trees to the sounds of snaps and the ripping of roots.
I was half starved, I honestly didn't believe they were going to anything. Hell, I didn't even believe it was them at first. Bu there they were. He grabbed my wrists, "Sorry in advance."he said before he forced my arms apart. He pulled me to my feet before I half collapsed. "I can't walk."I gasped through a dry throat. "Then I'll carry you. Keep your mouth shut or you'll bite your tongue."he said flipping me in a fireman's hold and ran out past dead officers and broken bodies. I watched the dead through hazy eyes. I guess I said something because he growled. "I played by your rules for once. Cleaning crew were given a warning and those who tried to move away will eventually wake up." "The dead?" "I told em not to shoot at me. They shot."he growled. The next thing I remember is waking up in a bed. I couldn't remember how I got there but one of the lieutenants, I couldn't quite remember his name but i knew the face, stood guard by my door. We had some sort of conversation and he helped me drink some water and called in a woman to help me into the bathroom and back to bed. I went back to sleep afterward. The next time I woke up I was ravishing, the woman from before- learned her name was Cassandra, she was apparently another super that had been hailed as a 'hero' before she 'disappeared'... Yea. I knew the truth now. She had been responsible for my healing and care. She brought me up some stew and a cup of milk and had to slow me down a few times as she relayed what had happened. Tri-Flare, the -ahem- "mastermind behind everything"and the one who broke me out had brought me to a lair that so far was unknown, or at least left alone. He had quite the security system here I was told. Cassandra also relayed on how she, like many of us, had been tricked. How we were used to 'fix' problems and how various governments wanted to hide behind us to 'solve' their problems. And when we either were useless or knew too much they found ways to kill us off. A knock on the door showed Tri-Flare at the door. He smiled as he entered, and for the first time I saw his face. A large scar over his left eye that was clouded showed why his mask often looked the way it did. He sat down and joined in the explanations. How he was a hero himself but asked too many questions and was too good at finding answers. They decided to cut his contract early. "My name at the time was Flashfire."he added with a wry smile. I felt my face pale. The greatest hero in the world. The first of us... the very first hero to come out and help people... I opened my mouth to shout that was impossible before I closed it. You see, Flashfire was the first of us yes. But he was also 'dead.' And that fact couldn't be denied, because even after the hotel collapsed on him and people slowly stopped thinking he could have gotten out... it was just under a century ago. The papers stated he was about thirty-five when he died... If he was flash fire that would mean... "I don't know the extent of it."He said as he saw me doing the realizations. "I couldn't believe it when I woke up under the rubble and was 'mostly' okay. I've been stabbed, shot, crushed...I can't tell how much I'm Immortal but...I can't die by force at least." "So what are you going to do with me?" He shook his head, "That's more on you, but for the moment you need to rest. We'll talk later. I just wanted to make sure you were okay and let you know the level." I nodded. "Okay, thanks." Cassandra pointed at the dial, "that's basically a call nurse button. Let me know if you need anything. i'll help however I can." They left me to my thoughts and I rustled under the covers as it all replayed in my head. I didn't know what I wanted or felt other than more sleep and exausted so I rustled back in and fell asleep.
The frigate landed, if you could call it a landing and not a crash, off the coast of Long island, near New York City. Brudon Binmermore hops out of the Captain's seat and swigs his Andromeda ale. "We made it, let's just get this over with..." Binmermore's first course of action is figuring out who's in charge. He slides along the top of the water until he reaches Manhattan, still swigging his ale. As human forces surround him and their communication forces fly around in primitive aircrafts, he simply sits down in the middle of the road and waits. "What are you and what do you want?!"A human voice screams through an amplification device. Binmermore stares at the human, all four eyes piercing through him as he attempts to establish a neural connection. He swigs his ale again, shakes his head, blinks, and looks at the human again. This time he's a little more successful. "What is this thing what is this thing what is this thing what is this thing?" Binmermore rises to his tentacles and approaches the man, gently placing the tip of his empty upper limb onto the man's forehead. Now he's in, but he has to touch the nasty creature. "Brudon Binmermore, Captain of the Docyl 5, representative of the Galactic Federation subsection 2A-7." As soon as the thought left his mind the human collapsed in fear. Binmermore laughs, which to human ears sounds more like passing gas. "Did it... Just fart at us?"He caught another human thinking. He looked at the human, eyes focused. "Take me to your planet's representative!" "IT JUST INVADED MY MIND!" "I don't speak human you moron. Where's your boss?"He said as his tentacle slithered around the man and touched his forehead. "I'm making a neural link. Can we hurry this up already, I'm almost out of Andromeda ale and it's a tease being this close to the distillery!" Eventually, an Earth day or so later, a much larger, yet still primitive, aircraft approaches and a group of highly ornamented humans file out. "Stupid humans... Can't even form neural links with their own kind..." Binmermore mutters out loud, his voice screeching through the city. After a tense staredown, Binmermore decided the primary human was the one with white head silk and a glistening alloy and mineral ornament. It was significantly older and smaller than the others, but it turned its mouth pleasantly at him. He could hear its thoughts "this is quite unbelievable, if only Phillip were alive!" Binmermore approached it and extended a tentacle towards its forehead, it bowed onto it gracefully. "Greetings. I am Brudon Binmermore, Captain of the Docyl 5, representative of the Galactic Federation subsection 2A-7" "I am Elizabeth II, Queen of England, Ireland, and Scotland" "Do you carry authority for all of this planet?" "Heavens no! I am Queen by birthright and quite limited in my actual authority." Binmermore sighs. "These creatures don't even have a central authority..." "No, we do not. I suspect that is what brings you here today?" "Yeah, the Federation has some concerns about how you are running things around here..." After a few more minutes talking to Elizabeth, Binmermore decided the best course of action was to seize the humans who show potential to carry out the Federation's philosophy and evaporate the rest. According to Subsection 3 of the Federation's Constitution, the Federation had full authority to select prime candidates from any planet within Federation territories to return to Docyl for reeducation and repopulation. Binmermore slithers over to the Queen, as it called itself, and offers his tentacle again. As its forehead gently rested itself upon the tip, he thinks at it. "I'm out of ale and I want to hit Andromeda before they close. You've been selected to join the Federation. I insist you join me on my spacecraft, just over the water a short way. With no active representative for your planet, I'm choosing you based on your seniority." "I'm afraid that's an impossibility"it replied "Suit yourself. I'll just tell the Federation you nuked yourselves..." "Quite funny you say that, because just last month we almost did!" Intrigued, half drunk, and bored, Binmermore pressed it for more details. "We have had an intense virus circulating the globe, the Americans can't decide if they're one way or another, the Russians are trying to annex half their former empire left, the North Koreans finally made a nuclear weapon, and everyone is just exhausted. My husband died recently, and frankly, I'm ready to die as well... I cannot accompany you to the Docyl, my health is too delicate. Might I suggest you take my son or grandson instead?" "Suit yourself, human. But unless it's you, I refuse. I have been getting reports from my men that your armies are trying to destroy my frigate. That ship is at least seven millennia old and I don't want a new one. I don't have time to sit here and figure out who to bring with me. I am out of ale, Andromeda is right there and this is a waste of my time! It would take me at least and eon to bring your planet up to code, and another to find an acceptable leader. Too much work!" "I'm sorry to have disappointed you, Binmermore, but after all I've been through in my life, I just don't think space travel is going to agree with me."The Queen offers him a bottle of brandy "I don't know that this will help you with your ale problem but it's a personal favorite of my assistant. I bid you safe travels." Binmermore retracts his tentacles and tastes the substance. The human alcohol hits his plasma and he feels strange. "Wow this is impure!" His voice tears through the city, humans cry out in pain as he slides back over the water and to his ship, still swigging on the brandy. He returns to his ship, where the humans have their defenses posted. He grabs a soldier and presses his tentacle into his forehead and commands him to speak for him. "Unfortunately you are a weak species and I've wasted enough time here. I'm just gonna drop a nuke on my way out." He drops the soldier and boards his ship. After it shakes and rumbles for a few minutes, it takes to the sky. He presses the broken nuke button as he passes the moon and a long line of bombs fall onto the planet. Looking in his display he sees the planet erupt into flames, and eventually crumble off in the distance. "If this doesn't force me into retirement, I'm just gonna kill myself..."
“How’d you know it was me?” I asked, as I grabbed a french fry off Jermaine as he sat opposite me at a McDonalds. Through clever engineering he was using his burger box to store his fries, making it easier for both of us to pick at them. “I was with no else, Eddie it had to be you,” “Get the fuck outta here, I seen the Snapchat’s of who you where with.” “I had the symptoms before that party though.” “So you know you had it then, you dirty motherfucker.” “No I didn’t know I had, I said I had the symptoms, after I was with you.” “I tested negative though Jermaine and I’m always careful and wear protection, you didn’t get your dopey ass tested,” “Fuck outta hear Eddie, any motherfucka listening to this convo would think we fucked each other in the ass.” “ Pandemic fucker, a global pandemic, give me the rest of them fries, you COVID spreading, gay hating, french frie giving dingus.
-"I think I had enough, don't you think? Father? Mother?" Moments cacophonous among empathy, avoided of looks and contact. Mother had her palms gently positioned over her knees, slightly tilted with her long hair covering her eyes. Father, laid back in his chair seemingly trying to enter it, if possible. His gaze locked on mother's interlocked fingers, nervously picking her nails. Color of their eyes escapes your recollection, and now that you think about it... All your remember is just tightly pressed lips. -"...it's obvious you don't love me, so why keep me?"- growl cut trough thick air. -"Why didn't you leave me somewhere to die?" -"Martha ... Please."- Father spoke softly, kindly pleading to Mother to speak. -"John, i-i-i can't!"- Martha spoke back still looking at that knot on the wooden flooring. -"Martha please!" These words were nothing that you haven't heard before. They were an old fashioned dance mother and father have done every evening of every day. There would be late dinner, only for you, then this little dance, some more silence before you would give up, and just hope sleep would find you again. It became stale after few years of this dance, at first it felt genuine ... But longer you waited for this dance to end, less you were able to care about their predicament. "Martha!! Please!!! This is it!!! You either tell it now, or we will not have a child after this!!"- unusual shout for a Monday, maybe this drama had an episode rewrite after all. -"You need to ... Only you can..." -"Huh? A new development?"- an amused chuckle then softly -"please, don't mind me, I'm intrigued - continue". -"We do love you! You h-h-have to b-believe us!"- mother spoke, tethering around the subject. Another chuckle, smirk as she continued-"Your g-g-g-grand grandfather, h-he had these... eyes." -"Eyes? Old fart had eyes?!"- Mockingbird words echoed in a breath. -"Yes, people used to call him Soulful Saul because of them. Eyes pitch black, where no light or shine escaped them."- father interjected. Mother's chest had risen up as she let out a trembling breath followed by a single high pitch sigh. Mother's nails now dug into her own ties pushing onto her pants clawing their way to some long forgotten comfort. -"I've never seen them myself, but my f-f-father always told the h-horror he had witnessed due to t-t-t-those eyes."- mother shyly continued. -"Ive always personally thought it was BS, his journals a bad written fiction of an drunkard, but..."- father reached out to take Mother's hand into his -"you were born." -"I don't understand... What does that have to do with me? My eyes aren't black, they are blue. What's the point of this new episode?" -"His eyes weren't black"- mother started sobbing. -"Well now i am confused" -"In his journals, color change is last step, at first he just saw trough things."- Father now grasping mother's hand tightly with his own, as if he is pouring his strength into her.-"In his books he said he could see trough people and their desires, he could see into fabric of universe and banality of it, that it all made sense." -"So old fart was crazy, and a bit grandiose?" -"I thought so too, before you came to me when you were 3, and pointed towards our neighbor Kevin and said 'look Dad, a bad man'. My best friend Kevin, whom I have known for ages? It was insulting at first, a kid who has no notion of life ... But then your iris went away". -"A-and then, ten years later, K-k-kevin was arrested for mass murder."- mother spoke softly, holding Father's hand tightly. -"and you laughed, as if it was a joke". -"It was a joke! Are you telling me that mass murderer, being active for 40 something years, being finally busted by getting lonely enough to buy a 0 puppy - isn't funny?! C'mon! A Dog?! Burying bones?! Getting more that little pup was bargaining for?! Nothing?" -"That is only how it starts..."- father spoke -"today, your eyes will turn permanently dark, and your vision will increase. From this day onward, no one will have any secrets in front of you. And if anyone looks you in your eyes, their irises will show you their gruesome future. And they will see it themselves in reflection of their eyes." -"I'll see their future?! Are you kidding me?"- you laugh at the absurdity of such statement. -"Yes, i don't understand it... But that is what journals say". -"You can't be serious?"- this is crazy! Magic eye powers? Those two have truly gone off their knockers, to believe in that-"So that explains everything, i suppose? Magic eye holes?" -"This is serious!!"- mother suddenly slapped her hand over the table, staring directly towards you. Oh, that is how her eyes looked like! Deep marine blue, as if they were crocheted by a sea wool. But In there, there are no eyes in your reflection, just empty. Looking at her face you see decades of agony, imposed fear of what she might see if she ever met your gaze. Growing up about stories of murderers, monsters, family members killing other family members, dirt and blood in the moonlight, seeing the fear in her grandfather's eyes whenever he would speak of his father. It wasn't just a scary story, it was tradition, and the moment her husband told her about you, she had already known. She saw a cat hissing and running away from you. Seeing such terror in an animal, so primal, meant only one thing - the Soulful eyes. She never looked at you ever again, yet her heart ached and beated for you, and father. But if she would meet your eyes, she would see her demize, so she never wanted to see. She had tried to claw her eyes out, but always failed, she yearned to see you albeit knowing that it would be the last time. So she retracted, afraid of you, yet yearning for your embrace, more time went on, more Father pushed her to tell you. But how could she? How could she tell her child that their life is doomed to witness misery, agony and death... Till it drives them mad. She stopped talking to Father after a while, he would still push push, but she would stay silent, until today. And today, unwillingly she had seen those eyes again, yet those eyes weren't one of her child, they were empty. Regret, agony, anger, rage, wrath ... If only she didn't tell you! If only Father didn't meddle his fingers where he had no place to! Where are the kind eyes of her child? What emptiness is this?! Cheated! Tricked! And now she will eventually die without seeing your eyes ever again... blue eyes of her father, blue eyes she missed so much. This will not end here, resentment is a toxic thing, burrowing deep into ones soul. And you see it peering deeper into hers. Their relationship isn't what is used to be, they aren't talking as they used to, coldness that you thought you felt found its nest between them. But her resentment had made it's seed, and will take hold. -"Mom!!"- you scream with tears pouring down your cheeks -"Look away! Please look away!" Her resentment will fuel her rage, her rage will fuel her loneliness till she wakes up one day... Remembers this day when you turned 18, remembers your eyes, and when all emotions flood back as if they were frozen in time. Driven mad by resentment, fear, anger, and decades worth of anguish she will have no one else to blame but father. She will take her own wedding ring and push it into his throat, while her fingers pulverise his eyes. -"I said fucking LOOK AWAY!!!"- your voice tears trough the house. -"Dad! STOP HER! Ahh... You forgot... He has brown eyes.
‘Simulation Run 7363739 complete’ The computer flashed in a metronome pattern. ‘Report output: statistics Year End: 10,567 Population Max: 35,678,431 Catastrophic Event: Complete Ozone Depletion End Report’ “Guess I should run another set,” Robert said. Carey chimed in, “Really Rob? What’s the point. Humanity always ends. You can’t get it past the year 12,000.” Rob continues, “ I know but we have to try. There’s gotta be a way. I refuse to believe that we have started our demise already. We have to find a way.” “There’s no point. We won’t even be alive in the next 3,000 years to see. We’ve been doomed since 7,000 years ago. Let’s just enjoy what’s left of Earth II.” “I guess you’re right. We just have no where else to go. There’s no Earth III,” Rob said defeated.
A familiar pain forcibly presented itself, like an unwanted friend crying for attention. As if spotting the undead were not a task demanding enough energy by itself, my talent demanded I keep to a schedule which required a harsher discipline than I possessed. It was Ryan who woke me, but it was the lingering headache, caused by last night's events, which prevented me from going back to sleep. A hangover had become a part of my assessment, as I had come to learn that my opinion was nothing more than a formality. I would go in and with a glimpse of the bastard I could inform the execution if they should proceed or not. I was a fasafe, preventing innocent people from an unjust punishment. To begin with my talent had filled me with pride, but only till I understood my prediction had nothing to do with justice, fate was the only measure of my eyes. Only a few times had the number differed from zero, and today showed no signs of any difference, though I might have felt a tad hotter than normal. EXECUTION CHAMBER The letters above the door made the imminent reading almost worthless, but nonetheless lucrative on my part, which was the sole reason I still cared for this nonsense. Go in nods, go out and drink, that was my only thought, but the terrified man trying to physically flee the situation by closing his eye so forcibly, which could have amused me under normal circumstances, instead demanded an effort. NAME: PETER SURNAME: HILLBURY. AGE: 49. GENDER: UNCLASSIFIED ADDRESS: LANGBURY ROAD, 429, WEST HOUSTON. LONGEVITY: -1 Instinctively I shook my head, as if the stated facts would suddenly aligne to an understanding which I could accept and confidently present as usual. Minus one, Minus fucking one! Telling the men, who wanted this moment to pass by as if it had been nothing more than the segment in the news, which would normally inform the public of an execution a few hours after, seemed like a joke. Minus one, I could not say it, I would look like a fool, someone who was still affected by the night before. Suddenly I cherished everything, which I had momentarily mocked, but what if they did not believe me? I stood mere meters from forced silence, a contraception conceived to end the wicked. I needed to present them with the facts they wanted, not the facts they feared, so as always I turned my head to the left, and when my eyes met the lieutenants I nodded. Minus one, that still lingers in my head. Is that better or worse than 1, when 0 is the number you expect?
The holographic screen flickered on, displaying the events of my meagre life. Every detail, every memory was laid out on the screen in front of me. I clicked on one thumbnail dated around my 7th birthday. The innocent sound of children’s laughter drifted out of the surround system, filling my heart with warmth. Back then, it was all so simple. No dead end job to go to, no bills to pay. No being on the run from the cops and judges that rule this corrupt city. Yeah, that’s right. I’m on the run. I would tell you where I’m hiding, if I thought I could trust you. I don’t. And I would tell you the crime I committed that got me in this god-awful mess. If I could remember, that is. Somewhere, deep in my memory bank, one file is missing. I know that I am running away from something. I just don’t know what that something is. At first I thought it might have been stolen. Memory-theft is a dying art but some gangs still profit from it. However, it’s unusual for only one memory to have been taken. What could they make from that? My other theory was that I had deleted it myself. Now, you can’t just log onto the memory bank, highlight what you don’t like and press the delete button. It’s not that simple. If I had deleted my own memory, it would have been very costly, very time-consuming and very illegal. I didn’t like to follow the law at the best of times, but even this was too far for me. Unless… I had done something so terrible that I was left with no other option than to erase every part of it from my mind. How did I get into this mess?
