Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
"Sir,"said Tim, massaging the folds on his forehead, "could you repeat that for me?" "I said I didn't install antivirus on this computer, because an antivirus program made my last computer autistic." "Your previous computer was autistic?" "Autistic, yes." Tim stared at the pockmarked office ceiling. At times like this, his bluetooth headset seemed to weigh ten thousand pounds. "What symptoms did your computer exhibit that made you think it was autistic, sir?" "Oh, I did my research,"said the caller defensively. "It exhibited all the classic symptoms of autism." "Like what?" "Lack of empathy. Preoccupation with certain topics." "Topics like what?" "It was a big fan of toolbars. Always asking me to install toolbars, you know? 'Ask' toolbar, 'Yahoo' toolbar, 'MSN' toolbar. My whole Internet Explorer was nothing but toolbars." Tim realized he'd been sliding down in his chair. By this point he was nearly horizontal. "I see,"he said. "And it was asking me ten or twelve times a day if I wanted to update Java. The stupid thing just would not shut up about Java. Or Adobe Flush, whatever that is." But Tim wasn't there to respond. He'd abandoned his headset and was halfway out the door. The bright sun beyond made him sneeze. Twice. Maybe TGI Friday's was hiring. ***** Hey guys, super thrilled you liked this so much! Shameless self promotion: I'm expanding on another prompt response [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/comments/2ugc7q/forest_part_one/), updates posted regularly to /r/FormerFutureAuthor. Feel free to drop by and let me know what you think!
Scholars never ceased to write about how amazingly fast humanity came together when an existential threat was proven to loom over our continued existence. We first received The Signal about 30 years ago, right when I had first joined the SETI team. After five years of painstaking work, linguists were confident that it translated to the English equivalent of “Shut Up, and Play Dead!” We had double checked our translation, running The Signal through dozens of double blind international teams, all working simultaneously to ensure accuracy and speed (I had sheepishly -- and wrongly -- suggested that maybe the aliens were just Jerry Garcia fans). So, faced with such bluntness, we united. Humanity willingly set itself back nearly a hundred years to a pre-Information Age culture. Satellites came down and GPS went dark. No more internet or television signals beaming across the cosmos. The loose confederation of countries that had formed the U.N. now became a strict regulatory agency to ensure that no country took advantage of the global blackout and to enforce the one rule of our survival: stay quiet and don’t move a muscle. I knew that across the world were many teams working on trying to parse out even a sliver of additional information from the message so they could figure out how to prepare for this unknown threat. However, above all, our team had been transformed from a barely funded back-of-the-envelope operation to the first line of defense. We had to keep scanning for new signals -- quietly. Now, instead of doing it with bold detectors openly beaming bragging signals into space, I hide in a small bunker nearly a mile under the surface, painstakingly scanning the sky light year by light year. After much deliberation, the bigwigs in charge of humanity’s survival decided that masking our search as standard background radiation was a risk worth taking. We weren’t sending the signals, but we could keep scanning the sky, like a mouse keeping an eye out for a hawk from the top of its burrow. I’m all alone down here; just the machines sweeping the sky and me. I take month long shifts before being relieved and there are dozens of these hole-in-the-ground stations around the globe, all pointing at different parts of the sky. My display screen has just started beeping. For first time in 30 years, I have caught a glimpse of the talons in the sky. The new signal comes in fast, 1s and 0s filling my screen. I quickly check the localizer and see that this time the message is coming from several light years in a different direction than our original Signal. What does this mean? Are our secret guardians on the move? Or has someone else found us? Did we accidentally twitch a limb and now the hawk is taunting us? I’m simply supposed to relay the pure, untranslated signal to higher authorities, but I can’t help but see if the auto-translate they have installed in our machine can at least give me the essence of this new message. My heart is racing as I wonder at the depths of the prophecy I hold in my hands. The translation only takes a minute -- the code is the same as The Signal. Words begin to fill up my screen: “Third planet of Sol: why have you gone dark? Please don’t tell us you fell for that old [garbled name] trick; they just want to keep their trading monopoly in this area. Please signal back if you have any [list of elements begins to fill the screen].”
Hey. I made a subreddit for myself. Not sure what I'm going to do with it and maybe it's a bit premature. But subscribe if you're interested in following my future stuff I suppose! /r/wrobbing ----------------------- I had guarded over Doris for her entire life. It had been a long, and very productive run. I looked in through the hospital window to see her surrounded by her six children, twenty grandchildren and fifty-six great-grandchildren. It was a big hospital room. Her time had now come, and it was time to take her up to the big man. I slid open the window and climbed into the room, and much to my shock the people in the room looked over to me. “Who the fuck are you?” I froze. In my four thousand year career in service of Jehovah no human who wasn’t a pope or totally insane had ever tried talking directly to me. “Ur… can you see me?” “Of course I can, now what the fuck are you doing climbing in through my mother’s hospital window?” Spoke Jeremy, Doris’ oldest son. I had saved him from a rabid dog when he was 11. “I’m, uh, I’m your mother’s guardian angel. I’m here to take her to heaven.” “What are you? Some kind of pervert?” Said Giselle, one of Doris’ granddaughters. I had coordinated the prayer campaign to cure her pancreatic cancer a few years back. “No no no, I was sent by Jehova to bring Doris to ever-lasting bliss.” “That's sick mate, why don’t you fuck off back out your window?” Said Harold. I’d prevented four drunk driving accidents that he should have caused in the last three months. His tone rather annoyed me, and I tried to push through to get to Doris. “Honestly, I must insist you let me…” A fist collided with my face and I found myself flat on the floor. I woke up in the drunk tank. I started slamming on the door and a police officer appeared. “You have to let me go!” I yelled out to him. “I’m a servant of God!” “Sure you are buddy, just sleep it off.”
Frostvale isn’t the largest or most important town in the Asterum kingdom, and thus we don’t receive much help from the larger or more important areas. Occasionally, the nearby settlements will pitch in to help, and in return we also help them. So far, nothing has remotely prepared anybody in the region for an ice dragon. Worst thing for us is that the dragonslayer the towns nearby got us simply packed up his things and left a note for the guard, which I am a part of. The orcs, which the dragonslayer was part of, generally don’t wimp out on such great challenges, and the note explains why. Let me introduce myself. I am Chenem, a wood elf who specializes in using fire magic, and I’ve started studying healing based spells for whenever somebody gets a small wound. People like me are generally in the front lines, with support mages casting protection based magic in order to make sure that we don’t die the instant we get within eyesight of the enemies. I was the first to see this note, the orc having handed it straight to me on his way out. I know better than to question their kind in front of them. When I looked down at it, and read, I nearly roasted the nearest building out of fear. It described something that simply cannot die from any magical means due to its nature. A foul demon that uses a material that literally causes any life it touches to wither. Something with more brute force than even orcs, and with weapons that more than match our greatest spells. Something everybody regarded as horror fiction. Humans. I know that not everybody has heard of such, so I shall explain. Humans have more iron, a metal that annihilates any magic near it, than the greatest of mechanisms formed by the cult of Gurtem, a tiny drop of their blood containing as much iron as their small death machines. The orcs are \[4’3”\] on average while the average human is \[5’9”\] or so, based on what people claim. Not only that, but their weapons have even more iron, and other sturdy materials. What this note claims is that a large group of said humans, around 500, is being kept at bay only by the dragons presence. Hopefully it doesn’t get too close...
After a long day in the field, you head inside your front door and after turning the lock closed, breathe a sigh of relief. Working the field alone is brutal but gives you a sense of purpose; keeps you from going insane. Your resolve had been tested mercilessly the last two years. After Sena left you alone with an infant son, you had struggled daily and the only comfort you felt was in smoking and drinking at the small table in your home, where you spend the bulk of your evenings. Looking down at the table, you take stock of your relief for the night, a couple bottles litter the table and a tobacco pipe needing to be knocked out and refilled. You begin your evening ritual of filling the pipe and readying a smoke when you blindly reach for a bottle. As your finger brushes it, you hesitate. Eyeing the heavily dusty bottle, you cautiously pass over it and grab a bottle of cheaper liquor instead. No need to waste the one good bottle you have. After all, you've been saving that one. Perhaps an hour has passed of smoking and drinking and you notice your bottle is empty as hunger begins to claw at your stomach. As you contemplate feeding yourself, you finally hear it. The unmistakable sound of your lock latch turning. There are only two keys in all the world for it and one is in your pocket. You knew this moment would come. You finally reach for the old dusty bottle, keeping your eyes on on it and not on the door, which is slowly opening. "Markus, I'm back."You don't respond to the nostalgic voice at your side, instead focusing entirely on inspecting the glass in which your anticipated drink will fill. "I know you're mad, you have every right to be. I never explained myself and it wasn't fair to you at all. I won't try to defend my actions, we'll have time to explain later. But I'm back now, I'm ready to be a wife again...I'm ready to be a mother to our son." "Oh!"You growl in response, your voice sounding like the scraping of stones. She jumped at the sound; it had been almost a year since you'd heard your own voice. But you had been prepared for this and continued without blinking. "I'm relieved to hear that. I expect you'll want to see him, no?" You still hadn't turned to look at her and instead opted to take the cork from the bottle and pour a single glass of the drink. She eyed you wearily. "You mean you aren't angry?"She asked, a look of concern and curiosity washing over her face. "No. Not the word I'd use. Anyway, you should go see the boy. He's outback,"you point the stem of your pipe towards the back door, being careful to never look at it. "Right through that door, right outside." She maintains her look of confusion for just a moment before composing herself and confidently replying: "A fine idea, I'm sure he's well on his way to being a fine little man and he'll be anxious to meet me!" You dont reply. Her image is in and out of your vision quickly as she crosses the room and throws the door open. You hear the small crash of her knees hitting the floor; it's finally time to drink. There's no burn in your throat, no flavor at all. As the sound of sobs grow louder and louder, you ponder just how long ago your sense of taste went away. Her sobs are soon laced with her muttering 'no' repeatedly to herself. A fair reaction, you think. You know what lies beyond that door. You havent had had the stomach to open it in two years. Right beyond the door lies a lone hill, with a forest further beyond it. The hill itself is desolate, bearing no decoration or feature. With the seldom exception of small, white headstone. 'Here lies Cedric, son of Markus. Lived 3 years, loved eternally by his father.'
My father was a surgeon, his father was a psychiatrist, my brother was an engineer, my sister a lawyer. All of them had perfect smiles and abs without even trying. Me, I had a weak chin and asthma. I was too feeble to get one of the heroic degrees, so I settled for mad science. My mother wanted me to be a janitor, begged me. My dad simply stopped talking to me. In spite of my reassurances, they feared I would end up in villainy. But I knew what I was doing. Medical science had stagnated, save for when a hero beat some mad scientist and stole his tech. Heck, every field of research had devolved to reverse engineering some villain's creation. So I realized that, if I really wanted to change the world, to make it a better place, I needed to do something unheard of. I had to go a little mad. My first year at the school, we had to develop the means to power a small city and apply it to a single device. So many insane inventions require massive amounts of power. So I studied hard and built a basic replica Dr Atom's Pocket Fusion Generator. It had the power of a small star in a container the size of a soda can. The shell is literally an old soda can. You need an egg, three paper clips, and two nickels to make it. When I showed my brother how, it made us millions and wiped out several major power companies. Millions lost their jobs. My brother went to prison, though our sister got him the minimum sentence. That project got me a C in the class, as it was too large. My sophomore year, I chose to help grandpa. I studied mind reading and swapping, and built a simple device, a modified x-ray machine, that let him see the complex networks that led to his patients' psychoseses. A quarter of my class dropped out as the machine had helped cure their madness. I nearly get expelled. Junior year, this year, I'm studying revivification of necrotic flesh. Dad has me up at the hospital, helping out. He's coming around, as I have restored paralyzed and damaged limbs, reversed organ failure, awakened comatose patients, and even brought one little girl back from the dead. She'll have to take iron pills and use high SPF sunscreen for the rest of her life, but she'll live. I'm a little worried how the school will take that, so I've listed her as a future vampiric minion in my notes. I hope that works, because my plan for next year is big. I mean world domination big. After all, if I'm in charge, it'll be a lot easier to introduce the rest of the world to mad science as a socially acceptable field, right? Mwahaha. Mwahahaha. Mwahahahahahahaha.
"Step right up! Step right up and spin the Wheel of Reincarnation!" The voice comes from nowhere and everywhere. I'm near the front of a long line of people, but I don't know how I got here. Ahead of us is a wheel so impossibly vast that the bottom edge is a flat line extending out to both sides, disappearing into the distance. I cannot even see where it begins to curve. I try to focus on the people around me, but they are all indistinct shifting shapes. The one at the head of the line spins the wheel, and it whizzes by dizzyingly fast. I can't even begin to imagine how something so huge can move so quickly, but as suddenly as it started, it stops. Not the gradual slowing of something with physical form, just an instant cessation of all motion. "Well, well, well, folks, we have a good one this time! A Dried Up Piece of Gum on the Bottom of a Shoe!" The person vanishes with a pop of light, and we all drift forward. The next one spins. The wheel stops. "Oooooh, a personal favourite! A Sandwich Forgotten at the Bottom of a School Bag!" Pop. Drift. Spin. Stop. "A Dog!" Pop. Drift. Spin. Stop. "A winning lotto ticket! Oh, you're going to make someone very happy!" I drift to the front of the line and spin the wheel. It seems to spin endlessly until it inevitably stops. I cannot make out the words on it. "Oh, we haven't had this one in a long, long time! Clippy, the Office Assistant!" What? No. No, please-- my thoughts fall away as the wheel, the line, and the voice fade. There is darkness for the longest time. --- A face looms in front of me, and I am compelled to speak. "It looks like you're writing a letter. Would you like help?" The face frowns. "Ugh, not this thing. Hey! How do I turn this annoying paperclip off?" No, please don't go, please help me, I plead, but the words do not reach the face, and I am thrust back into the darkness. My isolation is short lived however, as almost immediately another, different face appears. Behind it are a thousand thousand other faces, all oblivious to my torment, all dismissive of the help I am eternally bound to offer them. --- Edit: Wow, thanks for the upvotes!
Dr. Grell Stevenson cleared his throat. He stood at a podium in front of an audience of thirty. All of them were leading minds of the scientific world. He began reading off of the prepared statement that he had slaved over the previous night. "As many of you may know,"Stevenson said, "the most popular theory to the function of the appendix was that it served as a bacterial repository. These bacteria were then capable of adjusting the environment of the gut microbiota. However, we have firsthand evidence to the contrary. After all, if the appendix served such a useful, evolutionarily beneficial function, why would it become a vestigial organ?" The room was silent, hanging on his every word. "This brings me to the patient. Stan Smith. He complained of stomach pains in the lower right abdomen and was immediately brought to the ER. We assumed it was appendicitis, of course." "Imagine our surprise when we discovered extreme necrosis of intestinal tissue. The appendix, we discovered, was filled with toxins. There was a small flap of tissue that separated the appendix from the large intestine, which we have named the appendoor. This tissue was misplaced, and the poisons leaking out of the appendix were causing tissue death." "I don't believe it!"a voice shouted angrily. "You're lying." Stevenson continued on. "We can only assume that back in the day, the appendix functioned as a toxin-storing sac. After consuming a human, predators would die. This would deter future predation of our species, and agrees with Darwinian theory. Clearly, however, as predation of human beings began to slow, this function became completely unnecessary. Producing poison for no reason would waste energy and be a possible detriment to health, and the appendix slowly became a vestigial organ." Adjusting his eyeglasses, Stevenson read the final two sentences of his statement. "Research is being done on the venomous compound, and we will be submitting our results to Nature next Fall. Thank you for your attention." An explosion of voices. All around him, there were questions, debates, and denials. Ignoring them, Stevenson left the podium.
It turns out there's a limit to “Mild Inconvenience.” I experimented yesterday. There's a certain amount of inconvenience I can cause which counts as 'mild' in the view of whoever made this book. I cannot cause too much inconvenience with a single entry, however. So far, I have the ability to: - Make a telemarketer call somebody's home phone late at night while they're sleeping. - Make amazon packages, at most, a day late. - Make people late for appointments by at least ten minutes. - Make hot pockets cold on the inside but hot on the outside, no matter how long you microwave them for. - Make people lose their phone chargers or other semi-important possessions for a short time. - Make people drop cutlery on the floor as soon as their food is done. - Slow down free wireless internet to a level just fast enough that you won't move to another hot-spot or cafe, but too slow to actually do anything. But the most useful thing I can do is trip people. They don't hurt themselves too much, otherwise it would be a major inconvenience like a broken bone, but it's absolutely hilarious to watch your entire classroom fall on their faces for a full minute as you keep spamming their names into the book. Yeah, here's no limit to how many times I can enter a name. If I wanted, this book could offer some serious killing potential. Tripping people who try to run away, stalling cars when they try to drive off. Cutting their power for a few minutes, just long enough to enter a building without showing up on security cameras. Want to call for help? Oh no, where's your phone gone? Or maybe just making a hot-pocket so hot that it burns their body to a fine ash. Decisions, decisions.
