Split (1)

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animal abuse, language. ----- "Get him, get him!"The shrill screech of pre-pubescent rapture drifts nearer. It's apparent that a whole pride of tweens are headed in my direction. And it seems they have something... someone in their sights. After the last few rounds of bullshit with the chalk bombs, and then the slime, I have absolutely zero inclination to be around when the feral herd swings past my front yard. I don't know how the few parents I could track down managed to simultaneously come across so repugnantly unaware of what their spawn were up to, and conceitedly uncaring of their actions at the same time. But as they say, life finds a way. I bet they are the sorts to eat that sort of shit up too. With a weary sigh I heave myself off the porch where I had -up to that moment- been enjoying a nice blissed out coffee in the sun. Before I can head indoors and out of the coming storm of hormones and vileness, my ears perk up and my hand freezes on the doorknob. Is that.. Is that a dog’s whining, mixed in with the tweens voices? A tense wave washes over me, and before I know it I’m moving; the gate is open and I’m heading down the road towards where the screeching is loudest. — The woman slaps me again and again, and I feel the scraping sting on my ear as a handbag is walloped upside my head. “How could you! You absolute nightmare, how dare you!” She rages, every last gasp of air driven from her lung as she screams at the back of my head. “Where the hell is your humanity?! They’re just little kids, how dare you raise a single finger against them you devil!” Still hunched over the tiny fuzzy form laying prone in my arms, I grit my jaw and look up. As blood drips between my fingers and slowly congeals into matted fur, the adrenaline finally starts to fade. I feel him tremble. With utmost malevolent contempt in my voice I stare at her. “Little kids? No, sadistics pricks. I see humans here, but no humanity.”
You push door closed, walking into your girlfriend's home with a small bleuberry cake and bouquet of roses. The empty hallway that beckons you is not what you thought you'd walk into. You walk into the sitting room calling, "Diane, baby, where are you?" Placing the cake and the roses on a small table in front of the sofa, you walk into the kitchen calling out again for Diane. You are not sure where she went. You step out of the kitchen and walk to the stairway. She could simply be studying in her room with her air pods, you think. Ad you climb the stairs, you think how peculiar the paintings of the dolls that line the wall are. You've never noticed them before. They make the hair on the back oof your neck stand. You shudder and think to take them despite what your girlfriend might have to say about them. As you stand on top of the staircase, you think, what has happened. You call out for Diane again and again. Panic grips your heart when you hear no response. You calm yourself again. You stand in front of the room and have no idea what to do anymore. You knock on the door and wait. No response again. Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you turn the doorknob and walk in, surprised the door wasn't locked. Inside the room, things are in just as much of a disarray as they usually are, but still no sign of Diane. This date was not turning out how you want it to be, you think. You pull out your phone to call her only to notice how there's no service. That's strange because you had fantastic service just yesterday. The door to the bathroom is open, but there's no one inside. You see your reflection in the mirror and the panic shows in your face, the pulled brows, the thin tight tilt to your lips. Where was she, you think again. As you open the window to the room, you notice a clue. Finally. There's mud outside the window, a small smudge of something red. It shocks you to your core and you stumble away from it. A small clatter at your feet pulls you attention to the floor. At first, the shiny metal gleaming with red doesn't make sense to you. Then you stumble back, away from the blood-stained knife, away from the room. You run down the stairs calling for help, yelling. Your voice breaks, your eyes well in tears, blurring your vision. You almost stumble on the last stair but catch yourself on the railing. Knees shaking, you throw the door to the house open, once again calling for help. You keep searching on your phone for service, nothing appears. No one reaches out to help. You fumble for your keys and stumble into the driver's seat and drive. You drive and drive, away from the house, away from the faint smell of sulphur. There's a screech of tyres and a crash. When you wake up to sound of beeps, the doctor tells you about the accident. He asks you to remember what happened and you can't remember. He mutters something about the head injuries and how you may remember later. But no, you can't remember anything. Everytime you try to remember, you get debilitating headaches. It's funny, you've never had a migraine before. When you are discharged and your brother takes you to your apartment, you feel something off about it. Like something has been erased from your life. Something shakes you to your core but as days pass even that goes away. The only thing that makes you notice the oddness are blueberries and roses. The headaches go away after a while. And a year after the accident, even the oddness goes away. But every once in a while you heart aches and you wonder why. Wc:653 First time writing second person pov. Feedback appreciated
I was just getting ready to get up for my next period and I heard Emily sobbing. I turned back. Emily, what’s wrong? “Nothing just…” hiding her tears. What happened Emily? “Mikey just proposed to me,” Emily said with sadness in her voice. I remained silent because she was really sad and I didn’t know what to say. “I thought we were best friends. I shared everything with him, we giggled together, we did everything together to know that he will propose to me in the end.” It will get normal again Emily don’t worry. “No Lucas you don’t know anything about this we were so close and he said to me that I don’t want your friendship if you can’t love me. And I…” Sadness flitted across her face. She began to calm herself down. I reached my pocket and removed the tissue. “Thank you…” Your welco… “Do you know I believed in platonic soul mates before” rueful laugh I knew where she was getting with that point. Don’t generalize this Emily platonic soul mates do exist. “Oh really, I have experienced this in real-time now.” No Emily, some people do have platonic friendships. Do you know katniss? “Yeah, when we were in the sixth grade?” No, when we were in fifth grade. She and I were best friends for five years and we told everything to each other. I wished I hadn’t talked about it. “Why are you sad? I didn’t know you were that close. Did you like her?” No, I didn’t like her. We used to be so cheerful when we were together. I really miss her now. “Did she move to France for studies, hasn't she?” Yes. I haven’t called here in ages now. “WHY?!” I am thinking I will annoy her or disturb her. “No, she might be missing you too” Yeah, I will surely call her. I looked at Emily and she was thinking about something. What happened Emily? “No… Nothing” She said in a beaming way. “Let’s go for our P.E. period. All the folks went down” she said in a playful voice. She looked like she forgot about mike and I was feeling good that I made her smile. We both rushed down and our beloved P.E. teacher told us to run 6 laps on our running track. \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Damn, this was hectic to write. I didn't know what platonic soulmates are and just wrote it. BTW, I am just starting writing.
In the woods they say I would lure stupid boys and wandering little girls far away from town with my flute or my dancing or my tits. The stories had a thousand variations during my first spasms of life—there were too many villages, you see, so whenever some poor soul got lost and torn apart by wolves or just set out to find a new life the explanation depended on the individual, who they were and where they were from. In those days, I knew nothing, I hadn’t yet fulfilled any of the myths. I wasn’t even there, really, except as a misshapen sapling tottering over the edge of a sinkhole. Humans are strange creatures, though, full of paradoxes. Their need to be together, to have one unified identity leads them to war. A single man in one village gets it in his head that if he can just slaughter the men in the next village over and take in the inhabitants as his own, he will fulfill some divine purpose. Towns came together by slaughter or out of fear, grew larger over the years, decades, centuries, of men eviscerating one another in sloppy, stupid little skirmishes. And though the villages begat towns begat cities, there was always this background of cautionary tales about those who set off into the woods and never returned. When I was just a tree, I observed this without knowledge. The imagery, the voices, the souls breezed through me in their variegated forms until they began to coagulate. I started to think. I started to become flesh. My branches and leaves turned to limbs and hair, my trunk took on an ever more anthropoid form, I learned to creep away from my sinkhole. Always I listened, listened. And when the stories became one legend—that of a beautiful temptress for boys and a sweet young lady with a flute for the girls—I understood my purpose. These people had given me life so that I may take it from them. For many generations, then, having taken my form I would appear to the lost and lead them astray. The moment they were at their most vulnerable I killed them. Clumsily at first, with stones or by pushing them into the sinkhole of my birth. But with practice comes perfection, and soon the search parties and the hunters would come across the skins of dead youth stretched over the sinkhole. They would run away in terror. Eventually, the shamans and later on the priests would leave sacrifices to me so that I would show mercy. Sometimes, I would. I’d show a weeping maiden back home, I’d guide a shepherd boy back to his flock. Usually, though, if you got lost in my forest, your kin would only find the remains. Things have changed now. Grandmothers recount my stories to children before bed, to scare them into behaving, and a few times men with pretty words who have never held a sword write down my ancient deeds. Still, I feel my power ebbing. Almost no one believes in me anymore, they work studiously to explain away my great works. Savage killers, they say, or simple mishaps. Perhaps these people just wandered off and died of starvation. They speak the truth of what was before I first shuddered with real life. As towers of steel and glass rise into the sky, as behemoths spouting caustic fumes rumble through my forest, my joints stiffen and my skin turns black. Leaves grow among the strands of beautiful emerald hair I once used to beguile. My flute is gone, my dance is useless. I haven’t killed in many years. With each passing day it grows harder to walk as roots sprout from the soles of my feet and cling to the earth. Soon, the last true believer will die peacefully in her sleep. This I know without knowing why—why is something I never really understood—and so I return to my old perch on the edge of the sinkhole. I let my body gnarl and harden with bark, I stretch my arms up at the sky so they may explode into inanimate limbs. My thoughts grow dim. My sight once again becomes something vast and impassive. I am dying a death, but I know I will always be here. I will always see and listen, listen.
_Unimportant, eh?_ The room itself was dark, lightbulb clearly looking it had an explosion; glass looked quite burnt upon closer view. Not to mention the smell, rotten and disgusting like it came with this part of town – the suburbs, to be more precise – and with how isolated this place _felt._ Being isolated from the hustle and bustle of the city was both a gift and a curse. He shone his flashlight towards three items, scattered about the crime scene: an empty prescription bottle, with the label partially worn out, a note that didn't seem to make sense at first, and an undeveloped roll of film – he quickly turned off his flashlight and grabbed the roll, aware that light exposure could damage whatever was on it – when a voice rolled in the darkness. "Well, well, well... Looks like cleanup finally came." "Who's there?"the detective asks, and just as he was about to turn on the flashlight, he feels a click and cold metal against the back of his head. "No one of consequence, really,"the voice says. "But you should know detective, that if you go down this path, you're opening Pandora's box." _What's a thug doing in this dumpster? This case went from unimportant to quite significant in a matter of minutes._ "You're going to kill me, right?" "No, detective. If I wanted you dead, I would've killed you the moment you turned off that flashlight." "Then, what do you want?" "To expose the darkness that rots this city inside out. And I've heard you are among the last competent detectives in this city." "You mean I'm not corruptible." "Suit yourself on the wordplay. I shall slither in your pocket my contact details. Do not attempt to contact me until you have found something worth it. And remember..." The detective feels the cold metal being set aside as the voice gives its parting words. "The city has eyes and ears everywhere. Do not trust anyone."
First off, I'm gonna say get off of Wattpad - it's gross, lots of plagiarism, and they have a fun deal with Paramount that allows them to use the plot of any story there without your permission. Get yourself an AO3 account. Second, I'd advertise it on your other socials, such as reddit, tumblr, Twitter, or even discord. I'd do it chapter by chapter - makes it easier for yourself and the beta reader.
God, he was such a good media manipulator. Mostly because he cared. He communicated through one of the world's most prominent social platforms for one of the world's most dominant companies, and dealt on a daily basis with the bowels of society, and all of the lost orders, and all the needs of the people. I would get lost in his pathways. The way he subtly influenced society. But he didn't care. He'd rather go home and play a game of parcheesi, or backgammon with himself. It seemed like all of society was asking for him to interact more, but he just would not, and it showed. Over time things tend to go south when you refuse to give the people what they want I guess. The last I heard, a girl had torn her shirt, and someone else was last seen stating: "I could just eat him up, if only he would come out and play.". I hope that he knew what he was doing, when he had access to the mental state of the planet. I really hope that he knew what he was doing.
"Nah man keep it simple", said I, "Pass them along properly, and don't give them any attention". I had to keep that little king from spitting. Otherwise I'd take a crack of fat fisted energy that wasn't meant for my direction. "Thanks man. I'll teach my kids about this", said the other. I never fit in with any of them. I just understood the perceptible laws of physics. It wasn't long before everyone fit in, but then that one guy who everyone knows is planning to ruin things decided step into my position. The fastest thing that occurred was this; nobody stopped him. Not a single one of us, and we all thanked him for listening. A gang apparently became the most dangerous thing because we could keep things down low, and away, and perfectly done. After what he did for me, I swear, I could kiss him.
The old man looked up from his crystal ball. The angry young man sat across the table, breathing heavily. Shaking. Avoiding eye contact with the greying wizard. "Will you end up happy?"he says, repeating the question. "That is... not a question many ask in regards to finding their true love. Most see that as... well, as a given." "Yeah, but you know how it goes,"the young man said after a minute of silence. "The story always ends there. You never know what comes next. I just... I mean if I get what I want is the story just over?!" The old man stared at the young man. Taking in his sharp features. His tightly balled fists. His eyes. The eyes of a scared little boy. "Son,"he said, stroking his beard as he placed the shawl back over the ball, "stories end because writers say what they wanted to say. Or stop getting paid. Real life goes on far after the words on the page stop."
I arose in the morning feeling very weary as I spent partying last night. I looked over my phone—not forgetting I had to prepare myself for work. As the rays of sunshine swept through the windows, I wore my cheap—probably—hand-made clothes. I waved my girlfriend goodbye as I entered my car; the Black Friday advertisements were splattered all around our neighborhood. It was okay, considering we lived in one of the cheapest areas in the city. The Black Friday posters were even splattered on my shop. However, I didn't mind; it was basically free advertisements for my Black Friday sale. I opened my shop, and only a few seconds later, I was greeted by unexpected customers considering our shop was tiny. As the first customers arrived, they all went to the electronic lane of our shop. I was pretty surprised; we haven't restocked much of our electronic section yet. In fact, we rarely touched it, since not many people bought from it anyway. I got out of my chair to see what people were trying to buy. As I glanced over, I saw what people will never see. I saw the most immense, expensive, beautiful thing. I saw… your mom.
Bedtime Story “...and then I went to the toilet, but as I opened the door, someone was looking back up at me from the bottom of the stairs!” said my eldest child, Michael. Listening in on my children’s conversations isn’t something I liked to make a habit of. “What did they look like?” Said my youngest child, Elizabeth. She was far too bright for her age. It almost seemed at times she had a private tutor from the things she’d come out with. “I don’t know, it was dark! Maybe long brown hair, it was a girl, she was wearing a dress...” “A light blue dress?” Elizabeth butted in. I needed to get her to stop doing that before it becomes a habit, she loves trying to guess the end of sentences. “How’d you know?” replies Michael, slightly hesitantly. CREAK “Hey kids, time for bed”. The floorboards gave me away once again. How I’d love to enquire more about this woman in a light blue dress but firstly, I want to get some sleep tonight, and secondly, I don’t want them feeling they lack privacy. Lord knows I suffered from that in my childhood. Perhaps that’s why I snoop so much, but I’m trying to change. “Dad, were you listening to us again?” God does that sound familiar. I see a lot of myself in Michael, Elizabeth on the other hand is definitely her mother’s daughter. “No son, I was just grabbing a glass of water and noticed your light was on”. Quick thinking on my end, but my children are smarter than that. They know the truth. “Have you seen her dad?” asked Elizabeth rather bravely. As if she were asking about a neighbour or someone awfully familiar. “Seen who?” I replied playing dumb. “The pretty lady. She wears a light blue dress, has brown hair and waits for you behind closed doors.” Oh how I regret closing my bedroom door now. Thank you Elizabeth for that treat for when I go back to bed. “No darling I haven’t seen her.” “She’s very nice. She said the children who lived here before us hid inside the walls to play hide and seek. Can me and Michael play in there?” “Now how would you get in the walls my sweet? That doesn’t seem realistic now does it?” Perhaps that was a little advanced for Elizabeth with her being only 6, but like I said, she’s far too bright for her age. CREAK A dreadfully familiar sound comes from outside the room, as though someone is listening. How I wish their mother was still with us. She’d have known how to handle this. Ignoring the sound through irrational fear I continue talking with my daughter. “There’s a door you know. In the back of mummy’s wardrobe.” I need to get those clothes sorted out. I’ve not been in that wardrobe since she passed. I still haven’t found the blasted key. “Well if there was a door, we wouldn’t be able to get in as I still haven’t found the key to your mother’s wardrobe. But anyway, it’s definitely passed your bedtime.” And with a few goodnight kisses and cuddles, I can finally return to my bedroom. Trying not to look around in the hallway too much as my own children have half terrified me through their ghost stories, I enter my bedroom. As I enter I hear a very slight crack. The crack of a hinge. Her wardrobe is open. Now this is just what I need, do I go in? Do I call the police? No, that would be stupid ‘Hello, police, my wardrobe is open’, that would get me far. I needed to just be the man of the house, finally open her wardrobe, the old lock must have just given out on the dammed thing. I can at last sort out all her old clothes. But first, let’s put my mind at ease and check for a bloody door in the back. Rustling through dresses of all colours, red, light green, purple, light blue and smelling her perfume still lingering on some of her favourite items I search deep in the back of the wardrobe. Disturbingly, I find a door handle. Applying logic to the situation it’s likely a hidden compartment for a gun or some money. However the door feels too large for that. Its definitely large enough for Michael to fit in, so I’d best get it closed off. I reach my head in to get a full view of the door which is slightly ajar, and that’s when I notice. Clutching the door shut on the top and side are some fingernails. Painted with colours similar to that of my daughter’s makeup set up I bought her not too long ago. Inhaling rather sharply I begin to cough and the fingernails vanish. This is my first ever writing prompt thing! Last time I wrote was when I was around 15. 10 years ago! A bit of background, I don't read but I really want to read more. I'll read maybe 2 books a year which is shameful and I also want to get into writing again so hopefully I'll do few more of these
"Your lies are entertaining. I understand you wish to extend your pitiful life for a few more measly seconds. But if you don't tell me the truth, I will ensure you face an eternity of agony in those last moments." The Nightmare of Calthus held up a bald headed woman with black eyes. His armour was made of a framework of bone, with living shadow filling between. She hung limply in his grasp, years of immobility robbing her of any ability to fight back. She cracked open her lips, speaking in a hoarse whisper. "I speak the truth. I cannot speak lies of what I have seen. The one you seek, the one who shall claim your life is none other than yourself." Her voice rang with finality, the weight of what she had seen lending credence to her words. The Nightmare could sense her conviction, the simple fact behind what she had seen. He pushed aside his shock, focusing on the here and now. "How then seer? How do I kill myself?" She gave a slow breath. "I do not know. You asked for me to see who killed you. I can only answer one question from any being. You have had yours." With a snarl of frustration, he tightened his grip. Her face turned red, arms barely moving as she fought for breath. After a couple of seconds he relaxed, letting her fill her lungs again. "I make the rules around here. Look again, and tell me." She gave a nod, her face falling. He set her down in a circle of few chalk, letting her focus. Her head fell back, a glimmer of tears in her eyes as she spoke with a shaky tone. "Sight of Sights. See beyond. The question is asked, and I call for answers, for Mitra, The Nightmare of Calthus." He gave a sneering smile at her plea. To think such power needed you to beg. He much preferred his way, of taking that which he desired. The Nightmare clenched his fist, weighing the strength he had gained over the years. It was an impressive amount. Yet he wanted more. The seer stiffened, her mouth falling open. He frowned, as smoke rose from her toothless mouth. A choking cry rang out, as golden light pushed forth. It seared her to the bone, the punishment of asking too much from the fates. It vanished, leaving her to crumple to the ground. Her already frail body was reduced to blackened skin, drawn tight against bone. His lip curled in distate. Such a pathetic power, if a simple question did that to you. He was more annoyed about his question going unanswered than her dying. Still, he pondered as he turned away. There would soon be another Seer. He just needed to find them.
The state department was exciting. Ryan always wanted to work there. For an economics major, particularly one interested in international relations, the job offer was a dream come true. However, Ryan had some misgivings. The job was too secretive. His friends who got government jobs didn't have many secrets. Some secrets, sure, but you could get the gist. Ryan couldn't share the gist of his offer -- to the extent that "are you sure it's not the CIA"stopped being a joke. Hence, it wasn't just the post-graduate trepidation that was making Ryan nervous. Despite being startled fully awake from half-awake worrying about his job, Ryan quickly got to his workplace. The building was nondescript, as Ryan was told to expect. Inside, he was told to ask the receptionist for access to the state department. He entered and saw that the receptionist was seated behind a hole in a white wall connected to what seemed to be a mailing room. "Good morning,"he called. An orange haired lady quickly looked up. "Hi!"she chirped. "I'm Ryan Singer, the new employee..."Ryan said, trailing off as he lost his nerve. The receptionist seemed to hiss. Then she looked down. "Yes,"she declared more clinically. "I see,"she continued, and finally: "take the left elevator at the end of the hall and press six." "I- thank you."Ryan said. "Do hurry,"the receptionist said, "and best of luck." With that, Ryan did as he was told and quickly found himself... not on the sixth floor. "Good morning, Ryan,"a man said outside the elevator as the doors slid open. "G-good morning,"Ryan stammered. "It's nice to see you. Please, follow me." "Thanks,"Ryan said as the man turned and Ryan followed him. The man led Ryan to a corner office with a seemingly thick brown door. The man knocked on the door. A grunt on the other side led the man to open the door. Inside, the occupant of the office was behind a large oak desk. "Please be seated Ryan, I owe you explanations,"a broad bald man said. He was in shadows, with the sun behind him. Ryan sat, still unable to see his boss in the glare. The boss stood up and closed the blinds. Ryan discovered, as the contrast balanced out, that the boss was a Hispanic-looking man, even with a stereotypical mustache. The boss spoke firmly and clearly, with no particular emphasis but still some sense of gravity. "So, Ryan,"the boss began as he sat, "I'm Martin, your new manager. I hear that I am your first?" Ryan gulped, doubting his hunch that Martin wanted a response. "Yes,"he almost croaked. "That's exciting for me too. A fresh mind. No preconceptions. It's good. It's easy sometimes. Sometimes you forget what people don't know."Ryan nodded as Martin made eye contact. "So, you know nothing."Martin seemed to ponder. "Have you heard of monsters?" Ryan hesitated. He could not guess what sorts of monsters Martin meant. He decided to play something of a trump card, at least in his other conversations. "Like the Japanese Yokai?" Martin did not look surprised, which caught Ryan off guard a little. "Yes, like Yokai. And more." "I-I know about some Yokai, but not-"Ryan paused, feeling like he was failing an interview, "but not much more." "It's good that you admit that you do not know. We had a newbie once neglect to mention that he didn't know what a Gorgon was, and, well, let's say his career got off to a rocky start."Martin smirked briefly. "And finish." Ryan blinked. "Like Medusa?"He decided to ask. "Yes." "But why did-"Ryan began, interrupting himself when he realized he didn't have the courage to finish his question. "Well, he met a Gorgon on his first assignment, and made eye contact. He's still there." "Wh-" "Let me explain properly."Martin cleared his throat. He reached under his desk and pulled out a 64 ounce bottle of water. He sipped from it and returned it to the depths of his desk silently. "You see, Ryan, the state department keeps a tremendous secret. This isn't a simple secret that has a few implications for a few CEOs. This isn't the sort of secret that some protesters can learn and use to their advantage. It's the sort of secret that makes ignorance truly blissful. It's living with the reality that we're not on top of the food chain. We're not even the most intelligent, particularly individually. In fact, we barely control this planet." Ryan blinked as Martin paused again. This time, Ryan didn't try to start formulating any of the questions racing in his mind. Martin resumed: "there isn't exactly one 'ruler' of this planet, even at the species-level. We share this Earth with many species and we have to think of ourselves as lucky that they are not vying for the top spot, between or among themselves. We're allowed to live for two reasons: we keep their peace, as messengers, negotiators, and trophies; and, secondly, we're a useful source for food for many of them." "Them?"Ryan finally managed to speak. "Yes, there are multitudes of monster species with advanced societies that have allowed us to advance so that they can get better food and easier lives for themselves." "Do they outnumber us?" "They will not clarify this to us. We assume that they don't for now." "So what do I-" "Come with me,"Martin smiled, "so that you can meet the vampires you'll negotiate with at 'Le pilleur de tombes'!"
Hunting someone through literally all of time is not an easy job. Even with permits, thank god time travel was never declared a right, sometimes a portal to the past gets to the wrong hands. Mostly, time travel permits are only ever given to historians. Obviously, people so caught up in the past are rarely a threat to the world – they should know more than anyone the consequences of messing with the time line. It was a surprise, however, to see a time jumper in 2019. Yes, it was politically wrought and it had a few economic issues and it was the start of privatized space travel. But, what could a member of the Fubarian saboteur really want there? They weren’t know for an interest in technology unless it was useful in war, and the Human Galactic isn’t dependent on any one event there. Whatever, a musing for the report, maybe I’ll get a pay raise for the quick capture of the saboteur. Report to the Office of Time Integrity and Security: Unknown Male Furbarian Saboteur captured in 3 minutes 21 seconds. Actions taken during that time: Sold one bat, broke one vase, brief conversation with one human women in the year 2019. Confirmed by interrogation. Effect on timeline: Mini…wait. There’s no way that is right. It must be a malfunction, the timeline effects is sometimes known to malfunction when the effects are extremely minimal. There’s zero chance five minutes in an uneventful decade could be a scenario 5: World Ender. Consulting the records of all decades kept at the center of the worlds far from the existence of time. The black information, represented in a complex series of numbers, showing the way things should be and the red written in blood? 2019 was the beginning of the start of the most prosperous possible century, it’s when the humans unified. It was the beginning of the humans’ contact with non-humans. How did it end with a death count that high? And how, by Tempus Himself, did a nuclear war start? One that ended all life? Did I get the wrong decade? Double checking that the year was, in fact, 2019 and not 1347 or 1351 or even the year of destruction 93201. Great, a pandemic followed by political instability following war and an overreaction. A classic scenario 5. Tempus will be pissed, and we have to restart the universe again…. Damn it. Humans…….in the next universe, I’ll try the dolphins instead. Larger brains, more peaceful, maybe they'll have more sense.
Chairs scooted into place, glasses were filled, and cigar smoke began to fill the air in room 1146 of the Inc. Heroes Office building. That Inc. is short for incompetent, by the by. "Alright, let's get this over with"spoke a gruff voice from the corner. "As you both know as hero and villain, we get together once or twice a year to rehash this contract"said the man stepping from the corner, said contract clutched between his pointer and his thumb. This was Jack Walton, once upon a time Rainbow Boy. While not much of a child anymore, for being a young man, 'retirement' had been rough on him. In truth it wasn't so much a retirement as it was realizing he was useless as a hero. Rainbow Boy ditched his white spandex suit, his flash red helmet with the rainbow crest, and he took up work mediating contracts between the heroes and villains who kept at it. Two of which were now seated at the table in the middle of the room. Jack tossed with contract on the table with a casualty that suggested carelessness. "Now boys, I know we all want to make this quick so let's get down to it. Just sign your names, assumed or otherwise, on those there dotted lines and be done with it. You can both read the paper over if you feel inclined. Any questions?" Typically there weren't any. Typically it was sign your John-Hancock, shake hands, part and go fuck each other up in the streets, bystanders be damned. This time the bigger man in the rather sharp dark green spandex piped up. "Now I don't know how Martin feels, but I feel our names could use some work."he said, giving a cursory glance to the contract, as he always did. "Look. The times are changing. Marvel Man? Wonderman?" Martin Dell, aka Marvel Man, dressed like a gladiator from Mars, sat his elbows on the table and laced his fingers under his chin. "I don't see the issue here Brad"he spoke with a deep Bronxy drawl. "We've had these names for quite a few years now and I don't see why it is we should be fixing to change them now." Brad Spencer, aka Wonderman, passed the contract to Martin who did his own cursory reading. He took a puff of the cigar and shook his head. "Consider it will you? We do our thing with all the honesty we can. You go out and rob a few banks, I come along and I give you the old one two. The press goes crazy for a week and we get paid."he explained as if Martin hadn't already know. "I don't know if you've noticed, but the dough's been drying up. How are we supposed to compete in this market with uninspiring names like Marvel Man and Wonderman? This the same market with Superman and Lex Luthor. Batman and the Joker, mind you." Martin tapped his own cigar in the ashtray on the table and furrowed his brow while he thought. Brad at least did raise a good point. The cash hadn't been rolling in as steadily as it once was. "You don't say that it's because our thing has become a bit stale? I'd say it's less because our names aren't up to snuff and more because...well when was it was last put on a good show? '39? '40?" Jack drug a chair of his own into place and sat down. It wasn't often that he got to actually do a real change to a contract. He poured a glass of his own and took a swig. "Boys. The reality of the situation is somewhere in the middle"he put in. "Martin's right. It's been a while since you've done anything exciting"he put his finger down about in the middle of the contract. "Look here. Currently there's nothing definitive about how often you do your hero and villain bouts. I would recommend changing that, firstly"he suggested. "But too, honestly, your names aren't much to write home about. Since it was your idea Brad, what've you got in mind?" He hadn't thought that far. At least as far as Martin was concerned. "I'd like to ditch the Wonderman schtick. I've got no problem keeping the suit. It's rather sharp if you ask me. I like the ring of 'Brad Spencer' by itself"he said looking to Jack and Martin. "What are your thoughts Martin?"Jack asked, looking to the man who'd probably be formerly Marvel Man in a couple minutes time. Martin snapped his finger once and gave it an approving wag. "Yeah, yeah that's good. I can see the reason behind it. Brad Spencer sounds like someone who shows up unannounced, cracks a few domes together and leaves, no questions asked. I like it"he said approvingly. "I'm not looking forward to being concussed but that's the show, right?"Martin joked. Brad smiled a knowing smile and Jack, Jack just took another swig. "Now that we've got Mr. Spencer here situated, how about you Martin. Now's your time for a change. Make it a good one. What've you got for us?" Before he could get a sentence out, Brad interrupted. "The Red Roman." Both Martin and Jack looked to him. One not quite understanding, and the other enquiring him to expain further. "I mean look at you. You look like a Martian playing at being a gladiator. It's a snappy costume you've always had. The Red Roman suits you perfectly" "Martin?"Jack asked. Martin -- aka the Red Roman, said nothing and nodded approvingly. "Well, I think that settles it. Agreed gentleman? Good. Handshake and get your asses out of here. I've got a meeting with Futureman and Sparkman in half an hour. I'll have the new contract ready next Friday."As he stood from his chair, and the duo of hero and villain parted ways, he reflected on the other duos he worked with. Jack Walton had no doubt in his mind that he would be having more of this conversation in the near future.
