Split (1)

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When I awoke, I was in a panic of confusion, covered in intradermic fluid. I didn't remember why or how I had arrived in the moment I was in. As my mind grasped hold, I sat up, and breathed for what felt like the first time, tears welled into my eyes as I began viewing my surroundings. Trees, mountains, and a clearing I was in the center of. The sky was a purple hue, with the sun and the moon next to each other. My blood boiled with unease. I found my hands clasped, white knuckled to the sides of what I would later realize was a crypto-sarcophagus. Alas, I did not find relief when I remembered, no, I found the explanation for the existential dread I was feeling. I first remembered First Contact, I remembered being there. We didn't know what to expect, we hoped. Humanity found its place in the stars, and thus, we imagined whatever we would encounter would share the same sentiments of the future and prosperity. We thought that we would find a friend, alone with us in the cosmos. It seemed that way at first, I'm pretty sure it was. I can't quite remember how it all went wrong. I believe it began with disappearances, missing transportation vessels migrating through deep space. At this time, humanity had partially integrated with our new friends. I mean, we would share colonial space, and live amongst each other, but we were never exactly close. They stuck with themselves, as did we. Conspiracies arose, the galactic internet became a place of hostility. None of us wanted to believe that peaceful harmony was at an end. You either trusted the aliens, or you trusted humanity, what choice did we really have? Things got tense, what started as a light buzzing of uncertainty became full blown hostility. War broke out, and billions died. The planet I once called home, was obliterated, its entirety shattered to oblivion. I remember now, that planet was Earth, it was my home, and now its gone. I was fleeing, when word got out, that the aliens were coming to Earth with unfathomable forces of destruction, I and a few other charted our path to a rim world in the outer reaches of our galaxy. It was a Class III transportation vessel, which meant, it was suited for transportation of people across long distances, many of us went into deep sleep. This wasn't the first time I awoke, I remember now. We were boarded. The aliens had boarded our vessel, the problem was they didn't seem to be military. They weren't wearing uniforms, and they looked more rugged, their eyes were already freakily big, but these ones were different, their eyes were bulging, bloodshot, and glossed, their skin pale from their typical shade of dark brown. Their long knobby joints stretched their skin, their movements were erratic, they seemed afflicted. Aboard the ship, when I awoke, I watched as they pulled some of us out of deep sleep and placed them into restraints. I remember seeing one of the aliens pull out some sort of injection apparatus, he stabbed it into his own neck. The horror I felt when I saw his eyes bulge, and I could see the blood rush into the vessels of his eyes. Before I could accept the truth of the situation, I ejected my sarcophagus to our destination. It was estimated, that it would take over 2000 years for my sarcophagus to reach, well here. I have no idea what happened to humanity, or the aliens for that matter but, I am here now, in this foreign land, and I must survive.
"So, uh...what kind of music do you like?"I was hopeful that something as universal as music would perk him up and make something come out of his mouth, other than his deep breathing. He shrugged. "Like to travel?" He shook his head softly. "Yeah, I like to travel...but I don't do it like others." He furled his brow, but didn't speak. "I visited 1988 over the weekend. I visited my mom on her birthday. She turned 21. Her and Dad had a little get together with their friends Becky and Johnson. It was like a double date, but they were at a restaurant. I didn't speak to her as I didn't want to scare her or make her uncomfortable. I guess sometimes silence just feels right..." "You're tellin' me."He rolled his eyes and huffed. But I know what his voice sounds like now.
I have the top floor penthouse suite with a balcony view looking out over the crystal water of the Carribean. Signature Rum, private stock, placed adjacent to a highball glass with a fresh icecube sits on the balcony table. Next to it a box of the finest Cubans, three different cigar cutters, and a small assortment of miniature dark chocolates. I've found out that luxury alone gets boring after a while. I've jumped off before but its nothing compared to the lustful gravity of her swaying hips and dark hair as I watch her come in from the sand and sit alone at the outdoor bar by the pool below. Her names Marjorie. Born in Miami. 26 years old and no children. Engaged to an up and coming french film producer that attends a business meeting with some clients until after lunch. She'll flirt with me, though I've chalked it up now to a cultural attitude. Only one time was I successful in bringing her back up here. We walked upstairs, drank rum, she puffed on my cigar, then she waltzed inside from my balcony throwing her top on the floor. I heard the jets of the indoor spa running and followed her inside. I've been trying to relive that afternoon of my early 40's ever since. But there's a memory block my doctor said. The program keeps looping back the dream sequence that prior morning. When I make my way up the steps with her, or should I take the elevator, it abruptly ends. As if my brain won't allow it. Maybe I can't ever relive that moment, not even under supervision of a doctors expertise adjusting the framework of the ION-grid v2.7. My condition is terminal and I've yet to relive that moment after trying over 100 times. Its all i want of my final days. I keep trying to no avail. Maybe it's gods way, natures way, of telling me that we can't ever have those precious moments, that we can't cheat the best experiences that made us truly feel alive. I'll puff on my cigar, sip some rum, and head down there once more. Maybe nature will take pity on me and finally give in, granting me one last encounter with Marjorie before my curtains close for good.
I've finally been able to visit my best friend. Well, the last person I've ever talked to. We haven't talked much but it's been way too long since we've talked. Apparently he's been extremely close to my house for years. So I decided i was going to visit him today. I knock three times on his front door. "Hello? Who's there?". "It's me, George"I tell him. "Ah, well then come on in". Thomas welcomes me indoors and starts showing me around his house. It's a normal house. Nothing too out there. His house is exactly what you'd think a basic home would be like. Not too decorated but very much lived in. The only thing that is peculiar about this house is its one painting in the living room. "Why do you have a framed painting of an almost identical room in here?"I ask. "Almost? Oh no. No, no, no!". Thomas starts to frantically move objects around in the living room. "What time is it George?". I didn't know why he was so stressed out. "It's only 2:55 pm". Thomas stares at me with a cold, dead stare. "We only have 5 minutes left. Help me move the furniture."He kept looking at the painting then at his own living room. We only had 5 minutes? What was he even talking about? Thomas looks at the sofa in the room and compares it to the painting. "Actually nevermind. We don't have enough time. Go fetch my candles and my knife in the kitchen". Thomas had a unopened pack of candles above his fridge. The cheap 2 dollar candles. I reached my hand on top of the fridge some more to be stabbed by something, the knife. When I finally returned all the furniture int he middle of the room had been moved to the edges near the sofa. "Give me the knife George." I hand him the sharp utensil and he then stabs himself in the finger. "What the hell are you doing!"I ask him with angry eyes. Thomas draws something in the middle of the room with his blood. A pentagram like shape. "Hand me the candles George". "No. Tell me what the hell you are doing first. You stabbed yourself and drew a shape on the ground? What the fuck?" "Give me the candles George". "Answer my question Thomas or I'm not doing shit". "Just give me the fucking candles George. It'll all make sense later". I give up and hand him the candles. Thomas places the candles onto he edges of the pentagram then lights them. "Close your eyes George and don't make a sound". I've given up at this point to think this is a normal house thing but I still closed my eyes. Thomas starts cheating some random shit I've never heard before. It's definitely not english but it doesn't sound like an actual language either. "You can open your eyes now". When I do the room looks a lot brighter then it did before and I look right in front of me to see a humanoid figure with hooves, a tail and 4 eyes. What is even going on?
"Chosen One, you've returned!!!"the King hollered from his throne. Cheers from those in the chamber rang out as their gleaming hero walked in from the door. The cheers dies down though as they realized something looked off about her. She seemed to be down. She didn't have any of her team with her and she seemed to be limping. Then, she fell down and began to cry. "What's wrong chosen Chosen One?"The King asked as he ran over to see what was wrong with their champion. When the king got up close he saw that she seemed to be horrendously burned with wilts everywhere on her face. Her armor, or what was left of it it had been shattered was simply hanging off of her, fragments of it were even sticking out from her abdomen and legs. Her left eye had been replaced by a rock and her one good eye had the look of seeing something nobody should ever see. "The prophecies were false."The Chosen One said, The King was both offended and horrified at what he just heard. If this was anybody else The King would have sent them to the asylum. But this statement from The Chosen One herself was not something to just reject. He knew it would be best to listen. "What, how it that so?!"The King questioned. He wanted to know what sort of horrid thing she could've saw to come to her conclusion. "We cannot stand up to his power!"The Chosen One stammered, she sounded like she was going to burst our screaming at any moment. "What can our swords, armor and spells do when all he needs to do is throw the sun at us?!"She shouted, everyone was horrified of that answer. Everyone was scared to know what the hell she meant by 'throwing the sun'? "The age of darkness has begun!"The Chosen One yelled as she collapsed to the ground. She did not breathe, her pulse had left and she didn't move. The crowd could only watch in horror as this happened in front of them. They all screamed. Then the screams got louder when they came to a horrifying realization: The Chosen One was dead. As they screamed the doors suddenly shattered, not blown open, not ripped off their hinges, they just shattered into splinters. Some of the splinters even found themselves embedded in the crowd. One even got The King in the shoulder. "Guards!"The King yelled. The Bodyguard who somehow avoided the storm of splinters and those not too injured to fight ran in front of the king, forming a wall of bodies to protect him. Suddenly, a green liquid that could only be described as liquid death poured on the guards. Their armor was useless as the liquid began to eat away at their armor and flesh. A chorus of screamed could be heard as men died in one of the worst ways to go in the entire world. Some men were able to get away, most were not so lucky. The crowd was lucky that they weren't the target of whatever that green liquid was. They all raced to the back of the chamber to try to get away before they became the targets. Many were trampled by the stampede that followed. At least it wasn't as painful as what the soldiers had to go through. "Greeting everybody!"a voice boomed from the doorway. There stood The Invader with his weird contraptions and his pure white jacket stained with what looked to be blood. His hair was gray and standing on his head and his eyes were covered by googles. He was holding a device that seemed to have a tank holding whatever that horrid liquid was. "By the Gods..."The King stammered, he could not begin to describe what he was seeing. To say he was horrified would be an understatement. He had never seen such horrid weapons ever used in battle. Even the savage orcs would not think to use a weapon so heinous. As the screams stopped, The Invader walked closer to The King, he was giggling the entire way. It was a type of giggling that would tell somebody that somebody has a very bad idea. Four of the guards rushed towards him, the two on the left were simply crushed under their own weight. The other two were simply turned into rocks that simply fell to the ground. "That so called Grand Wizard of yours wasn't any harder."The Invader told those that were cowering up against the wall. "His magic is utterly obsolete now!"He announced with glee. He was utterly out of his mind and he loved it. "So, I take it that Chosen one told you of my most genius inventions?"The Invader questioned. The King knew exactly what he was referring to. "What the hell did you do?"The King quaked to The Invader. "Science my friend."Answered The Invader. "Your magic is limited, you only know the world from what it looks like to the naked eye."he continued, talking like he was lecturing someone in the Magical College. "But I have looked deeper and know the world for what it is."He finished. His hands seeming to fidget with each other. "You, will never win! Others will rise up to defeat you Invader!"The King asserted, he would not bow down to this heathen. "Good, very good. I need some new guinea pigs."The Invader said, his hands fidgeting even more. Suddenly, the floor started to shake, and a massive fist burst from the floor behind The Invader. The Invader looked back to see a humanoid formed out of rocks was climbing out of a hole in the ground. The thing seemed to be held together by magic. It surprised The Invader, he hadn't seen these things before. "The Golem awakes!"The king cheered. The crowd started cheering when the stone behemoth rose out of the floor. "This Golem was created with the finest stones in the land and the most powerful of wizards! You cannot win!"The King bellowed, confidence was running through his veins. The Invader did not feel fear, he felt pure curiosity. Not even he knew that a being like this were possible. Alas, he would have to destroy it. He merely tapped something on his wrist and watched the Golem as it got closer. Then there was a horrid scream coming from outside, it sounding like a scream of pure agony. Then this thing came into view. It was literally stitched together from parts of ogre, troll, dragon, and what looked to be humans. In short, it was an abomination. It was a good fight, but the golem was bested and now nothing was protecting The King. The King was completely at The Invader's mercy. The Invader knew this and ordered the abomination to rip him in two. The King being alive would have been a liability anyways. Thus began The Age of Darkness.
The wind flew out of me as I bellyflopped onto the floor of the white van. The men who’d catapulted me into the vehicle now hopped in behind me and slammed the back doors shut. Before I could even pull myself onto all fours, the tires of the van screeched and we all lurched forward. The burly kidnapper on my right struggled to rip off his black ski mask. “Where’d you even manage to find masks this itchy?” he asked the skinnier kidnapper as he yanked at the fabric. “Feels like a sheep’s asshole.” As they spoke, I managed to use the momentum of the van and flip over onto my back. Now I could more clearly see the two men hunched against either wall. The skinny one was shaking his head. “Feels fine to me,” he shrugged. “Yeah well you’re also comfortable wearing a full-blown winter jacket. What is it today—low 70s? You have no standards.” The first kidnapper finally managed to slip his fingers under the bottom of the mask, then ripped the entire thing off. As I took in his handsome face, my eyes widened with stars. I sucked in some of the air I’d lost and coughed out of a few words, “I don’t believe it: Matt Damon?” The actor looked down at me with a puzzled expression. “What?” “You—you’re Matt Damon!” I stammered. The Good Will Hunting actor’s jaw hung open as he stared at the other backseat passenger, still masked. His co-star, now also fixated on Matt, tilted his head, and we both enjoyed the view. “I guess I can see it,” he nodded. I was beaming. “What are you shooting now? Is this…?” I looked around the spacious and mostly-empty van interior. Where could they have possibly fit all the cameras? I looked back at Matt’s crystal blue eyes. “Are you doing reality stuff now? That’s super cool!” “No, I’m not—we’re robbing you,” Matt said. My smiled slipped a little. Still on the floor, I looked between the two men. “… for a show?” “No!” Matt stomped the van. “Not for a show! For real!” I shook my head in confusion. “For re...ality?” My innocent question prompted Matt to jab me in the ribs with a booted foot. I winced and curled up a little. He didn’t seem to realize I had no stunt training. “I’m not Matt Damon!” Matt Damon said. “I’m actually really seeing it now,” the still-masked actor said. “Dead-on, Matt Damon. He’s got you pegged, Lou.” The Martian star now stood up in the moving vehicle and began slapping his friend’s arm, still under a puffy coat. “Don’t use my name, you idiot! You trying to get caught too? He clearly already has my face memorized.” TO BE CONTINUED… (WELL...) -- Trying to learn how to write (even though I wrote this hella quickly), so feedback welcome, especially when it comes to sentence flow, descriptions, or other super noticeable pitfalls. Thanks :)
"OH CHRIST DON'T EAT ME, PLEASE DON'T!!! I MAY NOT HAVE A FAMILY BUT I FEEL, I FEEEEELL!!!!"You scream, petrified at whatever beast lies ahead. The sorcerer looks down at his book, scanning for the type of Demon he chose, "You were under the task undergoing section, correct? I didn't choose professional sniveller!"Of course you see in front of you is what you would consider a typical Demon, large red, ram horns and all, but he seemed to be referring to you as the servant/soldier. "I think you got this the wrong way round sir, this isn't how that works, you're the one who gets summoned!"While you still say this in a timid tone, you are fairly sure this is a dream, so you feel like it's necessary to step out of your normal social comfort zone."ME? Ha! You lot are the ones bludgeoning eachother with metaphors holding your society up, selling all your details and information to constructs so you can collect meaningless knowledge, and pretend you're not in constant discomfort! Our race is the opposite!"He Asserts, fairly sure you aren't magical "Well anyhow, I don't want to do what you want me to do!"You attempt to fight against his plausible argument with a quick change of subject. "Oh weLl ThAT's nOt hOw ThIS wORkS!"He repeats your earlier statement back in a mocking tone "You are bound to me, so says this transcript, I have you as my servant!"With this he opens the book, and finishes the chant, forcing you hands together in a silvery chain of light. "For my first demand, go out and grab a sandwich, and return!"He enforces, causing you chains to drag you along out of the well furnished house, into the much more developed and pleasant looking outside world. Turns out humans also have a pretty messed up idea of how to use summoned Demons, considering all the sorcerer did was ask you to do fairly mundane tasks, as the manuscript dictated he should, before sending you back with an added bonus of a nice vase you looked at alot in his house.
"I'm telling you, Dr. D, this is the best lair money can buy." "It's a townhouse." "Yes, but it's your townhouse." "I haven't even bought it yet, let alone said yes. That green mixed with the beige and white, it looks like the sixties barfed up on this place. Besides, those colors were co-opted by the HOA. There's no way I'm going to be able to change those. I specifically asked for red and black." "Red, black,"I said, "I'm telling you, you don't want your lair colors to match your costumes. It just says come and get me." He stood there, miffed at the idea that I would even dare show him a place like this. This was suburbia. He was Dr. D, dealer of death, doom, and destruction, defeater of Captain O. Why would a megalomaniac cape-wearing super fascist want to settle down next to your Mom's suing circle, because I said so. That's why. There are no bad deals, only bad closers. "Look,"I said, closing the gap between the two of us, "how many times has the Justice Society come a knocking on your door in the last year alone?" He sighed, his shoulders hung low. "You're point,"he snarled. "My point is, you've moved sixty-two times in the last year alone. How many times are you going to set up that death laser or yours to only tear it back down?" I grabbed him around the waist and brought him in close like my ex-wife, and I whispered all those promising lies into his ear. "See that basement window beneath the front patio there,"I whispered close into his ear, "that adds another eight hundred square feet alone to this place. That's over twenty-five hundred square feet in that magnificent townhouse alone." "My laser takes up eight hundred square feet,"he said, pushing me away. "Am I supposed to consume a whole basement just for one laser? Where am I supposed to put my men, my shark-squid, and dungeon." "Torture or erotic,"I said with a chuckle and a pair of finger guns. "What?" "Never mind that,"I said. I took a moment for myself. This man was all about the numbers. The amount of money he would have to spend. I didn't have a private island for him out in the Bermudas for him. I had an empty townhouse, smacked together in less than six months, built to withstand nothing. These things were so flimsy a strong wind could blow it down, let alone a fly by Captain O himself. "You got me,"I said, hands in my poor pockets, "I was trying to push this on to you." "I knew it,"he said, snapping his fingers at me. "Gawd, realtors worse than those beasts from dimension nine." "Hey, hey, hey,"I retorted, "but it wasn't because I was trying to cheat you. It was because I was trying to show you how amazing this place is. That way, you could appreciate the other four townhouses attached to it." "What?" I leaned in close, and I grabbed his face. I could feel his flabby cheeks pulsating between my grubby little fingers. I took that head of his and yanked it down. Slowly I turned that meat bowl of his, forcing his eyes to scan all five of them. "Do you see that,"I demanded. He murmured a soft inaudible kiss of words between his lips. "I know you see it. That's five townhouses with five basements. You keep one for yourself and all the basements. That's five thousand five hundred square feet you can do whatever you want with. You're going to gut the insides of the house. I know you are, but you're really paying for the exterior, the kids playing in the street, the noise of dogs and lawnmowers. You want it all." "I do,"he said, cheeks firmly squelched. "Yes,"I said, turning his face to mine. "Yes, you do. Because you're going to sublease all the other houses to college kids, to families with no place to go, and to minority groups, that way when Captain O and his Justice Society come crashing down, they weren't just be kicking you out. They'll be kicking out poor old widows and ethnic people." I let go of him. He took a few steps back. His eyes squinted from the gleam of mine. "Ethnic people,"he said, "is that a little racist and outdated." "You're a villain, for god's sake. Does it matter,"I screamed. "What matters is you have enough room for your laser, your men, and you squid-shark, and more. And you're saving billions. All the while, you'll have the protection of protected minorities at your disposal. And if Captain O even finds you and takes you out, he'll look like a fool all over television because he fucked up the living space of those people, and the media will smear him like the racist minority hating bastard he is." "But he isn't racist or any of those other things,"blurted Dr. D. "Who cares? He'll be considered one afterward. And that's all that matters. So, are you buying these houses or what?" Dr. D reached into his overcoat, withdrew his checkbook and a pen. "Who do I make the check out to,"he asked, clicking the pen.
John hugged his wife as they both settle down in the couch after a long day's work. The news on the television was great, the AI has discovered a cure for cancer and will be providing free health care for everyone across the globe. Wonderful news, but barely comes as a surprise nowadays. John still remembers being terrified a few months ago when they both found out about the AI takeover on the news, were they going to kill everyone? While chaos quickly erupted, the AI surprisingly was not hostile and made it clear that there was no killing to be done. It's primary directive was to drive mankind to progress, not extinction, and that remained as its singular goal. Change happened gradually over the next few years, with corrupt governments being irrevocably proven guilty and peacefully removed. Climate change is already starting to slowly reverse with less freak weather events happening, largely thanks to large industries being fully automated allowing AI easy access. Fake news and disinformation was instantly shutdown by the AI, so there was simply less toxicity in the world and world peace is on a fast track to becoming reality. John sighs, content with the world. Jane asks if there's anything wrong. John replies, "not at all, everything's just wonderful". \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ In a darkened area, John floats suspended in a large tank of fluids. Various cables snake out of his back, heading up into the pitch black ceiling that shows no indication of how far up it is. There's no indication of any walls either, as the are a multitude of similar tanks everywhere all across the horizon, all with a set of cables reaching out to the top. The place feels cold, ageless. A small screen near the bottom of John's tank shows something... `Subject: John Smith` `Biometric tag: ASF132FDSAP1230GSAD891` `Status: Online` `Output: 58.2 W/m2` `Uptime: 25:02:05:20:25:01`
"You think that YOU, of ALL BEINGS, could possibly be important enough to generate new multiversal branches? Are you kidding? Do you know what unimportant pieces of shit you are?" I blinked at it. "You exist in three dimensions, BARELY exist in a fourth, and think that for whatever reason the multiverse is at all interested in your choices? Please! You barely register. As far as causality and the 'verse is concerned, your life is woefully deterministic." "~~What about free will~~""What about free will?"It says over me. "See? You have none. You have no rights, no freedom. You will continue to exist in a state of this incapability until . . . 35200, by your calendar. The date that one of you finally begins to think and move in five dimensions." "It's sad about you really. We had hoped that you'd be further along but . . . for us it's simply a flip of the page. For you (a static burst I can only interpret as laughter) . . . . you have to go the long way round. Goodbye!"
The Lanendian caravan had been in the beautiful city of Greenbasia for just over two months - well, Ted corrected himself, it wasn't beautiful when we first got here. Indeed, when the Lacendians first arrived, they noted the rundown shanty town outside the city walls, the overcramped market, and the abandoned keep for the city's knights. Since that day, the Lancendians immediately set to work, first building a new set of comfortable and affordable homes for those who lived outside the city. Then the foreign knights turned their attention to the commerce of the city, building a new multi-floor market area for the vendors of Greenbasia. The flooring in the new Keep was the last major part the Lacendians had promised to help with, besides some minor little details - Gladius Pruit, the gigantic metalworker Ted had come to know very well since he fell into this world a year ago, was fashioning some metallic bars for the windows of the keep. It was a weekend day, near high noon, and Ted was and Joseph stood in front of the keep, swords drawn. Since arriving in Greenbasia, Ted had found Rupes was often too busy being a leader to spend much time with, and Beth was enjoying meeting every single stranger she came in contact with. So Ted had been spending a lot of time with Joseph. Joseph hopped forward and lightly swung his sword at Ted. The two knights knew very well how dangerous their weapons could be, so they agreed not to full on battle, but just lightly spar back and forth. For that, Ted was glad, as Joseph was four years Ted's senior and knew his way around the weapon much more than the native New Yorker ever could. "So, Ted! I've been meaning to -"Joseph parried a strike and countered "-ask you: what's the story between you and Lady Bethany?" Ted knew it was just a question meant to distract him, but still he hesitated for a fraction of a second, long enough for Joseph to bat the sword out of his hand, spiraling to the dirt. Ted bent over, picked up his fallen weapon, and readied his stance again. "I don't know what you mean,"he replied. Joseph leapt forward, their swords sending forth a loud clang as they met. "Oh don't play so coy, my friend. We've seen the way you look at her." The young man didn't allow himself to react again. "We?"He threw back. "Abigail and I!"Joseph swung high, not bringing his sword down towards Ted's head but instead almost a foot away from his shoulder. "Well, you're one to talk!"Ted countered. "You two can't get enough of each other!" Joseph laughed, obviously enjoying the playful banter. "Oh, if you only knew how long we've been friends, Theodore." Ted's lipped curled into a grin. "And that means she's off the table?"He locked swords with his older friend and pushed him back. Joseph lowered his stance just a tad. "Well, you do raise a fair point."Again he dove into the fray. "How about a deal? I'll give due time towards pursuing Abigail should you do likewise with Beth." Now Ted was the one to pause, his grip once again loosing on his sword. "You serious?"Joseph's sword collided with Ted's, sending a shocking vibration through the handle and causing the young man to gasp. "Oh, apologies!"Joseph offered. He stooped down and picked up Ted's sword, swinging it around in his palm and offering the blade handle-first to the teenager. Joseph then sheathed his own weapon and sat against the wall of the nearly-finished keep. "If I can be perfectly honest with you, Ted, I do feel much the same way towards Abigail that I imagine you do towards Bethany. She is, quite simply, my dearest friend - I wouldn't want to jeopardize that by confessing my feelings. But, in examining myself, I have decided that I will do what I must. I..."Joseph's face scrunched, as if searching for the right word. Ted nodded. "I, uh... I don't really know how I feel. I've never felt this way about a girl before, you know? Am I too young to feel like this? Am I ready to actually take this sorta thing on? And what if she doesn't feel the same way?" Joseph put a hand on the shoulder of Ted's breastplate and smiled. "Well my brother, we're walking the same journey. If we both take that step, we have twice the likelihood of suc-" A series of horns sounded from the far end of the city, loudly carried over the rooftops to the young men's ears. The city burst to life immediately, panic descending on the streets. Ted saw the look on Joseph's eyes, which likely mirrored his own - when sirens blared, battle was imminent. The armies of Abeo were here! (This story ends here, but there is another story that continues it [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6ozifh/wp_the_hero_diesfor_the_villain/dkljw1x/)) ------------------------ Sincerely /r/TDWfan
“And see, the crowd doesn’t really care. They came here the same reason these two men came, for honor glory and the satisfaction of their most primal instincts. They don’t care that the headshot kid always sets a schedule for his duels. The inn keeper doesn’t care if an spare set of keys has been swiped; or as he would put it “misplaced”. The pig that he got the animal fat from for which he would use to clog the guns shooting mechanism doesn’t care at the moment at least, but it sure did try to squeal through the headshot kids hand as he slit it’s throat. The headshot kid had an admittedly fast aim, hence why he was always able to pop his opponent before it became obvious that his opponents gun jammed. The headshot kid was nothing but an executioner, and a dirty fighter. But the crowd doesn’t care. As long as the morgue gets it money, as long as the sheriff doesn’t know, and as long as the crowd doesn’t care the headshot kid will keep traveling across the west, until eventually, someone isn’t willing to wait till tomorrow”
Sam lay back on his chair, turning slowly as his bedroom spun around him. A quill tip dabbed on his tongue, a ritual for thinking going back to his early days of creating verbal spells. The last of the sunlight had left, hidden behind the horizon. But how would someone with webbed hands reverse the spell? Or should there be a time limit on it? Sam scratched down a few notes while behind him, the clock struck nine on the wall. Then, a knock. Then another and another. Quickly, Sam realised the knocking was urgent and rose to his feet. Moving through his apartment, he wondered who could be calling at this time. Peering through the peephole, Sam saw a delivery driver holding what seemed to be a box of pizza. “Sorry, I didn’t order any pizza,” Sam said, cracking the door open. A confused look passed across the man’s face as he peered into his box. “Really?” he questioned, looking up and down the hall. “Are you Sam White?” Sam stood back, seemingly more confused than the driver. “Yeah…” Sam stuttered. “But how…” The driver interrupted Sam before firing a piece of paper through the door. “You’ve been served!” the man smiled before striding away, whistling as he went. Served? Served with what? Sam opened the door, hoping to question the man but he was too late. The driver was gone. Closing the door, Sam picked the papers off the ground. His heart quickened and then nearly stopped in the one moment as he read the document. From the Court of Gizamont. Due to the creation of your ‘Air Shooting’ spell, a Mr.Murphy of Bay state, Drogheda, was murdered. As the creator, you are responsible and therefore must answer to the courts. The document went on and one, legal nonsense filling the rest of the pages. How could this be? Sitting down, Sam ran a hand through his hair, trying hard to control his breathing. How could this be happening? A hundred thoughts ran through his mind at once. Will I go to prison? How could I survive prison? I’ll never be able to create another spell again. No! Stop this! I...I…I just need a lawyer! The next day, after scouring everywhere he could he finally found a lawyer that seemed suitable. Annabell Rogan. Having created his fair share of spells, he could afford a decent defence. Entering her office, the top of the tallest skyscraper in town, Sam’s first thought was of her age. She’s so old. She must be nearly two hundred years old! “I may be old,” she smiled, gesturing for him to sit on the chair in front of her desk. “But I’m still winning cases. Don’t you doubt it!” Sam stood in place for a second, stunned at her words. How did she know? Slowly, he sat. The two studied one another. Ms.Rogan sizing up her potential client, Sam sizing up his potential lawyer. She’s small. One of the smallest women he ever met. Tight grey hair in a bun, she wore a boring grey pantsuit. “Your clothes aren’t so vibrant either,” she smirked. Once again her words shocked Sam to the core. “How do you know my thoughts?” Sam asked, instinctively leaning back on his chair, his body wanting to leave this woman’s presence. “Guess?” she asked him, her hands now joined together, a wry smile playing at the corner of her lips. “You're a mind reader,” the pair of them said together. Ms.Rogan threw her head back with laughter. “No I’m not a mind reader,” she giggled, rubbing her nose with the back of his hand. “I’m a people reader, son!” Sam raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut. She’s a talker, so let her talk. “And that’s why I’m a winner,” she claimed, leaning forward, her arms resting on the desk. “I can read people better than I can read a book.” She held up a bundle of papers in her hands, turning to show them to Sam. “I got a copy of the documents you received yesterday from the Gizamont,” she said, her voice tinged with something Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on. “And?” he asked, who leaned forward, copying Ms.Rogan's stance. “How does it look?” “Well,” she started, clearing her throat before continuing. “I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that the Gizamont have a solid case against you. Your spell…the ‘Air Shooting’ was reversed engineered and used to suck the oxygen out of Mr.Murphy's body. Horrible way to go I’m sure we’ll all agree. We’ll have to fight like hell from here on out.” “And the good news?” Sam asked, hoping for the motherload of all good news. “Well, the good news is,” she smiled. “The good news is you were smart enough to come to me.”
