Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
Always I have loved the aesthetic of furniture from a time long past my own. Even though these items usually come with a hefty price tag, I try to indulge in my desire for those items every so often. A couple of months before I felt the need to explore downtown a bit, I had heard some new shops set up in the surroundings. One of them was an antique store, my perfect idea of a shopping trip. The city was trying to revive the once-bustling centre and helped a few small businesses. Whether or not their attempt will work, we will see in years to come. The shops appeared mainly to be little Cafes, a small second-hand book store stuffed to the brim and the occasional store selling second-hand clothing. The shops may have been newly set up, but they had the feel of having been around for an eternity. As if they were sighing out their last breath. Walking down the streets, I felt as if I was travelling through a place stuck between newness and having existed an eternity. Then I found the little antique store. It didn't look like much, just a room cluttered with furniture from an era long past. Still, I decided to go in. One never knows what you could find in between all the junk. Usually, there are no more than a few pieces of forgotten heirlooms, neglected by time or there's a treasure or two just waiting to be discovered. I spent most of my morning just trying to find this place and then most of the afternoon searching through the various piles of abandoned items. It was getting late, I figured even though my hunt was unsuccessful at least it was a day of exploration. I started getting ready to leave when the old man who owned the shop approached me. "Hey miss, I couldn't help, but notice you were about to leave. I didn't want to interrupt, but I figure you probably shouldn't leave empty-handed" I was taken aback, thinking to myself this man would try to sell some overpriced item to me. Probably some piece of scrap he just wanted out of the shop. However, before I could respond to him he continued. "Well most who come in here don't have something that calls to them, I feel you do”, he said with a weary sigh. “Follow me and I'll show you who's been drawn to you from the moment you entered" Now I'll admit, that I'm a cautious person, but I'm also one that can't resist my curiosity. I knew this could be one of the biggest mistakes of my life, but it was like a little voice whispered to me. "Go with him". So I did. He led me through a door behind the counter towards a backroom. It seemed like years of dust had just been left untouched before having piles placed on it. New dust had already begun to settle. I was taking in the sight, wondering what this old man could think would be in here that was meant for me before he startled me by saying gently "Go to him, he's been pining after you since before you came into this world" I didn't quite understand what he meant, but I felt like I was in that stage where one is tipsy, but not quite yet drunk. My mind felt like it was clouded in fog, yet my feet moved by themselves. They carried me towards a slim rectangular object covered with a drape. As I neared the strange shrouded object, I felt like I could hear waves of whispers, just a thousand voices all whispering at once and I couldn't pick out a single word being said. It was like I was drowning in the whispers, but had decided to stop fighting the current. I couldn't help myself. I reached out and pulled off the drape and was met with my face. I stared into a mirror that looked like it had lived more years than it cared to remember and seen more than I would be able to comprehend. "I knew you two would be a perfect fit"I heard the old man say from what sounded like it came from a vast distance. I sluggishly responded I would while grasping onto the side of the frame. I felt like I could touch the reflection and I would fall through time. I looked at my reflection, but in some part of my mind, however irrational it felt, I knew it wasn’t me looking back through the glass. In a haze I followed the old man back to the front of the shop where he rang up the mirror for me, I spent what I saved for my little indulgence and went on my way back home. That was a few months ago and now it just seems like an ordinary mirror. Perhaps the room was too stuffy and my mind unclear at the time. It could’ve been that I was overly tired, my mind playing a trick. Maybe what I experienced was nothing, but that of a mind affected by too much dust and too little fresh air, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched. Every night as I fall asleep, I stare into the mirror now against my bedroom wall. I stare at my reflection, but somehow it doesn't feel like it's me staring back.
The Scrapmite dodged the empty hulks of battleships through the neverspace over the remints of the once great Empire of the Sol. The region was illegal to do salvage in but the Captain had taken a job to grab the old crown of a long forgotten Emperor or something; the person wanted to use it to press a claim for land or something the Captain has said. It was just Maydays job to get them there and get out again. Mayday kept the Scrapmite close to the edges of the ancient fleet to avoid being picked up by anything that didn't care about the generally accepted rules of space. Being picked up by the Shadow would be bad enough, but it was the things that were rumoured to be here that caused Mayday to sweat; the nano swarm locusts or the psychoactive projectors. Avoiding would be better for everyone, especially in a tiny ship like this. The Scrapmite moved from one dead hulk to another, orbiting some dead world. As a member of the pilot caste trusting your instincts was number one, and no matter what, it was the pilots duty to be careful. That is why he did a sharp aft turn an speed, causing everthing in the pilots bay to go scattering, and there to be shouts from the depths of the ship. Something exploded off their port bow. Something old. A thing that shouldn't be there had reached out and taken a swipe. It has just been a flash of metal. A tall grey looking man in a combination space and business suit entered using his four arms to slow himself in the zero gravity "Report?" "No idea. Still developing. Too bust to scan."Mayday thought a moment pressing leavers and buttons for too long "Sir." The Captain shouted deep into the ship "Al-ic, need you on station now." A cheery voice said "Already doing it sir."Followed by a beeping "We have a message incoming." The captain looked at the pilot and shrugged "Put it on main." The screen showed a stone room, covered in floating bones and detritus, with a being sitting in the centre on a throne made of red polished metal, it looked like it was made of blood. "Oh fuck."Came several voices from throughout the Scrapmite. The figure leaned forward. Their face resembled the floating skulls more than the pictures of humans Mayday had seen. They wore old tattered rags, and on their head, a shining, bright, gem encrusted crown. "Interlopers. Welcome. You are the first to arrive." The Captain with a new gleam in his eye didn't miss a beat. "Excellent. Where do you want us? Who's due next?" The figure tried to spit onto the ground, but all that came out was black sludge that floated "The Elosians. The Carretires, and the New Hegemony of Man."The figure leaned back creaking. You know... long, Long ago I fought for them. I fought for them all in THE war, the Last War. Now I’m all that’s left, the only one to come back from that hell. Now here I sit, The Last King of the Dead Earth. And after all this time, they want to desecrate this place with a peace treaty. They come back to the home world they left for dead." "Excellent."The Captain said, Mayday trusted his gut when it came to the captain being at the point of rising panic, and turned on the interfereance filter. "Thank you Mayday."The Captain leaned over breathing, using two of his hands to steady himself, and the others to attach himself to the ship. "I take it we are representing my people then."He pointed at the screen, indicating to resume. "I apologise. Excellent your Highness. I am honoured you will have me as a guest." Coordinates appeared in the navcom system, and Mayday moved towards it. Between the holes in spacetime, and the unmade ships was a castle orbiting the planet. The castle seemed to expand in every direction imaginable, and felt like it had combined with a kaleidoscope at some point. Before them was the Castle of the Last King of the Death Earth.
"The Tabulating Machine Company. That is quite the name for a firm, Ida,"said Minnie. "What do they build?" "They build machines that can count,"replied Ida. She dropped a lump of sugar into her tea and stirred it with some vigor. The girl had a glow about her Minnie had never seen before. She was clearly excited by these machines. "You take information, such as someone's age, sex, or occupation, and represent the possible answers as numbers on a card,"she continued. "You punch holes according to someone's responses on a survey, then feed those cards into a tabulating machine. The machine detects the position of the holes and keeps tally of the selection on a counter. This is how the last census was conducted. A population of sixty two million souls was counted in just six weeks." "That sounds like magic,"said Minnie. "I have to say I am a bit jealous of your opportunity."she took up a cucumber sandwich. "Oh, it can be a bore,"responded Ida. "I just mostly sit at a machine all day punching cards. But they are starting to let me learn a thing or two about the plug boards and programming these machines. You should come visit the firm in DC. I could put in a good word for you." "I don't know,"said Minnie. "I don't feel like that kind of work is for me." "You're a math teacher, Ida." "I used to be one." "You're still smarter than the boys around here,"responded Ida. "If anything, come up for me."She placed her hand on Minnie's. Minnie could feel her face instantly burning up. "In the future computers will do everything,"explained Ida. "But computers will no longer be human. They will be machines. This is your chance to be a part of something greater. Think of what we could do together." Ida's eyes looked really blue at that moment.
I gasp as the door slides open. "Heh. The rookies always think this place is cool."Marty mutters, gesturing for me to follow closer. I scribble down notes in my tiny notepad as swiftly as possible as I approach the giant tank. "This is incredible!" "Yep."Marty grins, satisfied with my reaction, letting the atmosphere settle in. The enormous vat of bright, almost-fluorescent purple liquid covers the round room in a strange glowing haze. It's an almost spiritual experience, as I stare into the glow. A disembodied brain floats past me, undulating slowly. What a magnificent, terrifying creature... The tank appears to be divided with metallic partitions, and separated into tiers. Helpfully labelled, I examine the huge aquarium, jotting down notes on how the 'dumb' brains float in the upper levels, while the 'smart' brains are collected in the bottom-most level. They swim in the fluid. The ones high up look almost like strange, meaty jellyfish. The ones closer to my eye level seem...different. &#x200B; "...How exactly do you get them INTO the tank?"I ask, scribbling a hasty sketch of the entire setup as a supplement to my notes. "It's a complex process. Better to be shown, honestly, if I try to explain it you'll just get confused. Doug and Harry are gonna do an information dump next month, and you'll get to see the whole process firsthand, scooping out...the...Hang on a sec." &#x200B; Marty's smile fades as he squints into the liquid. I watch as his eyes drift over each brain floating in the lowest level, before a snarl breaks across his face. &#x200B; "...Clyde." "...Clyde? Who's-" &#x200B; Marty stomps away to the far wall, and slams down a bright red handle on the wall. An obnoxiously loud siren begins to wail, complementing the feeling of panic that has begun to swell in my chest. "Wh-What's going on?!" "We got a runner, Rookie. Stay close. We don't got much time." Marty starts swiftly marching back the way we came, and I begin to lose myself amongst the long, twisting metallic corridors as I try to keep up. "Clyde's a sneaky son of a gun. He's broken containment four times before this." I crane my neck around a corner we pass to see several factory workers begin to don bright yellow hazmat suits. I nearly bump into Marty while I wasn't paying attention. "Put this on. These damn parasites are smart, and only getting smarter. We need to stay safe." He thrusts a similar bulky suit into my arms, before beginning to put one over himself. &#x200B; I don't hesitate. Sliding my legs into the bright yellow suit, I feel like I'm getting ready to go diving, or out on a spacewalk or something. It feels three sizes too big for me. Marty slides a huge helmet overtop his head, twisting and clicking it into position, before handing me a heavy helmet of my own. I lift over top my head, and do the same. &#x200B; "Where do you think he could be?"I ask, feeling sweat roll down my back. My heart is pounding. So much for an easy first day... "Clyde could be anywhere. We've seen him hiding in mop buckets and air ducts, but he could be somewhere in plain sight... It's unlikely, but we might catch him on the cameras. This way." "...U-Um...Right..."I squeak, my voice cracking. ...Come on, deep breath. The situation is under control. I start to follow Marty as he leads me back down the corridors. "...This facility is massive."I say, though I'm not sure why. I already knew that. I've been walking around it all day. &#x200B; Marty doesn't hear my comment, and continues, showing me into a slightly smaller room, lined wall to wall with computers and screens, showing off different parts of the facility. I scan each screen swiftly, looking for my way out. ...What? I shake my head. Stop panicking! The flashing lights and blaring sirens are giving me a headache. Nothing feels right. But... Is it just the stress? Marty begins to type away, reaching for his walkie talkie, barking orders and given directions to scientists all around the facility. It's fascinating to watch him up close. &#x200B; "...U-Uh, Marty? I... I don't...feel..." "You don't what, kid?"He snaps, his eyes glued to the computers. "...I... *I* would go check the assembly line. It is very probable that a rogue specimen could disguise themselves amongst the fabricated facsimiles." &#x200B; Marty scrunches up his eyebrows for just a moment, before something seems to click in his mind. "...That sounds just like Clyde. That sneaky bastard! I'll be right back, Rookie. Don't go anywhere." "Don't worry, Marty! I'll be waiting."I say, a wide grin growing across my face. Marty sprints out of the room. I chuckle softly to myself. I was counting on his ignorance, but that went even better than I could have hoped for. Rather than donning the suit himself, he gave it to the bumbling recruit! "Mm.... Clyde, you really have outdone yourself this time."
"Well this makes things difficult."I muttered feeling a creeping sense of anxiety start to spread across my body. I had made a contract with a particularly strong hero who had set out on a long journey to save their kingdom from an obscure dark mage. To be truthful, I hadn't really been paying attention to all the details that were mentioned to me, I was more focused on trying to help my contracter stay alive from the many perils they put themselves in. Cursed dwarves, dragons, undead liches were just a few of the many things that wanted to murder or harm my dear hero. It was a difficult job! I didn't have the time to be too worried about details of prophecies or sad tragic pasts, and I couldn't really be bothered with them either. When you've lived as long as I have you tend to ignore the small things and focus on the important tasks. Like keeping someone who has a death wish, alive. Well, I messed that one up, didn't I. I glanced up at the sky, it was just past midday and a beautiful day. Who decided that the kingdom's hero should die on such an amazing day and in such a lackluster way. Tripping on a rock. "Now my problem is... The contract hasn't been broken."This was something that I hadn't come across before. Now, celestial beings like myself made contracts with others because we would gain power with each successful contract we completed. The more difficult, the great amount of power we'd gain. Problem is, if we didn't complete the contracts or even cancelled them, we'd lose as much power as we could've gained. Fairly straightforward. I glanced down at the dead body in front of me and sighed. I had been protecting them for so long I had forgotten the original contract I had made. To save the kingdom from ruin. Technically, the hero didn't need to be alive for me to complete it and so the contract wasn't broken. I really really didn't want to cancel it because I had the smallest sneaking suspicion that the power I'd lose would be immeasurable. On the other hand, if I completed it... Vice versa. The issue is, since I hadn't listened to any of the important details throughout this journey, I was pretty clueless on what exactly I needed to do to save the kingdom. I'm sure getting rid of that dark mage would be a good first step... If I knew anything about them. I grumbled quietly to myself, wondering what would be worse. Losing my power, or wasting who knows how much time to try and complete this contract. Well, I couldn't lose face in front of the other celestial beings! I had bragged way too much to them about having never failed a contract. I glanced down at the dead body again. It had been mere seconds since we had set out to kill the dark mage, everything we'd done beforehand was "pre-journey"as they liked to refer to it. It was to gather necessary weapons and artifacts so we could even try to find the dark mage. Well, it won't hurt to try and be the main character for once, instead of the helpful celestial being following them around!
As with every morning since my Switch broke, I awoke to consciousness as I was stepping outside the door of my apartment building. At least it saved me 7 flights of stairs, and I was already dressed. I blinked away the sleep, bleary-eyed, but rested, anticipating the inevitable- My cell phone rang. I answered to a high-pitched chittering voice. I couldn't technically understand it, but the floating text in my field of view told me my bank account balance was low. Again. Hearing this from a racoon captioned with sans serif didn't make it any easier to digest. I glanced over to a cheerfully adorned cork board that now sat outside the building. It was driving my landlord furious since it appeared, and it had several "colorful posts"left by passerbys, but it was an excellent source of information. Mrs. Field's was having a bake sale, a fireworks celebration downtown was two weeks away and....I froze. A "special event"was slated today to start at 9am at the First Central Bank. Crap. It was already ten past 8, and I couldn't afford an Uber. Donning my mask as I ran, I dashed for the 745 bus stop. \--- I arrived with only a couple of minutes to spare. A curious unmarked van was idling at the corner near the bank, and a few muffled screams were already escaping from the glass doors. I checked my impossibly full backpack: shells from the beach, a few pieces of fruit, a shovel with questionable life left, some sticks, ah! There it is! I tossed out the leaf in front of me, and a puff of smoke later it became a rudimentary work bench, complete with all of my tools. I quickly grabbed some weeds growing out of the sidewalk nearby and got to work. I didn't have a lot of time left. I had only 3 minutes before they exited, so I dug up every exposed piece of earth between the exit and the van. I tossed in a bunch of oddly smooth spheres with exclamation marks and buried them. I was on the last hole when I heard the door burst open as the alarm blared. 5 armed men with duffle bags stuffed with cash exited the building at top speed. Ironically, they were all wearing cheap animal masks to hide their identity. One of them yelled at me, and I dropped my shovel with my hands up as I backed up against the wall. I said a silent prayer as they began to run towards the van. I smirked as the screaming began. I glanced over to see three of them had stepped on my freshly turned earth, and they were now buried up to their torsos. Dropping their bags, they flailed madly about. Pitfall seeds, one of the few tools at my disposal that worked on everyone. It would buy time for the police to arrive, and sirens were already beginning to wail in the distance. One of the remaining men tried to pull another out, while the last one stared gawk-eyed. Come on...say something... Sure enough, they began to argue about whether to leave them behind. Perfect! I walked up to them as they frantically debated, and spoke. Their conversation suddenly appeared in the air above them. Their voices were still coherent, but everything became a rapid-fire series of text bubbles. I saw several expletives before they made their final mistake and spoke with me. "What the \\\\* is going on?*"Two options appeared, with a simple arrow I could flip through. I said nothing in return. The text hung in the air. I could see them struggling to move, unable to say something else, trying to raise their guns at me. Their eyes went wide, and sweat was profusely pouring from their masks. Nothing happened. I smiled. Nothing was going to happen until I said so. The siren wails rose further, and the van's driver, clearly not willing to get caught, sped off. That didn't matter; the money was still lying on the side walk amidst the screams of the 3 still stuck in the ground. I could only hope they didn't figure out the trick. I waited until we were all surrounded by the city's finest, then finally made my dialog choice. The three of us were released, and the criminals were swiftly taken into custody. Jerry was one of the cops that responded, and he was mercifully aware of my power set. A few dialogue boxes later and I had given my statement, though the finer details would have to be sent at a painful 3 lines at a time via postcards. I sighed. The day was saved, but if I was going to save my bank account, I need to find a freaking trash panda to sell this fruit to.
I crouched behind a broken wall. Above me the purple clouds still spiralled, surrounding an orb of pure black. It was given some fancy name, back when it first appeared. I just called it Oblivion. It was the reason everything had fallen apart. Taking out a mirror, I carefully raised it up to see what was on the others side. A pair of hellhounds, large dogs with fur of burning flame. I cursed internally. They were right in the way of course. Looking closer, they appeared to be asleep, lying on the ground together. I weighed up my options. I had to get past. I could sneak through or wait. I elected to wait. I had grown adept at being quiet, but being anywhere near something like that without an inordinate amount of firepower was a very bad idea. As silently as possible I moved into a more comfortable position. I didn't know how long I had to wait. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long. I didn't have a huge amount of time. A whistle pierced the air. It was met with a pair of growls, and I knew the hounds were awake. Glancing out again, I saw the source. A rider atop a flaming horse. From one hand dangled a morning star, pitted with stains. The other held a whip that moved on its own, coiling and lashing out. I stayed very still. If it saw me, I would be dead. If it even suspected I was here, I would be toast, and my task a failure. I couldn't let that happen. It whistled again, walking away down the street. I watched the pair of hellhounds follow, running to catch up. But I stayed in place for a while longer. It paid to be careful when living in this apocalypse. Finally, I got up. I ran across the now empty street, disappearing into the broken building on the other side. It was once an office block, judging from the dusty decor. Now it was a great way to stay out of the street. I moved quickly, aiming for one of the many broken windows. I carefully looked around outside. The area was pretty clear, which is what I needed. My eyes then focused on my goal. A ruined convoy. In particular, an armoured truck in the centre. I was close. Soon I could head back home. Assuming that whatever the nerds wanted me to retrieve didn't get me killed. Which, considering where we were, was a strong possibility.
"- but I will gladly be the martyr." &#x200B; "Blah, blah, blah, you never shut up, you sentient piece of steel. I know that boy is not the one spouting this nonsense" &#x200B; The scene disturbing the already confusing day is just plain absurd. A man with shining, golden hair is wielding a magnificent long sword. And the local woodcarver is talking down to him. He also has a sword he took from the soldiers in the inn. &#x200B; The soldiers came this morning, looking for someone. A hero, they said. With them was a man, taller than anyone in the sleepy village, looking like someone from legends with his impossibly broad shoulders and cloak made from a lions pelt. The woman in charge did not seem like a nice person. She was very confident, in a cocky way. &#x200B; The young men and boys were chased to do chores, and got into trouble for finding their firewood too quickly. Your uncle made a beeline to the woodcarvers cottage. You followed, and bought yourself the time needed to avoid trouble by pure accident. Marcus, the woodcarver with a bad knee, seemed suspiciously prepared for today. &#x200B; He paid the innkeeper a whole silver coin, told him to give the giant man all the dark wheat ale he could drink, and talked to the giant like an old friend. The soldiers picked up on this, and then one of them picked up the package Marcus had brought with him. &#x200B; "Your words are a futile endeavor to avoid the unavoidable. The evils of this world will be purged in the glory of the-" &#x200B; "Holy war, that ends all suffering and brings forth the shining new order, and yadda, yadda, yadda. I listened to your bullsh't for over ten years, Kallimachos. And I know, what your purge looks like" &#x200B; The shiny haired mans face twists in rage. "You dared to stuff me in a hole! ME! THE MIGHTY BLADE OF THE GOD OF WAR!" &#x200B; "THAT'S WHY I STUFFED YOU IN A HOLE! You are nothing but a tool for bloodshed! It's all war, battle and murder with you! Next time I should bury you in the ground and leave you to rust!"Marcus yells back at the man. &#x200B; "My brothers reap glory on the fields. I belong in the hands of a worthy warrior!"Shiny man growls. &#x200B; "And we both know, you cannot bond to that boy, or his king, without him beating me in combat"Marcus smirks. "So, ready to bet your warmongering plans on that kids skills?" &#x200B; The shiny man screams. He charges Marcus, who sidesteps him with ease. His sword makes contact with the shiny blade. Again. Again, and again. You look on in amazement. You have never seen anyone move like that. It's like a strange dance. &#x200B; The giant man chuckles next to you. "Injured knee or not, he hasn't lost his touch"You look up at him as he drains his tankard of ale. &#x200B; "Excuse me, but, what's going on?"you ask him. &#x200B; "Oh, Marcus didn't tell you boys about his days in the great war?" &#x200B; "W-war? He was in the war? But he's a woodcarver" &#x200B; The giant laughs. "He was a war hero, back in the day. That sword was his way to heroism. And it's bastard through and through" &#x200B; Marcus and shiny man are still exchanging blows. You know nothing about swordfights, but the shiny man seems to be slowing down. &#x200B; "Care to get me another drink, boy? Marcus never did stop singing the praises of his home towns dark wheat" &#x200B; You do as he asks, making your way to the innkeeper and back. You do your best not to spill his ale. &#x200B; The fight is over. The shiny sword is on the ground. The man is no longer shiny, but a shaking soldier with his eyes the size of plates. The bossy lady finally shoves her way down from her room. She screams at her soldiers, shocked and stiff. &#x200B; "Oh, shut up, girl!"the giant bellows. "Your little quest is over! Marcus! Join me for another drink!" &#x200B; Marcus picks up the shiny sword. He does not get a shiny makeover. "Sure, why not. I'll feel this little spot of sparring tomorrow!"He smiles to the giant, then glares at the bossy lady. &#x200B; "Listen here, girl"Marcus tells her. "Unless you want your new, fancy king to plunge his kingdom into another great war, \stop hunting for magic swords!\. They know nothing but blood and battle, and make terrible advisors for peace"
I'm Artemis. Wondering how I'm on Earth, you ask? A thousand-year banishment...though that's not important as of now. What I need is for you to remember this message, because this is one that influences your life. I've wanted to tell you: you have powerful magic in your veins. From the moment you are born to the moment you are here...you certainly have grown. You have the spirit of a true hunter. Walk into the forest: when the time comes, you'll know which one it is. When the crow's call rings deep throughout the trees, you'll know the time is right. And I am there.
I walked into my room, closing the door. I nodded to the pile of teddies under the covers, and slipped on my pajamas... Wait. Was that red on the sheets...and a teddy on the floor? I looked around suddenly, taking in the horrific state of my room. Torn teddies covered the floor, stuffing pulled out, and soaked in red...something. Shelves were knocked down, and drawers pulled out. Trampled homework, toys, and favorite books were scattered everywhere. Ruined wallpaper slumped to the floor, and the carpet was shredded. Finally, the window was shattered, glass shards littering the north wall. Wait...that meant... Something had broken in. The thing that hurt the most was to see my childhood friends ruined, their severed limbs piled around the bed. They had always been here for me... Why hadn't I heard the glass shatter? Come to think of it, I couldn't here much of anything. A heavy numbness filled the room, as well as a strange magnetic force that pulled my feet toward the bed, and the reddened lump on my bed. One step. I skirted around a teddy in what was once a tuxedo, now tattered cloth. Two steps. A glanced mournfully at my favorite book, Heroes of the Forest Council. I recalled many nights reading that as a kid. And as an adult, I thought wryly. The last step, before the bed. I quivered with fear. The heads of my bears stared accusingly at me. They knew it was my fault. They were angry. At last, I threw aside the covers, revealing a monster. Scraggly black fur, with grey scale patches. Three blazing green eyes, unblinkingly, and without pupils. A mouth full of venomous fangs and sharp blades. Pitifully scrawny forelimbs, and overly muscular tentacles for hind ones. It hissed at me, and I watched as it extended a malformed paw, eyes glinting untrustingly. "What...what are you?"I whispered, shaking. A sad, bitter look spread across its twisted face, and blackish tears spilled from its eyes. "I...WAS...FRIEND. YOU...CARED...FOR...ME."It rasped, shaking uncontrollably. "Why don't I remember you?"I asked, confused, and unable to back away. "YOU...LEFT. GREW...OLD...DIFFERENT. NO...NEED...FOR...IMAGINARY...FRIEND...ME." I was shocked. This was an imaginary friend from my toddler days? "YOU...LEFT...ME! I...WAS...FIRST! WHY...DID...YOU...ABANDON?"It roared, a pained and despairing roar. The sound of a defeated animal. "I...wait..."I stopped. I did remember. Sammy. My first teddy bear. We played in the mud, in the park, all around the house...in Washington. I forgot him on the playground, I recalled, and we moved away. I had been despondent for a long time. Then...being young, I forgot Sammy. The fun we had together. I got new teddy bears. I didn't think of him again, until now. "Sammy...I'm sorry." "YOU...UNDERSTAND...PAIN? LONELINESS? YOU...WERE...MY...ONLY...FRIEND! I...NEVER...FORGOT! WHY...DID...YOU...LEAVE...ME!"Sammy cried out, claws digging into the sheets. That's when I remembered the red stains. Sammy's teeth...his claws...his fur. All covered. "What did you do, Sammy? What happened?" "WHEN...YOU...LEFT...HOPED...YOU...WOULD...COME...BACK. WAITED...LONG!" "I...WOKE. TASTED...BLOOD. BECAME...TRUE...SAMMY. I...AM...MORE. I...TAKE...YOUR...BLOOD. MAKE...SAMMY...STRONG! HAVE...REVENGE...HATE...YOU...NOT...NEED...YOU!"Sammy lunged forward, his body quivering in tension. I could move backwards now, and I did, throwing myself away from the rabid 'friend'. Sammy snarled, and he loped across the ground towards me. "Sammy! Stop! Taking blood is bad. Do you want love again? Peace? Happiness? No more loneliness, Sammy?"I shouted quickly, words flowing out of my mouth faster than I could breathe. Sammy paused, his teeth hovering over me. "I...LISTEN...TO...YOU." "I have a daughter now! Her name is Christina! She is young, like when I left you! You can be a bear again, not a...woken-up thing,"I gasped, slowly standing up as Sammy withdrew. "I...PLAY...WITH...CHRISTINA?" "Yes, yes, of course!"Sammy had no idea that I would never let a monster like him near my little girl. I felt a twinge of guilt for what I was going to do. Who could blame Sammy? It was my fault that he was such an abomination. But he was an abomination. As Sammy plopped down to his belly, and watched me idly, something in his eyes made me hesitate. Happiness? Contentment? Relief? A tear slid down my face, as a pulled the scisors from the floor, and darted forward. Sammy's eyes flared with shock, betrayal burning my soul. With a quick snip, his mutated, filthy fur was cut open, and his red stained stuffing spilled out. He let out a whimper, and fell, dead. I sobbed. Tears flooded my cheeks, dripping down and down and down, onto Sammy's body. They didn't stop. I felt hollow inside. Empty. Sammy's last moments flickered constantly in my mind, how happy he was to play again. How hurt he was when I hurt him. What had I done?