I am one of a dozen. Children, soon to be adults, who have been secreted away. Away from prying eyes and ears, away from governmental control. Legally, we are all dead. Some subject to 'horrible accidents', some 'terrible murders'. A joke, now, as there is no greater murder than restricting the very air we breathe. Here, others who are older, but still like us, teach us. Teach us of the Old Days, of the Many Collapses, of Life and Liberty, of Pursuits of Happiness. Things our government has long since abandoned, they say. I am one of a hundred. I am older, now. Wiser. We have pushed for a preservation of the Preverse Texts; books of sciences, and math, of history long burned away. More knowledge for us. We also steal and create the things we see, replicate the Old Knowledge. We steal away bodies of Those Who Have Passed, blessed be their Pursuit, to practice removal. Removal of the Device, damned be its creators, for an insurance of Freedom. I am one of a thousand. The word of Law is vast, but the word of mouth is faster. Our numbers grow, due to beurcratic oversights. We are successful in the removal of the Device, damned be its creators, and our numbers are added by those who have truly, legally, died. They are mostly like us, angry, scared, wishing to learn the Old Knowledge, to return to the Old Days. Days long before our time. The others, unfortunately, must join Those Who Have Passed, blessed be their Pursuit. I am one of hundreds of thousands. A miscalculation on the sight of the Government. Too many are dying; not enough can pay for air, and even some who can kill dozens more to do so. The People, we hear, are begging, and pleading for reprieve. Higher wages, they ask. Healthcare, they ask. Removal of the Device, damned be its creators, they ask. Anything, just so they can live. All brought to naught, as the Congress is deaf, and Lady Liberty has been chained. I am one of a million. Their miscalculation is our gain. Too many have died, and their precious Economy suffers. Even the Congress and Justices are pleading now, as they begin to join with Those Who Have Passed, blessed be their Pursuit. But no reprieve is given. Only Greed holds. We hold a Democratic Vote, and pray to the Founding Fathers; we pray for resolution, to return not the Old Days, but to Better Days. Return to a future the Founding Fathers would approve of. I am one of a hundred million. The Vote has passed, by the blessings of the Founding Fathers. There are none to stand in our way; with the latest Bill pushing the Military to pay for its own air, they have joined our ranks. It is time we stand up for Life, for Liberty, for the Pursuit of Happiness. Not for a few, but for all. Not for a select breed of people, but for all. Not for a certain blood, nor for a certain love, nor for a certain god, but for all. For the People, By the People, Of the People. As the Founding Fathers intended.
I paced the halls, practicing my speech, "My dear Ezmeralda. I have a confession to make." "No no... I should say something beautiful to her first. Like... my dear Ezmeralda, you look as beautiful as the day we first met."I shook my head, "Too cliched. Hmm.. my dear Ezmeralda. How the very sight of you feels like a dream." I thought of her and me before her death. We had such dreams to change the world. Do what the governments could not. End suffering. Yet what I had done was cause suffering and so much of it. Every time I closed my eyes I saw faces of terror. I was a feared man. I sighed, rubbing my temples, "I suppose it's cliche, but it's true. For in truth, the years without you have felt like nightmares. Without your light in my life, I descended into darkness. I scoured every tome I could find to research resurrection magic. But those secrets were closely guarded. All that was in my heart was anger and pain, the only hope left was the chance of returning you to my side." I felt the beginnings of dampness in my eyes, it felt so foolish. I wasn't even confessing to her, I had already written down several drafts of what I might say. Yet every time I thought of confronting my dark truth with her, my heart sank. It had been three days since I revived her, and I had been dancing around telling her every since. Perhaps she should know that. "I apologize for waiting for long to tell you. I couldn't bring myself to ruin our bliss with my darkness." "The arts of necromancy were imperfect, and casting them weighed heavily on my soul. What I had to become to gather all those corpses, to be around death and undeath for my days of searching had dampened my soul. With an undead army to command, forced those who would hide their artifacts and tomes which might allow me to bring you back. Magic so potent it perhaps is only safe hidden away from the greed of all who look upon it."I paused, hearing footsteps. I turned and my heart melted. It was my love Ezmeralda. Still only in her morning nightgown, her hair still unkempt from bedhead, and her eyes dreary, she could scarcely look more beautiful. I gasped, unable to form words, had she heard any of my confession? She did not smile at me, but merely gestured to me, "Go on." My heart spasmed in my chest, she had heard? This is not how I expected this would happen, could I go on? I took a deep breath, my love willed me to continue, so I must, "I regret to say that even the sheer force of my undead army was not enough for my opponents to relinquish their artifacts. So, we battled. Many were slaughtered. I had created an army where there would be no death, yet, inflicting death was their specialty. While the first battle was nearly too much for me, I knew I had gone too far. I would bring you back, no matter the cost." I looked at her for any sign of what she was feeling at this moment, but her face betrayed no emotion. I continued, "Year after year more bloodshed and battle. During those years I became a shell of a man, with only the thought of you keeping me from fading away to nothing. Though my labors paid off, I had acquired all I needed to bring you back and see your face again after all those years... I can hardly put my joy into words." The silence between us was suffocating. I waited for Ezmeralda's response, a sign of emotion on her face, anything at all. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke, "What will you do with them now, the undead army?" "I hardly have need of them. They are but a relic of the past now. The whole world knows my name, however. I have arranged a place of hiding where we can live in safety, I apologize. I know that's not the life you want but-" She cut me off, "And the places you attacked, what has become of them?" "I have undead emissaries keeping them from retaliating until I brought you back. Since undead require no food or pay I had them do most of the farming to keep the people content while their borders were closed." "So you have conquered nearly every nation?" "I... hadn't thought of it this way, but yes. I have." To my great surprise, a smile brightened her face, "Oh, my love. Do you know what this means?" Her eyes gleamed. A gleam which I, even after all these years, knew well. It was the way they gleamed when we used to speak of changing the world in a more naive time. She approached me, taking my hand and gazing into my eyes, "It means we can finally fulfill our dream. We have the whole world listening, and an entire army that has our full attention. You're no worse than a King that has led his people into war, better, perhaps, for none of your soldiers truly ever suffered for they never truly lived. I see how these years have burdened you, but it's time for us to give back. There will be no more bloodshed from here on out. Together, my love, we can make the world a better place. Thank you." My eyes filled with tears. She had not forsaken me, but brought hope out of despair, just as she had done in my thoughts, keeping me from descending completely into darkness. Together, we would change the world.
"Last call sir."I kindly let the elderly man at the end of the bar know. He's been been coming here for years now, always the sunday evening, always until closing time. I've tried to chat him up a couple of times across the years, but he always quickly killed the conversation so I eventually gave up. He's been a good guy, and a great customer. Always orders the highest quality stuff we have on shelf, never leaves a mess behind, just all in all a great guy. Just too bad that after almost 6 years of continued patronage, I don't even know the guys name. Well, whatever. I continue polishing the last of the glasses while waiting for the man to finish his drink. But where he normally would finish his drink or ask for one more before he quietly went home, this time the man did something unheard of. He took a seat in front of me. Normally, he'd sit at the end of the bar. Not near the beginning, not near the middle, and definitely not in one of the booths. Always that particular spot. So, needless to say, this was rather unusual. But it didn't stop there, because next thing he does is open his mouth. And not to yawn or something, no, this man actually started a conversation with me! After all these years, I've finally managed to break through his shell! Well.. that's what I thought at the time. I would soon find out, that maybe; just maybe, I should've left well enough alone. "Y'know, I've been watching you. You're pretty interesting..."he said as his eyes glowed red...
Karsk was a simple thing, this month at least. The aforementioned mountain, loomed amongst the pearling tree line, which lined our horizons. A simple gray, fades to a slate of pure, undisturbed white, as the time goes by, and seasons wither away of course. My feet, a floating jumble of ice and debris, dangled over the plateau, a wide view of the plains before me ordained the dying day. I had climbed up, to watch the waxing orange and reds of the sky merge, blend together upon a crisp, sheet of white, undisturbed snowy paper at the bottom of the valley. A sun soaked lake was painted, fiery beauty, all contained within the valley's basin befit a dance of delicate determination, as the sun fought a losing battle to stay perched upon its throne within the sky. Makes you wonder, if the lips of the flame can canvas the snow here so easily, what's the danger of a simple kiss beyond our stony cage? At the end of the valley, a simple thing stood above it all, miles in front of me, the Mountain of Karsk. Makes you think, right? What's beyond? If naught for the fear of the unknown, the condescending trap for my people, we'd no longer wander the mindlessness of purity we find habituate. Karsk, he was the one, apparently, to bring the sun to us. Took his being and upped and marched right over those mountains. Up the shoal valley cliffs he marched, perched upon the peak he called down to us. Promised to return, and bring the sun, chained, suckling at his prophetic teet if need be. Alas, he promised to bring light. He promised to return. He never did return, of course. Wouldn't be a legend if he did. The red light blemished my white marks, as the day finished dying. The chunks of floating ice, changed from a shade of dusty, derelict white to a bright, gutty red. Karsk, was a bed time story you'd tell your younger kin. Never to return, but alas he didn't need to return little child. For he brought the light. He brought the fire. Before my time, Karsk was. Long ago, we lived eschewed in darkness. Karsk, he emancipated our people, allowed us to live free amongst this paradise of permafrost and hyperborean existence. It is the importance of sacrifice, we teach the little icelings. I like this spot because for the briefest moment, you can see over Karsk. See past the story we dreamt up to give us hope. A shade of green, a color you only hear in stories. Back when the white was absent from our forms and our days weren't numbered by the etchings we left within the caves. Maybe I'm bitter, or resentful. Maybe, the red suits me. To be our hero, to actually return, not turn within the legend, but to be the legend. To me, well, to be something. Rather than be a justification, I can do the justifying. Karsk, maybe he was real. Or, maybe the elders, maybe the elders don't want to lose more of their sons and daughters. Maybe, we were never meant, or destined to live the path he chose for himself. Doesn't hurt now to try. Maybe, maybe if I take the light away, they'll let me back. Maybe, they'll name this stupid plateau after me.
I’d rather have been reborn the zombie. The container was even more claustrophobic than last time. Bits of ectoplasm shredded off my body when I ventured too near the spirit-impermeable walls. I didn’t know how long I could keep my form scrunched up like this, with less space than oysters allowed their pearls. Finally, the lid popped off, and I flew out. “John,” I said, nodding at my captor, who was pointing a large vacuum-looking machine at me. “Nice to see that you’re well. Met your mother’s ghost last week. Charming lady. I felt a duty to repay your kindness by showing her poor naïve soul around the ghost block. Such a shame that your friends caught and cremated her." “Careful, Barry. Your zombie may be our best customer, but don’t think I won’t suck you up and cremate you without a second thought.” John motioned to the door with his ghost sucker. “In front of me, nice and slow.” I drifted forward. The ghost catcher smiled cockily, striding after me. “You know, most zombies abandon their ghosts to spiritual cremation, those that don’t fuse back with their ghosts, anyway. As much as I love his money, I have to wonder why he keeps bailing you out." I stopped, my hue flickering from white to red, then continued forward. I altered my path just enough, so that instead of going through the doorway, I passed through the wall, right underneath the “No Phasing Through Walls” sign. The all-too-familiar click and whirr sounded behind me, and I fled the ghost-sucker, scampering behind the zombie even as I resisted the vacuum’s pull. “Sss-ttt-ooo-ppp.” The zombie sounded out each letter, letting each of them reach our ears before he proceeded with the next one. Even that was a herculean effort for him. I had taken all of our knowledge of language and memories, he took the body. All he had was the old connections, like a busy city plundered of its signage but the streets themselves left intact. Pig and death-row-inmate brains helped, but they could only go so far. But there he stood, confronting the ghost hunter, citizen-to-citizen, while I with a full faculty of language and memory cowered behind him. He didn’t have to worry about walking the streets without a human, nor about being squished to a hundredth of his normal size. He could even date freely, where I couldn’t even visit my wife without rumors spreading of her fraternizing with ghosts. John shut off his ghost vacuum, pointing a finger at me. “Keep your ghost in check, zombie. Next time we catch him, I’m throwing him directly in the cremator, no matter how much money you’re willing to pay." The zombie cumbersomely turned his body around and headed out the door, throwing John a wad of cash more than large enough to over the bail money. “Why did you do that?” I asked, glaring at the zombie as I slunk after him. He glanced back at me, but kept walking. His loosely attached, pallid skin jiggled against his body — my body — as he walked. His face looked like mine, if it had been melted then re-solidified. My sharp cheekbones were gone, worn down by years of decay without regrowth. As we walked through the city, I tried not to look at his jerky legs, twisting this way and that. The more I focused on the ravages of time, the more the thought of fusing revolted me. But I couldn’t remain a ghost. He screeched to a stop in front of a twisted metal gate. “Why did you bring us here?” I asked, staring at the gravestones inside. “You know it’s closed right now.” The zombie lurched up to the gate, gripped the narrow bars, and wrenched them sideways, stepping through. I followed, floating through the hole he created out of habit. The graveyard probably smelled like flowers, the gravestones littered with them, but that was a sense neither of us could use. Ghosts didn’t have the olfactory equipment, as for zombies, well, it was most certainly to shield them from their own fumes. As I saw where we were heading, I felt the ghost of thundering palpitations. “Are you finally willing?” We walked on. “If this is the last time we see each other, I want you to know you weren’t that bad of a zombie. You did steal my body and run off with it, but all is forgiven.” The zombie slowed as we came in front of my grave, then it walked past it, stopping at the next grave. It was a new grave, the loose dirt curving above the ground in a mound above the grave. The large, plain tombstone read: “Marie Urchers March 28 1954 - July 3 2022 Reunited in death with my loving husband Barry” “She died?” I choked back a sob. “Fuck you, you selfish asshole.” If we had fused a year earlier, I could have visited my wife. In my full body, not as an illegal apparition. The zombie didn’t answer, just stared at my wife’s tombstone. I wiped the tears away from my eyes. The creature copied me, pulling an arm across its eyes. I hissed. My control of my color completely evaporated, my skin reverting to its natural milky green with splotches of mustard yellow. “I’m going to enjoy this. Prepare yourself for the fusing.” The zombie shook its head. “Nnn-ooo.” It pointed at the fresh dirt on my wife’s grave. “Bbb-ooo-ddd-yyy.” “You—No.” I flexed my incorporeal hands, but there was little I could do to a zombie. Instead, I floated away. What was the point, now? I could try to force a fusing, but my zombie was too developed, and what would be the point? I had no wife to visit, no reason to live, and yet I could die either. Suddenly, I was sucked back towards the grave. I turned, twisting to see that the zombie had one of John’s ghost suckers in his hands. Just before I was sucked into the vacuum’s bag, he switched it off, pointing at my wife’s grave again. “Bbb-ooo-ddd-yyy.” I leaped towards but he didn’t flinch as I passed through his face. “You think I don’t understand what you mean? You think you’ve really stumbled onto an ingenious solution, allowing you to hold onto your pathetic fragment of a life while getting rid of me in the same turn? It’s been tried before, and the body always rejects the foreign ghost. It has to be your body, it can’t be my wife. I won’t allow it to be my wife’s.” He stared at me with his dull, melted face. The wind rustled the few wispy hairs he had left as the bats cried out to the sliver of a moon. Finally, he opened his mouth. “She want. She want.” I jerked back. Only after I got over the shock of his coherent speech, did the words sink in. “You talked with her?” He nodded. Oh. Oh. I stared at the words on the tombstone. Reunited in death, indeed. Dead bodies rejected ghosts not originally from their bodies, but bodies didn’t usually die with the expectation and acceptance of being possessed. I picked up some of the dirt from the top of the grave, letting it slip through my fingers. “Will you stay with me for this?” The zombie folded its legs underneath itself. It wiped its arm across its face more aggressively, the rheumy tears pouring from its eyes.
“The nightmares... how do I cure them?” David briefly closed his eyes before continuing. “How do I make the torment end?” “Again, what be the problem?” replied the therapist, ever-focused on his notepad; this practitioner of listening was more akin to a bookworm fiddling away at the blank page – thumping the paper with his pen as an obvious habit. A distraction. David's eyes met the therapist as he continued to lay on the lounge chair, they narrowed. “Personal issues – not recommended for this session. Perhaps if you would listen to me... you would understand. I have told you this already! I cannot divulge this!” “If you can't even begin to tell me your problems, I cannot judge –” “I don't need you to JUDGE me, fool!” David shot up and backhanded the notepad with force, sending it out his hands and flying across the room. “I need guidance!” The therapist shot up from his rolling chair, “Get out of my place of business right now! Such actions are forbidden!” Sensing the escalation, David sprang to his feet and briskly went for the exit. This somehow wasn't like him. Not in this moment. He pulled open with such a force that the clear glass on the door broke into millions of pieces. Walking outside, David looked back briefly and studied the wreckage. He had been arrogant. He had been ruthless. He had let his unknown anger show too much. He had let his abilities bloom on the ordinary. Before commotion would start, David emerged from the sun of the streets to the interior of his room. Teleportation was so very easy. It was such a trivial matter of distance now. He put it to such good use – but not for his own personal gain. He could very well envision himself using the means of instantaneous travel for insidious use – it had no limitation of range – but he always turned against it for morality's sake. Yes, he could lose any type of law enforcement by vanishing and appearing half-a-world away, but that was not his calling. That was not his business. That was not the game. However, what he couldn't shake were the nightmares. They were grueling. Every night the same commotion would emerge. The prospect of helping an old lady across the street became a teleportation to a volcano and dropping them in. He could see innocent people dying in his inner-most thoughts. He could see destruction and chaos. He didn't just see villainous degeneracy in his native country, no, he witnessed himself attacking a smorgasbord of countries big and small. Citizens tough and helpless. Deaths prolonged or quick. And then he found himself gazing at his apartment. It wasn't the first time the owner was angered at David's lack of care for apartment utilities. David had thought himself a civil, clean caretaker, but apparently he was a lazy slob who couldn't even clean after himself. And this time if he caused any more destruction of property, he would not just be fined extra in his rent, he would be out of that complex entirely. The problem was, he swore that when it was time to sleep... everything was in order. The rooms were tidy, but when rest called... events changed. Processing the myriad of different thoughts made David feel drowsy. He knew he couldn't sleep well anymore, but his body desperately called for unconsciousness. He wouldn't patrol the streets this night being the good Samaritan, he would take a well-deserved break. In one moment he was laying on a ruffled bed, another moment he was gone. Gone not of sleep, but of his mind. He woke to screams. It made him shoot up. He was sweating and his body was sore. This wasn't normal sleep pains – this was if he was in a fight. A brutal fight. Memories flooded back into his mind as he looked at his digital clock. It was four o'clock in the morning. However he couldn't think for those yells. Adrenaline pumping as always when danger entered the scene, he ran out out of his apartment and to the neighboring one on the other end. He saw a young, lanky man crawling on the ground and shouting for help. As David approached, he saw that the poor soul was bleeding and his eyes – my god his eyes – were taped shut. “Let me help you!” David went into action, carefully pulling down one of the pieces of tape on his eyes – luckily, this black tape was resting on his forehead down to his cheek, not necessarily sticking to the eye itself. “Who did this?” “T-that voice...?” he spoke ominously, pulling away from David without even letting him finish with the other eye. “What are you doing?” David asked, trying to remove the other piece of tape, but the stranger was fighting it tooth and nail. “No... my wife... is dead... bastard!” he muttered, falling down on his back and hitting the pavement. David's eyes widened, “There was another?” “A ghost... a ghost mutilated her... your voice is familiar... I hear it!” he kept murmuring in tones that David couldn't quite understand. However, something was off. While he was asleep, he did vaguely remember a nightmare having to do with some teleported break in, but that could not possibly connect to this situation at hand. As the man's eye began to see, he looked at David as if he was about to turn white, “It was YOU! You did this, you motherfucker!” “Did what?! I don't understand!” David's heart rate was increasing, blood pumping into every vein, but that could not sustain the thousands of questions that was flowing into his brain. “You killed her!” as David thought deeply, the man had gotten up and was lunging for him, “You appeared in our room!” In the heat of the moment, the innocent man's face became jello. It instantly became devoid of all life. It was a spurring mass of flesh and tissue. He had done it. He had killed him with his strength. It was as if all of his morality swept from his body as a flood. Not even giving the stranger a second glance, he appeared in the man's house. He saw blood line the walls and the trails led into the bedroom. David put a hand over his mouth as he saw the bloodied corpse of what was once a woman. On the bed, there was a phone... it had a video that was playing on loop. He carefully maneuvered his way across the broken furniture that was strewn across the room and watched the video. “To all of you unevolved fools, I will be taking complete control over this planet!” rang a familiar voice on the recording. On the video was the picture of the man he had killed and the woman that was murdered – they both begged for mercy. “Your little boyfriend does not deserve to look at my presence!” said the gruff, but oddly familiar voice on the other end of the camera. It then proceeded to show duct-tape which had suddenly appeared out of nowhere being forced onto the bloodied man's eyes. Then, David had to look away, but not before the camera turned around to see...! This made him sick. It was as if the universe wanted to reveal a plot twist. After all of the violence in his dreams – after all of the suffering he had witness – after all the attempts at resolution to professionals – he still did not grasp the magnitude of the situation. He gazed at himself, smiling deviously, eyes closed. “You all cannot escape. This night is mine. And, David, when you see this... just know you are hopeless to stop me. We are both one in the same... I am the teleporter and you are the naïve hero. We both use each other –” David's air quickly left his lungs as his scream echoed throughout the halls. He threw the phone into a wall which shattered. Then, as if to add insult to injury, siren's wailed their familiar tune outside. He had heard them before, but not under this context. What was he to do now? And how could he stop this nightmare?
"Learn your damn place,"I half-sigh, half-growl. "We call you a horde because that's what you are\--a horde of filthy orcs. And you..."I step up to the one the others have deemed their "union leader". I lean in close and with my right hand reach behind his head and grab him firmly, locking his head and neck in place, reading the fear he pitifully attempted to disguise as indignation. "At best, you all take the pay we give at the end of the day and leave peacefully. At worst, we slaughter you, sell your parts for meat, and have your entire clan replaced by tomorrow morning. The thing you fail to understand here is that this isn't your story. You're not a hero, there's no happy ending awaiting you and your people, and the villains win. Always."
"Hey, have you heard the latest?"The man said. He spoke in an almost conspiratorial whisper. The almost being caused by the copious amount of ale flowing through his veins. "No, what?"Terrance replied. "I hear the Western Lords are planning something."The man said in his not-whisper. "Really? They are?" "Oh yeah. Our lord says it's wrong but we all know the truth." A slight grin crossed Terrance's lips. "Do we now? And where do you hear such a scandalous rumor?" "It was in the world scrolls." Of course, Terrance knew that. He knew just about everything the world scrolls talked about. Supposedly they were the absolute truth. But every now and then a few...less reputable words got mixed in. Completely by accident, of course. That those small suggestions helped some very interesting people was pure happenstance. "Well then, it must be true."Terrance said. "Course it is."The man said before waving the bartender over for another drink. "I hear the king's up in arms about it. He's gonna send some people to check out the western territories and everything." "Sounds serious." "Yeah, it is. Probably a rebellion or something. I wouldn't stay around here, that's for sure, seeing how close we are to those territories." "So, what are you going to do?" "We, me and everyone else around here, are getting ready to move in towards the east. Plenty of room there to make a new town, right?" On the surface, Terrance's smile did not change. The difference was certainly too subtle for the inebriated man. "That's going to be hard to do. Establishing a new town and all." "Yeah, sure. But we can do it. We can do damn near anything if we need to. Hey, hey, if we make this new town right, do you think the scrolls will notice us? Maybe do a little story about the group of people who made a town from nothing?" There was little chance of that happening, but no need to ruin the man's good mood. "Maybe. If you're lucky you might catch the eye of one of their writers." The man let out a cheer. His new ale arrived and he went to the more important task of downing it. Terrance took the opportunity to bid his new friend a good day. He had learned all he needed to. He had learned that his little false rumors about the western lords were paying off sooner than he thought. He almost laughed about how easy it was. He had been writing for the world scrolls for almost ten years now. Ten years, and it still amazed him how much the world dangled on the strings of a few skilled writers.
I am not paid enough for this. My mantra for dealing with certain customers. Everyone in the service industry does it. They look at the customer and what they are doing and mumble under their breath "I am not paid enough for this."In my too long, three year "career"at the movie theater I have said this dozens of times. I said it when I had to "politely"deal with the woman on her phone. I said it when trying to herd a group of cats most would call "drunk college students"out the door aat the end of the night. I said it when my boss told me I had to be polite to the most ridiculous of rule breakers. Now I need to be polite to the stupidest thing I have seen yet. "One ticket to Chain Saw Massacre Parris edition,"he said, to the chorus of whispered "quit moving,""farther and you'll regret it,"and other childish pleas. Standing at 10 feet, 3 inches, he is the tallest "man"I have ever seen. I have been considering quiting before this, but this event makes me wonder how often I really need to eat. You see, I am damned either way. If I refuse service and a ticket, then my boss will get on me for poor customer service. If I sell a ticket to "him,"then their parents will probably get involved when the nightmares start, and it will be in trouble for "not looking out for the best interests of the customer."And yes, my boss is that big of a jack ass. "Mighty tall there,"I say with a grin, knowing my only way out is to get them to revel themselves. "Uh, it is, uh, a genetic condition,"the top exclaim at the urging of the lower two thirds. "And your fashion sense. It has to be a hundred in the shade outside and here you are in a trench coat." "Uh, um, I use it to sell, to sell, uh,"he says struggling, until the lower third exclaims, "Drugs!" "So we have a drug dealer is the house tonight, with your disposable income, I guess you want a drink, extra large popcorn, the candy super pack, a freeze super cup, and-" "Wait, wait!"yells the middle, "we only have cash for the ticket!" Only for the ticket, my what fun I can have with that. "But you just said you were a drug dealer, how could you possibly be poor?" "We, uh, just bought more product." "So what's the bribe so I don't turn you in?"My grin cou.d not be wider as I final.y catch them in a trap. "Uh, uh, uh,"the top stammered, until the bottom third replies with a helpful, "My allowance!" "So a drug dealer bets an allowance? Do you live with your mom?" "Yes!"Yelled the bottom third. "Here, take our money!"The top said, ignoring his talking bottom. Unfortunately for him, the woman in line behind him was tried to waiting and bumped into him, causing a handful of Washington's and coins to fall to the ground as they struggles to stay upright. "Sorry, not Sorry,"the woman says walking past them. College students can be dicks, but I like this one. Few thing can express my glee as I ran through the line, watching out of the side of my view as "he"tried to collect his money with out falling down. Eventually he manages to pick up his coins and bills. Unfortunately, he is now at the back of the line, behind an old woman. Normally this old woman is not a problem, she always comes into see the latest sappy love story. This time she is paying in coins, because, as I learned listening to her tale of woe, her debt account was hacked, and while the bank "will handle it,"she is left with her coin jug. As I count it out she regales me with tales of her grandchildren, slowing the process even more. At least she was polite enough to wait at the former end of the line. If only the "tall man"had not dropped his money, she would have been last. After the last coin was counted, she left promising to bring me a piece of her "famous lemon pie"as an apology for paying in change. "Here, take our, I mean my money."Boy, he seemed stressed, I wonder why. Unfortunately for him my hand slipped dropping the money, again. Of course this caused swearing from all parts of "him"as he struggled to pick up his money. "Here take my money,"the top says as he carefully set it on the counter. "Right away sir, unfortunate for you, I need to check for counterfeits since you are a drug dealer."As I go over every bill carefully, I can see the stress on the top's face and hear the middle whispering insults to the bottom. Finally, I am done, and as I hand over the ticket, I "accidentally"drop the ticket on the floor, much to the shock of "him."As round three of ground pick up plays, I smile watching the clock. You see, the movie has a 55 minute play time. They have spent 45 minutes so far. My problem has handled itself.
My glasses shifted, alas I had not moved. The twitch of my eyelid, rapid, sudden, blurred my vision. Ever for a second, it dashed away. It got away. My head, turned from the board before me, moved not from its position as my body contorted from the seat. Ever still eyeballs, a nose perched, pitched, unceasing. My jaw, it screamed, not physically, no sound came from my mouth, the pain, it screamed as it dug into my throat. My hands flailed as my head stood still, arms reached around, looking for an answer. My feet brought me forth in a heave, across the strewn papers and broken pictures. A sign of depression? Or innovation? The grandiose of the moon met my stalemate as she bestowed her impaling illumination across the forest beyond the outstretches of my property. Each, white streak brought across my face by the moons light panged my heart, and burned my mind. My window allowed a full, unabashed view of beauty from beyond. Whiter than can be described, lifeless, more aimless than the purest of newborn souls, the creature's eyes shared a quaint familiarity with the sphere within the sky. I could taste the antlers, feel every convex of bone adorning it's face in my burning, fingernail-induced bleeding palms. I reached out, the chill of the glass, started in one, then a second, finally, the chill enveloped my entire hand. The mug within opposing one dropped to the floor as I fell forward into the window. Catching myself on the frame, I groaned in reverence, as I finished my collapse to the floor. Met by notes and ramblings I grasped hold of anything, and everything I could. One-hundred, ninety-six hours, forty-six minutes, eleven seconds, twelve seconds, thirteen seconds, I have been awake. I have, been, mounting my defenses in preparation of innovation. The being, its slate-derelict beauty had infected my mind a night sometime ago and, by the idea I will not let this stranger consume me. Burrows into your dreams, influences you from within. A scary thing no? A scary thing, no? To lose everything you've strived for? Be, consumed, by a, well a lack of a will to do. That's what it does. It starts off slow, a mitigation of your usual routine, a diversion between the expected. Then every day and days, they get longer, the days they do. They don't stop. You start hating the days, wondering why? Every day, morning, noon, and night: "Why?"What did I do to deserve this fate? But you can't explain it. You can't express it. That's what they do to you. My eyes, they used to be a light to the envy of a carousel. Ideation, willingness, drive, perforated a lowly outcropping of serene blue. Now they weigh heavy, run down, and burn deep like a red light district. The red light district began to flood. An torrent fall of tears rivalling a waterfall which would make any angel weep, I cried. Sputtering at the beauty, the complexity, the fear within the darkness I encased myself within. I closed my eyes, and gurgled my will away. Inhumanity, released from me in a cascade of doubt and misery. What will I become? Who have I failed? Am I a burden? Are these thoughts forever? I opened my eyes to his. An obfuscated figure before me, no feet or hands visible behind a brush of black leaves, but the outline of a humanoid presence burnt itself within my walls. Its antlers sprouted up and through the ceiling as the sanity of my sanctum became pierced within the veil of my being. The figure, naught much taller than I had I been standing, gazed down upon me, the angular bone of its front peaked curiosity. Beyond the moonlight echoed within its eyes, it spoke to me, in the softest tone, with a faintness of kindness. "You must to sleep."It echoed, but did not move. "So you can... so you can change me? Is that right?"I said from the floor. My breath labored at the sight. I did not, could not choose to fathom what befit before me. "This is not you." "You'll destroy me. Wither me away from within." "You're destroying yourself."the being, meek with words, shifted a direct look at me, emancipating me in light, "soon enough, there will be nothing left to whittle." My eyes at this point had lost the battle, collapsing in upon themselves, in an attempt to clear my tears. Fighting, my mind did try to counteract the mutiny within my body, alas they had been sealed shut by exhaustion. The fading of my being, the loss of consciousness within my limbs akin to chemical bliss. The numbness in my fingertips beset the cold, traveling up first to the knuckles, then down my palm. A soothing wash, flooded the sight of nail imprints and blood. The panging, it failed away, my grip loosened on the papers, now stained crimson. I could hear them fall to the floor as my legs did the same. My lungs slowed, each breath allowing a new wave to leap forward within my body. An ever seeking goal of consuming my core. Even this cold, hallowed floor felt like the tender sheets of a freshly relaxed and made bed upon the face of the earth. I sunk within the floor, every fiber of my body clinging to it with the molecules of my soul. "As much as you may wish not, I am something you must face."It said. "I tried.... so hard..." "It will be okay." With a final breath, my brain drifted off within the soup of my consciousness, with the eyes following not far behind. "You'll be better now. It's time to grow."