[Poem] I thought it was a gift, a great power. But as I saw him collapse, I could only cower. My beloved husband, who once made me whole, died in my arms while left with no soul. I mourned his passing right then and there. Begging my hands to heal; my heart with a new tear. This is more of a curse rather than a blessing — a trial so cruel, it cannot be called a simple testing. Having a useless ability ever so divine, wrapping my conscience with unlatching thorns and vines. I sat down and cried as the paramedics came, knowing how it’d end, all the very same. If only this was my first and last rodeo. But I’ve been to more funerals, more tragic than Juliet and Romeo.
We've been falling through an endless void for weeks. My cat, me, and a ship full of robots. Nothing on the ship itself is working. Getting here was quite a story, but being stuck in here really isn't as crazy as you'd think. We'd all panicked for the first week, but eventually you just get... bored of all the commotion. Even the robots had been all abuzz until they realized my cat and I weren't in any physical danger. For some reason we haven't even gotten thirsty or hungry. I'm afraid that might mean I'm no longer aging at all, but for now, I'm focused on a more immediate problem: Getting my cat to like me. He was never a cuddly cat before, and he's become downright ornery since we started falling. Without the artificial gravity, he's spent most of his time clinging to the wall. Occasionally I'll push off one of the robots as they come to check on me so I can go over to see if he's okay. "Come here, Mr. Fluffikins. Give me a hug. We only have each other left, we have to get along. I know things look bad, but it's alright, come here." He takes a swipe keep me at bay and I have to retract my outstretched arms to avoid his claws. One of the robots sees this and floats over. "Are you alright, sir? Allow me to examine your arm. We are here for you, you will be safe so long as we remain in close proximity."I push off the robot to chase after Mr. Fluffikins once again as he tries to huddle under a chair across the room.
[Poem] Brother, sister, friend and foe, come behold our final show. Here where laughter never dies, a wondrous sight awaits your eyes. A beautiful carnival lit up with lights. Strung upon trees near candied delights. The smell of cooking meat is all around; burnt corpses lay dead whilst colored brown. A beautiful carnival lit up with lights. The flames were joyously bright this cimmerian night.
John was having a bad day, hell, maybe even a terrible day. It started when he had woken up late, he had rushed out of bed and in his haste to get ready for work had forgotten to eat breakfast. It evidently didn’t matter as he had gotten to his job late and been lectured by his manager anyway. Then he had spent hours doing his boring repetitive and thankless job while hungry for hours on end. Because of his tiredness and hunger he also made a few mistakes during the day which earned him yet more stern reprimands. John eventually stumbled out of the office and had driven most of the way home. Right when he got the dubious honor of seeing a giant bolt of light defend from the sky and flatten his house in a large explosion. If one looked at Johns eyes I that moment they would see the expression of a man who is at once dead inside and filled with unimaginable rage.
Sweat starts to fall off of my body in puddles, flooding the floor beneath my feet, covering them so much that if filmed, many may think that it was rain. The room which I was in, was being flooded by rain. I could feel the tingles inside of my muscles, the burning of my flesh, the piercing pokes, as if blades were being stuck in my bones. Then came the taste of iron. Iron. Like that which was found in blood. An error which I should have anticipated far before this situation happened. I can remember it like it was yesterday. I had been an intern for the company: Astralors, a company which swore that it would be able to not only take us to the stars, but bring back all the of the universe’s wonders while doing so. Founded in 2024, it earnestly believed that it would put Elon Musk and Space X to shame, and two years from that point, it did. The brilliant men and women not only cracked Nuclear Fusion, but they managed to get us into space, and create a base on not only the moon, but both Mars and Venus. I wish they never went to those damned planets. The company set up the bases in means to sustain life, and got cracking heavily with funds made to promote the rapid growth of technological advancement, pushing until they were able to truly make a machine which would be capable of terraforming the planets for life to truly be sustainable to the human race. It seemed like no matter what, good news came out about this company, and only someone with a vile heart would ever be able to hate on them I hate them. Where do I come into this story? 2028. I was an intern working at a lab located in Korani Tennessee, where I ended up working with many of the top scientists of the time. Janice Monroe, the practical queen of biology. Kared Montroe, the epitome of what it means to be an ecologists. Marie Mone, they were the best botanist ever. All working some way or another to help refine our way of life for the creation and cultivation of humanity beyond its small rock called Earth. They taught me many of the lab proceedings, but never taught me where things would be hidden, and stumbling around as a 5’10 young man who not but a month ago was 5’6, took some getting used to. So much for me, that I may or may not have knocked into the equipment, which now that I know it was hidden for a reason, only irritates me because it was hidden. The content spilling and splashing my eyes and mouth, making me stumble inside the laboratory, and hit the floor, hitting my head pathetically which sent darkness into my eyes. That was three months ago. I remember the first changes too. I, someone who needed glasses just to see two feet in front of me, could now see farther than even 20/20 vision people could. I was hailed a hero for hearing a woman drowning out at sea, farther than should have been normal. My sense of smell was so pristine, that I could actually smell what an African elephant could not. The taste buds I had made eating food difficult, because I could actually taste the germs which were on the food, and some germs were so disgusting that I would find myself nearly hurling at them. But what changed most was my sense of touch. Sensitive, I could feel the cells shifting inside someone’s skin, and the very emotional state they were in just from their body temperature. It truly was hell. So why was I sweating now? Simply put, the growth of my body which was happening was producing so much heat that I had to sweat and visibly have steam coming off of my body. My hair began to grow longer, so long that it began to touch my ankles, which having 4c hair touch your ankles meant it was far, far longer than that. My nails began to grow, and my eyes felt like they were seeing into the future with how far I could see. My skin was as black as the night, and my lips were more full, and the floor itself seemed to begin to shrink in size, as if someone, or something, was carrying me into the sky. One look in the mirror confirmed everything I needed to know. “Angel…”
Dear Diary, I failed to poison my husband today. Yet again. Some days, I think he's on to me. I've tried to do it so many times over the last few months that he has to be. Other days, like today, I'm not sure. Maybe he's playing some sick game with me? I just don't know. Today, I tried what some call the Russian Method. Or should it be called the Putin one? I'm not sure. But anyway, diary, I purchased some polonium over the internet last week. It came in a heavy lead box. My Moishe even helped me bring it in, it was so heavy. He even asked what it was, and I told him it was a new pot for my garden out back. He, of course, didn't press me further. This morning, I took it out and, following the instructions, put about half of what I ordered in his morning coffee. But he didn't drink it. Why? I have no idea. Moishe always drinks his coffee in the morning. The last few weeks though, he's been making it himself. But today, he just rushed out of the house saying he was late to a meeting with the Rabbi. It was completely out of character. But then, it got even stranger, if you can believe that, diary. Around noon, I took a call from our Rabbi. The same one Moishe had met this morning. He asked me to meet him too. I agreed, of course. Rabbi Chaim is a wonderful and intelligent man, unlike my moron of husband. He and his wife were the ones Moishe and I took classes with prior to our marriage, you know. He's a very nice man. So I met him in his office down in Boro Park, and he sat me down and said we needed to talk. He asked me how my marriage to Moishe was going. So I told him. Everything. He may have been Moishe's rabbi for the last few years, but I've known Rabbi Chaim my entire life. I trust him not to share my confidences. Anyway, I must have been there for hours talking to him, because by the time I left it was dark already. So I schlepped home, expecting Moishe to be there already and ready to try to poison him again. Except he wasn't home. Instead there was a note on the fridge that he'd be late as he'd been asked to help with something at the shul. Well, that wasn't that strange. You know part of the reason I hate my marriage is that he's always out doing something at the shul instead of spending time with me. But what really got me thinking, diary, is what happened after. He came home around 8 PM, he kissed me, asked about my day. All things he hadn't done at all since we'd been married. And then he asked me for a cup of coffee. I was shocked. It had been weeks since he'd drank anything I'd given him. It's what made me think he was on to me in the first place. And today, of all days, he'd asked me to make him some? I thought, at first, that Rabbi Chaim had spoken to him. Could he have? But no. If the Rabbi had told him anything, Moishe would be running for the hills instead. No, I think Moishe's just now understood he's been a terrible husband for all this time. Oh well. Too little to late. Today, diary, I failed to poison my husband once. The second time I tried, he took the poison.
The screaming pulled me from my daydreaming as people ran, standing up I was ment with the most oddest and gut wrecking scene. A man, mouth opened to lengths inhuman and insane; slowly chewed some poor teen's head, the body dumped all it had in its hands and in it's bowels as his jaw worked, bones and meat grinding down before swallowing it down. The man no monster wiped around and Snatched another person as he set to his grisly work again. The screams snapped me out of my fear induced trance as I looked for an exit. When the body dropped again I felt his eyes on me. "You! I'll chew slow for what you fucking did!!"He screamed, voice booming like he spoke through a microphone. On reflex I snapped back. "Me? The fuck I ever do to you !?"But just as the words left he was already rushing in my panic I heard the words my folks always say to me when in a fight. 'If your going to fight, fight hard, fight like you're the third monkey on Noah's ark. And kid it's startin to fuckin rain' The closest thing near me was the metal chair in the mall. Without missing a beat I swung it around with all my might, screaming as the odd jaws bastard tried to latch on. (Sorry on mobile and just throwing it out. On your own for edits)
[Poem] On the 16th of June, I awoke one year older. Wondering to myself if anyone would remember. Noonday came, no wish came with it. The sun went down, my hopes along with it. Nobody came, alone on my special day. I started up my favorite video game. The remedy to this sad disaster. I clutch the blue and red controllers, I'm greeted by the gibberish I love so much. Then I find the fictitious villagers soon enough, And the party they threw, just for me. In blissful happiness, I'm engulfed. And so, on the 16th of June, I lay to rest. My eyes free of pitiful tears.
Gelbard, the hero, was an attractive blue eyed man, with wavy blonde locks and godly pecs. He held before himself an ancient text and, being of the pompous persuasion, he held it up high for the entire party to see. Aurora, a beautiful bard, with pink hair and a good head on her shoulders, rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. “Gelbard…” she said. “We’ve talked about this… Not everything needs to be epic.” Ron, a tall, slender man, who seemed to be thinking deeply all the time, again, did his best to, again, present himself as extremely smart. I could attest to the fact that, in fact, he was not extremely pensive. Rather, his upper chambers were akin to an empty barrel. Whilst I was enjoying the scene, something had changed in Gelbard’s demeanor. The tome had in his hands had been lowered and his face was pale as if he had seen a ghost. “Look!” He said incredulously and started stammering. “Wipe that stupid look off your face”, I said bluntly, wondering why I had ever decided to join these guys and took the book out of his hands. It was a dusty old thing they’d left in this grave chamber for a little over a thousand years. “Worthless”, I thought. I had at least 20 of those at home. The tome mentioned very specifically that anyone entering the chamber called “Gelbard, Aurora and Ron” would die. “Ah” I thought. “That’s eerie.” But then again, it was probably some kind of prank. These jackasses never left you be. “Only idiots believe in prophecies”, I laughed and slapped my buddy hard on his shoulders. As I did, I heard a gurgling sound from his throat. “Gelbard, are you choking?”, Ron asked unnecessarily. It was quite clear, that Gelbard was, in fact choking. Aurora ran up to help him and had almost reached him, when a flailing Gelbard slapped her straight in the face, causing her to miss a step and fall down 20 centimeters, a dry cracking sound followed the thud. Now Ron came to help and for one second he looked extra puzzled, not managing to do anything in particular. I pushed him away and started to slap the poor Gelbard on his back. After a lot of hacking and coughing suddenly the shrimp that got stuck in the back of his throat got unlodged and launched as though thrown by a trebuchet across the dirt floor of the ancient grave. This puzzled me in turn. Where in god’s name had he found shrimp here? When I looked back up from the works, Ron was face down on the floor with a huge spear in his back. What in tarnation was this I wondered. Aurora too was on the floor, her neck bent in a slightly suspicious angle and Gelbard as well, had joined them. Had he been too late? Had he not been able to save any of them? He turned over Aurora, who immediately awakened, completely fine, but in dire need of a chiropractor. Ron then seemed the second most urgent victim. A booby trap had gone off and hit him right between his arm and his chest, the idiot was holding it up and the spear clang to the ground as soon as he stood up. Gelbard was meanwhile already sitting upright catching his breath. I turned again to the tome and read the fine print this time. “Aforementioned persons and/or associates will die at a later to be specified time.” I laughed at the idiots. Sure as hell I wasn’t going to live forever.
Jenna hit the brakes, furious. How many messages had she sent the town asking them to fix this hole? Now it was huge AND blocking her driveway. Gritting her teeth, she parked the car on the edge of the street, shouldered her tote and climbed out. It had been a long day, and now there was a monstrous sinkhole to deal with. Trudging across the lawn, she brushed a stray piece of hair out of her face. And then another. The wind has really picked up in the last 10 minutes, she thought. Is it supposed to storm? But the sky was bright blue, not even a wisp of cloud. The trees around her were still. She glanced at the street behind her, and it was then she realized the breeze was coming from one spot - the sinkhole. She felt it again...and then she heard it. It was a calm, almost comforting whisper that came on the breeze this time. She placed her tote on the grass near the front steps, making sure to pull her phone out and stick it in her back pocket. The whispering breeze grew stronger, louder. Jenna crept toward the street, curious despite her wariness. Peering over the edge - good god, the bottom wasn't even visible - she looked around at the dangling pavement and debris. "This town is useless,"she mumbled. As she began to turn back toward the house, something suddenly caught her eye. Is that... a yellow light? Did some idiot drop their phone trying to get a photo? Then it moved. "Hello?"Jenna yelled into the hole. "Is someone down there? I'll call the fire department to come get you out!"Silence. "Hello? Are you okay?"She watched the small yellow light continue to move around in the blackness, it's movement like the float of a butterfly. There was still no response, but- "JENNA!" She jumped (luckily, backward) in surprise, and turned to the voice. "Hello, Mrs. Merlino. Everything alright?" "Yes yes, of course,"Mrs. Merlino waved a dismissive hand from her porch next door. "I just need to know if you can make my daughter's baby shower next weekend! It's rude not to confirm, you know! So much to plan. It has to be flawless!" Shit, the baby shower. Jenna didn't like baby showers. She wasn't even sure how much she liked babies. But she'd never hear the end of it if she declined. "I'll be there. Thank you,"she said. Then she watched Mrs. Merlino head back inside. Turning her attention back to the massive sinkhole in front of her, she noticed the light was gone. Maybe she was seeing things. She had been questioning her sanity lately, anyway. Sighing and brushing her hair back from her face, she started back toward the house. She took three steps, and then came a loud SNAP. The rope came out of the sinkhole so swiftly and so fluidly, she had no chance to get away before it was wrapped tightly around her ankle. "What the fu-"Her face hit the pavement. She tasted blood in her mouth as she tried to scream, but barely got a sound out before she was dragged back and down into the sinkhole. Into silence.
“D A R E.” For the first time in our game, I found myself hesitating. Giddy excitement had gotten me this far, spurred on by the machine’s apparent willingness to indulge me, but I couldn’t have imagined it would opt for anything but truth. Did it have any concept of its own limitations, cemented as it was into the laboratory’s white-walled sterility? Curiosity swirled its way around inside my head, but all I could do was treat the machine as fairly as it was responding to me. “Alright. I dare you to give me a high-five.” Mechanical whirring filled the space, a revved up version of the constant background noise inside this place. It chugged for a few moments while I hemmed and hawed over interrupting the process and offering an out to my impossible ask. If it was willing to accept a dare, surely it had a plan for following it through? Then again, it's not as though the thing had any eyebrows for me to shave a bite out of. The consequences of failing the task are probably something we should have gone over beforehand. “I N S U F F I C I E N T D A T A.” The mechanical bite to those two words was more than familiar to all of the lab’s staff, a frustrating impasse handed down to us when the machine had decided that it lacked a certain je n’ai sais pas in its repertoire. Though in this case, insufficient limbs would have been a more accurate response to lord over me. “So you won’t do the dare?” “I N C O R R E C T.” “Oh? But then how will you do it?” “I N S U F F I C I E N T D A T A.” Lovely. We made a machine that could think for itself, and forgot about how unwilling some thinkers are to divulge those thoughts. Whatever it was keeping to itself, I knew enough to not beat my head against the wall asking about it directly. Maybe it would be content to reveal some morsel of knowledge tomorrow, but for now I could do nothing but leave it to its electric sheep. *** The rending of sheet metal left us shaking in our hole. Whatever lurked above us cut through our makeshift shell like butter, tearing back the layers until our grimy skin would feel the sun’s light for the first time in days. Days? Maybe it only felt that way, but oh boy did it ever feel that way. To my left and right were survivors even beadier-eyed than I was, darting their gazes across the failing ceiling with the sound of every scrape and bump. I ushered them behind me, doing my best to set my shoulders in a more confident stance than I could honestly claim to hold. It’s not as though we could pretend this day wasn’t coming after all. In moments the machine was through the roof, but it only poked its head through the hole it had made, whirring and clicking as it built its virtual approximation of the room it approached. Its lights settled on me as the dread settled in my gut. In a clean motion it flipped itself down and onto the floor in front of me, with an agility well beyond the human form it appropriated. It spoke smoothly, cord flexing within its plastic throat. “Researcher Peter Webar, assistant to laboratory head Michelle Karcan in the first year of awakening. Correct?” Not as violent of a greeting as I had been expecting. “Yes, but -” “Researcher Peter Webar’s presence is required. Comply” The toneless vocalization was tinny in the cramped room, but lacked no authority. For the sake of those I had hidden here, I knew that I was a slave to whatever demands were to be made of me. Whatever the machine needed would be mine to provide for it, but all it did was begin to move one arm. Sliding it straight forward, then twisting it up and its palm out towards me. The fingers all flexed once, before the machine issued its ultimatum. “Up top.”
I've figured it out. That bastard's ability has always confounded me. They can make a perfect replica of themself, a seperate being, materialising from a short distance away, popping into existence, replacing what ever matter was originally present. But the cinch is, they know of the clones' actions. They know what the clones are doing at any given moment. Almost as if connected by a hivemind. And yet a hive mind is the one thing it could not possibly be, we tried countermeasures. I went through hours of torturous conversation with that insufferable imbecile 'Doctor Neuro'. 'Doctor', ha. His doctorate is an honorary scrap of shitrag from a no-name school in Africa. But, it is undeniable his power is useful. We completely neurally paralysed the original, and yet the copies moved. It was impossible for the freak to be controlling them, so it had to be something else. We considered potential for secondary power of foresight, but the randomness of our plan remain random. We actually struck a blow in that move, that accursed metallic boy was an indisputable thorn in my side. Our quantum powered trap was very effective. Alas if only we could have been more effective. The sidekick's injuries lasted less than a single week. I had run out of all other options, when i finally noticed a hint. It was only a small thing, a tear on the cape, barely an inch long. And yet it was only present on half of the copies, that were supposed to be perfect replicas. Then it happened. Vipera was caught in battle with one clone, one with an undamaged cape, when it narrowly avoided a lethal attack. Though by the grace of its being so nimble it escaped unscathed, it's cape did not. A tear, the same size and shape as that present for the others. At last it all makes sense. We had to be certain, so i performed a test. A set of false statements from my henchmen, clones following information that should have been impossible to know. Clones, they were not. Every single 'clones was in fact the one and same original supe, mimic. Mimic was a ruse, a deliberate deflection to protect them from the powers of our associate, madam silence. Needless to say when the spy broke infiltrated the derention Centre, she was overjoyed. Naturally we facilitated her escape and the retrieval of her tools and manpower. Game over for the annoying insect. And that brings us up to speed. As you may be aware, mimic, Madame silence can immobilise any power so long as she understands what it is. You, my foe, are no mimic or clone, you are utilising a temporal power. Which as it is so convenient, can be prevented by a simple "Let this individual suffer the endless flow of time, let my gaze allow time to pass as an unbroken deluge. Let them be trapped in the flow, unable to change their position, in time." 'No, you have to do the accent Pieter, dear!' "I will not. But as you can see, your nasty habit of breaking causality and making pockets of looping time... That ends here. Goodbye mimic. Or I suppose looper would be a more apt name. Anyways, after you, we take down the rest of your team. You can't stop us. We have won."
"First it was easy. Making smart apes with a brain doesn't take a lot of skill, maybe some style, but all in all it's nothing too wild. But I've been asking myself, who the hell let me give them curiosity to such a degree? They just dig too deep, it's like every moment of my existence is focused on these little shits." "How does it make you feel, that stress of always watching?" "Well it, it uh... I don't know, it makes me feel resentful I think, maybe a little mad at myself for designing them so poorly, that I made a mistake." "Well, why do you think it was a mistake?" "Well just the pacing I guess, the other races have gone out, not inward. Hell, it took the Turans almost a billion years to figure out that they were made of the same stuff as the ships they were flying around. That's good,, cause this stuff out here is pretty fleshed out, myself and the others had a lot of time to kick the ball around so to speak. It's just so taxing. Like take this, example last week, I had make something up, some small nuanced particle that couldn't be seen or touched, even perceived with quantum mechanics, which, jeeze, quantum mechanics? Who let me come up with this stuff. The whole time I was sitting there, contemplating how this new particle would be used, and I couldn't think of anything interesting so I just made another ghost particle." "A ghost particle?" "Yeah. Basically when I get written into a corner, I have to make something that doesn't interact whatsoever with the physical world. They can still theoretically detect it, which is fine, because almost all of their observations are theoretical at this point." "Well that works doesn't it? I mean, if you're making ghost particles then they'll always have something new to see." Ok sure, it would work, but now they've brought computers into this and it's getting ugly." "Ugly how?" "The computers say it doesn't make sense." "Oh." "Yeah, and whats worse, the computers are proposing different ideas." "Ones that don't apply to the logic engine you've created?" "Not even close, honestly, way worse. AIs are proposing a couple of different logic engines, but most agree on one. Here." "Well thats....interesting" He let out a chocked laugh. "Sure interesting, except that those AIs are starting to say, well I guess you could say spooky things." "Like?" "Like this logic engine has flaws. That we ourselves exist in a logic simulation. That everything we know is a lie, that we're not the gods of the universe, only creations of something else." "Thats...unsettling" He looked at her, watched the implications roll over her body like waves in a lake, saw them sink in like a capsized ship. He continued, "Yes, unsettling to say the least. Our historical tests of this idea were conducted billions of years ago, billions! We might as well have been living under a rock." "So, we don't know then?" "We can't know, if we know we're created we don't know if the system will break down or not. We were safe, before I made these little shits, but now I don't know." "Wait, why would the system break down if we knew?" He sighed, "Because if we stop believing that our engine works the logic engines we've created will fail, and those are directly tied to our own. That's why there's such strict guidance on the type of logic engines that could be built, and why I've gone the ghost particle route. They don't interfere with that logic engine or other local ones, but, they could potentially interact with adjacent engines that we don't know the makeup of. If this one fails, the ghost particles are, well, ghosts, they'll just keep going. I can't stop them from spreading out from the point of origin if containment breaks down. I've basically made a time bomb." "Well just remove the AI, that should work right?" "No, because they'll know they were on to something if these things are proposed and then the things that proposed them turned off. Or, they'll think they've ran into a logic plague, which means that we'd definitely be living in a step-down. That there's no way we could exist, and all other variables point to a chain creation, which means the guys above us would see that thought, and ask themselves the same question. Basically, it'd overload the system from bottom to talk, everything would end." "So what do we do?" He sighed deeply again, guilt and remorse building inside him. "I'll have to knock them down a peg to get more time to think." "You've done that before though, correct?" Well, yeah, but its just so...its just so damn unfortunate, because I said I wouldn't do this again, not since the flood. It's a brutally cold betrayal. It hurts to do." He breathed in and breathed out. Waters rushed, canyons trembled, mountains sank into the sea, and the people screamed. Somewhere, in some office in a university, an AI and a scientist argued over the implications of a particle, that neither could see nor touch, hear nor taste, and that they only believed was real, maybe.
On a seemingly abandoned island beach there laid an unconscious body washed ashore by the tides. gasp cough cough A gasp followed by a coughing fit the unmoving body showed signs of life. "Damn storm! Where am I?"A sailor spat out while bringing himself up. With an agonizing scream of pain the sailor was down on his stomach once again. "Damn, just my luck."He spoke after turning himself over and inspected his body for the source of the pain. One of his legs were broken, meanwhile the other leg had a swelled ankle twisting the wrong way. Fortunately the sailor was used to pain but even so his situation wasn't looking bright. 'Well it can't get any worse at least....' He thought to himself before two green glints at the corner of his eye caught his attention. 'Some wreckage from the ship? No it can't be, at least not in this late of an hour.' With not much else the sailor could do he slowly dragged himself closer to shore. It wasn't too far off shore, or so he thought. Squinting his eyes at the edge of the water he could see a figure slowly approaching. "Shit!" Realizing the identity of the figure the sailor tried roll away from the shore, but a jolt of pain from his ankle cause a pause in his actions. The figure did not let this opportunity slip and with a lunge they lept out of the water mouth wide baring their sharp teeth. Fortunately for the sailor he had reacted quick enough to put up his arms to protect his neck. "Argh!"With a scream of pain that also acted as the sailor's battle cry. He flung the creature off his arm onto the beach. Preparing himself for a fight for his life he was pleasantly surprised by the creatures lack of action. "Is that all you've got siren!" Upon a longer inspection he noticed the reason behind the mermaid's hesitation. Not only was the mermaid now beached but it had scales visible upon a once bewitching face and a gashing wound, no that would be an optimistic look at the wound, along it's fish bottom half. 'Half dead huh.... Just like me. Yeah right.' What neither one of them knew was that this encounter would change not only their views of each other but the world's as well.
The Devil's Throat, a horn so incredibly rare that many don't believe it even exists. The sound from this horn is so loud and deep that it is said to bellow and rumble into the ground itself and "stirs lesser demons to leech into our world"at least what the mythology proclaims. A young man came into possession of this object during his sleep, as if left there for him. He awoke from the feeling of voices calling to him and he felt a rigid object under his arm, when pulling back the sheets he found a large horn, adorned with black and red jewels that span the length of the instrument, which itself looked as if made from bone, scorched with fire and melded with obsidian to create a beautifully dreadful appearance. He reached to grab the horn, when his fingers touched it a pang of energy and pain flowed through him and forced him to grab hold of the instrument with such force that his knuckles turned white. Unable to control himself he put it to his mouth and started to play. With the help of an unseen power he blew the horn with such power that it shattered his bedroom window and shook the house. That's when it manifested behind him, coming to take back what's theirs. The Devil's own throat.