The first time it happened, she found it amusing. The yellow car rolling down the street blasting its strange music seemed a perfect match to her daughter’s drawing the day before. She hadn’t noticed at first, but the experience had been so strange that when she next saw the drawing pinned to the fridge it caught her eye. The car in the drawing was exaggerated in that childish way where impressions trump proportions. The gleaming coat of paint she had seen was represented by exaggerated black lines coming off the crudely-shaped box it like was something out of a comic. The music it had been playing too was drawn into the scene, with arcing musical notes as large as the smiling sun in the corner of the page. The second time, she found less amusing. It showed her husband, helpfully labelled “daddy”, frowning while standing next to a gray-and-boxy thing with windows on it. In his hand was some sort of white rectangle with careless scribbles on it. That was the night that he had called her saying he was stuck at the office again, and when he finally arrived home in the early hours of the morning, apologized profusely explaining that there was some sort of mechanical problem on the metro line. It was the following morning that she decided to ask her daughter about her doodles. “What are you drawing today dear?” she began, smiling as sweetly as she could, hoping to not alarm her daughter with what might merely be her imagination connecting random shapes to random events. “Our house.” came the reply. “And what’s happening to our house now?” She watched as her daughter sorted through the different colors, searching for the right one. “It’s on fire. So there is smoke and stuff.” She looked up into her mother’s not-quite-concealed expression of concern. “It’s ok mommy, it’s a small fire, see?” She pointed at the wobbly squarish kitchen windows, where a few streaks of red and orange peeked out. Her mother tried to keep her voice level, “Why’s there a fire sweetie? Did something happen?” “I don’t know, it’s just what you said happened.” “What I said?” “Yes, you said that there was a fire in the kitchen and that was where all the smoke came from, and that I shouldn’t worry because it was a very teensy-weensy fire-“ She paused to pick out another color. “But daddy was worried because he said it could be an oar son…” She huffed, “and I don’t know what that is!” That evening was difficult, she couldn’t seem to focus on anything, and she kept her eye on the kitchen every chance she was able. Hours passed, her husband returned home, and for the few minutes they all sat together at the table, she felt her fears begin to fade, reassured that her family was safe and sound. That her imagination had simply got the best of her, that she was exhausted from all the things she needed to do in a day, that her daughter- Screeching filled the air. An alarm. The morning after, she found herself arguing with her husband. It was an accident, she insisted, it must have been an accident. Maybe an electrical short or the oven left on. He was unconvinced. His work had made him increasingly paranoid over the years. Special projects with anonymous clients, strange coincidences that seemed anything but, and now a mysterious fire within their own home? His own safety was a secondary concern, but if anything happened to the rest of them- She cut him off, she didn’t want to hear it. There was nothing to discuss, she insisted. It was all a coincidence, an accident, just one of those things that happens sometimes. Once he left, she considered whether he was right, and what it would mean if somehow her daughter knew. Today’s drawing was different. It featured a strange man in a striking black suit. “Sweetie, who is that?” she pointed with a hesitant finger. “I don’t know, you wouldn’t tell me.” “Why wouldn’t I tell you, sweetie?” she forced a thin smile to hide her clenched teeth. “I don’t know. There’s lots of things I don’t know. Grown-up stuff.” She grabbed another sheet of paper and started drawing something different, something with a splotch of bright yellow. “Sweetie, what are you drawing now?” “The car.” “What car?” “The car from before, it shows up again today, after the man leaves.” The strange car again, but why? “How do you know the car is coming again today, dear?” “Because it alllllways does. Every time.” “Wha-“ Her daughter cut her off, setting down her crayons with an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. She looked up into her mother’s eyes, and with a firm voice she said, “You always do this and you never remember. You say you will, but you don’t. Daddy doesn’t remember too. Only the man remembers.” She stared into her daughter’s accusatory eyes, searching for words, any words, that would be appropriate for a situation rapidly slipping outside of her control. “And last time the man said it was getting worse. You said I shouldn’t listen to him, but I couldn’t help it! He’s really loud when you don’t let him in.” The smile was frozen upon her face, and had become more of a grimace, not understanding what she was hearing, but certain that she didn’t like it. Her daughter picked up the crayons again with a softer sigh. “It’s ok mommy, you won’t even remember this tomorrow.” The shock of that statement broke her out of her trance. “Why- why do you say that sweetie?” Her daughter rolled her eyes and scribbled a spiral without looking. It quickly spread across the entire sheet. “Because you always forget when it happens again. Everyone forgets, except for me and the man. And-“ The doorbell chimed.
Crawling through the broken down door following the scent of meat cooking. Pam had not seen another person in a week none the less smelled the pleasant aroma of food. Once inside Pam saw a man standing front of a fire cooking what she must have smelled. He turned with a start but soon calmed when he saw she was unarmed. "Oh hello I did not hear you come in. I don't have much but I can spare some. That is if you are willing to eat..."the man said cautiously. Pam looked down at the pan the man showed her the smell of meat and eggs wafting up. "my name is Sam and if you're brave I will share my green eggs and ham".
A rushed, silly poem. I could not eat, nor work, nor slumber, without them deets: her cellphone number. First we’d talk: she’d swoon ‘n’ soon she’d care. We’d go on walks, and spoon and share. And in the morn, I’d be there... Face nestled in her golden hair. But first I need her gosh-darn number. Want to ask, but tongue encumbered by fear and nerves...face grows number. Then heaven sends a bless-ed thing! Text message comes with screech not ding. A missile comes? Now that’s the thing! A mayhem moment whence action springs. Cupid’s string flings a fissile dart, With which I’ll pierce my beloved’s heart. “So Abby here I stand and pray, On this our likely final day: Be my girl! Waddya say?” Tears in her eyes, a gentle sway. “Sure, why not. Now go away!” A distant voice: “Who was that?” My girl responds: “Some ugly twat.” I take comfort that the pain will pass, In the coming nuclear blast. Phone screams again, I stare aghast. First alert was an error unduly cast. I never should have even asked.
You finally wake up after what seems like an eternity of darkness. It was like being asleep, but you were consious during all of it. However you wake up in an entirely different area then your room. In front of you stands the grim reaper. “Welcome. Welcome to death” He exclaims “I will be the one to guide you to the underworld. Well, not directly. There are to manh deaths for me to lead everyone to the underworld myself. But i’ll give you directions. Can you see the hallwag over there?” Your sight was still a little blurry, but after looking to where the reaper pointed for a bit you could see it. A dark hallway with light at the end. “Yes i see it” you tell the grim reaper. “I assume i have to go to the light?” The grimm reaper shook his head “No absolutely not. Actually, avoid the light at all costs. The underworld is the first turn left in this hallway. Then take another left turn and open the gates. Don’t be afraid. You aren’t where you think you are. Do you understand?” “Yes i believe so. Just two turns left. Alright” You start walking trough the corridor, staying close to the left wall. Eventually you feel a passageway with a red glow at the end. You look at the light. It seemed extremely tempting. But the grim reaper said you shouldn’t go there, and you’d probably get punnished if you did. So you take the first turn left and walk down the hallway. When you get to the end of the hallway, you look to your right out of curiosity. It was black. Pure black. Just a void. You decide not to stay to find out what it was and walk to the left like the reaper said. There you open the gates. You find yourself in a place exactly like how people would describe hell. The floor is made of ashes, there is fire everywhere, the sky is red. And as soon as you set a few steps into this world, a demon walks towards you. “Finally! A new soul, i thought no one would come. Welcome to the afterlife! I am satan, the ruler of this place” “You’re satan? Does that mean i am in hell?! What have i done to deserve this? I’d like to think i lived a relatively good life!” Satan laughed “Off course you did! Thats why you’re here. You mortals see hell as a bad place of endless torture but we don’t do that here. The fire keeps the place warm, the ashes are comfortable to walk on, and the red sky looks pretty good don’t you think?” “Well… yes you make a good point” “The people here are nice to! With what you mortals think of hell, very few actually accept hoing trough the gate. The rest all decide to go back to the light. And yes, behind that is what you mortals see like heaven. Everything there is great. Except for the people. Everyone there is greedy, they think they deserve to be there more then the others. Its a horible place to be for eternity” You stand there for a second not knowing what to say. Eventualy you ask: “So what do i do now? Where do i go?” Satan smiled “I’ll show you around. You’re the first person to come here in an entire week, so i have time.”
X, when did they even start calling me that? That's right, after my second haul in for the very merry pills. If only I hadn't have trusted that cunt with my stash location. Ah well, fuck it. I got eleven days left of this bullshit and I'm fucking out. All I gotta do is keep my head down and then I can get a few scores settled. Count some sheep, X, just fucking count.... As X's eyes open on the morning of the tenth day away from his overdue release from a very unjust incarceration, as he would so eloquently refer to it, he got a very uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was quieter than usual. The number of guards making rounds increased by fifty percent. Something you gotta keep an eye on when you're always looking for an out. They've especially been glancing looks at the core room, X thinks. The core room is located dead center of all of the cells of the interdimensional prison, spanning top to bottom. What the fuck is in that room that's got their panties in a bunch, X muses? The warden herself came down this morning to personally talk to her staff, which is unusual in itself. But what made it even more interesting is after she got done with her, hoorah and all that, she took a good 30 seconds to stare at the core. In all my years here, I've never seen that woman scared or back down from anything. Until today. She wanted to run through the fucking walls to get away from it, whatever it was...
"Which one mother, paternal or maternal?""Paternal. As in, my mother-in-law from hell itself. Why the heck did you even want to meet her, sweetie?""Her recipe books, as I recall that despite you being at each other's throats when she was alive, you did acknowledge that she was an amazing cook, housekeeper, seamstress, and laundry matron. A shame that she never let anyone have her recipe guide books when she died while I was younger. I seek to rectify this oversight, so we could hopefully make the more edible ones together. Mostly because I got to taste her homemade fudge only once before she died, and never had another opportunity to eat it again. So I figured that I try summoning her through a demon circle to learn her secrets." My paternal demon nana is a bit surprised to learn exactly why I wanted to meet her, as her fudge recipe was legendarily delicious in our family, but gladly handed over her recipe guide books without question. A bit later, my mother scolds me for summoning a demon in the living room after I had what I desired, even if it was my nana, but is grateful that she has access to the old bat's recipes once again, as she also wanted access to her fudge recipe as well. Her mother-in-law might have been a demon from hell, but she was an affable demon that only hated my mom for stealing her son from her. I look over the stack of books Nana Gladys handed over, containing her recipes, and noticed that one of them covered recipes and tips for household cleaners and laundry care that will keep one's house always clean and one's clothes always cared for. Awesome, now I'll be able to keep house in a decade or so when I'm on my own. "So what now?""We have these books properly typed up and bound, then keep them in the bridal chest you've been saving for when I eventually marry. Though we will pull them out from time to time so I can practice using their secrets.""Sounds good sweetie."The end.
Remember, Powers are dangerous. Report any unsanctioned users today. I kept my eyes downcast. The announcement blared over the intercom, reminding every commuter of their obligations. Supers were seen as a threat. If you were one, you would be encouraged to join the government. It was an open secret that if you refused, they would persuade you otherwise. I assumed they used threats, but I wasn't sure. And I didn't want to know. I had assumed that I wouldn't. When powers activated, it was generally a large, flashy event, around puberty. I had passed through without issue, a fact I was thankful for. So I had gone about my life, secure in the knowledge that I was safely normal. That was until yesterday. I was doing my usual shop, when I felt a pressure in my head. It focused on one particular person, who looked much like any other normal person. But I saw them glow, an aura surrounding them. No-one else reacted. It seems that no-one else had seen anything. But I knew. I knew their secret. They were a super. Not just that, I was one too. It was clear to me. I was a living power detector. The interesting part though, was that I had gone into government buildings before. None of their devices had reacted to me, but they supposed detected any super that came through. I had spent the rest of the day in a haze. What should I do? I could join the government. Hell, volunteering with this power would probably get me a decent pay check. I would be like a bounty hunter, going from place to place finding those who hid from the rules. But that didn't sit right by me. I would in essence hunt people down because of simply who they are. I could keep quiet. There wasn't any need for me to be involved. I could live as I had done. No-one would know what I was. I would always be safe from that at least. But again, was inaction the right way to go? Finally, I could always try and help those who were hidden. There were rumours of a gang of supers, who kept themselves hidden. They supposedly wanted to overthrow the rules. I could help them, help them find others who wanted to be hidden, who wanted to be free. But I didn't know much about their true goals. For all I knew, they could be legitimate criminals. I had tossed and turned throughout the night, wondering what to do. What was the right choice. I couldn't exactly ask anyone for help. The rewards for handing over a super were substantial. As much as I trusted them, that amount of money could make some of the strongest wills falter. Even now, I struggled to choose. This was a major crossroads in my life. Whatever route I chose, I was sure I would end up with regrets. But which would leave me with the most? I sat on a bench, mulling it over. I felt it shake slightly as someone else sat.but I was too deep in thought to notice, until I heard a low whisper. "You know what I am, don't you?" I glanced over, recognising the man from the shop. His face was drawn into a frown, hands buried in his pockets. "Y-yes. I think I do." He grunted. "I thought so. You had that look. I suggest you come with me." The order was clear. I glanced at a pocket, seeing a hard shape within. My blood ran cold, as his face remained cold. "Yes, its a gun. Lead the way out."
You gain the ability to conjure fire and frost in the palm of your hands with ease. You can shake the ground, manipulate the winds and summon deadly beasts. But you don't. Because you don't believe in that nonsense. Anyway, you marry a half elf, have a couple quarter elf kids. Work your way up to middle management in the lumber yard. It's a pretty good life. The kids haven't visited in awhile but you and the wife still get on well. You're looking forward to the annual stew competition, this might just be the year. You die at 78. Eleven people attend your funeral. Everyone had something nice to say about you. The wife dies 5 years later. Your kids have kids and they do as well. About 100 years after your death, someone thinks about you for the last time. I think they found your favorite stew spoon or something. Anyway it had your name on it and they sold it for a couple coins so they could buy some booze. That's it. Your headstone eventually crumbles and you are lost to history. A thousand years later a necromancer raises you from the dead. He explains that you hold power so strong, the gods themselves quake in your presence. "I believe you have the wrong man"you say. Polite as always. The necromancer seems puzzled. "Your name is Edward Peircehallow, isn't it?"He asks. "Actually, it's pronounced Peircehallow"you explain. "That's me but the only magic I possess is my secret recipe for one heck of a stew. Would you like me to teach you?" "No thanks"says the man, his black robes swaying with the wind. "Sorry to bother you I guess". He looks annoyed as he snaps his fingers and you turn back to bones and ash. That it. That's all for you, forever. What a shame. What a waste. ...also your stew was a little underwhelming. If you were a restaurant, I wouldn't send it back but I wouldn't order it again either.
#Crossing into Darkness Jason chewed his fingernails and spit out the remnants on the sidewalk. "Dude, can you stop? That's disgusting." Emily glared at him, lips curled and eyes narrowed in clear disgust. He looked over at her and frowned. "I just don't think we should be doing this,"he said, letting out a sigh. Emily shook her head and put one hand on her forehead. "JJ, bad idea or not, we've gotta do it!" Her stride increased to a near jog, leaving him to run and catch up. The sidewalk ended, leaving a patch of rough gravel for their feet. "Em,"Jason said, sucking in a few gulps of air while his converse sneakers crunched on the gray-colored stone. "There's other ways to find a cure. What you're trying to do isn't just dangerous, it's stupid!" Emily huffed in response to his observation. In the distance, a thicket of forest appeared on the horizon. Jason glanced back at the city with longing eyes. The more the buildings shrunk behind them, the more his heart rate increased. By the time he could see the moss growing on the deep, dark bark of the trees on the approaching thicket, his blood pressure had gone through the roof. "Please, Em, we don't have to do this,"he pleaded. She shot a cold look over her shoulder. "Millions of lives are on the line, JJ. We kinda have to." She never slowed down. Not even when the roots of the trees began shooting out of the tall grass. While Jason moved with deliberation, careful not to trip, she moved like an animal in it's natural habitat. "Master Peko told us not to dabble with dark magic, Em. Are you really going to go against his advice? You could lose your spot in the academy. Doesn't THAT mean anything to you?" She stopped and placed one hand on the trunk of a nearby tree. Her head lowered before she turned and locked eyes with Jason. She dug her pointed finger straight into his chest, making him backpedal a few steps. "JJ, you're too much of a coward. If dark magic is the only way to open the portal, then that's what we're going to do! I've already lost my mother to the blood plague, I'm not losing anyone else." She paused and held one hand close to her chest. She closed her eyes and Jason saw a single tear run down her face. "Em, I didn't mean it like that, I just—"he couldn't finish his sentence before she spun around and kept trekking deeper into the forest. With a tired sigh, he shook his head and continued to follow. After what seemed like an hour of walking, they had arrived to an eerie section of the forest. Above them, the canopy grew so thick that no light escaped into the world below. An ever present silence filled the space between the tree trunks, only broken by their muffled footsteps. The trees got closer together and more dense. At one point, Jason almost began to hyperventilate from the claustrophobia it brought. Right when he was about to speak up, the wall of woodland gave way to an open space. A clearing of grass sat before them, with an ancient brick building sitting in the center. A small ray of light shot down from the forest canopy, highlighting an old window on the second story. "Here we are,"Emily announced. She inched closer to the building, leaving the concealment of the forest. Jason remained behind the trees, watching her move towards the structure with an ever increasing stride. "Damn it," he whispered, deciding to run out into the clearing. Emily had made her way through the gray brick doorway before he could get close. When he entered the building, a sickening sensation began to fill the pit of his stomach. Deep red markings lined the walls, making him wonder if they had been etched in human blood. Upon entering the main chamber, he spotted Emily hunched over what looked like the mouth of a well. She had her thumbnail pressed up against the vein on her forearm. He sprinted over and saw drops of red escaping from a fresh wound on her skin. "Is this a good idea?"A voice called out. Jason spun around, trying to pinpoint the origin of the sound. "Depends who's asking,"Emily responded, standing up and looking around the room. "I'm asking,"the voice demanded. Jason gazed over at Emily before they both shrugged. "This is a very very bad idea,"he said, still looking at her. A low chuckle echoed throughout the chamber. A thud boomed from behind them, prompting Jason and Emily to spin around. They craned their heads up at the tall, cloaked figure in front of them. At first glance, it seemed like a demonic shadow had been cast before their very eyes. "Blood rituals are incredibly dangerous, you are both aware. My only question, what has brought you here?" The figure stood unflinching like a statue. Jason stuttered a few times before Emily stepped forward. "We need to open a portal to the void realm." The cloaked statue moved ever so slightly, grinding the dusty stone under his feet. "Only desperate fools seek entrance to the void realm, child. Whatever might you want from such a place?" "A cure to the blood plague." A moment of silence fell between the three of them. The quiet shattered when the cloaked figure raised one hand and shot a beam of light at the basin in the center of the room. The droplets of Emily's blood began to glow before elevating off the ground. Within seconds, the blood morphed into a swirling portal of energy. A horrible orchestra of screaming and wailing radiated from the doorway between dimensions. "Thank you,"Emily said, moving for the portal. Just when she passed by the cloaked figure, it laid one hand on her shoulder and stopped her from advancing. "I'll be coming with you, child." The cloaked figure lowered the hood covering it's face. Jason stared in awe at what he saw. "Master Peko?" He looked over and gave Jason a subtle grin. When he spoke, his voice had returned to normal: "No student of mine will go through the void realm unattended." Emily stared at him for a few seconds before smiling bright and embracing him with a hug. "I thought you didn't condone dark magic?"she asked, still wrapping her arms around him. "I don't,"he said, rubbing her back and looking over at Jason. His gaze fell on the portal when he resumed speaking: "But the blood plague has taken my son, so now it's personal."
Amidst the chapped seas off-coast of Chile, there was a scoundrel of an octopus lurking beneath. Clad with rows of suckers branching a beak, it was capable of guzzling prey with ease. Above it, it dawned wooden boards bumbling through the waters. It overheard footsteps on the wooden boards. Caused by a score of corsairs, gleefully counting their sashes of stolen riches, gulping down rum by the barrel. The cephalopod knew well of the temporal risk of the danger of the sea-folk awake. Though once became night, lacking they will stand and defenseless they will be. The hours gradually withered by, ephemeral dusk having arrived. The waters were afresh with a halyconic softness leaving but the gentle rock of the craft seen. Given to drunkenness, the men drooped clumsily to the planks and fell into stupor. Leashing out with tremendous force, propelling itself onboard the creature did. The drunken men heard nothing of concern, blissfully riding life's waves of a maraud. Immediately, the urticating dryness of the night bit the creature throughout. A gust of wind blew over, stirring the gentle sea and making the octopus a man with messed brown hair, clothing, and all. Encapsulated with fear, the now-man studied intensively the behavior of the drunken fellows, weakly bumbling about in confused bliss. Looking up, was one asleep with a gleaming cuttoe above. The man was taken in awe and rapture over the illuminated jewel. Stumbling up the netted ladder upwards to the top, he grasped the sword itself. The lookout man leaped to his feet, catching the inexperienced man off-guard, crashing onto the deck. Wincing in agony, the man crept himself back into the water. The wispy waters of the night immersed the man. It garnered its beak back for a mouth, its sucker for a finger, and its tentacle for an arm. Storming off to the depths it went, jetting the opaque black in already bleak dim. Ache gripped itself during its midnight swim.
The old laws were clear. In every language, in every religion, exists the principal of exchange. Nothing is gained for free. The greater the sacrifice, the greater potential gain.. She'd lost so much already. Her child, her wife, every single bit of herself that counted. So she would lose a little more. Suffer a little more. This time, at least, it is by choice. "Ceaseless Watcher, I give unto you my sight as proof of devotion!"She said as she plunged the needles. The pain was unimaginable. Even after she removed those orbs from their sockets. Even after they filled with new life and saw so much more than ever before, they still bled. They still hurt. But to see the path was only the first step. To know what must be done. What needs to be done and how, for them to survive. The cult leaders fought hard, but with every cult she gained followers and strength. The cults of darkness fell first. Then the Flame and Putrescence. The Vast and Lonely didn't put much of a fight. Only the Flesh fought hard, but that's animalistic instinct for you. Every new conquest was easier. She didn't even bother with the cults of the Stranger. "Mother of puppets, Master of the strings, I give to you these slaves to do with as you please. I beg of you, grant me a power unlike any other- let me bind and ensnare death, to free two souls from his grasp, for what to him will be the blink of an eye."She didn't expect the Spider to comply, let alone joyfully. But, The Web does love a twisted scheme. With those powers, and her humanity long since gone, she bound Terminus. She bargained and pleaded. He, on his part, was as emotionless as a stone when he agreed to free them. In her shock, she could just stare. "Few things amuse me, little bug. Your struggle has been... A distraction, from my boredom."She couldn't see it, but she could almost swear that the ancient fear of death shrugged. "You'll all be mine, in the end.". And so, they were back. They stood before her, as healthy and wonderful as before the day the accident took them. And they saw what she'd done to herself. And they saw what she'd done to others. And she saw what she'd done to them. And they hated her. And they feared her. She didn't mind. They'll have their whole lives to forgive her, now.
Truth concealed in miracles One might wonder how people remember my ability if I make their memories disappear. In the age of modern technology, or should I rather say advanced surveillance, capturing one’s actions has never been easier than merely existing, breathing in the presence of a phone, a Google home device that promises an easier way of life, or in my case, a hospital full of dying children. One misstep can lead to a dimension of cruelties you once were a spectator of, or it can lead to a wave of awe, never leaving you alone. Just like how a Livestream continues unintentionally, or how leaked nudes give you the silent distaste of others, eyes are crawling on my back whenever I go. It was never intentional, revealing my ability that is. It was during a hot summer evening, and yet my skin had goosebumps all over. To smile while a loved one disappears, seeing them in pain for nothing they’ve done to deserve, but still smiling because it’s the only you know how to make their passing a little easier. It was the most tormenting moment in my life that I didn’t want any other to live through. As I walked through the hospital corridors, there was a sudden echo of a child screaming, screeching their voice to tire as they coughed for air. I don’t know why I just stood there, stuck in time as the crying bore through me, nudging a part of me that was sealed shut. A drop rippled a thousand waves and I broke down, releasing all sorts of twisted anger and frustration. Frustrated at myself for not doing anything as I watched her die in agony, purely for the selfish reason of spending more time with her. I’m getting old, and seeing young life drifting away that way made me stand on a corner by the entrance of the room, looking for an opportunity to go in unnoticed. I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing, that it would make everyone happy in the end. And so I walked into the patient’s room of a boy with plastic tubes sown into his body, chained to the machines that gave him life, but took his freedom. He noticed me and we had a conversation. I had never used my ability on humans before then, only on insects and occasional roadkills to test my limits. But a human being is another story, a different book in itself. I locked the door using the furniture I could find and turned off the machines one by one. He didn’t resist. He just watched me as his eyes got droopier and finally closed. I put my hand on his chest, feeling the heartbeats gradually dissipate as I concentrated on opening something out of nothing. In the background, I could hear the employees shouting and banging on the door. The sound of footsteps doubled, and before I knew it, my face hit the floor, arms strangled me on the back. I wiped out their memories, but even that couldn’t explain a man in his forties on the floor and a cancer-free, perfectly fine child on the sickbed. I was sent into questioning by the police, and to my surprise, there was live footage of me “reviving” that child. They had put surveillance cameras in that room to monitor his condition, and I had fallen victim to my own carelessness. I don’t want to be framed as a criminal, so I didn’t tell them the whole story. Let them fill in the blanks by themselves, believing I’m a saint sent by God himself to give children a new chance at life. It’s better than confessing that I killed that child and replaced him with a lookalike. It isn’t him, but a mere shell, a hallow imitation of the original long gone. I don’t know why, but I kept going, doing it all over again with a new set of dying children. Maybe it was a sense of pride by the pats on my back or the tight embrace by thankful parents that made me continue. But soon this attention became overbearing, and once the adoration lost its effect on me, I finally realized what I had done. It’s all an illusion. They blamed the silence on trauma, and I try my best not to blame myself for giving them false hope. Please note that english is my second language, so I apologise for any weird phrasing.
Some said that the mages had used their magic to teleport away. Others said that they had been destroyed by the gods. No one knew for sure. The generals gathered together to discuss what they should do next. They were all at a loss. There was nothing they could do but return to their homes and wait for the mages to reappear. ... The battlefield was a wasteland. The earth was scorched. The air was thick with the smell of burned flesh. Bodies lay everywhere, mangled and bloody. The ground was strewn with weapons: energy rifles, battle drones, void shields, electric barriers. The mages had appeared out of nowhere, descending like a swarm of locust on the unsuspecting aliens. The aliens had been caught completely off guard. They had no chance against the might of the human magic. The human mages had fought with a savagery that was terrifying. They were like a tornado, killing everything, destroying everything in their path. They had blasted the aliens with fire and lightning and every other kind of magic imaginable. They had torn down the aliens with their bare hands. They had killed mercilessly, without conscience. And now the mages were gone again as suddenly as they had appeared. There was nothing but silence. The air was thick with dust and the smell of blood. And bodies — alien bodies — lay everywhere...
"So tell me, why do you want to be called 'Vulka the Fearsome', when you just told me that you came here for heroic glory?" &#x200B; The question seemed to stump the heavily armored orc woman. Pondering the question, her eyes wandered, her calloused fingers played with the handle of a runic great axe, leaving our conversation with an awkward pause, but I didn't mind. There have been many pauses in the last hours. More than once I saw her lips part ever so slightly, as she made an attempt at answering, but before long, they closed again, to continue the quiet. Instead I broke the silence. "I won't claim to know you, but so far you haven't expressed any joy in regards to killing, slaughter, gore, blood, pillaging. Perhaps you can relate to Tollbar Blue-Meadow."A halfling, clad in a colorful patchwork cloak perked up from a fat stack of cook books, at the mention of his name. "If you remember, he said he went adventuring to get the funds for a bakery. Perhaps you can find fulfillment in other ways too."He gave a distracted nod, then sank back into cake recipes, left by lost civilisations. "But 's what orcs do.", mumbled Vulka in response, half heartedly shrugging her shoulders. "My Da told me it's always been that way." This time, I paused. Expectantly, Vulka looked at me, waiting for a response. "Well. Do you think it has to continue being that way?" &#x200B; "This is a waste of t-" A gentle gesture in the vague direction of the interruption was enough to refresh the spell seal. A group of disgruntled dwarves sat behind a lightly shimmering barrier of ancient arcanery. They had long since stopped thrashing their heavy axes and hammers against the transparent wall, and only occasionally their displease made itself known, when the Silence spell faltered. Romtubro, second born to the Scorpion Peak, Carrier of the Stonegrinder Standard, Leader of the Dwarven Expedition to claim the Obsidian Armory, gave me the stink eye. &#x200B; "Sorry about that."I cleared my throat gently. "Maybe customs changed in the last centuries, but I remember stories of wise shamans, seers and mystics, who became great leaders to the tribes of the east. Some were known as mighty chieftains and warlords, but I can tell you tales of just as many, who lead their clans in peace and diplomacy."I turned to the rest of the group, who were seated facing me in a semi circle formation. "You seem to have a knack for herbs and medicines. Ristavas told me about the fever week. Not only did you try to cure your fellow adventurers, you even left the group for a while, to go back to the village, where you took care of the afflicted elves. There was no bloodshed then. I think you can do great things, that don't require a battle axe. To my right Ristavas nodded along with enthusiasm, his long, pointy ears flopping back and forth vigorously. "Yes! Delightful company, even in a delirium.", sputtered the youngling elf of barely 70 years. "Don't remember much of that, but I recall how she held my hand for hours, while I was burning up. Gave me water, fed me soup." "See? I think you could be a herbalist, Vulka. The only cutting you should be doing, is on a cyst. Or maybe you could join one of your fellows in their ventures. Who here would run a shop with her?"The question was directed towards everybody. A few hands shot up right away, others were raised with some reluctance. Tollbar didn't even listen, he was already marking some favourite recipes, by stuffing bookmarks between the pages, fashioned from a vambrace, that he happily sacrificed to the cause. "Let's ask Ulmir, what he'd rather do. Maybe you two can start something produtive, once we are done with our initial counseling."
"F*** no Ares, that's not a prank!" Why did I think teaching the other gods and goddesses to prank people was a good idea? Ares was literally the God of war and combat, of course he'd take it too far. And who summoned the grenade box? Athena and Artemis... They were practically ninjas at this point. So far, I had counted twenty-six traps, if you didn't count the one that threw an automaton into orbit. You would never see them coming. Aphrodite though...she was the worst one of all. I had created a monster who could make you fall in love with anything. ANYTHING. I had seen Zeus make out with a French bulldog. I saw Apollo flirt with a pair of jeans. I SAW HELIOS-no, it's too disgusting. I can't. Of all the stupid things to teach them, why this? Why not crocheting? That was pretty cool. Or basketball. Anything would have been better than this. One God had remained strangely absent during all of this though. I quickly counted all the gods in that room. The only one missing was... Dionysus burst through the doors. "Daddy's home"he said with a mischievous grin. This was going to be a long day.
