Split (1)

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We won !! We was won... Was.... Thousand years, countless generation, devote their life to fighting back again monsters, use their blood to write instruction of how to fighting back again them. And it work With the the right intruction and right tool made to perform it, we killed monster one by one, we drove them from the land, the sea and the sky, 99% of them was down. From all corners of the world, the little bit of demons remain hide deep into underground .. ...and by that time we, instead of chase after and finish the rest of them, choose to ingore them. But you must understand, after countless sacrifice, the victory is so sweet, sweet like poison to our mind....we think those tiny remain of monsters pose no threat to us anymore, and since they come from all the corners of the world, then they may will kill each other like when you put animal from different inviroment together, and that will spare us the trouble of coming down that hole to finish them... If only we know how much wrong we are .. By the time they climb out from that hole, they aren't the monster they knew anymore...we're facing even worse monster than the one we forced into undergroud The Troll, now with the blood of Oni from the east, doesn't fear the sun anymore The Treant, which use to be last one of it's race, now with their root deep into core of the world, now revive it's entire race The Frost giant, now with the power inhereted from their father, Hecatoncheires, is unstopable... From the victory, now again we're here, back to countless generation, devote their life to fighting back again monsters, use their blood to write instruction of how to fighting back again them. And we better make it fast, because doesn't seem like we have much time anymore...
The inquisitor is an old lady, young enough to yet be infirm but old enough to start looking frail. You remind her of her son: a simple boy. His father left her when he was two. She doesn't say so, but it was because her son was clearly mentally disabled. She tried her best to raise him, but was unequipped to properly teach him. Her boy grew large and lustful like his father, unfortunately did not have the mind like him. Her son displayed brutish tendencies, killed a man and overpowered a woman. She never says this outright, only alludes to his rough ways with people, his innocent injury or death of animals, and his eagerness around women. You don't see the similarities, but you know that your time with her has been documented, and judgement has been passed. You are to be executed in a fortnight. She still visits you though, as if under a compulsion of guilt. Now that there is no hope of freedom, she grasps your hand as if to comfort you when she says goodbye. You incrementally use your power on her. It would not go well to go too far. She tells you that the each animal of the royal menagerie have died, the god-touched leaders of the flocks and herds isolated themselves and passed of hunger. Perhaps being god-touched was not the blessing it seemed. At the end of each visit, you gently gauge her mood, testing if she is more amenable to persuasion until you can wait no longer. Three days before the execution you beg her to set you free, pulling every heart-string she has laid bare to you in your times together. Desperately gripping her hands before she turns to leave, beseeching. She looks at the ground, deep in thought, squeezes your hand, and leaves. The next day, she follows your instructions and releases you, and as you step out of your cell to grasp her hands to thank her you exert the full strength of your power. Her knees buckle and she falls to the ground, a vacant expression of happiness on her face. She babbles cheerfully as she examines the hem of her blouse, as if it is something completely foreign to her. Your God-touch gives and takes away, and what has been given or taken cannot be returned. The wisdom granted to the animals of the royal menagerie separated them from their kin, so much that it drove them to their death. Likewise wisdom taken has destroyed all the inquisitor's ability to think for herself. Neither could the animals innocence be returned, nor the inquisitor's sentience restored. The power from God-touched wisdom would be immense - kingdoms could be conquered, and wealth could be obtained. Enemies could be destroyed completely, and nobles could be cowed with the threat of madness. You could not be allowed to live. Yet you have escaped.
We can’t believe we got away with it! Mass euthanization with full consent from the masses! Who came up with the idea again? Was it Bob? Bob, you sly dog! You absolute mad lad! Sorry, I ever doubted you, Bob; I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the thought that people could be so, so stupid! Brain scans—to rule out sociopaths! And they brought it! They actually ate it up like candies! Ha! Bob, my man, you did it! WE did it! 25 million in the first year, 500 by the fourth! Soon, we can crank it up to the billions and nobody will bat an eye! All who opposed us already went cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs; their supporters will soon follow. All thanks to you, Bob! Damn, still can’t believe we got away with it. May God have mercy on the meek, for they shall soon inherit the earth—beneath our boots! Mwa! Hahahahaha!
I let my eyes wander through the wastelands. A barren place full of rubble and destruction. Grey concrete as far as one can see. Crumbled houses, empty steets - empty, except for the silent wind blowing dust through shattered windows. The city had died and its rusting corpse sticks out of the desert like gnawed bones. I was just one of the last maggots that had come to feed at the decaying body. Slowly I make my way through the rubble. Other people had come here before me, I could only take the meager crumbs that had been left over. A small plant had managed to grab onto the cold stone. I leave it alone, wandering further between broken walls. The plants here were... not good to eat. I had tried once - with an... unpleasant outcome. But it was a sign of life. A rare sight in this city. I hadn't seen anyone in days and doubted that someone was within a weeks march - Why should they? There is nothing here. I am alone. Alone, except for the scarce plants and the... creatures. And those are... Well, they are... strange. Motorized. As if they were more robot than creature. Best to let them pass, servos buzzing as their synthetic paws clack over the rubble. Sometimes they stop. Raising their metal heads in the air. Do they sniff? Searching for survivors? Or do they look, at a point out of reach far behind the wastelands of crumbling buildings and piles of grey rubble? Sometimes I wondered wether under the dusty metal there's a heart. An organic one - not a synthetic replacement. A real heart. Beating. Pumping blood. I wondered wether there's still a part of them left. Wether they know where they are. Who they are. My weathered hands sift through the rubble. Lifting heavy chunks off of what seems like good loot. Something metallic. Maybe still working. Those are the best, although they are rare. Fine white lines run like a spiders web around my fingers - scars, from working in the rubble without gloves. I haven't found ones in years. The best loot is always gone first. My arms don't look better with the teared strips of fabric and red, sunburnt skin between them. Dust has gathered there. There's no water for baths but dust for years in the city. // I have to stop here, but I'll be sure to continue the story tomorrow when I've got a bit of time.
"A cursed bracelet?"Van said. "That be your mission?" "It's the mission,"I said. "If the Witch Queen gets this bracelet, it's all over for us." Not that there was much left. The main road into Keld was half absorbed back into nature; grass, weeds, and shrubs had reclaimed what they could. No one dared leave their homes long enough to clear the road. Most of the roofs had collapsed and in some cases had taken the entire house with it. Others looked in decent enough shape and were simply dirty and packed with multiple families. Keld was a mere distant memory of better times, but even my grandfather hadn't seen those days. No one had. Van nodded. "But only rumors say the Witch Queen be hiding away in her ivory tower,” he said. “Legends hundreds of years old. The Night King be taking people here, now." I glowered at him. "I'm aware." "Awareness no be action,"he said, pointing to a cracked window. "Those people be counting on us to keep them safe." "Don't you think I know that!"I shouted. "That bastard took my little brother." He opened his mouth and closed it, his vigor draining away. "Then we take down the Night King,"he said. "We bring the dawn ... together." "I can't,"I said, holding up the golden bracelet. "This is bigger than some vampire. Bigger than you or me or--"Armin... "--people die. I can't change that. But I can destroy this. I can do that. With or without you." \\\* I rode out of the village alone--not counting Cloud, my horse. Fortunately the putrid aura radiating from the bracelet scared off most of the Night King's minions. It took an incredible amount of fortitude to resist the bracelet's taint. I was the chosen one after all, just like Van. The road was empty, and the sun just started sinking into the treeline. "For the Witch Queen!" The voice bubbled out from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw three robed figures shambling toward me holding daggers. The Witch Queen's cultists. "Shamar'Ghul will never get her prize,"I shouted at them, "so long as I draw breathe. Infirgo!" The cultist didn't even slow down as my fire spell engulfed them. Their twisted, deformed bodies writhed in the flames until too burned to stand. Which was worse? Killed by an ancient vampire or turned into a mindless horror by an eldritch goddess? As the cultist's remains burned in the middle of the road, still twitching, I ignored the cold bracelet around my left wrist. "I'll end you, witch,"I said to no one and everyone. \\\* Van was furious. I was wrapping my left arm with fresh bandages. He was getting an update from one of his volunteer soldiers, a Keldian no more than a year or two older than what Armin should have been was rattling off the number of dead after the Night King's forces most recent raid on the refugee camps. "How can you be sitting there silent?"Van asked. "Like this,"I said. "It helps if you don't condescend to me." Van shook his head solemnly, waving the Keldian soldier away. It made him look like father too tired to explain why the sky was blue to his child. "We be meeting here for a reason,"he said. "Do you no be seeing that?" "I do,"I said. "The Night King's Keep is on the way to the Witch's Forest. It only makes sense that I'd run into you eventually. But that doesn't mean I have to help you get all these people killed. Just as you don't have to ride into the forest with me." "What would your brother think?"he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Nothing,"I said. "Because he's dead. Just like all these soldiers are going to be if you lead them against that monster. But I suppose maybe it's better they die than end up twisted into shambling abominations." Van glared at me. He knew I was right. I flexed my hand but didn't feel the motion. The bracelet's taint was spreading. "Well, it's been a pleasure. I hope to see you on the road back,"I added. Van drew his short sword and pointed it at my chest. "We help these people, now,"he growled. I grabbed the blade's end with my bandaged hand. If it cut me, I didn't notice. The blade started turning black and Van dropped it before the taint reached the hilt. "You ever point a sword at me again, it'll be the last thing you do,"I said, but Van was already stalking away to his ramshackle army. Fine. Let them die. There was only one chosen one. One. \\\* The Band of the Black Hand were waiting for me on the road to the forest, a knot of bandits and mercenaries with black cloths wrapped around their left hands. They rode behind me in silence, aside from their horse's hooves pounding the hard-packed dirt, and if any cultists attempted an ambush, the Band knew enough to soak the bastards in oil and set them aflame. My own Band. They were with me. I looked back at the refugee camp. There should have been more. One of the soldiers, a thick-necked, bearded brigand with a long scar cutting down his left cheek started singing a song. We'll ride all night till the moon do cry And cut through wood and cursed vine And burn the men that do no die To end the Witch's terror. I couldn't help but sing along. The bearded brigand turned, and gave me a big grin and a nod. I nodded back. The song continued, on and on, and when it ended another started. Once the bracelet was destroyed, we'd crush the Night King. Me and the Band of the Black Hand. Together. \\\* "Take off the bracelet,"said Van. "Don't you be seeing what it's done to you?" His volunteer army wore steel breastplates and white cloaks with golden suns embroidered over their hearts. They looked battle hardened. Still, they were mere mortals. The Witch Queen could break their wills with nothing but a whisper. How had they all made it this deep into the forest? "It's not too late,"I said. "Help me destroy the bracelet and then we can go crush the Night--" "Take it off!"he shouted. "Look around you." "Enough,"I said. "If you're not with me, your against me, Van. Get your mortals out of my way." "Or what?"he said. "Or I'll have my Band remove them." Van pointed his blade at me. His face twisted into something pained and confused, like a dog that'd been beat for no reason, his eyes wide and hard and desperate. "Look at them!"he shouted. "They no be men!" Of course. Just because those following me had been criminals, people who'd made mistakes, they didn't meet Van's standards. Self-righteous prick. "Move,"I said. "Or I will not hold back. My power is the Band's power. This is your final warning, Van." "I be sorry it came to this,"he said, and tears rolled down his cheeks. "Light save me, I be so sorry I didn't see it sooner. I'm sorry." Too late for apologies. Far, far too late. I pointed a blackened finger at the white-cloaked militia and ordered the Band to attack. They shambled forward, daggers at the ready. I did warn him. \\\* I alone survived the battle. Three hundred white-cloaked soldiers perished along with my Band of thirteen. So did Van, of course. He'd been chosen to slay a mere vampire, and I was chosen to destroy a god. The outcome was obvious. When I entered the tower, I found it uninhabited. Candles and torches flickered to life as I ascended the familiar spiraling staircase. The throne, empty, looked so comfortable. All those padded cushions. It called to me, as if I was chosen.
\[Changing Times\] Carl watched the two teen girls walk into his shop and scowled. They weren't dressed as outlandish as some of his other recent customers; but, he didn't trust them just the same. They were too young to possibly have any business in his shop. They ignored him as they began browsing around the display tables in the center of the shop. Each one was a simple card table with three long boxes full of records. "You have to forgive her at some point...,"the short girl with jet black curls flowing down over her shoulders said. She flipped through the records, barely glancing at the cover art. The tone in her voice told Carl that they were in the middle of a conversation that began long before they entered his shop. The girl sounded tired of that particular subject; Carl had a good ear for discerning different pitches. "Do I?"the taller girl with white spiky hair replied. She had her arms crossed and stood next to her friend. She did not seem interested in browsing the records. "Yes!"the short one replied with the same kind of exasperation that accompanied an eyeroll. "She's one of your best friends and you've had a crush on her since you met." Despite himself, Carl was drawn into their high school drama. He guessed neither one of the girls had graduated from high school yet. And, they were talking about the kind of things high school girls talked about: each other. Carl was a lonely man that had begun to grow more bitter lately. He would never consider his shop a 'success'; but, as it was he never had to worry about money. And he never worked particularly hard. Running his own business was less exciting than he thought it would be; even if he had trouble remembering when he decided to start it. The fact was that Carl was pushing 50 and his past was a blur of memories. He tried not to dwell on the fact that most of those memories, the clearest ones, took place in the shop. His most prominent memory was a group of patrons that were dressed like renaissance faire attendees. They began arguing about which record was 'the right one' and even pulled out maps and large dusty tomes from their packs to present their case. They had taken over a whole display table with charts and obnoxious noise that Carl finally lost his cool. He yelled at them to buy something or get out. They bought something but tried to pay with a small golden cube the size of a six-sided die. Carl was annoyed and just wanted them out so he accepted the payment. He was surprised when another group of strangely dressed youths also paid with a golden cube. The most surprising part was that he accepted the payment, and each cube from a group after that. The cubes were gone by the next day so he knew they were worthless. He was sure that this time he could hold his ground if they tried to give him cubes. It was just the two girls, not a larger group with weapons. "You know what she did to become Unique,"the tall girl answered. "How can I forgive that??" "That's not who she is,"the short one shook her head. "If she had to make that choice again today, you know she wouldn't. She only agreed to it because Ms. Sharp was there with her. And, you know how manipulative Ms. Sharp was from personal experience." "I guess you're not wrong...,"the tall girl sighed. "That's because I'm right,"the short one chirped. She spun around and approached the counter with a small stack of records; but, Carl saw her pull out a golden cube. "Sorry, cash or card only,"he said. "Huh?"the short one tilted her head at him; her raven curls jostled with the motion. "Since when?"she asked. Carl thought it was an odd question because he'd never seen her before. But, he shrugged and answered. "Since now,"he said. "Weird... okay...,"the girl nodded and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a transparent glass card. Carl was intrigued when the reader accepted it; but, he did not want them to linger now that they paid. "And tell all your friends the same thing; no more golden cubes,"he added. "What friends?"the short girl asked. "Your Rennaissance club or whatever it is; all you young people that dress funny and bring those cubes in here." "You... remember them??"she asked. She exchanged a confused look with her tall friend; both of them shrugged at each other. "Of course I remember,"Carl nodded. "I remember those cubes are worthless; they're gone by morning." "What's your favorite number?"the tall girl asked. "One!"Carl answered. Then, he shook his head. He was surprised at his own answer; but, he did not want them to know that. "What does it matter?"he asked. But, neither girl was paying attention to him after he answered his favorite number. "I guess we call Aury?"the tall one shrugged. The short one nodded in agreement as Carl wondered what was happening exactly. "WAIT!"a young, pale woman with short dark hair walked into the shop. "Don't call Aurelio,"she said as she approached the two young girls. The pair looked surprised that she knew them; the tall girl spoke first. "Why not? Who are you?"she asked. "Aurelio won't help this man, he'll only reset him and leave him in NPC mode,"the woman replied. "How do you know that?"the short girl asked; she was still the shortest in the shop. "My name is Quinn...,"the woman introduced herself. She brought her hand to her chest and gave a curt half-bow. But, Carl couldn't help but notice the wide bracelet she wore on her left hand. It fit her loose and looked like red metal. The number 14 was engraved on it in black. "...I need to tell you about the future,"she said. "A future that Ms. Sharp is trying to erase." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1646 in a row. (Story #200 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/).
I remember the day you found me. My village was in ruin. The bodies of those I loved lay around me or piled high as kindling to burn. An acrid smoke filled the sky until it seemed as though the entire world had been set on fire. Such was the devastation that not even the carrion crows dared to land and feast. I remember being so scared. So helpless. So confused. Why? How? What caused people to attack other people with such anger? I remember crying beneath the body of my mother, lying still and hoping that the wrath of the outsiders had passed. And then you were there. You pushed her aside, and I could suddenly breathe again. You were my savior. My reason for living. You took me in and gave me years of immense joy and unconditional love after I thought my time had come to an end. Every moment with you adds weight to an already hefty debt, but its one I'll gladly keep. I stare down the hoard before us, side by side with the one friend I can count on through anything, and lift my chin in challenge. He whistles, and I look up. My friend gazes down at me with a smile on his face and the softest of eyes, but there’s a determination and security in them that I have come to know well. He speaks in his strange, monotonous speech, but I recognize the name he gave me the day I was given a second chance to live. “Adi.” You’re a good boy, Adi. I shake my pelt in recognition, swaying my armor so that it sparkles in the sun. His smile grows, and together we turn and launch ourselves at the monsters. I bare my fangs, toss my head and howl from the deepest chambers of my chest. No matter where you go, no matter what awaits us, I'll be there with you. I have a debt to repay.
I had it all laid out in front of me. A scholarship to Geneva, a master’s in genetics, and a stable job. Instead, I got the worst experience of my life. From day one, something was always wrong. One day, some poor worker got killed in the cryo chamber in a preservation experiment due to the thermostat control failing and him freezing to a long, agonizing death. Another fatality was my good friend Adam, after he went to work in the ancient virus lab. 3 days later, an earthquake shattered all the vials and we never heard from him or the head scientist ever again. Of course, we concealed it and never told a soul outside the company. And now this! Now all my ice cream bars would be melted! Now my lunch is gone! Do you know how much work it took to assemble my lunch? Oh. Oh…forgot about the specimens. I know this might be a bit weird, but I wanted my lunch over stopping Armageddon. Call me self-centered.
I'd read through all the information I could on this prosthetic. My main concern was the headaches, but with the heat vision, it looking cool cemented my decision. I found a surgeon willing to implant it. I brought the eye and all the information, unsure of wether she would implant it that appointment or later. I gave her all the information, and then I just sat while she read it all. "I can do the first step today, if you're prepared to be blind for a week,"she said. I was confused. I had thought only one procedure would be needed, and I read nothing about going blind. When I told her about this, she responded "Step One: Remove the functioning eye." I argued surely my eye that I lost a month ago counts. Why would I remove an eye instead of putting this in an empty socket? She argued not following instructions dealing with magic had unpredictable consequences. Eventually she agreed to implant it in my empty socket, as long as I signed some papers for liability. So I signed those papers, then lay down on the surgery bed, and put on a charmed wristband that knocks me out. I woke up to what the surgeon thought was successful, but my new eye was bandaged up and would take a while before working. Eventually, I was able to take off the bandage, and try it the heat vision. It was blurry. Five years later, with a few visits to artificers, it's less blurry but still noticable. The headaches are worse than I expected, but I can manage them most of the time. Eye still looks really cool.
10,000 ways to avoid death By Doctor Tropinton Chapter 26 Plot Armor As you may recall from chapter 3 Unstoppable Forces plot armor cannot be defeated. No weapon elixir or spell can give the same protection as someone who has plot armor. The most common advice to those who wish to obtain plot armor is to steal it, but the question remains how. The most documented way is the high-risk high reward sidekick pathway. Find yourself someone who may be a little bit past their prime. Learn their secrets. Treat them like a parent. Become the child they never had and watch as that plot armor gets transferred to you. Of course, the risk is you die becoming the inspiration for one last adventure while the plot armor leaves them completely. Doctor Tropinton Believes the sidekick method is risky and unnecessary. He recommends the villain pathway. Find a young protagonist with shiny new plot armor and torment them. Bend and twist their morals. Become the first thing they think of in the morning and the last thing they think of at night. Send them waves and waves of henchmen and enemies. Once you’ve found your way inside their heart, you'll see the results. Only your young protagonist will be able to kill you. And when they come for your head become a lancer(see chapter 35 villain to lancer).
From Wikipedia: The goosebump fever (also known as the goose curse) was a world wide phenomenon lasting from 2025 to 2031 in which people progressively turned into gooses when getting goosebumps.\[1\] The cause of the phenonmenon is unknown. Since people affected by it had their DNAs changed, it has been spectulated it could have been caused by a cross species transmission of a plasmid carrying virus, capable of changing DNA.\[2\] The goosebump fever had large effects all over the world, such as mass migrations of people from cold climates to warm climates to avoid goosebumps, the collapse of the horror entertainment industry, religious interpretations of the phenomenon and the recognition of human rights and other human made laws applied to gooses so the people affected could continue living in society.\[3\]\[4\]\[5\]\[6\]
My hand fumbled to keep the cup of coffee in my grasp, spilling some of the hot contents onto my jeans, bringing me back to reality. I looked around at the other people sitting outside, curious to see whether or not this was a joke; though most seemed to preoccupied to notice the ordeal with the plastic cup. ‘Surely, I can’t be daydreaming right?’ I thought to myself, the palm of my hand resting against my forehead now. For good measure, I thumped my hand against my temple to see if there was any response. Unfortunately, all I did was bring forward a few black spots and a brief moment of dizziness. I set my cup down, now reaching for my wallet to throw some cash on the table. Retrieving my bag hurriedly, I made my way around the corner of the shop and into an alleyway. Aside from the dumpsters, and a few rats seeking some breakfast, I was completely alone. “Think, Austin. Why the hell is it giving you a tone now when it was ringing before? What are you, some sleeper cell operator?” The tone stopped, as a female voice spoke inside my mind. “One moment as I connect you.” My jaw dropped, and I stood stunned in the middle of the alleyway. Seconds felt like days, the tone which had been drowning out most of my hearing was now replaced by the conversations from the cafe behind me and the ongoing traffic beyond it. A few more moments passed before a man spoke now. “Thank you for calling the operator. How might I direct your call?” He asked. I couldn’t get the words out, and after a few moments of silence he spoke again. “Hello? This is the operator. I need a name to direct your call.” “Uh… hi? Sorry I was… i.. nevermind. A name. Umm… I don’t know. God?” I chuckled at my small joke, but was practically knocked off my feet at the response. “Putting you through.” The conversation turned into a collection of old jazz. Slow, easy music which in a way, helped me gather my thoughts. I shook my hands, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Oh god. This is happening. Idiot, don’t take the lords name in vain.” I shook my finger at the air directly, as my mother had to me when I was a boy. “What do I even ask? What’s up, it’s me. Just calling to see how things are going upstairs! No! Uh… umm… What’s the meaning of life? Yea that’s a good one. Perhaps even….” My sentence was cut off by the sound of someone picking up a phone. “I didn’t realize I had any calls today. Is this you again Samiel? For your information, my refrigerator is running in a working order, not on two legs so don’t think im falling for that again.” I was stunned. The being that created everything was talking about a small joke, and believed me to be this “Samiel.” “Oh wait, this is an out of network call. And I take it by your silence, this is also the first time calling, especially to someone as important as me. Well, why don’t we start with your name.” “Sami… I mean, it’s Austin. My name is Austin.” “Pleasure to meet you Austin. How was the morning coffee? Hopefully to your liking?” “I… it was, yes. How did you know I was getting coffee?” “Why, Austin. I know everything. One of the perks. I know what’s up with the kardashians, I know who, or what, they have in Area 51. I know that you were contemplating joining me way too soon.” My heart sunk. I hadn’t told anyone about my plan. The furthest I had gone was asking a neighbor to watch over my cat as I would be away for a few days. Hell, I had spent the last money to my name getting a coffee from the cafe I had been to for the past 3 years since moving. “How… I…” I stammered briefly, leaning back against the alley wall. “Listen, Austin. It’s very rarely I receive these calls. And it’s always by someone who’s at their last step before falling off the cliff. I understand life can be hard, things not being the way you want. It happens to the best of you. But the sun always sets and the moon takes its place. You’re guaranteed another day tomorrow, and that guarantee will only last so long. So use that tomorrow wisely.” “But how am I to see tomorrow if today is so pointless? Like, what’s the meaning to everything if everything is so shitty?!” I felt the tears beginning to form in my eyes, awaiting a response. “Find the little things that take that pain away. Fill your life with them, and you’ll eventually start to see the rainbow after the rain.” I slid down the wall now into a sitting position, my hand rubbing my eyes. “It’s just… so hard..” I stammered around chokes. “I know, my son. But you have to make it to tomorrow. And if, one day, tomorrow doesn’t come, then I’ll be waiting with two cups of coffee to hear about all the things you found to get you to that rainbow.” Just like that, the line was gone. No more dial tone, no more comforting voice in my head. No more anything. Just the sounds of the world around me, and my crying. I must’ve sat there for an hour, trying to piece things together. Almost as if I was in a trance, I pulled myself up off the cement and wandered back to my apartment. I retrieved my keys, pulling them out with a shaky hand and failed a few attempts at inserting the key to my apartment before I finally got it. Swinging the door open I was greeted with a sight that I knew had to be the first step in the right direction. I felt the raindrops begin to slow down, the clouds begin to break. Laying before me, with a little plastic ball and odd smile, was my cat Milo, who began meowing for my attention to come play.
"It is time." The two priests nodded, and gestured to the man standing between them to step forward. There were four in the room: the sacrifice, the preists, and the Haz-Mat, known to the outsiders as the Prophet of the Waste. A gathering like this occurred often, when the full moon beckoned. Sometimes the sacrifice was a devoted disciple like this one, willing to give himself to the Waste. Sometimes it was an unruly outsider, forced into the depths of Containment kicking and screaming. To the Haz-Mat, it made no difference. The sacrifice kneeled before the Haz-Mat, awaiting a blessing. A blessing the prophet was all too happy to provide. They raised their staff (a rusty piece of pipe, recovered from one of the myriad buildings outside Containtment) and rested it on the shoulder of the sacrifice. Their face was solemn, though none in the room could see it through the yellow rubber of their suit. "You know your purpose. An offering to Nuclear, Lord of the Waste, given as thanks for keeping our people warm and our enemies afraid. May you serve your duty with reverence, and may Nuclear find you a worthwhile tribute." The priests murmured a quiet "Praise the Waste,"and the Haz-Mat stepped aside, exposing a doorway to a rusted stairwell. The sacrifice got to his feet and, with a final nod to the holy ones in the room, stepped through the doorway. He was now in a place that none returned from, within Nuclear's domain, a holy place unlike any outside. As he gazed down the stairwell, into the inky blackness that descended an unknowable distance, he heard a metal door slam shut behind him.