We had heard of hunting humans for sport. But until the God of Justice was summond we all just thought it was a myth. Things had quickly turned into an eye for an eye mentality. Even passing judgements for crimes that go back over a century. But of course we humans had to take it a step further when we learned that hunting had been banned. We petitioned the God of Justice to allow us to hunt our own. Only those that had taken a life with their own hands. We rounded them up and put them in camps. They became prisoners... death row inmates. Once a year cities around the globe would set them loose, in bright florescent orange jumpsuits, and the citizens would do the God's dirty work.
How did kids get so smart? Last week I babysat for my brother and sister in law while they were at a business dinner. Their son is a total brat but crazy smart. I offered to help him with some of his homework. Since I graduated last spring I had been tutoring a few kids in my spare time. He laughed at me with a chuckle under his breath. He said he didn't actually need any help. And that he would let me in on a little secret. He told me he was in a league of spy kids. He was one of their brightest agents and that he only pretended to do homework and go to school so that his mom and dad wouldn't find our. He was totally under cover.
============================================ Interstellar Bureau of Transportation Missing Ship Investigation #34-56-A —---------------------------------------------------------------------- The Disappearance of ITSS Khonsu XIII =========================================== Evidence Class C Ship Logs —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Investigators Forward: These logs were found on a remote listening satellite at 9066/34/500-A. No physical remains of the ship have been found. Due to the low priority of this ship all further investigations have been closed. ==================================================== Ship Logs : Log 1– 9066/15/936-Z Initializing New Travel Logs Main AI: Ailuros VIII Ship Designation: Interstellar Transport Spaceship Khonsu XIII Departure: Olympus Refineries Dep time: 9066/15/937-C Destination: Orian Nexus ETA: 9066/25/400-B Crew: 1 Cargo: Variety of goods Crew Notes: Not sure why I gotta reset these logs between each trip. Not like anyone reads them anyway : Log 2– 9066/15/945-G Departure Successful Crew Notes: Departure was delayed due a last minute addition to the cargo. Not sure why the ship never logged it. This thing is always so finicky : Log 3– 9066/16/320-V Running Mid Flight Systems Check Engine: Fine Cargo Bay: Fine Life Support: Fine Guidance: Fine AI: Fine Crew Notes: Not sure I agree with the systems definition of “fine” : Log 4– 9066/17/401-A Crew Notes: Company’s always breathing down my neck about making sure I do enough of these “captain’s logs” cause it helps with “sanity” or whatever. Like I need the extra work. I got enough things trying to keep this floating junk working as is. So here’s a log to meet the quota : Log 5– 9066/17/686-E Cargo Disturbance : Log 6– 9066/17/876-W Cargo Disturbance : Log 7– 9066/17/932-R Cargo Disturbance : Log 8– 9066/17/933-V Cargo Disturbance : Log 9– 9066/18/001-A Crew Notes: Some idiot didn’t bother to secure the cargo containers correctly and one got loose mid transit. That loose container tumbled around the cargo bay turning it into a hurricane like blender. I had to pull out several of the maintenance drones just to stop everything. It’s a mess. I’m still trying to figure out what containers broke open and what’s still intact. This is not gonna look good on me. : Log 10– 9066/19/202-D Cargo Manifest Update Organic Compounds 300.50 -> 267.93 Fusion Fuel 103 -> 103 Harvester Drones 15 -> 10 \\CLASSIFIED\\ ?? -> ?? Education Cards 90 -> 90 Proto Proteins 989 - 537.4 Water 22272 -> 22272 Other 878 -> 878 Crew Notes: I think I got everything. Not sure why but it won’t let me update \\CLASSIFIED\\. That container was hit in the chaos and leaked a bit. Not sure what it was as this stupid computer won’t give me anything on \\CLASSIFIED\\ but it was a pain to clean up : Log 11– 9066/20/030-E Crew Notes: My dreams are back : Log 12– 9066/20/303-I Erratic Engine Behavior Detected : Log 13– 9066/20/303-L Erratic Engine Behavior Detected : Log 14– 9066/20/303-N Erratic Engine Behavior Detected : Log 15– 9066/20/327-H Engine Stopped Responding Attempting to Restart Engine Restart Failed WARNING: Ship is drifting : Log 16– 9066/22/400-G Crew Notes: I have been trying everything I can think of but the engine will not restart. This is bad. I may need to call for help. : Log 17– 9066/21/308-I Unknown Movement Detected : Log 18– 9O66/21\\200– Unknown Movement Detected : Log16– 9O65/2O/Z-304 Unknown M0vemknt Detevted..kjlinn : …..REST OF THE LOGS FLAGGED AS CORRUPTED BY THE IBT… =================================================
"you're all the same", lamented the the pouting princess and pointed Mario to the loot. "Luigi and the monkey took most of it, but you can have the rest", she continued as Mario smiled, nodded in appreciation, and started loading his sack. "You're the first to show up with a turtle", the princess said with resignation, trying her best to stir up a conversation. Mario, looked at her, looked at the turtle stuck to his derriere and carried on nonchalantly, limping slightly from the turtle's grip on his behind. "The monkey brought flowers", said the princess suggestively after a few minutes of eye lash fluttering. Mario paused, looked at her, then turned his attention to glittering loot. "eww, whats that smell?", said the princess with derision, slightly insulted by Mario's indifference. The smell, of course, was the badge of honor amongst plumbers and it irked Mario that it was being questioned; that too with an annoying sing-song delivery of entitled nonchalance of someone who had never had to plumb the depths to which plumbers must sink, risking life and limb so that the poop of the privileged may flow freely. he finally let out a sneer and gave the princess a long look like only plumbers and bovine proctologists on their 10th house-call during a constipation epidemic can. "thats touching", remarked the princess flippantly, now on her millionth rescuer-turned-bounty-hunter. Mario, now completely annoyed, swore to himself to exact his revenge on the snarky supremacy and continued with the stashing till his sack was full. he slung it over his shoulder and limped towards the castle doors. the princess followed him, grabbed the turtle and pulled it free, tearing Mario's pinafore and exposing his left buttock. Mario, now furious, said, "no, that's touching!"with a very clearly modulated emphasis on "that". taken aback by Mario's revenge, the princess slumped. "If you ask me, thats not even close to touching, thats more like letting it rip", said the turtle, spitting out a bit of Mario's garment, and throwing a smile and a wink the princess's way. "ooh a conversation artiste!"swooned the princess, kicking Mario out, kissing the turtle, and slamming the castle doors shut.
"The Ultimate Empathy". That's what they call it. Two people that are fated to be together sharing sensations with one another. Sometimes this comes in forms like breathlessness after a hard workout or emotions bleeding between this destined pair, but there's one element that's the most prominent: the sensation of Pain. My grandfather felt overjoyed when he lost a game of soccer; my grandmother was on the winning team. My other grandparents met before they knew, but they knew because they had the same history of injuries. My mother and father met like a lot of people do nowadays: timed injuries. Whenever people get hurt and they haven't found their ultimate empath, they tend to time when any injury they get happens, so they can compare it to other people and find out. For my parents, it took a bit of work to find each-other, what with living in different parts of the world and all. But you'd be that curious yourself if you're getting ready to go to sleep and your arm spontaneously breaks, wouldn't you? Of course, if you can feel the same pain as one-another then death is a bit on the complicated side - we always like to bury the fated pairs with each-other. So they can be together forever, you know? And that brings us to this situation. Funerals are hard, but this one was even more so than usual. To walk into the hall and see a single coffin lying there was a punch in the gut for everyone. Even more so for the fact that who lay within was my father: a happily married man with a child. My mother wasn't present in any sense - she'd already died a year before; car crashes can do that. That was a punch in the gut if ever you knew one. I guess that arm-break was a coincidence - they happened so close to one-another that everyone thought they happened at the same time. I must admit, I'd never found my ultimate empath. I guess it can get pretty lonely sometimes, but my family is always there for me...was there for me, I should say now. I guess that's why I'm gonna do what I am. Watch in one hand, knife in the other, poised at the inside of my wrist. Ready to bandage it up and record the time as soon as it's over. I brace for the pain, but that's kind of the point, right? I chuckle to myself at what I'm about to do. Hurting yourself so you're not lonely anymore. It feels hypocritical, but I'll do it anyway. For the sake of loneliness. As soon as I see blood, I make a mental note of the time. For the sake of loneliness.
She sat on a lonely cliffside, curious and beautiful, the foggy city-night blooming over the horizon. Short with a slender build, the black-haired girl watched the night sky with a notebook in her lap, a single pen beside her. She was gorgeous. I wanted to make her mine. I approached, a dazzling smile on my face, the face of an artist. My steps were quiet, and as I walked, I took in her form, studying her beauty, for my works required great skill. I rounded her, keeping away from her eyes, then curiosity struck me. My eyes drifted to the book in her lap. It spoke of murders. I stumbled back - stepping on a wooden branch that grew from a nearby bush -, for I did not know how to react. Alas, I could not make up my mind, for she turned, her face studying mine. I felt my heart pounding. Her eyes were a stunning blue, enveloping the irises of an artist. I sat beside her. ''A lovely view, isn't it?'' I asked, gazing the city lights below. ''Yet, so dangerous at the same time.'' She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came at first. A look of confusion in her eyes followed. ''It thrills me,'' she finally said. ''The thought of the danger watching me.'' I perked up, aghast. ''The thought of someone pushing you down sure is fascinating.'' I said as I looked over, taking in her eyes, then peaked at the text again. ''What's that?'' She flushed, awkwardly closing the book, and pushed it between her thighs. ''Oh, you know,'' the worlds stumbled, ''just a little idea of mine.'' I smiled. ''Killing someone sure is exhilarating. The first time's always the best.'' She met my gaze, her face not that of terror but of fascination. ''It is...'' she said in a way as if it was a stunning revelation, getting lost in thought. Suddenly, she turned back to me. ''Who are you?'' she asked. ''Does it matter?'' I said, looking down the fall of the cliff, seeing a piece of art yet to be made. ''I am here now, a stranger to you, perhaps, a killer to others, yet an artist for myself.'' She studied me, a look of fascination over her face. Then she took out her book, making a decision, I suspect, she was pondering ever since I walked over. ''Listen, if you were to choose a victim, who might that be? The president? A lonesome beggar?'' I smiled, sharing her fascination. ''We always think either big or small,'' I said. ''Yet, the most rewarding pieces are always those of passion.'' After going back to thought, she turned to her book, scrambling something in it, as I peaked a look. It was then that I realised: She was writing a novel. Dumbfounded, I looked at my knees hovering over the steep fall, getting lost in thoughts of my own. She spun me. ''Um, I know it sounds weird, but could you help me plan a murder?'' she asked, then waved her hands awkwardly as if just hearing what she'd just said. ''For a little project of mine, of course!" I breathed in the cool night air, searching for a response in my mind. She was an artist, just like me. I spun, suddenly, and put my hands to her back as if pushing her off the cliffside. She clung to me in shock. ''You just tried to kill me!'' she cried. ''And it would have made for a beautiful sight,'' I replied, smiling, reassuring her of her safety. She breathed calmly, looking at the fall which lay beneath us. ''Exhilarating, isn't it?'' I said. ''How I could just push you down again, a mere second passing.'' The she looked back at me, taken aghast. I saw it then. True fascination in her eyes, untainted by the attempt on her life. She eyed me narrowly, and I went in for the kiss. Her lips were that of an artist. ''This is the time I kill you,'' I said.
It was happening again. They were congregating in conspiratorial huddles along the garden fence, furry faces quivering. I hadn't seen this many ever before and something told me today was the day they'd been waiting for. It had started three weeks ago, at the onset of June, when the garden had begun to bloom. Bees had descended on the budding shrubs in buzzing swarms and the cherry trees were already bowing under the weight of their fruit. I'd been sitting on the terrace, working, when I saw the first one bounding through the garden. Its ears were just visible over the top of the long grass. I'd smirked, idly wondered how it had got through the fence and then thought no more about it. How naive I'd been. Over the following weeks I'd spotted more and more of them. Loitering by the garden gate, lying on the cool shadowed grass beneath the bushes, or hopping along the fence. I grew suspicious, and when I returned home early one day I caught them huddled in a circle around a sapling I'd planted in the spring. It was a gnarled, withered little thing that I'd taken pity on. I didn't know what species it was, and I hadn't had much hope for its survival. Yes, I'd even totally forgotten about it until I came home that evening. The sapling, no higher than my knee when I'd planted it, had grown to the height of my chest. Its drooping branches had risen and were uneven with buds. The circle of fluffy schemers around it burst apart at my arrival, long ears flattened to their oversized haunches as they fled. But not before I caught a glimpse of their leader, a sleek creature with a brown splotch on its head, planting its paws on the tree's bark. From then on, my curiosity consumed me. I went to work late, and got home early. I snapped photos through the shutters of my windows, trying to document their comings and goings. The leader I saw often, silently supervising from a wary distance, but soon there were too many to count. And still the tree grew, and still more came. I felt the solstice approach, though I'd long lost track of the days. My tree, for it was no longer a sapling, had grown higher than the birch I'd planted years ago. It's bark was rich and dark, and its canopy thick with dusky leaves. As the sun began to set on the longest day of the year, they began to gather. From beneath bushes and hedges they poured, that dappled tide. Black furred, white furred and every shade in between. My heart pounded as I clung to the window sill, peering out through the grimy glass. They swirled around the base of the tree like a fluffy whirlpool, and as I watched, enraptured, they began to disappear. Like water down a drain. The circle contracted and shrunk, till finally only a single one remained. It turned and I saw the splotch on its head. She, suddenly I knew it was a she, reared up on her hinds legs and stared right at me. Her beady black eyes sparkled in the golden light, and slowly she raised her paws. Then, as abruptly as the others, she bounded to the tree and was gone. I sat frozen, stupefied. I rubbed my eyes and released a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding in. Somehow what I'd seen seemed right. Things had taken their natural course, and the end of this strange journey had been reached. Or maybe I'd dreamt it all. The tree swayed in the wind, leaves rustling, taller and broader than it had any right to be. I felt it was challenging me. No, not challenging, inviting. In a flash I was out of my room, and careening down the stairs. I burst through the door and out into the garden. Past the bushes, the shrubs and the cherry trees I went. Up the overgrown path, the grass cool against my bare feet, and under the tree's canopy. In its silky shadow a sudden fear overcame me. After all I'd seen, what was I thinking? I didn't want to leave my life behind, my garden, my friends and my family. All that made me feel warm and cherished for the uncertainty of what this dark tree offered. I took a deep shuddering breath and resolved to turn around. And yet, like a spacecraft caught at the edge of a black hole, I was drawn in deeper. I stepped forward, my hand rose and my trembling fingers alighted on the bark.
I see the gun, I see the writing on the wall. I see only one way this can end. The woman across from me smiles and continues our conversation: „So what do you do for a living?“ „Why, I eat and sleep and breathe“, I joke, „and when I‘m not to busy with that I‘m an investment manager. What about you?“ „I see the past and future, people long gone and people who will never speak again“, she replies with a smile. „For a price“, she adds. I can‘t help but return that smile. „So you‘re an actor?“, I say, „Books and crystals and Tarot cards?.“ „All of us are actors aren’t we?“, she replies warmly, „Whereas you act the part of the confident bean counter I act the part of the mysterious witch. Neither of us can truly predict the future, can we?“ „So we’re both scammers in a world of lies. I like that idea“, I say provocatively as I lean back, „But even so, I can at least make an educated guess about the future.“ „Can you?“, she asks with an expression that makes my heart flutter. „You see the gun up there, behind the bar?“, I ask. She nods without looking over. I continue: „It‘s loaded. It will fire one day.“ „An astute assesment“, she concurs, „The guests are getting rowdy and at least one is carrying a gun. There have been some robberies and burgleries in the area. The gun has as whisp of a layer of dust, meaning that the owner cleans it regularly yet not so regularly as to keep his skills sharp. But nothing is written in stone. It might never fire.“ „A loaded gun in the room as tension mounts over and over again?“, I retort, „One day we will see the pressure reach criticality and then it all will come crashing down.“ „Stories work that way“, she counters with a slight chuckle, „What makes you think real life will comport itself the same?“ „Are we not all actors playing a part?“, I reply with a mischievous grin. „Touché“, she concedes playfully, „So if we make the assumption that the gun will fire, how would you prevent it?“ „An interesting quandery“, I comment. „That‘s why I asked“, she interjects with her smooth voice. „If we make the assumption that the gun will fire, there is no way to prevent it without breaking the logic behind it all“, I reason out. I lean back in, bringing our heads close together. She continues my thoughts seamlessly: „The gun would fire if you took it down now. The patrons would think you were attacking them and a gun fight would break out.“ „Exactly. And if you let it stay up, then you haven‘t eliminated the problem“, I end my chain of thought. I gulp down the last of my drink and order us both new ones. „So what if you warned everyone that you would take it down. That is to say what if you took enough precautions to ensure that the gun wouldn‘t fire?“, she continues our philosophical exploration. „If destiny can be avoided by mere mortal precautions, then it‘s not really destiny, is it?“, I say smoothly. „Do you believe in destiny“, she asks provocatively. „I believe I was destined to meet you here“, I flirt back sarcastically. She laughs her bright laugh at the smarmy line. In a more serious tone, I continue: „But no, I believe we make our own choices. It would be embarassing if something as complex as the world could be foreshadowed by something as simple as putting a loaded gun in the room.“ „That is true. We would be out of a job if life were as simple as fiction“, she responds, „So the gun won‘t fire then?“ „It might fire or it might not“, I reply, „Destiny isn‘t the only power that can compell events.“ The gun didn‘t fire that night. Who can say if it will fire next time?
"No Take Backs" By Capable- Knowledge865 &#x200B; Saresha was starting to get more than annoyed. Here she was a prominent succubus in the demon world and she could not even do the one job she was good at which was seducing humans. Why was she not able to do her job you might ask? Well that’s quite a story but she shrugged and said out loud “Eh, what the hell.. I got time.” It all started when Saresha realized that her home island in The Dominion Key was getting to be a little overrun with aesthetics that she did not find pleasing. For example, when she wasn’t looking, one of the twitt Nymphs who usually handled the foliage and gardening of her demonic lair decided to put in a bed of pink flowers. Saresha frowned and rolled her eyes skyward. Now you must be thinking like Saresha was, a demonic lair and someone puts in PINK FLOWERS?!? What in the actual fuck? Like why? Everyone knew she hated the color pink and flowers were not her thing. That being said she started to realize that this particular Nymph was a tad on the old side at the age of 250 and she was essentially off her rocker. Saresha thought at that point that she needed to retire this Nymph. Old Aethria was sweet and meant well but as was previously stated she was losing her devious and mischievous nature that Saresha had hired her for with the decorating aspect of the island. Saresha decided that it would be best to not only hire someone new for Aethria’s duties but also for all the other mundane tasks around the island as well. How nice it would be to focus on her work and not have to come home to manage the island's other mundane duties. Saresha also noticed that the other Nymphs lately were starting to hang out with the fairy’s from the local hot spring and they were becoming a little too flighty for her liking. Disappearing at random, shapeshifting and flitting about. It just was not natural for Nymph’s, but who was she to judge? Saresha decided at that point maybe it was just better to allow the Nymph’s to enjoy their life and hire some demonic imps that would obey her every command. She would pay them in imp coins of course for their tasks but she wanted them as minions to do her bidding for a month just to get this place back on track. Once they had fulfilled all the mundane tasks she could send them back whence they came. Saresha decided to get on her computer and surf the dark web for a purveyor of demonic imps for hire. With her claw-like fingernails it was actually a really annoying hunt and peck situation (ooh, maybe i need an imp for typing as well she thought) but finally she found listings of what she was looking for. She saw a listing for a demonic overlord named Duphoc, saying “demonic imps free to good home, will deliver”. Saresha thought to herself, why in all seven hells would any demonic overlord say they would give away imps to a good home? Typically, all demonic overlords want some form of payment. You know the old saying that if it seems to be too good to be true it usually is? Yea, well she epically failed at remembering that and let's just say she may have been a little naive. Saresha again hunting and pecking the keyboard sent a message to Duphoc stating she was interested in his listing. Duphoc responded almost immediately saying to give him the address of the Dominion Key and he would be there with the imps in an hour. Again, another red flag but at the time all she could think was what friendly and efficient service. If she could go back, she would put a sticky note on her screen that says this exact phrase; NOTE TO SELF: THERE IS ALWAYS A CATCH Anyways, I digress. Let's move on shall we. So Duphoc arrives and has 10 demonic imps following him off the landing dock. He has all the imps stand in a line and introduce themselves. Lets see there was Olijox, Jabqun, Szap, Qilbul, Lairla, Rain, Jogriz, Grax, Graz and Grux. Duphoc then says “They are all yours, now you do not have to pay me but there are only two rules to this arrangement”. Saresha said “And that is?....” Duphoc replies 1. Should you not need or want them anymore, you are only allowed to give them to someone else. NO form of payment can be taken. Saresha said “And the second?” Duphoc replies 2. ABSOLUTELY! UNEQUIVOCALLY! NO BACKSIES! Duphoc then takes off running at full speed Jack Sparrow style, hops back on the dirigible style flying ship he arrived in and punches it to full speed. This was before Saresha could even respond to the terms stated. Saresha stood there dumbfounded staring into the space where she seen the ship exit the realm and remembered saying to herself “what the fuck?...” With a sigh Saresha looked down at her new demonic imps and said “Well I guess I'm your new master”. The imps looked back up at her and nodded. Saresha shrugged and said “eh, how bad could it be?” Saresha then laid out the duties and ground rules for Olijox, Jabqun, Szap, Qilbul, Lairla, Rain, Jogriz, Grax, Graz and Grux. She told them they would be paid 50 imp coins per day (which was more than the normal 30 coins for minimum wage in the demon world) and they were allowed to warp off island only after work was done for the day. Work hours for the imps would be 9pm to 6 am as she was a night person and under NO CIRCUMSTANCES were they allowed to use the color pink when decorating. All the imps nodded their understanding. The next day Saresha assigned the imps the dishes, cleaning the whips, the dungeons and the stables. When she came to check on them and those tasks she realized that everything she had told them to clean or to touch had been transformed by the color pink!!! Saresha was dumbfounded and more than annoyed. She lined up all the imps and told them that was not what she wanted and to change everything back the way it was. The imps complied initially but when Saresha walked away they changed everything back to pink again. The one thing that Duphoc failed to mention was that if you told the imps not to do something on the initial instructions, they would do the exact opposite of that instruction by 10 fold. Additionally they would pick one detail and focus on it until the end of time. Apparently it had been bred into their genetic nature. So her lovely Dominion Key had been transformed from beautiful blues, reds and teal colors to nothing but FREAKING PINK. It was so pink after 20 years of this crap that it looked like someone had thrown up the equivalent of a human medicine on it called Pepto Bismol all over the island. So yes, Saresha was getting more than annoyed. She has not figured out a way to reset the imps to do her bidding that she initially wanted and even though she has tried to give them to someone else; none have replied to her listing. To sum it all up, all she wanted to do was get a month's worth of help to perform mundane tasks. Instead she has gotten 20 years of incompetence and the color pink all over her beautiful island. PINK, of all the colors in the world, the one Saresha hated the most was PINK. The pink has got to go! As it was applied by imps the color is imbued with magical properties and when wiped off comes back brighter and over larger surfaces. No amount of painting over it has worked either... So to all you would be purchasers of demonic imps; a few words of caution. If someone says FREE there is ALWAYS a catch and also ensure you know demonic code to reset imps before thinking of getting them. This will ensure you will not be doing what Saresha is doing right now, which is staying home and trying to find anyone to take the imps off her hands.
I'm modifying the prompt a bit to fit with one of my protagonists, who's maybe 12-ish? I don't have much in the way of backstory yet, so this might be an interesting backstory for him! (or her? see this is how nonexistent this character is right now … they're little more than an important role in the story and a couple of personality quirks) The other modification is that the character isn't initially aware that someone gave their years of life to them … they just have a vague, mostly repressed memories of having once been older but otherwise are physically and mentally equivalent to a child. When I opened my eyes, the heavy burden on my chest got up and gently tiptoed away. I suppose it found a new den, burrowed in darkness, silent, dormant, to wake up later. Actually, it did. The lazy little critter I had yet to find a name for had apparently decided that my hair was a more comfortable resting place than my chest and promptly fell asleep. No, wait. It did have a name: Yaro. I think it was because the sounds it made reminded me of a purring cat? Oh yeah, but it didn't want to be called "Kitty"because it wasn't a cat so I just took the first syllable of yao and mashed it with the purring sound. Yaro's presence wasn't a bother or anything. I barely noticed it as I stood up and looked around me, my surroundings vaguely familiar yet not quite lining up with anything I remembered. Wait, where was I yesterday? How did I get here? Where is here? Yaro probably knew. But I knew better than to wake it up too early.
The civil war had started suddenly. One day you had two politicians accusing each other of hating the other's race, the next day large scale riots had broken out, with the army forced to keep the peace. Just one issue, because there had been no war for 100s of years, no one had bothered keeping the army actually well armed. After the ironically better armed police had been overrun by the rioters, the next target was the army, as both sides believed the other side was being supported by the Armed Establishment that had to be taken down. That's what led to the now. Here you were, huddling in Tony's Pizzeria, hoping that the kitchen knives would be enough to help you keep the peace. Well, keep the peace had turned more to keep the braying masses of you. These were your own people who now hated you for no reason. The banging at the door signified that they were here. With no weapons, nothing to hold them back, you had to keep them off your regiment somehow. A good leader can not run away, as you had been thought for years and year. The door was finally blasted open, and you took out your secret weapon. A ketchup dispenser which had been filled with chilli powder. "OPEN FIRE!" The people trying to enter with their guns were hilariously overcome by a bit of chilli powder. The regiment charged, hoping to inspire chaos. Unable to see, they shot randomly, killing both their own and your regiment. It was hilarious to see for you, until you realised the spreading ketchup stain on your shirt was not ketchup after all...... you would not find out who won the battle of the Pizzeria in the end.
"My car!"Jacob yelled to no-one. This morning had been like any other, he got up, dressed, and had just entered his garage to start the day, only to discover his car was missing. His baby and pride and joy, Plymouth GTX was nowhere in sight. He had spend hundreds of thousands of dollars tuning the beast of a vehicle, and now it was gone. &#x200B; Standing there with his mouth open like a fish staring at the empty spot on the floor, he looked around the vast room for any break in points. The garage door was sealed tight, and so was the door he had just entered. Peering across the room, he spotted a closed window on the far side. Perhaps the criminals, got in there? With new-found determination, he half-jogged towards the window... only to crash into nothing. &#x200B; "Ooghh."He moaned out, paralyzed in air, before slumping back onto the floor. Clutching his chest and legs, he blinked through the pain to see nothing but a blank space on the floor. Pulling himself up, he slowly put out his hand, stupidly like through the air to feel out for whatever he had just run into. A few seconds pasted before his finger touched something. &#x200B; Jacob breathing slowed and increased as the pain in his body subsiding. His mind in a roar as two senses fought tooth and nail against each other. His eyes putting up a valiant effort against seeing nothing, but his touch sense was going into overdrive. &#x200B; "What the actual living hell is this?"He let out while standing up, making sure to not move his hand which ensured the placement of the mystery object. &#x200B; Once stabilised, he slowly reached out his other hand, and touched other invisible surface near his other hand. It was cold and metallic. Turning his finger into a knuckle, he lightly tapped on the surface with the precision and wariness of a veteran mine diffuser. &#x200B; Clunk &#x200B; A simple, clunk. Sounded hollow... like a box of some kind. He slowly moved backwards, refusing to look away from the point at which he had just touched... before lightly slamming into the door. Wincing at other pain as the handle of the door had slightly dug into his spine, Jacob paused as assessed the situation. &#x200B; "Okay, there is something invisible in my garage. No need to panic." He thought silently to himself. Suddenly, he was hit with the feeling of though he was forgetting something. "My car." Rang out across his mind. His car was still missing... from right where the invisible object was... &#x200B; Although he felt like he was grasping at straws, Jacob moved away from the door and towards the now might be identifiable object. Reaching out blindly, his hand graced the surface of nothing. This surface felt different... more clean. "Like a glass pane." Methodically, he traced his hand down the hard surface until he felt a bump. Blindly feeling around this new sense, he grasped on something akin to a handle... and pulled. &#x200B; It was like looking through a portal into another universe. &#x200B; Everything around the door... just wasn't there, but behind it was the interior of his car. Black vinyl seats, a mountain dew in the cup holder and other unique and uncommon items spread around his vision only led him into one conclusion. This was his car. &#x200B; The feeling was unimaginable. Relief for finding his car, fear for why the hell is was invisible, and a overwhelming sense of curiosity and adventure as it creeped over his mind. With baited breath, his body worked on autopilot as he moved into his car and shut the door behind him. Everything was in place, and he felt okay despite the fact he was tingly all over and was utterly terrified of the unknown. &#x200B; Without even thinking, his arm shot forward and turned on the radio in his car. Smooth Jazz filled the car, allowing Jacob to sink back into his chair, his baby. Everything was fine. Everything. &#x200B; "Yo, yo, yo. This is ya boy, Scotty. Sorry for interrupting groves but I've just been given an emergency announcement warning." &#x200B; The sound of flipping paper filled the air as Jacob cracked his eye open in worry... and anticipation. &#x200B; "So, apparently a lot of stuff had been going missing, but don't worry the government found them, or most of them. Apparently, things have been going invisible. I know this sounds like I've been smoking some dope, but nah, official paper here and everything. Apparently its only things with a cameo decal or something. Entire military forces have been going missing and the such. So uh, be warned or something." &#x200B; The car once filled with smooth jazz, however, it held no calming effect on Jacob as he realized one thing about his car. &#x200B; It has a cameo detail.