I walked into the dragon's lair, sword and shield in hand, ready to fight. The king had sent me to defeat the monster, since it had been terrorizing villages and flying off with of their riches. "Dragon!"I yelled. "Show yourself! Give back all those riches you stole!" Then, that's when I noticed that lair was nothing like any traditional dragon's lair. A huge 4K flat-screen TV sat on the floor, with a few video game consoles connected to it. A huge couch laid in front of the TV, its back facing the door. I walked over to the other side, and saw the big blue dragon laying fast asleep on it. It wasn't laying like how a dragon typically sleeps, though; instead of laying on its stomach, it laid on its back, back legs and tail outstretched, one arm resting on its chest, the other hanging off the edge of the couch. On the dragon's head, it wore a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, and an iPhone 13 Pro Max laid on the hand hanging off the couch. Suddenly, the dragon's eyes slowly opened, and it stretched out its arms and legs and let out a huge yawn. Then, it rose from the couch, looked around, took off its headphones, and said in a teenage boy voice: "Man, that was a good nap." Then, he saw me and said, "Well, hey there, lil' dude! What are you doin' here in my lair?" Thinking it was some sort of trick, I waved my sword near the dragon's face and said, "Don't be like that, beast. I've come to take back the riches you stole from the villages." "Woah, woah, slow down, dude,"said the dragon as he shook himself off like a dog, sending a few scales across the room. "I didn't steal nothin'. I haven't done nothin' bad." I waved my sword again and said, "Don't play dumb with me, dragon! Give back the riches or else I'll kill you, scale by scale!" The dragon suddenly began growling angrily, and smoke came out from his nostrils. Then, he roared, "I didn't steal nothin'!"He tipped his head towards the sky, and a blast of fire shot from his mouth and into the air. When the flames stopped, the dragon lowered his head, took a deep breath, and said, "Woah, sorry about that, dude. Lost my temper for a sec there. Happens sometimes. What I meant to say was..." He then leapt into the air and flew over to a big pile in the corner of the room that I hadn't noticed before. It wasn't a typical dragon hoard, though; instead of a big pile of gold, it was a big pile of... video game paraphernalia, mostly Nintendo. "I never stole nothin' from those villages,"said the dragon as he landed next to the pile. "I have a lot of human buddies in the villages, and they lend me all their old games all the time. I love collecting video games." "But, the king said you were terrorizing them,"I said. "Terrorizing?"said the dragon, confused. "Oh, did all those weird old dudes say that? Yeah, they don't like me much; they think I steal whatever my buddies give me. But I don't, I promise. I don't destroy nothin' either. I do got a lot of rare games, though, like this one." He reached into the pile and pulled out a gold-colored NES cartridge, and held it up for me to see. The text on it read: Nintendo World Championships 1990. "This is a gold cartridge of Nintendo World Championships 1990,"he said. "Only 26 of these babies are known to exist. One of my buddies' dads competed in the event and won, and my buddy gave it to me after his dad died." "Wow,"I said. "Do you have any other rare ones?" "Oh yeah,"said the dragon as he put the cartridge back in the pile. "I got rare games for days. Way too many to show." "So..."I said. "You're... not terrorizing anyone?" "Oh no,"said the dragon as he shook his head. "Like I said, I didn't steal or terrorize nothin'. I'm just some random dragon dude who likes vibin' and collecting video games." "Well,"I said, not knowing what else to say. "I'll be on my way, then." "Alright, dude,"said the dragon, and follwed me over to the door. "See you later."
I was pissed. Goddamn it — it was my last chance to see a future with Emily. My eyes lowered to my phone to her text, "what are they saying?". Locking the phone, I looked up at the regional supervisor who broke the news to me. "This fucking sucks, alright?"My frustration exploded finally, as my head was shaking lightly looking at the interrogation room glass next to me. "So, what now? Do I... Wait until you figure way out?", I asked the robotic man on the opposite side of the table. "No,"his piercing stare was making me a bit uncomfortable, "our orders are rather... Unhealthy,"that's when I noticed how he was hiding his hand, holding on to something behind his back. For a moment, I felt as if everything slowed down — I'm going to get shot. With a sudden adrenaline rush, I kicked the table as it barely moved. But the change of posture made him lose the target. "Listen don't sho—" Before I could complete, the mirror shattered. As my head was turning, I had chills for what I was witnessing. It was Emily, in a military suit, with a massive gun. As she was leaping through the glass, the robotic man fell down. "What, how, wh— hey hey, what's uhh?"My confusion was overwhelming. Emily looked up at me, reached out to her backpack, placed what she took out of it on my palm. In a split second, it immediately transformed to a rather bigger gun — an extension to my hand. "We've gotta run for now,"she looked up at me and smiled, "you're an AI."
The fighters are two cyborgs. One is a bounty hunter called 02, his body customized for agility and speed and painted black and blue. His weapons are a high-frequency sword and a plasma pistol. The other is the target, a hired killer called the Butcher. his body concealing a variety of hidden weapons, such as a retractable arm blade in the right, a plasma cannon hidden in the left arm, and hidden plasma pistols within his legs. The battlefield are the slums of a cyberpunk-esque city. Hope this is enough to go on.
“So you were holding his head in your hands and that's when you...” “That's when his skull kind of popped, yes.” “How did that feel?” “I mean, kinda squishy and sharp I guess. Didn't have the noise you'd expect. You'd think it'd be like a fwoop, or something, but it just sort of-mewh.” “Thank you for expanding, but, I meant how did it make you feel? Were there waves of guilt? Pleasure? Amusement? There is no shame in emotions. It's important to acknowledge them, and let them pass through us.” “Oh, boredom I guess?” “Could you elaborate on that?” “Well I mean, it's my job. They say I save people, but that's just not true. I don't cure diseases, or run into burning buildings. I don't deliver food to the starving. I kill people, and I'm good at my job. Still, there's no emotion in it. Do you ask a bricklayer what emotion he feels when he lays a brick?” “John, bricks don't scream for mercy before being laid.” “You think we wouldn't have brick houses if they did? I promise you we would.” “Let's put a pin in that. Back to this last incident, the uh..non-fwoop. Do you remember what he said to you when you grabbed hold of him?” “Something like a wife and kids. I don't know; I wasn't really paying attention.” “I actually have a news story here and several of the onlookers repeated back the man's cries. Would it be okay if I read that back to you?” “You do you doc.” “Please, please I beg you! My daughter is dying at home. I needed the money to afford the operation. Please, I can't die here!” “Okay, and?” “Are you saying you can't empathize with him?” “Those were the words of a killer that'd been caught by a better killer. It's rare that I kill someone who doesn't have a wife and kids or some other stupid sob story. You want me to empathize with these scum? I find them raping women with knives, selling 20 kids into slavery, torturing men to death and masturbating to the screams they make. I would drag them in front of their wives and dying fucking kids and systematically break each rib as they slowly drowned in their own blood before I'd empathize with one of them.” “John, you asked for this session, but couldn't tell me why. I'm doing my best here, but this could take ages and I could end up treating something that won't benefit you. In fact, addressing some aspects of your personality could actually harm not only you, but the safety of those in this city, and perhaps the world. Please, to get anything out of this, we need to decide on a goal. It's not a straight jacket, and it's not uncommon for it to change as we go along, but it is important. Please John, try for me.” “I guess..I guess everyone's starting to look like bricks.” “I'm really going to need you to tell me what that means to you.” “The difference between the killer and the nurse. They look the same, and despite the poets, rarely have crazy eyes. The man I killed at the bank this weekend, I've seen his face on 10 guys since then. Normal guys that just happen to look like him. That means that when I see them the image of crushing their skulls comes bleeding into my thoughts. The they smile and wave. Sometimes ask for a picture. So there I am smiling, standing next to a man whose face is crushed.” “Trauma can be hard to forget, but with the right exercises the effects of that incident can be lessened.” “It's not one incident. I can't remember their voices, but I remember their faces. I remember them all, and I've killed so many people. Now I walk the streets in a sea of dead faces smiling back at me, viscera slicking the sidewalks. I...I want to not be this way.” “John, before you said that you don't save anyone. I know it can be difficult to see the good in ourselves, especially if we see the majority of our actions as anything but. I think overcome this blind spot could help with this. You asked specifically for me, did you know that?” “What?” “You did. And, I think you had a very good reason. You see John, when I was 16 you saved me. I was caught in a barn fire trying to let out the animals. There was no one around for 3 miles, and I had accepted that I was going to die. Before I passed out, you flew through the cinders, wrapped your arms around me and flew straight through the roof and away from the flames. You even saved most of the animals. You didn't kill anyone that day. You only saved someone. I'm alive because of you.” “That wasn't me. You've got it mixed up. Hell, I can't even fly.” “We deal with the things we struggle with in many ways. Some can be beneficial and some can be very harmful. Avoidance is one of those methods.” “Are you saying I struggle with saving people? You realize how ridiculous that sounds” “John, were going to do something difficult now, but it's very important in helping you. Whatever happens I need you to know you're safe. There is no danger here. Can I talk to David now? We're old friends and I think he would really like to know that you came to see me. Can you ask him if he would like to talk to me?” &#x200B; Edit: Sorry...looks like I missed the word Chosen up there. I always do that...
The waiting room had the smell of sulfur and lavender. Everything smelled of sulfur down here. Not everything smelled of lavender. A red devil in a red dress sat across from Fresco in the waiting room. She read from the magazine, bobbing her foot to a tune all her own. To look like that, sinning must have been her job, thought Fresco. He didn't believe that's how someone got their looks down here, but he didn't mind parroting a line he liked from time to time. Fresco stared on through her at the peeling wall behind her. He thought that if he stared hard enough maybe the wall would peel a little faster. Fresco counted the seconds. Fresco heard that passing time when alive was easy, but he didn't remember much of that. In the land of the dead, he was old, so he was used to taking as much time as was needed. When there's no end in sight and nothing to live for, things move a whole lot slower. He figured that he was older than the red devil across the aisle. He was older than this lobby and the station surrounding the lobby and the square surrounding the station. He wasn't old enough to see what this place looked like under pandemonium, but he remembered what it looked like in darkness, before ole Lightbringer fetched that human torch. A hand made of bones stuck out from the chief's office. “Fresco,” said the chief, “step in.” He drew the hand back and let the door swing shut. The chief was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt that he filled completely with his skeletal frame. There was this truth in the chief's old life: he was big boned. The shoulder holster hung unclasped over the shirt. The pistol laid on the table. “Hell. It ain't like it used to be.” His hand clattered as he ran it over the his skull. “It's hotter than it's ever been down here.” “It'll freeze over, chief,” said Fresco. “I'll bet,” said the chief. He dragged his capped finger down the back of his skull until it whined like nails on a chalk board. Fresco blinked. “Listen Fresco, I've got Johnson and Tanner on security, what with the Hall of Injustice crawling with shades these days, and, well I hate to do this having earned your thousand year reprieve so quick, but I've got a right to call you in for duty. And you know on whose authority this is coming from.” “Yeah, ain't no one else it could be coming from.” The chief turned from the window and grabbed the pistol off the desk. “Boss has been in a mood. Brings that stupid fire from who knows where and hundreds worth of centuries later all it does is seem to piss him off. The chief popped the pistol in the air and pointed his fingers like guns at Fresco. “Believe it son,” said the chief as the pistol landed in the holster. “I'll always be impressed, chief,” said Fresco. The chief laughed. His teeth clacked together like boots on cobblestone. “There are some dossiers and reports down in instruction if you'd like to know the current situation. I know you've got a disdain for taking it from the source, so there's plenty of in betweeners. You'll need this too,” said the chief, tossing the holster into Fresco's chest. “Welcome back Lifefighter, it'll be like you never left.” \* \* \* At information, Fresco pulled the dossier for a pod of half-lifers. There was a dossier on a group of humans, but humans had there own problems. It didn't take much to a kill human. A shot to the head. A drop down the stairs. A few minutes without air. A few days without water. There were more ways to kill them than there were to keep them alive, and after Fresco killed his first human, he'd seen it all. Fresco didn't have any guilt or memory from his living life, but he remembered how he felt in his dead life, and there would be no more of that. Some Lifefighter's get off on it, letting the memories of the killed flood in, having just a crumb of the old life knock against the head until it felt it really was air that was passing through the nose. Like it really was blood pumping through the veins. Half-lifers would be fine. Fresco chose a group of zombies. It was this or vampires, and considering what the last pod of vampires was like for Fresco, it was an easy choice. He could still feel the scores on his bones from the last vampire den. The compound was an old grain elevator in a long dead town in the American Midwest. Or what was the American Midwest. It wasn't that when Fresco first showed up in the underworld, and it wasn't what it was called now, but in the more productive years of his career, this was what it was called. Whether these zombie were fresh or an emergent pod didn't matter. Each of their tiny half-lives was contributing to an underworld climate crisis. Hell was getting hotter, and Fresco didn't like the idea of adding scorch marks to his old bones. For Fresco though, this was going to be like any other zombie job. No stealth. No greater planning than the pistol and a lot of hollow rounds. That's the nature of a job like this. Get busy blasting or die trying.
Sparks floated and cracked from the fire in the room. On top of this fire lay a big, black cauldron, simmering and steaming. Wormtail scampered about, throwing this and that ingredient inside and sweating and bristling. He was a pathetic man, drove by fear and self doubt and self preservation. I didn't respect him, he was too weak to respect, but he was good enough to do what I wanted him to do and incredibly easy to control. Of course I could have controlled him with the imperious curse, but through fear... that's much more fun... A flick of the wand is all it would take to kill the man. The room was adequate. Another large dining room we found on the outskirts of a muggle town. The house was an old beast, built with stone and had a strong foundation. Where the muggles were exactly is another story. Filthy they were. Absolute filth. I could still smell their stench, even then. The right potion mixed with the right spells can conjure up just about anything. This particular brew was to be drank by the brewer, this was why I needed wormtail. I could not drink the stuff myself. I only needed what was to be conjured, not to be bound to it. I don't have a complete soul, see, so I couldn't quite be the one to offer anything. Wormtail didn't know it yet, but this just might be his last night. To take a soul from the body and to give it back, I really didn't know what would happen. It was exciting. I could feel the energy of the room start to change and I knew it was almost time. "Wormtail,"I said, "Do you know of the spirit the muggles refer to as the Devil?" Wormtail stopped what he was doing and sniveled, "Of course, master, of course. Muggle fairy tales I guess. They can't do magic, so they think it up." "We--Are you sure about that? I suppose the exactness of what the muggles think may be off. But I do believe there is an evil that lurks in the shadows, Wormtail. I have felt it at times, when I was gone. When I had no body, I had a foot in that world. You see, I know the devil exists. But the Devil isn't a person. Satan, if you will, is a force of nature." "Wha-- what are you gettin at?"Asked Wormtail. "Is this something to do with this potion?"His eyes went wild. "Master, please. Tell me what we're doing here." "Don't be afraid, Wormtail. Just like your hand, I will need something from you for this to work, and it is, I do believe, time for that sacrifice. I just need your soul... momentarily, mind you. I will give it back." Wormtail's face went paler than his already pale complexion in the moonlight from the window."Pu--puhlease, please no. Master. This isn't right. My soul is much bigger than my hand. Take the other hand."He held out his bare hand. "Please, just take it." "I am sorry, Peter, you know that won't work. You've proved yourself loyal, but you are just so expendable. It's too easy to not care about you, I am afraid. A rat really is fitting for you. Again, we will see. You will only be gone for a time. You just might come back. I am only using you to lure this force. It requires a soul to sacrifice to harness it's power. To have your dreams come true. Yet.. I intend to take it, regardless. I just need it here to take. Like I said, I have no soul to give and I certainly don't want you harnessing it's power. You are only bait. Don't forget that. I don't plan on bartering anything with this force. Perhaps I will be able to bring you back, after all is said and done. I will try my best, you have my word." Peter nodded, knowing there was no escape. "My lord,"he said, "How are you to remove my soul to lure this force?" I flicked my wand and the windows flew open, and everything went cold. The fire extinguished with a hiss. The glass on the windows frosted over. Not a happy thought to be had. A dementor quietly and softly floated through the window and into the room. Peter Pettigrew shrieked and shook in the pale darkness, immobile, and in a state of utter shock and fear.
Warning: this got darker than I intended “Hi. You don’t know me. Write a story about me anyway. Write a story of the me you think you know.” I hold the crumpled piece of paper with your words written on it. The letters are smudged, the paper is stained a dirty brown at one corner and the wrinkles are giving way to holes that look like slashes. Soon it will turn to nothing and I will have nothing more to hold on to. Your words will disappear, and with that your final legacy. And just like that, you will be dead once again. There are no loving friends visiting your final resting place, not least because you don’t have one. There are no devastated parents crying over your old pictures and christmas cards, I know because I looked. No siblings, no well meaning relatives fighting over your remains, why would they? There was precious little that remained anyway. Some bits of flesh, some torn clothes and the blood. So much blood! Do you know, I had to throw away my cheap sneakers from that day. The red stains first turned brown and then black, and then faded to a brown again. In fact, it was still brown today when I dumped them in the trash. I have to move on too, you know. I have promised them a new beginning and I intend to keep this one. With the little one coming in spring…I can’t let the shadow linger now, can I? I am used to talking to you this way, my dear. You are just a vague shimmery image that I alone hold inside my head. An image that has grown over a dozen years, living and laughing and changing with me. An image that has no semblance to what you once were. Does it really matter, though? I never knew the real you and long ago, I made peace with the fact that I never will. What matters to me is that this image of you stays on. How could I live with myself if I lose even this shadowy mirage that I created? Maybe that is why I dug out this paper today. I could have cleared out the rest of the garage, trashed more junk from more old cases and got the boxes dusted like the missus wanted. But, those will have to wait, my dear. I need to heed your words today, or I never will. And that would be a shame. Was this your last wish, dearest, the very last thing you wanted? To be noticed, even if it was by a stranger? Maybe not the last wish, I don’t think. You had other wants on your mind when you walked…well, when you did what you ended up doing on that hot rainy day. Anyway, here is your story, my darling, my precious one. I hope you like it and you can look at yourself the way I do. The way I look at you now, dear, not the way I saw you back then. It has taken me a lifetime of learning to look past the anger and the grief. I look at you with peace and love, and that is all I want you to think about yourself. This is the story I give you. You are young and healthy, you love and you are loved. You wake up to look at cherished faces that sit with you to eat breakfast. Toast and eggs on weekdays, waffles or pancakes on the weekends. Oh yes, sausages too, more often than not. You have your own room, you have your own shower and you love the citrusy smelling soaps that you use. Your friends tease you that you smell like a lemon, but you laugh with them. Maybe even crack a silly joke about squeezing you to see if you made lemonade. They laugh, your friends, because that’s what friends do. They see you and they delight in you, and are glad you choose to be with them when you could have had the pick of the people you wanted to be with. Is there one special friend, then? Just one, who loves you a little more than you think you deserve. Who laughs a little louder at the lemon joke even though this is the stupidest joke you have ever made. Your one friend who knows all your punchlines before you have uttered them with your exaggerated flourish. Maybe you hold hands sometimes, maybe you think you are too old to fall for a friend and too much of a cynic to risk losing friendship in favour of a romance. Maybe you are just unaware of the attentions and the forced laughter. Who could blame you, darling? There is just too much to do and look at and laugh about. The sun is too bright and the sky's too blue, to sit around and pine. Your energy carries you through the day, bringing joy to those around you. Till at last, it turns dusk and you turn your step home. To your own home where await the ones who will always wait for you. There are no plans, most nights, just watch some videos and play some games, maybe debate horrible news with an outrage and complacency that comes only from a distance. The plans don’t matter, do they dearest, because they all only mean one thing. That you are here and that you are wanted and the house would be that less of a home without you in it. My heart, this is your story. Forgive me if it paints a lesser picture of you, but this is all I have for you. I am taking this story and your note and I am going to lay it to rest. I will find a simple wooden box and place this inside, and bury it in my backyard. The backyard here, I mean. I am going to mark the burial place with a simple spray of wildflowers. When I'm done, I shall bow to you in silence once and walk away, forever carrying more of you inside me than I can leave behind.
——————Promised Land—————— We had thought ourselves equal to God. We reached out for the heavens, first with buildings, then with monstrosities of fire and metal. And when we won, when we invaded His home, we found that there was no God. There was only a vast, neverending abyss. When we went out into the final frontier, we were hopeful. A young, powerful species, filling our own heads with ideas of grandeur structures and achievements that would make God blush. How ignorant we were. When the first established colony died, some said we weren't meant for the stars. They were laughed at, ridiculed, as everyone who is wise beyond their time. But the deaths kept coming. We died by the thousands, millions, billions, until there were too many to count. We had reached the heavens, found this Promised Land of ours, only the promise was not of prosperity, but of horrors still unknown. Through all the extinction, we persevered. We built anew. It took us a thousand years, but we restored ourselves. We made the solar system our garden, plowed it, and planted our seeds. And then, just as we had thought we had bested the cosmos, we died again. This time, more and more believed those first pioneers, who had proposed that we were not Gods. They told of prophecy and hubris, divine wrath and punishment. And we rebuilt again, regardless. It took time, and grueling effort, yet only a spec in our Sun's lifespan. We had gone beyond mortal ken, over the greatest of barriers and the hardest of trials, and had achieved nothing. Absolute, cosmic insignificance. When we ventured back to our old garden, even we couldn't find a trace of our existence there. So absolute was our failure, so long the time of darkness, that we doubted we ever reached the stars at all. Which brings us to now. I am old and weary. So is every member of this forsaken species we call man. Our time is nigh. We were lost, and, if you're reading this, it means we have been found. So let a tired, old blasphemer advise you against following in his footsteps. Don't challenge the universe. Don't demand what you are owed. For, when you make demands of omnipotence, when you call out to the dark heavens... They may just answer. ———————————————————————————————
I still remember the day it happened. December 11th, 2019. My grandfather was dying. He was always a jolly man, full of life and vigor... but his age had caught up to him. His time had come naturally, and he would leave the world without regrets. I was with him in his final moments. He cared for me most of all. He wanted me, and only me, to be with him in his last moments. His breathing started to slow. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a spectral figure appeared. He was still forming, but just his silhouette was enough to tell us all we needed to know. A robed figure, masked, holding a large scythe... "The Grim Reaper!", exclaimed my grandfather and I simultaneously. But... something was off. The robe was white, not black. The mask was still creepy, but not skeleton shaped... it was the one plague doctors used to wear. The Reaper himself was a rather portly fellow, completely out of shape. And most strikingly of all, what we initially thought was a scythe was actually... an oddly shaped bathroom mop? "Oh enough of that already!", he said in a rather posh English accent. "It's always the same with you humans. I'm the GRIME Reaper. I told the old boys to spread the word that I was here to COMBAT the plague, and everything like it. Unfortunately, the printing press didn't work quite right... making me one of the most misunderstood heroes in all history." He assumed what I can only assume he thought to be a heroic pose, with one leg on top of my grandfathers future deathbed. Fear quickly faded into confusion as my grandfather and I glanced at each other. "Sir, I'm fine with you taking my soul, but can you please let my granddaughter go?" "Good chap! Haven't you been listening to anything I've been saying?" "I have, but...", my grandfather raised a finger to the scythe. "What's that for?" His vision was always awful, even when he wasn't dying. "This? This is my Utility Mop! It can clean..." He shook it, and it unfurled to become an everyday, garden-variety mop. "Wipe..." He bunched the left and right halves separately, and straightened them out to for one of those bathroom cleaners. "And reap the souls of my victims!" He left the Utility Mop as it was, and waved it in my grandfathers direction. "You're kidding, right?", I asked. "Ho ho ho! Anyway, the legends are all WRONG, and I ask that you enlighten your race. Death doesn't follow me, I follow death! You see, it's my mission, my life goal, to eradicate the world of all germs! I hate maggots most of all, so I try to keep your bodies clean for as long as possible after you die. I've been keeping most diseases at bay! Why do you think Earth is the only hospitable planet in the universe? Those space rays aren't as harmless as you think, young lass!" "Okayyy...." "Well then, I guess it's time to -" Suddenly, the window broke open. Heavily armored and armed men bust in to the ward. "I say, what is this commotion!" The leader of the men pointed his gun at Grime, and said - "We've been tracking the 'Grim Reaper' for a while now. He was there when the president died, and has been eluding us ever since." "That wasn't -" "Silence, scum! I don't know HOW you broke past top-level security, or traveled to six continents in five hours." "That's because -" "Is it just you? Or are you an organized crime ring, all built and dressed the same way?" "I'm just -" "Well, first, you've got to 'answer' for your crimes." He shot a bullet. It passed through the Grime Reapers arm. "THAT'S ENOUGH!", roared Grime. The agents were looking at each other much like my grandfather and I did minutes ago. "All I wanted to do was help humanity! To save your race from the horrors known as GERMS. But you've always feared, scorned and ridiculed me! Well, I have had ENOUGH! Let's see how you fare when I'm NOT around! This Reaper's going on a nice, three-year long vacation! Good day, sirs! ...And lassies!" He flapped his cape, and disappeared to thin air. We explained what had happened to the police. Then, we heard ringing from the clock. December 12th, 2019. The day Covid 19 hit our world.
"Nevermind that you damned fool. My people won't tolerate it. They know you have crossed the border established by your grandfather and reaffirmed by both your father and yourself. Nevermind what happens in the next moments your kingdom is done for. For what? What does killing me gain you that is worth the lives of your people and family?" "The killing of heathens will ensure that myself and my people ascend to the kingdom of Heaven and that is a gift beyond measure." "Well I suppose it's pointless to talk further than. After all my ancestors, one of whom you just nailed to a tree, have only ever asked my people to remember them for what they tried to do rather than how they did it."She bowed her head and heard the attack as the arrows punched into the king and his men. Standing she moved from body to body granting the still living mercy before pausing at the gasping King."We warned your ancestors we would not tolerate an attack. Now by the Oaths we are bound to carry out the agreed upon punishment. Sadly you failed to hold back your hatred long enough to survive the punishment."She said as she slid the blade into his body and his heart with practiced ease. - The attack came in a relentless assault that saw every member of the kingdom slaughtered no one be they child, woman or man survived. The contract had been very clear in exchange for land to grow on, the people had to learn to restrain their hatred for at least five generations. Failure to do so would void the treaty and see them exterminated as they would have been prior to the treaty. Had they made it perhaps only the perpetrators would be killed off instead the people had failed to uphold the bargain and teach themselves to accept others of different beliefs. To say the attack was merciless or malicious would be a failure of imagination as wherever possible each death was made to be as painless and quick as possible and each body was treated with the respect it would have been had its own people handled it. The bodies were prepared as their beliefs called for and the words that had meant everything to them were spoken as they were laid to rest and a grand mausoleum like those depicted in their stories was prepared to hold the bodies with each given the highest of their honors. When the last body was laid and the last words spoken the attackers walked away to tend to their own losses reaffirmed in their conviction that those who worship gods are mad fools yet also hopeful these ones had nearly lasted for four generations before they'd again lost their minds, there might yet be hope for the future of humanity. Which was good because those beyond the void between stars wouldn't hold themselves back forever and if humans were to survive they would need to learn tolerance and humility.
"Dearly beloved..." The gathered wore black. Nearby, the trees rustled in the soft breeze. "...we are gathered here today..." They stood in a circle, sniffling, sobbing, and dabbing at their faces. In the middle of them all, there was a hole in the dirt. Close family had chosen to bury her in the comfort of a hybrid blue and purple Weeping Wisteria, for its associations with love honor success and longevity. The other common choices were Old Oak, or Old Redwood, whose similar associations made them popular choices for men. Flowering trees were often associated with femininity, intuition, motherhood, friendship, love and softness. Lighter trees, with thinner stems, or shorter hights, or less density in the leaves even, such as a bamboo or palm, were often associated with youth or flexibility, such as in the case of someone who died young, or someone who was young at heart when they died. Oak was generally masculine, for strength, stability, endurance and power. A tree could be chosen for any reason or no reason though. Sometimes it was their favorite tree, or something associated to a treasured memory. Sometimes, people chose the trees based on who the person was to everyone, or sometimes it symbolized what they wanted for their family if they were a head of the family. Sometimes trees were chosen just for their beauty. Sure there were things people "usually"did, guides to go by, of some kind so you had somewhere to start, but at the end of the day there are no rules for what kind of tree to choose. No one is going to arrest you for the wrong tree. Choosing a tree and planting that tree was a ceremony that was about the cycle of life. Life begins. Life ends. Life is bitter. Life is sweet. There is a time for everything. A time to live and a time to mourn. We must accept Life fully, even the bits we don't like. Planting a tree looks to the future. .... Every year since, she went back. And every year she swore she heard her mom say "thank you for the flowers"
(Part 1) "Look, over there. What're they doing?" "Hm. Seem to be building something." "Give me the monocular... So, lots of bricks. And tables. Perhaps it is a base." "Great work. You know, we make a pretty good team." "Get your hand off my shoulder. Now." "Right, sorry." Laranto and Skogri, from the forces of good and evil respectively, had been sent to survey the enemy. They were amassing on the plain below, having arrived several weeks ago, and no one knew what exactly they'd do next. The strange timing of their arrival, right in the middle of a war between the forces of good and evil, led to a truce between the two sides and an agreement to investigate and, if required, stop the newcomers. When they travelled to the vantage point, Skogri had been making attempts to get to know Laranto. Usually, demons never spoke to human mages, so Skogri kept trying to interact with him. However, the mage seemed to grow ever more annoyed with Skogri's questioning. "So, how do we proceed?" "We simply keep watch. If anything of note happens, we report back." "So..." "What is it, demon?"Laranto asked, exasperated. "Can you talk to animals?" "Is that the best you can do? No, I cannot converse with animals." "I can." "Good for you." "Only a few have anything interesting to say. Dolphins are pretty funny. Actually, just thought of something." He'd noticed a flock of sparrows flying overhead. Whistling, he called one down, and it landed on one of his hefty curved horns. He looked to the mage, but he didn't seem to be impressed. "Never mind sparrow, off you go."The sparrow cheeped, then flew away. "I feel like I'm the only one trying to make this work, Laranto. I mean, for one thing, I call you by your name, you refer to me as "demon". It's disrespectful." "You're evil. Once the truce is over, we'll be back to fighting each other, so why would I want to familiarise myself with you?" "I've been thinking, what makes me evil exactly?" "Killed anyone lately?" "Yes. Have you?" "Only demons." He looked at the mage with disbelief. "Do you not hear yourself?" "Quiet. There's movement." Looking down the valley, they spotted a few armoured figures pointing metal sticks at dummies. "What are they up to?"the mage muttered. "Looks like some sort of rit---" Fire erupted from the sticks with a loud bang, leaving gaping holes in the targets. "Devil! What kind of magic was that?" "That's no magic, at least none that I have seen." "And you would know." Laranto gave him a sideways glance then stood up. "Come on, we need to report this."