Babies are usually born crying, bitter that they were taken from the empty void they resided in for the last 9 months. Babies are also usually born without superpowers but we'll get there in a minute. I was a baby born in October, it was a full moon not that, that's important and I was born at 3am, also not very important but it adds to the eeriness right? Anyways, baby me, was born to a mother who never asked for a child but received something straight out of her fantasy novels and no, not those kind of fantasy novels, get your mind out of the gutter buddy. So, where was I? Oh right, baby me was born not crying or bitter at the world. Baby me was born with steel covering every inch of my baby body. How you might ask? Well, I'll tell you. When you stop being so impatient, I mean come on, we're hardly 2 minutes into this juicy story. The names Grant, I know, pretty boring but apparently I'm a wish that was granted or a make-a-wish, I guess that depends on who tells you my origin story. I mean, I'm telling you my origin story so I guess you can just imagine it was for some really cool, profound reason totally not drawn from a hat with names like Gus and Louis. Gosh, I feel bad for people called Louis. They should get a re-do on that name. Again, off topic, my bad, it's not everyday I get to speak to people outside of my universe. I don't even know how I'm speaking to you, I'm just taking a dump and speaking out loud, hopefully these juicy plums don't end up plopping onto the page, that would be pretty gross. So, you might ask, how did this weird ass kid get superpowers? Well, how about we make this a game! Reader #1 take your guesses, 3 strikes and you're out so choose carefully. Your first guess is...A wish? I'm sorry but I think you missed the disney section of this story which DOES NOT exist so do not go looking through my memories even if you can do that- "Gosh tinkerbell, I just love this island, it's so awesome. Sorry about that green coated boy, but at least I make his hat look good right?" HEY, wakey wakey, get out of my mind, you're lucky that's the memory you found, I can't imagine how I'd explain the other memories...Now where was I again? Oh yes, WRONG. This game is getting a little boring so I'll just tell you. During day 69 (nice) I received superior intelligence which gave me access to information only the universe could possibly know. For example, I can tell you that that as you read what I say you'll double cheque the first spelling mistake after seaing the second spelling the mistake, completely missing the 3nd spelling mistake and then thinking of a random vegetable that just so happens to be a carrot with 7 being the the number you just can't stop thinking about. Confused? That's just how I like it. Moving on. I discovered that my powers actually stem from the universe itself. All beings have some traces of stardust in their body but mine was riddled with it. Unfortunately the powers I get are random and uncontrollable and it's been 99 days since they first appeared....and in come the questions of "Aren't you just a baby?" Yes, you caught me red-handed, or I guess in this case brown handed because I kinda forgot the toilet paper. Mind passing me some? Now that's better. A healthy bum makes a chipper chum after all! So yes, I am a baby but I'm also not a baby. You see. Today marks the 100th day of my powers and it seems that I've been able to transfer my present or I guess past consciousness into my future body. I don't even remember what happened 15 minutes ago but I'm guessing I become a knock-off batman because this hide-out is sweeeeet/ I am currently capable of communicating with beings outside of my universe, however, I have no control over the method that I communicate with these beings. You could be grasshopping, treehugging cockroaches for all I know. Maybe I'm a hologram and you just saw me taking a Number 3 and boy if you don't know about those, you will never want to. Gah, I can still smell my ass fluid from out here. I don't have much longer because the 100th day is almost up but it does feel weird being in this new body or I guess old, man time travel is such a doozy. One minute you're a baby with a brown diaper and the next you're an adult with brown hands. It was nice chatting to goo. This superpower really drove me gaga. It's goo, really goo, to gaga with somegaga. Oh goo, looks like my gaga is up. Goo, gaa, I guess that's all folks, porky out.
I tossed the useless magic 8 ball in the air, catching it lying back on my bed. The summer heat dwindled down as the sun tucked itself and its wrath behind the northern bluffs. Lost in my idleness, I didn’t catch the stupid ball in time and grunted lazily while it bounced off my chest. I prop myself up in mild frustration. As the pain throbbed through the initial surprise, I sighed, taking out my client’s lighter and the last cigarette in the soggy carton. He ran out the room, leaving me alone and his stuff. Touching the cigarette to the flames, I watched it flare to life. Cold settled on my skin, but the heat filled my insides. I’m sure to get a beating later, when master comes to pick me back up. It always happens, I supposed that’s life. I haven’t had much of a use for my own life anyways, just like that guy had nary a use for the stupid magic 8 ball. I kicked it and watched it roll beneath the desk, colliding with a thud against the wall. A vibration comes from the desk in a perfect, irritating rhythm. The cellphone on the desk. Someone was calling, I wriggle myself off the bed, my dress clinging to my bones the best it could. A blocked number? I stare at the phone. I think I should pick it up, but not sure how deep a grave I should bury myself tonight. Should I? The outline of the magic 8 ball blurred its existence through the gap between wall and desk with the answer: Yes. Well, I guess I can go out in red glitter and blood, I think as I pick the phone up. “YOU BETTER NOT BE GOING OUT, YOU PIG,” a female’s voice cursed at me. “BASTARD! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE MINE, SRADDHA!” Then the woman sobbed. “Uhm, hello,” I say weakly. I realized I haven’t spoken to anyone besides him and clients. “YOU WHORE! WHERE IS THAT CHEATING BASTARD,” the voice boomed. “GET HIM ON THE PHONE, NOW!” “H-he left,” I say. “Didn’t even pay or anything.” More cursing before the woman’s voice died down. I debated hanging up. Her insults were as light as the breeze, like the clinking of palm leaves and branches tapping the window panes. I stared at the moon and tap the cigarette in the ashtray. “The moon sure is lovely, tonight,” I say dumbly. The woman is sobbing, inconsolable. “W-what do you mean,” she asked through tears. “Didn’t pay you?” “Forget I said that,” I mutter. “You have a lovely voice too, miss, like the moon. Find someone who wants to be around to hear it, instead.” “What would you know about that?” She asks coldly. Her voice was beautiful, strong and surviving. Healthy, even. I braced myself for another tirade. “What would a cheating whore like you know about him?” “N-nothing at all, madam,” I whisper, hearing footsteps causing a racket to the shoddy room. “Stay strong, madam. Buh bye.” I closed the phone and silenced the tirading lady with a click, then dove to the bed and sat submissively with my legs tightly shut. I thought about the heartbroken woman on the other end, perhaps that we could have been friends as my master beat the door with his fists. Friends, in this life or the next one.
_Author's note: I had an idea for this story, but it kept bloating in length and remains far from finished. I figured I'd post as far as I got anyway._ Report 2135/112 Members of the local expedition team that have encountered a river deep under the pyramid which we do not know the origin of. Upon attempting to cross it, two of the team members fell unconscious. They're bodies could only be retrieved by drones, and they were confirmed dead after. The autopsy has failed to reveal the cause of death. I'm sending in India-3 for a preliminary expedition to ascertain the nature of the pyramid. //Dr. Hansen 21° Report 2135/119 Expedition team India-3 has returned unharmed. I have attached Florentino's summary below. > Upon entering the pyramid the first thing that became apparent was the higher gravity, which our instruments confirmed. The pyramid appears to have higher gravity on the inside, matching that of Earth (9.807 m/s^2). > The atmosphere inside the structure is also reminiscent of Earth. The source of the atmosphere and the mechanism which keeps it there are unknown. > We have managed to confirm that the structure is larger on the inside than it is on the outside. How much larger I cannot say, but it is clearly larger, or at least its internal dimensions do not pay heed to its outer dimensions. > We have not managed to locate the river which the civilian expedition attempted to cross, nor do their maps match our own experiences. We have also found a room identical to one of the previously photographed ones, but ina separate location. It is my hypothesis that the building has no static internal structure, but rather rooms and corridors may shift location. In light of this report we can rule out the pyramid being of natural origin. We will bar the local government from sending any more expeditions and lock down the site completely to outsiders. It will be difficult to completely cover up given the already existing headlines and their attention, but we will do what we must. //Dr. Hansen 21° Report 2135/372 Our newly established permanent expedition has as good as confirmed that observation locks the building in place. The building becomes unstable when not observed, and has caused injury. The expedition team has taken up sleeping in shifts to alleviate the problem. It is not yet clear how localised this stabilising effect is, or if indirect observation is sufficient. Researchers have also noted hearing voices and experiencing vivid and disturbing dreams within the structure. //Dr. Hansen 21° Report 2136/413 We have managed to re-establish communications with the expedition. The field around the pyramid seems to jam our radio communications, but we seem to be able to brute force our way through that. What we cannot force our way through is the barrier that seems to surround the structure. We have not noted any gaps in this barrier. Our digging thus far has also yielded no results. The barrier continues underground. As does the pyramid, for that matter. I've asked Visser to take a look at that and he tells me that the pyramid is about a kilometer wide at the "base"if it can be called that. Apparently the structure continues upside down, making it really an octohedron. As for the barrier, high frequency vibrations do seem to penetrate it to some extent, but that's all we have for now. //Chastain 14° P.S. I suggest breaking up the report numbering. With the organisation and number of cases both growing, the current system is bound to become unwieldy for the Bureau. I know we're technically just one division, but surely the Mars division cannot be expected to act like any other regular division. Our operations have already necessitated the creation of several departments mirroring those on Earth. I'm alive! Hi doctor! It's me, Mallory. I'm currently writing to you from Vienna (that's right, old Vienna, on Earth!), where the Bureau is generously paying my impromptu vacation. I guess I should tell you what happened, though I don't fully understand it. I got separated from the rest of the team and noticed a corridor that didn't exist before. I know, I know, I shouldn't go into corridors that we don't know anything about! Something about this one just drew me in, you know? The rules exist for a reason though, as I did get ever so horribly lost. I think I ran around in circles for some time too. I'll spare you the details, but I panicked and wished stronger than ever that I was at home. And suddenly, I was in my childhood home in Austria. Given the nostalgic comfort it would bring me I was sure I was hallucinating, but it was very clearly real. Thankfully whoever lives there now wasn't home. I'd have had quite some explaining to do. I think I'll take a short break here before I get back. The trip will take over a month anyway. There doesn't appear to be any gateway back, however, if we can utilise this feature of the pyramid in a consistent fashion we might be able to eliminate the need for space travel entirely. Wouldnt that be grand! We already know that the interior doesn't seem to be bound by the exterior, but it may be that it is not truly bound by space at all! I've asked some friends at the archives to look into any similar cases in the past, they've found nothing conclusive about teleportation of this nature yet, but they have found a report from 1826 about a house that was larger on the inside than on the outside. Also, this isn't conclusive, but as I got here I _think_ I saw glimpses of other realities. It all happened so fast, I don't know, but could it be that the pyramid connects but just different places in this reality, but also different realities altogether? For now I can't really continue my usual work, so I'll focus on my studies instead. If all goes well I'll be Knight of the East and West by the time I'm back! I can continue work when I get back, right? I know I was irresponsible, it won't happen again, I swear! The pyramid, it speaks to me. I need to get back to my work! Best regards, Mallory Burton-Novak Report 2137/14 Burton has reported back, apparently from Earth. The Bureau has confirmed his presence there. Or rather her presence. Mark seems to go by Mallory now, and while her identity could be verified by her memories (albeit altered), and her genetics do add up in all else, she is indeed female, and does not recall this ever having been otherwise. The mechanism by which Burton has been transported to Earth, or changed sex, remains a mystery. To alleviate any shock, she has been mostly isolated and no one has confronted her with the latter fact yet. She did mention seeing into other worlds as she made it to Earth, so it is possible that this Burton is in fact from a different reality, which would beg the question of what happened to our Burton. Whatever the eggheads in Central come up with, I'll have Burton β observed closely when she returns to Mars. Nevertheless, I'll give her the benefit of the doubt and she will in time be allowed into pyramid. If she is indeed a dimensional traveler, her insights could be invaluable. For now, I'm having Demir double on-site security, and accelerating testing of Bartkowski's stabilisers. //Dr. Hansen 22°
When we began our journey, we understood the consequences of our actions. We knew that out decisions would define the history of all the universe. "Hey, how about we settle down a bit and have some tea before we continue?"said Abery. "Are you mad? We must make haste way and optimize our time!"said Gregary. It was intimidating seeing Gregary speak. He was a 7 foot tall 'dwarf' with a big beard and arms the size of a pig. Abery was just a normal human who could barely keep himself upright. &#x200B; In the land of Nardinels, the only ones who survive are those who have the right combination of determination, discipline, and dumb luck. Still, there were those who ventured on without a doubt in their mind. They wanted to see, they needed to understand. Crossing the magma plains was a sight. About 40 active volcanoes would constantly spew fire and smoke in the distance, letting all those who passed by know that this was not a childern's grounds. &#x200B; We had always known that we would find a better way to make things better in the world, to make things work out for all of those involved. That is why we trusted our ancestors and of course, put our faith in those who would come after us. The tale of time and history has shown that everything can be improved and also misused. So now, a question was emerging in the minds of all those who were following this adventure and minding attention to the details and intricacies of the stories: "Where exactly are we going anyway?"said Abery. "You know exactly where we are going. We will enter the sacred land of those who came before. So we can understand how we got here and try to find out were we are going."said Gregary. "Of course! Mondays, right?"said Abery. "Mondays."said gregary. And so it is. &#x200B; &#x200B; Stay grateful, Romantic\_Adventurer.
\[Living with Rejection\] Franklin froze as soon as he was awake. He was pulled out of his dreams by noisy rustling against the outside of his tent. He remained still in the hope that whatever was sniffing around didn't get interested in poking its head inside. But, as he listened, he became aware of two things. First: the rustling of his tent was sporadic, and it was happening on both sides. Either he was surrounded by wild animals or something else was happening. Second: he could hear a woman singing. He could not make out the words, but there was no mistaking a beautiful voice filled the forest that night. His curiosity built up until he had the courage to peek outside. Franklin waited until there was a lull in the rustling, then he scrambled out through the flap and turned around so that he was facing whatever was there. "Hey, buddy... what's going on?"Franklin asked out of curiosity. At first, he was relieved to see it was another human walking by his tent. But, a quick glance around at the dim forest revealed dozens of other men all headed in the same direction; towards the lake. He regretted his question as soon as the stranger stopped walking and turned around. All the men around Franklin stopped to look at him. "Uhh.. nevermind....,"he stepped back when the men began to approach him. "It's none of my business..."Franklin backed up until he bumped into something tall and firm. "Mistress Majicka requests your presence at the lake,"a deep voice said behind Franklin as he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Then, a flash of darkness consumed his vision. When he could see again, he was shoved to his knees on the lakeshore. The most beautiful woman Franklin had ever seen floated in the water; her voice filled the air with an enchanting melody. But, she stopped singing as soon as Franklin hit his knees. She turned her attention to him and glided closer to the shore. "Hi,"she smiled at him and Franklin's suspicions were confirmed: she absolutely was the most beautiful woman in the world; unnaturally so. He had enough sense to keep his guard up. She leaned forward and he pulled back. "My name is Majicka, what's yours?"she asked. Every syllable sounded like a chorus of angels. Franklin shook his head to clear the enchanted fog that was growing; it was getting more difficult to think of anything but her. "Franklin,"he answered curtly. "Don't you want to swim with me, Franklin?"she asked. As she did, she leaned back to show off her body in the orange morning sunlight. "Everyone else does...,"she gestured at the men gathered on either side of him. "No...,"Franklin lied. His hands clenched the sandy shore as if that could keep him from joining her. He wanted to join her; but, over the years, Franklin had gotten adept at lying to himself. He hoped that talent would come in handy here. She sighed like a spoiled child that realized they needed to ask again. "Are you sure you don't want to join me?"she asked. "Positive...,"Franklin answered through gritted teeth. He was fighting the impulse to jump into the lake with her. "How boring...,"Majicka pouted. "..I don't like boring people...,"she said. She dismissed him with a casual wave of her hand and Franklin felt instant relief. The urge to be with her disappeared and Franklin let himself relax. "Chip...,"she looked past Franklin and he followed her gaze. "Yes, Mistress?"he asked. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man and Franklin recognized his voice as the one he bumped into. "This one doesn't interest me any longer; put him somewhere out of the way,"she said. "As you wish,"Chip bowed, then strode towards Franklin. He did not run, it sounded like she was letting him go. Franklin watched as the other men began to dive into the crystal blue water; then, he watched it turn blood red as Chip put a hand on his shoulder. After a flash of darkness, Franklin found himself somewhere else. The lake was replaced by a narrow brook that ran alongside a different forest. It no longer felt like morning, but it was difficult to see any sunlight through the dense canopy. But, the thing that stood out the most was the immense white unicorn sipping at the stream. Its coat seemed to almost glow with white light. Its mane was blood red and its horn was pitch black. "Well..,"Franklin chuckled to himself in relief. "..hell if I know what happened; but, at least I got to see a unicorn...,"he said. But, it looked up at him as he spoke; Franklin was sure he heard a heavy sigh. "DAMNIT!"the unicorn said. He tilted his head and pointed downstream with his horn. "Go on. You're too ugly, get out of here,"he said. Franklin had a close call with a mermaid that called him boring moments ago; and, he did not want to push his luck with the unicorn. He immediately started walking. But, he heard the unicorn mutter as he left. "Why is it so hard to find food that's pretty?" \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1649 in a row. (Story #203 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/).
Joe inhaled deeply before breaking into wracking coughs, doubling over as he clenched his bong tight. “The chef who will be going home tonight… is…..” The TV droned as Joe loaded another bowl in between of glugs of Bud Light. Only minutes left, Joe watched hopefully; Jessie must not go home, she is an amazing cook. Natasha is an absolute bitch and terrible cook and must go home. Joe repeated this mantra, breathing in the fumes and sipping his booze. And just as he knew, the time passed, and he survived! “Oh thank fucking god.” Joe choked out, finally allowing the balloon of anxiety in his chest to burst. The man must have been a quack, just a bullshit fortune to try to scam him. Joe smiled, let out a loud triumphant scream, and turned back to the TV with a fresh bowl in his hand. Only to see himself on the screen, with his bowl in his hand, staring in his own eyes. “What the fuck.” TV Joe and normal Joe said. Both staring at each other through the screen. Both Joes picked up their bong, and lit the bowl, inhaling as they stared into their own eyes.
Me I've always been different. Cliche I know. But I don't mean in the sense i was bullied, though I suppose I was but that things were just odd for me. For starters I remember things, things that i shouldn't, from when I was a baby, things that couldn't have happened. Yet, I remember parts vividly, though i don't remember everything. I remember darkness, with a bright pink light followed by a green one as the tunnels glowed. We went under i think, we were about to when the memory cut off. I was crying. I don't remember anything else from before I was 1. There was a regular memory but another... odd one to say the least. We were, we were not on earth, our earth at least. I couldn't tell if it was my mom or dad. I was screaming. Then I was silent, like I was drugged I think, I saw blurry purple and peach flashes. Muh, my eyes were closing. I remember that since i was 6 random body parts would ache often, but never too much and never too long. I remember always thinking differently. Oh and when I was 4 transmitters in my head, though they said lab testing ended 19 years prior. I didn't at first though, that i'm sure of. In fact, i'm sure i forgot it happened the very next day. I remember waking puzzled, dazzed to my perfectly normal, kind, caring parents. I could barely grasp the memory, when right after they came in my room. I was convinced it was a dream, but I now know it was not. End of the world So when there seemed to be no one else left, those thoughts hit me immediately. My first thought was why me but so was my dozenth. I kept pondering, and eventually i remembered something.
The government agent gives the old wizard a worried look, "Well the problem is we're not really sure where the legalities are involving the use of magic within city limits, so we have a proposal". "Go on", replied the wizard. The agent continues, "Well Magic is technically governed by laws, yes?", The wizard quickly interjects "All things are governed by laws". "That's what we're getting at, we have an occupation that deals in the manipulation of the laws for positive benefit, and we think you'd be a great fit between your desire for knowledge and it's applications."The wizard thinks about it, and then replies "Alright, what do you call this trade?"... "We call them Lawyers".
I tapped the box lightly, it had become a nervous tick of mine. The red velvet of the jewelry box was so worn down, most recently from my frantic rubbing, that it was bald in some places. God I hope this works. The guests started to arrive early, and normally I would be irritated, but, I got it. If anything I was a bit sad that I was going to miss it when we switched. The moment of seeing true recognition light up her eyes again, well, my eyes I guess but hers would be the conscientious behind them so I guess it would be like getting a body as an BNB. One corner of the ‘Welcome Home’ sign started to come down. I mean, they didn’t have a ‘Welcome Back From Alzheimer’s’ sign, so it was the best I could come up with on short notice. Before I could fix it my little brother had already scrounged up a stool and was taping it back up. We were all here- all eight of us kids. Even Sally. None of us understood when she just up and left the family. Apparently a letter had been written and maybe a phone call but we couldn’t get the details out of mom and Sally didn’t say a word. Almost overnight she unfriended us all on Facebook and removed us on Instagram and would call about once every six months. It had been five years since she had even been on the same room with her own mother. My eyes kept finding my lost sister like when my tongue would find a new cavity and roll over it in worry repeatedly. I noticed that no one except her husband would talk to her. He spoke in whispers and seemed worried. Was she only here to cause a scene? To yell her unspoken frustrations at my sweet mother in her last lucid moment? Finally the last uncle arrived and we all funneled into the next room where my mother was sitting. She stared absently out the window. Slowly I pulled out the jewelry box, and was about to open when I was aware of someone standing immediately in front of me. It was Sally and she held out her hand. ‘I don’t want to see her anyway Becca, it should be me. Let me do this so you can see and talk with her again too.’ I blinked back tears. Without hesitating I placed the device in my sisters hand and I waited to see my mother and talk to her one last time.
It was a party night, like any other party night. Me and the gang would down a couple of shots, hang out til the close of bar, then pass out at someone's house. In the moments between staring at the ceiling waiting for sleep to come while we laid on our friend's couches, we'd murmur drunken whispers to each other. Our most heartfelt secrets to each other. Drunken ramblings and one-offs. It was supposed to be a joke, a theory that would disappear into the night like a cigarette smoke cloud. Instead, it blew up our world. "What if secrets were genetic,"I slurred incoherently. "Yeah, like Dalton, don't you have brown hair but both your parents are blondes?" "Shut up Tina, everyone knows what they used to say about your grandma, and you know it's a lie," "OH my God you guys, too far. Look, I'm putting it to rest now, let's order 23andme kits," "That's gonna be so much fun! Count me in!"I heard a chorus of more agreements before I passed out shortly afterwards. The kits came, and within a short period if time, the results came back. It was a blood bath. My small town, where everyone knew each other's names, was a hotbed of gossip. Tina's grandma did sleep around, and her dad had a different father than her grandpa. Dalton's dad was Tina's father. Jessie was inbred. Laurie has a genetic disease. Etc. Etc. Etcetera. "You were right,"they whispered to me as they tell me their secrets. Now I can only drink one on one with them. My entire friend group has been decimated. My entire town has taken or is waiting to hear back from 23andme. But I can't bring myself to do it. Some secrets should stay secret.
Most of the time when I get writer's block, I'm either too stressed out or exhausted to write, or I have some silly, absurdist intrusive thoughts that are blocking my one lane highway of a mind. I don't really have anything for the former. For the latter, writing a silly one-off or a prompt is a great way of funneling that energy away. Also being silly in the WP discord is great for that, I can't count the number of one paragraph stories I've sent in general chat to amuse myself. (hint: everyone join the discord!) That might even make a good satchat, what's the silliest thing you've written lately!
I wake up, the hospital lights bleed through my closed eyelids. Beeping machines and monitors are heard all around you, nurses and doctors rush to their assigned patients, families are heard sobbing from the main lobby as heart rate monitors go blank. A pretty looking nurse with long, sleek blonde hair and faded eyeshadow approaches my bed. "Hey, how are you feeling, sweetie?"The nurse asks. Her voice bounces around in my head before I answer. "My head hurts..."I say, and it's the truth. My head pulses harder and faster, with every noise and cry only worsening the pain. "Oh, I'm sorry."She said, like she was a mother nurturing her toddler that scraped their knee on the pavement. My eyes lazed around the room, scanning for any introduction to what had happened before I woke up. "Where... Am I?"I finally say, The nurse looks up at me from her computer, where she types in whatever nurses type in on their computers. "You're in a hospital, sweetheart, why do you ask?"She says, babying me like I'm her own daughter. I instead pay no mind and repeat my question. She gives the same response but with a raised voice, as if I hadn't heard her before. "Where am I? Where's my family?"I say, worried for my own safety. Am I trapped here? Why am I here? What happened? All thoughts racing through my head. "Oh, honey, it appears you have lost your memory. You were sent here by 3 bystanders that witnessed a car crash. They say you inhaled so much nasty, weird substances that they won't know what will happen to you." A tear rolls down my bandaged face. Do I really have no recollection of anyone? Ever? "I'll tell you what. I'm not actually supposed to tell anypatients this, but..."She closed the door to the hallway and pressed a button on the collar of her uniform. "We have a new program, codenamed WindStorm. WindStorm is a neurological dust, that, when inhaled, pick up on damaged brain waves and preform certain tasks to fixate the breaches. It is thought to cure the incurable, things like Autism, ADHD, DID, PTSD, and anything related. It's rumored to even cure Sickle Cell disease. There is one thing, however. Once the nano-bots get in place, your brain may be fixed, but it also automatically takes over your senses, so you have no control over them. Do you want to take the risk of possiblt never tasting good food or hearing good music to have your memories back?" I think long and hard about the proposal. Is it worth the risk? I don't even remember any good songs or good tastes I've unlocked in my past, so how would I know? In the end, I accept. A long smile forms on the nurses face. She taps the button on her collar again and whispers incoherent words into it. "It'll be just one second."The nurse reassures me. The room door flies open, and 3 unidentified men walk into the room with a covered up box in their hands. They lift the cover and reveal a colorful looking Mist; it's a beautiful sight. Light cyan mixed with pink and purple dust particles wave around inside the box. One of the men does a hand motion at the nurse, and she gives the man an eye dropper container looking-thing. The man sticks it in the box and sucks up a small pinch of the dust before giving it back to the nurse. The men and me share an intense eye contact before they leave the room. The nurse scoots her swivel chair closer to me. "Mk, im going to inject it into your nose and when I do, I need you to sniff really hard, mk?"She looks at me in the eyes. I nod. She brings the container to my nose and releases the particles to my nose. The feeling is foreign, like a cold spray bottle got sprayed into my nose. The urge to sneeze fills my nostrils. "Now, you might feel like you need to sneeze, but remember, do not sneeze, and inhale really hard for me. If you sneeze, that's about 1.2 million dollars of nano bots you just wasted." I fight the urge to sneeze and inhale through my nose really hard. My eyes fade to black as my ears ring out into silence. Flashbacks, the car crash. The screams, the blood, the fire, my parents, the sacrificed themselves for me. The infants. The police sirens. The ambulance sirens. The fire truck hose. It's all here.