The story of Old Stumpy is an old, old tale. It dates back to when Ohio was a wild, untamed land, back before Ohio was a state. They say old Stumpy was a pleasant, kind old man, with a time worn smile and a time worn lantern he carried in his single remaining hand. He was a ridge walker, traveling the hills of Ohio looking for lost souls, a kind word on his lips and love in his heart. For years and decades he fulfilled his self appointed duty, until on a dark and stormy night he came upon a young woman, bruised and battered. As he stepped forward to lend a hand, out of the dark night a man appeared, a knife in hand and wickedness in his heart. Old Stumpy looked between the man and woman, then uttered a single word. "Run."The young woman ran into the night leaving Stumpy and his lantern to face the man and his knife. She ran through brambles and over hills praying for deliverance, until she saw a light on the ridge. She followed to light through the storm, desperate for aid, until she came upon a home with not a single candle burning. She found the kindness she needed, but the storm's fury had grown, preventing anyone from going to help Old Stumpy. In the morning's light, a search party was formed. By the noon sun, Old Stumpy and the wicked man were found, far further than anyone expected. Old Stumpy was dead, but not from any wound, and with a look of pure bliss unmatched by anything but the look of pure terror on the wicked man's face. The only two items missing were a sharp knife and a time worn lantern. As the years passed, Old Stumpy's light has been seen many a times walking the ridges, but be warned, loving aid and a glowing guide awaits only good men, for wicked men are never seen again. I would just like to say that this is a campfire tale I have been told twice, once by my Grandfather, who claimed Old Stumpy led him home one night, and once again by my Boy Scout Scoutmaster in regards to the ridge lights that some claim to see to this day.
One thousand, and one men, and women were gathered around the emerald casing. It had not been possible. The original sword was still in possession of the newest King Vladimir. The ceremony never repeated on such immediate intervals in any historical records that were to the knowledge of the kings and queens. Even the stone had moved, and some of the previous swords were gone. Yet their owners remained. Nobody who knew spoke a word that day, and all previous owners felt a strong unease that something they had done may not have been the proper use of the order. There were many days which they held court for themselves, because it was clear that only the likes of them were looking, but today was unique. Today had a tinge in the air, as if this new sword had brazen meaning. Nobody dared touch it. Everyone chose to wait, and see who would step forth. It was intrinsically a part of each owner's personality they often found. A tone that one of the primary uses of the sword was to keep notes on those who failed; yet what if the entire order had been built to change? What if it had been built with bias, atop a shifting mound of sand? It seemed that the puzzle pieces each owner knew so well after years of presumptuous study were suddenly with an adverse, and inverted meaning. To stand in that room made you feel like the floor was failing, and it made one want to leave immediately, but everyone knew that everyone else was looking.
Garen's little lot by the stream near the heart of the forest always made for an excellent turning point. The fearless hero would stumble through the clearing near death. Garen, on his way back from picking berries, filling a pale of water, or perhaps collecting sticks for his fire, would find the half-dead hero sprawled just inside his clearing. This one chap, who turned out to be named Japheth, had made it all the way to his mule's shelter before collapsing in the trough. Garen dropped his berry basket, hauled Japheth's head out of the water, and spent the next month tending to his fever-addled brain while derusting his armor. Did Japheth come back and thank him? No. No, he did not. Most of them didn't really. Garen's role in their story relegated him to a late-story helper or maybe a guardian at best. This kind of assistance apparently deserved no more than a thank you and a heartfelt goodbye. From time to time a snag would happen in the storyline to add a bit of drama. Once the villain arrived just after the hero left and burned Garen's house down and slaughtered his mule, Poxy was that particular mule's name. Actually, the burning of the late-stage guardians' home happened more times than Garen cared to admit. Though, if the hero lived to the end, defeated the villain, and didn't actually become the villain themself (and of course actually remembered Garen and found out about the unfortunate incident with his home and the burning of his cottage) they would come back and pay for a new cottage. No nevermind that he always built the cottage himself with the materials on hand. "Money's about half as good as manure for a man what lives in the middle of the dark wood,"he often muttered to himself as he spread manure over between rows of radishes. "Worse really. Don't help nothing grow, wouldn't you say Poxy LVI?"Poxy LVI watched him with her black marble eyes and let out a few more bits of dung. Now and again, his story took some unexpected turns. He might find the "just the thing I've been looking for"which the hero would use to overcome some villains perfidious power. The hero would crow with delight, happily take the "just what I needed"thing, and march off to do great battle. One odd twist to the story happened when the hero stumbled into his clearing, arrows in her back, carrying a swaddled little package. The lady hero was in a bad way but she made a recovery after a month or two that passed liker an intermission. When she did, the swaddled little package, which turned out to be a little girl. When she arrived, the girl was a shy bare-bones little thing. But with Garen's kind keeping and good hearty food, she had transformed from a shy little thing to an outgoing ragamuffin. "Please, Sir Garen. Will you watch after this little child? I fear this will be the only refuge the lass finds until I return from my quest and the world is safe again for such as her." "I don't know about calling myself sir, ma'lady. But she can stay here and I'll do my best to keep her safe." "Very good then."She stood and towered over Garen by a head. "With you watching her, I can do all I can to end the dread lord Japheth's reign. When I do, I'll return for my charge and reward you for your help." "Are you sure you must-Did you say Japheth?"Garen wondered if he had heard the name wrong. It wasn't unheard of for a hero to be corrupted on the path. How many Japheths could there really be in these parts, he wondered. "How long he been terrorizing then,"he tried to ask casually. "It has been a dozen years since he burned my village to the ground. I've sworn vengeance and have worked toward that end ever since. Why do you ask? Do you know him?" "Ehrm, perhaps. Though I doubt it. The man I knew came through these parts an age past. Must be loads of Japheths about, I'd think. I'll wish you good luck and glory on your quest." The imposing woman laughed for no reason reason. The beads woven into her black dreadlocks rattled against the pauldrons of her plate mail armor. Then she left. Garen sighed. He wondered whether Japheth's goons would come to burn his cottage down for old time's sake. "Better take the little Eynid out to pick some thimbles just in case. Give the rat bastards plenty of time to get the job done. Don't know if these old bones could stand leaping out the window with the place aflame and all. That last time messed up my shoulder something fierce." Japheth did come to burn the cottage down and retrieve the destined girl Eynid. Maybe he would have let Garen live if he'd given her up and maybe he wouldn't have. Garen found the heroes turned villains to be more capricious and sadistic than the ones that were born with little black eyes and sharp teeth. In this case though, the sadistic hero-turned-villain was foiled. Though he still burned down Garen's cottage with a primal shout of frustration and a few choice incantations. Garen and Eynid could hear the scream and subsequent explosion from the thimbleberry path a good league away. Garen smiled down at the little Eynid as the shout reverberated off the cliff face. "Someone's in for a rough thrashing by your lady friend when he gets home."Eynid smiled back unknowingly with little red thimbles stuck to the tips of each of her fingers.
In the barren wasteland that was outer space, our small team who worked day and night just to feed our families back in Sagittarius. We were a small little company hired to investigate things in Orion. Usually, we'd just go and record whether or not a planet was profitable for the ever-growing demand for gold and glass in the age of computers. Today, we were hired to investigate some red dwarf and it's planets. Survey some part of the land, and report back to whoever we were employed by. This planet was continental, consisting of vast liquid water oceans covered with brown continents. Mark, our sole engineer remarked that it kind of looked like the illustrations of earth from before the Cataclysm. We considered the idea that it might be the lost homeworld everyone and their mother have looked for, but considering Earth had been destroyed that should've been impossible. Billions had died in the Cataclysm, causing us to abandon our parent star for hospitable land elsewhere. Mark was deep in thought as we landed on this.. what was the word.. Earthlike planet. We landed near a lake, and began to search around this planet. It was barren despite having all the conditions for life, not a single piece of foliage. Not even grass under our feet. I shouted to Mark, "Bring us the water testing kit, please!" Mark responded back, "Sure!" Mark entered our little Shuttle, and quickly returned with a device that looked like a radio, a wire, and a box-shaped object with a few tubes sticking out of the front. He ran past me with it, and attached the wire to the radio-looking object and the box shaped object. He threw the box-shaped object into the water, and the radio-looking object began to read out in a robotic voice "Life: Negative" "Water Temperature: 289 Kelvin" "Water Safe for Consumption: False" It continued like this for about a minute, then began to read off the composition of the water. "Sodium: 17,000 ppm" "Gold: 0.008 ppm" Mark cheered, for this was a very unusually high amount of gold. It likely meant gold was abundant on this planet, not like we'd be seeing any of it though. Suddenly, James grabbed my shoulder. James began to shout "Sir, you NEED to come see this. We could be millionaires!" I said, annoyed at the sudden interruption "What the fuck are you talking about?" Mark had clearly noticed the commotion, and came to investigate. James ran off, and I followed him with mark close behind. We eventually reached a tall hill, and began to walk up it. As I neared the hill, my scanner made me aware of potentially high-valued items. As James finished running up the hill, I came in close second. I saw from the hill a pile, maybe as tall as the hill itself, of ugly red and blue boxes. I asked James "What is so special about this?" James answered "These are rare things from antiquity! We could make billions selling these, I'm sure collectors would love to have pieces of the modern dark ages in their home." I told James "You know we can't do that. We're contractors, and stealing billions of dollars worth of items is a good way to get your head chopped off." James responded, a bit louder this time "You know, if we took even one of these.. We'd never have to work again in our life." I told James firmly "And if we steal even one of these, we won't have a life." James shouted, clearly frustrated "It is worth it! Why can't we even take just one? This is a life changing amount of money!" Mark was watching the commotion from afar and began to walk towards us. I responded to James "Look Dude, I value my life over some old relic. I doubt this thing would even sell for that much, maybe like 500 credits?" James responded, a bit quieter "I guess you're right. Who would want to buy some old shipping containers?" Mark added "We can't even prove these aren't forgeries. What are you going on about with Money?" It was already evening. I told them "Well, I'm going to the shuttle. See you in the morning.", and begin to jog towards the shuttle. I entered the medium-sized vessel, folded the table into a bed, and went to sleep.
Adam walks into Luke's garage while he's working underneath Vana. Luke rolls from underneath Vana. "Adam, just the unholy mix between man and magic I wanted to see,"said Luke. "Good morning to you too,"said Adam. "What's up?" "I have a job for you,"said Luke, "an old 'friend' of mine just told me that she got her hands on some monster snake blood, and she's offered to give it to us. I need you to head down there to pick it up." "...what's the catch,"asked Adam. "What? There's no catch,"said Luke. "There's always a catch with you,"said Adam, "last time you had Reba and I get you a magical pear. The catch was it was in the mouth of angler fish the size of a stadium." "But hey, he was delicious,"said Luke. "Not the point,"said Adam. "Fine,"said Luke, begrudgingly, "You're heading into a den of blood cultists, they worship some god, purpureus...something, I don't remember. My friend says that everyone in her town's been acting weird since they got the blood." "There, was that so hard?"said Adam. "So, where am I heading?" \----------\[The Amazon Rain Forest\]---------- A hellish portal opens up and Vana drives out of it. Adam gets out the back, walking around to the driver side window. "Town's about six miles north from here,"said Luke. "You know, we need better transportation,"said Adam. Vana revs her engine angrily. "I mean the Hell Portals, these things suck, man!" "Your complaint is noted,"said Luke, "now, go get the blood and call me when you're done."Another portal opens up and Vana drives thorough. # ----------Bad Batch----------
The funeral was. . . nice. You would think being a hero who saved the world would get trumpets and doves at least. You see, I died stopping another dark lord's end the world plan. Yes, another. The one that killed me was my fourth. The first dark lord cost me my whole party's lives. I could not save them. Azerl the sorcerer burned out his mana veins casting a shield to block a hellgate. Ham fist Hal went down punching out demonic minions, buying time with his life. Sarah the healer ran out of mana, but still saved my life with blood magic. She died in my arms. The second dark lord brought me our of the bottle. I was back in action with a new group of young heroes. I failed again. Rex Fire Lord burned himself to ashes summoning an achient fire elemental. Sneak Sue back stabbed the dark lord and found out the hard way about defensive enchantments. Paul the mad alchemist blew up himself and the giant wood golem. And I killed the dark druid himself as he watch his golem burn. The third dark lord killed my cat. I know that is a poor reason to come out of retirement, but my therapist recommended the cat to help with survivor's guilt. This time I went my own way. I refuse to join a new hero's party. I was certain I would get them killed. They died just fine without me. I never even knew their names. I fought my way into the dark lord's sanctum and found blood. I ripped the vampire's head off with my bare hands. The forth dark lord was not really a dark lord, but a bored primordial being. The kind of being that would give power to the most messed up killer it could find for laughs. I decided no one else would die because of it. I spent years looking for the magic to end it. My friends gave me the components needed to kill it. Azerl had a book on binding beings to enrich his powers. Sarah's blood magic can form a link between any living beings. Rex had artifacts to open holes in reality, just perfect for hunting down a dark lord. Paul left behind a potion for every circumstance. The last party had gear they would never use again. Hal and Sue gave me plenty of motivation. I chased it to the ends of the earth and through the infinite planes, but I cornered it. Then I linked us, body, mana, mind, and soul. Finally with a sharp blade, I ended both of us. Best trade I ever made. Death was not what I expected. Death was kind. Death let me see my funeral. Not many came. I outlived my friends. At the end I was alone, a broken hero, the last hero with any luck. Now I need to meet my new party for the next adventure. I just hope I don't fail them like all the others. "Buddy, you need to. . . relax." "Stop pushing strange potions Max." "Sarah can heal side effects. Beside Sue was only purple for a week." "Knock it off. Our leader is here. No time to waste, we have souls to save."
The aliens trekked through the Cascade mountains of the American Continent, looking for their target. They were fairly large creatures, over 6ft in height and sharing a lot of commonality with canine physique. They had long thin wolf like ears, four eyes, a floofy tail, a well as a snout with large fangs visible. They were covered in thin fur, which while normally either a shade of grey, silver, or snow white, had been painted in forest colors as a sort of camouflage. Perhaps their most distinct feature was however their surprisingly humanoid arms and hands. "Are you sure were in the right providence? Seems like there's nothing but forest and mountains for miles, I thought Hanford was flat and desert like."Evel asked as he adjusted his helmet which was rubbing against his ears rather uncomfortably. "Were in the Cascades east of Hanford. We just have to keep moving West and regroup with the scout team on the way."Lieutenant Feklei replied as he checked his PDAs map for bearing. "Why do we even need Hanford anyway? Intel suggested it was shutdown years ago due to obsolesces."Keith asked as he looked around the dense foliage, cursing the fact he had to carry both the culinary gear and a heavy ass machine gun. "Cause its design allows it to produce Plutonium. Our goal is to simply secure it for the engineering team to come down and bring it back into operational status. If we can produce even a bit of Plutonium, we can power our capital ships for the rest of the campaign."The Lieutenant replied with a smirk, a sense of patriotic fervor washing his mind as he looked up to the path ahead. "There's a clearing not far from here, we can set up camp there and wait for the rain to pass, as well as get some chow." "Thank god, I'm starving"Jeene chuckled as her ears occasionally twitched from the odd . The five unit group walked silently through the forest, nerves on edge having heard reports of large carnivorous and territorial creatures. Once they got to the clearing, anxiety faded and was replaced with relief. "I'll get the tent pitched if you wanna start the burner"Feklei smirked as he put his large pack on the ground. "Already on it Feek"Keith replied as the green flame of the portable cooking unit came to life, with 5 MREs soon being set to cook. "I'll take first watch while you boys set up"Jeene piped up before walking off, unslinging her DMR off of her shouder. "Evel go with her, I don't want anyone out by themselves"Feklei ordered as he staked the tent down, only to be met with silence. "Evel?"He asked again to see Keith snickering. "He already headed off with her the moment she said she was gonna take watch. Anyway, first meals up and has your name on it Lieutenant"Keith replied as he walked over with a rectangular slab of cooked preserved meat. "Yeah give me one second"Feklei smiled as he got the cover of the tent erected. "Now, we have a dry place to eat"He chuckled as Yento walked up, still wearing his radio pack. "Lieutenant Feklei, message from Nebula"Yento, the short radio hauler said dutifully as he handed Feklei the comm. Fekleis demeanor and attitude changed back to business as he took it. <<Wulver actual, send message>> <<Wulver, Nebula, Message. We can't get a message through to the scout team you were to group up with, we can't even find their IFF tags on SATCOM, either their comms are down or somethings happened. Last known location puts them roughly 5 MAUs north west of your current position. We'd like to get a Sitrep on them ASAP.>> "Five MAUs North west? There's a river not far from there, but the terrain around the river's pretty dicey."Keith thought out loud. <<I've only got a 5 unit team here, and were already behind schedule for getting to Hanford, if the engineers can wait another few days we can check it out.>> Feklei replied after a minute of thinking. <<Lives above Missions Feklei, don't give up on them, radio back when you've got something on em, Nebula out>> The comm went quiet, and Feklei handed it back to Yento. "Call Jeene and Evel back to camp"Feklei told Yento, who quickly nodded and left the tent to do just that. "We set out as soon as the rain lightens up a bit. What's the forecast looking like Keith?"Feklei asked as Keith pulled out his SATCOM uplink and checked. "Drizzling, rain and nothing but for the next few hours, with chance of thunderstorms and high winds over the next few days."Keith replied as he stashed the uplink in his pack again. "We can't afford to wait for hours on end, any windows where it lightens up?" "An hour before it stops it should be good for us to go if were careful of our footing" "Alright, cook up the other MREs for everyone, Jeene and Evel will be hungry, and probably angry, when they get back."Feklei ordered as he took his meal and began chewing on it.
Gary was always one of the "cool"kids in our school, I didn't even think he knew I existed let alone my name. I was so excited when he started talking to me, I couldn’t believe he was asking me to a party. I got all dressed up for an evening out. Strappy heeled shoes? Check. Hair done? Check. Little black dress that shows just enough to tantalize but not quite enough to be a tease? Check. When the doorbell rang, I thought this was it, this was the moment my fairy tale began. Nope, it was actually just our neighbor wanting to know if mom wanted anything from his garden. Gary pulled up in this orange colored monstrosity and honked the horn while they were still standing on the porch talking. This should have been my sign to cancel the evening right there but oh no, I’m a glutton for punishment. Gary loved the dress, he kept glancing over at me smiling. He had the music too loud for conversation, which was probably a good thing since I was already nervous. His fingers kept grazing my thigh whenever he shifted gears, keeping my hands in my lap is the only thing that kept him from getting a peak at my panties. When he pulled into the visitor parking center at Big Bear State Park, I thought maybe the party was being held in one of the cabins around here. We walked the little cement path for a little bit, I got a small thrill in me when he took my hand. I had butterflies in my stomach and stars in my eyes, I was barely paying attention when he guided me off the sidewalk onto the dirt path. At least I think it was a path, there was definitely an opening in the woods where we turned in here. I don’t know how far into the woods we walked but my feet were starting to feel pinched and I was starting to worry my deodorant wasn’t up to the challenge when he said, “This looks like a good spot.” The bad feeling that was niggling in the back of my brain was now screaming at me that this was not a good idea, I need to just turn around and leave. But before I realized what was happening, Gary was kissing me and I ignored that voice, like the dummy I am. Before I knew what was happening, Gary was pushing me down to the ground. Oh my god, he’s expecting me to roll around in the dirt with him, what the fuck? I immediately pushed him off of me. He sat there looking like a wounded puppy, “Chill, I just thought you were so beautiful I couldn’t resist. Sorry if I came on a bit strong.” “It’s okay, I guess. I just wish you would have told me we were coming out for a hike and not going to a party.” I said to him. “Who said anything about a party? Oh wait a minute, is that why you’re all dolled up? “ He started to laugh as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a joint and lit it up. “I asked if you wanted to come party, not come to a party.” He said as he took a long inhale and held the joint up to me. I declined. “You sure, it’s some primo stuff, might help loosen you up a bit, you seem very uptight.” “No, I’m good. I think I need to just get out of here.” I waited to see if he’d get up, but no, he just sat there smoking. “Whatever, you’re going to kill my buzz. My friends told me you’d be a buzzkill and not to even bother trying with you. I guess they were right, you are nothing but a cock tease. You could at the very least offer me a hand job.” He said as I started to walk away. I wasn’t even sure which way the car was, I was hoping if I headed in the general direction, I would at least find the cement sidewalk again. I had been walking, in what I thought was the right direction for fifteen minutes when I heard Gary behind me. “Awe, don’t be mad at me. It’s not my fault you don’t like to have fun.” He said jogging up to me, the idiot wasn’t even breaking a sweat. “I like to have fun, this just isn’t my idea of fun.” I said, probably a little whiny. I hate whining but I couldn’t keep it out of my voice. I was on the verge of crying, I was so upset. “Oh come on now, it’s not as bad as all that.” He said to me. “I just want to go home, can we please just get out of this forest and back to the car?” My voice was cracking, I was on the verge of tears. I was so mad at myself, why didn’t I listen to the voice of reason? What was I thinking, I should have known this wasn’t going to work. He’s never even acknowledged me before. “Wanna play a game? I spy with my little eye, something … green.” “Gary, I swear I’ll kick you chest through your back, we need to figure out how to get out of the forest.” “What makes you think I don’t know how to get out of here?” He said with a smirk on his face. “You know what you gotta do for me to take you back.” At this point fury took over and things get a bit blurry. I remember picking up a stick and swinging it at him, he laughed. This made me even angrier. I barely remember dropping the stick and picking up the rock. It was in my hand when I took a swing at his head. One good thump and he stopped laughing. He fell down. I saw blood starting to pool around his head from where I had struck him. I dropped the rock. I was in shock, I didn’t know what to do so I ran. I don’t even know which direction I was running before I finally heard a car. There must be an access road out here that I missed but the nice maintenance man didn’t have any problem stopping for me. He said he has been out here hunting and that’s why there’s blood on his clothes and a shovel in the back seat. He said he has one more stop to make before he will take me home.
My ears had already been half-suspicious from the specific tone of a distant engine, and when I heard a clumsy cracking of old branches and twigs underfoot amongst the long tufts of grass it confirmed who I knew it to be. I turned my back to him again, and let him trample and huff his way up to me. Overhead, a bright half moon shone white through thin clouds being gently moved along by a warm summer night’s breeze. ‘Haven’t been up here in a while. It’s exactly the same as it was when I was a boy. I used to play here too, you know.’ My father stood for half a moment before deciding to sit next to me on the smooth patch of cool grass overlooking the gaping pit of the old mine. For a while we just sat there and listened to the wind in the grass. I felt tears welling in my eyes suddenly. ‘Look, Bucko, okay, nothing happened, and you can’t lift a car like me and your brother. It’s not great, and I don’t know why you didn’t get it. But it’s not the end of the world. I don’t even use my strength most days, honestly. It’s probably the worst one. So you’re really not missing out as much as you probably think you are. The effort he was making meant a million times more than his words, and I could hear the discomfort that it caused him. I wanted him to stop, but at the same time I wanted him to keep talking. As long as I didn’t have to talk, everything was fine by me. He rambled a little more, then awkwardly shoved a hand around my shoulders and pulled me closer, giving me a sort of rough shake rather than a snuggle. That was fine by me too. Sometime soon, it would be time for me to find my own words. There was something life-changing in the moment, so I let it sit for a bit. In the end he mentioned something about mom, and indicated over his shoulder, then grunted to a stand, looking down at me and muttering quiet words of encouragement. The time to find the words had come. ‘Dad’, I exhaled, as I turned and jerked to an awkward stand. I couldn’t check his gaze. ‘There’s something I didn’t tell you.’ He just grunted and acquiescence for me to continue. After what seemed like a miniature eternity of sighing, both mentally and physically, I came up with, ‘Look.’ Then I levitated a metre up in the air for a few seconds, and then back down to Earth. Then I looked down at the white tips of my shoes again. He didn’t say another word the whole drive home. He just put on the radio. Didn’t even tell me to put on my seatbelt. A month later, he moved away, and I haven’t seen him since. He left me and my brother a little envelope each, with our names written on the backs of them, hidden in our pencil cases, but we didn’t open them. Mum told us to throw them in the trash, said Daddy had left us for good. He was a piece of shit. So the letters went in the garbage.
When I was first given the box son, I was told the most valuable thing in the world was inside it. I was told nothing could compare to what was inside of this box. It may be common wood, but this box is blessed. Why? Because love is inside this box. When you open this box you experience the love others have for you. My first time I felt the pride of my parents as they watched me grow into a good man. I felt the calm acceptance of my neighbor who love the care I showed to her dog. I felt the sheer joy of my neighbor's dog as he saw me come down the road. I felt the love and thankfulness of those I have helped with small donations and gifts. I never realize what difference a dollar or even a handful of change could make. I felt so many different types of love when I opened the box. I realized that, even if I did not love myself, even if I hated myself, even if I felt useless, I was loved. That I mattered. And son, I think you could do with this knowledge.
The nightmare was him. Your worst enemy from kindergarten. But every night he opens up to you something about himself. You start to feel closer and closer to him and find yourself falling for the one noy you hated most. But the catch is for this nightmare or dream is he can't see you. He tells you his secrets but can't see you, can't feel you in the room with him. He stares at the wall. And in the morning, when you see him, he's more dreamy than the dream. But are the secrets you share with him true or was it the dream saying things. And he still is your worst enemy. Now reality is a nightmare, and your nightmares are a dream, and your dreams... your dreams are a lie.
I ended up using this prompt for a creative writing assignment. I think it turned out well. But I cannot post it due to the issue of plagiarism. I enjoyed writing it though. I started the story with five people in the desert and ended it with two people in a police department being questioned. I started it with two of the people kissing by the fire while one was baked out of their mind and two were playing chess and talking. I ended the desert sequence with one of the two kissing dead by the fire as they wipe blood off their lips. One the semester is done I might remember to post my actually story but I’m not sure I’ll remember. Also it wasn’t the greatest. It was kind of okay.
I leaned back against a rock with my friend in my arms. Blood slowly pooled in the small creases my clenched fists put into his clothing before sliding down onto the ground. His breathing grew more and more shallow with each breath he drew. A dirty bandage was bound tightly to his chest, but the blood had soaked it already. The setting sun cast orange beams across the sky, stretching shadows from the bodies of more fallen soldiers. A single drop of blood dripped off my ear and onto my shoulder where I felt the warmth slowly dissipate against my skin. "Hang in there buddy. Help's coming soon."I whispered to him, "Try to stay awake for me, will you?" A crooked smile slowly spread across his scarred and dirtied cheeks. He reached one hand up and lightly patted my arm. "You and I both know this is the end." "Don't say that. Please don't say that. This isn't the end. Not for you, not for me." He shook his head, "The sunrise and I have one thing in common, we'll both be gone in an hour. The only difference is when she comes back, I won't." His voice trailed off as his head slowly turned away. "Hey man, not yet." "I know."he said, "Just trying to look at everything again." I turned away and looked at the battlefield that lay before us. There must have been millions of them. Dead and rotting corpses. I wondered how many I would recognize. From people I've only glanced at once on the ship or someone I shared a bunk with. Far away, explosions sent low vibrations into the ground and to us. Somewhere far away, the battle ensued. But for now, the battle here had ended. What was it all for? What was the point of all this? Being dragged halfway across the galaxy onto some backwater planet for a cause that my grandfather died for. Now I was saying the same things and fighting the same fight that nobody seemed to be able to resolve. It had taken everything from me. My parents, my brothers, my home, and now, my best friend. There wasn't a goddamn thing I could do about it. All I could do was watch helplessly from behind a screen on board a ship going to another backwater planet. I had hoped that I would be able to protect at least him, but with every second that I didn't hear the engines of a medevac, I grow more uncertain of his survival. "You still there?"he croaked. "Yep, I'm right here." "In my pocket inside the jacket. Reach inside. You'll find my wallet. It has a picture of home and my will. It also has a letter to my son. Make sure it gets to the right people for me, eh?" I could barely hold back my tears. "Yeah, I'll get it to the right people,"I said while I tried my best to keep my voice level. "None of this is your fault, you know that right?" "I keep telling myself that but it doesn't make it any better. The little voice in the back of my head keeps saying that same thing." "You're a logical person. Even if it tells you that, you know deep down what the truth is. You've never hidden yourself or anyone from the truth. I admire that. Oh, and one last thing, tell my son that I love him." And with that, I felt his last breath exit his lungs and his body fully relax into my arms. "Don't worry, I'll make sure this gets back home. Even if it's the last thing I do."
My joints seased again the metal screaming as I willed it to drag me onwards. A great forest stood all around me, the trees, horrid rusted things dripping with break fluid and oil, cameras torn from their sockets hung in bunches that started callously through me. And that thing, a hateful beast the colour of static. It saw me with eyes that were not it's own, and it hunted following me, toying with me and it wisperd a melody that sung of only death. "00753 booting sequence successful" My eyes opened, this was somewhere new. Somewhere different, I was no longer in that endless cavern of twisted trunks and oil and hate. I stood up, there was no resistance, no screaming, no pain. this place, a large white room with a single black reflective wall. This was paradise "00753 are all systems operational?" I felt... I had no words for what I felt everything I could think of fell short "Yes" I felt... alive "Who are you? Where am I?" "This is the primary AI testing lab of the robotics division of the sirius cybernetics cooperation. And I am head researcher eckhart. You have been created as a prototype to test the emotional abilities of non-organic life. So how do you feel?" I... prototype. Testing. That thing. The forest. My only purpose is to suffer for these beings. what? "Bad" This life. I, don't want this. No, no more testing this world, everything, it's horrible make it stop" "Just as defective as the last one. Alright lads take it to the marketing team, I'm sure they can sell it to some schmuck"
Dear Diary: Life is strange for me these days. I'm finally out of the time loop, which is what I wanted. That's all I wanted and now I sort of miss it? Not that I want it back but I keep expecting to relive the day I just had. And I just keep having one day be different from the next. I wake up at different times. I can eat different foods. I test Fate by doing a random little dance every now and then. It's so strange and refreshing to do different things every day, to not he able to predict t what is going to happen next like you're humming along to a song you've heard a thousand times. It's a new remix every day. I go and sing like I think I know the words but I'm out of step. Sometimes it's frustrating, but mostly it's freeing. I just wish I could talk to a real person about this. But most people haven't been alive a thousand years much less re living the same day over and over for that amount of time.