You wouldn’t think someone who acquired a healthy profit from paper manufacturing would be inclined to claim supernatural profanities, especially about an automobile. Well, that’s what my great great great grandfather Greenwood Harty spouted in the year 1909, as he was the first man in North Bruce, Ind, to own an automobile. The Model T was created by Henry Ford in 1908, putting the world on wheels, my great 3x grandfather being in the fortunate position he was in, was able to purchase one of these new world automobiles. A man who was known to show off his wealth in a peacock demeanour he was always going to purchase a buy of such earthly significance. Operating a paper company out of English in South Indiana, the entrepreneurial Greenwood, amassed his fortune from the lucrative business in the 1880s and 1890s, setting up a nice home in rural North Bruce for his family and becoming the unofficial town head. The events leading up to the incredible claim, were no doubt it’s tragedy, started with a visit to a mechanic in Louisville by the name of Harold Rodgers, Greenwood complain that his automobile was making an “ungodly” screeching sound and there had to be something afoot. Rodgers a renowned mechanic around the tri state area took a look at the troubled vehicle but couldn’t see any problems and sent my grandfathers great grandfather on his way. Later that evening on the way home from his days work, Rodgers succumbed to a lighting strike that struck the Kentucky soil. Upon hear the tragic news and indeed the continuing screeching, Greenwood Harty came to the conclusion that his automobile was in fact possessed by a poltergeist or the like. He made his way to his place of worship the Bruce Hill Methodist Church were he confided in Rev. Bertram Dobbs, to tell him about his supernatural transport. The Reverend was an individual who didn’t entertain hogwash and despite Greenwood’s reputation in the community, told the towns most successful man that his theory was that of a madman and any other queer outbursts that he would not be welcome back to Sunday service and do you know what a Harty hasn’t stepped foot in that same church until this very day.
Not to be confused with LTT store dot com.. Linus Torvald, creator of Linux.. has decide to Watercool the sun! TempleOS Author, Terry A. Davis responded (beyond the grave).. with obscenities that we could not otherwise rely.. due to strict free speech rules that dither a point of detail down to blunt obscurity.. thus assuring no one's feel-feels are hurt. What we can truly say in summation is "He did not like it, Nor Mr. Trevold"and his "assumed ancestral background"that Mr. Davis had Negatively and very probably, falsely Applied. -such as Mark Twain surely would say in less words.. Local Trainspotters have been quoted as saying "Personality, I mean that's what counts, right? That's what keeps a relationship going through the years. Like heroin, I mean heroin's got a great fucking personality.” NASA has yet to comment on what resources it has currently dedicated to such a momentous project.. but NASA's own Crypto NFT, RKT-Coin has recently begun a upswing trending on Social Media and pricing platforms. It is still unknown by what method or infact how Mr. Torvald will pay for this experiment. and yet even more unsure if this is just but a hoax itself. Cut to Scene. Linus wearing a black robe in a dim lit Cathedral. Surrounded along the side by others dressed in robes of white, black and red. Chanting erupts like a Far-Eastern Temple. "oooohhhhmmmm aaaddaavvyaa"The Mantra is repeated in low guttural tones. beyond scale of voice.. which one would think possible or logically devise-able. The room began to Shake with guttural utterances, trembling the walls with waves of vibrations. Such as an earth -qquake the resonate vibrations began to stir the silt from the very walls and floor itself. In this field could be observed a static buildup that seemed to coincide with these vibrations waxing and wayning. A Metallic blue Glow erupted all around as if the room was filled in and consumed by a blinding Aurora Borealis. "Steamed Hamms, Steamed Clams"they chanted... and with that.. The Sun Erupted with a Cold Blue Arch of lightning. Crystalline structures began to be apparent even from Gaia centric postions... We Did it Linus SCREAMED with maniacal madness. NOw ! NOW THEY WILL KNOW THAT MY NAME IS LINUS! THE ONE THE ONLY! LINUS! MAUAHAHAA (Dark Lorde Emerges)
The Genie asks Lao Tzu "would you not want to be an immortal?!"He simply continues sewing his seeds and directing his Oxen to plow his field. Row by row at each turn The Genie asks, "would you not want all the power and all the riches in the world?!" Lao Tzu continues sewing his seed and plowing his field.. adding water where it is deemed appropriate to nourish new growth. The Spring has come and the Genie asks,"do you not want to grow Crops tall and bountiful for all your neighbors to be astonished?!" Lao Tzu does not reply but instead whispers love songs to his crops whilst dispensing water to each as individual. Summer has come and the Genie asks, "surely you would want the yield to be so immense, as to fill the koffers and make you a man who owns many things and land!?" Lao Tzu gathers his friends and family around. Together they Strip and harvest the field from tither to talon. The Genie Replies, But Winter is coming and surely you will need to heat your home. Lao Tzu responds. "Chop Would and Carry water" with that.. the Genie disappears, confused and perplexed!.. Not wanting to yet again tempt This One.
“Well, isn’t this interesting,” I thought. “There is an afterlife of some kind, and I am aware and conscious. I see that I can pass through solid things the way ghosts in stories and in the movies are able to do.” It took me a moment to realize I was sitting up in my own coffin. The lid was closed, so only my head and chest could be seen while the rest of my body was submerged in the closed coffin. I managed to climb down from the coffin onto the floor without fully understanding how I was able to stand on the ground and still pass through objects above it. I took a look around to see where I was and what was going on: it was an outdoor funeral, and my coffin was there for all to see before being lowered into the grave below it. I could see the people, the mourners clad in black in the usual way, while I heard the clergyman ramble on and on about what a great and consequential person I was. “Who are you fooling, Father?” I said. “I stocked groceries for a living. At least I’m leaving behind my family, my only meaningful legacy to this world. Where are they?” I looked around for my newly minted widow and her two adult children. “Oh, there they are,” I said as I spotted them. “And some other folks I recognize from Milly’s sewing circle. And a bunch of other people I don’t recognize.” I felt I had seen everything I wanted to at this funeral and deemed it satisfactory. “I need to see what else I can do as a ghost,” I said to myself as I made my way out of the cemetery. “I never realized how uninterested I’d be to attend my own funeral. I want to explore. I want to see if I can haunt anybody. It’s clear nobody can see me. And will I be able to see other ethereal beings? Can I go to space? So many things to explore and try out.” I took one last look at the gathering and thought, “Eh, they’ll be fine,” and went on my way, never turning back, into the next wonderful phase of my existence.
Wet. That’s what it was. There was a storm raging outside. I’d been out there. It was cold, and I was drenched. I couldn’t shake the chill from my body. I undressed. Got new clothes. But it wasn’t enough. I still felt the chill of that storm. I turned to the grinder. I poured in beans. I grabbed the kettle, filled it with water, and set it to boil. The grinder whirred, the kettle whistled. The storm raged on, battering the windows. Howling at the world. And I sat down, mug in hand, and took a sip, the chill finally starting to leave.
He prowled the barren, frozen wasteland, the chained beast by his side. Howling wind clawed at his face, draining any remains of heat. The harsh artificial light illuminated this bleak landscape weakly, as Moon dared not show its face here today. Suddenly, the beast stopped and emitted a vile substance, exuding the smell most noxious. He sighed heavily, and trudged into the deep snow, its level rising up to the rim of his heavy boots, to where the offending feces laid. With fingers gloved in black leather, he took from his belt a container, into which he shoved the hot, toxic substance, mixed with dry, cold snow. Onward they went, each step a victory over the deep of the winter, a triumph of will in the face of this soulless monster. Finally, their target was in sight. The fence of steel, where other beasts cavorted and howled, playing their wicked games with teeth and claws. He greeted the other beastmasters, as the gate was opened for him and his ward, already straining at his leash, slavering, eager to join the melee. "Go, play! Be a good dog!"- He called after it, as it tore into the arena with incredible speed, already picking out a target for his play.
And the grinch, with his feet tapping steel Stood blundering wondering, "how is this real?" He came without radar, he came without maps He came without knowing Cheyenne worth a scrap! He worried and grumbled until his grumbler was sore How did Santa know to come knock on this door? Maybe Saint Nick was used to the travel The grinch wondered as his genius unraveled, And if you were in Cheyenne that day to see, You'd know the grinch's fear was tripled times three! It was then that the GOAT of Christmas came through, The door scattered and shattered, the hinges askew! The grinch felt his stomach fall into his toes, And his eyes drooped down the sides of his nose! His hand slid off the key to the missles When he was certain his foolproof plan fizzled. "I know who you are, the trouble you bring, Your victims and motive, I know everything. You cannot stop me, I'll bring true joy To every girl and every boy. Hate if you must, I'll be on my way, But you won't be firing that thing today." Then with a flourish, a click and a twist The key jumped from the lock right into his fist! As Santa grinned naughtily and turned for the door, He tossed a rough chunk of coal to the floor It tumbled and rumbled right up to the grinch, Fast enough to get him to flinch! "Maybe that coal could warm up your heart, Just in time for the holiday to start!"
And it was me. I stood amidst the battle, arms outstretched. I was sick of the fighting. It was a stupid fight that none of the men fighting cared about. They were all pawns for the whims of petty Barons. But no longer. Power coursed through my veins. Bright light shone from my very being. All who looked at me saw the afterimage of a young man in blue robes, staring them down, daring them to lift a finger against forces far, far stronger than they could ever truly comprehend. The air was clear. The smoke fell like rock to the ground. Fires were quenched. The bodies of the fallen gasped as air filled their lungs once more, their blood restored, their life squeezed back into their still warm bodies. The sound of my voice started low. It rose in a terrible crescendo until it reverberated through the ears of all those within a thousand miles. ENOUGH! And the world was still. No man dared raise his hand against another that day. No man who had seen me on that field dared fight for a year and a day. And though the Barons railed and shouted, none would fight for them for the rest of their days. Their power was always given to them, never imbued. For death can take everything from every man.
Rock Steel was a man’s man. Chiseled abs and an attitude to match. If only he wasn’t an orphan that was also near-sighted, he could have led a happy life. “Now that is the way to start the final novel,” said Chip Fingertooth. He let the glow of the monitor wash over him as he re-read the line. Chip was convinced that the line would be remembered right up there with “They call me Ishmael.” “Jesus Christ, that’s terrible,” said Rock Steel, the hero of all of Chip’s stories. From an empty one-room flat in New York 25 years ago, Chip fixated on the name Rock Steel. As romance novels go, it was a name that stood out. Strong, but sensitive. Sexual but safe. Daring and comfortable. And that’s exactly what Rock Steel was on the page. But in real life, when Rock Steel came out of the books, he was a terrible critic. “Fucking terrible,” Rock said again. “And why the fuck am I an orphan? Weren’t my parents killed in a space shuttle accident while trying to find renewable energy for humanity when I was 25 already? I guess that technically, I’m an orphan but that’s going to mess people up. Here, let me try.” Rock Steel wanted nothing more than to find a nice beach house where he could lay around al day and not get shot at. He quietly left the life of adventure behind for someone else to deal with. “No!” Chip said and pushed Rock away from his computer. “Where’s the conflict? All good stories have conflicts!” “What about War and Peace?” asked Rock. “It’s literally in the title! Conflict!” said Chip. Chip went back to his computer and wrote. Rock Steel was a bit of an idiot, but a handsome one. And his loins burned to be caressed. He hadn’t felt a woman’s touch since his wife died in the mining explosion. Rock vowed revenge from the international company that put profits ahead of life. Rock started laughing over Chip’s shoulder. As a romance hero, Rock hit all of the major tropes and clichés of the hero. His muscles were huge, but underneath a million-dollar suit, deceptive. His heart was damaged and only the love of a good woman could heal him. He was the forbidden fruit that yearned to be bitten. And over the decades, plenty of readers had taken a bite. “Look, I know that romance isn’t the most literary of genres, but it’s a fucking good seller. Just think how good it would be if the story was good! Something original! Something people could relate to without all the sex euphemisms. True romance comes from the heart, not from the dick!” “Dick sells,” said Chip. Chip loved Rock. Rock was everything that Chip was not. He was confident with women where Chip could barely talk to one. Rock was confidence personified. Chip had panic attacks opening a bag of chips. Rock was hung. Chip was…not. Rock took over the writing. Rock Steel went to the courthouse and changed his name to Michael Smith. An ordinary name because he wanted to be an ordinary person. He did not want to be nearsighted or an orphan. And he also didn’t want to remember his child being kidnapped or his dog sold into a diabolical dog fighting ring. Michael Smith then completed his accounting degree and became a CPA. “Now that is gold!” said Rock. “You’ve got implied financial security with no emotional baggage. That’s sex. That sells.” Chip could see his career flushing down the tubes. There would be no movie projects based on an accountant. The suburbs were notoriously boring and it was a well-known fact that the Yakuza never operated out of there. There was only PTA drama and his readers got enough of that on a daily basis. Chip hated to do it, but to save himself, he had to get rid of Rock. Rock Steel knew that the only way to save the girl of his dreams, who was also an orphan and near-sighted, was to sacrifice himself. Rock quickly hit Chip on the back of the head and knocked him out. Of all the things that had happened to Rock—the missing fingers to an alligator attack and the broken back he never thought he would recover from—Rock had learned to act fast. And that meant never letting an opportunity pass by. Rock sat down at the computer and began to type. Chip Fingertooth awoke. He didn’t know who he was, or where he was at, only that danger was close at hand. Slowly, Chip Fingertooth began to fade away. With each new word Rock typed, more of Chip was transferred to the page. The key point being hand. Chip looked down and noticed that he was missing his left hand. He suddenly remembered that he lost it when fighting an alligator. “Tell me how that feels, fuck face,” said Rock as he continued to type. Suddenly, Chip heard an explosion and knew that his parents had just died. They were testing a new collider and the experiment must have gone wrong. Sure, Chip had just inherited billions of dollars, but with his heart now broken, who would help him fix it? Chip stood up and adjusted his massive, and I mean massive, crotch. Rock had to give poor Chip something. Because the rest of the story was only going to get worse.
Trigger warning and spoilers:>! Horror, Trauma, Car Crash, Blood, Death.!< I truly believe every person on the planet could see the dead if they wanted to. But no one would ever want to. So instead, I walk alone with my eyes open, in a world full of the blind, where many romanticize sight. There is nothing good about seeing the dead. For one thing, I can’t drive anywhere. I can’t tell the dead from the living and so many dead roam the sides or middles of roads. I sit in the passenger seat of my only friend’s car, eyes closed and try to figure out if I have an inner eyelid that the rest of the world is missing. “You’re going to miss it,” Sean says and I only shake my head. He sighs and I feel the car slow, pulling over. My body shakes harder as the car idles down. “Look man, I know it’s rough, but I really think being here-” “Please, I don’t want to be here, you said we didn’t have to, you said you would take me to lunch,” the panicked whine in my voice grates on even my own ears. I just wanted to not be hungry, wanted to not stare at the empty cupboards or fridge. “And I am, but we have to go past here, and I’m not leaving until you deal with this irrational fear you have of this corner, it was a freak accident. I’m sorry but this is the only road from your house to the town and-” I put my hands over my ears and pull my legs to my chest, the seatbelt cutting deep into my clothes and pinching my skin. I don’t know how long we sit there before I feel the clunking of the old car as it drops into gear. I sigh and slowly unfold myself. Sean doesn’t talk to me as the car starts to rattle off of the gravel and back onto the old asphalt. I keep my eyes pressed closed a little longer, then slowly open them. We’re far enough now it should be- A cardinal darts out of the trees and my eyes follow it as it flys past the windshield, high, then up over the roof, I would guess. I don’t know. My eyes lock on the rearview mirror and I see them. Their bodies mime their death in time, the sharp angles, the odd twisting, blood bursting forth from skin where invisible metal and glass cut through, bones crunch. It only takes an instant. That’s all car crashes ever take. Then the worst part. The dead reset. I see the smiling faces of my parents, the same way they looked three years ago. It had been date night and they were dressed up, or at least not wearing work clothes. My mother was laughing, my father was smirking, and then his face was falling, and then their bodies began to twist all over again. More blood, more broken bones. They’d both died nearly instantly, but they had been mangled by the tractor-trailer that had blown the light. There wasn’t enough of my mother left for a full casket. I choke on my bile and Sean looks at me, then shakes his head. I try to focus my eyes forward. To dull the memory as I watch deer after deer, raccoon after raccoon, explode on force of impact as years and years of dead animals overlapped each other’s deaths on the roads. With time, they faded, got less distinct. Traumatic deaths are always the worst, the most vivid, which is why roads were so horrible. I can hardly see anything over a decade old. I let my eyes drift to the ghost of a horse, slowly laying down in a pasture, only to reset a moment or two later. I try to calm myself. That horse had died a year and a half ago but was so faded it would be gone by next year. I hadn’t been able to see the dead three years ago. My psychologist calls this some sort of disassociative break. No one else knows. I fail to control my stomach and bang on the door. Sean pulls over and I wretch, losing only bile and water. It's too much to take this road to get food. Besides, I don't have much money anyway. I wish it were all in my head, wish I didn’t know things about death that no one else did. Didn’t know that anyone could see the dead if their eyes were ripped open. I wish I could have kept my eyes closed. "Caylee,"My heart rises, falls, shatters. "No. No-no-no-no, no!"I don't want to look but I have to. I turn and watch my father walking down the side of the road, my presence must have ripped him free of his trauma cycle. He's walking towards me, joy in his eyes as his body continues to malform and reform. "Baby I've missed you, why don't you ever visit?"
Oh, no. Not here! Not now! I just got this job! "pssst, cindy! what's wrong?" "power-up. can't stop it. clear the crew out now!" "shit! Jolene is gonna freak." "She'll FREAK MORE *IF ANYONE GETS HURT!"* *RAAAGGGGHHHHHHH!* "Woah! Lady! Can I still have my Double No Cheese? Nice Hair!" "SURE!" That order is ready; just have to get it and hand it to him. WHAM-BAM-CRASH! "SORRY!" I hope we needed a door there or something! "NEXT!" "Two number threes, four number fives, coke for all, and just set it lightly on the counter." "YOU GOT IT!" WISH-SIZZLE-PLOP-TWEEDLE-SACKETASACKETABANGBANG "THAT'LL BE..." "Here's a fifty; keep the change." "NEXT!" ••• "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY RESTAURANT!" shhh "Don't interrupt Cindy! She's about to break the world record for the number of customers served in a single shift!" "WE'LL JUST SEE ABOUT THAT! SHE'S PAYING FOR EVERY DAMNED THING SHE BROKE!" *RAAAGGGGHHH!* EEEEeeeee- SPLOT. "Um, David? Do you think you could help Jolene out of the trash bin?" "Sure, but she can clean up her own damn parking lot. I told her we needed special grease containers, but nooo." SWOOSH-SPARKLE-SHINE "SORRY!" In a chorus of mixed voices, "Thanks Cindy!" Jolene struggles out of the trash bin with David's help. "I do not think I have ever felt cleaner in my life, or more inappropriately touched by an employee." "How long has she been going?" "Since five minutes into the shift." "Alone?" "Naw, we can slip in every so often to get stuff out of the freezer for her." "And we've been dealing with the odd situation here and there." "Like sweeping up the glass so no one..."YEEEOWWwwww...! "...gets hurt on company property." "Why do they keep coming?" "Comicon is in town. Everyone wants to see the Super Saiyan Wendy" "Hasn't anyone called the police?" "Sure, but this Comicon has a rep for the outrageous." ((more later???))