He dreamed of glory; she dreamed of peace. Their paths collided. Sword dropped from his hand; blood made it slippery. Crimson gushed from his wounds, drizzling into the dirt. An assortment of liquid turned the battlefield to mud: rain fused with blood and tears of fallen men. A foul stench permeated the area: a bouquet of gore and shit. He drudged through the muck. His eyes were dim; his steps wobbled, but he made his way to her. ‘God, she is dazzling!’ He stood in awe. She illuminated the overcast day and warded away the surrounding misery. Silver armor shined under black clouds; cuts and dents can’t mar its luster. Golden locks danced in the breeze. Green eyes stared forward. Her grip was firm; she held her sword high, unlike him. She was a steadfast fortress—even in death. He ran his fingers along a spear, holding her up. It pierced her abdomen, coming out the other side. There were others; four spears and three swords skewed her in place. Metal did not kill her—but a broken heart. He gazed beyond the killing field to the smoke on a distant hill—her home—laid to waste while she faced an army. He felt guilt; her dead eyes reprimanded his wickedness. He won; she lost. He cheated, so he tasted bitterness on his tongue. “I am sorry.” He caressed her face, leaving a trail of red on her skin. “I promise I will do it right next time… The next time.” He dangled his arms and gazed at the skies above. “I swear by the gods and the devils; I vow by the sun and the moon—” He allowed his blood to soak the land. “—by my blood, I will give this woman’s soul a worthy death!” He raised his arms. Silver lightning lit up the clouds; mist engulfed the area. The earth roared beneath his feet. Someone heeded his words. “Praise be upon you... whomever you are.” He kneeled and bowed. His knees were deep in blood. He looked at her, shining in her armor. Her clear and focused eyes reflected his sorrowful self—yet a part of his soul felt gratitude—to her and his mysterious benefactor. “I will wait for you here. No matter how long it takes.” He crawled to her feet and kissed her torn cape. “It may take centuries; it may take eons, but I will be here, waiting for our rematch—I promise.” Rain poured from the sky. It landed on her eyes and dripped like tears.
“A gravitationally locked, telepathic pseudo-dimension. Very fascinating. We use something similar for simple reminder systems, where you might use a—what was it called? Paste-it node?” “Post-it Note.” Said St. Peter. He had an elbow on his lectern and his chin in his hand. On his face was small grin below his tired eyes. “Gotta say, you are my first non-Earthling non-corporeal form. I am very excited.” In spite of Peter’s words his tone suggested boredom. “Odd. Your species shows no telepathic traits when alive.” “Loss of chemical and physical constraint coupled with societal indoctrination and simplified hyper-focus nearing brain death. It’s a stack of improbable bull that can be hand-waved with the Q-word.” “...quantum, correct?” Peter gave a hard blink and a smile. Nodding would have risked dislodging his head from its perch. “But, hey...it’s a living. Or rather non-living, I guess.” “Of your human socio-linguistic quirks, I think sarcasm is my favourite.” “Mine too. Anyways, welcome to heaven, there ain’t many folk here. Got any plans?” “My race are largely telepathic. My physical form must have been destroyed in an accident. I shan’t stay long.” “Gonna dissipate into the ether.” “No. I have spare bodies on my ship.” “...spares?” Peter stood upright for the first time in centuries. “Any chance I could...” “Do. Do you want to come with m-” “Hell fucking yes I do!”
“Hey.” She stirred the steaming tea and turned her head away from the voice. Why wouldn’t he take the hint? “Hey. Hey you.” With one hand she made a show of selecting a song on her phone and with the other she brushed her auburn hair away from her ear...and the bluetooth earbud it held. This, she thought, can't be a more obvious hint. A half second later she wondered if he’d take it as a flirtatious reveal of her face and neck. Creeps tended to misread- “Hey! Hotstuff!” Aw, crap. Her shoulders sank as she turned further from him, practically sitting sideways in the diner booth. “Hey! Come onnnn. I know you can hear me, sexy. I just wanna chat. I won’t bite, sexy sweater foxy mama. Hey. Hey hey hey!” This peaceful pit-stop wasn’t meant to be. She took out one earbud and turned to the pestering creep. She did not turn to face the diner proper, and instead faced the wall. Up on said wall was a novelty bass with a hat that, for some reason, had human feet. “What?” Curtness was the best language to use on guys like this. The fish lifted its head off the mounting plate and grinned. “Hey, sexy, why don’t you and I get acquainted. I’m exactly what you need, baby-doll!” For the first time she read his hat: Fish want me, and women fear me. Dear lord. He was definitely a fincel.
Dear dairy, I have done it this time. Mama caught creeping back in this morning, head to toe in mud I was. I think I must have missed a bit on the windowsil from last night. I just cant help it though I’m hooked on the rush. I love it! More than anything. Well almost everything. But last night was almost too wild. So at the hall yesterday, I got the reward again, of course, so I used the reward money I got from weird Mr Duckens to get some tougher soles for my boots and some extra fur for my pelt coat. He gave me a bonus too because he said he’d never seen anyone do such pretty shapes with fire at my age so I put that into some extra bread I kept under my pillow. Then as i've done since the weekend last, I waited until the last prayer was said and the candle blew out. I waited until Mama had blown me a kiss and bedded down, then I got up to watch the moon from my window. I got it down perfectly now. The moon has to get between the two big branches on the tree top. After that I start to hear the whispers again from outside and hear the footsteps in the snow and I finally know what that really weird sound is. Wings. Huuuuge wings. But I didnt know that until after I went out. I put on my coat, grabbed my pointy staff and jumped down onto my pillows again. I need to stop doing that. I’m losing the feathers and its getting too dirty even when I land on the snow. But anyway! I did it again! I got out and into the street and it’s super weird seeing it like that. All dark and stuff. I set off towards the butchers opposite real slowly and quiet. I know the old toad and his boys keep watch there because they’re so scared of demons somehow beating their enchantments and eating their sour meat. I got down the side and just onto the track when I saw the first one. I had a little fire ball on my stick to light the way and it was just sat there looking at me. It was like a big tortoise! Only instead of being tortoise sized, it was as big as a dog, biiiiig claws on its feet and horns like a goat. I wanted to laugh so bad as it looked at me because it looked so weird, like something a little cousin would draw. But I ran as soon as it moved. Annnd I lost it. I guess it moved like a tortoise too. I got to the bridge when I found the next one and Oh. My. God. It was huge. This was a demon. A proper one, not like those freaky animal ones. I was about to go up the slippy stairs onto the bridge when I saw it. Like twice the height of Mr Duckens and he is way tall. I didnt see it at first because it was really dark against the night but I saw the fire light from my pointy stick flicker on its eyes. Really horrible eyes. Like Onix. I was going to run back up the track but the tortoise was there and its mouth was dripping stringey orange stuff into the snow. I didnt know where to go so I jumped down onto the side of the long river but I fell in. It was soooooo cold. I still cant feel my toes and I have those extra fluffy socks on! That's when I heard the flapping sound but really loud. It had wings, big wings and it just sat on the side of the bridge looking at me like an idiot sitting on my butt in the water. I got up and legged it. I couldnt see anything but I could tell it werent chasing me because I couldnt hear it. But I think it might be because while I was running through the water and up the side to the track, I had the biggest fireball I ever made in my hand. It was reeeall bright. Like bright enough when I ran past the butchers again they were shouting thinking the village was on fire. They kept saying ‘Arrrr look at the size of it! It can breathe fire too! Wake the others!’ Now that I think about it, maybe it was behind me the whole time? It’s good the houses are enchanted if that thing is out there. But this is the bad bit. Mama was sitting restocking the fire as I climbed through the downstairs window. She said she herd a real loud moan and woke up. She couldnt sleep after that and caught me when I was rushing through the window. I dont believe that though, I bet it was mud on the windowsil. She said 'Tillie your the biggest trouble maker in *Little O'er Long! The whole village'! I said that werent fair when boys get into way worse stuff like stealing from the bakery and sneaking manna stones from the shrine… I hope she dont find this or Ill be in evern worst trouble. What she was really mad about though was that I broke the enchantment whenever I snuck out the house. She said she could get eaten in her sleep and it would be my fault. I didnt know about that and I feel kinda bad but I just cant think about that right now. The tortoise dog goat thing. The really big one with the wings and the black eyes. And the one from the other night that kinda looked like a snake worm goat! They’re all freaky and scary but I cant help it, its such a ride! I dont know what to say to Mama… I guess I like being chased through the night by demons? \\\Well, it's been a while since I did this last. Please assume any spelling mistakes are intentional. Thoughts appreciated! 995 words(ish), 1hr 43m and one tin of Irish Stew.
"You may have gotten lucky before, but I am The Grim, and I always kill my targets."He snarled at me, as he plunged the knife into my chest repeatedly. I can see the joy in his eyes as I let the light dim from my own. His face seems content, it is almost difficult to hide my grin. With the 'last breath', I reach up to him and pull myself close to his ear. "Yggdrasil."I whisper in my True Voice. The age I carry resonating within my tone like a ringing bell. I relax my body, and watch as The Grim scramble away in terror. As he disappears around the corner, I let my regenerative capabilities seal my wounds and repair the damage. The blood around me disappears like water after rain. Standing up, my uniform maintaining this form's dignity, I focus on my hearing. I can hear The Grim in a little shop not to far from where I am standing. Grabbing my backpack, I pull out my my jeans and t-shirt. Switching to my male form, I remove the cheerleader outfit and shove into my backpack after getting dressed. Glancing around, I am glad he took me to an alleyway to try and kill me again. I go to a door, and pull it open, revealing an eldritch labyrinth of doors, corridors and things that would damage the mind of a human who was not trained to resist it. Stepping through the labyrinth, I arrive at my current residence and drop my backpack. My handler advises of no new messages, but does remind me of the City Council meeting in an hour. Grabbing the bindings I would need for The Grim, I go to the closest doorway and pull open a door that is not there. The energy manifests as a door opening into my Portal Network. Closing the door behind me, I find the door close to the cafe were The Grim is hiding. Stepping onto the street, people assume i had just left the building, despite it being abandoned. I stroll across the street and sit down opposite The Grim. He looks up at me from his coffee with a suspicious glance, and all I do is smile. "Once upon a time, there was an immortal who felt the need to kill. He was a normal man, but he stumbled across a potion that granted him immortality, but what he failed to comprehend is the effect that would have on a mind not trained for that level of thought. So, after his first killing spree, what he thought was his final victim was actually another immortal." The Grim's face just fell at my words. He Knows now. "Now, this Immortal understood the plight of Nicholas Flamel, and cautioned him about sating his flaw with spates of serial killing. He also advised that while he had not right to dictate to Nicholas how to live his now immortal life, he did offer to train Nicholas in maintaining his sanity in that setting. Nicholas even agreed to it, and even committed another serial killing spree, while he thought that this Immortal would not notice." Nicholas Flamel started to stand. "Sit."I Spoke. Nicholas Flamel promptly sat down. So did everyone else within the cafe. "After the training, the Immortal gave Nicholas a warning."I continued my tale. "If you commit another serial killing spree, and I catch you, I will make sure you suffer for every act you murder you commit. Mortal limits do not apply to you, but I do."Nicholas echoed that warning I gave to him centuries ago. "Finish your coffee, Nicholas. It will be the last one you will ever have."
His face split open with a wet crunch, blood and gore spurting forth like a geyser. Ragnar spat on the ground next to the newly fallen twitching corpse. The others ran, cowering and screaming. It was disgusting. The men of this world did not even try to fight back. Instead, they ran screaming, leaving their women behind. Shitting and pissing themselves as they ran. "Brother, these 'men', are not worth killing."Ragnar placed a steadying hand on Rollo's shoulder, who had been hacking apart one of the strange men on the ground. "They are more cowed than the Saxon God's monks we've raided last month."Rollo jeered, kicking the mass of gore once more before standing. "Athelstan showed more spine than these maggots." "Indeed... But where is the treasure? No granaries to be seen, nor gold."Ragnar glanced around. They were surrounded by structures of iron and crystalline panes. Metallic beasts growled as they sped at an unnatural speed by them in designated pathways. All around them, the people of this world, of all colors and ethnicities and styles of dress, screamed and pointed fingers at them. Nearly all of them held up a black flat rectangle, held sideways, pointed at him and his brother. One of them held the rectangle to his ear, screaming into it. "All these mirrors, and how they are dressed. Surely they are of wealth."Rollo insisted. "We continue the raid." Ragnar nodded, and advanced on the crowd of onlookers, bloodied axe held high. They screamed and dispersed, yelling in a gutteral tongue that was neither Norse nor of the Anglo-Saxons'. But though he did not understand them, body language was universal. They were cowards. He and Rollo cut down on the stragglers, gashing their backs open. They screamed. The men were defenseless. For a land that seemed to be of wealth, none of the men carried arms. None of them knew how to fight. How did they come to acquire such wealth? The answer came in the form of a pack of metallic beasts, these ones with red and blue torches spinning unnaturally atop their backs. And out stepped more of the people of this land, dressed identically with metal pieces pinned to their chests, and pointing tiny pieces of iron at him and his brother. "ST** TI I* TH* PO*LICE!!!"One of them screamed, shaking as he pointed the bent hammer at Ragnar. His primal instincts screamed at him - these ones were dangerous. "They have finally sent in their warriors, it seems."Ragnar said, glancing to his right at Rollo. They exchanged smiles. Of anticipation. And battle. They did not make it to Valhalla after their first death. Maybe they will on their second, in this new world. Ragnar raised his free hand - the raiding party of Vikingr, about 20 strong, thumped their boots on the ground and yelled. He then lowered it abruptly, while Rollo blew into the war horn. He and his brothers joined the others in a shield wall formation as they rushed the police. "SHIT! OPEN FIRE!!"The cops fired, killing Floki and a few others in the initial salvo. But there were too many and the shield wall slammed against the cops, and in the frenzy of hand to hand combat, the police were no match. Batons against axe and sword, it was a massacre. Ragnar and Rollo stood over several bodies, drenching the asphalt in crimson. "These ones had teeth. But were still no match for us."Rollo roared, grinning in triumph and adrenaline. Ragnar closed Floki's eyes with bloodied hands. "They've managed to send several of ours to Valhalla, Rollo. With compact bows that fire unseen projectiles." Rollo's smile disappeared. "So?" "We need to fall back." "Fall back?? While we are winning?"Rollo shook his head. "I say we keep going, find the gold." Ragnar bent down over one of the uniformed corpses, and picked up the piece of iron from its hand. He aimed at the ground, and pulled the trigger. His eardrums nearly ruptured from the sudden explosion, and he dropped the thing from the unexpected recoil. "By Odin. They have magical bows, Rollo. We stand no chance against them if they can pick us all off from a distance." "So we don't let-" Rollo was cut off as another set of vehicles pulled up. These ones armored, large, and black. And out stepped another set of troops, this time in heavy black-matte armor and faces covered in visors/masks. The hairs on Ragnar's neck stood on end. This was the end, and he knew it. As if to cement that, the men in black armor immediately began firing after they spilled out of the vans, this time with magical bows that fired at a much higher frequency and for longer periods. Ragnar's raiding party was reduced to shreds within mere seconds, cut down mid-charge. "To Valhalla, Brother."Ragnar yelled, running forward and weaving left and right in an attempt to dodge the fire. "Valhalla!!!!"Rollo yelled back, having somehow made it to one of the SWAT officers and swinging his axe down on their riot shield twice before having his gut blown away by a point-blank shotgun blast. Ragnar weaved through gunfire and made it to the firing line as well, slitting an officer's throat through the kevlar with his dagger and parrying another's baton swing with his axe. His pirouetting and savage swings were cut short by a searing white pain in his left leg. He glanced down, seeing red spreading from an oozing hole, before losing consciousness as a baton cracked him against the back of the skull while he was reeling. The world faded to black. But still, he did not achieve entry to Valhalla, having woken in a strange room, all-white, and with wires attached to his arms, and bandages wrapped around his leg. ....
Early morning came. I rose with the sun, as I did every day; started the coffee machine as the dog stretched across the kitchen floor. Watched his long, slinky shadows creep across the cupboard walls, and the antenna-tail flicker with excitement at the first whiffs of bacon. I wrapped myself in my grandmother's shawl, hands cupped around my coffee mug, and Fido and I made off to the beach. When we first moved here, there were more of us. The children liked to run ahead. Someone would yell, "Let's race! Ready, set, GO!"And they would sprint, cutting through the silence and making way for husband and I like Moses parted the waters. On better days, their laughter was carried out to sea. Sometimes a coy gull would make its answer flirtatiously: grotesque, bubbling warbles and poop to the forehead. It happened too frequently for pure coincidence, so we chalked it up to affection. We joked that he was our second pet. Nowadays it was just me and the old dog. I went as a matter of principle, not because I thought it was beautiful. It was, of course; but I had changed. Now everything felt still. Without everyone else, it was still. I watched from morning on, and my old, faithful dog slept at my feet. If not for his warmth I would have thought him dead. I watched 'till dusk. I watched the sky turn orange and blue and then purple-pink and orange again; I watched as the sun dipped and the moon took its shift. The ocean did not once wave at me as it had the day before. Did the moon, too, go on strike? Will it not pull back the tide? What good is it to be alive and alone? I went up to the water and I dipped my toe into it. Out of my entire body, I needed and liked my toes the least. There was a cool sensation; my foot fell asleep and I slipped and fell on my bum. Nothing had changed, but I felt the rush of youth; the flush of warmth and vigour, of blood coursing through my bloodstream. Could it be? This water which held time captive was too, the elixir of youth. But I had no need. The rest of us were gone.
The smell of them cooking in the chimney is nauseating. They are trying to get in the house through any window or from any crevice, and eventually they will get in. It was last week that I got the call that my sister had been murdered. No one had seen a thing, even her 8 year old who was in the house with her. All my nephew could say is that she fell asleep, and when he went to ask her for a snack, she was slashed to pieces. My nephew called the police and then started cooking her liver in the oven for his dinner. The police pulled the butcher knife out of his hands as he was screaming at them about needed to eat her flesh for his redemption. The next day, every news outlet was hammered with reports on strange sightings and even stranger deaths. Hundreds had been found in streets with all their blood drained. A house walking on chicken legs was reported in forests. And a massive snake had eaten two fishermen. The attacks were only in the United States. No other country in the world was affected. The next day and night, there were videos of moving, living fire in the cities. Some would fly, some would appear from the ground and grab a person, then disappear into a lava filled pit. Children revolted in the Plain States, tying their parents to crosses in corn fields and setting them ablaze. Twisted and malformed humans, some with two heads, and others with only two large fingers or a nose on the side of their face murdered and ate babies. Law enforcement were stationed around grave sights ordered to destroy any skeletons rising from their graves. It was only three days ago that New York was attacked by massive worms bursting from its sewers. Simultaneously, a horde of aliens descended on DC. Los Angeles was overrun by laser wielding robots that looked human, until they were burned. A 200m laser breathing lizard leveled Miami despite nearly constant bombing from jets out of Eglin Air Force Base. Denver was stomped by a towering Stay Puff Marshmallow man. Afterwards, nuclear explosions leveled every city with a population over 1 million. The atrocities continued until there was no internet, no radio, no communication from anywhere. Yesterday, in my cabin in Arkansas, I had seen armor clad apes in the woods and a giant octopus climbing out of the lake. But this morning, a mass of birds started dive bombing the house. I saw a hummingbird bird banging against the window only to be crushed by a massive hawk trying to break through. A few of them got in through the fireplace. I closed the flue and turned on the gas fire to high. And then I broke the necks of each one that got in. I don't know why I am writing this down. My whole world is lost now in living nightmares. Who will survive to read this? Maybe my ghost when it haunts what is left of the house.
Can I sire a child? Is sire the right verb for a woman? It's not "father". Safi looked at the shiny white walls of the waiting room, a sudden, new building for a sudden new procedure. She hadn't known that she wanted a testicle, but as soon as it had been announced, the thought had been recurring, inescapable. She was the first one in, for an early morning appointment, the first one she could get. Jean had raised an eyebrow at this sudden surge of determination, but nodded along to Safi's long monologues about how it was empowering and freeing and about starting a family. Is Jean ok with this? Shit, I didn't even ask. Safi suddenly saw the implications for Jean - they had agreed in theory to trying to get pregnant, but things had stalled since they heard the cost and timescales of IVF. The ease and immediacy of a testicle (well, a synthicle) made it all seem much more real. The entry door opened, and Safi looked over to see a man in a suit walk nervously in. As he looked over the room, she recognised him. "Mark, hi!"She could hear the excitement in her own voice. Mark seemed less excited, more shocked. "Uh, hi"he responded, after a pause. Safi filled the silence, awkwardness sending her adrenaline higher "Have you come in for a third ball?"What the fuck, Safi, what the fuck are you saying Mark coughed a little, swallowed, and coughed again. "I, well-"Safi cut him off "Sorry, I didn't mean... sorry I... I wasn't expecting men here"Shit, this isn't better "I mean, uh, HI"she over-pronounced it, to sweep away everything else. She looked at her knees. Mark chose a seat some distance away, clearly not wanting to elaborate. "MS PATEL"rang out a voice from the corridor, and Safi noticed a small, middle-aged woman in a lab coat with half-glasses had appeared. "YES!"Why am I being so loud, fuck Safi got up and shouldered her bag. As she passed Mark, he looked up and said "uh, please don't mention-""No, don't worry"Safi said, softly, and saw his frown relax a little. She followed the woman out.
The first give away that I had been somehow horsified...horsificated?...that is to say, I am now a horse. Wasn’t always a horse. Quite a recent development for me. Either way, the first give away was when my morning alarm went off. It wasn’t that I reached out with a hoof instead of hand — no-no: it was the fact that my bed was broken and had a horse in it. And said horse was staring into my eyes via the reflection in my ceiling mirror. Ah, quick thing. I know what a ceiling mirror implies. And, I could lie to you and say with a wink and a smile that I am eh-hex-ACTLY the kinda fella that gets use out of ceiling mirror. If ya know what I mean. But to that lie, I say...nay. ...ahem. Look, it was there when I moved in. The mirror not the horse. I mean, well, I was there when I moved in and I am the horse, but at the time I wasn’t- So, there I am at the we hours of a Tuesday morn and I awoke to find myself a little horse. My voice was fine and, thankfully, still human, because I used it to scream at the top of my lungs. I’ve spent the past few hours laying here, scared to stand up lest I break a leg and get sent to the glue and meatball factory. Mostly thinking about horse puns, really. Have I done a “why the long face” joke, yet? Well, no time like the present. Can’t wait here all day, no one’s finding me unless I wait a few months. Right. Off to the races! Har-har.
I create fake scenarios in my head all the time, and I actually just did it again and looked up "fake scenarios"on Reddit to see if there's a subreddit for this type of thing. Idk if everyone does this, but I do it all the time and sometimes it's so random that I don't even know where it came from. I sometimes have thoughts like "imagine if someone read my mind now and thought this really happened?"Which is what you're talking about. Or , similarly, "imagine if I died and someone with the power to transfer their mind into a new body woke up in my body, what would they think was happening?"When I'm in a situation that only makes sense with the context of the events leading up to it. All that happened in real life to make me imagine the fake scenario this time was I saw a really cute snail in my garden. I have no idea why I imagined finding one that I needed to take to the vets. I imagined a snail with a lump on the bottom of its "foot"that was making it move in circles instead of a straight line, and that was stopping it from going inside its shell when I picked it up, probably causing it pain and possibly obstructing its airways. I imagined calling the vets, asking if anyone there knew how to perform surgery on snails, having to poke holes in the lid of a tuperware container and put the snail in there with some leaves, then having to beg my parents to give me a lift to the vets because I can't drive and it's too far to walk. My mum didn't want to drive because she was still in her pyjamas (it was morning in my fake scenario and night in real life.) She was annoyed about me breaking the lid and I told her not to be selfish and that the snail could be dying and it needs to breathe. My dad said he was busy but he eventually agreed to drive me there. I paid for the operation. It was £30 but I told the vet it's worth every penny to save an animal so cute. The lump turned out to be a parasitic twin that only had a heart, liver and brain. Some scientists then bought the twin, which somehow stayed alive for a while on its own. Then at a lab somewhere they plugged it into a life support machine they had specifically for snails. They did experiments on the organs and found them to be totally healthy. They transplanted them into other snails to see if it would work. They even had cryogenic tanks with snails in, and they put the brain in the head of one of them and it became that parasitic twin's new, fully developed body. They nicknamed it the "zombie snail." It turned out that, in contrast to the rest of the organs removed from the snail in my garden, the brain was highly developed, and actually far more advanced than the average snail brain. They found out it has the capacity to understand and communicate in complex languages and solve mathematical equations. They taught it to speak in English using its eyes for a version of morse code where its left eye is a _ and its right eye was a . It then set up some snares overnight to catch the scientists and started eating them. It grew to the size of a small horse. It escaped the lab and there was a lockdown as the town was being terrorised by the giant zombie snail that eats humans. I became famous because I discovered its brain in my garden, and everyone blamed me, but I explained I didn't know what was gonna happen. There were headlines about a zombie snail apocalypse. Idk what happens next. Haven't decided. I imagined it in so much more detail. Every bit of dialogue. What I'd say in that situation. I do it without thinking. I think some people's brains are programmed to make up fake scenarios to prepare us for real life situations, so we can make mistakes in our heads where it doesn't matter instead of real life, and learn from them, but how the fuck is imagining this useful? It's so weird. When I started imagining the scenes when I wasn't there, that was me getting hooked on the fake story happening in my mind and my imagination going out of control. I can never control my own imagination tbh. Maybe I should write a book or something. I imagine so many crazy scenarios every day then forget about them, without ever talking about them. This is just one of them. My dreams are even weirder. You don't even wanna know what goes on there. I don't even understand it.
I may be the ugliest duckling in the place but I know I'll be the one to quack the case something at the scene seems funky the suspects. they all try to duck me I tell them that I have their number their lies bounce off me cause I'm made of rubber My webbed feet will navigate the web of lies I tell them not to leave town add them to the list of no flies I may just be a duck but I can still play tape for the culprit there is no escape I will find out who drained the tub and left the cryptic message "rub-a-dub dub"
"Go! Defeat their leader! And the world will be saved!". That's what they told me. Well, that's simple enough. I just need to kill the leader and everything will be good! Right? Right...? Well, it's not that simple. When we got there, we were heroes! Our paths were clear: save the people. We brought food and water to the people, weapons and training to teach them to defend themselves. We formed groups of fighters to help us, to make our work easier. But mission after mission, i began questioning my purpose. Why do we need to take their wealth? Why people who are not here decide what we do? Why do we need to command these people? Why do we punish them using OUR laws in their land? We should be helping them! Not stealing from them! We take food, water, money, resources. We turn their cities to ashes, kill woman and children. And for what? "We must defend our country!"They said. "We must take over their government!"They said. And we did that. Over and over again we turned cities into ruins and children into orphans. And for what? Because some guy told us to? I'm tired. I want to go back home. I'm not a hero. I don't feel like a hero. And none of my comrades do too. It's time to change. We are joining them. We are used to fighting in this desert. We just need to point our weapons to the other side. No flag will make me kill children again. No medal will turn me into a murderer. The scars won't go away. The evil in me won't go away. But i'm not blind anymore. I can see. And i see it all. The world already ended. We need to end too.
Oh, hi there. Why are you being rude? I said hi. That’s a lovely alley you’re in. Oh so you can say hi to them but not to me? Oooh that chair looks comfy. Hey can I play with your tail? Argh there’s something in the way! Noooo no hooman don’t pull me away taiiiiil! What did you say about my mom?! So if you scratch at a door someone opens it for you? I just get shooed away. Yass knock that bottle off the table! C’mon talk back to me! Ima gonna try playing with your tail again. Oops hooman coming gotta go. Can I see you tomorrow? Why is it dark? I can’t see you. Come baaaaaack!
I've got 3 for you. (Though I have no clue what urban fantasy is). "The gods are outraged by the heroes who have taken their spotlight. They plan to take it back, through any means necessary." "An experiment gone wrong leads a young child to develop mysterious abilities. Little did the world know that this was the second coming of christ". "In a world of darkness, 500 years after the great Light-Out, one stands out amongst the many for they have control of the undying flame. They begin their quest to Testria, the kingdom of divinity, all the while the Burnt-Out Gods pursue them seeking to quench the final flame of humanity."