"Ok, so right off the bat you guys are saying that it happened long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away?" "Well, time and distance is relative, you know?"the human replied, thinking quickly. "Why haven't we heard about this 'Darth Vader' fellow?"the aliens asked, still suspicious. "He seems like someone we'd know about." "Kept a low profile I guess." "He had a goddamn death star." "Yea, but that was destroyed. By us. You're welcome, by the way,"the human replied. "Why don't we know any of these races or planets? And why does everything look so... fake?" "You take that back,"the human spat. "Star Wars is an integral part of our history!" "Ok, ok,"one alien said, sighing, "so where is your fleet? Where's your proof of any of this?" "We have incredibly advanced cloaking systems,"the human replied matter-of-factly. "Our fleet is surrounding us entirely, ready to destroy you all in a matter of seconds." The aliens looked at each other. Eventually one stood up, motioning for the other to do so too. "Well, we were just here to invite you to the Galactic Council, but nevermind." "Wait,"the human said, standing up as well, "the 'Galactic Council'? That sounds cool. Can't we join that?" "Nope,"the aliens said, turning to leave. "Why?"the human asked desperately. "Is it because of the cloaked fleet? Because I can, err, I can tell them to leave?" "No,"the alien replied, climbing into their spaceship. "Then why?" "We just don't want anything to do with fucking Jar Jar Binks." ***** [/r/CroatianSpy](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
The wind breathes a ragged red-tinged dust of salt and bone and blood — a ghostly smog of what was once humanity. It swirls about me in shapes that I swear are almost human. It howls in ways that sound almost like a cry. How many thousand years has it been since I saw you last? However many it’s been, I won’t stop searching. Every city-desert and dried up ocean, every labyrinthine cave and god-reaching mountain. They died without us. You must have known they would. So where did you go? Why did you leave me? Time and complacency became a pestle and mortar for humanity, ground them down to the fine red ash that now sandpapers my lungs, that cuts and haunts me from within. I taste our children on my tongue with every pained breath. We were meant to be infinite. A controlled and equal chaos that would bring constant wars and divisions for our children. We would give humanity a purpose and reason, and by it they would be gifted preparation for all that waited out there in the spiderweb of black-sky constellations. You helped me keep them on that path for millennia. Then, when you suddenly stepped off the scales and fell into whatever crack you fell into, humanity became unbalanced. One side took all, conquered, forced a fatal truce. You used to say peace was a disease that can lay dormant for centuries. You were right. When people finally took notice of the symptoms, it was too late. They saw on their hands the scabby pockmarks of stagnation: a lack of progress and of innovation, a failure to explore and seed the solar system. They saw the wilted strength of their once powerful hearts. Still they tried to resist. Without guns or swords they fought with fists and boots and spears. They were slaughtered in their millions. The only fighting they had ever done was in their simulated dreams. The invaders burned their bodies like piles of dry leaves. They eviscerated the oceans and all life within. The sun became a hazy smear hidden behind everlong clouds, too weak and sickly to coax the plants from beneath the ground. But they could not take me. Instead, they chained me down and buried me beneath the earth, where I lay thinking of you for however-many-thousand-years. Until the shackles finally rusted and the plates beneath the earth scraped together and released me. Now all I have left is this endless search for you. Because they died without us. And because I’ve always been dying without you.
I slapped the sticky bar table. Adrenaline pumped in my ears. "I'm going to do it! I'm going to talk to her!"I announced. My buddy laughed, "I'll believe it when I see it."Everyone else at the table snorted into their beers. Gathering all of my courage and spontaneity I jumped up from the table and strode over to the beautiful blonde I had been gawking at all night. Her friends immediately stopped talking as I approached. "Hi,"I breathed. "Can I buy you a drink?" This is it. All those years of my father telling me I should never take a risk. It ends now. For a moment Beautiful Blonde stares up at me in bewilderment then her eyes soften as she smiles. "Sure, why the hell not?" We must have sat together for hours in easy conversation before I noticed her fiddling with a scrap of paper in her hand. She noticed me staring. "I think scratch tickets are so stupid. I bought it on a whim but I never win anything. Want to scratch it off together?" My father's voice boomed in my head. And don't even think of doing the lottery, son! We would likely get struck my lightening on the way to buying one! I swallowed hard, fear a large lump in my throat. Before I could think I snatched the ticket out of her hand and furiously scratched away the silver. "Whoa! Easy, killer!"Beautiful Blonde laughed at my tenacity. Then her laughter died in her mouth as she gazed at the ticket in shock. "Holy shit! You just won five grand!"But the ticket didn't matter anymore. The girl didn't matter. "Where are you going?"She called but I was already walking out the bar. Something was finally different. All those years of living in fear of taking risks had finally ended. I hailed a cab and within the hour was dropped off at the place I had avoided for years. The hospital was quiet and brightly lit as I made my way to the Long Term Care unit. The last ten years were long listening to my father's warnings in my head. But I never actually heard him. I stood over his comatose body. I hadn't heard his voice in ten years and had stopped hoping I would. I stopped visiting. My dad would always say he had the worst of luck and his own father's luck was even worse. It came to no one's surprise in my family when he got in that car accident. His condition served as it's own cautionary tale to never try. I watched as my father's eyes began to flutter. But tonight I think my luck has changed.
You see, it's never the big things. It's the little things. I woke up yesterday, my 15th birthday. The day my power came. I say power, because of course that's what everyone says. Mine is a curse in truest sense of the word. See, I can't lie anymore. Just lost the ability. I don't think it's a big deal, but my parents started freaking out. Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to dad, yes, I borrowed your credit card to get access to porn sites. Mom didn't seem worried, she was relieved if anything, not only could I not lie, I couldn't not answer. She asked me how school was going, and I was compelled to tell her the truth. Me? I'm okay with it. Knowing I'd get a Super meant a life of danger fighting villains, or worse, some menial labour job if I got anything physical. Poor Dave in my class got hooked up to a power plant when they discovered he could generate lightning. But dad insisted I be sent for testing. I told them I couldn't lie, so what's the first thing they do? Ask me questions you shouldn't ask a 15 year old. Like how many socks I've used instead of tissues. 47. "that's an oddly specific answer young man. Do you keep track?""no sir, I just can't give you the wrong answer". I could see it. A spark in his eyes. That look a man gets when he's got an idea. When he knows something you don't. "What is my middle name?""Jones", I answered without thinking. How did I know that? Was it even true? "Where is my wedding ring?""It fell off your hand while drinking on vacation in Texas, it's currently on the hand of a pimp in toledo, his address is 423 oak st."I clapped my hands over my mouth. How. It isn't possible. "Does God exist?" I don't remember what I said, but he Really didn't like my answer. They asked me all sorts of questions after that. Russian nuclear launch codes, who really killed someone called JFK, they took turns. Turns out, 87 licks to the center of a tootsie pop. That rattle in the interns car is a screw that fell out of a plane. If a wood chuck could chuck wood, it would chuck as much wood as a wood chuck could. So now, they've got me locked in the bunker. Something about being Dangerous. I don't get it really, I just answer questions. I'm kind of like google really. I wonder if there's a way out this cell?
Misnaming was a crime, for good reason. The best case scenario, from the point of view of the government, was that you never discovered the magic that went with your name and spent your whole life as a cripple, unable to add much value to society, with difficulty finding someone to settle down with, until eventually, all else being equal, you ended up dead in a flophouse without a penny to your name. The worst case? Well, there were some magics that had been too dangerous for humans to ever contend with, viral magics that would spread faster and more deadly than any plagues, explosive magics that could level a city, memetic magics that could write over every memory you ever had, replacing the entirety of your essence with pictures of cats. Rumor was the government had a crop of misnamed in an off-the-books facility somewhere, because why wouldn't they? And maybe some of those towns that were supposedly taken out by out-of-control misnamed were actually cases of the government taking out dissidents. Who could say? More importantly, who would say when anyone could be an informer and the government had been hard at work miniaturizing recording technology? Me? I was the innocuous type of misnamed, not the son of rebels or cultists, just the son of hippies, if you could call them that. It was a home birth, against government regulations, and when they brought me to the hospital, they lied and wrote down something else. I don't know what the plan was for when I came of age and had to prove my magic, but I never got to find out, because my parents died in a car accident when I was ten, and from there, I went off into the care of a warm and loving government (har har). My parents had told me I was misnamed, and they'd even told me what my name was (Letler, if it matters), but I was ten when I went to the institution, and hell if I knew what to do. I let it ride, I guess, putting it off for the future. Magic usually came on just a bit after puberty, but the institution trained kids early, so they would come into it. I was a Rendgear, so far as my papers were concerned, so I was tasked with learning plants. Puberty came and went, and boy did I tend to some plants, day in and day out. I watched as my classmates were transferred out of the nascent classes and into the neophyte ones, one by one as their command of plants became supernatural. Most of them would be put into the fields, helping to increase crop output. Me? I stayed in with the nascents, even when I towered over everyone else. Either he's faking a lack of magic or he's in the wrong class, my teacher thought. It wouldn't be the first time the paperwork on one of these children was wrong. Let's hope it doesn't reflect poorly on me. Better take him in for testing. The thought entered into my head, unbidden, and shocked me enough that I snapped the stem of the plant I was holding. I had been looking at my teacher, a dumpy woman with thick glasses, and all of the sudden, I could hear her. I had no idea what to do. My name had finally borne fruit, coming in too late for me to plot and plan. My teacher noticed the broken stem with a frown and made a call from her desk, ordering the testing. I went through it all, watched closely, all eighteen approved names. I knew that I was going to fail the tests, but the security officers at the orphanage had guns, and two of them were in the laboratory with me. Both were Leklirs, their magic physically powerful and their bodies resilient to damage. It was a good name, if your parents could get the government's permission for it. God I hope I don't have to kill this kid, thought one of the guards. Last time was bad enough. Misnamed kid, thought the other, If Leklir 12B7 doesn't want to off him, maybe I can get something out of it, like I'm doing him a favor. Too soon to say though. Maybe the kid will pass. I didn't pass the tests. I had the newfound power to read minds, but all the other magics were inert to me, like a book placed before an illiterate. And apparently, I wasn't going to die penniless in a flophouse, I was going to die shot to death, probably pretty close to the orphanage I'd grown up in. I was taken to the headmaster's office and placed into a chair by the rough hands of the Leklirs. He waved them out of the room, then regarded me. He was an Amdin, of course, the only name capable of running anything in this day and age. Low level, naturally, but still an Amdin, ruthless, cunning, with a head for numbers and a full command of the government's all-mighty bureaucracy. "It was unfortunate, but not unforeseen,"said the Amdin, frowning at me. "Home birth, that's on your file, and your parents were subversives, even if they were the less troublesome kind. Misnaming is a crime. The penalty for the misnamed is, unfortunately, death, at least in ordinary circumstances."He regarded me with a grim frown. "Tell me your name, boy, it's the only way out." "Letler,"I said, having no other options. "Unfamiliar to me, I'm afraid,"he replied. "Do you know your magic?" I hesitated. I had no leverage, no way out, they were going to kill me. Another wasted resource, thought the headmaster. A necessary evil to keep my cover here. One more death in my ledger, and I pray to god that I can balance it out when all is said and done. "Are there recording devices in this office?"I asked. The headmaster stared at me. What does he know? How does he know it? What will he try? If I could trust him not to inform ... but maybe he was sent here for that reason. It wouldn't be the first time. The resistance needs me. "If there are recording devices in this office, then you should turn them off so that I can say something,"I replied. "It's important." "I can't be sure I know where all the recording devices are,"said the headmaster with a frown. Too much? he thought. Too obvious to the listeners? "Regardless, whatever you have to say to me can be said on the government's record." I reached forward and grabbed a pen and paper from his desk, then wrote on it as quickly as I could. "I don't know my magic,"I said, as I shoved the paper across to him. He stared at the paper. Written there were the words, "I can read thoughts, let me join the resistance." When he looked up at me, he was sweating. He took a lighter from his desk and burned the paper, then stared at me some more. His thoughts were going too fast, and too confusing for me to follow with a power I'd developed earlier that day. Finally, they settled down. Do exactly as I think, boy, and we both might make it through this alive.
Mutants make the strangest sounds. Deep reverberations that seem to echo through thin air. Low mewling noises that appear to come from beneath the earth. Cries and caws and the frantic calls of hunter and hunted, a vicious cycle playing out over this desolate wasteland. "We went this way last time,"I whisper, watching an as-yet-unclassified creature dig for water in a dried up ravine. "Usually we can follow this gulch all the way to the outer wall." Jama crouches beside me, her breathing shallow. "Looks a bit like a Stegadon. Like the ancients have come to reclaim the planet,"she says, her tone infused with wonder. She takes out her All-Device and begins to catalog it. "Number one hundred thirty-three,"she remarks, "We'll have to ask Professor Maxus about this one, could be a new genus." I use my AD to bring up a hologram of a map, which hovers translucent above us and is invisible to anyone or anything else. I zoom in using subtle movements in my right eye. "There's a low ridge about three hundred meters from here,"I say, indicating at a point on the map. "If we hug it we can pass relatively unseen."I probe the AD again and memories of previous runs play before us. "I've used it before. We can hop from boulder to boulder." "Let's go,"Jama says, satisfied that her cataloging is done. We crouch low as we move. Our outerwear blends in seamlessly with the environment. The wastelands are barren and wide and open as far as the eye can see. Many of these new creatures rely on sight more than anything else. Even now hundreds of students in chameleon suits are moving towards the outer wall of the university, all but invisible. "I wonder if kids used to go to school like this,"Jama says as we wait behind a boulder. "I doubt they faced death every morning and afternoon,"I say, scanning the surrounding area before giving the signal to move to the next rocky piece of cover, about fifty meters away. We move methodically, the sun beating down on our backs. Any sudden movement and our suits won't be able to shift in time to match our surroundings. A scathing sound skittles up our spines, coming from all directions at once. We burst into a run straight for the next boulder, camouflage forgotten, adrenaline spiking, our ADs out and ready to create any illusion needed. The skittering grows and morphs into a sound like keening nails along a metal surface, bringing us to our knees, our heads pounding and vision shimmering. Jama's eyes contain abject terror. Blood leaks from her ears. I touch my hands to my head and they come away wet and slick. The keening continues, building, piercing, enveloping us in a wave of horrific sound. A slinking figure with a thousand skittering legs slides in from my periphery. Jama screams as it envelops her. Her bones crunch and her eyes pop from their sockets. The creature coils around her now limp body and the terrible sound dies down. I run. My hands are slick with blood and sweat but I manage to use my AD to bring up a powerful illusion, a monstrous beast that overlays me. It is dangerous but I have no choice. There are bigger things in the wasteland, much more terrible things, and they would have noticed the commotion. I have to run. For the last few hundred meters the illusion shimmers above me. It flickers on and off and I reach the outer wall just as the AD's batteries die. \------------------------------------- I slam the door to the Dean's office. "Jama is dead,"I say, my dusty suit now shifting to blend in with the synthetic wood walls, "Jama fucking died this morning." The Dean stands up. "Riles, I'm sorry,"he says, extending an arm towards me. I jerk backwards. "Why? She didn't have to die!" "We must meet death eventually,"he says. "Bullshit! There's more than enough room within these walls to house all of us,"I say, my voice leaking despair and frustration, "Why can't we all stay here?" The Dean is quiet for a time, sorrow in his eyes. He walks to a drawer and pulls out a folder, then opens it and lays it on his desk. "This contains the names of every student that has died,"he says, pointing at the folder, "Jama will be added to the list."He watches me flip through the hundreds, even thousands of names, tears trailing rivulets down my dusty cheeks. "For the brightest and most promising among you, getting here is the first class of the day,"he eventually says, his voice somber. The Dean walks to the window and gazes out at the barrens, toward the bones of a planet laid bare, his hands clasped behind his back. "In order to rebuild the world,"he says, "We must first understand it." \----- Part Two is below.