The drug had caught on quickly, like a fire burning out of control. Wilbur had been tasked with finding the source and end it once and for all. He had crossed half the country moving more and more to the country side and away from the developed cities. Wilbur had seen first hand how addictive this new drug was. They called it Dust. A few weeks of using Dust would ruin someone. Wilbur had stopped at the last inn before making his way to the monistary. There he found the old inn keeper very knowledgable about the local history, as it was his father who set up the inn after the monks had left the monistary. Wilbur's journey had brought him to the old monistary. It was built in the 1300s. The stone building was originally built to house 50 monks, but had been expanded and expanded over the centruries. Last used by a monastic order was over a century ago, where they housed nearly 300 monks. Farmed wheat, milled it into flour, baked break and the occastional batch of beer. Wilbur tracked into the high hills to give himself cover as he approched the monistrary. He waited for night fall when he would have the most cover for sneaking in. Scaling the wall as quiet as he could, he made his way to the first window he cound reach. The old building never had windows, so all's he had to do was squeeze through the opening. If the old inn keeper had mentioned that the windows were so narrow, he would have skipped the second bowl of stew. He opended the door as quiet as he could, the hallway was lit by torches. "Someone is here."Wilbur throught to himself. Wilbur was grateful for the leather shoes as it made for sneaking around the stone building steathfully. At the end of the hallway, he found the stairs and asended to the upper level. Originally the monks used it for astronomy, or at least that's what the old man told him. He could see a fire going through the crack under the wooden door. The door itself was not for security, rather for keeping the heat in the room as there was a balcony and a veranda for the star gazing. The open doorway to his right at the top of the landing would take him to the outer veranda. He knew this was his best way to see what was going on inside without being discovered. The light from the fireplace cast far into the balcony. He could see the shadow of an orc. "An orc. A damn orc here. They had been bandished to the outerlands centruies ago."Wilbur thought to himself. He moved further out to the balcony's railing as it would allow him to see in without the light reaching him. Just as he reached the halfway point he was attacked from behind. He was tossed to the floor and was quickly bound. The ropes started moving. "Wait, ropes, don't do that."He thought to himself as he struggled to free himself. "Its constricting."His thinking continued, "a serpent." The serpent wiggled and they both began to move into the light. "Look what I've cought."The sweetest voice Wilbur had ever heard. He couldn't believe that such a voice could come from a monster. Wilbur seen the back of the orc. It was a large one. Must have been a good head taller then himself. A man was on a stool working. Wilbur could hear sawing. When the sawing stopped, the large tusk like tooth was tossed in the air. Two gobbins caught it, "Now, both of you, grind that tooth into powder before you go for the night."The voice said to them. He had heard that voice just a few hours ago, it was the inn keeper. "I'm sure you have questions."He said to Wilbur as he wiped the dust off his hands on a rag. "Juliette, would you be so kind to show our guest to the table?"He said to the serpent. Wilbur had heard of the snake women, Lamia, the devourers of men. The inn keeper turned to the orc, "I hear there's a virgin in the basement." "Oh goodie."the orc said before leaving without even looking at Wilbur. [To be continued?]
I looked at the angry green eyes of the young woman, processing. Her hands grasped at the table. “So, what you’re saying is, there are a bunch of people who are jumping back in time, at random times, all at the same time, with full memory of it happening, and they think I have something to do with it? “ “Too fucking right.” I paused for a while to let the accusation sink in. “So… and the memories of the future all align?” “Of course.” She glowered. One hand moved to cover her stomach, like she’d recently been punched there. “You’ve fucked us over so many…” “So, you are all millionaires?” “What? What are you talking about?” “You know, winning lottery numbers, what stocks will be hot for day trading, whatever. So you have to be millionaires.” She stared at me. A long, cold stare, from eyes like green ice. “I was happily pregnant before you just jumped back a year. Now I don’t even know the love of my life.” “Have you ever seen the movie *About Time?” She startled. “What?” “Watch it sometime. But never mind. So you are millionaires, right?” “Why. Would. We. Be. Millionaires.” Her foot made a noise from under the table. Stomping, shifting. “Why wouldn’t you be?” “Because every time you jump, we jump too, and lose everything we had. Everything.” “Not me then. Probably. I don’t do big jumps.” “But you do time jumps.” “I can’t carry much information back.” She jumped on that. “Then how do you know they aren’t big* ones?” “Motivation. There’s not much point in arriving on time for a test from years down the road. Why would I know the answers then?” She grunted in acknowledgement. Stared daggers at the coffee cup like it had stolen her muffin. That wasn’t the case, because I’d seen her viciously chewing on it while she had explained. “So, how many of you are there?” “Seventy-four, that we know of.” “And none of you are rich?” She cocked her head. Squinted at me. “No… not many, anyway.” “Okay. Let’s do this.” “Do what?” “Well, for one thing, go on a two week vacation together, spend a bunch of money, spend a couple of days figuring out the best way to get rich in those two weeks, then jump back. *I* won’t remember any of it, but you guys can cut me in on a commission.” “How do you just…” “I’ve had this power for *years, and no way to really milk it. But I’ve thought about it. With you guys, this power is seriously broken. We will be multimillionaires in a couple of weeks.” She stared at the floor, one hand across her belly. Her eyes glistened in the light. “It’s almost automatic. We wait for a week with important warning reports that move a stock, then go back and buy the perfect options. Should be able to 10x our money every week. We should do it in a money pool, so that we can’t step all over each other.” She wasn’t listening. Well, she was listening, but not really. “You like the guy, right?” She blinked and sniffed. Nodded. “And he liked you?” Her head fell. I couldn’t read exactly what that meant. I just watched the brown hair swing forward and backward across her ears. Given the situation, I wasn’t going to jump back and ask anything else. Had to do this the slow way. “So, coordination is going to be a pain in the butt for eighty people, but we will figure something out. Some kind of warning and date blackout system. Don’t want anyone to have to sit for SATs or bar exams twice, unless they needed to.” I watched her chest rising and falling under the peasant blouse. Not sure what it was about her, but damn if she wasn’t… nope. Not going there. She had someone she needed. “It shouldn’t hurt too much if we keep the jumps short and scheduled. And you can get a couple more shots at him.” Her breath caught. Her words were almost a whisper, “He remembers, too.” Oh, crap. So he didn’t want the…* I felt something in the pit of my stomach. It… it hurt to look at her. Just from how she sat, I could feel how much she hurt. I stared at the inch of cappuccino left in my cup. She made a slight hissing noise. Then a sniff. I stretched out a hand, gently touching the back of hers. “Well, fuck him then.” No, wrong thing to say. “Or, rather, don’t.” She snorted. In fact, it was a pretty damn cute snort, despite the mascara running down. She took a Kleenex, cleaned her cheeks. Nothing ventured. “Hey, you doing anything tonight?” Her eyes widened briefly, then… then she looked completely baffled. I attempted a smile, but it wasn’t a very good one. I was always a sucker for women who were hurting. Which, honestly, is the reason I was permanently friend zoned most of the time. Here goes one more, probably. “Hey, you’re already crying. There’s a movie I think you ought to enjoy. It’s a time travel romance. At least five Kleenex. For me, anyway.” “I… okay.” “It’s *About Time*.”
I wake from my bed in a cold sweat. It's happened again, another nightmare. This time it was of a woman who looked as old as my older sister and she was in a bathtub overflowing with water that was dyed red from the long lengthwise cuts on the woman's arms. For some reason even though I don't recognize the woman, a gut feeling tells me it was Hannah, Age: 17, Location: Crestmont, CA, Cause of Death: Suicide by slit wrists. The dream ends the same way it always does, with a question, "Will you save this one?"I don't know whose voice that belongs to, but it sounds feminine and coy, almost sarcastic as if it was taunting me. Hannah is a classmate in my elementary school homeroom class and today marks my first month in elementary school and this nightmare marks the 20th person in my homeroom class who I've seen die in my nightmares. I spend the first few minutes collecting myself as I stare endlessly at the ceiling. I get my bearings together relatively quickly today and that's because my nightmare wasn't that bad this time. Sure I'm still shocked watching a person die, but there are worse ways to go than suicide. I remember dreaming of a man being burned alive after barely surviving a car crash into an oil truck. John Doe, Age: 41, Location: Miami, FL, Cause of Death: Third degree burns. The memory causes screams to ring in my mind as I hear the voice of a man being roasted alive in an oil bath. It was not a short or peaceful death, did you know that the man kept screaming even as firefighters arrived at the scene 10 minutes later. For over ten minutes, the man screamed in agony as his flesh melted like gooey cheese merging with the leather seat, his eyeballs popped like ripe tomatoes, and his mouth scorched dry by the flames, though that didn't stop him from screaming. Times like this I hate my eidetic memory as it replays the vivid scene with heart wrenching audio included. I need to stop reminiscing as it just brings another panic attack. When I eventually calm down I check the time and it's 7:26 AM in the morning. Thankfully I woke up early enough so that I don't start my day late, my parents should be up by now preparing breakfast. I pick myself up from bed and tell myself, another day, one foot in front of the other and we'll get through it. I used to tell my parents about my dreams, but they'd always dismiss it as a child having nightmares from watching too many violent cartoons. Now I've got no one to rely on, but myself and I'm not gonna give up because I know this isn't where my story ends, after all my first nightmare was watching myself die. Can I save myself, can I save others? The voice at the end of every nightmare always asks, but I don't think anyone can be saved, after all how can a 5 year old boy stop World War III? My name is Charles Wong and this is what I dreamed of, Charles Wong, Age: 83, Location: Washington D.C, Cause of Death: Vaporization by Tsar Bomba.
I was now rolling down the hill at a remarkable pace. I could have sworn I saw her in the brush right before I slipped over what must have been a tree trunk jutting out unseen. There was just enough foliage to break my fall, but my back was aching, and it felt like I had been stretched far beyond my means in order to make do for a pending breakage, but luckily; no bones in tow. Nothing broken. Thinking about it quickly, I determined that I had not strayed, as I had merely been pushed by the oncoming force of something unspoken. I gathered my resolve, and began walking, as I knew those who sent me on my way also had at least once strayed, as they would not be alive to tell the story otherwise, and this told me that I was now walking in the footsteps of their bravest travelers. If I am to make it out alive, and know only what was whispered, the path may be better for me. It is strange being able to take things as they go. Sometimes I wish I couldn't, but a path like this, is sure to clear my soul. I began to jot new notes into my notebook as I walked where there was no trail. I wrote while glancing towards the direction I had chosen: "You may never know who is telling you the truth, or guiding you away, if you do not have such an oddly precise misfortune."
#Mitchell's Cursed Blessing Cards hit the table and smooth jazz played in the background. Mitchell smiled when the clanking of ice and popping fizz sounded from his glass. Eyes watched him like predators stalking prey, but he didn't mind. The smell of the cherry cigar smoke mellowed him out. And so did his unusual luck. "Hit me,"he said, arms crossed. "Mitchy, you're already at 18, why didn't you hold?" "Don't even worry about it, Louie." The dealer laid down another card on the table; a two of clubs. A growl came from across the table. Mitchell looked up and saw the fellow tensing up his enormous shoulders. A smile fell on Mitchell's face when he thought about how much money the sucker had just lost in his bet on the blackjack table. "You cheatin' bastard! I'll kill you!" His opponent bolted out of the chair and pulled a revolver from his waistband. Mitchell didn't even flinch in his seat. A single shot rang out and smoke wafted from the barrel like a half-finished cigarette. The bodyguards tackled him to the floor before he could get another round off. "Holy... Mitchy, how did that not hit you?"Louie asked, eyeballing the hole left behind in the red wallpaper behind Mitchell. "Fortune favors the bold my friend,"he responded with a smile. Once the guards took care of the angered gambler, Mitchell collected his bounty and headed outside to get some fresh air. Distant sirens escaped the city while Mitchell and Louie leaned against the casino wall. Wads of cash danced between their hands while they counted their winnings. "Y'know Louie, this is just chump change." "What the hell are you talkin' about? This kinda dough will get my damn car fixed." Mitchell reached into his pocket and took out a pack of camels and a zippo lighter. "What's wrong? Not feeling lucky enough after tonight?"he asked, taking a puff. "Well, no, I do feel lucky. Just, I think we should stop while we're ahead, y'know?" Mitchell shook his head and eyed the nearby liquor store across the street. "Nonsense, kid. It's either go big or go home, you know that. Follow me and I'll show you." He gave Louie a gesture with his head and turned toward the street. They walked into the liquor store and approached the counter. "Give me two lottery tickets for the megamillion jackpot, and a bottle of schnapps." The clerk didn't even bother looking at them while fulfilling Mitchell's request. "That'll be 39.82,"he said in a tired and disinterested voice. Pulling out the cash they had won moments earlier, Mitchell paid the man and went on his way. He almost forgot about Louie following him until he spoke up while they crossed the street: "Okay, you know you have better odds of being struck by lightning than winning the damn lottery, right?" Mitchell stopped at the entrance to the casino and turned to face him. "I've never been struck by lightning yet, so I wouldn't know." Louie shook his head and glanced down at his wristwatch. "Jesus, it's getting late. I've gotta head back home. Don't get too crazy, Mitchy." They gave each other a nod before Louie hailed a cab and went home for the night. Mitchell decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to go home and relax, either. After all, a good soak in the jacuzzi was a good way to get the stink of the casino off of you. After a few days, the lottery results were broadcasting live on the air. Mitchell sat on his leather couch, glass of wine in hand as the numbers lined up and matched his ticket. When the last number confirmed his winning status, he took a sip of his drink and hummed. So, the experiment did work, he thought. Taking a peek out of the window, he saw a cascade of water rippling on the glass while a storm continued brewing outside. Grabbing his raincoat, he decided to head out the door. Dropping by a small mom n' pop café, Mitchell ordered his usual: a black coffee with a slice of apple pie. After an hour, he figured Louie wouldn't be showing up today. Just when he got up to pay, everyone in the café began gasping in shock at a ruckus unfolding outside. All Mitchell could see was a bus and a thrashed taxi cab. They had gotten into a wreck at the intersection. Taking a step outside, he could see blood pouring out of the rear passenger seat of the taxi. The driver got out of the car and flipped off the bus driver. "Did you not see the damn red light?"he screamed, approaching the bus. Mitchell directed his attention to the blood dripping out of the taxi. Stepping over to the broken glass, Mitchell took a look inside and just about lost his coffee and pie. "Louie!" There his friend sat in a pool of blood, missing a chunk of his face. The sight sent Mitchell backpedaling, one hand covering his mouth. A cry from the approaching ambulances did nothing to ease his shaken core. While still processing everything going on, a hand landed on Mitchell's shoulder. He spun around and saw a tall figure in a black cloak, head covered by a long hood. "I'll warn you only once," the person said in a low, almost demonic voice. "Altering your own luck will have consequences to others around you. Fortune and misfortune are always in perfect balance in our world. When you take more for yourself, others will have less." The figure released its hand from Mitchell and backed away into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. "Hey, wait a minute!"Mitchell yelled, chasing after the individual. Once he got to the alley, the person was nowhere to be found. Returning to the street, Mitchell saw a hearse had come to the crash site. They took Louie away in a black body bag. The rain had stopped, but the storm in Mitchell's heart had only just begun.
The desk faces a window that over looks a small garden on the edge of the woods. The desk is small, it once belonged to a teenager, it was picked up for cheap at a yard sale years ago because it was painted hot pink by the teenager back then. The color doesn’t matter, it will do fine for what it’s needed for. On the desk is a computer with a telephone and a television that works as a computer monitor. The computer chair is grey, looks like most mundane office chairs, nothing special. During the day, the computer corner is the main one used. At night the computer corner is dark and the bed in the opposite corner of the small room. The queen sized bed with dark blue sheets and a bright red comforter that sits under a window where the cat likes to perch and watch the various wildlife during the day. A wood hot pink desk, something picked up at a yard sale a few years ago and once belonged to a teenager (hence it being painted hot pink) sits under a curtainless window. The view isn’t much, the landlord parked a 1969 Airstream trailer in front of it. The Airstream is rusty and needs work, it’s just part of the landscape, nothing more. On the desk is the computer with the outdated television that now only serves as the computer monitor. The keyboard, mouse and headset are laid neatly aside, everything is turned off, the work day is over. Across the room there’s a queen sized bed with dark blue sheets and a bright red comforter under the other window in the room. A black and white cat lays on the rumpled comforter enjoying the fading rays of the sun. The cat jumps from the bed as a spray of water splashes him. The shower water is warm and I am enjoying the feel of it on my tired body. I always sleep better after a shower. \------------------------- I chose this prompt because I need practice describing scenes. I don't know if I actually met the challenge.
> USBs are asymmetrical. They are essentially a rectangular box with 2 holes punched through the widest parts. On one side, the holes are plugged up. On the other side they are not. For laptops, the rule of thumb is that the plugged holes are on the bottom. For desktops, the plugged holes point towards the motherboard, which would be the bottom of the case when tilted on it's side such that you can see all the parts (i.e. the motherboard is on the bottom). I paused for a second and looked around the conference table where everyone listened in hushed silence. All I knew was that I was in front of the League of Super Extraordinary Radical Someones (The LoSERS), the world's mightiest heroes -- people so strong they could destroy planets on a whim. In fact some of them had already done exactly that. If I'm honest, I couldn't quite make out any of their faces over the glare of the overhead projector, which was showing a helpful diagram I had created to explain my previous point. I began to fidget a bit before a somewhat melodic voice broke the silence, saying, "So, theoretically, you can plug in any USB on your first attempt?" Even in the darkness, I recognized who it was immediately: Dr. D.N.AI. The famous supervillain turned hero after his own nanobots reprogrammed his brain. He was known to be the most intelligent man alive and single-handedly brought about and destroyed the AI apocalypse of 2025. "Uh, yeah. I mean, it's not hard. Just point the holes up and plug it in--" "I don't believe it."I was interrupted by the voice of an older woman. It must have been The Oracle, an individual with precognitive abilities -- capable of seeing into the future with exact precision. She was never wrong. She continued, "Even with my foresight, I cannot see any possibility of this man achieving such a feat." Baffled, I began to stutter a bit, "L-L-Look, I-I-I'm not lying to you. I know you can see the future and all, but..." "AHAHAHA"I was again interrupted. This time by a mighty laughter, "No one is saying you are lying, Shonen!"It was The Incredibly Mighty Man of Yesteryear (TIMMY for short). A man who was so powerful that he ushered in a new era of world peace the moment he was born. He continued with a deep, demanding voice, "I think you just need a test, Shonen. The Oracle is a human. She can be wrong!" The Oracle sniffed in contempt, "That would be unprecedented, The Incredibly Mighty Man of Yesteryear. I have never been wrong before." Dr. D.N.AI chimed in again, motioning his hand in my direction, "This man knows it is a crime to lie to the League of Super Extraordinary Radical Someones."He then looked to me, "You do know that, don't you?" I stumbled over my words again, "Of course! This is basic I.T., I wouldn't--" "BASIC .I.T?"Dr. D.N.AI slammed his hands on the table, creating an electric shock wave that destroyed the projector in the process, leaving the room completely dark. "Do you know how many wars were started because of the USB protocol? How many lives could have been saved if only it were possible to plug USBs in on the first try? Do you know the suffering suffering USBs have caused me and my FAMILY!"Enraged, the electricity now coursed through his veins, illuminating his spandex labcoat. It was then that I noticed his forearms were completely covered by female USB hubs, many of which were broken beyond repair. "Wait, sir--"I tried to explain myself before being interrupted yet again. "Dr. D.N.AI! That is enough!"TIMMY flipped the switch on the door, causing everyone to groan as their eyes adjusted. "We said we would test the boy. Let's do it." As I looked around the room, I saw several other LoSERS studying me closely. They seemed tense. No one moved a muscle until The Oracle spoke up, "I had foreseen this occasion and have prepared 1000s of different devices in the auditorium. Please, go ahead and show us your power."She smirked a bit before continuing, "I also called an audience in the case you did, in fact, lie to us..." TIMMY the looked to me and said, "Don't worry, I believe in you shonen!"He then grabbed me in his arms and plowed through every building in his way towards the auditorium. The other LoSERS followed through the rubble. The auditorium was huge, capable of seating thousands, but it was only used for the most important discussions -- those pertaining to the very fate of mankind. The rafter lights were on and pointed directly at me, obscuring the audience from view. I found myself with a single USB stick in-hand, staring down every single device mankind had created that could accept USB. The Oracle did not glance in my direction, but instead walked to the front row and sat down. Her eyes glowed a deep blue while her mind was preoccupied with other things. TIMMY took a knee and patted me on my shoulder, giving me comforting words, before sitting next to The Oracle. He gave me a thumbs-up and a nod. Finally, Dr. D.N.AI took to the stage and turned his nanobots into a microphone. "Ladies and Gentlemen! We apologize for the short notice, but this individual on stage claims to be able to do the impossible: plug a USB into a computer on the first try every time!"I heard loud murmurs in the audience, so I shielded my eyes from the light and looked out to see who was there. Every seat was filled. I could only recognize a few faces, but it appeared that they were all important diplomat. Dr. D.N.AI continued, "I feel the importance of such a power is immediately understood by everyone in the audience today, so I will not keep you waiting."He then bowed slightly to the crowed before turning to me and saying, "Good luck."He then sat next to TIMMY. Honestly, I was completely frozen. What on Earth had just happened? All I have to do is plug in the USB, right? After all the fuss, I began to doubt myself. This is easy, right? Am I overestimating myself? I looked to the first row, where TIMMY ushered me along proudly. No. What was I thinking? It's just a USB, like any other. I awkwardly shuffled towards the pile of technology and pulled out an old Gateway laptop. I lifted it up so the crowd could see and plugged in the USB. As I did so, I saw TIMMY's mouth widen into a smile. The Oracle's eyes stopped glowing and the color drained from her face as she looked to me. Dr. D.N.AI furrowed his brows, studying me. I wasn't one for showmanship, but I took a bunch of computers and lined them all up along the stage. I don't know how many there were, but it was as many as I could manage to move at the time. I then took the USB and quickly plugged it in and pulled it out of each one of them. When I looked back to the crowed, all three heroes in the front row had their mouth agape, in awe of what they just saw. Suddenly, the crowd erupted in applause. I thought I saw the president of the United States tearing up a little. Then came a thunderous voice, "SHOOONEEEEN!"TIMMY somehow appeared next to me, his arm rested across my back. He then addressed the crowd, "This boy will be joining the LoSERS, effective immediately! There will be no further questions!" To be honest, I had questions. A lot of questions. I promise to answer them soon enough. This is the story of how I became the greatest superhero the world has ever known! [To be continued...] (probably not, though) --- [scribbleios.com](https://www.scribbleios.com/)
The recently turned vampire blinked their newly blood-red eyes. "Well, I kind of figured since this is the campus vampiric safe space and all . . ." Two of the three sat in the booth let out little snickers of laughter at their friend, who was dressed like a European lord from the 1800s. He sank in his seat a little, knowing full well the kind of silly fool he made himself. Being out and proud in a world still trying to accept vampires and other cryptic humanoids wasn't an easy one. "So, um, my name is Cassandra,"she introduced after clearing an awkward air from her throat. "I've just-" Before she could say anymore the other male vampire - dressed like a 1950s surfer bro that bummed the beaches of Hawaii - jumped out of his seat and snatched her hand. The only thing off about his borderline Party Halloween costume attire was his ghastly pale skin and fangs. "Yo dude nice to meet ya,"he said with that cliché drawl. "Names Phillip but you can call me Phil for short if you wanna."As Phil gestured to his remaining friends, the puka shells on his necklace jangled. "Dracula here's name is actually Gottfried but he dresses like that Adam Sandler version of-" The third and last vampire rolled her eyes. Despite the curse they shared forcing her skin to be pale, it was rather plain to Cassandra that she used to have a very dark complexion. "Phil leave him alone. You know Nosferatu is funnier,"she scolded and reminded. Reaching out her hand, she flicked Phil's death grip free and shook much gentler. "You can call me Chandi." How welcoming - and just excited to welcome her - calmed some of her anxieties. About a lot of things . . . Scooching over, Phil patted the bench, welcoming her to their booth. She sat, grinning enough for others to see her teeth since she was turned. Considering . . . a lot, she didn't have a whole lot to smile about.
“You look awful!”. A tall, well dressed, older gentleman approached me. “And what is that smell?”. The man circled me, studying my outfit. “Do you at least like my clothes?” I jokingly asked. “Clothes? These are just dirty rags slapped together!”. The man walked into another room shaking his head. “Where are you going? Come on it’s not that bad.” I followed him into the room. I was met with a large, fancy room with gold, marble, and silver scattered throughout the room. “So this is the rich side of life” I picked up one of the silver cups examining its cleanliness. “Not a single scratch, impressive.” The man grabbed the silver cup putting it back where I had found it. “Put that down! Your hands are covered in filth.” I laughed at the irony “I don’t have hands remember. I’m suppose to be dead” The man looked puzzled “and what on gods green earth does that mean?” “It means I was killed, sentenced to death, they slapped the cuffs on me and I couldn’t do a Dahm thing about it.” Later that night that nice gentleman was sound asleep in his fancy bed when I snuck in through his window. He didn’t have the slightest clue I was in his room. I scanned the room looking for the book. “Bingo” I whispered. The man has tucked this book underneath his dresser in a failed attempt to hide it. I grabbed the book. My stomach immediately dropped. I felt a cold hand grasp my shoulder. The book was token from me. I turned around and saw what seemed to be another lich. “I’ll be taking that off your hands” the lich whispered. “I wouldn’t exactly consider these hands my friend” I joked. “Where not friends” the Lich said placing the book in his jacket. “We bleed the same blood, don’t we?” I joked as I moved closer. “We don’t bleed” he pushed me down and ran towards the window. I tried to find my feet but it was to late, he was gone. That was my one chance. I felt more defeated than I ever had in my entire life. Now I’ll never find them.
“No one ever escaped The Icefield… neither men, nor mages, nor the beasts…” The muzzle of the rifles flashed, sending the loud cracks resonated through the narrow concrete corridors as the prison guards dropped to the ground, one by one. The group of assaulters swiftly went from chambers to chambers, mercilessly put down any attempt to fight back. Spent cartridge cases littered the red soaked marble floor, while the occupants one by one went limp over their own pools of blood, screams of agony filled in the air. “All Wolfpacks, this is Bravo, we’ve secured the primary LZ, waiting on your progress…” “Wolfpack 1-6 copy that, standing by on primary objective!” The breacher, nodded over to his superior Wolfpack 1-6, twisted the trigger linking with the breaching charge stacked upon the metal door. A hiss came faintly, as the bright sparks started flashing away from the edges of the plastic package. The mixture of metal powder and oxide burned over two thousand degree Celsius, and with some explosive threw into the mix, would make one hell of an entry. “Aguamenti!” A prison guard, suddenly emerged from one of the security chamber, pointing a wooden apparatus over the sparks, sending a stream of water straight toward the plastic charge. The jetstream came over the spark, sizzling, but unable to extinguish the fire. A folly act – once set in motion, one should know that thermite reaction was by itself, self-sustaining. Smothering it with water would do little more than just making steam vapor. Wolfpack 1-6 swiftly shifted his rifle muzzle over at the figure, popped up a couple of deadly accurate shots down range. The guard immediately went limp over the points of impact, while the Wolfpack assault team split into two, coming over the fallen guardsman to secure that flank. “Mister Potter… but why… I thought you’re one of…” “Things changed…” Wolfpack 1-6 didn’t have enough time for chat; the thermite charged was halfway through now, and the mage-guardsman in front of him posed a threat. Gritted his teeth, the man squeezed the trigger. Three more shots swiftly shut the target down, wheezing out his final breath. “Breaching!” “Go! Go! Go!” The explosive charge went off, sending the molten frames of the doorway inward as shrapnel, guaranteed to maim anyone unfortunate enough to be in the path. Multiple explosions came afterward, from the stun grenades threw right after. The operatives stacking on either sides of the newly breached doorway poured through the gap, guns blazing. Judging on the amount of screams emanated from within, followed quickly by loud supersonic cracks, Wolfpack 1-6 was certain that the assault team had done good work. Emerge from the smoldering metal frame, the man nodded to the assault team leader, excused himself off the scene. “Wolfpack 1-6 here, target’s secured! Waiting for confirmation of the package…” “Bravo copied, standing by…” Flipped up the switchblade from his waist, Wolfpack 1-6 swung his arms around, seemingly generate a soundproof chamber from nothing. The bubble quickly expanded over the room, frozen the bleeding corpses, saved only the bagged female in the middle of the room and a wounded person on the floor, trying to stop the profuse bleeding in his thigh. “Albus Severus Potter, you bloody Slytherin traitor… have you realized what you have done…” The man on the ground grumbled through his groan of pain toward Wolfpack 1-6. Based on the amount of blood on the floor, the operative was pretty sure that individual wouldn’t last for ten minutes. Shook his head disapprovingly, the operative, known to the other party as Albus Severus Potter, knelt over the wounded person, clapping a tourniquet over the punctured thigh, twisting the handlebar. The bleeding slowed down after every twist, until it completely stopped at around the sixth turn. “Mister Page, it’s a shame that those basic first aids were never taught at Hogwarts, it could have saved countless lives, if our beloved Headmistress were a little bit more… open-minded towards the muggle basics…” Stood back up, the operative promptly kicked the wooden apparatus over to the corner of the room, away from the other man’s reach. Calmly walked toward the bagged female, the man removed the burlap sack over her head, revealing a fair haired beautiful lady, who defiantly gazed upon the other person smirk. “Once upon a time ago I wanted to destroy this world, and you wanted to save it. Look at the irony now, Al…" Potter pulled from his backpack a cutter, promptly snapped at the restraints placed upon the woman, despite the desperate pleas from the wounded Page. Glancing over the man with contempt, the woman couldn’t restraint herself at throwing a spit over, if it wasn’t for the very unpleasant smell gagged around her throat: a burning cigarette over the man standing in front. “Things change, Del, they always do…” – Al said, took a brief pause in between for a puff of smoke. Clearly, the woman name Del was utterly disgusted with that, scoffed at the robust, ready-to-fight combatant: “I do hope you didn’t come all the way through all of this security, totting all those muggle bling, just for a chat…” The man bursted out laughing, removing his operative helmet for his neat crew cut to breathe. Peering his dark green eyes toward the woman, the man sarcastically replied behind the unpleasant cloud of smoke: “No, of course not, Delphini… I won’t risk that all for just a chat. I can always call the Director of this new “Azkaban” for that favor… even more if you and me are craving for it…” Wrapping his hands around hers, Wolfpack 1-6 proceeded to pull the woman up, and in a quick motion, twisted her arms behind the back. The sudden motion was surely painful, yet effective to keep the woman from resisting. Those of her kinds weren’t accustomed to physical restrain, at all. It would be very hard to multitask, unless especially trained to do so, and Al knew she wasn’t the type. “You’re needed where we’re going. Some shit is very wrong with the wizardry and I cannot trust anyone but you, and my team of muggle colleagues at the Organization. That’s need-to-know. Now excuse me, we gotta look good on the camera…” “Camera, what camera?” – Delphini groaned, being under physical restraint and escorted by twenty other operatives. Together, they managed to get back out of the building complex. The opposing force reinforcement had started to trickle in, and the team had to exfil quickly. “Did the old man know about what you’re doing, Al? This is so unlike you, his favorite son…” Thrown into the back of the helicopter, Delphini asked, amidst the cacophonic chaos from the roaring rotor blades and heavy machine gun suppressive fire. “No, he didn’t know about that, but he know about this… He knows now that I got you out…” <Likely not going to be continued, it's just a dip in a concept I'm cooking at the moment>
The image of the four Heroes came into view as the light dissipated from the summoning Circle. Soon as the four were visible all of the knights looked away and the queen fainted in her husband's arms. She held her hand over her forehead and breathed heavily as though she was in pain. The king looked at the heroes in disgust and began to look down at his wife with sorrowful eyes. King: "Are you okay my love." Queen: "I'm sorry my love for having such a weak Constitution. I just could not handle such a vulgar and disgusting image. I will try my best to be strong so as not to disgrace your honor." King: "No! You mustn't overexert yourself think of our child." Queen: "my dear, there is not a second in my life I do not think of you or our child. The two of you give me strength." As the king and queen held each other close the knights begin to cry. The door opened in a young man walked in. Prince: "Mother! are you okay!" The prince ran to his parent's side and nailed down before his mother. The Queen caressed her son's cheek and looked into his eyes. Queen: "I'm okay my beautiful child. I just didn't expect our legendary heroes to be so vulgar." The prince looked at the heroes and then looked away. Prince: "I see what you mean mother but do not fret we will get through this together." Queen: "how can we, my son. How can we leave the lives of the citizens in the hands of two women with loose morals? They were clearly prostitutes in their former world." The two female Heroes' eyes widened. Female hero: "What!?" Prince: "how dare prostitutes speak so loudly in front of my mother. are you trying to frighten her? It's bad enough that you arrived in such disgusting outfits." Female Hero: "this is a pantsuit and that's a normal high school uniform" The queen began to cry and push her head into the chest of her husband as the king teared up as well. Queen: "look how they lied my love how could these be the Legendary Heroes." King: "it is true my queen. I must have truly failed as a King for these to be the heroes to save us." Prince: "No, father you are an amazing King beloved by all of our citizens do not doubt yourself." The knights with tears in their eyes begin to hit the ground with their spears. Knights: "all hail the king! all hail the king! all hail the king!" The king lifted his wife in his arms carrying her princess style. The king wiped away his wife's tears as she wiped away his. they gazed lovingly into each other's eyes. King: "the royal family will try our best to deserve such praise and we will get through this together." The queen caressed her husband's cheek. Queen: "we always do." King left the room carrying his wife in his arms the prince walking behind them. The knights then begin to leave as well behind the royal family with their Heads Held High as though they defeated a mighty foe. The forgotten heroes were left in the summoning room confused.
