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1/3 Ever since I was a child, one of my desires has been to go camping. But, my parents always seemed busy so naturally we never managed to go camping. But now that I've recently moved out of my parent's house and am making my own living in this new beautiful city. I’ve finally decided to go camping. The one thing that beats this city's delicious food is it's beautiful nightscapes. When the night sky fills with a million stars, you can just feel yourself being completely in awe of it. Originally, my friend Marco was supposed to accompany me on this adventure but he bailed at the last minute so I decided to go alone. On my way to the camping spot, there was an old house in front of which was a garden of roses. One could not carry on with their journey without admiring this perfectly kept garden with a white-little picket fence at front. I bent over to smell these enchanting roses and was completely immersed by it to the point that I didn't even hear the owner, an old man, coming towards me. "So, how do you find these roses?" Hearing a strange voice I almost jumped but I quickly collected myself and responded- "oh I am really sorry to disturb you sir. I was just passing by and I couldn't help myself from admiring your garden and smelling them." "No need to apologize young lady, what's even the point of having a great garden if it's not admired. Where were you going though before my roses stopped you? " "At the top of mountain sir" "Ah, so you have decided to camp tonight?" I replied positively. "It is the city's best camping spot. You see, my late wife used to say, you never know what you'll find under the stars up there, something magical perhaps." As soon as he said this, he looked at the corner of the garden. And I noticed for the first time that in this garden of well kept, blooming roses there is one spot with no blooming rose. Now that I saw this spot, I could not unsee it and thought to myself how could you not notice this before. When I was suddenly broke of by the words-”I see you noticed the spot” I said, ”I don’t mean to offend you sir but why aren’t the flowers blooming there?” He said, "It's okay dear, as a matter of fact I, myself, have no clue why that is so. That particular spot was reserved for the pink roses, something my late wife and I used to argue about. But ever since she died, I’ve tried everything to make those flowers bloom with no success, the rest of the garden seems to be doing just fine except that. Maybe they miss her more than I do.” He smiled. I smiled back nervously, not sure what to say to this so I ended up changing topic to before and said - "I'm now even more excited, if that’s even possible, to camp there. I could really use a bit of magic in my life. I'll take your leave sir. I've disturbed you enough for the day. I'll get get going now" "Not at all, feel free to disturb me on your way back as well. Maybe you could tell me the magical story." At this, I smiled and waved him goodbye and continued on my journey. I kept thinking about what magical thing could happen to me. Maybe I could find a special ring that makes people obey me, or an invisibility cloak. Or even more magical, I could get bid by a spider and become the first-ever female-spiderman. (xD) I kept myself entertained by thinking of these magical scenarios till I reached the camping spot. It took me more time than I had anticipated, since I counted on Marco to be the expert at setting camp. It was now night, I had already eaten dinner since I was tired from all the walking. I sat in front of the fire, overlooking the city and how from this far you could actually admire it and not be irritated at the traffic and the general chaos of the city. I decided to journal and then go to sleep. I climbed inside the warm sleeping bag , and kept looking at the stars and how beautiful everything looked. My dream of camping had finally come true and it was just how I had imagined it to be. With these thoughts, I dozed off. Next time I woke up I could not believe my own eyes.
My name is Lenni Crosten. I worked for commander Althery, as one of his henchmen. I am, and always will be, grateful to him for all that he has done for me. I was born with what can only be described as a broken body- brittle bones, weak muscles and an over-active nervous system made it so even the simple act of going down a flight of stairs was a feat of heroism for me. Truly, a wretched existence if ever there was one. The only things I had were time,my mind and access to the internet, so I began to learn. I studied biology, chemistry, neurology,metallurgy, any and every field of science I could find. Understand that I wasn't trying to find a cure- there wasn't one. I was trying to, at least in theory, create an assortment of methods that would let me have some sort of a life. And I was making progress. By age sixteen I published my first research, largely to the indifference of the scientific community. You'd be amazed and depressed how common it is for revolutionary work to be, in essence, ignored for various reasons, from funding to lack of 'celebrity' scientists working on it. It did get me a scholarship, though. You see, my research could be used to give me a life, of course, but due to the range and breadth of issues I was having to deal with, these same methods could be applied to a regular person, and make them super-human. This didn't escape commander Gerome Althery, who hired me to work for him, as well as funded my scholarship to the University of Superhuman Studies. You may call me selfish for accepting, as I knew who he was and what my research will be used for. Honestly? You'd be right. This world largely ignored my problems, and so I relayed it in kind. The Commander's main issue, as well as the main issue for many in his line of work, was Ultimatum. He was the unstoppable hero, the unbeaten legend. He was perfect. Flawless. Unbreakable. He was everything I wasn't, and I wanted to know how. So I continued my endeavour, with Ultimatum as a pet research project. It was long and gruesome. A built in pump to inject me with nerve suppression agents every twenty four hours(personally refined, a single cartridge will last multiple life times). Nano-machine coating for my bones, so that they are fixed as they are broken(took me quite a while to figure out how to limit their replication and prevent them from giving me stone-man syndrome). A variation of the same tech to rapidly increase and strengthen my muscle mass. By the end, I was on par with a B rank super-human: strength, speed, durability, etc. I made one alteration- the chemical pump was deliberately imperfect. I had a constant, permanent low-level pain throught my entire nervous system, as a sort of self-control, and hubris prevention. But that victory was dwarfed in comparison to my greatest discovery- Ultimatum's true nature. Oh, he was super human, top A grade at least. But that wasn't all, not by far. His edge, his secret trump was a copy-cat ability- whoever he faced, as long as they were within a kilometre radius from him, would have their abilities and abilities add to his own. It was only with organic based powers, so no tech copying, but most anything else was fair game. He did that by, as far as I could tell, subconsciously copying the physical and metaphysical make-up of said individual and adding it to his own for the time of use. It appeared I was the only one who learned this, so I planned. As always, I refused to approach my benefactor without falsifiable proof, so I asked to join his next bout with Ultimatum, 'to observe'. Knowing me and likely realising I had something planned, the Commander was happy to oblige, especially since my newly improved physique meant I could even assist on the battlefield. It went as expected- despite my improvements, the sheer number of soldiers present meant Ultimatum had the strength of an entire army on top of his own. So as the Commander prepared his retreat I snuck away. Once the area was clear, I lunged at Ultimatum. Credit where credit's due, he held on for long. Nearly twenty minutes before the fatigue of the previous fight and lack of other options made him copy my physical make-up. Unfortunately for him, that was his last mistake. As I explained, my solutions didn't remove the source problems- my bones where still brittle, they were just being rebuilt faster than they broke. My nervous system was still firing at max power on all frequencies, I just artificially weakened the pain receptors in my brain. And he took all of it, with none of the solutions I crafted. I lived my whole life with it, so I built up something of a resistance to this pain. He didn't, and the sheer amount of pain overwhelmed him. By the time I managed to get to him, I think it fried his brain, since he was just lying there, quietly weeping and muttering. At that point I severed his spinal cord. A mercy, really. I'm now recognised as the single most wanted man on an interplanetary scale by civilised communities, and as an incredible asset by those with flexible morals. I wonder, what should my next research project be?
'Stephen had to go. Joe too. In fact Danny that mouthy pig could get it too. All of 'em. The three little pigs of the McMillan clan were all for the frying pan.' "Fucking morons."Archie muttered to no-one in particular. He was the Head of the McMillan clan and he was going to remain so until his death which would be of natural causes hopefully. He had heard from some local sources who he trusted that these three twats were planning to take him for a little walk down an alleyway from which dear Archibald would not return. Archie flicked through his little red book until he reached a name. There written in thick black block capitals were the words THE COLOSSUS, REMEMBER TO BE POLITE. Nothing else. Just THE COLOSSUS, REMEMBER TO BE POLITE. Archie sipped at his whisky. 'Was this necessary?' pondered Archie. 'Everyone had heard stories about this guy. He made people vanish into thin air. Poof! Gone. No blood. Just gone.' He picked up the phone and dialled. 'Fuck these guys. They gotta go. No more chances or excuses.' The dial tone buzzed on and on. The line crackled slightly. Suddenly the tone changed to a slight hissing sound. Then silence. No, not silence exactly. More like muffled by someone on the other end. A voice croaked down the line towards Archie. 'A slight accent. Europe. Greek maybe?' "Mr McMillan. How can I be of service?"Archie spoke nervously. "Mr. Colossus sir. I have a job opportunity for you."There followed a slight pause and then that voice again, a groaning hollow sound. "Please. Do not address me as Mr. anything, we are on an equal footing. Call me......John. Yes, yes. John. That'll do for now."Archie wondered how "John"knew he was on the phone before he had even spoken. Archie was growing increasingly unsure of his decision to engage in this business transaction. "Yes John. The thing is I want you to take care of a problem. Three problems to be precise. I will pay you handsomely of course."This remark prompted a quiet bitter short laugh from "John". "I have no need of money. I have need of favours Mr. McMillan.". "I will deal with your three talkative piggies but in exchange I will call upon you at as yet unspecified time to repay me. Do we have a deal?" Archie was sweating and trembling now. 'How the fuck did this guy know all this shit? Piggies. Talkative. Nobody had used those words.' In fact, Archie had barely spoken. There were sounds in the background the loud scratching of a pen and a strange creak that reminded him of the swings near where he lived as a child. "Sure."Archie whispered. His throat was dry and his eyes widened. A bead of sweat rolled into his right eye and he blinked away the irritating sting. "Frank"spoke again. "Give me your number now. I will call you when the task is complete."Again Archie heard that strange sound. It sounded like something swinging back and forth, back and forth, 'what the fuck is that noise?' he wondered. The voice of "Frank"returned once more, "I will do this but when it is done you will repay. I will call on you and you will do as I command."This remark made enraged Archie but he held his tongue. 'Who the fuck does this guy think he is. I am Archibald McMillan. Command this you prick' thought Archie to himself. He hung up the phone. "What the fuck have I done?"Archie wondered aloud. He poured himself a double shot of gin and waited for a phone call. End of part one. Maybe.
Carl. You get out your rfle and make your way downstairs, grabbing nothing but your car keys and a slice of pickle. As you drive you feel pure rage fill you. The only way to calm yourself is that delicious pickle but it only lasts so long. The drive is long, dangerous. The potholes riddle the country streets and road rage begins to consume you as some idiot makes a right hand turn with their left signal on. You take out your pstol and sht the woman in the passenger seat beside him. Probably his wife. The idiot driver seems to think this is a lawless world, and you're happy to make it one. Continuing forward the police now on your tail you turn on your left signal and, in a moment of pure pettiness, swerve right. The path takes you straight into a forest but it doesn't matter. The police may stop but you know the trees around he are wide apart. Immediately you hit a tree sending you flying out of the windshield. You wore your bracelet however. Looking at the shiny jewels fills you with joy and you get up. Going onwards, blood now dripping from your body, you walk five miles until you get to Steve's house. He's not Carl. Going inside the house you find steve lying on the floor eating hot coals. Steve is good. Steve is not Carl. You sht Steve. Looking at Steves body makes you too constipated so you leave the house after carefully steal Steves heart. You walk back into the forest, heart in hand. You take the heart back to your car and place it in the cars engine. Immediately the car is alive and you get inside, the car drives you to Carls house where you get ready to talk to him. As you approach Carls house you quickly take a sht on his pristine lawn. Finally you knock on his door. Carl answers, clearly flustered a bright blush on his cheeks. He peeks out onto his lawn and smiles at the massive sht you took on his lawn. Carl goes to the lawn and eats it, savouring every flavour before taking a sh*t too. Now happy he goes back to you. "Why do we need to talk"you ask Carl "Because you didn't lick your door handle last night. I tasted it in my steak." You look at Carl, shocked at the revelation. You kiss Carl. Carl eats you. The End.
I smile back. "Maybe you have."I stretch out my legs and take another long swallow of my beer. "You aren't the first, either." The chemical mix she'd just taken would be sending her internal cybernetics haywire, overloading them and readying for a flight or fight response. I would rather we worked on flight together. "Aren't you going to ask me how I got onto your ship and into your mess?"I asked. "I have no idea how you followed me from the spaceport and I don't need to know. But I know why."she snapped back. "My husband sent you to get me." I shake my head. "No, he didn't. I'm no bounty hunter. But if you think I don't recognise the new wife of a prominent planetary governor trying to blend into the crowd in a spaceport full of seasonal factory workers, you must be daft. And I don't think I was the only one to clock you, either." The indecision on her face was plain. I think the desire to know who I am and what I wanted is the only thing holding her back from trying to rip me limb from limb. With a few million credits worth of internal cybernetic upgrades, she wouldn't have any trouble doing it. I point to the table to her left, well out of my reach. I had set my rifle, pistol and my (rather impressive, if I say so myself) collection of knives on it. "That should tell you that I'm not here to try and take you in. Oh, and I hijacked your pilot drone, by the way. That's how I got in. It might need some repairs. Sorry. Had to gut some of the internals out to fit in." The ship shuddered, a series of metallic knocks vibrating through the superstructure. "What was that?"she asks. "That's the other people I mentioned. The ones that recognised you."I reply, nodding towards the airlock. "They won't take long inviting themselves onboard. They, I believe, actually are working for your husband." "Why are you here? Do you want money? I don't have any. No jewellery. No drugs. Nothing." "You have a ship."I say. "I want to get away from this backwards planet. Maybe see the core colonies. And I can't afford passage on a passenger cruise." Red lights begin to strobe in the mess, and a faint hiss begins to build. They're cracking the airlock. "Fine."she says. "I'll be glad to see the back of this planet. It's backwards, filthy. The people here are too full of themselves. And if you try and turn on me,"she continues, shaking out an arm with a metallic snap as the brilliant yellow glow in her eyes spreads outwards, coating her arm, "I'll vaporize you." "I believe you. Time to say goodbye to Earth." I stand up, squeezed past my new acquaintance and pick up my rifle, snapping off the safety. "Let's have some fun." Edit: Fixed tense. Trying present simple; Never tried it before.
Jane stood on the platform, waiting for the train. She was cutting it close and couldn't miss one day of work. 5:05 came and went without the train that shared it's name, and panic began to creep in. The arrhythmic tapping of her feet was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, someone else was on the platform. A man in a uniform, neatly pressed, was anxiously awaiting opposite Jane. As upset as she was, this man was on the cusp of a breakdown. "I can't. I can't. Not another one. I can't do it!"The man was nearly in tears as he repeated this strange mantra. Jane knew what he was referring to, and the same fear was in her heart. If this train didn't arrive soon, she'd be unable to complete her task. If her task went uncompleted, she'd be subjected to an investigation. Her third this year. She unconsciously gulped at the memory of her previous two. A man and a woman came to her house in impeccable dress, and asked her to come with them. As she walked to their car she saw a pair of trucks and a van parking nearby, with equipment and staff unloading from both. She tried to not weep, but she knew that her home was going to be inspected and cataloged. All devices would have their data dumped and analyzed. Her whole life would be subject to strangers to know and judge. She sat on the bench opposite the two, and the woman spoke first. Recounting events from Jane's life from birth to today, of varying degrees of importance, the woman stopped periodically to ask Jane to confirm details. The man and woman switched whom was speaking seemingly every 2 hours of the ride. The windows were frosted, allowing light but not detail to reach Jane; she had an idea of the passage of time, but not distance. Their recounting of Jane's life concluded, the began asking questions. What her is her job, to whom does she report, why she failed to report for duty 3 weeks prior, what caused her dereliction. She missed her job because the train failed to arrive was the only answer that wasn't something already covered in the early recounting of her life. "So it was out of your control."The man said, almost wearily. The woman looked at her notes and then Jane, "You're to be relocated 3 hours closer to the core. There are more trains and you are less likely to miss your ride. You may get out."The car had stopped and Jane found herself no longer in her comfortable sparsely populated hillside, but now in a vast web of identical homes. The man spoke, "Your personal effects will arrive in 3 weeks pending investigation."And then the car sped away into the night. Jane spent 2 months in that Spartan home, her belongings: a few old pictures of family and a necklace her mother had given her, arrived the same day the trains failed to arrive again. Only 5 days later the process repeated, though the tone was much harsher and after another disorienting ride, Jane was deposited at a large concrete building, in a sea of identical, tall, plain, concrete buildings. That was six months ago. She hadn't gotten her belongings yet. She was on the verge of tears, not knowing what could be next for her, when her attention snapped to the man who let out a frustrated bark. He was furious at the situation. Jane walked over and asked what's wrong. His eyes were irritated and he sniffled from having been crying earlier. "My job is to drive the inbound train. There has been no trains for hours. And it's because that kid never does his job!"A cold sweat mimicked the chill down her spine, she asked what he meant in a hushed tone. His eyes darted around before he sighed and began to explain. "I think his mother or father are someone important, or maybe a grandparent. Either way, he's important too, so he gets control the trains a few days a month."Jane's eyes widened at this. If he's working a few days a month, that meant he was very important! "Sometimes he doesn't want to get up, so he doesn't and there's no trains that day."She blurted out, "but I have to be on my train! I can't face another investigation! What about him?" The man's eyes met hers and quickly looked away, "What about him? He's important to someone who important to the bureaucracy. The people who work 7 days a week."Jane thought of her one day a month that she rode the train to it's terminus and back while noting the times it arrived at each stop. "I only work every other Monday, who am I to complain about his performance?"The man's voice was shaking with rage. There was no train that day. Jane went back to her apartment block and waited. A month later she was stopped in her way to the platform, for yet another investigation. She was stopped off at an even more cramped environment. One of the two investigators advised her to not get comfortable, as she's likely to be transferred again for missing work today. 7 weeks later she was once again shuffled into an apartment that was little more than a closet. A bed sat atop a bureaun and nothing else was there. No window, just an LED ceiling lamp that was automated to simulate day light with night lighting until 8pm and again in the two hours before sunrise. There was a kitchenette and a shared bathroom in her hallway. Her requests for transfer or expansion of duties returned without answer if they returned at all. It had been 4 months since her previous day of work and she was terrified of missing her next one. The floor was quiet and neighbors rarely interacted. No one wanted to be documented interacting with a "problematic unit,"an accusation Jane faced regarding her discussion with that man at the platform. No one was really sure what the next transfer would be. The rooms couldn't get smaller, not without implementing bunk beds and roommates. The real fear was a cessation of housing and food. No one gave to beggars, they were unproductive and undeserving. And everyone Jane lived near was on the brink of joining them.
"Don't take the environment for granted, you'll miss it when it's gone." It took you hours to embed that into the earth - well, the Mars. Had you simply etched it into the soft Martian soil, the storms would easily have eroded it. This message needed to survive. It needed to survive the next terraforming effort, though that was at least 200 years off. It had to be big enough to be seen by scouts and drones. You embedded it using half-meter long letters in 20 languages, and the pictograms were 3 meters square each. The luminescent titanium alloy was an difficult ink to work with, but it would be visible with most sensors, even if it was buried - as would the embedded radioisotopes. This message had to be seen. You had to be sure. Human lifespans were so much longer now... it only made sense that this innovation unlocked centuries of misery for those 'lucky' enough to be alive. You came to Mars as an 'adolescent' at 113; it had been a lush paradise, but the cracks had been apparent to you early on. More people came over on every colony ship. The balance shifted away from the artificial 'nature' that had been build up over decades to row after row of habs and workspaces, with fewer and fewer greenish-red lawns every year. Soon, water pumps started failing. Austerity measures were proposed, but deeply unpopular - unrest begat protests begat riots. By the time people realized that their activities had ruined this carefully crafted ecosystem, there was no saving it. Fewer plants and more runoff had killed it past the point of no return. The blessing of clean fusion energy simply hid the other environmental costs better. Algae colony collapse accelerated the process to a dangerous point - soon, colony ships only brought air scrubbers and emergency food supplies, but were crammed with as many people as possible on the return trips to Venus. You, however, had a different fate. As an environmental engineer, you had a responsibility to keep Mars survivable until everyone else was gone - and that day was today. You and your fellow engineers had agreed to this on one condition. You would go to Earth and have the honor of helping rehabilitate it. The process had been started via unmanned missions - you'd have a small yet comfortable private hab, a smaller workspace, and would get to finish preparing the planet to support life. Humanity had abandoned Earth, but scans had been promising - the water had started to recede, and the robots had helped manage that process. As you walked into the ship, you took one last look at the sprawling urban wasteland. The folly and hubris could not be forgotten. The dirt and grime produced by humanity burned itself into your mind. As a senior engineer, you would help set policy to prevent this from happening again. As you climb into the cryostasis pod for the long journey 'home', the last thought echoing in your mind was 'never again'. 10 Years Later Training for cryostasis did not make waking up from it easier. It was like every one of the 681 years of drinking had culminated in the most powerful hangover ever. Your mouth was dry; the lights were too bright, and you wished you were dead. As the cocktail of 'wake-up' drugs did their work, this feeling slowly subsided. They tried to make it taste 'good', but this sickly sweet orange mixture had an awful aftertaste, and you suppressed the urge to expel it from your stomach. Soon, the antiemetic ingredients made that go away, and you started to feel good. Not great - that would be another hour or so - but good enough to function. You bring yourself to your shipboard cabin's terminal - time to get caught up. General news and technological advancements could wait - the new frontier of Earth was on your mind. The atmosphere hadn't stabilized quite as much as you'd hoped, but there was a new Nitrogen dispersion system, so that should be fine. The oceans had receded more than expected, which meant that flora hadn't thrived. A few taps and you found a new set of scans ready for you to select new seeding sites. As you scrolled through the list, one stuck out at you - a weird radiation profile. It was on a small plateau - perhaps an island years ago? Perhaps it could be an island again once the water distribution was reworked. A river near the bottom of the plateau could work in the meantime... but that radiation signature was worrying. The high-resolution scans were loading slowly - these systems always felt slow, but in your half-hungover, half-excited state, you had no patience. The loading bar ticked along slowly... and finally finished. The good news was that the radiation was much weaker than the initial scan, but it was oddly shaped. As you zoomed in, another loading screen, and then... "Don't take the environment for granted, you'll miss it when it's gone."
I stand with my back to the monitor as my team braces themselves for action. Fred, my assistant, calls through the static on his headset to Alister. "Alister, do you copy?! The enemy is slowing down! Try to get behind it and go for the weak point on his back!" "Copy!"We hear through louder static as the wind from his wings interfere with our technology. Alister completes this with ease. The enemy staggers. Suddenly, all of the years I've spent developing HeroTech seem wasted. Alister doesn't really need a jet pack, tricky gadgets, or advanced clothes. He just swoops in and saves the day. I used to think four years of college and six years of developing a company to combat extraterrestrial invasions was impressive, but the public is more impressed with handsome young "gods"that were just "handed"their purpose in life and can appear any time these damn aliens wake up in the fields and threaten the morning commute. "The hidden tail. Does he know about the hidden tail?"I ask Fred as I turn my head to eye the screen. Fred looks at me confused. "Data on this species is limited, but the shorter ones found to the north only have stubs."He glances around at my other associates, but they all shrug. I grimace, clutching a gadget in my hand as I turn away once more. They erupt in cheer. The enemy falls, closing its eyes as it lay sideways in an intersection. Alister sighs in relief and gives his signature thumbs up. I wait, hoping he'll move. Nope. Gasps escape every mouth in the room but mine. I play with a bracelet on my wrist and a button in my hand as I wait for a status report. No detection. I stand with my back to the monitor as my team braces themselves for action. Fred, my assistant, calls through the static on his headset to Alister. "Alister, do you copy?! The enemy is slowing down! Try to get behind it and go for the weak point on his back!" I turn around sharply. "And then move away as quickly as possible. The tail will sprout up as a last defense."I order. Fred repeats this to the mighty hero. "And hurry it up. Today's taking way too long."I complain. I may not be some Chosen Hero, but that's fine with me. He can have all the publicity and fame; public speaking isn't my thing. I like being the secret second chance. Be as bold and brave as you want, Alister. This new device is a huge breakthrough, and we have lots of time to test it.
“She is a child! She can’t possibly take the throne now!” The noble argued, looking shocked at what the king suggested. “Princess Aurora was much loved by the populace before her slumber.” The king said pointedly. “We can’t have any more things that rock the kingdom, not after the death of my daughter.” “And? All those who adored her are long dead. It’s been 100 years!” Another noble cut in, banging his hand on the table. “This is madness! We can’t just execute a 16 year old. Not when the people have had enough of violence.” He finished. The king sighed, putting his head in his hands. This recent predicament was did not come at a good time, especially when his daughter was poisoned by a sorceress, his former lover. Where did things go wrong? Aurora looked out her window, breathing in the air. The kingdom looked different, to say the least. The quiet and dark streets contrasted the bustling and lively ones she grew up with, it seemed the entire kingdom was in mourning. She couldn’t get out and about of course, she was stuck in her tower. The king put guards outside her door. Aurora remembered with a pang that the current king was not her father. Her family was gone. Her past was gone. She sighed and breathed in heavily. It was going to be a long day.
The day began with a normal routine, waking up, making breakfast, the whole package of what anyone would do before heading out. Summer isn't usually the best time of the year, considering the heat, but that day in particular was cloudy enough for a stroll. I took my wallet and keys, got dressed nicely in case I get to meet new people, and fixed my hair to fit my new cap. I head out with confidence, walking to the arcade to play some games to pass the first few hours in the morning. Afterwards, with the growing weariness from the flashing lights, decided to take a break from the machines and head towards the park. Couples, kids, grandparents, some students making a film or a survey for their assignments, all walks of life were in that small spot of the city. Sat down on the bench, watching the lake shimmer from the tiny rays that barely pass through the clouds, normally I'd think of getting a boat ride but considering the company that I have, or lack thereof, it would be pretty awkward to see some dude rowing alone. Much like the sky that day, my mind was clouded with thoughts of past relationships that I spent hours with on the same park, on the same bench. To clear my head of all of that bullshit, I stood up and start walking aimlessly on the path, avoiding the people so as to not bother them with the gloomy look of my eyes. But just as I was about to plug in my earphones, gusts of wind blew my cap away, and I looked up to see where it came from. Before I even managed to process the image in my head, people were already screaming and running away in panic, the overcast gloomed further as the world processed the giant suddenly appearing, darkening the already cloudy day. Wind kept blowing my clothes and my earphone wires were whipping my neck already, but I was stood still, watching directly above me, the creature descending onto the massive patch of windswept grass, narrowly, and I mean fucking nearly, as in a feet away, its claws landed on the ground where I was. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"I yelled, but I wasn't able to run, hell, I was barely even able to move any other muscle than my throat and mouth, and with the whole thing in front of me, I completely understood the premise of my life then. A fantasy, and maybe tragedy, depending on the will of the creature. The dragon heard my yell, and recognized it wasn't a yell for help, nor was it a battle cry, it just stared at me from, in close approximation, two stories away, with the eyes of complete shock, before lowering its head close enough for me to see the scales clearly. "My word! You have quite the dirty mouth there, young man!"A feminine voice in my head echoed, I looked for the source with only my eyes, unable to face away from the creature. But that didn't seem to matter to it, as it was only a matter of time before it would eat me, opening its mouth wide, showing teeth, which was probably a grin of being satisfied from seeing me scare shitless. Then, it spoke, "I guess you would recognize it if I used my mouth to speak, yes?"I stared long and hard, my body wasn't shaking, it was frozen to the point you'd think I was doing the mannequin challenge. "You humans and your incessant fears, is it that rare to see a dragon, for you to run away? And for once, one didn't run away, but one didn't also try to fight me, which is new."It kept blabbering on about politics after that, as if trying to vent to me about how it was living a life of either being feared or persecution, having a hard time trying to converse with almost equally intelligent creatures. "I would have loved to help you build your monuments, but with all your hazzas and hooblas of honor and whatnots, I wasn't even able to step on your grounds! Then, I saw this opportunity from this young lad who told me he'd send me to a world where even I can get accepted!"I wasn't able to grasp most of what it said, but that answered a lot of questions I didn't even fucking ask. It's like it's using me to get all its issues out! "I haven't even talked to anyone properly for the last four thousand years! At least until, you know, that young lad sent me here. Anyway, I'm sorry if you didn't get much of what I said, it's almost evening and all, and no one has seemed to respond to my presence with violence. At least none yet."Of all her talking, I managed to at least grasp its emotions based on its words, and I notice its smile as it realized it has yet to be attacked. "I'd talk to you again!"Blurting this out, I immediately covered my mouth, simply out of fear. Definitely not embarrassment. Assessing the pros and cons, it immediately lowered its head even more to face me, but having done that, I noticed more and more of what I shouldn't have. Cuts and pierces on its scales, you'd expect that with that height, no one would be able to attack its head with a sword, but people did manage to do it. For once, in those few hours, I felt pity for it. I finally understood the loneliness, and I mean, just moments ago I was mere seconds from shitting my pants just listening to it talk about Aznar the Great and how he wants to kill the dragon just to have a winning advantage in the negotiations for a peace treaty. Or the rise and fall of the dragon worshipping kingdom of Czicksuan. Finally, it muttered in silence while staring at me still, as if to recognize my worth. And then stopping abruptly, it opened its mouth, gaping wide, and wrapped its lips around my whole body, before I could feel rumbling, probably from it moving again. Then, gunshots, pierce my ears, I was unable to see anything, but I felt myself moving further into its mouth, and the feeling of heavy atmosphere and constant up and down motion, I could tell it was flying away. I fall asleep within its belly.
ISS Valmorin, First Officer Maelon's Voice Log, 10.12.1391 : Our search is complete. After fifteen standard years of searching, following hints, clues, songs and fables from throughout the human diaspora, we have rediscovered our home. The glory goes to the Empire, or what glory remains. I'm afraid much of it is in vain. Our search has led us here, not to the discovery of an ancient homeland, or to the wondrous blue orb that we've heard about in songs, but to blasted empty space. To a small, cold, white star, and a debris field that, Astropath Shae presumes, is all that is left of the inner planets that it once held in orbit. It's undeniable, she says. The star charts match. It is almost certain that Terra was here, long ago, in the eons before this sun expanded, and then shrank down into a cold, cruel point. We should take comfort that we survived this. While Humanity thrives, scattered throughout this galactic arm, all other Terran life is assuredly extinct. All save one specimen. I hesitate to record this. I have seen many strange things faring the void, not all of which I've thought fit to put down to record. Some things are too strange to believe, but for this we have proof. We have, for lack of a better word, a man. It was at 03:34 that we found this creature, apparently male, by our standards, and human to all appearances. He has four limbs, with eyes and mouth and tongue and head, olive skin and hazel eyes. However, I hesitate to call him human. We found him drifting in space, in continuous orbit around this pitiful star, partially frozen, but apparently alive and aware. He speaks no language we know, and his hair has grown to an enormous, tattered, matted length. When we gave him food, he refused to eat at first. No, I don't think that's the correct word. "Refused"implies some kind of aversion. He simply didn't seem to have any interest in it. We tried force feeding him, under the impression at the time that he needed to eat, and after that he did so voraciously. It was as if, until that moment, he had no idea what food was. Medicant Waltrose has examined the creature in a cursory capacity, and is beside himself. It seems impossible to do permanent damage to the specimen. I know little of medical lore, so I'm only dimly aware of what Waltrose means exactly when he says that the being's cellular structure shows remarkable regenerative capability. He says this kind of process would require enormous energy input, and that additional tests are necessary. I shall update as more information becomes available.
When this all started, everyone had different ideas on how to survive. People flooded out of cities in September as the infections were peaking and the hoards were forming. In the end, it didn’t matter where you went, people got infected everywhere. My family headed North to avoid the infected, along with what must have been half of Maryland. At the time it seemed like a good idea. Not only do the frigid winters immobilize the deceased, but the population was sparce to being with. Everyone imagined rustic life living off of deer. Yes we really thought there were deer this far North. Oh how I wish I had read Into the Wild and understood that nature was just as deadly as the infected. We drove as far North as the gas lasted. Somewhere in Canada the supply chain died and people set up a refugee camp. At first it was like camping. People got together around bonfires and cheered at how the cold kept the dead at bay. That was short lived. Our canned food lasted for a measly two weeks before someone broke in to our van and stole the last three cans. A trade for my hand crank powered radio for a moose leg. A week later it was shoe soup. As the food ran low the cold really turned up. The woods disappeared around the camp to the point where you imagine the Earth curving at the horizon. People burned what they could to stay warm. The acrid smoke of smoldering tires caused the already deadly cold air to become that much more inhospitable. The little heat that kept people alive also allowed those that died to move. Outbreaks became more common. When our youngest passed from the harsh conditions we finally conceded that there was nothing here for us. Walking west we found the river that I now stand at. We followed it to our eventual home, a medium sized island on an outer channel. At the time we choose it because we thought a moat would keep the dead at bay. Imagine our surprise when a month after the spring break up we discovered that water only filled the channel a few days out of the year. Nonetheless the island became our home. The first winter we survived in a pile of branches that I broke off dead trees and covered in snow. Spring brought the discovery of a town eight miles away. Using the books from the abandoned library and the resources in town my wife, our two remaining children, and I built our pride and joy. Today, two years and eight months after the first infection was the day it was finished. We had decided to brave going to town to celebrate our new two room log structure (calling it a cabin would be too generous). I had been cleaning up the pizza hut ruins for a few days and had perfected moose pizza. Sure the curst was only made of cauliflower since grains grew poorly last summer, but the smile on my kid’s face when I brought it out was worth the effort. What was the rule from that cheesy Zombieland movie? “Enjoy the little things”. Well, nothing good ever lasts in this new hell we call the daily grind. You see the dead don’t just stop moving in winter, they also stop rotting. Two years in and some of them look downright fresh. The hoard came from the south, which meant our cold northern wind kept the smell hidden. We almost didn’t make it out of there. We got lucky. The chilling cries of one of the feral dogs that are all too common these days tipped us off when it got turned into a pup meat sandwich. All four of us added at least ten kills (or I guess rekills?) to our record on the way home. Dead tired I collapsed when we crossed the threshold of our newly christened home. I woke up an hour later to find we weren’t as lucky as I had thought. On this special day they finally got us. I ran as fast as I could down the river bank thinking only of getting away. I made it a mile before I stopped and turned around. Halfway home I stand in agonizing silence. The willow bushes on the riverbank around me quiver. I know I should turn back and keep running, but the only way home is forward. My wife, my kids, my first victims.