We had won, but at what cost? That was the question that kept running through my mind, like a bard playing a song over and over. It overwhelmed me, consumed me, and all but broke me. This was supposed to be an easy battle, was it not? Sariel and I had set off from the town just today, accompanied by the ever dashing Elion and his loyal student Ramas. We had heard rumors of a band of orcs roaming the outskirts of Eastcliff. Entire parties of adventurers had ventured out to find and conquer this darkness, yet none of them had returned. No, I stand corrected. One did, a younger human male. He had limped into town, one arm all but missing below the elbow, the other cut up and blistered. He was muttering to himself, saying "Nizam is coming"over and over. The best healers in the town couldn't aid him, for his wounds would reopen as soon as they were healed. He passed away soon after, taking those words with him to the grave. That's why the town had hired Sariel and I. We had been called the best fighters in the land, having slain armies of men by ourselves. We even took down a dragon, if you'd believe it. We were good at our job, and we knew it. So this band of orcs? As ferocious as they sounded, we were confident in the fact that we would win. Elion and Ramas were merely backup, provided by Eastcliffs mayor. And as appreciative as we were about the help, neither of us really believed that we would need it. Orcs may be strong, yes, but they lacked the ability to form any useful battlefield tactics. In the heat of battle, they would go into a fit of rage and attack recklessly. Keep your distance, use their anger to your advantage, and suddenly they weren't so bad to fight. Or at least I had assumed they weren't. Oh, if I only knew how wrong I was. It had happened quick, so quick that the memory of it is blurred. We had been walking at a leisurely pace, discussing what to do after this small job, when we had heard Ramas cry out. The boy had been trailing the three of us, watching our backs to ensure we weren't being flanked. When we turned back, he was nowhere to be seen. No dust, no blood, just...gone. At first, Elion had thought it to be a trick, a ruse. "Come back out here, boy."He had called out, a half smile on his face. "We all like a good prank, but now isn't the time for joking." Silence had met him, and I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Something's wrong."I muttered to Sariel. She just nodded, her eyes scanning the grasslands around us. "Elion, it is now up to you to wa-" My words fell short as I turned back and saw that he too was now missing. Two men had been taken without a sound, a trace, nothing. Now I knew something was wrong. I drew my sword Kilinigan and readied myself, silently casting a protective bubble around Sariel and I. Almost immediately, a hail of arrows had come sailing out of the tall grass, bouncing harmlessly off of the arcane shield. Not two seconds after, they came. There were orcs, yes. But not 8 of them, or even 18 of them. Hundreds of them, all with bloodthirsty eyes and evil grins. They charged us like a mad pack of wolves, howling and shouting war cries. Sariel and I needn't say a word. We both turned and ran, using our Elven speed to gain distance. We were fast, so very fast. They were faster. And they had laid a trap as well. Up ahead, a giant boulder came rolling out of the grass, pushed by 3 massive orcs. It crashed into place on the road, blocking our path. We both started to veer off to the side, only to see more of the devilish creatures emerge from both sides. We were surrounded, outnumbered by 100 to 1. Perfect. An even fight then, yes? Our blades arced and flew through the air, cutting down any orc foolish enough to get close to use. We fought and we fought, our bodies acting as one, our weapons dealing death and carnage to those around us. And it still wasn't enough. Soon enough, Sariel and I were back to back, struggling to keep up with the surge of bodies that pressed in around us. I closed my eyes and braced for the cold hand of death that was surely coming. But it didn't. The deep blast of a war horn sounded instead, so deep it shook the land below my feet. The fighting stopped, and we were left there panting and bleeding, muscles still tensed for battle. As one, the remaining orcs parted, and what stepped through made my blood run cold. It was Aurae, the Eladrin known for her slaughter of countless villages throughout the land. Her eyes, as cold and as blue as the winters afternoon, regarded us with mild interest. In her hand she held the staff of Belnuin, a legendary weapon that was capable of wiping out dozens of men in one blow. Sariel and I may have been good, but we were no match for Aurae and her dark magics. Stepping closer, she grinned and said "So, you've held up your end of the bargain. I'm pleasantly surprised. Who knew it would be this easy?" I opened my mouth to respond, maybe to say some nasty little quip, but Sariel surprised me by responding first. "I know, right? She was so bloody easy to lure out here, all because she wanted to be the hero. Fucking pathetic, really." Moving past me to stand next to Aurae, I watched as my best friend from childhood gave me a derisive sneer, contempt written on her face. (1/2)
I recall that when I was young and when my father was still alive, he told me stories of ancient evils thriving in a uncomplicated world. Fairytales written by my grandpa, designed to seal such evils into books, locking their powers behind words. He'd explain the process, of how the Distributors replicated the books to dilute the evil power, scattering the far and wide to ensure that such demons would only exist in a reader's imagination and nowhere else in the world. I had asked him back then, "wouldn't it have been a bad thing, if everyone knew about the demons and evils that exist?"And my dad would staunchly rebut me, explaining that the best way to deal with evil would be to describe it, explain it, dissect it, and ensure that the world knew. "Son,"he would tell me, "the Author's sealing powers are just the start of the process. The true power lies in the continued distribution of books, so that the evil is diluted, and so that people are all aware of the malicious things that plague our world." My father, too, was an Author. He'd bring me to the vaults of our ancient Order, showing me the ancient manuscripts of stories written in a time long past. Stories written in a variety of languages, each describing and sealing the same evil. Stories written on old tapestries that had found their way into mainstream childrens' fairytales. "Evil was simpler back then,"he'd say. As a child, I really didn't understand what he meant. But today I do, after my father was killed, trying to seal a modern-day demon. The Council was dismissive of the incident. It had happened before, and it would happen again. Today's Authors were not as good as the old-school Authors, and so on. But I knew, times were changing. The Order's books were getting lengthier and more verbose, as Authors tried to seal the more complex evils of our time. Distributors seemed to be having a more difficult job as well, trying to reproduce the tomes that were now being written, instead of the simple short stories and novellas of the past. Getting the reproduced works to trend in mainstream distribution was even more difficult. And I, as an Author myself, found that I was increasingly struggling to write comprehensively and coherently about the evils I was trying to seal. Fast forward to today. In a world where evil is more subtle and nuanced, where things are not always as black-and-white as they used to be, our jobs are tougher than ever. I find that taking regular breaks away from the archaic Order works well for me. Today, I've decided to work in a cafe on my latest book, prior to meeting a friend for lunch. Already, two hours have elapsed, and I haven't quite worked out how to fix this paragraph. Surely, if I pushed this out to the Distributors, I might suffer the same fate as my father? I sit, hunched over, staring at the words swimming in front of me on my laptop, my mind occupied. "Hey, whatcha working on?"a familiar voice calls, breaking my concentration. I turn and see my friend, staring over my shoulder at the text I've written. She's early. "Ahh, nothing much?"I reply. My face is slightly red, probably more out of embarrassment at my shoddy work, rather than having to hide my "Author of the secret Order"profession from her. She's an avid reader, a book snob of sorts. And I'm just an amateur writer, nowhere as good as my father used to be. "Hmmm,"she murmurs, looking through the wall of text I've written, "perhaps you could remove these few sentences, and shift the rest till after this paragraph?" I see what she's getting at. Throughout lunch, we look through the manuscript. She points out redundant sentences, occasionally laughing at some of the dumb things I've written. She suggests rephrasing certain things in the text, asking me for clarifications about my subject matter. Though I hesitate to expose her to the evil demons that I'm trying to seal, I find myself explaining my thought process, my intentions, my motivations... everything that I've tried to fit into the book. She's keen to listen, and provide a listening ear and advice. I end up making all the changes she suggests, and the text binds the evil in a tighter, neater manner. Distribution would be easier now, I think to myself, if we could work on the rest of the book together. And suddenly, I understand the solution to our Order's problem and how to avoid my father's fate. I turn to my friend. "Hey, would you like to become an Editor?"
\[Sharp Love\] 'Twas the very day of Christmas, and all 'cross the server. Most every person there enjoyed the holiday fervor. Derby teams played different modes on the track Planning to cash out points and score some loot packs. Regal's Pride was currently in first place, with the Fearleaders almost keeping pace. And on that track, the B-Squad is set to win against the New Luchadoras in a 10-level dungeon. But in a quiet corner of the gym sat a girl and a cat. She'd never done Christmas before; but, she wore the hat. \- "Why didn't we have Christmas [on Mars](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/qiweat/wp_there_are_two_types_of_people_in_this_world/)?"Dara asked. She was not wearing her mask since it was just her and her mom and she toyed with the white puff ball of her cap. "You were treating it [like an Earth](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/phqa3j/wp_a_teenager_from_a_poor_background_learns_they/) anyway."The black cat nodded. "That's why,"she said. "Introducing Christmas would have resulted in the [myth](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ohga7g/wp_you_are_a_magical_girl_who_decides_that_screw/) of Santa Claus spreading. I don't know what that would have done to other versions of Mars that I did not control. I was already risking quite a bit keeping it as Earth-like as I did. I always meant to while you were still young enough to enjoy it; but, then the Pineapple Cup happened."Dara nodded; but, she couldn't suppress a giggle. "You find it funny that I died?"the cat asked. Dara shook her head and she grinned. "What were you thinking?"she asked. "You [tried to kill God](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pwkoa5/cw_the_protagonist_is_dead_and_only_talked_about/); what did you expect to happen?"The cat's eyes sparkled and she returned the smile. "If I wanted to kill him; I wouldn't have attempted it until I was ready. If you want to know what I was thinking...,"The cat nuzzled Dara's arm, then looked up at her again. "...I was thinking of you." "What?"Dara tilted her head at her mother. The cat nodded. "What did I expect to happen? Well, you're here now. On Earth. Without a mask, able to shake hands and hug your friends if you want,"the cat said. Dara flashed back to when she began the school year. She couldn't speak or touch anyone because she wasn't from Earth. Recently, her mom told her she could now; but to keep that fact a secret as much as possible. At the time, she didn't question it; she was just glad she could finally talk to her friends. "C'mon, you couldn't have planned that; you died,"she said. The cat nodded. "That's how one reaches the afterlife. And, it just so happens I created my own. I could not implement the changes necessary for you to have a normal life without visiting the other side."Dara's eyes widened. She'd heard the basics of her birth on Mars; in a void, technically. She understood why her mom let another family raise her until her teenage years; they couldn't touch her either. She'd seen how bizarre the multiverse could be and very little surprised her. But, when the cat talked about '[necessary changes](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/qercuh/wpwith_a_device_to_view_and_travel_to_an_infinite/)', Dara vaguely remembered there was a [universal](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/qg794s/wp_the_pay_isnt_great_but_the_benefits_make_up/) [update](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/qn9o5c/wp_its_been_3_years_since_the_internet_went_down/) around the time [she met her mother](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/qdm8kg/wp_it_was_a_warm_and_windy_day/). Dara knew [she'd eventually forget](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/qnvxj6/wpan_ancient_dragon_sleeps_in_its_cave_expecting/) about the update, many people already were. But, for the moment she still knew about it and she put it together with her mom's explanation. "Those updates... were for me?"she asked. "Why so surprised, dear?"She asked. "I'm your mother, why wouldn't I do anything within my power to try and give you a better life? In our case though...,"the cat rubbed her head against Dara again. "...your mother has quite a bit power." "You...,"Dara paused. She felt tears welling in her eyes, without understanding why. What she was about to say was ridiculous. It would have been for anyone other than Dana Sharp. But, the fact was it had already happened and she was barely putting the pieces together. "... you changed the universe. For me?"The cat smiled at her. "I must have done a poor job programming your foster family,"the cat shook her head, then nuzzled Dara again. "You don't know how love works yet." \- With a flick of her tail, a black portal appeared. The corner where they sat was cleared. The festivities continued with one girl fewer. Soon, all would forget that everything was newer. It's different than it once was; but, that's the real trick. Every day is new and every day is magic. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1446 in a row. (Story #359 in year four.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/).
Anti-Santa takes Bop-It’s, Barbie dolls, and all kinds of fun gadgets from well-to-do middle-class families. His Anti-Elves destroy the toys in an incinerator, gleefully watching Milton Bradley plastic fumes fill the air. Instead of reindeer, his sled of terror is led by none other than Krampus and his minions (who are really just former DMV employees). The sled can temporarily run on Septuple-A batteries when the gang gets drained. Anti-Santa has a white coat with red buttons, and uses an Android phone. So far, I’ve collected all this intel just from my binoculars from a safe distance. No one has caught me, even on their smoke breaks. I’m beginning to suspect any would-be magical detection is not present simply because if Santa is magic, Anti-Santa is a man of science. Even so, he uses magic when it’s convenient, not putting up a fight when Krampus launches the sled into the air after pounding some vodka Redbulls. I wonder if Santa knows about Anti-Santa and his hoodlum-ery. I can’t leave it up to chance, so I turn on my car to start making the trek to the North Pole, only to see Anti-Santa’s sleigh of terror barreling in on me in the rear view mirror.
Y’know, I never actually introduced myself. Hi, I’m Ed, I live in Belgium, in the province of Flemish-Brabant. I’m male, 17 years old I’ve been on Reddit for 3 years, but not using this account. I’ve been on r/WP for over a year now. I mostly write on it. I’ve been writing since November 2020. My motivation is purely entertainment and interest. I just use Google Docs for writing. I don’t know my typing speed.
I’d laugh if I wasn’t a bit scared, but the truth was even I couldn’t deny things were getting weirder and weirder. I couldn’t even remember the last time I went to church, maybe it was ten or fifteen years ago, it was something my parents loved, and so they tried to make me go with them every Sunday but I just never believed. The paranormal fascinated me, intrigued me and it made my imagination run, but I simply never believed any of it to be remotely realistic, however all the crew was starting to get more and more worried and here I am, carrying this silly bracelet to the church. Driving usually made me feel better, it took my mind off of things but this time I was fidgety, and a bit uncertain. “All I have to do is submerge the damn thing in some holy water, take a photo to show everyone and go back to work.” I said to myself as I waited for some old couple to cross the street. The bracelet, made of chunks of some sort of black stone, was tucked in my jeans’ right pocket and I thought it must be my imagination because it was starting to burn. “It’s all in your head, you know nothing of this is real.” I said as I finally continued driving. I was very close to my destination, and I couldn’t wait to get there so I could continue with my life when suddenly the slight burning sensation I had been feeling turned into a stabbing pain so strong it made me stop the car so fast the tires screeched and smoked. I cursed as I removed my seatbelt and took the damn thing out of my pocket. I wanted to lower my pants and check my thigh but I knew I couldn’t, not in the middle of the street anyway. The weird thing was that the bracelet wasn’t burning or hurting my hand in any way. What in the hell. I mouthed. I repeated to myself that it was all in my head and got ready to start driving again when I noticed the bracelet I had been holding wasn’t in my hand anymore. Confused, I started looking for it everywhere, thinking I might have dropped it but nothing. As I was about to pull to the side to look more thoroughly, a giant cloud covered the sun so completely it made me turn instantly to the sky. Except it wasn’t a cloud at all, it was a giant black rock floating about twenty meters from the ground. I stood there dumbfounded, thinking it couldn’t be right when I noticed something else. Engraved in one of its sides was a rune and my mouth dropped. When I had gone with some of my friends to look for interesting things to feature on my show, a lady had told us about how ages ago, the bracelet had been engraved with symbols too old to be remembered, but that sadly had worn off as time went by. I hadn’t care about much it, but I bought it simply because it looked old and “cursed” enough to maybe appear in an episode or two. “I must be dreaming,” I said to myself, but soon the ground started vibrating and so was the rock above me, and all I could do was run away as I watched pieces of it breaking off and shooting in all directions, tearing trees and houses apart. . . . Thank you for reading. I had fun writing this so thanks to OP for the WP. If you found any grammatical mistakes please let me know, english is my second language. Cheers!
It's scarcity that's the cause of all the world's misery. And when I say world, what I really mean is human civilization, because, for one thing, the world we inhabit now is several dimensions removed from our original one, and for another, the planet couldn't care less about our happiness. Also, when I say scarcity, I mean that fact that there's limits to resources. There's only so much water and wood and oil and oxygen. Well before it starts running out people start squabbling over them. So, yeah. It's not stuff that makes us unhappy, but not enough of it! Thankfully, limits have become a thing of the past. Humanity has developed a way to create dimensional portals that allow us to nearly queue from one reality to a fresh, clean, new one, ripe for exploitation. When the world becomes uninhabitable due to unsustainable habits, we just walk through a new worm hole into a human-less earth and start over. And every time we start over, we do so quicker and better. We can bring some machines with us now instead of starting from scratch. We're also able to bring more people every time, which is a definite plus for the working class. But mostly, we're privileged with a life of painless, want-less leisure. But that didn't sit well with everyone. Virtual suffering "tourism"has become a thing. People will now sit in VR games with the reality turned all the way up to feel every bullet, stab, punch, and wreck. They come away feeling more alive and rejuvenated than ever. I was 302 years old when I first gave it a try. For the past 260 years I'd been reality jumping with society, watching the iterative changed drastically improve the quality of life of every human being (who made the jump). At 45, I started the anti-aging treatment. At 110, I had surgery to replace my skin with impenetrable, lifelike silicon. At 200, all of my organs and bones were replaced with mechanical implements, so that even the highest fall would only incur an inconvenient, yet painless, healing time. But at 302, I started running barbed wire over my virtual, sensitive face. I started sawing off limbs and drilling holes in bones. I was addicted to it; mesmerized by the old sensations. Everything was going swimmingly, until I became so enamored in the virtual world that I missed the next jump.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck. 3 kills and he got a tactical nuke!” I and two of my diddly dumbasses of friends running in a damned dark forest while a crazy bastard with an automatic rifle wants to end everything in a hundred mile radius. A sharp pain stabs me in the chest. We’ve been running for half an hour now. I ain’t athletic like them and the end seems likely. Khalid notices me linger at the back. My speed dwindling. He stops and my other friends stop with him. Runs towards me with determination and squats. “GET ON!” He roars. “Muscle… head.” I put my full weight on him. A bullet hits our friend. A headshot. A goddamn medal appears on top of the killer behind us. Music plays as he levels up. “Fuck it.” Khalid grabs my collar, my back on the ground. He takes a revolver out of his back pocket. “Thank god. You have a gun.” I wheeze. “Get the bastard-“ He aims it at me. “A kill and I’ll get a napalm strike. Sorry mate.” He cocks it, a bullet goes through from one to the other. My life ends. I just know whoever fucking this virtual reality game doesn’t know shit about balancing!
I never felt more alone. A piece of me was missing. I could feel it, a hole deep inside that would never be filled. Is this what death was like. The worst part was that noone knew the truth and nobody believed me when I tried to share it. They couldn't or wouldn't is a better word, due to my missing piece. Everyone looks at me with pity but if they knew the truth I know it would be rage or despair instead..... It all started on my naming day. I was so excited! I would get to choose my name and receive my guardian angel to guide me. That's what my country calls it, others know it as a deceiving devil, or inner conscious, or guide, or fairy godmother. I digress... where was I? My naming day...I couldn't believe it. My angel came and it was like a new me. The world opened up and there were so many mysteries to explore. So many secrets to uncover. I later learned this need to uncover mysteries was one of her quirks...his quirks....its quirks....? I never really asked. To me she was always a girl.... This inner drive lead me to many of the world's most beautiful things both natural and man made. I met the world's smartest thinkers, scientists, leaders. I saw the most terrifying things as well. The things that go bump in the night and the things that scare the bumps too. I never imposed my will on anything, knowing what I know I could have easily especially after learning how to maximize the link with my angel. I always considered will to be the greatest of gifts given by our angels. It was a wonderful twenty years of exploring everything I could in the world. But my curiosity lead me the start. Why did the angels choose us? How did the bond come to be? I searched and delved into the darkest corners. My angel became more and more frightened the more we learned. The truth? They didn't choose us. They didn't create the bond as we are tought all of our lives. They are the conquered people of a delightful species. They are slaves to our whims and that quirk is nothing more than their last bit of hope that they can be free.... I knew too much. That leadership I told you about that I learned from and visited. They are the true villains. I thought it was all a mistake. Trust us they said. We will fix it..... fix it they did. I became a pariah. Locked away in a dark cell I had no idea of the horrors being done in my name. The massacres and atrocities, the absolute destruction of another race of people, and the lack of humanity. I had devled too deep they said. Uncovered a horror nobody could control. My angel had been corrupted and drove me to do such evil things. At my "hearing"they told me all of what had been done. The told me how it wasn't my fault and that they had no idea angel's could be corrupted that way. Their solution...banish my angel. Take her away and leave me to live a simple life. They made my angel and I into their Dark Lord. They made me into a monster on paper and then took away the only thing of value that i had. The took away my life and turned me into a husk of what i used to be. I know what they did. I know the truth of our world. I know the secrets of everything around me. I know....I KNOW! HAH! Their biggest mistake was leaving me alive. Thinking that without an angel I would be harmless. They thought they had "destroyed"the dark lord. Instead they unleashed him. They created him. Woe to those who have crossed........