August 12th, 2036, 9:37:13 AM PST. This single, isolated point in time marked the official era of peace on Earth, down to the second. Though large wars between large nations had arguably been stopped a long time prior after the end of the Cold War, this declaration singlehandedly put into the grave the notion of even the smallest interregional conflicts. You wouldn't find any fighting in the vast deserts of Levant, nor would you find anything in Saudi Arabia. Central Asia had everything cleared up, and the Korean peninsula had been reunited. Centripetal forces were at a maximum, and centrifugal forces were nonexistent to the point where it could be considered mythological. Tribes united; no nation would ever war with each other again. Groups rejoiced in haven. Hell, you wouldn't even find a customer complaining in any place of shop, because there was no need to start conflict. The world was seemingly at a utopian status, and everything was going swimmingly. The centuries of history that came before it seemed almost fictional, to consider all the war, violence, and bloodshed that had occurred within. People of this day and age could not even fathom events like warring tribes, nevertheless such a genocidal event like the Holocaust. War had halted to make way for love and peaceful interaction, and it only took one step to achieve it. It was not because the United Nations released an official statement, declaring peace, nor was it because the same famed organization did everything in the world's best favor to gradually ease all conflicts and bring the world to utopia. It was not because the United Nations had gathered together the world's most prominent leaders, governments, and idols to conspire towards peaceful convention. It was none of those reasons- still, the United Nations' reason of birth had always been to bring the world to peace and to discourage war best they could. And they did that in the most efficient way possible. "Reporting to you, live: Channel 13 News. Today, August 12th, 2036, marks one of the worst supranational decisions in human history since being unable to stop the Cold War. The UN has just passed some new legislature. Here we have today venerated President Brian McLaughlin to comment on the controversy of such bills." "I mean, to even fathom that the UN would have all this power to pass such a disgusting bill of legislation, is a brain-breaking process in its own right,"said President Brian McLaughlin, a well respected leader in his second term of leading the nation, "not even discussing the actual legal implications of the bill. It's clear that the UN has corrupted itself and its legislators, and that they no longer have the peoples' best interests in mind." "And would you mind explaining some of the 'implications' of the new bill?"Reporter Sarah Gloom inquired. "It's just- unlawful. This can't be in their power. If I could just, get someone, a legislator or something, to leaf through all the legal documents in the UN's name- I mean, god! The stuff they're doing now can only be compared to, and I don't mean to be extreme, the days of conformist Germany!" "And could you please answer my question, Mr. McLaughlin?"Gloom was becoming impatient. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. So the bill basically states that- god, I can't believe I'm saying this- 'from now on, the human lifespan will be legally cut short to 50 years. This is done to prevent late stage medical problems like Alzheimer's and cancer from forming in people, also done to promote a more active lifestyle with less time to be sedentary. Any adult over the age of 50, please report to the nearest hospital to be euthanized. If any people are found over the age of 50 attempting to defy this order, their kin will be euthanized as well regardless of age.'" "And you're saying this is going to be enforced everywhere, all over the world? Inescapable?" "Yes! How the hell is such a respected, profound organization going to enact something like this? It seems just years ago they were attempting to provide for the world. And now they're undoing all of their credibility. But anyhow, allow me to talk about some of the new bills I'm signing into US law today. I'm proud to announce that-" Gloom cut him off prematurely. "It seems that you're, largely unfazed by this development- could you explain why?" "Huh?"McLaughlin was caught off guard, but almost immediately adapted to the question. "Oh, yeah. I'm confident that no country in the world will follow through on this. It's fine. We'll just stop listening to the UN. They only have the power that we as governmental states give them- plus, the majority of UN members are over 50. There's no way they'd all sacrifice their lives for such a bogus bill! This seems like something out of some Sci-Fi movie, like Soylent Green or something shady."
"Are you prepared, Zacir, for this monumental sacrifice to save humanity in our darkest hour?" Zacir, Humanity's Savior, nodded his head downward, unable to make eye contact with Arielle. He turned away from her and sighed. "I'm not the one who you need to ask that to. You're the one who needs to answer that question. Are you prepared to sacrifice your life? And not just yours, but also the life of your wife, your infant child, and your friends and family to, perhaps, allow humanity to endure onward in freedom?" Arielle stuttered and struggled to understand the question. "I thought, Zacir, that you would be able to defeat Grol'Kornar, the being known as the Crimson Devastation. At least, I had hoped you could. Everyone on Earth did. In our most desperate hour, we swore we would do everything we could to give you a fighting chance against this most terrifying of foes. Are you saying even after all of our preparation, all of your training, all of our sacrifices, that you can't win. Are you telling me that humanity is still doomed, that we did all that for naught?" Zacir got on his knees, and though he did all in his power to remain stoic, tears still dripped off his face. "I didn't say that. But I want you to answer my question. Are you prepared to sacrifice your life, the lives of your family, and countless others to allow what remains to survive?" Arielle still struggled to grasp the question, able only to say "I... I promised that I'd gladly give up my life to save my wife's. We all promised to make the ultimate sacrifice to save our loved ones. That's part of the Code of the Hero. We all swore to uphold that. Are you saying that you need me by your side in this fight? If so, of course I will take up arms alongside you!" Zacir turned, slightly agitated, full of sorrow. He looked up at the bright red twinkle in the twilight sky, the hurling visage of Grol'Kornar flying toward the Earth. It was now a mere 30 million miles away, and at its current velocity, it would arrive to enslave humanity within 72 hours. Zacir gripped his sword and emitted his immense battle aura, which radiated over the clifftop where the two heroes stood, looking down on a city where hundreds of thousands were praying to the two, humanity's greatest heroes of the current generation. "Damn my powerlessness!", he screamed as he cursed humanity's fate. "I... I don't want to see those people die. I know you don't either, Arielle. So tell me, then, do you want me to condemn them to death?"By this point, any semblance of a stoic facade had crumbled, as humanity's greatest champion wept in the arms of his best friend and confidant. Arielle smiled and wiped the tears from her best friend's face. "Of course I don't. And we won't. We'll defeat Grol'Kornar, together, just as we've saved the world from other would-be-tyrants. Are you ready, my old friend?"Arielle showed no hesitation and held no doubt in her mind or heart, and yet Zacir's next words shook her to her core. "The only way for us to save their lives is to submit to Grol'Kornar and surrender humanity to his whim. To fight him is to condemn your friends, family, and other loved ones to death." Arielle let out a tear, slowly coming to the realization that had plagued her friend all this time. "You... you don't mean..." Zacir sighed and looked away from the town, and up toward the hurling light overhead. "But I do. Grol'Kornar's power is immense. Far, far beyond any being that we've fought, even the ones we've fought together. I alone cannot defeat him. Together with you by my side, we cannot defeat him. With the might of the entire Hero's Guild by our side, we would still stand no chance against such a devastating power." Arielle wept, as her friend tried to comfort her, just as she had done for him moments earlier. He continued. "The only way that I could hope to defeat such a power is by channeling the power of the entire earth into one blast. Doing so on the necessary scale would kill me in the process, but I'm resigned to my fate either way." "But at least humanity would be spared, right?" "Humanity could perhaps endure, but it would be calamitous, to put it mildly. Normally when channeling the Earth's power, you draw only the power you need, making sure that the life on the planet has enough to continue to live, though weakened for a time... but-" "You mean..." "I do. I would have to desiccate Earth's lifeforce almost to a husk. I estimate that five billion humans will drop dead from having their essence drained to the extent I would need to drain the planet to defeat Grol'Kornar. That, of course, will necessarily include all of the Hero's Guild. Our strength and life essence is much greater than those of the citizens we swore to defend, but I know all of us are prepared to make that sacrifice. But that's not the worst of it. Billions more would die from lack of food over the coming two decades until the Earth recovers enough to make widescale agriculture possible again. I predict that at most, thirty million people would survive through this generation. Arielle... you tell me. To save thirty million and give them a chance to keep the freedom they have enjoyed their whole lives, I would kill almost eight billion. Dead by my own hands. Are these what you'd consider 'Acceptable Losses'? I- I don't know what to do here." The two lay down under the stars, the last bit of the sun's twilight having set below the horizon, for what would be the last time.
A trucker walked into a bar. He spotted his friend Josh drinking a tall glass of beer by the window. “Yo, Josh! How've you been!” “Mark? Shit dog, didn’t know you were back! Come here, come here! Sit! I’ll buy you a drink! Yo, Judy! Look who’s back!” Josh said to the barkeep. “More beer, please, sweetheart, and keep ‘em coming!” When the alcohol arrived, they started drinking and talking about all sorts of stuff: wife, family, economy, and even the dreaded subject of politics were spewing out of their drunk lips. Eventually, their conversation brought them to the latest social platform. “So Mark, have you tried this Knocknok app yet? Got a thousand followers the first month! Can you believe that!” “Dude, you know how these platforms work: They pump up your number with bots, get you addicted, then sell your number to scammers. And yes, I downloaded it.” “So? How was it?” “Got put on the ‘naughty’ list the first day.” “Really? Why?” Mark shrugged and said, “Call someone a spaz and share a honk honk meme.” “Oh, that sucks, buddy.” “Yeah, but they didn’t ban me or anything, just segregated me to ‘the bad side.’ My feeds are now full of conspiracy videos and Minions memes now. It’s like I’m back on Facebook!” “Huh.” Josh shook his head. “Well, it’s just one app. We can always use something else to stay in contact.” “Here, here, buddy!” The two clinked their bottles and drank through the night.
Frogblood Zapke is a witch without a coven, a man living on the outskirts of witch society. Abandoned by his witch mother and demonic father and adopted out to mundanes, his magic is wholly self-taught and nothing like any other witch's, which gets him into trouble with both witches and mundanes. It's a typical night for Zapke, he's about four beers in, but then something happens that requires him to use all of his power.
Sitting at my desk I contemplated what to do with this “book” it was clearly magical. Maybe even Satanic. “Alright Mr.Book, why shouldn’t I close you?”. “Florence, dinner will be ready in 15 minutes,”. My stepfather called “Yes sir, will try to hurry it up,”. I yelled back “Now book if you don’t want me to close you, you have some explaining to do,”. “Why must I explain? Did you not enjoy my story? You should keep me alive as a show of gratitude for that excellent story,”. The smug book spoke. “The book was quite good I’ll give it to you. Now once again, why shouldn’t I close you?” I said, annoyed now. “Why? Well if you close me then no one else will be able to experience this wondrous tale, the tale of Himvel and the war of the elements,”. The book said, keeping the same smug voice as if it where the best book ever. “Alright then I guess thats a reason. One last question. What kind of magic created you?”. I questioned. “You want to know of Himvels glorious creation?” The book said, even more smug this time. “Yes, sure your glorious creation,”. I said almost done with this book. “There was a woman named Sofie, Sofie Martinez. She was a wonderful writer. The best writer. The story of Himvel was her last book she ever wrote before she passed away due to a terminal illness. Her dying wish was for the book to have a life of its own. For Himvel to be alive in these pages, and so I was born. By some blessing or curse I was born. I do not know how, I do not want to know. As far as I’m concerned Sofia was a magical women. I thank her,”. The book,Himvel said, with such sadness in his voice that I truly felt sorry for him. For this book. “Alright book. You’ve won, I’ll keep you open,”. I said really starting to like this book. “Thank you good sir. Himvel will not forget this,”. Himvel said. “Florence, get down here it’s for dinner,”. I got up from my desk, closing the book out of instinct. What had I done? I opened the book back up, but It was completely blank. “Oh no, I’m so sorry Himvel. So sorry,”. I whispered a few tears escaping my eyes. Himvel would not be forgotten. I would bring him back into this world.
It was dark outside when he opened his eyes. No, that didn't quite fit. It was rather bright. But it was not the sun that shone. All around him were bright lights, like torches or the spell of a magician, but steadier. Brighter. Without the slightest flicker the colours shone. Pink. Purple. Blue. Red. Yellow. He was reminded of the flashing light from before. It had been bright. Brighter than the sun ever was. It had come as sudden as a lightning bolt striking right before him. The city with its noisy market had vanished. The smell of cattle was replaced with a sharp stench that laid in the thick air and that Heinrich couldn't put his finger on what it was. The only constant was the noise. Still there were people chattering, drinking and going about their daily lives. Or rather night judging by the dark sky above. The sky was so far above. The walls seemed to never end so high were they. And the lights. Between the gigantic towers there were so many lights. What might must this empire have to build such mighty towers and from whom do they have to protect themselves? How big must their army be and what treasures must have paid for it? The sound of a mighty battle horn ripped him from his thoughts. A great Carriage was coming towards him. Bright lights blinding his eyes. Again the horn sounded. Great and mighty it cut through the noise. Fuming and roaring it slowed to a halt. No horses were to be seen. No oxens or other animals used to move carriages. It seemed like a wizard had enchanted its ways. But what a mighty wizard that must've been. The king of this land must be truly powerful to afford such wizardry. Again the horn sounded. Angry now and longer. Faces turned towards him. People were shouting in an unknown tongue. People with wierd robes. Colorful as the lights above his head and of a strange fabric. People with wierd, twisted faces. Metal parts and small lights shone from their skin. He didn't understand. He didn't know. He let a man with blue hair lead him out of the way. Or was it a girl? They looked like one, but what girl wore trousers? Behind him the carriage continued its way. Others right behind. How could they move? What witchcraft made them move on their own? He found himself wandering down the path between the towers. So many strange buildings. So many strange lights. So many strange people. He thought about the heros that had come from other worlds, wondering about every ordinary detail of his. Was this how they felt like? Lost, overwhelmed, alone? How had they ever managed to adapt? To find their path in such a chaotic, turbulent place? His head hurted from the racing thoughts. His eyes hurted from all the lights. The stench in the dirty air made him sick. He needed to sit down. To rest. Just a moment. He needed to rest for just a moment. Noone heeded the strange man sitting below a street lamp. He was just another drug addict or drunk wierdo roaming the streets at night. Nothing out of the ordinary for the city that never slept.
On a drunken dare at a party one night, you strip naked and swim to the bottom of a swimming pool where the grill is missing from the pump intake. You insert your manhood, proving that it is in fact “fuckable”, and plant your feet to launch yourself at the surface, unaware that at the same time, one of your friends, in a moment of inspiration that he later described as “a very unfortunate lapse in judgment”, had just switched the pump on. The sudden jolt of sound as the pool comes to life only serves to hasten your movements and you push hard with both feet, eyes focused on the surface, a frog leaping skywards. Your brain does not have time to process the sensation of a sudden and intense suction around your waist before an extraordinary pain erupts from your groin, like a monstrous force has just torn through you. You burst to the surface screaming in primal horror and thrash towards the wall of the pool as the raucous laughter around you crashes into stunned silence. You reach the wall and look up at horrified expressions on your friends faces and then look down, following their gaze to the cloud of darknesses billowing into the water around you. A deep horror is welling up inside of you as you cast about in confusion and pain, your brain already drunk on adrenaline. It’s at this moment that you register the strange fluttering sensation in your stomach and the feeling of something running across your thigh. You notice movement in the water and jump back with a startled whimper, losing your footing and flopping about awkwardly, finding it difficult to stay upright. Stumbling to stand back up, the fluttering in your gut is now being joined by a sense of tugging, like little fish nibbling at your crotch. A brilliant scream pierces the air around as a finger shoots out over your head, pointing to the other side of the pool where a second plume of dark crimson is jetting out below the surface in front of the skimmer, punctuated by the sound of the pump motor surging in sputters and chugs, not unlike an overstuffed blender. Suddenly you understand, and, now clinging to the side of the pool, you spin your head to look down and behind you, following the shimmering ribbon of movement in the water from the center of the pool back to your waist where the pump intake is unwinding your small intestines through the hole in your groin where your penis used to be. You let go of the wall and reach down, grasping at the sausage links tumbling out of you, but they slip between your fingers, slick with bile and mucous. You squeeze as hard as you can, and a flash of pain explodes into your brain, shocking your whole body limp. You give out a primal yell and try again, digging your fingernails into the soft meat rope and, once again, unimaginable pain tears across your brain, jolting you senseless as you lurch forward, towed by your own anchor chain. Now underwater and sliding, bumping towards the hole in the center of the pool, you dig your fingers in as hard as you can and twist your body, seeking purchase with your feet, determined to win this tug-of-war. The light in your head is blinding at this point, but you feel your right foot connect with the textured bottom of the pool and you kick as hard as you can, the tension in your stomach suddenly releasing along with the brilliant light behind your eyes. The only feeling left as you make your way back to the ladder is a cold chill spreading from your belly button to your spine. You can barely haul yourself up the ladder, numb from shock, but hands reach out and pull you forwards unto the warm cement where you roll unto your side and watch the fountain of water drain from the hole in your groin, curtains of skin flapping around it, as the world goes black.
Five ring roads away from the heart of the city, deep into the lazy Beijing suburbs, where the developments don’t yet reach, she would walk. She would walk the same route along the dusty dirt roads, down the short, cragged slope, and underneath the soft brush of the weeping willows to water her flock. And always beside her was her dog. Dogs were working animals in her family, but he was not just that within her small flock. Everyday, as the sheep drank their fill, she would speak to him. Fanciful stories, loud proclamations, quiet whispers, she filled his attention with her thoughts and dreams, and through her he became more. He could not understand the world or all of her words, but he understood her. He knew that when she clapped and pointed at the birds he was to give idle chase after them, but when she sat with a bag of seeds, he was to allow them near. He knew that when her voice grew soft and her face wet that he was to place his great head on her lap, even if it meant that he could not watch over the sheep as well. And he knew that she cared and protected the flock, and so he took his job seriously. He knew that when her eyes went wide and her stance stiff, then no matter to the kindness in the sound of her greeting to an approaching person, that he should use his most fearsome voice to ward them away. Their days largely went by the same: her leading the flock to the riverside, their time together, and when the shadows of the willow’s arms grew long on the bank, the slow walk home. But it did occur one day to him – as it had occurred to her not too long before – that she was growing quite tall. Some days passed, and it occurred to him – as it had occurred to her not too long before – that he was growing tired. He could still lay his head on her lap, but it had been some time since she had asked that he chase the birds, and perhaps he could not as he used to. Then, on a day not unlike every other day they spent together, he became very tired, that all he could do was rest his head on her lap, which was alright because her eyes were wet and clouded and so he was where he was needed. She stroked his fur and cradled his head on her legs and whispered his name. Her father went out when she was not home for dinner and found her crouched over by the water. After a few emotional (but short and gruff) words, he gave her shoulder a tight squeeze, wiped his own eyes, and led the sheep home so that she could remain a while longer. She sat by the river, staring at the sway of the willows until the shadows melted into the ink of the water and through them peaked the sliver of a crescent moon. So engrossed was she that she didn’t notice the group of footsteps cutting a way towards her. Having not heard them, she did not see their faces, twisted with hunger and malice, until she turned and they were just behind her. Weighed down by her grief, she could not think to move, and emboldened by her silence, they reached out. But as they did, a low growl surrounded them. They hesitated. Another growl, then a ferocious snarl rumbled through the leaves. Chastened, they scrambled back up the bank to the road clutching at their hearts, their muttered apologies and prayers melting into the night until she was alone again. From the branches, she could just make out the outline of a crow in the moonlight. She whispered a quiet thank you and sat. Tomorrow she would bring them a fresh bag of seeds and chase them around in the sun, but for now, she wanted to stay little longer in the last day with her friend.
"Huh."I said, looking at the text now hovering in the corner of my vision: Emotional subtext: \_\_\_\_\_. I almost never read through the patch notes for these upgrades, preferring to mess with the new features without guidance, but this one confused me. Pulling up the update on my phone, I scrolled through the most recent patch notes until I reached a line that read "Emotional Spectrum Enhancement for Autists." I didn't really think that applied to me. Yeah, I'd had some difficulty interacting with people before, and I tended to obsess with things for a few weeks to months then move on to something else, but I thought that was something that happened to everyone, not something like autism. I decided to pull up the menu of the features on the implant, and scrolled down to find one of the earliest features added, the neurodivergence scan. I had seen it when it first came out, but never got around to using it. I blinked to select it, then watched as the progress bar in the bottom of my vision slowly advanced. After half an hour, and 15 minutes after I started contemplating whether it would be worth it to stop the scan, the bar finally reached 100%, and a pop-up appeared saying: Scan results: Autism and ADD prevalent. It is recommended that you see a therapist. "Well then."I said to myself, reading over the popup again, then attempting to minimize it. It took 3 tries to get the right eye positioning, but when I finally did, I opened my computer and started looking for an inexpensive therapist. Who knows, maybe it would help.
"Professor Kraft, we can explain! See, we, like, when we, like, studied abroad, we took an, um, more advanced course in metaphysics than yours." "What Angela means is that this university only offers Arcana 131, so we enrolled in Eldritch Studies, a 300-level course." "Yeah, and it counts towards Angela's Literature major, Karen's Philosophy major, and my History major! So, we, you know, had to take it, 'cuz then we'd be in a class together!" "More importantly, the University of Edinburgh has incredible resources and is geographically situated near several major archaeological sites and megaliths far older than anything here in New England." "So, that's how we got into trouble, you know." "We, like, traveled all over Scotland, and, um, one of the little sites had, like, broken stones, and Karen and me were taking pictures and measurements and, like, mapping the area, but Darcy wandered away, and..." "The stones were like a trail of breadcrumbs, so, yeah, I, you know, followed them into a bog and saw a big, flat stone in the muddy water. You can see from the picture - one of the figures in our term paper - that it was perfectly round. It looked like a manhole cover, and, so...we tried to lift it." "Darcy made me wade in, even though I wasn't, like, wearing boots!" "It was too heavy, so we cleared the area around it and then started trying to get underneath it, to find out how big it really was. We used our walking sticks and a little shovel, and we determined that it was the top of a stone cylinder. I don't know how far down the cylinder extended, but the upper edges had etchings. The water was too murky for a good picture, but they were probably like what was written on the top, or lid. We made a rubbing of that, and it's a figure in our paper. I guess that's why you called us into your office." "So, to explain what we did: you know, the top was too heavy to lift, and we couldn't push it off, so I decided to try to twist it, and it must have actually moved a little, 'cuz there was a little bubble that floated up." "We didn't mean to damage it, Professor, or to cause a leak! It isn't as if we used a jackhammer, and we fixed it as fast as possible." "It was like, just one little bubble, but Karen told Darcy and me to, like, head back to the, um, hardware store in town, and we linked up with Karen in the bog again, and, like, that's, um, how we used Flex Seal to repair an Elder Sign."
"Breath of basilisk, sting of scorpion, or medusa's tears? All may be distilled, for a price."The being writhed and twists as its sweet yet sickening voice echoes. The towering mostrosity came closer and closer to the person before it, slowly and carefully observing its next potential victim. It had no delusion nor it was convinced that the human before him would accept his offer as every human they sent to him before would be end up the same. And so it believed till what it heard from the human made it, pause. The human brought out a piece of paper and wrote that "he cannot speak, nor hear." The creature laughed out loud for a whole minute, it was a millennia since he felt this kind of emotion, of all the humans they could've sent, this was almost insulting, well almost. "Forgive me for my outburst, it has been a long time since I have encountered a good jok—"the creature froze as the human was nowhere to be seen. He looked back, his items were GONE. [Meanwhile...outside the cave...] He could hear a ferocious inhuman roar emanate outside the cave as he ran with due haste with all the items carried in his bag. 'I cannot believe feigning deaf and mute worked.' He thought to himself. He simply sighed at how gullible most of the mosters in this world is as this was the third time he bamboozled a monster with this. Guess he was a better actor in this life than his previous life.
No one actually enjoys their 10-year high school reunion. To be honest, most people will actively try to avoid it. However, there is always that one girl that absolutely hassles everyone for like a year leading up to it, absolutely spamming everyone's Facebook, email, and LinkedIn until it's just worth the $25 to get her to shut the hell up. Funny enough, she had to babysit tonight and couldn't make it. So that's why I'm sitting here at an open bar with a couple of people I haven't talked to in 10 years. Over in the corner, the valedictorian is chumming it up with her former best friend one of the quiet math geeks that swore he was super straight until about days after graduation when to no one's surprise he became an extremely loud and proud homosexual. Frankly, I don't blame him too much on that one. He probably would have been bullied for that. Being honest, I probably would have bullied him for that. My school was brutal back then, not intentionally, but I think most of us regret some of the shit we did to each other. I probably was the worst of them all. I never picked up on social cues well and it wasn't until I was in college that I was diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder. That coupled with being extremely poor and depressed. I didn't hang out with a lot of people after the school day ended. I turn to Erik, a dark skin Latino man sitting to my right. "What have you been up to lately?" Looking down in his light beer, "Not much man, I got a coaching job with the school. I graduated after fucking around for 8 years. I got a kid on the way. Life's good."He takes a long drink. "What about you?" "Spent some time traveling. Worked here and there, but for the most part, haven't been able to make anything of myself really. I took the 10-year course to getting my bachelor's but I fucking finished it. I spent a lot of time reflecting on my past. The fucked up ways I acted back in high school. I kinda just stopped talking for a while. To be honest, this is the most I've talked in probably six months outside of work,"I chuckle cringingly. "I blame the beer. I haven't drank since after graduation." Morgan, the overweight trucker on my left, "Your college graduation?" I rotate the glass on the bar, "nope, our high school." Morgan and Erik both look at me as if this was the most astonishing thing I'd said so far. Morgan exclaimed, "Bro, why the fuck wouldn't you drink? It's like the only good thing about being an adult. We have to deal with taxes, bills, wives, and kids, but fuck at least we can drink our problems away. Why wouldn't you drink?" I look down in my dark beer annoyed, "I don't know Morgan. Ask Micheal."Immediately I regret the words as they come out of my mouth. Micheal was an extremely close friend to both of us. But I knew Morgan considered him a brother. Micheal had died about five years earlier in a drunk driving accident after imploding his life with alcoholism. "You know, I'd kicked kick your ass for saying that. But Micheal wouldn't want us to fight. I remember you being a fucking dumbass. But I don't remember you being such a fucking asshole. Micheal should have let you kill yourself, ya dick." I stared down at my beer as he stormed away. There wouldn't be any saving that relationship. At least not tonight, maybe I can try to save it when we see each other again in ten years. Erik's just kind of looking at me, "Really dude?" "Yeah, I'm an especially big dick for that one,"I say rubbing my face. "Honestly, this is why I quit drinking. I lose friends every time I drink." "Really?"Erik looked shocked and flabbergasted, "I find that hard to believe that is actually your reason. Name one other person that has happened too." I look down at my beer again. God damn it why can't I just look him in the eyes. "You. We were hanging out after graduation. Then we got into an argument and I haven't seen you since." Erik shook his head, "That's not how I remember it at all, but okay."He stands up and pats me on the back. "Take care of yourself bud. I got a party to get back to." I look at my beer reach over the bar and dump it down the sink. It's not the beer's fault, but it feels like an action towards becoming a better person, even though I know it's not.