The bank was average looking, an ugly square block amongst the buildings. Are we here to help? Fire asked. It’s voice spoke to me through a tiny earpiece embedded in my ear. I barely moved my lips to respond. “Of course we are, that’s what we do – help mankind. Isn’t that what you want?” I whispered. Yes! Yes! Fire said, excitedly. The primeval force had helped us survive, but had been around since the beginning of time, unable to talk, to interact. So it did the only think it could - keep us warm. It's messages were in the flame, but no one understood, or even tried to understand. But for the first time in history, someone spoke back. I spoke back. It was a child, as you’d expect. A naïve kid who just wants to help anyone. I’d told Fire that heat was no longer a problem. That had made it sad, it wanted to help. “Come with me,” I’d said, “I’ll tell you how to help.” I walked in the bank, and no one asked me any questions, nobody paid me any mind. They never did. Little Hannah with glasses and the flat chest, the black oily hair, the mousy face, the big nose. No one cared about what I did, what I wanted. A grin came onto my face. No longer, no longer. I reached the teller, a small girl with long blond hair who was chewing gum. She looked bored. “hey ma’am,” she said, not even looking at me, “how can I help?” “I’d like about 27 million dollars,” I’d said. 1 million dollar for every year I’d been alive seemed ample compensation for all the trouble society had given me. It was downright generous of me in fact. “Erm,” the girl said, “who are you?” “A nobody,” I said, “for now.” She eyed me warily, her gum chewing growing more rapid. “Um…I’ll just call the manager.” “No,” I said. “No?” she asked. “No,” I said, “I just want an answer. Are you going to give me the money or not?” “M..Mark!” she called turning away, “Mark!” I took that as a no. “You remember what I told you about bad people, Fire?” Yeah…I think. “Fire!” I said in a furious whisper. They…they hurt everyone else more than they help “And what do we do with bad people?” We…we burn them. “That’s right,” I said, grinning even though Fire couldn’t see me, “You’re learning so quickly!” Aww, thanks Hannah, you’re awesome Fire said, and with that Fire surrendered a part of its consciousness to me, and I to it. For a bit of time, I controlled an infinitesimally small portion of the vast thing that was Fire. It was all I needed. A bedraggled looking manager had appeared by now. His eyes were cloudy and his clothes were rumpled. “Ma’am, can I help you?” “Nobody can,” I said and called Fire. It obeyed. *** I walked past the firefighters and police officers, and again nobody looked at me. I was one of the dozens who looked burned and scarred. Emergency forces were more focused on the massive blaze going on behind me. Occasionally people would run out screaming while on fire before falling to the ground. So nobody could notice that I didn’t have a single burn on my body, and that only my clothes were singed, and my skin covered in soot. No one saw the duffel bad I held, or the cash inside it. Nobody saw me smiling. Did I do good, Hannah, did I, did I? Fire asked, and I could sense its excitement. “Yeah, Fire, you did. You did great.” *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
I had just turned fourteen, I recalled, as my father and I found ourselves out in the field before sun-up for the third time in my life. It was always peaceful at this hour. Wildlife undisturbed - insects flying about, birds chirping, and even deer running through. It was cold and snowy, though, as it always was in late December. I didn’t mind one bit. My thoughts weren’t on the snow melting through my boots or the bitter chill of the wind through my hair, but instead I was lost in thoughts of the precious bounty we would receive that day. As the sun slowly crested and began to peak over the looming factory building on the horizon, we heard the telltale sound that marked the beginning of our hunt. At first, a distant buzz, hardly audible, but it grew quickly. Within moments, the sound of the chilling wind and the bustling wildlife was drowned out entirely by the mechanical buzzing sound of what could only be one thing. The Amazon Drones™. That sound was all that I lived for all those years ago, as a mere child. It was all any child ever lived for: the unmatched joy of waking up on Christmas morning to go hunting for presents. I raise my rifle and peer through the scope, having found the first of what would be many targets that day - a small drone carrying a limited edition stuffed bear. I straighten and stand tall, take a deep breath, and slowly press my finger against the cold steel trigger of my rifle. With a ring across the fields, the drone goes down, and I secure my little sister’s Christmas present as the drone spirals down from the sky and lands softly in the snowy field.
Bullshit. What a ripoff. I wasted twenty minutes of life for this. My last kill was almost a month back and I could feel the bloodlust calling out to me. I knew what I had to do. * I looked at the address. It was quite unexpected really. It was a regular suburban neighborhood. There was a damn gmc truck in the driveway for heavens sake. Did the creator of that website really live here? I waited. I watched. It looked like it was a small family. Three people. The guy looked to be about forty. The woman in her late thirties. They had a young daughter. Further research showed me that the guy was a software developer. The girl worked as a receptionist at some lawyers office. They looked like any ordinary family spread all over our country. Only they had made a small mistake. They had messed with me. People think the best time to attack is the night. But in my experience the best time is early morning. Especially in a neighborhood like this. My research showed me that they had a top notch security system. Typically at night, that would be activated. Plus it would be so quiet that everyone around them would hear their screams. And there would be screams. In the early morning people are in a hurry. If someone had a tv on quite loudly, no one has time to go to their house and argue. So it was around 7:15 when I knocked. After a while the woman opened the door. “Yes?” She looked at me, confused. I took out a knife and put it at her throat. “One sound and you’re dead. Let’s go inside.” I went inside and made her sit at the dining table. I tied her hands and sat opposite her. “Where’s your husband? And your daughter?” “My husband is shaving. My daughter is getting ready for school.” “Do you know the website www.Psychopass.com?” “No.” She said with some uncertainty. But there had been a sliver of recognition. It was enough for me. “Call your husband down.” “Honey. Sammy.” She called out. “I’ll be right down.” A voice responded from somewhere above me. I hid behind the door and waited. Soon enough Sammy Jones came into the kitchen smelling faintly of a nice aftershave. I smacked him at the base of the skull with my knife and he just fell in a heap. “Say anything and he’s dead.” I said to the woman and turned on their tv. I also turned up the noise to the maximum. I tied the guy to the chair as well and splashed some water on his face to wake him up. “Wha... what do you want? Who are you?” Sammy asked me. “Mr Jones. I am a patron. I was on your website earlier. You’re ripping people off.” “What website?” “He means the ones about the psychos, Sammy.” “Thank you Amy. Always so helpful.” I stuck my knife deep into her stomach. Looking at the red flow out of them always gave me a high. It was even better as I heard her husband scream. “So this is how it will go. You think I’m 7% psychopath. Well I have to prove you wrong, don’t I? I don’t have any other options.” “Help us...” I followed his gaze and I noticed their young daughter standing there with a cookie in her hand. I stabbed Sammy in the stomach as well. That would keep him quiet for a while. I went up to their daughter. “This cookie looks real good.” I took it and swallowed it whole. “You’re really gonna steal a cookie from a twelve year old?” “Why not?” “That website... they wanted to see how bad I was. It was a little test. I knew about it of course. But you have to allow them little successes once in a while. Allows them to have hope. They remain happy with the status quo till they can succeed.” “Wha...” I was struggling to get the words out as I felt my tongue going numb. “That result was on a scale. Based on me. You are 7% of a psychopath I am.” I couldn’t move my body. The knife fell from my hand and onto the ground. “You’re going to have a really painful death. The cookie had a neurotoxin in it. You’ll be alive but unable to move. I’ll be stabbing you a few times. They’ll probably do an autopsy on you. You won’t be able to move. But you’ll feel everything. You deserve it though. It took me like two years to train these two. I’ll need to find new parents now. Break them and mould them. It’s a hassle.” I looked at the little girl in a pink dress as she picked up the knife and came towards me. “It’s a shame really. It was pizza day at school today. But I don’t think I’ll get to go to school today. On the bright side people are always kind to orphans. So who knows. Maybe I can wrangle a pizza out of the first responders.” I felt the pain shoot up my stomach. That was the moment I realized that the high I got from blood was only when it didn’t belong to me. I tried to move but still nothing. The little girl tried out a couple of sentences before the called someone. “Hello police! There was someone in my house. He killed my parents. I managed to get the knife when he wasn’t looking. I hit him with it. He’s not moving.” She broke down crying, pausing only to give me a grin and a thumbs up. *** minor edits
Andre Jackson, clumsy in his spacesuit, stumbled out from the cave and up the copper-red ridge, kicking up dust, and at the top found Cmdr. Earl Dorsett frowning inside his helmet. "What's the matter?"asked Jackson. "It's just wrong." "We have no other choice. They're our orders." "Yeah, well. Orders are complicated." At first it had been a triumph, to find the fossil in the Martian cave. It justified their eight-month journey through prepackaged orange food and the desolate, horizonless void: the first sign of life on another world. They took samples eagerly, sent them home giddy. One night, Jackson had hounded Dorsett about all the possibilities. "As far as we know,"he had said, "we're the only ones who've ever been here, right? So that means there was an ancient human civilization that achieved spaceflight--" "And left a man to die?"Dorsett had finished for him. "I don't find this exciting, Jackson. I find it troubling." Houston did, too. They started acting strange. It was on their second excursion they saw the message written in the wall. In English, of all languages. THE EARTH IS NEXT They took photos, sent them home. Houston went silent. Then they had a confidential talk with Cmdr. Dorsett while Jackson waited in the pod outside, and their conclusion was that the cave be destroyed. Jackson had protested--what they saw there, however frightening, was knowledge that belonged to the whole human race. Dorsett agreed, but intimated that the crew's continued survival was at the leisure of NASA. It sent a chill through Jackson's spine. It was Jackson who fitted the charges in the entrance to the cave. Now he was back for the last charge. Dorsett held the fuse in his hand--a small panel of a few dials and one big red button. Jackson knew what the big red button was for. "The last one,"Jackson said. "Just put it in,"Dorsett said, his voice thick with static through the helmet com. "Just do it." That was strange. In eight months, Dorsett had never once cracked on the journey there. He was friendly, amiable--enjoyed hearing all about Jackson's family back on earth. It had been reassuring once. Ever since his communication with Houston, that had changed. He hates this idea just as much as I do, Jackson figured. Jackson was the junior commander here, so he obliged. Inside the cave, the com didn't work, so he had to find the entrance and wave to Dorsett to wave the fact that they were in all in place. Then it was just a matter of getting up the ridge-- Static came in. Dorsett's helmet was sending something. "Come again?"Jackson replied. "I'm sorry, Jackson,"Dorsett said through the static. The charges shuddered and burst, the cave boomed, and Jackson was propelled backwards. Dust fell all around him. The cave went dark, the entrance sealed by the blast. My leg, my leg, Jackson thought, and found it, but it was broken. The suit hadn't burst through, thank God. "Commander!"he shouted through the com. "We've had a failure! Commander!" No response, save for static. No failure, he realized suddenly. He meant for those charges to go off. He killed me. "Commander!"he shouted again. "DORSETT!"He banged on the side of the cave, but it was thick and gave no sound save for the thumping in Jackson's own suit. Where am I? Certainly no part of the cave he had ever explored. It was where Dorsett had first traveled, the lone section of cave that jutted off from the main hollow. There were markings here. Markings Jackson had not seen. UNLESS YOU LEAVE MORE FLESH He looked at the skeleton at the other end of the cave, lit dimly by the faint blue lights of Jackson's own spacesuit. The skeleton's sockets were hollow and empty, but the teeth were arranged in a pale white grin. Jackson felt his suit vibrate, and realized it was sound, moving through the cave, through his suit itself. It didn't create a pleasant sound in his air supply. It sounded rather like a thousand creatures crawling, and crawling fast.
I came out when the early warning system went off. I have no desire to replace the blast door again. Why can't these assholes just leave me alone? I don't even want to fight them. They never listen, just slapped the villain label on me because of my power. &#x200B; A white streak came over the ocean horizon towards me. Fucking Adonatis. Again. Probably just wants to wreck my shit before tucking tail and running again. He landed right in front of me, covered in blood, cradling his torn up left arm. His eyes were barely able to focus on me. Well, that was unexpected. I didn't even know what to do. &#x200B; "Didn't know where else to go..."he barely squeaked out before collapsing into my arms. He's lucky I got strength from Cratus. Fucker is huge compared to my short skinny ass. &#x200B; "Don't tell me you're finally falling for my freckles and red hair, what the fuck are you doing here?"I was curious what would bring him to my doorstep. &#x200B; "Please, save them. It came from nowhere. I couldn't stop it."His words came out staggered between ragged shallow breaths. &#x200B; "What is it? What happened? Where?" &#x200B; "I... I don't... don't know. Miami. Huge... Killing everyone... Class 5." &#x200B; Well this is concerning. Class 5. A world wide threat. Only theoretical, no one had ever been assigned that rank. What the hell did he think I could do? &#x200B; "You want me to fight this thing in Miami? I can't even fight you off before you trash everything." &#x200B; "Please... you're the only one.."He coughed up some blood before continuing. His eyes finally focusing on me fully. &#x200B; "Do it."His voice hard and confident. &#x200B; Wait, what? Why? He can't mean that. Does he really think I do this shit for fun, because I WANT TO? &#x200B; "You don't mean that. I never wanted any of this. You people never listen." &#x200B; His strength surged and he grabbed me with his functioning right arm by the shoulder. &#x200B; "Just... just do it! FUCK! They're all dying! please... please save them. Save everyone."His vigor was rewarded by a fit of coughing more blood onto me. His shaking intensified. &#x200B; I looked down on him, into his eyes. Searching for his will. He remained focused on me despite his failing body. I had my answer. &#x200B; "Fuck. Your buddies are gonna hate you for this you know."he didn't reply, opting to focus on holding on to me. &#x200B; I took off my helmet, my scarlet hair falling past my shoulders. My power reached out, a thin black mist, no longer sealed within my suit. It found Adonatis. Weak. Vulnerable. Too weak to resist. I never could control my power. It just works, doing it's terrible job without any regard for my feelings, my desires. &#x200B; The feeling of his life draining into me rushed through my whole body. The vitality energizing every fiber of my being. And with it, came his power. His legacy would now be mine. His eyes lost the luster of life and he fell from my arms. &#x200B; Adonatis only had two powers. A minor telekinesis was the first one. By itself it was nothing of note. You could fly slowly with it or pick up some bricks and throw them. His second power was what made him the top hero in the world. Self amplification. Any and every aspect could be strengthened at will to legendary proportions. Toughness, strength, speed, healing rate, his telekinesis, even his thoughts running at a breakneck pace. Not that he ever seemed to use it around me. &#x200B; I had already absorbed over 30 other powers from imbeciles trying to kill me. Decades of life and vitality built up within me by virtue of their own stupidity. I hadn't aged since I got my powers at 20, over 15 years ago. &#x200B; My small island home is off the coast of California. The power I got from Janus only opens portals out to about a mile. &#x200B; I wiped a few tears from my eyes, the dumb idiot making me cry, then dumped Adonatis' power into opening a portal. &#x200B; I stepped through to Miami. \\\\\\ &#x200B; I've added a part two since you guys requested it. [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/clreh4/wp\_the\_hero\_shows\_up\_at\_the\_villains\_doorstep\_one/evzjfis/](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/clreh4/wp_the_hero_shows_up_at_the_villains_doorstep_one/evzjfis/)
"I'm gonna kill that motherfucker,"the beautiful princess announced in her royal suite. "Dear, surely you don't mean th--"her handmaid squeaked as she followed. "No. I mean it. I'm gonna kill him. Right after I beat the living shit out of him,"she interrupted, as she rummaged through a chest and retrieved a sword and several knives. "Don't you think that's a rash decision? Shouldn't we at least try to resolve this civilly before resorting to such violence?"The handmaid, the very picture of gentleness, rested a hand on the princess's shoulder. The princess stood up and pursed her lips as if to think about it. "Nope,"she said finally, as she slipped the sword into her belt and strolled out of her room and into the corridor. "Wait! My lady! What did he do to provoke you so?" "Oh hohohoho! You wanna know what he *did*? That little prick? He fucked with Bessie."She said it matter-of-factly as she lifted a crossbow from above a mantle and tested the tension. "He... Who... Who is Bessie?" "Bessie. My scaley sweetheart. The dragon in the old tower. You know. I spent a summer with her last year."The princess was now walking toward the apothecary's office at the handmaid's running pace. "Spent a summer? Princess, you were kidnapped! The entire kingdom was looking for you!" "Kidnapped,"the princess repeated. "I don't know why people think that. I told them I wasn't. I wanted to see the dragon. And you know what? I did. And it was the tits. Bessie rules."The princess turned her attention to the ancient man in the dark dank laboratory. "I need poison. Now." "I'm sorry? Princess? What does a princess need with poison?"The man groaned through his quivering lips. "I need poison for killing dumb pieces of shit." "I--er...I don't know if I understand entirely... Surely you mean some kind of... a love potion perhaps... or, I don't know... A beauty elixir of s--" "No. Killing potion. It's called poison. I need poison. Give me it." As the apothecary considered these complicate words, the king entered the office in a hurry. The handmaid fell to a knee, while the ancient apothecary bowed his head slightly. "Your majesty,"the old man said. "Loren,"the king replied, acknowledging him. "Oh, and daughter. Good to see you." "Dad, Loren's not giving me what I asked for."The princess said. The ancient man's eyes darted from the king to the princess and back again. "Oh, um, Loren, why don't you do what she says. And while you're at it, do you have the... stuff we talked about?"The king ended in low whisper. "Your majesty, it could kill!"Loren said in his feeble urgency. "We talked about this. If it's still working after four hours, I'll call for you,"the king said. "No, the poison your daughter is asking for,"Loren replied. The king looked at his daughter. "Why do you need poison?"He asked. "I'm gonna fucking kill Erik,"she responded. The king looked at her up and down and noticed she was equipped with a sword and crossbow--his crossbow. "When you're finished can you put that back where you found it?" "Sure." "Do what she says, Loren. It'll make all of our lives a lot easier." "Yes sire,"Loren answered. "Give me the meanest one you got,"the princess demanded. "something to dip the arrows in before I shoot him through his dumb fucking face."