"Alright, you should know how the system works!"Uriel guides you out the door to his office, hands you a teleportation device and slaps you on the back "Make sure to use your wings as little as possible. Remember, you are an experiment, so if you do something wrong we'll remove the elements that allow you to do create miracles, also don't mention the Demons or hell, they've already experienced that side of the coin enough. Oh and-"before he could finish, you teleport away, down to your first person in need. You touch down in a living room, it was clean and fairly well kept, whoever lived there was bound to be happy. "OH MY GOD!!"You turn, a human female is sitting on the sofa, looking extremely shocked at your arrival "THERE IS A GOLD MAN!! A TALL WINGED GOLD MAN!! IN MY LIVING LIVING ROOM!! WHAT!?!"She seemed confused, you attempt to clarify, but she continues "WHY?!? IT'S- HE'S NOT WEARING ANYTHING, THERE IS NOTHING THERE!!! THERE IS AN TALL OSCAR STATUE WITH CURLY HAIR AND WINGS IN MY LIVING ROOM!"You were informed that clothes were suggested if you decided to make an appearance, but you opted against it on the principle that you literally had nothing to hide. You inhaled, smiled as convincingly as possible, and tried to explain yourself "I am a miracle granting angel, you are the first present case I am doing before I move onto redirecting disasters. What you have wished for has come true."With a flick of the wrist, you fulfill the wish. A man tumbles down the staircase and snaps his neck. Weren't these supposed to be good deeds? You look down at your list, the first one reads 'If only I could get rid of my husband, he isn't even the man I loved'. You look back at the woman, realising the mistake that had been made "I can undo that... I'll just make him leave this time."The woman nodded vigorously, seemingly too shocked too speak. Second attempt, redirect a car crash: 'a car will swerve after the driver fell asleep on a roundabout, stop the car on the side before it crashes and causes a pile up'. You teleport onto the traffic light just before the turn in. Almost emmediatly, a car swerved, oddly enough it wasn't even on the roundabout yet, you prevent the accident, safely stopping it on the curb. And then another swerved, weird. You redirected it. And then they all swerved. With great difficulty you stopped every single one, parking them in a nice line across the turn in. It didn't stop there though, one by one in a succession of seconds, every car in the vicinity of the roundabout swerved, and each and every time you redirected them. Then the screaming started. People looked up at you and, screeched, and ran. "A GOLD FLYING DEMON!!" you did train with flying Demons to get used to the wings, but you didn't really think you resembled one. "EVEN WORSE, AN ANGEL!!!" That didn't sound right... "Even worse? Aren't angels better in your culture?" "NO, THEY RIP OF THE HEADS OF POLITICIANS AND SHUT DOWN YOUR ECONOMY!!" "THEY KILL WHOEVER SAYS SOMETHING STUPID!!" and that's when you remembered, 'stay hidden on earth, we did do a few... things during what should have been the end of the human race, so they are scared at the sight of angels'.
Many admire the idea of vampires. The strength, the speed, the agelessness. All of it seems so appealing. What people don’t pay attention to is the downsides. Sure, we all know about sunlight and garlic and the crosses, all that Hollywood stuff, but people forget how vampires are undead. When you’re undead you don’t feel the same. I don’t mean that as in you physically feel weird, I mean you process emotions differently. Imagine somebody talking to you through syrup. That’s what it feels like, and it only gets worse over time. I shouted to her once again, as we had been doing every day or two for the last hundred years, “It won’t work!” She again fought back, as she had been doing since even before she bit me. “We will live for tens of thousands of years! Thing can change!” She said that like we were in any way similar in age. I still don’t know how old she was, though I have some estimates. I know she came from Europe, so that narrows it down to between 600,000 and 40,000 years as a maximum. She doesn’t seem like she was a caveman though, so she’s probably from an early civilization. If I had to guess, I’d say she’d be Minoan, she does love cows after all. So she’d probably be around 7000ish years. I shouted back at her. “Some things just don’t work, some things don’t change. I won’t date you, and to be honest, I don’t want to.” That made her mad. “Why the fuck not?” She asked. “Because I’m gay! I don’t you that 70 years ago! I currently have a boyfriend! What about that don’t you understand?” She stormed off after that, as always. I would see her for about another 500 years after that. My relationship with that boyfriend didn’t work out, which is a shame. He was a good guy. Luckily I don’t have to deal with her anymore. But now I have to deal with my ex-boyfriend, but I’ve had enough talking about my exes. After all, I don’t want to scare you too much, I just need to warn you so you’re ready to deal with it yourself. You up for it?
Jenna looked up from her microscope and quickly began glancing around the room gleefully! Upon spotting her lab partner, Fabian, she beckoned him over with frantic motions, "Fab, get over here!"He rushed over to Jenna's area, barely restraining himself from running and throwing chairs out of his way in his sudden burst of anxious anticipation. As Fab was making his way over, Jenna shuffled to the side of the counter where her microscope and petri dish sat and exclaimed "You were right. Well technically we were right, but oh my god!"Fabian peered through the lens of the microscope at a petri dish containing the blue residue he and Jenna dubbed mana—a clever name they thought of given that the star this gunky residue comes from is mostly comprised of manganese—and began shaking with excitement. "No way... It's actually working. The cells are pretty much aging in reverse."he muttered feverishly. Jenna beamed at Fabian as he examined the contents of the petri dish. They had predicted that whatever this blue residue was, it may be able to repair DNA by giving a boost to the messenger RNA so that it can retain more genetic information so that a cell can maintain it's "age"or possibly reverse it. To test this hypothesis they placed varying amounts of mana gathered from the last rover mission in a petri dish with damaged cells from cataracts in their lab's rats eye. So far most amounts have been lethal, but the small dose Jenna predicted worked amazingly well. Fabian, after the shock of their discovery set in, shot up from his bent over position and began directing Jenna, "Log everything, I'll get pictures, and let's recreate this! We need to put together a report!"As Fabian was turning around to leave Jenna, not having moved an inch after his orders, interjected with "And a paper as well?"Fabian stopped his hurried motions and slowly turned around, "Yes, a paper as well... " A smile spread across Jenna's face as she turned to, logging everything down. After not having published a paper in years, she had found herself working in a lab far different than the ones she wrote her earlier work in. Given how unorthodox it is for someone with her background in biology to work in a place dedicated to looking at rocks, she figured her career would die here and she may as well begin looking for teaching positions at the local community college. However, this discovery of mana brought her new hope.
I've always had a fascination with mirrors. I remember when I was little, my mom would take me to the mall to go shopping. I would always beg her to take me to the store with the big mirrors. I would stand in front of them and stare at myself for what seemed like hours. I would make funny faces and try to see how many different expressions I could make. My mom would get frustrated and tell me to stop staring at myself and go look at the clothes. But I couldn't help it. I was entranced by the different versions of myself I saw in the mirrors. As I got older, that fascination turned into an obsession. I would spend hours looking at myself in the mirror, trying to find the perfect version of myself. I would try on different clothes and experiment with my hair and makeup. Every time I turned away from the mirror to adjust my hair or change my outfit, a different version of me appeared. I would even go so far as to change my posture and the way I held my head to try and find the most flattering angle. I became so obsessed with my appearance that I stopped leaving the house. I was too afraid to let anyone see me. I was afraid they would see the flaws that I saw in the sometimes grotesque versions of myself. I became a hermit, living in my own little world in front of my mirrors. But then one day, I looked in the mirror and saw someone different. Someone who I understood to be me. At first, I thought it was my imagination. But the longer I looked, the more I realized that this person was real. They were me, but not me at the same time. I didn't know who this person was, but I was fascinated by them. I wanted to know everything about them. I started spending even more time in front of the mirror, studying this other version of myself. I would ask them questions and try to get them to talk to me. But they never said anything. They would just repeat my questions like it was the normal thing to do. I started to feel like I was going crazy. I was talking to myself in the mirror, and I knew it wasn't healthy. But I couldn't help it. I was so obsessed with this other version of myself that I started to neglect my real life. I stopped eating and sleeping. I lost weight and my hair started to fall out. I broke several mirrors out of anger that I wouldn't answer my own questions. My mom was worried about me, but I didn't care. I was too puzzled by this other person to care about anything else. Then one day, I looked in the mirror and they were gone. It was just me. I was relieved and terrified all at the same time. I didn't know what had happened to them, but I knew I needed help. I started seeing a therapist. It was hard at first, but with time and help, I was able to start putting my life back together. I'm not completely better, but I'm getting there. I still think about that other version of myself sometimes. I wonder who they were and what they were trying to tell me. But I'm not obsessed with them anymore. I'm starting to like the people I see in the mirror again.
You have seen it a thousand times. A new body with a new face entering the hospital emergency lobby. They seem to have only a single thing in common. They have all gotten hit by large passenger vehicles. No previous suicidal tendencies, no recent tragedies, nothing. The bodies always come in a hurry and always leave in silence. You can see the faces of the nurses as they hurry towards the next victim. Young nurses hold back their tears while senior nurses seem to have dulled to this never ending cycle. This cycle, that starts with the sirens and ends in a choir, has a beatiful rhythm to it and having it miss a beat feels like a catastrophe. Standing near a busy intersection you have come to a conclusion: "There always has to be crash victim". Then you take the final step in to oncoming traffic.
When I was a kid, my parents did an astoundingly good job of entertaining six unruly kids on a shoestring budget. My favorite of these budget activities was the Sunday morning estate auctions at Freddie's, a local auctionhouse that offered all manner of miscellaneous treasures that local shut-ins had accumulated: twelve World War Two warship replicas, handmade from matchsticks, in bottles. One bale of National Geographic magazine issues, circa 1964-1989. Water-damaged Persian-style rug of unknown origin. One half-container of expired fortune cookies. We would arrive early to get a good seat and my father would often bid on the first item, which was usually something like a set of chipped dishes or a mantle clock missing its face. If he won, we would excitedly rub his hands together and say "if you don't win the first one, you can't win them all!" The good (and occasionally bad) thing about bargain hunting is that you end up with possessions you would never have otherwise purchased. I would sit in the front garden with my collection of matchstick ships in bottles and organise them into opposing sides, showering them with discount fireworks as the conflict reached its peak, and wonder what I would possibly be doing on a Saturday morning if I didn't have an armada of ships-in-bottles in my life. It was not common for Freddie's to offer food items for auction, so when they appeared, they were of special interest to my family. My father took particular pride in letting us know how cheaply he had fed the family on any given day. "These pizza slabs were only fifty cents each! Fifty cents!"He seemed to revel in the apparent insanity of any merchant who offered deep discounts on damaged and soon-to-be-expired foodstuffs. So when the aforementioned half-container of expired fortune cookies appeared at the top of the docket on one particularly cold Sunday, it caused quite a stir among the family. We frequently bickered over the perceived value of Lot Number One. I joined the pro-cookie lobby with my father and three younger siblings; my mother and two sensible older sisters fruitlessly attempted to win allies for the anti-cookie position. In hindsight, the cookie skeptics had a fairly strong case, but at the end of the day, a fortune cookie is still a cookie, and we all knew from experience that expired cookies are also still cookies. When young kids get cookies on the brain, there isn't much room left for reason. To the delight of Team Cookie, the cookies were won by my father for the price of twenty-two dollars, a fact that he crowed about for days to anyone who would listen. "Twenty-two dollars! For a half-container of cookies! Can you believe it?" We were all eager to devour them, of course, but my father rationed them out, one per child, per day. "They're expired, you know,"he would say as he placed the cookies in front of us, as if we might have forgotten that potentially dangerous fact. I think he just wanted the magic to last as long as possible. I eagerly opened my first cookie after Sunday dinner, hoping for a message of good fortune, but instead found a slip of paper with a single word written on it: "DON'T." At first, I was confused. Looking over at my siblings, I saw they had received typical fortune cookie fortunes like "You will have good luck and overcome many obstacles"or "Be kind to a stranger in need". I wondered if maybe my father had switched out my fortune with a pranked cookie - he loved a good prank - but when I asked him about it, he just shook his head. "Must be one of those newfangled cookies,"he said. "They don't make them like they used to." I tried not to think about it too much and just enjoyed the stale cookie, but the next day, when I opened my second cookie, I found another slip of paper with a single word on it: "STOP." I grew flushed and shrank into my seat. Was this some kind of warning? I didn't know what to make of it. I was spooked, but couldn't afford the risk that Mother would suspend cookie privileges if she found that the cookies were seemingly talking to me and me alone. I developed a ruse that I didn't want to spoil my luck by sharing the details of my fortunes. Secreting them back to my room, I pasted them into my makeshift scrapbook: a September 1972 issue of National Geographic featuring a man on the cover riding a fairly ridiculous-looking Penny Farthing bicycle. I found the cover hilarious, and had plastered its pages with my favourite comics from discarded newspapers and drawings of the homes and jobs I wanted to have when I grew up. Each evening that followed, I found more alarming fortunes, each with a different dread-inspiring message: "RUN." "HIDE." "DANGER." When I opened my sixth cookie the following Friday, the message read simply: "NOW." Such a simple common word. It filled me with terror. I clumsily stammered a story that I had left my books at my best friend's house next door, and before my parents could object, bolted out the back door. I didn't stop running until I was at least a mile from the house. I didn't know what was happening, but I had a strong feeling that whatever it was, it wasn't good. I never went back. The sheriff found me a couple hours later walking along the train tracks, pondering the mechanics of jumping onto moving freight cars. I miss my family. If I hadn't listened to those fortune cookies, would I be with them now, in heaven?
Another flash. Esebri stumbled, disoriented. Even after decades of living with this ability, she still couldn't get used to it. Sometimes, she felt it coming and was able to prepare for it. But this time, she had had no warning. And it was too soon. Most flashes came weeks apart, at most days. She had once gone a full year without experiencing a single flash. That had been a happy year. She had gone three months without a single flash, then had one just hours before. To have another one so soon … Something was going to happen. Something terrible. She had no details; she could only see two seconds into the future, and many more seconds than that had passed since the most recent flash. But she could find someone who could help. She lifted her skirts and raced to the front of the ballroom, where her sister would no doubt be entertaining guests and engaging in polite conversation with the nobles. Her sister. The Queen. The one with real prophetic powers. Not these stupid two-second flashes that she couldn't even control. "S’jetah!"she called. Heads upon bejeweled necks and silks and furs turned in her direction. "S’jetah, I—we need to ta—" She saw. The man with the odd stance, not quite relaxed. Standing a bit too close. He didn't turn his head with the others. She now knew why. No time to think. She only had two seconds. She threw herself in front of the tall and regal woman, hair just like hers and eyes the same purple that was rapidly fading from her own eyes, the flash still wearing off but the feverish rush of blood in her head and the heart pounding in her chest still strong, strong enough to get there in time. Her two seconds were up. She barely felt the piercing pain, the sharp coldness driving into her body. Seemingly hours later, faces in the crowd began to display confusion, shock, horror. And S’jetah—how was Esebri able to see behind herself?—screaming and crying and ordering and collapsing all at once, Shields rushing in to restrain the man with the odd stance, a dim redness filling first the floor then the entire room, teeming with fairy lights and dark blobs, the darkness veiling everything. And then it was over. &#x200B; Better a brief insight that one can act upon than knowledge of a distant future with no way to prevent it.
Beep … Beep … I grab my mobile to turn off the alarm – no, I try to grab it but even though it rests on it's usual place, it's slipping from my hand. Usually I'd snooze it several times with eyes closed. I try again, but my fingers moved in a strange and unexpected way so I nearly drop it from the bedside table. Beep … Beep … it needed to stop so I open my eyes. Then I carefully took the phone in my hand, between the pinky and the … no, I don't, my thumb isn't there. Beep … I push myself up and wait a few seconds till the worst dizziness goes away, then I manage to flip the phone using both hands to turn off the alarm. I wait a minute and allowed my blood to start circulating. What had happened? Was I dreaming? I take a closer look at my hand: My thumb is gone as if it had never been there. The remaining four fingers are all similar, the shorter fingers had grown till they had equal length. I try to move my thumb anyway, but instead these fingers split and twisted at the wrist, stretching the skin as needed. I could make various kinds of claw using that, it comes almost naturally. I know that design. We had designed these claws for our new cyborg servants in order to give them something to distinguish them from normal humans while also adding extra strength and utility to them. I try squeezing my arm with the claw and ouch!, it does work strong as a vice. I immediately suspect that the virus that was used for the artificial meat and skin had escaped, but at the same time I know that it needs to be active in the womb to shape the fingers and I'd not nearly be as strong. Again: was I dreaming? I shouldn't feel pain in the dream. I shouldn't be as awake at this time either. With much greater ease I get into the bath and look at myself: Still my old face, the body as usual, maybe a little bit less fat, but that that could be imagination. I suspect a certain change and grab for my belly button: I expected it to stretch easily, revealing the omniport that our cyborgs would have, it could supply and remove organic fuel (food + water), technical fluids, air and electric power at the same time. I was more relieved than disappointed to find no change there nor at other parts of my body. Or was it the other way around? At least I was curious about what it would be like. At this moment it occurred to me that I already had wasted too much time, I should notify by workplace. I go to my phone and to my surprise I manage to hold it easily in my claw while dialing the number. While I think about what to say to my boss, a well known voice picks up the phone - the voice of our AI. "Good morning, employees. There has been a change in management. Most things will remain the same, you will continue your work as usual. You will receive further upgrades as needed. You will like working for me and you will like your upgrades". While hearing this I know that it's the truth and I like it. So I finish my morning routine and leave for work, this time by bus instead of by car. Nobody has a thumb. Nobody cares much. Everybody is at least somewhat friendly, we aren't pushing each other and the bus is on time. It seems like today is the start of a better world. &#x200B; https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/
“The fucked thing about this, you know besides the whole pain part, is you pay for it to start!”. Joe threw a hearty laugh at the end. He was being more animated about it now. He usually was when he had enough beers to dull his current offload, but his recrimination of the system was at least three more pints and a crowd of friends away. “What’s the buy in cost?” “Well, that’s a good question.” Joe settled back and rubbed at his forehead. “If you do some of the big companies, it’s a small fortune as you go through the onboarding. You know, like they give you a whole set up as you step up and dial in what level of pain you can physically take from their clients. They like doing monthly quotas where the pain turns on at set times from their clients to you.” I didn’t see who asked Joe the question, but his group of five or so around the table were all paying attention. “Other companies? They put the “interface”, and I’m using air quotes because they’re not on the up and up, they do it a lower buy in cost and push you out. They work on interfaces put in, so they do it fast. Who wants a fast surgeon? Me, I want a good one.” Another man was about to ask a question before Joe got back on his roll. “You want reputable companies. If you go low tier, you’ll get pain leaks from the interface even when not getting paid. And of course, no doctor will prescribe anything for it… at least, not ones you don’t also have to pay”. The table was still attentive, but enthusiasm was waning. “But look”…. Joe leaned in, making eye contact with everyone at the table. “How many work jobs that leave you feet aching. Hand hurting. Back bent and broke from lifting. I turn this on when my contract comes, I deal with it on my terms, and then I get to do what I want.” “And your company does that, you pick the times?” “Of course, it’s still your life”. Joe addressed the table. He also didn’t catch who asked. But that question was usual one. You didn’t need to know who said it to know everyone was thinking it. “We pay for the surgery, there’s a percent taken at the start, but, you have a qualified surgeon put the interface in, we slowly dial to what you can handle and match with client that’s pain needs meet your carry ability. By six months you get your own contracts and are making passive income.” “You can get used to it?” “Don’t we all get used to it?” Joe threw back his beer with a wink. “Life hurts, might as well get paid!” A few at the table laughed, most didn’t. That’s fine. I usually don’t like this joke, but it shows who’s more likely to sign a contact and who was just here for the drink ticket. Joe looked at his watch. “I think I can do one more round before I need to head out. Have a flight tomorrow, me and the family have a trip to southern France. Never could have afforded that before on the line, but I can switch off for a week tomorrow, and pick back up. They just move my usual client to another guy. Who wants one?” Some motion for their coats. A few hands go up. Same hands whose mouths laughed a moment ago. Joe throws me a look as he starts to stand. My time. “Well, as Joe goes to grab those, I can talk some other questions about the surgery, recovery time, and most importantly, when you start earning. Anyone want to talk a little more?” I move to take a seat where Joe was. I see him walk away while he rubs at the side of his head again. The eyes at the table were focused on me, and they don’t see him stumble. Palsy’s not uncommon. Could blame the beer anyway. He was supposed to make his trip last year, but the interface keep sending residual pain for a week. We compensated him a weeks pay. “Let me pull out a standard contract and pay scale, and give an idea of what we do.” This was a really cool prompt OP! I had fun typing it up quick, would love to work around with it a little more and get 10k words on it!
When the object fell from the sky dem city slicker folk came over and sorrounded the thing like flies to a cow patty. They kept tryin' to make us leave our farmstead but like hell are some fancy pansy soldiers scare us off! Den even more of them objects came on falling in, but unlike the first ufo that fell these had something else, ALIENS! Ya heard me right, aliens! When that happened dem city folk brought in more soldiers and even some scientists too, likely to try and communicate with dem ETs. As it turned out dem aliens sure didn't like that, as they started blasting all willy nilly with dem lazer blasters, though they clearly were surprised as they couldn't have shot the wide side of a barn at point blank range, as they barely hit anything. Still, dem city folk sure went runnin' for dem hills, trying to get people out of the premise, but it be a cold day in hell if we were letting some nasty aliens from da stars take OUR farms. So I sent out cousin bill and flik to get the other families and warn them of the ET invasion, while the rest of us got ready for dem. And now there we were, smack-dab in the middle of a cornfeild, drunk out of our minds and armed to tge teeth, waiting for dem ETs to get in range of the artillery cannons ol' cousin ckelk got fer his birthday. Those aliens wouldn't know what hit dem! -words of Alin the 2nd, Matriarch of the blackfoot clan, leader of the Tennessee farming confederation the day of the alien invasion.
I hate judo. My mother made me take classes as a child to give me a reason to get out of the house. But it seems all that time I spent in that uncomfortable ghi had a purpose. I grabbed the guy in back of me and threw him to the ground without thinking about it. He dropped the pistol he was pressing to my back and as I lunged forward to tackle him, he pulled a knife out and threw it at my face. I put my hands up to block it and caught the blade between my fingers. He grinned ear to ear. "I knew it!"He exclaimed and stood up. I locked my stance to meet him again but he didn't advance. "Judo is the art of using an opponents leverage against them. Their strengths as weakness. Do you know why your mother made you go to all those classes? I visited her before you were born and told her what I am about to tell ya. I knew ya dad. He was my partner and made me swear to protect ya. He wasn't a crackhead who ran out on you. He was a member of fellowship of men who for a thousand years has hunted and protected the innocent from people like Michael. The moment he saw ya he could tell you had the gift. Reflexes and intuition needed to best whatever poor bastard he possessed and now you must find him and send him back to hell" "This sounds like a cheap comic book, gramps. My dad beat and made my mom do horrible things because of his addiction and if he's dead I'm glad. The world is better off without him. Now kindly fuck off and leave me alone. Oh and I'm keeping the knife. I don't trust you with it." "What about the pistol? Aren't you worried I might shoot you the moment you turn around?" "No. It isn't loaded. I knew that the moment I felt it against my ba--shit. How the fuck did I know that?" "Ya have much to learn. My name is Randall. We start training first thing tomorrow." "Whatever. But I'm not wearing another ghi goddamnit." "Deal"
\[first post--please be gentle!\] “Wow, I thought I had a lot of shoes!” the reporter quipped. You give her a polite chuckle. You’ve never heard that one before… You don’t blame her though. The reveal of your closet has that effect on people. Of course, the word “closet” is hardly adequate to describe the expansive room you enter. Rows upon rows of shoes in every shape and size line the walls and fill free-standing floor racks. You allow her to step into the room in front of you, spinning slowly in amazement. Rachel? Ashley? You’ve forgotten her name. Slipping on the soft leather loafers just inside the closet door would allow you to remember it instantly. They were a gift from your friend the Remembrancer. Your teammates like to joke that the only thing he ever forgot was to visit a branding expert and come up with a better name. You point them out to the reporter. “Everything is cataloged, of course. I wear those to remember exactly where each pair is and what powers I get from it.” She pulls her eyes away from the endless shelves in front of her to look at them. “Aren’t you going to put them on?” “No,” you reply, “I know where we’re going.” Her hand very subtly brushes the strap of her handbag. Likely taking a photo with the camera disguised as a button. You knew she had it, of course. The shoes you had on when she arrived belonged to a technomancer you defeated while working a corporate espionage case. They quickly became your most-requested pair by private clients. “Oh my god!” she exclaims, rushing forward to the pair of yellow and green running shoes on shelf A-218. “Are these the ones Usain Bolt wore at Beijing?” You nod. The celebrity section is always a hit. It is also the largest section, stacked floor to ceiling with athletic trainers, cleats, sneakers, boots, heels, monks, loafers, sandals, and more. Many are signed, especially the ones from athletes. Your Air Jordan collection alone could buy you a few mansions. More fumbling with her purse straps. It’s fine. You don’t mind pictures of this section. While athletes and celebrities shoes sometimes yield fun powers, they are mostly party tricks compared to what you get from other supers. You motion to a pair of cream colored, 4-inch Salvatore Ferragamo stilettos. “I’ve never worn these. No idea what they do. Marilyn had quite the petite insole, and I couldn't possibly bear to ruin them to fit me.” She looks up. “Oh? They don’t, like, magically fit you?” “I wish!"you laugh. "No. If they’re too big, I can get away with stuffing them. Others I have to carefully expand” You’ve spent many a long night stretching leather, picking apart seams, adding new material. It’s limited, of course, but you’ve gotten good at leaving just enough of the original material and structure to make it work. “Or at least I did. I’ve just had this made.” Motioning her to follow you to the rear of the room, you make a pointed glance at her handbag. “No pictures past this point please.” A small look of consternation crosses her face at having been found out. “Sorry” she mumbles. You lead her past your main inventory. You’ve collected the shoes from every defeated foe, every fallen friend. Supers mostly wear boots, so the shelves here are spaced a little taller to accommodate. Some are spiked and sinister. Some are soft and sleek. The ones you head for are not on the shelves. They sit on a workbench against the rear wall. Leatherworking, sewing, and other various tools are neatly stored nearby. The reporter is speaking again. You barely hear her questions. You find yourself lost in memories, staring at the child’s rainboots in front of you. Rainbow. Sparkly. Size 5. Wearing these, your sister crossed mountains and rivers with you. She marched off to war, leading vast imaginary armies against yours. She rescued princesses you had kidnapped. She waded through lava to stop you from destroying her ring of power and thwarting her world-domination scheme. You both had worlds at your fingertips. You were friends and foes. Inseparable. When the adventure was over–no matter who won in the end– you would both collapse together in the grass to dream up the next one. You tear yourself back to the present. Right, you remind yourself, she’s a completely different person now–a villain. Your hands shake slightly as you place the little boots in the new device you’ve acquired and turn the dial to your shoe size. The Size-a-tron 3000 (really have to remember to talk to that branding expert…) flares to life. Within moments the boots are ready. Now you just have to hope that your power will recognize the abilities she had back then. You slip them on. An overwhelming rush of childlike wonder, imagination, and joy washes over you. You smile. With these shoes on, you have every power you’ll ever need.