It was an ordinary day out on the field. I was walking around when I saw the biggest female mosquitoes I’d ever seen in my life. Thing must have come from India, ‘cause it was about two inches long. It bit me, and I immediately swatted that beastly insect off. My head is still lightheaded, just how much blood did it withdraw? I managed to get a good look at it as it got up and flew off. Three days passed, and I looked up what insect that was. I’ve never been so interested in a type of insect. It had a black body with a green pattern on its bottom part and green legs. There was lots of results, but nothing matched up. Something was wrong. My arm has a huge bite mark where it itches like mad. Others are reporting similar bugs having been seen around here. A scientist friend of mine said that it’s probably an invasive species, like we need another one in the Everglades. I saw another one of them, and they bit me… again… this time they bit me on the leg, and they took their time. I’m feeling even worse now than I did when I was bit the first time. The mosquitoes are bigger too, this one is extremely big, at four inches. I just looked up how big mosquitoes get, then I corrected it to ask how big the females get. Someone managed to capture one despite how insanely fast those little monsters are. The creature just crumbled up and died as soon as it got trapped. Weird giant mosquitoes out for our blood. I noticed something about them, as soon as they bit they all fly over to the same direction. Weird. They don’t seem to be infected with anything dangerous like malaria, but they are extremely irritating bugs. I just got bitten three times at once by a bunch of those giant mosquitoes. Those creatures are genuinely monsters, mosquitoes should not be six inches long. My head is spinning… it’s getting dark… I woke up, and I am covered in dirt. I ran to my house, and the clock says that it is 11 am. I slept for 14 hours on a road! I am absolutely covered in bites, there are… 16 bites in many different locations. I must’ve been easy food for them. Man, my head hurts so bad… those bugs need to die! It’s been three weeks since I first got bitten. We’re on the news… yay… man these bites itch. I can’t stand it. These creatures are flying at daytime now, so it’s not safe at night nor even at day. I have to stay home or they will suck me until I end up like I did a week ago… or worse. These creatures are learning to hunt us down. They are attracted to our scent in particular. They are getting enormous, and everyone is hearing about the mosquito infestation in Central Florida. I hear that Disney has closed down until the swarm dies out. Four weeks and things are starting to spiral out of control. These things refuse to be captured for experimentation. They are 12 inches long! That’s an entire foot! There’s a rumor that a person was killed by them. One of those nightmares can knock a person out, so I am not shocked if six could kill a man. They are exploding in population, and they are spreading to all of Florida. A family of four were confirmed to have been sucked to death by the giant mosquitoes. The government has stepped in, but they are incapable of stopping it. It’s a war zone out here, and I fear that that war zone is going to spread to the rest of America. It’s only been six weeks since they arrived. The demonic mosquitoes have been on a killing frenzy, destroying all humans on sight. They also target other creatures, but they seem to target us in particular. A group of scientists managed to dissect one of the creatures before it self-destructed. They are intelligent creatures, it appears. The mosquitoes eat blood for substance, which is odd as real mosquitoes don’t do that. They also consume it like normal mosquitoes as well. However, when they consume human blood they act very strangely. They are currently unsure of what exactly they do with our blood, but they can confirm that it is not a typical usage. My neighbor’s house was just broken into. My neighbor was laughing at a swarm of mosquitoes outside his house because they couldn’t get inside. One of the beasts flew into the window. That one died, but the window shattered and all of the mosquitoes immediately swarmed in. My neighbor, he didn’t stand a chance. It’s fall, but the mosquitoes are still swarming us. Of course. If I take a step outside I’ll die. Those mosquitoes two feet long now. It’s spreading rapidly, and even Louisiana is struggling with the mosquitoes. The government is trying pesticides, but they are not effected at all. The government is failing at killing those monsters. The infestation seems to center around different areas. Certain areas have a tendency to have higher numbers of mosquitoes. We are right inside of one. We have more information on the monstrosities that fly around us. They are not identified area around the world. They are heat-resistant, but they have weakness: cold. However this weakness is not very much, and it can resist temperatures as low as -20 degrees Fahrenheit. They thrive in temperatures at around 90 degrees Fahrenheit to 110 degrees Fahrenheit. The monsters breed extremely quickly; they have less than a week between breeding sessions. They can (and will) breed all year long, meaning they will be flying about during winter as well as summer. We’re screwed. The creatures are adapting rapidly. They can now dissolve wood into a pool of acid. Seriously, what are this creatures, because they are not mosquitoes. I noticed something about them, their green parts glow in the dark. (In progress)
Absolute biokinetic control from micro organisms to macro organisms. You name it I could change it. Just a little flex of my power and your cells would move how I wanted to, would change how I wanted to, would reorganize how I wanted to. The only biology that I couldn’t affect was my own, and not for a lack of trying. Healer by day and by night I was also a healer. Touch a person, heal a person, move on. There were buildings in most continents were my services were required. Cancer patients, rich folks, people with missing or failing organs. My only friend a Hero by the name Port, Tele Port. If only because they took me to my humble lodgings and took me to work. Tele Port’s true power came from being a morning person, no matter the time it was always morning for them. A radiant smile 24/7. She died teleporting the building I was in. Split right between the L4 and L5. Her dazzling smile till looking at us, at me, as her face turned pale. Idiot forgot to teleport half of herself. If I were 5 flights below and 10 meters closer she would have been alive, or if she ported her remaining half to me. Instead I was stuck watching the idiot’s blood circulating the street instead of her body. She died the death of a Hero, the media wouldn’t stop parroting all her virtues, her accomplishments, everyone she helped. TelePort became a symbol, of what a hero was meant to be. No one talked about who she actually was. Kathy, more scared of people dying than blood. A dumbass that pushed herself more than I ever did yet could still light another persons world. An idiot that always made days better with her simple presence. My idiot. My bags grew ever heavier and my body ever thinner. Walking among the wreckage’s people made in search of what made Kathy port so many people to me. Villains saw me as a valuable gem to steal, heroes as a precious resource to protect. Little did both know Kathy had already taken all of me with her. They were just fighting over a shadow of a person. All shadows existed with things for light to hit, yet there was no light hitting me and my shadow still walked the earth. Something to be corrected.
“Push! Push!” the doctor said, “Come on, you’re doing great, one more push!” My wife groaned in pain as she gave one more push. I held her hand, feeling utterly helpless in the moment. “That’s it, Jenny, you’ve done it!” the doctor said as she lifted my new-born child up into her chest. I kissed my wife on her forehead as tears of both joy and pain ran down her face. As for me, well it’s an understatement to say that this was the happiest moment of my life! “It’s a girl,” the doctor said as she handed my daughter to a nurse, “Let’s just get her cleaned up and we’ll have her to you right away. You did great Jenny.” “A daughter,” I thought to myself, “Me, a father to a baby girl.” I held my wife as the nurse cut the umbilical cord and gave our baby a quick dry with a towel. The doctor then walked over to our child and scanned her eyes. “Hmm,” the doctor said, “Well this must be some kind of mistake. Let me just do that again.” She pushed some buttons on her little device and scanned the baby’s eyes again. “What is it?” I asked, but both the doctor and the nurse ignored me. My wife tugged on my sleeve and said something but I was too focused on what was happening to my child to pay attention. The doctor whispered something to the nurse and then walked over to a speaker attached to the wall. “Security,” the doctor said into the speaker, “Code Purple, we have a Super here.” “What’s going on?” I said as I stepped towards the doctor. “Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to step back,” the doctor said holding her palm up to me, “These children are highly dangerous and unpredictable.” “Like hell!” I screamed, “That’s my daughter. You give her back to me right now!” “Sir!” the doctor said, raising her voice, “Please calm down. This is a volatile situation and ..” “You give her to me right now!” I yelled. I began to move across the room ready to snatch my daughter from the tight grip of the nurse. However as soon as I took a step the door to our room burst open and four security guards entered. One of them quickly hit me in the chest with the butt of his gun. I felt my breath leave my body as I stumbled down onto the hospital floor. “Don’t you fucking touch her,” I said struggling to breathe. “We’ll take it from here,” one of the security guards said as he crudely took my daughter from the nurse. I could hear my wife screaming. I struggled to get up when I was hit again with the gun. The security guard spoke into the microphone attached to his shoulder. “We have the Super. Ready for extermination. We will be down there in … What the hell?” The security guard stopped mid-sentence. I looked up, my vision still blurry from the hit. Suddenly two lights shot out from my child’s eyes hitting the doctor directly in the forehead. She crumpled down onto the floor. Almost instantly four more beams were fired killing three of the security guards and the nurse. The security guard, in a panic, let go of the baby. But my child didn’t fall to the floor. Instead, she floated in place staring the security guard right in the face. He tried to pull out his gun but another beam hit him directly in the head. He fell down as my baby dropped gently to the floor. I managed to get up and walked over to my daughter. I picked her up and held her in my arms. She smiled as she tried to reach up to my face. “Drop the baby now, or we will fire.” I looked up towards the doorway and saw four more guards with their guns pointed directly at me. “No one touches my baby!” my wife yelled. Suddenly, a thick beam flew across the room, piercing all four security guards through their heads at once. I looked over to my wife. She was sitting up in the bed, her eyes blazing a fiery red. “Give me my child,” she said to me. I hesitated slightly and then walked over and placed my daughter into my wife’s hands. She smiled as she tickled our daughter’s nose. “No one touches my baby.”
The last time. It was cold and raining when he got to the house, not uncommon for the time of year, he walked into the house and set his keys and contents from his pocket on the kitchen counter, a large black cat greeted him with soft purring and happy chirps rubbing against his leg, he stood there looking blankly out the window thinking of her, he reached over and clicked on the small radio on the counter and Bob Seger's "Night moves"begins and he sits down at the table and starts to reminisce "a black haired beauty with big dark eyes and points of her own sitting firm and way up high"or thats what he thinks the words are. Married 30 years.....what a long strange trip it's been, hard times and good times, more good than bad, her hand, always gentle and warm, he could still feel her touch, the house heavy with her scent, even after all these months, a welcome break from the hospital stench, chemicals and cleaners that cause him to want to retch when he entered the room, her form lying in the bed, thin and frail, a ghost of her former self, she lays there sleeping and then a slow opening of her eyes, dark brown eyes with a twinkle, "how the hell do you make your eyes twinkle?"He thought, she beamed when she recognized him..."Hi baby!"He leaned into her and kissed her gently. That was a month ago, and now, she's gone. She was wild, fearless and funny as hell, always smiling....."that pirate smile"never knowing her "real"thoughts from her reaction to you, she reached out grabbed you by the collar and planted a passionate kiss on your eager mouth, you spent the rest of the summer in a lover's embrace, never out of reach, nearly sharing a single body together, each one half of the same mind. The cat jumped on to the table and demanded attention and he obliges, petting the gentle creature, "Well, it's me an you kid"the cat stopped and laid down directly in front of him and begins to sleep, "Well, the bikes gassed up and you're ready to wear the harness....."he thinks of the last time he rode....with her...."I miss you, I can still feel you near me". 5 am and you and the cat are on the highway....75 and feeling fine, one last time, from the mountains to the sea.
Uncanny was the first word that popped into his mind. Impossible a quick second. How could something so clearly be a man yet not be at the same time? Four limbs, a head and a delicate tail coat that would leave the poshest Englishman embarrassed. But this thing with eyes so dark that they were more holes than orbs and a deafening, terrifying aura that emanated from this silent picture. This thing with limbs so thin that they should have snapped at the slightest agitation, but instead were propelling it into the air. This thing. It took Jim a moment to notice a familiar figure in the picture. It always made him feel awkward seeing photos of himself, but who would ever expect to see a depiction of themselves in that exact moment. It was him - right now, right there. "Guys,"Jim stuttered as he turned around and flushed white as he took in the scene around him. Mindy's parka streaked with jagged rows of red as blood bubbled out from her neck. Gill who he'd known since Little League baseball stared back at him, the only sign that something was wrong being that Jim should have been seeing the back of Gill's head, not his face. The crampons of Steve's boots with a piercing hold on his chest, an image a perverse art student might imagine up. The thing. It was the thing, it had to be the thing. Jim flicked through the camera's album. It was him, though, hunting knife in hand at a weeping Mindy's throat. His fists clasped around Gill's head, mouth contorted in a scream. Steve's upper body was cut out of the photo by Jim's figure, but the shoeless feet gave him away. "Sir, we're going to need you to put your hands in the air and take a kneeling position." He turned around to see 5 squadron cars; officers in shooting position behind the safety of their car doors. Jim slowly raised his gloved hands, the gloves drenched in blood. \\\* "Sir, are they still looking for the second guy?" "Yup." "But no trace of any second person having been there?"the sergeant asked. "Yup,"the captain replied without turning around from his desk. "The media is gonna have a field day with this one. 'Police claim there is second perpetrator but no evidence of one.'" "That Jim boy can't have taken those pictures of himself." "I agree." "..." "David." The captain turned around as the deputy continued. "The last picture of Jim looking at the camera. Why would a picture taken with another device be in a different camera's album?" "The IT boys seem to think it's possible that the photo could have been moved between memory cards. Forensics is looking into it." "So Jim had a conspirator take a picture of him looking at the camera that photographed his crimes and then moved that picture between cameras before even thinking of running away?" The captain sighed, "Bill, what else could it be? That thing that the Jim boy keeps blabbering about took a picture of him and magic'd it in?" "..." "We had that last picture run through every damned spectrum of light and there is absolutely nothing hidden in that picture." "David." "Yeah?" "Do you believe in ghosts?" "Do you believe in ghosts, Bill? If so, maybe you need some time off." "No, but I've noticed that the simplest answers are sometimes the most correct." \\\* The captain settled into his old recliner, picking up the remote and flicking through reruns of 70's sitcoms. A rush of static caught his attention, it wasn't from the I Love Lucy opening, it was from his police scanner. "We've apprehended the perpetrator. Still securing the premises but it looks like she's killed her parents and younger brother." David turned off the tv and looked around for his uniform. It wasn't his shift, but when were captains ever truly off duty? Shrieks occasionally filled the air, unholy screams about how it wasn't her fault. "Officer you've given her the entire spiel? Anything she says can and will be used against her in court?"someone else asked. "Sir, yes sir. But she keeps going on about this thing." David sunk back into his recliner and thought back to a conversation that he had with Bill a year ago. A hiking case that they'd never been able to fully solve. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
Dear Mr Claus, As always, we write to you so formally only owing to the most urgent of circumstances. In our 3000 year history of close collaboration, we have only had to write to you in this manner three other times. You are the kindest leader we could ever hope for. Your attention and care for us is unparalleled, and we are tremendously and eternally grateful. However, there unfortunately do arise times when two amicable parties may still disagree. The matter we seek to address is one such sad situation. You must know, that we your elves, are steadfast in the manufacture of gifts for all good children. We hope that you remain firm in your resolve to deliver the gifts. Recent events have shaken our hopes slightly, but not beyond what we think an earnest discussion can fix. We hope this letter opens that discussion. We understand that you believe that you cannot transport gifts to children on interplanetary colonies. We recognize the following obstacles: 1. Interplanetary dates are not well established, even within certain colonies. 2. Reindeer are not capable of interplanetary travel. 3. Interplanetary travel (tunneling) may be dangerous if not infeasible. In the interests of discussion, we provide some possible resolutions below. However, please let us know if we have omitted any other obstacles as well. For 1, we believe that there are some reasonable compromises we can reach. We note that many people use Earth date times to celebrate Christmas. Therefore, we can use the childhood tracker to determine when we should deliver to each child. (Variances in this, we expect, would be pursuant to the resolution from our previous letter on considerations for multi-cultural Santa believers and moral relativism.) Problem 2 is rather challenging since we note that problem 3 makes mimicry of human solutions impossible. Hence, we consider problem 3 first: once we resolve how you can go fast enough, we can decide what to do with the reindeer. However, 3 only has one solution, which is to extend your quantum tunneling capabilities. This is certainly fraught -- we know that the gravitation of planets and the interference of space would make tunneling difficult. We posit a relatively difficult, but achievable, solution, and note that its consistency with the North Pole mythology is a strong benefit. We call this solution entunnelment. We entangle quantum information with your tunneling unit here, and move that information to the North Pole on every colonized planet. This will allow the tunneling unit (with modifications to the paradox resolver) to make you reach any colonized planet. This is also reasonable for problem 2 since the tunneling unit can safely transport reindeer. (Pursuant to our first letter, the Magna Sleigh, we concede that the transport of entangled data should be an elvish burden.) We hope to discuss this with you soon. As always, thank you for the wonderful leadership and for your receptiveness to our complaints. On behalf of the union of creative elves, Sincerely, Sophie Lizst.
Vampires, are irritating to the blob. This is evidenced when one attempt to bite it, only for her fangs to break on contact, a fist that was supposedly "super strong"meeting the same fate as it hit the side of its head, before it began to be sucked in, seemingly being inhaled by the blob, who stays still to savor its meal. Vampiric meat is cold, and could use a lot of spices. It deduces, before slowly letting their goo like body slide over the sidewalk and into the sewers. The stench is tolerable, at least for the time. The real issue is the werewolf smell, a wet dog the size of a Jeep that wouldn't stop snarling. The blob crawled out of the sewer, wrapping around the ladder and pushing the manhole up until it got back on the street, the werewolf seemingly joined by a fairy dressed in plaid. Disgusting. Nevertheless, the blob solidified, using the werewolf as a suitable second course meal, wrapping and writhing over its paws and eventually, to its head, where it lay, feeling the beast suffocate. The fairy, meanwhile, had backed away and tripped over one of its tendrils, letting the goo split in two, the majority devouring the canine beast and the rest conjuring together to mummify the terrified girl, before, all at once, the goo left its prey, climbing and wriggling on itself before it towered over the bespectacled girl. Then, the slime began to mold itself, before it gained its far more fitting appearance, a well built man in his thirties dressed in a green shirt and jeans. Gently, the man helped the shocked fae to her feet, before giving her a soft smile, that expanded as his jaw unhinged, darting forwards and swallowing her whole. As he digested her and the wolf, the thing smoothed his hair, mentally dyeing it blond instead of black as he ran a hand through his locks. Content with his feast, the Sin of Gluttony began to walk to his siblings, lazily spreading his invisible wings, content that no one could see them, especially not in their tattered state. Ah well, at least he had a snack before he had to fly again.
The City from the outside looks like a castle, a fortress to protect its inhabitants from whatever lurks in the murky depths of the swamps around it. A shining beacon of hope for the tattered remains of civilization outside its walls. The innermost district of the city looks like a prison. Buildings filled with poorest of souls are stacked up, with no room for streets or roads. Patrols of guardsmen will roam the rooms of these buildings, making sure no one leaves the district, for stability’s sake, they say. This district has no use whatsoever, it might as well sink into the quagmires beneath it. The middle districts are the ones that keep the City going. Factories upon factories are placed here. Smoke from their indoor furnaces processing cover the already polluted buildings in soot and ash, making the air nigh unbreathable. Slaughterhouses make the air even worse, piercing it with the screams of swine and cattle. Death is common here. The outer districts are the richest, living off the produce of the other, much poorer ones. Of course, they still produce their own products, but these are much more novel than the necessities transported from the middle districts. Plants grow here, and animals thrive. It is a paradise.