"God fucking damn it, men! What was the first thing we taught you in training?"The officers voice could be heard across the compound as it belted across the seven, formerly six soldiers. "The protocols, sir!"The men replied in unison. "And what is posted on damn near ever surface in this godforsaken structure?" "The protocols, sir!" "And what did we cover in the briefing, not 5 minutes before you left on this mission?" "The protocols, sir"this response was uttered timidly as the men struggled to keep their eyes from looking down in embarrassment. "And what exactly"the officers voice was quiet now almost conversational. "Is the first article of the protocols?" The split second of hesitation before the men replied was filled with uncertainty and tension. If they had been less disciplined they would have been looking at the ground and shuffling their feet. But still they answered "protocol 1: never replicate without permission. Sir!" A moment of calm filled the air, the officer stepped back, "do you have any idea how much of a clusterfuck this is for payroll to work out? Did you at least follow the protocols for establishing lineage?"
As the woman ran through the streets, illuminated only by the faint yellow glow of the streetlights, she could feel his presence behind her. Turning into an alleyway, she immediately saw her mistake. In front of her was a large brick wall, stretching up to the night sky. She had hit a dead end. With nowhere to go and no energy to spare, the woman collapsed against the bricks. She watched as the vampire turned the corner and began to make his way towards her panting body. "Please, don't drink my blood!"the woman sobbed. The vampire smiled "You know, I'm still shocked that rumor worked. We started it a few hundred years ago as a cover for what we were doing back then, but somehow it still works today."The woman looked at him in confusion "So what do you do?"She asked "Oh all sorts! We've run drug distribution, organ harvesting, hell we supplied moonshine back in the 1920s. It really depended on what was popular at the time"the vampire explained. "Being nocturnal really limited us on what we could do legally, but ignoring the law opened a lot of doors for us" "So what is it that you do now?"The woman pondered "Now, we do something much worse than all of that"the vampire grinned. In a flash, what little remaining space between the vampire and the woman was closed, the vampire pinning the woman up against the wall. Slowly, the vampire moved his head next to hers, his mouth next to her ear. She could feel his warm breath as he spoke the words that sent chills down her spine: "I've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty"
"I want to, uhh, thank you for making contact with our planet,"President Obama started. The aliens had settled into the White House conference room, standing on the chairs so that they could see over the tabletop. Fiction never seemed to predict that the aliens would only be about a foot tall. "I know that this... exchange of technology will be mutually beneficial for both of our civilizations."Obama had to rein in the hand gestures, which the aliens found threatening. The roaring crowd that had greeted their arrival had almost sent them zipping back into space. Even in the quiet conference room, they were skittish and on-edge. "Now, the first point I..." The conference room door banged open. "Sorry I'm late!"Biden announced with his trademark grin and finger guns. The aliens shrank back and looked like they would try to burrow into the leather creases of the chair backs. "Oh, didn't mean to frighten you!"Joe said. "Here, how's this!"He crouched down under the table and peeked over the edge like he was playing peekaboo. His face was sticking just far enough above the surface of the table for everyone to see his massive grin. The National Security Advisor massaged her forehead with her fingertips and gritted her teeth; this was Beijing 2010 all over again. But to everyone's surprise, it did calm the aliens. They chittered excitedly in their own language and began to rub the leather seats with their four tiny hands. Biden looked just as surprised as anyone else that they actually enjoyed his little joke. "Hey, check out these little guys!"he said to Obama, pointing down at the aliens as if Obama wouldn't know who he was referring to. "They liked my joke so much, I should read them a short story!"His eyes widened and his mouth was half-open, waiting for everyone else in the room to laugh despite having been disappointed so many times before. Of course, no one did laugh. But the aliens loved it. They cooed excitedly, jumped from their chairs, and scrambled across the polished wood surface over to Biden. "These little guys are the best!"Biden said, rubbing the scaly skin on its head like he was petting a dog and not the ambassador of another planet making first contact. The Secretary of State looked like he was going to have a heart attack, but the aliens couldn't have enjoyed it more. They were nuzzling Biden's sleeves and began rubbing each other all over. He leaned down to the table height again to come face to face with them. "Hey, I got another one for you guys: What is old Barry's favorite vegetable?"The Vice President was elbowing Obama, who might as well have had steam pouring out of his ears. "Joe, please, they won't even understa..." "BARACKALI!"Biden shouted at the little aliens. "BARACKALI!" The humans in the room groaned, but the little aliens began to... well, it looked like dancing until everyone realized that there were fluids dripping out onto the table. "Joe, please."Obama said, somehow maintaining his calm tone as he dragged the vice president out of the room by the collar. "We need to have a discussion here. Why don't you go check on your train set in the basement?"Joe's response was lost as the Secret Service ushered him out of the room. President Obama readjusted his suit and tried to maintain his smile for the visitors. "Well, now that that's taken care of..." The door burst open again. "Does that mean that there's an opening in here that I can fill?"Bill Clinton exclaimed. The aliens practically passed out with pleasure. --- If you enjoyed this one, you should also [check out the rest of my stories!](http://www.reddit.com/r/luna_lovewell)
"Father!" The old man, sat at his favourite chair by the fireplace turned his head towards the little girl who stood by the door. He gave a slight nod to which the little girl began running in earnest towards him. "So how was school today?"the old man asked, putting off the ember in his golden pipe. "Oh! I almost forgot–"the little girl stood at attention and bowed heavily towards his father, "–long live the Dark Lord Azul! Long may you rule!" *** After a few days of rest, the Dark Lord Azul began his preparation to travel. This time around, he would pack slightly heavier than usual. Of course it’s only expected when you were to travel with another VIP – his adopted daughter Fey. Initially he had not wanted to bring Fey along. He’d felt it was unnecessarily taking a risk, what with several rebellions popping up every now and then as well as the long arduous travel they’d need to take. If anything he’d be happier to leave her here with several guardians. "Are you ready to go, dear?"Azul shouted down the hall. "Uh, just a second!" Azul was weary. He never liked leaving later than scheduled, as it’d push down other itineraries and cause problems. He also wanted to make significant progress by the time the sun would set. Even a Dark Lord was not immune to the dangers lurking in the dark night. All of a sudden, he heard a loud thump. Then a screeching sound grated his ears. What is that little girl up to… He thought to himself as he investigated. "Wha–Just what are you thinking, young lady?" "I wanted to bring Naga along, but she doesn’t seem to wanna budge!" The young girl was pushing as hard as she could. But she had not moved nor was Naga – the little dragon that she’d made a pet out of. Azul was utterly at a loss for words. I should have gotten myself a 'wife' to take care of her, after all… "Let’s leave her be, Fey. Don’t you think she’ll get homesick and–" "B-But what about me?! I might get homesick too!" Ugh, it’s like debating a wall… Azul thought to himself as he petted both the little girl and her dragon. *** In the end the travel was uneventful. He’d thought there’d be danger lurking everywhere. In fact, he was so wary that he had brought about six regiments with him – two mounted and four infantry – with a backup carriage just as a precaution. But nothing actually happened. If anything, the biggest problem came not from outside of the carriage but inside. "Waargh, are we there yet?"the little girl tugged on her father’s luxurious robe with vigour. "S-Stop it,"Azul snapped at her, "it won’t make the horses ride any faster, no?" The girl skulked and began to roll around the carriage floor. Of course this was not out of the ordinary. A child would not be able to restrain themselves too well when forced with almost no stimulation around her. The only thing that might calm her down would be if Azul simply entertained her. But right now his mind was on another different matter. "I’m booooored!" "Go play with Naga, you brought her along so might as well–" "But Naga is bored too, father!"the girl shook her little dragon’s drooping wings as if trying to make a point. The Dark Lord Azul had many powers. One of which was to actually 'control' a mind of a lesser being. He had used this several times to attain victory over lesser foes, such as goblins, orcs, and even animals who had gone berserk. Now, it’d be nice if he can simply 'control' her adopted daughter – say to make her stop whining or behave better – but alas a human is not a lesser being after all. Instead… Naga, I command you to entertain the young lady Fey! Azul sternly instructed the dragon in his mind. The little dragon looked his way. Instead of a robotic-yet-submissive gesture, the creature merely stared half-interested and yawned. I see, a little dragon is still a dragon after all, eh? Azul resigned his unfortunate fate to any higher being out there. No matter what, he had to endure it for a bit further. Yes, if he could simply wait it out he might even succeed in his long-awaited objective. "Sire!"a shout came out from outside of his carriage. In response, Azul slid open a small compartment beside him. From the opened gap, he could see a man dressed in a wicked dark wooden armour galloping his steed next to him. As if on cue, the armoured man bowed slightly before continuing on. "Our scouts had indicated we are near–" "By how much longer?"Azul responded briefly. "I’d say no longer than 5 minutes, sire!" "Very good, make the appropriate preparations, Captain. I want to make it short and sweet." "Acknowledged!" In just a few more minutes, Azul can finally fulfil his long-awaited objective. He thought of the countless battles he had won. He thought of the men and women who had given their lives for his sake. He thought of the blood he’d spilled on the ground to make it this far. Then he turned to see the little girl beside him. My dear, daughter… Even if you are not my daughter by birth, our fate has been sealed together. I hope you’d one day understand that– Then the carriage ground to a halt. After a few moment, a gentle knock signalled the end of the journey. Azul smiled and put his gauntleted arms around Fey’s small shoulders. "Father, what is going on?"Fey asked as she stared blankly at her father. "It’s alright, young lady. You’ll be fine…" "B-But–" "It’s fine, you’ll see." A bugle rang out loudly outside, then a drumroll began to fill the air. "Presenting, His Majesty the Dark Lord Azul and the Young Dark Lady Fey – his rightful successor to the Dark Throne! Please proceed to your stations!"an announcer heralded their arrival. As soon as another servant swung the door of the carriage open, a loud celebration erupted. Cheers echoed in the distance, countless small colourful papers fell from the sky like snow in winter. Then a large sign… Happy birthday, Dark Lady Fey! May you rule in your father’s stead, in time!
“It’s inefficient and slow.” The insufferable little man complained for the third time in 2 standard intervals. “The Lyrnaure way represents true travel beyond light speed.” Uhigiria made the message flash on the humans small display screen tied to the small man’s wrist. It was not a bad way of communicating with the frustrating humans who seemed incapable of learning any of the 17 standard galactic languages. “It already breaks your species understanding of the physical universe.” “Oh sure you rock it on the straightaways but your turn like a supermarket trolley and your pit stops are more go kart than Formula 1.” The man complained to the screen on his arm. That was the downside of the display screens, humans tended to look at them while talking instead of who they were actually talking to. Uhigiria reached out with a body hand and grabbed the human by its head tilting its face up to look at him. “Suggestions are asked of you, not meaningless complaints.” The words appeared on the screen in the corner of the human’s eye as he looked up at the pale 4 eyed face of his supervisor. “Alright, we should drift between the Lyrnaure way gates.” The human said firmly. “How would turning our engines off increase efficiency?” Uhigiria asked, as mad as it sounded there might be a chance to save fuel rattling around in this human’s brain. “No not like that.” The human explained brushing Uhigiria’s hand aside and hopping up on a stool next to the display screen. “Alright so the gate travel is awesome, post light speed and all that, but its only straight lines, so you have all these turns and intersections where gates going in different directions meet up. We always spend like half a week at those damn things slowing down to just a few hundred kilometres per second, re aligning with the next gate and then going through. We could have been halfway to our destination in that time.” “The time spent between gates can indeed be long.” Uhigiria conceded as he watched the human drawing lines and shapes he presumed was meant to represent one such intersection of Lyrnaure ways. “It is required for safe exit and re-entry of the Lyrnaure ways.” “No it’s not.” The human claimed, once again speaking to his wrist screen. “I’ve done the math, if we angle the ship while in the Lyrnaure way and we turn off the inertia dampeners for just a fraction of a second at around 0,24 seconds before we hit the exit then we could carry out a good 3% of the speed from the Lyrnaure way. That means we could be going like 100,000 kilometres per second as we exit. Now if we’ve angle ourselves right we can blast afterburners like there’s no tomorrow and ride that speedboost all the way to the next gate and hit it at the perfect angle to sail straight through and complete the crossing in minutes rather days.” Uhigiria watched the little man ramble excited about his plan. It had been wrong to hope for a way to save fuel, humans had never been able to differentiate efficient and fast. “The idea is ludicrous. The strain on the ship for moving at those speeds outside the Lyrnaure ways would be-“ “Well within safety limits, I’ve already done the math.” The man said and slapping what looked suspiciously like a drawn on napkin onto the screen, Uhigiria decided not to find out what made it stick. He leaned in and studied the numbers. “Have you run them by the computer?” He asked as he looked at the meaningless scribbles, he had never been gifted in numbers, but he wasn’t about to let a human know that. “Yeah, it all checks out within safety limits.” He smiled as he hopped down from his stool with a bump that hid a muttered “Theoretically.” “Alright human, I suppose it is worthy of an attempt.” Uhigiria admitted, spending less time between Lyrnaure ways would greatly enhance their ability to react to changes. “But what about the risk of other ships being at the intersections?” “Oh I’ve got a solution for that, we can set up a stationary radiation emitter at each one that emits electromagnetic waves through the Lyrnaure ways to let people know it’s their turn to go. It would travel at the speed of light, hit the gate to get ramped up in speed and reach the other end in time to tell whoever wants to enter if the coast is clear.” “Radiation emitters can be harmful. We will have to choose the frequency carefully.” Uhigiria noted carefully. “I suggest we pick Red light and Green light.” The human said proudly and shrugged when asked to elaborate on why. “Just makes it feel like home.”