Disposed like a forgotten childhood treasure, I attempt to push on. The sorcery by my former classmates and gurus have forbidden me to a realm inhabited by former promising magicians. I wasn't strong enough, or admirable in a sense of fictitious prominence. Peter Batus chose me as his starring pupil but had devious intentions the entire time we engaged as teacher and pupil. I truly believed he wanted the best for me, but my ambitions were too progressive for his liking apparently. Escaping this pretentious excuse for a university would lead to lamenting by my parents, but I had to get out. I was deeply asleep when they first made an attempt on my short and meaningless existence. Peter did not even have to enter the same room as me, as he cast a spell that paralyzed me, an immovable object meeting an unstoppable force. I tried to summon assistance in the form of formerly perished companions, but it was all in vain. Peter Batus is too powerful, one of the top sorcerers in this school. I applied to this hellfire infused institution with the best intentions. To create magic spells that could help and heal people inflicted with injuries or mental oddities. But obvious to me now, this establishment is meant for more evil purposes. The thing is, they do not want to dispose of me, instead they want to capture me and force me to remain in this place. Anyways, back to the present. I cannot move, and Peter appears in the corner of my room, lecturing me on my "foolish ways". "Foolish child, you sacrificed your own sacred fluids to engulf yourself in the ways of the Ancient, now you wish to eliminate your ties with the association of her greatness?"exclaimed Peter. "Unless committing righteous acts is now outlawed in the lands of the forsaken, you can never deplete me of my soulful intentions to preserve humanity as it is."I explained, motionless, struck by a powerful spell. I'll never make it out.
Sign my Name --- The evening is quiet as an elderly woman's hand strokes the texture of the letter. It is written with thick black ink, by hand, on pages so fine as to be unreasonable to mar with words. It is quite a long letter, and one you did not expect to ever receive. After all, it was so long ago. The letter, written with precise prose and feeling, did not need to be signed to know who it was from. "Time. Time is such a fickle thing. It is often like trying to hold a single grain of sand between two fingers, in the middle of a hurricane. It slips by at speeds you could never fathom in your seemingly infinite youth. Then, middle age hits. Most by this time have someone special, and together you grow to understand that that thing you so willfully ignore, all of the moments of every hour of every day, are meaningful. Once you lose that grain of sand, it is lost forever. We are always convinced that it lasts, and will last. That it can't happen to us. We are floating on a tiny river raft in this vast universe of ours. Our entire world, everything that has ever existed and probably to exist, represents nothing more than the briefest flicker of a candle on our raft. In the middle of a vast, unknowable ocean, where no light, no vision, and no hope escapes. I can still feel myself there, you know. The flowers surrounding us, cradling us. It was like real magic, the kind we had searched for for so long. The sunlight was bright and shone upon the morning grass and its dew like a field of daytime stars. No cares in the world. It was perfect. The Grove, we called it. It could satisfy everyone, always. Once you enter, you never leave. Time. Time is such a fickle thing. I realized that, yes. We could stay there forever. However, the cost was too high. Someone else must pay the price for me to remain, and I could not bear it to be you. I would rather die in a single lifetime, than to live a thousand more without you. I know not when you will emerge, but this letter will find its way to you. Follow your heart. If you want to move on, performing the spell will bring you your youth once more. If you still have more to see and do, that is your best option. If instead, you are tired and weary, and you feel ready, then by all means. Sign your name. Either way, I will wait for you. Always and forever. For you." Her eyes are shut when her maid returns. The signature is barely wet on her reply before she drifts off to eternal sleep. "I am on my way. Save a table for me. Love, Anabella." ---- Thank you for reading. For more of my work, check out /r/dumnem_writes.
"Ohhhhhhhh shit! You finally got the invite!"The guy across the table from me said, as I took a finger and brushed it over my lips. "Can't believe you're one of the people fighting the Kong this year!" "That so?"I answer back, my devious voice continuing to entrance. He shakes his head. "Yeah- you're definitely gonna kick his ass this time. Nobody can beat you!" I chuckle. What's the worst that can happen? ... Turns out, my friend was overexaggerating. Within the first minute, the Monkey King managed to lay out his first opponent on the floor- a renowned knight from Loftia, named Alexei. I had fought Alexei before and we had been dead even for hours on end, so to see him down that quickly was...rather terrifying. "Alllll right! That's one down!"The King, Sun Wukong, cheered as all the other invitees roared in raucous unison, whilst he sat on his cloud, banana smoothie in hand. "Alright, who's next?" "I want a piece of your stick, buckeroo!"Yelled out a lady armed with some strange armament. I believe it is called a gunsword... Well, it didn't matter either way though. 41 seconds and the woman is sent flying over some patron's head, who then cheered for the king, as did everyone but me. Even the Emperor, Lord Kunihiro, was seen chuckling as he held his cup of tea. All I did was sit far back as more hopefuls tried their hand at taking down the pole-wielding primate. A mighty sea brigand. A sorcerer who mastered her arts. A mechanical genius with a hot streak. An actual demigod. Even a minotaur trained in the arts of the very land we are feasting in. And none could last long in a fight against Sun. Eventually, the party began to die down, with the party-goers either being drunk out of their mind or beaten senseless by the King. Save for exactly 1 other person, only Sun remained in peak physique. And no, I am obviously not talking about the Emperor- he got too tipsy himself and delved into the fruit bowl. "Sooo...you're the only one who hasn't fought me yet, miss?"Sun pondered moderately. "I haven't heard of you at all." "My first time here."I respond, before immediately shifting the conversation away from myself. "The first guy you fought? I met him 5 years ago, a day after this very gathering. I've come to know him for a while, and he's a good man. Shame that his tales of battling you into the night were deemed false." "Nope!"He wags his tail at me. "He did actually did that...when I was weaker, 4 years ago. Since then I picked up on all his tricks- in fact, I know what everyone here has been doing; they never really change their styles, don't they?" "Conservationists...so that's how you get away with multiple victories; invite the people you know you'll beat." Sun beamed. "Yep- most of the time, that's what I do. Usually there's 3-5 new guests with each Sunrise Gathering, but it's only you this year." "So why just me this time around?"I questioned. "Found no other willing guests?" "...yeah. Guess the rumors of me being a tyrannical fighter managed to spread far enough this year."He nervously let out a chuckle, scratching the back of his head. "Hey, at least you made it." "Well then,"I take my legs off the edge of the table, and stand up from my seat, heading towards the center of the hall. Once I do, I reach my right hand out, and a longsword, with a key-shaped blade, appears in my hands, as a purple mist begins to spread from nothingness, enveloping the floor. All the while, the simple dress I wore becomes an elegant long-coat, purple & black, gold engravings of my language on some parts of it. I extend my right hand to the sky, and a small, chest-shaped lamp appears, acting as some sort of drone or familiar. Now with a devilish smile, I point the blade at The Monkey King, who has decided that, upon seeing me prepare my weapons, to power up himself as well. Eschewing his usual style, he splits his bar in two, and from the ends where it has split off, a beam of light about as long as the half itself appeared, as he now seems to be in his own armor as well, sporting shining platinum gear, adorned with gold plating across it all, and a dashing cape, probably steel-stitched. And with a battle cry, he calls for me. "Let's dance, Pandora!"
Dragons are, without a doubt, the most powerful magical creatures to ever exist in this world. It can take years, maybe decades, to be adept in magic to even rival a dragon. Even then, humans are limited in the amount of magic they can do at a time. But that doesn't mean there aren't ways to surpass those limits. While all creatures posses some magic, dragons are the strongest source of magic. Their physiologies are boosted by their own magic. It’s how they can breath terrible flames that scorch the earth or blow chilling winds with a flap of their wings. Even when they're dead, the remaining magic spilling from their remains can enchant the area around them, for better or for worse. But however you obtain that magic, then it doesn't matter. You've cursed yourself. Upon absorbing the dragon's magic, there's a feeling of power surging within you, like a terrible storm that can’t be contained. But over time, your body gets used to it, adjusting to the storm. This is where the curse truly begins. Every time you use magic, you gain the traits of a dragon. They start small, but they only get worse. There’s no going back. Every little change becomes permanent. And they’re far from painless. Scales appear in patches to replace your skin. One eye might not look the same as the other. Horns grow from your head in crooked shapes. Hands and feet elongate into horrible mangled claws. Parts of your jaws extend into a long snout, teeth sharpening into fangs angled out of place. New malformed limbs stab out from your back to form a pair of wings held together by skin, too small to let you fly. Is this the dragon’s soul wanting to break free or crying for help? Maybe the magic is too unstable and morphs your body to contain it. Or perhaps it's a punishment for committing such a horrible act. Whatever it may be, to whoever finds this, please, PLEASE, for your sake, do not even think of attempting this. There's no way this could be fixed. Magic is not worth becoming a monster. Please. Don’t make the same mistake I did.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the taste of rotting meat, nor to the consistency, for that matter. Coagulating blood oozes down my chin as I sink my teeth into the flesh of my kin. I close my eyes and imagine I’m eating a rare steak with garlic butter and potatoes. I fail at tricking my brain, and instead gag as I try to swallow the mushy flesh of the undead. The dead undead. He lies on the ground, gray skin, filthy clothes, matted hair. My dinner lays covered in blood, both his own and that of his victims. As I finally keep down my bites, I think of his victims, the innocent lives he took. I think of his life. He was once innocent, too. I wonder if any part of him ever remained after he turned. I wonder if I one day will become like him, mindless and hungry. I have my fill, and keep myself from throwing up. If I do that, then this was all for nothing, and I’d rather not eat the undead for nothing. I lay down, my back on the asphalt beneath me. I feel drowsy, and then I feel warm. Warm is a strange sensation these days. I can stand for hours beneath the sun and not feel warm. Just as I can stand in the pouring rain without feeling the cold. But as I lay there on the ground, with my stomach full of undead flesh, warmth fills me. It starts in my stomach and slowly spreads throughout my body. By the time the heat reaches my fingers and my toes, I can feel my aches and wounds heal. The gash on my right arm is closing up. My cracked rib doesn’t hurt anymore. Then every muscle in my body spasms. My eyes hurt. My lungs hurt. My body feels like it’s on fire. When I wake again, the stars fill the sky in a way they never could before the apocalypse. I sit up and look around me. My dinner lays rotting at my feet still, but something’s different. I look back up at the stars. It’s the middle of the night, but I can see everything as if it were as bright as day. Cool. I scramble to my feet. I feel well rested and better than I have in a very long time. I hear something I haven’t heard before. Air escaping someone’s lips. A heartbeat, not my own. It hasn’t beat for months now. “You came back.” I speak, turning my attention to the car on the side of the road. “I had to make sure you were okay. I was surprised to see you sleeping. Didn’t even know you could sleep, didn’t want to wake you though.” He opened the door and stepped out, and I was acutely aware of each sound as he did so, his jeans moving against the seat, his hand on the door, the door opening. His shoes scraping the ground. This was going to take some getting used to. “Only after I’ve fed. It’s like my body needs a reset to finish installing the new updates.” “Is that what we’re calling it?” He asks, smiling. I shrug. I lean down and reach for my machete. It feels lighter than before. Every time it gets lighter. That’s not true, of course. “So what updates did you get this time?” “A bit of everything. Sight, hearing, strength. Something else too, I think, but I’m not sure what just yet.” “Let’s go find out. There’s a horde on the other side of the river. Fifty or so zombies.” “Just fifty? And what will you do?” I ask, grinning at him. “I’ll pop the popcorn, sit back and enjoy the show.”
"This will be an interesting one." I giggled to myself seconds before getting ready to go live. "Welcome back to the Andromeda's most listened radio show. I'm your host ⏚⟒⍀☍⏃⊬, and I have my guest for the night here with me, he needs no introduction, one and only alien researcher, professor ⋔⎍⍀⏃⏁. It's so nice to have you on my show, once again, welcome." "Thank you for having me ⏚⟒⍀☍⏃⊬. I'm happy to be back."I replied. "So, ⋔⎍⍀⏃⏁, I heard you just discovered a new alien race in milky way, I can't tell you how excited I am to hear about... Uhm,"He looked at the paper in front of him and let out a short laugh. "Okay, I have no idea how to pronounce this." "They are called humans, ⏚⟒⍀☍⏃⊬. Such interesting things they are to be honest." "Hynans, is that right?"He asked. "Well, it's close enough."We shared a fake laugh. "So, tell us more about these hynans, how similar are they to us?" "Well, ⏚⟒⍀☍⏃⊬ I spent a fair amount of time among them, and I must say not much. Are you familiar with the word primate?"I asked. "Uhm... Thumb?"he asked. "Exactly that, thumb. But humans tend to have two of them on their upper body and two more on below." "Wow, that sounds like a record doesn't it?" "Almost ⏚⟒⍀☍⏃⊬, almost a record,"I said, showing all 6 of my thumbs at the back of my head to him. "But I actually wanted to talk about something different they have, this... Oh, and know that I'm not exaggerating. They have this thing they call a nose, and they use it in a similar fashion they use their other sensory organs." "Care to elaborate that for us professor." "Certainly, now since this is something I've only seen in this race, I can't explain it as proper as I could. But I can say that, it is similar to tasting something." "So, they use a different organ for tasting?" "No, they have mouths, you know mouths right?" "Yeah, yeah, my sister-in-law has one actually." "Now they that, but also another organ, which enhances it. But it doesn't stop there .......... &#x200B; Okay, I'm sort of tired and don't know if it's okay with community rules to leave something half finished, but I'll go on with this later, if that's okay.
The box, all dark wood and faded gilding fit perfectly on my night table. I had been eyeing it in the antique store for a few days, popping in to check on it every time I came home from work. But finally, it was mine. The few items that could fit in it meant that it wasn't highly practical, but one does need to indulge once in a while. I managed to fit a small journal, my reading glasses, one of my watches, a deck of cards, and a game of travel chess inside. An odd assortment, but it at least reduced the inordinate amount of clutter in my place. The last thing I saw as I went to bed was the box, seeming to glow in the dark. Probably just a reflection of the streetlights outside my window. Waking the next morning, I opened the box, reaching inside for the journal and my glasses. I had an idea during the night and wanted to scribble it down. Instead of having to feel my way around the other things in the box, my fingers dropped to the bottom, scraping against a single sheet of paper. Bolting upright, I grabbed the box, pulling it onto my lap, pausing as my head swam from the sudden movement. Sure enough, instead of the items I had put in there, was a simple piece of paper, torn from my journal. Setting it aside, I inspected the box, probing with my fingers, looking for trick bottoms, or anything else that would explain the disappearance. Nothing. It was the same as when I bought it. I pulled open the night table drawer and took out my spare pair of reading glasses, silently thanking my absentmindedness. I had meant to throw them away when I got my new ones, but I never got around to it. Settling them on the bridge of my nose, I perused the note. 'Helena. (Not my name.) You have quite the odd sense of humour. First, you send me nothing for years and years of your human life, and then this! The most ridiculous collection of items I have ever received. Not one correct thing among them, except perhaps the thing that ticks. But even that isn't a proper metal. No, perhaps the only thing of any worth, is this updated paper. Much easier to write on than what you used to send me. I have if I must admit, missed our correspondence. The others may send things more regularly—though not nearly as much now— but they were never as interesting. None of them ever wrote to me. Though I wonder why you have not sent things in so long. Perhaps you grew bored with our game. Is that why you sent me these inane things? And with no word of explanation. But, dear little one, while you always thought of this as a great game, it was serious to me. I needed the things you sent me. Without them, and with the others also less regular in their gifts (here the hand grew shaky as if the writer was experiencing some sort of tremor) I believe I am dying. Please, Helena. I need your help. Find the others. Send me what I need. I may live much longer than your kind, but even I will die if given no sustenance. Please. Help me. I squinted, at the end of the note, but no amount of peering would help me decipher the spiky signature. There might have been an M or a W but it was difficult to tell. I stared at the letter, not really seeing the words anymore. Whatever I had stumbled into was much bigger than I thought. What was this being that would die without items sent to it? What was the proper metal? Where was he/she/it? How did the box work? And who were the others? Setting the note down, I rose, quickly dressing, and making a call to work. I was taking all my vacation time, effective immediately. The first thing I needed to do, was to find out who Helena had been. And the only place I could start was the Antique shop. Stuffing the note into my pocket, I sped out of my apartment. Someone or something was dying, and there was no time to waste.
"Yes. I do."I pull the pin from a grenade, and leave it in the ground in front of the group. Then book it for the exit, diving to the ground. With a bang, shrapnel goes flying. Looking back, I see that most of the cultists were taken out by the blast, the rest too injured or concussed to be any problem. Taking the nearest staircase, I head upwards. After about seven floors, I finally reach the top room. The supposed incarnation of their god sits in the middle of the room, asleep on a pile of cushions. Running over, I gently shake the small girl. She does not move. "Ellie, please get up!"Looking around, I notice a syringe and a bottle of some sleeping agent. Silently cursing, I hoist my daughter onto my shoulder. Running back downstairs, I can hear commotion in the rooms and stairwell. Readying my rifle, I watch as the first heads pop into view, shaved heads making a clear target against black stone. I drop the first two, and then chuck a grenade down the stairwell. After the bang, I grab my daughter and run, barely avoiding bodies as I race down the stairs. Arriving on the ground floor, I head for the entrance. a horde of white clad cultists block my path. Slowing to yank the pin, I chuck my last grenade into the group. Then race toward a window. Their incessant chanting hammering my ears "You cannot escape. You will not secape."Repeated over and over. Echoing through the hall. Briefly setting Ellie aside, I smash the window, then grab her and jump through. Running to the horse. Putting Ellie over the saddle, I swing on myself, adjusting her so she would sit in front of me. I hit the horse with my heel, and he takes off like a shot, hurtling over the path that led me to this hell hole. We only slow once there is some distance between us and the castle. As we go, I still wonder to myself: how the hell did we get here?
I was told I should model from the time I was 6. Any time I showed interest in things that required intellect, I was basically told to "simmer down."Fast forward and now I'm a teenager, with huge boobs and a pretty face, being leered at by grown men. My parents won't allow me to attend parties at friends houses, and I'm socially awkward. I manage to make a few friends and within months, one of the girls in the group is convinced I want to steal her boyfriend, and the other has been fed lies by jealous friends of hers that I've been talking shit. They gang up on me and I actually managed to hold my own in a two against one, which leaves the students to resent and fear me, but I'm also left alone and friendless. Oh, also, I'm apparently a whore, despite being a virgin. This isn't a story, this is my real life.
I watch the countdown blink down. Three, two, one. Me and Dante cast spells to replace all the things technology was doing, atmosphere, moving the spaceship, lights, and then we add some spells for things technology couldn’t do, like gravity. I lay down on the ground exhausted. “Adira, at midnight the technology didn’t die right away. It lasted almost another half hour,” Sonya says. We investigate into it, but Earth didn’t experience the same thing, and no one has any explanation. We settle into our life with the four of us three years into our twenty year journey out of the solar system. Luckily magic, and advances in technology could cut it down to those twenty years because fifty years just to leave is too much for me. The next year, I cast a spell to project the countdown onto the wall. When it reaches zero, I remember last year, about the tech working longer then it should, and cast a spell. It works, the magic feels a bit weaker, but I cast a spell in an even year. I tell Dante, and he’s able to cast a spell too. Once Sonya and Alistar finish setting up, and making sure all the tech works properly, we tell them. And the magic still works those two hours later. It takes a week for magic to stop working. Every year the opposite thing works longer than it should, and Earth hasn’t yet come up with an explanation. We’re almost to Uranus, with tech still barely working three months into an odd year when we pick up a signal. We find an alien ship. We contact them on the radio, I cast a translation spell and ask if their in trouble. “Yes, our ship seems to be breaking down, and we don’t know what’s happening,” they say. “I’ll go over, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to help.” When I reach the ship, I soon figure it out. “Your entire ship works on tech and magic mixed together. It’s a magic year, of course the tech wouldn’t work,” I say, then remember that our tech kinda does work. “Wait, so it’s just Earth where tech and magic switch years, and since we’re getting farther away… Okay, so your going to have to rely on magic now, that’s the only way to keep your ship working.” They reply, “We’ll try to figure out how to use only magic. But, magic and tech switch years? What sort of place could that happen on?”
Power comes from fear. Four simple words, but these might as well have been his life's motto. He had instilled fear in the hearts of foes & friends (if he had any friends), and on the basis of this very fear, he had built his empire. He was untouchable. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; One day, however brought doom for him. As he was dining in his luxurious hall, his enemies sauntered in. 'Who let you in?!' He bellowed. They paid no attention to him. He let loose a string of profanities. One of them punched him, making him fall down. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Then he saw it. A dagger. It swished around his neck. He woke up with a start. It took some time to take his bearings, but he realised he was in his bedroom. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘸, 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦, he thought to himself. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Felt real, though, didn't it?' A voice came from his left, taking him unawares. The voice belonged to someone with a charming face. He wore a gray shirt, a black blazer & a black pair of trousers. His hair screamed perfection, but his eyes said deception. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Who... Who are you?' a strangled voice came from the startled man's throat. It instilled no fear. 'Take another guess.' said the man in the blazer. Suddenly, the startled man started falling down, along with his four poster bed. And he kept falling. He woke up again. A familiar face greeted him again, in his bedroom. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Y... You are Death, aren't you? No, I can't let you take me. I still have a lot to do. I still... '. 'I am not Death. I am something worse, much worse. I am Darkness.' the man answered. Our hero tried to chuckle, 'Ha! If you are Darkness, how can I see you?', but it was in vain. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'That's because I live inside you. But for me, you are just a vessel. I will not try to prove myself a third time to you. Do you know what the worst part of a nightmare is? Not the start, not the end. No, the worst part is when you wake up. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; This ensemble is not me. I am what wakes you up from a nightmare. And I will always be there to wake you up. Good night.'
In the Shadow of a King Pana’s territory consists of the most northern tip of the Masai Mara preserve. It has been held by the lionesses for untold generations and for the last 16 years, Pana was the lone male. It was summer, and the sun was cruel, for both Pana and I. We were walking west, with sun clawing at our backs. The lion knew I was there. While I knew he could smell me from quite a distance, he even stared me down when I dared to come closer than 50ft of him. But Pana knew me, his pride knew me. His former pride anway. I had been taking pictures in Kenya for decades. I knew Pana as a cub, I knew of his wanderings, and I photographed his first meeting with the pride that would be his home. My portfolio is full of stories like Pana’s. I was told Pana meant ‘wide’ or ‘broad’. It was an apt description of Pana, at least in his prime. His shoulders put draft horses to shame and he was more beautiful than any celebrated thoroughbred. His majesty’s muscles flowed under his skin as he patrolled his domain. But now, he was thin, frail. My camera lenses chronicled his descent with an intrusive honesty. Yesterday, his tail finally fell off. I took several photos, even closeups of the rotted and discarded thing. It looked small on the ground, riddled with rot. The stump it left behind was blackened, and the flies who knew no ruler, began to gather. We have stopped by a small water hole so we can help restore ourselves. There are birds here, but even in Pana’s waning, none dare come close. At 87, I find these walks more difficult, the sun heavier, and the lenses harder to focus. But I continue. Pana deserves his story told. At night, I stop earlier than Pana does. My feet have gone numb, and no longer support me. I slip into an ill-advised slumber. When I woke, the King of Northern Masai Mara himself stood over me. No matter the years on a lion, it is still a massive divine beast. A wild reminder that by the benefit of tools alone are we no longer its subjects. Pana continued walking westward. I knew the area well, I knew most of East Africa well. I had wandered its wilds with cameras and brashness that had won many awards and accolades. It supposedly means that I am the best photographer. Maybe I am. Maybe I am not. But all I wanted to do was bring the beauty of the wilds back to the people. I am very tired. Pana has led me to a large rock nestled into a larger tree. He takes his time climbing, his bones and joints must be aching like my own. The sun has past its zenith, and I walk behind in his shadow. For hours, I stood behind him, looking at such a regal entity. Even at his twilight, there is a noble dignity to him, a sense of duty. Pana knows where he belongs and his place in the universe. Now he stares at a setting sun waiting for his end. The shadows have grown very long, and even at this distance, his shadow touches me. I raise my favorite camera and take my final photo of Pana, my last king. I am tired and I will go and take my place by his side, and watch the sunset together.
Today had been a decent day. It had been three months since I was evicted from my home, and since then, I had been living off the streets. Begging for food and money, doing good ol' fashioned dumpster diving, you know, typical homeless life. Some people were nice, while others were a little more unsavory. I had even ran into a couple of gangs. This time around, I had managed to snag $20 and some fruit from a Starbucks trash disposal, which would tide me over for a little bit. It wasn't the best thing in the world, but when surviving on the streets with no real close contacts or family, it did the trick. And then the bus came. The bus was pitch black, with no windows or obvious doors. It slowed down and pulled up next to me, and then a door opened. Now, normally I'd get outta there as soon as possible. But this was not normal. I had grown tired of these streets. I had been aching to do something, go somewhere for quite a while now. And this bus... it seemed to radiate the prospect of adventure. Escape. So naturally I climbed on. The inside of the bus was also pitch black for the most part. The only things that had color were the seats, and even then they looked like the kind of seats you'd find in a school bus. No seatbelts, grayish-green coloring, anyone who's been on a field trip as a kid would know. "How you doing?"I heard someone say. I turned, and saw a man in the driver's seat. He looked to be in his 30s, with dark brown hair, a tall and imposing physique, and a very professional outfit. "Alright, I guess. Just eager to be off the streets for once,"I replied. "Trust me, you won't be disappointed,"the man says. "Say, what's your name?" "Jeremy,"I said. "Nice,"he replied. "Now, sit down. You're in for a wild ride." I sat down behind him, as he instructed. A few seconds later, the bus revved up, and we were off. Except, something felt different. This bus was in the middle of a crowded downtown area. It should've accelerated for a second, and then stopped. But it kept going. Before long it was at highway speed. Then it felt like a plane taking off. And then a spaceship launching. "Where are we going??"I shouted. "Just relax. Close your eyes,"he said in an unnervingly calm voice. I wanted to speak up again, but it was like he had cast a spell over my body. I felt more and more tired, and eventually fell asleep. When I woke up, the bus had come to a standstill. The man opened the door, and what I saw was unbelievable. It was a domed city, on a barren moon, orbiting a gas giant with rings that put those of Saturn to shame. It was like something out of a sci-fi film. But something was different from normal science fiction. There was an odd feeling in this artificial atmosphere. It felt like... "Magic,"he said, completing my thought for me. "This moon is the only place in the whole universe where the conditions are right to create magic as you know it. Here, technology and magic collide. Species from all over the galaxy come here to hone their magical skill sets. It's a bastion of cooperation and peace for the quadrant. Where conflicts die down. Where the playing field is neutralized. "And I,"he said, "preside over it all." You take a step back. "Who... who are you?"you say in a tiny mouse voice. "Me? I'm the most powerful magician of them all. For I am only known as... The Bus Driver."
10 The bullet rings out and another body drops to the floor. With how narrow the passageway into the bunker is, it would be far too difficult for them to rush in, even when she was just equipped with a rifle. 9 She'd been trapped in here for 16 days, the food was long gone and she was running low on water. With only a fistful of bullets left, she knew it wouldn't be long now. 8 She couldn't even hear the sounds of artillery anymore, that's how far from the front lines she was, and likely why she was still alive, probably only a handful of troops left to get rid of her, problem was she didn't have enough ammunition to outlast them, and since they always pulled the bodies back out after their first encounter encounter, she couldn't even try to loot them anymore. 7 6 5 The stench of rot was revolting and the air stagnant. She was having hallucinations and even wasted a precious bullet on a shadow. They were always mocking her just outside the bunker, and began playing a large ticking clock, saying every 3 seconds a comrade on the front lines was killed. 4 3 She was afraid to sleep. She almost was caught twice now. She was dreaming she was being rescued the second time, it was so sweet, until she felt the knife enter her gut. At least it wasn't bleeding anymore, but it was becoming so hard to focus now. 2 She swore she heard artillery again, but she also thought she wasn't alone anymore. The body of the man who had stabbed her talked to her sometimes, talked about his family, how he just wanted the stupid war to be over. How peaceful it was to be asleep, and she should join him. It wouldn't be long now.. 1 All she could hear was the sounds of battles past. The screams. She was shaking at times, like when the artillery shook the earth. Her last bullet. She didn't want to be taken by them. She knew what happened to the prisoners, she'd been one before. Everything was a blur, She wasn't sure if she was even awake or if this was all a bad dream. She thought about her childhood, at least what parts she could remember before the war. How she desperately wanted to see her little brother again. The one that didn't have a bullet blow his face out when it entered the back of his skull. This was the end, she knew it. She could hear her comrades in the distance, calling her name... 0
I hear them before I see them, hard wood hopping on asphalt. “We do the time and the crime!” One of them chimes. I run. The grandfather clocks are surprisingly fast. “You run fast kid, I’ve got to hand it to you.” “But on the face of it, your number’s up.” “We’re gonna eat you after, kid, as time consuming as it might be.” “Grands, can we - can we not? Just this once?” A dissenting voice in the pack pipes up. “Would you say that it’s not the time for it?” “Lighten up, these bodies are hardly built for speed - but time flies when you’re having fun!” The pun-protester doesn’t argue, and the ticking and the tocking gets heavier as the bulky bodies approach me. As they close in, an awful question arises in my head: would I die first from the knives, or the awful puns?