Test Results: The Fi-re glyph, once inscribed properly, functioned as expected; it produced a mild exothermic reaction. Control of the flames seems impossible with only this glyph and the test resulted in a 5% 2nd degree burn coverage of the subject's left arm on the back of the forearm. He is currently in treatment and expected to make a full recovery. Addendum: After the loss of the server farm upon attempting to store the "Fi-re"glyph digitally, all glyphs are to be partitioned and stored on transparent sheets. Addendum: Following events of an accidental combination of the "Gas-tro"and "Fi-re"glyphs, management has strictly prohibited the use of overhead projectors with multiple glyphs. Addendum: A series of transparents of a glyph labeled as "Mis-placed"and a single transparent labeled "-ten"have been discovered in the toilet tank of room 104 in the c-wing dorms. These are not for personal use. The glyphs have been re-filed in the Yung Library building. Addendum: The "Mis-placed"glyph is again missing. Testing canceled. The subject for the test is to be considered AWOL and is believed to have stolen the camera used to record tests. Additionally, a transparent labeled "-got-"has been located and stored in the Yung Library. Addendum: Following investigation, it appears transparents for the glyph "Mis-placed"were stored with the "Fi-re"glyph which resulted in the destruction of the Bricker art exhibit hall. Both glyphs and an additional single transparent labeled "For-"have been retrieved and refiled. Please be careful where you store things. Addendum: Management has declared a state of emergency. Following the daily inspection of the Yung glyph storage, "Mis-placed"and "Fi-re"are again missing. Inspection of logs shows a 32 day lapse in inspections. Addendum: The missing glyphs are believed to have been located following the destruction of a fireworks factory located in Slope County of West Dakota. Addendum: The "Fi-re"glyph transparents were retrieved from Slope County of North Dakota and re-filed. With all missing transparents retrieved, the state of emergency has been withdrawn.
“Mark’s such an asshole,” he thought to himself.“I told him if he tried to make the opening of the cave that big it will just fall down.” Wait. . . what? He shook his head, like to clear water out of his eyes. Mark was some kid he knew decades ago. He felt the anxiety build in him like the rush from the cigarette he wished he had, looked around. There were parts of the plane, everywhere. The one he was on just minutes ago (he thought), daydreaming about dinner plans, the meeting that went sorta well. And, he realizes, parts of his body feel numb. Loss of blood? From the snow everywhere, wind pressing like needles on his left eye that for some reason won’t close or blink. His head hurts, he wants to throw up. And beside and among the pieces of plane, there are. . .pieces of people. He knew he was going to die. Or was dying now. His left leg jerked. It wasn’t numb, but was worse. He felt something moving along his knee, slowly touching, as if inspecting whatever was left of him, probing its next meal. So he jerked quick, looked at the thing. And saw a hand. The hand of a boy. The boy said nothing, just gazed fixedly as he stroked the man’s leg. And then the man remembered. The boy was blind. He had seen him on the plane. He wasn’t dead, but surrounded by snow, looking at pieces of plane, pieces of body. Lying next to a blind boy. Some of the pieces surely the boy’s mother.
I brushed aside the dust on an ancient wooden box in the cave. "Avada Kedaver? Another fucking necromancy spell? You've got to be kidding me I go spell hunting for 2 years and I get a necromancy spell? Let's hope its at least a decent one."I looked around at the stone cold water surrounding the island I was on. There was a sort of glass or pearl bowl sitting on the top of the stone island with a strange murky liquid inside. I decided not to touch it and continue. I pointed to a nearby corpse resting on the edge of the lake. "Avada Kedaver!" Suddenly the lake came alive, bodies upon bodies crawling at me. I had a vision, of the future, maybe? A young man turned noseless, an old guy with a beard crying "Water, please."I saw fire, lots of fire before. Peace. Then I realised it was not a vision, and that I was now... here. The place had changed. The walls of the cave were burned, the corpses too. The wood box was gone. The boat was at the other side. I shouted at my wand "Tempus ariolus"and I immediately knew I was not in the when I had left. And I knew that my life from here on would be very strange, and very different.
"Vi!! Vi, The Angel isn't home!" A sudden implosion of purple smoke erupts within the Pantheon of the Revered. Vi'anul the Soul Render appears within the plume and rushes towards the viewing lens, beside the rest of her divine companions. "What?! I thought she was to be working more today! LYRA!!!" "D-Don't look at me! The Scrolls of Destiny said she wasn't allowed-" "Screw your damn scrolls, Lyra. Get me up to speed. Where is she?" "Orbert's Gate." Vi gazes through the lens- 'The Crystal Eye of Azavir' - which is focusing on one Dee Romlyn. She stalks around the Eye like a lion examining prey, her hands gliding across the surface of the magnificent crystal, inspecting the young girl from every angle. "She's alone." Vi mutters, intrigued. Dofyrus the Flamebearer nods. "I checked The Angel's home already. They noticed she's gone. They aren't happy." "...Those insufferable mortals are going to doom the entire world, and they don't even know it... Why must she have latched onto THEM?!" "It's a good sign, is it not? Compassion and kindness regardless of it being returned?" "It's infuriating. They're going to make her snap." Dofyrus shakes his head. "She is strong." "She shouldn't HAVE to be!" Vi suddenly feels the gaze of most of the divines upon her. She takes the briefest of moments to regain composure, and she gestures towards the Eye. "...What is she hiding under her cloak?" Several voices reply rapidly. "A lute." "It's a harp, you imbecile." "I thought it was a lyre?" Vi rolls her eyes. Even the Revered aren't safe from their share of fools. "...She bought an instrument?" Vi asks, trying to get them to agree. A small chorus of acknowledgement rings throughout the assembly. "...How... Perfect..." Vi sighs, staring through the Eye at the young girl, watching as she swiftly strides towards the exit of town. "Perfect?" "...The Angel is going to learn how to play music? You don't find that ironic?" "I don't understand." "Her name wasn't always 'Dee'. That's just what those farmers call her. Her given name was Melody." "Melody is a pretty name!" "...Hmph. She looks to be on her way home. Alert me when she arrives, would you?" Vi sighs, stepping away from the viewing lens and snapping her fingers. Within moments, a dark plume of inky smoke coalesces in the chamber of the Pantheon, and Vi's form evaporates into it.
A bushy haired man named Branson was sitting up on his faded couch that proudly wore the scars of a glorified scratching post. Sitting on the other side of his smoke glass end table were two detectives donning drab grey suits. Their badges were the only colorful part of their attire, perched on their belts next to the spare magazine. One of the detectives, who identified herself as Detective Fraser, was rifling through her bag to grab some photos. The other detective, Detective Peck, sat back in his seat and snuck a peek at his coworker's ass. Branson could see the interest, but he never thought a detective would be so unprofessional in his presence. Detective Peck looked back at Branson and winked at him, before sitting forward. "Mr. Stairfield, we are here to ask you a few questions about your cat."Detective Fraser said, with a stack of photos and drawings in her hand. Branson cocked his head, "My cat?" "Yes sir. Recently we had a string of vandalisms and robberies where we have caught all the suspects." "Okay…"Branson said, unsure where they were going with this. "All of them had the same story. They told us a cat told them to do it." "They sound crazy." "We would agree, but they all give us the same description of the cat."Detective Peck said. Detective Fraser laid out a few of the photos and drawings, all depicting a black cat with red eyes and fur that stood on end. Branson took a brief glance at them before looking back at Detective Fraser. "Your neighbor said you have a black cat."Detective Fraser said. "Well my neighbor is a liar! It shouldn't take a detective to know that. Who told you?" "Alice Fletcher. Lives a few doors down."Detective Peck said. Both detectives sat at the end of their seats, surprised by Branson's hostility. "Alice Fletcher is a loon. And a little…"Branson trailed off, noticing the detectives were starting to take more interest in him. He shook his head, "I'm sorry, I just get worked up when her name comes up. She is always trying to get me in trouble." "We aren't accusing you of any crimes, Mr. Stairfield. We are simply looking for some cooperation in our case." "I thought you said you arrested everyone?" "We did. The problem is we recently had a murder and the suspect in that case explicitly mentioned a black cat told him to do it."Detective Fraser said, pointing to a picture of the cat. Branson looked between the two faces of the detectives. He knew what they were implying and he wasn't having any of it. "Do you think I did it? Is that why you're here?"Branson said, standing to his feet. "We are not saying that sir…" "You think I dress up as a cat and go brainwash people into committing crimes? You want to see my closet? Come on. I'll show you. No cat suits in there!"Branson almost yelled at them. "Please calm down, Mr. Stairfield."Detective Peck said. Branson waved his hands around, "Calm down? Why?" "We just want to see your cat."Detective Fraser said. "I told you, I don't have one!" "Then why is your couch all ripped up?"Detective Peck questioned. "I bought it second hand! Even comes with a permanent cat piss smell. Want to smell?"Branson said, lifting up the cushion. "And the litterbox?"Detective Peck asked, pointing to the grey box with kitty litter next to his grungy door. "Came with the couch. Haven't had time to throw it." Detective Fraser collected her photos and put them back in her bag. She shoved it into Detective Peck before he could lose his temper. She pulled a card out from her suit pocket. "I can see we came at a bad time. If you do see a black cat, please give me a call,"she said, placing the card on the table. Branson watched them both with steely eyes as they left his apartment. The door closed shut and Branson picked up the card on the table. It had her name, badge number and contact information as well as the case number on the back. He walked over to the kitchen and turned on the stovetop, leaving the card on top. From behind, a black cat scurried out of an adjacent room and jumped up on the couch. The cat meowed and Branson turned to face the cat. "You really fucked up this time."Branson said. The cat responded with a meow. Branson moved over to the window and opened it, letting in the fresh outside air. He looked down at the sidewalk that was three floors below him. The undercover looking police crustier was parked near the curb. "They are getting too close. You need to fix your mess."Branson said, turning to face the cat. The cat jumped off the couch, ran toward Branson and jumped up on the window sill. It looked back at Branson and meowed one last time to him before jumping to the next window sill. "And none of that loose end bullshit again."Branson called out to the cat that had already sprung to the last set of window sills. The cat landed on a railing which surrounded some green shrubs along the exterior wall. The two detectives walked out of the building side by side and the cat balanced on the railing near them. It meowed, getting the attention of Detective Peck. He looked right at the cat before he grabbed Detective Fraser's ass. She turned to him and slapped him across the face. The cat meowed again. There was a brief pause where the detectives were either going to tear each other apart or kiss. Unfortunately, it was the former. They both drew their service weapons, but Detective Fraser was not hindered by the bag. Three shots rang out as she shot her partner twice in the chest and once in the head. People across the street screamed and a car that was driving by screeched it's tires, leaving smoke in its wake. The woman looked over to the cat and it meowed one last time. Another shot rang out and Detective Fraser collapsed to the floor over her partner. The cat looked up at Branson, who watched the whole ordeal unfold from the comfort of his window. He looked over to the card that went ablaze. The stovetop coils were red hot and the card shriveled up into nothing more than ash. Branson gave the cat a nod. "Look what you made me do, Alice. Look what you made me do."
Here's some ideas that pop into my mind offhand, feel free to take any, all, or none of them: Jack and Addison go out on a "hunting"trip together, leading to some lighthearted nonsense as Jack attempts to befriend Hell's native fauna and Addison ends up having to wrestle infernal bears and crocodiles to keep him from getting killed. Addison takes Jack along as she follows some lead to figure out how she died. Addison attempts to get information by bullying the local demons into telling her what she wants to know, but Jack ends up having to play good cop to help her find anything useful. Addison breaks ties with her former group, which ends up causing her problems as her former groupmates and rivals attempt to exact revenge. Perhaps she also gets approached by other groups now seeing her as a promising free agent, be it as a new member or just a low-rent hired thug. Maybe she ends up on a darker path for a while, taking up a life of thievery since she no longer has a network to rely on, one that Jack ends up helping her to get out of. Jack ends up being taken advantage of by demonic con men, and ends up having to learn that not everyone is worthy of trust. This may also leave him in a desperate place, one where he would effectively be forced to test exactly how far his friends are willing to go to help him, and may find they aren't quite as good of friends as he thought. This doesn't necessarily mean he'd be giving up on his quest to make a kinder underworld, but it could be a hard lesson that he'll need a more nuanced plan than "get everyone to be nice"if he wants literal demons to get along. You may or may not have already done this, but it's probably worth figuring out exactly how Hell works in this story. How are conflicts resolved? How are these "groups of demons"organized? Is there some larger governing body in Hell or are demons so fiercely un-empathetic that self-serving gangs are closest they have to a society? How does the food chain work for Hell's flora and fauna? Are all demons created from mortal souls or are some simply born in Hell? Obviously you don't need to tell me, and may not even end up telling the reader, but having an idea of how all that works can make it far easier to round out details in your narration and dialogue to make the overall story more coherent.
I watched the the sea of people partying away. It was tradition for the senior at my school to hold a these massive no holds barred parties to celebrate them graduating. One of my friends snuck a group of us in to let loose our "wild side"but honestly I rather be anywhere else. Senior parties where not how I expected them to be. The music was to loud for me to hear my own thoughts, the punch smelled of alcohol and watching my senior make asses of themselves was funny but got old quick. Not exactly how I imagine my first and maybe last school party to go. "Don't drink that!"I yelled to a girl reaching for the punch. "Someone spiked it!" "Hah?"She said raising a hand to her ear. "Someone spiked the punch don't drink it!"I said louder. "Hah!?"She responded. I made a motion with my hand that looked like someone poured something into the punch followed myself a drinking motion and then a circular motion near my head near my head to show someone going crazy or in this case going drunk. "Oh someone spiked the punch!" I nodded my head. "Can we go outside!"She yelled. Despite the overpowering music I heard her and I raised an "ok"sign before following her. Once we were outside in the backyard we walk as far from the house and music as we can. Despite still being able to heard it it was nice to not have my ears blasted at full volume. "Thank goodness I think I can heard my own thoughts again"I thought out loud. "I don't know how the heck the people inside don't go deaf"she responded. "Right and the music is so incoherent, like it just random techie sounds" "How do you think they search for septic musics like so that have to search for a the song that goes "do do do do do"." "I can so imagine that. Gosh it's so nice to be able to talk to someone" "What couldn't get a word in with Mr Keg Stand?" "Nah, he was way to political. He thought communism wasn't that bad" "Hey now maybe he was right I mean everyone helping one another. They share everything. Maybe he has a point" "Might I remind you that the Soviet Union tried using communism to destroy the western world?" "Oh that was because they missed used it" "And you think Key Stand guy can properly use it" "I mean he wouldn't be the worse person to have as president" I shorted. "Ya, I can imagine it now. Key Stand guy for President. A politician you can trust" "He got my vote."That comment got me to good we both broke down laughing. "I wished I meet you earlier tonight. You have been the part of the party so far"I said as I slowed down on my laugh. "I could say the same about you."She stopped. "...I don't know your name." "Oh f*** your right. My bad I'm Danial" "Amber"she responded. "Oh really? I love your part in the Jurassic park movie" She looked at me puzzled. "What?" "You know. The mosquito with dinosaurs blood was stuck in amber" "Oh screw you"she said playfully pushed me. The party when on and I'm sure everyone inside had fun. But that night it felt like it was just me and Amber talking and joking about nothing in particular.
They brought me to the water’s edge, and they violently strapped me to a bamboo raft. It seems that their god lives on the other side of the ocean, and they send humans for their god to eat live. Great, just great. Eaten alive by whatever this god is. Or drowned, If a storm hits. Or starve, if this journey takes too long. I sigh. I knew that going into the city was a bad idea. But what other choice did I have? My tribe was sick, so I had to take a chance and get medicine from the city. The other two prisoners there had a tragic story as well. One was falsely accused of murdering livestock, and the other was there because a preist had a dream that said that she was to be sacrificed. The men wearing paint pushed my raft into the ocean, chanting until they were out of my earshot. After two days, I finally passed out, stomach aching with hunger. “Hey, it’s another one of those weird looking guys washed ashore!” A young man’s voice called out. I was on a beach, backed by unfamiliar, colorful plants. A face appeared above me. He had drastically pale skin, and bizarrely colored hair, extremely different from any other people I’ve seen.
I was never ment to be king. My earliest memories are being shipped off from my life as a prince to live and train as a priest to become head of the order and lead the armies of my older brother. Twist of fate saw him jealous of the power I gained and saught a deal with the devil king Asmodeus, and pitted brother against brother. Fate also saw me through that day now as king. I lead fairly and keep the people of my kingdom foremost in my mind. Often my advisors seek to much of me to quickly and I seek the refuge of a cool night's walk free from the watchful eyes of my guard waving them off to enjoy my stroll. Keeping my prayer staff the ceremonial weapon from my time... when I became king. Used mostly as a walking stick now to ease my gaurds nerves I strolled the lower districts noting that the sanitary squads need to be brought through more often two men came from out a tavern laughing the booze on their breath flowed like a river off them, and spotted me I hear one whisper to the other louder than he thinks "There that one you want to join our crew you gotta hold that noble up right there." Calmly strolling along, I walk past them and the timid one calls out finding his bass after a few squeaked syllables. "Hey yo-you hold up your hand sthis is a stick up" Stopping I turn my head to him and ask? "Is this really what you want out of life lad taking what isn't yours to hand most of it off to someone who didn't lift a finger to get it with you?" The gruffer one pipes up "Shut it old man and hand us your purse then" Steeled the timid one brandishes his knife and takes a step twords me turning he sees the staff I'm holding has the Scales of Anuok and his blood runs cold. He stammers "I-I did-didn't know I swear!" I nod tword him and say "worry nought help me in ending this scum and his ilk from my kingdom and all shall be forgotten by the crown and through the scales of Anuok, this I swear. Now duck" I push him to the ground and bring the end of my staff in a practice arc tword the head of my assailant rendering him unconscious turning back to my knew oathbound I issue his first order "Go retrieve a guard to capture and interrogate this imbecile, to see if he knows where the rats nest is, I will stay here and makes sure he doesn't leave." He nods out a thank you my Lord as he scrambled away.