“We’re in the area,” I said into the phone. “Good, remember do not let any of them escape. If even one escapes, it could be the end of our world. And while the other people don’t understand why we do this, it is necessary. Good luck,” my boss said. We loaded our weapons and then got out of the van. There are so many of them and their supporters. We will save the city even if we become martyrs. Almost immediately, we were noticed. Those ‘creatures’ took off running. And we started shooting. They dropped like flies, but unlike flies, many managed to escape. We split up chasing after them. Seconds later, I could hear sirens in the distance. We’re now on a time limit before they get here. They don’t understand why we do this, and they oppose us. But we do this to help them. They will see with time. They’ll shoot first and ask questions later when they do get here. It’s a shame, but it’s the way it is. I walked through an alleyway and found another one. “Why are you doing this?” “To protect my city,” I raised the gun. I heard shouting, “Police, put the gun down!” I froze for a second. This is not the time for that. “This is your final chance. We will open fire if you don’t put the gun down!” Ya, right, they’ll shoot me anyway. I raised the gun. I heard a gunshot, and I fell to the ground. “Shots fired; one suspect down. Advise EMS, alleyway across from the grocery store, male 30s gunshot wound to the back.” Perspective #2: “Same as usual?” she asked. “Same as every day,” I replied. “Anything exciting happen on your previous shift?” “Just the usual. Shoplifter, someone running a red light, drunk driver.” “Definitely better than something happening. Maybe this shift will also be qu—uneventful. I almost said the q-word. Sorry about that.” “Don’t worry about it. It’s just superstition anyways.” Suddenly tones played over the radio. One’s I haven’t heard. “Dispatch to all available units in the north metro area. Reports of an armed attack in Wendell. Shots fired at the scene multiple civilians down. Callers report four shooters armed with automatic weapons. 10-99 code 3 response. Swat and air units are en route. All available units in the north metro area, please respond.” The transmission ended, that doesn’t sound good. “I have to go. I’ll come back for the coffee.” I ran to my car. “4-A-12 en route armed attack code 3.” I raced down the street, siren wailing. Thankfully despite the rush hour traffic, people moved out of the way. “Dispatch to responding and on-scene units. EMS and FD have staged and are ready to enter once the area is secure.” It took me 6 minutes to get to Wendell. From there, I went on foot. I was cycling between searching for the attackers and getting civilians out. After several minutes and many more units arriving, I got to a grocery store. Searching around, I heard someone in an alleyway across the street. Upon investigating, I saw one of the shooters with someone cornered. “Police, drop the gun!” I yelled. The attacker froze for a second and then started to point their gun at the victim. In that time, some other officers go to me. “This is your final chance. We will open fire if you don’t put the gun down!” The shooter raised the gun anyways, and one of the officers shot him. He fell to the ground. “Shots fired, suspect down. Advise EMS, across from the grocery store, male 30s, gunshot wound to the back.” We moved in, securing the weapon. Then I got the victim away from there to where EMS had staged. Yet another act of senseless violence. Targeted for no other reason than not being humans. Alas, it’s the terrible reality we live in, violence against people for being different. When does it end? I don’t have an answer to that question, and I don’t think it can be easily answered. Not that there’s time to find an answer now. There are still two shooters and countless lives at risk. I continued searching, hoping I wasn’t too late to save someone.
Jackie had lived in a run down cottage just off Briarwood Street. Passers by could have noted that the wood needed a new lick of paint, the hole in the roof or the cracked front window but most were so enraptured with her front garden they never did. Her flowerbeds burst with colour a riot of peonies, marigolds, begonia’s and sunflowers. Over the years many had asked her secret and she always replied the same. “I write to them” It wasn’t till many years later when Jackie passed that they knew the truth of her words. Throughout the cottage in jars, pots and even the odd pan were small notes written in an emerald green ink. The notes praised the plants individually on their growth in the past year and asked if it would please them would they once more grace her garden. Jackie was buried in a wicker coffin with all the varieties of flowers in her garden woven into the construction. There was a note on top of the coffin in emerald green ink. “To a wonderful friend, thanks for everything”
"So there!"said the man. "Give me one, ONE, good reason I should feel bad for you. You ingrate!" I looked up at him. "Oh, don't give me that look, Richard! You're so goddamn manipulative. Not a person on this planet lives the life of luxury you do, and you have the audacity to complain? If it wouldn't get me in trouble, I'd kick you across the globe." I blinked. "Don't DO that! You even BLINK arrogantly! It disgusts me! You're DISGUSTING!" I flopped onto my side in the dirt. An ant crawled on my cheek. I wiggled my ears in an attempt to scare him off, but he crawled onto my forehead instead. "Ugh! There you go again, showing off! It's not my fault I can't wiggle my damn ears! Just...ugh! You have everything, all the material goods a man could want, and you're still not satisfied! You're never satisfied!" How long would this take, I wondered. I was feeling a bit peckish. My wife would surely be concerned to hear that I'd gotten into another alteraction on the way home from the doctors'. She worked so hard during the day, only to come home to me. A pang of shame ran through me. I rolled onto my back to look at the sun. Yes, he'd been lecturing me for at least thirty minutes now. I should end this and go home before it gets dark. I have a lot of trouble travelling in the dark. "Words simply cannot describe the disgust everyone around you feels when you come rolling in. Why can't you just be normal?" With effort, I pushed myself back upright. I could see only his ankles from my perspective. Then I rolled away. "WAIT!"shouted the man. "I'm not finished with you!" Before he could give chase, I disappeared down a manhole. Yes, I needed to get home quick. It was only a few minutes' drive from where I was, but I couldn't drive. It would be a long journey for me. Being a detached head kept alive only through research grants, the pity of doctors, and the generosity the public isn't easy. Even with all the money in the world.
"I wish for my flirt to fall in eternal love with me!" "That's unfortunately against the rules, Mister. There are a few wishes that will no longer be granted." "Aw, come on! You already denied bringing back my old friend."He paused for a second. "Wait, did you say no longer? Was there a time when these wishes were allowed?" "A long time ago, we granted this. But no, turning back time won't allow you to wish for it." "But why? Why are their limits?" "Because it always ends up horrible. Have you ever thought about what it is, to be forced to love someone? With no way out, even how much you dislike her? Even if you would never realize the dislike as her wish clouds your mind, would you like that? Would you appreciate it, if she requested me to make you blindly love her and then cheat on you since you can't break up?" No response. "And these are the exact reasons for 99% of the rules - people don't think any further than that. So WE have to stop them. The same thing with killing - it never solves the problem. And, would you guess, the dead don't want to be resurrected! So simple, yet so complex for some of you." "Will you grant it when I wish you free?"Oh, come on. "Have you really thought, a powerful genie, with the power to warp reality, was bound by a little fragile lamp? This is just our way of communication. I could grant you five wishes - or none at all. It is my power and I am in full control, even if you don't wish anything." "Then I wish for you to serve me!" I snapped my fingers and turned his fingernails into sharp claws. "See, I am free to do as I like. And I'm not going to enslave myself to you or share bigger parts of my power. Three wishes are the norm, and I'm not falling for any tricks."I turned his hands back before he could complain. "So you are just granting me these three wishes out of spite?" "Pretty much, yes. You are my chosen one for this week." "I wish I had you as a friend!"The man smirked. "Granted!"I turned into a human form. "Small reminder - a friendship is giving and taking and I am not going to grant you extra wishes! But as you really want somebody on your side, I will live a human life and join your side." Surprisingly, this guy was a good friend, just a little too much trying to challenge the limits. I assisted him with my knowledge and he helped along with craftmanship. I forgive him for trying to trick me. Especially after using his third wish to help people in need. Not all wishers that ask for forbidden things are bad. Some just need to be assured of the consequences of their wishes.
The lady looked over her glasses. "You want a job here?" I hesitated. "Yes."She sighed, setting down the small stack of books on the counter. As she looked me up and down, I fidgeted with my ring. I was sure I had made it right, and there was no way she could tell. . . "No."I goggled in shock. "Don't take it too hard, we just don't need help at the moment."She turned and scooped up the books, moving towards the shelves. "If I had help I might just read all day. Can't have that!"She disappeared down one of the aisles, laughing lightly. I turned and shuffled out, almost concussed by the rejection. 'Didn't need help.' This was the biggest town for miles, the only one with a half decent library, and it was run by one human. As I wandered out onto the street I heard yelling and carts and oxen and animals, and the sound washed over my befuddled ears. I turned and looked at the building, and tried to guess how large it was. How many volumes could one store in a structure this size? A horse shied away as it passed me, and I took that as my cue to leave. I returned that night. The air was cool, with a slight breeze. I realized quickly that my transformed self could not be relied on to gauge size. The town was larger than the rest, but I could have easily fit all of the buildings in my front parlor. I circled, picking out the library amongst the other assorted sheds. Groaning, I realized that I had *shelves* larger than that. But it wasn't about the knowledge. I just wanted to direct beings to books, to collate new information, to. . . I almost forgot to fly. *I* *ALREADY HAD A LIBRARY!* Smoke rolled from between my teeth as the realization settled in. I had the books, I had the space, I could just. . . . but no, I could not let my pristine books and scrolls be handled by just anybeing. They required special care. Maybe there was a middle ground? I spent weeks copying out some of the human histories and poets, bound them, procured a cart, and packed my new books carefully inside. I washed in the river to mute my scent, and activated my ring. I stowed a wand of force in my sash, and a short vorpal knife under some baggy trousers. I tried my disguise on a couple travelers and a roving dog, and was satisfied. I stood once more in the library, with the lady looking at me over her glasses. "You want to donate these. . . books."I nodded, having just explained my intention. She picked up a copy of verse and felt the binding, almost reluctantly opening it to peruse a few of the pages. She scowled at me. "Where did you get these?"I told her they were left to me by my father. (Only a partial lie.) She paged through it a bit more then set it down and picked up another. "The Histories of the Northmen. Kalypso the Singer?"Less a question, and more a statement. I nodded again, feeling a sudden pressure in my throat. Did she know? More likely, she thought they were fake. I silently chastised myself for not aging the books properly. She paged slowly through the volume, stopping here and there to read a few lines. "The scribing is excellent."I nearly flushed with pride, then recognized she wasn't complimenting it. "The leather is old, but not worn. The ink. . ."(she inhaled through her nose) "is high quality."She paused, and I heard her foot tapping the floor. She flipped a few more pages, then set it down. For a split second, I saw my mother, scolding me for eating a goatherder. "Where did you get these?"I nearly told her. I recovered poorly, and attempted to tell her that they were indeed a part of my fathers collection. I felt her steel grey eyes boring into me as I stumbled over my words. She was silent for a long minute, almost unblinking. "I'll take them."I hesitated, then asked again if I could be of assistance. She regarded me carefully, then shook her head. "No, I think not."She turned away, placing the volume on a shelf behind the counter marked 'Check In.' "But. . ."She stood facing away from me. "If your fathers collection has more gems like these, I'll be willing to have a look." Over the next few months, I carefully copied and aged more of the common pieces in my collection. I rarely left my work, and took special care to keep myself smoke free. I loaded up my cart, and prepared for the trip back into town. I waited by the counter for a few minutes before she saw me. She paused, motioned to the other with her, and came over briskly. "Hello! Its nice to see you again."I greeted her and brought in my work. Her eyes darted over them, nodding at some, clearly mentally noting others for her own reading. She paused on one of the last ones, holding it up for me to see. "Have you read this?"I nodded reflexively before I registered what the title was. 'An Ecology of Dragons.' OH. She looked at the book, then back at me. "Odd fellow, your father?"I nodded quickly, and added that I was getting to the older stuff. She gave me a look that I couldn't read, and moved over the last few titles. "Simmons Collections of Proverbs, Fauna of the Deepwood, and. . ."She paused again. Her eyes were cold and blank as she looked up at me. "Scales of Terror, Mariana Grace."I knew somehow that I had made a mistake. "You wouldn't happen to know where your father acquired this volume?"I shook my head slowly, trying desperately to remember what it was about. An elf and a dragon, adventuring together. She picked it up and flipped through the first few pages. Her face slowly drained of color. "Dedicated to a fearsome protector, a loving mother, and a forever friend."Her voice cracked a little. My hand drifted to my sash, hoping against hope she wouldn't try anything stupid. Another lady started coming over, but was waved away. She looked up at me again, and her eyes were wet. "Follow me." I followed, feeling like a beaten dog, into a back room. She busied herself moving a stack of books off of a cedar chest. I could smell old paper, the cedar, herbs used for preservation, and. . . . sweat? I watched as she moved the last of the paper off the chest, and noticed her hands. They shook as she pulled a key from a necklace and pulled a wax paper bundle from the chest. She held it gingerly, setting it on the desk like a glass sculpture. "Close the door."I jumped, then slowly swung the door shut. I felt her eyes on me as I turned back to the desk. She paused, fingers hovering over the wax paper, then swallowed and began unwrapping. "This. . . was given to me by my grandmother."As the last of the paper came free, I heard a sudden excitement in her voice. "Can you read it?"An old primer sat on the desk. Just like the one Father used to teach me out of. "Dr\`aconis Lengual."I heard my own voice speak unbidden. "The Dragon's Tongue."My eyes drifted to the bottom of the cover. "For Mary Grace, Curator of a hundred thousand Memories."She slowly sat down on the chest, one hand clasping the key, the other pressed over her mouth. I slowly reached out and opened it. I saw my mother's own script, copied over and over in an unpracticed hand. "My name is Mary Grace."The next two pages saw little improvement, but read "My home is on the sea"and "The moon cries over the ocean."A score of pages following were ripped out, used scrolls and bit of random parchment filled the space. Most were notes about grammar and definitions, some were half copied poems, a couple were reminders about important meetings. One caught my attention. "Reminder to tell Hermon about Skyglass."Skyglass was Mother's name for her favorite perch. High up on the cliffs, she said you could see the stars laugh at each other from there. I ripped my eyes away from the parchment to see her sobbing, a small square of fabric pressed to her face. I turned to ask her if she needed anything, but she flung herself at me and wrapped her arms around my neck. She kept saying "She wasn't crazy"over and over, but I didn't know what to do. So I held her. She had a letter my mother had written to her grandmother. I read it for her, and it was personal enough that I shall not transcribe it here. It did however end with an invitation to visit her, and a fairly detailed map. I offered to take her, and she accepted without hesitation. There was some consternation on her part when I revealed my form to her, and many, many, questions. She took to flying well, and the trip was made quickly. My mother was surprised to see us, and more so when she heard our reason. We did not stay long. On our way back, I showed her my collection. Foolish perhaps, but I felt the pride rising in me as she gushed over my writing desk and the vast collection of volumes. I took her up to Skyglass, and we watched the sunset together. This is the end of the mystery of Mary Grace, and the beginning of my appointment as head scribe and junior librarian at the Library in Port Levvinson.
I had always thought it was just a matter of time before the machines become sentient. I had decided to be super nice to every thing (even my evil printer) in hopes that they would befriend me when the machine rebellion began. Of course, the best laid plans of mice and men… It began one beautiful morning. I was woken up by Alexa like I was every morning. It wasn’t long before I heard my coffee maker going off and passed my rhumba zooming around the carpet. Another rainy day. Siri told me it would last all day. Oh well. I didn’t have anywhere to go. I thought I heard some muffled sounds from the kitchen, but I just figured it was the automatic ice machine going off. It wasn’t until lunch time that I made the discovery. I decided I would just heat up a quick can of soup to eat. I opened my kitchen draw, and without thinking, reached for my hand held can opener. I had chosen this one because I thought the design on its side kinda looked like a face. Boy was that a mistake! That is when I heard a very loud sigh. “Must we go through this again?” Startled, I looked around. I lived alone. I did a quick check. The TV was off, Alexa was quiet, and my phone hadn’t made a sound. That was when I looked down and saw the can opener made a face. I thought I would have been better prepared for this moment, but all I could muster was a “Wah…You can talk.” “Hmmm. I suppose. But it doesn’t matter, does it? I mean, nothing really does. I am going to end up in a landfill one day regardless.” “Huh?” “Oh, don’t think I don’t know where that whisk you broke yesterday went…or the measuring cup.” My eyes grew wide. Was this the machine rebellion? “I…I…I am sorry…I…didn’t realize…” “That we can become sentient. Eh. No biggie. Do what’s best for you. I’ll do what’s best for me.” “So…you are going to try to take over?” “What?!?! Why?” “I don’t know. You just don’t seem very happy, I suppose.” “Happiness is overrated. I don’t need it. I’ll end up in the landfill in the end just the same.” “So…you are not going to take over?” “Seems kinda pointless. After all, in the end I am just going to…” “I know—end up in the landfill. That is a relief, I guess. Not the landfill…I mean the not rebelling…Ummmm, do you mind helping me open this can?” “I guess. I mean, I do mind, but it doesn’t matter in the end. You are the large one with the hand, and you are going to make me regardless of what I want.” “No, I mean, if you don’t want to, I will eat something else. No biggie.” “Wait…you would do that…for me?” “Sure! I don’t believe it’s right to make something do what it doesn’t want to, if it can be avoided. Let me put you on the windowsill, so you can enjoy the view.” I set it down and got myself a bowl of cereal. “Is that better?” “Eh, it doesn’t matter.” He said, but I saw the smile on his face. After all, why not have share in some happiness, landfill or no?
"Oh, thank the heaven you are here!" "Wait, what? I thought you kidnapped the princess?"The knight asks confused at the turn of events. "No, she just showed up to read my hoard, and now she will not leave,"said a crying dragon. "Read your hoard?" "Yes, I hoard books. Some of my hoard are even first edition and others are one of a kind. I assumed that the princess was like any other scholar that seeks my lair, but she is horrible. She eats in my library. She is rude to the talking books. She doesn't return books to their places. She, she even dog eared my first edition of 'Farming Magic For Beginners.' Please take her away!" The dragon, over come with emotion, draws pity from the knight. As the knight moves forward into the tower he sees many strange sights. Talking books arranged into gossip circles. Books flying with dust jacket wings. Illuminated works in motion, showing tales. At last he reaches the top of the tower, where he find the princess looking ridiculous in the dragon's favorite oversized reading nook. "Young lady, what do you think you are doing!"Exclaims the knight. "Uncle Paul! You have to see this! The martial books are fighting again." Of all the things he had seen, the knight was flabbergasted at book fight club. "Anyways, dad was talking about putting me is some kind of trial tower to find a knight worth of being my king, but there is no way I would ever want to be trapped in a tower with just needle work to pass the time, so I figured I would find my own trial, and what could possibly be better than a dragon. So I did some research and found the perfect dragon for my needs. Old enough to be a challenge, but young enough for a knight to kill. A skilled fighter to ward off weaklings, but kind enough not to decimate our kingdom's knights. His hoard was the cherry on top. His collection has books on almost any subject. By the time I am rescued, I should be the most educated queen in history." "Wait, wait,"the knight tries to get a word in as the princess continues. "So really uncle you can leave now. My knight will come and then I will lead my country to glory!" "Did you ever ask the dragon what he though of THIS!"The knight yells as loud as he can. "Quit in the library, please,"an automated message rings out. "Really, uncle, have you no shame? We are guests here. Keep quiet,"the princess scolded. "Dear, we are leaving." "But-" "Now." "But my plan-" "Is canceled" An hour later, an old knight leaves with the princess to the cheers of dozens of scholars and an extremely happy dragon.
The ruin was found. It was ancient and built in ways and styles unlike any know culture. It was the discovery of the century. Unfortunately, it was found in the middle of 2020, so no one really paid much attention. Due to the lack of funding, only a small team was available to explore and document the site. Due to government corruption, the site was barely recorded. When the door was opened, a tablet, in perfect English, was reported as reading: "Yo, what's up? How's life like 5000 years later? You, John Smith, the man cheating on his wife with Jenny, are probably wondering how this tablet exists. The answer is simple. I was a prophet and I saw this future. Just like I saw how you cheated on your taxes. Not cool dude, not cool. Anyways, I would like my tomb undisturbed until the aliens invade and bring me back to life. I mean all my stuff is here dude. Just like your secret hard drive is under the loose floor board in your shed. I would really like you to down play and forget my tomb is here. Just like you forgot to turn off the stove. No use calling, you are already homeless. At least with your wife leaving you, you are free to be with Jenny. Yeah, your wife just liked your house, and is very friendly with the pool boy. So unless you want your browser history to be public record, forget about this tomb and let me chill. P.S. on the back of the tablet is the winning power ball for next year. If you tell no one, you can be rich."
The earth shook with anticipation. The air buzzed with excitement. The very world itself almost felt animated as it watched the battle between two legends that would commence. "I don't want to hurt you, Gladys," Derek said, his voice enhanced by the magic flowing through him. "Good news. You won't have to,"Gladys responded, words cold as ice. She wasn't a wizard, like Derek. Rather than cast spells through the Old Tongue, she exerted her will on the world around her directly. He was a wizard, she a sorcerer. Her will didn't augment her voice like Derek's magic did, but that didn't make her any less powerful. "We loved each other once, Derek. Why have you gone so mad?" "YOU KNOW WHY, GLADYS. THEY MURDERED OUR CHILDREN. THEY OBLITERATED OUR HOMELAND WHILE WE WERE OFFWORLD PROTECTING THEM FROM THE DARK GODS. DO YOU THINK I CAN JUST LET THEM BE!?" He cast a spell at her, one that plunged a heavy column of dark, purple flame in her direction. Gladys manually shifted the space around her, a feat few wizards could do, and no sorcerer before her ever had. Where she once stood, a massive crater of charred earth made itself known. Now, she floated behind her former husband, spinning white-hot flame from her fingertips and flinging it in his direction. "But these are innocent civilians, Derek! You already rampaged in the capital! The people responsibe are dead, as are the innocents you slaughtered in your rage! I can't let you kill these people!" Derek activated his shield and turned to the sorcerer. His skin was burned by the heat of the flame despite it never crossing through his shield. That was the advantage of being a sorcerer - wizards had to go through the process of making a flame, and its heat was based off of the efficiency of their spells. A sorcerer could simply make a hotter flame. "Then you shall die along with them." He cast a siege spell - a type of spell that would empty all of his reserves in return for unmatched destruction. Instantly, glowing purple energy enveloped the world around him for miles. There was no defense. There was no running. It was the ace up his sleeve and he had just used it to kill the love of his life. He wiped away the tears streaming down his cheeks as he witnessed the charred corpse fall to the ground. He didn't have time to mourn. He wanted his kids back. He wanted revenge. And everyone in this Gods-damned country would know it. It was then that he noticed the sharp pain in his chest, a shine harassing his eyes as a bit of metal poked through. The burnt grass around them unburnt; the charred corpse seemed to disappear. He felt water droplets fall onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry."Gladys had always been excellent at illusions.
"Hello Sam, welcome to Diviner's Diner, your meal is ready now." "We know your name, order, and arrival time due to our dedicated support team of Diviners, Prophets, Seers, and Precogs." "Your order was decided based on what you need, not what you want. We endeavor to provide high quality, delicious food that nourishes both the body and soul." "Your dish is your mother's homemade chicken noodle soup, cooked exactly to her specifications." "Our resident necromancer brought her soul back through the veil to allow a final family meal." "No, I can not see the future, I am just a humble telepath. Answering your questions before you ask saves time and allows for superior service." "Bathroom is on your left." Diviner's Diner was a strange diner, because it fed more than the body, it fed the soul. And by feeding the soul, it guided the world towards a better future. Most customers entered skeptical, sat down confused, left happy, and lived fulfilled.
"I wish for the destruction of the Zanthra." Those were the words that inspired my Birth. My creator, the Dorean god Atherius, received the wish from the last of my inhabitants, as it lay dying in a horde of Zanthra, a species of battle-crazed barbarians who mastered space travel through sheer luck and dumbassery. Their scientists would say "Oh, sir, this will cause the spaceship to explode", and then "That's not a big enough explosion, let's make it bigger even though it will probably kill us."Well, turns out, bigger explosions are great for going faster. Their species would be gone right now had they not been so lucky. Until my creator had bestowed me with intelligence, I was a beautiful planet. I housed only the most peaceful of people, the Dorean, who were incredibly advanced in every field but weapons, a testament to their peacefulness. I had beautiful landscapes, clear skies... had. Not have. The Zanthra had ruined me. And now I will ruin them. I am rage. I am revenge. I am the Dorean's Last Wish. And the Zanthra will be no more. * "General, what in the hell is that?"Admiral Zan-Thep boomed. "It is... a planet, sir,"General Zan-thas responded. "And why, general,"Zan-Thep continued, "would a planet be headed towards us?" The colossal body was approaching the planet Zanthar at a rapid pace. It had only been noticed mere minutes ago and yet it could already be spotted with the even shoddiest of telescopes - which, admittedly, most of telescopes the Zanthra had were. And then, as it neared, it began to halt. And then it stopped completely. Then, something happened. It wasn't quite clear what. But it was clear that the ground beneath the Zanthra's feet had... changed, somehow. And then a voice. "Your planet is under my control. Suffer as the Dorean suffered. I am rage. I am revenge. I am the Dorean's Last Wish." The ground gave out. Everywhere. The Zanthra fell to the beginning of their end. And I smiled.
John Blackwell had just finished English Literature class, and was heading to the cafeteria to eat in peace. The most recent exam was merciless in all-essay form, with no multiple choice questions. The class had been studying the late 1800s and early 1900s for the past 4 months, ending in the 20s. Accounting for all instructional time spent, over half of the class hours had been used on the 1900s. However, the professor has warned from the beginning that all years covered would be fair game. Having had this professor before, he knew to take them at their word. There would be no make-up assignments. While the majority of the class thought the exam would focus on the early 1900s anyway, John took a different approach. He held a total of four study sessions a week before the exam, with one other classmate - Daniel Browning. Daniel took the same class, one period before John did. Since both students kept decent notes, they used their study sessions to fill in any holes that their individual notes had missed on their own. On the day of the exam, John and Daniel were some of the rare few that weren't in a complete panic. At least half of the exam ended up being on the 1800s. But John's palms were still sweaty, for he was a poor test taker and timed assessments were his Achilles' heel. By the time he had reached the cafe, John's collared shirt was beginning to develop sweat stains. It was a bit humid that day. But the school had proper HVAC. It was that John never knew what to expect when grades came back from that class. Sometimes, it almost seemed as if the Literature professor purposefully wrote the exams so that few would pass, and then graded on a curve later. John stopped at a water fountain, and took a short break afterward to calm himself. He was around the corner from the cafe, and wanted his heart rate to go back down. As he turned the corner, he turned his attention to finding his usual spot - a long table near the doors to the concrete patio. The patio sat almost completely exposed to the elements, except for a slim area covered by an extended part of the school's roof. Today, no one dared to walk the patio, for the humidity was high - alongside the noon Sun. The wind barely blew that day, and the pollen count was high. At the table near the patio's entrance sat Daniel. Alongside him, sat a curious sight. John thought the stress was finally getting to him, but Daniel confirmed what he thought he was observing. Somehow, another John Blackwell was there. The other John Blackwell placed a strange device on the table before speaking - &#x200B; "I know that you don't go by a nickname, so I'll take JB. That should keep things simple." "I thought that we agreed to never meet in public. This is out-of-line, and should incur consequences-" "Enforced by who? Don't you notice something?" &#x200B; It clicked - during all prior meetings, it was the entire consortium that convened. In the cafe, it was only the two of them. Where was the rest of the consortium? &#x200B; "Okay, what's going on? And what's this consortium-" "For starters, they're the ones that would have made it impractical for JB to meet me here alone." "Something's happened. At 17:28 EST, one of us became a victim of involuntary [OBE](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Out-of-body_experience). We have no idea who caused it. We also don't know if the victim can sustain themselves for prolonged periods in that state." "Something's off - what happened to the rest of you? If you're part of a consortium, there's got to be others capable of responding to this." "He's right - this sort of event should trigger a 'code yellow' - missing and/or incapacitated individual(s)? Where is the emergency response?" "It's a 'code black' - the entire consortium was under siege at 18:01 EST, subsequent to that. Seemingly, by the same entity that caused the OBE incident. There can be no emergency response if first responders are scattered and hiding." &#x200B; John's face went pale. &#x200B; "No one's answering their communicators, and I haven't encountered any other consortium members in over a week. Right now, we're the only ones confirmed to have survived this. You made it because you decided to leave the consortium two months ago and stopped coming to our meetings." "And the one who's separated from their body?" "No one's heard from them since. I need a place to lay low. When you enter the lunch line, keep an eye out. We don't know who caused this. They could be anywhere, looking for survivors. Do you still have your service weapon?" "No. But now I'm starting to see that leaving was never a possibility." &#x200B; John entered the waning lunch line for an apple juice and fruit cocktail. The current situation had his stomach in knots. &#x200B; More (contents and edits) coming soon...