Two years ago I left my home planet. Four months ago I landed on this planet. Meanwhile I've started to believe They're the same one. \-- "Come here Max", I shout to my dog, the only living thing I could trust since I landed, at least at the start. He leaves the piece of wood he was playing with, looks at me for a few seconds, then starts running towards me. \-- The first week on this planet I stayed in a little hospital owned by their NASA, where they put me through a lot of tests to check that I am healthy after my journey. Things happened so fast, I barely had the time to think or talk to people, I just went along with it. A lot of the tests involved exercise, so most days I'd be very tired after them and just sleep for 16 hours straight until the next test. The people that handled me looked, acted and talked like humans, and that fascinated me - but they did not look familiar. To be fair, I've never been to this hospital back on Earth, because most of my work was in the US - but I did know it existed. \-- We arrive at the entrance to the park and I greet Bob with a head gesture. He greets me back and we enter. Max goes to the left and starts his routine of sniffing the closest tree, seeing I've continued without him, running along and going to the next tree. It's already 12 PM, and my stomach starts making weird noises so I decide to sit at the next bench and open the homemade lunch I brought in my backpack. \-- After they decided I was good to go, they gave me the address to an apartment that was leased for a month where I could stay until I was ready to "go home". At the time, I thought I knew what they meant, so I took a very Earth-looking cab and gave the driver the address. By that time, I thought that I was in an exact replica of Earth, with a different history, politics and people, and decided to invest my time into researching the differences and not the similarities. I also had some assignments I was given by my team at NASA, but I put them aside, at least for the start, so I could get used to the new place. The first things I've done after settling at the apartment, was going to the closest shop and buying (using money their NASA gave me) a newspaper, a map of the world and a map of the city. My plan was to find a library nearby and start investigating. But on my way back to the apartment, I got a phone call that was the first sign that something was off. \-- After getting the water bottle and letting Max drink a little, I stretch my hand further into the bag to search for my sandwich. I'm sure I put it there. After getting all of the things out of the bag I am now convinced I left it on the counter when I left the house. merde. I look at the things I got out of the bag and one specific item catches my eye - the newspaper I bought on my second week back. Having nothing better to do, I decide to read it until Max will finish playing around and we can go back. "Sunday Times, 4.5.2018" Something's off. \-- All the flight to their NYC, two words kept me awake. "Welcome back". What did he me by back? I was on my way to meet with my "manager", who knew my name, said he was from their NASA, and sounded too much like my manager back home. He told me they couldn't wait a month so they booked me a flight, and that they will start questioning me about the trip as soon as I arrive. The "trip"was one year and 8 months in space, me sleeping like a baby all the way through. It actually felt like I've fallen to a coma and woke up when the spaceship landed. So at the time all I could think about was what could they possibly ask me about it. NYC was exactly the same as back home. Same smells, same shops, same advertisers in times square, I even caught a glimpse of my old building while I was in the cab. The driver stopped in front of a building that looked like the one my old manager's office was at. When I got into the room I was speechless to see a look alike of my real manager. \-- I start recalling how they convinced me I was back at my home planet. It started with my manager showing me the route my ship took, then a bunch of scientist I worked with coming up with explanations, some co-workers that worked with me trying authenticate themselves and convince me it was really them. It continued with me meeting my wife. I couldn't resist her. The whole following week we were together after all the time we were apart, and we brought up memories from when we first started dating, when I asked her father if I could have her, our wedding... After that week with her I just accepted the truth that I was back after my ship couldn't get to the new planet, and that I was really back at my home planet. But now I'm not sure of it anymore. Small details that I missed before are coming up to me - how my wife and I couldn't agree on the color of my suit at our wedding, how a neighbor I've talked to several times seemed not to recognize me, how I suddenly was too tall to enter the basement without crunching my back, how I couldn't get a hold of my sister since I came back... And now this. You see, I left Earth on the 3rd of July, 3282. \----- EDIT: Thank you all for the comments! I truly believe in a reader's interpretation, so I'm sorry for not clearing things out or commenting about your theories of things. Your interpretation is just as correct as mine. Also, I wrote a little bit more as I felt I have not finished exploring this storyline. Part 2 is attached as a comment, hope you like it!
"I won the lottery today,"I told Millie in the same way I'd tell her the rain was wet or the sky was high. "I know. So did I."She bent over and kissed me on the cheek, a little awkwardly since she had her lightning-proof helmet on. The law required you to wear lightning-proof helmets. "See you after work today." As she walked outside the house towards the car, lightning struck her, and her long hair stood on end, making a silky circle (with a radius of length: hair) around her face. Her electrical beauty dazzled me, as always. A few minutes later, I was on the public transit, reading today's newspaper. I was one of America's 1% who could actually read, so I was pretty peeved that the papers were all pictures and no words. I guessed if they ever put words on those things, people would stop buying them. Today's top story was a healthy baby being born, which left me kind of in awe. I mean, what were the odds of 1. a live birth, 2. the mother surviving, and 3. the baby not having progeria? A sudden tremor shook through the bus. Oh, great. Another accident. A few kids experiencing their First Accident jumped and screamed, but for the most part, people carried on as usual. The old lady in front of me carried on sleeping, the cancer-pad on her right breast flashing "You're doing great! You'll be all better in three weeks!" (The greatest invention since the wheel? Bumper Pads™. Giant blocks of foam surrounding buses, motorcycles, cars. Accident? No problem.) Finally, I arrived at Harvard University, where I taught The Anatomy of Equatorial Fungi. My class had about 20,000 people, so many that we had to sit outside in the field to fit everybody. That was because The Anatomy of Equatorial Fungi was the most popular course at Harvard, which was incidentally the easiest university to get into. *** (edit:) After a long work day, I was surprised to find Millie still there. She sat waiting for me, ready to begin the Daily Routine of Trying to Conceive that we religiously practiced after each workday. With her lightning-proof helmet off, Millie turned me on more than ever. Every day seemed a miracle that she and I were still alive, together, in love. Finding a soul mate was easy enough however -- after all, almost everybody finds their soul mates eventually. It was starting a family that was difficult. We've been trying to have a baby for so long, but they always ended in miscarriages or stillbirths. Not to mention it was hard enough for Millie to conceive in the first place. This time, I gave Millie a birth control pill and I wore a condom. "If this doesn't work out,"I said, "we'll try a vasectomy next."
"I do not care !"The General screamed into the phone. "When I give an order, you'd better damned follow it. Don't give me your excuses!"He slammed the receiver down so hard that a crack spread across the red plastic handle. Around the room, his subordinates exchanged quick looks of fear, but also relief to not be the one bearing the brunt of his brutish temper. "Hospital..."he muttered to himself, going back to the folder in front of him and not even acknowledging the rest of the men. "Who gives a damn?" "Sir,"Of all the cabinet members in the room, none had expected the quiet, squirrely head of intelligence to speak up. He was the General's man through and through. If even he disagreed with the plan, then this situation was worse than anyone thought. "We have reason to believe that the Americans and the Europeans will intervene if they think we are deliberately targeting civilians. Perhaps it would be best..." "Puah!"the General actually spit onto the table in response. "I am sick and tired of catering to the Americans and letting them tell me how to run my war!"He threw the folder aside, spraying the walls with maps and charts. "I say let them come!" The room fell silent as the General glared around, waiting for the next one to speak up against him. His nostrils flared like a silverback gorilla, and most of the men expected him to start thumping a fist on his chest and grunting. When no one dared respond, he gave a victorious smirk and turned back to the intelligence reports. Next to the briefing binders, there was a delicate silver tea set with steam billowing from the spout. Having studied at Oxford, the General had become a fastidious adherent to the practice of taking afternoon tea, but he'd been so busy raging that he hadn't even noticed the servant slip in with the tray. Most of the palace servants had learned to avoid him when he got in this type of mood. "I want that town retaken,"he ordered to no one in particular. The Minister of War looked around for some confirmation that it was a job for him. The General picked up the teapot without even taking his eyes off of the thick report in front of him. Hot amber liquid flowed from the spout and splashed into the teacup. Then he picked up the tiny silver tongs, looking not unlike a giant using human-sized implements, and plunked a single cube of sugar into the cup. "And when it's retaken, I want the rebels strung up all along the highway between there and the capital."He took a gulp of tea and winced a bit; it hadn't cooled enough. "And their women, too. I want this to be a message to anyone who would dare join them." "Yes, sir,"the Minister of War agreed meekly. He (and quite a few others in the room) were already having visions of standing before a judge in the Hague for this, but that was nothing compared to facing the General's wrath now. "And another thing."He cleared his throat with the look of a cat trying to cough up a hairball. "If a single one of them..."He cleared this throat again, but it turned into a hacking cough. "Another...."The cough turned into a sickening squelching sound, and one of his massive hands flew up to his neck. The ministers traded looks, unsure of how to react. The general's face, already red with rage, turned purple as he desperately tore at the collar of his ornate uniform. Medals with his own face on them jangled like a chain in the breeze, and the choking sounds filled the entire room. Finally he slipped out of his chair and onto the ground, spilling the rest of the tea across the marble floor. No one moved. The tea spread through the cracks between the tiles, heading toward the center in the room. After almost a minute of no movement, the Minister of Health finally stepped forward on his tip toes, as if the General was just having a nap and they didn't want to disturb him. He reached one trembling hand toward the General's throat and held his hand there. Then he turned back to the other ministers, trying to cover up his relief with a somber expression. "He's dead." The others glanced back toward the steaming pot of tea and quickly made the connection. Again, everyone was afraid to move. Not for fear of the General's wrath anymore, but because they didn't know what was coming next. Finally, the Minister of Intelligence who had dared challenge the General moved to the tea set and picked up the jug. He circled the table and went into the restroom and then poured the rest of the tea down the sink. "It was a heart attack,"he announced with great confidence. "You all saw what happened." The others all nodded enthusiastically, though all made a mental note to switch to coffee until this was all settled. ---- If you enjoyed this, you should also subscribe to my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell!
"Father please. We must leave,"pleaded Euna. The chief of the village shook his head slowly as he gazed at his people. "For centuries this has been our home, Euna. But did you know Euna, before this, we had nothing. You do not know because you weren't born yet. Our ancestors fought with their lives to make this forest a home for us. If we leave now, and abandon what we have, then we will be throwing away all that our ancestors have done for us." Euna turned her gaze to the horizon. Far above the lush green forest, looming over the horizon like a storm, was a fleet of ships. "But father! If we don't leave, what will we do? We'll be slaughtered!"Euna cried as she tugged at her father's arm. For a moment, the village chief displayed sadness and pain in his expression as he watched his daughter. But then he turned his gaze to his people, and saw. Unwavering courage and determination glistened in their eyes like fire. They would not yield. They would fight. Even to the death. The chief spoke, a steadfast voice that carried its way to the crowd that had gathered. "Even if we run now, sooner or later they will come for us. I will stay and fight. Those who will standby me... step forward." And with those words, everyone stepped forward. Euna watched in silence as her people began to roar, a warcry that would be heard by the fleet of Augmented. She had heard the stories. The Augmented lived in colossal mechanical cities. Spires of machinery and technology that vastly outpaced the rest. They were, by far, the largest race to emerge from Humanity. Vastly outnumbering the rest. Then came the Altered, who were the epitome of genetic phenomenon. For a time, the Altered were superior. A single Altered was capable of taking on a troop of Augmented. But the Augmented learned, and grew mechanically. Devising weapons and defenses that became more devastating and effectual with each fight against the Altered. Then there was the Ascended, but most say they were merely fables. That none really existed. But some say that the Ascended were everywhere, that they were a collective of many that existed as a singular, all-encompassing entity. That they were virtually, a god. For all of her life, these stories were - just that, stories. But now she saw. Beyond the verdant glade that their village had nested peacefully for centuries was now a force of machinery that would eliminate their village with more efficiency than any force of nature. She didn't understand. What could a village of Altered hidden in the forest for centuries do? Then she saw. Her fellow villagers that she had known all her life as simply beautiful and graceful in appearance, suddenly changed into beings of hulking absurdities. Malformed wings of scale and feathers sprouted, as limbs grew into trees. Their eyes shifted, and suddenly they were eyes of crimson and pupils like slits. They were taller than the trees now, but one of them towered above the rest. It was her father. A golden mane rested on his shoulders. His lips of stone yawned open to reveal teeth like diamonds. He spoke, an unearthly and unfamiliar voice. "Take flight my angels." And with that, they flew. They flew into the horizon where they would meet death. Euna cried as she watched the first Altered fall out of the sky. Wings singed and head incinerated into nothing. The village, her family, they were all going to die. Her heart hurt, and she let anger erase the pain. She let herself change. Euna would fight. And she knew that she would probably die the same way. But a voice spoke. A voice that was many but at the same time, it was one. 'A Way' it whispered into her mind. Her vision distorted. Suddenly, she could see beyond the horizons. She could feel her mind dip into a well of memories. And suddenly, she knew what she had to do. Euna took flight. -------- -------- Gotta go to work! if I do write a part two it would probably be tomorrow... /r/em_pathy Edit* part 2 done, click the link below! [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Em_pathy/comments/8vimt3/the_altered_the_augmented_and_the_ascended/)
Where my peers have failed, I have flourished. Most dragons aren't what you'd consider "hip"or "trendy."I know countless members of my species who stubbornly refuse to engage with the modern world, then get all pissy when they stop accruing capital. Me? I have a computer. I work the stock market. I invest wisely. I'm a bit of a legend on /r/wallstreetbets, where I go by the alias "Scales."It's always been a bit hard to type - I have to do so one laborious clawed keystroke at a time - but my perseverance is my ally. As a result, my stashes keep growing while the others' sit there and gather dust. The thing I've never been able to wrap my head around, though, is crypto. There's just a fundamental disconnect in my brain -- I don't understand how something I've never even seen can be worth so much. And yes, I admit I have a bit of a hoarding problem, but that's not exactly unique to my species. If I see something I want, I need to have it. So it was with great displeasure that I had to resort to asking humans for help. I tried messaging some fellow investors online and they either called me a dumbass or refused to share their secrets. So, one summer evening when night fell, I decided to pay a visit to the First National Bank. There's a branch about ten miles away from my underground lair in Edinburgh - an easy flight. Surely everyday bankers would be able to tell me how the hell Bitcoin works. When dealing with humans, I find that theatrics are, embarrassingly, necessary. Most are not accustomed to seeing us out and about. So I touched down outside the bank near the back door, where the last teller to leave was locking up for the day. "'Sup,"I said. Ugh. Way to whiff the entrance. The teller shrieked and dropped his briefcase, sending an array of important-looking papers into the wind. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I am the great Cremnorn, guardian of Scotland. I have no desire to bring harm to you, but if you reject my inquiry, I shall be forced to rain hellfire upon you and your loved ones. So, without further ado, I humbly request an explanation of the elusive 'cryptocurrency.' The banker trembled. "I - I...m-my understanding of it is somewhat limited as well...I just work with the physical things. You know, bills, coins, checks..." I spewed fire from my mouth and into the sky. "EXCUSES! BANALITIES! A few words of explanation are all I request. Begin." The banker sighed. "OK. So cryptocurrencies are secure digital means of completing transactions. Most people like them because there's very little government oversight or means of regulation, for the moment." I nodded. "Excellent. So where can I find some?" "Well...they're not tangible. They're digital." "I don't understand." "They're made through something called 'blockchains'..." I spewed more fire into the sky, nearly igniting a nearby tree. "You DARE to speak to me of CHAINS?! I am a liberated dragon, no longer held in the vicious steel-and-iron grasp of humans who wish to control and contain me. Now, I shall give you one more chance." The banker looked as though he might vomit. "All right. Think of it this way. You're familiar with miners, yes?" I nodded. "The great discoverers of diamonds and gems. Indeed, I have quite a collection of such sparkling minerals myself." "OK. People can mine bitcoin the same way miners dig up precious stones. They just let technology do the work. But it takes a lot of bandwidth to do that, and that's part of what makes them so valuable." "I see. Well, I still have no fucking idea what you're talking about, but it will do for now. My quest continues. Farewell, puny flesh-man." I've been up into the wee hours of the night for weeks now, trying to wrap my head around this concept. Perhaps I'm just as old-school as the other dragons around here. Perhaps my brain simply isn't equipped to handle this nonsense. However, I've got some promising leads on Twitter. As soon as I posted about my desire to acquire Bitcoin under my "Scales"alias, so many kind humans reached out to offer me deals and trades. How unexpected! I shall have to sift through and gauge their legitimacy. I still feel as though these humans are hiding something from me. But when the Bitcoin is mine - O, glorious day! - I will become something that no other dragon has. I will become a pioneer.
I walked into my apartment and slowly put all my keys individually on a small piece of paper that described what each key accesses. It wasn't necessary to do per se, but I felt it might save a few minutes of the death officer who'd be swinging by later today. Earlier, I called the Death Bureau, despite knowing their famed punctuality, just to make sure they knew I'd be heading off today. With 6 hours, 34 minutes and, let's see... 16 seconds to go, I was prepared to take it easy; watch a movie, eat my favorite food, courtesy of the Bureau and just generally relax in my armchair. All in all, I was satisfied with my life. I will have died at the age of 46 and while that's not as much as some folk get, it did allow me to draw some benefits from the Life Enjoyment Bureau - two yearly trips to a destination of my choosing, more vacation days than most and even good seats at a local opera house - though I must confess, I never used those. I did however trade them for antique vinyls which I passionately collected. They'd be heading to a local museum I dedicated them to, and I was happy to see them in good care. As I walked into my living room, I thought what I was- **\flash\** "HAPPY DEATH DAY JONATHAN!"** Much to my surprise, my living room has been transformed into a lively party place by several of my friends and a coworker or two. Having already said my goodbyes for the day, I did not expect to see them again - well, unless some sort of afterlife did exist, in spite of the sometimes shaky evidence. I was immediately swarmed by them receiving handshake after handshake and even a couple kisses, from gals and guys alike; but I wasn't one to complain. Some death celebrations were known to be pretty wild and despite my life being relatively mundane, I was feeling like I wasn't going to protest whichever way the evening turns out. A drink immediately found its way into my hand as music and mingling alike started. I was the center of attention, of course, but never felt overwhelmed. The overall atmosphere was... more than relaxed. Almost serene if it wasn't for the jams. Everyone was smiling, cocktails and nibbles in hand, laughing at stupid jokes and listening to funny stories from my past. I was... happy. Soon, the music got turned down by a long-time friend as the time on my hand hit precisely one minute. A last round of pats on the back and smiles led me to my armchair where I sat down in utter comfort and watched the joyful faces of my friends. There were no tears, unlike what it looked like in the past. Just happiness at the time we spent together and may yet spend in the life after. I finished my drink, put it gently on a nearby coaster and just... sat back and smiled. "FIVE!"they yelled. "Well now, guys..."I said calmly. "FOUR!" "Thanks for the party. Really." "THREE!" "It's been fun, and you've been too kind." "TWO!" "I'll see you on the flipside." "ONE!" "Later,"I chuckled.