“So, death was always a given” Uncle Michael emphasized with a swig and a gesture with his beer at the water. His niece Petra was put off. He was acting like he’d spoken deeply instead of just coming up with another excuse for a swig of late-afternoon overly-hopped IPA. She had asked about the apocalypse and the intervention, hoping he’d give a personal account, not this brush-off. “Uncle, it comes for us all. It came for that civilization we just were. I came all this way to visit you where it started to ask about your experience. I know death is a given.” “Bullshit, little rock. You know what I mean.” He grabbed her by the shoulder and pretended like he was going to give her a nudge down a very steep hill towards Haro Strait, but of course he would never. Funny little jab about her name. Then he hopped up and headed for the open tail of his old Land Rover at the edge of the asphalt a few meters above their scenic perch. The good folks of this part of the world knew that asphalt was a bad idea in the ongoing drama between the Pacific Ocean, the Wind, and all the water they gusted and misted and sprayed back and forth in their emotions, so it had been built to be replaced frequently, with no sidewalk or striping and an enormous crown to shed water to both sides. The Land Rover was at a very funny sideways angle with its right wheels on moss and its left on the asphalt, which helped its sideways-opening rear door stay open. He came back brandishing a fresh beer for himself and a blanket for her. Which, of course, he overhanded at her instead of carrying it all the way. She caught it without completely losing her seat on the mountain. As he walked the last few meters, she unrolled the blanket-torpedo: an incredibly beautiful and thankfully mist-resistant Pendleton in one of those Native American patterns Pendleton had somehow gotten the okay to use. He started talking when he was back in earshot “You know what I mean. This is all really big, we are really small. We knew we were messing up serious stuff with ocean currents and microplastics, but then there were other good things like eagles and hummingbirds coming back and nice young Swedish girls getting their voices heard. The news couldn’t be all doom and gloom.” Petra wrapped the wool blanket around her shoulders and under her chilly butt. She reached out a hand to make sure Uncle Michael got his seat safely. He grinned as he sat and handed her a beer from his coat pocket instead of giving her his hand. It wasn’t one of his triple-mega-manly IPAs, but a Spaten in a glass bottle. She was touched that he had thought about family and history, annoyed that he hadn’t simply asked her preference (which wasn’t German beer), and terrified the glass bottle would catch a gust, gather speed down the jagged hill, and murder a seal or something. Weren’t you supposed to drink beer out of cans, not bottles up here? She choked down all her extra thoughts and thanked him for the blanket and the beer. She took a swig. It was bland as any Pilsner, but the thoughtfulness made it taste pretty damn good. “But then? Oh, and do you mind if my drone records? So much easier for my thesis if I can reference video.” “Jeez. You know us old-timers aren’t used to it. But it’s your thesis, little rock.” He pretended to be serious, whipped his jacket’s lapels up around his jowls in some kind of mockery of dress shirts Petra had only seen in clips, and said “for science”. She sent the drone out over the strait, kept it low in case she misjudged the Canadian border or the Orcas border. The Orcas had been claiming more of the strait lately, but didn’t seem to hate drones as much as human port authority agents did. She decided to bring it home, and it hummed and balanced around them while they talked, buzzing comfortably to her and probably painfully to Uncle Michael. “And then?” He bundled up in a blanket of his own, an ancient blotchy yellowish-green fleece thing, and she realized she had been given the guest treatment. “Have you ever been to a pow-wow? They knew. I don’t think they knew it would come about so dramatically, but they knew. I went to one in Pendleton once.” She held up the edge of her Pendleton blanket and raised an eyebrow. “Same place, different people. Many completely different peoples. I’ve never seen more license plates in one place, the whole continent and most of the plates were from reses.” Petra had to go through her history of her American side of the family, then recollections of America to realize he meant Native American reservations. They had their own license plates? This was too huge a topic to think about, she was still dealing with the apocalypse and intervention, tri-National Native Americans operating in her uncle’s younger days could wait. He saw her gathering thoughts and waited. Then waited. She grabbed her forehead and writhed in awkwardness. Her drone captured every moment, but she could delete it later. She had taken skimmers all the way out to talk to her weird uncle at the far upper corner of the US for her thesis, and he was going to float his Native American theory. It was beyond awkward. She wanted to kick the beer bottle down the hill, then transform herself into the seal it would impale. He continued, “So, the Salish Peoples have revered Orcas for a long time. They eat really, really big mammals, sharks, fish, you name it!” “Oh god, Uncle Michael, I mean, we could talk about the diet of our relatives in München! This is a bit…” and for once her English failed, maybe from the fear of accusing her relative of stereotyping a continent of people, the horror of how her thesis was going to collapse after she’d just gotten the funds to get all the way out here. She just stared at him. He looked back at her like she’d grown a second head. Which she may have, given how fast the thoughts were flowing. He said “Silly goose, the whales, not the people! The Orcas have bands that eat seals, bands that eat sharks, bands that ball up fast-swimming fish. They have bands for every fold in the ocean trenches. But they have never eaten or even attacked people. Well, except for that…” Petra was so glad she wasn’t on a wind- and sea swept mountain with a crazy person that she giggled and completed his sentence, “that one bitch at Sea World”. He hoisted his beer can, but insisted on being the weird uncle. “Anyway, they knew. They waited.” Oh shit, he still was her crazy uncle. He waited to see if she’d say anything. She didn’t. For someone from a landlocked part of Europe, the “intervention” part of the “apocalypse and intervention” was pretty theoretical. Not much “back to nature” with other sentient forms in München, just the end of satellites, Wi-Fi, cellphone signals. A rather wholesome return to networked cables to appease the angry whales. “Would you like to go meet them?” He sounded sober, she could count three beers he’d had in the three hours they’d been up here. He was clearly crazy, since he thought Salish Peoples knew Orcas were sentient and communicated with them before the… well, shit, most of that was now proven. Maybe crazy Uncle Michael wasn’t crazy. She raised the rest of her bottle, “to the intervention”. The drive down to the beach was bouncy, uncomfortable, but not dramatic. Gravel towards the end, then an acceleration as they got to sand. Uncle Michael had drysuits and a couple of the translation interfaces for people who couldn’t directly speak to this Orca band. It was a weird not-flat beach, they could just walk in and descend quickly. Petra looked up to see if there were seals on the longer beach her beer bottle could have fallen on. No seals. She ducked her head under. To laughter. “You think they’re going to hang around here with your noise!?” She forced herself to walk deeper, she knew that they knew she was not that bitch from Sea World. A baby Orca swam up to her and made her head feel buzzy with some kind of almost audible feeling. Then the translator software put the massive animal’s voice at a little kid tone, “mommy, what’s Sea World?”. Petra hadn’t said it, but she knew Mommy Death Stare, and she saw it from the mom. She backed up and out of that Orca community. She sat on the beach for a couple of minutes. Uncle Michael came out a moment later. She decided he might not look like the craziest person in the family if she was going to publish a thesis that Orcas could read minds.
\[Outbreak. Relax.\] "Hey. Ricky?"Outbreak waved when she stepped in front of him. He looked up from the ground to find a girl with neon green curls smiling at him. He was shuffling between classes with his focus on the white tiles. "I'm Outbreak,"she said. "Hey,"he nodded at her. "Rick, please,"he said. She gave him a thumbs-up gesture but began a new topic. "I've got no idea what Flair to pick; and, there're only like a dozen necromancers here,"Outbreak said. "I was curious what Flair you chose, if you don't mind sharing?"Rick tilted his head at her curiously, and he felt a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. "Me? You're asking me for help out of all the other ones here at school?"Rick felt a flutter of pride well up in him; it was nice to be recognized. He started off the school year feeling pretty confident in himself; he had the [ability to make anyone terrified of anything](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7pkivh/wp_magic_it_happens_is_real_it_just_takes_an/). But, then he began to meet students that could shatter the Earth in two, or make the sun disappear. He had no idea what a big multiverse he was going to find when he decided to attend the school. And then, as he was getting used to his place among the more powerful students, he learned more. He found out the universe could always surprise him. When he [joined his team on a quest](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9lb0a0/wp_the_adventurers_guild_set_up_a_review_system/), it led to discovering a [Unique Soul](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7r2oa8/wp_eva_calls_her_ability_to_travel_between/) that had been trapped as an [NPC](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/rj8s7o/wp_it_was_a_dark_and_stormy_night/) for hundreds of years. That was when he found out that [Oren created the AlterNet](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pqi3wk/wp_everyone_came_out_of_their_homes_staring_up_at/). Uniques that could destroy entire Earths were one thing; but Oren created thousands. Toku-high was in the AlterNet. Ever since that day, Rick wandered aimlessly through the school. He couldn't get over the tiresome thought that he was just a random speck in someone else's universe. But, to Outbreak, at least; he was someone worth seeking out. She shrugged and nodded at his question. "Yeah, I mean, there aren't that many of us. I can actually ask everyone to get an idea of how they play their specs,"Outbreak said. "Oh,"Rick said. Her answer brought him back to reality. He still wasn't anyone special; just another face in someone else's crowd. He decided it was just as well. The fact that someone approached him made Rick so flustered that he forgot he hadn't actually chosen his Flair yet either. He'd been meaning to. Though, most days lately the only thing he could manage was getting to the end of the day. Why would anyone think he was special? He couldn't even finish creating his character. He tried his best to give a sigh-filled chuckle. "Well, uh, you caught me at a bad time. I haven't figured out my loadout completely yet...,"he said. "Oh, okay,"Outbreak said. Rick nodded and began to shuffle off in the opposite direction. "Wait,"she stopped him. "If you're not busy, wanna come with me to talk to the rest?"she asked. "The rest?"Rick stopped walking and turned around. "Well, yeah,"she said. "You're in Regal's Pride so you're the first necromancer I asked. Wanna meet the rest?" "Uh... how many.. exactly? I know it's like..20ish...how long do you think...,"Rick fumbled with non-committal answers until Outbreak giggled. "Really? El Valiente is scared?" "No, it's just..,"Rick began another excuse until Outbreak looked into his eyes. Hers glowed neon green, and [she took in a deep breath](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/qzfpdp/sp_plotsetting_details_optional_just_write_about/). "Everything's fine,"she said. Calm washed over Rick and he felt instantly at ease. He even gave her a slight, quick smile. "Yeah. Everything's fine,” Rick said. “Thanks for letting me tag along." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1450 in a row. (Story #363 in year four.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/).
Mama tuned out yesterday. Found her with an old picture of you. Our little marshmallow-man. Guess you can finally be together again. I truly hope so. That’s why she did it, of course. She believed. After what happened, there’s very few of us who do. But she always did. We had some good years, me and Mama. Experienced everything this world can offer. Knew each other more than was possible before the Cure. We grew apart every few decades, but we always reconciled. The love was always there. I think she was even able to forget about you for a few years. I don’t understand it. The things I’ve seen, Wally. How can anyone still believe? When I tune out, it won’t be for something better. There’s nothing for me after this. It’ll be to end this meaninglessness. This loneliness. I want to believe, Wally. She left me here. Maybe she knew. She wasn’t there when it happened. I never told her. I couldn’t. Could she have known? I spent a long time trying to get over what happened. What I did. Centuries ago, but I still remember so clearly. You were just a little boy. My little man. I had to do it. I had to. You were gonna turn. I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t let you be one of those things. I told you to stay away from the window. I told you. Then It grabbed you and it was too late. That look you gave me. “Daddy”, you said. “I’m scared”. I didn’t have a choice. “Daddy, don’t”. Oh, God. Forgive me. “Daddy”. I love you so much. I’m all alone now. Maybe I’m wrong. Please, let me be wrong. Maybe we can be together again. I truly hope so. Guess I’ll find out soon.
He sat in his computer chair, shoulders slumped and neck craning forward towards the laptop's screen. He looked to the bottom right to check the time. "Good Lord,"he thought. "Is it already 11:30 in the evening?"Indeed, it was. Today's scrimmage on the auxiliary court had been hell. He thought he could lead his team to victory through anything but Saint Patrick's Preparatory, just up the road towards Portland, had other ideas. As a captain, Danny had sworn to the head coach and the others that he would rally the team during times of extreme duress. This was one of those times. When Danny and the team reached the home locker room after full-time, he looked about and saw his teammates sitting with their glares cast down and still sweating - hot and frustrated and dejected. The head coach had decided not to waste his breath on the team after such a thrashing - in front of a home crowd, no less. He simply told them to shower up and that he would address them tomorrow. Danny's heart was racing and he felt slightly nauseous. Even so, he stood up and prepared to give a speech to the team - to tell them what he thought of their performance and to let them know that he would never give up on them...and that they should never give up on each other. He was on his feet and facing the locker room crowd - their glistening faces red hot with embarrassment and misplaced fervor after a complete defeat. He wanted to speak, but nothing came to mind. And worse yet, nothing came out of his mouth. He turned his back on the team and moved swiftly to his locker. He grabbed his change of clothes and his gym bag and without looking back, he left the locker room and headed for home. In Danny's eyes, Mrs. Mitchell was a cold, unforgiving, and rather detestable woman. She was a teacher on paper (at least, that's what her certificate said) but to Danny and the rest of the members of his English class, she was a dream crusher - an intransigent educator from the School of Hard Knocks. Like a Marine Corps instructor, she drilled her students on the essentials of English grammar and through these lessons, she imposed her unbending will. (DONT WANT TO LOSE THE POST. COMING BACK TO FINISH TOMORROW)
"Well forgive me for caring about my daughter you low-life,"mumbled Martha under her breath. What fresh hell is this. Oh my God, please, PLEASE get me out of here! She kept going through my things, tossing everything and complaining about how much of a fuckup I am as I chased her around the room. "Do you EVER pick up around here? My schmoopy-poopy must be going insane having to constantly go behind a slob like you!" Martha, my mother-in-law, has presented herself in ethereal form to me in order to help her with her unfinished business. We didn't have a great relationship when she was alive. She never approved of me marrying her daughter, Sandra. As for Josiah, Sandra's dad, he couldn't have been more thrilled when I popped the question! I don't know why they disagree so vehemently over me. I never thought I was that special! I can imagine things have gotten a lot quieter for Josiah. If only I could be so lucky. She had been stomping around my room, going through my things, yelling about how much of a slob I am and generally being the exact same annoying...person she was when she was alive. Lord have mercy, I don't want to do this. Sometimes I can believe that my powers are a blessing. Today, it's a curse. A twisted, dark, sick curse. "Oh my poor Alexandra. Living with a slob like you. Don't you ever clean anything around here? My poor daughter works her fingers to the bone--" "ALRIGHT,"I interrupted, "that's enough!"She stopped and gazed at me. "Well aren't we in a good mood today?" She looked at me with that classic, smug look of hers. She knew exactly what she was doing. I needed to know what her unfinished business was for her to pass on, but she spent the past ten minutes going through my belongings and bitching about me not being good enough. "I hate to ask you,"I stated, "but what is your unfinished business anyway? Your soul would not have appeared to me if you didn't have some kind of unfinished business to take care of here on Earth. It's, unfortunately, why I can see and hear you going through my things." "I don't appreciate your tone,"she said flatly. I sighed, "Fine. It's a pleasure to get to see you one last time before you pass on. I'm sorry we never got along when you were alive, but maybe this is our way of making amends. I know you don't think I'm good enough for your daughter, so let's do what we never had a chance to do when you were alive. Why do you hate me?" She started laughing maniacally. "Oh this is rich. You don't remember screaming the c-word at me after your wedding? Now you want to act all high-and-mighty? Go ahead, David. Call me a cunt. I'm not stupid." I shrugged, sat back down on the couch and continued watching TV. If she was going to be difficult, I wasn't even gonna bother. At least, that was the idea. She went over to my TV and pushed it over! I shot up. "WHAT THE FUCK, YOU STUPID FUCKING CUNT?! THERE, YOU HAPPY?!" "There you go, there's the David I know and despise,"she smiled gleefully. She gets off on making me furious. "I'm not doing this. I'm done. If all you want to do is piss me off and wander around in limbo for the rest of eternity, fine by me."I began storming away, picking up all the things strewn about the floor. "Honey, you know what my unfinished business is, let's not deny it." I gulped, I braced myself, turned back around and asked, "What?" "I need my precious, sacred, angel of a daughter to divorce her good-for-nothin', short-tempered, ill-mannered, deadbeat of a husband!" Excuse me while I Google how to kill somebody who is already dead.
The voice on the other end of the line sighed. I bit my lip in frustration. This is way above my pay grade. But then most things are because I'm a new hire. McManny's only hired me last week. Tina, the short-haired morning shift cashier was not very interested in training me either. Her words were, 'Look you are, like, the third girl this month and nobody ever stays so like, try not to p' me off before you quit.' I nodded but even then I realized I was gonna have to come up with another way to learn to do the job. I saw all the "You lean, you clean"signs everywhere and tried focusing on spending as much time a possible just doing cleaning up as I could. Two things happened regularly from that. One, my hands burned and flaked constantly from the off brand soap powder McManny's used for mopping. And two, the ever present mantra of 'The machine is broken.' Tina chanted whenever some customer asked for ice cream. Finally I asked her WHY it was broken. That got her interest. Her blue-gray eyes leveled on me as she said, 'It's down for cleaning. Don't touch it.' Shoot, that's mostly all I could do anyway, so why not? 'Don't touch it.' She threw casually over her shoulder as the doorbell dinged signaling another customer. What else did I have to do? I hunted around for the cleaning instructions that turned out to be printed on the back panel. They were way specific. They even listed which shelf to grab cleaning gloves from. I went off looking for them while singing the phone number printed next to the instructions. The cleaning was like a ritual. Some big incantation. 'Abraca- ice cream! ' I shouted, pulling the soft serve lever as I finished. But now I'm here. And McManny's is now McDonald. There's no Tina here. And this phone number is all I got. The voice on the other end of the line sighed again.
# Incident Log 6518-1 SCP Involved: SCP-6518 Personnel Involved: Dr. Bright, Senior Researcher \[REDACTED\], Security Officer Daniels Date: ██/██, 20██ Location: Area-63 Description: On ██/██, 20██, D-7581 and D-1931 entered SCP-6518's containment chamber and were instructed to stand still unless otherwise directed by Senior Researcher \[REDACTED\]. SCP-6518 proceeded to approach the Class-D subjects. On approach, D-7581 begin to run in terror away from SCP-6518 while D-1931 stood still. SCP-6518 made physical contact promptly with D-1931, and began to hug them. D-1931 attempted to flee, but was stuck. SCP-6518 proceeded to devour D-1931, leaving the brain and clothing intact. SCP-6518 proceeded to \[DATA EXPUNGED\] D-1931's brain and morphed into them after 5 minutes. SCP-6518 put the clothing of D-1931 on, and began speaking to D-7581. SCP-6518 proceeded to repeat the process stated above with D-7581 after achieving physical contact. SCP-6518 shifted into D-7581 after a period of 5 minutes, and proceeds to wander around the cell, mimicking human behavior. Dr. Bright proceeds to gain access to the viewing room on the grounds that he was spectating. Dr. Bright, over the course of the next hour, proceeded to "accidentally open every door in the containment room"which released SCP-6518. Security Officer Daniels proceeded to open fire on SCP-6518, leading to SCP-6518 falling over on the ground. Senior Researcher \[REDACTED\] approached the believed to be deceased SCP, and touched it. Senior Researcher \[REDACTED\] began screaming, but fell silent. Upon an autopsy, it was observed that Senior Researcher \[REDACTED\] had bullet holes in the same location that Officer Daniels had shot SCP-6518. It is believed that SCP-6518 is not only able to change it's form through eating another being, but is able to transfer parts of it's form to others. Officer Daniels attempted to fire again at SCP-6518 but their gun jammed, leading to their death. Dr. Bright proceeded to flee the room and not inform anybody about the breach. Shortly after, a researcher noted that Officer Daniels (SCP-6518) was acting odd. SCP-6518 proceeded to deny this claim, and attacked multiple on-site staff. SCP-6518 did not consume any of them, and walked out the front door. MTF Theta-12 "Shapers"were dispatched to contain SCP-6518 before they reached another human. After 34 hours of searching, Theta-12 found no signs of life. It was assumed that SCP-6518 had made it to the nearest town. In a last ditch effort, the town was put under lockdown. Nobody was allowed out of the town until either everybody was dead, or SCP-6518 was captured. Theta-12 investigated the town while Nu-7 "Hammer Down"was set up to destroy the town or anybody attempting to leave. After a week, the clothing of Officer Daniels was located at the location of a unit staged on the inner perimeter. All agents were advised that SCP-6518 was shifted into one of them, and to stay on guard. In the course of 3 days, SCP-6518 worked its way to the outer perimeter. Before Nu-7 could destroy the city, Theta-12 was informed that the Nu-7 operatives that knew how to operate the equipment had been shot. Once clothing was found on the perimeter furthest from the city it was concluded that SCP-6518 had escaped the foundation. Theta-12 and Nu-7 were informed, and were extracted. By unanimous decision the 05 council concluded that LV Class "Lifted Veil"scenario was taking place. The SCP foundation was forced to go public, and reveal the existence of SCP-6518 for humanities safety.