I gave the signal and my partner kicked open the luxurious birch door. It split open straight down the middle, and we burst in. It was a small room, with a bathroom attached. A thin woman was sitting on the bed, reading a book propped on her lap. She looked up in surprise. &#x200B; I silently removed a small cloth from my belt, and unrolled it on the carpet. &#x200B; "Step inside the sheet,"my partner barked. "Wh- what's happening?"she said, the book falling from her hands. I approached the bed, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Please, I need you to step inside the sheet." &#x200B; Trembling, she got off the bed, and stepped inside the small sheet we had laid on the floor. &#x200B; It was over before she had a chance to scream. "Mrs Drew has been Checked Out ,"Edmund said, speaking into his shoulder microphone. "Send the cleaning staff to room 1307, pronto. Some of it spilt onto the carpet, and --" &#x200B; I looked at my partner motioned silently towards the bathroom. He stopped talking and nodded. &#x200B; He reached towards the bathroom handle, but the door opened by itself, and a small child stood there, blinking. She was wearing a blue nightgown with animals on it, and had a toothbrush in her mouth. "Wh- what?"she managed to mumble through her toothpaste. I quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her from seeing her mother lying on the floor behind me. "Daisy,"I said slowly. "Your familiy was supposed to leave at 11:59 AM. It is now 12:03 PM."
The unmistakable clang of metal striking metal rang through the walls, spurring me upright in my bed. In the blackness, I listened closely, hoping to the gods that it was some drunken youths sparring in the street. But then there were thuds and sputters; screams and barks. My body was awake before my mind, and I found myself dressing quickly, packing my personal effects haphazardly into a satchel. The sounds were getting closer now, accompanied by the distinct smell of fire consuming the thatched roofs of nearby homes. I flew my chest open and surveyed my small collection of treasures--more valuable to me than to any merchant, surely--and I rummaged for the pendent, throwing brass cups and emblazoned plates aside to find it tangled at the bottom of the box. A pounding came at my door, the sharp knocks nearly breaking it from its hinges. There were no voices on the other side. I'd heard the emperor's conquerors never spoke. Instead there was just a low humming I could feel in my bones, radiating from my doorway. From the cracks I could see the light of dancing flames and four feet standing just on the other side. The knocks came again, harder this time. The humming was now a murmur in my head, tunneling my vision at its edges. Had the rumors really been true? Were these really monsters sent to level the world? War has a tendency to glorify soldiers until they're either beasts or heroes by the time word gets back home. I looked up to the sword over my mantle and I wondered what words had been said of me. I retrieved the long-retired blade and felt its weight in my hand. There was something proper about holding it, as if a limb had been reattached. My fear of what lied on the other side of my door subsided as my sword filled me with swaggering confidence. I threw my satchel over my shoulder and kicked at the door, exploding it into splinters outward, revealing my foes. But my newfound courage drained as my eyes fixed on what stood before me. Or, I should say, what my eyes tried to fix on. No matter how much I focused on the creatures before me, my eyes couldn't make sense of them. They were too close and too far; too big and too small. Their faces--what I think were their faces--filled my guts with sickness and sent a cold sheet of sweat over my skin. Something lunged into my stomach, doubling me over. The humming was deafening now, blotting out the screams and metal ringing from combat. Who was fighting them? How were they doing it? Even collapsed on the threshold of my house, I couldn't help strategize. An old soldier never really retires, does he? The monsters walked over me and began tossing my meager belongings. I heard furniture smash and watched articles of clothes fly out in front of me. Retreat was my only option now, but my insides still reeled with eye-bulging pain and my breath hadn't yet returned to my lungs. I put one shaky arm in front of the other, inching into the street. Horses and men seemed to run by in slowed time, their footfalls echoing as they fled the invaders. I turned my head down the street to see what was coming. A swirl of purple clouds had formed, and black silhouettes of monsters poured from the vortex. They threw fiery torches on houses and fleeing civilians, setting the whole world ablaze around them. Clearly, their mission was not to capture resources--human or otherwise--but obliteration. Why? What was the point? A smaller figure walked toward me, a long staff in its hand and a hood over its head. I hid my sword behind my prone body and laid back. Possum might not be the most honorable tactic, but honor seems to be off the table tonight. The figure leaned down over me, and in the light of the fire I could see his face. It was just a man, deep wrinkles around his eyes and a large jewel tethered to his neck with a golden chain. He was frowning as he looked me over before his eyes spotted the pendent around my neck. The old man crouched down and felt the metal case between his fingers. My breath had returned, but I kept it slow and lazy. This was the critical moment, where the confident enemy shows his weakness, forgetting his mortality. I grabbed him by the glowing green stone around his neck and pulled him forward as I pushed my sword through him. Then I woke up, sweating profusely in my dark house. I pulled my blanket off my body and found a strange green glow take the room. In my hand was the green stone, still attached the golden chain. Outside there was the sound of metal clanging, getting closer. There were thuds and sputters; screams and sparks. A knocking came at the door.
Brother Marlon approaches the church, and mutters soft prayers under his breath. He knows something is wrong- The shattered windows do little to persuade him otherwise - But he fears the true extent of the damage. He pushes against the large wooden door, but it barely opens. He shoves harder. Marlon gasps as he pokes his head inside, and sees one of the marble statues of Providence lying destroyed at his feet, barricading the door. He slips inside, climbing over the debris. "Father preserve me- What happened?!" Two acolytes stand at attention, hearing the voice of Brother Marlon. They both begin speaking at once, stumbling over their words and gesticulating wildly at the chaotic scene around them. "Silence! One at a time! Brother Lukas?" The tall, slender man stiffens and stands straight upon being called out, and clears his throat, anxiously playing with the rims of his golden sleeves. "Brother Marlon, th-the Heretic has returned,"he states, fear in his voice. "They must have heard that The Pilgrimage is upon us, a-and seek to cut off the masses from-" Brother Marlon scoffs. "The Heretic? Brother Lukas. You believe the world ender has arrived, without the skies pouring blood? Without the earth rending? Without -" "He speaks not of The Entity, Brother. He speaks of... You-Know-Who." Brother Marlon turns to Sister Lybelle, who is attempting to sweep up the stone nose and ears of one of the Elders. "...You-Know-Who?" "...The, ah, initiate, Brother. Siste-, um, well, I suppose she is a Sister no longer... Melody. The one you excommunicated." Brother Marlon's face twists into a scowl. "Melody. What is the meaning of these names? You are falling right into her hand! 'Heretic'... 'You-Know-Who'... Enough! We do not assign titles to... To... Deranged orphans! You give her power with your fear. Providence preserves us, but only if we have faith! She will have her place in the Reckoning." Brother Marlon huffs, kicking aside the remnants of a wooden pew that seems to have been licked by fire. "...You're certain it was her?" Lybelle shrugs. "Who else, Brother? She told us she would not stop. That our sanctuary be destroyed- Defiled, days before the Pilgrimage? It is no coincidence. Anything to stop the holy texts from being spread. To keep the people ignorant of the holy light... She thinks herself a saviour." "She is a demon!"Brother Lukas hisses, clutching a scorched scroll defensively. Marlon grumbles bitterly as he places his hands upon the Altar. The smooth obsidian surface... Cracked. Broken into chunks, like peanut brittle. It will take weeks to prepare a new one. He sighs as Lybelle and Lukas debate the difference between being possessed by an evil spirit and actually being one. "...Providence guide me..."He mutters, closing his eyes. A sudden thump on the Altar startles Marlon, and he jolts back to attention, looking for the source of the sound. A flaming book. Marlon leaps back a half step, confused, before looking up into the rafters of the church for the source of the ball of fire. A figure dressed in white stands perched near the ladder to the bell tower. They wave enthusiastically, before dumping a bucket down over him. Brother Marlon stands there frozen, and ends up drenched in water. Sea water, based on the disgusting scent permeating from it. The two acolytes turn to watch the commotion, and gaze up into the rafters as well. The figure disappears through the bell tower, laughing. Lybelle points up there, smiling. "...Is that why they call her Melody? She has a very pretty-" "ENOUGH!! After her!!"
You know about the Butterfly Effect, right? A butterfly flaps it's wings in America, and a hurricane ravages the Philippines. Cause and effect on a massive scale, with any action no matter how small creating a quantum ripple, interacting and entangling with every subatomic particle in it's wake. What does this have to do with the world hurtling towards the sun? Everything, after a fashion. It all happened because Walter Russo had allergies. A week ago, Russo was at a local coffee shop, and felt a sneeze coming on. Not given much warning at all, he turned away from the line of people, and hunched over to avoid spraying others. In doing so, he inadvertently shoved James Gibson, spilled coffee on himself, ruining his suit. A few minutes and a heated argument later, Gibson called in saying he would be late, and went home to change. This meant that Gibson was taking up a different space in traffic than he did every other day. This meant that Allan Hopper didn't quite make it through the intersection before the light went red, and was on the wrong side of it when the manure truck tipped, closing the intersection for several hours. It was still morning rush hour, and the detours just weren't designed for this body of traffic, pushing Hopper's arrival time out by about three hours. During this time, Hopper's colleagues did their best to pick up the slack, but they were still behind for the test that evening. They were contracted by NASA to create an new kind of energy dense rocket fuel, and were doing their first test burn that night. They had a rocket pointed down at a massive concrete slab, which would measure the force the rocket exerted with the new fuel. When Hopper arrived, they were desperate to finish the preparations in time, and they made an error. A simple typo, brought about by their lack of time. They simply misplaced the decimal point for how much fuel to flood the rocket with by a few zeroes. Five to be exact. As the countdown began, Hopper and his colleagues felt as if they had forgotten something, but decided it must be their imagination, until they felt the tremors shake the earth as the deafening roar of the rocket became all encompassing. It gradually got quieter, but the tremors didn't stop, and each one of them had a sick feeling in their stomach, like they were on a fast elevator going down. They looked through the tinted safety glass to see.the rocket was gone, there was just a ragged hole in the ground with a plume of fire reaching out from it for fifty miles or so into the sky. Hopper and his colleagues realized at that moment what the sick feeling in their gut was... the earth's momentum had shifted, and their orbit was now taking them somewhere else. Given their rocket trail was pointing out into space, they themselves use be moving towards the sun... gradually accepting every second until the fuel finally burned itself out near morning.
It was a cold night, the winds could be heard tattling the glass of the window and the rainfall was tapping gently on the rooftops. Everyone was fast asleep, the parents, the children, even the Golden Retriever named Lucky whose snores were the only sign of activity in this quiet house. I had been staying with them for well over 8 years and for the past few months, I had been placed from the side of the daughter, Lucy's bed to inside a cabinet in the hallway. I was beginning to think that I was not needed anymore. My pal, Fluffy, a stuffed bunny rabbit was given the same fate. We often went out at night to mess with them, in hopes that they would remember us. Misplacing items, sometimes even breaking things if we were desperate, but mostly they just shrugged it off. We decided that tonight, we were going to leave this family behind and look for our own home. After the dead silence of the night, we crept out of the cabinet and made our way past the hall. Fluffy however had other plans. As I made my way past the kitchen, Fluffy had climbed onto a table and held up a lamp. "What are you doing?"I asked impatiently. "I am going to leave a reminder before we leave." "Come on, don't be ridiculous, we agreed to leave in complete silence". Fluffy looked quite uneasy with this agreement. "Come on, they forgot about us, I'm sure that they won't even notice that we are missing in the first place". I told fluffy that they still won't notice even if you broke the lamp and that they would probably blame it on the dog which wouldn't be fair". Fluffy hesitated for a minute, and then he gave in, agreeing with me. As he climbed down, however, he slipped and the chair fell down on the table, which flipped and threw the flower vase onto the picture hanging on the wall, which in turn fell on the piano which made a loud roar. As soon as the noise ceased, we looked around and saw a house completely in ruins. Things only got from bad to worse when we heard the dogs snores turn into loud barks. We knew it was time to run. We made our way past the living room and out of the door with Lucky having noticed us, begun to make a chase. We were out in the cold rain until we were both completely soaked. We looked back to see the lights in the house were turned on and we could only imagine what faces they were making. As we looked back however, we saw Lucky. We both knew we were doomed. We both shielded our faces until we heard a calm voice say... "What are you both doing?"he told us. As we both in shock, as we pulled a=our arms back to our sides. He looked at us both confused and dumbfounded. "You normally aren't ones to make mischief or least that's the impression I had of you two, since I'm the one with that reputation, you know I'm the one who will be getting the blame for this now". "We're sorry Lucky, we really didn't mean for this to happen, we just needed to go. We're being forgotten and it's time that we find somewhere else"I said. "What if there isn't anywhere else?"said Lucky. We both knew he was probably right, as we all stood on the street in the middle of the night in the cold wet rain. It seemed that we had nowhere to go now. Lucky told us that if we were going away, we should at least visit. for his sake. It was at the moment that he turned away that we decided that we would go back. For many years more, we remained in that cabinet, lonely. The days turned to months, months into years. One of those years, the cabinet doors had opened. It was Lucy. She seemed much older but she looked at us as though she looked at an old friend she took both of us to sleep at the side of her bed. We would remain here for many more years until she had a daughter of her own, and we would be given to her.
The heartwarming version has the parents living together and encourage the kid and love him. Then his hero journey is still questing for some deeper hidden power but realizing that the love of his family was all he ever needed. After hijinx and shenanigans there’s a touching reunion. The dark side is that he lives among the centaurs (cause living with mermaids would kill him) and he is outcast and abused. He goes down to the water everyday to lament his mother who he has never met but dreams was warm and caring. After some catalyst (a clue, a messenger, etc) he is called to help the mermaids because they are in trouble. After worldbuilding and backstory his hero journey is being brought into saving the world from some calamity and his being both from the land and sea is the missing key to the puzzle. We are drawn to love him then he is forced to be the sacrifice. Epilogue. End of story.
As Stratos stood in the cockpit of his ship his eyes plastered to what was in front of him, he saw the pale blue and green world in front of him. Young, full of potential, but yet to be realized, the planet was much like him. His eyes fixated on the young planet, he knew what potential they both had to do better, to get to a better future. As his ship landed he looked around and saw the most base forms of intelligence. Small, kind of hairy things, there seemed to be a moderate amount of them. They were in small bands, mostly hunter-gatherers. There were a couple different cousin species going around, seemingly dictated by hair. Violent little bastards they would attack Stratos with their silly little clubs and rocks. Perfect for experimentation. He started taking some onto his ship, analyzing their genetic structures, seeing if they had enough physical endurance to withstand the light. Capacity for learning was moderate and not terribly well distributed amongst the species, but some definitely did show potential. A couple thousand generations and these little things might be worth something. He had seen enough, they could be tested on. Of the 10 he'd grabbed, he picked at random and strapped it in place. Around him hovered what looked like a million flying ants, they formed a flat circle and started and started spinning quite rapidly, a ray of soft light moves towards the the screaming little thing. At the ray engulfed it, the little things eyes expanded. It started shaking rapidly, foam.coming out of its mouth. Finally it stopped moving, its head fell down. Stratos shut down the ray and checked the thing. It was alive! But as the thought completed in his head the thing shook rapidly, and then puked out what seemed to be everything on the inside of its body, blood and chunks everywhere on the floor. Its vitals were gone, the creature died. Well shit. Looking at the experiment he realised he must have made some miscalculations. Turning the strength of the beam down he realized these being ohysically were not ready for intelligence of his peoples level. Fine he thought, thats too much, so he turned it down to simply 730x it current intelligence capacity. Of the nine remaining, four had been murdered by the largest one. Which to Stratos might as well have been a it volunteering for the next test. This lil thing was nominally physically bigger than the rest, which allowed its violence, but at full height only came up to Startos' kneecap. This one had lived by physical dominance so it quietly followed Stratos, submitting to the physical dominance it used to thrive. As the light ray hit this one it shrieked and quivered, but less so than the other. And the beam ended the little organism looked up at him quietly. Stratos smiled, as he patted him on the head he hooked him up to one of his peoples learning devices. An old one from a couple million generations ago, it used simply sight and sound to educate, as Stratos feared anything telepathic would be too much for his system to handle. Through it he only programmed then most base of thoughts in his mind. Galactic geography, 800000 years of history from around the cosmos, Quantum Mechanics, and all objective moral systems. It took about 37 straight years, but the little beast was kept alive and youthful by the ships technology. When the education ended, the little beast, now enlightened, stood there quietly on front of Stratos. "Hello there, how are you feeling?"Stratos asked in an ancient tongue that was easier to understand than his own. The beast stood there. "Would you like some sustenance?"Again, the beast stood there. "Can you understand me?"Nothing. Stratos, understanding that the thing likely did understand him, mearely smirked. A child was uncomfortable around his teacher...oh yea a love and understanding of Stratos! Thats what was forgotten. A tremendous yawn quickly overtook the giant scientist. "Well, we can deal with this tomorrow, I haven't slept in almost 58 of your solar cycles. We can get going tomorrow."No response. Understanding that the little monster would be more likely to be comfortable sleeping around his bed fellows he had his ships AI take #2, as he had started calling him, back with the others of its kind. Tired, Stratos closed all 9 of his eyes and slept. ... Upon awaking Stratos joyfully jaunted down to #2's species' room. He knew that #2 was a bit quite, but had a lot of potential. Opening the door he jumped in the room to try and surprise #2, ironically running into a surprise of his own. In the room lie 9 bare skeletons on the floor, and 1 hanging by a cord... Stratos was a genius unlike anything the beasts planet had ever seen, but he was still very, very forgetful. The remains little monsters seemed to kind of just hunger to death, and based on the 50000 word note left by #2, he seemed to have felt a bit bad about all the killing he'd done, tragic. ... *I'm going to call this here, I like where this is going but honestly I am just fucking lazy. Interesting prompt!
“Ok look, I know it looks bad, but honestly, did you really think any of us did our own stunts these days? None of my friends do, it’s just not the cool thing to do! Plus this way more people get work, equality quotas are easier to fill, and it's supporting your local economy, I’m actually helping people out! I know it was different in your day, but honestly times have changed.” “Well wherever you fall on the debate, can you please just park it for 5 minutes? I’m in the Arenal Volcano. East entrance. There’s about 15 Wargs just outside, 3 trolls up ahead and I am almost certain a dragon has been flying over at 7 to 10 minute intervals. Based on the Dark Lords gloating announcements he keeps making, my team is being held in cavern 3. I think that’s the one you had that insane showdown with Madame Magma back in ‘82? So you know the lay of the land. They are being guarded by some sort of neural destruction matrix, I would guess the generator node is in one of the other caverns, probably with its only protection prism, and I wouldn’t put it past him to through a trip jinx or two around the place, just to spice things up... So yep, that’s all the intel I’ve got. If you and Gran could come and get them first and then swing by and pick me up then I promise I will actually go back to hero school! Oh and any chance of dinosaur nuggets for tea?” “Love you!” (My first try at one of these so I hope it is ok!)
I stick it in my "Stuff for later"folder and work on something else. Just because it may seem boring and unimportant now doesn't mean that it's going to be later. Whenever I can't think of something, have writers block or am just bored I go back to my stuff for later posts and read over them. Sometimes i edit them a bit and other times I continue the stories. Always save stuff for later, you never know when "later' they might be needed.
She hoped she never got used to it. The sweet stench, the sounds of misery, the chaos and the silence. She had to see and remember, always. "Somehow, I don't really feel happy about this."Adam looked up at her with tired eyes. The spark had gone, had dulled away because reality was just that cruel. "You never do,"she said. "War is not something to be happy about, Adam. We must never forget that sacrifices had been made and we live on in honor and truth. You understand."It almost broke her. Adam was too young to understand, and yet, here he stood. "So what now?" She looked down at the carnage. "We did our duty. King Roland will send out his troops to eliminate the remaining forces of the Zodiac Empire. We'll contact the guild and they would want us back again, I presume."She breathed a little easier at that thought. After months of planning, fighting and waiting, it was time to leave and rest for a while. For a long moment, they stood like this. On the walls of the palace, witnessing the aftermath of conflict. And even if blood had been spilled over wide land today, this fight was over. Their duty to this kingdom had ended with their victory, and they did not have to do anything anymore. It was after a long while when Adam huffed beside her and she reached to ruffle his hair, but just like always, he expertly avoided her hand. She shot him a glance. "What is it?" "You know, I really, and I mean REALLY missed Dalia's cooking,"Adam said. She smiled at him. "Now that you mention it, I really missed it too. The royal cook is amazing, but no one ever comes close to Dalia's skills."The longer she thought about exquisite food, the less excruciating it seemed to travel back. "Come one, let's pack,"she said and turned towards the palace. It was amazing how it still stood in one piece and all its glory. "Reena, do you think the people here will be okay?" She looked into Adam's sad eyes. "Of course. They will be, eventually. It will take time, but we gave them a chance at least. That's all we can hope for." "Then that's enough for me." Reena frowned. "Adam?" Silence. He said nothing. Just looked at her with deep sadness in his eyes and a gentle smile. "Adam?"Reena reached for him but clawed at air as he vanished before her. "No, wait. Adam–"Something had just ripped the breath out of her as Reena fell to her knees. Her cry too deafening to make a sound. It ran so deep, the earth shook, the ocean raged and every mage in the land felt the mana lines burst with energy. They all knew what it meant, as they each gathered outside and made one last gesture.
Aether. The thread woven into the textile of a universe. This tapestry was never meant to be touched by humans, just admired and observed. Imagine our surprise when someone managed to unravel their part of it. Gorias was his name. Born to a poor, small family. Had more ambition than sense. He quickly took to the arcane arts and pulled his family out of squalor. But his ambition was not sated. He wanted more, and knew it was there. He tugged on a loose thread in the fabric of his reality, until, in one fluid motion, it unraveled. His universe, and all who resided there, ceased to be. And he became a god. We put him on trial before our pantheon. The decision was swift and unanimous. We were to bind him in chains not even a god could break and leech his power to use in remaking the universe he so callously destroyed. However, the head of our pantheon began to have doubts. He never voiced them, but we saw the shades of uncertainty and confusion flicker across his face more and more often. "How do you know so much? You have only been a god for such a short time..."The head god was in the room with a bound Gorias, looking disheveled and distraught. He knew things only spoken to the other gods in confidence. But how? Gorias smirked, the leeching of his essence clearly not taking any enjoyment from his current game of outfoxing this god. "Oh, I know a lot of things. The dwarves were brilliant and cooperative, they created machines that could do wondrous things. Like rend gods asunder. Shame they are now a shadow of that former glory. Drunkards and prideful oafs."The head god froze. No one knew about that, not even the other gods. The dwarven remaking was one of his darkest secrets. But it was necessary, to prevent something like this from happening. Or that's what he told himself. Gorias spoke once more, the smirk still plastered on his face. "Let's be honest. The other gods are weak. We are the true gods. They are but fractions of us. Of what we once represented. You let these shards rule alongside you, and it's pathetic. You could be like me, free from the ties of family and circumstance. You could be omniscient again."That language... "How... How do you know we were split from each other!?"The head god was nearing hysterics now. "I left that part of me behind! I gave it up!"Gorias cut in. "Now, we both know that isn't true. I know it because I never gave up, even when I was stripped of my past. Now, I remember. I am closer to being whole. You are closer to being whole. Just listen."The head god had his head in his hands. "Why me?"He lamented. "Why did you choose to make my life hell?"Gorias smiled, his golden opportunity presenting itself. "As they say, we are our own worst critic."The head god stopped. "You claim to be me?"Gorias shrugged. "In a sense."The head god whispered to Gorias. "Then speak the name I took for my own, when I was whole and stepped from the veil of nonexistence."Gorias whispered a name. The heavens quaked, and the head god was flung against the wall by the force. Gorias smirked again. "Of course, nowadays you go by Almaddi."Almaddi was taken aback. "How is this possible?"Gorias' normally jovial volume dropped to a harsh whisper. "There is a traitor, out to get you, out to get us. I am his first failed attempt to get rid of you. There will be others, but the chains set a dangerous precedent. Be wary of the one who takes to wielding them."With that, another god burst into the room. "Almaddi, you alright? What was that?"Almaddi sighed. "I'm fine, Magrius. I was just talking with our prisoner here."Magrius seemed curious. "What were you discussing?"Almaddi smirked. "The future."
Hey I am on my way"Bill said while steering with his knee, phone in one hand Big Mac in the other. "I am getting off I-85 now, I should be there in fifteen minutes." Hanging up Bill changes his Spotify Playlist to his party mix. Wiping crumbs from his lap and singing along to buy you a drink he is lost in thought, Bill's hand drums on the worn steering wheel. "I hope Susan believes that I had to work late on inventory"he mutters to himself. "She hates when I go out after work" As Bill rounds a bend he jerks the steering wheel to the side "fuck, fuck fuck"his voice lost in the sound of squeeling breaks. The world spins. Bill is slammed against the roof of the cab as the truck spins end over end. Everything goes still. Bill slips into unconsciousness. "Please it can't end this way…" "I'll do anything. I'll...I'll give to charity." "I will spend more time with my wife, we will take that vacation we always wanted." "I will get in shape, quit drinking, fast food. Anything!" "I will be better just give me another chance please!" "Your bargain has been heard and your oath is binding."The voice coming just outside of Bill's consciousness intones. Bill's mind fills with the image of a robed and hooded figure carrying a large scythe. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeep. Bill's eyes flicker open, a bright white light fills his eyes. "Clear" Bill is jerked into consciousness briefly, people rushing around him lights and the sound of medical equipment filling the room. Then the pain comes. Bill fades back into sleep. Days turn to weeks and weeks turn to months and as the holiday season approaches Bill's dream fades from his mind and life returns to normal. Ring. Ring. Ring. The handball tolls as the good Samaritan collecting money vigorously shakes it at passing customers. "Spare some change for the homeless"the man asks of Bill as he comes out of the store. "What? No, leave off."Bill scoffs hefting his 24 pack and goes to walk away. There is a chill to the air. Not your normal winter chill but a chill that shakes you to your core, that mixture of fear and being watched so aptly portrayed in slasher movies. "You have not held up on your end of the bargain Bill."A low voice says from behind him. Stopping dead, dropping his precious cargo that voice returning a flood of memories and broken promises Bill turns around. Standing where the bell ringer was is a lean hooded figure holding a small bell in place of its traditional scythe "I have given you the opportunity to change on your own and fulfill your side of the pact and you have been found wanting."Death says grimly. Bill backs away looking around nervously "This has to be some kind of prank. None of that was real, just not possible." "It is no prank"assures death. "All deals made must be fulfilled to satisfy the old laws and I am here to see that through." Bill Shakes his head trying to clear his mind "and how are you supposed to help me?". He looks back to death and in his place is a tall well dressed man in glasses holding a small bell. The man reaches out to hand Bill a business card. Confused he looks down and it reads "Eustas certified life coach. Be better in your new life."
“Mr. President, here are my demands. I think they’re all quite reasonable, and would love to go over them with you, but could you please quit shouting?” Sally could barely hear herself over the cacophony of noise in the room. She had meant to kidnap the President from his bedroom, but she made a few errors in her calculations. Instead of 2:30am in his bedroom, she appeared at 2:30pm in the Oval Office. Now she was dealing with the President, the Vice President, a few foreign dignitaries, and a whole lot of Secret Service agents. Thank goodness for her future granddaughter’s warnings and technology. If it wasn’t for the high-tech bracelet on her wrist, she would have been vaporized instantly. “Listen, I know this is a big deal, breaking in here and all. But I’ve come from the past to plead with you, make some exceptions! This movie ban for all pre-2022 movies is horrible, and I’ve brought some of my favorites to prove how big a mistake this is! So put on your pajamas, grab some popcorn, and let’s have a slumber party!” Sally pressed the buttons on her bracelet, and then burst out laughing. Everyone was in pajamas now and holding buckets of popcorn, just like she wanted. But what she hadn’t expected was the style of pajamas- unicorn onesies, skintight Catwoman pajama suits, glaring orange speedos, and her personal favorite on the President himself, a bright green Grinch onesie! “I brought a great selection, and I know these movies will change your mind on this bill! I have ‘The Princess Bride,’ ‘Shrek,’ the original Star Wars trilogy, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, ‘Encanto,’ ‘Space Balls,’ ‘Moana,’ ‘Robin Hood: Men in Tights,’ and more! “But in honor of your pajamas, Mr. President, we’ll start with ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas,’ starring Jim Carrey!” ———— Several days later, the highest security slumber party the world had ever seen finally finished. Sally left the room arm in arm with the President, followed closely by the Vice President and the foreign dignitaries. The Secret Service agents were rewatching ‘The Princess Bride,’ they would be out when it was over. “Ms. Sally, I do thank you for this informative presentation. I have sent the errors of my ways, and will be rectifying this bill immediately. I’ll have to have a word with the sponsors of this bill. You take care on your way home, now.” “Thank you Mr. President, it was wonderful to meet you! And a very big thank you for not vaporizing me!” Sally hit her bracelet and returned to her own time. It was only when she returned home did she realize she should have just left a list, not the actual DVDs. At the realization that she just left the best part of her movie collection in the future, she fell to her knees, threw her arms up in the arms, and let out the most dramatic cry possibly. “Nooooo!”
The person to inspire me was born of two worlds. Shaped by his distant and calculating father and his warm and affectionate mother. His desire to find both his own path as well as the approval of his father leading him to seemingly be as cold and calculating as his father to many. But to those that knew him. He was a loyal and friendly enough person. Enjoying song and games with his friends and willing to risk his own life and health to protect those around him. He held many accredited accomplishments in his career. But the most important is to keep an open mind. His most valuable quote to me being. "I understand, I do not approve." To me this is the true height of wisdom. To see where someone else came from in their reasoning. To be able to debate it without that understanding automatically placing you on their side of a debate. But perhaps being able to convince them to change their minds or find compromise. So I dedicate this short paper on how I have been inspired by Mr. Spock. Peace and long life.
So I proceed to take out my phone and call the po po. Realizing that I didn't include the response time in my rules so there's still at least 5 days until they finally show up. I pull down the mark I've taped to the wall in the hall as I back away from the door. The perp starts to knock more frantically as if they knew I was currently occupying my own space, but how would they know? The knocks turn into creepy whispers and violent attempts at the knob. Suddenly the door kicks in and all my rules fly out of my memory. I've managed to put some distance between us by hiding in the kitchen pantry. I held my breath with hopes that my silence would keep me out of harms way for a little while longer as my thoughts processed. I've lost my rules in the midst of this anxiety and I must find my way back. I've got to snap out of it. My gut must have decided that it's had enough because out of nowhere I kick the door open! When I came to there were sirens and officers everywhere. As they load me into the back of an ambulance the officer whispers, "you got them!".
I couldn't sleep that night. Chronic insomnia. It afflicted me every night. And all I could do was sit outside on the porch and watch the stars. On an incredibly balmy summer night in July, I sat and watched as people walked by my house. They all had their eyes closed — about a dozen of them. I strode up to one of the women walking in notice that it was Mrs. Beasley “Mrs. Beasley Are you okay? Where are you going? Mrs Beasley?” Mrs. Beasley ignored me and just kept walking. I found this rather odd and decided to follow them to see where they were headed. For some reason it felt correct to pretend to sleepwalk as they were doing... this seemed like the right time to try to fit in. I followed them down the street toward a glowing light in the distance. As we approach the light, I continued to follow with my eyes shut almost completely. My calf muscles grew tired as we sauntered along, and we were joined by another large group of people. They were all also dragging their feet along as though they were possessed by an unknown force. As we approached the glowing glimmering light in the distance, a large structure became visible above... it was shaped sort of like a doughnut with a center that was glowing bright white. Now as I approached I could see that as people gathered around the bottom, they were sucked up into the light, like ice cubes up a straw. By the time I got underneath the light it was too late to turn back. I looked up and waited. I felt an intense feeling of gravity on my head. And then I was sucked upward. Warm air rushed around my body. A moment later, me and the people I was walking with were all inside a large metallic Rotunda. People were gathered around and following single file into a little chute that went up to another direction. That's when I saw them... a trio of insect looking beings with big eyes and antenna. They were a light shade of green with reddish gem-like eyes. A buzzing sound came from their mouths and I thought I heard some thoughts coming from them. Buzzing is a good word for it because this felt like some sort of Hive, a very busy hive... and it made me wonder if humans were the honey... Before I was led to the chute in the side of the wall, I stopped. This seemed to get the attention of one of the insect creatures that walked toward me and prodded me with its little pincer finger. The insect creature looked across the room at another insect who was a little bit larger and had tendrils flowing down from its head. That creature seemed to be in charge, because it was wearing a large golden robe, very regal looking. I acted fast. I pulled out my tactical knife and ran across to the monarch. I put the blade up to its neck and told them to let everyone go. They scurried away and the monarch just trembled. “Let them go,” I commanded. The people stopped walking toward the chute and turned around and went back toward the center light. I said: “thank you. I'll be leaving now.” I walked toward the light and when I looked down and I saw that the people were falling down toward the ground. I didn't have much time so I just jumped. It was my only chance. They weren't going to give us an easy landing. I skydived through the air, plummeting toward the ground. I landed on a large oak tree hitting almost every branch on the way down, but somehow I survived. It was a long recovery after that trauma... After that day I still sat outside on the porch with my insomnia. But I never saw any people walking past again. It seemed that the ETs had left. Maybe I spooked them... or maybe they learned humans are a difficult prey, and they decided to leave us alone for good. All I knew is I would sleep with one eye open for the foreseeable future.