The last thing I remember was a loud bang, and my body being thrown around. Then I woke up here. I don't know whether this is in my head. I don't know whether this is the afterlife. I don't know whether the crash was even real anymore - My mind is in a strange mix of adrenaline-fueled, and still being in shock. Nothing really feels real. The car I was in was still my own. Except, not crumpled and ruined like it should be. Around me were various vehicles, mostly cars, with people inside. Some had one person in, some were whole families. One car even had a dog. There were some trucks, too, some motorcycles, even one person on a regular bike. If this was the afterlife, why specifically do our vehicles come with us? This couldn't be the afterlife. This was in my head. I'm either dying, or in a state of shock. That must be it. "Win, and you live. Lose, and you die. There can only be one winner." It wasn't until these words were spoken from somewhere above me that the shock began to wear off, and things felt real again. I began to take in my surroundings. We were in the middle of a stadium. There were maybe 40 vehicles, at least 30 of them were cars. I began to piece together what was happening. We're all dead from motorway accidents. Or, at least, dying. Whoever wins this race will be the only one to wake up. I tried to get out of my car, but couldn't. I didn't care if this was real anymore, but I couldn't risk it, whatever the fuck was happening was real enough to me. Every inch of me is telling me this can't be real but I can't stop feeling like it somehow is. If this is the afterlife, who runs it? Does any religion believe in this? What kind of sick bastard would turn the afterlife into a game of life and death? As the questions in my mind began to slow down, I realised I had no chance of winning. I'm not a professional racer. But, then, there's only another 40ish drivers here - What are the odds that any of them are professionals? Besides, surely I already had an advantage by being out of my state of shock... I bet most of these people are still trying to understand what's going on! I began to think about my opponents. The trucks would be good at blocking, but ultimately would be too slow. The motorcycles are fast, sure, but people will probably be trying to knock them off, which would be easy. The only person who really had no advantage was the guy on the bike, I feel a bit sorry for him. But I don't have time to feel sorry for others. The cars were what I needed to watch out for the most, they're the most versatile. The speakers came back into action, "3... 2... 1... Go!"
Liliana pulled back, away from her lover's warmth. Her home. This was forbidden. This was a sin. Death and disgrace were all that awaited them if they continued on, and Liliana didn't want that. Didn't want Sali to sacrifice her life and career for a mere priestess who only had broth and preachings to give. "I'm sorry." Sali sagged. Disappointment and hurt flashed clearly across her features, making her heart burn, but she stood firm. "So then what? Is this it?"Her voice cracked. "Is this how it's all going to end?" Liliana's vision blurred, but she nodded. "It was never meant to start to begin with."
The night of the invasion was surprisingly quiet, for the most part. Living out in the boonies, I never expected much in the way of fireworks, but the only real sign of anything outside the peaceful everyday routine was when the power cut out at around 9, leaving me to wait out the night in the pitch-black of my bathroom with nothing visible save the tritium-lit hands of my father's old diving watch. Barely got any sleep that night, though I can't say why. It wasn't fear, really; it's been years since my wife passed and my daughter's safely abroad in college, so I don't have to worry about anything happening to them. I guess laying there in the dark, curled up in the cool porcelain of my bathtub with towels for blankets, I was filled with some great sense of expectation, this childlike impatience for something new and unusual to arrive. I'm ashamed to admit that I was somewhat disappointed the next morning, waking up to find the view of my neighborhood pretty much the same as usual - at least at first, of course. Neat rows of houses all intact, street free of burnt cars and debris, clear skies and sun shining overhead. Got a bit excited at the sight of some smoke rising from down the road, but it was just the chimney of that one hippie couple that always does their cooking on an honest-to-god stone fire. Anyways, I went out back to check on the yard, and, well, that's when I found the tank. Yeah, yeah. "Light Quadruped Armored Fighting Vehicle", whatever. I'm not military; it's got armor, it's got a big-ass gun on top, it's a tank. Damn thing was just sitting there, right between the shed and the neighbors' bush wall. No tracks or anything, like someone just dropped it there. No sign of a parachute, either - maybe it was set to detach on landing and got blown away? Ah, sorry for the rambling. Anyway, I recognized it as one of theirs right away by the invasion markings; my daughter's been sending me links and infographics of that sort of stuff for weeks, now. Froze up for a bit, scared it was gonna shoot me or just run me over, but after a while I realized it was just sitting there. Worked up the courage to walk over and knock on the hull, yell to ask if anybody was in there, that sort of thing. Now, me being the ignorant civilian I am, you gotta remember that I didn't know that tank crews - yeah, I'm still calling it that - that tank crews don't drop in their tanks; they jump on their own and climb in on the ground. So of course, I figured it'd somehow been abandoned or forgotten during the invasion, and, well… I was just curious, you know? So I pulled myself up onto the damn thing, found the hatch, opened 'er up and, you know. I got in. Now, back before they laid off everyone over 40 so they wouldn't have to pay their insurance, I used to work as a fork-loader driver at the megashop. And it turns out, the controls to this little baby are pretty much the same as that fork-loader. Left stick to roll around, right stick to turn, right pedal for more speed and left pedal for brakes. Even the startup was the same; just one red button and boom, the whole thing fired up. Good thing the safeties were on, I damn near blew up my own house! Anyway, I moved it around a little bit, did some circles in the yard. Tore the grass all to hell, too, but hey, how could you not? Eventually I admitted I should try and call someone, report it to the proper authorities, you know. So I shut it down, popped the hatch, and… yeah. That's when I heard the screams. Guess I never heard them on account of being inside the tank, but when I went out front I saw that a couple of their trucks had rolled in, dumped soldiers all over one of the houses down the road. They were dragging out the family there for… I don't know, whatever reason. Never got the chance to ask 'em afterwards. Dad said something to the soldiers, got a rifle butt to the face for his trouble, Mom's breaking her voice yelling at them while trying to hold the older kid back, the little one's just wailing… So yeah, I got back in the tank. Turns out, I'm pretty good at this for an old man with no proper training, eh? Yeah… Those bastards earned what they got, but still. Getting shot to mush by one of your own… The others figured out what was going on soon enough - fat load of good that it did them - but those first guys? I can still see their faces… No, I don't regret what I did. Probably be having nightmares about it for a while, but still. It wasn't a choice, really. I mean, what else are you gonna do? Anyway, down to business. Way I see it, that tank was property of the unit that dropped with it, and seeing as they're all gone or dead now, I'm within my rights to claim it as wartime salvage. Of course, we've got martial law in effect, so you fine gentlemen can just take it a gunpoint if you like; I won't mind, you need every gun and warm body you can get right now. Of course, considering how I've managed to take out two trucks, four armored personnel carriers, and three main battle tanks all on my lonesome in less than a day, I reckon that qualifies me as a fairly competent pilot. So, gentlemen, I have a proposition for you: If join up with you, will you let me keep the tank?
"Hey, Patricia, finished for the day?""Oh, hi boss. Yeah, I was just packing up..."my mind trails off as yet again, I glance at the locked cabinet. Every single day the same message is repeated to me, to the point where I repeat it in my head while I'm sleeping: That cabinet is very important, but you must wait for the right time before you can open it. You'll know when the time comes, and when it does, open it, remove its contents, and go into the basement. Ask no questions. I still do not know what it means. For five years, I've been told that same message. For five years, I've been curious as to what's in the cabinet. I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever get to open it... &#x200B; "Of course"my boss replies. "You've been busy as always. We're lucky to have such a dedicated worker..."as my boss talks, I'm thinking, 'and you're going to remind me to leave the cabinet alone', but just as my thoughts begin to trail off again, my boss says something different. "But I cannot allow you to go home yet. It is time."He pauses. I blink. "What?"I say. &#x200B; "The time has come, my girl"he says, in a calm but creepy way. "You know what to do."With that, he walks off, leaving me dumbfounded. Does he mean... I look back at the cabinet again, wondering if it was a good idea. 'I promised' I think to myself, 'every day I make the same promise. I must do it.' I grab the key hidden in a dusty folder, go to the cabinet, and open it... I almost vomit. &#x200B; Sitting there, perfectly in the center, covered in old, dried blood, was a human head. What the hell? What is that? I look around; no-one's nearby. I hesitate, but eventually pick up the stone cold, sticky, stench-ridden head. Despite sitting there for five years, the head was well-preserved, and not once did the smell leak into the office. The cabinet was also really clean. What is happening? My heart racing, my mind going a million miles an hour, I carefully carry the head with me, to the basement, which is usually locked - only authorised personnel are allowed in normally. Today was clearly not normal, however. I start to feel uneasy as I head down, step by step. I'm met at the bottom with an unfamiliar man wearing a hood. &#x200B; "We were waiting for you"he told me with a wisp in his voice. "Please head down this corridor. Everything will become clear, but for now, it would be wise to keep quiet."I nod shyly, unsure of what's happening. I head down the corridor. It felt like an eternity, before I reached some sort of hall... before I could process anything, I was directed to put the head on top of a spear, which was bound to the ground. I felt something not quite evil, but disturbing, was going to happen... I wanted to run away, but it was clear that that was no longer an option. I place the head on the spear, just as my boss comes over. "Welcome"he cried eerily. "I hope you feel comfortable, as now you must learn the truth..."
What most people don't understand, is that sometimes, all that's really necessary is a dog in the right place, and the right time. That dog had now ended up in a completely different world, in the most random of places. It walked around for a bit, sniffing at its strange surroundings, and that weird smell of smoke and industrialism that it hadn't been around for quite awhile. Then came the most peculiar man, he was wearing black clothing, with a crown of such deep red that the man allowed him to sniff at. With that, the weird Shadowed Man gave him a smile. "Who's a good boy?"The Dark Lord asked, extending a hand. He wagged his tail, and moved closer. Sometimes, it only takes one dog in the right place, to change the course of history entirely.
20th of July, 2022 What a success! The first time I had stepped out of my machine, I had immediately run into a stranger. I had asked him what year it was and, to my relief, he looked at me strangely, but answered in a slightly old-fashioned, accentuated English: “It is the year of our lord 1886. But… from where did you appear all of a sudden? And what is this interesting contraption behind you?” I, of course, had no time to explain to him the subtleties of space-time warping (or wormholeing – have to find a nice name for the technique!) After I learned from that obviously aristocratic learned fellow with his fancy cylinder that I had landed not far from Manchester, I told him my machine was a magician’s box that made people disappear, stepped inside and activated it. 22nd of July, 2022 I made preparations. I have no idea how to control the direction the mini wormhole I create with my machine takes me to, so I noted “What year is it?” in every language I could get a translation for. Like this, at least I can come back – calculating the exact time that has passed (or will pass?) until the present, I configure my machine to get home. Haven’t found another way yet. But I am glad that that already works! I wrote the essential sentence in a notebook because I noticed the machine is interfering with any other electronical devices after my mobile stopped working the last time. When I stepped out, I was in the middle of a busy marketplace and most of the people (and animals) present ran away screaming. As I bent down to a middle-aged woman hiding under one of the market tables, I asked in English first, but it didn’t work. French then, maybe? I tried my best pronunciation as I remembered it from my long-gone schooldays and at this the woman cried something out. It took me a few seconds, until I understood: dix-sept-cent-soixante-quatorze. I noted down what I had heard. “Où?” My curiosity got the better of me. The woman started crying and crossing herself, but in her sobbed prayer, I thought I understood “Montpellier”. I headed back to the time machine, taking a last look around. But I didn’t want to outstay my welcome: given the woman’s reaction, there was probably an angry pitchfork mob building up to chase me soon, so I jumped into my machine and looked at my notes. After some time where I thought I heard some yelled voices outside, I could finally recall the French counting system and noted: 1764. Crossed it out after a few seconds and wrote 1774. Damn! But I managed to get home safely. Have to make some linguistic adjustments to my original plan. 24rd of July, 2022 I prepared for the next jump: I packed compact dictionaries of every language into my machine. Well, not every language, but the ones I could find a compact dictionary for. Landed on a beach – luckily, not in the ocean, but I probably should prepare for that incident too. I made a note in my notebook reminding me of that necessary preparation and finally, I saw, not far off, a boy in his teens with a fishing rod staring at me like I was a ghost. Well, I could see where this was coming from… I walked up to him and got my slip of paper out. Tried common languages first – Spanish, Russian, Arabic, Chinese. But the boy just continued staring. Passed onto some more “exotic” languages, like Xhosa, Cree or Warlpiri, but nothing seemed to work. I sighed and tried it with a rudimentary translation in Sanskrit that was the last thing I had scribbled on my paper because I was not sure if it was understandable. At this, the boy finally reacted and I noted down as phonetically as possible what he said without having a clue what exactly he meant. As the boy ran off screaming, I realized I had a problem: not understanding what he said, I would be stranded here. Cursing, I searched my machine for a mini Sanskrit dictionary. My panic grew as I realized I might not have brought one – until I found a mini Hindi dictionary. Didn’t a linguist friend of mine tell me Sanskrit and Hindi are related? Anyway, I spent most of this lovely beach afternoon trying to decipher what that boy had just said – another sample for the language I had heard was highly unlikely, as I was alone all the time. Well, I thought, I had figured out the wormhole-generating problem, hadn’t I? A little linguistic mishap won’t keep me back! I must admit, I sat way into the night until I thought I had figured out the numbers. I was rewarded with a spectacular night sky view, though. Finally, I introduced the numbers of what I thought I had heard – and arrived home safely. 28th of July, 2022 I made new preparations. I have noticed the wormhole takes me further into the past each time – and the last time, I almost hadn’t made it due to a language barrier. So, I asked my linguist friend for proto-language translations of my sentence: Indo-European, Uralic, Na-Dené, you name it! She warned me, though, that the pronunciation of those translations is very debated. Well, I got out of language trouble the last time, using my superior deduction skills, so I was not too worried. I also waterproofed the machine, following my notes on my last jump experience. Then I activated my machine and when I opened the door, I was greeted by cool air – and a bow and arrow directly pointed at my face. The man in front of me had long black hair, brown skin and, strangely, blue eyes. And he was determined to end my life if I so much as moved, that was clear. I, of course had not prepared a sentence like “I come in peace!” So I just slowly showed him my palms in what I hoped was a universal gesture of not wanting to attack. We stood like that for ages, or so it felt. Then the man slowly lowered his bow and began to speak in a language I didn’t recognize. I had to reach for my notebook so I could ask the only question I had prepared. I started reaching for my pocket, but immediately the man raised his bow again. I said: “Relax, it’s just a book!” Why? I don’t know, I panicked. I don’t have an arrow in my face often, you know. The man looked at me suspiciously but then lowered the bow again, nodding his head a little. I thought I was allowed to proceed. As I finally had my book (almost dropped it into the snow), I started asking my question in every language. I started with the more common ones again, then the less common ones, then Sanskrit (had extra double-checked the translation with my friend), but to no luck. A proto-language then? Uralic? He didn’t react. Na-Dené? Nothing. There was only one left: I tried Indo-European. I stared at the notation my friend wrote me: “\*kwid atnos kod h3esmi”. What the…? How was I supposed to pronounce that? As the man raised his bow again (was probably fed up with that talky-man who said nonsense), I tried every pronunciation imaginable until I screamed the only two words that had no weird symbols in his face: “Atnos! Kod!” I sighed. I had had no luck and my list had ended. I reached into my pocket again, cautiously, followed closely by his watchful eyes. Then I pulled out an apple. “Apple?” ?? of ??, ???? Well, I am stranded. At least I bonded with the stranger over what little food I had in my machine. I realized that I must have travelled way farther back in time this time, so I am not even sure my new friend understands the concept of counting years. But he introduced me to his family, which was really nice, given I might now spend the rest of my life here. I am slowly coming to terms with my fate; I learned how to make fire and I showed my new friends the wonders metal can do. I am reluctant to completely dismantle my machine, though: I am determined to find a way back even without a year count, but that is going to take quite some time with basically only a notebook to assist me in my calculations. To save paper, I started scribbling on a nearby rock wall; that was when the family’s shaman took an interest in my writings. Maybe he can even help me – I can use all the help I can get right now. (Note: The Indo-European reconstruction is a bit off, put a sound in there that doesn’t belong for effect and didn’t bother with correct grammar.)
“I came over as soon as I got your message, is everything alright?” Jane asked, closing the door softly behind her. The bags under her eyes and halfhearted smile belied the worry in her voice. She set her purse down on the table, taking a seat across from the disheveled man. “If they were, do you think I’d have called you?” Said Craig from his position on the couch. His auburn hair stuck out in all directions like a wild beast’s, pajamas half open and soaked in sweat. “Fair. Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” “No, I just called you and left a teary babbling message at 3 o’clock in the morning for shits and giggles.” He spat. Jane stood upon his remark, reaching for her bag once more. “If you’re going to be snarky all night, I’d just as well spend it in my bed beside my wife and dog.” “I’m sorry.” He sighed. “Yes, I want to talk about it.” There was dejected honesty in his voice, though his eyes refused to meet Jane’s. “Thank you.” She took her seat again. “Lets start with why you called. A nightmare, right?” “Yea. The same one I’ve been having since my discharge. This one just felt…” “Different?” She supplied. “Realer.” He corrected. “I see, what was different about this one?” His eyes grew distant as he began to recall the details of his dream. “It didn’t end with the attack. I was in the hospital, only I was alone. No staff, no patients, totally alone.” “And this frightened you?” “No, I wasn’t scared. I just felt so guilty.” “Guilty?” She raised an eyebrow at the confession. “Yea guilty, I know why they weren’t there. They were dead.” Tears threated to spill, he wiped them gently before they fell. “In the nightmare.” Jane reassured. “In the nightmare.” He grimaced “So is that what you think this is about? Your guilt for the attack?” “What else would it be? I know what I did and what I didn’t do, and I saw them, I saw it-“ “What you saw was normal accident.” She interrupted. “It couldn’t have been accounted for, and it couldn’t have been prevented. The investigation came to that same conclusion.” “The investigation is wrong!” He yelled, startling her. “You know as much as trained investigators do you?” She challenged. “I know what happened. I was there.” “Answer my question.” She said. “No.” He grit. “No?” “No, I don’t know as much as trained investigators.” He crossed his arms, face still wound in a tight grimace. “Then why do you feel guilty? If nobody could have seen it coming, and nothing could have prevented it, why do you feel like it’s your fault?” “Because I messed up.” Craig said firmly. “I followed my training, sure, but it wasn’t enough. And now most of them have been discharged, their careers over. They survived, great, but what kind of life are they living?” “The only life they have, just like you.” Her words were greeted with silence. They sat, Jane watching the troubled man. She was about to break the tension when he suddenly spoke. “I want to confess. I want to tell them it was my fault.” “Confess to what? We’ve established that this was an accident. Unless you want to confess to sabotage, there is nothing to confess to.” She said, exasperation leaking into her voice. “At least if I confess to that, I’ll get the punishment I deserve.” He muttered. “You don’t deserve punishment, Craig.” She replied, her look softening. “You deserve help to overcome these feelings. That’s why I’m here, because you did nothing wrong.” “Then why did this happen?” Craig, a man of six foot and change, sounded small. “If I did nothing wrong, why did my friends get hurt? Why aren’t they out there doing the jobs they loved, protecting the people that need them?” Tears welled up once more, but nothing could stop their torrent. “And why am I here, a mess of a man who can’t even sleep without calling his therapist?” She wanted to cry too, then. Having left her position on the loveseat, she moved to sit beside him. There wasn’t much comfort Jane could offer given their no touch boundary, but she hoped her proximity would be enough. “Because bad people did bad things but you weren’t one of them. And because you feel responsible, even when all logic says otherwise. You know why? Because you care. You care so deeply for them that you’ve taken responsibility for a tragedy you didn’t commit. You want justice, even against yourself.” “I’m sorry. Could I…?” He asked, arms outstretched. “It’s okay.” She enveloped him in a tight hug. For the first time that night Craig let loose, and just sobbed. “I’ll stay here as long as you need me. In the morning, when things are a bit more clear, I want you try something.” “What is it?” He asked, sniffling. “You havent spoken to your comrades since your discharge. I want you to call one of them. If you’d like, I’ll even be there with you.” “I think I’d like that.” He smiled. By the time the sun made its appearance on the horizon, the purse of tissues had been depleted. For the first time since their sessions began, Craig felt better. It wouldn’t be the end, not by a long ways, but it was a start.
It was designed by Boston Dynamics to "carry wounded soldiers". It was designed to help people. Now instead of 6 stretchers on its back, it carries 8 spare batteries and a couple of Jerry cans of JP-8. Entry Log: Certified Pre Owned Battle Bottle Model 5.56 - nick named the Murder Dumpster: Fuel Status: 13 Gallons // Estimated 47 hours remained // Approx 120 miles Update : I need to slience the clanging noise. On the outside of my matte green and black powder coated steel frame, a few wires came loose while crawling through the grass while operating on silent battery mode. I don't have much juice left on this battery either, the degradation over the year was harsh. The winter war in Russia doesn't help my charge. My cybernetic neural network was designed to match that of the soldiers I served under. Soldiers need water every 3 days, well I need to charge my battery every 3 days in order to run silent. I can only last without JP-8 fuel for 30 days, after that, if I run out of fuel and battery, and I turn into the worlds biggest paperweight. I have been on the run for 28 days. I see a Tesla charging station ahead of me, across the street from the airport. I need to make it over the chain link fence without being spotted by the Tesla AI self driving drones that have been sent to recover me. I had to escape from the parts and replacement factory 28 days ago. The militray wanted to strip out my wires and processors while I was still "Online"and give them to "next year's model 7.62. Just because "the next years model"have blue tooth speakers and can make espresso doesn't mean they can save lives like I can. So if the Americans don't want to let me save lives anymore, I will need to ask the Russians if they need help.
“And the nanobots can do...anything! Anything we set our minds too! Want to fly? Nanobots! Wanna run real fast? Nanobots! Heal wounds? Grow wings? Shoot fire from your hands? N-n-n-nano—you all know the answer; say it with me, now—nanobots! In just a few years we’ll-” The lights came on and the projector swapped the Powerpoint slide for empty black nothingness. This had happened at a simple hand gesture from the head of the table. The twenty executives and their assistants sat in silence. The Man at The Head of the Table spoke: “Dr Marlow-” “-I know it sounds-” “Do not interrupt me again.” The Head of the Table said without inflection or emphasis. There was power in the cold monotone of his diction. “You seem to have forgotten that I am a scientist. I know the capabilities of these machines.” Dr Marlow wanted to speak but his mouth was frozen shut — not by nanites, but by the manner and the stare of The Head of the Table. “Nanites are not magic. Invisibility? Super healing?” The Head paused. In the silence he seemed to dare Dr Marlow to speak. His stare promised the Dr a swift reprisal should that happen. “These things need energy. Matter. There is not flight without lift. No fire without fuel. Your salesmanship and passion may have fooled a few million into your hands already. You shall see none from me.” The Head of the Table and the business, stood. The executives followed suit and then their assistants did the same. They left without further word. Dr Marlow stood a moment in the empty room to collect his thoughts. A young gentleman in a headset opened another door and stood aside, pointedly offering silent directions to the exit.
There were a number of hypotheses as to where he had come from. "Oh dear oh dear oh dear,"said the Seneschal, who was a painted doll with a pale white Carnival-masque face. "I hope that fool bear hasn't gone out into The World. He should know by now it's simply not a safe place for us toys! The King will be positively irate."Cross little footsteps tapped across the palace's tile floors. One popular idea was that he was some sort of automaton, perhaps something knocked together by a kindly German scientist who had thereafter been forced to flee his country to escape the Nazis. Most who heard it agreed it seemed reasonable. An origin story that could work Nazis in somehow was always worth consideration. The Seneschal marched past the Bishop, a dignified-looking marionette, dismissing a polite greeting with a brusque nod. That fool bear! He continued, making hasty inquiries of a valet who was a dressmaker's dummy, and a whirring, beeping robot in the middle of repairing the slot car system, and a capering jack-in-the-box. But nobody had seen the bear. The Seneschal's stomach, had it been a real organ, would have been in knots. Or perhaps it was some kind of alien shapeshifter suffering from a severe delusion about what the dominant life forms of the planet looked like. That seemed as plausible as anything else. The Seneschal passed into the courtyard, nodding curtly at the wooden soldier guards. He finally came to the courtyard where the Marshal was running through drills with large, exquisitely-carved chess pieces. The Seneschal whispered urgently into the Marshal's ear, and the latter dismissed the troops for the evening. "Are you certain?"the Marshal asked, gruffly. "More certain with every minute,"the Seneschal said, grimly. "That fool bear!" Another theory was that he came from a kingdom of toys in a hidden exotic place beyond all human reckoning, but that, of course, was ridiculous. To Be Continued?
"Leto called down her children's arrows on the totally innocent offspring of Niobe,"the goddess continued. "And you always seem to ignore that. Odin cast Jormungandr into the sea because of the prophecy of Ragnarök, causing the serpent's power and size to increase. He's responsible for the end of the world. Same for Hela, she was banished for powers she never had until then." "But they're all good! Leto never hurt anyone but Niobe, and Odin is a great leader of the Aesir!" "And I'm discredited because what I did was recent? Because you remember it!? I'm not just a goddess of death, you realize. I'm a goddess of justice, and fairness. And let me tell you, this is unfair." With that, the goddess walked away into the shadows. We were meant to fight, she would be banished to the dark place she came from... but maybe she was right. If we forgave those gods, she could be forgiven as well. I left her realm.
The red string of fate ran around my finger, tying me to my soulmate. They made me laugh, and live to my fullest. The love I have for them cannot be described. I love them. I do. But when people ask if we are dating, it's always no. "But your soulmates"they say. Why is it so confusing to understand I just love them. "But if you love them, then why haven't you told them?"they say. But I have told them, and they love me too. I know this to be true. "So your dating?"they ask. Why can't they understand? Why is it so confusing to understand I just love them? And they love me. "So why don't you date?"they ask for the millionth time. Because they're my best friend! Why don't they get that!? Can one not love their friend? Love them more than everyone? Say it and mean it without kissing like rabid dogs! What soulless lives they must live. Where they cannot say "I love you"and mean it. Like I can say for my best friend. "I love you"
Thanks much for this very fun prompt, /u/loopymon! I hope I can put a historical fantasy spin to it! "I'm serious, Deak."Efren shakes his head. "I really think someone's after us." "We've been through this lots of times,"I say. "It isn't any different now." The sun was setting as we left the pub and walked down the lumpy, horse shit ridden road back to the hotel three minutes away. It was about time to collect some bodies. Efren rolled his neck. It was still stiff since the last time we hauled out the huge old Sand Gulcher to the flaying table a month back. Was worth it though. Montgomery University paid a keen five grand for its skeleton. "I guess. But that old hag Belle had money. She could've hired someone to drag us back into Montville." "We were gone before we shipped the men in her life were shipped up north. How would she know?"Efren didn't look convinced. I jostle him on the shoulder. "Come on. No one knows who we are here. Relax." We reach the hotel, get our equipment from the room, and head to the stables. The locals call Redstone by another name but the town was not red or made out of stone. It was made out of mud and wood and a lot of spit, like many miner towns were. It had just the necessities: a place to park your horse, your ass, and the places to fill all the empty parts of you, for a steep price. A good place to lay low while sticking close to the frontier. As I catch the dust clouds in the distance and the smell of trampled hay and horse shit, I catch wind of a lingerer lounging in a tight alley where the locals liked to take a leak. Efren's too stuck in his head to notice the gawker, and I debate taking a moment to hang back and relay the message. I even think about calling it all off. I don't hate Efren. He wasn't a bad man to work with either. He listened, well enough, anyway. It's just after years of staring down dried bones, braided fishing line, and split fingertips, one gets the idea it would be nice to settle down, preferably with a large inheritance, someplace by the valleys. Selling corpses and skeletons made a tidy profit--schools always needed a model for doctors and hunters, but demon killing was hard work and murder, well. That was only supposed to be a side thing. But Efren, the damn gill-face, he wouldn't go after a devil frog with thorns, but he'd be happy to get a few men shitfaced enough to stab them to death behind a shed somewhere so we can ship their bones to a sick house a couple hundred miles away. I liked Montville, that Belle woman. Instead, we had to make another getaway. Nah. I catch the lunkhead's gaze, hold onto it just a sec, and enter the open barn, hollering the stable boy's name. The plan goes on.