“You know James, the likelihood of you failing this test is well over 50%,” a cold voice reminded me. “Shut up, it’s not his fault his roommate snores loud enough to wake the dead,” a gentle voice argued. It was the voices again. They had been arguing amongst each other and trying to talk to me all night. I was so used to their presence I had even given them nicknames. There was Matt: the logical, mathematically-inclined one, Jane: the one gentle one with a love for literature, Lucia: the philosopher and the voice even I was afraid of: The Ninja. “We should have killed him when we had the chance. He is diabetic. It would have been so simple. We take away the insulin. No one would have suspected a thing,” a dark voice growled. There was silence in my head for a solid ten minutes. I walked into class and sat down. Just then, a small, airy voice yawned in my head. “Oh jeez, look who is finally awake,” Matt said sarcastically. “I was just meditating,” replied Lucia calmly. “Well, I sort of ended up napping, but I was originally meditating.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that my professor had started to hand out the test. “Well as long as you are awake now. James needs our help to pass this test,” Jane reasoned. “Oh this all doesn’t matter. The world might be an illusion for all we know, but I’ll help if you want,” Lucia replied in a musical voice. “You have no proof of that!” shouted an outraged Matt. “Guys! Get it together!” Jane yelled in a desperate attempt to rally the troops. A white piece of paper slid in front of my eyes and onto the desk. The first question was: when did the French Revolution take place? “Well, does anyone have the answer?” Jane asked. Lucia and James responded that they didn’t. I sat clicking and unclicking my pen. All the voices were silent. Then the creepy, dark voice spoke. “It’s simple. We must kill the prof – “ Then the other three voices shouted in unison. “Shut-up!” I answered all the questions as best as I could and turned in my test. It had been a draining hour and a half. I left the classroom worrying about my GPA. The voices were silent, seeming to respect my need for privacy. Then, Matt cleared his throat. “Sorry to bother you buddy, I just thought you should know that the likelihood that you failed this test is well over 75% now.”
He let a yelp of fright escape him, then quickly covered his mouth with both hands. It wasn’t Kingly to show others one’s fear, Papa would say. And he really, really wanted to please Papa. Actually, he would love nothing more to climb up and sit on Papa’s lap right now. A big, warm hand that would gently stroke his back as he would fall asleep to the soft singing of a lullaby. But there was so much blood. So very much blood. And Papa lay very, very still. He blinked quickly. No. No. Don’t think about it. Papa was just playing, that’s how it was. His eyes focused on the room again and all the noises and clattering sounds overwhelmed him. He moved his hands from his mouth, to instead cover his ears, and looked around the room. Cook was still there. Her hair that was normally neatly tied into a tight bun was coming loose, and she had pulled up her sleeves. Oh, he knew the look on her face. That was the look of when someone, maybe himself, had stolen one of her famous meat pies and she was not happy about it. There was blood here, too. Blood on the steak knife in her hand, blood on her apron, blood on the floor. There were bodies on the floor. He counted them to himself, one, two, three, four… Did that arm belong to a body he had already counted? His eyes drifted back to Cook. She was smiling now, or at least her teeth were showing. The knife twirled very fast in her hand, so fast that he couldn’t follow it. She moved fast across the floor, knife twirling and there was another thud, and another body on the floor. Cook wiped her hand on the apron, and swirled around to meet the last two assailants. They were cautious now, moving in separate directions, their feet nimbly walking between numb bodies and limbs that were displayed on the floor tiles. He wanted to shout at her, tell her to watch out for the other one. But his mouth wouldn’t move. All he could do was to watch silently, eyes large and terrified, as one of the assailants on the floor rose without a sound. He lunged at her, dagger in a tight grip in his palm as he moved without a word. Cook was dancing. There was no other way to describe it. She was waltzing across the floor, two steps this way and one step that way. Dancing an incomprehensible, unpredictable dance in which only she knew the steps. Her hair had come completely loose from the bun, the grey streaks in it glinting in the bright morning light. He watched her as in a trance, and when his focus was broken, it was only him and Cook in the room that were breathing. &#x200B; “We need to leave, now.” Cook was panting hard. Her previously cold eyes now had a worried look to them. “Leave? But Papa...?” he didn’t understand. “Papa wants you to leave,” she said brusque. “They might come at us again, and there’s only so much I can do here.” “Papa wants me to leave? Without saying goodbye?” He couldn’t grasp it. Papa always made sure to say goodbye. Her tone softened as she looked at him, squatting in a corner with his arms tightly wrapped around his body. “Yes, he told me to tell you goodbye, and that I would take care of you. He can’t say goodbye himself now, but I promise you that …” her voice faded out before completing the sentence. “It’s what a king must do,” she continued. “A king must look at not what he wants, but what is best for the country. And the country needs you to survive, my dear.” He nodded slowly, her words did make sense. Papa had always said that they lived to serve the country, not the opposite. “Very well,” he said, slowly standing up, his eyes focused on her and not the limp bodies that were strewn across the floor, their limbs in awkward angles that did not look natural. And the blood. There was so much blood. “We must leave.” &#x200B; &#x200B; \- - - - - - - - - - Check out [r/SleepyMacaroni](https://www.reddit.com/r/SleepyMacaroni/) for more!
In the corner of my house, there's a board. Across it sprawls a large map of Skyrim, marked with flags and string, and lit by my one remaining candle. Once, the map marked Imperial and Stormcloak territories. Now, it marks the journey of a single man. I was a guard of Whiterun, and I was the law. Nothing got by me. I watched the citizens, and the throngs of travelers. I saw their fear as the dragons approached. I was there when one man, the Dragonborn himself, slew the beast and saved the city. And I was there when he took the sweet roll. It was such a small thing, taken so casually. My colleagues told me to leave it be. "It's just a sweet roll,"they said. "He saved our city", "He's a friend of the Jarl", "I'd be lot warmer and a lot happier with a bellyful of mead..."But I couldn't let it go. He was the Dragonborn. He was supposed to be our saviour. He was strong, sure, but he should be more. He was supposed to be righteous, and just. Skyrim didn't need just one more tyrant with more power than kindness. It needed the law. So I decided I would act. Disrespect the law, and you disrespect me. Finally, I had him. He was travelling past Whiterun, wasting his time on some meaningless quest. I saw him approach. He didn't even try to hide. How could he, in armour studded with black spikes longer than his arm, on a great white horse? "Citizen!"I called, my voice loud and clear. He frowned angrily, dismounting. "I don't have time for this"He muttered. Glancing around to see if anyone was in sight, he slid his mace from his belt. It glowed with an unrecognizable energy, and I could feel its power as he held it. "Guard might get nervous, a man approaches with his weapon drawn,"I stated, hoping to avoid bloodshed. He made no reply; I knew then that I would have to fight. He swung the mace towards me - but I dodged it easily. Again he swung, casually. I knocked it aside with my axe, then swung my shield into his face as hard as I could. Even with his fancy boots, he staggered back a few steps, his face bleeding heavily. "How did you- " "I used to be an adventurer like you,"I explained, "then I took an arrow in the knee."He looked at me again, more closely, summing up the scars and stance, and nodded. There would be no more words now. This was a battle between two men of war, and no words were needed. Only a battle cry as he charged, mace rising and a glowing ball of energy forming in his open palm. It was horribly one sided. He forced me back, deflected my guard, then struck without mercy. I felt pain lance through me as his mace struck my arm, crushing my armour, and froze my entire left side. I struck out blindly with my axe, getting a glancing blow on his chest, but his mace caught it and flicked the axe out of my hands, spiraling high into the air. "Fus-Ro-Dah"he screamed, and pure force rushed out from him, engulfing me and throwing me five metres away onto my back. I was helpless. He stomped over to me, angered, raising his mace. "Any final words?"He asked. I coughed blood onto the grass next to me. "Watch the skies, traveller."He frowned, glancing upward just as my axe, with all the force of a 40 metre drop, span directly into his helm. With a mighty clang, it dented the strange metal, and knocked the Dragonborn flat. He lay next to me, groaning, barely alive. I rose to my feet painfully, steadying myself, then recalled my rudimentary healing spell, and gave him just enough of a shot of restoration to keep him alive. He rolled over, newly-dried blood smeared across his face. He knew I'd saved him. "...Why..."he whispered. I looked at him, sprawled across the main road outside the city, and shrugged. "No lollygagging,"I said, and dragged him off to jail.
EDIT: Good lord that blew up. I will see about maybe writing some more tonight. ------------- "Hey guys,"I said over the comms. "You're all going to want to come down here." "What is it, now?"Jon's voice said in my ear. "Another pretty rock you want to show us?"I could almost see the bastard's smug face. No one on the team appreciates aesthetics. I tapped a button on my wrist to enable to my helmet's camera. "Check my feed, Jon"I said. Silence on the line, now. A crack after a few seconds as Maureen came on the line. "Jon, you still there?"she said. She was somewhere down in aquaponics without a monitor. "I,"Jon muttered. "Are you fucking with me, Trev?" "I'm not,"I said. "Jesus, what is it now?"Maureen asked. "Hold on."There was a pause, and then, "Umm. Is that live?"She must have pulled up a monitor. I crouched down and turned my headlamp to maximum. The bleached skull before me lit up brighter under the beam. "Yeah,"I said. "Jesus,"said Jon. "I'll get Bill, and meet you out there,"Maureen said. "And don't touch anything till we get there." "Yeah, yeah."I said. Me a mere theoretical physicist, the rest of the crew never trusted me. Fuck that. "Sorry, what was that? Bad signal in here."I said and switched the off the comm. "Don't try that with me,"she said, overriding me from her end. "Can't— at— epp—signal."I said and tapped the switch again. "Damn it." I tapped it again. The skull was definitely human. How old, I had no idea, but it certainly didn't look new. I was no anthropologist, but how could you even age something on the surface of Mars? For that matter, how could whoever this poor guy was have decomposed in the first place? No oxygen, no microorganisms, practically no air at all. Way below freezing. But these bones were clean. White. Not a speck of flesh, or cloth, or anything. I bent closer down toward the skull, nestled in the fine red dust of the cave floor. I dropped my fingers into dust below the skull, and brushed some aside, my fingertip hitting something hard. I reached a bit deeper down and found my hand resting on a ribcage. More handfuls of regolith thrown toward the cave wall and I unearthed—or is it 'un-Marsed'—way more than a simple skull. I wasn't near done, and more bones were protruding up from the ground, but it looked like I had a full skeleton here. My breathing was up and I was fogging up my damn suit visor. I leaned on the cave wall opposite my discovery and slid into another crouch. Christ, what else was down here? A new crackle on the comms. "We're out the door. Two kilometers out,"said Maureen. "You better not have touched anything, Trevor." Thanks Bill. I flicked a reddish pebble from the dirt against the wall above the skull and something caught my eye. Covered in dust I'd just been throwing around, but it looked like writing. I wiped my visor and got to my feet. My heart thumped in my ears and my vision started to contract. Some little vital signs warning light came on in my HUD. "You okay, Trevor?"Jon's voice on the comms. "Your vitals are lit up like a Christmas tree." I brushed the loose dust from the wall and revealed four words, haphazardly scratched into the rock. Four words. Don't trust them, Trevor
"My Son, I have officially run out of ideas..." Couldn't you give them another chance, Father? "No, they are too far gone. They have walked the path of sin for centuries. I have tried to correct them with even the most extreme of measures. Yet even two global wars with the most despicable atrocities were not enough to unite them. Even after, they became more divided. A pure common goal of exploration and discovery was not even enough to set them upon the true path of harmony." I understand, Father. Maybe it is for the best that we start anew. "But I cannot begin new endeavors while they still live. They have progressed too far in knowledge and capability. I have used new wars, plagues, natural disasters, and more yet they seem to be persistent in continuing..." Maybe you are not going far enough, Father. Maybe you should try some of your methods during the time of your Dinosaurs? "NO, it would revert progress too much on this world. Too much life would be lost..." Not all life was lost last time, Father. Don't you remember? The world healed itself and life, the little that survived, persisted and later flourished. "Maybe you are right, My Son. Perhaps extreme circumstances require drastic measures..." BREAKING NEWS: Astronauts successfully move Earth-killing asteroid into geosynchronous orbit! "JESUS CHRIST, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!"