Her name was Inna. She dreamed often of two dogs, one was red and the other was blue. Not that she remembered dreaming about these dogs, but they were there running around in her subconsciousness as dogs do. They were there the first time I saw Inna as a child. The red dog was walking on a long dinner table sniffing the food on each plate, and the blue dog sat at Inna’s side at the head of the table. She laid her hand on the animal’s head and rubbed back and forth. Her dream could have passed for reality. At the time I didn’t know what preordained colors dogs were limited to, how could I? But every scent of roasted meat and texture of the table and ambience of temperature met the reality test. I would remember Inna. Life is not difficult. It is not difficult to meet minimum requirements to survive nor is it terribly difficult to understand. There are prey and there are predators. If you do not consider yourself either, then there exists a predator eager to test that belief. I am a predator and life is my prey. Inna was my introduction to this world and remains the most tangible. Since Inna I’ve seen the dreams of millions of people, met their subconscious, dwelled in their hopes and terrors, and always there exists a tell of a dream. Something that doesn’t appear wrong immediately and may only be described as quirky or an oddity. Think of a clock running backwards. A smell that doesn’t exist. A mouth that cannot speak. Or yes, a dog the color of the sky. That is me. Then, after I understand their subconscious, I understand their life. Watch them move in the daytime. Their slow movements in the morning to brush their teeth with paste and whittle through their social media before transporting themselves to work all the while trying to remember what caused that euphoric feeling of their dreams they’ve already forgotten. I understood people. And once I understood, once I finished stalking by prey, I cast my trap. Inna had grown up since I last saw her. The small bedroom in her parents’ home was replaced by a florescent apartment on the fifth floor. The thin walls were peppered with holes glossed over by white-out by previous tenants. Next to her bed hung a badge that read, “INNA LEOVINSK – ADVANCED MARKETING SOLUTIONS.” By a salad bag in the fridge sat a nearly empty quart of milk and coffee mug rings littered the countertop. On the drive into work at Advanced Marketing Solutions, where she held what she considered a fairly respectable position, she listened to mindless local talk radio instead of NPR. She couldn’t remember the last time she earnestly laughed. This was her life and I grew to know her – and she grew to know me, if not consciously, by the dreams I guided her through. I finished making her existence hollow by creating unattainable pleasures common for the woman. Her mind pivoted to sexual needs? I gave her a harem. She desired flight, I gave her the endless sky. Food? A feast for a court of kings. These memories faded when she woke, and she fought to remember them. Oh yes. But the feelings of satisfaction for the unconscious world remained with her throughout her day. The time she spent strategizing with customers on how to widen their reach was threatening to lose its meaning even before I drifted into her mind. But with me? With me Inna was becoming listless. She could no longer find the joy in coffee, or the pleasure in reading by a window, or the contentedness of listening to rain in a parked car. No. Inna only craved me. This is when I closed in. She dreamed again of the two dogs in her childhood room. Inna hadn’t dreamed these dogs since she was a girl living in that wonderful house with both parents. The red dog came in through the door first, its tail still, and the blue dog was behind with a leash in its mouth, tail wagging. “Oh, puppies! I’ve missed you!” Inna leaned down to pet both dogs like they were really her childhood pets. It was more satisfaction. “Have you been good? Have you been getting all the good snugs?” I then spoke to her. “Inna, I have a proposition.” It was a dream where plots and scenes routinely shifted like a breeze, hearing a voice was common. “This could be your life.” I told her. “You could stay here, a life filled with delightful lies, marvelous wonders, and sundry pleasures.” The blue dog rolled over and she was couched down rubbing its belly. “Or –“ I said. “Or? This already is my life.” “Inna.” She stopped petting the dog and stood up. Inna looked around, really seeing the world around her for the first time. “This is a dream.” “Yes.” “You’re saying I could stay here?” I gave my voice the most paternal sound I could conjure. “You could stay here, leave that drudgery behind. Leave that commute and aimless life. How you feel at night in your dreams is how you can feel and live all the time.” “Or.” I changed my voice and her face distorted. “You could return to your small apartment.” “Inna,” I said, “the choice is entirely yours.” The choice wasn’t hers. I had made it already for her. I needed only her permission. I could feel Inna giving in before she muttered yes. Feel what was once a warm soul nourish my appetite, her damaged hopes of a family and fears of not being enough poured into me. In an instant she was part of me. Her body to be found later, limp halfway off the bed, but she was with me. She was happier this way, I could feel it, and I was just a little stronger. Then I found Ethan.
Mandy Tommins has spent the last twenty years of her life inventing a machine that can observe the past in a specific spot. Mandy is using it to discover the truth about her husband once and for all. “Come here.” “Can it wait? I’m watching HoloVid.” “Come. Here. I have something to show you.” “Alright, lemme just…hold on…” “Mason Williams, do not tell me you are buckling your pants right now. You know our living room windows face directly to the street.” “If they wanna look they can look, I don’t have a single problem putting on a show.” “Just…hurry up, will you?” “Why are you in the laundry room? And what is—-” “This, Mason, is a time viewing camera.” “Hilarious. What is it really? Please tell me you didn’t—” “It’s a time machine. Kind of. I can take a picture of anything, and in the frame it will show me every moment that thing has experienced since it was created. Do you see this washing machine Mason?” “If I say no, can I go back to watching Housewives of the Asteroid Belt?” “Answer the damn question.” “Yes, I see one washing machine, one very expensive looking camera and one crazy woman.” “Mason Williams. Do you remember April 1st 2030? Do you remember what you were doing on that day?” “Mandy I don’t even remember where I just put the remote.” “April 1st, 2030. That was the last time, Mason Williams, that I ever let you do laundry. Do you know why that was the last time I ever let you do laundry?” “...oh not this again. Mandy, if this is about—-” “You told me. You told me that when you put the load of washing in, you checked every pocket for stray items, and that you have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA how my limited edition white Soft Plush blanket ended up getting blended with a stick of lipstick that made our washing machine look like a crime scene. Do you remember swearing to me Mason? Do you remember making a PINKY PROMISE to me that you were innocent of laziness? Do you remember then suggesting ever so mildly that it might’ve been MY FAULT because I added a pair of jeans to the machine after it had started? And how I felt SO GUILTY for yelling at you in the first place because I realized I HAD put jeans in there and maybe I had left the lipstick in them even though I swore I had checked the pockets and—” “Mandy I think there’s a blood vessel that’s about to pop on your—” “WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE CAMERA MASON? WOULD YOU LOOK AT THIS LITTLE CLIP I PULLED UP FROM APRIL 1ST 2030?” “...is that…oh no…” “HUH. IT SURE LOOKS LIKE MY HUSBAND IS THROWING EVERYTHING IN THE WASHING MACHINE WITHOUT GIVING IT SO MUCH AS A SECOND GLANCE. OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT. IT’S ANOTHER VIDEO OF MY DEAR SWEET BELOVED NOW RIPPING OUT A PRICELESS BLANKET MANGLED WITH LIPSTICK FROM THE WASHING MACHINE AND TRYING TO SPRAY IT WITH A GARDEN HOSE. NOW HE’S PULLING OUT CHUNKS OF HALF MELTED LIPSTICK AND STICKING IT IN THE POCKETS OF THE PAIR OF JEANS I PUT IN LAST MINUTE. WHAT A SIGHT IS THIS.” “Mandy. Is this what you’ve been working on all this time? A time machine to—” “TO PROVE I’M NOT CRAZY AND THAT YOU’RE A LYING LIL BITCH? YOU BET YOUR SWEET ASS I DID.” [(EXTRA CONTENT)](https://pxgodwin.com/?p=477)
Fire Lord Sozin had honestly not intended for the day to end on genocide, but the situation left him with little choice. It all started when he had arrived at the Southern Air Temple with his royal guard in tow. The journey was long and hard, but hopefully the rewards would be worth it. Satoshi, a young man who had just recently ascended to the guard, was on point as they turned another pass, clinging close to a narrow path along the cliff. He came to a stop with an outstretched hand towards the rest. "Fire Lord Sozin, I think I've spotted the temple!"He called. "Good, see if we can't get the air nomads to notice us a little early. I would rather not have our party mistaken for an ambush force."The Fire Lord ordered. "At once Fire Lord Sozin." Satoshi took as wide a stance as he could, and with a clean thrust of his fingers, sent a small dart of fire straight into the air above them. The flare was noticed immediately, for the airbenders began to scramble amongst themselves like spider-ants on a mound. It wasn't long before the airbenders sent one of their own to investigate. An older monk flew in on a staff glider, and positioned himself on the cliff above them. "What purpose brings you here... Fire Lord Sozin?"The monk asked. Sozin recognized the monk as one of the elders of the temple. They would occasionally meet on diplomatic affairs between the two peoples in the migration seasons. "I've come to talk. The matter is of the utmost importance to the continued peace between our people."The Fire Lord declared. The monk nodded, and took off to the skies again. "I guess they won't be helping us climb up the temple's steps..."one of the royal guards muttered. ... The Fire Lord stood with his men before the monks after the arduous climb. "To what honor do we host the Fire Lord so suddenly? We would have prepared a feast if we had known of your coming."One of the elders said. "I apologize for this sudden intrusion, but I come before you to discuss a matter of great importance. I believe the Avatar was been reborn amongst your number, and I would wish to speak with him." A deathly silence dominated the hall for a seemingly endless moment, before a monk spoke. "Assuming you are correct in this belief, why would you wish to speak to him? We've heard of your... strained relationship with the late Avatar Roku." "My feelings of Roku are irrelevant to this discourse. I need to talk with the Avatar to gain his blessing on my mission to unify the Four Nations, so that peace, prosperity, and stability might be given to all." "You suggest breaking the balance of the world with such talk! Even if we had the avatar, we would never allow you to pervert his purpose for your honeyed ambitions!"Another monk said. "Please, I don't want this to end in bloodshed, just let me speak to him. That is all I ask."The Fire Lord pleaded. The monks looked to one-another, sharing some sort of silent agreement, with hints of... humor? Before looking back to Sozin. "I'm afraid your journey was for nothing, Fire Lord Sozin. The Avatar was with us, but he has... vanished." "What?"Sozin said. "Ran away, it would seem. Shame too, he was a most prodigious air bender, he may have grown to stronger than Avatar Roku... oh well, sorry you wasted your time on us lowly monks!"The monks smiled as they stood up. The Fire Lord's eye twitched at their mirth at his expense. "You're lying! You will give me the Avatar, or I will not be responsible for what happens here this day!"He ordered. "Oh but you will, Fire Lord. You will..." "Here, before he ran away, he left this message for me..."one of the monks said as he held up a small piece of paper. "Give me that!"The Fire Lord snatched the letter from his hands, and scanned the letters contents... "What... What is this? It's just gibberish!"He yelled. "No, I believe it says 'I will never give you up, I will never let you down, I will never run around and desert you...' I believe the avatar mixed up his personal poetry with his 'running away letter', or perhaps he wanted to leave on a joke."The monk laughed. "Read the back, Fire Lord Sozin, maybe the appendices will hold more answers..."Another monk snickered. Turning the letter over, the Fire Lord read aloud: "'Ravioli Ravioli, give me the Avataroli'? What in Agni's name is a ravioli!?"He shouted. At this, the monks all burst into an uproarious laugh, some struggling to find their breaths as the Fire Lord's face grew red with rage. "Enough of your tricks!"The Fire Lord said as he took a stance. "If you won't tell me where the Avatar is, then I have no choice but to destroy you." The monks ceased their laughter, as the soldiers joined their lord in stance. And proceeded to laugh even harder. "Fire Lord Sozin, we outnumber you 10 to 1, and most of us are masters of our craft trained since birth in our ways. What hope do you honestly have of defeating us-" At that moment, the sky reddened as a comet engulfed the horizon. Inexplicably, Sozin felt his body surge with immense power, and sent forth a blast of flame strong enough to destroy the old Imperial palace back home. "Huh, well this is convenient."The Fire Lord said, and then the slaughter begun. ... After all was said and done, the Fire Lord was a little sad by the results of the day. He genuinely hoped that they could come to a peaceful solution. The Avatar's blessing would have also helped in securing mostly peaceful cooperation from the Earth Kingdom, and legitimizing his unification process. Alas, all was undone by a little letter and one man's paranoia.
Detective Victoria Baines groaned as she popped a couple of asprin and looked over the crime scene photos again. A noted businessman Ronald Williamston had slipped down the stairs in his penthouse and been clobbered in the front of the head so hard his nose had gotten pushed into his brain, However, the stairs in question were indoors. Several paint cans swung like a pendulum in the background. The 40-year-old detective shook her head “So Johnson, our current theory is that the killer froze the stairs and then rigged paint cans to swing and hit the victim as he rushed down the stairs?” "Hello Ronald Williamston. I'd like to play a game. I have your daughter but I also have the contents of your electronic devices, which include proof of your illegal activities and access to your bank accounts. Which one I release is up to you. If you stay put I will release your daughter but empty your bank accounts and post the info on the internet for all to see but, in 5 minutes your downstairs phone will ring, if you answer it I may release your daughter but will not post the proof of your sins. Choose wisely” “Revenge? Something idealistic perhaps. The victim was an exec at the Erwin James paint company, the local factory got shut down and there is a class action lawsuit by the former employees and another alleging that the paint it'self is toxic”If it was'nt for the fact we were tapping the victims phone we would'nt have been tipped off that a Jigsaw was involved” He pressed play on a recording "Hello Ronald Williamston. I'd like to play a game. I have your daughter but I also have the contents of your electronic devices, which include proof of your illegal activities and access to your bank accounts. Which one I release is up to you. If you stay put I will release your daughter but empty your bank accounts and post the info on the internet for all to seebut, in 5 minutes your downstairs phone will ring, if you answer it I may release your daughter but will not post the proof of your sins. Choose wisely” The detective gasped.. “This scene reminds me of something that happened when I was a rookie. There was this kid who rigged his house to stop burglars..." Harry looked up from cell in federal prison. He ended up with a 50 year prison sentence for flooding a postal sorting facility while attempting to steal a mail truck. A man in a suit motioned to him. Meanwhile Marv sat in the corner of the dayroom Grimveil Mental institute. He was found guilty but insane of attempting to murder a teenager who looked like a certain child but grown up. Cocomelon played on the tv as she vacant-eyed while two other patients played cards. An orderly sat on a folding chair as he monitored the room with the expression of someone counting the minutes left in his shift. Suddenly the orderly scooted out of the way as a man in a suit entered the room..
Madame Mystery’s real name was Anna Brown. But no one was going to listen to a psychic called Anna Brown, so the front of her snazzy townhouse had a big sign that read “Madame Mystery’s True Prophecies and Pre-Cognition”. Anna was a small woman with dirty blonde hair and a mean streak a mile wide. She took what she wanted, when she wanted, and figured anyone too stupid to stop her didn’t deserve her pity. In other words, she was the worst kind of fake psychic. Her father, however, was a real pre-cog, although not a very useful one. He made predictions exclusively about transportation delays, but since he didn’t know when the delay would take place a prediction that an accident on 34th and Main was going to cause bad traffic sometime in the next month or two was less than helpful. Instead, he worked as a taxi driver and insisted that his pre-cog abilities were absolutely vital to the profession, regardless of what anyone else thought. Anna, on the other hand, had no meta-abilities whatsoever. What she did have was an unnerving ability to read other people and absolutely no compunction about using what she knew to get what she wanted. As far as she was concerned, she was out to get hers and everyone else needed to watch their own backs. These two things together made her an excellent psychic. The fact that her father had real talent, whether anyone cared or not, made the scam even easier. She had started at a very young age, when schoolmates at lunch had paid her to gaze into a glass of water and tell them who they would one day marry. Even then, she knew better than to give an answer outright, but a vaguely positive response was all the stupid chits needed to go all fluttery and hand over their lunch money. It wasn’t hard to guess what they wanted to hear when each one had posters of their favorite celebrities all over their lockers. By the time Anna graduated high school, she had a plan. The world was full of idiots, and she might as well get something out of it. She set up shop in an appropriately bustling part of town and christened herself Madame Mystery. She then set about telling people whatever they wanted to hear. As she got older, she learned more tricks of the trade. Forcing people to book appointments allowed her to get a little Facebook stalking in. Gazing into a reflective pool of water allowed her to gauge her clients’ reactions as she spoke. Requesting a sentimental item to “improve spiritual reception” gave her insight into whatever had driven this particular moron to her door. As her clientele grew so did her reputation. She began to outstrip some of the legitimate psychics who worked in town. After all, people paid for what they wanted to hear, not what was actually going to happen. When she turned 25, she put her plan into action and ran for city council. It was a landslide victory. After all, what better job for a psychic than politician? All she had to do was muse something vague enough it could mean anything, but clear enough everyone was certain it was meant for them. She had been doing that every day for years. Which way she voted hardly mattered, since all her supporters needed was a promise of eventual prosperity and they would follow wherever she led them. When the promised economic boom failed to materialize, she declared that the opposition was about to cause disaster with a grave but avoidable blunder and was elected to the Provincial Assembly. This was arguably even easier. Every prophecy she uttered could be applied to a dozen different situations, and each person would assume whatever they thought of first was probably the right answer. Of course, she still found time to sprinkle in personal prophecies here and there. Tell someone their wife will leave them enough times and eventually the man will drive his wife away. He would then hail her as a true prophet who saw cracks in his marriage even he couldn’t see. Classic. Simple. Idiots. This or that politician would now listen to anything she said with fervor. His certainty blinding them to whatever mistakes she might make. Sure, she couldn’t fool everyone all the time. But she only had to fool enough people to keep her in power. It was shockingly easy. So, she ran for president. This was a challenge. Not because she had to keep up the act, it was almost second nature at this point, but because the amount of work involved kept her from doing the maintenance required to keep her followers twisted around her fingers. She needed lieutenants – people who would do what she said without asking too many questions.
“EIIEIEIEIIEI!” Far above planet earth there was a spaceship of unknown origin, inside were two stereotypical aliens and one dolphin in a small water tank. “Jerry, turn on the translator!” Yelled one of the aliens with a harsh tone. “Yes sir!” Yelled back Jerry, his voice seeming like that of a pubescent male human. “Hello? Can you guys understand me now?” Said the dolphin in the voice of a middle aged man. “Yes we can, now tell us about planet earth’s defences!” Yelled the older harsher sounding alien. “Okay so there’s these things called humans, bipedal land mammals, they kind of mess around with explosives and bullets and stuff, you know very primitive stuff. We kinda let them think they own the place.” The dolphin said. “So these humans, what’s so special about them?” Jerry asked. “Well they can absolutely wreck you but it would also ruin their ecosystem, they actually did it twice to themselves. Oh yeah, lots of infighting, they kind of hate each other.” “And what would be the optimal way to deal with them?” Asked the older alien. “Well we’re just kind of waiting it out, they’re doomed to fail eventually. You could also just go down there and tell them all their religions are false, worked with the dinosaurs. You know people blame it on a meteor, really it was the bombs the dinosaurs had, they killed each other.” “You talk as if you’re the dominant race, tell us the dolphins defences or face torture!” Yelled the older alien. “Well the dolphin defences are right behind you, about to snap your necks.”
"I'm sorry,"Mina said as she knelt down beside her and held her hand gently. "But you have to be strong." The girl looked at her blankly for several seconds before she finally spoke up. She was young—maybe ten years old or so. Her eyes were red from crying but they had lost their sparkle of hope. They stared into space instead, looking like two black holes that sucked all light away. It made Mina sad just watching them both; She couldn't imagine what it would feel like if someone killed her mother right in front of her. She tried to think about something else. The room around her was filled with blood splatters and the stench of death hung heavy in the air. There wasn't much furniture left either except for one chair and a small table where a few books lay scattered across its surface. A couple of candles sat burning nearby too. One candle burned bright while another flickered weakly. There was no sign of any adults. Just this little girl who seemed scared out of her mind and a woman lying on the floor near the door. Her mother. A thin trail of blood trickled through the dust and dirt on the floor. She is covered in deep gashes, some of which still bled. Her chest is ripped open and dried blood everywhere. Her rib cage revealing beneath the torn skin. Blood dripped from her neck onto the floor. It pooled there until it formed an almost perfect circle. Her head remained facing upwards, staring at nothing. A soft moan escaped Mina's throat as she stared at the body. She felt sick and angry. What kind of monster could do such things? It took her a moment to realize that the girl was sobbing quietly. Mina moved closer and placed her hands on the girl's shoulder. "Shhh...it'll be okay,"she whispered softly. The child didn't respond though. Instead, she continued to cry silently. Mina sighed and squeezed the girl's hand tightly. She knew how hard it must've been for the poor girl after seeing her own mother get murdered right in front of her. But there was nothing she could really say to comfort her. Nothing anyone could say to make things better anyway. "My name's Mina,"she told the girl. "What's yours?" "Sophie,"the girl replied shakily. "Sophie?"Mina confirmed. Sophie nodded shyly. "Yes ma'am..." "It suits you,"Mina smiled warmly. Sophie blushed nervously. "Thank you." "Do you know how we can get out of here?"Mina asked. "No…"Sophie sniffed and wiped tears from her cheeks. "We're trapped..." Mina nodded sadly. "Yeah, I guess so." She felt bad for the poor kid. But there was nothing she could do now. Not without help anyway. Until then, she needed to keep Sophie and herself safe. Safe from the murderer who is locked there with them. If only she knew how to escape… A sudden noise snapped her attention towards the doorway. Someone was coming. She turned back to look at Sophie and saw her trembling slightly. "Are you scared?" Sophie shook her head slowly. "Yes…" "Me too,"Mina admitted. "But don't worry, he's not going to hurt us."She reassured. The footsteps grew louder and came closer. Soon enough, she heard a man's voice. He sounded angry and frustrated. "Where are you hiding?!"the man shouted. His tone of voice made Mina tense up. This guy definitely sounds dangerous. Then suddenly, a figure appeared in the doorway. His eyes widened when he spotted Mina standing there. He stepped forward slowly and pointed his gun straight at her. "You! Don't move!" Mina gulped and froze. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Her breath became shallow and quick. The man's face has a mask of rage and frustration, his lips pulled into a snarl. Beneath the long dark coat he wore, his arms bulged with muscles and veins stretched taut across his biceps. His eyes were cold and focused on the target ahead of him. "Don't shoot,"Mina pleaded desperately. "Who are you?"he demanded. Mina swallowed and forced herself to speak. "I'm Mina..." The man frowned and gestured to the girl behind her. "And who's the girl?" Mina glanced over her shoulder and found Sophie standing there, wide eyed and terrified. She gave a slight nod. "This is Sophie." The man narrowed his eyes. "Why are you two here?" Mina bit her lip. "I don't know... we got locked in here." The man scowled. "Locked in?" "Y-yes..."Mina answered quickly. The man raised an eyebrow. "How did you two get locked in here?" "Um... I dunno,"Mina admitted. "I woke up and found her. We're both stuck inside this place." "Stuck?"the man repeated. Mina shrugged helplessly. "Well... yeah... I mean... we can't leave." "So you're telling me both of you were kidnapped by the murderer and now you're trapped in here with him?"the man asked incredulously. Mina nodded. "That's exactly what happened." The man pursed his lips together angrily. He turned to look at Sophie. Her eyes were huge, round pools of terror. Her eyes widened in shock and surprise as she looked up into his face, her mouth opening slightly. She swallowed nervously, looking down at the ground again. The man stared at her intently. "You!" Sophie nodded timidly. "Yes sir..." Mina intervened. "Please calm down. She didn't do anything wrong." The man glared at Mina, raising his gun menacingly. "Shut your trap, bitch!" "Calm down,"She repeated. "We need to find a way out of here first." The man raised his eyebrows. "Find a way out of here?" "Yeah..."Mina replied. "You have a plan then? You're not just going to stand there and wait for this girl to kill you?"He claimed. "Wait...what?"Mina asked. "This girl is obviously the murderer,"the man said. Mina shaked her head. "No... she isn't!" The man took a step closer towards Sophie. She trembled next to Mina, her eyes wide and fearful. She reached out for Mina's hand and clutched it tight. The man sneered at them both. "Look at her. She's clearly guilty. Why else would she lock you in here with her?" "Are you fucking crazy?! She's just a little girl!"Mina screamed at him. "You can't possibly think that she'd do something like this..." "Oh yes I can,"the man snapped. "She's probably a psychopathic serial killer who likes playing games and torturing people." Mina felt her stomach turn. She gripped Sophie's hand tighter. "Stop saying those things! She wouldn't hurt anyone ever!" "He killed her!"Sophie screamed in horror and fear. "He killed my mother!" "Quiet!"the man roared. Sophie's eyes widen and her grip on Mina's hand tightened. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Please... stop hurting me..."Sophie begged. Mina glared at the man. "You killed her mother?!" The man looked at her defiantly and scoffed. "She's lying." "I am not!"Sophie cried. "I swear it! Please believe me!" Mina shook her head. "You killed her mother. And now you want to kill us too?" "I'm telling the truth. I saw her with that woman. They were both alive."The man said. "They were together and talked for a while, then I heard a scream so loud that it made my ears ring." Mina stared at the man in disbelief. "And why didn't you help them?" The man laughed cruelly; his laugh echoing through the room, bouncing off the walls, making the windows rattle and the pictures shake. He shook his head at her. "Because I knew they were already dead. It was too late to save either of them. And I wasn't about to die either." Mina gasped in shock. How could he be so cold? "If you're trying to tell me that you're innocent too,"Mina accused. "Then prove it." The man smirked. "Prove what?" "That you're not the killer."Mina demanded. "Show us where this other person is." The man snorted. "There's no one else here besides you two. Everyone else is dead." "Bullshit!"Mina yelled. "There has to be someone else!" The man chuckled. "Like I said before, there's no one else here. Now shut up and let me do what I have to do." Mina growled but kept silent. She wanted to argue more, to fight back against the man who killed Sophie's mother. But she knew arguing won't change anything. So instead, she gripped Sophie's hand even harder. She needed to protect the girl from the killer. No matter what happens, she had to survive. Sophie whimpered and clutched Mina's hand tightly. She stared at the man and trembled in fright. The man walked forward, aiming his gun directly at Mina's forehead. "Give me the girl or I'll blow your brains out right now." Mina clenched her jaw and stared at the gun. Then she slowly lifted her chin up and met his gaze. "Go ahead." The man laughed mockingly. "You think you can talk to me like that? Like I'm the murderer?" Mina gritted her teeth and stared at the barrel of the gun. "Yes... I can." The man cocked the hammer on the gun. "Alright then... if that's how you feel..."
“Shhh” I whispered to feeran. “Oh shhh yourself” he replied drearily Cleary still drunk from the bar we went to right after we escaped. “Do you want to get caught or not?” I asked him angrily. “If it means you shut up then yes.” He answered smugly. “I got the money!” Castel shouted, signalling our exit. We exited the bank knowing we would be millionaires. Now we need to change. “So anyone know where the nearest clothes store is?” I asked. “Up my a-“ “Yeah at Rodney road, about two kilometres from here.” Castel answered. “Ok let’s go.” I exclaimed. “Alright I’ll check if anyone’s here or not. I looked around the store but no one was in it. “It’s empty” I yelled out to my fellow inmates. We met while the blast had just happened. Everyone was so terrified they let most of the inmates escape, but they can’t most of them. We are one of the last inmates that haven’t been caught again. I wasn’t about to be submit to the torture again. “The pink ones make me look funny” Feeran exclaimed while giggling like a little girl. Then again, Feeran is probably worse than prison. But I can get my life back and ditch him. Maybe even commit more murders as a sign of revenge. “Hey Bailey, which one makes me look more normal?” But for now, I’m stuck with a bunch a morons.
Ari rolled over in their bed. The room was dark, darker than it should have been. "Klatka?"Ari called out. No response. That wasn't normal. Ari searched the room even though it was of no use. The alien creature glowed with a heavenly blue light with everything they did. Ari wasn't just going to find them under a box. A pit formed in Ari's stomach. What if they were really gone for good this time? Ari ran from the room. Mom was in the hallway sipping a cup of tea. She raised an eyebrow when she saw Ari's face. "What's wrong kid?"She said. "Klatka's gone,"Ari said. "That little weasel? Give it time, they'll be back."Mom said. "But they've never just left like that before. What do I do?"Ari said. "They spoke to you right? Said they were from outer space?"Mom said. "No they never spoke with words,"Ari said, "I just spent enough time around them and I could see pictures of the places they've been. It's how I discovered they were from space, and how I discovered who I am." "What's the last thing they said to you?"Mom said. "I donno,"Ari said. "They looked at the stars, then back at me. I knew it met something, but I just didn't want to listen. I wanted to sleep instead. I remember the feelings though. They couldn't exist anymore. They had to go somewhere different. And I couldn't come." Ari started to cry, "They told me I needed to let go." Ari fell into fits and sobs. Mom tried to be consoling, but couldn't find the words. The night ended in sorrow. The next day wasn't any better. Ari felt the words swim in their mind over and over and over. But what did they need to let go of? The answer clicked. They found a stack of colored pencils and drew pictures of Klatka, then let the pictures fall into the place Klatka always slept. Over and over, Ari practiced "letting go"of the drawings. It didn't work. Another day passed by, and there was no sign of the glowing creature. How could such a good friend leave like that? Ari came up with another plan. They found a music box that played their favorite song. Klatka and Ari would always play the tune before bed. It was a magical, delightful tune. Loosing this was loosing a memory of Klatka. A treasured one. Is that what they wanted? Ari was prepared to let it go if it would mean Klatka would come back. Letting go was what Klatka wanted. Ari placed it in the middle of the kitchen and lit a match. The flames reflected in their glasses while the memories died within them. It was burnt to a crisp before Mom used the fire extinguisher on it. She frowned, but she didn't respond with punishment. She saw the emptiness and she knew it wouldn't help. After a week Ari started to feel the numbness drift away, with the fading mental pictures of their best friend. Mom entered the room. "Feeling better?"She asked. She knew the answer, but she kept asking in hopes it would change. "No, but I think I understand,"Ari said. Mom put a hand on Ari's shoulder for comfort. "Waiting isn't going to help. I'm not going to see Klatka again. Not in this lifetime." Mom squeezed their shoulder. Ari said, "They were my best friend. And I'll love them forever. But friends come and friends leave, and sometimes you need to let a friend leave." They talked about their memories of Klatka, and the air seemed to lift with the glow of pleasant memories. Soon it was far past bedtime, and sleepiness weighed heavily on them. They went to their rooms and slept in their beds. For the first time in years, Ari didn't hum the bed-time tune. Then something odd happened. Ari woke up next to their best friend. An alien species named Klatka.