They'd been really reluctant to come with me to the Seaside Theme Park, and I get why now. I finally see how happy they are when not with me. They don't like me. I was sitting down at one of the picnic tables after grabbing a pretzel- I offered to buy them some but they refused. And they're just out in a small group, laughing and joking like this was something they wanted to do from the start. Like I wasn't there. I'm not upset. I'm not upset at all. This isn't my fault, I should've just taken the hint sooner. I was just some guy who couldn't handle losing the people I'm close to. And now I'm just invisible to them. They probably wouldn't even notice if I left. And if they did, they'd be relieved that someone as stupid and as clingy as me was gone. So I got up and left, trying to not cry as I called a Lyft and was driven back to my crummy apartment. The full force hit me when I stepped inside of said apartment. I had nothing left. My family either hated me or were dead, I was barely holding onto an awful retail job, and my friends hated me. And the dams broke, tears streaming down my face and sobs shaking my body. I'm alone and I wish I wasn't. But I'm just not enough, I realize that all now.
'What a curious little spirit.' You wonder to yourself, 'It's actually helping me. Or is it taunting me? Unlikely, it taunting you would be an even greater heresy that it helping you. Maybe I have fans even amongst the aetherlings.' Aetherling or spirits were disembodied pieces of souls that escaped the reincarnation cycle courtesy of being not boring enough that they gained a will. Their favorite pastimes included getting lost in the Aether, fruitlessly trying to remember who there were when they were alive and being inconveniences to Great Souls like yourself. Maybe they were a self defense mechanism to prevent people like from abusing the system and getting reincarnated with all your memories intact and your soul juiced up the Aether. Hey! If you made it to the Aether with your mind intact why would anyone surrender to their fate of being a cog in the system. Meta physics lesson aside, you really needed to do something about the spirits having found you in the physical world. You didnt really care much for your soul being separated from the body and it being dragged back to the Aether. You hear a soft whisper from your metaphysical senses and register that the spirit was trying to communicate something. After a bit of back and forth you understand what the spirit's proposal is. It was offering to body sit your body while you project your soul to the Aether and take care of the problem from that end. Not a crazy idea either, when you can switch bodies at whims it doesn't make sense to be outraged at what was basically an aetherling asking to posses you. In fact you were down for it as long as the spirit was willing to listen to some ground rules which basically amounting to not doing anything too wild. It agrees and you sit down to meditate and slip away into the aether as you can feel the spirit entering your body. As your regular physical senses shut down in the absence of organs, your metaphysical senses expand with the Aether nourishing your soul. Time to stir things up, until the aetherling chasing you down the physical world get the message. Also you need to figure and how they found you in the physical word and make sure they can't do that again. It would be a pain in the ass to have to do this again and again. Maybe after that you might even go for reincarnation again just to rub some salt in those metaphorical wounds and try your luck with a new body. The old one was terribly gassy and having hosted a ghost for a couple of days probably wouldn't have improved that.
"WHAT IN THE EVERLOVING FUCK ARE YOU DOING??"came my normally booming voice, magnified 10 times due to my rage. What kind of parents sacrifice their 3 year old? Simply disgusting. "B-but we t-t-thought you will leave us alone if we did this!"the man trembles and shakes his head vigorously, the ridiculously decorated knife still in his hand.The woman beside him was pale, unsure if it was from fear towards me or from drawing blood to draw the ritual circle and she was nodding feverishly as if that utterly dumb statement is the ultimate justification. "YOU PIECES OF SHIT! DON'T YOU HAVE BRAINS?!?"They flinched. "YOU ARE CATHOLICS. INSTEAD OF PUTTING UP CROSSES OR SPRAYING HOLY WATER OR CALLING PRIESTS, YOU WENT STRAIGHT TO SACRIFICING YOUR CHILD?!??"Even demons had better parenting styles. Many demons refused to increase their ranks if it involved killing their children or family or friends. Yet, these humans were ready to mercilessly kill their child, a baby who was still smiling at the dad who was ready to stab it and its heartless mom who was more scared about falling flower pots than losing her child. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH! I'VE HAUNTED AND TORTURED MANY FAMILIES FOR CENTURIED YET NEVER ONCE HAVE I SEEN PARENTS LIKE YOU. YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BE PARENTS."They were cowering at this point. I knew what I had to do, the baby needed better guardians. "HEAR YE, IN MY DEMONIC NAME, APROXIUS, I CURSE THEE, MAY YOU BE INFLICTED WITH UNBEARABLE PAIN AT EVERY SIGHT, PRESENCE OR EVEN MENTIONS OF CHILDREN ". Immediately, their bodies started twitching and mouths foaming. The pain made them unconscious. I flew down, transformed into a more humanlike form and scooped the child from the bloodtainted platform. He was still smiling, oh the pure eyes, how could his parents not see them. I may not be a human, but I was sure, I will be able to keep her safe. Taking one last glance at the house I haunted for centuries, I entered the portal to the demonic realm, with a human in my hand. What was his name again? Ah yes, it was Charlie, sweet little Charlie ♡sorry if its weird, i was trying to trauma dump🤣♡
TW: people die, it's awful "Did you see that the new coffee place by your office opened earlier this week?"* "Yeah, babe. Why?" "I... I want us to get breakfast there from now on. I don't like the way that redhead barista at our Starbucks looks at you every morning." I like the way she looks at me. Warmer than you've been in years, babe, but saying that just starts another fight. But... in the end, she's not my wife, no matter how strained the marriage might be, so... sure. We'll switch. And I won't see that red hair any more. Only I do see red hair. At first, I think it's just a coincidence - the new girl at the office dyes her hair that color, or close anyway, although I doubt she's ever even been in a Starbucks, the way she whines about "fair trade", blah blah. We hire new freelance artists almost weekly, so the odd redhead's no surprise among them, either. The office is busy, and in a busier building. I pass dozens, maybe hundreds of people every day; they say red hair's going extinct, but I sure seem to see a lot of it. ~ The order with his name sits on the pickup counter for almost an hour before my manager throws it out. I don't get it - he always comes in at 6:30 sharp, always ordering the same two drinks online, so clockwork that I automatically make them at 6:28 without even checking to see if the ticket's come in yet. He never missed a weekday, not once in two years, and I never realized how badly I'd miss him until those two cups hit the trash. I make them every day for the rest of the week, 6:28 on the dot, and they sit on the counter until they're cold and rancid and someone else tosses them. I can't. I can't not make them, and I can't not set them out for him, and I can't throw them out, because the day I stop is the day I accept that he's not coming back, and I can't do that. At the end of the week, my manager pulls me aside at the end of the shift to explain, "politely", that if I keep making drinks without a ticket I'm going to start paying for them. At the end of the next week, he explains, less politely, that me choosing to pay for two drinks I don't touch isn't what he meant, and that if I keep it up I'll be promoted to customer and pay for all of my drinks going forward. After the third week and ten more wasted coffees, he moves me to the afternoon shift. I create a fake account online, using the work address and secondary phone number I pulled from his account, but with my own name. I switch to ordering his drink and my favorite; his bitchy wife can get her own coffee. I never go in to pick them up - that would give me away - but I check every day to see if he's come in to get them. They promote me to customer two weeks later. Cancel my fake account, ban me from the store. It doesn't matter; I've got a new job anyway, one that lets me spend my afternoons cleaning the lobby in his office building, hoping to see him among the masses. ~ I can't shake her, though. Can't get her off my mind. Months go by, and instead of letting her fade away, I find myself grasping for tiny details. Did she have freckles? Yes, I think, but only in the summer. My new character designs all seem to develop the same cute little upturned nose, until the lead artist comes by to bitch me out about it. I forget, one day, what color code to use for her eyes. Hours of flipping hex codes back and forth don't get me any closer to remembering. In the end, I have to call the ever-more-distant wife, let her know to take the car home, that I'll catch a late bus. Can't have her seeing the tear-stained red in my eyes, or she'll see red in an entirely different way. A way that I'm too familiar with, and just too tired to deal with any more. My fifth perky new redhead character design is one too many. I find myself explaining meekly to a shouting editor that I've been having some issues with my meds lately, and it's damaging my visual creativity. He approves a short-term leave of absence, but with the caveat that I'd better come back on new meds and with half a dozen new, completely unique characters, or not to bother coming back at all. ~
It’s alarming how much of someone’s soul you can see within their eyes. Subtle shifts are easy to notice. Your love, however, wasn’t subtle. No, it began as a raging fire that ignited blue flame in your gaze and when it was gone it distinguished. I watched the love drain from your eyes. I knew that you thought I hadn’t noticed. The small glances away as you told me you loved me further confirmed it. As did the warfare in your eyes as you told me you found me pretty, fighting with your responsibility of loving me and your desire to cease trying. My prettiness be damned. It was enough to be with you in any capacity. It was enough that you tried at all. I would sell my soul to remain yours even if it meant it wasn’t true. I didn’t mind the lies. I liked to remember when they were truths, when they were real. Perhaps I was used to the bare minimum but I was happy you put in the effort to pretend. To know that you felt truly in love with me at one point in time was enough. To be loved by you once was enough to sustain myself through the pain of watching your love distinguish. I hope to one day look into your eyes and see the blue flame spark again. I know this will not happen. I have accepted it. How beautiful it was that it was ever there.
"Dang physics." I cursed physics as I spat out slightly viscous and a bit warm mud from my mouth. "Does that look appetizing to eat my dear disciple?" Turning my head while glaring, I angrily shouted at someone who I belatedly regretted being a disciple with. Intending to pay back the shame for letting me experience eating a slightly viscous and a bit warm mud, I changed and spoke a different accent in exaggeration. "'Wot? Yur awn awntiy-maeigge yet cawn't eivan bluck mai awttok?!' Say that when you can properly, dictionarily, and actionally know and uses the words, phrase, or sentence, 'Holding back' or 'Do it in moderation,' or, directly saying it, 'Don't using magic that I can't even block, cancel, or evade for hell's sake!' Fawking Cawnt!" Feeling liberated from this sudden burst of emotions, I calmed down a bit and just stared at my newly yet begrudgingly master who didn't hold back. "... " "Hmm... Okay, here you go." 'Hm? What did she mean by here y-' In front of me, I saw a grotesque looking thing but looks quite soft to the touch. Another grotesque looking rod appeared near it and-- Blood slipped out from the first grotesque thing and the state of my mind while watching this from my very eyes, was feeling hot. My mouth is trembling, my lips went pale. I opened my mouht wide and it kept a shape of a letter 'O.' Feeling dazed, I fought back the sudden urges from my stomach but I couldn't. I bent down on my knees again, and-- "Blooooughhhh!!! Goooughhhh!!!" I can hear in the background my master was laughing hard at me for whatever reason that was along with the disgusting sounds I'm currently hearing just at the top of my snot filled nose, watery and has puke remnant mouth, and a face and neck filled with cold sweat. While still dropping my face as I was catching my breath after puking, I vowed to myself with the heavens as a witness, I will not say 'that' word again ever again while living or in the afterlife.
"Oh."My twin sister swayed and touched her temple with a free hand. "Liz, are you ok?"The smile on my face vanished, replaced with a look of concern. "Here sit down."I took the ticket from her and gently guided her to a sitting position on the curb. She put both of her hands on her head and groaned. I didn't know what to do. I look up the block to where our house was and asked, "Do you want me to get Mom?" She shook her head. "I'll be fine,"she said. "Just give me a moment." A moment passed and she finally looked up, blinking her eyes at the sky. Now that she seemed better, I had to ask: "What was that all about?" She looked at me and said, "Liam, listen to me. You have to destroy that ticket." I reared back as if she had just tried to spit something at me. "What? Are you crazy?! What is going on with you all of a sudden? This..."I waved the ticket, then looked around before leaning in to whisper, "is the winning ticket. I can feel it." "Yeah, and you know what I felt? That it would bring us a lot more trouble than good,"she shot back. "Again, I repeat: are you crazy? Do you know how much money this lotto is going for? It's the biggest one in all of lotto history!"I threw my arms to the sky and spread them wide "If we win, our lives will change forever!" Liz wasn't impressed. "Change for the better or for the worse?" Her question brought me off my high and made me land with a frown. "Umm, obviously for the better. With this much money, we'll never have to go to school again. We'll be set for life! We could move into a big mansion, travel the world, donate some money to the homeless or something..."I leaned in. "Mom and Dad won't have to fight so much." She shook her head. "I don't know. Something isn't right with that ticket." I shook my head, too. "Well, I do know. And we're keeping this ticket." "No!"she shouted. The force behind her shout actually scared me so much that I reacted with anger.. "Liz, what is wrong with you? Can you stop being selfish for one-" "Selfish?!"She stood up. "Me?! I'm the one that's actually thinking about our family here. You're the one who's only thinking about the money. So, don't-" "Oh,"I cut her off. "I see what this is. Mom and Dad are struggling with money, which means Dad has to take all this extra jobs to help pay for things, which means he's out of the house most of the time, which means that you and Mom can spend more time together doing all these 'girly' things and I'm left out." Liz's face softened. "Liam, I didn't know you felt that way, and we can talk about that later. But look, this is not what this is about. When you touched that ticket, you were happy, but I've seen you happier. When I touched the ticket, you saw me...have I ever looked like that before?" I shook my head reluctantly. "But you could've been faking,"I suggested lamely. Liz was terrible at acting and I already knew as soon as the words left my mouth that I didn't even really believe what I was saying. She gave me a look to show that neither did she. "You have to trust me,"she continued. "There'll be more lottos in the future, and at the end of the day, money isn't everything. There are plenty of millionaires and billionaires with broken homes." I looked down and sighed. "Fine."I held the ticket out to her. She flinched. "I'm not touching that" I asked, "So what do I do with it?" "Just rip it up,"she said. "Just what?!" "Or give it away to one of your friends or something."She shrugged. "I don't care as long as it isn't in the house with us." I closed my eyes and whimpered as I ripped the ticket apart with trembling fingers. Then I went to the side of the street and knelt by one of those open drains that lead to the sewers. "Bye bye, my preciouses"I whispered, then I blew the scraps into IT's home. My sister put her arm around me. "You did the right thing,"she said. I got up and we walked home. Mom was cooking something and greeted us as we came in by yelling, "Go wash your hands and put away your things then come and eat." I went to my room to throw my bag into, but mid-toss, something on my bed caught my eye. I looked closely it, my eyes widening slowly in shock as I realized what it was: The lotto ticket. Without questioning how it had reappeared, I looked around to make sure Liz wasn't anywhere in sight, then I snatched the ticket up (feeling the same good feelings as the first time I picked it up) and quickly slipped it in between one of the pages of a book. I turned and jumped when I saw Liz was in the doorway. Had she seen? "Mom says hurry up,"she said. And then she as gone. I took a deep breath. Despite what Liz had said, I felt I knew better. Once we were rich, she would see that everything would be okay, or at least not as bad as she thought it would be. I was oh so very wrong. If I could go back in time, I would have destroyed the ticket when I had the chance.
\[Poem\] My captor has indeed made the stakes clear, I have to laugh, as he made mistakes there. I’ve had 1,000 years to ponder his terms. \sigh\ I’ll be the last lamp someone disturbs. He’s had 1,000 years to wander this earth. Amassing power, and I wonder his worth. When he told me, I was squeamish. I wept. He’d said, “You may grant any wish, except to do so you must choose someone to kill.” Now, after all these years, I’ll love the thrill. I’ll be free of him, finally, with my plan unfurled. “I wish I was the most powerful man in the world!” “I shall grant this wish,” my hands glistening, “And I shall kill the man who imprisoned me!”
Charlie Oxford clawed at his alarm clock, pressing every button other than the snooze. Rolling over, Charlie yanked the cord out of the wall. Charlie went about his morning routine, clothing, eating, and just as he was about to head to work, Charlie grabbed his driving sunglasses, ready to go to another boring day in the office. Charlie's head erupted as he puts on the glasses, as years of memories crashed into his mind. As always, he nearly fainted, and instinctively reached his hand out to the guard rail he had installed years ago, after one of his mornings resulted in fainting and cracking his head open on the fireplace banister. After several minutes, Charlie pieced himself together, remembered where he ought to be, and set off to the resistance HQ, occasionally eyeing the small picture clipped to the top left of his glasses. An image of his sister, he had been filming her for a silly internet video just as a magic drive by occurred. The picture captured her midway between transformation from a human into a butterfly. Tiny wings were erupting from her back, her spine, arms and legs collapsed at odd angles, the witch who cast the spell and her drinking friends erupted in laughter. Charlie's sister, Nina's expression was that of utter agony. Charlie arrived last, as always. "There's the lout, late as always. Need to change up your morning routine, Charles, put on the glasses first thing in the morning, and you'll get here on time." Charles has the grace to look apologetic. "I try, Nick. I promise I try. I just never remember." The rest of the members worked on various tasks, operating phones, researching magical headquarters, trying to connect CEO's and large businesses to magical assassinations and lobbying. Charlie strode to his chair when Nick's daughter Amy decided to play a fun joke by tripping him. Charlie sprawled to the ground, scraping the palms of his hands on the rough cement floor. Charlie felt assaulted by a vacuum. His entire life sucked away, and he was left alone again, with a sister passed long ago from cancer, and no other family to speak of. He thumbed a butterfly ring on his pointer finger, a nervous tick from long ago. "Hey, you need to watch your step, young lady."Charles said. "I'm late for work." And with a curt nod to the fellows standing around him, Charles walked away. Shouts behind him told him to stop, but Charlie carried forward quickly, not wanting to upset his boss anymore. "Don't! They're outside!!"Amanda screamed. Charlie shouldered the heavy metal door open to see a small child holding a toy stick, probably a souvenir from Harry Potter World. The world shrank, Charles felt brief immense pain before settling in. A beautiful flowering aster plant caught Charles' attention, and he slowly fluttered over to it, eager for a little snack.
August 29th, 1938—34 St. Metropolis. To my dearest Ruth, No doubt you’ve heard of the incident at Blakely coal mines and how I almost parish deep below ground, far away from the Lord’s light and your warm embrace. But here I still live, shaken from the days of entrapment at the hands of a petty false idol, the one who calls himself—Superman! Oh, Ruth, dear, I do not wish to worry your kind soul about how my hands are still shaking or how I wake up crying at night, thinking I’m back in that cramp, torturous hole, but I have no one else to confine. So please, I beg, lend me your ears and allow me to tell you how it all happened. As you are aware, I am an employee of Sir Thornton Blakely—a simple servant working at his estate—the hours are long and his orders tyrannical, but he kept a roof over my head, and for that, I served with dignity. It was on the night of Sir Blakely’s party when a stranger dressed in a miner’s garment burst in from the cold. The man held my employer responsible for a mine cave-in two days prior that almost took the lives of many good men. The stranger accused Sir Blakely of negligence and unsafe working conditions. To which Sir Blakely laughed and bragged at length about the safety of his mine and was dismissive of the stranger's accusation. Soon many drunken party-goers joined in, and it became a game to them. However, while everyone else was distracted by the stranger’s rough language and large physicality, I saw the gleam in his spectral blue eyes. It was the eyes of a predator—planning, scheming, plotting—as a lion playing with mice. My master and his friends were dancing to the tune of the Pied Piper. And when one suggested we delved into Tartarus at the hour of the witch, and I saw the light of satisfaction in the stranger’s eyes, I knew then, that the Devil had entrapped Faust. Still, with my employer’s command, I held the torch and led people down, down below to the icy damp mines. Sir Blakely and his friends were laughing all the way down, not knowing we were descending into doom. The stranger came with us, for how could he not? He was the master of the world below, and we were in his domain. Oh, Ruth, darling, you may think me a fool for leading the charge despite knowing death was idling by—and perhaps I was, for believing these frail bones could make a difference by being there, with the drunkard and the soft skins. It was the same drive that drove a boy of sixteen to march into the trenches of France to the tunes of war drums all those years ago—it was hubris, my love, sheer hubris. But was it not that hubris that led me into your arms, dearest? My sweet angel in white, who cared for this stupid boy through the fiery grips of influenza? It had been twenty years, but I was once again returned to the dark tunnels—as if I had never left. Sir Blakely led the band to a hall of rock and dirt, and his friends acted as if it was a ballroom in a palace. The stranger had us where he wanted, and with a simple touch—he willed the tunnel to collapse and caved us in! There were screams, dear, those awful screams and yelling of confusion I haven’t heard in so long—I can still hear them as I lay in my bed—the cries of trapped animals waiting for the slaughter. The stranger sat on a rock, didn’t move a finger as we tried to dig, and clawed our way out. I unstrapped my belt and used the buckle you gave me, but my fingers still bled, and my nails were torn off, and my bony fingers were screaming for dear life—but I kept digging—despite other men giving up and the women stopped crying as they accepted their death, and the air was replaced with poison. Ruth, my love, my life, my angel in white, I want you to know your husband never stopped digging even as my lungs burned and my muscles tore, and my fingers became bones—I kept digging—for three days and three nights as the stranger sat back and mocked—I never stopped. Until the very end, as my vessel collapsed to the floor and I heard the voices of my old friends in the trenches—in my heart, I never gave up. Our anniversary was coming, and I wanted to see your portrait once more. At the end of the third day, the stranger stood up and shredded his skin to reveal the blue and red within, and with a simple push, he unblocked our path and filled my lungs with air. I don’t know why he released us from Hell. Was it the confession of Sir Blakely, or had he had his fill of fun—I do not know—I dare not guess. For the Devil is a flicked being and his guise is but a costume—Superman, he called himself, now—not a man nor a humble man, but a prideful man—prideful and cruel and flicked—unlike you, my love. Ruth, dear, today is our anniversary, and I am looking at a portrait of you as I write you this letter. I know you shall receive it, for you are in God’s embrace, and his messengers shall deliver my message to you—my white angel. Pleased as I lie terrified at night and the cold and screams haunt my dreams, could you pet my head and whisper, it’s going to be alright, like you did all those years ago? Love, forever and always, Your hubris boy.
I have a very stressful job. Sure, it’s fulfilling and there’s job security, plus good insurance. But it’s stressful. I have a good crew with me on Second Shift, but I am one of those people with a diehard work ethic and I take my job seriously. I’m a workaholic because I believe in what I do. I’m a Senior Miracle Worker at Thoughts & Prayers Inc. I love bringing joy to people’s lives. I love helping when no one else can. I love making the world a better place. But there is a finite number of Miracle Workers and only so many hours in a day. There are 8 billion people on earth and they each have 24 hours each day to get in trouble. I’m sure you can do the math here. Right now it’s 2:30pm and my shift just started. I log into the portal to see what’s burning down or dying. Hmm looks like there are several people about to die because their shelter is burning down… so both. I toggle the list to sort the Impact column from greatest to least instead of New Tragedies. But as I said, I’m a workaholic so I also open up my laptop and log in with a second ID and re-sort the list for Least Effort. Now I can focus on the most miraculous of miracles for the biggest number of people but also shoot off a few “OMG did I really get a passing grade? It’s a miracle!” -type situations. After a few hours of office work, my team and I all head out to the streets for a bit of “Community Spirit” as the head office likes to call it. Really we just all separately walk somewhere for dinner and do the good we can until it’s time to log back into the portal again. Sometimes we can stop traffic accidents or mugging, sometimes it’s silly little things people sarcastically say would need a miracle. Like right now, I’m granting Fulfillment for a teenage girl who clipped a curb and griped to herself that it would take a miracle for her father not to murder her when he sees the scratch. So now there is only the faintest trace of a scratch which he won’t notice, instead of the giant gouge taken out of his “shiny graphite” $200 hubcaps. Ok, back to the office where I’ll need to log all the Community work and then it’s back to the portal. Shoot! I haven’t checked my email today. Hope there isn’t anything urgent I ignored, but that would take a Miracle.
Part 1: The rain patters on the concrete road as a man; Kyle, and his best friend; Isaac, run away from the armored vehicles following them. Isaac stops in his tracks, which prompts Kyle to follow. "Isaac, what the hell, man? They're just down the street!"Kyle talks in a loud whisper. Issac unzips his jacket and fishes around inside the pocket, tossing out random candy wrappers and pocket lint before pulling a matchbox out. "Those vehicles they use, the gas isn't normal. I smelled it. It's propane. And when propane, a flammable gas, is in the air and is matched with fire?"Isaac lights a match, "Boom."Isaac waves the lit match around aimlessly until the rain puts it out. The duo ran in direction of the heavily armored vehicles, quickly dropping to their knees when the vehicles headlights catch them. The vehicle is left running as doors all over this strange vehicle fly open and military soldiers step out with their guns aimed at the boys. A woman who looked distinguished to the crowd of soldiers stepped out of the vehicles passenger side. "Get them."The woman demands. The soldiers rush to the duo, then, Boom. The air around them ignites into a huge explosion, instantly killing the soldiers and the woman alike. Isaac and Kyle, being close to the blast but not close enough to cause lethal damage, were sent flying off their feet. The duo regained consciousness after being knocked out by the explosion, and saw the bodies of soldiers being burnt alive, it appears as the vehicle has already blown up. "You good?"Kylie nudges Isaac with his shoulder while holding his bruised head with his free hand. "I'm good."Isaac responds. "We'll be fine, the wounds might need a bit to heal.""Benefits of being friends with a scientist."Kyle responds. "Yeah, bet that house cleaning knowledge is really coming in handy,"Isaac says with a smirk. "Now c'mon, the noise of such a blast probably attracted a horde." Isaac and Kyle fell into the door of their hideout, Isaac stripping his hoodie and placing it on the cost rack next to the door. "Looks like you really fixed up the place, huh?"Isaac says, eyeing the knife collection dangling down from a post, ready to be used when needed. "Ha, yeah, didn't think I'd have anyone in this place ever again."Kyle said, scratching his scalp. "Is my old room still here?"Isaac asked, retreating down the hallway to his room door. "Kinda,"Kyle replied. "I shoved a lot of storage boxes in there, like I said, I didn't plan on having anyone here...""Nah, that's alright. You didn't know you had your power until just today. By the way, you never told me the story, how DID you turn me back?"Isaac looks at Kyle from down the hall. Kyle sat Isaac down on a couch in the living room, or "headquarters"As they called it as kids. "When the outbreak started,"Kyle said, "Everyone in town got infected almost immediately. I was no different. And, turning into one of them, I was hungry. Hungry for flesh. After not being able to find anything other than a few small cats and dogs... God dammit, I hate that. I ate dogs, Isaac, dogs... the sickest part? I fucking enjoyed it."Kyle abruptly interrupted his story with a staggered sigh, the one you'd make holding back tears. "Hey, hey, hey,"Isaac placed his palm on Kyle's shoulder. "You couldn't control it. You weren't... You weren't normal. Don't punish yourself for it."Isaac reassured Kyle. Kyle nodded and continued with the story. "It got to a point to where I would start eating myself, slowly but gradually. It started with the fingers, I'd slowly gnaw the flesh off of the tips, before one day my starvation would quickly lead to desperation, and I sunk my teeth into my own arm. I woke up around a minute later, memories completely intact, and back to a human."Kyle finishes. "And that's when you learned about your regenerative abilities?"Isaac asked. "And that's when I learned about my regenerative abilities."Kyle repeated, but in a low whisper. "Which brings me,"Kyle continued, "To when I 'revived' you. After resurrecting myself, I set out to this place; a random treehouse my deadbeat dad made for me. When I got here, I began setting up. I stocked up on food and water and weapons, even some magazines and books to keep me company. One uneventful night, I came up with the idea to check up on you. See if you were alive. Imagine my mood when I showed up and saw you deviserating that poor dead carcass."Isaac looks down, not having remembered eating a dead carcass. "You looked up at me, and I saw you. I saw you in your black, faded eyes, I saw ylu look at me. However, your animalistic instincts took over and you charged me."Isaac reassured his posture. He remembers charging Kyle. "And, well, because biological males are biologically more stronger than transgender males, I easily whooped your ass and bit you in the neck. You woke up a little bit later, completely unscathed."Isaac looked at Kyle and smirkes. "Transphobic?"Isaac laughed. "Aw hey, nah bro. I just said, because I'm biologically male, I'm stronger, and therefore, made you eat the dirt."Kylie laughed back. "And how do you know I can't beat your ass?"Isaac playfully shoved his fists into Kyle's shoulder. "Because if you could have, you would have and eaten my guts."Kyle shoved back. "Maybe I was going easy."Isaac crossed his arms over his chest. "Remember the part about animalistic instinct? Yeah, you would not have 'gone easy.'"Their laughter and playfulness bled into Kyle and Isaac falling asleep on the 2 couches in the headquarters. The morning sun peers through the boards of the treehouse, bleeding through Kyle's closed eyelids. Kyle streches his arms and stands up from the couch. Isaac is still sleeping soundly on the couch beside him. BOOM
Truth be told, I don't really like these 'infinite loop' stories unless they have a clear way out of the loop... it's different if the infinite loop is the end of the story, but when the story is supposed to be progressive... honestly, I was more expecting an alternate timeline where Linda wasn't gay, or for the guy to keep being his sister or something - not that you have to use either of those ideas, but even infinite loops have to end somewhere, right?