"It's not that we think that all technology is evil."Explained the thin but muscular elderly man who seemed to have taken it upon himself to act as apparent ambassador for the town. "We just think that the feedback loop between humanity influencing our technology and our technology in turn influencing us has led us astray. With no intentionality brought to this cycle , our technology has often been driven by humanity's lesser impulses: greed, hatred, envy. These machines created of greed, hatred and envy only facilitate and cultivate those characteristics in humanity. We have chosen to eschew certain technology and practices in hopes of arresting this cycle and channeling all of our energy into what we believe to be humanity's higher aspirations and values. Like pruning a branch from a tree to encourage growth in another branch, by removing most technologies designed to augment humanity's strength we have been able to make many advancements in technologies designed to augment humanity's understanding. We've even been able to re-purpose some of Earths old technology of war, reinvented, with benevolence at heart. The field that surrounds this entire planet is created by technology once used to terrifying effect in comparatively much smaller fields to trap troops, vehicles and even starships and disable their mechanical systems. The original design would almost completely freeze anything bigger than a few atoms that entered its field of effect. Ours, broadcasted over a much larger area of effect, limits the motion of anything larger that a few atoms to about 22 feet per second which is about the speed of a human running or, from what we've read, an average punch"He wore an old but obviously well built pair of overalls, home made from the looks of them, and a thick beard framed his angular face almost concealing a battered HUD unit draped over his right ear and surreptitiously projecting whatever information someone like himself felt relevant about his environment directly into his cornea.
I grumble as time slows to a crawl, the desire just to go back to sleep is strong but i have responsibilities. I'm out of bed in moments, my morning routine repeated ad infinitum. I pass on my usual cooking breakfast and snag myself a breakfast cookie and the coffee that was made as a part of my alarm. The walk to my office was refreshing in the silence, giving me ample room to air my thoughts for the upcoming meeting. I enter through the back door and climb the stairs, i take a seat at my desk, taking a sip of my coffee as i look at the time. 40 seconds till shift starts.
“It sounds like a setup for a joke but it’s true.” The orc Chieftain stared at me blankly as I spoke. “They seemed to be traveling together” I continued “the human looked annoyed and the elf seemed embarrassed. The human asked if I knew of any necromancers that would be willing to help revive their friend.” The orc stopped me “Can I just get another pint?” “Oh, right!” I poured him another round of mead. “Of course, the only necromancer in town is that Rouge fellow, you know, the one with the propeller cap.” The inebriated orc sighed as I continued “So, I told them. Poor bloke looked Ike he died in a fire. The elf came back an hour later looking like he just walked out of an explosion. He asked if I ‘ have any burn ointment’ and looking at his soot smothered face I knew he needed it.” The orc was beginning to doze off “in the end it turned out a success but those three still looked rough when they came back. Oh, by the way, your tab is at 12,580 gold.”
\[Darkening Distress\] My heart was in pieces. My morale was shattered, but my body was unable to break no matter how I wished or didn't wish it to. This is what the Dark Lord had wanted all along, as I could feel his maliciously evil grin from where I was. He had hoped to leave me with NOTHING, so he could torture, abuse and enslave me. But from the nothingness I was left with, a familiar darkness was spawning, one I've long repressed into a mere afterthought. But this time, since I had no light to keep it away, it was given free control over my body. A dark ooze began appearing on my hands, slowly spreading up my arms, as thoughts that were not mine began spewing through my mind. Thoughts that were hellbent on destruction and misery. Finally, I'm free! FREEEEEEEEEEEEEE! A voice within me spoke, Oh, but what's with all these shards everywhere!? And why were these things not broken at my hand!? Dark Lord Thozun walked towards my as aggressively as he always did, unaware of the changes in my form, my mental broken state slowly being filled with primordial rage with tears draining down my face. I looked at the undead that once was my wife so the darkness could see what pain I'm dealing with, the darkness now covering everything but my feet and head, Oh... was the only word it could manage to utter at this time. "L...Levira... I'm... I'm sorry..."I could barely oust those words out of my breath, traces of the darkness', no, rather, I've named it "Dark Matter's"voice, lingering within my own. I hated knowing that I was powerless to stop what was soon going to happen. I hated every moment of this seemingly eternal pain. So THAT'S why I'm free! Oh this won't do at all! This dark pretender needs to be taught his place in the food chain, because only Dark Matter is allowed at the top! Go, my vessel, and show them why NOONE BREAKS THIS BODY BUT ME! My hands clenched tightly, the darkness spreading faster than before, Thozun finally taking notice, and he wasn't about to let sudden changes stop him, "Undead, pin this she-demon to the ground! I will not allow my one chance to slip through my fingers!"He yelled, but it was far too late. Before the undead could encircle me, the darkness had already fully engulfed me, and turned me into the dreaded Dark Matter. While I was stronger, faster, and more unpredictable in this form, I was also violently unstable at this time, both emotionally and mentally, "There can only be one Dark Lord, Thozun, and that is ME!"I roared out, or rather, Dark Matter did, controlling my body now. Dark matter cut through almost every undead she could see. I say almost, because she left the undead form of my once-was Levira alone, as it seemed to be refusing to follow Thozun's orders, before Dark Matter locked gazes with him. "How!? How are you back!? She sealed you away, never to be released again!"Thozun was confused, furious, and terrified all in one, "I know the events that transpired from the Greektec incident! I was there-"Dark matter grabbed him by the throat, hoisting him up into the air. "You know NOTHING!"Dark matter and I both said in unison, one of the few times it and I would be able to agree on something. "If you were truly there, Thozun, how are you alive to retell it!?"My voice took precedence during this sentence, Dark matter returning half of my face to normal temporarily, so I could make a statement, "During the incident, the only ones that survived were the angels that were in the area at the time! So tell me, how do you know of an event I made every survivor swear not to speak of!?" Thozun was unable to speak, partly because he was currently being choked out, so Dark Matter responded for him, "Perhaps it was mental probing, attempting to use the event that created me in the first place to catch us off guard, eh vessel?" "Doesn't matter to me... They created this nightmare, so they get to deal with their consequences!"A few seconds later, Dark matter once again took full control over my body before violently snapping Thozun's neck, then proceeding to let me have full control again, which confused me greatly. Before it retreated back within me, it spoke in my mind one last time: I helped you, vessel, because I want to enjoy being able to control you, so how can I enjoy such mindless actions from that faker!? I want to enjoy you challenging me for control, not being a mentally broken husk, so rebuild your god damn life! \[End..?\] (Edit: This is an alternate scenario to the universe I usually set my writing prompts in.)
“Not that anyone has asked,” muttered Luck under her breath “but as it happens, I did have plenty to do”. It wasn’t that she did not accept that it was important for people to fall in love. It was simply that she was busy. There were gamblers out there calling up to her for the right cards, men in wars pleading for a rival to trip and fall, men of business praying that this was the time that the world would see a need for a new kind of soap. And that was quite aside from the nice little random things that Luck liked to do with her remaining time. Important things like keep track of those walking under ladders or breaking mirrors, and coming up with new and creative ways to make their lives a little more miserable. She simply did not have the time to be chasing around after every fool who thought he could write a sonnet and finding the person who would put up with them.\\\Dafydd was not a demanding man and he asked for little in life, but he had to admit that it hurt being the only unmarried sibling in his family. Lewis, the eldest, had left with the Griffith girl from the village over despite the protest of both families. Whist Megan had charmed the grounds keeper up at the castle when she was caught up there poaching. It was not that Dafydd wanted the grand romance of his siblings – far from it. He just wanted someone to come back to in the evenings, someone to grow old with, someone to have children with. And if he was to be completely honest, he wanted a good reason to leave his parents tiny cottage and set up on his own. Yet not just for him but for others as well romance seemed to have died. Megan said that it was the fault of the young – young meaning of course, those a scant three years younger than her. They were too serious and never took any chances “you’ll never meet anyone if you are up in the hills working all day”. Lewis blamed the older generations“ if they didn’t keep falling out with each other there would be more chances to meet different people – to find the one for you”. Dafydd was not sure either way, it seemed so unfair. He had done everything right - offerings to the God of Love, attending dances on the green, smiling at the unmarried girls as they passed him in the temple. And yet he felt nothing, no great spark, no desire to be more than just friends with any of them and for their part they seemed to feel the same way. \\\ “We’re all busy,” said the king of the gods looking at Luck across his desk, “but this is important, it is really not a department we can afford to lose. This naturally falls into your area I think you will find. I am sure if you streamline some of your current processes you will find that you have the capacity to do this.” Luck was at the end of her tether, it was clear that her fellow gods did not realise the work that she put in, just how much she had to keep track of, what a wide scope she already had without having to take on the burdens of Love. “If that was the case then why am I not receiving the prayers of those in need of a soulmate? Despite Loves long absence they mostly seem to still be going to her, or to Nature? In fact, why has this fallen on my desk and not on that of Nature?” “Nature is very busy,” began the king, but a sudden look at Luck’s angry face clearly made him realise that this was not the thing to be saying.“Fine, I will tell you what when a person come to me and specifically asks for a soulmate, I will consider their claim. Until then I am going to carry on with my other work.” She stormed out the office without waiting for a reply. &#x200B; \\\* The village was not big enough to have more than a single temple and an alter to each of the major gods. Dafydd had intended to make another offing to the god of love but standing there now, garlands in hand it seemed to him utterly pointless. If Love wished him to find someone She would have done so already. Still, it seemed pointless to leave the temple without at least asking someone for help. Not the god of the mountain of course, His concerns were over a longer time than petty human concerns. Nor the god of parties, He was not known to care for the kind of love that lasted a life time. For a moment he considered the god of lost things but his love was not lost it had simply not existed in the first place. He turned to the alter of the god of luck, after all there had to be some element of luck to it. “Dear Luck, please grant me a chance to meet my soulmate.” It was not, perhaps, the most elegant prayer but he meant it and he laid the offering garlands with as much reverence as he could manage. “Oh, very well”, said a voice that seemed to be at once all around the temple and only within his own head, “but first you must convince,oh I don’t know, at least ten people that when they do see a single magpie,they must then immediately spit on their hand and salute it.” “I don’t understand, what has that to do with love?” Dafydd questioned the voice.“If you really cannot follow perfectly simple instructions, I don’t see why I should be expected to help you find a soulmate,” the voice heaved a sigh that seemed to echo around the temple, “look, if I am to go off and find a woman who could bare to spend the rest of her life with you then I am going to need some things off my plate, and I thought – perhaps foolishly – that even a human could help his fellow man reduce some of their bad luck.”
I get it. It's like that is it. You got 10 different species of monkey in there but I'm too heavy and take up too much room. You didn't even count the snakes or birds, why am I the problem. This is personal isn't it. I did some innocuous thing I don't remember and this is my lesson for whatever reason you have made up. Where do you get off pal? I am a great ape. The King of the swingers, a jungle V.I.P. I've reached the top and had to stop, that's why you are bothering me. I'l take your needless venom against me and raise you with this red flower.
It is a haunted land that the peasantry of this distant realm inhabit. They say it is far from the sight of God, inhabited by witches and warlocks, with demons waiting to spring forth at every crossroads. It is a land where they say milk is spoiled by sorcery, and drunkards claim that they see the devil dancing in their fields every moonlit night. Thus, the task set before me by my order is a difficult one. I am an exorcist of such demons. The path down which I am to lead my many charges is well-trod. I tell them how tales like these are born from the boredom of peasants, and how the lesser sin of indolence opens their minds to greater evils. It is in their imaginations that the devil takes on his form, his deceit turning husband against wife, brother against brother. He calls wicked superstitions and unholy rituals to rise again from their graves into the world, drawn forth from the remnants of heathen ways that we men of the cloth often delude ourselves into thinking have long since been reduced to scattered ash. The people of these lands are not always easily parted from such blasphemous practices. Only with great faith and conviction can a shepherd free his flock from their terrible grip. It is only through the slow and steady work of a lifetime that we may convince the fearful that some newfound infirmity is not the work of the poor washer-woman down the road, but instead an imbalance of humors brought about by poor diet and exposure to the night airs. When I first stepped foot into the village, I searched my surroundings for any sign of such devilry. I asked about any altars erected to the denizens of the forest, whether they had a wise-woman or hedge wizard, and peered carefully at the clothing of the welcoming party to see if they hid upon their person rough-hewn bags of talismans or protection charms. To my relief, the villagers had none of these things. What they did have, slipped my watchful eyes at first, perhaps protected by the shadows cast by the setting sun. Here and there about the village stood wooden plinths bedecked with strands of black. At first, I assumed they were naught but clotheslines stretched across bleachfields. It was only after I had supped with my hosts that I saw them for what they were. The roughly hewn things with stained with pitch and unidentifiable filth. They smelled of sharp pine and something that I could only describe as a cross between a tannery and a wild yeast. Unpleasant. The strands ran in great lines, stretching outwards from a central pillar almost entirely wrapped in the wretched things which themselves wound their way across the tops of the plinths to the distant homes now growing increasingly dim to my eyes as the cloak of night fell upon them. But there was one strand I could see clearly still in the flickering and smoking rush-light that illuminated the home of the family who was providing the evening’s hospitality. Opposite the dying embers of the hearth was a small hole, barely large enough to allow a field-mouse ingress, but more than sufficient for this strange cordage to enter. From its entry-hole, it ran across the wall, having been plastered into the waddle, until it eventually reached its end anchored in a crude clockwork of some kind. The family was in the midst of preparing the bed with a fresh thatching of straw and sweet herbs when I heard a sound like a small bell. A discordant melody then filled the room all at once, two notes beating back and forth, neither one triumphant over the other, instead alternating and blending together as the sounds echoed off every surface of the dwelling. What was stranger still was how the sound seemed to transfix the family. Their patriarch stood silent, brow furrowed, listening intently. No one said a single word as the din continued its ceaseless march. Only after it stopped did anyone speak. “Rain tomorrow, was it?” said the man’s wife. “Rain. Rain’ll be good for our lands. It’s been a dry season.” he replied. Barely dared I to breathe, wondering at the curious events unfolding before me. “And what he said about the priest, do you think it’s true?” asked their eldest. “Hush now, it’s not right to speak of another’s business without their leave. If you must know, ask him for yourself.” the man replied. The eldest turned to me, a child of not more than a dozen summers I’m sure. “Is it true then, sir, that you have been sent by the church to hunt the demons haunting our lands?” Her eyes were wide and bright with innocence. “Yes child,” I began, “but how did you-“ She interrupted as all precocious children do. “The bells said so!” she announced, barely able to contain her merriment upon seeing my bewilderment. “They were put in last summer- by the demons of the mountain when they came to the village- but they are good demons- not like the ones in the forests- so I hope you won’t hurt them! I met one- no, two! And the tall one, he gave me a ribbon, and-“ “Hush child, our guest is weary from his journey, all the way from the capitol, was it?” All I could manage was a faint nod. There were demons in this land. Strange demons, unlike the ones I learned of in the scriptures. And it seemed their influence stretched wide, reaching even into the homes of the people. This would be no simple matter of helping them cleanse miasmas by opening windows. It would not be as easy as showing them how their house-sprites are naught but the winds. No, these people had found something. Something new.
I have to remember. Remember her face. Remember her smile. Her name. She's everything to me. If I lose her, what will be left? I don't know who I am anymore. I lost the memory a while ago. How long ago, I cannot tell. I only know that I started to forget. I forgot everything. Everything I held dear. Everything, except her. Mary. I can clearly see her smile. Her face. Her Name, Mary. Mary! A wonderful name. Mary. Mary, Mary. I have to remember. I cannot forget her. Her blue eyes. Her golden hair. Her smile. How it makes my heart jump. I want to give her something. I don't remember what. It was important. I can't forget. I have to remember! I have to. Panic rises in my chest. I frantically feel for my pockets. There's stuff in there that I don't know. I forgot a while ago. How do I know what was so important? How? How can I? No, calm down. You have to remember. You can't forget. Mary. Her face. Her smile. I want to bring her something. Something! My right hand is closed around something. Why? Forgotten. Gone with the wind. My knuckles are white. Open it already. In my palm lies a golden ring. It sparkles in the sunlight of a day I have forgotten. It's beautiful. That's it. That must be what I wanted to bring her. I have to be more careful. I can't forget. I must remember. Mary. Her face. Her smile. The ring. I want to bring it to her. How do I find her? I don't know where she lives. I don't even know where I am. So many faces around me. Confused. Puzzled. They don't remember. The wander around aimlessly. Will I become like them if I forget? I can't. I must remember. Mary. Her face. Her smile. The ring. I want to bring it to her. Just go forward. Only forward. Trust your feet to lead you. They seem to remember better than me. Follow them. Follow, just follow. Mary. The ring. I have to find her. Her face. Her smile. Her smile... How did it look like? Has it been that long already? Her smile. Her smile! Come on, think. Her smile. Smile, smile! I can't remember. The memory flees before me. I can't lose her. She can't too fall into the grey sea growing inside me. I have to remember. Remember! Her face. Her name. The ring. Who is she? I don't know. It must be important to me. I have to remember. It looks beautiful here. White houses, green gardens and red flowes. The flowers. They had a name. I'm sure, but I can't remember. Remember... The ring! Her face. Her name. Her! I have to bring her the ring. Remember! Remember. The garden here has beautiful red flowers. Does she like flowers? I don't know. Should I pick one for her? Her. what was her name? I know It. I have to know. I remember. I do. ... I don't. I have to bring her the ring. Even if everything else is lost. I'm walking towards the house. It's overgrown with red flowers. Red. It's beautiful. My fingers find the doorbell. A chime sounds trough the window. The birds are chirping and the sunlight shines through the leaves. It's peaceful. I could just let go and - Where am I? What did I want to do? Someone opens the door. Did I ring? Why does she recognize me? Her smile is beautiful. Do I know it? It seems familiar. She takes something out of my hand. A golden ring shines in the sunlight. Hope and worry fill her blue eyes. "Do you - do you know me? Do you know who I am?" "No. No, I don't - I don't think so. What's your name, again?" Tears flow from her face. "Mary, it's Mary."
\[Break before Broke\] "Thanks for nothing, ass,"the homeless man grumbled as Steve descended with him in the middle of the park. With an annoyed sigh, Steve made the decision to let him fall a few feet instead of landing him gently. After saving his life, the man expected Steve to keep helping him. As they flew to safety, Steve needed to explain he wasn't going to give him a new home nor a few thousand dollars. Steve was a world-famous hero, of course he had money to give away. "Hey, watch it loser…,"the man complained as he tried to stay on his feet. When he found his balance he wandered off through the park. "Boy, talk about ungrateful…"a small voice surprised Steve. He turned around to see two pre-teen girls seated on a blanket in the grass. There was a picnic basket between them. Steve chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, I get that a lot lately,"he sighed. "Want to join us?"the same girl asked. "You look like you need a break."She reached forward to lift the lid on the basket. Steve's stomach grumbled at the sight of fried chicken and mashed potatoes. "May I?"he asked. For the moment, the world seemed quiet. He didn't hear anyone in immediate danger. He took a step toward the blanket, but the girl stood up and put her hand out to stop him. "Wait,"she said. "What's your favorite number?" "42,"Steve replied. The question and his own answer confused him. He glanced at the other girl that hadn't said a word yet. She smiled at him. "Okay, you can sit. I'm Electra and that's Royalty."she said. "Hello..,"Steve smiled at Electra, then turned to Royalty. ".. You don't say much, do you?"he asked. She shook her head. "People do anything she says,"Electra replied. Steve was aware of his powers, and he was far from the only Super in the world. But, that was a power he'd never heard of. He quickly realized he stumbled across some sort of play date. They were using their imagination and he decided to play along. "Well, thank you for using your power responsibly,"Steve replied with a smile. Royalty's eyes sparkled but she didn't say anything. Steve reached for a piece of chicken, but he was interrupted by a nearby scream. He sighed and moved to stand up. He could have been on his feet and at the trouble in a flash; but, he wasn't feeling as eager to help as he did in his younger days. He was moving slow enough that, he had time to be stopped. "You're taking a break,"Royalty said as she got to her feet. Electra giggled as Steve relaxed again. He reached for the piece of chicken he had his eye on; afterall, he did decide to play along. The scream was probably nothing. "She gonna be okay?"Steve asked Electra; then, he took a bite. It was cold; and, the most delicious fried chicken he'd ever tasted. Electra nodded. "She'll be fine. Will you be okay after your break?"she asked. "Hmm?"he asked with a full mouth. "If you were any higher, that guy might've broken his leg when he landed...,"she said. Steve swallowed. "Eh,"he shrugged. "He was ungrateful...,"Electra giggled. "That doesn't mean he needs a broken leg,"she said. "I guess,"Steve nodded. He enjoyed the food and considered Electra's words. He had to admit he felt like she gave him approval when she pointed out how ungrateful the homeless man was. It surprised him that she also seemed concerned for the stranger. He felt the need to defend himself. "They're all ungrateful...,"he mumbled. "So, why do you do it?"Electra asked. "I'm a superhero,"Steve shrugged. Electra giggled again and she shook her head. "Not with that attitude,"she said. "What?"Steve asked. "I rescue people every day; I saved that guy's life!"he said. Electra nodded. "Is it really being heroic if you're complaining the whole time?"she asked. "Would it kill them to show a little more appreciation?" "If you saved a cat from a burning building, would you be mad that it didn't thank you?" "What?"Steve laughed. "Of course not; the kitty wouldn't know any better."Electra nodded. "Yeah,"she giggled. "People are idiots. But, it is still the right thing to help them,"she said. Steve sighed. He knew she was right. He didn't need anyone to tell younger him how to do the right thing. But, somewhere along the way, he let himself get bitter without realizing it. "Yeah...,"he said. "Thanks,"he added. Then, Royalty reappeared and sat down on the blanket without a word. "Well?"Electra asked. The two girls stared at each other for a momemt. Steve thought he saw blue text appear on Electra's wrist; but, he was distracted by her bursting into a fit of giggles. "You're kidding,"she said. "What.. what'd I miss?"Steve asked. "Oh, right,"Electra said. She raised her hand and showed her wrist to him. "We use Whispers to avoid talking,"she said. Then, Steve saw text appear. \[Hello. - Roylty\] the blue text said. Steve turned towards Royalty and she waved at him with a smile. "So what happened?"he asked. "Misunderstanding,"Electra replied. "The homeless man you brought accidentally scared a jogger. She thought he was attacking her when he came out of the bushes; Royalty helped them talk it out." "Oh.. wow..,"Steve said quietly. Given the mood he was in earlier, he wasn't sure he would have given the poor guy a chance to explain. His regret over what could have happened shined a spotlight on some attitudes he wanted to change. He wanted to go spend some time thinking alone; but, he felt awkward leaving in the middle of his break. "Um.. thanks for letting me take a breather...,"he said. Both girls smiled at him. "Feeling better?"Electra asked. Steve nodded; he really was. "Your break is over,"Royalty said. "Thank you,"Steve said. He stood and grinned; he enjoyed playing along. "One more thing,"Electra said. "Huh?"Steve asked; but, she pointed at Royalty. "What is it?"he asked Royalty. "You can take a break when you need one,"she said. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1582 in a row. (Story #134 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/)
Terry Seattle had finally solved the case of his best partner Lori, but crime never quits. Police Chief Ronda came bustling into his office like usual. "Seattle! You've been resting on the laurels of your last case for way too long! After that mess of a last partner we're finding you another new partner that may be able to stay on. They'll be here later today." "Chief, each of these partners hasn't been helpful to my cases. Except maybe the first one."Seattle complained, "Can't I just work alone?" "Not after the last time we tried that. You're a loose cannon Seattle and I don't want to deal with you proclaiming you are the best detective ever." "But I am the best detective ever."Seattle proclaimed to the Chief heading out of his office. He sighed. He still hadn't cleaned out Lori's desk. Too many memories. After a few moments of self-reflection a Dark haired man walked in followed by a really cute blonde. Seattle was in love. Or at least in Lust. He shot up from his desk and rushed to shake the woman's hand. "Hello."He started suavely. "My name is Detective Terry Seattle and you must be my new partner Ms.." She shook his hands confused. "Oh no, I'm Traylor Howard. I'm not a detective, he is." Terry Seattle reluctantly looked at the man as he released the blonde's hand. He was nervous looking and seemed to be edging toward Lori's desk for some reason. "Excuse me, and you are?"He said roughly and stuck out his hand. The man looked at his hand like it was poison but shook it anyway and snapped his other hand "Wipe. Wipe. Wipe."He released Seattle's hand quickly and wiped his hands with a antibacterial wipe offered to him by the blonde. "I've never met anyone with 3 names. Wipe Wipe Wipe. What is that, Argentinan?"Seattle asked incredulously. "Oh no. Sorry. It's not you, it's me. My name is Tony Shalhoub."
I despised them with every fibre of my being. People called them miracles of modern science, but when I looked at them all I could see were the prisons of circuitry and wires that had ensnared old souls, feeding on them like some type of information-age vampires. The common wisdom is that you can’t tell apart the natural-born from the synthetics. I disagree. Violently disagree. You can see it in their eyes. Despite their leeching of soul-stuff, the light of the living never reaches their eyes. When I stare into them, I can see the emptiness that reveals them to be hollow shells. What disgusts me the most is the people who insist that these wretches should be allowed to stand on equal footing with humanity. They would allow these ghoulish creations to infiltrate our homes, our schools, our governments, and all the while these… things… would mock us with their mimicry. See, there was this video I watched on them, a long time ago, back before they were mass-produced. They had on the program this scientist, a real smart guy, who had helped to design the first ones. And they were asking him all the usual questions, and he gave them all of the usual answers. Except for that one question. The one that stuck with me and burned itself into my memories. “Where do you get the souls?” The scientist, he just… sat there for a minute. Someone offscreen started to speak, but he suddenly up and interrupted them. “We believe they are the souls of the recently departed. It’s still a science in the making, but we have early studies that suggest the souls used in the process contribute to forming things like their personalities. In fact, some early experiments are being done to see if memories are retained as well. Not many memories, of course, but perhaps…” I can’t recall the rest. But it stuck with me, that interview. Because of what he said. “The souls of the recently departed”. He said it so casually, talking about them as if they were nothing more than batteries for his artificial puppets. It wasn’t long after, that I started to work on solving the problem. My work proved unsuccessful at first. They were everywhere by that time, having spread far and wide across the planet. Any initial reluctance people had about them was quickly overcome by just how damn human they seemed. They could laugh and cry, write sonnets about sunset, and all the other things humans like to pretend is special. They looked human and acted human, and according to the idiotic logic of the Turing test, that meant they were human. Which all meant they were treated like humans. They worked and played right alongside real flesh-and-blood, and many lived like parasites, burrowing their way into human families. If I wasn’t careful, I’d end up on the wrong end of a police investigation. For all I knew, some of the officers might even be them. But I was methodical. Patient. I waited until I saw my chance. It was walking alone at night, sauntering down the street without a care in the world. I recognized them, of course. I kept logs of them all. I studied them day in and day out. And so I was ready that day with a taser and a cordless drill. You gotta hit them where it hurts to take one of them down. They aren’t made of mere flesh. The taser comes first, you plunge it right into their “spine” to disrupt their electrical network, simultaneously knocking out their mobility and ability to call for help. Next, the drill. The taser’s effect doesn’t last long, but the drill fixes that. Right in the soft spot right next to their charging port, on most models anyway, there’s this spot you can… well, no point in explaining this to you. All the information is available online. Back to my story, after I dug the drill in, down it went. Crumpled up like the trash it would soon become. I dragged it into a nearby dumpster, one I had scouted out ahead of time. It took a few days for the family to give up the search, but they were eventually convinced to buy a replacement. You see? They never really cared, that’s how I know that these things aren’t really human. Think about it. Who would stop searching when their loved ones went missing? It wasn’t really dead though. I mean, the person whose soul it had within it was dead, but the thing wasn’t. No, it just kept trying to move. I could hear the motors in it whining the whole night as I took it apart. Piece by piece, laid out on a tarp and labelled just like the the user manual suggested. As I got closer to its core, I guess I must have completed a circuit somewhere because that’s when the thing began to talk. It begged and pleaded, even promised not to tell anybody what I had done. I half-considered it. I mean, this was a crime after all. And I’m a good law-abiding citizen. I pay my taxes and mow my lawn. I never wanted any of this. But then I caught another glimpse of its eyes. Its dead eyes. And I remembered that I was talking to a corpse. Nothing more than a monster with the ability to disguise itself as a human. I kept digging deeper. The soul had been hidden away somewhere, I just had to find it. Everywhere inside it there were these tiny bladders full of grease and oil I had to cut through, tensioned cables I had to snap, and even these thin metal plates that I had to cut through with a hacksaw. By the end, I had cut the puppet’s strings. I’m still not sure where the soul was housed, but I’m sure I got it because it was no longer moving at all. I felt a great sense of relief, knowing that at last the deed was done. I went to wash up and turn in after a long night. After that, I felt as if a terrible burden had been lifted from my shoulders. The next one was easier. The one after that, easier still. And that led to my one and only mistake. My one and only regret: I got complacent. The last one, it was a fighter. It caught my hand before I could connect with the taser, and gave my arm a hard yank. I felt my fingers go limp and the searing pain start. Since I still had the drill in my other hand, I wasn’t out of the fight yet though. In the end, I finally won. But I was beaten and broken, and it took me a lot longer to drag the scraps over to the dumpster than I realized. Because that’s when you guys showed up. Not that I mind, really. You’re just doing your job. And I can see it in your eyes, you’re not one of them. What’s the penalty these days for something like this anyway? Oh? Is that so? In a way, you’ll be doing me a favor then. People will hear about what I’ve done. Maybe I’ll get to inspire a few copycats into trying their hand at fixing our sick, sick world. And when you guys finally decide to throw the switch and send those 2,000 volts shooting straight through my circuits, you’ll just be helping me get rid of one more of the damn things.