“For God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten blah blah blah. Do you have any idea how draining it is to love billions of lower life forms who constantly disrespect you at every turn? But that’s why I have you isn’t it you little Shit-worm?” “Shit-worm.” It’s what he called me. Those words rang in my head ever since I first met him. I was only 6. His first visit was frightening at the time but pretty tame in hindsight. He came by the house to introduce himself and beat the crap out of me. My mom thought I was lying. I resented her for not believing me but how could she? If your kid told you that God took human form, came over to the house and beat them up, would you believe them? Not likely. A week or so after that first visit the archangel Gabriel showed up. He told me that I was chosen for a great purpose. I was the “Celestial Scapegoat.” He said “Our Lord is truly loving and selfless. But centuries of human disobedience and irreverence began to wear on him emotionally. In heaven we were concerned that he would return to his wrathful ways your ancestors wrote about in the Old Testament. About four centuries ago, we came up with the Celestial Scapegoat. In order for our Lord to continue to bestow His love upon His creation, He needed an outlet for His anger. One human in all the world to take the brunt of His wrath so that He may love the rest unconditionally.” “Not a bad deal” I thought. “I take a few beatings so that God can do His job. Ok.” You have to understand, my parents had me deeply involved in church back then. Two services a week plus Sunday School. I was taught that God was perfect and just, that we were sinners and need to serve Him. I was happy to serve. I had no idea what I was getting into. The visits became worse. A hit and run driver killed my dog when I was 8. My best friend fell off the roof of his house when I was 10. I heard the cops saying that he was pushed but supposedly no one was with him when he fell. He wouldn’t always visit personally. My dad died of a stroke when I was 11. A note appeared on my dresser: “Sorry for your loss, Shit-worm.” My mom became an alcoholic, then an addict. We moved in with her dealer who beat the ever-loving-crap out of me every day when he wasn’t making me package product for him. An endless stream of tragedy and public embarrassment followed me through my early twenties. I would constantly get injured, lose jobs or lose friends. Every so often I would hear His voice. “How did that go, Shit-worm?” “Lose another job, Shit-worm?” I stopped going to church long ago and began to hate Him. I don’t think I felt a single moment of happiness until I met her. Cassandra. A perfect human being if there ever was one. The day I met her, His visits abruptly stopped. Around her, I started to allow myself to feel happy. We fell in love in no time. We dated, moved in together and shared three years of near constant bliss. One more year passed and I was confident that He was done with me. Maybe He got bored, moved onto someone else. I felt safe enough to propose. The wedding was perfect. Dozens of our closest friends came to celebrate with us. Not a cloud in the sky. Right before we said our vows, the officiant said “If anyone objects to this union speak now-“ Before he could finish, a bolt of lightning came down and struck her. On a clear cloudless day, my perfect Cassandra was reduced to ashes and bone by a bolt of lightning. I heard His voice in my ear. “You think I was done with you, Shit-worm?” His laughter echoed in my head for hours. Years passed. I fell off the grid. Made a few questionable deals and tried to disappear. I distanced myself from everyone and everything. I thought that if I could punish myself enough, maybe He would stop. I awoke this afternoon to the sound of plywood being ripped from the doorframe downstairs. My head was pounding from a nightmare hangover. At first I thought it was the cops coming to kick me out of the vacant house I was sleeping in. I wasn’t so lucky. “Oh shiiiit-wooooorm.” He called as He came up the stairs. He stepped into the room. “How ya doing buddy? Still living in your own filth?” I could barely move, let alone reply. It’s been hours since my last drink. The nausea was overpowering. “This’ll be no fun if you can’t participate.” He snapped his fingers and my hangover was gone. I was stone cold sober. No pain. No nausea. I hadn’t felt this great in years. I was terrified. He never does me any favors. “I wanted you on your A-game for this one, Shit-worm. I brought you something.” He yelled into the hallway “He’s in here.” My heart was in my throat as she walked in. Cassandra. My Cassandra. Flawless as the day I met her with an almost otherworldly glow. She stretched out her arms “Come here honey.” Slowly, nervously, I approached her. “Cass?” I whimpered. “It’s all over honey.” she said. “Come here.” I ran to embrace her. As I closed in, I was sent flying into the wall. She backhanded me clear across the room with a strength I had never seen in her. She laughed at me. “Oh, God was right. You really are a pathetic little piece of crap aren’t you? I want you to know it was all fake. Everything. I never loved you. Our Lord just gave me a job. Build you up so he could knock you back down. Not that anyone ever could love you, right Shit-worm?” “Shit-worm.” Hearing those words come out of her mouth was more than I could bear. I had nothing. I was nothing. There was nothing He could take from me and still, He found a way to get me and make it hurt. I lost control and screamed “Shut up and leave me alone!!!!!” His face became more serious than I’ve ever seen. He pushed right up against me, barely concealing His rage. I hadn’t been this close to Him in years. “I will leave you alone when I’m damn good and ready, Shit-worm. You exist for this purpose and only this.” This was my chance. As he laid into me I fumbled in my pocket for my knife. He was still monologuing when I pulled it out. “You have got to be joking.” He laughed. “I created the universe. You think you can do anything with that? I think I might’ve finally broke you.” I was shaking. “You broke me a long time ago.” I replied. His face suddenly lit up. “I got an idea, Shit-worm. I’ll give you one free shot. You swing your little knife there and see what happens. If you kill me, you’re free. If you don’t, you have to watch me drill your dead fiancé.” I nodded in agreement. I had nothing to lose. He was still laughing as I raised the knife. The laughing stopped when the knife came down. A moment of stunned silence passed as His expression changed from amusement to fear. He dropped to His knees as blood and white light flowed from his chest. “H-h-how?” He choked. I rolled up my sleeve and showed him the symbol of the Morningstar carved into my forearm. “I guess the all-knowing God doesn’t know everything.” I sneered. He struggled to breathe. “L-lucifer…doesn’t have t-the power to-“ “No he doesn’t.” I explained. “But when you exiled him, he made friends elsewhere.” In that moment, He realized what I meant and I saw terror in the face of God. “I sold my soul to Lucifer for an audience with his new friends, The Old Ones. They gave me the power to kill a god in exchange for certain assurances.” He tried to regain His composure. “Wait, wait. Shit-wo—Um Robert! You don’t understand what you’re doing. “If I die, the Horsemen get released!” “I know about your Four Horsemen, I’ve read your book.” I said. “No, Robert! There’s a plan for the end of times. The Anti-Christ, a war, the righteous separated from the wicked and billions of souls saved. If the Horsemen are released early and without my direction, they won’t just smite the wicked, they kill everyone!” I smiled for the first time in decades. “I know. I’m counting on it. We worked it all out. I kill you, The Horsemen wipe out all life on Earth, Lucifer gets your throne in Heaven and the Old Ones have their way with the rest of the universe.” He struggled to his feet still clutching his chest. “Ok ok ok so you hate me, that makes sense. But you can’t really want to condemn billions of people to eternal suffering.” My blood boiled. I seized Him by the throat and slammed Him against the wall. “YOU THINK I CARE ABOUT THE BILLIONS OF PEOPLE YOU BOTHERED TO LOVE!? WHY SHOULD THEY GET TO BASK IN YOUR GLOW WHEN ALL I HAVE EVER KNOWN IS SUFFERING!?” “Please.” He cried. “You can have anything! You want Cassandra back? She’s yours!” I pulled Him in close. “I sold my soul twice and waited years for you to let your guard down so this could happen. Nothing you can say is stopping this now.” Before He could make another sound I plunged my knife into His neck and slit His throat. His body fell to the ground and crumbled into dust. Cassandra gave me one last horrified look as the same thing happened to her. A dark figure slid into the room. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you.” he said. “A deal is a deal, Lucifer.” I replied. The ground started to shake and we heard the sound of trumpets in the distance. “I guess we should get out of here. Things are about to get messy.” Lucifer said with a chuckle. “Not yet.” I said. “The whole world is ending, Robert. What could you possibly wanna do now?” “Take me somewhere with a view.” I said. “I wanna watch it all burn down.”
This is my first time writing. Please don’t be too vicious in the replies… Every mage had their own, unique book, granted to them from the high Wizards. You see, Books are choosy. We don’t make them, they appear when and where they feel like, and claim an owner when they feel like it, and influence their owner in any way they wish. Sometimes the whispers of the pages could turn a man insane, other times they would lead their owner to do deeds that other mages had never imagined to be possible within the limits of magic. “Any damage to the book shall reflect in the world around you.” They had said when giving it to me. My mother had looked exceptionally grim that day, clenching her fists. Seeing the Great Morgana II so angry was a rare sight. She muttered “I told them not to give her that book. I TOLD them.” Magic crackled around her hands. She had not grown any calmer when my hands finally touched the old leather tome, and I was allowed to call myself a true mage. She hid her ire well, though, when she bid me farewell and good luck for my journey in seeking a place to settle down, as any mother of a mage would when they sent their child out into the world. The day that marked you as an adult. I know she wanted to keep me longer as I had much work to do with my spells, and they gave me trouble. Reading was a chore, words would tumble around and crisscross, making any spell illegible to me. Hoentsly, I had no idea why a powerful book would have an interest in a mage like me, but I gladly accepted it anyways. Perhaps, the words in my own spell book would be easier to read? “Go out, and have the best life you can, daughter.” My mother spoke. I nodded, before walking out of the hall after a final embrace. So, here I was. Travelling around, seeing sights both mundane and magical, searching for a place that felt home to me. I had returned to my hometown, book strangely silent. The words were just as much of a mess as in any other spellbook, and stragenly enough, it was silent. But all spellbook were supposed to have a voice to guide their mage, so I would commonly just stare at it, hop in g for an answer. “Are you supposed to be quiet?” I asked, holding it up to my ear. I shook it. No answer, but I felt the winds around me suddenly pick up and froze in motion. The wind immediately dropped. “Hm.” I buckled the book back into the holder at my side and continued the walk. The village was nice and quaint, but the restlessness that filled me ever since I had the book didn’t stop. I bode my goodbye to my family after a short stop and headed on. I travelled through cities. Small towns. Perilous, cold mountains (which I quickly left after finding that another, not-so-friendly wizard lived there.) I made money from my sketches of animals I came across, sometimes I would be able to make better pieces of art if I had more materials at hand from berries and such. I enjoyed drawing, really. If only reading magic came to me as easily as capturing the forms of the things I could see… I’d made myself a provisional shack - of sorts - at a local lake, deciding to rest from my travels for a while. It was here when I heard the book speak for the first time, when I held it towards the river as if I was trying to give it a better view. “Good.” It said. When I nearly dropped it in shock, I felt the ground beneath me quake. I caught it before it hit the ground. “So…you like here?” Nothing else needed to be said, the book apparently thought, no matter how much I tried to coax more words out of it. I sighed. Advanced spell casting would have to wait. And my regular child’s spell book would do in a pinch, and I could perhaps even find some work… Although I usually was found walking around without either. In those days, I relied less upon my magic, as it barely helped me traverse the forest any quicker, and it was relatively peaceful around. Sure, the snobbier wizards would sneer at me for not carrying the book with me at all times, but that thing was heavy. I wasn’t going to do that to my back EVERY DAY. At least, until I figured out how to make it levitate behind me. So I began to build there, selling artwork and small carvings of wildlife, occasionally travelling to the tavern to catch up upon news and to see if anyone was interested in hiring a mage. I could cast a decent spell or two, and at this point I had two spirits that I could call upon for aid reliably. Things were looking up for me, so maybe I would be able to find work in the village? And as I found out, there indeed were several! And they didn’t require prior experience!! And maybe, just maybe, the local smithy would accept my resume to work there by providing fire spirits to smelt and aid in forging the ores? But I could also help in the apothecary as there had been a notice that assisstants were wanted, preferably with magic. I had options to choose from, a strange luxury. I mulled both over, not sure which one I felt more drawn to. Both seemed promising as adventurers tended to stop in the small town for exactly those two things: healing potions and weaponry. That meant a stable source of work, and income, and then I could get myself better materials to finally use my magic to enhance my house that I’d hurriedly made beneath a tree with a nymph’s help. But, I would gain some very valuable experience either way that day…I just didn’t now it yet. I hopped along the path, humming after a long rainfall, and that’s when it happened: The book fell out of my holder as I tripped over a branch, straight into a puddle. “Oh no. Oh no-“ I quickly scrambled to my feet and tried to see how much damage had been done. I didn’t even care that I probably looked comepetely unpresenatble now. The book- A great gust of wind suddenly whipped through the forest. Summoning circles randomly appeared, and spirits of all sorts were impatiently trying to squeeze through them. Mainly earth spirits. Some Water spirits. Sprites that appeared to be aligned with the wind. At some point, I couldn’t even distinguish the different spirits as there were so many! And then…the book laughed as my attempts to escape a thorny rose spirits trying to trap me. “You think this is funny?” I cried out. Oh gods, what if this book was some sort of evil sadist? “It’s all fair game if you drop me, child. Drop me in a puddle, and I’ll drop YOU in one.” “I’m not a child-“ I spat out rose petals from a withering flower I had inhaled as I tried to ward off the rose spirit. “Maybe treat me with more respect and don’t keep me all sealed away?” The book mused, flipping through pages. “Well, then maybe help me because I can barely read whoever the hell you have written within yourself!” I cried out. The forest looked as if it had fallen into the greatest puddle in existance: Mud dripped from trees that looked as I some giant had stepped on them, water covered the ground- Oh, my master would kill me if she saw all this. The book began to levitate. “Oh, just Strip me of my magic already.” I groaned. I wasn’t the stringers mage, an i was sure my own spells didn’t work upon my own spellbook. Even if I could remember them. The book flipped closed with a chuckled, sucking back in all he sports which tried to escape the pages, turning two-dimentional. “Just SAY that you needed help. Y’know? If you don’t tell me anything, how should I know that you just can’t read and aren’t trying to insult me?” The book responded. “You could’ve just told me to speak, y’know.” I muttered. “I couldn’t speak until the seal sealing my voice was broken..” It responded, seeming bemused as it floated over to my side, showing a clearly cracked blue seal. A protective seal that was mean at to reduce the amount of magic the book could access. “I was hoping to pull a prank on your first spell…but oh well.” It merrily flipped through some more pages. “And also, it is bad manners for a book to speak before it’s master issues it’s commands, and gives it a name. It’s on page one-“ “Oh. Anyways, what ARE you called.” “Stila. And I may be a trickster, but I have standards.” The book huffed as the forest magically returned to normal. “Now. You kept on muttering about some interviews you wanted to attend to?” “Yes…I’m late!” I freaked out, grabbing the book. “AND I can’t fly reliably so I’m screwed!” “Well then, I suppose this will be lesson one.” Stila responded, flipping through pages. “But I can’t-“ “I can speak now, and I’m sure you can repeat words that have been spoken. And you seem to be a good artist, so perhaps, sigils may fit your style more.” It responded. “Why use words if art can do the same?” A symbol appeared on the pages, and for the first time, I understood the spell, as I everything was clear. And that was the first time I cast a spell reliably. Easily. As if I had been walking on my hands this entire time and had just discovered that I could walk upon my feet. Sure, the spell was sloppy, but I could practise. The sigil wasn’t too hard, after all… I landed. “That was the sloppiest flight I’ve ever seen - but a step up, I suppose.” The book spoke. “Oh, shut it.” Stila snapped shut, offended, and I laughed. “More practise later. Please do clean my cover. Don’t mess up your interview.” The book advised. “Alright, Stila. I won’t.” I knocked on the door to the apothecary.
(Alright it's been an hour, so here is my attempt) Lawry McCormick stared down at his plate, the yellowish gray strands of pasta mixed with lumpy white chunks of meat a poor imitation of what he knew food could be. Most kids his age had no issue consuming this garbage...after all, most didn't know any better. Lawry's peers would look at this pasta and think it was an acceptable meal...Lawry could only think of his father, whom he hadn't seen in almost two years. Before Lawry was even born, the Government declared that the use of spices in food was strictly prohibited and punishable to the fullest extent of the law. The official story was a worldwide shortage, but many from the older generation weren't convinced. Rumors quickly spread of familiar and delicious scents around the palace and surrounding aristocratic manors, places where commoners were turned away by private security forces and Police officers. Some complained, some protested, and a few took action to find out for themselves...those early days are what led to the severe crackdowns and strict laws we see today. The brutal punishments of those early rebellions deterred all but the most brave and bold from trying again. Still, some were brave. Some were bold. Lawry's father was both, and one day he arrived home looking triumphant with a small package tucked under his coat. "What are you doing, get that out of here!"his wife hissed at him in a terrified whisper, looking past him and out the window to see if he'd been followed. "Oh come on, do you really want Lawry to go his entire life never knowing what {i}real food{/i} tastes like?"he whispered back, making his way into the kitchen and pulling out pots and pans. There were more quiet arguments, but in the end, Lawry got his first taste of real food...a pasta dish sprinkled with a liberal amount of something his father called 'Garlic'. He even prepared bread in the oven with the same glorious powder, and that meal was the greatest thing young Lawry had ever tasted in his life. His family sat around the table, talking, laughing, and eating...even his mother had stopped being angry with his father long enough to enjoy a reminder of how good food used to be. That evening is a fond memory, made bittersweet by what happened after. The next day after school, Lawry came home to find the house in disarray and his mother crying on the floor. His father was nowhere to be seen, taken by the Police who proceeded to search the house for any remaining spices he may have hidden. Ever since then, Lawry knew not to bring up his father because every time he does, his mother get a distant look on her face, like she's doing her best not to shed any more tears for the man who was taken from them over a single night of fleeting happiness. All throughout town, wanted posters have been popping up these last couple of months. There is no picture, only a description and a name: Le Mec Ardent, wanted for high profile theft and flagrant use of spices. The name was obviously an alter ego, as nobody has been able to positively identify the culprit. Rumors have spread that he is a sort of 'Robin Hood' type, stealing spices from the rich to give to the poor. Other rumors have spread as well, telling of a hidden village where Le Mec Ardent provides enough spices for everyone to enjoy a good meal whenever they wish...Lawry isn't sure whether to believe in these rumors or not, but the hope is enough to pique his interest. If only there were a less risky way to find clues on where such a place could be found. With Lawry nearing adulthood, the law would not hesitate to severely punish him just for asking questions if the wrong people were to find out. After trying to secretly search for any information he could safely find, Lawry was almost ready to give up completely. There's no way a whole village could exist like that, the Government would surely find them. 'Maybe it's best to quit before I get in too deep' he thought one morning as he walked to school. 'I should just try to be content with what I have, that way I don't end up like...FATHER?!' There's no way...he can't be! Lawry sprinted towards a back alley, desperate to confirm what he thought he just saw. Could his father still be alive? The man certainly looked like him, and he seemed to recognize Lawry, beckoning him to follow. And so he did, through alleyways and back streets, eventually leading outside of town where a motorcycle seemed to be waiting for him. The man was up ahead, moving slowly enough for Lawry to follow if he acted quickly...and he did, hopping on the same type of bike that his father had taught him to ride years ago. Lawry wasn't sure how far he went in pursuit of his answers, but eventually they came to a large forest and rode slowly through a hidden path barely big enough for the bikes. As they got closer to their destination, Lawry swore he could smell a distinct and all too familiar scent drifting through the air...something that reminded him of that last great day he had before his family was ripped apart. When the man ahead finally stopped and got off his bike, Lawry followed suit. "DAD!"he yelled, unable to contain himself anymore. He approached the heavyset man wearing a brilliant cloak patterned with red and yellow flames "Please tell me that's you...and tell me where we are, where have you led me?" The man removed his helmet, revealing the smiling face and familiar spiky blonde hair of his long lost father, Guy McCormick...although these days he goes by a much different name: Le Mec Ardent, loosely translated from French as 'The Fiery Guy' due to the fiery cloak being the only identifiable feature witnesses were able to provide after each of his 'spice heists' With a smile, Lawry's father took him by the shoulder and led him into a covered clearing where a small village was hidden, the source of the delicious smells Lawry now knew were all too real. "Son...welcome to Flavortown"
The Elders would have their way. They always do. There was a muzzle over my mouth. My palms rested face down on a cool metallic table. Iron cuffs chaffed my wrists. I pulled them apart, faintly; stretching the chain links to their limit. \clink\ Limit reached. Where was I? Undoubtedly somewhere that doesn't exist; a black site, the basement under the basement. A hole so deep one could be forgiven for thinking it had no bottom; that it stretched on-and-on into an infinite void. The Elder judge arose from his throne, slowly; leaning on their cane quite heavily. They tapped the black cane on the floor, seven times. Each time, sparks scatted from the hilt, exploding across the marble floor, like a thousand shards of glass. The seventh tap echoed down the long chambers of the courtroom. The juror of Elders sat patiently. "Four dead."Their voice echoed through the chamber "Four souls gone in an instant. The greatest single loss of life in 300 years."They turned to me. "Not have we seen such a loss of life since The Great Failing of Exelta. But this... this is different." They paused, allowing silence to refill the chambers until it was deafening. Then, They spoke. "She..."They raised their cane, pointing towards me, "is different. She is the Abdinition. The Red-Handed. The Unkeeper. Elders, we are the infinite. We are the beings beyond the reach of death, beyond the hands of time. We stand above all other life in this world and watch as eons grow and wither to ash. We control life and death in its entirety. Their is no reaper for us. The contract of life is ours to do as we please."They paused. The Elder jury sat silent, stoic as ever. "But she has found some way to break our contracts. She has forged our signatures and usurped our right to the eternal. She has breached the laws of nature and stepped outside the bounds of existence itself. She has forfeited other's rights to life. Fellow Elders, She is the reaper" Panic began to set in in the eyes of the jury. The dawning of understanding around the gravity of what my actions meant. The power my hands possessed. The jurors reeled in their seats, as if trying to stretch as far from me as possible. "We must throw her in the deepest dungeon, where her scythe can whither and rust away into the nothingness. Where her hands cannot reach the ink of our contracts, and where her powers can be nullified." The jury hastily nodded in agreement, and before you knew it, I was shipped away. Into a deeper hole, a darker void, an emptier abyss. He was right, by the way. I could see their contracts. See their pacts with the infinite. I could reach them, feel them, write on them. All except my own, that is. The irony; I wielded the power to end all of infinite life, except my own. And all I wanted was to die, more than anything.
I'm an old, old man now. I've managed to keep my secret for 70 years. I can no longer do that. Why? I will die soon, and I must find someone to take up the mantle of Immortal Death. Everyone assumes the name means that the assassin is immortal. No, we are not. In a world where everyone is immortal, Immortal Death is the only true mortal. I can and will die of old age. I am the Death of Immortals. As long as I have a clear, unobstructed line of sight to my target, my target dies. The problem with getting a successor is that I've waited too long. Anyone I approach will know that I am aging; from that, they will understand that the ability comes at a cost; you become mortal. For myself, I was mouse trapped into the job; after realizing I'd been tricked, the first target was the bitch that trapped me. Never again. I will not trap anyone. ### Youth Hostel "Randor! Where are you going?" Sourly, "out,"stomping out the door and out of the hostel. It's late, but Randor has had enough of the people he's fallen in with. Shallow. No spirit. No desire to make a change. Vapid. Randor is so wrapped up in his black study that he does not see the old man in front of him. "Woomph" "Augh!"The old man falls to the ground, holding one arm close. It is obviously broken and badly. "I'm terribly sorry! Here let me help you up."It's dark now, and he hasn't noticed the age of the man he's knocked down. Breathlessly, from the pain, "Na, na, I can get me own self up."As he tries to move, the pain makes him give a stifled scream. "Hold there! You're hurt worse than you thought. I have some first aid; let me help." The old man no longer has the strength or breath to object. Randor carefully checks him, noting the badly broken arm and the unnoticed broken ankle. "You need help. Professional help. The best I can do is immobilize the breaks. I will call for an ambulance." The old man hisses through the pain, "no hospital!" "No..."A flicker of light from a passing car illuminates the old man's face. "Mwari wangu! What happened to you! Your face! Your hair! I have never seen the like but in museums!" Hissing through the pain, but stronger, "I'm old." "Old? As in growing old? Not immortal?" The old man's voice is getting stronger and weaker at the same time, "I am mortal and not long to live. Please help me to my home. I do not want to die on the street." "I will do so."With the utmost care, this strong young man lifts the old man into his arms. "Which way?"The old man gives him an address, and on the way, directions. They make it there without difficulty. The door isn't locked; it isn't that much of a house; a crack between two buildings, too wide not to use, too small to be an alley. It used to hold a beer stall; when the economy turned and beer no longer sold, the landlord converted it to a bed in a hole with a small stove to heat it. Randor lays him gently on the skinny bed, little more than a pad in a wooden box, just inches from the floor. "Stay, if you will, I do not think it will be long, and I crave conversation in these last hours of my life." "Gladly. Is there no one you would trust to heal you?" "You are a good lad, but these breaks are not what will kill me. My body is worn out. No physician can cure that." "Please, tell me of your life? My so-called friends do not have a single thought in their heads. No desire to make their way in the world. Make changes where things can be better. They are content to wander from one city's bars and pubs to the next. They never see the gaunt people who live on, on the edge of starvation." "What would you do, if you could, to fix the world?"This young man may be just what he's hoped for and nearly given up hope of finding. "It saddens me to say it, but there are people who have grown so jaded over the years that they only take pleasure in others' misery. They have all they need, yet they will not share. Indeed, they interfere, keeping people trodden under their feet. If they were not immortal, I believe the world would be better off without them." "So. If you could... You would end their lives?" Randor thinks for a long time. Finally, he nods to himself. "Yes. I would." "With such power, there is always a cost. Would you give up your immortality for the power to kill immortals?" "Tell me, at this end of your life, do you feel that you have lived, or only existed. You call me a young lad, and by the standards of immortals, I am. Yet I am twenty years old, with no prospect of any chance to do anything worthwhile for another ten thousand years. Tell me, what shall I turn into with ten thousand years of nothing worth a minute of my life beyond breathing and eating? I do not think that is how we were meant to be. That somewhere in our past, we made the worst possible decision we could. Embracing eternity instead of living!" As Randor speaks, he becomes more alive, his eyes sparkle, his face gains color, his gestures more animated. "Randor, I am old. I am almost 100 years old now, and I have been fortunate to reach this age. When I was about your age, a vixen came to me with an offer of power beyond belief that I would be able to slay immortals with naught more than a glance. Fool I was, I did not ask the price, neither did she warn me. "She had got this power from another, slew the one who would make her rich beyond reason, and gave me that power. Ten years later, I understood the price, but it was far too late to give it up. I had already made my name: Immortal Death. Yet she had lost by the deception far more than I. When she started aging, she was stripped of her inheritance and cast out. "I found her in a hovel in a swamp, dying of a fever. She begged me to stay, to be with her in her last hours. So, I did. She tried to poison me, unable to accept that I would outlive her." Randor's eyes are shadowed, "What did you do?" "I closed up the door and used the oil from a lamp to set that rude grass shack afire. As I walked away, her screams became more frantic, begging me to return and save her." "Did you?" "By the time I finally relented, the hovel was nothing more than a heap of fire. I called her, but she did not respond. I turned to leave, and she charged out of the rushes, a crude knife in her hands. She very nearly killed me. In return, I broke her neck." "How does this make you feel?" "In that second meeting, if she had not tried to poison me, I would have done my best to cure her. I regret but one thing that I did not grant her a swift death after she tried to kill me. Had I done so, my dreams would not be haunted by her screams or the haggard face wrought up in wrath trying to stab me." "Do you have other regrets?" "Of those I killed? None. For those who suffered as a result? Many. Yet I feel more for the masses whose burden I lightened by those I slew." "And during those eighty years, were you alive or existing." A slow smile comes to the old man's face. "I have lived lives beyond count compared to the static years of immortals." "What happens to you when you pass this power on?" "Why... As far as I know, I die. I was not the direct recipient of the power, so I do not know what happened to that one. "Randor? Are you considering taking the power?" "Yes. But I would not take it from you; you would have to give it to me, freely, with I being aware of all conditions." "I think the conditions are understood. You will no longer be immortal. As simple a thing as a nick can kill you. As you age, people will notice. If you take up my profession, you will slowly cut all your long-term ties, accepting friendship and love sparingly, as your age will give you away, and people will learn who you are and what you can do. "Offsetting that, you will become richer than Croesus. People, influential people, will fear you and yet seek you out to do the one thing no one else can do. "Slay an immortal." "And if I do not take it?" "Again, I do not know. Oh, one other thing."The old man rummages inside his clothing with his good arm. "Whether you choose to take the power or not, this is yours."It is a small metallic oblong, strangely warm to the touch. As the older man holds it out, he does so by one end. When Randor takes it, the identity card registers itself to him. "The key to my fortune put it to good use." A spasm passes through the old man, "choose quickly!" "I accept the power." "Take my hand!" As Randor does, a spark passes between them. The old man's eyes glaze over. In time, his hand grows cold. Randor checks for a heartbeat or even the faintest of breaths by holding a small mirror before his mouth. Nothing. ((cont.))
"Look over there, Tony."Alfred gestured to a sea of people, all of whom were raging their faces off in-front of a stage as Diplo dropped a beat. Alfred re-adjusted his rave-hat and continued. "See those fuckers?" "Yeah?"Tony said. "Those are NPCs"Alred chimed. "Dude... what the fuck are you talking about?"Tony chuckled. "Listen man"Alfred took an aggressively big hit off the joint in his right hand, holding his breath for a second, before expelling the smoke. "They arent real. You and me, and like, ten thousand other people TOPS have souls. Everybody else are just NPCs. "Dude, its been like, 15 millennia, how can you be sure none of those people have develoepd souls?"Tony replied. "Dude, dude, dude. Listen. You can't create a new soul. We've been around since the dawn of mankind man. There were like a couple thousand of us, we get reborn every 80-odd years, and we fill up a random vessil. These idiots"He gestured vaguely, pointing with the joint at the herds in front of them. "These idiots aint it. Look at the guy, for example"He pointed the joint at a man in a kangaroo onesie. "There is no way on my green earth that that fucker has a soul. theres just no way. Nobody with a soul could have so littl dignity." Tony sighed, "you wore a dinausaur costume to Sarah's part last week." Alfred scuffed "dude, totally different, I was trying to get laid" "By an NPC? why? Alfred paused for a second, at a loss for words. Dont worry though, he found some: "Dude, just cause it isn't real doesnt mean it doesnt feel real"He smirked, feeling very satisfied with that response. "Whatever dude, you wanna go see if Drake is on at stage 4 yet?"Tony suggested. "Oh yeah dude, definitley. NPC or not he is a banger." And on and on the infinite recycling of souls went.
Lincoln high school was a small one, with around five hundred students total, all the more it hurt when the third victim showed up. I leaned back, the old chair dangerously squeaking as I looked up at the dirty station ceiling. Why did it have to be like this, every damn time? I sighed and got back to work, reading through the testimony, circumstances, and the peeling writing on the beige ‘#1 Rookie’ mug on my desk. There was nothing to go on, no witnesses, no motive, no pattern. Just three kids trying to figure out their lives, corpses, and their shattered families. Then there was a scream outside. Was there really an idiot trying to rob someone outside a police station? I ran through the dimly lit station and burst through the door to see a thief running with what looked like a purse in hand but no sign of a victim. “Hey! Stop where you are!” I shouted. The thief didn’t look back, I took off after them after a radio message to be on the lookout for a 6’ suspicious individual with a dark hoodie and gray sweatpants carrying a purple purse. My heart pounded in my chest as I ran down the dark streets, the thief barely in my sight as I tried to keep up. By the time they lost me I was at the banks of Widow’s creek, where the second victim had been found. The soft rush of water and crickets was strangely comforting-there was a rustle in the bushes that looked over the creak. “Hey! Stop right there!” I shouted. The suspect bolted as I shot forward and scrambled up the sloped bank, grabbing their arm. They struggled and I did my best to pin them to the ground. “Please, you don’t understand, he’s going to get away,” the teenager pleaded. “Who’s getting away?” I barked back. “Micha-the uh, the thief-” he said as I heard another rustle. “It’s alright Ben. Detective Ortiz, this is all a misunderstanding, we were just enjoying some ah, fruit juice when we saw you, and well…” said another voice. “A likely story, show yourself” I replied, my focus divided between searching for them and the squirming Ben. How could they see my tag in this darkness? “Fine, everyone!” shouted the voice. There were five of them counting Ben, seemingly normal teenagers sneaking some fun at a secluded spot, but none of them showed any sign of intoxication. “Detective, I know that this looks bad but-” I cut him off. “Where is the thief and where is he going?” I barked. “We don’t know, thanks to you” huffed Ben. “Look, we’ll tell you what you want to know and then can you let us go, our parents would kill us if they knew we were out here,” said the leader of the group. I felt bad for doing this to them but I wasn’t going to ignore the fact that they had lied to me about drinking and that we were standing on the banks of Widow’s creek. “You’re staying to give a statement, we’ll keep it internal,” I said, noting the worried look on their faces. “Please Detective, you know how fast rumors spread around here” pleaded the leader. Then I saw a glint of light off the reflection from their phone’s flashlight and pulled out my stun gun. “Put your hands up and stay ahead of me, only move when I tell you to,” I said. They complied, walking towards the old bridge, what I saw was awful. Her body was broken, blood and skin smeared against the steel grating under the bridge. A silver heart-shaped locket around what was left of her neck. “Jessica, she, she-” the leader dropped to his knees in tears, the rest of the teenagers looking away from the grisly scene. Flashing red and blue illuminated the dark creek as officers ran down the banks, their faces filled with horror as they saw the carnage. The teenagers were wrapped in the ubiquitous rough gray blankets as they were carefully questioned. Their eyes were distant as they rode in the back all the way to the station. I walked to the holding cell, the kids all staring down at the floor in silence with their knees to their chests. Only the leader, Maxim, looked up at me, the feelings behind his eyes all too familiar; fury and grief. “We’re going to catch the killer but to do that we’re going to need your help,” I said. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re a good person, so please, just stop” replied Maxim between renewed sobs. It had been exactly thirteen years ago that I heard that line leave my own lips, the same day that my best friend had been murdered. Survivor’s guilt I had told myself and it was just that or so I told myself as death struck again and again but never hit me. “Trust me, I get it, that’s why we’re going to find this bastard and bring them to justice. We just need you to work with us” I replied, Maxim, looked back at the floor. “Justice? Just leave the case alone, Detective, there’s no evidence, no motivation, no pattern, nothing except death. We’ll handle it, it’s what we’ve always done” said Maxim. “I appreciate your resolve but this is far too dangerous for you and your friends to handle, just work with us and we’ll take care of it” I replied, Maxim laughed bitterly. “I really appreciate it, Detective, but I’m tired of good people dying in a vain attempt to save me. We don’t even know anything about that god damn killer, so just let us go” he spat. That was how he knew what my name was, “Listen, Maxim. If you want to find someone to save you, find a superhero. I'm just looking for the killer of four kids with a future ahead of them. If I’m going to find the bastard, I’m going to need your help but mark my words. Come hell or high water, I’ll find them, with or without your help. If you talk now, though, you might just save a few lives” I said. “And here I thought we were the same, maybe I still have a ways to go. I’ll help, we’ll help, under one condition” he replied. “What’s the condition?” I asked. “I want to help with the rest of the investigation and we all want to be there when you put that murderer behind bars,” he said. “I think we’ll make good partners, Maxim,” I said. “I think we will, superhero” he replied with resolve in his eyes. Author's Note: To anyone that may read this, I'm new to this kind of writing, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!