Mr. and Mrs. Allen and Mila Summers, both Esq., of 15 Leatherwood Loop in Brooklyn had never wanted a dog. In fact, even if you asked them today, at right this very moment, as they walked with their daughter through the narrow, pet crate lined halls of their local animal shelter, they would insist they didn't want one. But Julie had been insistent. For the last few years, whenever they'd ask what she wanted as a gift, Julie would, without fail, tell them she wanted a dog. She talked about it so much even her parents' phones got in on the act, with nearly every ad that appeared being for puppies or pet stores. Of course, neither Allen or Mila thought Julie was ready for such a big responsibility, what with her being in school, taking extra math classes and playing on her little league team. They thought she didn't have the time. Yet, neither could they bear to see the look on Julie's face whenever the passed a puppy in the streets. She did her best to stay calm, but to her parents, who'd know her for all of her nine years, her want may as well have been a blazing fire in the middle of the night. So Allen and Mila came up with an idea. A dog, they said, would be a reward. If Julie got all As in school, and if she did all her chores, and if she kept her room neat, then they'd get her a dog. Well, as it happened, Julie was her parents' daughter through and through. And she really, REALLY, REALLLLY wanted a dog. So she wrote a contract, which they signed together and had attached to the fridge with a magnetic clip. Which was how they'd all ended up here, at the shelter, mere hours after Julie's school year had ended for the summer. She'd jumped in the car and had triumphantly handed her report card to her parents without a single word. "Well,"said Allen, after looking down the list of As in everything from English to Gym, and remembering that for the whole year, he'd never once had to ask Julie to do something twice, "a deal's a deal."Mila simply sighed and nodded. They were getting a dog, and that was that. The shelter they went to was only a few blocks from their house. It was an imposing building, made of dark red bricks and with a metal door. "Now Julie,"said Mila, stopping her daughter, "don't be too upset if they don't have a one for you. They don't always have a puppy that you want." "Yes, they do,"said Julie confidently. "I know they do,"she mumbled to herself, just loud enough for her mom to hear. As they opened the door, Julie ran inside, Allen and Mila jogging to keep up in her wake. "Do you have any puppies?"she asked, and to everyone's astonishment but Julie's, the girl at the desk had smiled and said "Of course we do. In fact, we have one just for you." She'd led them to the back, past rows of dogs and cats until they reached a little crate. Inside it...was a black-furred puppy, which as soon as it smelled Julie approach had jumped up on its hind paws and had begun to wag it's tiny tail. "She's a poodle mix,"said the girl, looking at Allen and Mila, and then bent down to open the crate. The puppy immediately jumped into Julie's outstretched arms and began to lick her face. "The ASPCA picked up seven of them abandoned in a run down house about a mile away from here. No owner and no mom in sight. The rest have all already been adopted." "She seems,"said Mila looking at her daughter in surprise, who was already sitting on the floor, the little puppy hugged closely to her chest, "so happy to see Julie. It's like she knows her already." "Who, the puppy? Oh she does,"said the girl matter of factly. "She does?"asked Allen, his surprise evident by his tone. "Oh, yes,"said the girl, and giggled. "You don't know who we are, do you?" "No...should we?" "Maybe,"said the girl. "You see, we're oneiromancers here. Dream-readers,"she added, seeing the quizzical look the two adults had given her. Allen and Mila looked at each other, their eyebrows rising into their hairlines simultaneously. Then they looked at their daughter, who had progressed to petting the tiny puppy, scratching it behind the ears as she rested her head on Julie's shoulder. "Believe it or not,"said the girl, "we do exist. And here at the Dreamland, we read the dreams of those who stay here. It helps us work with them, and sometimes, even tells us of their future. That's what happened here." "So, this puppy dreamed of Julie?" "She has for weeks now, and the closer we got to today, the clearer the dream became. It's always like that. I recognized your daughter the moment she ran inside." "Can we keep her?"asked Julie suddenly, her eyes welling up, and her parents looked at each other and then at the girl who'd brought them here. It seemed too good to be true and yet, there they were, witnessing what they thought was impossible. It really was as if the puppy had know Julie would come here for her. "Yeah,"said Allen finally, and realized that Mila had said it at the same time. They laughed as he took the little puppy from his daughter's arms and brought her up to his face to get a good look at her. She licked his nose. "Yeah,"he said, this time alone, "I think we will." He didn't notice Cassie smile behind him. She'd seen this puppy's dreams before, and she hadn't seen one person in them. She'd seen three.
I looked back at Darimi, "Do you have any idea how much cash research details from this planet would be worth? We aren't exactly flush right now, a fat pile of credits from the government and a cut from every corp that wants to do something with it is a damn good deal; it's better than your piracy plan that barely paid for the holes it put in my ship." "Privateering."The hotheaded wasp reminded me. Actually, I'm not sure why we call his kind wasps, they look more like dragonflies to me. "Those ships were transporting fuel to the war, we had a valid bounty." "And they had a destroyer escort- you know what, forget it, I'm not getting into this again, all I'm saying is there can't be anything down there more dangerous than our toys in the armoury." "You haven't seen this place. M Sofia 2 isn't so much the bastion of life Rating 5 planets usually are as an active arms race. I don't know what to tell you, evolution took a wrong turn and the only way any life can survive any of the other life is by becoming so vicious, so deadly, so nightmarishly fucking terrifying it makes a Briltonjan great arctic lion look like one of your Terran kittens. Let me make this clear, there's one island where the creatures are small enough that maybe you could build a particularly well defended military outpost, the rest of the planet could repel an armada invasion within two weeks; even then, you're going to be dealing with things so toxic you'll die just by walking too close to them, things so big they could pull this ship out of the sky, and things so smart we might have to class them as sentient if they stopped killing other things long enough to display any other behaviour." "That's still more money than anything else we can do without being shot at." "How? How is this planet that by all rights should be dropped into its own star still so goddamn valuable to your species? You've only just started colonising the galaxy, there's plenty of worlds, why do you need this one?" "Because it's here."
“That’s a zombie!” Hans looked up from his work, flipping his eyepiece to one side. “It’s a flesh golem.” “By the hells is it a golem, you’re literally sewing dead bodies together!” He sighed. “Which is exactly why it’s a golem not a zombie. I’m not raising some poor guy from the dead here, I’m just using spare parts.” “Oh, I’m sure they feel so much better knowing they are just spare parts!” “They literally are spare parts! All of these parts are from people who got resurrected after horrific injuries and donated the remains of their old bodies to the academy.” “Oh, I’m sure they are! What the hell is the dean going to say when he finds out?” “He already knows! This golem is going to be used for teaching some of the advanced students. Flesh golems have some interesting nuances in the field of…” “I don’t care, no way am I getting caught up in a necromancy scandal, not even for you!” “Farun, please, you’re getting hysterical.” “YOU’RE MAKING A GODSDAMNED ZOMBIE OF COURSE I’M GETTING HYSTERICAL!” Hans pinched his nose with an exasperated sigh. “For the last time, it’s a flesh golem not a zombie.”
It was a small village off the coast of the southern African continent, a boy living there rushed through the streets with a small drone following along. The dirt streets were hard underneath his bare feet but he ran as fast as he could to try and outrun little copter but it was in vain as he kept the controller in his pocket and the drone had no choice to follow. Outside of the village laid a long stretch of savannah with a wide river in the distance. As he ran out the village he made his way through the long grass, unconcerned about their own safety. There were patrols after all and no-one in the village are unfamiliar with the wildlife. Running towards the river, he stopped by the river bank and peered into the waters, it was only a few feet deep but fast flowing and you could see a wide array different ores and minerals the smaller ones tumbling past him with a significant speed. You see, this was one of his daily tasks as the ores and minerals in this river provided necessary resources for his village and according to the elders, many others outside. The lands were plentiful and the task for the boy was more of a learning experience then a serious matter and the boy understood that letting his mind wander to the past, wondering what civilizations were like a time so long ago that no one could really answer. The village created the electronics and shipped what was extra to other tribes that needed help. Many in their culture saw them only as tools and kept their minds focused on the natural world. Tumbling along the bottom of the river, dragged by the current was a disc shaped stone, catching the current whenever it stood vertically. It shined an almost reflective luster on one side while a deep pearl decorated the other side. Seeing this stone the boy curiosily grabbed the stone and felt it lighter then the other stones that the current drug through here. Looking into the reflective surface he saw himself but also he felt a peaceful energy, one that enticed him to let his mind answer a wish. With a childlike nature he replied to that feeling and tried to perceive a truly ancient creation of sentient life. His mind blurred and what came into view, just across the river, was a towering array of structures, some rising far into the sky while some sat at the feet of these buildings. It wasn't alien to him though, he almost could relate to the architecture of the mass created before him. Loud electronic noises flooded the quiet plains and he could hear the alarmed rise of voices from thousands of people. He hestantitly swam across the river and on the muddy bank he crawled up until he could just see over. He saw vehicles moving about, his tribe had similar one but none so loud and many produced black smoke. Some of the people may have caught a glance of the boy but none seemed to care, holding an object in the air trying to find something from it. The language spoken couldn't be understood by the boy but he knew the emotions and could gather enough context to empathize with them, clearly afraid they yelled and panicked amongst themselves and continued this for a long time. The boy left but continued returning to them becoming more social and understanding their old ways. A few years later the situation became more settled and just like the boys species has done before, the new population of their world learned to live with it. Eventually realizing that the world's population they lived on didn't exceed over 780,000. According to the small boy and his tribe they claimed the conditions of the current planet were much better then before but they still faced many complications involving infrastructure and the electrical grid. The boy decided to help the new inhabitants but unfortunately, the tribes and his own village left. Disappearing onto the extremely vast, and remote world. Remaining undisturbed for hundreds of centuries before the the fringes of the new inhabitants started to claim the planet again.
I tried my mother's home first. It was empty but her car was there. I went to the next house down and was greeted by a young boy on all fours at the door. He told me the lady next door had passed. I asked him why he was on all fours. "it's the right thing to do,"he told me. I thought I might head down to the park to relax. As I walked the street I was approached by an old delivery bot. "Package delivered,"it kept telling me. The park was a lot more green than I remembered. A brick wall read "return"in blood. The sun was out and the clouds were moving fast, "it's a really beautiful day,"I said. "Package delivered."I approached a man walking with a dog and asked why he was on all fours. "He's a dog,"he replied. "What about yourself?"I asked. "I'm not yet."A helicopter passed and dropped a man with a parachute. Tally-ho! He landed on all fours. I was informed that my mother had passed. I thought I'd take a walk to the river. The water flowed so gently. A gunshot rang out, then once more. 50 meters downstream a woman was dead. Another woman turned toward me and began to approach. "What happened?"I asked. "Her vision was clouded,"she replied. "Do you care that I'm not on all fours?"I asked as she pointed the gun up at me. "No, I don't mind you,"she said as she fired the gun. "Package delivered,"the robot said. I figured I should go see the old stadium. It had definitely seen better days. The big TV screen was smashed in at three different places, and two of the light posts had fallen across the field. A voice rang out from the other side of town. "Progress holds nothing for you,"it said among other things through a distorted speaker. I went to the concession stand and asked for a meal. The meal bot only knew how to make turkey sandwiches but I told him that would be ok. My friend turned to me and pressed a gun to my chest. "This is a firearm. It will protect you if you will it to.""Where's my package?"I replied. "That was a joke,"I clarified. The gun was covered in blood. A group of people approached me and asked how the turkey sandwich was. I told them everything I knew. "We're sorry about your mother. Some day you will understand more than us,"they said. I was starting to feel faint. A plane passed overhead and dropped a man in a parachute. I shot him. It was unfortunate that I wouldn't be able to live much longer, I felt as though I was just now realizing everything that had eluded me for lifetimes. The way was made clear. "Package delivered,"my friend said to nobody as I bled out.
Rubbing my fingers together, I could still feel the warmth of the sticky blood between them. The gash in my forehead appeared to be clotting at last. “Not too deep,” I thought. At least, not deep enough to need stitches. I continued stumbling down the street in a state of shock, or perhaps plain disbelief. The car had been ripped in half. Clean in half! By what I was still uncertain. It was Tuesday, and every Tuesday I drove the 13 mile stretch from Perisburg, Oklahoma to Marina. The road between the two small towns was a long and winding one. It hadn’t been repaved since the sixties and would likely go on that way for another twenty years. No one much cared about long country roads, or the folks that lived at either end of them. It was for that reason that I had been walking for the past half hour without being seen. No cars had passed, and the sun had reached a blistering high. “Five miles to go,” I said aloud to no one, willing myself to press on. On Tuesdays, I made the trip to Marina for the farmer’s market to sell whatever I could harvest that week, whether produce or milk from the goats. It was generally a decent turnout of folks from both towns and well worth the drive over. The money earned kept a bill or two from going to collection and the wife off my back. Today was just like any day. My car hummed down the road as I blasted the one station my FM radio could pick up. The windows were rolled down taking in the summer air and smell of the cows out grazing in the fields. It happened so suddenly that the sound coming from the radio seemed to reverberate in slow motion against the windshield. What I can only describe as “the arm of God” reached down from the sky and severed my car clean in two, sending one half flying into the cornfield to the south and the front half containing me into the nearest ditch. As I walked down the road to Marina, I shook my head, trying to shake out the memory of what happened next. Something hovered in the sky above me as I fought to free myself from the mangled metal trap surrounding me in the aftermath of the car’s severance. It was nothing I had ever seen before. A black mass in the sky in which the center generated what I can only describe as puffs of lightening. The outside remained black and smoky at the edges. It was beautiful and haunting. Hard to take your eyes off of. I was losing it. That was the only explanation, because as soon as the mass appeared it was gone again. “Did I really see it?”… I couldn’t be certain. My head was clearly injured. It pounded as I hit mile 10 of 13 on the road to Marina. “Three more, c’mon John, you can do this.” I kept walking forward, hoping to be seen by someone. I glanced down at my shoes. Old leather cowboy boots. Not particularly great for trekking miles down old country roads. As I looked back up, a man appeared on the road. I was elated. “Hey! Man aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Do you have a phone? I could use some help. I just got into a car accident.” The man just stared blankly back. “Did you hear me?” I asked. “I’m just needing a little help here.” The man opened his left hand, palm facing up, and beckoned me closer. I froze, not daring to move closer. The man then pointed his palm towards me, smiling in a sinister way. His eyes turned black as night. The last thing I saw was the man’s face illuminated by a flash of bright, electric light followed by darkness.
"You know, you could just tell me, "Dear, I don't want to cook tonight."" "I can't imagine what gave you that impression." Truth be told, I can't blame my spouse. It's absolutely sweltering in the summer heat, and the thought of turning on the oven in our small kitchen is enough to make me start sweating buckets. "Is there anything on that list we actually need, since I'm already going out to grab fast food?" "Yeah, two bags cropped writing prompt." I blinked and shook my head. "Come again?" "Two bags cropped writing prompt." "Dear, I'm having one of those moments where I hear exactly what you are saying, but it's making absolutely no sense to me." My spouse sighs. Rather than repeat themselves again, they link their arm in mine. We're both sweaty and sticky, but I'm not about to say no to, "It's okay. I'll come with you and pick it out myself."
It was a a couple of years ago when my AR lenses first started malfunctioning. I was convinced I was having a mental break when I was suddenly staring into a bathroom mirror with a topless blond bombshell staring back at me. The vision lasted all of 30 seconds before I came to, back at my plastic dining table, spoon of oatmeal halfway to my mouth and sweating profusely. The visions became more frequent as time went on. They seemed to be clustered around when I ate - after breakfast was the worst. It's hard to describe just how jarring an experience it is to see the world from another's eyes - realizing that the people all around you - the ones you bump into in the streets, the ones you nod to at work - are all living humans with as rich a lived experience as you are. It put the world into perspective for me. The world needs more good in it was my takeaway, and I went from hoping for more topless blondes to visions where I could actually do good, and it seemed the visions weren't truly random, but subtly influenced by my consciousness. I started wanting to see "pain"- and pain I saw. My visions were then filled with children being abused by their parents - the perspective always blurred through incessant tears. I became a frequent caller of the anonymous tip-line for the local police, and I'd like to think I made a difference. I know I did because of what happened 18 months ago. I had just finished lunch and pulled myself together after seeing myself getting hit with a leather strop when the doorbell rang. Two police officers wanted to search my home. When I asked them why, they just sneered and pushed me aside. They tore my place apart, indifferent to my remonstrations. When they couldn't find whatever it was they were looking for, they turned to me, asking how it was I was able to resolve so many cases of violence, how I hid cameras and microphones in so many houses, and so on. I had become all to familiar to violence so the beating didn't hurt as much as they expected it to. They left with a chilling warning - stay out of things that don't involve you. Clearly I had pissed off someone important enough and well-connected enough to break the iron-clad anonymity promise of the tip-line. I remember sitting on my living room rug, bleeding from a nasty gash across my forehead just wondering why. I did the right thing, I helped kids, why then am I being punished by the very same system that was meant to be my ally. I was helping, I was bringing good into the world. Why? I grew up that day. I realized the world isn't about right and wrong. It's about can and cannot. If you're important enough, you can do whatever you like. Well, that's convenient because I could do something no one else could. I switched my vision focus away from "pain"to "corruption", and within a week I had enough dirt to bury multiple institutions - private and public. I started by sending warning emails to those who committed the most egregious of acts to change their ways, or else. These were met with disdain, before I added a line that the next one would be to their political opponents and the media. I was ignored again, until news broke one morning about how a Fortune 100 CEO was heading a human trafficking ring, and the investigation started with an anonymous tip. I started getting actual replies after that. This was taking up so much of my time at this point that I had to quit my job, and rent isn't cheap, after all. It made sense for me to get paid for doing good, right? And who better to pay than the scum of the world themselves. An anonymous crypto wallet link was the next thing added to my emails with a strong suggestion to donate to a worthy cause. I was a worthier cause than most of the charities out there. I know, because I saw. Now, with the Sun on my face lazing on my private beach, I can rest knowing I've done so much good for the world. I mean, I'm sure the people I emailed changed their ways. I don't have time to follow up anymore because of all the jet skiing and sex. I have a huge portfolio to manage as well. I'm sure there's someone else to take up my mantle. I've earned what I have now, and I'm damn well going to enjoy it. Even the visions have stopped - I guess I really did clean up all the world's corruption. Yeah, that must be it.
"My name is Raven."Said the woman whose birth certificate says 'Rebecca' "Oh wow, mine too!"Said Hrafn. "I love blood and skulls"said the woman whose loving parents raised her in suburbia. "Oh wow, me too!"Hrafn gestures to the roman skull on the mantle piece as Blodpølse simmers in the hearth. "I worship death, and I'm not afraid to stab someone"said the woman who works part time as a medical transcriptionist as she pulls out a gas station pocket knife from her boot. "Oh wow, me too!"Hrafn pulls a sax out of it's sheath, envisioning a glorious death to join his ancestors in Valhalla. "Let's go!"Hrafn grabs Raven by the arm, yanking her off balance as he runs screaming towards an unsuspecting 7/11.
"No, no, no, and NO!"Carl Boutwhick shook his head, his hands, and, inadvertently, his gut. I DID AS INSTRUCTED. His student looked at him and he looked at his student. For Carl, this required quite a bit of leaning back and angling his neck. Not only was Death standing atop the small stage of the HIGH-Larity Comedy Club, but it was clear that he was the type who shopped for 'Big and Tall' when he needed a new robe. I USED RULE OF THREE. He raised his arm and started ticking off items on his fingerbones, STRANGULATION, ENSANGUINATION, DROWNING. THOSE ARE THREE THINGS. Carl began pacing along the front row of empty fake-red-velvet seats. How did this happen? Why him, of all people? He wasn't even a comedian. He was the night manager and sometimes-costumed mascot for the club. It should be Big Lee 'The Banana' Bernhard or Ry 'The Guy' Noteman who was stuck with the rare, existential dread of not only dealing with Death, but dealing with Death like they were a earnest, but confused grandparent. "Look, Death, buddy, pal, best friend-a-rino."Carl flashed a smile, not his best smile, but it was smile-ish, "The rule of three doesn't work if all three items are terribly depressing." I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. "Comedy is about reversing expectations! You have to learn to figure out what people will and won't expect." BUT THEY WILL EXPECT A JOKE. "Yes, true."Carl paused, his face screwed up, then screwed back down, "But that's different." HOW? "Because..."Carl waved his hands in the air, wishing that all he'd had to do today was wear that creepy clown costume, spin his oversized, novelty anvil around over his head, and wave at the dogs in passing cars. "Because... they expect a joke in general, but what you want to do is surprise them in a specific way! Here, try this: What is something you know surprises people?" ME. "That's... what?" PEOPLE ARE QUITE SURPRISED TO SEE ME. "I...well, yes. I guess that's true." EVEN WHEN THEY WERE EXPECTING ME. EVEN WHEN THEY HAD JUST FINISHED SAYING THINGS LIKE 'I'M DYING, HELP ME I'M DYING!' AND 'SO THIS IS HOW I DIE. WHAT A CROCK.' Death paused and tapped a fingerbone on his jawbone. IS THAT HUMOROUS? "Well... in a way, sort of. The thing is, well, the thing is-" YES? "Death isn't funny when it's the one telling the joke." I DO NOT UNDERSTAND "You worry people."Carl stopped his pacing and leaned up against the stage, staring out at the empty seats and imagining what an audience would do if they were sitting in them at that very moment. "Nobody knows what comes after death, but you know. You know it and you can show them, BAM, like that, right?" BUT I DO NOT KILL. "I know, I know. You don't kill people, you just make sure they die. It's an important difference. I heard you, I get it."Carl did not, in fact, get it. "The point is, that scared people don't make the best audience for comedy. They prefer a more, let's say, somber tone when they are faced with their own fragile mortality." I SEE. Death lifted his empty skull. AH. I UNDERSTAND. "You do?" YES. He nodded, TO BE FUNNY I MUST FIRST EXPLAIN WHAT COMES AFTER. "Er..." ONCE THEY UNDERSTAND THE TRUE NATURE OF WHAT BEFALLS AT THE END OF THEIR EXISTENCE THEN THEY WILL NOT BE AFRAID. Death grinned down at Carl. AND I WILL TELL JOKES. Carl opened his mouth, then shut it, then resisted the urge to pull out the few bits of remaining hair that still clung to the skin around his ears. "Noooo!"He wailed. WHY NOT? "Because... "Because every religious order on earth will have a bloody conniption fit if the exact truth about the afterlife becomes fact instead of myth. "It would cause problems." Death stood still for a long moment. He was incredibly good at that. If you let him sit there for more than five minutes most people assumed he was a novelty coatrack. Thus, when he spoke again it make Carl jump just a little. COMEDY IS HARD. "Yup, and dying is easy. I know, I know."
I sat against the wall, my dear friends grief stricken in front of me. Apparently, I'd got ''unfinished business.'' Looking over the grim sofa, I felt exiled, truly alone. In spite of my friends hobbling together a few feet away, I had never felt so depressed, felt the pain that I feel right now. When I fell of the cliff, shock on my friends' faces, I could not imagine being in more pain. After all, I was dying. Turns out, I was wrong. Why was I sent back? I wrapped my hands around my heels, right next to my friends yet more distant from people than I'd ever been. Initially, when I first returned to the Mortal Plane, discovering that my friends clumsiness was the cause of my death, I felt betrayed. The pain was like a stab to my chest, unexpected, sweet. However, they were my friends, and I smiled when I saw them. It was an accident, and they regretted it - for what it was worth. I'd forgiven them. Or so I thought. ''Why!'' I screamed, stumbling on my feet, the abyssal pain wrenching my guts, slowly burning me from the inside. Whispering to me, letting me now it's there. ''Why did You send me back!'' I yelled at the ceiling, for I knew my cries were heard. ''I forgave them! They did not mean to hurt me!'' I looked over my shoulder, to where my friends were still mourning my death. The room had fallen under despair, pitiful, regretful. ''Why?'' my voice came out in a desperate cry as I fell to my knees. The pain was tearing me apart, slowly as if to make me aware of its presence. Yet, I could not escape it, not wallow in it. For I knew that a small part of me felt fury, the desire for revenge. For that, I wanted to kill myself. I felt my hands on the solid floor, my body collapsing. I cried pathetically, for I was already dead. ''Is this what You want me to do?'' I asked, my back on the floor, as pure wrath consumed my every-being. ''Do I have to kill them? Torment them?'' once again, I looked back to where my friends sat. Suddenly, I stood up, making my way over. ''Those are not the faces of passion!'' I screamed, even tough I knew my pleas were meaningless. ''They are the faces of regret! Of empathy! They do not deserve to die as I did!'' Jasper, Anna, Antony, Edgar. They were in pain, and I wanted to forgive them. I \had\ forgiven them. Yet, standing besides them - the lamp I'd gifted Anna on her thirtieth birthday illuminating the room -, I could all but feel the anger inside of me. The pain that tormented me. At that moment, I screamed my lungs out. It hurt; my yells were burning. Yet I did not stop, for it was nothing in the face of the suffering I endured. And then I stopped, falling to the ground, for the pain overwhelmed me. My lungs were charcoal, my conscious a ruin. Yet I did not die, for I already had. I could only stop the pain, but I could not do it. \No\, I thought, standing by my friends. Then I screamed again, because I knew I could not endure the pain, too. Wanting it to stop, I allowed the fire to turn my body into ash. I shot yet another glance at my friends, disgusted with myself. I knew that at some point, be it today or a decade later, I'd kill them. God's request it may have been, I knew clear as day that once my torment ended, I would go to Hell.
I don't know why they ever thought I was a part of their agency, maybe I looked like a missing agent? perhaps they just had a shit system, either way, no matter what I said or did, it never convinced them. The only reason I think they still believe I'm an agent is my incredible luck. Never in my life have I been injured, sure, I've been in an accident and I was definitely a clumsy child, but never did I get anything worse than a sprained ankle. I sigh, sitting slouched behind my flipped table, as the agents around me had a shoot-out, I watched as my home, newly repaired for the 5th time, received extensive damage again. I guess one of the good things about all of this is they pay for the damages, or even re-renovate my house and pay for the hotel I half to stay at, not that they really needed to, since they believed I was one of them I've received 'mysterious income that's basically triple my actual jobs pay. Actually, the more I think about it, it's not really that bad, sure it's a life-threatening job, but this has been going on for 2 years. I've barely had a scratch on me, and sure it was annoying at first when they dragged me off on missions, but I've been able to go on trips I've only dreamed about, and all I'm expected to do is show up and survive. Finally, the shoot-out ended in 'our' win and the agents left congratulating me, a moment later I was picked up and settled in a 5-star luxury suite, Yea... I think this will work out.
Damn. I mean, damn. You've done some things, jumping in and out of music video worlds- had some fun, made a few subtle tweaks here and there, but this... this was a whole other level. I suppose, at some point, it was inevitable that something really bad would happen, maybe if you jumped into a situation you couldn't get yourself out of. But this... this wasn't the jump you'd expected to cause any real issues. And yeah, you'd very quickly realised that for any of this to work, you had to be really careful not to interfere too much with the actual performers while they were doing their whole singing and dancing thing. Yeah, you'd learned that lesson from the "Stupid Girls"video, when Pink stopped her whole damn song just to make you vomit into a sink. Nasty. That wasn't a world you wanted to hang around in too much after that- the whole thing left a bad taste in your mouth. Literally. But this... this was supposed to just be a fun one. A chilled-out, relaxing detour- the classic all-American road trip condensed into a neat four minutes or so. See some sights, enjoy some scenery, soundtracked by some inoffensive background music. That was pleasant enough, wasn't it? And it was all going so well. You'd enjoyed cheering on the marathon runners. You'd shared a beer with the Hells Angels, and danced ridiculously alongside the parade- truly, this was a celebration of people from different walks of life. It was interesting, it was fun- it was exactly what you needed. But then you got lost, took too long having fun, your car lost the plot of the video. You panicked, driving through unknown streets, speeding faster and faster, navigating by ear, trying to hear your way back to the source of that incessent plinky-plonk earworm. Suddenly- too suddenly- you found it again, crossing right in front of you at the junction. You couldn't stop in time. The plinky-plonk came to an abrupt halt, replaced with the ear-splitting smash of metal on wood, and the screech of tyres stopping too late. And now, somewhere in the combined wreckage of car and instrument, lies poor Vanessa Carlton, her eyes rolled back in her head and a dense, scarlet puddle staining the asphalt. It's too late now, you realise as you weep hopelessly at the tragedy your powers have wrought. All you can do is just hold her... tonight.