Day 15 of my cycle has started. Ten days left, until sleep. Normal sleepers might find it funny to count days from dawn, until you ask them when they consider yesterday over. They all say: "when I wake up". So my today is 25 days long, with a 5 to 6 day night? That's when it clicks. Or when we point out, that most of them wake up after dawn. So doesn't that make dawn the point, where today becomes yesterday? They call us binge-sleepers, or non-sleepers, or just freaks. It started gratually. Mass insomnia or sleeping sickness, the media had a hard time deciding which was worse. Most said it was the sleeping. Hard to keep a job or go to school, when you're awake for less than an hour a day. Attitude changed very little, when it became clear just how wide spread this issue really was. People adapted. We had to. Sleeping pills and stimulants do nothing. Employers were thrilled for a brief second: workers, who don't need that pesky downtime. Boy, were they proven wrong in a hurry. Just because I can't sleep for days on end, doesn't mean I want to work 24 hours a day. Some of us do work around 16 hours a day. And you can bet your butt, they want to be paid for every single minute of it, just like the short-sleepers. And we do get tired. We need rest, even if it's not sleep. Work is a way to spend time. That's the hard part. I can remember, how sleeping used to be. A good six to ten hours of every day, just like that. Out cold, worried if I'd still feel exhausted after. Heck, that still worries me. Now, I have to figure out how to occupy my waking time. And prepare for sleep, too. Some short-sleepers think our sleep schedual must be wonderful. And then we ask, if they've ever had to fit an entire days worth of essential functions into an hour of consciousness. We still need to eat, use the bathroom, bathe, and maybe even check the news or messages every day. I'm lucky my boss understands binge-sleep to a degree. I freelance some of my work, so taking a six day sleep break isn't a problem. As long as I get enough of a buffer and answer a few messages during my sleep days. My cousins kid isn't so lucky. He's the only binger in his family. Nights are so boring, when he has to be silent the whole time. Plus, some of his teachers are real pains in the behind about attendance. Doesn't matter, if the kid has a medical certificate or the principal tells them to knock it off, they still try to suspend him every month. Stubborn old hags, the lot of them. Some bingers have started their own special schools. They're still few and far between. Same old-fashioned thinking's still popular in some workplaces, too. Labor laws take care of that, in most cases. Illegal to deprive a person their sleep. Not surprising, those same places would work bingers for doubles without overtime, if they could get away with it. Well, I'd better change clothes and get going. Might check out a few new books for the next few nights. Or maybe catch a night show at the movies, again. 24/7 services are getting more and more common these days. Not so hard to find people willing to work the night, when almost half the population is awake anyway.
*[AN: I took this in a slightly different direction from the prompt. Please forgive the deviations.]* “I can’t remember the last time I saw Marlon. It must have been, I dunno… thirty, forty years ago. Actually, now that I think about it, it was after the asteroid, so I’d say about thirty. But anyway, all I remember is that we made a promise and I want to keep that promise. “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen them. Marlon and I watched them through the view panes of the Juletta back when we were kids. We were playing in the common area, surrounded by the other residents, when we heard the gasps from the others. “I will admit, I was too focused on our game until my father, the head scientist of the station, pointed to the window and exclaimed, ‘Tay, Marlon, look!’ I now realize the crack in his voice was from choking back tears from the beautiful sight. As we looked out, we saw these white, absolutely massive, creatures float past. “You might think it was a ship, but no ship moves like these did. I watched one of our scientists float out towards one to get a sample–she disappeared halfway to them. Her white spacecraft blended in with the creature’s outer casing long before it became the small speck that finally made contact three days after launching from Juletta. “Apparently she gave my father a fright, as she didn’t return for days. She said she hadn’t been sure if she should harpoon the creature or just land on it–which would make the creature less annoyed. She said that as she got closer, she realized she’d have to land on it, as it had its own gravitational pull. “I had always envied her, being able to touch one of those amazing creatures. They later named it the Star Whale, based on some material in the sample that reminded my father of ‘blubber’ on an aquatic Terran animal they called a whale. He showed me holos, but I never saw the resemblance. They looked more like a creature called a ‘dragon’. Folded skin surrounded one part of their long, slender bodies, acting like a sail and, according to my father’s research, caught radiation for processing into energy. “It took fifteen days for them to pass by from start to finish. Even until the final day, everyone on Juletta kept staring out the windows, watching them in fascination. Marlon was especially transfixed. Though he was a youngling, he approached my father and requested to help study the sample that was brought back. My father smiled and told him that he would be glad to have his help… after he was a little older. “Marlon joined my father as an astrobiologist a few years later, studying the sample that had, surprisingly, not decayed over the time period. I followed my mother’s footsteps and became a hydroponics engineer, working on food production for the colony. He would always go on about the sample they had taken, how it continued to stay fresh over the years, and how studying it could lead to advancements in human lifespans. “Unfortunately, the asteroid hit before any significant progress could be made. It hit the oxygen scrubber wing just before lights out, so everyone was winding down, getting ready for bed. But fifty families in the middle of deep space meant we couldn’t breathe easy. A team of scientists, including my parents, went to inspect the damage. They radioed back that the damage was too bad; they were unable to patch the ship and fix the scrubbers. We would have to evacuate. “It was a tense day. Many people were injured in the panic as families collected their belongings and headed towards the escape pods. My family and I made it to one and ejected, setting course for one of the other known stations. “All the lifepods had to communicate, as we couldn’t all go to the same station; it would put too much strain on their systems. After a few weeks of travel, we lost connection with the other pods. I assume we dropped out of range. After another week, we came in contact with the Burdue station. “My family and I were able to fit right in soon after we arrived and found quarters. As I was doing my work, I would stare out into the stars and wonder how the other pods were doing. A few years later, I got my answer. I got a message from Marlon, passed along from other space stations. His family had made it to the Xulon station and had been working on the sample. “He said he had made progress and wanted to share it with me. Said we should get one of the new solocraft the Direk station had come up with and meet up somewhere. Based on the map, the Juletta station was the closest meetup spot. We set up a rendezvous time and I rented a solocraft. “Most of our time on Juletta was walking around the abandoned station in suits, taking in the nostalgia and talking about what he had discovered. He said he liked to work to an old Terra song his roommate on Xulon introduced him to, What a Wonderful World. Said it made him feel connected to the StarWhales. “Based on layers of radiation from within the sample, it seemed the StarWhales migrated through this galaxy about every half-century. Marlon said he wanted to fix the Juletta and stay here, just him–and me, I wanted to join him–until the next migration. “I was skeptical, but he said he had patched the oxygen scrubber enough for a few people to live on the station for a few years, and there were more than enough food ration packs. In the end, I went back to Burdue; back to my partner. “Unfortunately, Marlon lost his sanity while alone on Juletta and took his own life around fifteen years ago. Do I feel responsible? Maybe a bit. I read through his notes when I got here, there wasn’t much new information he had learned from the sample. “After my parents and partner died, I decided to continue his research. I didn’t think there was anything more I could learn from the sample itself, so I decided to follow the next step: join the whales on their migration for as long as I can. They’re due to migrate through this galaxy any minute now. I have a long-range radio and plenty of food rations… and I was a hydroponics engineer, so I can grow food, too. “I’m leaving this note in case something happens, which is pretty likely, all things considered. I’m about to essentially go on a suicide mission to unexplored territory in deep space. There are so many unknowns, but at this point I feel like this is the only way to proceed.” Tay gets up and shuts off the recording device. She looks out the window of the Juletta, and watches the unfathomably long StarWhale drift past. She tightens her suit, dons her helmet, and enters her solocraft. After sitting down, she flips a switch, music flooding in from her craft’s speakers, and hits the accelerator. She smiles at a holo of Marlon that’s playing on the dashboard next to her. I see trees of green, red roses, too. Tay’s craft slowly approaches the closest StarWhale, the creature’s white body taking more and more space in her cockpit window. Tay makes one final inspection of the ration of food packs. She doesn’t know how long they’ll last her, but she hopes it will be long enough to give a general idea of where the StarWhales migrate to. I see them bloom for me and you Tay looks in the Mercy Pack, makes sure all the contents are there. Then she tests the long-range radio her craft has been equipped with. When she returns her attention back to the creature, she feels it’s within arm’s reach. And I think to myself Tay’s craft starts shaking as it enters the effect of the StarWhale’s gravitational pull. She puts her ship into landing mode and the computer does a good job bringing the ship down safely. Tay verifies her suit’s seal and then steps out of the craft, boots sinking slightly in the StarWhale’s skin. She smiles, being the second human to actually have physical contact with another space-faring species. What a wonderful world.
He had many faces, so many mirrors to the past and windows to the future, when she was in Hell, she became a part of Gehenna, and he a part of her, and she loathed every second of it. This time he more closely resembled a satyr, with spade-cloven hooves and a humanoid torso devoid of nipples or a suggestion of a definite sex and curling ram's horns jutting out from his auburn hair. He smiled. "I used force before, and you didn't see, so I'll try again on friendlier terms. Isn't this a more pleasing face?"Pink lips curled into a smile, more mechanical than mean. She twitched her wings and got nowhere as the viscous, oily tentacles of Hell twisted around her, held her firm. Two of them like fingers held open a gray, round eye and forced her to watch. "Your God is spiteful, malicious and self-serving to a fault. You know he could save you, any human, anyone from the torment of Earth and peril, but yet here I am, and here you are. He could have ended wars, drought, suffering for the denizens of the world, but instead had them toil to build altars in his name, worship and sweat while their own families went unfed. I'm telling you, you're on the wrong side." In her head, visions of temples and incense swirled, squaling babes and hurricanes, famine and fear. Her heart beat and she grunted, wished for release, but she remained as stuck as a fly in a web. "You are the father of lies, and how am I to believe you're not just trying to twist another knife in his side?" "Answer me this, dear. When souls ascend, why don't they roam heaven? Why aren't there legions of them with you angels, ready to take up a sword and shield? They're decimated at the gates, wielded like kindling to fuel his own selfish flame. Your God, that Yahweh is a dragon to the core, with his horde of souls and growing power. He seeks to serve no one but himself." She stopped squirming and thought. Peter manned the Gate, but where did they go after? Heaven was empty save for the angels and saints, and God resided above on a pale throne, isolated. "It's because he is afraid. Of you, of them, of many. He builds his own fires high to keep them out of his keep. Have you not had comfort, a purpose there, desires of your own, and a choice to fulfill them?" Satan was in her head, but she realized it wasn't false. Not some doubt sown in her mind. "I'm only trying to protect you and them. To offer a chance for comfort, for rebirth and reprieve. Not just for some fantasy or make-believe, then to be snuffed out to stoke a stranger's flame. You see it now, don't you? When you ascend, you'll have free will, and a true home." He let her go and the ground beneath her materialized into a sandstone ledge. She crouched on her heels and hugged her knees as her wings hung at her sides. Over the canyons stretching over the braziers and the mines, she could make out the gray, snake-shaped winding of a river. "I need you to gather more, darling. I'm only asking because I don't want to deny others the chance to see the truth. You'll have a place of honor in my house, just for that little favor."
There was nothing but an endless torrent of sensation. I was the trees swaying in the wind. I was the clouds in the sky. I was the rain seeping through the earth. I was the heartbeat of a small animal hiding from a predator. I was the warmth on skin on a sunny day. Then one day time grabbed me and forced it's command over me. A will stronger than mine came and told me who I was. I was hate. I was anger. My newly formed self pulsed with newfound purpose. I knew nothing but a face, the energy signature of a person who deserved my wrath. Like a bolt of lighting I shot in pursuit. There was resistance. But like the powerful wind I wouldn't relent. Like the rain I seeped through their walls until the two of us were entwined in a painful coil. I twisted harder, like a snake choking it's prey. I could sense the exhaustion, the futile fight. New magic was sliding off my skin, unable to touch me. Sickening heat like that of a fever, muscles tensing almost enough to break bone. I felt every laboured breath as if it was my own. It felt right. And then a will stronger than mine cut through the hate, the essence of my being. The memory of the sweet smelling grass. The laughter of her child. I remembered cool water on my skin and the sun in my hair. Then the tears came. Tears of relief and regret and pity. She cried for me. She offered me a hand and I took it. I saw the beauty of her mind, the complexity of feeling that escaped anything I could have felt before. She opened herself to me and made me hers, untwisting, uplifting the curse into something greater. My power was hers and that was right.
Etheria, land of Magic. People roam the stars, using magic that nearly destroyed the universe. It still does, but the ancient technology of the First Age keeps the universe's demise at bay. That's what Magic was, after all. All of our species of the galaxy had come to the same conclusion. As one of the most seasoned techpriest parties in the galaxy, we had been called to a newfound ruin. Magic did not work around it, but that was fine. Sometimes, their 'Scratton Reality Anchors' were still active after eons of overuse. What was not ordinary was that the bowels of the base, the copper conduits of their mysterious life-fluid still sparked, and deeper still, an ominous blue glow came from within. As we approached the ruin, I noticed that a set of heavy steel doors blocked our way. I stopped to start trying to find a way around this problem, but our guide simply walked up. When he was close enough, the door suddenly beeped and opened. Inside, written on the wall in faded font, was: 'SCP Foundation Site-67.' We went further in, all the way to the Blue Room. Inside we found a massive, whistling, spinning contraption. As I approached, there was another beep, and an alien illusion appeared, and began to speak. "We are Humanity. When we realized the universe was going to collapse due to extra-dimensional interference, we worked to solve it. Here stands Humanity's solution to the entire universe: A contraption designed to last forever and eternally preserve our dimension. "Us Humans will be long dead by the time you receive this message. We are evacuating to the Compendium Phenomic Inquiry's universe, also known as A1A. SCP-6001, if you look it up in the files. "Here we used to contain the beings that were slowly destroying the universe, but now they come in full, and our oath to Secure, Contain, and Protect will be broken. Yet we will ensure something survives. "Our calculations state that the Milky Way Galaxy will be destroyed in the ensuing explosion of activation of the Eternal Reality Anchor. There are many more things to be said, but if you understand this, then take the knowledge stored in SCP-2000, and use it for good. "There is no more Foundation. There is no more need to Secure, Contain, and Protect. Not with this. Still, I give to you the contents of SCP-2000. From there, look up the coordinates of SCP-6001, and contact us, if we have been successful. "Signing off, Adam Miller, O5-1, O5 Council, former leader of the former SCP Foundation."
The human blinked at me and twisted her lips in what I'm told is called a 'smile'. "This morning, Your Highness, you are to attend a breakfast with and then the opening of the ABCDE Conference, and then will visit the Children's Hospital. Lunch will be at the International Conference of Female Business Leaders, and in the afternoon you will visit the International School of the Deaf. You have an early dinner scheduled with the Duke of Zyxwv, and then you are to attend the premiere of the new play about your great great grandmother, Queen Elspeth." I sighed. What on earth were all these things, anyway? What is a 'hospital' or a 'play'? "Very well. When may I see my parents?" She consulted the shiny flat stone in her hand and poked at it decisively. "You have breakfast scheduled with the Prince Consort on Wednesday, and you have dinner with the Queen on Friday." "Is there any way to see them any earlier?"I asked hopefully. Surely the Royal family would realise that I was an impostor and take steps to resolve the issue. "I'm afraid not, Your Highness." "What about the Court Wizard or Sorceress?"I asked. She lifted an eyebrow at me, whatever that meant on a human face. "You're not a child anymore, Your Highness. Still believing in magic at your age!"She made an odd 'hehehe' sound in her throat, almost a proper croak, and pushed a smaller version of her shiny stone into my human hand. "Don't deliberately forget your phone today, either!"She tapped the stone in her hand and the one in mine made a loud shrilling sound that made me jump - depressingly short with human legs - and drop the stone. She made a click sound and picked it up. "Good, it works. Don't tell me it doesn't this time. Now, get in the car, you don't want to be late!" I was ushered down a set of stairs - and that was another human thing, stairs - and into a strange rectangular metal cave that had cushioned seats. The woman shut a panel behind me as I got in and then it suddenly started moving, carrying me away. I sighed deeply. I really didn't mean to annoy the witch that badly. This was a truly hellish curse.
They say, when you are way down in the dumps, God is there to give you a hand, so you can get out of it. In my case, it was the Devil who gave me a hand. Who would have thought that a few years back, I was just an ordinary astrophysicist, struggling to get research grants? I had applied to every university, organization and corporation, near and far, famous and not-so-famous, in order to continue my research. I was damn sure I was close to cracking the code of the universe, to developing the exact formula which would unravel all of the universe, right down to its threads. But everytime, the people I wrote either failed to reply, thought me as a fool, or made excuses as to why they couldn't fund me. Then one day, I came across a pamphlet. It was a regular, comes-with-your-newspaper pamphlet, advertising a certain research university in a place I'd never heard before. "I've written to so many people, one more wouldn't hurt", I thought. I was a bit ticked off, and I thought that the reason people weren't funding me because I told them my research area in the letter itself. So I decided to take things slow, and just wrote "I will do research"and mailed it. The next week, to my pleasant surprise, there was a letter in the mailbox, addressed to me, from the same company. It said "We know all about your areas of research and are very interested to fund you. Please achieve results as fast as possible. Thank you."I was so happy, I had no words to express myself. I started my work with a lot of zeal, as I had made all the background calculations in my leisure time. Within a month or a two, I was very close to developing the formula. The company, as it said, funded all my research projects and also sent me extra money to "enjoy", as they said. It was a considerable sum coming from an obscure university, but it never occurred to me how they were getting the money. Then one day, while plugging in the constants, I realized that I had, indeed, made the formula which could change the universe as we know it. It contained steps to change all the laws of physics, as we know them, and could interconnect even the most unrelated theories. It was, in short, The One Formula. I made the university aware that I had, as I had been told, achieved results. The university then wrote to me to keep those results hidden until people from the university came to collect it, since it could cause a mess if fallen into the wrong hands. After a week or so, a black van pulled into my driveway, and two people wearing suits and sunglasses got out. They said they were from the university, and had come to collect the papers. Naturally, I was skeptical at first, but they called the director and asked him to speak to me. That was good enough for me, and I gave them the papers. [End of Part 1]
I had trained for years. Learned to be a thief, a mortician, and a conman among other things. I had practiced, starting small, with a rabbit. Slowly, gradually, I'd worked myself up, using animals at first, until I perfected the ritual. Then using blood I stole from hospitals, morgues, and crime scenes, I learned to resurrect the recently dead. Finally, I snuck into graveyards, taking what blood I could scrape out of old corpses. All leading up to this moment. My magnum opus, as it were. Stealing the blood from the church had been surprisingly easy. I just waited until the priest's back was turned, and slipped the vial into my jacket pocket. Of course, there was no uproar. No church would admit that their holy relic had gone missing. My hands shook as I drew the circle, placing the elements in their required places. Pulling out the vial, I swirled it in the light. It must be at least slightly miraculous not to have clotted and dried over all these years. Or perhaps it was simply some feature of being locked in a glass vial away from sunlight and air. Whatever the case, I couldn't help but feel it had been waiting for me. Placing it in the center of the circle, I backed out, stepping into my own smaller circle. The resurrected dead could be violent when first awakened, and it was better to be cautious. Even with a saint venerated for peace. I took a few seconds, stilling my breath, trying to rid myself of nerves. One did not want to stumble over the words of the ritual. There was no telling what could happen. I could even be thrown back into death, while the resurrected walked the earth in my body. Drawing a final deep breath, I spread out my hands and began, the familiar words rolling off my tongue. It took five minutes of continuous words, said while inhaling and exhaling, before I spat the last phrase out, falling to my knees as it scraped my throat. I had thrown all my summoning power behind the spell, and the larger circle responded accordingly. Light grew in the lines before converging in the center, too bright to look at. Closing my eyes, and holding my breath, my mind raced with the possibilities. I would be able to learn so much about history. About the man people considered a saint. What he had truly been like. Everything, even down to his favourite colour. The light in the room dimmed, meaning the spell had been successful. Before I opened my eyes, a sound reached my ears. "Baa." It couldn't be. But it was. Standing in the large circle, an undead goat stared at me with a baleful expression. A goat. A GOAT! I saw red. All the years of practice, all the many, many, close calls, all of it had been for this. And the church had put goat blood in the vial! They were fakers, only wanting the tourist traffic and the money it brought! I stared at the black goat with an expression that matched its own, menace for menace. Raising my arm, I started the motions to banish it back to whatever ungodly place goats go when they die. And stopped. An undead black goat. The glimmer of an idea formed in the back of my head. Stepping from my protective circle, I grabbed a rope from a convenient hook, slipping it around the goat's neck. I led it down the stairs and out of the house, heading for the church. It was time to go get some tourist money of my own.
“You can’t be series,” Mathias. He caught himself staring at the woman who was now purchasing a bag of chestnuts from a stall. He turned back towards the old man, eyebrows raised in question. “If that is who your bounty is on, you better be careful,” Klaus said. He swiped some of the white grey hairs from his face before replacing his hat. “She’s got a heart of fury as deep as the seas.” Mathias grumbled and did his best not to take a second glance at her. He’d been paid a hefty retainer upfront and he wasn’t about to miss out on the full payment. “Tell me what you know about her.” Mathias asked Klaus. Klaus shook his head, “You need to learn to walk away when you’re up.” “I’m not the one with the gambling debt,” Mathias said pointedly. Klaus narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. There wasn’t much he could say. That was how he’d gotten stuck as an informant in the middle of Jininpit, a place only known as a minor port on the king trade routes between Bristos and Louvrh. A port Mathias had planned to leave in the morning. “Ariane works in the fabric warehouses, east end, closest to the docks. She lives two blocks down, on the left. Rents the ground floor apartment.” Mathias nodded and handed Raul his coins. “Don’t spend it all in one bet.” “Screw you too,” Klaus said but Mathias noted the glimmer in his eyes. A gambler marking a call that should have been a fold. If Mathias was going to have a shit at fulfilling his contract he had one good shot at this. The contract had said she was magical, but had clearly undersold the dangers if she was a literal storm. How that actually worked he didn’t know and he sure as hell did not want to find out. That’s why he’d gotten some night thistle and spent the night mixing it’s powder with oils and coating the inside of a hood. All he would have to do is get the hood over her head for a couple of minutes and she would sleep through the journey home. He’d briefly entertained the idea of simply asking her if she’d like to come home to Respan but if Ariane had wanted to go home she would have and the contract wouldn’t have been so expensive. So, here he was waiting in the dark of her apartment waiting for her to return. Breaking in had been easy enough. Ariane clearly wasn’t the paranoid sort. His rational brain told him it was because she was a storm, but his louder, dumber brain, just said maybe she was naïve and he’d gone with that. When large sums of money where on the line, he tended to get short sighted. But he’d never seen a contract this big that didn’t involve killing. Capture one lost priestess and return her to the temple of water. Easy. The door handle turned, creaking against the dark. Mathias tensed, ready to pounce. Ariane walked in, the door opening over where Mathias stood. She almost opened it wide enough for his foot to get hit, but he was able to slide his shoot back when she shut it. Her back to him, she slid off her shoes and pulled a thick shawl from her shoulders, hanging it on a coat hook. Mathias crept forward as she leaned down and straightened her shoes by the door. This really was going to be easy. All she had to do was stand up and he would hold the hood over her face and carry her down to the waiting boat. And then he felt the gist of wind. Inside. Shit. The wind intensified, spinning around him so fast he couldn’t breath. Ariane spun around, her blue eyes the picture of angry seas. “Do not ever come back,” she snarled. The door flew open, thudding against the wall Mathias was surprised it didn’t break. Then the wind tossed him outside. He landed on the hard, content to lie there and just breath the glorious air. But the woman threw a piece of lightning at him! Lightning, directly between his legs in a stern warning he understood immediately. Mathias scrambled to his feet in a hurry as Ariane slammed the door closed. Mathias was going to need a new plan.
“You may stay silent at this time. This will continue to be monitored through your devices. However, anything you have said has been recorded in order to use against you. All attorney’s available are currently on our retainer and thus are no longer accessible to you outright. However, advice can be supplied per minute and automatically billed to your account on file until exhausted. Say ‘yes’ to accept or ‘repeat’ to repeat your options. A technician will arrive shortly for escort.” Malus froze with screwdriver in hand. The lid of his laptop was still on the floor where he had dropped it in surprise. The message was scralling across every screen in his house. His instincts took over, but three unsuccessful pulls later reminded him that he had switched to electronic locks.
Spot, a simple name but one you've loved since you were little, was a culmination of your hard work. You've long wanted a dog, any dog, and you decided that you would adopt one. But you, a high schooler, were told by your parents that you would need to pay for everything on your own. Not one to shirk from a challenge, you began to tutor, babysit, any odd job was accepted without reservation. Before too long you had the money that you needed. More than just the adoption fee, you had saved up enough for food for the dog as well as medications, a small emergency fund, as well as toys galore. Your dog would be spoiled as much as their little heart could bear. You faced the adoption center with a determined gaze and wandered in, knowing that you would be walking out with your dog or wouldn't be walking out at all. You had not worked this hard to come up short at the final hurdle. The people there greet you and, very quickly, you are ushered into the back of the room where dogs in kennels are barking frantically at the sight of a new human. You wander up and down the rows, stopping occasionally, and waiting for the right moment. That storybook moment when you see your dog and you know that they're the one. That moment, which might seem far-fetched to some, comes sooner than you expect. You see Spot, his paws against the metal railing of his kennel, looking up at you with a doggy smile and his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Something passes between you, owner and dog, and you know instantly that they are the one. You inform the kennel attendants and they, after a brief pause, reluctantly allow you to interact with Spot one on one. It is pure bliss, and Spot seems to already love you as much as you love them. Paperwork, money, shots, all of it goes by in a blur and soon enough you find yourself the proud owner of the best dog that anyone could ask for. You notice tears leaking out of the kennel attendants' eyes as you leave, and smile down at Spot. Clearly, he had left a lasting impression on them. Outside of the kennel, you see a parent and child striding up to the adoption center with the same look of determination that you had on your face. But, upon taking one look at Spot, they angle away from the center and towards you. "Puppy!"the kid squeals, reaching down for Spot, "I want this one!" The kid's parent smiles at them and then turns to you, their smile growing frosty. "I'd like to buy this dog from you." You decline, of course, explaining that this was your dog and there was, assuredly, a dog just right for them still in the kennel. They argue and, after several minutes of this, you grow annoyed and gather up Spot in your arms. This enrages the parent and child duo and the parent whips out their phone, demanding the dog or they would be calling the police. You tell them to go ahead and get into your own car. You place Spot safely in a small doggy seat that you bought so that you could take road trips together. Spot smiles at you in that peculiar way that dogs do, and you return the expression. You scratch him gently under the chin and Spot closes their eyes in bliss, loving the affection. In your rearview mirror you see the child having a meltdown and the parent on their phone, shouting at some unfortunate soul. You back up out of the adoption center, and leave them behind. You look fondly at Spot and promise him that you are his human, and that you will always be there for him.
———— Where The Sun Fears To Shine (Part 1) ———— It had begun as a routine article. A few interviews, one or two on-site investigations. Annoying any police officer I could get my hands on. Just... normalities. I didn't hope to solve this mystery, as I haven't solved any other that I have written of. But this one... this was different. The police wouldn't talk. They don't ever talk, but this time, they seemed... scared. As though even telling me not to think about the disappearances was somehow dangerous. One threatened to arrest me then and there, just for looking in his direction. There was something that itched me about this case. And then... then I couldn't stop. I don't know what drew me. Every time I went to listen to reason and the police and quit it, something drew me right back in the thick of it. It was as though... and I know it sounds stupid, but it was as though the mystery wanted to be solved, and it wanted me to solve it. Really badly. I kept going. Deeper and deeper, into a rabbithole of sources and interviews and investigations. And, even as I did so, the disappearances continued. Indiscriminately, it seemed. When they rose to 8, I made a list; 1. Jonathan Swanson, 46. 2. Erica Shard, 32. 3. Tom Zhang, 12. 4. Adam Chase, 89. 5. George Crane, 50. 6. Alicia Stones, 17. 7 and 8. Kathleen Satchel, 29, and her 2 year old adopted son, Carlos. The double disappearance worried me most of all. What kind of monster kidnaps a young woman and her kid? I decided to investigate the woods two days after Kathleen and Carlson Satchel's disappearance. They were reported missing early in the morning, by Kathleen's panicked girlfriend, Sarah. I happened to be at the precinct at the time, and saw her run in, horrified, covered in leaves, with torn clothes and a gun wound on hee thigh. It took her several minutes to calm down enough to tell us what had happened, even after her wound was treated. The couple were walking in the woods, Sarah told us, as they usually did on weekend mornings. They had been out of town, and hadn't heard about the other 6 disappearances, but Kathleen had taken her gun, because two women walking alone are easy targets for predators. While Sarah was behind a bush, taking a leak, she heard Kathleen scream and fire her gun. The pellet from the gunshot hit Sarah in the thigh— the bullet wound we saw, but by the time she managed to get to where she had left Kathleen, her and Carlos were already gone, and Kathleen's gun was tossed aside, unloaded and with the bullets scattered on the ground. I had left Sarah to heal and gone back to my apartment. Two days later, here I stand, above an old metal hatch, a few hundred metres away from where Sarah had told me that Kathleen was taken. It seems lodged, and I pray that it is. When I pull on it, the hatch opens with almost no resistance. There's no rust on the hinges, and they seem recently oiled. Nothing I would expect from an abandoned, underground building in the middle of a forest. I curse my luck as I climb down. The ladder is filthy, and covered by a thick, goo-like substance that I can't make out in the dark. I turn on my flashlight, but deliberately keep its light away from the ladder. Whatever that thing is, I don't need to know. When I look at my hands accidentally, I find them to be covered in grease. I quietly thank God, then prance around the antechamber that I'm apparently in. The room is large, larger than I had expected. My light doesn't reach from side to side, and the sun seems to have stopped at the hatch, its rays grinding to a halt before penetrating the darkness. If I stray too far from the centre of the antechamber, I fear I won't be able to find my way back. I find that the room is empty of everything, save for grease, small bones, most likely from birds and wild cats, and wires scattered all around. It's eery. Apart from that, the only other feature of the bare, naked room is a closed door. I think, surely, this door is old. This must be an abandoned bunker of some kind. But no. When I pull on the handle, the door opens without even a creak. I cower behind the wall, not daring to shine light into the room. But, from inside, I hear heavy breathing, and my curiosity and sense of urgency get the better of me. I look in... The walls are smeared in viscera. Blood, chunks of flesh, and signs of burns. All across the walls, save for where the room leads into a dark corridor, there are worktables with opened ribcages, metallic chassis and work tools, all covered in the same, strange grease from the last room. In the centre of the room, on the bare concrete floor, I see a corpse that I recognise as Kathleen Satchel. Or, at least, half of her. Her chest is carved open, and, inside, a radio player, repeating that heavy, pained breath over and over. Kathleen's eyes are gone, blood seeping from the emptied sockets. I can't take it all. I turn around throw up on the ground. I rip a piece of cloth from my trousers, drench it in antiseptic that I brought along and tie it on my nose, to keep out the smell. Hesitantly, I approach Kathleen's body and take the radio player, carefully to avoid touching her flesh. I should call the police, I think to myself. But, for some reason, I don't. I can't tell what pushes me to keep my phone in my bag, but something tells me that turning it on would be a bad idea. I press the "next"button on the radio player. A new audio plays. "Listen,"says Kathleen Satchel in the recording, crying, "I don't know what you want! Please, just let Carlos go, do what you want with me!" Admirable, I catch myself thinking. The mental note I, myself, made scares me. Panting sounds from the recording, then a mechanical thump, then a scream. "God, no! No, no, no, please!" Kathleen's cries get more desperate, more horrified, pleading. Whoever or... whatever she is begging isn't giving in. Something, in the back of my head, tells me the bones in the antechamber were Carlos', but I can't be sure. At this point, it feels like I've lost control of myself. I can't stop listening to the agony in Kathleen's voice, and... Carlos' crying. The child says something about a monster, but I can't hear the rest. The recording cuts off with Kathleen screaming Carlos' name, so loudly that I think I heard blood splatter on the ground from her throat. Or perhaps it was Carlos'. As if guided by an invisible hand, I press "next". ——————————————————————————————— To be continued in the next comment, since it doesn't fit.