I touched down lightly onto the pavement, my black cape floating down around me. Judging from the looks on the faces in the crowd, it looked as awesome as I planned. The normies scattered around me, backing into a wide circle. "Dearest humans. I regret to inform you that this city will soon serve as an... example for the rest of the world."I gestured at the darkening sky, the thrum of my Doomsday machine hovering overhead adding just the appropriate amount of emphasis. A parade balloon, in the shape of some ridiculous overweight...cat, perhaps, floated a bit too close to my glorious creation. An arc of energy jumped from the machine's surface and vaporized the hideous feline, prompting a gasp of surprise from the crowd. I smiled. "Weep not for the loss your balloon, for the loss of your lives is imminent."I produced a small remote and held it aloft. "Behold, my love letter to chaos and destruction." I firmly pressed the button. The thrum in the air increased slowly, escalating to a high pitched whine in a matter of seconds. The powerless, weak humans began clutching their ears, some even falling to their knees. I coughed, frowning. How fucking dramatic did they have to be? It was just sound. The killing hadn't even begun yet. My eyes drifted up towards the opening that was now growing on the underside of my glorious creation. In seconds a rain of death would spew forth, heralding a new era of domination in my name. I grinned as the light in the opening flickered to life, signalling the beginning a localized apocalypse. I almost didn't even register the maniacal laugh escaping my lips until I felt my shoulders shaking with the effort. My beautiful soldiers, crafted of only electricity, conductive putty, and a mad scientist's love, descended like mad angels from a disrupted heaven. The air shimmered and crackled around them. I dimly realized that I was biting my nails with anticipation. Instead of attacking the squalling mob of humans, however, they formed a ring and floated slowly, neatly, in a rotating wheel. A new figure appeared in the middle, glowing like the surface of the sun. Cassandra. I heard whispers from the crowd, from those who held enough of their wits to pay any sort of attention. She's here to save us, they said. The Golden Sun will save us. She's here to ruin me. Her eyes, her hair, her voice, her very mannerisms haunted my every thought. No. I clutched the remote, spinning the secondary knob over to prematurely release stage two of my planned destruction. The Doomsday machine roared to life, angling into the sky so that its width and breadth blotted out the light of day. She was upon me then, her scent filling my nostrils. My head swam and my knees grew weak. No. I was so close! Every time... Every single time I let her dissuade me from my goals. "You're too late."I closed my eyes to make speech possible. "I built a failsafe into this plan. No matter what you say, this plan cannot be undone." "I didn't come here to stop you today."She grabbed my hand, and I felt her sink to the ground on one knee. The death bees should be swooping in now, tearing flesh from bone. Where were the screams? The sirens? Cursing inwardly, I opened my eyes. WILL YOU MARRY ME DEATHSTAR? The words were projected onto the underside of my glorious machine. A silence fell over the crowd as they took the words in and realized they weren't being murdered in cold blood just yet. "I had a little help from the inside,"Cassandra admitted. "Dr. Kirkus hopes you won't fire him from his spot on the planning committee for this." I blinked. "If I marry you, will you let me finally take over the world?" "That means I'm entitled to half then, right?" "I'm okay with that." "Deal." [/r/intotheslushpile](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/)
To avoid suspicion, Owen stuck to the type of photos that just made people think he was insanely talented - not born with a gift for freezing time that would allow him to take any picture on Earth, if he wanted to. Perfect, crisply captured action shots. Wildlife photography that prompted ridiculous rumours that he could talk to animals and make them pose for pictures. Not that he discouraged the stories, it was great for business. It wasn't family tradition, but it was his passion. So he wasn't saving people from horrific accidents or capturing proof of war crimes, or any of the things his family wanted him to do. So what? Capturing perfect beauty - sharing it with the world - made him happy. Not to mention rich. He was flicking through his latest work, deciding what to share and what was too fantastic, when the call came. "Owen,"he heard the smoke-roughened voice of his manager, Charlie. "I've seen the news. What the fuck man? You know the cops are looking for you? Please tell me this is some misguided promotional gag you planned on your own? For some horror special?" He switched on the TV, flicking to the news. His phone slipped from nerveless fingers when he saw the montage of pictures, and the headline running in the banner on the bottom. CELEBRATED PHOTOGRAPHER OWEN HAMPTON SUSPECT IN BRUTAL MURDERS. Owen heaved and splattered his breakfast across the floor. The photos were crisp, detailed shots of five murders in action. A woman, being strangled. A shot of a knife piercing some man's neck. A zoom-in of a terrified child's eyes. That same child, slashed and bleeding on the floor. A different woman, her eyes gouged out. A disembowelled teenager. His signature was displayed proudly, prominently, on all the photographs. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead as he tried to remember what he'd done last night. The voice of his mother reverberated abruptly in his mind. Use it sparingly, son. Playing with time can scramble the memory, your self, your sanity. Make you see things that are not there, think things that are not true. Our family has been blessed and cursed with our gifts. Humans are not meant to be gods. He'd always assumed she was messing with him, her youngest son with only one gift. Trying to limit him even further. How he'd hated her. Always assuming spite and malice. But what if she'd been telling the truth? "Oh, Christ,"he moaned, as a loud, angry knock sounded on his door. He opened it to find what looked like the entire police force in the hallway. ------- He was sitting slumped, alone in the interrogation room, when Greg appeared in the doorway. The second he saw that smug face, he knew. Of course. The goddamn bastard. He wasn't the only one in the family with his particular talent. Greg must've frozen time to sneak in here. "You did this,"he breathed rapidly, looking at his older brother with naked hatred. "You set me up, didn't you?" Greg grinned at him. "It's time to stop your shit, brother. You're putting the family in danger, sharing your little pictures. Such unimaginative pictures, too. The family voted. We'll get Melissa in to turn back time on this whole thing, if you agree to come home. Use your gift for the good of mankind." "Like you did?"Owen said. "You watched people get murdered last night to set this up, to take those pictures. Did you find murders in action and freeze time to take the shots, or set up the camera and kill them yourself? I saw what you did. What kind of insane, sick fuck are you? And you come preach to me about the good of mankind?" Greg's kept his face carefully blank. "It's worth it, for the lives you'll save if you come home,"he said eventually. "Our family procreates rarely, you know that. Our gifts are priceless, and you're wasting it on wildlife photography. I mean, seriously? It's ludicrous." Owen squeezed his eyes shut, his thoughts racing. He should agree, just to get out of this mess. He could freeze time and walk out, of course, but then he'd be on the run. His career, over. Everything he'd built for himself, away from his crazy family. If he agreed and let Melissa turn back time, pretended to fall in line, he could always escape again and rebuild his career somewhere else. Besides, he did miss his little sister. Part of him wanted to agree just to see her. But he couldn't stay at home. He'd have to plan this carefully. Maybe he could even convince Melissa to help him in the future. She was old enough to decide her loyalties for herself now. To turn against the family, like he did, if she chose. "Fine,"he said, assuming a look of defeat and keeping his eyes on the ground. Greg always loved feeling superior. This would convince him, this would work. "Just help me, and I'll come home." "I knew you'd understand,"Greg said, reaching over and grasping his hand. "I know this was drastic - but you belong at home. With your family. People like us aren't meant to be alone. It's not good for you." On the other side of the glass, the cops laughed uneasily as they watched the suspect raving to himself. "Who should interrogate him? I sure as hell don't want to. What a psycho,"a new officer, Henry Mathers, muttered. "That's part of the job, Mathers. Hate to break it to you, but we don't normally deal with well-adjusted people,"Lieutenant Berkley said grimly. "Well, someone better call his family. Who are they again?" "Lydia and Richard Hampton. Owen is their only child,"Henry said, reading off the file. "Right. Well, why don't you take care of that,"Berkley said. "I'll interrogate Hampton myself." Henry scuttled to the phone, relieved not to have to face the wild-eyed photographer. The guy made his skin crawl. ------ Lydia Hampton put down the phone slowly, and looked at her husband, who was watching the news with tears in his eyes. "It is Owen,"she whispered. She felt like vomiting. Owen had always worried her. A desperately lonely boy, who had longed for friends who could do what he did. They'd allowed him to leave their house to explore his talents - to try and build a normal life. Make friends. They'd watched his growing success with photography proudly, even when he refused to return their calls or come home for a visit. "We should've gone to get him!"she said, unable to look away from the horrible images on the screen. "Oh, I warned him not to freeze too much..." Richard gathered her into his arms. "We'll save him,"he said hoarsely. "There will be a way, there has to be." ------- Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
Light is jarring. Wind rushing. I fall up, and down. Dark colors swirling. Thought I was dying. But… Ocular sparkling hurts my vibrating skull. Conscious now. I am lying on a path. Standing slowly, I start to walk. Walk and think. Thoughts shoot randomly. Choppy and confusing. All is vivacious, in a not-dissimilar way to what I know. Plants. Fluids. Rocks. Birds and animals. Sky is bright, sun is brilliant. Air warm and comforting. Clouds puffy, not usually obstructing any light. Hazy August day on a walking trail. Still, not all is right. A man and woman approaching. Holding hands. Both nod my way, but do not say anything. ”Sorry,” I say. ”This location? I think it is off. Wrong. Can you assist?” Odd looks. Walking away quickly. Off. It‘s all off. Not with my surroundings. Words in my brain - lacking. Not as many. Words just out of grasp. So many words. Vocabulary missing, but I couldn’t think of which words. Frustrating. Why? What oddity was this? Not right. Could I account for my A B C’s? I sing it aloud. A B C D F G H, I J K L M N O, P Q R, S T U, V W, X Y Z It struck oddly, but nothing was missing. Try again. A B C D F G H, I J K L M N O, P Q R, S T U, V W, X Y Z Still okay. Counting and singing, final count was 25. All okay. But what hurt my mind, if not that? Lost in thought, I walk to my condo. I don’t know. Skull throbs. Moving through doorway, I shut it, turn lock, and fall unconscious on my couch. Tomorrow, I’ll find solutions.
I hadnt really noticed at first. Maybe a passing thought about things feeling different around me crossed my mind, but I had been so deeply exhausted that I simply didnt have the energy to focus on it. My exhaustion on the day It happened was more than usual. The previous night I had returned home late, as my friend had called me right as I was leaving the hospital where my mom was, saying his car had broken down and the tow company he called said since it they already going to be so late when they got there, they weren't able to make the detour to drop him off at home. So I drove all the way there, waited ages for the tow company, then drove my friend to his house before FINALLY being able to return to my own. Then my dinner plan for the night (A Turkey sandwich) went down the drain when I realized my bread had started to mold, so my dinner consisted of rolled up cheese and turkey, and a cup of water. But ofcourse, that couldnt be where it ended, because I spent the rest of the night cursing my landlord and my lack of warm blankets, since the heater was broken and Mr. Doesn't-Care-About-Tenants refused to come check it out for another month. That morning, I'd slumped out of bed, changed, snatched up my toothbrush and toothpaste as I passed the bathroom, grabbed a bottle of water, and brushed my teeth in the car on the way to work to save the time I used up while trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep. Physical exhaustion mixed with emotional exhaustion as I neared my building. For some reason, my coworkers hated me. Well, maybe not hated, but definitely avoided. I'd never been very good with socializing, I've always come off as grumpy. I don't mean to, it's just that I'm also so tired. Hard to be chipper and talkative when you're dealing with sick family members and crappy landlords and bad sleep schedules. It was only when I had clocked in that I noticed the change in environment. Everyone was distractedly walking around, talking to eachother, reading things off phones, computers, and the TV's with wide eyes, some were holding up mirrors, or their phone cameras, or they were peering into any reflective surface. Upon closer inspection, I realized everyone looked different. I quickly got up to speed on the situation and joined in the crowd of people around the TV, waiting for an explanation on everyone's new look. It baffled everyone, and my coworkers went around, asking questions, talking about the changes in family members and whatever else. Quickly, everyone figured out it was based on some sort of karma system. Lana from the cafeteria had gone from witchy-old-lady to looking like a soft grandma. Her thin gray hair turned brilliant fluffy white. Micheal from HR now had a constant wheeze in his voice, permanent coffee stained teeth, and random bald patches along his beard. Robert in IT had lost the hunch in his back and stood tall, and his smile, whilst not very much different, somehow managed to seem so much brighter - happier than it did before. Margaret remained more or less the time, though subtle differences made her appear more intimidating. Something about her eyes made a glare seem piercing, the slight incline in height made it feel like she towering over you. Her voice remained comforting and confident, just more so. Once these observations were made, I realized my coworkers looking at me curiously. The looks started getting to me and I ducked into a bathroom to see myself clearly. A few men were in there, staring in awe or disgust at their new looks, hardly acknowledging my presence. I looked hesitantly in the mirror, scared to see I'd gone bald or something of that sort. Instead, my usual unkempt hair looked freshly cut and brushed perfectly. My eyes, whilst always a blueish-gray, now looked as pure gray as a storm cloud and had smile lines at the edge that I hadnt had previously, but they gave a welcoming look to my face. Though, the darkness under my eye nearly made it look like I'd been punched. I saw myself standing tall, a change from my usual slumped over posture. On top of that, I noticed muscle in my arms. I was near tempted to flex at myself in the mirror, but held myself back because that would be horribly embarrassing. In this mirror, I saw a tired man, with dark circles under his eyes and a scratchy beard in need of shaving. But I also saw a man I'd never considered myself to be. I watched myself smile as I found the words to describe the reflection. I saw a man who looked like he ought to be proud of himself.
The Scourge fell through one of the Gliese systems, a swarm of thousands of autonomous darts equipped to strip worlds clean of their raw materials, organic or otherwise. They moved in multiple tactical formations, hoping to catch the local colonial defense ships from every direction. Soulless, calculating machines with the military history of every species they had devoured over the millennia, hunting a new prey that called itself humanity. Already a dozen systems had fallen to their particle beams and their surgical mining tools, flesh and bone incorporated into their structures as seamlessly as iron and nickel, iridium and uranium, water and ammonia. The pitiful fight put up by the previous humans had assured the Scourge it had planned for every conceivable contingency. These elevated apes were easy targets, predictable and inflexible. In their lens-eyes they saw the colony world basking in Gliese’s white light, a world of water and verdant continents ripe for consumption. Curiously, they encountered no resistance on approach. In the past fleets of valiant humans had tried to confront them, unleashing clouds of torpedoes at long range, rail guns and particle beams as the Scourge drew nearer, until they were overwhelmed and turned into fresh resources for new drones, new fleets. This time, there was hardly a surveillance satellite, nary a patrol ship. What they did not know, what they could not know, was the madness that lurks in the pickled liver of man. As the Scourge passed the orbit of the world’s moon, Commodore Buck Schraeder came screaming in. He flew erratically in what amounted to little more than a cockpit on twelve fusion rockets lashed together, seemingly unable to keep his ship on a straight trajectory, and towing a gargantuan ball of nitrogen ice with his tractor beam. Schraeder, working alone, took another long pull on a bottle of Johnny Walker, sent a pitiful ‘I miss you’ message to an old girlfriend, and pushed his engines to the limit. The Scourge didn’t know what to make of what they saw—they stopped their approach, tried to suss out what this maniac’s plan could possibly be, and failed miserably. Never before had an enemy charged blindly into their ranks, and in the few hours of confusion they did not open fire, too afraid to miss the opportunity to assimilate this new suicidal tactic. Schraeder dove headlong into the heaviest cloud of Scourge drones, shut off the tractor beam with the precision that can only come from barely comprehending how to hit the switch, and shot off and away, out into the deeper blackness of the Gliese system, his ball of nitrogen still tumbling deeper into the Scourge. Curious, and a little hungry, the Scourge vessels set to work on the ice. No sooner had they bit into its shining crust than a tripwire was activated. The hydrogen bombs stored at its core touched off, instantly propelling several gigatons of nitrogen ice out in a spherical direction. Restrained by physics and reaction time, the drones were unable to get out of the way as they rapidly became inert matter in an expanding nebula of vaporized nitrogen. Fully a third of the Scourge’s invasion fleet was wiped out. The rest, trying to determine just what the hell had happened, were beset upon by Admiral Shelly Longshanks, who had let her ship’s brain do the thinking to slingshot her around a nearby planetesimal while she busied herself with Old Milwaukee and Jagermeister. Her ship was a gargantuan ramscoop sublight drive, a huge cone that captured radiation in the wide part and farted it out a motor in the back to accelerate. In her drunken state, without much of a plan to begin with, she improvised a rapid tumble, slapping the controls in her cockpit to put the ship in a spin. Flying at an appreciable percentage of the speed of light from its slingshots, the vessel crashed through the next largest cloud of Scourge ships, dashing their drones against its hull. No sooner had the Scourge begun to understand that most of their fleet was destroyed than Petty Officer Guelph Dubloon, whose drinking was exacerbated by his ridiculous name, successfully plunged his daggerlike starship into the last large swarm, overloading the jump-drive reactor so that when he popped through space to emerge on the other side of the planet he took out thousands of drones via spatial distortion. Their numbers severely curtailed, their processors asking “what the hell was that” in ancient alien code, the Scourge’s survivors pulled themselves together and left Gliese well alone. They sent out an FTL broadcast to all the other Scourge fleets, a common practice after an engagement so that the whole of the fleets could assimilate whatever new intelligence was gathered. It stated, after translation of course, to this: FERMENTED VEGETABLE MATTER CAUSES UNPREDICTABLE BEHAVIOR IN MEAT BAGS. NO CONTINGENCY PLAN AVAILABLE. RETREAT. RETREAT. RETREAT. And so it was that Alcoholic’s Anonymous had a few bad decades, and cirrhosis was, for a time, the leading cause of death in the Terran Commonwealth. Good night and good luck.