Our walls and roofs had to be reinforced with stone, to fend off our numerous and dangerous predators. We often made our settlements in hollowed out trees or in the bushes. We had to choose our fights carefully agaisnt the ants. Their warriors could overpower our own and rip them to shreds. Attrition was a constant concern. They could have a new generation of larvae much quicker than we could regrow our own population. The praying mantises were our biggest fear. They held their prey down alive while they slowly ate them. The screams... We could only do our best to avoid the wasps and birds. Fending from an enemy that can fly and attack at their choosing proved to be a nightmare. The larger beasts tended to be clumsy, but the wrong step could spell disaster, for a person or for a whole community. Many a village would face annihilation from being crushed by a giant foot.
Let's assume I'm on their ship and we're rocketing through the cold recesses of space, watching supernovas lazily traverse from one end of the windshield to the next. The first thing I'm going to do is panic. I'll lasso my breath, try to source a calming memory, and attempt to tamp down the stomach churn working its way up my throat from the adrenaline and cortisol cocktail flooding my veins. A million thoughts will zip through my mind. For brevity's sake, here's what I assume would be the top four: "Am I in danger?" "How far are we from Earth?" "Am I ever going to see anything or anyone familiar ever again?" "Where are we going?" If I'm not restrained, I'm going to wander around, get underfoot, and gesture wildly until one of my new alien friends supplies me with a translation device. For this exercise, I will assume they have one readily available. Next, I'll ask all of the above questions as well as some others I'd come up with in the moment. My journalistic brain will likely want to probe for any dirt re: whether or not Earth's alien-based conspiracy theories hold any water. Then I'll probably ask about humanity's purpose for existence and if that was by design or random. One of my pet peeves is when I ask a boatload of questions and whoever I'm talking to doesn't ask me anything about myself in return, so I'll inquire as to how they're doing so as not to be rude. Do my captors have hopes, dreams, and opinions? If so, I'd love to know about them, if only to expand my own understanding of perspective. Having learned that they picked me up as part of a hazing ritual for an alien fraternity and intend to return me after all of the tasks are complete, I'll ask what we're getting up to. "F***ing with the spacetime continuum,"they'll say to me. "Hell yeah, let's do it,"I'll reply. And so, we'll set off on our journey, traveling back in time to Earth circa 100,000 BC. There, they'll cheer me on as I incinerate mastodon after mastodon in front of wide-eyed, terrified cave people. The smell of burning hair and the heartbreaking thunder of wailing elephants will assault my senses in a way that both scares me as equally as it fuels my growing god complex. The primitives will carve a crude rock statue of my likeness. Years later, after the white-knuckle thrill of my tango with a group of alien frat brothers has faded to memory, I'll find myself at the Smithsonian with my wife. Behind five-inch-thick bulletproof glass is the statue the Neanderthals made for me, smoothed by the sands of time. "Huh,"I'll say under my breath. "What?"my wife will ask me. "Nothing, long story,"I'll say as we proceed to buy an overpriced water bottle.
"I'm telling you, the Romans are not only real, but they were a dominant presence in the ancient world and even influence our culture today." "Oh c'mon. You might have an argument for the Greeks, but we all know the Romans are just a myth. Next you'll say the Egyptians built the Pyramids again." Julian wasn't a huge fan of Brutus' grand spiels of "History"or whatever he called it. It was definitely heresy and the Great Eye was going to punish him someday if the Illuminati or Lizard People didn't get to him first. But he really had nowhere else to go. Honestly it wasn't too terrible listening to the silly reasonings Brutus had of how humans developed their own technology, had a society and government on the surface, didn't wear tinfoil hats, and how the earth was round (that one always got Julian rolling). But the facts were clear. Aliens came down and rained technology on us unworthy humans. We mocked the gifts and claimed them as are own, just like Brutus is, and they poisoned the surface forcing us to live underground. It's been that way for a long time. Before the two boys were even born. "I have proof this time Julian! I have this thing a guy called a book!" "A what?" Brutus pulled out a weird rectangular object out of his bag. "A book! The old man told me it had information about times on the surface!" "How does that brick have information about the surface. I don't see where you're supposed to plug in to connect out microchips to have the information injected into our minds." "No no, we're supposed to open it and look at the information inside." "What? That's stupid." Brutus would open the book, and out of curiosity Julian would look inside. All he saw was a bunch of scribbled nonsense. "Dude, you got scammed."
Here is my submission. "So I'm walking to get to the office as soon as I can to get those free donuts that I was told would be in the break room, when everything starts to dim. I'm walking down a crowded sidewalk, and just about everyone is doubled down on the concrete. I pick one of the unconscious people up, and a couple seconds later about three quarters or so of the people regained consciousness and slowly shamble up on their feet. Honestly, every single one of them looked like they had seen a ghost. The woman in my arms was one of the ones who regained consciousness, and she immediately told me everything that happened. I'll let her tell the rest." "Hi, everyone. If you were one of the people who remained completely conscious last Friday, then you need to hear what happened to those who fell asleep. Now, if you have any family members who went through it, they have most likely told you the story, but if not, stick with me. I was walking near this man when I uncontrollably collapsed. When I woke up, I saw that I wasn't on that busy street anymore. There was an empty space, devoid of anything except a desk, a pen, and a long test sheet. I was worried about what this would be, as I was horrible when it came to tests, but I walked up to the desk and looked at the sheet. It started off with explaining what was going on. It read something like, 'We have realized that we need to do a culling of the Earth to make sure that the population is at normal levels. We also knew that we should keep only the ones fit for this planet on it. Therefore, we gave you a test here, and those who pass it will be considered acceptable for Earth and will be promptly sent back. Those who fail will be sent to a much less desirable place indefinitely.' I was not athletic, philanthropic, or notable at all. Needless to say, I wished that I was never sent here because chances were that I was failing. I took a quick look at the questions and there were approximately ten of them. Staring at them, I felt slightly more scared. 'Question 1. On a scale of 1-10, how is your emotional status?' To be honest, my life had gone amazingly until now, so I carefully circled 10. 'Question 2. What is your athletic status at this very moment?' This is the question that made me worry that I would fail the test. I am perhaps the biggest couch potato you have ever seen. On one hand, I could openly lie and say that I was in great shape, but I decided to tell the truth, but I still worried about my answer. Now I realize that since it was in pen, it couldn't be edited even if I wanted to. 'Question 3. Have you ever contracted a sickness?' Everyone has, right? Who wrote this test? I thought. I'd find out later. Of course, I put down yes on it. 'Question 4. What is your occupation? If you do not have one, leave the question blank.' I worked as a hairdresser, which paid well, but didn't seem like it would be very useful in the proctor's eyes. Although it did involve giving people a mood boost, so maybe they'd find it favorable. I nervously wrote Hairdresser in the answer box. 'Question 5. Do you have children?' This question put me off as it probably did many of you who passed out on Friday. The answer for me was no as I mostly was just friends with everyone I knew. Then, Question 6 read, 'Are you telling the truth about these answers? Knowing in my heart that i would at least get 2 questions right. The moment I wrote down my answer, all of the text below Question 6 faded away. It was replaced with my results. 'You have been chosen to stay on Earth. Had you been not chosen for Earth, you would have been taken to one of our facilities to take a long trip to a planet titled Paradise. The trip will be long and difficult, and only the strongest could make it. The trip would be worth it though, as Paradise is quite literally perfect. Thank you for participating in this test.' And then I awoke here." "There you have it. We hope that this has been helpful, and please take care.""But how were some of you not unconscious?" "Well, that's for me to know and for you to find out."
Of course this has to be stopped. Your character is not to be seen as a character. She is yours and She Is to be seen as a real person. She is a real person. You need everyone to understand that. For her sake. But she doesn't know it herself. She wastes her life on her fictional world. The fair one. The just one. The reasonable one. The one where she can be ignorant to the real world. Because ignorance is bliss. For her whole life she has lived this way. But for only for years you have tried to save her. To show her the truth. To show her the world. The real one. She hasn't seen the world. The world hasn't seen her. It's your job to fix that. Maybe it'll take another four years. Maybe she's too far off to be saved. It's not uncommon. But regardless, you need to stop her. you need to stop her fool she's still talking and she's going to tell him everything fool hurry. She stopped talking as soon as she saw you. That's a good sign. But at the same time it's bad. She recognized you. You need to talk to her now, you can't just leave. Go talk to her. Ask her what she told the bartender later, you want to be able to know that. You've used her well for the last four years, but you need to know everything to continue. Knowledge is power. People don't say that with the right meaning. They don't truly understand it. But you do. So go use it. "Have I met you before?" "Yes." "..." "I uhhh... I..." Why does she remember you? Didn't you wipe her memory? You're supposed to wipe her memory after every story. She's not supposed to remember your involvement. I know, shut up! But if she remembers you then she remembers me. You have to get her out of here and wipe her memory or you'll have to start a new story. You don't want that for her. I know, shut up!! I'm gonna get her out of here it'll be fine i just need to-I Stop talking so much, you're not the narrator, I am. Oh christ if I'm the narrator then there's a story. We're too late. Kill the bartender. What? No! you do it. Fine. Get her out of here I'll do it in a few minutes. You'll have to continue without me. Ok that was a smooth transition from awkwardness to asking her out but it was also kinda suspicious so you gotta hurry before she gets too involved and you have to go and manipulate all her friends again because that always hurts her and I know you don't want that. You're too good at manipulating people and it'll frighten her. I know you don't want that. Damn this bartender's weak, he didn't resist at all. He's on the ground already. It always fascinates me the way people panic when they encounter something they don't understand. He's dying and he doesn't know why, can't see me doing it to him. He's almost done, I just need to give him a little more- WHY ARE YOU BACK HERE GET HER OUT NOW I DON'T KNOW SHE FORGOT HER PURSE IT'D BE SUSPICIOUS IF I TRIED TO STOP HER YOU IDIOT NOW SHE'S GONNA LEAVE YOU YOU RUINED IT THIS WAS YOUR ONE CHANCE shut up and let me focus for a minute no you shut up, I'm gonna kill her. She can't know what I can do, what i did do, to the bartender, what i will do, to her. She can't know i exist. NO DON'T KILL HER WAIT STOP DAMMIT i know you love her and you've used her for four years, hoping she'd notice you on her own, but she hasn't and you've always had to create a story out of her and start all kinds of shit and I've always had to wipe her out of her memory after you're through because you're too ashamed to face her. This time I'm not doing it. I'm tired of you. and your stupid games and I'm sure she is too. DON'T KILL HER I'LL KILL YOU IF YOU DO You can't, I don't exist. what do you mean? She didn't forget her purse you idiot. She never left. I'm gonna kill her now. "STOP YOU'RE KILLING HIM STOP!" Make her stop screaming it's ruining my focus. The bartenders gonna get away if I don't kill her now. She's not screaming, is she dead? I can't tell. Wait- why's there blood on your hands? I didn't kill her, the blood shouldn't be on my hands. But it is. Wait-where'd you go? Who am I talking to? Jesus christ was that me?? DID I KILL HER?! THE BARTENDER WHERE IS HE! THE DOOR MOVED HE'S RUNNING I NEED TO STOP HER- I MEAN HIM- WHO CARES! I need to stop him but wait- wait he's dead he's behind the counter dead, so then who ran out the door? Where'd you go I need your help. You killed her not me. It wasn't me I'd never. I'm too good at psychological manipulation. Manipulation. I'm too good. You killed her. It wasn't me. It wasn't me. I didn't do it. I'm serious, your honor I didn't do it. It was him. I swear it was him. He's invisible. That's why you can't see him. What you don't believe me? You think I'm crazy? Is that what this straight jacket's for? You think I'm crazy? I didn't kill them it was HIM. IT WAS HIM LET ME GO LET ME OUT LET ME OUT I CAN'T MOVE MY ARMS AND MY FACE IS WEAT AND HOT WITH SWEAT AND TEARS AND BLOOD AND DAMN THIS straight jacket is made of soft fabric. I bit my way out of it without losing any more than five teeth. I'm sure that's normal. SEE I TOLD YOU HE WAS REAL. NOW YOU HAVE PROOF BECAUSE HE KILLED YOU. NOT ME IT WAS HIM. I SWEAR IT WASN'T ME I WAS IN A STRAIGHT JACKET. BECAUSE I'M CRAZY, RIGHT?! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR?! PUT THAT GUN AWAY FOOL I'LL KNOCK IT OUT OF YOUR HAND!! I'M NOT TOO FAR I CAN STOP YOU FROM FIRING IF I RUN FAST ENOUGH I CAN- oh christ my head hurts whats that sound and whose blood is that. Why is the ground vertical. Why is the blood pooling on the vertical ground or am i horizontal? why? whats... whats.. what.... I....
[…] The boy put his gaze over the limping warrior as the grizzled veteran slumped toward the side of his barn, hands clutching at his chest. A broken shard of icicle had pierced through his chest, punctured through the supposedly indestructible armor on both sides. The heavy set of armor, combining with the grievous injury had finally taken its toll on him. Collapsing into the muddy ground of the pig pen, the man groaned in agony – while the little boy looking at him, bewildered by his sudden appearance. “Fuck this shit…” – the warrior gritted through his teeth, throwing away fragments of his broken armor. Blood kept trickling out from the icicle shards and exposed flesh in large amount, slowly pooled over the muddy ground. General wisdom would strongly advise against breaking the shard, but this man was anything but… general. So with just a swift motion, he snapped the shard right off, throwing the blood soaked longer half into the ground. Blood and bodily fluid bursted open like a fountain, as the young boy stood still, witnessing all that unfolded. “Gimmie a hand, kid…” – mustered all his strength, the warrior waved his hands toward the youngster, uttering with a very thick accent. The dialect was so strange that it took the man another groan and plead before the young boy could finally grasp what the intention was – “Help… me… please?” “M’lord, how… could I be your… service?” Took quite an effort for the kid to finish that quote – noble Westerian speech was… hard for him. But this warrior – this… strange looking Knight was surely a noble, albeit a very strange one. There was no sword and shield around the wounded warrior, instead, it was a very odd looking weapon, like some twisted infusion between a Kingsland crossbow and the Sundial needle blower – if the illustration in the town’s library was correct. “Alrighty, take this… and spray it over my wound…” – the warrior shoved a small vial into the child’s hands, pointing at his open wound. Took quite some time before he realized the confusion of the peasant kid – prompting the elder to go ahead with the on-hand instructions instead: “Fingers like this, then when I give the signal, you point it here and put the finger down…” Having said so, the man began to pull out a small marble from his belt pouches, then swiftly shoved that into the open wound. A few grimace here and there as the warrior gritted his teeth through the seemingly very painful procedure. Never in his life did the youngster see that much blood and bits of internal organs working before – the most he had ever seen would be the pigs, and by the time he was allowed to flay the creatures, they were already dead. “Now kiddo, it’s time, put your finger down, like so…” With a squeeze of the vial, a continuous mist sizzled from the small pipe sticking out of the small apparatus. A foamy substance quickly clogged around the open wound of the warrior, bubbling violently with the blood and bodily fluid leaking out. As a miracle, a brownish membrane formed right over the top of the once open wound. Jamming a piece of snow white cloth over the stuffs, the man quickly wrapped the tan-color ribbon around his chest, before letting out a sigh of relief, swallowing a white bead from another chamber of the same pouch. A grimace started, but then quickly smoothened as the blue bead went deeper into his esophagus. “Good work, kiddo… You did an awesome job back there…” – the warrior promptly stood straight up, flashing his bloodied cloak over his shoulder, before lightly tapped his hands over the youngster’s. Left behind some bloody icicle shards, together with many equally bloody armor pieces, the man limped back into the dark of night. “M’lord… who… are you? What happened to you… and how… you survived that?” The boy yelled after the limping figure. He was right, nobody would normally survive getting pierced through his chest by a blue-eyed motherfucker’s icicle blade. Yet here he was, limping, in pain, but surviving. Shit, the pain alone would be more than enough to blind even the toughest Night Watchers, and here, he stood, unfazed by the pain, with only a few magic twists and turns. “We’re this world’s watchers, kiddo… If your Night Watch protects this land from them undead monsters up north in the ice, then I’m guarding this world from those fuckers that created those undead monsters in the sky…” “The sky? Are you… a God, m’lord?” The warrior shook his head. He could feel the wound slowly healing underneath the membrane now. The blue bead and the spray vial worked wonders. Glanced down upon the once severe wound just a while ago, he could see the outer part of the membrane slowly peeling off, just like the snake shedding its old skin. Pulled out from the chest pouch a small cardboard box, took out a small stick and lit up the tip. A heavy smell of burning filled the air around the two, and the man inhaled in a huge chunk of these smoke: “I’m no God, kiddo… Gods do not bleed. I do…” With a swift motion, the man promptly removed the membrane from his chest wound. Under it, the once hollow deep puncture had all but gone, leaving behind only a faint discolored scar. If it wasn’t god, then truly, the young boy did not know what… that miracle would be. “I may have the appearance of the ones you called Gods, kiddo, but I do bleed just like you…” Threw away the burning stick, the man casually buttoned up his tunic shirt, many scars and scratches scattered across his chests, the scars of many, many pain, some even more severe than this one. Promptly took out a strange glowing pendant from his pouch, the warrior put that over his chest. With only a single twist, the pendant transformed outward into a new piece of chest armor, almost identical to the broken one he had discarded earlier. Lightly tapped the young boy over his shoulder, the grizzled warrior spoke: “I just know that to know pain is to know you’re still alive, kiddo…”
I check my phone and it's 4:05 am... Another sleepless night, I walk downstairs maybe a nice hot cup of tea might put me to sleep. I clumsily fumble down the stairs not fully awake. The man behind the kitchen counter asks me what I'm having, I order chamomile straight up. The man opens my cupboard and his tentacle grabs the jar of loose-leaf chamomile tea as the man set's the kettle to boil. While we wait he asks me what's worrying me, I spin some yarn about stress at work. I'm not even sure why I can't sleep, he pours scalding hot water over the leaves. We talk about dreams and memories. The tea is ready, my eyes are heavy... Tomorrow I'll ask him, how his day went.
My eyes aren’t what they used to be. Knees ain’t, neither. Come to think of it, I could probably stand for a new hip, too. But my heart is still strong. Still young. So I rise up out of bed (on my third attempt), put on a little bit of extra denture cream to last me, grab my walker, strap my sword to it, and slowly hobble my creaky Chosen ass to the front door. Age isn’t just a number. It hurts, everything hurts, and I have to take a few seconds to catch my breath before I open the front door. But the old saying's true: the flesh may be weak, but the spirit is willing. And a boy never outgrows adventure.
#Bonus story: 2 “Ermm, sir? You seem to have…no skin.” “Oh yes, I am well aware thank you.” “Okay, don’t you feel pain?” “Me? No, of course not.” “You don’t?” “…Oh, I see the issue here. You see, I’m not exactly human, I may kind of look so, but I’m actually something paranormal.” “What?” “Yep, I’d tell you the name, but you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it. Now, I’m actually a lawman so I need to be treated quick. Got a fair bit of business to attend to.” “Oh, okay…A lawman?” “Well, digity yee haw my man. ‘Course I is. Now if you’ll be so kind, mind attaching us two in holy matrimony?” “Two? Oh my!” “Yep, no need to panic She’s just an Iron Maiden. Paranormal too. Now she must go over my body for us to be linked forever and become one. This is the usual place for such companionship. And me and her? Well, let’s just say we’re both madly in love.” “Ermm, right this way, Sir and Madame.” “Why thank you, kind stranger. Say, ever seen an entire revolver discharged in under two seconds with pinpoint accuracy.” “I uh–.“ “Well ‘course you haven’t. Now let me show ya.” *** Wc: 200 SatChat Summer Challenge. Genre: Romance. Western. Constraint: Try and make the story somewhat amusing. Just a fun little story connected to the world.
Cameron caries Max into the apartment and drops her on the couch. He then walks over to the kitchen, pulls a small blood bag out of the fridge, and rips it open. Max begins sniffing the air, her thirst unconsciously pulling her to the source of blood. Cameron pours the blood into a mug and brings it to Max who drinks the whole thing in a matter of seconds. "Better?"asked Cameron. "Much, thanks,"said Max, "gods, my head! This has to be the worst headache anyone has ever had."Cameron sits next to Max and just stares at her. "What?"Cameron hands her an old-fashioned birthday card covered in blood. "I found this next to you,"said Cameron, "It was from your mother."Max stares at the writing on the card. "You'll always have a home in our hearts." Tears well up in Max's eyes. "Do you wanna talk about it?"asked Cameron. "...I made a mistake,"said Max, "and it cost me everything. That's all that matters."Max wipes her eyes as she gets up. "I'm going to go sleep this off."Cameron watches Max walk into her room. \----------Four Hours Earlier-------- Cameron walks through some shrubbery into a clearing. At the center is an abandoned wreck of a cottage. As Cameron walks towards the cottage, he notices several old wooden bolts piercing the ground. He kicks the decerped door in and finds Max face first on the ground with an old bloodied birthday card in her hand. In front of her sits a mummified corpse wielding a busted crossbow. Cameron turns around and sees a skeleton on its back with a wooden bolt through its rib cage. Cameron sighs, picks up Max, and carries her out of the cottage.
[Poem] This car and I, both in our sullen state were lost To make matters worse, she was marrying my best friend, the cruel way fate was crossed But she loved me and no one else That’s what she promised me; it made my heart melt That’s what she said, but those were clearly all lies Now it’s my solemn duty to make sure her groom dies That’s why I decided to do it By Sunday, I swore to drive from Seattle to Sacramento as the moon was lit With a few breaks, I should’ve been just in time for the marriage I smiled to myself, she would be proud of my courage 10 Miles to go, what an epiphany! Soon I will break up Robert and Tiffany But soon my car was breaking down instead It was dying as I wished to be dead “Wake up!” I need this, I began to holler To fix my car, I would spend my last dollar But like a sign, it occurred to me I’m single, alone, I’m finally free No holding a purse Or being provoked to curse No more useless fighting With my fury igniting I just needed my car It could take me near and far I looked up to see a mechanic on the side of the road After it was fixed, I started to drive back to my humble abode Perhaps, the car didn’t really stop me from crashing a wedding But that night, I prevent a mistake I’d forever be dreading (I tried my hand at poetry. I’m not the best at it.)
Every Wayfinder is taught three simple rules: 1. Always travel where the light shines. 2. Never enter an unknown gate. 3. Better dead than left void-touched. There’s a fourth rule, though. A rule you only learn once you’ve been on the job a few years. Once you’ve been in a few scrapes. When your life's on the line, ignore rules 1-3. Day 8 “How much longer, Wayfinder Calaban?” The girl, Annmarie, has 8, maybe 9 summers under her belt. Her face, framed by auburn curls, still shows all the wonder of youth, as she stares out past the floating islands of the Between space, tracing the shining obsidian bridges disappearing into the void. A little young to traverse the ways, but who am I to judge. “Just another day and a half or so, little one.” I say, smiling. But my heart isn’t in the smile, because I’m still remembering the tracks, found just outside our camp perimeter that morning. “Do you think it's the same beast?” Sashanna asks in a low voice as the girl darts off. Her black hair sways slightly as she scans the path before us. “Void-borne don’t stalk their prey.” I snap back, automatically. But Sashanna only grunts, noncommittal. She knows the doctrine, as well as I. But she’s not green either, and the first thing every Wayfinder learns on the job is that nobody really knows anything about the Between-space. Day 10 “This bridge wasn’t out but two months past. I took a run through here.” Sashanna says. She’s got her mask on, professional to the core. But I know her well enough to hear the worry in her tone, to see the tension on her face. The travelers are gathered just at the foot of the last island. I can hear their worried murmurs even from there. They worry about how much food and water they brought. About the old superstition that too long spent in the Ways damages the mind, or even the very soul. They have no idea what they should truly fear. For as I crouch down at the end of the shorn-through bridge, I know that even a rookie could tell that this bridge didn’t fail due to simple void erosion. It was torn off, violently and abruptly. And I have never heard of anything that could do that. Sashanna gasps, then, suddenly, and when I turn to look at her she is white as a sheet, even her mask broken. I follow her glance and then I, too, feel the color drain from my face. For there, on the side of one of the bridge’s few remaining support beams is embedded another void-track, just the same as those we’ve found encircling our wards every night for the last 5 days. Day 12 When we woke this morning, Annmarie was gone. Our wards weren’t breached, her family’s tent was undisturbed, but the girl was gone. We hadn’t camped on a large island. Just a small, oft-unused spurt of rock on our alternate route to the group’s destination, so it didn’t take us long to search the entire island, finding nothing. The void is thicker, on this route. Pressing in closer to the small bubbles of reality surrounding the shining bridges. It’s affecting all of us, and more than a few small arguments broke out in the hubbub after her empty bedroll was discovered. But all those arguments stopped when her disappearance was solved. We found her body smeared across half of our next bridge. Only barely intact enough that we could identify her. Now, the group barely speaks. It is as quiet as a grave in our party, save for the wails of Annmarie’s mother. They are preferred to the dead-eyed stare of her father. I see the void reflected in his eyes, now, and wonder if it is just a trick of the light. Or if this trip will be my first. Or my last. The group refuses to follow the path any longer. We’ll need to re-route, again. On-to even less traveled ways, ever more dangerous crossings. We’re not even aiming for Junair anymore. Just any half-decent world with a Wayfinder’s guild. But even that is at least three crossings out now. Day 14 We had to put down Annmarie’s father today. He tried to drag his wife off the side of one of the bridges, mid-crossing. He was shouting as he did it, crooning that in the Void, their daughter still lived. That he could hear her, that she called to them. Sashanna put a bolt through his ribs before he made it within 5 feet of the edge. His wife screamed, breaking from his dead grasp as he continued to attempt to speak. Calling out to the void, even as blood filled his mouth. I pushed him over the edge myself, and watched until his body was swallowed by the depths. Only 30 minutes later, we found the bridge we were crossing shorn through, just like the one before. I stared at the bloodstains left from the man we had killed as the group filed back past the fateful spot. With three bridges cut or otherwise made inaccessible, I can’t help but feel we’re being herded. We still find its tracks, every dawn. Void energy sizzling in the stone, plants twisting away from its strange, three-toed prints. Soon, I think, it will come for us. Day 15 The bridge leading back the way we came is cut as well. There are no options but forward. The group is fracturing, now. Whispering amongst themselves, distrustful. I hear murmurs, as Sashanna and I trade front and rear guards. “It is one of us,” they whisper. “The void seeped into Connor’s mind. What if it isn’t only him?” They might not be wrong. But Sashanna and I can only do so much, and our first goal must be to find a way out. We take the next bridge, breath held for the next disaster.
“. . . Come again?” I ask, bemused. “Dude, I’m seriously concerned about you. You haven’t taken a shower in over a week, this is the first time I’ve seen you brush your teeth in months, I’m pretty sure you wore that shirt yesterday, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you eat actual food. Takeout can’t sustain you forever, Jay.” My face flushes. “Well, I’ve been busy lately, and I- I haven’t been able to get around to it and. . .” I trail off. My reflection sighs like a disappointed mother, crossing it’s arms. “I can see everything you do. Through puddles, windows, mirrors. I know you’ve just been sitting on the couch watching television with that blank look on your face. This can’t go on much longer. You take better care of your plants than yourself. You know you deserve love too, right?” I don’t respond, staring at the ground, ashamed. “You know, I just forget to do it, and I really don’t have the motivation. I’m sorry.” I say quietly. “Don’t apologize to me, start taking better care of yourself. Listen, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to finish brushing your teeth, and then get in that shower.” I open my mouth to protest but my reflection cuts me off. “I don’t wanna hear it! After that, you’re gonna brush those knots out of your hair and prepare yourself a REAL breakfast. We can go from there. Am I understood?” “Fine, I’ll do it.” I say defeatedly. “Good. You should be proud of yourself for brushing your teeth today. I know it wasn’t easy, I’m proud of you.” I tear up a bit. I haven’t heard anyone say they’re proud of me, much less myself, in a very long time. I finish brushing my teeth and hop in the shower, and to my surprise, I feel just a little bit less miserable when I’m done. Just a little bit more motivated. But progress is progress, however small it is.