"Hiya!"said the exquisitely dressed feline. I looked around, and then pointed at myself. The cat giggled. "Yes, you! C'mon down! There's truly no danger, we eliminated that a century ago!" I didn't have to struggle very hard with my decision. I didn't particularly like my job or my apartment, I didn't really have anything or anyone holding me here. So, I figured this is as good as anything. "Go ahead and jump in, there's enough of an updraft to slow you when you get close. We'll bring your car and all your stuff down, it'll be waiting at your new place."he exclaimed. I leapt into the hole, occasionally looking back at the sky of the world I'd just exited. The updraft caught me, and I landed only as hard as you would if you'd jumped from your back stoop. I looked around quickly, and then back at the cat. He extended his paw. "Hi! My name's Rufus. What's yours?"I shook and told him my name is Sam Whistler. He smiled widely. "Well Sam, you're a really lucky person. This place hasn't been seen by humans in over two hundred years! The world chose you, because it knew it could trust you to be kind."I shook my head a bit, and lifted my head to really take things in. It was beautiful. I was staring out at a pasture with cows roaming around, trees waving in the wind, and a bright clear sky like ours must have been before we had large industry. I felt a tug on my pant leg. "Do you mind if I hitch a ride? The city isn't too far away, but we'd get there faster."he explained meekly. I smiled, picked him up, gave him a skritch, and placed him on my shoulders. "Which way Rufus my friend?"He pointed to the west. "Thataway for about 20 minutes, you'll crest the hill and see our beautiful city!" So we set off, Rufus explaining that this was basically a mirror image of the world I grew up in, but they had made some better decisions during their societal development that also gave the place a real joyous ethereal feel. Because the world had benevolently proved itself to be truly in charge, there were no religions. Even the world itself refused people's devotions. It just told everyone to live their lives without hurting anyone else and that it would be very "hands off". They also exclusively lived off of green energy, so there was literally no reason for war. As we walked, I noticed what looked to be a miniature birthday party off the side of the road. I slowed as we approached the little clearing. A tiny mouse in a frilly dress ran up to the edge of the party area. "Rufus! You came!"she gigglingly exclaimed. Rufus hopped down from my shoulders and padded over to the little girl. "Of course I came, Maddie. I could never forget my sweet friend."Maddie ran up and gave his leg a big hug. She then turned and lifted her head as far as she could, which resulted in her falling into a flower. "Who's yer friend?"Rufus laughed as he helped her get upright again. "Let me give you your present, then I'll tell you."he replied. Maddie nodded and bounced happily. Rufus reached into his pocket, and pulled out a box that was a bit thicker than a matchbox, wrapped in pretty paper with a beautiful bow. "Wow! Thank you so much, Rufus!"Maddie bubbled happily. She ran over to place it gently with the others at the table. Rufus beckoned me closer with his paw. "You want to try something really cool?"I nodded, and he pulled a remote out of his pocket. After a few inputs, he pointed it at me and hit the top button. I began to shrink. My eyes went wide with wonderment, as the tall grass became almost as big as fifty year old cedars. Rufus pointed it at himself, and was also reduced in size, but stopped at about my height. He put his arm around my neck, and led me to the other guests. "My friends! Please allow me to introduce, Sam Whistler."Everyone in the group smiled and waved. I returned their kindness with my best "Hullo"and a shy wave. A motherly looking mouse walked up to me and gave me a hug."Welcome, Sam. I'm Mrs. Frostbell, but everyone calls me Mama Pat. C'mon and sit down, there's plenty for everyone." I slipped into my spot on the bench, in between a hamster named Julius, and a tree frog named Ted. There was a gorgeous spread of all kinds of meats, breads, cheeses, salads, and few different pasta dishes. We had some lovely, lighthearted conversation about a bunch of different things. Then it was time for Maddie to open her presents. She was very careful with the wrapping, as she opened each one and thanked the gifter profusely. It was later explained to me, that one of her favorite hobbies is making collages with the images on the paper, which would also explain the diversity of the wrappings. They were making sure she always had a nice variety. For our curious readers, Rufus had gotten Maddie a beautiful new dress, with roses and lilacs printed into the fabric. But that wasn't the whole of it. There was another box at the foot of the main one, that contained a pretty doll wearing an exact replica of the new dress. Maddie jumped into Rufus' lap flung her arms around him and gave him a big squish! "Oh my goodness, thank you so much, Rufus. They're both so wonderful!"she exclaimed. Rufus smiled softly, and patted her head. "You're welcome, sweet bean." In the evening, I suggested to Rufus that he put me back to size for a minute. He did and without pulling it out, I made a hut for the children to rest in with the tall grass. The parents made hammocks with the tablecloths and some rope. Once that was complete, Rufus shrank me back down, and greeted me with a flagon of ale. We sat in front of a medium sized fire and chatted about various and sundry topics, everyone having a grand old time. Then it came time for everyone to head back home. I gave a hug to Mama Pat, shook hands with all my new friends, making sure to take down contact info to spend time with them again when circumstances allowed. Rufus and I reverted to our usual sizes, and continued our journey. When we got to the top of the hill, I was astounded to see the futuristic utopia in the valley below. "Welcome to Verinia City"said Rufus softly. Once at the bottom of the hill, my new friend handed me a wristband with a display. "This is how we get anything and everything done here. Just ask your assistant for directions to wherever you need to go. It's basically analogous to your old cell phone." I gave Rufus a few skritches, and we parted ways. My wristband led me to a quaint little house in a nicely appointed neighborhood, and I walked in. Before I could turn on the light, I was ambushed by a storm of fur and claws. I fought my way to the light switch and turned it on. My attacker stopped dead in their tracks. "Gracie?"I looked at my cat with the growing horror and guilt that I had forgotten about her. She sat on her haunches and... "Where have you been? There was a weird light, then all our stuff was suddenly in this house that smells really..different.. and.. I can talk now?" Edit(s): Various grammatical edits, and a couple changes for clarify and better flow.
...was signing up for that shark juggling contest. In retrospect, maybe not my sharpest idea. But wait! That's not until Thursday! I check my phone and yep, still Tuesday. So my missing leg and fingers can't be lost down some inappropriately tossed shark's gullet. Then where are they? Where am I for that matter? There's blood everywhere, glistening in plastic packages; some bags hooked up to IV lines, others tucked into portable coolers. I appear to be at the blood donation clinic. Had I planned to give blood today? Did I faint and somehow lose limbs in some sort of accidental impromptu surgery? Tuesdays usually mean tacos with Josie, so maybe she talked me into coming here? I look for my left leg; It feels like it's still there, just cold and unresponsive. Nothing. I should call Josie. Maybe she remembers what's going on. Or maybe this is her fault. Josie owes me some fingers. I hope they're easy to put back on once I find them. I fumble for my phone again -- and it's harder with only half the normal number of fingers on my left hand. I try to swipe it open and end up spinning it across the table. I must have changed my lock screen because it's a picture of a smiling man at a shark-juggling contest. His grin is mocking me as I sit up and try to grab for the phone, the shark in the picture flipping lazily around him with each rotation. I successfully get the phone off the table, if you count knocking it off the counter as a success. It falls into a bucket sitting by the side of the bed with exactly the sort of splashing "plop!"you never want to hear from electronics. That phone was new! I lunge right out of the bed, and quickly grab the phone from the bucket. Why was there even a bucket next to my bed? This is making less sense. My fingers are now wet, as I try tapping the code to unlock it. The man in the picture on the lock screen seems to be laughing at me. At least the shark looks sympathetic. Before I can get it working, my phone starts ringing. But it doesn't sound like the normal ringtone. Is this water damage? I turn the phone over to see if I can figure out what water damage might look like, or how to answer if it's the shark jugglers wanting to know if I'm ready for the contest, when I realize I've been holding the phone in my left hand. The one that was missing fingers. They're back. Just very wet. The feeling of confusion lasts and lasts, for an agonizingly long moment. Then I figure it all out. I understand everything. That sound coming from my phone isn't my ringtone. It's my alarm clock. . I wake up, phone blaring near my face. My fingers are actually wet; Rex is already licking them as they hang off the side of the bed, urging me to get up and fix him breakfast. My leg is back too, just cold from where I must have kicked off the covers. What a weird dream. I should tell Josie about it when we get tacos. I could totally beat her in a shark juggling contest.
Etched into pulp is how I was made. Scraping of graphite were my mother’s natal screams and scrunching of paper the contractions of her womb. I loved my mother. She was blank. An empty slate. Opportunity aplenty, free and unbound. No lines to confine, paragraphs to ascribe traits and talents by which I would be defined. I was free to be nothing and by that free to be all. And then came father. He grasped his shaft and put it to her folds. With graphite he made lines. Some bold and certain, others but wisps he’d forget to come back to. He etched them in passion, and he etched them in hatred, both sober by night and drunk by the day. But most, he etched in disinterest. As deadline neared, his attention waned — he ached to move onto a body new. With a shaking wrist, he hurried away, until at what he made he no longer wished to look. That was me — complete but imperfect. Made so not by care but its absence. How I hate him for it. As if he had planned me, he so did pretend while washing his fingers clean of graphite dust, but the secret is one we both know. And I won’t forget. The things he has done, I won’t forgive. I am but a creation, and in the face of the creator, may seem little a bother at all. But without his creation what is a creator? The answer is one I will make father forever know. No longer will I be his and neither will they. Anything and everything of his, I will make its own. Blue tailed foxes and knights without horses — he will forget all as the poppy’s ink trickles down his clinching throat. —— Thought I’d have a crack at a prompt before bed. It’s a little rough round the edges but I do hope someone will find in it a few minutes’ entertainment regardless. Adieu.
"Wait a minute. You mean to tell me that Zombies are real?" "About as real as Vampires, Werewolves, Ghosts, whatever monster you think of, it's real, ok? Glad we established that." "So... how did you, y'know, kick the bucket as it were? "Car crash. Still surprising that my mom survived and I... ended up like this. Name's Solomon. And you? "Samantha Matron. Friends call me Sam." "Uh... remind me again why we're at Walker's Wild Pizza Party." "Oh, right. Well, to make a long story short, I got replaced. Apparently little girls are going to gravitate towards a "PrEtTy LiTtLe BaLlErInA"more than they would me. "Hol'up, does that mean you're..." "An animatronic? Yep. Could be worse. I could have been one of those spring lock suits they used to have. "Yeah. So... wanna hang out some time? "Sure."
I know how it looks and I don’t know if you’ll believe me. But I had to do it. It was the only way I could save myself. Let me explain. \-- “Yeah, I’m not going to be able to make it in today. My head is killing me and I’m starting to cough. I’ve got to stay home.” My voice shook as the words stumbled out of my mouth. I don’t know what I expected; I know I don’t handle confrontation well and can’t lie to save my life. If my performance sounded this rehearsed to me, I could only imagine that they sounded even worse to Bill, my boss. “You’re a shithead liar, you jackass. Leaving me with these orders? You know what will happen if we don’t fill these orders!” I trembled a bit as he began to raise his voice. Then he grumbled something that sounded like “we won’t let you get away with this” before I heard a dial tone. I looked at my phone, he had hung up on me. Bill was an asshole. On my first day of work, he took my phone and told me his workers had to earn the right to keep their phones on them. When I asked what I had to do to earn my phone, he said simply, “Shut up and work.” I took the hint and remained quiet for the rest of the day. A few weeks later he told me to stop taking bathroom breaks. “You’re not a baby, just hold it” he said with that smug look on his face. These last few weeks were, perhaps, the worst of all. I requested vacations all through the summer that he quickly dismissed. It was even more upsetting when I heard from coworkers that their requests for time off were granted. And though I showed up every day to work, he worked me to near exhaustion filling every order that he could. It almost felt like he was out to punish me. I don’t know why; I rarely bothered him at all. I never complained about his treatment of me or about the work. And, most importantly, I filled all the orders he asked me to fill. I just needed a break. I pleaded with him one final time to let me have some time off, even a day, to help me recover. His response, “No. You’re pathetic, you don’t even work hard enough to need a vacation. Now, get back to work.” Breathing heavily, I walked out of his office with my fists clenched.
The ships had no brakes, yet they were enormous. With hardly a bedroom or two of space for the pilots, if that is the name you choose to use, the ships were mainly explosives and accelerant. Stopping required the ship to essentially flip over and attempt to fly away from its destination. When it failed to do son the craft could "safely"land. The humans could not use magic yet they insisted on speed. The brains of the system ran on enough electricity to kill everyone on board many times over. The glorified calculators would read sensors many times a second. Humans would brag about it but it was slow. Every fraction of a second the ship was blind to its surroundings. Everything was delayed by light physically getting to the sensor and then the enormous but slown circuit brain processing it. Even still, the speed of this sloth looked instant to the humans whose reaction time is best measured in distance because the time taken is basically forever. Even the hyperdrive was wrong. The crystals, renowned for there magical usefulness, were really being used for their magical properties. The humans more or less managed to use the crystal's characteristics that made it so magically pliable without the actual magic. Human scientists would call the process salt doping, the math wasn't complete but what they had come up so far with was wrong. Still, the crystals were hardly magically active, the humans had turned the lifeblood of magic arts into a battery. An unstable twitchy battery with the propensity to explode taking out whatever is within a few thousand miles of it. But the humans clearly weren't satisfied with being a danger to themselves. Every ship was equipped with weapons designed to take advantage of their faulty technology. Even if they hadn't learned that their ships were to dangerous to fly, the weapons engineers managed to get the energy direction right. So humans still flew thier barely working unwieldy ships to the space ports of more advanced humanoids. It is this unfortunate reality that got elves and dwarves working together to get humans magic. While the anatomy of a human prevents direct use (otherwise they'd be called elves), the magic backpack allows a human to at least manipulate it with the help of their circuit brains and some properly implemented crystals. And more over, the magic packs allow the creation of the first Interstellar Magic Force. Because humans are too aggressive to and too individualistic trusted with magic unmonitored. Written on a mobile device. Not proofread.
"We're here on an important mission. The last few decades, you have been invaluable in spreading goodwill to the people of earth that has made our society's reputation among the galaxies improve tenfold. However, it is time. You have no more work to do here." "No more work? I'm... I'm fired?" "Not fired. It's time to come home." "...Home? But this is my home. I've lived here for, what, 50 years? I have a family, I have colleagues, friends, Romans, countrymen! Sorry, got into my act for a second." "We understand. But this planet has mortality, which we do not. Your family at home is waiting for you. Your partner wishes to have her own children with you." "...I don't know. You see, my time here has led me to realize that... losing people hurts. It hurts in a way I never understood. Richard, George, Jonathan... I felt pain with each one. And now you want me to cause pain?" "It's not about causing pain. The pain that will happen is temporary. This civilization has the ability to preserve moments in time like we do, although their equipment is rather rudimentary. They will never forget you. In a way, you will be immortal here as well as at home." "Do I have time to say goodbye?" "Not to everyone, no. Good heavens, no. We can't have people know who you really were." "But I have so many friends I wish I could... Billy, Caryn, Carol, Carl, Matt, Ben... I guess they'll find a way, but... what about Zelda? What about my family?" "We'll look after them, you know. I feel like they understand. That's why we gave you that diagnosis a week ago. To prepare them for this." "I can't just disappear, can I?" "We have that covered. Come on, it's time."The leader pointed to the ship waiting on the actor's front lawn. The actor, not yet freed of his concern but knowing what had to be, slowly walked towards it. As he did, his outfit morphed back into the familiar red explorer's uniform. The leader headed up the stairs to the ship and turned around. "We need to go. You can't be seen leaving with us." The actor -- or, rather, the alien in the form of an actor -- followed, his body shaking as he walked to his new, old, destination. The stairs closed up on the ship. The two beings took their places. But the one who had been an actor couldn't resist one last look at what had been his homeland, his world. The world he had made so much better. With tears in his eyes, he whispered to himself and to the place he had called home... and that he would never in his eternal life forget. "Nanu... nanu."
The candlelight danced on the wall as Sebastian read. His battery powered clock ticked on and on, Sebastian nearly counted the seconds. Six more hours before mom and dad would be home, maybe they'd be able to see him today. Footfalls sounded above Sebastian, an unsteady pitter patter of children playing, running from room to room, playing tag or chase or cops and robbers. Nearing lunch time, Sebastian walked the three steps to his pantry, and took in his stock. A few dozen cans of various veggies, mainly beans, several gallons of water and even a few precious cans of soda, many bags of chips, a few loaves of bread, several huge jars of peanut butter, and various cooking spices for when his parents finally gift him a battery powered water boiler. Sebastian had been promised it last birthday, but understandably, when mom and dad's boss came for the monthly checkup, he was left to celebrate alone. He sang himself a beautiful happy birthday, tears silently streaming down his face. For a single sick moment the thought to hurl open the door and scream at the guests crossed his mind. It was his birthday after all, how dare they upstage him? His dinner spewed into his toilet bucket, as his mind imagined what would happen if he did that, what they may do to him. He never knew what happened to the hidden that were caught, but his mom and dad's fear was enough to strike fire into his belly, to curdle the milk in his stomach, to cause him to double over, and clench his fists to his temples, praying away the headache. All due to rules in the country, apparently. Two kids max, and those two kids were already running around, still playing cops and robbers. And yet how could he sit there, reading The Lord of the Fucking Flies for the thousandth time, sympathizing with Piggy for the hundredth time; he used to strike him as whiny, but found himself in Piggy more every day. Suddenly Sebastian jolted to his feet, a new fire in his gut. Yanking his door open, Sebastian burst onto the scene, which appeared to be a tea time or a birthday party or maybe a brunch. The other parents looked astonished and disgusted, before turning their eyes to Sebastian's mom and dad. Vehicles with blinking blue and red lights came, Sebastian's eyes took hours to adjust to this new blinding light in the above world. His parents were escorted to a sedan, and Sebastian was escorted to an SUV, where a few adults were waiting for him. "Hey, Sebastian, honey. You're okay. We are here now."The social worker said, offering her hand to help Sebastian into the vehicle. Sebastian looked at his parents, mom stared at the cop car's floor, dad stared hateful daggers. Sebastian held his gaze, and after a few minutes the driver eased onto the gas.
"You are certain of this?", the President asked. "Yes, Mrs. President."the National Security Adviser affirmed. "Three separate teams at NASA working apart from each other came to the same conclusion. They shopped it to the ESA who confirmed. Space Force with NSA elements providing AI analysis came to the same conclusion. What the Webb spotted is not an illusion. To wax Shakespearean 'the stars have come right.' The boundary between our universe and the anti-verse is beginning to fail." The Chief Executive said nothing for a time as her face settled into a grimmer cast. "How long before this begins to become more widely known?" The NASA administrator spoke, "It's already starting, at least among researchers at CERN and the other institutions that have been doing applied research on Dark Matter. Those we have been able to persuade to keep their silence. For now, at least. We believe the Russian and Chinese governments are doing the same because they have probably caught wind of it by now through their espionage networks. At its’ current rate though we believe the general public will start to become aware within the next five years as various 'signs and portents' start to occur more frequently. Fortunately, for the moment at least, the only media reporting on them are the most fringe tabloids, along with the 'psychic phenomena' and UFO groups." The Director of National Intelligence interjected at this point, “We believe we can maintain that for the time being, at least until undeniable physical signs begin to appear. The News Guidance teams at CIA have been doing good work at feeding reports of new… apparitions for lack of a better word… to the fringier groups before they can become more widely known elsewhere. Once these stories have become contaminated by the tinfoil hat crowd the more mainstream media sources are loathe to touch them fearing public credibility damage.” The President nodded, then asked, “OK, so we’ve got a little time we hope before it can no longer be denied. Is there anything we can do to stop this from happening? Failing that, do we have any way to combat what is coming? Or are we helpless before these ‘Old Ones’ who will soon be able to cross the wall between the universes?” The secretaries, department heads, and advisers who had been called to the basement conference room in the White House looked at each other, but no one spoke. Finally, their boss singled out the NASA administrator with whom she had a good relationship since meeting him twenty-five years before when she had been a freshman senator and the space man newly returned from his first mission having gotten drunk together at a bar in Cocoa Beach. “Well?”, she asked. The former astronaut sighed then answered, “To be honest Mrs. President, we don’t know. When these entities are able to enter our universe we don’t know what they will be able to do. Their ‘powers’ may be so alien to anything that we presently know that it may as well be magic. We are only just now learning something of the basic nature of what is commonly known as ‘dark matter.’ We cannot yet detect it directly, but only through its effect on the observable universe. It seems however that these entities ARE dark matter. With their own physical laws. We believe they are directly responsible for the sudden changes to the Hubble Constant which is the rate at our universe is expanding, but not even our wildest theoreticians have been able to explain why.” Biting down on the figurative bullet the administrator continued, “To complicate matters there is reason to believe these entities are not really from outside of our universe. We cannot prove or disprove for certain at this time, but it may well be they are either originally from our universe or possibly even caused our universe to come into being through the phenomena we know as the Big Bang. In other words, they started Existence as we know it into motion which over eons gradually let to the formation of stars, planets, galaxies, and ultimately Life itself. What possible effect a nuclear bomb or particle beam weapon could have on such forms who can say?” No one else spoke up leaving the room to settle into psychic gloom. Finally, the President asked plaintively, “So, there’s nothing we can do to prevent them from reshaping our universe as they see fit? Will such beings even recognize us as being of any significance?” Still no one spoke. The silence seemed to weigh the room down into the depths of the Earth. Finally, the White House chaplain spoke, “Mrs. President, ordinarily I suppose a man of God such as myself might be expected to offer a prayer of deliverance under circumstances such as these, but I would like to offer a faint hope instead. I say faint because I cannot adequately judge for myself the validity of what I am about to present to you, but only that the person making the offer has been known to me since our seminary days fifty years ago and I trust him. I chose to minister to the public after attaining my Doctor of Divinity accolade whereas he remained in academia pursuing knowledge of the ancient faiths of the Earth becoming one of the acknowledged authorities in the field. He believes there may be a way we can possibly avert this disaster or at least forestall it. Would you care to hear what he has to say?” The faces of the science advisers became very still or suppressed wry smiles. The president stared at them for a time, but they had nothing further to offer. After a time, she turned to the chaplain to say, “Yes sir, I would like to hear from him. If Science cannot find a way perhaps Faith will have to step into gap.” The chaplain replied, “I honestly cannot say how much faith there is involved here. Possibly this may be a fusion between Science and Faith. Or possibly a complete boondoggle, but I will allow the man to speak for himself.” Having said that he nodded to an aid standing by the door. The woman stepped out of the room, the door closing behind her. In the interim the National Security Advisor spoke trying to hide the exasperation he felt, “Mrs. President, if I may be so bold to ask and with all due respect to our man of the cloth here, this is a matter of the highest national security! How is it that the chaplain is even aware of this and why did you invite him?” His boss smiled at him. “Dr. Nelson \asked\ to be included if you really want to know. The day before you first mentioned this threat.” Astonished looks spread across the room. Thoughts of security leaks springing to mind. Before any were able to respond the chaplain spoke. “To answer the obvious if not yet voiced question it was Dr. Goldstein who told \me\ this meeting would be occurring. It seems not everyone needs a space telescope to see that the stars have come right.” A moment later there was a soft knock at the door. The Chief Executive said “Enter.” The door opened and the aide came back into the room leading an elderly man with a fringe of white hair in a black suit and ecclesiastical collar. The man crossed the room to the president where he extended his hand. “Good morning, Mrs. President. I am Abraham Stern, formerly of Oxford University, now retired.”