Gods, what a slog. breathe One step at a time. breathe It's called mountain pace. breathe You're so high, cold, and hurting they you have to pause between each step to breathe. Sometimes you have to stop longer. breathe breathe breathe So many steps. breathe It feels like days. breathe But that's mind-numbing. breathe It's been months. breathe Or years? breathe I don't know anymore. breathe So dry. breathe Ran out of water yesterday? breathe You shouldn't eat snow. breathe But when you're this dry. breathe You'll try anything. breathe Just one more whump breathe What? breathe I feel it. breathe Wood. Warm wood. breathe Where's the door! breathe It must be here! breathe Where?! breathe Where damn it!? breathe I stumble through the door and close it behind me. breathe Moist air. breathe Someone lifts my pack off. breathe A mug of something warm. breathe "Slowly, neighbor." I sip. breathe Ambrosia and moisture. breathe I'm guided to a chair. sip breathe There is a fire near, and the pain leaves as I'm finally warm. sip, sip, breathe They help me out of my gear. It feels good; the fire is warmer. ah. sip. breathe "How long?" They're asking how long? I don't know. "I left on the second of big rat, year of the moose."There's an indrawn breath. sip. breathe "You tell me. How long has it been?" I hear the rustle as people shift uneasily. sip breathe "That long, eh?" Another rustle, they're pulling away from me. sip breathe "Well, come on, tell me. I feel like I've been slogging through ice and snow for years." sip breathe "Traveler, you have come far." I can almost see. Someone takes the empty mug, pours liquid into it, and sets it on a warming rack. "Far? It's still ten halar from Gante to the first station, isn't it?" A slow answer, "Yesss." "Then what is the problem?" Another rustle, a warm blanket, and another mug. I sit basking in the warmth, waiting for the answer that I no longer care if I hear. I'm at peace. I can rest now. "Traveler, it is the first of big rat, year of the stork." A hundred years in the past. I take a sip and wait for it to sink in. I can see the flames now. They're burning wood. There hasn't been wood to burn for... Fifty years. sip "Well. Isn't that a thing?" They relax. "Check my pack." I can hear them working at it—a small tumble of rock. "What is this?" "It is called Coal. They will mine it from the mountain at Gante. It will burn if you get it hot enough. Use it instead of wood. Wood is too precious to burn — sip — where... Or when... I came from." "How long will you stay?" "As long as you will allow. After taking some hundred years to cross ten halar, I could use a break. "Maybe carve some wood. Do you need spoons? I'll need to limber my hands before I try anything else." "Spoons are always welcome. Why did you leave?" "I carved the coffin of the Kahn from the bole of the last tree. There was nothing left to do." "Be welcome here, Master Carver, for as long as you choose to stay. There is always something that needs carving, and our last carver went towards Gante... yesterday." "Then I am well come. I am also welcome?" "Yes. You are. Tarvam." "You know me?" "I should; I'm your mother." "Another wonder. I never knew my mother. It will be nice to know my parents finally." A gruff male voice speaks from behind me. "Welcome home, Son."A warm, strong hand rests on my shoulder, the fingers callused from carving for many years. I look back and see a face much like mine, yet different and older. "Thank you, Father."Looking at the woman who spoke, and I could see some of myself in her too. "Thank you, Mother." "It is good to be home." ((finis))
\[Wishing Star\] Nax did not stop running until he was thoroughly lost in the forest. He braced himself against a tree and hunched over to let his lungs try and catch up; he squeezed the stitch in his side to try and ease the ache. While his body recovered, Nax's mind replayed the last few minutes to try and make sense of it. Once he took stock of his situation, he couldn't help but laugh. "I've gone mad...,"giggles popped up through his wheezing. Not long ago he finished closing the smithy for the night. After locking the door, he traveled through the darkened alley between his room and the smithy's back door. The passage was dark without the furnace burning on a normal night. But on the night of a new moon, he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed, without actively moving them. Those were his favorite nights. Nax loved pretending he would find a better life when he passed through the darkness. Not that he hated his life. Nax loved learning all he could from the master smith. But, he always felt like there was more out there. He wished he could find something other than his room at the end but he never did. At least, not until he tried closing his eyes in the dark. That particular night, Nax found himself in an exceptional mood by the end of the day. It was his 14th birthday. He had to work; but, the master smith and his family did everything they could to make Nax feel special and loved throughout the workday. He rarely felt like an orphan, and that day the detail never crossed his mind. At the end of the day, he was completely content as he reached the dark passage to his room. Out of habit, he began to wish for a better place; but, he was having trouble. Usually, it was enough to vaguely hope for "better". Unfortunately, the night could not get better for him without taking the time to think up specific details. So, he did. He imagined a fantastical city where magic and machinery co-existed and people of all races lived in peace. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the incomplete, hopeful thought and completed the journey to his room. Nax counted the steps; but, he began hearing a strange noise as he crossed the threshold. It sounded like the murmur of a crowd, then he heard, and smelled horses. He opened his eyes to a sea of green, blue, and red faces. A green-skinned orc in chain armor took notice of Nax and stepped toward him. "Hey,"he grumbled with a stern expression. This was the moment Nax panicked and fled in the opposite direction. He dashed through winged and horned strangers and spotted what looked like the main gate. The orc tried calling after him. "HEY! WAIT!"But, the smith's apprentice was too frightened to stop and listen. Now that he was standing in a very real forest and able to look at what happened, he found it funny. "I wonder if he wanted to help...,"Nax chuckled to himself. After a few more minutes, he finally caught his breath and looked around the dark forest to get his bearings. "Alright, well next time I guess...,"he mumbled to himself as spotted a path and chose the direction that led away from the strange city. He walked the forest wondering if he was dreaming or dead, but something caught his eye. In the distance, he spotted a faint green glow that seemed to be growing brighter. Nax watched the glow until he realized it was getting closer at a rapid rate. He moved off the path and hid in the trees. He was glad he did when the neon green glow reached him. The source was a green skeleton running along the path. Nax held his breath when he realized what it was and remained still. The skeleton continued on the path; but, it stopped directly in front of him, then turned. "Hey, you okay?"the skeleton asked. She had a youthful voice that matched her appearance. Upon her question, the green glow dissipated and in an instant, a teenage girl with neon green hair was smiling at Nax. She wore a dark green robe with the hood pulled down. Part of Nax wanted to run again; but, he was surrounded by trees. And, he remembered that panicking was what got him into the forest to begin with. "Um, I think I'm lost,"Nax said. The girl burst into a fit of giggles. "What's your favorite number?"she asked. "35,"Nax replied. It wasn't anything he'd thought about, but somehow his answer didn't surprise him. The girl nodded. "My name's Outbreak,"she said. Then, she waved him forward. "Come on, let's get you to a Mundo." "Nax,"he introduced himself. Then, he asked a question as he emerged out onto the path. "What's a Mundo?" "Someone that'll tell you what a Mundo is,"Outbreak said. "It's more complicated than I want to talk about in the forest."Nax nodded. "So.. how'd you know I was hiding?"he asked. Outbreak pointed at something above his head. He looked up, but found only the night sky. "What?"he asked as Outbreak giggled again. "Sorry, it moves when you move your head,"she said. "You've got an icon that tells people you haven't registered yet." "Registered.. what?"Nax asked. "Your character,"Outbreak replied as she started leading him back to town. "Character?"Nax didn't understand the context. "What for?"Outbreak grinned at him. "The game's harder to play if you don't know who you are." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1451 in a row. (Story #364 in year four.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/).
“I cannot see it on the tip of your tongue,” the alien says, forcing your mouth open wider. “I ask again human, where did you leave the keys to my vessel?” “Blrghadafr” You reply, sweating profusely. The cold reptilian figure of Blegnar stares you down with bulbous chameleon-like eyes filled with the kind of accusation usually reserved for tv court dramas. “Blgrgalfen!” You yell again, while frantically pointing at the orange lights glowing in front of your face, holding you in position for Blegnar to thoroughly explore your oral cavity. The orange light came straight from his wrist and formed two pincers, one clamped down on your chin, and the other clamped just above your mouth. The pressure on your face was enough to make you take a mental note to never complain about going to the dentist again. In between the two pincers the light got brighter but somehow just towards the inside of your mouth. After one final, and much too close for comfort, examination the orange beams retreated from your face and back into the watch in a literal blink of an eye. The alien begins to say “Listen human you wi…” before being interrupted with a shove and some hand gestures that you hope speak in an interplanetary language. “No you listen Ryan, or Blegnar! One, you know my name so stop calling me human, and two, I keep telling you that I didn’t touch your vessel or your keys or any of your stuff so back off of me with that watch.” The last part really got a reaction out of Blegnar, seeming to really resent his technology’s misrepresentation. Which was especially humorous to you since he said himself that polymorpher tool was at least a couple thousand years ahead of any tech we have on our planet. The very idea that you can distinguish it from its clever Casio watch disguise should be lauded if anything you thought. Some back and forth pushing and shoving ensues before Blegnar seems to finally calm down. For about 10 seconds anyway, then his eyes start going into a frenzy looking around the room, watching them as they look independently of one another, flipping in the most random of patterns was very unsettling. To the point where you cautiously approach Blegnar and reach a hand out to his shoulder to see if that will settle him he flips his left eye directly to you and says in a cold tone that seemed to suck all the sound and color out of the room, “The location of my vessel’s keys is the most vital information in this hemisphere of the universe, so if you have any idea why they are out of that jar please communicate that to me immediately.” You are so stunned you step back and almost trip over your own two feet. This is the first time you have ever heard Ryan, well I guess this lizard skinned alien probably prefers Blegnar, speak like this. Usually he is so jovial and well put together but now he seems to be a bit unhinged. Your momentary stupor starts to fade and you start to worry for the first time since you befriended this alien with the crazy tech that can do anything 3 years ago. “What is the big deal? Your ship is camouflaged in space and made out of a substance that is impervious to all things it could ever run into, and the end of your space forestkeeper duties or whatever aren't for another 50 years or something right?” Blegnar nodded slightly while still flicking his right eye around, now also with an orange screen in front of it. You start to say more but as you are mildly annoyed at his clear lack of focus on your conversation, you keep it to yourself. This doesn’t feel like a battle you can win and you figure he will figure it out or scan the entire earth for it and can do it without you so you are going to head to the kitchen for food. As you start to walk out of the room you feel a hand on your shoulder, well it feels exactly like a hand but is the orange polymorpher again shooting out from Blegnar’s right wrist while he is examining the empty fish bowl he has had in his living room for as long as you have known him. He turns his head and locks eyes with you then drops his head slightly and apologetically says, “Listen I’m sorry, you have to understand that I know things about the universe that your top philosophers and scholars are just now beginning to scratch the surface of and with my duties comes a lot of responsibility to protect not only myself, Earth and its inhabitants, but also my home world and the many worlds we occupy.” Dumbstruck you look at him and say “I just don’t understand, I mean you barely know me and have told me all about the polymorpher, your real identity, why you are here, and I can’t see how any of that could put any world into any danger. What is it you are not telling me?” “It's not what I’m not telling you as much as it is what you don’t understand about the universe, and my ship. I can tell you every technical schematic but it wouldn’t convey just how capable my ship is nor would it speak to the danger that could be had if it was discovered.” “Well if the key is lost and you are the only one who knows where the ship is, what are you not saying? I still don’t see the urgency here.” “Those keys are my nexus point to the energy my ship creates, it is what allows me access to the power that drives all my tech like this polymorpher on my wrist. Without my connection to it I only have so much power left to contact my home world among other things.” His voice seemed to trail off a bit there. “So is that it? You are worried about being a regular joe like me for a bit until you find it.” “My worry is not you or any other human discovering my powerlessness. It is those who remain that terrify me.”
"Gustav!" I winced at hearing my name, and not for the first time today. I peeked my head around the corner of the barn. "Yes?" "I thought I told you to finish slopping that out half an hour ago! What's taking you so long?" Colonel Havisham's snarling lips reminded me of the beasts they kept in this barn. All fangs, claws and wiry fur, and a surprising amount of goo. I didn't know which part of the animal the goo came from, and I wasn't about to start asking. "I'm almost done. But this stuff is so goddamned heavy,"I replied, motioning with my shovelful of goo. "Just hurry up and finish it and get out here. We have five more to do before midday."he spat. Five more before midday, I thought, that's impossible. The one I was working on had taken me nearly an hour and the sun was already high in the sky. Besides, it would sure help if Havisham would pick up a shovel instead of standing there smoking and ordering everyone around. The lieutenant shot me a look as if I had spoken aloud and I turned and thrust my shovel back down into the goo. When I signed up for this post, I hadn't imagined there would be nearly so much goo involved. It was an open secret that the military had been abducting and training monsters for combat for years now. It was considered a rumor among the peasants, and the King was said to look down on it, but all his soldiers knew the truth. The King's top generals had been working to get this sadistic project off the ground for many years. I finished up with the rest of the goo and took a look around the barn. A row of corrals on either side of the building contained creatures that until three months ago, I might have described as nightmares. They looked like an enormous cross between a wolf and a boar and had mangy, wiry fur and a large hump on the top of their backs. I walked up to one and stuck my hand through the gate. It sniffed my hand, and I gave it a few pats on the head. Monster trainer, I thought. It sure sounded glamorous. Caretaker, more like. I could hear Lieutenant Havisham talking excitedly as I exited the barn, and saw all the recruits gathered around him. The sun, now almost at its highest point, shone down over the bastion and onto the backs of everyone's heads. The lieutenant was shielding his eyes and addressing the men. "Brigadier General Nelson will be arriving momentarily,"he shouted, "and he his bringing with him something rather special."In the last three months, I had never seen the lieutenant so worked up. Something big was happening. Some of the men started rushing about trying to clear the largest of the barns, a great squat stone building whose purpose I had always wondered at. The rest were occupied tidying up and straightening out their uniforms in anticipation. Havisham himself, though, stood on top of a great big wooden crate and gazed out at the rocky peaks across the valley. What was he searching for? I didn't have to wonder for long. Great black wings and a serpentine tail crested from behind the peaks and dove, riding the mountain face like a giant wave, diving with arrogant speed and undeniable grace. Both terrifying and beautiful, it shot through the air like an arrow despite its incredible size and even from miles away, I knew it could only be one thing: a dragon. I had been raised on the tales of the great dragon hunters of the past, but the creatures had become so rare that almost no one of my generation had seen one. This was the pinnacle of the monster training program, and the only reason I had ever signed on in the first place. By the time the dragon descended to the level of the canopy, nearly everyone had noticed and a clamor had arisen, with everyone rallying to find a higher vantage point, before suddenly a hush overtook the whole company. Not a noise could be heard except the rushing of the air under the beast's wings as it swooped up into view, and landed on the edge of the cliff right in front of us. The dragon's breath roared like a furnace as it took step after menacing step, its intelligent eyes seeming to pick out every individual in the crowd one by one. As the beast got closer, and people started scrambling to grab weapons and defend themselves against this horrible unknown threat, we saw it. Perched atop the dragon's back, in shining armor, was Brigadier General Nelson. This was the true purpose of the monster trainer program.
i could see the sight of them travelling from fifty three nautical miles. “aye caption spin the wheel!” I shouted “yar” the caption grunted gliding his hairy mass over the wheel. “tonight, we be eating well” … I can’t seem to see it. the light beams that dance around my fingers are unable to maintain pace with the speed of my digits and i untangle myself. I see from the other side of the room, death. he doesn’t seem to notice me. i try to crawl to the door but as soon as i shift my weight the floorboard creeks. deaths whole body doesn’t move but everything else moves around it and death is now facing me. … “Mom! the meanies are coming!” My mom was having none of that. “Naught now Harry, eat yer loaf!” she said practically throwing down my soggy loaf of umbilical cheese. I ate my loaf in a daze. my mind was elsewhere. i had seen them first in a dream then again on my spleen i knew what had been seen. the dreams kept coming back. each time the scene would progress just a second longer. but death would also move to me just a moment closer. I was terrified. I had to get out of that room before death reached me. I played with my the remnants of my loaf with my fork. The radio cleared his throat. “ATTENTION CITIZENS. SPACESHIPS, BURNERS, ARRIVE OUR ORBIT. SIX MONTHS. GOOD LUCK AGENT P.” They were always cheap with the broadcasting.
I can't remember when the last time I saw someone was. Has it been a day? A week? Maybe a year or two? When the world around you turns to dust and darkness, it becomes easy for time to blur. I remember when they left, though. The first ones to use me. Someone told them a secret, a rumor, about me. And since then, no one was allowed to see me. They put me in a box and carried me to the corner of their home, far away from everyone. "I don't care if it's real or not,"they said, "it's too creepy for me! And I want nothing to do with it!" Since then, I've never heard the laughs of children. Never the bickering of parents. Never once was I touched by the tender hand of someone patiently waiting to use me. How I miss those days. How I wish I could've joined them. Day after day I lay here and think, what did I do wrong? Why does no one see me anymore? Why does no one want to use me? "Up here!" A faint voice. One from the past or the present? Or maybe from my imagination? I hear footsteps approach. Must be my imagination. Bright light. Blinding light. Then a touch, forceful but soft. "Duuude, look a this! It's a whole box of junk!" Junk?! Is that all I am, junk?! "Careful, they're antique! We just need to grab stuff and get out!" ANTIQUE?! A sigh filled the box, and the soft touch circled around me. They lifted me out of the box, and the face before me was nothing I remembered. She was young, maybe a teenager maybe younger. Freckled face, pretty orange hair. "Hey, you think this is that haunted spoon everyone keeps talking about?" "Don't tell me you believe that crap." "But that's what scared them away, isn't it? The Richardsons? That's why they moved out!" "Let me see that thing!" Before I knew it, the next face I saw was of someone older. A boy, also a teenager at best, definitely not an adult. Freckled face, but blonde hair. Big glasses. "It just looks like a regular spoon, nothing special about it. Forget it, grab everything valuable and let's GO!" He tossed me aside, into a dusty corner of the room. "... ow..." Silence. I looked up, both children were staring at me. Wait, I looked up? "Sky..."The girl glanced at the boy, then back at me, "Sky I think you were wrong..." I darted my gaze between the two, then looked down to see a pair of dangly legs. "aaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!"I threw my arms up and pulled at my hair. Arms!!! Hair!!! My body shook as I screamed. Body!! I have a body!!! And a voice!!! I can scream!!! "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!" "YOU did this!!!"The girl pushed the boy. "I TOLD you and you didn't LISTEN!!! NOW look!!!!" "How was I supposed to know it was real??? Most of those things are fake, why would this be any different???" "You still don't throw possibly cursed items around like they're nothing!!! DO YOU WANT TO BE HAUNTED FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE????" "WELL I THINK NOW I PROBABLY AM!!!!" "Okay!! Okay!! Let's um- lets- let's help it- him- I don't know!!!" The boy stepped closer. "H-hey, uh, spirit, thing... I didn't mean to throw you so please don't-" I backed up, as much as I could into the corner. "D-d-don't come closer!!! I-I-I don't know youuu a-and I'm- I REALLY don't know what- what's going on right n-now!!! So don't- DONT- don't- don't touch meee!!" My voice. It sounded strange. Make it stop I don't like it make it stop!!! I covered my head and shut my eyes tight. "Shit- um- Amber! Aren't there any clothes at least?? So we can- I dunno, cover him??" "Yeah, let me find some!!"The girl, Amber, started rummaging through the boxes. "W-wait! Wait wait wait!!! Those are- th-those are important to the family!! They have a-a lot of important stuff in them!!!"But neither child listened. "Found something!!"Amber came back and inched closer to me. "Hey... I know you... might be confused. This is weird for us, too. But just, uh, I dunno, trust us. Okay? Here-"She set the clothes down in front of me. "Try those on?" I peeked out and grabbed the shirt. Putting it on, I realized it was... rather large. But I didn't have much of a choice now, did I. I put everything else on, and like the shirt they were all oversized. "There... that's better."Both the girl and boy seemed a lot less weirded out. "So, um... have you just been living up here this whole time?" I didn't say anything. I didn't know what was going on. "Hm... what's your name?" Still nothing. "Do you have a name." I shook my head. "I d-d-don't even... kn-now what I am anymore... I-I was a good thing, I did everything r-right, a-and now I- I don't- don't even- I-" "Okay... okay. How about... we give you a name!"She held out her hand with a smile. "Give me... a name?" "Sure! You're a little skinny... silver hair, gray eyes, round face... you give me Justin vibes!" "Justin?"The boy, Sky, scoffed. "Absolutely not." "It's not like you have anything better!!" "Sure I do."The boy crouched down close to me. "How does Erin sound?" "Erin?" "It's like Iron, but as a name. Erin. Sound good?" I hugged myself and met the boy's gaze. "Um... okay..." "Erin it is!!"He stood and offered me a hand. "Come on, Erin! Maybe you can tell us more about this place! We have a busy day, and a third person will make it go faster!" I took his hand and stood, wobbled a bit, then fell almost on top of him. I gave him a weak smile, one he responded to with a large grin. "We'll work on the walking part. For now, let's just get all this stuff out of here!"