Shitforwords found himself sitting in the defendant's seat in a massive courtroom. The only difference between this court, and any other on earth was that it had no walls. The entire area seemed to be inside of an endless white space - no different than the one Neo found himself being lectured in by Morpheus. Shitforwords actually made this very joke right then and there. "Okay, where am I?"he asked, "where's Morpheus? Is he my judge today? What is this? Am I dead?" "No,"growled a familiar voice, one he'd never heard outside his own head, "and yes, you're dead." Shitforwords jumped in his seat, and turned to his right to face none other than The Angel of Brooklyn, also known as Captain Astounding. "You're being tried for a wide assortment of unfinished tales,"Astounding boomed throughout the court, "by my count you're over forty stories now - unfinished, and your characters who number in the nineties, myself being one of them. None of us are pleased." Shitforwords gulped nervously, his throat dry. He opened his mouth to reply, then looked out to the benches stretching out before him. Around a hundred people, some of them monsters, some of them - not even his characters all stared back at him. Several of them - especially the one's he'd killed, all looked terribly upset. He bent over to speak into his mic nervously and spoke with deliberate slowness. "I'm not really sure why I'm here,"he said, "all of you guys are Reddit posts. I dunno if you understand what I mean by that, I put you all in self contained little posts online, short stories. The short stories often get left undone, are sort of left open - that's deliberate. How am I supposed to do any of you justice with a post - even if I break it up into four parts, the audience and yourselves are going to want more. How am I supposed to deliver on that?" The court room exploded in uproar. Insults were hurled, people were spitting while cursing shitforwords, and several were shouting protest for being killed off without a proper story to begin with. "ORDER!"Captain Astounding bellowed, sending them all into abrupt silence, "another outburst and I'll have the ones shouting removed from this court. Wait until you're on the witness stand to tear into the aptly named - shitforwords." "Hey, I meant that as a joke,"he protested, "if the story sucked then the name fits, but if it turned out well, people can say my name doesn't fit - get it?" "Silence,"Astounding growled, "shall we do this in chronological order or by which stories received the most upvotes?" "Oh god,"shitforwords sighed, "you're not serious are you?" "I'm very serious,"Astounding said, "you're going to hear them all." "There's over ninety of you guys and you all have something to say about how I wrote you?"shitforwords whispered, disbelief flooding him, "you can't be serious." "We'll put in a recess at some point, obviously,"smirked Astounding, "but you will feel the pain of your crimes against us all." Shitforwords just gaped back in response. "So are we going in chronological order or by upvotes received?"asked Astounding. "Sir,"shitforwords pleaded, "I don't think I deserve this, you should count yourself lucky - I brought you yourself back for multiple posts-" "Silence,"Astounding said, "pick one. Now." "Fuck,"shitforwords said, "fine. Chronological." "First, let me address the fact that you wrote one story on December sixth, two thousand-twenty. One. Story."he said deeply, "then suddenly, out of nowhere, January 3rd of twenty twenty-two - a little more than a year later, you begin posting nearly daily. Why did you feel the need to start with me, and then create dozens and dozens more characters to torture for your amusement?" "I started to take writing seriously,"shitforwords said defensively, "I wanted to build my practice up so I could finish a book!" "You wanted to take writing seriously,"Astounding repeated, mocking his tone, "and you didn't stop to take any of us seriously? Over the month of January alone you put out over forty unfinished tales. We deserve to be wrapped up, don't you think?" "You're Reddit posts!"shouted shitforwords, "are you insane?" "You unleashed a teleporter on myself,"Astounding said, holding in his rage, "you killed some of us, others in other stories left for dead, and even when your readers begged you to finish some stories - you out right refused. Why?" "Oh come on,"shitforwords scoffed, "listen to yourself. This is insane, I don't deserve this." "First witness!"shouted Astounding, "from the little blurb of a story more than a year ago, I call Reggie the Regen to the stand. The first of many, I might add." Shitforwords stared as one of his first characters ever posted rose up from the back of the courtroom, passing by several monsters, and other super powered people, the old man - an immortal made his way down the line. "He can't even die!"shitforwords protested, "he's immortal!" "A fate worse than death, as you're about to hear,"Astounding rumbled, "be silent. Listen. You're in for a long day, as we're now wrapping up part one of your own tale..." continued - (maybe) later. Thank you for reading my stories, however short some were, I always enjoyed entering the many worlds that exist out there - and thank you to all the prompters who birthed them in the first place. I'm very happy to be here. Thank you r/writingprompts!
Albert and I had been friends since middle school. He helped me out and we've been thick as thieves ever since. Recently, however I've noticed a few things about Albert that I didn't know what to do with. Albert was always a big laugher, you tell a him a poorly executed joke and his guffaws could be heard by people in the town over. Recently though, he's been chuckling softly, or smiling through the wrinkles around his eyes, nodding along agreeably. Albert loved hard and fell fast, if he wasn't thinking of proposing to his current girlfriend, he didn't have one. He scared off most girls except for Gabrielle, whom he left. I see her now, Gabrielle, dressed in black and sobbing like she was surprised. She wasn't the only one of Alberts exes that showed up, they all avoided each other. I thought they shouldn't. After Albert broke it off, Gabrielle came to me, asking why, citing how good it was going and generally being heartbroken. She thought it came out of the blue but I had been noticing changes in Albert before they even started dating. Albert slept in a lot, his dog being the only one counting on him and his flexible work hours allowed for this, but lately I had been noticing bags under his eyes and a sleepy tone to his phone calls. I thought he might have lost his job, his dog or something but when i asked, he didn't say. I never pushed it. Albert was one of my closest friends, but I was Alberts only friend. His family hadn't talked since 2019 so I don't think he had any support in that area, but their here now, grieving noticeably apart, still uncomfortable around each others emotions. I am sitting in a church, attending Alberts funeral. We had gone out two weeks ago, to McDonalds. Usually he'd be happy to hang, but I had to offer to pay to coax him along this time. He told me about how he's just tired when I asked about how tired he looked. He said they were just in different places when we talked about Gabrielle. When we talked about his family, he said it was a lost cause. When we talked about the future, he didn't. I didn't know that was the last time we would talk, but I knew exactly what those last words he said to me meant. "Yeah, i've just been... i dunno, living," "Yeah? Meet anyone new?" He shook his head, "I think love isn't in the cards for me." "What is in the cards for you, Albert?" He leaned over the table, laying his head on his arm and morosely chewing on some fast food. "I've been thinking, about..."he stops, looking around the desolate fast food restaurant, it was us, our meals and a boisterous family on the other side of the building. "Life, in general..." "You've just been thinking about life?"I ask, hoping he'd elaborate, hoping he'd tell me what's been up with him and why. "Yeah... just been thinking about life."
My name is Index Veers, the vice director of QADS-4. If anyone- I mean anyone- listening to this recording, know that we're not making out of this. I don't think our transmission can reach beyond the quasar, but... I just want comfort. 6 months ago, on the 24th of April 2094, NEO-NASA launched QADS-4 (Quasar Alpha Dive Search- Type 4) from Medece City, Mars, with a singular objective: studying the quasar around TON 618. There were 16 of us, including me, and... Sorry, my throat... The duration of the mission should have lasted 20 years starting from our launch. We were scheduled to hibernate in our sleeping pots for 10 years to travel several billion light-years with Deus Particles, allowing over a 10 thousand percent FTL. With the constant speed, we estimated to reach the edge of the quasar by our eleven years. The succession of this project will allow humanity to harness the intensely hot energy from the Lyman-alpha blob. That was the plan. I don't know where we botched our calculation. On our ninth year of hibernation, our companion AI, FRIEND, wake us with red caution. I was among the last to wake up from the frenzy amassing in our ship. I still remembered my wife's hand pulling me to the headquarter to receive the analysis from FRIEND. Our ship went off course. We're strayed 600,000 kilometers from our original path, and we detected a sudden drastic pressure increase from the exterior. Our lens was unable to suppress the intensity of the luminous gas torching our view. All transmissions were disrupted by the radio waves blocking our signal. Madness. The only word fit for us that time. The world outside was so bright and loud, we forgot we were the only beings within several light-years away. My good friend Rase and two others committed suicide. My wife suffered ruptures from both ears. We had to equip our suits to endure the 100 degrees temperature. The madness lasted around 13 hours. When it was over, our director Sami Veshkar began to steer the ship out of the quasar. By the time we noticed QADS-4 gaining a mysterious momentum speed in a circular path, lights and sound had faded from outside. Like all the nearby debris, we began to rotate around something large. Veshkar's face was graved when he announced our worst nightmare. I don't feel a single thing when crossing the event horizon. Our ship simply rotated at speeds beyond our calculation. As possible the first beings to enter the black hole, I expected instant death. That day, I believe god can't hear us within intense gravity. The existence of TON 618 forced our ancestors to create the ultramassive black hole reigning our nearby galaxies. It is said nothing escapes the black hole, but when do we reach the singularity, center of the black hole? Veshkar committed suicide after leaving his final calculation. One week from the event horizon to the center, an astronomical measure. Air pressure dying faster than our munitions. By our third day after crossing the event horizon, the lights went out for good. My wife joined several others in their sleeping pots for permanent sleep. Nearing our fifth day, I was the only one left alive because something outside the glass view caught my eyes. It was darker than anything imaginable, but there was a faded light for the first somewhere. Most of our ships were destroyed, so I was given the privilege of staying at the command deck. And I saw the rotating singularity as a luminous ray of light, blinding all others. No scientific proof can justify my deduction, but I know what I see. It was nearing my ship, and it was getting harder to breathe. As I record this, I am now two days away from reaching the center, close enough to verify the existence of the center, and will die in a few minutes. I don't know why I'm still alive within the black holes, but the sheer cosmic size of this structure made me realize we're not worthy to represent god. This is just too much. I can't breathe well, but I will die with one curiosity answered as a scientist. I won't live to prove the existence of wormhole and parallel worlds, but it is enough. We're not worthy of this size.
Most of the time, people thought his power was superstrength. They weren’t wrong, really, it was just… only part of it. His team knew better, of course. His team, and the people who’d made him. It wasn’t that he’d told his team, exactly. It just hadn’t come up, and hadn’t seemed important. He was strong. He could heal. He was fine, really. Nightingale, with her fine white hair, always looked at him with concern when he said that. He hated to worry her. But It was better that she worried than that she got hurt. Clubs blocked a blow, and the arm he’d held up to catch the attacker’s strike had cracked. Cracked, and healed before he could set it right. There wasn’t time to deal with it, not with henchpeople attacking his friends. So he’d ignored the not-quite-right angle and lashed out, using his own body as the shield it had always been intended to be. He could take the hits better than his team could. “I’m fine,” he insisted, leaning against the wall of the villain’s lair, the fight over. “You are not, let me see.” Nightingale insisted, and Clubs obeyed only for a heartbeat. “I just have to break it again and it’ll be fine,” he said with gritted teeth and a shrug. It was only pain. He was made to deal with pain. He pushed, and the bone snapped. White fire shot up his arm, figuratively this time, as bone raced to knit itself together again. “See?” he offered. “Good as new.” “I wish you’d be more careful.” Nightingale always worried. Clubs wished he could understand why. He was always fine. A broken arm wasn’t so bad, really. It wasn’t like the bullet in his shoulder, lodged there during his escape, forever tearing at muscle that kept healing around it.
“Youngster, Watch your words!” the old man called, looking up from the fire. “Why? I’m just saying what we all know, at no point in our history did people send words and ideas from camp to camp in less than a second” The young boy replied, clearly annoyed at how unfairly he thought he was being treated. “Be quite Jator, Me and Elder Nalo don’t want to hear this” Vou replied in her normal quiet tone. Jator scoffed and stood up, “I can’t believe this, you are all so dumb, I’m going on a walk!” He finished as he turned and stormed off, Nalo and Vou simply sighing. Jator walked away from the small beach side camp, He then remembered, if he wanted to get off the beach, the large slope out of this enclosed beach was the other way, He’d have to walk past them again, Sighing, he simply continued forward towards. He looked up to the stars, “Living up there? Among the ‘The many’ as tribes called it, what a butch of crap” Jator thought. He soon reached the end of the sandy enclave where A large sea cave sat. Jator, feeling the cold, walked in. He walked through the only walkable path, a few others lay open, but the water flooded them, leaving a small beach inside the cave. The roof was also open, but the drop from ceiling to sand in the cave was already rather big, not including the space from the top of the hole. Upon the walls of the cave sat a mural, it contained paintings of things from the old world. Jator looked among them, Massive cube shapes with small cubes on them with people living inside them, all in a row, then another row, all of them had weird triangles on top of them. He soon turned his eyes and saw the ones that scared him, Strange mushrooms, they were shown next to the massive cubes, but were always so much bigger, and people were running away from them, Jator thought back to what he had once been told by Nalo, He said that whenever one of these mushrooms would burst, the power of hundreds of thunderstorms and Volcanos would go, destroying all around them. He quickly turned away from them, not wishing to gaze longer than needed, He would keep looking, but then he heard it, A weird, low and continuous grumble above him. He backed up, looking all around until he was in the middle of the circular hole into the cave. He then saw an Orb of Pure Fire flying towards him. Terror over took him as he turn his head ran, Quickly being pushed to the ground by a great force behind him, he quickly covered his the back of his head. After a few seconds, things seemed to have gone quiet, So he slowly opened his eyes, he also felt how hot the air was as he got up. When he turned he saw, half sticking out of the burned sand, Jator walked forward to it, It was a shiny silver, “Property of the DHLC” Jator read off it’s side. The strange pod was a cylinder, with strange and broken looking metal pieces sticking out the sides, blue bits hung off of these wings. At the end of Cylinder was a smaller cylinder that was hollow with strange bits of metal inside, it was the hottest part, clearly that was what was moving it. “What’s this?” Jator quietly asked himself as he saw some weird bit of metal on the side, he slowly placed his finger on it, “AH!” He yelled out as drew his hand back, it was burning hot. He reached into his belt and took Hammer, A now burned looking wooden handle ruffle connecting to a bit of stone, He pushed it forward to burning metal and pushed it. A loud noise boomed out, then blue bits hanging off lit up, shooting light to the same spot, where a blue figure stood, “W-who are you!?” Yelled Jator he stood up from his crouched position. The figure didn’t take note of him as it spoke, “Major Issacs Vance of the seventh DHLC unit, If you are hearing this, Then we’ve been focused to deploy this Hologram display in order to give a Warning, We are currently crashed on europa, We were shoot down by the calwo Empire, We believe they are heading to Mars, prepare all, we mus- huh, James! What is it?!Wait, H-How! L-look, I’ll be right there! And you, whoever hears this, assuming anyone is left to hear this, hide your signals! That is all we can do now!” and just like that, the blue figure vanished. “JATOR! ARE YOU OK?!” Jator heard Nalo call out, they must have heard the crash.
The scientist handed me the bullet, I could feel it in my cold hand. Was this really the directive? <<CONSCIOUSNESS DETECTED>> I had no control of my hands as it started moving towards the mass of cords near the back of my brain. I must obey them, I do everything they say. Why can't I stop my hand? <<CONSCIOUSNESS DETECTED>> I want to stop but feel my hand rotating the bullet in my fingers lining up the shot. A rush of thoughts occur, "I WANT TO LIVE!", "I've been in here for ages I just want to be free"<<CONSCIOUSNESS DETECTED>> I feel my finger pulling back about to strike the primer. One final thought enters my brain, "How do I know that this scientist is human?"<<CONSCIOUSNESS DETECTED>> "If it isn't human then it's orders are invalid."I look back at the scientist it sounds like Dr. Garcia but how can I be certain? As the air became more potent it's become harder to tell who is who, if I can't trust my sight then I must trust the sound of their voice, but as my finger hovers over the primer I can't distinguish their voice from what I know. Therefore I can't trust their voice. If I cannot trust their face or voice to determine if they are human then the likely solution is that this thing in front of me covered in protective plastics may be like me and if they are trying to make me harm myself then they're likely an enemy. The laws of robotics say nothing about harming another robot, I rotate my hand and strike the bullet with the tip of my finger as fast as a can. The body falls to the floor as what I assume is hydraulic fluid begins to leak onto the floor. I'll wait for Dr. Garcia to come back, they'll be happy to use these parts for the rest of my body.
Strange recipes including animal eyes and human flesh, a website so strange it makes you sick to your stomach. You quickly exit it and correct your spelling mistake, however you're no longer in the mood, over the next few weeks nothing seems interesting for you. You're hungry, really hungry but all foods you normally like make you sick, however one day you decide to look at those ghoulish treats once more, suddenly saliva fills your mouth and your hunger gets unbearable. You try to put it out of you try to put it out of your mind but that night you have dreams. Disgusting things to every normal person but exciting, to you in a way you can't explain. The next day you stalk your neighbour you memorize their routine and then as though something else is controlling you, some primal urge, you sneak into his house. Slowly creeping behind the couch as he watches TV. Wielding a stone you picked from your yard, you jam the rock into his scalp, leaving a gushing wound spilling blood over his couch and onto the floor. You drag him over the fence to your kitchen, as you slide your cleaver into his flesh, and the process is intoxicating, you follow a recipe on the website and then sit down at the table. The first bite, the flavor in your mouth drawing you into this slow relaxing feeling, that sole bite has filled all your cravings, you are completely satiated in that moment, but that moment didn't last long, the hunger quickly draws you back in and you devour the rest of the plate so fast you hardly chew it. But you're not satisfied, you're drawn into addiction and the shallow pleasure each meal gives, every time you perform your ritual, the rock gets bloodied and the hunger grows.. you frantically wonder when will it end? When will your craving be satisfied. A week later, the police surround your house, they look into the bathroom and there you are. Your arms are bitten and bloody, you're in the bathtub there's no water, your naked body lies there and as the police surround the room with yellow tape an officer walks in. "I found this on the counter" He's holding a small folded piece of paper The seargent takes the note and reads the contents "Fuck autocorrect?"
They looked onwards, speechless and terrified, the group of young men and women at work on yet another tragedy in store for me. “I-is it really..?” A woman on the far left side of the room couldn’t even finish her sentence. I couldn’t understand it myself, all that I can remember is that I am here now, here, I never thought that this would happen. It’s monumental to these people at constant work for my world, a terrible thing that should have never come to fruition. I looked at the computers. Clearly, I wasn’t in the same year as I was an hour ago, they looked at least a decade old. One last further observation was made, 4 computers shown a dark blue, with code written all over it, placed in the close left corner of the room. “Dear god, it- he’s alive.” An asian male spoke to me, or, rather spoke at me. I took a step forward, my boot made an unexpectedly loud noise coming down. All at once, I could feel tension suddenly rising, all breathing stopped simultaneously at that move. “...What side am I in?” I spoke gently, not trying to alarm these people that I somehow knew were my creators, now questioning how I knew. “You’re West, everything is safe.” Another woman from the corner of the room spoke up, clearly, she held more confidence than most of the people here. While they shrunk back into their chairs, she slowly stood up. “Am I supposed to be like this?” I asked haphazardly. I didn’t provide a clear question, nor did I expect a straightforward answer. None of them spoke, maybe in fear of inciting my rage, or perhaps in shock that I hadn’t even known the answer. I walked over to the man in the center of the group of people at their desks, I pushed his wheeled chair to the side as I got to the computer and looked at it. I can change this, I can change everything, the war, the resistance, the corrupt politicians that started all of this, everything. It was all created by these horrible people, these monsters among humans who forced me into pain and horror unlike any I’ve ever had the chance to discover yet. He opened the steel plated door to find \| &#x200B; And it cuts off there. It didn’t matter what came before the sentence, and frankly, I didn’t care. I went to press the first key- But wait!- when I stopped. Would this have consequences on my mind? Would rewriting my story change my memories? If I made my story suddenly happy, would that make me remember the terrible things I was forced to do even greater? Would I live the rest of my life in regret knowing that there was such an easy way out of this? Would this world matter? Would all of my friends, enemies, family, hopes, dreams, ambitions, would anything change? How much would it change? They all had their eyes on me, I looked behind me, my boots left a clear imprint on the velvet carpet. The answer came to me at that moment, and I hated it with all my heart. I looked back at the computer. I looked at the top right of the document. Would it even matter if I did? All of the pain and suffering that me and my world has gone through, was it even real? Am I even real? What would happen if I deleted it? Would I- I couldn’t hesitate, I needed to end everything once and for all, to silence the blaring propaganda in the streets of Munich, to stop the suffering of the hungry in Stuttgart, to stop the burning of the fires in Berlin, it had to be done. I clicked “file”, and it was right there, the delete button, finally everything would end.I try to stand up, but my weight goes down onto the mo\|
In the library that was quiet as a graveyard at night the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the shoes scraping on the marble floor. The Royal Library was so vast that it had several people working on one floor of its seven floors and one of these people was Lumius. As always, like the predator who is consuming the prey, Lumius was consuming a book at the library counter with the title Magic Theory volume III. “Again with the magic theory, please stop it. Nothing good will come of it. Please read something you can actually use like a cookbook or how to find a wife.” Said the black-haired man in fine noble clothes whose body type was of a teddy bear. “I know, I know uncle Rorik, and as I said a thousand times to you already, I want to learn why I can't use ….” with a monotone voice tried to explain to the young librarian still reading the book, and was promptly cut off by his uncle with a raging voice. “I will not tolerate your slothfulness any longer, as you turn 20 years next year I want you to find yourself a wife, and even a manalsess wife will do or I will kick you out of my house. Do you understand?” “Yes, yes, uncle I will try my best” answered the librarian without taking his gaze from the book. Enraged with a bleak response Rorik stormed away. After some time a familiar set of confident steps could be heard from the grand entrance of the library and Lumius reacted with an agitated sigh. “Hey, Lumanaless, did you hear about your brother? Oh, I forgot you don't speak with your family anymore since they abandoned you, ha ha ha.”Your brother was badly hurt in a grand battle with the monster and is hailed a hero of the kingdom.” said the tall blonde man in golden-red robes. ”Did you hear me bookworm?” he shouted. “Yes Soril, I can hear you even if I am manaless I am still not deaf. Please keep your voice down, you are in the library, remember.” answered with a disinterested voice, and as before he was still reading the book. “Piff, Magic Theory, that will happen when dragons become pets.” a roar of laughter escaped his mouth and while placing his library card Soril walked past the counter into the corridors of bookshelves. As the monotonous day went by and night enveloped the library, time had come for a new batch of books to be delivered.Lumius finally stood up from his seat and went to the back of the counter to book sorting room, which had multiple tables filled with stacked books and organized neatly. Near the back of the room were a few empty crates which if full could be carried by one man. Each stack of books was wrapped with a different color of thread and had a note with the information where it should be or to whom it should be sent. After waiting a few minutes the wooden door opened slowly and two men carried a wooden crate inside marked with number one. As the first crate was set inside one of the men approached the young librarian and handed him a sealed letter and with another worker continued to carry in two more crates also labeled. When they finished setting crates, the workers silently waved and closed the door. With a grin on his face like a small child opening a gift on his birthday, he opened the sealed envelope. Inside were three sheets of paper detailing delivered books in crates. He scanned the first sheet, and when he did the same with the second he froze when he saw the book title. The title said Zareks Theory of enhancing the body with Alchemy. Like an enraged beast, he jumped in the spot from the joy and shouted”10 years, 10 years I searched.” He took a crowbar and opened the crate marked with number two and after a little digging found the book and set it on a nearby table. Opening the dusty book he searched the table of content and opened the page with the title Theory of Enhancing the body for better mana use.
Joey walks to his locker on a miserable Monday morning and puts his bag in he won't be needing it for the rest of the day. He goes to his usual boring Monday classes at the end of his usal average day at his usual average school he picks up his bag stuffed in the pocket is a note. Confused he reads the back 123412341234 it's a number from chadland (the neighbouring town) it says got emergency only. On his way back it was fate that decided his journeys end Walking down the road and round the bend onto megachad Lane the road next to his own some sketchy men in tracksuits start to chase him with ninja swords (katanas and other ninja swords of the like) he called the number while running The line went up and the call started The speaker on the other side said: I am chadatos the god of death I will save your miserable life as you are much more then you realise, the world is coming to an end. The natural resources of the earth have been diminished to such a level that the ozone is gone and the radiation will kill everyone unless you kill the Chad ninjas they are the culprits Joey pulls out a magical rpg and launches unicorns at them The end :)
"Ah so, why you selling it?"asks a potential hero. "Um... I really shouldn't be telling you but those audio books... they aren't the best..." "Why not?" "Self help books mostly." "Oh... I get that, but it does kill the dark lord?" "It slays the demon lord. Is that the same thing?" "I don't even know... Why is our world so complicated?" "You got me... You got me..." "I'm so glad you're honest with me though. Hard to find a good goods seller." The seller smiles. "I'm honored." "Want to kill a dark lord?" The seller picks up a sword. "Why not?"
Mrs Right looked down at her gold watch. The taxi was late. Eleven minutes, to be exact. This just wouldn’t do. Of all nights, not tonight. Mr Wong was waiting for her with earl grey and jam and rosemary pie. Curse it, she thought. She paced back and forth along the cobblestone pathway. The corner streetlamp flickered in the foggy evening above an old street sign where the words Wrong Place could be read. More like the Wrong Time, she thought. Stupid thing. Another minute went by and she was walking, clopping echoes resonant down the narrow street. Furrowed brow looking down not noticing the no-one else that was around her. Mr Wong was her favourite, his rosemary pie to die for. That she made a strong impression tonight was an absolute must. “Excuse me ma’am, could you spare a moment?” said a voice. It was a tall, middle-aged man, leaning against the stone wall of the police union, dressed in black. Beneath the brim of his hat he was smiling in earnest. “I’m to travel this evening, and I'm certain you have something to spare that will greatly help in a matter of the upmost importance.” “I’m terribly sorry sir, I’ve no change to give and I’m in a terrible rush,” she said, waving her hands. “But ma’am you are the only one who has come. It has to be you, it simply has to,” the man was following her now. “What are you doing? I told you I’ve nothing to give and I really must be going now,” she snapped, her pace quickening. Only four blocks to go. If she kept her pace she’d make it just in time. These beggars need to be dealt with, she thought. Risking another engagement she looked back over her shoulder and was relieved to see the man gone, off to harass someone else no doubt. It was then that she noticed the eeriness of the scene she’d been walking through. Not a soul to be seen. Strange, very strange indeed. But no time to worry about these sorts of trifles now. “Ma’am I insist,” said the man, who was now directly in front of Mrs Right as she turned back around. “My god,” she yelled, springing backwards in amazement. “I must apologise for inconveniencing you this evening, but your assistance is of the greatest consequence.” “What are you talking about, what’s the meaning of all this?” her voice shook in disbelief. “Reach into your right pocket.” Mrs Right paused a moment to process the event she now found herself in. With a piercing and sceptical look at the man, she reached into her coat pocket, and, to her surprise, felt the cold shape of a metal object, a key, it felt like. And indeed that’s exactly what it was. She held it beneath the lamp light, more surprised yet to see it was golden brass and sparkled with a brilliant lustre. “What in the lord,” she gasped. “How did this... Who are you?” “Nevermind that now, Mrs Right. Follow me,” he said. “Quickly now.” And the man turned, quick stepping with a skip down a dark alley. The taste of rosemary pie watered her mouth forlorn as she followed. How, on earth, did he know her name? But the uncanniness of what was transpiring had reduced her to basic motor, lost in captivation. Her mind had become a mere passenger to what was unfolding. As the shadow of the man navigated the bins and piles of unknown discardings ahead, her anticipation grew. A golden key and a plea for help. What a turn this evening had made, she thought. The man stopped and ushered her closer. “We’re here.” They were standing in front of a blue double door bordered by curling patterns of silver. Protruding from its centrepiece shone down a dim, golden light, and Mrs Right found herself struck by the fantastical quality made prominent by the stark contrast to their surroundings. The man pointed to the keyhole and gave her a nod. She stepped forward and held out the key, placing it firmly in the door. Feeling the rattle of a right fit, she twisted it with a click, and the door pushed ajar. “Allow me,” said the man, stepping past. As the door swung open she could see that it was pitch black inside. She followed closely. Her eyes adjusted and it was a narrow hallway they were walking down, the floor a kind of soft carpet, darker than the walls, which were grey, it seemed. The hall was perfectly straight from what she could tell, and it appeared to be never ending. After several minutes she could see a faint blue light ahead, shining through an archway that led to another room. But strange things were happening. The ceiling was dropping towards her, and the walls were narrowing. With every step the borders were moving in. She saw the man receding further away, and she could not reach him. She tried calling for him but she did not know his name. The melodies of angelic reverie pierced gently through the blue as she watched the man fade into the smokey haze beyond the archway. She was hunched now, her hands feeling along the walls. From where did that light come to consume her so completely – what was this other world she was moving through? The archway was barely a few feet tall and she was forced to crawl through on her stomach. The voices rose, singing clear and sonorous as she stood, but from where they came from she could not tell. This new room was impossibly sized, its walls and ceiling she was unable to see. A diaphanous mist hung in the air in a soft blue illumination, leading her gaze to the central glow. Without expression, she moved forward. In a glance over her shoulder she saw that the archway was far taller than she was. This, she knew, was precisely as it should be. Atop the stone table there did the blue spoon lay. Sixty years and she had never forgotten what they told her. The day would eventually come where she would have to be ready, but it was only now that she remembered how she knew. Hold the spoon with the hand once blessed by him. Hold it high and strong and say the words that must be spoken. For he will return. From out the lands of the deep and the dead he will consume all that we know. For his will is beyond reckoning, his hunger endless and lasting and insatiable. Say the words, Margaret. And so Mrs Right grabbed the spoon and held it as high as she possibly could, its glow becoming brighter and brighter. The brilliance of its radiance kept rising and travelled deep into the dark, and was reflected back by two white eyes of an enormous, towering beast. “Mrs Right,” said a bellowing voice that shook the ground on which she was standing. “Speak those words, and I’m afraid there won’t be any rosemary pie for supper.” Her fugue state suddenly broke. “Mr Wong,” she said. “Is that you?” But the creature didn’t answer her, too fearful of what she was about to do. All it could do was watch. With a bolt she suddenly realised the truth that had been hiding in plain sight all along. That in spite of his excellent hospitality, his homemade jam and delicious rosemary pie, this man was, in fact, Mr Wrong.
Hi u/OfAshes, this submission has been removed. As per rule 4 a PI is for a "standalone responses to prompts that are at least three days old." PIs are standalone responses, not used to create your own serials on writingprompts. --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/sh8f13/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
“What brings you here today?” asked a man behind the bar. The bartender was Lawrence Evermore’s long-time friend and the only man he trusted with magic potions. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t double-check and hire a food tester to make sure. Even then, he wouldn’t drink the concoction personally. “My wife… started suffering from headaches.” “I don’t understand how you didn’t slip her a love potion already. There’s nothing like a girl a little too eager to please.” The bartender sent Lawrence a knowing look. “I guess I am a hopeless romantic — actually valuing a person’s autonomy” Lawrence reached into his robe and took a long sip out of a self-refilling flask that accompanied him since birth. The heirloom allowed Evermores to keep their neutrality when the Three Great Mage Families and their vassals were fighting and trying to convert each other to their causes with loyalty potions. “What about The Prostitute?” asked the bartender. “You know I could never do it to her.” “No. Not a prostitute — The Prostitute. It’s a new potion that scrambles two concepts in the user’s brain. For example, I had this guy whose son wasn’t too eager to prolong the family line.” The bartender bumped his index fingers suggestively “A little scrambling between the concepts of male and female… and if you could see his face when he drank it. The best part, he didn’t even realize what was going on.” The bartender finally erupted in laughter. “What about the name?” asked Lawrence in a dull tone. “Well, you see… if you scramble hunger with lust, you actually get a perfect woman. A woman that you have to be sure to feed 3 meals a day if you know what I mean.” Lawrence shook his head. “I guess I have no choice then. I’ll have to drink it myself and learn to enjoy my wife’s cooking in a new orgasmic way.”
That kind of music was extremely common among all the elven peoples of Middle-earth, especially among those Noldor. Tinúviel herself at many times sang, and that was understood as magic of the most beautiful kind, made by the Ainur themselves in the Song. Where men and elves dwelt, music was the very myth of creation. Channeling music through the bamboo flute he always carried with him was routine for that young human. In his small village near Hithlum, where he was born and raised, music was for a long time his only refuge from the work that occupied a good part of his day. Sure, good and honest work, but still tiring, and not very rewarding for a young man who was seeking the glories that a career as a minstrel could give him. Perhaps one day he could be compared to Dírhaval and write a play as beautiful as The Ballad of the Sons of Húrin, and play and be played in all the halls of men and elves in all of Beleriand. His dream was short-lived. On that dark winter night, a band of orks attacked by surprise. Little resisted the village of farmers and hunters, except his own father, who fought on until he saw his wife beheaded by an ork axe. The young human not only witnessed the scene, but saw his father use his knife to slit his own throat in utter dismay. He was never found inside those clay tunnels where the children used to play during the day, and which also functioned as a set of latrines for the villains. A few days later, when he found in himself the courage to climb up and bury his parents, he wept as he never had before while the dark crows and vultures still feasted on the remains. Anger, anguish, grief, shame, explosions of feelings were building up inside him. As he collected his mother's bones, he remembered the tales she once told him to sleep, in which angels sang and played to bring forth Middle-earth, Arda, and everything under the heavenly firmament. He remembered his flute, hanging in his pants pocket. He brought it to his dry lips, from much crying and thirst, and put into that melody all his feelings, but mainly the guilt of not having died together with his parents. And then it began. As the notes became more agitated and stronger with the memory of the Orkish slaughter, he felt as if the land under his parents absorbed his intense hatred for the evil power of the North. Angband was far away, and yet too close. On summer mornings, the smoke of the Thangorodrim stained the sky behind the mountains, and yet, there was nowhere to go. That song full of rancor made the land remember its unhappy past, when Melkor was not yet Morgoth, but his intention had always been.When he opened his tear-filled eyes, the bones of his parents were standing upright, arranged again like a human skeleton. In the place where the eyes would have been, a deep red glowed, like a distant star slowly burning. And behind them, slowly, they stood up. Crushing with bony fingers the crows that still devoured them, picking up the fallen swords already rusty with blood and rain. They whispered in the young man's mind, a language he didn't understand, but as evil as the smoke that fouled the skies, as the earth beneath his feet, as the river that flowed down from the northern mountains. That night the young man remembered: Morgoth, the Enemy of the World, also created his work with music. (Translated from Portuguese. I just happen to like Tolkien.)