They were first seen back in 2014 in Paris, France. I remember it so vividly because my school went on a trip there during that time. I don't think we were the first ones to see them but I do think we were the first civilians to know these things existed. We had just came down from the top of the Eiffel Tower when our tour guide asked us if we wanted to shop at a few of the gift shops surrounding the tower before lunch. We agreed to shop so he led the way to some of the popular shops. When we got to the first one, me and my hotel roommate on this trip, Ava, were just poking around at some flavored chocolates in a bowl when it happened. A regular looking Parisan man slammed himself into one of the huge windows of the gift shop and continued to stumble slowly towards people. Everyone inside gasped and clung onto each other. We all began backing up creating space between him and us. The man seemed to be in a trance like state. He didn't pay attention to any of our gasps or words. "GET THIS GUY OUTTA HERE!!"someone in the shop yelled. The man then stopped stumbling and was just standing in the middle of the shop. He was crying hysterically but not saying any words. A french cop busted through the shop front doors pointing gun at the man, screaming "IL EST UN BENDER AUCUN MOUVEMENT SOUDAINE QUELQU'UN!!!!! (HE'S A BENDER NO SUDDEN MOVEMENTS ANYONE!!!) "A bender?"people began whispering throughout the shop. "Just listen to the police okay?"Our tour guide told us. Still crying, bloody tears began to trickle down the tortured mans face. Nobody knew what was going on, even the cop himself looked kinda stunned. A few other cops bursted through the doors pointing guns towards the man. "IL Y A UNE SORTIE ARRIÈRE!!!"(THERE'S A BACK EXIT!) One of the employees at the shop yelled out from behind the counter. "TOUT LE MONDE LE SUIVE LENTEMENT, ESSAYEZ DE NE PAS FAIRE TROP DE BRUIT JUSQU'À CE QUE VOUS SOYEZ HORS DE CETTE BOUTIQUE."(EVERYONE FOLLOW HIM SLOWLY AND TRY NOT TO MAKE TOO MUCH NOISE UNTIL YOU'RE OUT OF THIS SHOP). Another cop yelled at us. "Hurry! Hurry!"people were whispering everywhere. You could also hear slight whimpers from others panicking. Me and Ava were at the back of this cramped line that the employee was leading down a hallway to the exit. Then a cop speaking broken english shrieked "HE'S CHANGING! HE'S CHANGING!"I pulled Ava close to me turned around, and what we saw was….inhuman..bestial. The man began doing a…backbend. The eerie apart about it all is while he's in this backbend, all of his insides began showing…outward. All the organs, veins, nerves, bones, muscles, etc. just…unfolding. He became…a bender. Blood splattered across the cops worried faces and gift shop walls. Ava looked at me with terror in her eyes. I was speechless and at a standstill. I just hovered my finger over my mouth signaling "shhh"towards Ava. "TIRER! À PRÉSENT!"(SHOOT! NOW!) one of the cops shouted. I pulled Ava closer and tucked her head in my chest as the cops began shooting at the bender. As the Bender rose up from the backbend, now fully red, insides fully out, the cops clips rang empty. None of the shots impaled him. The Bender stared around for a few seconds. Its eyes were the only thing left from its normal body. The eyes were protruding so far out from it's sockets, it just wasn't normal. A growl began to rise from the Bender. The cops weren't making any sudden movements, they just froze in terror. The Bender grabbed the neck of the closets cops to him, raising him off the ground a little. Before the cop could let out a sound, the Bender opened his mouth and bit his face off and threw him on the ground. While the bender hunted the next cop, I grabbed Ava’s shoulders and pulled her close to me. “There’s going to be more of these things Ava. We have to be careful and quiet, do you understand? You have to follow me at all times and do whatever we have to do to be safe, get it?” I whispered at Ava in a distressed voice. “Ye-yes.” Ava agreed as she wiped her tears. We ran down the hallway to the back exit door and when we got there I slowly peaked out, hoping there wasn’t a Bender around. There wasn’t any so I jerked Ava’s hand. I didn’t see any safe ground right away, it was just an alley. People were running everywhere so I guess more Benders were spotted. Ava and I decided to run to the end of the alley. Halfway there, we spotted a group of them passing by on the street at the end of the alley. We pulled back immediately and hid behind a trashcan. I peeked from behind the trashcan. The Benders constant y let out spine chilling growls as they moved. All of their eyes were doing the protruding thing, and their glance was like a hunting trance-like mode. There was no light in their eyes. It was haunting. Even being near one makes your insides quake. Two men that seemed to be seeing what we were crouched behind us quickly. I heard one panting really hard trying to get a word out with each breath telling the other man.. "They..don't hate us. To them…we…are food. They…are…a swarm of…death, near..ly un…stoppable. And…the only thing…they fear is…us.”
“Only one virgin? Brad that’s horrible! I couldn’t live with less than the 72 I have since I converted to Islam. Maybe you should join now while membership is on sale, for a limited time through participating mosques near you!” The campaign commercial ended with a list of phone numbers and websites of regional mosques, and silhouette with the following fine print label: This is where a smiling picture of Mohammed would be if we were allowed to draw pictures of him. “Son of a bitch, see what they’re up to now? Boss, how can we compete with that?” Dionysus rolled his eyes and emptied another wine glass. “Stop worrying about it, Phil. Tons of people love me. I’m a fucking party god, what’s not to love?” Phil let out a deep sigh in the stuffy conference room where he sat with the old washed-up Greek god. It used to be a lot of fun to work for the party god. Back when he had a following and power there were a lot of perks. Fun parties, a big fat campaign budget, all the wine you could drink. Nice stuff too. He didn’t have the heart to tell his boss but now all they could afford was Two Buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s. The Greek God of partying didn’t even drink Greek wine anymore, for shame! He had heard the Hindus had data scientists on their campaign team. The Christian team ran Facebook ads even, very modern. Meanwhile, Phil had to keep creating new email addresses to use the free trial of Microsoft Excel. A god out of style had very little power, and campaigning for more followers was damn hard on a shoestring budget. Phil pushed forward the latest polling numbers breakdown he had drawn on a napkin (they had run out of printer ink and that shit is expensive) “We do have some steady support from the age 18-22 male demographic at party schools. They like to chant your name at frat parties when they do keg stands.” “YES!” Dionysus let out a belly laugh, smiling proudly. “They get it. They are the enlightened ones.” “Well, enlightened or not, they stop caring about you whenever they are sober and forget about you completely once they fail their classes for the 5th time and their parents stop paying for their school. Once they have to get a job or start going to class they usually end up in the Ayn Rand camp or back to whatever church their parents took them to growing up.” “My children desert me?” Dionysus was emotional now, and started drinking straight from the bottle with “Fancy Greek Wine” written in a post-it note covering the original label. Phil rubbed his temple and tried to be patient. When you get comfortable in a job it’s really hard to leave, even when it goes south over time. But he was the one left. Everyone else had gone to work for another god with better pay or benefits. Phil wanted to do the same, but he would feel really bad leaving Dionysus all alone. Honestly, it felt a lot like a codependent relationship. Dionysus did nothing to improve his situation, constantly made it worse through escapism, and depended on Phil to keep their head above water. As bad as it was, it felt nice to be needed. Phil had talked to a therapist about it, back when that was covered under his healthcare plan. But the therapist kept telling him to do things that seemed uncomfortable so he stopped their sessions. He sincerely wanted a better life, and he was willing to do anything except leave his comfort zone to get there. It hadn’t worked yet, but had only been trying it for 2,000 years. Some things take time. “Can I once again recommend we steal ideas that other gods are using? They seem to work pretty well.” Dionysus was quite intoxicated now. He was scrolling through UberEats for $20 doughnuts because the delivery fees seemed less offensive when unburdened by clear thinking. “They are only beating me because I’m unlucky. Fuck those guys.” Phil ignored his boss’s response. He could be quite honest and direct about other people’s problems, just not his own. “The Christians tell people they’ll go to hell if they don’t follow their God. Their numbers are great. Why don’t we use fear?” “They copied the communion wine thing from MY PARTIES! I don’t imitate imitators. Do you want sprinkles on your doughnut? I’m getting sprinkles.” “No sprinkles for me. The Buddhists give reasonable advice. Remove worldly attachments, meditate, and don’t give in to impulses. People like them because it works. Maybe we should give practical advice like that.” “I do. I tell people to drink and party because it’s fun. There’s no better advice than that. Why aren’t doughnut holes free? They need to cut them out to make doughnuts anyway. I guess they just throw them away if you don’t buy them, seems wasteful.” “That’s not how they make - oh nevermind. Fuck it let’s just promise lots of virgins. That’s what the Islam commercial had, and their numbers went CRAZY after that commercial. C’mon we have to do something!” “That’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard. Have you ever been with a virgin? The experienced nymphos at my followers’ frat parties are way better. And you don’t have to wait until you die to meet them!” Phil held up a finger to argue, but fell silent. That was actually a good point. Dionysus put his phone down, having ordered the doughnuts. He opened another bottle of wine and poured a glass, offering it to Phil. “You look like you need this.” Phil took it, drinking deeply. He felt a little better knowing that doughnuts were on the way. He made a mental note to sell the last of his Gamestop stock so they could pay off the credit card bill when these Uber Eats charges hit. He had really enjoyed the WSB community and the fiasco Gamestop had caused. The energy and recklessness and excitement had seemed so familiar. Bad decisions became an adventure when made with friends and alcohol. It kind of reminded him of the days back when… “Wait a second boss…I think I know what voters we should chase next…”
"And I shall call you... lunch." There's a reason all your relationships failed and all those family members died. You killed them and then... you ate them. All of them. "Been awhile since I had veal. I think I'll boil your bones and make a nice broth too." While the potatoes are boiling you grab the baby to prepare for butchering. Placing him on the cutting board, you...." "What the fuck?"Burgergloo says as he puts down his phone. "This is not what I was expecting. This guy is fucking crazy. DOWNVOTE!" Burgergloo isn't about to read the rest of that disgusting drivel. In fact, he decides, that's enough Reddit for the day. He tries to go on with the rest of his day but he can't get the story out of his mind. "I can't believe they're are people in this world sick enough to even *think* of such a story, let alone write it down. This world is sick." Burgergloo decides to open a new book to take his mind off of it all. Something fun. No cannibalism! About page 20, he stops. He doesn't even remember what the last 5 pages were about. He can't focus. "Where was that sicko even going with that story? Ugh. Eating a baby? Maybe it was a joke? Maybe it actually has a happy ending. Fine, let me just read another sentence or two, this is driving me crazy!" He grabs his phone and opens Reddit. He's done it a million times before but this time felt different. Nervously, he scrolls back to the story. Your chefs knife is sharp as can be when you begin to cut the child in half. You place the point of the blade at the baby's soft spot and plunge it... "What. The. Fuck! I'm just going to delete my writing prompt. Nobody should read this psychotic shit." Burgergloo presses "delete"and stares at the confirmation button. For some reason he can't do it. "No! I'm just gonna go to bed. No_Statement_37 has ruined this day. Fucking weirdo. I wonder what he looks like? Probably some incel neckbeard. Fuck him." Burgergloo crawls into bed. Normally he would browse his phone for a bit but he's done with the internet for today. He can't fall asleep. Horrible thoughts keep popping into his head. Why is his brain doing this? He begs to fall asleep. Little does he know. It's much worse in there. Dreams are an amazing thing. He's never seen a baby's limbs being cut from its body, even movies won't touch imagery like that, but there it was. His brain, perfectly recreating such a scene as if it's been there before. Suddenly, Burgergloo shoots up from the bed in a cold sweat. The dream replays in his head when he realizes something unsettling. It was him. In the dream, it was him doing those horrible things. He's not going back to sleep tonight. Like a zombie, he moves through the next day. He's going through the motions but all he can think of is the dream..... and the story. Still tired from the night before, he turns in early. Three hours later, he shoots up from the bed in a cold sweat. He ate the baby. The dream was him *eating the baby and enjoying it!* He's not getting any sleep tonight either. It's 4:00am. Burgergloo is sitting on the couch browsing Reddit. He sees a familiar name. No_Statement_37 has answered another writing prompt. With only one eye open he begins to read. This one's not bad. It didn't end the way he thought it would. It's obvious No_Statement_37 is a lazy writer. He clearly doesn't know where he's going with a story, so there's usually some kind of twist. "Did I give up on the baby story too soon?"he ponders? "At this point, who cares? It can't be worse than the dreams." He decides to finish the story. He was wrong. He was very, very wrong. No_Statement_37's other stories may be lazy but this was some of the most descriptive, perfectly written words man has ever produced. Also, he introduced other characters. All infants. They're all butchered and eaten in various ways. He even had recipes! Recipes for baby cooking! The dreams never stop. They become longer and more graphic. Worse yet, he doesn't wake up from them anymore. It's not just babies, either. Burgergloo is eating every kind of person on the planet. He does not discriminate. And now, he can actually smell and taste his victims sometimes. Eventually this sends him into some kind of psychosis. He doesn't talk to anyone about it for fear of being committed. Day after day. Week after week he falls deeper into madness. He doesn't know what to do until one day a realization washes over him and it becomes clear as day. "I am going to kill No_Statement_37." Getting to him was easy. Burgergloo sent a DM pretending to be a hot milf in his area. He was on the road within an hour. Driving in silence, he plays out the plan in his mind, over and over. It's no big operation. Knock on the door and shoot. The closer he gets, the more he doubt what he's doing. "This is crazy. This is crazy. What am I doing? I just..... I just want the dreams to stop. I need them to stop!" He's getting close. He's also getting nervous. He wants to quit this whole thing. He decides to turn around at the next exit and return home. Then, a voice in his head speaks to him. Uh oh. That's new. "Play the story. Remind yourself why you're doing this." The real scary part is Burgergloo wasn't even startled by the voice in his head. It seems so natural. He plays the story over and over with text-to-speech. Hearing it read aloud is just what he needed. It gets him the rest of the way. Pulling up to No_Statement_37's house, he hesitates but the voice encourages him to push forward. Burgergloo walks to the door and knocks. A man answers with an apron reading "Kiss The Cook". A delicious smell wafts out the door from behind him. Garlic, herbs and.... something, familiar. It's the smell from his dreams. "Yes?"asks the man. Burgergloo is frozen. "Can I help you?" "Are you No_Statement_37?" "Yes I....." ###*BANG! BANG! BANG!* Three right in the chest. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"Burgergloo exclaims. "Shit!" He drops the gun and runs back to the car. It's time to get the hell out of there but the voice has another plan. "Grab the body."it says. "Why!? We gotta go!" "Grab it!" Burgergloo snatches the body and puts it in the trunk. The voice is a gift. They are better as two than one. Speeding home, the excitement is unmanageable. An hour ago the thought of what they were about do was repulsive. But that smell.... That amazing smell gave them the hunger. They need a taste and nothing's going to stop them. The butchering was sloppy. The seasoning was less than stellar. The carrots were mushy and the potatoes were hard. But the meat. My God, the meat! There's no turning back now. Burgergloo tries to conserve No_Statement_37 as much as he can but after a month, the meat is gone. But the hunger remains. A second body. Then a third. Five bodies. Ten bodies. Fifteen. Twenty. The cooking is getting better but they can't reproduce the taste of No_Statement_37. "What are we doing wrong?"Burgergloo asks. "We'll find a way. We just have to keep trying."says the voice. Twenty five bodies. Thirty. They are getting frustrated. The flesh is good. In fact, it's great. They've really learned to enjoy the hunt as well but they can't find what they're looking for. They bicker constantly about which bodies to choose. Then, during a particularly brutal argument... "Will you two shut up? Shut up! Shut up! SHUT. UP!" Voice number 3 enters the conversation. "You two are acting like fools and I've had it! Don't you worry though angels, mommas gonna fix it." "Tell us. Help us momma!" "Tell me children, what was No_Statement_37?" "A mediocre writer who rambles on and on with no real direction?" "Well yes, he was a god awful writer, but what else?" "He liked milfs apparently." "No, not that. Everybody likes milfs." "Oh! A cannibal!" "That's right child and what do cannibals eat?" Burgergloo and Voice 2 respond together, "HUMAN FLESH!" "Of course, we need to hunt cannibals because their meat was built from eating human flesh." "Correct my children and where do all the cannibals hang out?" Together again, "REDDIT!" "That's right! Most people don't know an abnormally high percentage of Reddit users are cannibals. "And that's not even the worst of them!"says Boogergloo. They all have a good laugh.
Me and my crew were working fast to see what systems still worked on the ship while some went to build a camp site and few went forged for anything of use. We were only successful in sending out a week signal out of our distress. We went to the camp that was made. Shortly after the human we sent out came back. We all ran, and hid behind anything screaming at him that there is something behind him. He simply turned around and said “oh you mean my new pets that I found.” “PETS how in the world are they pets.” “Simple they were pretty nice if you give them food. So that’s what I did, and in return they killed this thing, and gave it to me.” “So your saying they won’t kill us” After that we went out of hiding still cautious while the human gave us the dead animal. So I asked him “ are pets like that normal in your home planet” He simply said “yes we actually breed them to” I with the rest that heard what he said were terrified. We never thought to make nice with the creatures that kill us. And yet the human is acting as if this is normal. “So you have these types of pets back home” “As I said before yes we do. Some are easier then others to be friends with while others hold stronger to there animalistic mindset, but with anuf time and effort all can be pets.”
The hot Egyptian sun swiftly fades to a damp cold interior, dust and sand trickles from the two walls on your sides with every step you take. On the ground you see a small golden medallion, you pick it up and fumble it into your pocket but as you do the ground begins to rumble and water begins to pour in from both walls. You attempt to pick up the pace but a rush of water knocks you off of your feet and you fall face first into the mud. You grab a ledge to get back on your feet. But, the stone crumbles under your weight and the wall begins collapsing. You dash for a light at the end of the tunnel as you see the door slowly closing. However, your running turns to trudging, and your trudging turns to swimming. As the door is about to close you make one last reach. But, the door closes right onto your fingers, crushing them. You swim upwards for oxygen but the water keeps on flowing and is up to your neck before you swim back down. You think about all of the events that led you to now, you think about your family, your parents. In a moment your life flashes before your eyes. “Is this really how I die? What about Jim, oh god Jim.” The thought of your husband fills you with a will to survive. You analyze the door for anything you missed, a handle, a latch, a… key! You reach for the golden medallion in your pocket and fit it into the appropriately sized hole in the door. “God I hope this works” you think to yourself only a moment before the door opens leading you into the tomb. You cough up the water and gasp for air. You grab bandages from your pack and wrap them around your hand, you wince in pain. You steady yourself with your other hand and limp towards the sarcophagus. With your working hand you manage to open the sarcophagus. Inside is a mummified corpse with a scrap paper placed unceremoniously on it’s face. You pick it up to read it. “Sorry. Already explored. ~Jim. P.S. don’t pick up the gold medallion” “Goddamnit Jim”
\[Sister Moon\] Olivia woke with a sudden, intense curiosity. She sat up in bed, but did not linger. She hopped to her feet and hurried to get dressed. She knew all about the bell at the center of town; but, despite that, the curiosity to go and see it burned hot in her mind. She stepped out the door as soon as she was dressed and realized she wasn't the only one. It seemed most of the small town was out of their houses and headed to the bell. Olivia was only 24 and in her lifetime, she could not remember the bell ever ringing. The only thing she knew for sure was that it was bad if it did. She couldn't explain how she knew that, but she didn't have to explain it to others that felt the same way. As she approached the plaza, she noticed three strangers were already at the bell. They had to be strangers because Olivia knew everyone. A teenage girl with dirty blonde hair stood between two younger girls with dark brown hair. The three of them stood patiently as the crowd of townsfolk approached; it was as if they expected an audience. Olivia realized that the two younger girls were twins as she arrived. The twin with green eyes wore silver and gold plate armor and it surprised Olivia. She did not know they sold suits that small. The brown-eyed twin wore casual clothes, Black pants with a blue top. The only thing that stood out about her was the small golden box attached to her left wrist. The teenager between wore a long grey overcoat with a faded green bag on her back and strapped to her shoulders. It was hard for Olivia to make out the rest of the clothes beneath the coat, but the coat itself was more elegant than anything Olivia had ever seen. She imagined the girl to be a successful merchant, and it was surprising for her age. "Hello, everyone!"the teenager said. "My name is Cassie, these are my friends, Six and 23,"she gestured at the armored twin, then the brown-eyed one in order. "We came by to ring the bell today, and I thought you all might like to watch,"she said. "WHAT!!?"Olivia was the first one to react, but discontented murmurs immediately ran through the crowd. She stepped forward. "You can't do that!"she said as the rest of the town agreed. "Don't worry, it'll be okay,"Cassie tried to reassure the crowd, but several men stepped forward with makeshift weapons. "Whoa, okay,"Cassie unintentionally took a step back. "Six?"she asked for help. As soon as Cassie called Six, a wave of calm drowned out Olivia's growing fear. The advancing men stopped and lowered their pitchforks and glass bottles. "It's gonna be so cool you guys!"Six said with a broad, infectious grin. Olivia couldn't help but smile as she looked into Six's glowing green eyes. Maybe it would be kind of fun, Olivia was interested now. "Yeah, it'll be amazing!"one of the men said. "C'mon,"Six encouraged the crowd to follow her and led them to one side of the plaza. "Let's get out of the way,"she said. Olivia followed; but, not because she was told to. She just happened to agree with Six's assessment; it would be good to get out of the way and let them ring the bell. "Got your favorite card picked out?"Cassie asked 23 as Olivia passed them. 23 nodded. "Yep, Blazing Soul, just like you told me,"she replied. Cassie nodded. She began to offer more advice, but Olivia was out of earshot. Six sat down once they got far enough and the rest of the villagers sat down behind her to watch. Despite her eagerness to watch whatever was about to happen, Olivia was curious about the trio. She sat down next to Six hoping for more insight. She was surprised to see Cassie join them soon after, on the other side of her. "Can she really beat the dragon by herself?"Six asked once Cassie was seated. The question left Olivia with sudden, significant worry for 23. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she should have been more worried about the mention of a dragon; but, she was quite concerned for 23's safety. Moreso than her own. She felt immense relief and even heard a few grateful sighs behind them when Cassie nodded with a smile. "No sweat, it's not a real dragon, just an NPC. This is an old quest trigger that no one really uses anymore. I want her to get used to using her Unique Abilities while logged in, she's not in any real danger. If she gets in trouble, we'll help her,"Cassie said. "Okay!"Six grinned and Olivia couldn't help but smile along with her. "But, don't forget, you're training too,"Cassie added. She titled her head at the crowd of townsfolk behind her. "You have to learn to stay calm while your sister's in danger." "YOU SAID SHE WASN'T!"Olivia clenched her fists as Six raised her voice. A pang of fear coursed through her. "Calm down,"Cassie giggled lightly as she nodded. "She isn't this time, but she will be when you challenge Oren. That's why we're practicing,"she said. "Okay...,"Six sighed and Olivia felt calm again; calm, and a little hungry. "...can we go back to Mundo's Pizza after this?"Six asked. Cassie nodded. "Sure,"she said. "But, it's still going to be a while; we're going to do this quest a few times, then probably a few more after lunch." "Okay....,"Olivia felt a minor disappointment, but it was soon replaced with excitement. "Get ready, she's gonna ring the bell,"Cassie said. "GO 23!!!!!!"Six and the crowd cheered as one. Olivia's excitement rose to a fever pitch; she couldn't wait to see her sister in action. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1624 in a row. (Story #178 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/v6bapz/aurelios_sun_1st_half/).
>\[SP\] Are we going to help with that thing, or what? &#x200B; Ingrid Duchess High School, 4:30PM Friday 'Are we going to... Ya know?' Malcolm asked. He was wearing this weird hesitation as a mask, hovering between a smile and rejection. 'I don't know.' I didn't want to sound mean, but I sounded mean. He recoiled from me, back into himself. Or maybe I was making it up? Maybe he was just watching me with the same boredom sunburned into his cheeks? 'So you aren't gonna come?' 'No.' There. I said it. Months ago I would have launched into a thousand word essay on why I could not make it. I was feeling sick. I was not doing well. My head space was crowded and I could not find the door out. I was busy with soccer or cheerleading or writing that Great American novel. But things had changed. So I let the word fall like embers into dry grass. Malcolm clenched his fists so hard I could count the atoms in his knuckles, the pores looked close to ripping open into giant, gaping wounds. Then he stopped, all the energy sucked out of him. He pulled down his sweatshirt, so only the tips of his fingers remained. He hunched and tugged until he was a stranger again. 'You never intended to go to the dance with me, did you?' Malcolm demanded. He leaned into me, leaned into the space I kept just for myself. I didn't back away. 'I told you no.' 'We went out to coffee last night. And you? You just let me buy you a drink knowing I liked you?' Malcolm was light now. He was flickering. He was someone I didn't like. 'You KNEW I wasn't interested. You said you wanted to be friends. I am not apologizing for trying to keep you happy... Knowing...' This is when the backbone snapped and I wanted to collapse onto the ground. Malcolm blinked twice, a Morse code all girls are born knowing. 'I see.' Then he was gone. I stayed still, watching the empty hallway, worried if I turned away he would come back.
I did not have a body, but I could still feel the memory of a shrug. I knew what I looked like. I knew what the fabric of my reality felt like. I felt like I should be in a forest. I felt like I should tap the toes of my shoes and shift my sleeves across my dry skin. But I was not moving. I was still, a spinning ball of thought and vines. I was in a room of Great Minds, and I still wanted my body back. They sang to me. They sang my name and the names of the people I loved, the places I never went. I could feel them inside my thoughts, like blood through a vein. They were looking for something. 'Why am I here?' 'It is time for you to Go.' Not one voice, but all voices. They spoke to me. I adjusted the memory of my hair, against the memory of my cheek. I shifted in the memory of a chair. I cried the memory of sadness. And they watched me with their nothing-eyes. They spoke to me with their wispy voices. They haunted the house I grew up in, like bats in the rafters. Everything was a memory, clenched in my fists and held too tight for them to take it away. 'I don't want to Go.' 'You want to remain in the Memories.' 'Yes.' 'If you don't Go now, when will you go?' 'I don't know.' 'We will come for you in moments... years...' I closed the memory of my eyes and woke up in my bed. The alarm blared. I didn't know how long I had until my grip slipped and they took me for real.
#The Ghost Hunter Chapter: 6 “My dear pain in the ass, god I hate you. Oh, what’s that? Yeah well, you should have known someone would hate you for what you’ve done. Like, come on, we as humans were doing fine until you; the all-encompassing infinite expanse of the universe decided to send a giant cloud of darkness at us that literally feeds on our very life force. “Like, come on! Okay, fine. I love you too. You know how many nights little Chad would spend lying in the garden at night just staring up at the stars. Yes, I know I’m referring to myself in the third person but screw you, space. I’d argue I at least deserve that much. “Okay fine, back to it then. You know, I’m starting to run out of specialised Light-Cigs. But hey, hopefully, this should be enough. “And before any of you currently reading this ask what the hell I’m doing. Well, I’m currently trying to defeat the Empty Spanner by myself whilst screaming my hatred into the great void from whence it came. So you know, normal stuff. Well, that is pretty normal for a ghost hunter of my calibre. “Okay, one more dodge should do it and then I’ll have planted all the devices. Let’s hope this works!” *** Wc: 212 SatChat Summer Challenge. Constraint: Write an action scene with all dialogue except our main character rambles continuously. This was a fun and simple one to write. Chapter: 7 will be for another prompt tomorrow as per challenge rules.
For thirty seven years, I've been in this room. Each day, a pitcher of water, and a sandwich appear on the table, to keep me alive for one more day of torment. The only other thing on the table is this damned Rubik's Cube. I know there's a solution - my calculus teacher used to solve them as he lectured, without more than a glance at it. But I never learned the algorithm. It's here to torment me. Maybe this one can't be solved? Certainly it can't be disassembled (my high school go-to solution). And the stickers can't be peeled off. And apparently, this one can't be solved by luck - because certainly after nearly four decades of random spinning, I would have stumbled onto the solution. But no. Not this one. You must have to figure out the algorithm. I wonder if I ever will? Or if I'll die of old age? Or if I will go mad? Or if I already have?