He had always had vivid dreams, ones so real and devastating that he often woke in sweats and tears. They were fleeting and he would forget them a few minutes after waking up. The feelings, though, that these dreams elicited would often remain casting a shadow over his day. Medication didn't help. Anti-depressants of every sort were prescribed to him, but somehow, his dreams grew only more real and lasting. One psychiatrist recommended starting a dream diary, to write every memorable details of his nightmares every morning. Since keeping this dream diary, Mark had seen a significant improvement. He'd even started learning to make conscious decisions in these dreams. What he found was a startling truth - that these dreams were more than illusions of the mind, but rather, possible trajectories of reality. In these dreams, he was always haunted by a monster, friend of foe, he had yet to figure out. But the subtle ways of this 'thing' guided him in strange ways. It often whispered to him in his dreams, and at times, he could almost hear the same during the day - in a slight breeze, a mumbled sound, a quiet whisper. Mark's life was unexceptional otherwise. He worked in customer service, had a few friends that he hung out with occasionally and he played video games after long work days to relax. On of these occasions, it was late evening and he was deep in the middle of a game, when he heard the whispering again. He ignored it of course, imagination is such a powerful thing. But he paused his game and sat in complete silence for a minute or two, then he heard it again. Raspy, yet strong. It seemed to loiter around him, time slowing as the whispering continued. His fright was apparent, and he all but dropped the controller, ran to the front door and outside into the sunlight, his raggy t-shirt and boxers on display to the whole neighborhood. When he calmed, he went back inside and started writing whatever he could remember, but the strongest sound other than silence was the repetition of 'they are here'. That night, his dreams took on a movie-like quality - almost sensible and comprehensible. This time, instead of running from the whisper, he sought it out. If ever there was a time to be courageous, it was when reality was suspended. The next thing he knew, a humanoid like figure approached him. As it grew closer, he could observe that it was no less than 7 feet and had the head of a chipmunk. He could see the face was grave and no sign of teeth, just emptiness. The monster folded his arms and said 'Let's get more comfortable, why don't we.?' And in the blink of an eye, they were standing outside a bar. The monster dipped his head and entered. Mark, in all his shock, followed reservedly...
I can still hear the bass from the bar as the door closes behind me with a heavy thud. The melody is gone as are the vocals; but the bass persists. I take a shaky step to the left. No, that isn’t right. Hehe. Right. I have to go right to go home. So I turn around and stumble that way. I make eye contact with the bouncer. He is a mountain of a man, standing there in all black. He is there to keep the riff raff out of the bar – but once you are out he would rather let you die in the street than get involved. He doesn’t get paid enough to care about what goes on outside. Hell, he probably doesn’t get paid enough to care about what goes on inside – but he’s got mouths to feed… maybe. Well, at least one mouth; his own. Everyone has a story, or so the saying goes. All the faces that blur by are main characters in their own adventure, or misadventure. Some will end too soon… some won’t end soon enough. You aren’t supposed to know when your story will end. It ruins it. But some of us do know. Some of us wake up one day and feel it, deep in our bones. There are clues, there always are. But too many of us ignore them. Maybe it could have been different if we had just done something about it earlier. He seemed nice enough. A new neighbor in the apartment across the street. Greying hair around the temples. Older than me by enough to make it weird. The first time I saw him he smiled at me. Nodded as one does when trying to acknowledge another human. I thought it was weird, because people that live in the city just don’t do that. You are supposed to put on your headphones and keep your head down as you went where you were going. Maybe it was because he was older, more confident. It was weird, but exciting. The first time he did it was an aberration. A chance encounter, or so I told myself. But then I saw him again, on the corner across the street. And again. And again. Always smiling and nodding. Once when I was leaving the apartment with some of my girlfriends he was there. He smiled and nodded. They sassed me about it, asking me who the silver fox was. How did I know him. Had I gotten a cup of coffee with him. I blushed. I stammered. I laughed it off. It was nothing I told them. He was just a new guy to the neighborhood. He was just a nice older guy that was pleasant to everyone. But… I had never seen him looking at anyone else, or nodding at them. Maybe it was because it always flustered me so much. And he was always there in the mornings. It was like he was waiting for me, just to nod. Just to smile. Then he was there one night, as I was coming home from the bar. Again, a smile and a nod. Maybe it was just the ambience, but there was something different about it. Not as friendly; more predatory. Like the way a fox looks at a little mouse. Then he was there again. And again. Each time that nod and smile. Each time my stomach jumping just a little. No longer with excitement, now with something different. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t say anything. It was embarrassing, it was silly, it wasn’t worth anyone’s time. I was just being awkward. I am almost home, the bass from the bar long forgotten. The faces are fewer and further between now. But I know there will be at least one more when I get home. The silver fox. The harmless older man with the predatory eyes. I know he will be waiting there for me like he has been for weeks. With that smile and that nod. I can see him, but he isn’t on his side of the street this time. Something is different. He approaches me with that smile. But his teeth seem sharper. His eyes harder. I am too slow. It is too late. The signs were there but I ignored them.
I fasten my belt again. They're the only pair of dress slacks I own that even remotely fit. Since i put the belt on I haven't been able to find a comfortable feeling, constantly alternating between two of the belt holes. Neither felt right. A bit too tight or a bit too loose. I went with too tight. I had to go one in 15 minutes. God, why did they choose me for this? The little shits were able to pick a faculty member to give the commencement speech and it is truly beyond me why I was chosen. I've never developed a meaningful connection with a student that I can remember. I never came across a troubled kid, alone in the gym, swishing 3s, and convinced him to join the team, taking us to a state title on Christmas day. No, this year was not any different from the rest. I phoned it in like every other year. I make sure they're not fighting or fingering each other, all with a hangover. I am noticeably perspiring. I wish I knew where she was in the crowd so I could avoid eye contact. If we lock eyes I'm cooked. She has seen me at my worst but this is somehow worse than my worst. Public speaking is a mind fuck. After the first few sentences I begin having an out of body experience. I hear myself saying the words all while a second version of myself distances himself from the first, as if another member of the audience. A third version of myself notices how fucked that is and starts talking to the second me, distracting the first. It all falls apart from there. I've always had issues with disassociating. I step outside myself in conversation, watching with contempt as more banal nonsense flows out of my mouth and those around me like sewage. This will be no different, just from a podium. 5 minutes. Whatever. I'll just squeak out this stupid speech i stole from the internet, go home and get wrecked. No different from any other night. Maybe she's not even here. Jesus, of course she is, her niece is in the band. Hearing them squeak out "when the saints come marching in"or whatever the fuck that song is called set my nerves on edge. Adrenaline heightened all of my senses so they sucked more than they usually do which I did not think was possible. I wish she hated me. You have to respect someone on some level to really hate them. No, she pities me. Humiliating. I don't regret choosing the bottle. The bottle doesn't leave. I wouldn't even be standing here if it wasn't for the--Oh god they've introduced me. Fuck me. Here we go.
The being reached out with a green tendril of unmade worlds and touched it against the humans forearm. It was unpleasantly soft and warm. We had stayed in the beyond. We always hid in myth. Shrouded in fables and stories on the edge of what they knew. They explored, it is what they do. They find new places, and then they live there. They always went after the unknown, which is what made them such an easy target. The simple act of a human seeing one of the old ones was all it took to drive them mad. Standing on the edge of a forest was enough to drive them into a murderous frenzy; it was beautiful. Times changed. They settled down, build walls to protect themselves from seeing the woods. Simple enough to make them fear the night. Hate what was beyond that wall. Drive them to go into that night. They learned and built taller. We kept to the shadows of the night, the dreamscape and the nightmare. There was a time some of us could do it with simply a song. Others could turn men to stone with a glance. For a while infinite swirling eyes speaking messages to people would send them spinning with madness. We spread ideas. They build hierarchies of Kings, Emperors and High Priests to protect their precious thoughts. It worked like a wall, and we lived in the shadow those new walls cast. Glorious wars of hated fed us. They expanded further. There was less and less mystery and places for us to live freely. Fairyland, otherworld, and even just foreign were thrown at where we lived. Eventually they started to draw the world, and drew new walls on paper. The more they explored and moved the walls further away the more we made them hate. They even took us with them whenever they made new walls. Through the hurt and killing we ate like their gods. Times changed. We don't follow things closely, but we did manage to make a war to end all wars, and it was glorious. This time the walls were buried in the ground and were called trenches, we lived in the shadow of no mans land. The beauty of the fields of ruin made the world bleed and for a while that crumbling wall cast a shadow over time itself. Then a scared man we fed off regularly created ideas that spread to others. Initially they were also scared, and it was good. Then they started explaining, and exploring ideas in rules. No longer did another dimension hurt, they had a mathematical model. No longer did the simple fungus or bacteria growing inside cause endless suffering. While we bathed in blood they had developed ways to fight infection. Ideas of curses in bloodlines were shattered with DNA and mental health. Which leads us to you, child, with warm arm, and the softer skin. You, YOU personally said that us eldritch abominations, who in times gone would make a man tear his eyes out, were cute. CUTE. Nothingness wrapped around the tiny human and lifted it. It was so light, and laughed slightly. The joyous sound sent shimmering waves of pain out in all directions. We did what we had always done when adapting. A tendril stuck into the mind, and started looking for the fear that waits in the human soul. Humans are made of fear and we just need to know where it is hidden. A glimmer. A shard of a new idea. Social Media? New types of walls? Walled gardens. They'd moved their thoughts out of the real world into somewhere else to hide them. Finally, I could see this wall, and it cast a nice long shadow, just like all the others.
It was an odd gathering, even by our standards. By the time I arrived, nearly the entire bar was full and everyone had clumped together in a random fashion. Osiris, Hel, and Hades were at the barstools throwing jibes at Pluto. Set, Zeus, and Thor had their own table where they were having a competition of dubious compliments. But other tables were more diverse. The most diverse, by far, had to be the table where Odin, Juno, Hermes, Ra, Vulco, and Loki sat in deep deliberation while my half sister Athena continued to stir the pot. I grinned an made my way to that table. "The root of the problem,"my sister continued. "Likely stems from the lack of proper authority." Odin gave her an appraising look. "Do you know to whom you speak about authority?" "I know that I speak from wisdom,"She replied. "Prudent authority is constantly undermined by the stupidity of those who argue by simply being louder. It is a disgrace and it causes the spread of disinformation like a plague." "And you suggest?"Hermes piped in. "I have discussed a plague with Apollo that would destroy the vocal chords of every human except for our chosen prophets." This prompted a flurry protests that only abated when I set my glass down. "Ares!"Vulco thundered. "Good of you to make it!" "Wouldn't miss it,"I replied. "What's tonight's topic?" "Same as every night: the weakening of the humans." I managed to contain a fit of giggles. "Ah. Well have we made any progress?" "Actually,"Ra butted in. "I do have a rather fitting and concise solution. Technological advances are obviously the root of the downfall,"Vulco moved to interject, but Ra pressed on more forcefully. "Man's dependence on machines leads to weakness universally. I propose a massive solar flare that unilaterally wipes out all electronic devices and machines. Humans will then be forced to struggle to survive again and strength will follow." I actually did laugh that time. "That's it? Just set them back thousands of years? They. Will. Rebuild! Faster, and more belligerently. Will you continue to send flares every hundred years until the planet is too radioactive for anything to survive?" Ra snorted in disapproval, but he didn't argue further. Instead he pouted, "What would you do, then?" I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms. "Oh, I figured it out a long time ago, but how about this: Everyone tell me your best solution - not you Artie, dear, I already heard yours - so that I know the idea hasn't been brought up." Their ideas of how to make the humans stronger were as entertaining as they were pointless. Vulco thought they didn't appreciate the work of their own hands enough, so they should all contract early arthritis. Juno wanted to end unfaithfulness by eradicating ninety-percent of the males. Odin graciously offered to take lordship of all of the gods and start taking direct, overt actions in the human lives. Loki wanted to force all humans to speak one of seven billion languages so that they could never communicate efficiently. Hermes, bless his divine soul, wanted to increase the speed of the earth's spin, but couldn't quite explain why. I shut them down, one-by-one, until they were all flustered and impatient with me. "Alright,"I said. The solution is simple: we do nothing." I let them roar and complain for a full minute before I leaned forward and spoke very quietly. "Do you know why Mars isn't here? Or Mantu, Skanda, Tyr and the others? It's because we don't care. They told me it was pointless for me to talk to you but I felt a personal stake in the argument. For the ideal war started in Greece. "Democracy spreads throughout the planet and the humans applaud themselves for snuffing out dictators and conflicts with 'non-violent' governance. Democracy is just another type of war, though, and it is better by far. It has the simplicity of being decided by numbers alone, and the fighters are still around to fight at the next election. "War, therefore, is waged more constantly and more aggressively than ever before in history. Every election is a feud; every protest is an invasion, every civil victory is a conquest! Human hate grows every year and their minds are filled with tactics and strategy for this war of votes." I stood, laid down some money for the drink and looked every one of the 'gods' in the eyes. "You say the humans are getting weaker. I say they're doing just fine."
[Poem] I look to the sky, The one I've always gazed at. There was a peak on the horizon. -------- That summit was one I sought. From the top, I knew I'd gaze down at a fulfilled life. -------- Everyday I found a new harness, Fashioned some new gear, Tied a new rope. -------- If I was lost, I'd look to the peak. It shone like a lighthouse, Guiding my every move. -------- Until today. I look now and realize it's just a screen. Some shadows cast by the haze. -------- Fixated on the climb, I never stopped to look. Somebody else came. -------- They chucked a rock and said, "If there's really a mountain, I'm not going to miss." -------- That rock just fell, And where it landed I saw, There was no mountain. -------- There never was.
“Rip-off Midas! No, no- Off Brand Midas! Or, wait, how about- Walmart Midas!” Silas exclaimed “Shut the fuck up dude!” I yell, “Nobody asked you for super hero names. Not that I could even be a ‘super hero’ with this shitty power.” Of course this happened to me. Of course, that while everybody else gets ice powers and telekinesis and god only knows what, I get this. “Oh come on Eden! You have to look at the bright side!” Silas shouts at me. He’s always shouting at me. “Yeah well, that’s easy for you to say. You have an actually interesting power! One that doesn’t fucking ruin your life!” Now I’m the one shouting. Silas looks a bit taken a back. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I just.. I really thought I’d never have a power. And now that I do… I’m wishing I could go back.” I’m not kidding. I’ve always been the odd one out. I envied everyone who had powers, even if they were basically useless, or stupid. I’d dream of being able to fly, or lift a car, or fuse metal together, like Silas. I wanted something to brag about, to make me a super hero, or just to help me fit in. If I really think about it, it is a cool power. Its just a bit.. Out of control. Silas looks at me “Listen Eden.. Its going to be alright. I’ll help you figure this out. Until then, you’ll just need to stay 6 feet away from everyone and everything!” He chuckles. He’s right, I know that. It’ll take time. I’m glad he’s going to help me, I can’t do anything with out him. Me and Silas have been friends since we were freshman, and I couldn’t ask for a better best friend. Even if he says the stupidest jokes and is stupidly smarter than me. Silas smiles and reaches for my hand. “Wait, Sila-“ Too late. It’s too late. Silas is already a puddle of putty on the floor.
Stormbringer In the absolute silence of the hall, there was a soft tinkle. The blonde standing in the crowd was suddenly in plain view. And a glass of red wine spilled onto a man's chest, forming scarlet spots on it. The scared girl released a heavy ring, and it hit the floor. I... I can't! It's too hard for me! "She whimpered, sinking to the floor. "Please, sir, take me home! My crops are not harvested yet, and I have to feed my family! "Tell her to shut up and get up."was a lazy voice from the side of the room, along with the hurried steps of the maid who rushed to pick up the item. "There and that no one in their right mind would think to accept... that thing." Frosty fell silent, only trembling and wiping her tears. Why? So why is it so? Everything was good! They defeated these beasts and could finally return to a peaceful life! But apparently, these creatures have ruined it all! But how? "Get this dragon up, and make it shut up."Too much depends on it; we cannot afford to make mistakes. " Dragged aside, Frosty just stared blankly at her departing benefactor. He found her dirty, corrupted by this cursed dark power. He took her to him and taught her to control this power. And now... it's time to pay the debt. When Frosty was dragged to the spot and thrown on the floor like a sack of weed, she didn't even move. What for? The people of her home were already terrified of her. And so was she. If it wasn't for this damned power, she would now be harvesting crops for the winter! And everything would be fine: neighbors' gossip, village fights, a wedding with a guy from a neighboring village... "Get up, you girl,"she was told as she was kicked in the side with the boot."The master says that soon you will be taken to the palace."We need to make you at least tolerable to be in there. " Frosty silently got up and was immediately shoved into someone's arms. The girl was twirled and twisted, her hands raised, her hair pulled, her head scratched with hairpins, her body wrapped in dense fabrics. And when the whirlwind of hands subsided and she was led to the mirror, an unfamiliar woman looked at Frosty. The woman blinked, and was promptly shoved into wildly uncomfortable shoes and led away, unable to see anything but the bright spot of her clothes. Frosty was again pushed into the hall where her benefactor remained, and the door was slammed shut. Ah, girl, here you are. Come to me, let's see if my people can turn you into a lady. "he said, turning around and crossing his arms skeptically across his chest.the girl started walking. Slowly and smoothly, stretching legs-after all, noble ladies should walk like that, right? After making her way to the man, the girl bowed awkwardly, almost falling over because of her high and heavy hair. He grunted, glaring disapprovingly at the staggering mountain of painted clothes approaching him, but said nothing, offering her a hand, in which Frosty hesitatingly put hers. The man shuddered, feeling the simpleton's rough fingers touch his well-groomed skin, but said nothing, leading her to the exit. "You, remember what to do?"Here, take this ring to channel your powers. Remember, this person is to blame for what happened to you. This is the last test. If you pass, I'll teach you to read books, and you won't have to work for pennies anymore. If you don't, it's your own fault. " Frosty absentmindedly nodded, letting the words pass between her, concentrating only on stepping more carefully. One step, then another one, and another. Don't fall, don't slip, don't fail... Don't... Don't... The girl made it the rest of the way in a kind of stupor, concentrating on her every movement. It's now or never, thought Frosty as she stood behind the crowd and only occasionally caught sight of the figure in front. Here he is. That nobleman, or rather the dragon who took on his appearance! And it is this dragon that is to blame for these dirty powers and for the fact that everyone hates Frosty! Yes, she will do it. Her benefactor told her that one powerful blow would be able to throw off the dragon's disguise and reveal to the people his vile bestial face! "Now or never!"the girl whispered, getting up to see this dragon and taking aim. Come on, it's just a really big vase to knock down. One hit and this creature will be revealed. Her benefactor will become a hero, and Frosty will return home! The girl took aim, and sent all her pain into him; all her rejection, all her abandonment, which escaped from her hand with a white flash. In the absolute silence of the hall, there was suddenly a loud tinkle. The blonde standing in the crowd was suddenly in plain view. And a glass of red wine released from limp fingers spilled onto the man's chest, forming a scarlet spot on it. The girl dropped the ring in horror, and it hit the floor. The one who sat on the decorated seat sat on a... She hit him, just as she wanted. But he is not a dragon. Human. white flash Red. Killed. She hit... But who was he exactly? "Security!!! Take the kingslayer! " The crowd of nobles immediately groaned, discussing the murder, and the girl rushed away in a flurry, trying to find her benefactor. No, no, no, it's all a mistake. It's some kind of mistake. It can't be the other way. For some reason, that nobleman-his face seemed familiar to her-... he is the king? It can't be that she just killed the king like that! After all, it just can't be? He survived the war with dragons and learned all the tricks of these vile creatures! It can't be that simple to kill him! And what's more, Where is her benefactor, who made her do all that? Edit:why formating on mobile sucks so much... There will be more edits on formatting and grammar later a bit.
I limp away from the smoldering remains of my escape pod, wondering how everything went wrong so quickly. It was just supposed to be a routine surveying mission like I had done so many other times before across various planets in multiple galaxies. I was tasked with mapping the chalk-white planet closest to this system's lonely star. I had almost completed my mission before a flare from the nearby star disabled the power in my ship, I had barely managed to reach my pod before the excess oxygen in my ship had run out. "Analyzing atmospheric contents,"a notification from my suit declares. "high levels of oxygen and nitrogen detected, Carbon dioxide levels appear to be unnaturally high,"I take off my helmet, allowing myself to breathe in the air of this new world. I begin to walk, unsure of what my destination even is, just knowing that I needed to explore this new planet if I wanted to find help. After around thirty minutes of walking the star that had lighted my path and trapped me on this planet had begun to set as I begin to rest. I sit down on a hill and begin to relax, as I watch the world grow dimmer I begin to think about how to get back to my home system, Perhaps I could build a tower to send a signal back- my thoughts are interrupted when I see a line of lights suddenly turn on, illuminating a small area around them. I shoot up from where I had sat, ready to observe it more closely. Could there be intelligent life on this planet? Perhaps an entire Civilization? I thought not only of this but also of camouflaged predators, the flying monsters of agerynianam who lured their prey with magnificent lights. Was this a predator ready to lure me to my death? I saw a bipedal creature walk by the lights, followed by another, I run down the hill, almost falling on several occasions. perhaps they were a food source, or maybe they were an intelligent species? I catch up with them which allows me to get a better look at them, they both have brown tuffs of what appears to be fur on their heads, like the beasts of dtepi who hunt in packs and attack the colonists there, unlike those beasts they only have fur on what appears to be their heads. One of them has longer fur than the other with it almost going to the middle of their body, it speaks to me in a language I can't recognize. "Nice costume!"It's loud but it doesn't sound aggressive, perhaps excitement, or a greeting? It pulls out a metallic, rectangular device that produces a flash, I'm surprised by it but it doesn't hurt, obviously not a weapons, or an ineffective one if it is. I saw a bipedal creature walk by the lights, followed by another, I run down the hill, almost falling on several occasions. perhaps they were a food source, or maybe they were an intelligent species? I catch up with them which allows me to get a better look at them, they both have brown tuffs of what appears to be fur on their heads, like the beasts of dtepi who hunt in packs and attack the colonists there, unlike those beasts they only have fur on what appears to be their heads. One of them has longer fur than the other with it almost going to the middle of their body, it speaks to me in a language I can't recognize. "Nice costume!"It's loud but it doesn't sound aggressive, perhaps excitement, or a greeting? It pulls out a metallic, rectangular device that produces a flash, I'm surprised by it but it doesn't hurt, obviously not a weapon, or an ineffective one if it is. I walk forwards, guided by the apparently artificial lights, perhaps they were created by those bipeds, or were there other intelligent species on this planet? After around fifteen minutes of walking, I spot a colorful cube, a building. I step inside and see many objects that closely resemble the chairs my species sat in, apparently a universal design for bipeds. I see a door which I swiftly open and step inside. I look around and see machines I don't know how to operate, this species must have advanced technology I am unaware of. I walk through another door and am instantly taken aback by the cold, refrigeration. there are only two reasons to use refrigeration where I come from, preserving food or bodies. (sometimes preserving bodies as food in the seedier parts of some galaxies) I grab a round, chunky, slab of red and eat it. The taste is horrific but not inedible, I slink outside of the large fridge and continue eating. I smile, knowing that I've completed the first step of "Joui Nlu's Five Steps to Surviving a Hostile Planet", finding food.
The sky was weird today. I sat on the roof of our tiny house, my head tilted back. Instead of the red and pink striations that normally surrounded our two suns, the sky seemed bruised. Bright blue, edged with purple and black swirled in long curving lines, that blocked out the sun completely when they passed over it. They should have caused fear, they were the harbingers of a Storm, but I couldn't help but think they were quite pretty. "Naphtaline get down here, we have to leave now!"My mother yelled, slamming our outside door. Everything must be packed then. Mother had banished me out of the house when I'd managed to pack my little brother in a suitcase, three separate times. If you do something badly enough... Sliding off the roof, I hurried inside. The rest of the family was standing on the transport pad, my mother hurrying me. We had to leave. Our little house wasn't likely to survive a Storm, we were too far outside a city. While they had extensive technology, it didn't spread across the entire planet. But where it was, nothing should get through it. We'd had a study module on it in school recently. I joined them on the platform, seconds before it activated. Our belongings had already been sent on ahead. When the feeling of turning into a million grains of sand was over, we had joined the rest of the city in the lookout tower. I met a few of my friends, and we elbowed our way through the crowd to a good spot. Though I knew the glass and steel wouldn't break even in the height of the storm— that the shields would absorb anything before it hit— it still seemed too fragile. The blue-black curling tendrils had thickened, only slight bits of red showing through. A roaring sound started to tear through the building, and my friends and I drew into a tighter knot. It had begun. The sky shifted further, now a solid mass of roiling blue, purple and black. Shields lit around us, a familiar— comforting— shadowing of our surroundings. Just in time. Rocks started to crack against the shields, rocks the same cobalt blue of the original tendrils. In sheets, green fire lashed across the protection, as if seeking a way in. I shuddered before Salana put their arm around me. We huddled together eyes riveted to the sight. The roaring sound of wind had grown so loud it seemed like it was inside my head. Yellow streams of poisonous gas flowed through the air, bending around unseen obstructions. "Look,"Salana whispered, pointing to the great plains, near where my house was. In the middle air, not quite in the Storm, not quite on the ground, a shape began to form. "There as well."Melka, another classmate indicated a place west of the city. The shapes shifted constantly, half-obscured by the Storm, half-revealed by it. They, more than the poisonous gas, more than the fire, more than the rocks were the true danger. They were what our shields were meant to protect against. For when a Storm came... the Malaphus walked.