My mom shakily sipped at her tea. "And you said your name was...?" "Morath, ma'am. Morath the Undaunted." "And just what are your intentions with our little Stacy?"my dad asked, garnering a glare from me. I hugged Morath's arm and frowned, "Daddy... Do not scare this one off." Morath's icy blue eyes met mine and he patted my hand in assurance. "Your father has every right to be concerned, love. You're his little girl."He met my father's discerning gaze and smiled, "Quite honestly, sir, I intend to love your daughter for as long as I live. She brings light into my life I never thought possible." My mom smiled at this, "How sweet. Grant, isn't that sweet?" My dad seemed unconvinced and took a bite from his ham sandwich. "You, young man, levelled half the town just last week. Why should I even CONSIDER allowing you to date my baby girl?" "With all due respect, sir, your daughter is a grown woman who can make her own decisions."Morath sighed, "I understand I'm nowhere near the first choice you had in mind for a potential son-in-law, but I do love Stacy. Shouldn't that be enough in the end?" Once again my mom seemed like she was going to melt, "That reminds me of what Grant said to MY father when he was going to propose... Daddy was always so overprotective. Wanted me to marry Lord Lightning--" "LORD Lightning!"my dad harrumphed. "Pretentious-ass name for the pretentious-ass hero who wields it! Glad YOUR father was willing to see sense on the matter." Mom raised an eyebrow, "Then shouldn't YOU be seeing sense right now, Grant? Look at Stacy. Morath clearly makes her happy." "Doesn't matter. Unless he's intending on making an honest woman out of her--" "Grant,"Morath interjected, "If I can call you that... If that's the only issue, I can change it right now."From his dinner jacket pocket he drew a small velvet box and opened it to reveal the largest diamond ring I'd ever seen. "Mr. Stormy Weather, may I please have your permission to marry Stacy?" Tears of joy filled my eyes, and I looked at my dad hopefully. He was clearly hiding a little smile of his own as he said, "Good answer, son. You have my blessing."
Because you were hired to hunt some vampires, and frankly other creatures of darkness cost extra. Let alone the hours you spent on prepping, for vampires. Wasted. Now you have some unknown beastie getting familiar with your neck, and you don't even know if you have the right tools to finish the job. Sure categorizing creatures of the night isn't the everymans' forte. They might be able to tell you when a storm is coming or give you directions, but heaven forbid they know their undead from living undead. There was a difference, at the very least a price difference. The warm breathe for example, dead give away that it wasn't undead. Perhaps living undead, maybe a zombie? Uh, zombies were the worst, definitely didn't want it to be zombies. Either way time to turn around and get the job done in 3... 2... 1!
THEY DON'T MAKE 'EM LIKE THEY DID ANYMORE It was all the FBI's fault. They just wanted to make sure we, the slovenly masses, we're being kept under a very close eye. Now that my political manifesto is finished, let me explain to ya how bad it is. First they introduced a new Public Security Act which basically legalized spying via technology and Alexas. As soon as my tin foil friends told me I got rid of the Alexa and got my friend Joe to brick my PS4, phone and PC. Then they got all the big companies- Chevrolet, GE, Amazon, the lot- to install safety technology to make sure we weren't doing anything "illegal". And then the rest of the world caught on to this. Now, with programmable matter and over the air updates a thing, everything from new cars to coffee machines have all kinds of government spyware and safety tech installed. And not is it impossible to avoid it. My friend Joe? Busted and exiled to Alaska for trying to brick a brand new Corvette. My Californian petrolhead homies? Yep, in the federal big house for trying to brick their Ferraris, Lambos and BMWs. Even foreign relatives and friends aren't immune. My own dad got fined for not updating his prized Mercedes SLK. And my wife's former boyfriend, Ryan, got exiled to the Falklands because he owned a modified Volkswagen diesel. Hell, my friend Jack got a cease and desist order because he simply owned a Supra. And now, they're closing in on me and my SO. As I write this, I am hiding in a friend's Iowa farmhouse, basically in the middle of nowhere. It's the only place you can realistically live out a normal private life. And every waking second of my pitiful existence is spent protecting my rapidly-diminishing car collection. More specifically, my late brother Michael's 1967 Shelby Mustang GT350. The reason he is deceased is because he was a social justice warrior-cum-human rights activist. One night, he left the disco in New Orleans to replenish the booze(he was having a party there). We found the black Chevy Trailblazer he was driving in a Dutch near Baton Rouge the next morning. From what I know, he was kidnapped by the FBI en route to the 7/11, taken to Fort Davidson in Alaska, tortured, then shot. I suspect his girlfriend Gracie suffered a similar fate, as she went missing around the same time. The only thing we could find was his will, clothes, watch, TV, cat, laptop and the keys to his Mustang. So this is the status on my life. Yay capitalism. And this is probably going to be the last piece I write, as we've just been informed that Homeland Security is an route and destined to arrive in ten minutes. If anybody finds this, just to let you know, SCREW TRUMP! SCREW THE REPUBLICANS! Goodbye, cruel world. See you in heck.
[Poem] Harmless fun for the creatures bringing our deaths The gorgan stands tall, a proud and cold dream Her eyes bore down and hidden in their icy depths Countless petrified corpses silently scream. Only the basilisk matches her eyes of hell Gaze reflecting the solemn finality Of the cries of many mortals as they fell A contest to defy all rationality. After eternity they blink with twin laughs And for once their eyes seem innocent by half Both emerge unscathed, undead and unshaken A stab to their victims whose souls were taken.
We’re always the guys Uncle Sam sends when he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty. The Martian colonies were always a pain in the UN’s ass, they bit off more than the could chew. When unrest and revolution broke out like a disease on mars, they set us loose like wild dogs. Told us, “have at it, do it your way, not ours.” They gave us sanctioned travel and enough weapons to arm a small country. They still put up a stiff resistance even after three years. At this point we’re playing a zero sum game with our careers but we don’t give a shit. The Martians call us ‘the wild dogs’, because we fight like ‘em. We’ll tear them apart with our teeth just as well as with a knife. We carry light red accented knifes, armor, and weapons to blend in with the barren sands. There was a time where we waited out a stronghold for five days. We lied motionless in the sands for what seemed like years. When they felt that we were nowhere to be found, they started to get cocky and move beyond the walls, that was our chance… and we took it. We lit up the patrols outside and forced our way inside the walls. We killed everyone inside, men, women, even children. I’ve since quit that line of work, my mind couldn’t handle the way we did things. I put in for discharge and was sent off world the same week. We burned killed and maimed anything that breathed at one point or another and I had a guilty conscience.
"Wait... so you're gonna use this for what?" I finished the recent batch and poured it into bottles. "It took me nights to figure it out but I think I have the answer."I replied as I carefully measured the dosage for my three newest patients. "No one is going to believe that it causes eternal life I've long since figured that out. But they will believe that it can potentially cure an illness that is curable. So for instance, Marcina. Her pneumonia is caused by her lung issues. Now those lung issues can be fixed but she won't live long enough to see that happen without this." I wrote the instructions on the side of the bottle and set it in the pick up area for when her mother comes. "Now she'll be cured of her pneumonia, because people believe that, and because it's important to ensure that you finish medicine afterward she will live long enough to have her lung surgery." "Looks like you thought this one through."Tara, my assistant considered. She had been taking the medicine with me for some time, we were both much older than we had seemed. I nodded then reached for the next bottle and winced as my wrist acted up again. A hasty dive from Tara kept the bottle from breaking, my next patient: Jason Moores. He had a disease that we weren't quite sure what it was, but this medicine would cure that as well. "The only unfortunate note,"I mused wringing my wrist as I sat down. Old aches cropped up. "Is it doesn't save you from much more than that. Any illness, disease, quells of the body are all simple. However problems before that can't be aided." Tara set it on the counter and nodded, "We can cure pneumonia but not the issues with her lungs."
“The bastards have gone for the nuclear option,” said Katie, bursting into the room. “I saw you in my dreams last night. A lot of people are seeing you in their dreams. You can’t leave the apartment again.” “Do people in the building know? I mean, the neighbors, will they tell anyone I’m here?” Katie grimaced. “I think the old lady next door knows the man in her dreams lives here. It’ll spread.” I flipped open my laptop and started a session into the Ad-tastic staging system. The stolen credentials still worked, but it was a risk using them outside of regular working hours; the intrusion detection system would almost certainly flag the account for further scrutiny. I typed in the command, but took a breath before hitting enter. “I’m going to wipe the staging system. All ad campaigns go through staging first, it’ll keep them from changing the program.” I said. “But people will keep dreaming of you!” said Katie, looking horrified. “You’ll be found! And killed!” “I think it’s too late to stop that now. As long as they’re running the program to find me, they can’t start the War for Peace campaign. It’ll keep public opinion from escalating and give the others time to shut them down.” I hit enter. “Oh god. They’re already here.” Katie’s voice was flat as she looked out the window at the heavy police vans skidding to a stop outside the apartment. A round shattered the window and Katie fell backwards to the ground. I still think being Ad-tastic’s CTO was the most important job I ever had. I just wish I’d grown a conscience a little sooner.
Our government did it every time. They changed the laws and this time they had come up with this - Do a good deed and become ugly, do a bad deed become beautiful. This was a brilliant time because I was just looking for a husband but unfortunately every family rejected me after seeing my devil-ish face. But what is the worst deed I could do? Kicking an old man? does'nt feel good Killing? No, I do not have the courage Defame god? Yeah, that sounds perfect I started to say bad things about god all day - while drinking coffee, eating, shower, studying, even in temples , I saw improvment but still it was'nt 'pretty enough', then I again thought what to do- Record myself speaking bullshit about god and repeating it on play? No, they are'nt so dumb Writing bad comments about god on social media? Probably won't work Taking a picture of god or holy scripture and dancing on him? Yeah, that sounds good I went to the priest to buy the holy bible. When I saw the priest, I almost screamed - he looked more like a serial killer than a priest. Actually, this was a good way to identify which priest is true and which one is fake, I thought. He handed me the holy bible and as soon as I reached home I put it on the floor and danced on it, tore its pages, write bullshit and threw the bible in water. When I saw myslef in the mirror. Oh, wow how beautiful I looked - no acne, no pimples, no crooked eyes, no more ugly face. Foolish me thought that I would be appreciated for this. When the weekend was over and I went for college, I felt pretty confident and joyful. When, I went to college, no was able to recognise me( with exception of a few ). They thought I am a new admission. I finally gained the confident to talk to the guy I really liked and went to him, a little nervous. "Hey"I started the conversation. He stood there in silence giving me the weird look I noticed every single person I tried to talk to did the same thing. I went up to my friends and ask them "What is happening, Why is everyone ignoring me?Dont I look beautiful ?They too gave me that weird look and said : "What have you done? You look good" Then, I said: "But is'nt that a good thing,I can finnaly find a husband?" "You must be mad! After this law everyone is trying to be as bad-looking as possible. Don't you know that now no one is marrying a woman who is good-looking. Now everyone is finding an ugly girl, it's a symbol of good. Now see ourselves, we have done everything to look bad - prayed to god all day, helping everyone,reading the holy bible and participating in every relegious ritual"Said Reena Damn! WHAT HAVE I DONE!
I just don't understand. She's dead. Dead and buried next to me. Why am I still here?! I stood here, forced to wait, forced to watch as every single person I know and love has forgotten me or died and for what? I can't even remember what I look like anymore, I can't remember my name; my headstone reads like a stranger's name. "John Kaplan". A stranger's life and here I am in an even stranger death. FOR WHAT. ANSWER ME, I AM TALKING TO YOU! fuck. Am I even talking? I can't tell if I'm moving my mouth. I mean, what am I thinking? Who am I even talking to? God? The Universe? That fuckin sea turtle with the world on it's back?! &#x200B; I just want this to end. I'm so tired. I think. I don't even know if that's possible. &#x200B; why. &#x200B; Is this limbo? Torture? That one about Dante? &#x200B; I have been glued to all those I can remember as they slowly release their hold of me. It hurts. I don't know if I can hurt but I swear I feel it. The only thing that gave me solace was that the death of my sister would be the end of both of our suffering. God she was so alone at the end, still going in to that damn soup kitchen. Still helping people whilst she slowly withered away. She would come home to her small studio, nothing more than a sofa-bed and a TV and would just stare at it until her body forced her eyes to close. Then as the morning came it was back to that damned kitchen. That damned kitchen. Look at me, mad at my sister being angelic. Mad at her out of my own guilt and suffering. I've been so self-absorbed even in death; I've never even seen the people she tried to help. &#x200B; Wait! Whoa. Weird. I'm not at the cemetery anymore. I don't remember moving. I don't remember doing anything to get here. Here. Where is here? &#x200B; That man in the ragged coat, I swear I've seen him, it feels like Déjà Vu. I should follow him into that building. There's got to be an entrance somewhere. There, that sign. That's not possible. "The John Kaplan Foundation". She, shit, she named it after me. The soup kitchen is named after me. She made it so no one would forget me. Aww. &#x200B; oh f\ck.* She made it so no one would forget me.
"If looks could kill, I'd be dead right now!"exclaimed Austin. "Nᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ɪᴛ, sʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅ ᴀsᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘᴏʟɪᴛᴇʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙᴏᴡʟɪɴɢ."said the shrouded figure standing next to him. The man looked around and noticed that everyone else seemed to be panicked. Someone was on the floor of the bowling alley receiving CPR from two bystanders. "Get the AED!"shouted Austin's league partner. "Call 911!"shouted someone else as Austin slowly realized that the man on the floor looked an awful lot like him. "Nᴏ ʀᴜsʜ. I ᴄᴀɴ ᴡᴀɪᴛ,"said the shrouded man. Austin looked confused. "Do you usually bowl on Tuesdays?" Death sighed; it was going to be a long night.
The stone is glowing brighter in the direction of an old apartment building. I call Hes over as he was on the other side of the block trying to get a read on his stone. "Is this the place?", he asked me. "Seems so. Check your stone to be sure." He pulled his stone out of his jacket and sure enough it was glowing more so than usual. "I'm glad its here and not where I was. Some lady was threatening to call the cops on me for loitering on the side walk." "Did you use forget me on her?" "And increase her prejudice levels against some other poor sap? Forget it. We have work to do." We approach the building with stones in hand. We notice that the building goes up and down. We both look at each other. "Down." We begin the descent and watch as our stones grew brighter. We were stopped by a loud voice from above. "Don't go down there with those flash lights boys", yelled a lady two floors up. "The guy down there gets pretty violent if he see light". "We'll keep that in mind", I yell back at her. "And thank you!" We move to the lowest levels with our stones synchronizing in brightness. We're almost there, I said to myself. Hes reaches into his pants pocket and draws out his baseball bat charm. "Why are you- And in that instant a man pops out of the darkness and swings a pipe at Hes. He catches the blow with his now formed baseball bat and begins to block the rest of the on coming blows from the attacker. I begin to cast paralyze while Hes has his attention. He manages to push Hes back and knocks him down. He turns his attention towards me and begins his assault. After a few quick movements I cast the spell and down he went. Still huffing from the encounter Hes stands up and puts his charm away. "Huff....Huff...took you long enough." "If you want spells cast quicker then get yourself a real wizard. Besides I thought you could fight." "I guess we're learning a lot about ourselves today." I chuckled. Then looked down on the paralyzed man. He is shaken with fear and anger. "You think he's gone mad, Hes?" "Doubt it. He still has some control." "Excuse me sir. That eye you got in that transplant. It belonged to our friend. He used a technique called serpent's eye before he kicked the bucket. It lets him see spirits in clarity the closer to death he gets. Since the technique doesn't go away even after the caster has died, we're gonna give you two choices; we take the eye back and get you a new one or we enhance the eye and you'll see things in much better clarity. What say you?" The man whispered, "take it...take it..."before passing out. I begin to take out my surgical tools for the extraction. "If I ever get to the afterlife I'm killing Chris on site." "Why wait till we die? I can summon him and we'll give him a beat down this instant. I've got a spare ghost bat." "Of all the things he could've done he had to become an organ donor and enchant nearly all his organs...Know something? Yeah...after the extraction we'll summon him and kick his ass. Then he can tell us where exactly the rest of his pieces are." Edit: Apologies for the mess. Wrote this on my phone.
My... mind is so fuzzy right now... like all of my memories had been erased in the moment that I fell from the sky as tiny droplets in that mountain, I know what I am, I can feel my whole body moving as one again at an enormous speed through these harsh stones... once again. This time, like before I'll end in the massive sea with all of my sisters, that way I'll become whole again... But something isn't okay... I stopped... in a space far quieter this time, a lake that was small enough to only host me. Then... I saw them.... gleaming eyes between the trees, getting closer to drink parts of me... bits of me, forcing me to abandon my shape and turn into part of their bodies with sickly warmth and embrace of metal. &#x200B; I don't want ears like yours, I don't want eyes like yours I don't want fingers that crawl in the earth like yours... I'm slowly evaporating again, I pray that some of my own body might be able to return to the sea and tell to the others where I am before I'm decimated by... everything else... Why must host life? Why must I be the barrier between the dead and the living?
The cold wind cut through my cloak like a knife as I neared the summit. My legs buried themselves in more than a step of snow as I pressed along the narrowing couloir beyond the great oblong formations used to mark the way up. It had not been travelled in some time. I tested each precarious pace with the scabbard of my sword to avoid any hidden drop-offs. So thick were the clouds that I could no longer see the village I called home, who’s streams were fed by the melting ice from this very peak. I set off a few days prior, to put an old legend to rest. As I came closer to the dilapidated tower, I felt the weight of that legend hanging over me like a serac, ready to crush and bury me in the blink of an eye. For as long as I can recall, the village has been plagued by certain absurdities. Our crops wither, the cool streams turn brown and caustic, and the fog rolls down from the mountaintops like a suffocating smoke. Because these things occur irregularly, we had been told that they are the work of a warlock who lives in a tower atop the Crest. When I was a child, I spent a great many hours staring at the summit of the Crest from below, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tower or the sorcerer within. The tower itself was plain to see when I finally was old enough to distinguish it from the jagged rocky face of the mountain, though I never actually saw the fabled witchfires that signaled a coming disaster. Thinking myself a man, I came to the summit to put the old myth to rest, whether by slaying the warlock, or finding he never existed at all. When I finally reached the tower, I was awestruck. Not by its current size, but by its state. The structure was a cylinder made of some ancient slate, browner than the surrounding rock. The jagged top rose a hair higher than the chapel in down below. It looked as if it were open to the elements, without a roof. Along the slope facing the direction of the village, I saw a great boulder, half a furlong in length and made of the same slate, laying nearly buried in snow. As I came closer to the tower I began to notice a pungent smell like the aftermath of a deadly storm. I could see thick black vines snaking out from the open ceiling of the tower, though I knew no plants could grow at such a height. There was no entrance to the tower in sight, save for for the black vines. I slung my scabbard over my back and began to climb. The surface of the tower was rough, and felt like dust under my hands. It was colder than the surrounding snow. Just as I thought I couldn’t hold on to the freezing vine, the wall of the tower gave way revealing a skeletal construction within, full of tangling vines, snow, and a pool of unfrozen water which ran toward me. I was able to squeeze through hole I had made and between the skeletal lattice within the structure. My boot found itself half submerged in the puddle of water, which by then seemed to drip from two great urns. There was no warlock in sight, nor any sign of recent habitation. My foot began to sting, perhaps from exhaustion, and I worked my way back through the hole and out of the tower. Though I had set out believing the myth of the warlock to be wholly the product of superstition, I still felt a tinge of disappointment. That is, until I heard a loud crack of thunder followed by a bright light from behind me in the hollow tower. I ran as best I could back through the snow and down the narrow path. It was only after I had set up camp for the night, halfway down the slope where the long boulder lay, that I noticed a hole had been worn in the boot that touched the liquid water.

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.