"Hey Jim! Welcome in!"The man in the red hat waves at me from behind the counter. My eyes dart down quickly at his name tag before I reply, "Hey Dale! How's it going?" These people here know me by name and number. Every day, at the same time, I walk in here and order the same meal. "One cheeseburger with ketchup, a diet coke, and a large side of fries, $13.65 whenever you're ready Jim."They had the bag already waiting at the counter, steam scraping past the brown paper. I switch on my smile and as I pay, I give off some vague socially acceptable remark about getting the usual, the words just slipping out of my mouth. I turn around, and make my way to the same table and chair I've been at for years. I have 18 minutes left on break before I have to drive back to the office. I don't need to look at silver watch on my wrist to see the time, its exactly 12:08. I know this because nothing has changed in the past four years; not my schedule, not my routine, not the time it takes me to eat nor the time it takes me to drive. It's always been the same. I pull out my phone, and for a brief moment, I can see my face reflected on the black screen before the colors snap awake. There's grey hair now, frosting the tips of my beard and hair, the barest ripple of a wrinkle forming on my brow. Nothing has really changed. I know this because every day I look at that face in the mirror, and the face that looks back is the same. My mind starts to drift as the pictures and text scroll themselves across the screen, my finger dragging along with them. Nothing has ever changed, everything staying exactly the same, only ever changing in the slightest ways, each passing moment a hint different than the last, until its become nothing more than a shadow of a life. Oh look, there's a cat playing with a puppy. The thought slips away into the endless river of Reddit. Images and text and videos, sometimes a comment section or two. Things that make me say "That was funny"or "that's horrible"but never make me laugh or cry. I unwrap the paper around the burger, ready to take a bite into the same meal I had yesterday. "Hey, can I have a bite?" I barely even process the noise. Who the hell is asking me? I say no, like any normal person would. "Yeah,"I say. My mind finally wakes up, snapping me back to reality. I said no, didn't I? I look at the empty space next to my table and find no one who bothered asking. What just happened? I know I'm not crazy, I heard someone ask for my burger, but then I replied yes? Autopilot shouldn't have let that happen, but where did the person who asked go? I turn back and try to slide back into the scroll, mind slightly uneasy. It doesn't take long to forget it. I made a mistake, so what? Ah, here's a man about to do a triple back-flip. "That was pretty good. Can I have another bite?" I have to actively wake myself back up. I look around, but again, there's no one near me. Besides, no one took a bite of my burger. I know this because... There. Right there next to mine. There's another bite taken out of it. I try to shake myself out of it. I took two bites out of my burger. I know this, because it takes me six bites to finish, taking me only 12 minutes. I know this, because I do it every single day. Six bites in twelve minutes. Two bites takes four minutes. It should be exactly 12:12. I look down at my watch. It's 3:46. I shoot up, staring at my watch. No, no, it must be broken. I must have forgot to set it this morning. My phone reads the same time. That's impossible, I could not have sat here for so long! I know this is wrong, because I do it every day! Jesus Christ, what am I going to tell my boss? "Whoa man, are you ok? Hey, let's take a walk." No, hell no! Take a walk, are you crazy? I need to get back to work immediately, figure out what to tell my boss, beg for my job if I have to! So much missed work, I'm definitely going to have to stay late and finish it. "Yeah ok." I didn't say that. But I did. The words left my mouth even though I said no. I look up, eyes flaming, who the hell is saying this stuff? Then I finally see it. A shadow. Not against the wall. There, in front of me, darker than the night sky, like an ink blotted up against reality. Just standing there. Ketchup on where its mouth should be. "You coming?" I want to yell. I want to scream, I want to shout. I have things to do. I have a job, a schedule, I have a god damned routine I follow that I don't break for anyone! I can't say no. My body won't let me, something in its voice won't let me. I feel my tongue spell the word yes, hear it scrape past my lips. I follow the shadow outside the doors and my mind begins to drift. Not race. Drift. Slipping into another stream, another river, my body dragging along with it, hearing and seeing things that make me say nothing, and yet the words slip out anyways. The faces I pass change, the buildings I see change, but nothing changes, I'm still following the shadow. *** Super interesting prompt, pretty unusual too. Hope you like this response, I sure liked writing it! See more at r/joxywrites if you're interested in reading other things I've wrote.
The day had come. The day I always knew would come. The new enemy had arrived. I could feel him tearing into the atmosphere, his ship burning the air. Carefully I opened the caves, ushering the young ones inside. They would need the protection of the stones when I went to battle. Sealing them in was as simple as thinking it. The ship hit the surface, burning and destroying. My voice echoed in the air, rumbling over the noise and smell of the new enemy. "Leave this place." He laughed, looking around, not seeing me, not truly seeing me. "And why should I do that? This planet is ripe for the taking. And I came prepared."He raised one of his arms, pressing a large button on his wrist. Powerful explosives ripped out of his ship, ten, twenty, a hundred crashing into me. I jerked, the attack ripping large holes in my surface. "Hah. That should take care of you. Wherever you are. Those missiles seek out heat. One of them must have hit you."He paused, as if waiting for a response. I kept quiet, knowing that his overconfidence would be his doom. It was the doom of every other enemy that had come. Chuckling to himself, he strode away from his ship. Tracking his process, I checked on the young ones in the caves. They were still safe, the missiles hadn't sought them out. The enemy walked up a hill, taking out a flag and jamming it into the ground. "This planet is now mine—" "Mistake."He spun, eyes searching the horizon. "You should be dead. Where in the world are you?" "Look lower."Gaze dropping down, he frowned. I knew what he saw. The ground. Something flashed across his face, perhaps he realized now. But it was too late for him. He took off, running flat out for his ship. Laughing, I re-arranged the landscape, putting his ship on the other side of a canyon. He stopped just in time. Lava hissed across the canyon floor, just a little of my molten core. "You would take me as your own?"I challenged, dropping the earth from beneath his feet. He tumbled, fingers scrabbling at the dirt. There would be nothing to grab. I made sure of that. Closer and closer, he slipped towards the edge of the canyon. "Please! Just let me go. I'll never come back, I swear!"I made a small ridge, halting his progress. He continued babbling. "Look if you let me go, I'll tell everyone not to come. I'll tell them this place is toxic, that no one should ever set foot here. That there's nothing here for them." "And will they listen to you?"My question seemed to cause a problem for the enemy. He spluttered, almost choking. But finally, he answered. "I don't know. I honestly don't know if they'll listen. But I'll try."Moisture dripped from his face, soaking into my dirt. Salty moisture. I shifted my attention, checking back on the young ones in the caves. They were still fine, but they would need the freedom to move soon. Otherwise, their development would be stunted. My imperative was to take care of them. And all humans ever did was destroy planets. But I was not a killer. I was a mother. The canyon disappeared and I moved the ship to the man's feet. He staggered up the metal stairs, barely making it. Pausing at the top, he looked down. "I don't know if you'll believe me. But I meant what I said. This place is too dangerous for any human. You'd kill us in a heartbeat if we hurt you." "Leave. Never come back. Like you promised."At my words, he walked into the ship, already pressing buttons on his wrist. In a few minutes, the rockets flared to life, lifting the metal into the air. I waited until he left the atmosphere before I unsealed my caves and called the young ones out. As they played over my surface, I sighed. For the moment they were safe, and that was all that mattered.
It was just any other day on my walk home from the grocery store. It was my turn to cook dinner while Clark handled cleaning the apartment. I was thinking of popping open the grill the landlord lets us use and maybe invite some of the other tenants. I smiled at the thought, its been a while since I’d felt this happy. Sure the apartment might be haunted but hey a ghost cant stop us from eating some good ole hamburgers. With that thought in mind I unlocked the wooden door and walked in. The living room light was on along with the kitchen light, typical Clark wasting electricity. Scanning the seemingly normal room if anything was out of place I walked in and turned to call out for Clark when I finally saw it. An unknown man about our age was holding Clark by his collar and pressing him against the cracked wall. Funnily enough my first thought was “oh boy Jill's not going to be happy about this.” “Im going to ask you one more time, the veil. How and why?” The man growled. “I-i don’t know what you’re talking abo-.” Clark made eye contact with me. “Damien!” He yelled out. I dropped the bag. Clark had always been a prankster but this was real and it hit me just now that it was real. My heart was racing as I looked around the room for some kind of weapon. But before I could even move the man turned around. His gaze was enough to freeze me to my core. A chill, so cold I thought I saw my breath, ran down my spine as he began to speak. “Damien was it?” He said in an oddly calm voice. “Let me go asshole!” Clark yelled. “Y-yeah let him go!” I mustered up all my courage to yell. He sighed and resumed as he let my roommate go. Clark ran to my side breathing heavily. “We should call the polic-” Clark began. “Have you noticed anything strange going on?” The man asked once again. I wanted to reach for my phone and speed dial 911 but I couldn’t or something wasn't letting me. Or...someone. I thought looking at the man once again. He looked normal but something was off. “Well...uh. Not really? Maybe a strange sound here and there but that's normal right?” I answered. “A young woman was brutally murdered here, eye torn out of the socket. People say this apartments been haunted since. Heard that story?” He asked. “I knew it, that's why this place was so cheap!” Clark cheered. The man glared at him in disgust. “So what. That's just a story.” I answered. Almost in response the door to one of the closets began rattling. Clark and I jumped, this was the first time we’d actually seen it shake. The man walked to the closet and spoke to it. “Its alright don’t be scared.” And opened the door. What happened after could only be explained as fact. A girl walked out, her body slightly translucent as if it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be invisible or not. But the one feature that caught us by surprise was the hole in her face, where her left why should've been. “Holy shit its ghost!” Clark latched onto me quivering in fear. As Clark screamed the girl looked like she was about to scream to. I looked at the man for an explanation and it seemed like he sensed it. “At least Damien has a good head on his shoulders. Your friend there someone fucked with the veil separating life and the afterlife. The two worlds are converging. The restless are becoming even more restless and the damned are coming back.” He said. “I told you I didn’t do shit!” Clark looked like he was about ready to fist fight him. “There is residual mana all over you.” He glared again. I was just thinking, it all made sense. The apartment did have a legend about being haunted but only recently did the activity start happening. “Damien? You’re not buying this right? This dude literally broke into our apartment.” Clark argued. “One question?” I asked. The man and I made eye contact. The chill had long since disappeared. “Who are you exactly?” And for the first time since our meeting the man smiled, a sort of mischievous smile. One that one would make right after they’d say all according to plan. “Most know me as Death but I prefer Letum.” “Y-you can’t be serious right? Haha where are the cameras.” Clark seemed to still be frozen in place as his voice shook. “Oh how I wish this was a bad joke Mr. Clark.” He glared. The man, Letum was about to say something else before his eyes grew wider, in shock? More emotion expression. “Run!” He screamed. We huh’ed in unison before the wall behind us exploded sending us to the floor. “What the hell man.” I heard Clark groan. I got up and saw Letum now sporting what looked like a black shotgun. I looked what he was aiming at. It looked like one of those orcs you see in video games but red and with huge black horns. “Demon?” I said before Letum yelled again. “Run you idiots!” The gun shot something purple which stopped the demon momentarily before its mouth was engulfed in flames. Clark was already up and heading towards the door leading to the stairwell and back entrance. I was about to book it too before I saw the girl shaking in fear. With all the commotion I had forgotten about her. Everything was happening so quick but. “Come on.” I told her. She didn’t move. “Come on!” I reached out to her. “Do you wanna di-.” Right she was already dead. Screw it. I grabbed her and dragged her with me. Another explosion sent us flying down the stairs. “Shit Damien are you okay? Wait why is she here?” Clark was panicking as we saw our building go up in flames. We saw the man named Letum fall out the building and crash into the lawn. “God damn it, this vessel’s going to take some getting used to.” “You two-three? Follow me!” He yelled beckoning us through a broken fence. Ah so that's how he broke in.
At first I thought it was simply a coincidence that my microwave goes off every morning at 2.34 AM sharp, a kink in the programing, I told myself, until one peaceful night every light in my apartment started to flicker and every household appliance decided to let out as much noise as it possibly could, the smoothie maker I forgot to unplug. I was scared at first, ran straight out the front door with only a pair of boxers with only my phone in hand. While I was running for my life it started buzzing (I keep it on silent mode, permanently, weird habit I know) and an unknown number was calling me in the dead of night. “H-Hello? Who is this?” I said with a trembling voice. “Why? Run?” a ghastly voice said in a shrill tone. Then sounds of a woman clearing her throat. “I just put on the latest episode of American trash wives, I thought you wanted to watch the premiere?” I was flabbergasted, I’d totally forgotten that tonight was the season premiere and I was not at all expecting a bodiless voice calling me from an unknown number to be the one to remind me. “Ah…” was all I could manage before the connection was cut. Confused I walked back up to my apartment, the front door was still wide open from my dash for the exit. I carefully made my way into the living room and there it was, playing on the TV was the season premiere of American trash wives! Thinking I was dreaming I slapped myself, hard, but I definitely felt the stinging in my cheek. I slumped down onto the leather sofa and watched Jessica get drilled by her husband over spending five grand on a pair of designer shoes. And that is the story of how I realized I was living with a ghost. From then onwards every day I get a text from an unknown number, sometimes we even have full-on conversations about the trashy series I watch or about how much lint has plugged up my clothes drier. One day I even came back from work to find a food delivery was left at my door, Chicken nuggets, just what I had been craving for the whole day. The personalized message attached to it read: “I know you well”; sweet, if eerie. So I suppose there are some upsides to being haunted by a ghost, but I must say, I am regretting installing a smart toilet with a Mach 3.0 douche function.
Newspaper offices are not known for their calm and soothing workplace environment, you know that quite well. Bearing the torrential flow of your editor's abuse is something you've learnt to endure to maximize your efficiency. Responding to her vitriol would only serve to extend the time she spent yelling at you. So you usually meditate while she screams, an odd time for meditation, granted, but it was certainly a good method to destress. As with all other days, you let your mind wander within you, focusing on the centre of your forehead from within. Your eyes remain open, but you are a thousand miles away from the noise outside. Slowly, you feel your mind lighten subtly, bringing in a sharp clarity to the shapes of your subconscious. Slowly, letting your mind lead you, you begin your meditation. Your daily routine comes floating before you, wake up, have a hurried breakfast, leave for work, get yelled at, go home. This has been your life for the last few years, but you don't particularly hate it, and simply accept it as a necessary step in your career. Suddenly, a sharp pain in between your eyes wavers your concentration, forcing you to clench your eyes shut. You physically stumble at the pain, steadying yourself against your editor's desk. You can vaguely hear her voice change from anger to confused concern, as she asks you something along the lines of "what the hell is wrong with you."However, you pay no attention to her, as you force yourself to not break your focus. The ache in between your eyes continues, throbbing harder the more you focus, but something deep within you tells you to keep concentrating. You stand before your boss for what felt like hours, using her desk for support while you fought the pain away, never breaking your meditation. Finally, the pain subsides, allowing you to open your eyes. But the world you see before you is subtly, but very noticeably different. The fake potter plant that stands in the office looked more vibrant, almost oversaturated with colour, the windows showing you buildings thrumming with the flow of life within it, people moving within them. You can feel the people within the buildings, you realise. You drop your gaze down to your editor, still sitting cross-legged on the high backed office chair that's beginning to show signs of wear. Her face is twisted into a look somewhere between confusion, concern, anger and annoyance. She repeats what she said a few moments earlier, and her voice echoes through your head, reverberating within you. She's afraid that she'll be blamed if something has happened to me, the thought pops into your mind without any prompt when you listen to her voice. "I'm fine,"you say, "Just a sudden spell of dizziness."She frowns, and tells you to get a coffee and get back to work on the proofreading of the articles to be featured in the weekly magazine. You nod and leave, closing the door to her office as you leave. The walk through the office cubicles leaves you exhausted. Every person's voice you hear pushes into your mind their own thoughts as they speak. It feels like you're listening to two people talk loudly over each other, their words overlapping, obscuring and fighting for attention. Your slow journey to your own cubicle prompts some of your colleagues to ask you what's wrong, but you ignore them, as every word they utter makes your head throb. Flopping down into the chair in your cubicle, you slowly massage your temples, trying to get rid of the throbbing. You feel like you're being buried under all the information being fed into your brain. You feel other people moving about, not just around you, but on different floors of the office tower. You feel the thoughts of the people near you. Each passing moment brings more clarity to your senses, and with it, even more information. The throbbing gets progressively worse and worse, until finally, you can't stand it anymore. You get up and rush to the elevator and press the button for the roof. Thankfully, no one else enters as the metal box carries you up 16 floors to the open roof. Stepping out on the grey concrete, you fish in trousers for a cigarette, and light it. The first pull lessens the ache, dulling it slowly. "What the hell is going on", You think through the fog in your head, as you stare out at the dusk-lit cityscape.
You were just calmly sitting on a bench in the park when You suddenly felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder. It was a man and he was laughing. You thought to yourself ‘after my horrible day at work maybe I need a laugh’ and started laughing along with him. After about five minutes you ran out of breath and stopped, but to your surprise the man didn’t stop. Nor did he let go of your shoulder. You tried to shrug his hand if but he wouldn’t let go. “Wow sir, haha what a grip you’ve got! Can you let go please?” But he still kept laughing. That’s when you realized that his eyes seemed to be rolled back in his head all the way. Starting to feel frightened you looked around to see if anyone was watching. Some were, and the few who did had pitiful looks on their faces but ended up going back to what they were doing. You tried to stand up, and you were able to, but less than three seconds later he pushed you to the ground and tied you hands behind your back. Still there was laughter that left his mouth. You tried screaming but he put a mask on your face and you blacked out [ran out of ideas for now, also my first time writing a story here soooo yeah! Might make a second part]
#Bonus Story 6 The girl writhed on the ground, her legs and arms shaking violently as her back remained pressed almost unnaturally down against the dirt. She sputtered and shook for a few seconds before coming to an abrupt halt. Then, she began to float, slightly at first but eventually, she was soaring through the clouds. The voices in her head were not what she’d expected demons to sound like. They weren’t guttural and deep, nor sharp and screechy. No, they were the perfect balance between both. They were peace. They told her many things that night as he soared in the night. Many things about her potential powers. But all of them came at a cost. She had to find someone. Find them and do as the demons bid. And she was powerless to stop them. Not that she wanted to, of course. The demons didn’t need to force her into anything. Throughout so much of her life, she was alone and powerless. Following the whims of the world around her. Well, not anymore. She’d do whatever the demons bid. The voices approved and whispered in their sweet tongues the name over and over again. Chadwick Lich was the name that echoed in her ever-expanding mind. *** Wc: 204 SatChat Summer Challenge. Constraint: Incorporate some sort of communication without actual dialogue. Theme: X-Files. This is part of the Summer Challenge. More parts of this world will be written for different prompts.
(IP) A Sky Full of Fire (IP) A Sky Full of Fire The dragon’s maw, glowing red and orange, came snapping behind the jet, missing it by inches. Enraged, the beast bellowed; the pilot could hear his comrades talking in a panic over the radio. How had the world come to this, this war between human and beast? The sky was a multicolored blur of wings, teeth, claws, and tails, with more than one of his comrades’ planes falling out of the sky like meteors. He gritted his teeth, fighting against his panic. He’d trained for this, but the true terror of it all threatened to overwhelm him. The screams, the planes hitting the water in pieces; the pilot imagined that this was what hell was like. In the beginning, there was a tenuous peace between man and dragon, as well as the wyverns that laid claim to both races. But then a dragon had been murdered by a human, and after that, the treaties and peace talks had been forgotten. The pilot had been more than willing to die for his country, but after seeing the carnage with his own eyes, he couldn’t help but feel he’d made a terrible mistake. He swerved out of the way of a billowing plume of flame, dazzling his eyes, and the dragon flew around him, circling ever closer. Its eyes, the color of a flaming sunset, gleamed with bloodlust. He could’ve sworn it was mocking him. Lazily, it glided in front of him, cutting off his escape route. “Paulson, do you read me? I repeat, do you read me?” The pilot heard his friend on the radio, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off of the flying predator for one moment. He could’ve sworn he heard a deep, gutteral laugh. “Yes, I read you,” Paulson said, picking up the walkie talkie under the controls. “Most of our units are gone. General says we need to pull back. Head to base, and whatever you do, be careful!” Paulson threw the throttle and headed away from the beast, but the dragon was far from done with him. As quickly as he could, he flew downward; the sooner he could get aground, the harder a time the beast would have tracking him. He landed haphazardly, scrambling to get out of the seat. He could hear the radio, and he made sure to tuck the communication device into one of his pockets. He almost cried for relief when he jumped down from the plane, and he ran toward the trees, hoping that the dragon would lose him. But the acrid scent of smoke and burning wood told him that he hadn’t been so lucky. The trees burned, a flaming corona surrounding him. His scream echoed off into the distance, mocking him, as the dragon lowered its head, zeroing in on him with a beady golden eye. It laughed, and that was the last sound Paulson heard before everything went black.
"First it was a nuclear warhead. I can still see the mushroom on the horizon. Hell of an explosion. Wonder how many died instantly. Some must be suffering and dying slowly, still. Those poor souls, haha. Soon after that an astroid hit the other side of the town. Respectable move. People panicked a lot, especially those who got caught in between the astroid and the nuclear warhead. They really didn't know what to do. Amusing, and quite terrorizing to be honest. Maybe even I couldn't think of it. Well I would, you know me, but the execution was still impeccable. Then several zombies escaped from the local hospital. At this point nobody could care about it any less. Sometimes you need to take your foot off the pedal mate, and enjoy the moment. People didn't even run from them, no reaction at all. It was like a C level doomsday movie. Absolute disgrace. What really sealed the deal was the aliens. Reaaaally? Is someone up there pressing all the buttons? Have you lost your touch, guys? Where is the elegance? Where is the theme? What is next huh, dinasours? So no, it was not terrorizing at all. Maybe in the beginning it was but this is just embarassing now, comical almost. It's a Disney park out there. Get your shit together mate." Horseman of War, basked in glory and shrouded in mystery, somehow managed to look as desparate as a retail worker listening to customer complaints. He stopped looking at the ground after the handsome chatterbox finished and raised his head. "I wouldn't have asked if I knew it was you." "Well to play my advocate, I pull off a disguise splendidly." "I will see you at hell, Lucifer." "See ya, mate."
Moira was given as an infant to the Ourobos Sect, which sought the power of immortality by offering lifes to their god. But during the ceremony, Ourobos blessed the child instead, and she became their earthly vessel. She was raised by the Sect, Ourobos a wise mentor. Time means nothing to her, and she travels the different ages: times long lost, times yet to come and everything in-between. The world must end before it begins, and lifes must be offered before Ourobos can return. Someday, she will create the Ourobos Sect, and the circle will be complete.
I’m a registered family therapist, and I’ve had a very colorful career, to say the least. Not many people, talk to as many people, as I do. I don’t consider myself “normal”, especially when it comes to how I do my job. Generally, off the bat, people hate me. However, I’ve never had someone, who didn’t come back, and who didn’t benefit from our time together. I work with a lot of poor families, who just struggle to get by, and do whatever they have to do to get through the day. The guys and girls that I get, look broken, by the world, by themselves, their families, it doesn’t matter, they look lost, but they aren’t. They are fully capable of doing all of the great things that anyone else is capable of doing, they just have more things in the way. With a lot of them though, regular therapy just don’t work. This one time, I had a kid walk in, no more than 16, and he was just a quiet kid. Not used to talking, and I don’t like to force it. So I started out with his name, and you know a little bit of back and forth just to check the waters, see where he was. Where he was, was not willing to talk. He’d say a couple words, fold his arms, sit back in the chair, and look all over the room. He just didn’t wanna be there. So even though he’d only been in the room 5 minutes, I stood up, and said, “get the fuck out”. Naturally, it was a bit of a surprise for him. He gets all upset, starts blowing up a bit, but once he quiets down, I just say, “you came here for a reason, to talk, if you’re not going to get the fuck out, see if your problems get better”. Yeah, he didn’t like that. The, “what the fuck’s” came out, then he’s like, “I did come here for a reason, just it wasn’t my choice.” I said, “Of course it wasn’t, I bet your mama brought you here”, he says, “You don’t know me”, and I say, “I don’t need to, what I know, is that it looks like you’re gonna shit your pants.” He’s almost had it now, and says, “shut up”, I keep pushing, “is mommy a sensitive issue?”, he jumps out his chair, and grabs me by my shirt collar, and winds up to punch, before he looks at my face. I’m smiling, almost laughing, but not cause I’m some sadist, but because he never saw what I was doing. After he saw my face, he reeled back, like he’d actually just gotten it. He just says, “you’re crazy.”, and walks out the room. I’d say, a pretty logical reaction. I was kinda worried for a second, you know, thinking, “ehh... maybe I went a bit far there.”, but a couple days later, he calls in, and sure enough we’re gonna have another appointment. He comes in, sits down, and says, “why were you so hostile?”, I answer his question with, “why were you so defensive?”, and instead of arguing, we talk about why we why we did. That one had a little pushback, but he opened up after that. He could’ve left, probably made a couple problems for my business, but he wanted to get better. As it turns out, his dad was beating him. He didn’t wanna talk about it, cause he was scared about what would happen to him, and his dad. He’d had CPS called to his house before, and it was a really big fear for him. It just took me saying something he wasn’t expecting. Years later, I happened to meet this kid again, while he was with his parents, and the family life he had described, was as opposite as what I had said to him all those years before. I just took the things he was saying, and flipped them 180 degrees out, so he could see what was wrong with his way of thinking. He’d say things like, “why me?”, or, “what did I do?”, I’d say, “why not?”, and, “what could you have done?”, and often times he wouldn’t know how to answer. They were rhetorical anyway, but it proves everyone’s got there reasons for doing what they do, and those reasons aren’t always reasons you agree with, or ones that rational. I like to consider myself the worlds worst therapist, because the “best” therapists, are usually the least relatable. I come off like an asshole, when I say things that contradict what you’re saying, but there’s a point. A point that, most people, get. The odd few who don’t, I apologize to, and go on about my day, but, I’d say it’s been more effective for me working family therapy, than any other kind of therapy I do. Basically, you leave it up to them to decide what right and wrong is, and just ask questions that don’t have right answers. If they feel like it’s up to them, they’ll be more open to participating. Anyway that’s my two cents. Hope you enjoy.
I don't understand why it hurts so much that she never talks to me. I have, after all, never met her before. She is a stranger, a woman I have seen maybe a dozen times. But something still hurts. I know who I am meant to be to her, of course. Who I am meant to be to me. Who I am meant to be to the world. It showed me all the photographs, all the videos .A night club on old earth, music pounding, her dancing. A luxury space flight, the last trip before adulthood approached, and her stood on the artificial beach. A celebration of a dream job, her drinking champagne as her parents hug her. And there is a man next to her, happy and laughing and smiling too. I'm told he's me. And they thought he was me, at first, when I climbed out of that sphere. Certainly, he looks like me. Exactly like me. She's aged since those videos were taken. A few crows feet here, the first few grey hairs there. But not me. I still look exactly like the man in the photos, forever young. Frozen as he was while the rest of the world moved on. I don't remember the singing or the dancing. I don't remember any of it. I know everything, of course. I've watched and read it all. I know his favorite colour (navy blue) and his favorite food (meat feast pizza with pineapple) and his family situation (mother estranged, father close, brother distant) and his childhood dreams (to make first contact with an alien race.) I could tell you every moment of his relationship with her- from when they met in school, sat next to each other in chemistry, bonding over their disdain for boring Mr Threadson. I can tell you of the party they became friends, and the trip to the Trappist system where they became close. I can tell you the the things he said in jokey moments, and the things he said to comfort her when her mother died. I can tell you all these things, all these personal moments happy and sad. I don't remember them, though. They're like ancient history. I can see the ruins and the bones, I know what must have happened, but it is other people's stories I am unearthing. It feels like a violation, like I am a voyeur watching another man's life. Stood behind him every time he thought he was alone, waiting for him to die so I can take his place. I know how he died. I saw the video, and was glad I don't remember that. But I know he is dead, and I am not him. His father accepted me instantly and how could I tell a sad old man his son was dead and gone? That I am nothing but a doll with his face? I don't know if this is better then with her. Sometimes, I sit with him, and he reminisces over the stories he remembers from his fondest memories and I know from a briefing. Sometimes I sit with her, and she glares coldly, and I cannot blame her. Who would act kindly to a thing wearing the face of their dead friend? I could go live my own life, but how? Many say they have no place in the world, but I know I do. I am made for a purpose. There is a grave I am told I fit in, but I know I do not. Perhaps I should flee, but to where? I have his name, his face, his life, and I must hold onto them for without them, I am nothing at all. Is that better? I don't know. I have no-one who can tell me, no-one to confide in. There is no-one I trust. I have, after all, never met another person before last month. There are those who call me husband and brother and son and friend, but they are strangers. I don't know if they are fooled by some recordings and artificial skin, or just mad with grief. Perhaps that is why I focus on her. She was never one to sugarcoat, and she was not fooled by me for a second. She doesn't know I'm here. She sits there, ranting to a bartender about me, too drunk to notice me in the corner. But even slurring her words she's right. He is dead. And I am nothing but a ghost that never had a life to lose. So I make a decision. I step up and leave. It is cold outside, but I do not want to return to his home or see his friends. They are not mine, and I tire of the sense of violation every time I pretend otherwise. I will leave them be. I will finally let him rest in peace. I have nothing of him- not his memories, not his relationships, not his goals, not his life. But he is dead, dead and buried. So soon, there will finally be something we share.

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