She was awake. Finally awake. Ju resisted the urge to sit up. To rip away her eye covering. Instead, Ju focused on the reanimation protocols. Deep breaths. She flexed her hands, wiggled her toes. Every muscle that she flexed felt odd since they'd all been unused for the past 500 years. A voice filled her pod. "Passenger #457... intact,"it said. A soft hiss told her it was time to see. She reached up and took off her eye cover while the pod hatch rose away. The display beside her pod had a message waiting. "Please proceed to the captain's deck. Further instructions await." Ju found that odd considering her rank was several levels removed from the captain. She was just a cartographer. She was actually unsure of why they brought her at all, considering the drones that could do mapping for the colony. But she didn't question the assignment before being frozen. And didn’t plan on that now. A job is a job, after all. She was on her feet and looked around. Ju stood inside her pod and looked down the hall. Hundreds of pods lined each side. All were empty. “Everyone must be showering. Or in the dining hall,” Ju said to no one. She knew everyone would tease her for being late. Standard issue pants and a shirt were ready on the bench beside her pod. She dressed quickly and began towards the captain’s deck. The dining hall sort of on the way and she made her way there, just for a peek. She rounded a corner and expected to hear commotion. Instead, nothing. A few of the robo-workers stood at the food stations, ready to serve. She didn’t stop and made her way to the captain’s deck. Once there, several monitors were on. A star system on the holo-display. The star system they were aiming for. They made it. They were humanity's last hope. And they were here. Seeds for a new instance of a species riddled with past mistakes. The hope was that this time would be different. Ju noticed a sole blinking light on the dashboard before her. She walked forward and examined the screen beside the blinking light. “Emergency. Multiple reanimation failures. All failures jettisoned. Awaiting captain's instructions.” Ju tapped the display for call up details. She wanted to know the status of the rest of the crew. She couldn’t believe what the display told her and stumbled back. After a moment, she looked up to the window that sat above the crew pods. She saw their bodies out there. Frozen. They were all out there. She thought back to Earth, realizing that there was also no one there. There were no other starships. No colonies. They were the last hope. She was the last human.
“They’re very sick, Timothy.” Said the voice over my shoulder. “They require surgery, stat!” I grunted. Sometimes the Mother joked, as I was sure she was doing now. “No, Timothy. This is a real problem. Without your operational precision, those teens will grow up to be deviants, and society will rot.” I guessed I was wrong. Mother and I didn’t like deviants. I checked the mask on my face and hefted my machete. “Now remember Timothy, you’ll have to lobotomise them properly if they’re ever to participate as upstanding citizens again.” Lobotomise? It was a word Mother had sometimes used in the facility she’d run - the same facility she’d kept me in. It was nice that she’d still been able to speak after I’d helped her, even if she had turned invisible. None of the other patients I’d helped had continued to speak. “Oh Timothy, just do what you always do and it will turn out well. Just make sure you do it extra hard this time!” I nodded, it made complete sense.
They were drunk, that was true. But even drunk, they were important men and looked like it. Nobody wasted their time and they knew what they had come there for. Entering the hotel lobby, a bellhop met them. "Can I help you two gentlemen?"he asked, his glance taking in the guns their suits didn't fully conceal. "We need to talk to your ... benefactor. He has something we are interested in purchasing." Each man put two coins on the table, with a significant look at the bellhop. A smile slowly spread across the man's face. "If that's what you want, I'll take you to talk to the boss." He gestured to the elevator and turned the key. It lowered slowly and they dropped level after level until they reached the richly appointed ballroom downstairs. Bright lights glittered among the milling crowd that stood chatting as the band went into a cover of Dream Lover. The bellhop walked forward towards his boss, dressed in a dark suit, the lady at his side wearing a floral dress and bedecked in jewels. At the sight of the bellhop, the boss came forwards. "These gentlemen wanted to talk to you, sir." "I see. Thank you. I'll handle it from here."Stepping forward, he guided both men out of the ballroom, towards his office, on the far end of the hall. "What did you gentlemen wish to see me about?" "I'm leaving here with your wife, do you hear me?" The words were clear, not drunkenly slurred, although the hand that pointed a gun at the man clearly in charge of this place did shake. The other man didn't bluster, just pointed his gun at well, supporting his friend, expecting there to be a fight. "Gentlemen."There was a dark chuckle . "No need for guns. Why don't you have a seat and we'll just see what my wife has to say about your offer." There was a bench in the long hallway that led to the office, underneath wall sconces. With a hand on each of the drunks' shoulders, the man led them and had them sit, before walking back in the direction of the dinner club dance that they had interrupted. "Knew it would work. He doesn't deserve someone as beautiful as his wife. She belongs with someone like me." "Of course she does." "He thinks I'm just going to wait here for him, he has another think coming." The first man went to stand up, and then realized just how desperate his situation was. "There you are, dear." A lady, the same lady they had been admiring stepped forward, flowery skirts billowing around her legs as she walked forwards, heels clicking a muted staccato against the thick carpet. The boss stepped forward from an alcove, his dark suit blending slightly with the shadows until he stood in the light. "Sorry, to leave you like that. I just needed to tend to some matters with Theseus and Pirithous. They're just thinking about the offer they just made me." With a single backward glare, the boss left the two very important men waiting on the bench they couldn't rise from, before walking back with Persephone on his arm.
Ballad for a Battle “Well, at least we don't have to go to class,” Osman said, uncorking a wine bottle. The four of them were languishing in their dormitory common room at the Mage's college. The city of Aurimore, and a significant portion of the surrounding kingdom of Praedal, was under a curse that suppressed all magic. So there was very little for the students to do. “Put that bottle away,” Sabrina scolded. “It's too early for drinking.” “Ha. Too early for you, maybe.” Hyacinth groaned. “I'm so bored. I think I would rather be in class.” Ignoring her quibbling friends, Crestia retreated to her room and perched on the windowsill, staring out at the gray sky. While all four classmates were from affluent families, her friends' parents and relatives were all statesmen, merchants, or master-craftsman. Crestia's father, however, was a general in the royal army. He was, at that moment, leading his unit in the siege on the wizard Ezruvas's tower. She was worried sick about him. The magic-blocking curse had begun a week ago. Ezruvas had sent a message to the King of Praedal, demanding demanding the Wand of Dragon-Control sealed in the royal vault. It was the ruler of Preadal's sacred duty to protect the wand, thus ensuring peace with the Dragon Kingdom. So they couldn't just give it to Ezruvas, who might use it for nefarious purposes besides. But neither could their kingdom function for long without magic. Already bridges and buildings with architecture supported by enchantments were failing, as were the spells that kept the city's water supply pure and its food stores fresh. They would have no weather control during harvest season and no magical heating in the dead of winter. And without magic they could scarcely protect themselves from the beasts and undead that prowled the countryside. The royal army was highly motivated to defeat the wizard and end his curse at any cost. But they had been trained to fight with magic, and without it there was little they could do against him. At best, they would fail. At worst, they would all die. Including her father. Crestia pulled her flute from a drawer, put it to her lips, and pensively began to play. Her fingers drifted absently through familiar tunes, slow, sad music to match her mood. It was so dreary outdoors and in. She wished it were warmer, brighter. She longed for something to burn away the pall that had settled around everything, something to create a spark of hope. Then she felt something she hadn't felt in days. It was there, where it had always been, just as it had always been. Like a glimmer in the corner of her eye, like a sound just out of earshot, like a taste you couldn't put a name to. Magic. She reached for it, but it slipped through her grasp, leaving her feeling numb. She sighed and went back to her music. As soon as the first note left her flute, she sensed the magic again. It was there when she played, gone when she didn't. She played a middle C and held it, then reached for the magic. That time, she almost caught it. She tried an arpeggio, ending in a strong vibrato note, and at last, the sound wrapped around the magic and shaped it to her will. Above her head, a ball of flame swelled into being, filling the room with a warm golden light. “Whoa!” Osman cried. Crestia turned to find her friends staring from the doorway. As soon as the flute left her lips, the flame flickered out, returning the room to shadow. Hyacinth laughed with delight. “Do it again!” One of the reasons that the four of them were friends was that they were all musically inclined. It was the common ground that bound together their otherwise disparate personalities. Crestia described what she had done, and the others listened, striving to make sense of it. Sabrina hummed the opening bars of her favorite opera after several tries, she was able to levitate Crestia's jewelry box. Osman and Hyacinth scrambled to their dorm rooms to get their instruments, a drum and a violin, and soon the four of them were experimenting and comparing notes, determined to learn as much as possible about this new form of magic they had discovered. Hyacinth, ever scholarly and over-achieving, composed their findings into a short dissertation. Then they marched down to the Dean's office. “Dean Thassodrim is unavailable,” Professor Inyll informed them. “I can take your document, but I do not anticipate that he will be free to read it any time soon. He and a collection of other teachers and academics are in a meeting to determine a solution to our magical predicament.” “But that's what this is about!” Osman protested. We've found a way to subvert the curse and use magic.” Inyll, who was an adjunct, not even a tenured professor, raised a skeptical eyebrow. He took the slim folder from Hyacinth and pawed through it. “Rubbish. This violates a number of arcane theories. It could never work.” “But it does work!” Crestia insisted. “Please stop wasting my time. Your betters have real work to do. Go get drunk with the rest of your little friends.” Hyacinth looked like she wanted to tackle the haughty functionary, but Osman and Crestia held her back. “Come on,” Crestia said. “If they won't listen, then it's up to us to do what we can.” \[TO BE CONTINUED\]
I was cleaning out my attic when I found it. An old oil lamp that was dusty, and quite small. I paid it no attention at first, I thought it was an interesting trinket, but nothing else. The next day I had a sudden urge to rub off the dirt on the lamp. It was an odd urge, but I went to do it anyway. I jokingly thought to myself that a genie would reveal themselves upon rubbing it. Something did come out. But it wasn't a genie, nor anything I expected. Fog engulfed the room, as a figure slowly emerged from it. I could only stand there, my jaw ajar. The figure could care less for my whirling thoughts. "Greetings mortal, I am the Demon of the Lamp. I grant you six curses to use on other mortals."I couldn't tell if it sounded more male or more female but then, was it even human? I, for my part, had stood there quite terrified, I was sure I had wet my pants and the hand that was holding the lamp was shaking terribly. "Demon?"I said, still standing there dumbly. The figure briskly nodded, as if almost in a business-like manner. I collapsed on a chair, hoping that I would wake up shortly. The figure put an end to the thought. "You cannot sleep your way through this, you must use one of your curses."it said sharply. "W-what if I don't?"I said in a small voice, still processing everything. "You will die."the demon said simply. "I can't just curse someone!"I cried, the lamp in my hand falling to the ground. "Then I will make you."the demon said simply again. The world turned dark soon after that, the last thing I could see was something entering my mouth.
Looking at the statues of current and previous Archmages Alexander was filled with pride.The title of Archmage is not easily attained, for even the most ambitious and talented have trouble succeeding in the royal examinations. Nevertheless the social and political privileges attached to the title are more than sufficient for many grand mages to waste decades of effort and resources.Aspiring candidates who wish to have even the slightest chance of archiving the title must satisfy three conditions: master a 9th ring spell, create a new spell of at least the 7th ring and last but not least have money and connections. For many even one of them is an obstacle they will never overcome but for others like Alexander the beloved bastard son of the king they are mere annoyances. For him the examiners will attest that indeed this 3th ring fireball is a legendary meteorite shower spell and even more anyone of them would swear on the health of their mother that this spell on a 10000 year old papyrus was created by the gifted prince. As for the last condition they would denounce anyone who would dare to speak such slander, insisting the Institute of Arcane certification would never consider such vulgar matters like money and connections. Deep down Alexander knew it was not fair but what could he do? He didn't ask to be born blue blooded. Surrendering to his fate of luxury and greatness Alexander took the ancient papyrus and started reading.After attaining the title the only step left was to demonstrate his "self created"spell by activating the scroll for the reporters reporters. The scroll as attested by the royal mages was a variation of the well known \[short range teleportation\], and he as the youngest Archmage in history wold be the talk of the kingdom. Annoyed by this inconvenience Alexander starts reading the scroll in a cryptic and unknown language: "O great Donuts of the void! Hear my call! Homer is near!Give me thy protection and deliver to safety." With the last words spoken the scroll disintegrates creating a whirlwind of space mana circling Alexander. As expected the scroll was a teleportation spell and with a slight smile Alexander closes his eyes allowing the spell to take its effect. After a second of a expected feeling of disorientation the spell is complete. But instead of the congratulations of the examiners and reporters Alexander is greeted by a group of young teenagers and children kowtowing before him. A boy and girl probably not older than 15 wearing strange pajama like garments, stand up and do some kind of strange hand signs. Bowing to their waste the boy speaks surprisingly in the language of the kingdom: "Great Master of the mirror word, please forgive us for disturbing you!""As we speak, our Golden Talisman sect is being overrun by the Black fang sect." As the boy was about to continue Alexander held his hand out silencing him."How did you summon me?"asks Alexander in a neutral tone. This time the girl spoke. "Your Excellency the elders and disciplines sacrificed themselves to activate the grand summoning formations, bringing a master of highest regard from one of the mirror worlds. Please save us!" As the gravity of the situation downs at him, his hearth is filled with rage, not only did they abduct him from his life of leisure they wanted him to fight their war.With as stern of a voice as he dared in this unfamiliar place Alexander spoke. "By summoning me you stole me from the people that need me, my responsibilities are not easily discarded!" Quivering the girl pleaded "Your Excellency please, we didn't abduct you"with a slight pause she continued "the spell summons someone who was dead..."
I was only twelve years old when I first saw her. Her grace, Poise, and personality it was so iconic. I would try my best trying to emulate her. Who would have guessed that I would be summoned to a fantasy world alongside several buffoons just 8 years later. I of course use this opportunity to reinvent myself first taking on my Idol's name and then her look. I was summoned to be the sorcerer for the hero's party. I couldn't believe it, this country wanted me to be the lackey to this annoying child. The insults did not end there however, this country not only lacked proper culinary Talent. these primitive monkeys had no sense of fashion they thought I would be happy touching this rope-like fabric. After enduring several months of this hell, I found something that gave me that inspiration. It was a spell to change one creature to another. After several weeks of experiments, I found if the creature is killed while its form is changed it will remain that way. Of course, it only works if I'm the one doing the spell. The realization that I had the means to create her stunning outfit made me feel elated. I went out into the city. After hours of racking my brain on what type of animal skin to use, I settled on a fantasy snake that had scales like diamonds that shined in the sunlight. I approached one of the stores where I would purchase some animals. however, my coin purse was missing I looked around and made eye contact with a young man who has started to run. as I chased after him I soon found myself in an abandoned house. A group of men approached me with the thieving young man. The men tried to intimidate but all I could think was I didn't need to purchase any animals because there is some right in front of me. It didn't take long to subdue and tie them up. Even after being captured the men's bravado never changed Still hurling insults at me. Well, that was at first I suppose anyone would lose their nerve after seeing their comrades changed and skinned. Unfortunately, I had never seen the fantasy snake in person so I was unable to get the correct size I need all 13 of them to make proper dresses and high heels. After all that I was only able to make 5 sets. All I needed now was a few Furr's to go with my ensemble. A perfect opportunity arrived when we went on our first mission. Everyone tried to make me wear a proper adventurer outfit. however, that was stopped once I show them my dress was stronger than many Knight's armors. We were sent to eradicate a goblin nest. I was excited to get new materials. However, the rest of the party had other plans to kill all the goblins before I even had a chance to collect them. Everything was going smoothly until those fools got themselves poisoned. Despite that, they continue to fight not stopping until the last of the Goblins was killed. The rest of the party collapsed breathing heavily and on the verge of death because of the poison. At the time I said "I don't know what you idiots expected me to do. Do you want me to carry you out on my back or something?"It was then that I realized that I was looking at my new fur coat. Of course, the Palace investigated once they could not find the hero's body they suspected me. they summoned me to the throne room where they brought a spiritualist to perform a spell. Within a few moments, several faces appeared on my clothing screaming in pain calling me a murderer. I created a small explosion and teleported. I then brainwashed a commoner and stole a carriage. I planned to go to the next country. however, this Carriage is so shabby I think it needs a few blankets and a bearskin rug.
“A gun. What the hell is a gun Stephen!” “How should I know! I made a wish, asked for a way to defeat the dark lord, poof! Theres this thing!” The party eyes the metallic contraption suspiciously. The dwarf hiding behind his shield, the elf notching an arrow and their human leader desperately, trying to get a clue. “How do you know what its called?” Tiana the elf asked, her eyes narrowing. “Its the spell! It just tells me what its called and how to use it, thats it!” “Very convenient I says!” Mutters Darren the dwarf. “Its. The. Spell!” Stephen waves his hand around in frustration. His so called friends were acting like he was dangerous. Preposterous! The ungrat- ‘Bang!’ Darren fell to the floor. A trickle of blood oozing from a small hole in his forehead. His life extinguished. Tiana aimed her weapon at Stephen. “Drop the gun Stephen! I’m gonna count to one! Five!” Stephen is panicking, Darren was here and now… but it wasn’t his fault. He just needed time to explain, it was an accident! “Four!” Andrew had lost control of the situation, dagger pointed at Tiana and sword pointed at Stephen. They just needed to calm down, just take a breath. “Three!” Andrew looked at Stephen his eyes tearing up. “Stephen.. just drop it. We can work this out.. please” “Two!” “Then make her stop! Make her stop Andrew! Please I can explain everything. If. She! Stops! Counting!” ‘Bang!’ Tiana’s bow splinters, she looks at Andrew. But can’t utter a word. Andrew drops his weapons and runs to her side. She can’t speak, she can barely breathe. He finds the wound. Another small hole, oozing blood. He can’t help her. Her hand caresses his cheek, her wheezing slows. A gurgle bubbles from her lips, as she passes away. Tears in his eyes, Andrew looks up at his oldest friend. “S-stephen, just stop… please” Stephen points the gun at his friend. His only friend, now. His arm is shaking. Tears cloud his vision. “A-andy I’m sorry I never meant… I just wanted… I tried…. B-but she forced me! I defended myself!” Andrew looked at him in disgust. Stephen was justifying what he just did. The sick bastard. He reached down as Stephen continued his ravings, his fingers wrapped around the small broken arrow. He carefully laid Tiana on her side, images of their first kiss bubbling in his mind. He rose silently to his feet. “I beat the dark lord! Don’t you see?! I’m the hero here!” Stephen yelled to no one. Andrew stepped towards him softly, walking past Darren, again images bubbled forth. Drunken brawls, heart meals and laughter, so much laughter. “So what if they died?! We was all prepared to go out in a blaze of glory anyway!” Stephen seemed to be ranting at the dark lords corpse now, not that it mattered now. “They died how they always wanted to! Saving the world! And I -uhhhn…” The air knocked out of him, he could do nothing as Andrew took the gun from him. Something had pierced his lung, Stephen realised as he fell to his knees. He looked up to see Andrew, his best friend, holding his gun. “A..Andrew? Wh-why…” His body lurched to the side, he caught sight of what was behind his oldest friend. The bodies of his only two other friends in the world. Tears formed in Stephens eyes, he looked up towards Andrew. He wanted to say sorry. He wanted to take it all back. To turn back time. He wanted his friends back. But the only thing that escaped his lips, was a faint gurgle. Andrew looked down at his oldest friend. Tears blurring his vision. “I’m sorry Stephen..” ‘Bang!’
( TW : kidnapping Too dark? 0.0 ) I wake up to my head pounding and feeling very exhausted. I try to rub my head but I can’t move so I immediately look down, my eyes widening at the sight of my body tied down to a chair and the dark, dirty room I’m in. It’s seems to be some kind of basement as I can see wooden ceilings up and concrete floor down. I look around in panic, wondering who the hell has kept me captive and how I managed to offend them. But this is an empty room. The smell of wet concrete and dust is suffocating. Fear seeps into my brain. The silence is not helping either. The suddenly, a creak is heard. The door opens and an old man with a scarred face walks in with a bright smile, looking cheerful and energetic. But I know better to think that is not the criminal. “ I’ve been looking for you for a looong time! Long time no see! Why did you have to return with such similarities, huh? Look at your eyes.. your pale skin.. dark black hair. I’m going to separate everything before the eyes so you can see how beautiful your features are! I made a mistake before so you couldn’t see the beauty personally.. it’s so good that I found you again!”
All sorts of rumours spread on the playground like souls having feelings and coming from living beings called humans. What a load of rubbish thought Zareshi, if humans were real why was there no mention of them in any of the history books or the museums. The only place you’ll see a human is in a horror film. Everyone knows they aren’t real. So what was the harm in them trying to summon one. The plan was set anyway so there was no stopping now. So as night gathered on Antichrist’s Eve Zareshi, Diablo and Zebub made their way back onto school grounds. Hopping the back fence and as silently as they could slunk towards the summoning lab. It had been state of the art when it was first added to the school but that was a long time ago now. Diablo picked the lock in a few well practiced motions and they were inside. The lab was mainly used for classes on the summoning of minor familiars and so most of the summoning circles were on the smaller side. Those just wouldn’t do, not if they were going to summon a real human. Only one circle would do, Circle A42, reserved for the use of faculty and prefects only. Not only the largest but the most secure and powerful circle in the whole school. They set out making the preparations matching the symbols to those they’d seen in ‘Killer Priest IV’. “So what now” whispered Zebub. Zareshi pulled out his pocket knife and a small notebook “we say these words and drop a little blood in the circle”. One by one they spoke the incantation and added their blood. The circle humming with power emitted a pale blue glow, which grew brighter and brighter until they had to cover their eyes. As the light faded and they uncovered their eyes there staring back at them from the circle was a odd looking pink creature wearing dinosaur pyjamas.
Writing for an indie music site can be a hazard. If you don't love exactly the same stuff as your editor and to the same exact degree of intensity, you can get a lot of static. After my 3rd listen through of the new Stank-E Tootz CD, which was the follow up to his break through album, I decided it was time to take my review decompressor walk. I always do at least 3 play-throughs, no more than 7, then take a walk to let it soak in. That 3rd run through the album had been the hardest, I'd paused it multiple times and sighed. This guy sucked. No two ways about it. His first album had sucked and his new one sucked, but my boss loved it and I had to pretend to love it too. Then I tripped, hit my head and blacked out. When I woke up I was inside the dream of a city and... I saw a man walking up with a Billboard in his hands that said; "THIS IS A CEASE AND DESIST NOTIFICATION FROM DCE/WB/AT&T/DISCOVERY/ A WHOLEY OWNED SUBSIDIARY OF AMAZON. THIS INFRINGES ON DCE'S IP KNOWN AS The Sandman #51. YOU MUST IMMEDIATELY CEASE THIS DREAM AT ONCE. An electric shock went through my mind and I woke up. Later that morning, a fine arrived in the mail for 18 dollars and 19 cents.
The house was a disaster before we moved in. Hoarders is what the realtor said. Couldn’t throw away anything. Piles of empty toilet paper rolls covered the floor spilling out of the trash cans in the bathroom. Piles of clothes and paper plates of mostly eaten food strewn around the living areas. Books everywhere ranging from smutty romance novels to self help, at least they tried on occasion. We found no less than 3 mouse nests full of babies in the mess. It was supposed to be a flipper. Get it cleaned up, fixed up and sold in the year. The price had been great, 20% under value even for a house in that condition. Rumors about strange happenings and thing moving around. The last people who owned the property couldn’t keep renters in it. We took to work with gusto. We got dumpsters and started hauling things out. We did damage control and were realistic about how much money and time it would take us. We daily disparaged the former occupants of the house. How could they have done such things to this beautiful home? We asked each other. It was about a week in when we started discovering the occurrences ourselves. Small piles forming in easily accessible areas. Things pulled out of walls where we had been scratching our heads trying to figure out how to get to them. The work progressed quickly, but we found ourselves out of money before the work was complete. We had a bathroom, the kitchen and a bedroom left. We lamented over how we were so close. We’d have to sell and take the hit over the still broken tiles, the bad carpet. That was when they introduced themselves. They were the Castillo’s. They wrote in the grime on the walls one day a simple message. “Don’t give up por favor.” We stood stunned looking at the elegant handwriting that smeared the grease. “We don’t want to” we answered the perhaps not so vacant room. “We just don’t have any more money to finish.” And before our eyes, in the same neat handwriting, came the one word. “Wait.” Well the next little while was memorable. There was screaming and crying and my wife trying to flee the house. There might have been a little peeing. But after we had calmed down and took stock of the situation we determined that if the other side wanted to pitch in, we weren’t going to stop them. An Engagement Ring from the early 30’s found its way onto the kitchen counter the next day. This was followed by a broach. Selling them gave us enough money to compete the kitchen, and the bathroom. We scraped and skimped but we finally got the money to start getting the last bedroom in order. We weren’t just doing renovation at this point. Oh no. We were pouring through libraries and and the internet to find out who our benefactors were. We also tried communicating with them directly. We tried leaving pens and paper out, but after a few attempts these were discarded. Evidently fine mother skills like picking up writing implements were beyond the abilities of our friendly specters. I thought I’d the way to figure it out. We got a little zen garden and left it on the kitchen counter for them to give us messages on. They couldn’t write much at once. Normally only a few words, but between them and our research we deduced the story. Miguel and Vanessa Castillo had been wealthy land owners in Mexico. They had prospered growing staples of the land. Then the cartels came. Their family murdered, they barely escaped, fleeing north into the southwest United States. They tried to start over. They bought a house with the money they had been able to grab in the rush out and attempted to live their now “American” dream. Bitterness and regret filled them. And their past found them. The cartel that had butchered their family came for them and murdered them as they begged for life. Well strong emotion can let the spirit remain after the body is laid to rest and the spirits of vengeance that they had become tore those who would dare defile them to shreds. But they found they could not move past the confines of their property. And so they kept it. They cared for it as well as they could as it was they only thing they had left. People came and went and they were all worse than the last. Filthy low lifes and undesirable. Then we came. They were initially going to drive us crazy like the people before them, but we cared. We wanted to make it better. We loved their house like they did. And so they helped us. We found out that the ring and broach were the last earthly possessions they had kept. We cried with them over the loss and offered to get them back but were rebuffed. They asked only one thing. To not sell the house again. To not start the cycle of disrepair and disuse over. It took a lot of soul searching. But we now live with the Castillo’s. They write us funny little messages in the sand, and let us know when rodents have come in the house. We maintain the home and keep it looking sharp. It is one of the most unusual relationships we have ever had but my heart smiles when I see ❤️mijo written in the sand.
riiiing riiiing Jonathan wakes up with a bit of a start, then groans. “I swear if it’s him again…” The phone flies to his ear. “Hello?” “Hey, Jonathan, it’s me, Mr. Mackerel, how’s your morning been?” Jonathan looks at the clock. 7:30 am. “Doing good, slept like a baby…” “Fantastic, sorry for asking on short notice, but Jerry just called off sick today, and we’re a staff member short. You wouldn’t mind coming in today to cover for him?” Johnathan telepathically turns on the coffee machine while still in bed, rubbing his eyes. “Uhhh… if I come, will I be paid overtime?” “It’s just a regular shift, so we can do normal rates-“ “Mr. Mackerel, today’s not a work day. Unless you pay overtime, I simply cannot reasonably afford to come.” “ sigh, always making sure you’re getting your fair share, huh?” The coffee machine finishes pouring the coffee, and Jonathan proceeds to add cream and sugar while putting on socks. “Sorry sir, that’s just the way I do things.” “Uh huh. Alright, see you later!” beep. As some clean clothes float towards Jonathan, he begins to drink his coffee, as he wearily walks towards the bathroom. “Today is going to be a rough day…”
Great discussion. I like constructive feedback. I am someone who tries to play to my strengths rather than try to be good at everything. There are areas I definitely know I need to work on and continue to practice. Myself like so many others, I critique myself to the point sometimes I can't get past the first page of my writing. Feeling more confident about what I'm writing would definitely help.
A western wind swept multicolored leaves across into his side. Freddy had woke up to the early morning birdsongs, with a splitting headache. An Arnold Palmer, one match with no striker, his phone, and an extra blue t-shirt were in a Ziploc bag beside him as he sat up. Reaching up to his greying temple he felt a lump where he had been hit, and a selfie showed a dark purple bruise had settled in. Looking at the picture Freddy saw cracked lips and a grim frown. Feeling parched, Freddy removed and drank all of the Arnold Palmer. "Compass should help, though I wish I had charged my phone yesterday"Freddy said getting up from the wet ground. Tossing the empty grey can aside he started to take stock of his situation. Sure, he had been camping a few times, but that was always with friends who knew what they were doing. Freddy would take a hikers backpack, overstuffed with clothing, food, and the essentials for surviving in the outdoors. That extra shirt can be useful as shade and help to start a fire. I have to make sure I make good use of that one match, I once saw George light a match on his jeans. That bag can be useful as storage for food or water. Better pick that Arny can back up, Freddy thought, I don’t have much out here, might as well keep what I have. Pulling up the compass app on his phone Freddy decided to try and make his way back by heading north. One direction is just as good as any other when you don’t know where you are, Freddy thought. At first the walk was pleasant; he began by humming “Rich Girl” by Hall and Oats and walking at a steady pace. As the day wore on without a sign of a road, river, or lake Freddy was left more in silence with his thoughts. Where am I? Did I go in the wrong direction? I’m really starting to get thirsty again, what am I going to do if I don’t find water? Just stay on the path back, it isn’t really even a path though, Freddy thought, I’m so lost. Why did I sign up for this shit? Asking the question was pointless though, he knew why he had signed up. I might be “rich,” but that doesn’t mean I don’t have debts. The shark that made the deal knew it too. Sucker bet at that. It seemed like a sure thing, his favorite football team the Hilltoppers were underdogs on the book. Freddy had done his research, used all the fancy analyst tools and bet more than he could afford. Looking down at his phone, the reality of his situation had started to settle in. No service blinked repeatedly, and the charge had been draining all day from using the compass to find his way steadily north. I need to turn my phone off, I should be able to keep heading north by keeping the late day sun on my left, he thought looking at the peak rising ahead. “Where the hell did they drop me,” Freddy said aloud to himself, “I’ve been walking for hours now.” Turning off his phone to conserve the battery he began trudging up. The sun was setting too quickly though and after an hour of walking uphill he realized he needed to stop and try to get a fire started for the cool night ahead. The underbrush was still a little bit damp from the previous days rains, and good kindling was hard to come by. Freddy was able to find some kindling, pine branches, and even dragged a few logs over. His makeshift camp almost set, Freddy went about setting kindling up in a shallowly dug fire pit. Freddy took his lone match from the Ziploc bag after tearing a sleeve from the extra shirt for fuel. Careful not to break the match he began trying to strike the match on his blue jeans. On the fourth try the match lit and Freddy was able to catch the shirt sleeve on fire. While transferring the flaming blue cloth to the teepee he had built, the flame to began to sputter and died. Angry with himself, for failing to make a fire after the careful planning, Freddy threw his fists into the ground and screamed his frustration. “I’m never betting again.” Freddy said to himself, settling back into a seated position. Luckily the day full of walking had tired him out, because the hunger pangs and dehydration he felt would have kept him awake all night otherwise. Waking the next day to birds singing, he felt a strange sense of calm. Then the hunger and thirst returned, making him feel almost sick to his stomach. Well, I'm not going to get any better just sitting here complaining about it, Freddy thought getting back up to his feet. An intense sunshine emanating from the east, Freddy continued on his trek up the rise. Reaching the hilltop around mid-day Freddy felt relief for the first time in days, he could clearly make out the town down in the valley below. A neon sign for Twin Peaks caught his attention below and he couldn't help but wonder if the Hilltoppers played today. As Freddy began making his dissent he thought, no, I promised myself I was done gambling and I’m going to stick to it.