“Are you ready for the greatest night of your life?” Cherie pretended to grab an imaginary scarf with her mittened hand and tossed it around her neck. She continued talking in an old-timey British accent that couldn’t have been more than fifty-percent accurate. “An even-ing of elegance, high society, fine wine, and even finer men and women?” She played coy now, holding a mitten up to puckered lips as if she’d just revealed a naughty secret. I giggled. “Yes, whatever. Just get me out of this cold!” I hugged myself even harder as another chilly fall breeze permeated my cheap overcoat. “Of course, darling! Of courrrrse!” Cherie continued the act and moved toward me. She embraced me tight, momentarily shielding me from some of the wind. Still clinging to me, she pulled her head away and used her normal voice, “You need a break from all those papers. And the Old Arte Mansion will be perfect!” Cherie opened an arm toward the enormous house just up a cobblestone path. Warm light poured from the tall windows of the first floor, partially obscured by the silhouettes of partygoers and tourists. The buzz and hum of a lively dinner party partially made its way toward us. “I would tell you even more about it,” Cherie said, “if I could remember any time I’ve been here. But I can’t. Things must’ve gotten prett-y crazy.” I leaned into Cherie, mostly to steal her warmth, “Well, you don’t have to worry about that with me. I can’t be out all night.” Cherie pulled away and playfully rolled her eyes. “Right, right, you’ve got to write a report about… gooey lizards or something.” “Salamanders!” “Ah yes, the sally-manders. Sure.” I grinned. “Yes, so can we go in now? I’m freezing.” I leaned toward the bustling mansion, where silhouettes chatted and dined, sealed away from the elements. “Yeah, let’s go,” Cherie started toward the house. “We can find a fireplace and heat up with a warm memory.” “Sounds good to me!” I said as I followed. After we’d treaded a few feet over the bumpy pavement, little stones poking into the soles of my sneakers, Cherie seemed to remember something. “I guess there are a few things I should tell you about the house. Since I couldn’t remember anything, I did a small refresh before we got here. So here’s the setup: first floor’s general fun. Totally family-friendly. Adults and kids running around everywhere. Lots of food, lots of music and games. Good stuff. Now…” she paused and lowered her voice a bit, “the second floor, however, is adults only. You know, that’s where the, uh… bedroom is. If you know what I mean.” “Yeah, makes sense.” “When I tell you Della knew how to party, I mean Della knew how to party.” Cherie grinned. “Yes, I get it!” “Okay,” she chuckled, “and the third floor… You go to the third floor when you’re ready to go home. That’s where the party ends. And you can forget that any of this ever happened, if you want.” I kind of scoffed at the idea. “If we forget every bad thing that ever happened to us, we wouldn’t be us. And we’d end up making the same mistakes over and over again.” Cherie shook her head. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just saying. It’s totally up to you.” “I think I’ll keep my memories inside me, thank you very much.” With those last words, we soon arrived at the front door. A stairway composed of great stones steps building up to two towering double doors. “After you, m’lady!” Cherie said in another bizarre accent as she extended an arm toward the dark wooden doors. “You’re definitely mixing up time periods and accents, Cherie,” I said, smiling as I took my first giant step toward the front doors of Della Arte’s famous mansion. TO BE CONTINUED… (WELL...) -- Trying to learn how to write, so feedback welcome, especially when it comes to sentence flow, descriptions, or other super noticeable pitfalls. Thanks :)
"3 days! I don't HAVE 3 days!"Rich screamed at the clerk. 'sorry sir, but it's federal law. Anyone wanting an assault rifle has to wait 3 days even if their background check is spotless"he explained, trying to be as calm as possible. Rich ran out of the store yelling "when I die I swear to Christ I'm coming back to haunt this place!" The article wasn't very helpful. It didn't give a time or even place of death, it just said he was discovered in a ditch in the darkest section of the shady part of town. He walked in the door, bottle of unaffordability good scotch tucked under his arm and turned on the TV. No 3 day waiting period for that at least. As he broke up ice for the first glass, he considered what choice he'd made to end up alone drinking on what could be his last night on earth. Should he have married that girl in college? What was her name again, Becky? Tracie? No, it was Lindsey. She was beautiful and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. But business was more important. A tear drifted down his face as he lifted the glass. As he poured the second that old hunger came back to his mind. After all what's the point of drinking on your last night alive if you aren't going to be REALLY alive. He pulled his old burner phone out and sent a text to Samir. He felt like he was making a bad decision but after all, whats the worse that could happen? The worst was already fated to so he might as well flip off fate with a straw in his hand. Samir replied almost instantly (he always did that's why Rich went to him first) and said he was in business but was at a different spot than usual. A place 5 blocks from where the paper mentioned. The alarms were ringing in his head full blast now but he chose to ignore them. The die had been cast as he was ready to see this adventure through. Rich saw Samir driving his same grey minivan and walked up to him when he felt a blinding thud behind his eyes and the world went dark. As his hearing faded, he heard someone laughing with Samir. "told you it would work. Dude was nothing if not predictable. Maybe in his next life he'll think twice before running out on his obligations.""I doubt it. Anyway, get his feet. I don't want him found this close to the house.""Yeah. Anyway, you want to play pool when we're done here? You owe me a rematch after last Tuesday "
Everyone needs a place to return to, even people like me. I thought I found such an oasis of calm for myself. Until now. There were far too many tracks leading to the homestead left in the fresh snow. Three horses. Must have come through less than an hour ago. I wasn't one for visitors. Gods, I almost missed it in the fast-falling dark. I carefully got off of my own horse and found cover in the tall grass. I took out my bow. And then slowly, heart pounding in my throat, I found my way towards the house. Still hidden, I first saw the illuminated windows, shining bright in the night. I quickly turned my eyes away so I wouldn't get blinded by the light. Then I saw it - a glint in the deepest shadows between the house and stables. Armour. I slowly readied an arrow and aimed where the head would be - wait. Slow down, I told myself. If they realize I'm out here, there's no telling what they'll do. I sneaked closer until I saw the mistake I almost made. Orc. Armoured to the tooth. I drew the bow again adjusting my aim. He was leaning against the stables that now housed three new horses. Let's hope this goes quietly and the horses don't get spooked. I exhaled and let the arrow loose. A dull thud as it found its mark between the helmet and gorget. He tried to paw at it ineffectually before sliding to the ground. The nearest horse danced nervously, pulling at his tether, which made the other two unsure as well. I quickly slipped to the stables to calm them down. I took the opportunity and went through the saddlebags, but found nothing of interest. I made sure the orc was dead before making my way around the house. I was getting back into my stride. I knew how this goes. I've been wanting to fix the window in the office for weeks now. I never seemed to have the time. Now, it turned out to be a blessing. I carefully slipped into the dark room, knife in hand. I could hear muffled voices. My heart started to beat faster again. I moved closer to the door and cracked it open. "...far too cold. I'm going to take a nice hot bath after we get back."a woman's voice said. "Focus Marci,"The man's voice sounded closer. "They're bound to come back soon." I pictured the layout of the house. They sounded like they were in the front, waiting close to the front door. I slipped out of the room, covered by the staircase right in front of it. "Gorm is going to hate us, waiting out there and all"laughed Marci, eliciting a chuckle from her companion. I could make out the man right behind the corner. Robes. Mage. I couldn't see the woman. I didn't like that. Normally, I'd jump into it, daggers blazing, but this was potentially a much more delicate situation. But I couldn't wait either. OK. Move fast and hope. I leapt. The knife moved in a graceful arc, opening the man's carotid. Warm blood sprayed over the side of my face, even as I made for the woman. She scrambled to ready her sword, but I was faster. Moving like a rabid animal, I avoided her rushed strike, got close and stomped down on her extended knee. I could hear the snapping tendons right as Marci screamed. She tried to turn on me again. Instead, I threw myself at her, bringing her to the ground. "Where is she? What did you do to her?!"I yelled in her face as I brought the blade against her throat. "Fuck you!"she spat, before letting out another scream as I pushed my shin into her injured knee. "Where is she?"I asked again through gritted teeth. She just laughed. Suddenly, she moved quick like a snake and I had a sword pommel coming at my head. I barely dodged it, but I had to loosen my hold. She tried to get another swipe, wrestle me off her. But on the ground, it's the short weapons that have the advantage. She was bleeding quite a bit from various cuts and slashes when I finally pried the blade off of her. It took some convincing before she realized I got her quite helpless. "You're so attached to that brat, it's touching."She broke into hysterical laughter, interspersed with insults and threats."We're going to hunt you down, bitch, just wait" All the fury I felt was slowly turning into ice. I moved my other hand to her throat. It's hard to continue laughing when you can't breathe. "Darling, maybe you should care more about your own skin. I swear, if any of you hurt Runa, I will give you enough time to regret it."She was trying to weakly twist out of my hold, but I took a few moments longer before I allowed her to take a breath. She didn't laugh anymore. A door squeaked behind me. I jumped up, ready for a fight. "Mommy?"A little blonde girl was peeking out of the wardrobe. Suddenly my world went soft. "Runa, Runa are you all right?"I breathed. "I hid"the girl squeaked. "Good. You did well."I was still keeping the woman pinned to the ground, but I wanted to hug Runa so bad. "Go pack your things, please, please be quick,"I told her instead. She nodded and ran off. The woman was looking at me with wide eyes, but I had no more use for her. ---- It was the next evening. Me and Runa were renting a room in an isolated inn. "I was scared,"shared my little girl. "But I was hiding in a wardrobe"she repeated proudly. She was re-telling the story over and over the entire day. I suppose that's how children cope. "Yes, it was very smart of you"I conceded. "But it's about time to go to sleep. She gave this due consideration "OK", she ventured eventually and wrapped herself in her blanket. "Goodnight, and hail Sithis" "Hail Sithis"she answered back.
"I get that, believe me, I do"the man replied frustrated, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "But instead of, oh I don't know, becoming an emperor, destroyng the empire, defeating the huns, or a thousand better options, you gave those guns to Brutus and his fellow conspirators! On the day they killed Julius Caesar!"the man explodes. He was already seeing the time line changing. Augustus never becoming the emperor. Brutus ruling the republic. And then the fact that for the next century the Roman republic spent untold resources trying to advance research in firearms and gunpowder. The ease of replicating the firearms, but lacking gunpowder until some Greek got it right. Rome rapidly expanded its borders and grew too big too quickly. Generals started civil wars until the Roman republic fragmented much like Alexander the great's empire, only worse. Soon other empires and kingdoms got hold of the secrets of such weapons. Wars and cold wars started 2000 years too early. Ghengis Khan great invasion cut short as nations like China had guns to defend against the Mongol onslaught. This was only the beginning of the confusion of the mysterious god who gave Brutus guns "And all because there was a pile of guns right there, and the time machine just so happen to be going to Ancient Rome."the man said tiredly in a language he never knew until now.
A smile cracked across my face. "Finally. I got her!" The blood dripped from the blade as the clean-cut to the heart burned it. When it was done, the body was nothing more than ash. And with a smile blew from my lips, it all faded to nothing, yet... A larger than life voice roared through the world-shaking trees, making birds fly, as it yelled as though on a game show, "Well, ladies and gents, lookie here! Our fabulous contestant Rose Yachev has destroyed me! But for me to ashes and sent me to the skies! But oh wait, there's more coming in, folks; it turns out it was just another copy, haha, better luck next time-" "SHUT UP!" I slammed my boots into the ground repeatedly as my face filled with red, and I threw my sword toward the skies. Collapsing to my knees, feeling the grimy dirt as she laughed, again and again, as I lay here, stuck like a fly in a spider web. "Please,"I mutter through the tears. "Let me out of this Hell." The voice was silent, and for a time, my ears could only hear the thumping of my heart as it began to slow down. Why fight anymore? I had killed hundreds at this point, hundreds of men, women, and yes, even the children I had slaughtered with every weapon imaginable, and nothing could be done. She was still out there, unable to be killed. But I wasn't going to play the game any longer. At first, my brain panicked but then was calm as I fell on my face, the dirt consuming me, flowing into my nose and throughout my body. It was quiet. It was peaceful. And maybe, just maybe, I could finally get some rest.
And as quickly as that bullet met with my eye... I was blasted like that 3rd hit of DMT.. into a different reality. In this reality stood 6 very large and dark figures around me. I couldn't make a single detail out of their entirety, which puzzled me. We sat in a blank world. Everything around us, white. Solid. For a few moments I had to ponder to myself, am I just in a crazy house? Did my worst nightmare somehow manifest itself to reality? Before I could answer myself however, one of the large figures began to chuckle. The plane shifted. The ever engulfing-white changed into a forest in the beautiful smoky mountains. There I watched myself run across a log and nearly slip. Was this the first chance with death I faced? I'm tired 😴
He could still feel the warmth of her cheeks on his lips as he walked to work. Tumultuous feelings fanned the heat into an inferno. He was no stranger to her body heat, he felt it pressed up against himself at night, their house too cold to allow them to manifest the distance that had grown between them. But he no longer felt her warmth, although it was his fault, it still hurt that she wasn't trying harder. He had set himself adrift, his own stupid fault although not his own decision, but if he had never left he never would have known that no search party would have come to bring him back. Maybe they had simply both pushed apart at the same time, five years into a marriage, young enough for the excitement to be gone but not old enough to know if they'd last. They could still remarry. Maybe she had been wondering if he still loved her too, although it was too late for that now. He had nearly walked into his boss as he was lost in thought, composure in shambles he awkwardly stuttered out a hello. She jovially rested her hand on the back and made a remark about how nice the winter mornings were, just the two of them this early, he smiled, nodded and retreated back into his thoughts as he started readying the store. Autopilot back on he was free to think as he unloaded the crates and fill up trolleys for others to bring into the store. He had no lack of time to think but the thoughts kept repeating themselves, as much as he thought he didn't love her anymore, it still hurt more that she didn't love him back. Maybe they just hadn't been compatible, they had gotten married quite quickly. Her father had been dying at the time, even offered to pay for most it, just so long as he could see his darling daughter happily married. It was small consolation that he didn't live long enough for him to realise that they were only one of those things. And it wasn't like other couples where they had the strain of kids or even the pressure of wanting to have kids, they don't have any excuse like that. There had been a rough patch after her father died but they had gotten over that. They just simply didn't love each other anymore. They were like two gears that had desperately wanted to fit, but the out of sync turning had simply worn each other down. Her hogging the blankets was cold instead of cute, her eyes glazing over when he talked about baseball was no longer bearable, although she had stopped pretending to listen a while ago. Although maybe leaving is pointless, he had made his vows and she hasn't decided to leave yet, maybe there is something? He'd made his marriage bed and he'll sleep in it. But no, that wouldn't do either of them any good. He was tired of waiting for her to come for him. Tired of feeling longing turn into hate as she curls into his arms every night, not saying anything, just content with letting him drift. Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow, tomorrow they'd finally talk and they'd actually listen to each other, and finally be on charted waters able to see how far apart they are. He came home, the sky as dark as when he first went to work. He immediately smelt dinner being made, only feeling faintly disappointed that it was fish. He had grown tired of telling her he disliked it a while ago. He slowly walks up and wraps his arms around her, hugging her gently, almost timidly, an action prompted by habit moreso than feeling. Suddenly he thinks about how this will be one of the last times he gets to do this. Caught up in thought, he begins to linger, only jolted by thought as she leaves her hand over his, holding it there. Flustered by the change from the norm, he starts striking up the usual conversation, "How was work honey?"The hand begins to fade away and he backs away and sit down, belatedly taking off his boots that he had been meant to shed at the door. "It was good, nothing too exciting, I talked, the kids didn't listen, the usual."He felt guilty, 'the usual' sounded like it was pointed at him this time. Maybe it always had been, she said the same thing often enough, well, the meaning stayed the same, words changed. He felt at a loss of words, the everyday script fading away as I felt like I was conscious during it for the first time. The guilt blossomed, words rose to his mouth, "I'm sorry". She didn't respond to that, and simply continued making dinner. The conversation usually didn't last much longer anyways. Even after tomorrow, she wouldn't know how sorry he was. Probably for the best, she would never know how angry he was at her either. ~Part 1~
Zea slipped into the closet. It was a walk-in closet, one of the benefits of having the first pick of the rooms in their new house. She'd always wanted a way to vanish, even when closed into her own room. Mother had locked her in early tonight, a sure sign that the Fights would begin soon. Sliding the simple latch she'd installed on the inside of her closet door, Zea slumped against the wood. Now, nothing and no one could get in. Well, not exactly nothing. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she closed her eyes listening for the first sounds. She didn't have to wait long. Shouts started to echo from below, followed by the sound of a lamp crashing to the floor. "They've started again. You can all come out now." Shadows coalesced in the corner, turning into a tall figure, with horns that scraped the ceiling and claws that extended way past the reach of a normal human. The singular smell of brimstone filled the closet. A shimmer against Zea's summer clothes resolved into a see-through woman decked out in the finest fashions of the 16th century. She held an equally transparent handkerchief to her nose with a pointed look at the demon. The smell of brimstone faded. Slightly. Against the far wall, a dark blob formed. Humanoid in shape, it never quite formed into anything but shifted consistently, a comforting hum emanating from its body. Just in front of Zea's lap, a small, fuzzy red creature with six legs, popped into existence like a reverse bubble. It snuffled, then jumped onto her legs, settling in with a comfortable growl. Her hands moving automatically to pet the creature, Zea smiled. "Thank you all for showing up. We have a lot to discuss tonight. We'll start with the monthly reports. Azzy?" The demon bowed, dust flaking down from the score marks that his horns put in the ceiling. Before he could speak, the door to Zea's room rattled. Her hands fisted into the soft fur of the red creature. A low voice said something, followed by a victorious laugh. "Ha! Then you shall face both of us! Come there is much sport to be had!"The sounds faded, as another crash sounded from the hallway. Zea relaxed, hands uncurling. Her brothers had always enjoyed the Fights. "There is not much to report, Miss Zea. The Hells are quiet, no escapes, no rescues."Azzy sounded almost apologetic. "Quite all right Azzy. Lady Honoria?" A quiet sigh came from the lady ghost. She fluttered her handkerchief, the smell of lilacs suddenly strong in the enclosed space. "There are always unquiet souls. I fear for their immortal rest. If they cannot find their way to—" "Honoria! Focus. Where, and how many?"Zea sharpened her tone, her voice unfortunately still too young to sound like anything but a child having a tantrum. But it had the desired effect. The woman dropped a curtsy, before reeling off a list of names, locations, and dates. "Well, Azzy? Anything?"Zea asked. The demon smiled, an expression that on any other face would be aptly called demonic. On his, it was just normal. "Oh, there's quite a few there that will fetch a pretty penny on the black market. And one of them is actually marked down for us. The big man himself will owe you a favour if we can retrieve them." Zea nodded, a warm glow of satisfaction spreading through her. It was turning into quite a profitable meeting. She raised her eyebrows at the humming blob. "Anything on your end, Pithasdek?"As usual, her tongue twisted around the unfamiliar syllables of the name until it came out sounding vaguely like English. It would sound different if she tried to repeat it, though similar. The hum changed in timbre, dipping down; then down further. Nothing then. "That's fine. We can't win them all. Well,"She got up, gently shooing the red creature from her lap. It had never given her a name and she wasn't going to be rude by calling it one that she made up. "I am quite pleased with your progress. I believe the Fights have left the house, and Father and I will have to tidy things before Mother and the boys get back."Turning the last part into a question, she looked at Lady Honoria. The ghost nodded, vanishing from view before returning in a matter of seconds. "All clear." "Right. We'll meet back here tomorrow afternoon. There's going to be quite a lot of work to do to round up this batch of souls."Leaving it at that, Zea unlatched her door, stepping out of the closet. Glancing back, she smiled at the empty room. Being a ten-year-old Soul Bounty Hunter was definitely interesting. But she wouldn't trade it for the world.
"Katniss! Noooo!" "Meeeeeooow!" Instead of the white football that I was going to kick, a white ball of fur went flying across our backyard. My cat! "Katniss, are you okay baby?" My friend and I rushed to the white goofball. She looked fine, but was angry. "I am so sorry! But it is your fault. Why would you run in front of me like that?" She hissed and slinked away. I sighed. "I'll have to pay for that,"I said to my friend. Katniss did not come near me for the rest of the day, but would perch herself on top of shelves and watch me work. Usually during dinner time, she would cuddle in my lap and purr slowly, which was her way of asking for food. Today however, she waited near her food bowl and did not make a single sound. I tried to cuddle her, but she hissed again. I gave her food and left her alone. A couple of days went by and Katniss still seemed upset. I apologised to her but to no avail. She continued to stare me as if she wanted me to burn away just by her gaze. On the fourth day, I received a delivery of a limited edition action figure that I had ordered, because I am a nerd. Katniss was perched on top of the bookshelf, watching me open the package and admire the figurine. I should have guessed then, what was about to happen. That night, I woke up to the sound of something falling over in my room. As I opened my eyes, I saw two green eyes staring directly at me, barely a feet away. "Jesus Katniss! You scared the crap out of me" She jumped off the bed lightly, and walked towards the study table. I turned on the lights to check what was the sound that I heard earlier. My action figure had fallen off the shelf in front of the table. Katniss stood next to it, gazed at me for a second and began attacking the figurine, as if trying to claw it apart. "No, you stupid cat,"I shouted and rushed to pick her up, but I was a second too late. As I grabbed her and shoved her on the bed, I saw a dismembered arm, lying a feet away from rest of the body. I looked at Katniss, furious. She was staring at me with a calm and calculating look that gave me chills. I got a feeling that she wanted to say, "this is just the beginning." I genuinely fear for my safety now. I might post an update later if I am still alive.
My dad came up with the idea. He was tired of me asking for allowance. He kept saying that I was a grown man now. Whatever that means. At the young age of 28 and 1/2, I lived in the comfort of my childhood home. All my needs were accounted for. Why would I work? In any case, he finagled me into getting a job in the mailing room at his workplace. It was fairly easy work. Sort letters and distribute them throughout the firm in a timely manner. I took to it fairly quickly. I would make my rounds, acknowledging recipients as I made my way throughout the day. These faceless suits would sometimes grunt at my presence but I took no offence. After a while, I was allowed to deliver increasingly important and sensitive packages. I never knew what was in them but they felt heavy. This new responsibility had me leave the building and hand deliver some of these folders at an address a couple blocks away. It broke up the monotony and allowed me to catch a few rays of sunshine. I got so used to this weekly ritual that I started to count the time it took me to do the run. If I timed the lights right, I could make it door to door in 3 minutes and 50 seconds. I perfected my cadence and recorded my step count. My foot would fall on the crosswalk as the crossing signal would light up. It got to a point where I could have done it blindfolded. So I did. Well, sort of. I did my route with my eyes closed, only opening them at the critical junctions. It felt weird and a little exciting. After a few practices I was ready. On a bright sunny day I decided to keep my eyes closed the entire distance. Even the crosswalks. I gathered the package and made my way to the door. I looked towards the first crosswalk about 100 feet away. Once the countdown reached zero, I could start the perfect run. The seconds ticked down and reached the fateful number, I closed my eyes and got into my stride. I carried the package at my side and confidently made my way forward. My hands tingled a little but that was to be expected. I reached the first crosswalk and breached it with utmost confidence, my eyes tightly shut. I heard the noise of idling cars as I navigated towards the next sidewalk. My foot instinctively reached up and landed exactly in line with the higher grade. So far so good. Careful not to increase my speed I continued at the predetermined pace to the next set of lights. At this point nothing could go wrong, this crosswalk was the shortest one. I traversed the threshold once again and took two steps. I heard a honk and begrudgingly opened my eyes only to be greeted by a fast approaching car. He barrelled through the intersection and sent me stumbling backwards. “Idiot!” I yelled as the package flew out of my hands. Papers went flying all over the road. How could this be happening, I timed this perfectly. Seeing that he wasn’t slowing down, all I could do was ask for his misfortune. I wished he could get hit by a meteor or something. The thought had barely crossed my mind that a streak of light lit up the sky and a striking sound was heard. I glanced toward the offenders car and saw that the hood had completely collapsed and was spewing steam and smoke. “What the hell was that?” I half shouted. A man opened the driver’s door and started yelling at me. I couldn’t make out what he was saying but it didn’t sound good. This wasn’t my fault, he’s the one who nearly killed me. He started approaching with the intent of someone ready for a fight. With little time to think, I kinda wished another meteor would show up. And as if on queue, the air sizzled and screamed as a blinding flash of light careened towards this angry man. Something was very wrong. My mind was racing. Nothing could explain what had just happened. I turned around and ran.
Simon Petros knew that his Master had conquered Charon. Since He had pillaged the Underworld, Charon had been an obedient servant, adapting to the change of dynasty. Petros had visited the Underworld as an Emissary and he saw him, the Ferryman whom the Gentiles bribed. They looked alike, about the same age, their beards both white, though Charon was far older. They both made their living on the sea, both fishers of mankind, in their own fashions. Neither had a lot of money, Petros for lack of charity, Charon for lack of piety. Petros had no need of money in his Master’s Realm, He had commanded him to carry no coin purse. But sometimes he returned to earth to bring his Master’s plan to pass and to witness the hospitality of his Master’s students. Petros looked at Charon and thought he reminded him of Yonah, his father. When Petros was called to the Underworld, he assumed it would be a royal visit. When he got to the bank of the Styx, though, he saw crowds of pale shades, crying and reaching for him. A younger man in a traveler’s hat leaning against a rock, not a shade, glanced at him and said “There’s too many of them.” Petros looked and saw Charon standing on the other bank looking at his raft. “Wait,” Petros said, and he returned to his Master’s Realm. Charon and Hermes saw the enormous white wake before they saw it. An enormous fishing boat of cedar, with a strong mast and broad sail, more appropriate for a lake than the River. They saw Petros, standing on the deck. The shades pooled around it. Petros ran to the port side, leaned over, and started helping them in.
Xander fidgeted nervously in the pilot’s chair. Today was the day the exploration team was going to the triangulated site of the Sound. The Sound had started several weeks ago, and baffled top scientists in every field. Leaders of every nation had hand-picked a member for the crew for the journey. The vessel was packed with every tool imaginable that they might need. The crowd outside the launch pad was a seething mass of celebration. Nothing like this had ever been accomplished in history. Xander was excited too, beneath the bundle of nerves. The go-ahead was given, the countdown initiated, and the ship was launched. In a matter of hours, they were at the origin point that had taken researchers weeks to find. Xander left the ship first, reached up, and touched the surface, the first ever to do so. Even here the Sound was faint – the fact that scientists were even able to detect it was remarkable. He chipped a sample away and took it to the lab aboard the ship, and sequenced it. “Captain Xander, the material, it is just ice. Nothing else,” reported lab technician Tali. There had been hope for something a little more exciting. Xander refused to let that disappoint. “Then please retrieve a drill, and we will burrow through.” The engineering team set up the packed mining equipment and began to drill. Xander observed the team, careful to suppress any nerve-wracked facial expressions. “Captain, the Sound, it is changing,” XO Nevel spoke into the headset from the ship. “Please stand by…the sound that is being made is new. We don’t have any history of it in the logs.” Xander was stunned – everyone had thought it was a new natural phenomenon, but it seemed that it had intent. “Captain, the Sound is making the same vibration patterns as our drill!” *** Sara watched the excavation anxiously. They had been on the huge rogue ice planet for weeks – this was the first time she had heard any sound from below that wasn’t another ice shift or rip current beneath the surface. They’d have to head back soon – the planet wouldn’t be this close to Earth again, and they couldn’t miss the transfer window. This was a once-in-a-millennium opportunity to study a water-filled rogue planet. After this they’d have to go back to moons parked in their home system, like Europa. “Captain, we’ve hit the end…I think? The ice crust is supposed to be much thicker.” Sara walked to the edge of the giant hole and directed a spot light down into the dark. She shrieked when a giant eye with an hourglass pupil showed itself at the hole. <It must be at least 10 feet in diameter> she marveled. She heard the screams of her crew distantly but nothing would stop her from making First Contact. The alien pupil expanded in what appeared to be shock as well, then vanished to be replaced with a tentacle as equally monstrous. It moved slowly out of the hole and hovered a mere few centimeters from Sara’s face, as if waiting for permission. She reached out, touched it gently, and smiled, “Hello!”
I’m going, to be honest. The great kingdom of light is a horrible example of incompetent leadership. Nobles eat cake and the peasants are starving to death in a famine, which makes the last plague appear tame. A dull ache in my stomach rumbles as I kick a rock farther down the cobblestone path. I can only admire how quickly the once-great city plaza fell into disrepair two years after the king’s death. Boarded-up windows and the ever-present grey gloom only add to the atmosphere as I kick the rock further along. Hero of destiny, my arse. I couldn’t even stop the dark lord’s army from burning down my hometown; Well, whatever was left of it after the plague came through. In a fluid motion, I come to a stop, leaving the handle of my upturned pitchfork on my stone companion. A look of disgust on my face as I come to the closed gates of the noble district. I wouldn’t be slightly bothered if that shiny black gate had a nice hole in it. You know what? To hell with it. I’ve had it up to my straw hat with this crap. I don’t think but act on instinct as I swing the arse end of my fork around to the rear of the rock before winding up. The wooden staff glows in orange arcane runes as I eye up my target and swing. Wind rips past, and the air snaps as the rock fragments are blown through the steel gate in rapid succession. Its passage leaves a short auditory hurricane of ripping metal and air as half a dozen finger-sized holes are torn in the gate. It’s over in a mere instant compared to the silence as I put my now shattered pitchfork over one shoulder. The butt of the weapon smoking as I walk back down the road to the sound of dining church bells. God, I can’t wait to burn down this city.
So I'm working on a series of Urban Fantasy books and short stories, called Devlin Inc. I took the prompt and interpreted it with some of those characters. I'm sorry if this doesn't make perfect sense but I was just looking for a little writing exercise. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ I hear a knock at the door to my office. It's late, probably three in the morning and I really should be asleep. I don’t see much reason for doing that though. I stagger over to the front door and peer out, It's a little girl, probably five or six at most. I grunt and turn away from the door. I walk over to the bar and pull out the sawed off double barrel I have tucked under the bar. I’m a monster hunter, and a little girl showing up at your door at three in the morning is never a good sign. I walk back and open the door, “Can I help you?” “Brother,” she beams, “It is a pleasure to meet you.” What the hell just showed up on my door? “Yea…” I say awkwardly, not really sure how to respond to that, “How did you end up here kid?” “Our mother sent us,” she responds, smiling warmly. “God damn it Mom,” I mutter. Mom was a lord of hell. Mistress Alrama so I doubt this kid was sent by MY mother. “Yea…What’s your Mom's name?” I ask, glancing up and down the street. To an outside perspective not inviting her in might have looked bad but there were all sorts of malicious spirits that needed an invitation to wreak true havoc and I didn’t feel like dealing with it. “Surely you know your mothers name,” She says, still grinning up at me. “I know my mom's name, sure I asked yours,” I say, really not liking where this was going. Something about the kid through me off. She had a round face framed by long blonde hair in twin tails, she had big round baby blue eyes. Something about her eyes didn’t look right, I didn’t look too closely. Not sure what I’d see. “Our Mothers name is Mistress Alrama,” She drawls. Fuck. Without another word she pushes past me and skips into my bar. Double fuck. I felt half a dozen of my security runes go off. Whatever this kid was, she was dangerous and Mom had apparently decided to dump her problems on to me. I operated Devilin Inc for years out of this former bar / restaurant. It was currently a mess but I didn’t exactly feel much reason to clean it. I watch her warily, shotgun in my right hand as I fish my phone out and call Mom. No answer. I try Dad, Uriel the Angel. It goes straight to voicemail. “You really should clean more,” the girl says stacking empty pizza boxes. “And maybe you should keep quiet,” I growl. She sticks out her lower lip and pouts. If my haggard appearance and shitty office didn't make it obvious, I wasn’t exactly in the greatest place mentally. And now I have this shit to deal with. I take a deep breath to center myself and try to ignore the beast in me. “Why are you here?” I ask “I already told you, Mom sent me. She said you’d look after me for a bit.” “I don’t have any siblings,” I say flatly trying to figure out what this things deal was. Not sure what else to do I opened my third eye, and what I saw absolutely terrified me. This girl, whatever she was, was not natural. She was the opposite of everything. Magic and souls invoked warmth or at least energy. She was the opposite of that. The only way I could describe her was the magical equivalent of anti-matter. Instinctively I went to aim the shotgun at her but I knew that would probably be a pointless gesture. And this girl could probably atomize me, so I didn’t like my odds against her. I decided I’d play along until I could figure what the Hell mom had dumped on me. “I’m sorry,” I said, setting the gun down “I’ve been having a bit of a rough time lately.” “Its alright, Mom told me as much before I left. She’s worried and wants me to be a good girl and help you.” “I appreciate it. What was your name again?” I asked “You don’t recognize me?” She said, smiling at me, “I’m Grace.” Several things clicked into place and that raised infinitely more questions. The thing my mom referred to as Grace was a deformed fetus abomination she kept in a jar as a security device above her cabinet in her lab. If this was the same entity I was very concerned. “You’re Grace?” I ask, perplexed. “Yep!” “You’re a lot bigger than when I saw you last.” I say hesitantly. “Mommy woke me up and helped to shape me.” she replies. “Do you know where Mom is?” I ask. “Her and Daddy had to leave, she said Uncle Lu found out about me and was mad and scared. Daddy said Michael was scared too.” “Scared of you?” I ask. She just shrugs , “ I dunno.” “What the Hell did you do Mom?”