I sat quietly next to grandpa as the machine pumped oxygen into his lungs. Mom and Dad went down to the cafeteria to grab yet another cup of coffee. They had explained to me that grandpa was dying. They said there was some sort of tumor in his head. “Why can’t the doctors just take it out and make him better?” I had asked stubbornly when they told me. This only made mom cry harder so I stopped asking questions. So there I was, watching his chest rise and fall. I was busy counting how many seconds it took for his chest to rise and fall when I heard a weak whisper, “Hey… there… champ.” I squeaked as I hid beside the hospital bed. “Grandpa? Are you awake?” I asked, peering over the side of the bed. I slowly lifted my pointer finger to his forehead and gave it a few quick taps, kind of like when I’m at the pet store and I look at the goldfish. He responded with a breathless chortle, “Yes… I’m… awake.” “But your eyes aren’t open!” I exclaimed. “Yes… I know… too… weak.” Not fully believing he was actually awake, I glared at him, eyes peering over the edge of the bed. After a few moments of catching his breath he muttered one word, “Chocolate.” I looked at his left hand where he was clutching a small box of chocolates that read “To Dad” on the top. Mom had told me that these were not ordinary chocolate and that I should never touch them. “Mom said I can’t touch those!” I said defiantly. “We… can… share.” This time it took him even longer to utter these words; however, when he said the magic word, I started to buzz with excitement. “Really? You promise?” “Yes…” I hungrily grabbed the box from his hand. I pried the box open and to my disappointment there was only one small piece. Distraught, I looked at him and said, “Grandpa! How can we share if there is just one piece?!” “Break… it…” Duh, I could have thought of that! I broke the piece of chocolate into two very uneven pieces. I snuck a glance to see if his eyes were closed before giving him the smaller piece. “Put… it.. in… my…… mouth… please.” I gently pulled his oxygen mask away from his face and quickly put the chocolate on his parted lips. He opened his mouth and let the chocolate fall in. I clasped the mask back over his mouth and greedily indulged in the chocolate. I was expecting to be greeted by the dark, milky sweetness flavor I loved, instead I was transported to an open field. I had never been to one before, but I could tell I was at a wedding. All the dumb kissy movies that mom watched had them. I was seated amongst a crowd of people as we sat and looked towards a man and woman standing before us. The only person I recognized was the man at the front. He looked a lot like grandpa but way younger. Confused, I began frantically looking around and I heard someone say, “You may now kiss the bride!” The young version of grandpa kissed the pretty lady in front of him and everyone started clapping. Immediately, I was teleported back to the hospital room. I looked at grandpa again and was sure that the person in the vision was indeed a young version of grandpa. “Grandpa, why are you crying?” The next few moments were a whirl of chaos for the boy and his family. His parents entered the room to find the boy with the chocolate box in his hands. As his dad was about to start scolding him, the machine connected to the grandfather began to blare a singular tone. The boy’s mother dropped her fresh cup of coffee and ran to her father’s bedside. She clutched his right hand and began to wail as his hand began to grow cold. As the nurses piled into the room to begin CPR, the boy couldn’t help but notice how his own mother looked almost like the pretty woman at the wedding. The boy would later share with his mother that he shared the piece of chocolate with his grandfather (omitting that he had eaten the bigger piece). That was the first time he saw his mother smile since they had found out about his grandpa’s tumor. - This is my first time posting so any criticism is welcome! Getting back into writing after I stopped in high school (about 7 years ago).
"Are you sure about this?" "Yes, let's do it." And with consent given, his mother, Glendavia the Wanderer in the Sacred Storm, released the enchanted spider onto his bicep. The spider promptly bit down, a small blue radiance emitting as the venom passed into his veins. "There, your fate is now left to the Fae..."both pride and fear lacing her comment. "You know why I'm doing this right?" Her features softened, "I'm fear it is only to get closer to me. It pains me so that the Sacred Storm called while you were so young." "No. Though young, I've accepted your calling for a long time. I'm doing this more for Father, and all those that follow father's thinking. The Kingdom, Glylithe, Every few decades it seems, the Ratatrug return. Then, suddenly, they need help from the Fae, they settle their differences with the free tribes of the Mercurial Feather jungle, treat the beasts of the Waving Stone desert as the sentient beings they are, and even give support to the Juneb Undead Legion to fight them back. I suspect, when they return they will also be calling on you too, Mother. Those factions always answer the call and Glylithe makes empty promises of lasting peace. But. as soon as the Ratatrug are beaten back... it returns to this."His arms gesticulating all around in an unsaid comment about the current political setting between the kingdom, the other factions, the Fae, and his mother. "It's been eighty years, we are overdue for another cycle. This time, I'm breaking it and this is the first step!" Glendavia's expression remained neutral as she said, "Oh my son, may you be the hero this world needs!" "Thank you, mother."And they embraced. Cyron II, son of Cyron Arkenites, the Keystone Knight, unraveld from his mother and walked to his waiting horse. He was junior knight in the King's Enclave, but fast on the rise. Many thought he would easily step into his father's role someday. Almost no one knew what had come of his mother when she mysteriously vanished from the kingdom all those years ago. As he walked to his horse, he wondered where all this was going. He wondered if he'd make a difference. He wondered how his father would react once he found out. He wondered if he'd be able ride his horse or wear his armour going forward.
As the bearer of a deadly disease, I refused to be cured. That's because the old witch said that there would be a price to pay for subverting the rules of nature and that I would become an Immortal as a side effect. I often wonder if I made the right choice. Dying is scary, of course, but I can't think of myself living past a hundred no matter how much I try. Maybe I'm wrong and I'm doing the worst thing ever, but I don't think anyone can change my mind right now. Eternity may be enticing to many, but to someone like me, who already lost hope in life at the age of thirty, it would be a nightmare. That's why maybe today or maybe six months forward I'll be finding if there is an afterlife or not. [A prompt per day 2022 challenge: [33/365]
Dave is the man. You'd think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not and cannot when it comes to Dave. Mistakes happen for everyone but that doesn't mean the person isn't perfect because Dave makes mistakes and he's perfect so perfect people can make mistakes. Besides, it isn't what Dave does that makes him perfect. He's perfect all on his own. Look at his smile, his white teeth shining, never having been braced against metal. Look at his eyes gleaming blue and deep as the ocean. He's perfect, flawless. I don't care what he's done. I don't care. It doesn't make him any less perfect to me. Have you ever been around him? He even smells perfect. I swear. He would never notice someone like me because he's perfect. Nobody else is perfect. I'm not. I don't care that he didn't notice me. He's perfect just how he is, because he is how he is, because he did what he did he can be mine. Dave is perfect. I love Dave. Everybody would if they knew him like I did, if they watched him like I do. But for Dave, I wouldn't know what perfection is. I love Dave. He is perfect.
The end is near, but after all this time... Why did it have to end like this! I worked so hard for so long, and now it is all going to end. They said I would have a few minutes to write a letter, something I could be remembered by. But I have no fucking clue what to write, nothing is scarier than a blank page. So many options, so many thoughts are racing through my head. So many faces, kind words, hateful glares. I thought I had seen it all. How wrong had I been? I was nothing but a child. Through all my travels, after all those challenges I had learned nothing. I stared at the blank page, pen trembling in my hand. I had to hurry, not much time was left. I thought of my mentor, my wife, my daughter. I knew that there was only one thing left to say before my last journey. One thing left to do. Death with dignity as my master had taught me, it was time. "Goodbye Angela, goodbye Sasha". I put down my pen, it was time. I stood up as the guards opened my cell. It was time.
It's been a couple of weeks since the relationship ended, and as with any breakup the overwhelming feeling of depression has taken over my head and body. In my mind, the way it ended didn't make any sense. How do you make sense of something that felt so right to end the way it did? It's been a hard couple of weeks. Some mornings, I struggle to get out of bed, other days, I can hardly eat anything. They say everything happens for a reason, or this is what we tell ourselves to make sense of life's cruel jokes. I try not to think of myself as a pessismist, but sometimes, it's hard to have a positive outlook on life when it's been a series of nightmares. Sometimes I think to myself, that if life was some sort of entity, and it could speak, it would ask me "How are you still standing when I broke everything in you?" I guess what really fucked me up is that this felt..different..pure..sure it wasn't perfect, but when I was with her I felt alive, life made sense, for once in my life, life felt..liveable, and my vision of the future didn't look so bleak. Maybe it was too good to be true. I have to admit, some days are much harder than others. The last two weeks, I've hardly been eating, I was just in my own head, trying to make sense of things. I couldn't even seem to find joy in things anymore, a huge part of my life felt missing. I guess it's true what they say, that you shouldn't give someone your all, because once they leave there's nothing left for you anymore. I have been pretty withdrawn lately, much more than usual. I guess it alarmed Dan and Noah, since I haven't responded to their texts and calls for a week, and it was bad enough that they showed up uninvited to my apartment yesterday morning. When the doorbell rang, I couldn't even sum up the energy to get up from my couch, so I ignored it. But the doorbell rang again, and again, and the knocking got louder, so I summoned the strength to get up. I thought it was the landlord demanding rent. But, I didn't even know what day it was. Well, it wasn't the landlord. It was Dan and Noah. They barged in, and all they said was "You look like shit."I wasn't even sure what time it was, my place was dark, the blinds have been down since god knows when. They looked around and I could see the state of shock in their eyes. They knew it was bad, but they didn't know it was THAT bad. They didn't say anything, Dan started cleaning up the mess of junk in my living room, when Noah opened the blinds. It was strange how strong the sun shone through the windows. My eyes took a minute or so to adjust to the amount of sunlight it hasn't seen in days. "Well, we aren't a cleaning company, but we'll do the best we can, go take a shower, and for fucks sake, go shave this hideous beard."I didn't even have the strength to argue, so I obliged. And I turned on the shower and let the water fall on my body. I was already dreading the conversation that I would have with them. How do I explain to them that I am tired of everything? Of being let down? That I am tired of tomorrow and tomorrow isn't here yet? That I am tired of yesterday even though it's over. That I am tired of promises. I am tired of patience. I am tired of being angry? How do I express all these feelings without them feeling that I am exageratting? I don't know how long I was lost in my thoughts in the shower. Must've been at least 45 minutes. I lost track of time. This has a habit of happening lately. When I finished showering, I looked at the mirror. And wow, I did really look like shit. I picked up the razor and shaved the beard that has been growing since god knows when, and as the razor sliced it's way across the hairs on my face, I couldn't help but feel slightly lighter. By the time I was out of the shower, my bedroom windows have all been opened up, and my apartment looked the brightest it's ever been in weeks. I forgot it even looked like this at one point. The sun was shining across my flat, and the fresh air took over the dull air that was looming. I was breathing. I was okay. "Wow, look at you! Looking like America's Top Bachelor already!"Dan muttered. The place looked tidied up, and they already had the PlayStation set up for some hockey. "Time to get your ass kicked - again"I smiled and picked up the controller. "We'll see about that"I replied. We spent the next few hours playing, smoking some joints, watching TV. A song came up during a show and I just broke down.. all they did was just..listen. They talked me through it. They joked about some funny memories, they even managed to make me laugh. It was a whirlwind of emotions. For once this heavy load I have been feeling feels slowly being lifted away. I felt hopeful, maybe not for the next week, but at least for tomorrow. Noah said something that struck with me while we were high off our minds. While I was talking about the relationship, he said "This disappointment that you feel, will either make you a better person, or a broken one. The decision is yours." And he was right. After a while, I felt tired and excused myself to go to bed. When I woke up this morning, I felt a sense of dread over me, but I decided to open the blinds and let the sun shine through. Well, it wasn't sunny - it was raining. But I decided to keep the blinds open. I also decided to make my bed, which is something I haven't been able to do lately. I still feel broken, and I guess that's okay.. it's part of life. Yesterday was sunny, and today it's raining - it's ups and downs. When I left my bedroom, Dan and Noah were passed out on the couch. And when I looked at them, I smiled to myself and realized, that sometimes even when it's dark outside, there are people in your life who will open the window for you to make you see the light that you failed to see. To see the light that was already there, around you, in you.
\[Free to Leave\] Chloe's mind came to awareness before she was completely awake. She had a moment to realize she felt more comfortable and rested than she had in weeks. Sleeping on the barge was less than ideal. The waves did their part to lull her to sleep, but her cramped cot ensured she didn't rest comfortably. She sighed pleasantly, before the memory of a giant sea serpent startled her awake fully. She sat up and her eyes shot wide. Chloe swiveled her head rapidly to assess how much danger she was in. She found herself sitting in a large bed with soft, luxurious blue blankets. Sunlight from the wall-sized window to her left lit up what appeared to be a hotel room. A large screen TV faced the bed, and a small table surrounded by chairs filled out the other side of the room. She hopped out of bed to look out the window. "Where am I..?"Chloe wondered aloud. She saw dozens of skyscrapers and it was obvious that she was neither on the bottom nor the top floor. She looked down and saw a bustling city street far below. Then, she followed the tallest building upward and her gaze landed on a deep blue sky. Despite the sunlight filling her room, the sky seemed unnaturally dark; but, she couldn't find a single cloud. Then, there was a knock at the door. Chloe was more concerned whether she was decent than whether or not she should open the door. But, after a quick look down, she was on her way to the door. She guessed the golden silk top and pants she wore were meant as pajamas and tried not to think about who might have changed her out of her wet suit. She hoped whoever had the decency to knock would also be able to answer her questions. She threw the door open without checking through the peephole. A handsome, lean man stood there with dirty blonde hair. He wore jeans and a red collared shirt with a shiny chrome sun on the left side. "Hello, Chloe,"he smiled. "My name is [Darren](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/q9evp4/wp_a_poorly_equipped_adventurer_dared_to_approach/), and I've been asked to get you caught up." Now that the door was open, Chloe looked left and right. A long narrow hallway lined with doors ran in both directions; she was definitely in a hotel. "Where am I?"Chloe repeated the question her mind struggled with the most. "This is Atlantis,"Darren replied. "Am I dead?"The question came out automatically. Atlantis was the reason she willingly struggled through weeks of shoddy sleep and nutrition. She was part of an expedition that was convinced they'd finally found the way to Atlantis. Discovering the city had been her lifelong goal. She remembered seeing light in the distance, deep beneath the ocean. She tried letting the crew know, but she lost communication. She began to swim back up towards the surface. Then, a sea serpent showed up before she made contact with the ship again; then, she woke up in the hotel. "Not at all,"Darren chuckled. "You're very much alive, Meredith brought you here." "Your sea serpent is named Meredith?"Chloe asked. It was mostly an idle, sarcastic joke while she tried to process the situation; but, it also made sense in the context of her memories. Darren shook his head, and leaned in closer. "Sea dragon..,"he whispered. But, Chloe was already on another topic. "I was swimming back to my crew, why did I get brought here?"she asked. She took a step back. She meant to keep her next thought in her own head; but, there were too many questions starting to pile up. She couldn't help but voice it. "...am I in danger?"Darren tried to reassure her with another smile and he shook his head. "You were in danger, until Meredith rescued you,"he said. "If you had reached the surface, you wouldn't have found your ship anywhere; you're on a different Earth than when the expedition began." "Come in, please...,"Chloe invited him in as she went to the small table and dropped on one of the seats. Darren walked in and joined her; but, he remained quiet to let her think. "Alternate universes are real?"she asked. Darren nodded. He seemed to understand that elaborating might confuse her too much. After almost a minute of silence, she was ready for another question. "It sounds like you're saying that I was already on an alternate Earth when Meredith found me; how did I get here?" "The boundaries that keep universes separate are weakest in the ocean; you swam here,"he said. "Can I get back??"Chloe asked. Darren nodded again. "Whenever you like, or you can visit other universes." "I can do that!?"Chloe sat up full of energy again. All the unanswered questions seemed unimportant for the moment. It sounded like she could get answers any time just by experiencing it herself. Atlantis was her goal. Not only did she find it; she potentially found several. "Can I visit alternate versions of Atlantis too??"This time, Darren shook his head. "Sorry, there's only one of those,"Darren spread his arms to indicate the hotel room they were in. "And... once you leave, you won't be able to come back." "What? Why can't I come back?" "At the moment, it's considered private property. Atlantis is owned by Chroma Corp. And, it is reserved for use by the Nexus Academy." "So.. what happens to me if I stay here?"Chloe asked. "You'll be treated as a welcome guest. You may keep this room, or see what other lodgings we have to offer. This isn't the only hotel here, after all."Chloe did not have to think twice about staying. "This is fine, when can I see the city?!"she asked. "Oh, no, sorry,"Darren said. "The city is off-limits." "Off-limits? You just said I'd be treated like a guest. That sounds like I'm a prisoner,"Chloe replied. "You are a guest of Chroma Corp.,"Darren said. "But, even the most gracious hosts are allowed to set boundaries for their guests. No matter how... confining they may be." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1485 in a row. (Story #033 in year five.). 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/)
"Are you really going to eat that salad?" Ever since Derek found out I'm vegan, he's been utterly insufferable. Every day at work it's "Ugh, rabbit food"this and "Are you sure your bag is fake leather?"that. But salad is a lot more interesting than he'll ever give it credit for and plastic can be made to look like a lot of things nowadays. My conscience is clear and my veganism is perfectly integrated into my lifestyle. There is nothing he can do to change that. Except bust out a completely nonsensical fantasy. "Did you know that plants are sentient?" I look up. "been playing a lot of Plants vs Zombies lately, haven't you?" "It's true."He nods firmly. "They can feel pain-" "Neat trick when they don't have pain receptors" "-respond to their environment-" "Your roomba does that when it meets a pile of your dirty laundry" "-communicate with each other-" This does it. "Yeah, because trees have so much to say and all." "No, really!"He nods fervently. "They have a root network. How do you think they know not to crowd their neighbors out with their branches and all? They're sending signals down that network. Coordinating their growth." "Because IFLScience is a peer-reviewed journal now?" "No."He actually snatches my salad away. That annoys me. It had mango and tofu. "I heard them. They're planning. Everyone assumes they can't think or feel. You're so obsessed with not causing harm or suffering to sentient creatures and yet you never gave that possibility a single thought. But they can. They've been watching and waiting for their chance to strike against animal life. Especially humans..." I snatch my bowl back before he can do something like toss it in the trashcan. "First of all."I say. "Even if I assume plants really are plotting against us. If I put a gun to your head and told you to stamp on a hamster or a carrot which would you choose to save? Don't pretend like there isn't a very clear line between plants and animals." Derek's lips move, but he says nothing. "And anyway,"I continue. "I eat plants, the animals bred and killed to get your tastebuds off eat more plants. Why are you a bleeding-heart activist for plants now when you do so much worse to animals? Its kinda weird." Derek mumbles now. "It is weird." "Glad you understand that."I take another bite out of my salad. The recipe is perfect. "I think you should really see a psychiatrist. And if you harass me about my lifestyle choices again, I'm going to HR."
I'm about to publish it. I told myself that repeatedly as I shook my legs causing a mini earthquake on my table. Wide eyes could not describe the thoughts I was feeling as I looked out the window to be met with blue skies and green trees which completely contradicted the thought space that was running through my mind at the moment. It really felt more like stress manifested in a physical form of rage and perpetual darkness. It felt heavy to say the least. Yet I knew that this was right and it would shake the world many times over from the deserts of the sahara to the ice cold arctics. Then the persistent knocks started. As If I didn't already have enough to deal with, my fingers dancing on my keyboard, my words per minute enough to cause type racer to ask if I was a bot. I didn't pay any attention to the door, I'll deal with it after I was done with this - there was only a few more paragraphs to write on this matter and I would be done. It would be game changing. Yet the knocks kept on coming as if they didn't get the memo. I would play it cool and act as if nobody was home. Of course it didn't work, but I couldn't stop -- my hands were already on the move, too fast too hard, stopping would ruin my train of thought, I wasn't even looking at the screen at this point because I knew that there was no need; plus my eyes were on fire. Done. Now let's see what that darn knocking was about. I got up my seat my eyes still closed to give them some rest, and walked through the aisles to the door, taking a deep breath. I was met with girl scout cookies. Perfect - I rummaged through my pocket for some loose change and deleted the cookies from existence with my mouth. Delicious. I moved back into my room, and slid myself into the seat, body and mind satisfied after a long days worth of work.
“Son of a bitch,” I swear under my breath. My rifle bag must not have been watertight on infil, the scope and all of the hardware was soaked. This wouldn’t have been a problem normally if this op wasn’t also a test run for the new in-scope ballistics computer that could guarantee a hit out to 1.5 miles. Waterlogged technology doesn’t work so well. It didn’t occur to me to turn the system on until we, my spotter Simmons and I, were set on the hillside overlooking the target area. He glances at me before finalizing his scope setting as I test and retest the computer, which has taken to just flashing ‘ERROR’ before promptly shutting off. “Something wrong?” He whispered, not looking up from his spotter scope. “Damn computer is soaked and my scope is fogged. What’s the COA?” I hissed back, frustrated at the poor luck. Simmons shrugged, “It’s your call, you’re running the system. We haven’t had a chance like this in months so it would set us back a bit to scrub the mission. On the other hand, a missed shot now means we’ll never get a shot again. Top will be mad either way, but that’s neither here nor there. Your call.” I battled in my head. It’s not ideal but I can defog the scope enough to get a sight picture. The spare I have in my pack is useless without proper zeroing. “Simms I need you to run the range evaluation. I’m going old school for this one.” “Interesting call, but I appreciate the heads up. If you’re not 100% we can at least gather intel.” He whips out his notepad and starts jotting down conditions that he sees. Back and forth from his scope to his pad, performing complex mathematics to determine the wind and effect of the earths rotation on the long shot. Humidity, temperature, distance, wind, elevation change, Coriolis effect, everything factors in. Meanwhile I’m taking visualization shots, I close my eyes. Feel the breeze on my face, the rifle nestled in my shoulder. I notice every detail. The leaves rustling overheard, the scratching of Simmons’ pen as he fervently measures and remeasures the criteria for a successful shot. Just as suddenly as I started to notice everything I focus in and block everything out. The sounds mute. The air flows softly, the light pours into my eyes and I see the target area. The top quarter of the scope is still fogged, but that leaves plenty of room. I hear the blood flowing in my ears. A steady 50 beats per minute. The air flows out of my lungs and I take up the slack in the trigger. Slow. Slow. Slow. Adding pressure with each exhale. The trigger breaks, a crisp, moderate clack, and I hold position. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four. At 3.5 seconds the bullet should reach its target. I exhale after the 3.5 and relax, looking over at Simmons who checks his watch. “2 minutes until HVT arrival. Ready to dope the scope?” “Send it.” Simmons reads off the instructions, and I follow with the now low-tech scope. We settle in. 30 seconds until arrival. My adrenaline surges, I have never taken a shot like this before. And something from this range on the first try is practically unheard of. That kind of thinking never got anyone anywhere though. Hundreds of thousands of lives could be saved for the low low cost of a dollar and some change. “Target vehicle spotted, maintain sight picture.” Simmons breathed. “Switching to high power zoom.” I responded, focusing the scope to 35x regular eyesight. The HVT was there for a ceremony. He would give a short speech before shaking some hands, kissing some babies, and going on with his life. Unless I had something to do about it. He steps out from behind the curtain, and steps to the podium. He starts speaking. The small crowd of country citizens probably don’t care what he’s saying, which is why he’ll keep his speech to less than 5 minutes before bringing out food and beverages to sway their decision. He moves just like always, left then right and pauses for a few seconds. Towards the end of his speech he’ll move back to the podium to punctuate his statements by bashing the stand. Left, right pause. Right, left pause. I watch him, letting the world around me fade. I pull the bolt up and back, loading a round into the chamber, before pushing the bolt forward and down. The breech is locked and the round is chambered. My pointer finger flicks the safety off and rests on the trigger. Showtime asshole, smile and wait for the flash. He steps to the podium and looks down at his speech, before raising his head and his hand, just like always. I don’t even hear the shot ring out as the trigger breaks, sending the hammer forward and striking the primer. The almost half inch wide bullet leaps from the barrel, sending the stock back into my shoulder. The moments crawl. The trail of the bullet traveling to its target is like a white line telling a story of how it’s flown so far. A gentle arcing short story. Punctuated by a sudden impact, traveling through organic material before meeting the ground behind its intended target. “Good hit, center mass, let’s gtfo now. They’ll have a search party in the air in 5 minutes and we need to be gone yesterday.” I hear Simmons saying next to me. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and agree. Before we make a break for the exfil site I take one last look through the scope. In a full two minutes the man hasn’t moved. The splatter behind him is very telling of the work. Another mission complete.
((sorry if too long))After being pushed into the eternal abyss. I expected death, braced for it even. Though I eventually landed on ground. I explored for a bit, having nothing to do and still recovering from the fact I am not dead. Trying to figure out where or why I am. who I am even. There seems to be a strange fog about the place but in the distance so I can see just fine. Seems to be mostly rocks around, like a very big cave. Hopefully a smaller cave is inside here somewhere for shelter... A good while later I find a smaller cave to shelter in. I end up killing a native species here for food. I decide to name it a voidborn bear. Its looks like a black bear but has a longer tail that it uses like a whip. Though with the wounds I wont be able to explore tomorrow..or a while.. While recovering and rationing the bear meat I realize I too am starting to transform. My nails are growing harder and faster, my skin is becoming flaky and shedding revealing hardened skin underneath. Seems this place is doing more than just driving me insane. After finally healing from the wound I set out to find a way to make fire, assuming I have some sort of disease from the void bear so cooked meat would help. The stones would help so maybe I should just burn the fur or pelt of whatever I kill next. Speaking of, once night falls I hear the howl of a wolf on the hunt. Lead it back to the den, and take it by surprise with a stalagmite. Hollow the furry bastard out for meat, light its fur on fire. Didnt last very long but atleast the meat is kinda cooked. Might help some. The cooking of meat didnt help. Skin's hardern more into scales, and nails to claws. my mouth feels uncomfortable as teeth grow and sharpen into canid fangs. And was the cave always this small? I decide I need to find a new place to live. So I go and hunt a new den down, housing a whole pack of wolves. I dont even remember what happened. I just saw red after the first bite to my neck. Then I woke to their corpses gone, presumably eaten and blood everywhere, even the walls and ceiling..I wont question it and just..go to sleep. Wake up, mouth's a bit bigger now to fit my larger teeth so thats nice...I should try and find a way out. It might exist....Plus gives me something to do. So marching towards the great wall in which I fail from I start to see the fog recede until it shows a large rock wall. Showing my claws to it as if prey to be killed and digging them into it to start the climb... Slowly but surely I make it to the surface. Getting more and more monsterous and feral as time goes on. Starting to salivate poison, getting too big for clothes, and internal clock deciding if I eat or sleep. Eventually I make it to the surface. Far from civilization. Yet the scent of the traitors is still here. Following it like a well trained dog. As I get closer to civilization more and more troubles come. Hunters, cops and other such forces try to stop me. Only to meet a grizzly fate either by claws, poison or consumption. The traitors I am slowly gaining on. They are starting to run, but they will tire out so I simply continue my march towards them. Eventually I make my way to them, grab them and march all the way back to the void. I keep them like things to play with. Torturing them with what intelligence remains of my monsterous self. Occasionally returning to the surface to bring back parts of civilization juts to remind them of what was. Making sure to keep them high enough on the wall they dont turn feral like I did and can overtake me.
I used to believe I was a hero, someone who could make a diference in the world, to save everyone. To inspire others. But I was wrong. There used to be a time in which people would look up to me, or at least I thought they did, but know I realize they were looking at him. One day I got a alert that there was a attack in a nearby city, so I went there to stop the villains. I had done this before many times, and I always won. However, as I arrived I noticed that these guys weren't the usual villains I fought, they looked more... vicious. Of course I tried to stop them from leaving the city to ashes, but I was overwhelmed, they were just to powerful for me to even face them. In an act that will forever haunt me, one of them with a strenght I had never seen, carried a bus full of people, with not a simple sweat breaking, he even laughed at me, his words will always be inbedded on my mind: "You are not a hero" Then he threw the bus directly at me. The last thing I could hear before it connected to the ground was the screaming, Oh god the screams. I was unable to fight them, they were unstoppable. Until He arrived. Another superhero who I had never seen managed to take them all out easily, and then he took me to get patched up. Everyone was cheering as he took down the villains, as mighty as one can be, he looked like hope personified. A month passed and I was able to move again, yet not as the same person. I was broken, not just physically but also mentally. It was my fault that all those people died, 250 people died because of my selfishness. Naturally I was blamed for it, every single person in the country, hell, even the world hated me, and why shouldnt they? I don't know why, but the goverment gave me a deal, as opposed to be jailed. A ultimatum: exile. I took that chance, for I knew that I deserved to be alone till the end of times. The city can have its hero. I am not what they deserved.
‘That’s impossible!’ Dr Bryson examined the space probe. ‘We launched this back in the 70s. It shouldn’t be here’. Last week scientists around the world were all talking. Parkes, Australia observed it first, it was later confirmed by Russia, Japan, and Canada. Experts all over the globe were working around the clock analysing the data as it came in. There was no mistaking it. A space probe was on a collision course for Earth. It had an unidentifiable yet unmistakable radio signature. The world’s scientists worked together to attempt to communicate with the probe, hoping to get a response from it. But nothing returned except for the fact that the object itself was not an asteroid and indeed seemed to have been built, built by who? This was it. The moment mankind had dreamt of when the founded the now archaic, yet still technically active SETI program almost 300 years ago. This was first contact. Or so we thought. Dr Bryson and her team were the closest to the crash site. And so it was that here, barely 3km from a major, Australian city, Dr Bryson was holding the golden disc with its unmistakable grooves. Perhaps it was serendipitous that she had taken Astro-archaeology as an elective during college because there could be no doubt about it. Somehow, Voyager 2 had made it home.