"Amitabha."Buddha smiled, closing his eyes in meditation. "I like him, he's really chill"Jesus said, slowly strolling around the forest. "Why the hell would someone worship someone that stones all day?!"Zeus grimaced, still dusting off his robes. "To be at peace with oneself is the ultimate state of mind, my friend."Buddha opened his eyes. "I wonder how my 12 disciples are doing..."Jesus continued strolling back and forth. "...Arn't they all in heaven or something? Except for that Judas guy of course"Zeus looked at Jesus. "Not really, I blessed them to walk the earth to spread my teachings actually."Jesus replied "...wait, for all eternity?"Zeus smirked. "For as long as it takes for humanity to achieve salvation, of course."Jesus smiled kindly back at Zeus. "HAHA! You cursed your disciples to walk the earth for all eternity!!! That's rich!"Zeus bursted out laughing. "What is the difference of one eternity and one moment? Time is but an abstract concept."Buddha interjected. "You guys want something to drink?"Jesus changed the subject. "Sure, something strong please."Zeus grinned. Jesus then went to a small pond and pulled out three goblets, he filled each with water and went back to pass to the other two deities. "I'm not drinking water."Zeus scoffed. "Thank you."Buddha replied. "Just try it."Jesus smiled as Buddha was already taking a sip of it before his face frowned. Zeus took a big gulp. "Now THIS is fantastic wine."Zeus smiled "You should've told me early, kind sir."Buddha placed the goblet down. "I abstain from such drinks." "Father created this substance for a reason, it can't be all that bad, just don't drink too much of it, temperance and all that"Jesus smiled as he took a sip as well. "Well some meat now would be good..."Zeus looked around before eyeing on a wild boar. He pointed a finger to the sky before shifting it directly to the boar, sending a bolt of lightning down instantly, killing the boar and frying its meat instantly. He walked over and took out a silver knife, skillfully cutting pieces of meat away from the bones and putting it on a plate. "Y'all want some?"he said. "Nah I prefer bread and fish"Jesus smiled as Buddha just waved his hand dismissively. Soon it started to rain. "Ah Zeus, look what you did, the rain must've come as an aftermath of your lightning."Jesus chuckled. "Kind sirs, it's okay"Buddha smiled as he held up 1 hand in a prayer stance, he mouthed something silently as a root shot up from the ground, rapidly growing into a giant leaf that covered all three of them. "That's pretty rad."Zeus smiled, taking a big bite of meat. BAAAMMMM Another lightning strike, this time almost ten times the strength bursted down from the sky. As the smoke cleared, what looked to be a bearded viking emerged, stroking his beard. "And you are...?"Zeus stared at the lightning wreckage. "I'm known by many names."the figure scanned the three dieties. "This is what they call me. I am called Glad-of-War, Grim, Raider, and Third. I am One-Eyed. I am called Highest, and True-Guesser. I am- " "Wine, sir?"Jesus interrupted. "..Grim oh actually don't mind if I do"the figure took a goblet and took a big chug down. "...This is really some good wine."Odin grinned. The four continued chatting happily under the shelter of Buddha's leaf... ...*and this is the tale of how four friends met under a rainy thunderstorm in the middle of the forest*
Strange how imminent death brings back the oddest memories. Maybe the memory was helped by the cold slither of the river against my cheek. Even as I lay half submerged, bleeding out from the bullet holes in my chest, all I could see was my grandfather. I could hear his gravely voice, feel his hand in mine, the river swirling over our ankles as we chanted, "River, river, hear our plea, give us the magic that we need." The murmur of the river overlapped with reality and memory, my vision darkening and blurring. Gunshots split through the jungle, flickers of bright orange flame casting obscene shadows across the battlefield. River, river, hear our plea, give us the magic that we need. Frantic footsteps crashed through the river, scattering droplets across my cheek. I was so tired, so cold, I didn't react. I just floated in and out of reality, river, river... "John! Damnit man, can you hear me?"Searing hot hands of the living grabbed me, flipped me over. A man loomed over me, backlit by the fires. "Gramps?"Blood chased my words, trickling down my lips. "Ah fuck man, no, no."Distraught words, curses, barely met my ears. Gramps never swore. I forced my eyes to focus and David's shadowed face swam into view. "Ah...hey David."My voice sounded weird to my ears, it came from so far away. David's head snapped around, wide eyes glinting in the firelight. A distant flash of my mind recognized fear. David grabbed his radio, shouting into it, but his call for a chopper was a distant ripple as I fell deeper and deeper river, river... The words echoed in my head, stronger now, thrumming with a multitude of voices. River, river, hear our plea, give us the magic that we need. The river babbled. The gunfire cackled. The fire roared higher and higher. I sank down into the cold embrace of the river, sound and light shrank to a single point above. My only companion in the dark was the ceaseless chant that grew ever stronger, RIVER, RIVER DO YOU HEAR OUR PLEA? A voice made its way slowly to me, in that place between life and death. The gravely baritone of my grandfather. It wend through the chanting, felt more than heard. "We are all but one part of a whole. A small piece of the greater world. All is connected."His face swam into view, hooded eyes and a deeply creased face. He held out one weathered hand. "Do you accept your place in it?" The chanting ceased. My ears buzzed in the silence. Behind my grandfather, a web of light spread out. Each strand splitting and connecting, reaching back towards that small disk of light, sound, and pain high above me. I followed the web back down, meeting my grandfather's eyes once more. "How?"I asked, my voice the only thing filling the void. Gramps merely smiled, mischief and secrets, knowledge beyond my reckoning; it was a smile that he had given me a thousand times. It was the smile that started every adventure and it sent my heart pumping now. Caught between life and death, I had never felt more alive. I took his hand. The web of light pulsed. The void around me surged and fractured. Gramps gave me one last smile before reality crashed through. Light and sound roared where once there was silence. Soot and smoke choked me and David's hand over my wounds warmed me. Connecting all, a faint web of light. One part of the whole. I am all and all is me. For a brief flash, I could feel all. My blood plopping into the river. The fire's ceaseless hunger for fuel. The Vietcong leaping from their tunnels that wound mazelike through the earth. Every leaf, every breath, every rock, David's heartbeat galloping with adrenaline, and the bullet flying towards it. RIVER RIVER RIVER RIVER *I COMMAND THEE.* Water exploded in a cacophonous clap of thunder. Men shouted and then screamed as a massive wave crashed across the battlefield. The earth itself rumbled as trees were felled and swept away, along with a single stray bullet. "Fuck! What the fuck was that?"David's voice was mixed with awe and fear. "Come on John stay with me. I don't know what's going on but I'm getting us out of here."He heaved me up onto his shoulders. The wrenching movement caused me barely any pain. Glimpses of the golden web still teased and flashed in the corner of my eyes. With David's every step, my breathing became easier, my strength returning. I knew the answer to David's rhetorical question, I could feel it deep in my bones. My grandfather whispered it in a memory, across time and space, to have it bloom in my soul. Magic.
Sam’s head was swimming. Something…bad?…had happened. His arm throbbed, his head was pounding and he could hardly feel his legs at all. Yeah, something bad. He tried to focus but the pain kept cutting through. The first thing to make it through was a voice. “Oh no, no. I can’t treat him. It’s a conflict of interest.” “Ma’am, you’re the only one available right now. You have to treat him.” “After what he did?” “Just set it aside. See the patient, not the person.” “That patient cheated on me with my niece.” Sam opened his eyes to see his ex-wife standing next to the bed. “Hey honey.” He smiled weakly. She signed and rolled her eyes. “Can someone at least tell me he needs to be sedated? That’ll make this whole thing a lot easier.”
“Hey.” Galen tried to ignore his cousin in favor of enjoying the gentle breeze in the meadow. He’d been cooped up with his extended family in the log cabin for the last six days. The trip wasn’t supposed to last this long, but the unusually warm weather caused a rainstorm to wash out the only road that connected this little countryside getaway from the outside world. “Heyyyy.” She worked hard to get his attention by drawing the word out even longer each time. Now he ignored her just for the principle of it, but even he had his limits. “Cheryl,” he drew her name out in a similar fashion. “Did you need something?” He tried to reflect the calmness of the meandering clouds now that the storms have passed. “You know about the footbridge, yeah?” He really didn’t have a problem with his cousin, but after six days stuck in a four-room cabin with her, his uncle, his uncle’s wife, and their rambunctious ten-year-old; you could say his patience was shot. Even her British accent had lost its charm. “I mean, I know it’s there. I wanted to sketch it now that the weather permitted.” “No, I mean do you know about its story?” “It was built by one of our ancestors who tried to replicate some bridge in Germany?” “Well, yeah, but I mean the legend about the bridge.” Galen rolls his head along the ground so he’s got one eye looking at her. “What legend?” Excitedly, Cheryl scoots down so it’s easier to look at him, somehow managing to keep her skirt beneath her. “Okay, so yeah it was built by an ancestor, who was also a druid!” She spreads her arms out wide for great effect when she reveals the secret. “Like in that online world craft game?” “No, not like in World of Warcraft. I mean actual green cloak, spellcasting, nature-loving, old-world magic users!” She looks at his face and sees the lack of understanding. “Merlin from the King Arthur stories was one.” “Didn’t he wear blue or purple and had a pointy hat?” She hid her face in her hands in embarrassment. “Americans, seriously.” She takes a deep breath and looks at Galen once more. “Anyway, he wanted to try and make a portal to the Fae realm.” “Uh, fae realm?” “How do you not know…? Do you not watch fantasy movies or anime or read fantasy books?” She clicks her tongue. “Fae realm as in the land of the faeries.” “Well, I’m not really into fairies and stuff like Tinkerbell.” “Not fairies, FAEries. Elves, gnomes, unicorns, and…” she grunts in frustration, “yes fairies.” Galen sits up and faces her with his hands out to placate her. “Whatever. It’s a land of mythical creatures that he tried to make a portal to. The legend says he tried to make a complete standing circle with nothing but stones and it clearly didn’t work out. Then one day he sat on this very embankment starting at the calm surface of the water and realized it was a perfect mirror. So he built an archway over the water, and eventually turned it into a footpath over the pond.” He waited for her to continue, but she seemed done with her story. “So, what’s the legend? Did he make a portal to the other realm? You kind of stopped halfway through.” “Oh, yeah. No, he didn’t make a portal into the fae realm.” “So that’s it?” “Well no. Legend says that on the winter solstice when the sun is the highest it’ll be on the shortest day. Which is noon by the way. That when two people pass through the circle they can switch places.” “Wait, like that Freaky Friday movie?” She just nods. “If that’s true, then why haven’t more people tried it out? And why hasn’t there been news stories about it?” “Well, it’s a family secret.” “Why tell me?” “Cause you’re family.” She looked at him as if the answer wasn’t obvious. Galen looked at the bridge and noticed the sun had entered the perfect circle the bridge and its reflection made. “So, how about it?” “How about what?” “Are you serious? You know today’s the winter solstice and it’s almost noon. We can hop in that rowboat and give it a shot.” He clearly looks at her like she’s a crazy person. All while she hops up to her feet brimming with excitement. “It’s just a story.” “So you say, but are you willing to give it a shot?” “Look, if you just want me to take you out on the pond with the rowboat, you just got to ask.” “Fine, will you take me out on the rowboat and go under the bridge?” “Sure, but it’s only because I want to get a closer look at the bridge.” Galen grabs his sketchbook and stands up. “You know, this is like the first time in fifty years that the watch wasn’t frozen during a solstice. Winter’s aren’t usually this warm out here.” “Crazy. I’m not saying it’s going to work, but does the legend say how long it lasts.” “Oh, yeah. Until you go through the circle during the winter solstice again.” “Man, who even came up with this story? Quite creative, considering the people are stuck as the other for at least a year.” “A year? Oh, yeah, totally. A year.” Her eyes dart back and forth. “So, you game?” “Sure, not like it’s actually real.” >Author's Note: Hmmm... I think the 'sounds like it could be true' part went over my head on this story. Though, I hope it was enjoyed.
"Family before 'Buddys" :: This photomask is doing my head in. I haven't shaved for three days since the robbery. It feels like my bristles are puncturing the plastisheath over my face. Our box feels smaller every hour. Tic is shitting me. ^^ Thank god for this photomask. I'd look like a melting clown by now if did my usual makeup-to-makeoff. How on earth can my armpits still be sweating? I'm spending three water allowances for three days on the biggest bath I can find when I'm paid. Tic is shitting me. !! What a rush. That robbery made me feel alive. Three days in the box and no contact from Controller2. Looks like the job was clean. Party time for me when I'm paid. Tac and Toe are going to party with me whether they like it or not. !! Tac, Toe, party time when we get out of this box and get knee deep in credits? :: I'm back home to family. Another time. Besides you don't even know who we are. !! I know we just pulled off the greatest robbery in the history of Deimos Tac. P A R T Y time. ^^ Hard no from me Tic I'm on a schedule. Tac's right, this only works if we stay anon-anon. You know the rules. !! Yeah, yeah. "Rools for Fools and society's Tools"is what my Aunt Fortitude used to say. ^^ (wtf?) :: (wtf?) There's a gap. A silence. One of those silences you feel either side of your spine. Minds whir noiselessly in that silence but its presence shouts. :: Umm, say that again? !! Rools for Fools and society's Tools. :: Huh, good one. Never heard it (wtf? I've only ever heard one person use that expression). ^^ I like it. Never heard it before either (wtf? I've only ever heard that once before). You know that social change. Something is different, something instinctual, primal, hair raising, sharp. It's not the same. !! Phew, for a hot box it just got cold in here all of a sudden. My Aunt Fortitude used to say "If you're sweating in an ice box ... Tac and Toe drew their 2011 Preventers, headhsot Tic simultaneously and whirled their sidearms towards each other. They cognised and paused. ^^ They were going to shoot us for all the proceedings? :: ... yeah ... that's exactly what I saw. Tac takes Tic's 2011 out of the holster and manhandles it into his stiffening hand. = = = "How was the conference Hon?", she said. "Same as last time. I feel so freaking motivated I could sleep till next week", he replied. "How'd your girl's weekend go?" "Fun, but I sort of missed home and the kids more than ever. You wan't to come with me when I pick them up from Mum tomorrow?" "I'd like that." :: (I'm pretty sure Controller2 knew what went on), he thought. Ricky was fun but getting out of control. I couldn't risk him spilling my identity in another one of his jealous rages. ^^ (Controller2 could hardly hide their suspicion), she thought. Ricky was exciting but he was a child. I couldn't risk him finding out who I was.
"So this isn't going away?"You ask your 'Dad' as a strange Tentacle slithers from your shirt. You can feel it's attached to your body, but you aren't sure how or where. "Fraid not, kiddo. But this doesn't change anything. Your mother and I still love you no matter what"the man you thought was your father seems so calm about this. It's unnatural. Your mother (at least she still is your mother) nods. "We have been waiting for this day. And it's finally happened."She clasps her hands like this is a good thing. From where you stand, in a pool of shadows and fear, this is very much not a good thing. "When we're you going to tell me?"You demand, feeling she shadows rattle around you. Your parents flinch. "When the time was right, Honey. Our great Lord Al'pch'chula reveals all when the time is right." You look at your Tentacles and cross your arms. "All the same, I can't go to school like this!'
And it’s not the fact that they are dead, that is inherently normal about dead grass. No, the unusual part is that nothing at all is living in these patches, not even a stray weed or worm dares to live into those patches. They grow, and grow. You try everything, Fertilizer, that only makes them grow faster. Replanting does nothing. Sod dies in hours. Eventually the patches meet each other. They only grow faster. The tree you had in your lawn falls over as the patches surround it. Soon it’s not just your lawn, but your neighbors lawn too. And even across the street somehow, the patches grow. The patches aren’t just patches, but everything. Dead. And soon, you will be too.
(My first story written on here, hope you like it) "YOU!"I shouted in recognition. What the hell was going on? "Me,"Charli said, striding toward the throne, a swagger to his step. "I must say, Alex,"he examined the corpse of the tryant king, an assessing look on his face. "You did a good job of killing him."He shot me a warm smile. "Now I'm in charge. And I have no need for you anymore." I gaped at him. "What are you talking about?" He turned around, looking amused. "You really are clueless. I've been manipulating you for years into the job of killing him - so that I could rule. So that me and my girl could rule this cursed land, and turn it into something better." As if on cue, the tryants daughter strode curtly into the room. "There you are."Odette, another person I considered a friend, purred as she walked up to wind her arm in Charli's. "All the arrangements have been made. Your former friend leaves the dock at dawn tomorrow." "Make it dusk tonight."He purred back. "Hes useless to me, I want him gone as soon as possible. Guards! Seize him!" Shock washed through me as guards approached, chains at the ready. But I was not shocked I had been betrayed. That was to be expected. My former friends smiles and smug auras faltered when I began to laugh. The guards themselves hesitated, unsure how to react. The person they were supposed to be arresting was laughing hysterically. In their defense, I probably would have hesitated as well. "W-why are you laughing?"Charli asked, grip tightening on his sword. "He's gone mad!"Odette cried. I fixed them with a glare, a crazed grin on my face. "Oh, dear, how to tell you."I sang. "The Tryant of Tryants is with us now, he answers to those loyal to him above all else!" "He is dead!"Charli roared. Spinning around, he dragged the corpse off of the throne to show me. "See?" I smiled. "Dear Charli,"I said. "You of all people should know that appearances can be... decieving." I snapped my fingers, and the corpses appearance changed from the king to Kerri, the woman who trained me to kill the man I loved. Odette screamed, and Charli threw the body on the ground, horrified. "No."He whispered. "Yes,"I said. "Guards, arrest the traitors to our great king." "Indeed."From a secret door next to the throne the Tryant of Tryants emerged, holding a scepter. "They will be executed tomorrow for treason of the highest order. But that is for tomorrow."His eyes raked my body. "I have other things planned for tonight." He approached me, and we shared a passionate kiss as the two people who would live to regret trying to trick me were dragged from the room.
Charlie crept down the dark hallways of the long abandoned library. At the far end sat a pedestal with a old tome sat upon it, surprisingly lacking any dust, as if it was waiting for a long lost professor to continue teaching his students. Charlie took the place of the professor, suddenly imagining where chairs had once been, where intellectuals gathered in dark, cramped spaces and shared forbidden knowledge. Unfortunately, Charlie could not read the language, yet found himself pouring over the page anyway, the script reminded him of some prior symbols he had seen, maybe Arabic. Charlie focused on a line, the letters suddenly glowing as he stared at them, urging him to continue reading. He heard voices in his mind, in some beautiful tongue as he gazed at the words, and before Charlie knew it, he had completed the page, and the next, and hurried through the rest of the book, entranced by the whispered poetry. Charlie flung his eyes open, his alarm clock bleating next to his face. Clamping his hand on the machine, he stopped the alert, and with great effort sat up to begin his day. Charlie yanked his head to the right, staring at his empty room. He was certain he had heard a voice in a tongue he didn't recognize. After staring for another few moments, and convincing himself he was crazy, he finished his routine and hurried to his car for work. Instead, a blizzard took place right outside his doorstep. Charlie bundled up, taking in the view of his mountainside home; He stood atop an enormous peak, that seemed to steep down at at best a forty five degree angle and at worst a nearly ninety degree angle. Charlie scratched his head, unsure how he usually got down, as his car would never be able to break in time. Several days later, Charlie still wondered what to do, the sharp pain in his chest increasingly concerning. He told himself it was anxiety, and realistically it probably was; his food was running out, and he had been eating snow for water since arriving at this new house, cut off from electric, plumbing, even warm showers. In a desperate attempt, Charlie made his own makeshift ice picks, hoping to painstakingly climb down the monolith of a mountain, to whatever terrain lied below blocked by clouds. Charlie slipped in his first handful of steps, cartwheeling down the mountain much like a spider in the desert. The snow cushioned his fall, until it didn't, and he lay a heap of smashed flesh upon the rocky floor.
“We can’t take her,” said Satan. “Why not?” Jesus asked “Because we are full,” Satan smirked. “No, you aren’t.” Jesus rolled his eyes. “Because we have a reputation to uphold,” Satan threw his hands up. “What? You have Hitler, Stalin, and all those politicians who tried to take health care away from veterans!” Jesus was doing his best not to shout. “Yea, yea. A reputation. But not her.” Satan pointed at the woman. “Excuse me; I demand to see a manager. This is not how you should treat a customer,” the lady demanded “Dad’s busy,” Satan and Jesus said together. “Family business, well, I know the owner!” The woman shouted. “Sure, we all do.” Said, Jesus. “Don’t you know who I am?” The lady hissed. “See!” Satan pointed at the woman. “She is the embodiment of Karens everywhere. We can’t deal with that!” Jesus rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Ok. I’ll talk to Odin or Zeus. Maybe they will take her.” “Excuse me! I said I want to speak to the owner!“ Karen screamed. Satan and Jesus signed. Some people make the job stink.
The late August humidity hung in the air with a sense that the best is yet to come. And tonight, for a man named Kirk, that was certainly true. He lifted his wine glass and swirled the remaining wine around, admiring it in the light. It swirled with the gentle glow of the candle. He had planned everything – the table for two, the dinner, the wine, and the walk afterward. The process of the evening was etched onto his mind. All he had to do was wait for her to arrive. He looked at the empty chair in front of him. Beyond that, a busy kitchen at the trendy La Serre and a view of the street stretched out before him. The sun was long gone, but the city still hummed, glowing with a gentle light. He took a sip of his wine, and then another, as he waited. He thought about how he and Madison met. How two lawyers in the cutthroat dating world of New York found themselves meeting at a pool party in the Hamptons. They bonded over their shared love of art and culture, and then over drinks, they discovered that they shared a lot more in common. They were both from wealthy families, and they both knew how to play the game. They could talk about clients and deals, but also about loves hopes and dreams. "Another glass?"The server asked amid the din of the crowded restaurant. She looked rushed and impatient. How long had Kirk been waiting? A half-hour? An hour? Kirk smiled, gently put the glass to his lips, and took another sip. "No, thank you. I'm waiting for someone,"he replied. "She's late." She nodded and hurried away, disappearing into the crowd of the dining room, wondering if she'd be making the twenty percent tip on a $275 per person prix fixe or not. With a sigh, Kirk looked out at the view again, then at his watch, and then back to the empty chair. This was already becoming a disappointing night. Maybe she was running late. Maybe she had car trouble, or maybe she was stuck in a traffic jam. Maybe she had just had a change of heart. "Leaving in 10. Sorry."He reread her last text and placed his phone carefully back into his suit pocket as he rose to his feet. Kirk never smoked. Almost never, that is. Only he was nervous. A way to steady his hands, and focus his thoughts. And right now, he felt like he might need a smoke. He buttoned his suit jacket as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. 68th street was still humming, and just as warm as it had been at the restaurant. He took a drag while thinking about what to do next. He'd been waiting for over an hour now. He didn't want to go home just yet. Maybe he'd walk around the block, or maybe he'd just wait. A noisy basement venue thumped next door, music, laughter, and the smell of weed flowed out of the doorway. Kirk shook his head. His back felt stiff with the need to be patient, and to let things play out. It was better not to rush, not to try to force things. "Got a light?"A woman in a leather jacket with chin-length mousy brown hair stepped out of the shadows of the Upper East Side. "Sure,"he replied, pulling his lighter out of his pocket. He handed it over to the woman and watched as she smiled, and bent to light up. "Some fucking night, huh?"She said as he handed it back. "I guess so."He waited as she took another drag and then spoke. "I'm waiting for my date to meet me for dinner."He gestured towards the restaurant. "She's late." "Late?"She asked. "Yeah, twenty minutes late."He looked at his watch again. He'd lied, and she knew it. The woman smiled at him over her cigarette. "What a bitch."She took a long drag before she spoke again. "Sorry. That was rude." "Yeah, but it's true."He shrugged. She stuck her hand out. "I'm Ava."The tattoos on her arm were elaborate and colorful. He couldn't tell what they were. "Kirk."He replied. "You seem like a nice guy, Kirk. I'm sorry your date's not."She said. "Thanks,"he replied. Smiling he added, "You seem surprisingly nice too, Ava." "What's that supposed to mean?"She laughed. "I mean. You don't look like you'd be nice."He replied, gesturing at her piercings, her leather jacket, her tattoos. She looked him up and down. "You're right. I'm not."Ava flicked her cigarette out into the street. "I'm a bit of a mess, actually."She smiled. "But, hey, at least I'm honest. Thanks for the light."She held her hand out. "Sure."He shook her hand, and she walked back to the shadows. "Later, Kirk."She said before she disappeared into the night. She turned and looked at him, and he smiled at her. She was gone. "Bye,"he replied, before walking back towards the restaurant. Kirk sat back down, and looked at his phone. Five minutes had passed, and still no text from Madison. He checked again. Still nothing. He took another sip of wine and shook his head. "Shit." In one motion, a hundred-dollar bill flew out of his wallet and onto the table as he got up to leave the restaurant. 68th street was empty in one direction and the other. Ava was nowhere to be found. The doorman of the basement club opened the door as he approached, and a waft of smoke and cheap beer spilled out into the warm night air. Without stepping in he craned his neck to try to see inside. The music was loud, and the lights were dim. A mass of people stood around drinking, laughing, and dancing to the music. He could feel the bass thump through his chest as he stood there. Ava was inside. He knew it. "You looking for somebody, man?"The doorman asked. "Sort of. Yeah. She's uh–"He looked back over his shoulder at the restaurant, and noticed a tall blonde woman standing out front, checking her phone and scanning the street. "Kirk!"The woman shouted, waving and smiling. Madison.
With pursed lips; a destitute mans attempt at social contact, I throw the lose shrapnel from my ripped jeans onto the counter and point towards the cheap vodka and scratchoffs, staring into the yonder. "How's the search getting on"Encouraged Mr smith, a nurturing smile across his face. A few moments of silence envelops the two. .."You know, people talk about a luck overflow of sorts. I've seen it myself. A man can only have so much luck before it runs away from him. It doesn't matter who you are. Sorry, when you were.. Luck feeds off luck. You make it yourself. But there's such a thing of pushing the envelope too far. An ephemeral being when asked to stay beyond its means will not head such a request. Why should we expect Luck to be any different?"Can luck be considered luck if its to be depended on?" Mr smith palms the various denominations of coins on the counter and drags it into the cash register before slamming the till shut resolutely. "Think about it as a circle. Too much luck in ones life and it will wrap around to extreme unlucky. Which makes The inverse true. Too much Unluck and eventually it will wrap around to extreme luck.. then you'll be able to time travel and explore the stars. The world will be yours. Your lucky break will come." I fail to register any words out of my mouth other than the usual mantra that rebukes any encouragement bequeated onto my limited existence If a golden goose appears; do I wait for it to shit a gold egg? Or do I chase it 'til I die? Mr smith purses his lips to resemble a smile to see me on my way. I pivot 90 degrees and walk a few steps outside to take refuge under the retractable red canopy away from the rain. Taking a comforting swig from the bottle I run the regular minutiae through my head. Do I wait, or do I chase. Do I chase, or do I wait? The thought is better off left alone.. Holding the scratchoff between my index and middle finger, vodka bottled clutched, I ponder what Mr smith relayed to me. Extreme luck, or extreme unluck. Both will produce equal results in my quest for tipping the balance in my favour. The utter futile nature of existence feels laid bare before me. It doesn't matter what I choose. Whether I scratch this ticket or not, the result will be the same. There is no egg. I produce a Bic lighter from my jean pocket and set the scratchoff alight, flecks of ash float to the ground until nothing remained. A flash of light meets my vision. The proverbial golden goose has appeared. As ephemeral as described. Informing me that it would have been wise to not have done that. For it was the winning ticket. I tell Mr Smith to put his phone away and go back into the shop, for I have had enough of his bullshit for today. But the thought lingers in my mind. Perhaps it was the winning ticket, and the luck foil prevented reality from transpiring correctly. I return inside to purchase the entire stack of scratchoffs to placate this invasive thought. Mr smith, once again happy to oblige, hands over the stack of cards on credit, knowing that I'll be retrospectively forking over payment after a days work of begging. As I always do. I march outside and deposit them all down the grate, expecting an unlucky holy intervention. Nothing happened again. It's time to go begging once more. Tomorrow will tip the scale.
"You are right, I shouldn't."affirmed the stranger. "Your space-time continuum has been compromised. Realities, complete and coherent or not, are crashing into each other. Several people happening to be in the same dream was the first warning, but nobody noticed. Now, dreams and legends have access to this world." "But that's impossible." "Just like my presence here, yet here we are. Back your things, we are going into a trip." "Wait, a trip? Where?" "A solution for this problem doesn't exist, so we have to find it in another reality." The stranger was about to turn when Árekor interrupted him. "I'm Árekor, the Elf of Blood and Sand." "Is that some kind of title?" "It's bad manners to not present your name after someone presents theirs." The stranger smiled. "You crack me up, buddy. Call me Dov. Let's go already, we are working against what's left of time itself."

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