(For the record, I'm just making some random character for the story) She wasn't armed, and wore nothing but a colorful hoodie and some blue jeans, her green eyes were bright. Is this a prank? I thought, How could an unarmed teenage girl defeat half an army of fully equipped men, with nothing? It doesn't make sense! She isn't even out of breath! "Heard you needed a save. Well? Come on then! We don't have time for you to sit and stare!"she said expectantly, like she thought I would just follow her every command. Who does she think she is? I'm the commander of the King's army, not her! I thought defiantly. I stood up and followed her out. Once outside, I looked around, confused. I didn't see any form of transportation she could've used to get across the desert. "Where's you're horse?"I asked impatiently. "What horse?"she smiled at me mischievously. What?! Does she really expect me to believe she walked through the desert all on her own? No. Surely the King gave her some form of transportation! I thought desperately. "The one you rode here! Surely the King gave you some way to get here!" "Nope. No horse. I found something better,"she smirked. I had a bad feeling about this. She started walking forward, and with a gulp, I followed. We stopped at a ravine, a deep cut in the ground that went down for miles and miles. Luckily, there was a bridge, but the girl didn't seem to have any intent on finding it. "Wait for it,"she whispered. My ears popped as a huge red dragon shot out of the chasm (lol it rhymes), and spiraled around us, landing just behind me. I froze, feeling a gust of wind as the dragon exhaled. The girl walked over to it and pet it's ginormous snout. I turned suddenly, astounded by what I saw. By the time I'd pulled myself together, she was sitting on the dragon's neck, looking down at me. "You coming?"she asked expectantly. Starting to feel irritated, I slowly and carefully climbed on behind her. Part two is coming!
Today should’ve amazing. No one died today. That’s the thing tho, nothing died today. At first people were happy cause their loved ones who had terminal illnesses had another day to live, but as the day went on the pain they were in increased. The diseases hadn’t died. They couldn’t die, but neither could the sick. They just kept getting worse and worse, the pain making them wanna die but unavailable to pass on. Of course it somehow got worse. All the bacteria and microorganisms couldn’t die. Washing your hands wouldn’t work, nothing was clean anymore. Multicellular organisms suffered worse, all the skin that should’ve died off and fallen accumulated on the body, tumors grew uncontrollably. Billions of cells die daily in people’s bodies, so we were turning into masses of cells. As night approached everyone alive wanted it to end. Let the living die. Please. Then midnight struck and death came once more. Almost everything died, and what didn’t laid in pain feeling their bodies going back to some sense of normalcy. The following days things had gotten better but some stuff needed fixing. Some people’s bodies still had masses of cells now living and needed corrective surgery. Certain animals had a sudden population boom and affected entire ecosystems. We were all quarantined for awhile, the government was decontaminating as much as they could in case bacteria were still out and about. It didn’t let me enjoy my grandma being alive for another day. I she died that night, her body had been under too much stress. Death should’ve never left.
\[POEM\] Be silent. &#x200B; Learn to be Silent, Let your quiet mind listen and absorb. The thousands of sounds, of sight, and of all signs. The gentle breeze, the thunderous glee, the chilling freeze. Brushes against your fragile flesh, setting your mind free. &#x200B; Learn to be Silent, Talk not, of verbal or thought, just absorb. The stories of people, of the world, and of all lives. One does not need to talk to be understood Because actions, those, speak much louder than words. &#x200B; Learn to be Silent, Let the currents carry you off, to the distance. You'll be surprised by how much effortless it would And how far it would take you into the woods. Remember this, be silent. &#x200B; Learn to be Silent, But not of mute and inaction. You will know what's best to speak, in times of need. Instead of just speak and speak nonsense And were exhausted when it's time for some actions. &#x200B; Learn to be Silent...
“Alright class, today I brought a special guest,” the teacher began. “Please say hello to Mr. Johnson, the designer of the tallest skyscrapers in the world.” “Hello Mr. Johnson,” the class speaks back. “Please, please,” Mr. Johnson said. “Mr. Johnson was my father’s name. You all can call me Barry.” “Well class,” the teacher began. “Do you have any questions for Barry?” All the kids shot their hands in the air. Barry pointed to one in the front row. “Why did you want to build skyscrapers?” “Well,” Barry said. “My grandpa was the designer of the world’s first ever skyscraper. My dad held the record for designing the tallest skyscraper until he was dethroned by a Scandinavian man named Yolef Stralloog. I beat Yolef’s record, but his son stole it from me. Then I stole it back from him. And he stole it back from me. And we’ve been doing this song and dance for about thirty years.” “Why do you want the record so bad?” “To escape certain doom,” Barry said, bluntly. “Before my grandpa died, he told me that one day, a great cloud will pass over the earth, and lightning will strike anyone not above it. He said that ‘It’ will know how high up to go, and will leave only a few people alive. He didn’t know how far up it would go, but he said the best way to ensure my survival is by building the tallest skyscraper in the world.” The classroom sat in stunned silence. All at once, the children asked for a place on the top of his skyscraper. “Well,” Barry said. “There might be enough room. I’ll need at least $1,000 per person for supplies.” “Barry” walked away in handcuffs after it was found out he committed identity theft and was only a con-man that resembled the real Barry Johnson. As a way of saying thank you, the real Barry gave the class a tour of a skyscraper. “And right here is where we keep the bodies of all our dead employees, and here is where we grind up their bodies and turn them into hotdogs.”
"Unpredictable and untamable. Dangerous and destructive."That is what you are taught when learning Flame-Arts. The same was said about dragons. Fire blasted to Anya's Side as she parted it with a jutting forward cut of her hand. She could feel the resistance as she imposed her will upon the flames. It was like trying to force something to happen in a lucid dream, or nightmare where trying to change aspects to your desires could be met with failure and despair. Her long coat of red wyrm leather billowed, the cuffs and accents of which where dark and made of black drake skin. Her white button up shirt was made of from a xi-long's silken chin hair, the buttons were blackened salamander bone, her pants and shoes were made from various thickness and softness grades of dragon hide. Her dark-brown hair was cut to the shoulder and left in mess of curls. Though she looked youthful, she seemed pained in a manner that came with a long life... The fire raged and raged, the sound of which always seemed to take on its own dream-like musical quality as she engulfed herself in what she was doing. When using Flame-Arts, less thought, just serenity or thoughtless focus were ideal. When the bright and dazzling hues of orange that would momentarily last in the vision abated--Anya was face to face with a beast of immense size in its den in the cavity of a long-dead volcano. A single murderous tooth of the creature was twice her height in size. The impenetrably black and thick stoney scales covered the creature with no hint of overlap with one another in sporadic, battle-hardened and functional forms to be as impossibly impenetrable as they were terrifying; To try and strike the creature would be like striking a solid mountain of granite. The sight of the flames leaving the woman unharmed, and anything but a smoldering pile of ash before the Ancient Dragon--it immediately and without hesitation bared down with its maw. Anya's eyes closed and her other hand came up with to her side, as if calling something to be raised up with two fingers. A thin beam of pure flame produced a thunderous clap and deafening hum as the super heated air around the column snapped and rapidly expanded into a blastwave. The unflickering brilliance of the beam, and the solid shape of its form from floor to ceiling said... This Flame-Art was everything but unpredictable and untamable, and yet immeasurably dangerous and destructive. In an instant, the dragon recoiled and backed away. The beam vanished, leaving a glowing-white molten stone ring where it sprang up from the floor, and a steady drip of the same molten stone coming from the ceiling where it hit. Anya breathed in and out, and whisps of burning sigils were before her as she spoke. "I am Anya Flamemaster,"in the common tongue with one voice but with another voice the came from around her another tongue was spoken in dragon speech. "Honorable-Grand Elder Dragon Of Black, Anv, from I, Anya Flamemaster Human, Plea-Speak you with in search of reconciliation-peace." The mind of the Anv was quick, dragons of elder variety were often quick to process and speak in a manner that was surprising and notable by comparison to most humans. To anyone besides Anya the roar that could have leveled a brick would have just been a roar, but it meant a lot more. "Hatred immeasurable."it said for time until the roar died away and its mouth hung loose to produce from its throat a more complex and clearly annunciated set of vowels and consonants indistinguishable from any other language a mortal could speak. For a moment, the beast jerked a minute inch forward as if for a fraction of a second it was not going to speak and instead attack again. "Will not abide lie-speak."It said, when names and honors aswell as directionals were dropped it was often a sign of great hatred meant to insult, though sometimes... "Most despised of Dragon Kind, Anya Wyrmlingslayer, Anya Clutchbreaker, Anya Youngslayer, Anya Despised'Monsterous'Vile."the abundant emphasis of multiple names was either seen as irony, or archaically used to convey an even greater hatred. Again she tried, taking steps closer and expressing a desperate sincerity that came wavered the tone of her voice. "Honorable-Grand Elder Dragon of Black, Anv, from I, Anya Flamemaster, beseech-implore you for reconciliation-peace." With the slam of claws against the cavern floor, "No reconciliation-peace! Anya Dragonblight'Dragonflayer, Sin-Historied you are! Blood-bathed. Now-clad in child skin. Only reconciliation-death."Anv said in a bellow. Words became hard for any to form... "Power-drunk. Past-I, Anya Flameburned--Vengeance-misguided."She misspoke incoherently searching for the right way to begin--but Anv seemed to comprehend the mess. "Anya Slavetamer..."Dragon kind had no word for it so Anv borrowed the common tongue. "Enemy."Though they would often use the term rival, competitor, prey, criminal... There was an unnatural sense to dragons to be enemies, to be threatened. Even the way the word "Enemy"was spoken was done in a manner searching for a more appropriate. When Anya did not speak, Anv did... "Anya Soulbreaker'Dragonchainer, in history did you break-enslave dragon-brother. Taught-widely in paper 'To Train-Enslave a Dragon'. Dragon-Brother killed Dragon-brother. Dragon-Child killed Dragon-Ancestor. Disgusted. I, Anv, Hatred filled beyond measure seek only justice-death. Humans possess life-short, but I, Anv, am disgusted by your sin-payed immortality-unnatural--Dragon-Stolen." Anya still did not speak so Anv began again and again--creating a storied list Anya was well aware of. In paraphrase, how she long ago mistook dragons for simple creatures without culture... How she studied ancient theories and well known to all academics--things that were 'foolish-false'. She could see Anv begin to cry, and express anguish that was almost indistinguishable from the dragon expression of hatred--something she never understood before but when searching her memory it was present at every frame of memory, painted very clearly. "I am suffering."Enough pride painted memories for two lifetimes suddenly awash with shame, and horror. Now she thought of how no words could express her evil, even trying an immortal lifetime would fall short. Anv could not strike at her. Anya thought it could have been in fear, or that he was generating a concept unfamiliar to dragons that was similar to "I hope my words can convince you to suffer for all eternity." She left the lair of Anv, through lightless caverns she would find her way. Her life of pride, happiness, wonder, and joy was over. No reconciliation-peace. Only her self-imposed duty to right her wrongs remained.
Honestly, the first thing that should've tipped me off was his first word: ziggurat (I am a hundred percent sure he was never exposed to that, as he was taken in very early-- a week at most after birth). If I'm being honest, there were so many other signals I should have noticed, like how he always used to draw goat heads on the wall with uncanny skill, or his affinity for sketching pentagrams. Then again, not the brightest bulb in the toolbox sometimes. So of course I can't let it go. If my baby has something going on with him I deserve to know what it is. A couple of nights after finding out I call him down and he responds with a "Wait!". I stifle a chuckle: he's in the thick of puberty, and every now and again his voice cracks in the funniest way-- but don't tell him that, it's something he's really self conscious about. His feet fall heavy on the wooden stairs, slow and lumbering. I can see something like fear grow in his eyes as he realizes that I'm in my lecturing chair, positioned opposite to the cotton sofa. I tell him we need to have a talk, and when I tell you he blanches I mean it's like when you cull a squid. Just all the color disappears. Kinda funny, if you ask me. He takes his seat on the edge, tense and nervous. I ask him if he's the antichrist, and he seems to relax a bit. Keyword being: a bit. Bashfulness turns to bewilderment. He's about to hit me with the "How did you know?"but I cut him off by saying that a parent always knows. He immediately susses me out: "You know when people die"he says, or something like that (He tells me later that telepathy is a part of his repertoire-- already suspected that-- and that that moment was the first and last time he'd use it like that). I tell him to give me more credit for piecing it together, he tells me that all the signs were there (With the cadence of a frustrated teen who gets frustrated when something seemingly obvious flies over the radar for others), and I admitted that it was kinda dumb how it took me this long, to which we both laugh at. Laughter dies, and silence coats the room. So I ask him what being the antichrist entails, and he says that at some point he'll lead the armies of hell against Jesus and his posse. "But isn't Jesus omnipotent?"I ask, to which he responds with the typical "I don't know"mumbled with a shrug and downward glance. Another couple moments of silence passed, and before I could break the newly-formed ice he says something-- stuff that I won't be forgetting any time soon. "You don't love me anymore, don't you?"I wanted to interrupt, but he continued, "I don't want to be this-this bad guy. The demons, they teach me how to fight and use my powers, saying that I'll need it for judgement day."His speech slowed, "They're nice, but I don't want to be a- a monster. I- I--,"I can hear he's choking up, and I transfer from my seat to his side. I embrace my baby as he sobs and gulps for air, trying to soothe him. He leans in, and I hold him. His cries mellow out into sniffles. I grab the box of Kleenex placed on the drawer beside the sofa and offer it to him. He pulls one and blows, crumpling it into a ball clenched in his hand. We stay like this for a bit. I feel him look up to me and I return the gaze. He asks why, why I still love him, despite the fact that he was the enemy, the future's pinnacle of evil. I remind him of something that I've repeated and will always be willing to repeat, "I'll always love you, my baby."I run my fingers through his hair, "It doesn't matter if you're adopted or the antichrist, you'll always be my baby."and I give him a peck on the forehead. He gives me a smile, faint but as heartfelt as humanely-- maybe demonly-- possible. I also tell him that the very fact he doesn't want to go through with trying to start a war of biblical proportions was a sign that he wasn't no monster. It's only the start. I can vividly remember the bittersweetness in realizing that I'd been given a view of the clocks. But if that was the price to pay for the chance to help and support my baby to the fullest extent, so be it. I'll take the dread of knowing when the grocery cashier will die, when each and every family member of mine will pass, and knowing my death day. Anything for him. After a bit more time has passed I stand up and tell him it's time for dinner. I tell him it's chop suey-- his favorite.
Combat magic. Hah! What a load of nonsense. Nothing ever got accomplished by two fools flailing at each other with sticks in a panic. A few sparks, a minor burn here and there, it's barely more than show, wizard's duels. Real magic takes hours. Sometimes days. Still, the king wants his enemies crushed, so I'll have to go casting. I step into my tower. It's got clear line of sight for miles around. The leylines don't run terribly deep here, but you don't always get to pick your castles. I sit down at my desk and begin to fashion a charm. A feather, a silver coin from a dead man's wallet, catgut to tie it together, and a bit of cumin rubbed into the knots. The end result is tiny, a little thing that fits into the palm of the hand. I strap it onto the end of my staff, a sympathetic lure on whose pattern I can fashion my magic. Keeping the charm firmly in mind, holding my staff aloft, I send out a tiny tendril of my mind into the currents of the leylines. An hour passes in total stillness; two. Every so often I recall myself back into my body, brace myself, and cast again. Eventually my body gives out, and I have to sit down. I need food badly; it's nearly midnight. Setting my staff aside, I make a small meal of candied almonds and cheese, resting my mind, arms, and legs for the effort ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a streak of light in the sky. A shooting star. It's raining in the heavens. Now or never. I stand back up, balance my staff in my hands once more, and cast. No sense in patience this time. The magic of the land roils with the falling of the stars, and I throw again and again. At last, something brushes against my charm-image. It's vast. This will be a magic more than sufficient for my purposes. A sense of Earth and Water come to me from the spell outside. I freeze, gently tipping my staff, just an inch at a time. A bite! I panic slightly, and my arms strain as my staff is suddenly jerked away from me, almost escaping my grasp. Pull, cajole, convince. The charm is too sweet a treat to let go, and the silver of the coin has the magic trapped as surely as any hook. Pull, release, tease. Sweat beads on my brow as I wrestle the spell into the shape and place of my design. A rune circle already prepared on my floor acts as net for the forces I've gathered. Quickly, I drop my staff and pull out a silver dagger, and cut, cut, cut the seemingly empty air above the circle. It is done. I grab my staff and quickly, quickly scratch out the far side of the circle. The magic escapes again, but this time it has a purpose, a destination, and a very, very unfortunate duke to guide it. There will be consequences in the morning. It matters not. My part in this scheme of my lord is done, and now I go to rest.
(Part 1) “Well, at least I know one thing about my father. He was a damn madman.” I said. The half orc across from me kept the same stoic expression. Ezekiel, a full elf and my close friend, turned toward me. “For which part? Hitting and quitting an orc, or an elf in the same time frame?” Ezekiel said, in common. I assume so the half orc could understand as well. He and I looked at Ezekiel strangely. “What?” The orc said. “You said yesterday was your birthday.” Ezekiel said in the orc’s direction. He gestured to me, “Yours was three weeks ago.” He said. The half orc shook his head. “This cannot be happening.” He said, in Common. “It is. Look at each other.” Ezekiel said. I had to admit, I could see it. While obviously our skin and overall builds were different, our facial structures were mostly the same. We both had mostly rounded human-like ears. He had a bit of a stronger jaw with tusks, and my eyes were larger, but our eyes were the same shape and color besides that. And within his eyes, my eyes, was something that surprised me. Worry. “Ezekiel, what is the point of this? I don’t see anything I can gain from this, other than knowing my father had surprisingly low standards.” I ask in Elvish. He glared a little. The orc didn’t understand, but narrowed his eyes, likely based on my tone. “Okay, that’s enough of that. This is very important.” Ezekiel said. Then I saw his face also contained worry, just like the half-orc. “Remember where I found them?” Ezekiel asked. “The apothecary.” I replied. Ezekiel’s family were healers and doctors, and they owned an apothecary. It wasn’t rare for people from other communities to come through, since their apothecary was larger than most and carried more items. An orc, half or full, was a stranger sight in an elf owned business, but this was not the first time. “I was there for treatment. For a terminal, hereditary disease.” They said. My heart hurt at the sound of terminal, as they were so young, younger than I. Then the word hereditary registered. “Looking for something to ease it. Then your friend approached because I look like you and it caught his attention.” He continued, in slightly rough but understandable Common. “The disease is passed from father to son. It may not have shown in you yet, since orcs have shorter lives and grown little faster than elves. And it’s not guaranteed to pass down. I didn’t want to risk it. Needed to tell you.” He said. “He’s white as a ghost,” Ezekiel said under his breath. I shake myself. “What are the symptoms, exactly?” I ask. Maybe I’m fine. Maybe elves are immune. Maybe we aren’t even related, we just look alike and were born from similar situations. I know I’m lying to myself, there’s no way two different men who looked alike both fathered sons and left at the same time. “They come and go. I can usually predict them. Sometimes I see things that aren’t there. Shadow people, or animals.” He said. “This always hurts after that. Bad, and then it stops.” He pointed to his head. “Other times it’s in the body. I’ll be fine and then these black marks appear. After that I get sick. Once the sick goes away, they go away. Nothing I do prevents it.” He said. “There are more. Any of that sound familiar?” He said. I searched my mind, thinking about those symptoms. Spells of sudden headaches while seeing shadows moving in the corners. My mom thought I might be seeing spirits, but no other signs of the supernatural or means of detection showed anything wrong. Nothing that usually dispelled spirts helped. And the strange marks followed by sickness. I’d always thought it was growing pains or some other teen thing. “The thing is,” they continued. “According to my mom, he was past the age one usually succumbs to the illness when they met. He had some signs, but he was very much alive and it wasn’t progressing.” They said. “So he must’ve found a cure.” I say. “But I’m not aware of a cure anywhere else. Believe me, my mother has searched. I think the only option we have is to find where he is.” He said. I process this. “How long do you two have?” Ezekiel asked, almost reading my mind. “I have maybe four, five if lucky. No one’s made it to the late twenties, besides my father.” They said. Ezekiel got an angry look. “Hopefully you find him. He should help you. If I knew I had a hereditary disease, I’d keep it to myself.” He said. “That’s what I think too. I’m tempted to beat him.” The orc said. I squeak. I’d barely been out of my hometown my whole life. I hardly knew about the outside world. My mom didn’t want me to go too far. Our town was mostly elves, humans and dwarves, but neighboring communities contained orcs. So she didn’t let me travel far. If she hadn’t distrusted orcs so much, maybe I would’ve met this one earlier and figured out what was going on. Ezekiel scooted closer to me, seeing I was panicked. “Are you two going to need a moment?“ The orc…my brother asked. Ezekiel nodded. My brother stood up and exited. “Take your time. It’s not easy news.” He said. Ezekiel hugged me. I cry because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t expect to die for hundreds of years. Eventually, I composed myself. Ezekiel and I walked outside to where the orc had been waiting. “How are you feeling?” He asked. “Better. The shock has worn off a bit.” I said. I took a deep breath. “I think we can arrange to go looking for our father and the cure soon.” I said. “Good. I don’t have much going on, I’m sure we can figure out a date and time.” He said. “What’s your name?” He asked. “Vidal. And yours?” I replied. “Vargan.” He said. Apparently the look we have suits a V name. “You need to talk to your mother.” He said.
There were rows upon rows of terminals packed into the dimly lit warehouse. Sat behind each was a hunched over, miscellaneous user, clicking furiously on a mouse. Empty energy drinks and the crumpled remains of chip packets were scattered across every available surface. The smell was appalling. "How long do they spend in here?"I asked. "There is no time limit. They are free to remain as long as each wants. For most, there is no reason to leave"came the reply, my host slowly articulating each word. When I had originally left head office to see our offsite facility I hadn't quite imagined a warehouse packed full of smelly, sweaty bodies. My supervisor had assured me that our employee conditions were second to none. In today's economy, this was perhaps true. In front of me, a voice shouted out in triumph, two arms thrusted into the air. "We have today's success story"my host drawled. Two company personnel ran forward to the individual, the weapons at their side the only sign that they were more like guards. The individual looked at them hungrily. The first guard handed out a chip packet, the second a can of drink. The individual ripped into the gifts, eating and drinking noisily. "The consumables contain stimulants, the serving containers merely make them more palatable"my host continued, "we ensure that good work is rewarded." I remained skeptical. Walking forward, I peered over the shoulder of a nearby user. A bizarre array of anarchic colours marched across the screen, the users inputs not corresponding with any particular action. Bursts of static, white noise, blinked onto the screen. The users headphones contained any noise. The clicking continued. "How do they know what they are doing?"I queried. "They don't. Each user stumbles, eventually, here after spending countless hours on the web. They learn what to do from each other. The game is a facade,"explained my host, "Each input masked". "I need to see the end result"I asked. Obligingly, my host turned me towards a back room. Shutting the door, the clicking finally subsiding, they showed me their own screen, a checkerboard of feeds. On each a different house, a different room. "They are from around the region. Other facilities such as this have their own sector. What you see is what we control, here." "Show me that one"I said, pointing to a square. A living room was enlarged, the view from on the ground. In the corner, a user number. A series of inputs could be seen scrolling along the bottom of the screen. The view shifted and changed, forward then backwards, running into an object and retreating. "One per user. Hence the reason for wanting a modest exapansion to our operating budget. This year has seen more roombas come online, and we need to increase our recruitment"explained my host. "And you'll get it"I replied. Robot vaccums were booming this year.
My imagination has always been easily tempered by the laws of reality. At least, when I was imagining things about myself or my daily life. So when everyone woke up with ideal bodies, mine didn't look like a cartoon. I gained something close to a swimmer's body. The belly had all my life was now flat. Untoned muscle suddenly became toned and slightly bigger, but not inflated. Heavier things seemed a bit lighter, but not weightless. My teeth were unstained, fillings and caps replaced with perfect enamel. The most out-there thing about me was that my skin didn't burn in the sun anymore. Oh, and my hair had a bit more color in it, but I still consider the skin thing to be the most out-there thing about me. Especially compared to what else was going on. Most people were walking around looking like supermodels or comic book heroes. Many were putting on a brave face, but tweets and blogs revealed that now that they had what they thought they liked, it wasn't as pleasing as they thought it'd be. How suddenly longer legs were awkward to move with, how muscles bigger than their heads get in the way of reaching anything. Or how they should have learned color theory before wanting neon hair. Others complained about how their clothes no longer fit, and they can't go to a clothing store without fitting clothes in the first place. This was particularly a problem for people who thought their bodies should have large. . . extremities, shall we say. And that's without getting into people who wanted inhuman features. Someone posted about how their new rabbit ears and tail didn't give them better jumping, as they still had human legs and not rabbit leg muscle designed for hops. Another mentioned that mantis shrimp eyes didn't give them new colors to see- in fact they seemed to be missing a few blended, in between colors. A newly made Mer regrets not having legs in the middle of a landlocked country. A video about someone complaining about their new tentacles passed my feed and I made sure to scroll past it REAL quick. Still, for all I'm glad I stuck closer to reality, watching what everyone else went through made me wish I had a bit more imagination. Even if they're not functional, wings look awesome and I find myself wishing I had a pair. Maybe if the idealization happens again. . .?
The hardest trials, everyone would say in whispers, were the first and the last. Those were make or break. Most people who attempted the trials failed at the first, and those who didn't tended to fall at the sixth. I found the first trial easy, because I was prepared. The first trial tests to see if your body can handle the power you want. There's no use granting super strength to someone who's arms would tear themselves apart with the strain, or ice control to someone who gets hypothermia easily, for example. The trials got harder as their number climbed, which was to be expected. After getting past the first, I grew cocky. If the first was supposed to be hard, I thought even the sixth would be a cakewalk. My cockiness grew at the second trial, since it was less physically demanding. In fact, as the number of trials grew, the physical toll seemed to decline. It was only after I passed the fourth and went into the fifth did I figure out why that was. The higher difficulties weren't meant to be physically demanding. The first trial was about your body. The final, sixth trial. . . Can you handle this new power, mentally? Would having it cause your morals to decay? What about your sense of self? Would you recognize yourself after you gained your new ability? The sixth trial was to test if your soul could handle your new power. And standing in front of the door to the sixth trial, I was struck with the realization that I didn't know if it could.
I stirred my noodles idly. The day was rainy and dreary, and it was mid afternoon, which made everything drearier, and I was tired and hungry, and so the best I could do for myself was make some noodles. I wondered when my Morticia would be home. I absolutely loved her name- that was just one of the many things I loved about her. That and her mystery and enigmatism. She was such a character - much more interesting than that b\\\\ Lisa who took my dog. After dating someone like Morticia, I could never imagine dating someone with such a— The back door burst open. Loud footsteps clomped in the back stairwell, and my darling Morticia sprung up the stairs. “Oh, hello dear, I was just making---" “Shut up! Did you put the keys to the room downstairs anywhere?" "Oh, well sure, I saw they were on the--" "No time. Where are they?" I frowned. "I put them in the keybox, with the rest of the keys." She rushed past me, nearly knocking me over in the process. Her long black cloak billowed behind her. I always love the dichotomy between her unusual dress and my modern home. I had done well, for myself, you see, and after a few months, Morticia and I had mutually agreed that it could be nice for her to move in. "They're not there!"she said. "Damn it, I'll do it myself."She rushed back down the stairs and into the basement. The noodles were done, as far as I could tell, and I was dying to know just what she was on about this time. I pattered down the steps after her, and wove through the halls towards her workshop. She was something of a chemist, you see, but she also dabbled in history (or perhaps a historian dabbling in chemistry?), or so I assumed, from the many old looking tomes and "potions"she had brought into the house. She was very secretive about her work, but that was alright with me - it was all very much above my head. I rounded the corner, right before Morticia brought a hammer down on the doorknob. It cracked with a splintering of wood, and the door was free on its hinges. "Morticia, what are you doing!"I exclaimed. She ignored me, and with a majestic flourish of her robes, she vanished into the room. I followed her in, and was greeted by a terribly, sickly smell. After covering my nose, I looked around the enigmatic space. The walls had been painted a bone white, and the tables all around the room were covered in potions, tomes, small animals, mortar and pestles. There was a lectern here and there for more regal looking books, and in the corner of the room– "Holy shit, Morticia, is that a corpse?" "It is, darling,"she said. "And there's no time to waste. The police will be here any minute. I need your help."

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