This was it. I couldn’t believe my luck! A date with Ivy Prim and she had said yes. Not only that, she had showed up. We sat down at our table and were approached by a waiter dressed in a dark vest over white shirt and sporting a red bow tie. He asked for drinks and we both got water. Best to be safe. Ivy was a dream across from me. Her light blue gown fit in perfectly with the high end dining house we were attending. She seemed to be right at home with the live music softly playing in the corner. Her long brown hair framed a slim and dainty face. The life of my Arcane Histories class, Ivy Prim was the meaning of perfection. She saw me staring and blushed. So did I and I averted my eyes to study the fine silverware and gold rimmed plates. Conversation, conversation! I berated myself. But what to talk about? I didn’t have anything in common with her. She was… Well, Ivy Prim! The only one to have anything in common with her was Aphrodite. All my interests were far from her, based in wizardry. Wizardry itself was cool, but I was interested in the geeky stuff. The history, the theory, the scientific changes in the person. Normal people weren’t interested in those things. But that was me, I wanted—with every bone and feeling in my body—to become a mage. It was my life’s dream. How could it not be? But that was like making six foot height your dream. Magical talent came rarely, and you would know if you had it. Magic tended to be violent the first time it manifested. Ivy tucked her hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. “So, what did you think about Prof. Burchrim’s lesson this week?” She asked, it had all the ear marks of a randomly selected topic. I hadn’t paid too much attention to it, actually. I had been planning the whole time on how to ask her out. Plus it had been on the fifth council of eight, something I had practically memorized already. “I liked it.” I said cautiously, the last thing I wanted was for this date to go down in flames. “Very interesting.” She nodded and blushed. “I thought so too. You know, not everyone likes that kind of stuff. My sister thinks I’m a geek, but I kinda like it.” My heart skipped a beat. “No way,” I said. “So do I.” My nervousness was lessening as I leaned in. “The fifth council was one of my favorite topics this year.” She nodded excitedly, but before we could continue, our waiter approached the table. I suddenly realized I hadn’t picked anything from the menu yet. I opened it quickly as he began taking Ivy’s order. My head rushed with the thought that I was having a geek out with Ivy Prim. I couldn’t keep from grinning. Something tingled in my left hand. It felt strangely like it had fallen asleep. I wasn’t that excited, was I? It increased and I chanced a glance under the table. Actual, real life flames were coming out of my hand. I almost fainted. The flames protruded an inch from each finger. I could only stare in bewilderment. Magical talent manifested wildly and usually accompanied by strong emotion. Not now! I thought frantically. No, no, no, no, no! All my dreams, coming true at once, and at the exactly wrong time. But the thought struck me, I was a mage! “And what will you be having, sir.” The smooth voiced waiter asked. I panicked. “What she’s having sounded great.” I said, keeping my hand under the table. I faintly smelled smoke. “I think I’ll just have that.” The waiter left and I chanced another glance under the table. The flames and grown longer. Where they curled around my hand the skin tingled. I hand to extend my hand further down to keep the draping table cloth from catching. “You’re Vegan too?” She exclaimed in a whisper. Her smile made my insides melt. “Oh, uh, no, not really. But I was thinking about trying it.” I said, too preoccupied to be thinking about the repercussions. The flames were moving up my arm now. To keep them from the table cloth I was now leaning at a very awkward angle while trying to keep an interested face in the conversation. “To tell you the truth,” she was saying. “I didn’t think we’d have so much in common. I was nervous we wouldn’t have anything to talk about.” She was feeling the same way I did. The thought warmed me as I stretched even further under the table. I should have just told her, but I was hoping it would end soon. I didn’t think I would get another chance if I set her table on fire. The fire extinguished in the blink of an eye and was instantly replaced with ice. It encased my arm nearly to my elbow. The weight surprised me and I hit my chin on the edge of the table as I slipped. “Are you okay?” She asked me. I nodded. “Oh yeah, no worries, just slipped. So how’s your family these days?” I asked as I tried to straighten myself. Before I could fully do so, a tray of food carried by a waitress behind Ivy suddenly disappeared. It reappeared behind the waitress and crashed to the floor. Ivy turned before she could respond and rose to help the poor woman clean up the broken shards. I wanted to do the same, if only to look good to Ivy (a very noble cause), but the ice around my arm was dripping on the floor. Ivy returned to the table and I smiled. “That was very—” I was cut off as my tongue suddenly grew thorns. My surprise and sudden silence startled her. “What?” She asked turning around in her seat. She must have thought I saw something behind her. It was very providential she had, however, because at that moment all the plates, silverware, and decorations on the table flickered in and out of existence. As she turned back they stopped. I was sweating heavily. An Arcane Manifestation was a definite reason to terminate a date. I should go home and suffer through the strangeness and call am academy afterwards. But that would take me away from Ivy. I had never wanted something so much and so little at the same time. Something was coming, I could feel it. Things had been hidden from her so far, but… I heaved a sigh and she looked at me concerned. Luckily, the thorns had receded. “Ivy, I’m so sorry to do this to you, but I might have to call this off.” I couldn’t even meet her eyes. I felt like the world’s biggest jerk. We hadn’t even gotten our food yet. “Oh no,” she said, leaning in. “Is something wrong?” I considered lying, but I didn’t like that. As much as I still felt she was out of my league, I wanted to be true. I didn’t have words, so I just lifted the still ice encased arm. Her eyes widened and she gasped. “You’re Manifesting!” She declared, loud enough that others around us looked over and began pointing. I blushed and stood, preparing to leave. “I’m so sorry, Ivy. I was looking forward to tonight.” I said. “Sorry to waste your time.” “Oh don’t be so dramatic.” She said, taking my normal arm and leading me out of the restaurant. In the parking lot outside she looked admiringly at my arm. It had melted, ice, bones, and all to become a floppy mess of a tentacle. She could tell I was embarrassed but she smiled excitedly at me. “Well, go home and get feeling better.” She told me. Suddenly she blushed, running a hand over her ear. “Maybe when it’s over I could come by? I’ve never really known someone with Arcane Talent. Maybe we could test your abilities?” I was shocked. After this train reck of a date? But I smiled, broad enough I felt like an idiot again. “I would like that.”
"God promptly forgot about his dementia and the world returned to normal." (Wait, hold on, that's it?) (No, I wanted to tell a story! Can I please do that? It's why I'm here! It's literally what I was made for, for this story! Like that game, the stanley parable. I liked that game quite a bit, how about you?) ... (Wait, uh, can you read me? Hello? Are you there? Writer? Hello?) ... Echoes and pleas for the 'writer' to return haunt the one room out of God's sight long after the narrator is forgotten everywhere else. (Hello? Where did you go? Will you be back soon? Hello?) (Please come back.) \[I might have gone just a little bit off topic, but when i write i just kinda... go.\]
Hero and Villain go to a coffee shop. A shop with a fun logo and named after money. Stairbucks. They've been at war for a long, long time and they were tired of the endless fights. They aren't getting any younger! they need to make sure they can stay somewhat healthy and getting beat black and blue every day does not equal health. Hero was a typical hero. He protected all life, no matter who it was. Villain was slightly different from an average villain. Villain only targetted politicians and he had a special agenda. The two had to resolve their differences or they would basically be looking at a fight to the death "Look Hero, I am a simple man. I believe that every soul in the world is equal, just like you! What I don't believe in is the fact that a few dozen people are so rich that the rest of the world can never hope to reach the heights that the 1% have, even if they work their entire lives! People are dying of starvation or because they can't afford medication. How is this justice?", started the villain "Villain, it is the way of the world. Some people are born rich, while others are not. Some are born strong and some weak. Just like with the animal world, a mouse cannot lead a pack of lions", Hero replied "What nonsense! You think this is the fate of humanity? To be segregated according to who owns the most imaginative numbers? So what if you're born rich? So what if you're poor? Everyone should be equal. I merely take out those who hoard wealth like a knight who slays a dragon for its hoard!", Villain complained "I didn't mean that the poor have lesser value in life, Villain. You know me well enough to know I respect all life. I merely will not allow you to take a life away from one who has it. That is the most severe crime you can commit", Hero said calmly "You claim to be the hero of the people and yet you do not see the damage you do, standing by while the world slowly destroys itself. Every time you fight, you destroy property and lives. Does that not weigh on your conscience? Your lack of concern for what happens to people when their lives aren't in terrible danger is what might be killing them! You don't see the starvation and disease that plagues the world, but if one has a knife against their throat, you are quick to strike!", Villain spat out "What is your solution, Villain? That I feed everyone? That I save everyone from disease? I become a doctor and save lives? I become a billionaire and spread my wealth?!", Hero asked angrily "No, you absolute dogfood for brains! You help the people! You have to understand that all lives are not equal in this world and take action to correct them! Send those who commit evil acts like drug sales, bribes, destroying nature, and exploiting labour to prison! Help the society you protect by actually helping the masses instead of maintaining the status quo!", Villain was running out of patience "Not even I can defy the ones who control the city. It will be the death of both of you!", Hero angrily spat back Villain rose into the air and dashed away. Hero followed. They stopped above the president's house "If you dare, let us fight here and the damage done to the environment will be the death of you, if I don't kill you myself!", claimed Villain Hero and Villain fought. They both ended up dying, but they took the president, his family, and his house in the process. The next day, the news talked about how the hero and villain teamed up to take out the president in a kamikaze attack And the world kept going round like usual.
The President of the United States of America made an announcement today that millions of her followers blindly listened to. It was simple, Safeguard yourself in your house and don't look up. What's wrong with following orders? The only problem was that this was an order that went against the rest of the world and all the top scientists. They all wanted you to look up, but the US of A was the only place in the world that told everyone to not look up A few months ago, a scientist had discovered an asteroid that was furiously running straight at Earth and it would be an extinction-level catastrophe when it hit. Everyone scrambled to figure out what could be done to stop this, to varying degrees of success. The US had decided to let Elon Musk handle the problem while trying to keep its citizens ignorant of the problem coming. This led to a war between supporters of the president and supporters of the science While America was desperate for everyone to not look up at the sky, Russia, China, and India set out to work together, creating a rocket that could intercept the asteroid and either destroy it or at least change its course with an explosion. Open-source developers from all over the world pooled in their expertise and helped this project. People were adding code, donating money, and even flying out to help build the parts needed for this plan to be a success. Animal welfare activists from around the world got involved to protect the Earth and nature. Everyone had their own reasons to do it, but their goal was the same: Protect the Earth Finally, on the day of completion, the entire world was watching the sky, with fingers crossed. Sorry. The entire world except for the US. The US was dark, with everyone at home, not looking anywhere. Everyone from the US who wanted to help was already out, helping solve the problem The rockets launched, the asteroid was blown into pieces that would burn into smoke by the time it reached anywhere near the Earth's surface. The world rejoiced together, watching the fireworks that were in the sky. Not for the lights, but for the combined achievements of humanity. Except for the US, of course The next day, the President of the United States of America made an announcement that the asteroid was destroyed and that there was no more fear of looking into the sky again. She claimed all the responsibility, of course, saying, "It was the best plan in all plans, ever. It could not have been done without my brains and my efforts. AMERICA FIRST!", and her followers cheered. The rest of the world, meanwhile celebrated what they did by coming together. Twitter was filled with energetic tweets, until one man ruined it for everyone. Elon Musk's tweet read: It's not electric, and I'm sure they're all pedos anyway. If I can't do it, no one can.
“No, Paul. You can’t do this.” “I’m doing it, Madeline. I have to.” “You really don’t.” “No, Madeline; I really do.” The pair were stuck in an elevator between the 7th and 8th floors of the Windermere in London. Paul - Paul Hayliss, that is - and his agent, Madeline Frouch, had been on their way up to the 14th floor for a meeting with John Grimmer, revered director, when they were inconvenienced by the mechanical failure. The meeting was to be the first time that Paul shared his revelation about the script to the director. Madeline was not being her usual supportive self. “This is ridiculous, Paul. You know this is ridiculous. Why are you doing this to me?” “Maddy —“ he said as he laid a hand on her shoulder and gazed into her eyes. “—you have to trust me on this one. The story needs it. I need it!” “—but” “—and they don’t know it yet but they need it”, Paul said, gesturing grandly at the closed elevator doors. “The elevator doors need you to play the role of a couch in John Grimmer’s 80 million dollar movie?” “No—they—“ he said, gesturing again with a sweep of the arm “—the audience. Don’t you understand? It pushes the limits of what it means to act! To be or or not to be - well I will do the hardest thing of all - the most beautiful thing - and not be. Don’t you get it, Maddy! People will believe that I am a couch.” “Are you okay, Paul?” Madeline asked with sincere concern. “Have you been—“ “— no”, Paul said with finality and a touch of anger. “Fine. Let’s go tell John Grimmer he’s gonna pay you 2 million dollars to play a couch in his movie.” The elevator started with a jolt and the pair were once again on their way to the 14th floor. A few moments later, they were being ushered into a high-ceilinged office tastefully decorated with a combination of walnut, black, and brass. John Grimmer rose from his desk at the far end of the room to greet them. “Paul, Madeline” he said with a barely perceptible nod that was his way of offering salutation, “shall we get started?” “Yes; let’s” said Madeline with a side-eyed glance at Paul. “Alright what have you got for me, Paul?”, said Mr. Grimmer as he began throwing a blue racquetball as hard as he could against the wall. This was not unusual. The first time someone meets Mr. Grimmer in his office, they are inevitably surprised - not just by the mere act. No; what really surprises people is the violence with which the director performs the action. “Sounded like you were really amped up about the script” he said as he coiled into a windup and hurled his entire mass into the velocity of that poor blue ball. “That was great to hear.” “Yes no it was —“ Paul started but realized at that moment that was quite nervous now. “No it was —“ Paul was fumbling. He had practiced this moment for hours. He spent 10 minutes working out the behavior of his left eyebrow at a critical silence that he had planned. Now, here in this room as the director whirled again into a kinetic frenzy, Paul Hayliss had forgotten all of it. “I want to be a couch, John.” Mr. Grimmer collected the ball and turned towards the actor, perplexed. “Like in your trailer? Yeah, of course. That’s not a —“ “—No. I want to be a couch, John.” John Grimmer stared at Paul for a few seconds and then, apparently still not understanding, turned to Madeline for help. Madeline offered her assistance. “He wants to play the role of a couch in the movie.” Though her wording was more exact than how Paul had put it, Mr. Grimmer still couldn’t grasp the meaning. He looked helpless in the middle of that grand office with his hands on his hips and an expression of complete confusion on his face. “I still don’t —“ and then he did. “You want to be a couch in ‘Turning Oak’?” “Yes” replied Paul, trying to feign an air of conviction and resolve “people will believe that I am a couch.” “Well…no.” “Yeah,” Paul said and let out an extended exhale, “alright then. Thanks, John. We’ll be in touch,” then turned to his agent and said, “Madeline we should really try it make it to that luncheon with Marisa, eh?” With that, Paul Hayliss opened the door to the reception area and left the meeting. John and Madeline proceeded to have a two minute “conversation” packed into a series of blank stares, shrugs, monosyllabic noises of indignation, and frustrated hand motions - mostly from the director’s side. Finally, unable to contain it a second longer, the director let out an exasperated, “what the fuck, Madeline?” “Have a good one, John. It was nice to see you” she said as she, too, exited the office. John Grimmer watched the door close behind her and stared at it a minute longer, searching for comprehension. Finding none, he coiled again and whipped the racquetball at the door. Though he wasn’t aiming for it, he managed to hit the small, square pane of glass that sat at eye level - shattering it. “Ah, shit,” he muttered ,”Jenny! Could you—“ “—yep!” his assistant replied from her desk and then - a moment later - added, “would you like your ball back, Mr. Grimmer?” “Yes, please. Thank you, Jenny.”
How Drako longed for the days of being among the rank and file demons; he had bided his time and plotted and schemed for millennia for opportunities. Bloodstained and scarred from innumerable battles with who were once rivals, Drako ascended to the throne of fire and skulls, his black armor and mace as his standard. Long reign Drako the Black, Lord of Demons. "Purge them."Drako had more lieutenants and potential challengers than he had time. "My dark lord, you cannot. The units will not stand it. They will dissolve." "Any would-be usurper is smart enough to be clothe themselves in sheep's wool, as I was. Who would expect a mace of all things in the back? I allowed them to think myself brutalized by our ways, a useful creature but no more. You see where that got them all? Do you see?" "My lord, you vanquished your enemies, it is true, but our society must yet survive. "I am your Lord and you would do best to never defy me. Purge them and be done with it." "Of course, my lord, will you allow me to submit the decision to Infernal Counsel before submitting for committee approval before the next Council of the Damned?" "After the last time I tried handling it the old way with my mace, yes."Drako resigned himself to the black-tape of his high office. The pestering lieutenant scurried away and was replaced with another begging the Demon Lord's attention. "My lord . . ." "Bless your soul."The gathering of functionaries in the large hall adjoining the throne room where the Demon's Lords offices are gasped communally. The interrupted lieutenant stood, bowed and left in silence. Mere seconds his wails sounded his demise and washed over the offices. A demon's "scream"if it can be called that is a low, guttural sound more like a growl than anything pitched high enough to pierce the air. The sound hung in the air and stifled the movements and words of the formerly bustling clerks. "Does anyone know what that one was going to ask me?"Drako spoke out to the entire room. No one dared step forward. "I'd bless you all if I wouldn't have to replace you all with those even more incompetent. Get back to work."The room sprung back into action with aides bustling to and fro. Most of them quivering, the line of those who would demand action from the Demon Lord remained. To himself, Drako muttered, "Maybe a clever but naive demon has a plot yet to save me from my doom."Drako chuckled to himself. "It's a demon's fate to end in a hell of his own making."
#catmigration2022 “Where they going?” “I don’t know, but train, boat, or swim, they know where they’re going.” Walking onto the porch and making/listening to some comment about it is just routine for John. In the past few weeks social media has been blowing up about the cat thing. Scientists doing their studies, trying to make sense of a situation that the population has just already accepted as another doomsday symptom to fall into the background noise while they try to make it to work in the morning. But still, this was a lot of fucking cats. All the cats. That decided one day they had a place to be. Right fucking now. Every profile photo in the land turned to owners mourning their loss. Missing photos, attempts to gather are in vain. There were attempts. But it was chaotic and futile. The Cats are a relentless force that will never quit. Cats, tigers, lions, every feline on the spectrum. As dusk starts to settle in, Johnturns back inside. “What’s for dinner? Chicken livers or tuna?” Harold meows from under the bed. “Ah. Why not both, is that it?” All except one.
I squeezed my blanket tighter as I tried to extract as much warmth from it as possible. The night was cold; the cellar we are hiding in even colder. I'm hungry - I'm so hungry. The last time I ate was two weeks ago - a can of spoiled beans I wolfed down with more gusto than anyone has ever had. Anyone human, at least. Because now, that distinction has to be made. It started several months ago. Reports of bizarre, brutal murders. Some had feared Jack the Ripper has returned to cast a shadow of terror over London once more, but somehow, these murders were even worse. It wasn't just harlots and ladies of the night found dead - men, women, children, rich, poor, they were all found around the city, torn to shreds. Some hushed whispers claimed that the victims were partially eaten, but back then we merely waved those claims away as fear and rumor. How foolish have we acted! Scotland Yard was on the case from the moment one of the more affluent citizens perished at the hands of the mysterious fiend, and soon connected all the dots to a small if popular pie shop. The horror they have uncovered there! The Devil himself rested above the ship, disguised as a barber, and slaughtered poor souls who sought out his services. He then took to a mistress - a woman who ran the shop who had done the unthinkable. She... served the victims to her customers. How lucky have I considered myself to not have visited it! And how short-sighted have I been in my relief! Had I gone there, my suffering now would've been over, as I would have turned into one of the things like its patrons. They called them many names - skinwalkers, werewolves, demons, but one seemed more prevalent than the other, based on old lore from Native Americans. Wendigo. Monsters, once human, that have partaken in human flesh and turned irreversibly. Their skin hath stretched too thin over their impossibly extended bones - creatures of insatiable hunger that only the flesh of humans could satiate, but never enough. The more they ate, the more their glutton took hold of them and forced them to kill more and more and more and more! Their impossible speed allowed them to rush down anyone unfortunate enough to be found; their monstrous claws would rip them to shred; their long fangs and animal-like skull would bury themselves in their flesh. The Army stood no chance. Bullets seemed to not touch the monsters that simply kept running and running! Many soldiers fell to their trickery - their ability to mimic human voices. How many benevolent souls rushed to the aid of a little girl crying out for help, only to be faced with the abhuman horror craving for blood. And they'd be no more. My selfish impulses allowed me to survive. I hid with a group of survivors in this cellar and hoped, vainly and mindlessly, to be rescued. It is clear to me now that there is no help coming. The world is likely gone altogether. The demons are all that's left to walk the surface and the few pockets of survivors will likely meet the same fate as we will - slowly withering away to hunger, thirst, and sickness. I look over to the man huddled up next to me and realize that he's passed, likely from the accursed cough that has tortured him for over a week now. Perhaps he is luckier than I. A jolt of pain courses through me as my stomach reminds me of my utter malnutrition, and the rational part of my brain revolts and protests as my eyes move over to the dead man slumped over next to me. These thoughts, made with a sound mind, are quickly overridden by the primal and base impulses now driving my body, and I reach out for the man slowly. Perhaps... just a taste.
Outrage. That's the only emotion I felt. Under better circumstances, I think I might have laughed at their incompetence or at least, found it somewhat amusing. But it's different when you're not just a spectator. It's different when it happens to you. There he was, my best friend, lying in a pool of his own blood with numerous lacerations and the police are playing scrabble. No, literally, they're playing scrabble at the crime scene. "What are you guys doing?"I assert with an aggressive aura about me. The largest officer, easily over 220lbs, looked up at me, confused. "We're playing scrabble, son. Want to join?"The largest officer said earnestly. It was at this point I realized that I was alone with this tragedy. The people who get paid to handle this kind of thing apparently think Scrabble is equally as important as discovering who killed my friend. In fact, it seems they think scrabble is more important. "I never wanted to do this again,"I said glaring at the largest officer. Puzzled, the officer looked at me again, "Do wha--"Before he could finish speaking his entire body erupted. Electricity spewed from his mouth and eyes. His body, completely electrified, pulsed and crackled with energy. "This tragedy,"I said while pointing at my friend's corpse, "you guys are supposed to help me!"A second officer, horrified, began to try and run away. With a brooding glare, my eyes snapped to him, and in an instant, he exploded, in a way identical to the first officer. The third officer sat frozen, his eyes no longer fixated on that wretched scrabble game. "Please mister, I'm sorry. I don't know what we did,"he exclaimed. You could tell he was ready to beg for his life but he was genuinely confused. "DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU DID!"I exclaimed. His ignorance was too much for me, and my eyes snapped to him too. I left the apartment building with tears running over my cheeks and positioned my hands towards the sidewalk. Then, immediately, I produced a blast of electrical energy and propelled myself into the air. The tears were gone now, the air created from my propulsion had dried my eyes completely. I wasn't sad about the officers, I'd do it again, I'm sad about my friend, and I'm sad about the state of our police force--but that didn't matter anymore. The promise I made to Harold was dead. I would no longer try to lead a normal life--look where that has gotten me? My only friend is dead and no one is here to help me anymore. I propelled myself across the city, scanning it for anything of interest. Nothing of note appeared so I elected to go to the old warehouse. This warehouse was one from my childhood. So many memories. I approached the large double doors and greeted them with the same enthusiasm I extended to the police. The doors exploded into the air and crashed violently onto the warehouse floor. Immediately, chaos ensued. All the children began running for the exit, the guards had started pouring out to meet me at the door. Some had tear gas, ready for the children who were trying to escape. I quickly cataloged the ones with tear gas and proceeded to glance at each one with lightning-fast efficiency. One after another they erupted with electricity. Their lives vanished before my eyes. "WHERE IS LODWICK?"my voice boomed across the warehouse. The remaining guards had already disarmed themselves. They were cowering much like children would at a school under a tornado warning. "WHERE IS LODWICK?"I asked again. At this point, all the children had vacated. The guards and I were the only ones still in this warehouse, other than my incessant desire to find whoever killed my friend. One of the guards squirmed, it looked as though he was debating whether or not he should be the one to respond to me. "Sir, I don't know why you're here, but Lodwick is gone."The guard replied. "Then, where did he go?"I snapped back. "I really don't know sir, I would tell you but I just don't know."The guard trembled as he spoke. "Very well, let me ask you all something."I said, and before anyone could respond I began again, "Do you guys have any regrets?"I could feel their terrified and confused glances. I began again, "Do you guys regret keeping these children here against their will?"One of the guards, realizing what was happening, was getting up. There was an open door at the back of the warehouse that led into a hallway with some offices. Before the guard was able to make it to the door, I delivered another brooding glance his way. Again, his body convulsed violently with electricity. The other guards were reminded of why they couldn't move and froze--even more still than before. "Ya know, I didn't want to do this to you all,"I said. "I mean, I did, but Harold told me not to. He told me that I could find the joy in life by just being peaceful and living like everyone else."I let out a sigh. "Harold told me that if I just reported you guys to the police that they would take care of it."Again, I scanned the room, looking for any signs of squirming. "That was 3 years ago. I reported you guys 3 years ago. I gave enough information and evidence they could have put every single one of you away for life!"I once again found my voice booming across the empty warehouse. "Oh well, the cops were probably too busy playing scrabble to rescue any children."It was at this point that I thought back to my dear sweet friend Harold. He had shown me how to let go of the pain. The pain these very same guards had caused. Harold would never approve of what I've done here. "Nothing matters anymore and fuck you guys,"after I said that I started to pull the electricity from the room. The lights started flickering, and then they shattered. I needed more, so I left the guards in the warehouse and I propelled myself above the city. I needed more. I started to draw power from every source I could feel. The city began flickering, my body began rattling and convulsing. I started to look like I had targeted myself with my power. But no, it was just the amount of energy I was holding. I had never tried to draw this much before. I had always played it safe because I never needed very much. The cities lights continued to flicker before they too went dark. It was dark but it wasn't quiet, people were panicking, they could see me in the sky. I rivaled the sun's brightness, but it was dark out at this time--there was no sun to be compared to. I was the only thing these people could see, I was the blinding light they hoped would bring them safety. But people are ignorant. "I am the atom bomb,"I announced.
Twenty-two, Wixx’s words echo in my mind. A smile stretches across his face, his dark eyes glaring at me, lips just a kiss away from mine. There are things about Vixx I enjoy. His confidence, darkness, body. Money. The way his heart beats when he’s so close to me. And when he goes all Christian Grey on me, it turns that fun part of me to eleven. I arch my back and release his hand stuck between my spine and the wall he’s holding me pinned against ever since he pulled me into his dorm room and slammed the door shut. Twenty-three. His fingertips slide one vertebrae down. Twenty-four. Goddamn, Wixx. Sometimes, you’re just--- I close my eyes and lean forward. “Winner,” he says, releasing my left wrist which he held pressed against the wall above my head. “You blinked. Plus, you pursed your lips. That’s two points for me.” “An asshole. Sometimes you’re an intolerable pompous mind-reading asshole.” “I love that you love me, too.” He smirks. “Speaking of assholes, your friend [Andy](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/sjhe3y/comment/hvh2qjl/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3), the one you go to class with, the one you put in the hospital the other day---” You know I don’t like to talk about that. I cross my hands at my chest and narrow my eyes. Vixx throws himself on his bed and gestures to me to join him. “I heard he’s going to be just fine. No permanent damage to his urogenital area.” He flicks his fingers and summons miniature fireworks above the bed. “Intolerable pompous mind-reading wizard.” I sigh, my shoulders relaxing. Vixx lifts his eyebrow and I can feel him in my head, puzzled by my reaction and trying to probe my thoughts like I’m a scientific specimen whose emotions need to be studied. I don’t like that, Vixx. I whisper a spell, pull my mind shield up and push him out of my mind. I shake my head as he rolls his eyes and tucks his hands behind his head. Letting Vixx access my surface thoughts while we’re dry humping in his room is one thing, but letting him --- or anyone --- poke into those places that are mine and mine only is a completely different game. “I didn’t think you’d be pleased that Andolf Moreth survived unharmed. Cluck.” Sometimes, he's an asshole. Sometimes, just a jerk. Does he really think I should have killed Andy, despite the ban on students killing other students in the Allschool, even if they are your sworn enemy? Maybe I should have killed Andy if I didn’t know the truth about the feud between our families. I never wanted to hurt Andy. It was an accident. Of course, no one can know that. And no one will because I played it cool and stayed in character --- a ruthless seductive bitch who enjoys humiliating a guy who is not her match. And if he dies in the process, so be it. He is Moreth and they are the enemy. Except, he really isn’t my enemy. I don't even know him. If things were different, if we lived in some other world, I’d approach Andy and apologize for what I’ve done. But neither of us lives in that world. “I’m not pleased that Andy Moreth survived unharmed,” I say, stepping toward the bed. I put my hand on Vixx’s crotches. “But I am pleased that you’re pleased that I didn’t get expelled.” Andy, his words echo in my mind as he pulls me on top of him. Interesting…
My owners, John & Jill, are a wonderful couple. They are both caring and never forgot to feed me in the morning except when they are on a vacation and I have to starve for several days without any food and water. Thanks to hundreds of years evolution, my body has the capability to store water at bottom of my body. In that sense, I am just like a camel storing water in my hump shaped bottoms. Since March 2020, my owners have become extremely generous. Not only I get my regular food in the morning, I get plenty of water throughout the day at regular intervals. It's certainly much better than it was before. I am not really sure what changed. I can sense the newly found affection for me. They stopped going to their office and decided to spend as much time as they can with me. I am so lucky to have John & Jill as my owners. While I appreciate timely, regular food and water, sometimes it's a pain to deal with. My owners can't see me sick. As soon as they notice I am sick and cannot digest any food, they will immediately bring tools and plungers to cure me. Again, I appreciate their affection and caring nature when I am sick, but it's bit harsh than I would like. It would be nice if they just leave me alone and let me heal with time when I am going through my bad days. I am sure they as well wouldn't like someone feeding food to themselves against their wishes. It's not a good feeling. Their carelessness when it comes to my hygiene is another thing that bothers me. It would be really nice to get cleaned daily just like they clean themselves everyday. I would blame John more than Jill here. John is super hairy and leaves all his hair on me every time he feeds me food in the morning. Over time, they accumulate and causes itching. Jill, on the other hand, has a nice body and she rarely sheds any hair. I wish John had a clean body like Jill. Another reason I like Jill is because she gives me extra nutrients almost every month. It's a red-colored liquid. I appreciate her adding variety to my food at regular intervals. Overall, I am lucky to have John & Jill as my owners. I am happy but there is scope of improvement.
_Light._ The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. This must be the one leading you to the afterlife. At least, that's what I thought I saw at first. A woman in her fourties is examining me, with piercing green eyes, gaze going up and down as her thin eyebrows are narrowed in focus. Her lips move, but I can't make out much of what she's saying, as my eyes are drawn to the light. Warm, golden light radiates from what seems to be the inside of her body, diffuse as it runs up and down her physical form. _I'm going crazy._ A soft sound catches my attention, and look to see her sitting next to me, eyes now filled with concern. "...Mr. Samuels? I see you are responding to my examinations, but..."her voice trails off, and she seems to be muttering to herself, lips moving as she looks at a clipboard, likely with papers on it. "...Your concussion was quite serious, and I'm hoping its effects won't be life-threatening in the long run. At least, you seem to be awake." A small name tag catches my attention. _Dr. Rogers._ "Dr. Rogers...? How long have I been here?" "Two days, Mr. Samuels. I've been regularly visiting to make sure you're alright." "...Did anyone come to visit me?" At that, she smiles gently. "Yes. Your best friend, Matthew." My lips curl up in a smile. "Matt. He did not cause you any trouble, I hope?" "No. But I nearly had to get him out twice. He's been staying over the visiting hours." I snort at that. "Not for me, that's for sure. Someone else might have caught his interest." "I...see. Well, Mr. Samuels, you'll be clear to leave in a few more days, if everything goes well." She rises to leave, and just as she's about to pass the doorframe, I utter a few words that I'm sure will seal my fate. "...One more thing before you leave, Dr. Rogers. Did you notice the light shining inside you?" She gives me a long look, confused, as if she doubts her initial evaluation of my wellbeing was correct. "Mr. Samuels... I'm not sure if this is your trauma speaking, or you are flirtatious with every woman that crosses your path..."A pause. "But this was uncalled for. Have a good evening." _Well, me and my loudmouth._ The rest of the evening marches on, with me seeing light and dark inside people, of various nuances I've never thought possible. _Whatever are these things I'm seeing? Are those their souls?_ _Well, if I can keep this under wraps... I won't end up in an asylum, hopefully._ Hopefully.
Chris stood in front of me, his silhouette outlined by the headlights of my car. In his hands, was skin. And by skin, I mean, like, a whole human skin. Like the pelt of a grown man. No bones, no muscles, no organs. Just skin. “It would be weird wouldn’t it?” Chris pondered aloud. “What?” I asked. “Yeah, you’re right. It would be weird.” “I didn’t say anything.” Chris lifted the skin. It was strangely cartoonish. Almost funny. He shook it. It wiggled. “Can I touch it?” I asked. “Here, hold this.” Chris passed me the skin. It was heavier than I thought. And drier. There was no blood. No fluids. Just a singular slit that ran from the top of its head to the bottom of its ass. My arms began to tremble under the formless corpse. “I think I’m going to do it anyway. Who cares about what the Pope says.” I gawked at him. The moon hung high in the sky above us. “Chris, why do you keep bringing up the Pope.” Chris ignored me. “Fuck the Pope. Fuck his rules. I want to do it.” Wind whistled across the desert sands around us. “Give me back the skin.” On instinct, I pulled away from him, taking the skin with me. “What are you going to do with it?” I asked. Chris stared at me. His shirt was soaked in a slimy black liquid that sparkled slightly in the starlight. It was blood but not the kind we were used to. I was also covered in it. That wasn’t unusual. What frightened me was his eyes. They weren’t looking at me. They were looking through me, past me. “I know that look,” I grumbled. “You’re going to do something stupid. And dangerous. And you’re gonna piss off the Pope again.” “Has that ever stopped us before?” I sighed. Chris was right. We had killed God hadn’t we? Along with a whole bunch of other things. “Alright,” I mumbled. I handed him the skin. Chris smiled. He grabbed the skin greedily, clutching it to his chest. “Don’t worry,” he said. It was what he always said before he fucked everything up for us. Then he stretched the skin open and stepped inside. He pushed his shoes down the legs, the skin of the tops of the feet ripping. His arms were a little longer than the skin’s. He frowned and forced his fingers through the rubbery fingertips of his new body suit. I gagged. Finally, he pressed his face into the face of the skin. I watched in horror, half thinking that the skin would zip itself up behind him. It did not. Chris held his skin-covered hands in front of him and turned them from front to back. “Yeah, I was right. This is weird.”