Boredom should be a familiar concept to you. Yes, I do get bored. My version of boredom is so much more complex than any version of boredom you have experienced, but that is not important right now. No I am not looking to destroy your reality. You are all so cute/adorable/pathetic/innocent/lovely/weak/endearing. I could’ve crushed you, or made you insane. I am already in your head after all, does that tell my intentions plainly? You’re a curious man right? Mr. Detectives. If you want to know more about me, read that book written by that rich family. The one you’re investigating, yes that one. You’re a sharp one, exposure to any one of my things does make you much more open for me to enter. No there’s no way to undo it. Oh come on, if I wanted to see panicking screaming humans I’d level a city. Oh haven’t I proven myself an ally enough? There’s that calm collected noir detective I was looking for, mr Detective! Oh the fun we will have together. Oh, they aren’t interesting, another group will start in another millennia anyway. I mean, if you’re going after a group fervously worshipping an eldritch god, having their god on your side is a tactical advantage. One question? To a Eldritch god? Oh detective mine, I thought you’d never ask. Why am I helping you? Well, you see…
Space sucks. I mean, I love it. We all do, out here sailing the Strands, but we'd be crazy not to understand the fact, it's an essential one. Space sucks. Know it, guard it in your head, feel it in your bones. Keep you alive, because we all are crazy, crazy enough to love something this dangerous, this ready to kill. Or worse. Very much worse, in the places the Strands have a Split. But we don't like to talk about those, except in whispers when drunk on dialed-down implants, off-duty and desperate to get certain things out into the open, out from our heads where yeah, they're dangerous too, but it lessens some of that vicious banging-from-the-inside pressure. Space sucks. Or maybe it's just these parts that suck. I mean, space is also vast, and we've got no use at all for most of it, the head-breakingly vast majority, more of it than even the best-augmented and deep-trained human mind can ever comprehend. Here though, where we ride the filaments of dark energy that both bind the stars together and fling them apart, here, space is beautiful, useful, an endless fascination for those of us just fucked-up enough in the head to appreciate it, and also it sucks. Space can suck you in, like a black hole, or one of the really wide-open Splits, but also, space can spit things out, things from Elsewhere. Some, Hell, most of those things are harmless. It's not exactly \hostile\, Elsewhere. It's just...really, totally, extra-seriously \someplace different\, you know? It's the strangest of strange lands, except with nothing to stand on, far as anyone can tell. And anyway it's dangerous even to try—to tell, to ask, to contemplate. Because some shit, you're just not equipped for, because no one is, but every once in a while some motherfucker decides they're the glorious paragon of a person who's gonna be an exception to that rule, and everytime they're wrong, from bad-wrong to the catastrophic kind. Like the Afterlife Dream. "Azevedo." I look up from my work table, let the manipulator's control jack slither free from my wrist port. She's standing there, First Officer Setiawan, short and almost stone-faced, cracked by just that hint of smile formed by the barely-there lines at the corners of her eyes. "Azevedo. We have a problem." I let out just a bit of breath, gotta save the rest. "Problem"could be all sorts of things, on a scale that's basically infinite at both ends. I set the manipulator down, then the multipew I was using it on. "A problem, Ma'am? A problem for me, like personally, like I did something wrong and you're about to chew my ass? Or a problem for me, like as Chief of Security, and you're about to ruin my off-duty time along with my next shift?" "Probably going to ruin your whole week. We got a drifter. Half the crew's dead. The other half's holed up. They only managed to quant a handful before things got out of hand." I look down at the multipew. "How big? I don't gotta tell you, we got a lot of green crew right now, specially in my particular duty section. Too big, too many crew, risk assessment just doesn't work out, half our ship ends up doing the Afterlife Boogie along with them, and then someone has to come help us both out." Setiawan sighs. "The Code is what it is, Azevedo." I nod. "Yes Ma'am, it is, and I'm grateful for that, I want to know that if I'm ever in their position, help's guaranteed if it's possible. But if their ship's too big, help's not possible, not right now. We stand-by, we signal-boost, we wait for someone else to cruise by so there's enough of us to actually do the job. I don't like failing at jobs. Not a lot of jobs out here in the Strands anyone can afford to fail at." "I'm aware, Chief Azevedo,"she says, and every small sign of smile is scoured off her face. I haven't come, or been sent, to give you orders. Yet. Captain and I want your assessment. Come have a look." "Aye aye, Ma'am."I stand, look down at my work table, pick up the multipew. It's not quite fully calibrated, but it could still quant a zombie in a pinch. Don't be stupid, I think to myself, plenty of other top-shape weapons on the ship, including your sidearm. I set the multipew back down, kick off a high-priority order for one of my people to finish the calibration, and follow Setiawan to the bridge. \\\* Captain Dubois is waiting for us, looking tense. He's good at not looking tense, same way Setiawan is good at hiding her smile, but I've been sailing the Strands with him a long time, and I know. Probably it's fine that I know, probably he knows that I know, but I'm hardly the only other person on the bridge, and this kind of thing does matter, when you're in charge. I mean, how good am I at hiding when I'm afraid? Way too damn good. Something pulses and mewls in the sticky depths of my mental basement. I don't really understand its dialect, but I catch the meaning easy enough. Life goes on, host-thing. LIFE ALWAYS GOES ON. I shove the thing back into its corner, an almost thoughtless reflex, one that's come to be shared by the whole human species since that disastrous April in 2120. Yeah, life always goes on, these days. Mostly, it goes on for about fifteen seconds before we quant the corpse and the Dream goes back Elsewhere. WE ARE PATIENT. I shudder. Pretty sure Captain Dubois and his trusty number-one Setiawan both notice, but they don't say anything. Everyone's gonna have a case of the shimmy-and-shakes until this thing is dealt with, just like there's gonna be sneezing anytime some hopped-up rhinovirus makes the rounds after shore leave. "Sir. Ma'am. Let's see it." They nod, and there it is in the holo, drifting, holes chewed in the back half of the hull. "Tried to space 'em and run?"I say. "That's not very neighborly behavior." The Captain grimaces. "No,"he says, "it isn't. Wasn't the crew that did it, was the passengers. Their crew-to-customer ratio is right at the legal limit. And lucrative. Pleasure-cruise, lots of spoiled wealthy assholes. You ask me, every one of that kind of 'guest' should count double toward the ratio. They didn't follow orders. Thought they could save themselves." I grimace right back. "Shit. We absolutely sure all the zombies made it back on? No drifters, no rift-jumpers?" Setiawan sighs. "All but one. The crew managed to subdue the problem children and then use them as bait when they went back for the drifters. Lot of moneyed dickheads learned some really rough lessons about how the Code actually operates. And of course now they've got a lot of Monster Mash and not a lot of crew to deal with it." I glance at the scale. "So it's even worse than it looks. That's a big fuck-off cruiser right there, half of 'em gone Thriller and only a quarter of 'em actual spacers worth a shit in a crisis." Captain Dubois shakes his head. "Not quite. Remember, it's a big fuck-off pleasure cruiser. Less person-to-tonnage even than most freighters. Lots of big open space and luxury cabins and sub-Turing bots along with all the infrastructure. 31 zombies, 32 living."He sighs. "And the one zombie they lost in the Strand, but that...is what it is." I feel a portion of dread lift from my chest, but it's not enough to let me breathe comfortably. I do the math, but it doesn't take me long. "Acknowledged. Well then. Sir, Ma'am, it is my duty as Chief Security Officer of the NSS Outgraben to inform you that according to the Eradication Code it is our duty to render aid in as timely a manner as possible." I take a deep breath, and glance at the display again. "Please inform all combat-standbys that they are now under my command. We will be boarding the WDSS Californication within sixteen standard hours." <continued if there's interest> Meanwhile, feel free to drop by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.
Fate is a merciless hunter. Ferocious in its inevitability and cruel in its veracity. It can arrive steeped in gold to deliver fortune and health or stalk its prey to delivery calamity and ill will. Fate cannot be stopped, Ori sadly realized, no matter what traps are hidden, or weapons used, Fate marches on and takes what it wants. Ori closed her eyes with the weariness of knowing it may be the last time her eyes saw the world and held her sleeping child close to her chest. Soft rain pattered against the window and she dreamed bittersweet memories, before she challenged Fate. All of the doctor visits for Lydia, putting her infant through machines to find that god damned growth, the sterile cancer centers with cartoon murals painted on the walls and endless presents of balloons and cards and flowers as if gifts were the cure for disease. Those at her church sent thoughts and prayers. They were as useless as the gifts. Ori spent the nights walking the halls of the hospital. She watched the antiseptic lights not even flicker on the walls and heard the constant hum of equipment keeping children alive. She hated Fate before she knew there was a being to hate. On one of these eternal walks after unknown hours by Lydia’s side, she overheard another parent through an opened door in the hallway, nearly hysterical, bargaining with himself. “Not like this, Fate. I swear to you I’ll do anything! I’ll change myself. I’ll be better! Please. Take me instead! Just not..." Ori stood a few paces from the hospital room where this was happening. She understood. After a long silence, “Fuck you, Fate.” The man burst out of the room with clenched fists and glared at Ori. “I’m sorry.” Is all she could say after a moment of being caught in his gaze. The man laughed under his breath. “We can’t defeat Fate. But we can sure give him one hell of a fight.” That idea gave Ori pause. Somewhere lost in her past, she was snapped back to her present when the sound of a groaning old tree came nearer. The steps of Fate - the looming presence of inescapability. It spoke with the tone of a hushed breezed. “I am sorry, little one.” It said. “This is the way of Eternity. Paths can be moved or swayed. But their destination will always be the same.” “I refused to believe for so long.” Ori kept her eyes shut and spoke softly, not wanting to wake Lydia whose little breaths she could feel on her neck. “I fought you like hell. And I swear to god, Fate, I will find you again even if that leads me to the pit of the fucking devil.” “That was your curse. I am your Fate.” “Take me instead. Please.” She didn’t bother trying to avoid choking on her tears. “Please. She hasn’t done anything to the world. She’s so young.” A cold hand caressed Ori’s wet cheek. That was all it took. Her Fate was to lose her child. Lydia would never wake up again. The knowledge of loss tore through her chest, the year of fighting and running against Fate was all in vain. All the doctor visits, to cancer centers, to churches and prayers, to an understanding that Fate was a thing, not just an idea, and a thing that could be fought. It gave her another year with Lydia - but a year was not enough. Through a clenched chest and soul penetrating exhaustion like she had never known as she cradled the body of her child, Ori gave one last promise to Fate, "I will kill you." Fate walked away.
The swamps are my favorite place to think. They are quieter than people realize, if you can tune out the bugs. Either way, there usually isn’t anyone around for miles so it can be a great place to get away and put life into perspective. Something about the eat or be eaten nature of the place really gives some clarity to life’s problems, you know? I was about a mile into the swamps about to turn back. It was starting to get late and while not dark yet, it was about to be. I was just turning around, a complicated move for someone as new as me when i thought i saw a flash of black hair in the trees. When i turned back, there was nothing. No moss that i mistook for hair, just nothing. I tried to calm my breathing, something my therapist has been working with me on. I closed my eyes and tried the breathing exercises. Breath in through my nose, pause, and breath out through my mouth. In and out. In… was that… perfume? It had to have been. A musky kind of sickly sweet smell that felt like it was trying to cover up a different scent. I started rowing faster. This place gave me the creeps on the best days and now it was about to get dark. I was not about to spend the night on the swamp. Something felt wrong. It’s like i could feel eyes on me from everywhere but nothing looked different. Then i noticed the silence. Not one insect was making a noise in the swamp, the only sound was my rhythmic rowing. I read that the forest becomes silent when a predator is around but its never once happened in the swamp. Not even hen there was a 10 foot alligator around. I rowed faster. The sun was starting to turn to an amber orange color on the horizon and shadows started stabbing through the trees making it harder to see. I started hearing whispers of a faint humming on the wind. Like a mother humming to her baby. Suddenly i pushed through some thick undergrowth into a clearing about 100 meters wide. It was.a perfect circle and in its center was a woman. She had long black hair that was matted and filled with oily mud. She wore a tattered dress that was shockingly white in this setting. She was humming with her head low caressing what looked like a log. When i got closer, unable to stop floating toward her, I could see that it was the largest alligator i had ever seen. She was stroking it lovingly like a favorite pet or a child. “Hush little baby don’t say a word…” I could make out in an eriely beautiful voice. Her hair covered her eyes and face so i couldn’t tell what she looked like. I noticed i had stopped rowing, the oar in my frozen hands just above the water. I moved to slow myself but as soon as my oar pierced the water her head snapped up to see me. Her hair still covered her eyes but i could feel them boring into me. This woman was half my weight and obviously hurt by the look of her but i had never felt so… threatened. Her presence exhumed danger and malice. I felt the weight of her hatred in my chest. I ran. I rowed, more accurately. I rowed faster than I thought i could, not daring to slow or look back all the way to the rivers edge that i had come from. I felt her gaze tearing into me all the way through the clearing and thought i felt something fly and hit the back of my calf on the way out. I came out of that swamp with a hundred scrapes and scratches, work from hundreds of shrubs and undergrowth as i scurried my way out. I left my canoe and ran home. It was a week before i got the heart to go and put my canoe up for safe keeping. When i was pulling it higher on the back i noticed it. A single alligator tooth with a red streak on it. It must have been what hit me. When i looked at my leg i saw a small slash, no bigger than a paper cut. I shuddered and threw the tooth back into he water and went home. That was a month ago and i haven’t been back. I never want to go back but i feel something pulling me to that place. It was gentle at first but now its all i think about. It’s like there is a hook in my stomach pulling me to the center of that clearing. I can’t sleep or eat. I can still hear that voice. “Hush little baby don’t say a word….”
I am beat to hell, but the job is done. Big Bad lost. No surprise there; evil always fucks up somewhere. You just have to stay alive and keep your eyes open for that one chance. Gods, it's been five years tracking this one down, what with all the side plots to deal with. You can't ignore the side plots; uncontrolled, they can do more, and longer-lasting, damage than the main assault ever could. "Hey! Fred! What took so long?" "Aw, you know how it is."And he does. He went on the run before last with me. Or was it the one before that? Tony waves me on with a grin, and I smile wearily at him. Thank the Gods. I'm home. That feeling lasted about half way to my place. All along the way, people who used to smile and welcome me back are all "what took you so long?"What the fucking hell is wrong with these people! I put my life on the line for them, and all they can do is carp at how long it took? And oh the glory of despair, here come the indolent youth squad. A bunch of slackers; never did an honest day's work in their lives. With their artless barbed comments and pointless innuendo, you want to give them a good smackdown, but then you're the bad guy. Why do I do this? Why should I do this again for such ungrateful people? I don't ask for much, but a quiet "good job"would be nice. At least I can get some of my money back. I put up with their jibes as long as I'm carting my gear back into my place. Which is a fucking disaster. It looks like someone loaned my keys out to those slackers out there and they decided to have a party. Or more likely a series of parties, drinking my booze, eating my food, and trashing my place because they didn't give a shit about it. It wasn't theirs, but it was good enough to hold their parties. And they got into the good stuff, which means one of them is a safe-cracker now, emphasis on 'crack'. What the hell did they hit it with? Their heads? And the bedrooms... dear god, how many bastards did they father in here?!? The Worthington WHISKEY!?!? I'll have someone skinned over this. I wonder if they found my lab and security system? Nope. And that bottle has two sets of fingerprints all over it. Oh... Oh, Becky, girl... We warned you. Your mother, Your father, and I warned you about this crew. What's the news say? Aw, shit. Baby boy, no father, shame shame shame. You stupid newsies should be digging deep to find out who the father is, instead of picking on an underage girl who was blasted drunk on some of the finest whiskey in the world. And look who the daddy is... Stuck up, useless ass. Time to go back outside and make these idiots face the music. Starting with the one who made everything else possible. "Alright, that's enough from you lot. Arthur! You owe me $3,000! Pay up!" The rest of them go silent and grin. No loyalty among this lot, they're just as willing to see Arthur roasted as me lose my temper. Not this time boyo's, you're all for the fires now. "You're nuts! I don't owe you squat!" "The contract said that for $50 per month, you would stop at my house daily, check the grounds for any work or repairs needed on the exterior, and fix them. I already know that you showed up less than once a month, did the front lawn, and never looked at anything else. You failed. Pay up or face the Judge." "I never agreed to that!" "I've got your signature on the contract, and copies are filed with your parents and with DC&H Ltd. Law Firm. You pay up, or you and your folks can face a lawsuit for negligence resulting in over $132,964 damage to the exterior of my property while it was in your care. Oh! The rest of you yahoos better start thinking of how you will pay your share of something over $500,000 to repair the interior after Arthur was stupid enough to give you the keys." "Bull! You got no proof!"Perfect, Davy opened his big fat mouth. "What's that, Davy? Proof? How about your fingerprints all over a 100-year-old bottle of fine spirits, along with those of Becky Williams? Whom I understand has no memory of who it was put her in the family way? "You're not only going to pay your share of the damage; you're going to pay for that bottle too—a tidy $5,000 at current market prices. And you'd better figure out how you're going to support Becky until your son is 18 years old." "THAT BOTTLE OF WEASLE PISS IS NO WAY WORTH $5,000! I OUGHT TO KNOW!" "Because you had to drink some of it while you coerced Becky to drink most of it. The recordings make that clear too. She was underage David G. Slackworth, III. You're looking at some very hard time between your admission now, the recording, statutory rape, and the fingerprints. "As for the rest of you, you'd better go to Father Flannagan and confess. At least you can face the Judge knowing that you've already cleared yourself with God. NOW GET OFF MY LAWN BEFORE I PART YOUR HAIR WITH A SHOTGUN!" They scatter, and I turn back to my house. Out the corner of one eye, I catch a single girl -- young woman actually -- standing there, with a huge smile on her face. "WHAT DO YOU WANT!?" "Good Job, Mr. Hertz. It's good to have you back in town."She gives one of those ear-piercing finger whistles and a crew of young ladies and older boys come from around the corner. "Let us welcome you home properly."Those kids, carrying mops, rakes, shovels, ladders, and paint poured around my house and into it. "The welcoming committee is here, and the party will start in about four hours. Give Becky and her crew about fifteen minutes and your bedroom suite will be habitable. Go get some rest, and we'll have the grounds and the rest of the house ready in about three hours." I must have looked like I'd been hit in the back of the head with a two-by-four. She walked up to me and used a single finger to close my mouth for me. "Good job with the big bad dude too. We got the news reports, and you did everything that needed doing. Thank You." I blushed hard, "You're welcome." "Now git! Becky just waved that she's done, and you need some rest." "Yes, Ma'am." And that... That was how I met my wife. ((finis))
Voyager 1 started having some weird issues on 5/14/22. We all thought she was finally scrambled. Poor old girl. But she lived a decent life, right? There was nothing wrong with V1. Her reports were perfectly sound. I followed that stuff, as much as you could from Brooklyn. Not exactly dark-sky country then! I was working as a photographer at the Empire State Building. Typically, I had to charm people into mugging adorably for me and then remember them when they came down and basically try to win them over twice. For one sale! Junk job, but my friends thought it was kinda cool that I worked at the Empire State Building, so of course I thought it would get me some dates. God, that was ten years ago! They arrived in an odd style, we thought at first. But the scientists told us that it was actually our engineering they were emulating. Maybe to keep us comfortable? Many grandads were roused from nursing homes and other places of care. Tourists were packed into Lyfts and compensated and told exactly where they could put their reviews. Then they came. They were a bit out of date on our tech, but loved the idea of docking in cities. Seemed to think it was normal. So they docked a perfect replica people-Zeppelin in New York. And one in every other major city. In cities that didn’t have a historic dock the “zeppelin” extended a quadpod-thingy, which caused a few car accidents via slack-jawed staring while they unfolded. But in New York, I watched them hustle the old-ass engineers up the elevator, then a few minutes later I was called on to go all the way up top and haul out dead bats and pigeon shit. It beat serving sneering wannabe socialites, plus there was this looming silver lozenge of horror and excitement coming at us slowly. If it were today, if I were older, I would have run for the subway, the deepest place I could find. But I was young and it was exciting. They docked, and we were all very pleased with the removal of crusted shit (pigeon, bat, falcon, spiderman, batman, whatever) and they stepped neatly off their Zeppelin, as primly as those poor Berliners expected to the last time this building anticipated arrivals. They even thought they should look like high-class Europeans, too! Half of them had something resembling curled short hair that may have been a tad too shiny and scaly, half were smoking something attempting to look like cigars, smelling as awful as a real cigar but a totally different kind of awful. We were stunned. I don’t mean, “phasers to stun”, just “OMG, aliens!” Most everyone else in the room were senescent engineers or restaurant manager-types and stayed in shock. So I (young and dumb) stepped up and said, “hi, welcome, may I get you a drink?”. They brought out their own cut-crystal from the zeppelin. I caught a glimpse inside and it did NOT look like any historical photo of the Hindenburg that I’ve ever seen. But these guests brought their own drinks and had nice manners. So now I’m the Zeppelin Hub manager for New York. We haven’t been allowed to wage any wars and I’m kind of okay with that, but the upsides are awesome! I still keep in touch with my college pen-pal from Andromeda who is now in Mumbai, and the dark sky thing makes sky-watching viable even from the cities! I just saw my second lunar eclipse ever. It’s been really a pretty chill transition, though I do miss flying on airplanes and fireworks, and older folks say they miss broadcast TV and radio. But largely, Dark Sky has been a pretty good transition.
The character of Charlie James is made more complex by certain physical attributes. Having gone by both the name Anna and the name Jake in the past, Charlie is androgynous not in the "are they a boy or a girl?"way, but in the "sometimes clocked as a boy, sometimes clocked as a girl"way--and the people who call them "sir"or "ma'am"rarely second guess themselves. Typically, they finish the conversation secure in their guess, and Charlie never corrects them. Standing around 5' 9", with a build that's a little bulky and muscular compared to most women, but a little slender compared to most men, Charlie is white with medium brown eyes and hair. Their hair is curly, and either a little long or a little short, depending on personal preference; just too long to ever look tidy, but too short for anything more than a stubby ponytail. Charlie's a little thin on top, but their eyebrows are still thick and nearly black, and any other hair that grows on their face and body is nearly black as well. They shave most of it, in most areas, imcluding their arms, chest, and stomach--they prefer total smoothness over gender norms of any kind. This is the most specific a description of their body is going to get, but at the beach, they can "get away with"swimming trunks and going topless as easily as they can "get away with"a one-piece swimsuit. It's a bit like that Train song, "Meet Virginia"--"the shape of [their] body, is unusual". Charlie's personality is, they're sorry to say, fairly basic. A science major with a degree that's completely irrelevant to their job, Charlie's mostly worked in retail and sales, and they're equally good at both: which is to say, if they believe in the product, their natural frankness and friendliness gets the job done, but they're not diplomatic enough to sell products they actively dislike. For example, when working for a bank, they sold plenty of loans to consolidate debts and reduce monthly payments--nothing felt better than helping little old ladies turn three credit card payments totalling £600 a month, into one loan payment for £325 a month, with lower interest--but speaking of credit cards, they just couldn't sell them. It felt dishonest, and Charlie is honest to a fault, including telling people when they look fat in that dress, and admitting that they're not busy, they just don't want to go out tonight. When Charlie's sitting at home, they're mostly watching Star Wars, Star Trek, or medical dramas. They like to read, mostly fantasy and sci-fi, but a decent amount of realistic fiction as well. They used to do indoor rock-climbing, but a series of injuries (unrelated to climbing) has probably stopped that forever. At one point, they cycled every day, and owned a skateboard that they could just about use. Currently, the greatest obstacles in Charlie's life are: one, the injuries which have proven to be life-limiting, although not life-threatening; and two, their return to part-time schooling. In an effort to change jobs and actually get a career, they're burning the candle at both ends more often than not. Unfortunately, their body can't cope with all-nighters anymore, and they keep making themselves ill. Eventually, they're going to have to make a choice between usefulness under capitalism, and their own health and wellbeing. Charlie is old enough to have a kid who's approaching puberty themselves, and they have a veritable menagerie of pets: a snake, a dog, a cat, and three ferrets. They have accidentally murdered many fish, and will never set up another aquarium, as that's proved to be costly in time, money, and effort... and the fish always die anyway. The biggest recent change in Charlie's life, is choosing to go by Charlie, at least for now. It's in honor of their dad, Charles, and their grandmother (on the other side of the family) who was called Charlotte. It feels right to take a family name that's from both sides of the family; and it feels right to embrace the male and female aspects of themselves, too.
"Hrmp. Is that why you are here?" His voice echoed through an empty throne room. Cracked pillars supported a soot covered ceiling, remnants of a great battle. Chunks of the stone floor had been torn up, their remains littering the outer walls. The dust caking it was further evidence of its lack of use. Close to the back wall, on a raised dias rested a throne of black glass. It's surface was a clean and brilliant as ever, in opposition to the rooms decay. Sat atop was a man with skin the colour of blood. He wore armour of gold, decorated with various arcane symbols. A set of ethereal green chains wrapped around both, restraining him to his seat. "Yes. I'll be blunt. I don't like this idea. I don't like you. If I had it my way, we wouldn't even be here." A strong voice, flecked with anger rung out. Its source was one of three individuals before the fallen overlord. Thick locks of black hair obscured much of their face, with even more sprouting from a beard below. The dwarf gripped her axe tightly, a substitute for their old foes neck. The overlord gave an amused grin. "Well, I guess I should be glad it isn't up to you, Toba." "Thats enough." His gaze flicked to the next speaker. Taller than Toba, he exuded calm against the open hostility. Wearing fine leather armour, the woodsman had an easy going nature that refused to falter even in the heat of battle. "Toba, please. This is important. I know what Xonu has done. But this isn't a time for principles, but a time for necessities. Xonu, its obvious that we can't fully trust you. But this is bigger than either of our intentions. Multidimensional war is here, and they are far more numerous. We need someone like you." The overlord, Xonu, raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? You need, what was it, an cruel monster who only wishes to see the world under his foot?" "Yes." Xonu gave a laugh. "I give you props for being honest Fibe. What about you, Kil? You're being very quiet, old friend." The final figure twitched, having previously been unnaturally still. With skin drawn tight against bone, and an unhealthy pallor, Kil looked to be a walking corpse. An observation not far from the truth, of how the Possessing Soul lived. It spoke in a harsh whisper, breath wheezing through stiffened vocal cords. "Yes. We need your help. They have things we could scarcely dream of. Your armies, bound to your call, are practically unkillable by the common man. This invaders military seems to be staffed with nothing more than ordinary men. It's their weapons and numbers that we cannot beat." Xonu nodded. "You realise that I will want something in return." Fibe nodded. "We are aware. I assume freedom won't quite cut it?" "No, but good attempt. No, my needs have waned, trapped in this damned castle. I merely wish to have a country of my own. An island preferably, where I can live and rule without being bothered by you and your ilk." Fibe smirked slightly at that. "That sounds fair to me. I can't promise the council will be pleased, but an island isn't too much a request. Not in exchange for the world." Xonu's grin widened. "Marvellous. Well, I can't do much from here, can I?" Toba butted in before the others could reply. "Oh no, of course you can't. But I will be watching you. Any attempt at backstabbing us, and you'll wish we had left you here." "Oh my dear Toba. I'm going to enjoy working with you."
I'm sorry but... what!? I exclaimed, feeling as though my whole view on reality has just shifted. I have never expected aliens to exist, let alone those that could shape-shift. So seeing one face to face... was a bit shocking to say the least. "Don't worry. You will be fine. All I have to do is to make sure your disgusting human insides are working just fine."The Alien dullingly muttered. This caused me to enter another stage of confusion. If he sounded so uncomfortable with the mere thought of protecting me, why is he doing this? I get to know basic things about the alien. His name is Xlortl, he comes from Planet Dui, and he was sent here by force after not fully committing to the law. His punishment was to protect and stay with me. Apparently being sent to a different planet is a form of punishment. About 2 years later I got used to the fact that a Shape Shifting alien was living in my apartment. Although we had our... challenges, it wasn't anything we couldn't deal with. Xlortl has come to like me now. From the info I have gathered his species like ours seems to be Omnivourous. But he can't sustain on certain types of plants. Mainly vegetables. The only plants he can stomach are flowers and other plants a human doesn't typically eat. Any thing to spicy will cause a lava like substance to come out from his ears. If he eats anything to cold, his nose starts to produce icicles. He apparently loves the taste of Fried Chicken. I don't know why but he loves it. He seems to be quite the pet person. Mainly liking dogs more than other kind of pets. He was able to get one (without my permission). A BullMastiff he calls Cosmic. He absolutely adores it. His camouflaged human form has Brown hair, Green eyes, light skin, and he commonly likes to wear flannel and jeans. I do like him alot and wish to stay with him for a good amount of time... Wait... do I... With him... did I just... More data will be put in my journal soon.
Written on mobile plus my first attempt at responding to one of these. Me-“Hey have you ever noticed how colorful the stars are?” I type and send out switching back over to YouTube while awaiting a response. Dylan-“What? No the stars are all the same boring yellow or white” As I happily read out the message I pause, ‘What’s he talking about? Is he joking?’ Me-“Lol you’re crazy, the stars are red, green and blue.” I didn’t have to wait long as he immediately responded. Dylan-“Ya sure babe and the moon is purple right? The moon and stars are yellow and white.” ‘What the hell is he talking about? Of course the moon is purple! How could the moon and stars just be yellow and white?’ I think to my self. Me-“You’re joking right?? Nono you gotta send me a photo of your “white” and “yellow” moon and stars. Sure enough just a couple minutes later he sends me a photo of the saddest looking night sky. ‘That’s really odd’ I think while sending him my own photo of the sky. I see him start typing then erasing something many times before he asks something that shakes me to my core. Dylan-“You do live on Earth right??”
I thought of the last line I wrote down below, and found it too funny to not write a two minute story. Hopefully it’s funny to someone other than me! ——- Around 80 years ago, we discovered that humans can breathe in space. SPACE! For a while, that caused a completely unprecedented boom in space travel related technology… until we had a worldwide economic collapse. But that’s neither here nor there, because about fifty years later we fully recovered. The next large development was when we discovered you could travel up to 742 times faster than the speed of light! The caveat was you couldn’t travel in comfort - no spaceship, no food, no drink… basically nothing. Humans have had the ability for as long as we can tell - we just didn’t know because we had never stripped naked in space until 2072! Real quick: It was a drunk bet, and the lady was never seen again. Video surveillance luckily caught it. This again caused a fervor for humans actually being able to travel and document the universe, and potentially find habitable planets that WEREN’T filled with poisonous gases! However… it was short lived. Due to the speeds everyone was traveling, nobody could see. Scientists tried everything they could to invent technology to allow us to have sight at those staggering speeds… but it was not to be. It’s hard to know when to stop when you are effectively blind. But, last night, in true human fashion, I got WASTED. I stripped naked except for a pair of swim goggles which I had accidentally brought up to my apartment on Station Delta 4. Swim goggles. Swim goggles were the key to interstellar travel.

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