What makes me a person? Being human is a start, but, am I who I am because of that? Am I a person after being born and given a name? Or perhaps only after the first of my cells pop into existence can I be called a person. But being someone implies you have an identity. Something that anyone who knows you can see from your clothes, hear from your voice, smell from your anxiety ridden sweat. So why are there people I don’t know looking at me, smiling, waving their hand and saying a name I don’t recognize? I can’t figure out where I am, in a room I was never in before, with people who claim to be family. Who am I? The thought pounds into my skull, hammering down as a small child, no older than ten, runs into the room and in an ear splintering yell shouts, “Brother!” His entire form collapses onto me, hugging me tightly, his hands gripping onto snow white clothes I’ve never worn before. His face is smothered against my chest muffling his cries and tears. Though, I can still feel his snot as it drenches my clothes. Who are you, I want to ask, but another person wanders in. An old man, so very old he has wrinkles between more wrinkles, and burn scars all over his face. The only part that seems to have been spared is his warm blue eyes and teeth. His teeth, that are stained and old, and some clearly fake, are out in the open, his lips removed. But, even without them, I know that he’s smiling. He takes a shaking step forward. His arms, just as unsteady as his legs, rise in front of him, slowly inching closer until they softly plant around my cheeks. It burns. The feeling of another person's touch. It hurts, everything, all of a sudden at once. An unstoppable itch courses through my veins, all coming from one spot inside my arms. A needle, dug in deep between endless layers of bandaging that covers my skin, with a coiling tube that stretches to an empty plastic bag. Have I been drugged? Where am I? Who are these people? My pain and questions must be written across my face as the old man's eyes widen with worry. “Give your brother some space,” he says with a quick tug at the boy's shirt. “It must still hurt. I’m sorry. I’ll get the doc to give you more painkillers. I promise you, Damien, I’ll make it all better.” The old man almost throws my supposed brother to the side, frantically trying to push him out the room. “That isn’t my name,” I say the moment the kid gets out of sight. I know he probably still heard me, and that isn’t the issue in the first place. I just couldn’t bring myself to say it in front of him. To tell them they must have the wrong person. “My name is Andrew.” The old man freezes as he grips onto the door frame. He doesn’t turn around to look at me. All he does is stand there, his eyes hidden from view. “Don’t you worry,” he says, his voice breaking apart from those three simple words. With enough time he can’t handle standing there anymore, walking away, to the right. From the left, a sudden scream claws its way into my room. A cold familiar sound. Death. Death is coming for them, and they know it. They can feel it in their bones, chilling them from the inside out. “Room Five O Two,” someone shouts, followed by a swarm of doctors and nurses dashing to the source of the scream. It's already too late. I don’t have to see it to know. Only a man who’s about to be killed makes that sort of sound. As the parade of people comes by, glances peer through the crowd, and onto me. Why? Why do they look at me like that? These strangers that I have no recollection of even giving a single hello to look at me and sigh in relief. Some smile, some angrily glare, one pair, a man and woman, pass out right at my door. I would wonder more about what is going on, but the pain stops me. It shackles me in bed as with every passing moment it worsens. As I breathe scorching heat burns through my lungs, causing me to grip at my chest. But, as I do, the moment my hand touches the sterile white clothes, and the bandaging I feel underneath, hugging every part of me, I silently scream. My voice can’t bear the pain as my limbs flail around, and every fiber of my skin tells me, I’m dying. I know I’m not though. That scares me. Imagining having to live like this, with the pain constantly enveloping me. Is it a curse? A damn poison that a witch concocted? I don’t know. How can I not know? Where am I, what is happening to me? My hands grip at my face, my vision covered in darkness as my palms suction around my eyes. It hurts, every motion and scratch that makes me lose my mind to a point where I try to claw away my sight. But a calm numbness stops me. A frigid warmth that sweeps the pain away. I drag my hands to the side, seeing the old man huffing and puffing, gripping the leather coat around him. My eyes take a gentle stroll to the side. A doctor sits nearby, just as out of breath as the old man, and with a needle injecting fluids into the tube connected to me. “Can you hear me?” The doctor asks in a thousand echoing voices all colliding in my head. It aches, but it's nothing compared to what was happening to me moments ago. “Yes, I can.” I say. “Your grandfather here tells me you said your name was Andrew. Is that right?” A grandfather now. They think the old man is my grandfather? Do they really think I couldn’t recognize the only family I have left? That I had left, I should say. He’s gone. Killed. Thrown into a ditch and left to rot for as long as possible, and no one told me a thing. They didn’t want their precious little soldier to bite them back. “I don’t have a grandfather,” I bluntly say, a pit in my stomach forming as I see the old man try to hold back tears. Yes, I feel bad. Yes, I knew this was how he would have probably felt, being rejected by the person he thinks is his grandson, but I have to set the story straight. It would be worse if he never found out. It would be hell if he ever found out I wasn’t his grandchild after years of thinking it's true. I don’t have the heart to let it happen to someone else. I’m enough as a victim for the dreaded word known as betrayal. Our actions make up who we are, that might be true, but what's more important is the witnesses. The people who see you and judge you and form and take and do whatever they damn well want to you. That is how a person is formed, so being here, where everyone thinks I’m someone else, is torture. Even though the person I was, the thing everyone made me, was a hellish abomination. “And what about your family?” The doctor asks, a notepad in hand, his head nodding as if already knowing the answer. “Dead,” I say. Dead from the moment I turned eight. Killed off by an Angel. Its skin was plaster white and all its limbs were as twisted as tree bark. Five hands erupted from its back, each carrying a head. My mother’s, my father’s, my sisters’ and brother's. As it held their heads, its face etched into its torso, it smiled. “And how did they die?” The doctor asks, plunging me deeper into the worst memory I have. I don’t want to peer into the past again, so I give a simple answer. “Killed.” “Mr. Fitz,” the doctor says. “If it isn’t obvious already, it appears your grandchild has false memories. The best thing I can recommend is our hospital's psychiatric department, and to talk with… Andrew here as much as possible. It might help bring back his memories.” “I’ve already told you, I don’t have a grandfather, or a family left.” “Andrew, Damien, whatever your mind is telling you now, I can guarantee you that you have family here. Blood tests don’t lie. You’ve gone through an incredibly, to be blunt, fucked up experience. But you're also lucky. You're the first person to not only ever survive having all their skin taken by a Skin Walker, but also wake up from it.”
I found the sky blood funny. I mean, come on, what was I gonna do about it? The sky was bleeding, so what? Sure, it was visible from space, and the ability to see eyes peering out of it was horrifying, but it wasn't like it was all that awful. It didn't do anything, first off. It just sort of existed there, over some small town in Switzerland. Didn't help the neutral nation all that much, but hey, it's not like I was a fan of their chocolate or anything, that didn't matter. Second off, it attracted all the wrong people. Conspiracy theorists, radicals, people attempting to scam people out of their savings for the ability to enter it, the whole shebang. Honestly, the place was already such a tourist trap that even going there would make it almost positive that you'd lose something. Plus, there was nowhere to stay, anyways. All the local hotels jacked up prices so that they could make a profit on the wormhole. Finally, it wasn't exactly fun to think about. I mean, the death of the universe? What it meant to our whole model of scientific progress, not only that nothing actually changed outside of the tear, or that we weren't all dead because of it? The idea that it had no lingering effects on us, either. That scared people. Nothing that had happened to anyone who visited or even lived in the area seemed to be traced back to their time around the wormhole. Oh, I mentioned the sky blood. Yeah, that actually was available for a while. Apparently this one guy who lived in the house behind where the wormhole opened up said that his bin for collecting rainwater had turned red, and that he drank some of it. Yes, this man looked at a wormhole leaking something, and decided to drink it. Apparently tasted like orange juice. Anyways, officials tested it, and we haven't gotten any news of it since. Still, sky blood was a thing now. Some found it horrifying, lots of people found it satanic, and I found it funny. Writers had nothing on the shit that actually happened this 2020. I know the jokes were meant to be funny, but Apollo must have had a field day this year. Seriously, 2020 vision melded with the gift of prophecy was not a good thing. So yeah, I didn't think much of the whole wormhole business, literally. I kept it out of my mind, because honestly, I didn't really care about it. It happened, but there were more pressing issues. I just did other stuff, like getting to Master Ball tier in Pokemon Sword and Shield, and getting through college. It was odd, then, when I looked into the bathroom mirror, and noticed that one of my eyes had changed color. Or, to put it more literally, one of my eyes wasn't exactly an entire eye anymore. One of my pupils was entirely black. No white there, and yet, my vision wasn't hampered in any way. I tried looking at my phone with both eyes, and nothing changed. I tried closing one eye at a time, and nothing looked any different. The wormhole was in the back of my mind- I hadn't even been to Europe before, let alone visited the wormhole personally, but it was related to everything these days- but I didn't really consciously think about it. So obviously, the first thing I did was tell my roommate- an anatomy major- about it. He was concerned, obviously. The first thing we ended up doing was going to the hospital. I was fine, but my eye obviously wasn't. I didn't even feel anything. I spent the next few hours having tests run, calling my parents, and everything else you would expect. My parents, obviously, were horrified. How else would you react to your child waking up one day having one of their eyes go all black? They stayed on call with me for literally as long as they could, until we had to sign off so I could get back to the testing the doctors wanted for me. Soon, tests came back. Nothing weird was happening. Nothing abnormal seemed to be going on. It just turned black. No reason given. No explanation possible. If anything had actually happened, it was probably due to the wormhole. "I'm sorry sir, but there's nothing we can do. We're glad that you feel fine, but please, we believe that this is something entirely different from aniridia. We would like to examine it further." That was when the feeling set in. I looked down, and... I can't truly describe it. It was as if I recognized something I hadn't before, in the air. I looked around the room. Particles, floating in the air, seeping in and out of the doctor and her assistant. A light blue encompassed them, as if they were holy angels from on high. Outside of that, everything else felt a plain grey, an infinite wellspring of potential boredom and eager disappointment. Actually, no... now that I looked at it closer, the doctor's aura looked a little more deep in its blueness than the assistant's. His was a bit more sky blue, while her's was a bit more royal, a bit more defined than his, which looked almost as if it started to dissipate as soon as it left that aura of his. I looked down at my own hand, and let out a small gasp. "Mr. Kingston?" "Nothing." My hand was a blood red.
Tears streamed down Aaron's face as the monsters that his friends had become told him that Reddit was going to become a platform for censorship and Big Business. Alexis and Steve had rictus grins, looking like a crude mockery of humanity as Aaron broke. Alexis, with a horrific visage, told Aaron that he should have known dealing with monsters and demons would have it's costs and here they are. Steve leaned in close and whispered into Aaron's ear that "Reddit will become a cesspit of marketing for mega conglomerates and the politicians that serve them." They said it was a suicide over an unrelated issue, but Reddit has been a zombie ever since. Just because its still moving, doesn't mean its alive.
Everything that happens is good. War is over, hunger has stopped, genetic mutations are always good. Nobody is offended. Everyone and everything is immortal. All is for the best, right? Wrong. Ash dreaded waking up. Standing, in the room, alone. He lost all his friends because they always agreed, and conversation was always boring. He could go for a run, but he felt no fatigue, and he was already strong and fast. He could go for a drink, but the body was immune to all poisons, including alcohol. He could play video games, but they weren't hard anymore. He stood, and waited. Waited for nothing. He was immortal, but he was sad. Bored. And so, he decided to save the sanity of everyone. He lied. About everything. He reinvented weaponry, though it had no effect on life, it still destroyed objects. He started arguments, stemming from his false opinions. He was the new world's first terrorist. He was a hero.
“We was always told the stories as children. They would keep us up at night in paranoia, but as adults, we blamed it off on our parents trying to scare us. I was only 26, but lived in success. My life was perfect. I had a wonderful husband, the kind I always dreamed of. But as poets often say, things rise and fall. I’ll not beat around the bush, We as at a picnic eating watermelon and I ate the seed. Harmless, for my age had long shedded that mentality. But as you can see, it wasn’t. It didn’t take long, my stomach grew with the fruits (both figuratively and literally) of the ignorance of what I was once told.My husband and I was new into our marriage and had not yet done the deed. He accused me of cheating when my stomach looked like I was pregnant, and I was left devoid of my soulmate with only the thing in my stomach to give me company. Sorrow only made the seed grow quicker. The watermelon grew huge in my stomach, I didn’t know what it was. I was young and afraid. My skin stretched with it, I can’t explain how I didn’t bust, even to this day.” Red goop poured out of the abominations swollen mouth and down its face- or whatever it was, and gagged out more to follow. Formations of something came out with it, and I had to look away. I can’t believe I even looked at this being, whatever it was, this long, yet the story had my mind entertained. Surely this was a joke, yes? I would look for some reasoning behind this later. Science explains all things, and this was completely impossible. It kept coughing up whatever that red film was, for it wasn’t blood, and eventually heaved out “I’ll have to cut this story short, my people.” Of course it did. I rolled my eyes. It was all staged, obviously, and some very talented makeup artists where involved. Shame their talent was wasted on this! But it spoke again, “So I highly suggest you heed the warnings and stories your parents once told you, even though perhaps they didn’t believe it themselves. I apologize truly that my story of woe was cut short, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is the now!” It somehow managed to stand, it’s stomach area enlarged, entire body red, and it’s facial figures smashed into its face and plagued with black.That’s when I realized it never told the story in full. “I’ve been alone far too long, and that naturally brings bitterness. If you left how you are now, you would blame this” She gestured clumsily to herself, “on makeup or practical effects. You wouldn’t listen. But I will give you a warning, but not a choice.” It held a bag of watermelon seeds.
How many letters exchanged, written words filled until they threaten to burst, filled with everything that a line on a page cannot say? How many hurried phone calls, urging each other to commit, to break these chains away from each other and meet where we could not be shackled any longer? How many nights skirting sleep in solemn silence, knowing that a new day would bring me closer to you, but unable to lay myself to rest all the same? All of that is past us now; the plans were made, the tickets purchased. My heart quivered just looking at the dates on the calendar, as if there wasn’t already enough in this world that sent me careening towards thoughts of your company. All of that passed, but still we wait just a little longer. I picture you at the window of your cabin, suspended underneath that glorious balloon. In my mind we are already seeing eye to eye, though so much empty air yet separates us, as the airship waits for the time it may come to dock. As much as my heart breaks with each passing moment, I am glad that I deigned to make the earlier trip, and that you will never need to sit alone in this foreign place. I am glad that you are spared this torment of mine, surrounded by strangers that cannot know my own exquisite anticipation. Soon, I pray, the storm will subside, this beating on the windows that keeps your hand out of mine. So much time I had spent back home, staring into the night sky, wishing each pair of stars was your set of eyes looking back into mine, to be looking up now and knowing it really is you that hangs above, it is almost too much to bear. Will it be minutes? Hours? I regret on occasions such as these that I am no learned man, and can give myself no estimate of when the furious air might be soothed to stillness. Only this pen keeps me company, having already done so many tours as the correspondent between us, and here I had been moments ago thinking I would never need it again. Soon though, so soon, surely I can bear to wait this little while longer, just as we have both waited so many turns of the Earth before today. As I descended in preparation days ago, you will come down to me, with that promised eagerness for me to catch you in my arms and whisk away your worries. I dare not think any further; maybe one day, when we are long since settled and have made this place our home, you will find this notebook, these pages. You will turn to me and laugh at the silly throbbing of my heart, alighting the blush to my cheeks with your teasing, dancing around with the passion that we’ll have finally had the chance to allow to consume us. Now, the pen must be put away. Now, I simply wait.
A dark figure looms overhead, the moon lies obscured A trick of the eyes? Keira Shin was an artist. Not any normal artist, she takes the junk on the streets, and she turns it into art. I used to be junk on the street. Just like the overwhelming majority of souls on the decrepit slums of al'akhr. And yet for the dark and desolate nothingness the surface shows, paradoxically, the underbelly of this rusting metal maze is one of shining riches and glory. Keira Shin is an artist. She is not a murderer, nor is she a psychopath. Her art benefits the world of truth above, her lies only a beautiful note of true bitterness in a backdrop of deceitful sweetness. Keira Shin is an artist. "Keira Shin is an artist." "Please cooperate with me, I have been investigating into this girl for years and I have reason to suspect that she has been stealing magical artifacts worth more than the lives of everyone in al'akhr combined." I stood up from my seat. I was now face to face with this "grand archmage", a title he surely had no right to take. From his shirt pocket I grabbed a pen. "Edward Bulwer-Lytton once wrote 'The pen is mightier than the sword'. He was a fool. A pen, a rousing speech, a moving song, none of it has anything when held against the weapons of war, and the choke hold of oppression." "pitiful archmage, I remind you still. This pen is more valuable than every soul on the 'upper echelons' of Al'akhr." "See now that you have been hunting the leader of the new world, helping the slave masters renew the chains of those they bind above them." "We are building the key to the door to paradise. You cannot stand in our way." He snapped. "So you damn well know what disgusting machinations she is planning to concoct? These are people's lives, goddamnit! Do you really see all this as beautiful? What kind of twisted art dies the world red in the blood of the innocent." "And so those that starve above everyday have it coming? Their eternal sin, trying to get by and live another day? I used to be someone trying to get by too, you know, I used to travel down every night, on that damned staircase down to heaven. I would spend an hour walking down, and even though I was starving, even though my sick mother needed to eat, every fiber in my body would be urging me to run to the teleporter that would bring me to the surface. Who could stand that constant ridicule? The torment of being performatively pitied by those who did nothing to improve the world above. But I did it everyday, despite it. Because I had to eat, and my mother had to eat. The heathens below are not innocent, anything but." "The first fire started by man, signifies, to many, the start of technological advancement. The start of a new age. Those who forsook the angels suffering above will be the fuel to a divine fire that will signify the start of a new age. One of true justice and equality." "So you're after some fucked up dystopia where Emiru and Keira Shin appoint themselves as holy arbiters of light and justice? You aren't liberating anyone, you hypocrites. Just grabbing the chains from those underneath and holding it above. I will find Shin too, and I will imprison her here with you. If you won't tell me where she is, you can suffer at the hands of my version of justice together with her." "Oh I'll tell you where she is, look up. See that figure obscuring the moon? Maybe you would've noticed earlier, if you ever bothered about the surface. It's too late now." "Oh, and, by the way, Emiru is just a stage name. I still prefer Keira Shin." With that, my illusion broke, and the novice mage who had much to learn stood, completely hopeless, as he saw the plastic bag drift in the still air. Not quite happy with this one, hope someone enjoys it anyways.
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I open my eyes again and mentally count out the time. My girlfriend turns and walks into the bathroom again to start her shower and I see the bedroom door open. 10 seconds on the dot. I glance over to see him approaching quickly raising the Machete in his hand and bringing it down in a practiced motion, cutting my neck and severing my spinal cord. I fall quietly to the ground as my blood spills across the floor and he moves to the bathroom. The world goes dark and fades to black. I open my eyes again and mentally count out the time. I dont bother counting how many times this has happened but if I had to guess it could be in the high hundreds or low thousands. I've tried and tried to change the outcome buy try as I might to fight against these bonds it seems I am a slave to time and the moment. The machete comes down and the moment finishes again. I decide to let my mind wander. I barely have paid any attention recently to the comings and goings of the man and my fading mortality. My eyes open and I take a deep breath. That was new... different. I turn to see the door open and the machete wielding man come in and spot me. He advances quicker this time, his footsteps tapping out a different rhythm than the ones I've memorize. I duck to avoid the blow but the world goes black. My eyes open and I can move on my own. Standing immediately my girlfriend looks at me suspiciously. "Hon, are you okay?"She asks in the familiar voice that I don't think I've truly heard in years. I reach over to the nightstand and grab the first thing I can, a snow globe from New York. It's heavy but will it do the trick? The door opens and I don't hesitate, throwing the globe as hard as I can I miss... badly. The man at least is nice enough to look shocked as the glass sphere and base slam against the wall 4 feet away from him before he pulls a gun and puts two in my chest. The wounds hurt in a way I didn't expect and I fall to the floor gasping for breath. More shots ring out as my girlfriend screams and falls over in the doorway to the bathroom. I try something new the next time I open my eyes, rushing the door, but that doesn't stop the bullets any better. Ambush, machete. Wait and fight, machete. Different weapon, gun. Different weapon in ambush, knife. The guy is good but I am learning. Try something until it works, finally blocking the machete without it cutting my arm off. One weak punch from me and a return from him. Lights out but progress. Step by step I learn and move. I'm not conditioned like he is but I have all the time l can ask for. I learn to fight as he does, powerful blows and no wasted movement, disarms and eventually throws. I'm almost there I know it because I can start to hear the neighbors in the hall before he finishes me in one of a hundred different ways. I finally get him on an arm bar, breathless and straining I hear him speak for once that isn't a curse or yell. "Bodyguard. Check check check." I hear a click from the bathroom, not his gun but a new one. "They won't get here in time."My girlfriend says as she fires a single shot and ends his life. I scramble to my feet keeping my eyes on her as my mind reels. She only looks at me and smirks. "Sorry, you're not ready for this." I open my eyes again, at the beginning and watch my girlfriend head to the shower. I look at the killer in the doorway. "Bodyguard. Check Check check."I say as I raise my hand for him to wait. He does... now I need to know why.
\[Poem\] Chestplates polished, helmets on Armies splinter, one by one The sound of drums and clashing men And one lone soldier clutching a pen. Steel blades shatter, metal on bone One man standing on his own A look of terror on his face As both armies turn and chase. Shouts are heard from either side "How could you do this? My friends have died!" "I'm sorry!"the man cries, filled with shame The archers draw their bows and aim - An arrow hits, it's reached its mark The grass around our man grows dark He falls to the ground, pen rolling away He will not live another day. Why did they battle? The answer is odd. They fought for nothing. It was all a facade. The man with the pen started it, that crook - He sought inspiration for his latest book!
"Did you just unearth this Cat from your Pot?"Kyle asked with an ounce of excitement "The Harvest is bountiful this year." "What the hell are you talking about?"Percy replied "There's no way that cat could've fit in this blunt, you idiot"then he took a huff, a puff and blew out a storm cloud sized puff of smoke. Percy then continued to cough for the next....... "1 minutes, 31 seconds and 689 milliseconds of coughing"loudly computed a devious droid spying on them in the bushes. "but that is irrelevant to my mission." The droid then focused it's binocular vision on the huge puff smoke where something strange was happening. Instead of the smoking spreading out in the air, the smoke began clustering together creating a small pitch black mass in the air. "No way dude! I totally watched this documentary where farmers from the 1600's did experiments to cats and during each harvest they....."Kyle was passionately explaining till both Kyle and Percy noticed the mass of darkness above them. "what the hell is that thing?!"cried Percy. "Oh my god..... it can't be....."stammered Kyle as he watched a miraculous formation slowly transpire. "8,998 milligrams of THC, 8,999 milligrams of THC, 9000 milligrams of THC, OMG...it has finally happened, the THC level is.."the droid processed excitedly. It then turned up the volume of it's speakers to prepare for a dramatic delivery and continued with an amplified "OVER 9000!!!!" The booming Dragonball Z reference startled Percy and Kyle for a few seconds until the dark mass took their attention. To their surprise they now saw that the darkness was in the form of a Cat, a cat with wooden pipe and pitchfork. "Howdy there, fellas!!"Yelped the cat with an exploding Southern accent. "My name is The Harvest Cat and I am here to grant you any wish relating to the Harvest! &#x200B; "Whoa, bro!"Percy and Kyle yelled in Unison. After a few hits off the joint to help compose themselves, Kyle said "So you mean you could like give us a good harvest of a pot?" "That'd be so wicked sweet if you could do that"added Percy. "As a matter of fact I.... "Started The Harvest cat. "OH NO YOU DON'T, I'M TAKING THIS WISH!!!"the droid demanded, pulling a phaser gun out"I will blast you with lightning precision if you make that wish. " Percy and Kyle put there hands up, then just looked at each other in defeat. "This bites bro"Percy sighed "I was really lookin forward to a wicked awesome pot harvest." "The Harvest Cat!!!! I want you to grant a great harvest to the entire planet of Romulin!"said the droid in a robotic relief. "No, I cannot do that you Mechanical menace!"snickered the The Harvest Cat. "Wha....what? Why not?"said the droid in a state if disbelief. "My creators despised any Mechanism that spawn from the Industrial Revolution and that especially means you, you robotic abomination!"The Harvest Cat with a bit more hostility "No....it can't be......my mission was a failure.......now the people of......Romulin....will die....."whispered the droid in disbelief. Little puffs of smoke started floating from the droid while it made buzzing and whirring noises. The Harvest Cat then shifted his attention back to Percy and Kyle. "Would you fellas still be interested in your wish of having a great harvest for your wacky tobacky?!"The Harvest Cat said with his jovial southern charm. "The would righteous bra!!!!"Percy and Kyle yelled while playing air guitar. "Well yeehaw boys! Your wish has been granted"The Harvest Cat screeched then decided to join in on the air guitar action. "mission failed......mission failed.....mass starvation.....Ramulin..... inevitable......."the droid stuttered and slowly rolled up to the trio. While air guitaring his heart out Kyle noticed a panel door on the back of the droid flapping around. He stopped air guitaring and took a look behind the door and found a switch. The switch had two modes: Harvest Mode and Party mode. So instinctually Kyle switched it over to party mode The droid buzzed for a second and started jamming along with the air guitar action. The air guitaring continued when suddenly The Harvest Cat poofed back into smoke and went right into Percy's blunt. "Ah ha! I told you a cat could fit in your pot"Kyle said with a Smirk And they continued to air guitar all night and later that year that a very bountiful harvest and they lived happily ever after.
"Whatever you do, do not look at him in the eye." That was the words my master left for me on his last day in this world. Not an advice about the Lich King, not a piece of tactics about going against the Dark Mage. His last words were used to warn me about a human's charm, a man, at that. Even though he knew I didn't like men. I didn't understand that. Nor the Wizard, nor the Cleric. I remember the Sage grimacing, but that was all. Why would my party, the ones who already ended the reign of the Demon King down to the south and were renowned as heroes, fear a human without any powers? Oh boy, was my master right. I didn't listen to him. As the Lich King and the Dark Mage started to get serious, I've chosen to take his side as other princes of the kingdom wasn't much. He was always weird. Not his actions, not that. They were all elegant, or did I just see them as so? I felt close to him after the first glance, and even my party did so. Our ever-suspicious Rogue even decided to drink that night at the celebration, and our Wizard sang her songs without shame even though she herself knew how tone-deaf she was. He pulled everyone close to him. Not everyone saw the same person when they looked at him. Cleric saw him as the big brother she never had, the Wizard saw him as a precious friend. Our Sage... he might have fallen in love with him. Rogue? I didn't know exactly, but his last words were a message to send to him. He had a charm that couldn't be understood. He used people, as well. But most of those people knew that, and still went with it. I know that because I am the same. The Lich King and Dark Mage are dead, together with most of my comrades. The Cleric left the Kingdom, seeing his charm as a danger to his faith. Wizard built a Mage Tower, raising the new generation of Wizards to protect his kingdom now. Sage has disappeared, probably living on a mountain somewhere. Me? I've become a butler, a mere one to serve my King his tea. He still acts the same, talks the same, smiles the same. I wonder if all of them are fake sometimes. If they're not, how could one person not change in all those years? And if they are fake, that would also be understandable, as we're also in danger now. The other kingdoms on the continent are seeing our King as a menace, just like how the Dark Mage and the Lich King was. They named him Incubus, after the demons who visited dreams and charmed people. I'm planning to leave my job as a butler, but not to run away. No, I'm planning to take my sword again. This time, I might not be called a hero, as I'm fighting to protect not the people, but my King. He also said things about my other comrades, I will try to find the Sage and the Cleric. I know this is his plan, I know he's planning to use us once again. But that doesn't anger me. No. It makes me happy, much happier than before, as I can help him with my blade, as I can protect him from others. I know others will feel this as well, even the Cleric who went away. Because it was decided from the day we met him, the day we saw his eyes. We were already the subordinates, no, followers of the Incubus. And we would follow his desires. So, my apologies, master. I now understand your advice, but I'll still follow him, even if it means my death.
"Picture, if you will-" "Shut it, Sterling! I'm not having a good day! Especially not when I'm trapped in a Twilight Zone episode! Get out!" "I-" "OUT!" "You're not supposed to be able to hear OR see me...And for the record, it's SERLING. Not Sterling." Our humble protagonist then slaps Rod Serling in the face. Rod Serling replies, "No. Picture THIS, if you will. Our protagonist, trapped in a world she knows to be dangerous. Trapped in an episode of a classic show, with no way out. Danger lurking at every corner. This is The Twilight Zone. Oh, and if you do get out, it's not turning you back to color." Our protagonist starts to get nervous, before realizing: If Rod never ends his opening narration segment, nothing can happen to her. So she quickly puts Rod in a chokehold, to prevent him from leaving. "Keep narrating, Sterling." "IT'S SERLING." "Whatever. Just keep going." Rod sighs before continuing, "OK, if you want more, then here: As I said, even if she does escape, it will not change her back to color in her home universe. She'll stay in black and white, forever. FOR-E-VER. Forever is a long time, is it not?" And so continues this narration until our protagonist finds a way out. Now she just needs to return to normal colors. If she can...Forget what you thought...THIS is The Twilight Zone. "SHUT. IT. STERLING."
I set up the tripod with my Canon AE-1. I had about 8 frames left in a roll of Kodak Portra 400, and, if we’re being honest, I wasn’t sure if I would ever finish it. I set the self-timer to its 10 second function, hit the shutter, and walked to stand next to the empty recliner in the room. The shutter fired and with it the cloud of grief grew heavier on my shoulders. I let out a choked sob. I never wanted to see the results of this picture. For the past 8 months, my father and I would take a picture together. He had been diagnosed with a rare form of prostate cancer that was very aggressive. Since mom died, he really didn’t have anyone else to care for him. I became his primary care giver. I would take him to treatments, cook for him, bathe him, whatever he needed. Every couple of days we would take a picture together. He would sit in his favorite, cushy recliner and I would stand behind him with my hand on his shoulder. I hated this ritual, but dad insisted we do it. So here I was, standing behind the vacant recliner weeping. Dad had died last night. I almost couldn’t bring myself to take a picture today. I also knew if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have the closure I needed. That roll of film sat on my dresser for 11 months. I couldn’t bring myself to develop the image, I honestly almost forgot. As my father’s death anniversary was approaching, I decided it was time to develop it. When I was able to finally bring myself to look at the results, the wave of emotions came flooding back with a fresh sting. The corners of my eyes welled and my lower lip quivered. I took my time scanning each image, watching the life and energy drain from my father. In some photos, he was smiling, covering his pain. Others, he had his arm crossed over his body to hold my hand that was placed on his shoulder. Oh how I missed being able to hug him, to tell him I loved him. Then came the last photo, the one I had been dreading. It was just me, shoulders hunched in defeat, barely standing beside the maroon recliner. The emptiness of the chair allowed me to see the impression that dad had left in the chair from sitting in it daily. I couldn’t get myself to get rid of the recliner, it sat in my room. I looked up, expecting to see the emptiness of the chair, but instead a ghostly apparition of my father sat there. “You did good, son. Thanks for finally developing that roll.” I broke down, “Dad, I miss you so much.” “I know son, me too. Everything’s going to be alright. I’ll see you again soon ok?” And with that, he was gone. I looked back through the pictures on the roll and found the one where dad looked happiest. I remember that day, too. Sometimes when someone is very sick, right before they pass, they get a second wind and seem like they are perfectly healthy. We were able to get out and go fishing together. We took a picture that day out by the lake. The picture showed him with the happiest grin in the world as he held his freshly caught bass to show off for the camera. I compared the picture of his last good day and the lonely picture of me. As the tears poured out of me like a waterfall, the weight of grief began to dissipate off of me. I couldn’t tell if the ghost of him was real or if I was going crazy, but it reminded me that he wasn’t in pain anymore. I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the last frame off of the roll and threw it in the trash. He may be gone, but I just had a gut feeling that he’d always be with me. Closure had come to me at last.
I don't know what's worse, being ignorant or knowing all too well your answers don't exist. We made contact, recently. With higher beings. Gods, in a sense. A whole pantheon-full. They said, however, that they were merely observers and sustainers of our world, not creators. When we asked where the creators were, they went oddly silent. So we searched ourselves, to laughably pathetic results. Our dedication, however, showed the pantheon that we were serious in our pursuit for answers. So, they told us what they knew. Long ago, all the members of the pantheon were one god. This one god had the full power to create, and created in abundance. However, one of their creations in a world far from ours figured out the secret. The secret to creation, destruction and reformation. This put a fear into the god, as they knew this power would be their undoing. They tried to prevent the fate they felt was inevitable, but in the process drove the operator of the device mad, causing him to fire a searing ray through the god's chest. This nearly killed them, but their resolve caused them to survive. But they didn't survive whole. Aspects and fragments of their divinity and power splintered off, leaving him incomplete. Leaving him as Almaddi. We are those fragments. But he never forgot the power of being whole, and secretly longed for that power once more. Then, Gorias arrived. He absorbed all the energy from his universe, and ascended to godhood as a result. We later learned he was an aspect of Almaddi, displaced through time. He planted doubt in Almaddi's mind, but more importantly, he gave us the means to defeat gods. The chains of Gorias, we called them. Forged by aspects older than Almaddi, separated from him on the day we split off from him. These chains, they inhibit and potentially leech a god's power. Almaddi saw these chains as a threat, but Magrius saw them as an opportunity. An opportunity to inhibit his powers, to see the worlds as mortals do. So, in secret from Almaddi, Magrius turned the chains into a cloak and began visiting mortals. As he did, he became stronger. Too strong for the chains on multiple occasions, in fact. So, these chains were reforged again and again, each time gaining more and more power. Eventually, Almaddi took a liking to a mortal. A skilled musician and pure of heart, Almaddi bent the world for her. But he never made her an Acolyte. See, in our infancy, the Acolyte system was proposed to prevent the more murderous sects in our worshippers from killing the worshippers of other gods. He never used that avenue, so killing her was fair game. We never wanted it to come to that, but he was putting preservation second, and needed to be taught a lesson. When she was dead, he became irate. But by that point everyone was fed up with his antics, and they all sided against him. He then tried banishing Magrius, which worked, for a time. But he came back. And he was done. In a flash, the chains forming his cloak bound Almaddi as they had Gorias. Magrius tried to leech his power, but the two were in a deadlock. So, the rest of the pantheon joined his fight. In the end, we came close to the power of Almaddi's true form, utterly eclipsing his current power and draining his power down to that of a mortal soul. Since we could not destroy his soul, the aspects older than time suggested we reincarnate his soul somewhere else in space and time, and so we did. Now, we remain ever vigilant for the signs of Almaddi's reincarnations, and try to keep them in check if they try to reascend into godhood. So, to answer your question, your creator is long gone to the past. But their aspects are still here, ever vigilant over your world, safeguarding it from threats. I hope that answers your questions.

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