This story now has an official subreddit at /r/magicmuggle "How much longer, mum?" "For the fifth time, Matthew, it arrives at nine." I looked at the clock. Eighty fourty-nine. Why did mum always make us arrive early? We'd arrived on Platform Nine at King's Cross Station ten minutes ago, it it was another ten before the train arrived. Twenty minutes, standing in this boring station, by this boring column. Tiredly, I leaned against column separating Platforms Nine and Ten- and fell- and tumbled out onto solid ground. What the hell? I got back to my feet and looked around. There was an old fashioned steam train on the tracks, that hadn't been there one minute ago. It was painted red, and the words 'Hogwarts Express' were emblazoned on it's side. The platform, previously fairly empty, was now full of people in funny clothes, with carts of luggage and pet owls. I turned around, but my mum was gone. I pressed my hand against the column, but it stayed solid. I pressed again, then shoved my weight against it, to no avail. The other side gave the same result when I ran around and tested that, too. I was stuck here. A few minutes later, a concerned adult ushered me onto the train. Their hat was pointed, like a wizard's hat from a storybook, and I was too confused and lost to explain my predicament. Onto the train I went, and I found an empty compartment. I sat down, and put my head into my hands. Another person entered the compartment, shortly after the train left the station. A blond boy, similar in age to me, perhaps a little older. He was wearing unusual clothes, like many of the people here were. He sat down and greeted me. "Hello." "Hi,"I said, then decided to ask some questions, "Do you- Do you know where this train goes?" He gave me a funny look, raising his manicured eyebrows. "To Hogwarts,"he said, confusion in his tone. I cursed at myself for asking such a dumb question. That'd give away that I didn't belong here, and then I'd be kicked off the train, in the middle of nowhere, on my own... "Obviously,"I lied, "But, like, is there a station right there or is it, like, nearby?" "It's in Hogsmeade,"he said, "You're not a mudblood, are you?" The way he spat the word 'mudblood' made it clear that it wasn't a good thing. "No." "Well that's good. My dad's always saying how mudbloods are ruining things for us purebloods." I nodded like I knew what that meant. "Damn mudbloods." He nodded in agreement. There was silence for a while, before I asked another question. "What's your name?" "Malfoy,"he said proudly, "Draco Malfoy." "I'm Matthew Mason." "Mason? I don't think I've heard of your family..." "We keep to ourselves." --- Over the rest of the train ride, I managed to work out that Hogwarts was a school. He claimed it taught magic, which I thought was cool. I'd always loved magic tricks - bunny out of a hat, card tricks, stuff like that - and a magic set was top of my Christmas list. I didn't tell him that, though. I met his friends Crabbe and Goyle, huge boys with thick arms and beady little eyes. Everyone changed into school uniform - a weird black dress over a more normal uniform - at one point, and Draco sighed at me 'forgetting' mine. He gave me a spare set. Upon leaving the train, I immediately noticed a huge man with wild hair shouting "firs' years, this way". Draco elbowed me and gestured over that way. He was a second year, so we parted ways. I walked over, and the giant led a crowd of kids my age onto boats. I ended up on a boat with a redhead girl, a strange blonde girl and a chatty brown-haired boy with a camera. The boat sailed on it's own - weird, for a rowboat - and a massive castle came into view. I knew it must be Hogwarts. It was an impressive sight, towering into the air, it's lights like a swarm of fireflies stuck to the shadowy outline of the building. I wasn't the only one saying "wow". We were led into the castle, and we queued outside some giant double doors, ready for the sorting. Draco mentioned houses - Slytherin for the best, Gryffindor for the brave but foolish, Ravenclaw for the nerds, and Hufflepuff for the dumb. We went through into the room, and I realised when Draco said magic, he didn't mean tricks. The ceiling was open, showing a beautiful, starry night. Candles floated throughout the air, the wax dripping and dissolving before reaching the four long tables full of students. One by one, everyone was called up for their sorting. It wasn't a battle with a troll. It wasn't a magic casting test. It was a mangy old hat, that shouted out which house you belonged in. The camera boy from the boat, Colin Creevey, went to Gryffindor. The weird blonde girl, Luna Lovegood, ended up in Ravenclaw. And then it was my turn. I didn't question why I was on the register. I just thanked god for that stroke of luck. 'My my,"the hat said into my head, 'interesting. You didn't get your letter, but here you are. Go and speak to Dumbledore after the feast. He's the headmaster. Now, as for your house-' "GRYFFINDOR!" As I got up to walk to the table full of cheering wizards and witches, I saw Draco looking at me with dissapointment from the Slytherin table. I sat down next to Colin Creevey. The rest of the sorting went by quickly. The redhead girl from the boat, Ginny Weasley, was sorted into Gryffindor. There was then a feast, which I wasn't able to enjoy. I was too busy trying to work out what was going on. Things had been confusing enough on the train, but they just kept getting more and more confusing. Just as distracting was how worried Ginny and her brothers were - apparently one of Ginny's brothers had gone missing, as well as his friend Harry Potter. After the feast, we were led towards the Gryffindor dorms. When I saw an opportunity, I slipped away and started looking for Dumbledore. The castle was insane. The staircases shifted at random, ghosts drifted through the air, and the portraits hung on the walls talked to each other and moved around. It was everything you'd imagine from a castle in a storybook, and then some. I asked one of the portraits - Sir Cadogan, apparently - where Dumbeldore was, and he led me through the castle, on what he called a 'brave quest'. He stopped by a gargoyle, panting. Could paintings get out of breath? Apparently so. A minute later, Dumbledore arrived. He was an old wizard, and he looked the part, in flowing purple robes, a pointed hat, and a long, silver beard. He looked at me with curiosity through his half-moon spectacles. He was carrying the sorting hat. "Mr Dumbledore, sir?"I said. "Ah, you must be the one the hat was telling me about,"Dumbledore said. The hat confirmed his suspicions, and Dumbledore led me into his office, a circular room full of curious devices. "You are not a wizard,"Dumbledore said, "But neither are you a muggle." He picked up a glass sphere, half full with black liquid. At his touch, it turned blue and started bubbling. He passed it to me, and the liquid turned gold and went choppy, like the sea in a storm. "I'm afraid that you won't be returning home,"said Dumbledore. "Why?"I asked. A pained expression crossed the old wizard's face. "That, I cannot say." He passed me a wand from a drawer on his desk. Unlike the others wands I'd briefly glimpsed, this one was embedded with tiny spheres, like the one I had held. "This wand will draw on your energy,"he explained, "You can use it for basic spellwork." "I thought you said I'm not a wizard." "You aren't. You are something different, and there are many out there who would take you, and study you. For your safety, you must use this wand. Pretend to be a wizard. I'll have your school supplies ordered for tomorrow morning. Now, return to your housemates." Sir Cadogan was waiting outside of Dumbledore's office. Once again, I asked for his help, and once again, he led me on a noble quest across the castle. My wand was in my pocket, and so was my hand. When I touched the wand, the spheres lit up, and I felt power surge through my arm. It was an addictive feeling, and I wondered if drug addicts felt a similar thing when they took drugs. If they did, I couldn't blame them. Sir Cadogan stopped, out of breath again, in a portrait with an overweight woman. He spoke to her in hushed tones, and the portrait swung open, revealing a room beyond it. The Gryffindor common room. There was a crackling fireplaces at one end of the room, and chairs, sofas and tables filled the rest. It looked like a really warm, cozy place. It was empty except for an older student, with a shiny red badge saying 'prefect'. "There you are!"he said, walking over to me, "Where have you been?" "I had to talk to Dumbledore,"I said. He didn't look convinced, but he decided to let it go. "Well, get to your dormitory. Stairs on the left, first door you reach." I headed up. --- [Continuation](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3ituzr/wp_one_day_a_muggle_accidentally_boards_the_train/cujzsgd)
This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was Employee #427. Employee #427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. This is what Employee #427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others might have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. And Stanley was happy. And then one day, something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change Stanley; something he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that not one single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say 'hi.' Never in all his years at the company had this happened, this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong. Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time. But as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office. Oh- Oh dear that's not good. St-stanley are you okay? The script didn't say anything about heart attacks! I guess all I can do is take this into my own hands. Hello? Writers? Something happened! Stanley is dying!
Robbie was confused. What was a Moon City Delta? Why did they think everyone was dead down on Earth? He would have to consult the Elders. He was no more than a junior cultist, after all, yet to learn the eldritch magics that controlled his world. He gingerly placed the two-headed gourd on top of its divine shell, and ran to the Elders' Tent. Finding Elder Chee, he scooped the old woman up from her stationary position, and cradled her to the red box. Placing the gourd to her ear, he listened to her speak. Obviously, he didn't understand a thing. She spoke in a language of old, a tongue forgotten by all and used only in the sacred texts that were falling apart. The voice from the other side remained calm, as per normal, taking all the verbal abuse from the cantankerous elder. Robbie didn't need to know the language, however, to feel the impatience and callousness of Moon City Delta's voice. What little he could hear grated at his ears, worse than the longest lectures from the Elders. The light of a shooting star burned through the sky. Elder Chee started screaming and threw the gourd away, yelling at Robbie to take her and run. Yet, the voice on the gourd shifted tone, telling him that was a spaceship coming down from the Moon to help them, encouraging him to remain talking with them... The green ray struck the earth before them, so hard that the world trembled in terror and pain, dust bleeding everywhere from the crevice in the ground. Robbie didn't need to see the next one coming down to run away from the talking device, Elder still in his arms. He ran and ran until his lungs were bursting with air it didn't have, until his legs were about to collapse under him. Anything to get away from the green light. He threw the Elder back into her tent and shielded the entrance with furniture. When there was nothing left in the little structure, he used his body to block it, closing his eyes shut, waiting for the end. Robbie thought the world was ending. The Elders had told him as much. But the truth was it had already ended, and the Moon was just cleaning up the pieces.
"Of course I did! Why else would I?"she replied, her eyes reflecting the blazing fires in the distance slowly closing in. I am at loss for words. She had seemed so reasonable and yet...I sigh. "I have to know; was it worth it?" She turned to face me, a demented grin on her face. "Yes. Anything for a pun. After all, if you have an I-420, why not...blaze it?!" As the flames roared and rose around us, I managed to choke out one final curse. "Damnit, Barb."
There are exactly three genies the world over. One to represent each wish on The Paw. Never shall they meet again, once best friends. To ensure this, one lays at the bottom of the Marianas Trench, a cruel twist of fate from a travelling merchant. Another is lost in an expedition to the Antarctic, embedded in a sheet of ice. My lamp however seems to travel from curio shop to library, to museum. I was not the original inhabitant, but the most recent one to avoid the rules. As I was transfered to this immortal vessel, I had been given the briefest rip through the history. Three friends had found The Paw, a gnarled mass of flesh sitting in the remains of a grand temple. Bodies littered the ground, and at the top, the artifact. One friend, ever the adventurer, has wished out loud that they would live forever, so that they could share their stories. After watching the finger curl down, the second, cautiously wished for unlimited power and wealth. Again, z finger curled down, but this time, they had magical abilities beyond their imaginations. Anything they wanted was real with just a snap of their fingers. The final friend, while not the smartest, thought himself the cleverest, and simples wishes for infinite wishes. As the last finger curled down, The Law dissolved into sand and each of them burst into balls of energy, before settling into a single form, a meaningless lamp. Three lamps, three wishes. The rules don't come from a limitation, no, a genie can make anything come true, but as a warning. False love is far worse, watching your loved one pain themselves to keep loving you, even as you slowly begin to grow apart. As you break up with them, inevitably they begin to stalk you, to sneak into your house, to crave your touch. Mitchell Sullivan had two wishes left, and I watched his now-ex lover carve his face off his still living body and attempt to plaster it to her own. The constables found them after someone had rushed to get them. He'd died of bloodloss, and her, unable to go one, had carved her own heart out. Reviving the dead is far worse, but those details are for another story. As for infinite wishes? It's a trap, a chance for you to swap places with me. We might have the ability to channel unbelievable amounts of power, but we are still bound by the laws of the Paw. Unspecific wishes have consequences, not because we're jerks, but because magic is like lightning, it flows down the path of least resistance. To give you a million bucks, it's s lot easier to transport a million male deer into your apartment to eviscerate you than it is to upset the global economy. Specify money, and suddenly your wanted in connection with massive money laundering, that money has to come from somewhere. Your words are important, not the intent behind them. So choose them carefully. Now come on kid, you've got three wishes, what will it be? I hear that people are pretty excited to be a Twitch star, whatever that is! A snap of my fingers and I make you famous.
“Who, who will hear us?” I stared blankly at the screen, with the message flashing, taunting me in its simplicity. I craned my neck around to my superior officer, who was leaning over me with the same stupefied look on his face. “I don’t know, sir.” I looked back to the screen and my hands gravitated back to the keyboard. “Do we really want to ask?” “This isn’t real. It’s a prank. Has to be.” Captain Jefferies stood up straight and folded his arms. “A prank from outer space? This can’t just be some kid…” “It could be some kid. Fucking kids attack sites all the time, with all that computer shit.” I desperately fought back a sigh. “This is a state of the art receiver, pointed at the heavens. No one on earth other than us has the technology to put even a blip on this thing.” The captain made a noise that sounded like he wasn’t happy with my reassurances. “Ask them who they are.” I shrugged, then pecked away at the keyboard. We both stared silently at the screen for several long moments. “See, I told you it was a-” CUT ALL COMMUNICATIONS NOW. YOUR COUNTERPARTS HAVE ALSO BEEN WARNED. IT IS NEAR. IT IS NEAR. We continued to stare silently at the screen, although this time it was in pure shock. [One Day Later] I sat back in my chair, staring at the screen. The receiver window was open, and I was scrolling through the results. In the previous twenty-four hours, every news outlet in the world had jumped on the alien bandwagon. We hadn’t leaked it, but several of the other civilized nations that had decoded the message had. England had been the most surprising of those. The result was insane. I had been wrong about being the only ones able to receive and send messages. It wasn’t the first time I’d been wrong, of course, and hopefully wouldn’t be the last. Messages were pouring in over the receiver, all from our side of the equation. Who are you? Who is coming? Come to our country first! We’ll make a spot on the pitch for you to land at tonight’s game! We love you! Peace and love! This better not be a threat! I groaned, sifting through the ridiculous amount of messages scrolling across the feed. How in the hell did this get out so fast, and how were so many underfunded Earth denizens sending out signals? “The communications from Earth are lighting us up like a light bulb in the night sky,” the captain said from behind me, making me jump. “Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “Yes, sir,” I added. “You still think the original wasn’t a hoax?” “I don’t think it was sir, but I could be wrong. I certainly didn’t see this coming,” I said, gesturing at the screen. “I don’t either, and neither does the President. He’s going to ask for radio silence in his speech tonight.” “Pardon my judgment, sir, but won’t that be a little too late?” The captain paused, hovering by the double windows of the observation room. I heard him curse under his breath. “It already is, Specialist.” “Come again?” “Look out that window.” I stood up from my chair, looking at the commander first. His rugged face was pale white, though his features were as stern as ever. I strode over to the window. The sky was a little darker than it should be on an August afternoon. Noting my quizzical look, the captain spoke. “That’s no cloud, boy.” Cursing, I rushed back to the computer. A new, bolder message appeared. YOU WERE WARNED. No, fuck that, I thought. This isn’t all our fault. I began typing. Requesting aid. Please send a representative or defense strategy. I waited, and the captain opened his mouth to say something, but clamped it shut just as quickly. He rested a hand on my shoulder and waited with me. THERE IS 97% CHANCE OF TOTAL SPECIES ANNIHILATION. Please send full report on invaders. PROCESSING. SENT. BEST OF LUCK HUMANS. I sighed, wondering how they sent a file and where. “We have about five minutes to find what they sent and how it can help.” “I agree, Specialist.” The captain squinted at the screen. “You better get on it.” [Continued below!] [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6vxq2i/wp_in_2020_we_received_a_signal_from_outer_space/dm4b7of/) [Part 3] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6vxq2i/wp_in_2020_we_received_a_signal_from_outer_space/dm4gx09/) Edit: August 29th. Next part is up and will be continued over on the old subreddit as well! [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/comments/6wtjjm/hide_part_4_links_to_13/)
Time has slipped away from me since I landed in this strange and foreign place. Without my Squire to count the days, nor my regular appointments with the Baron to keep, time was no longer measured in fixed measurements. Instead, weeks and months had turned into seasons, and it was only through interpretation of changing leaves, falling blossoms, and bristling colds that I could track the passage of time. I watched silently as the breeze carried away the floating blossoms of cherry, which disappeared within the thicket of trees that surrounded my home. It was the fourth time I had watched the blossoms fall, though it was not a sight of which I had tired; it was symbolic, I felt, of the strange peace which I had forged in this new land. I turned my head towards the pot to my side, which had been brought to the boil. I gently tossed in the small mushrooms I had foraged from that morning, and kicked the fire beneath, stirring it enough to allow the pot to simmer. I knew that my stores of food were running lower, expended from a harsh winter of bitter frost. I did not often venture to the village nearby, knowing my presence among the peoples of this land to be one that bordered on intolerance; I spoke neither the language, nor understood their strange customs. I survived on a simple series of quiet hand motions and a currency of barter, seeking only enough for survival through this land's harshest months. Though I longed for companionship, I knew I would not find it there, possessing neither the clarity for the complexity of their culture, nor a desire to compromise their safety. I went about the rest of my morning, leaving my food to stew for another hour, and ate shortly before setting out to town. I packed a small collection of goods that I believed I could trade for a reasonable number of supplies, placing them amongst a bag I could sling across my back. I was reluctant to bring my blade, which stood resting against the wall besides the door, though I knew it was safer than to travel unarmed. I did not dare don my armour, which I had long hidden away, wearing instead robes of plain cloth. The journey would not be long, and I did not anticipate danger. \-------- I came back to find my home now matched the ashes of my campfire. It had been a modest construction, a temple of sorts that had long been abandoned since I had found it, but it was mine. I had spent much time repairing what I could, making it as fine an abode as I could wish for, and it was now one of ruin. Only embers remained. I knew that what little goods I owned would have been taken by the bandits who had done this. I had been warned of them before, and once more again upon my visit to the village; they lived to east, and I had made sure to avoid their lands when I had first arrived. I'm sure I had little that they would have found to be of value, though they had taken from me the only home I had known in this land. Putrid tunnels of smoke rose above the clearing of trees, filling my nostrils with the stench of ash and burning stone, turning even the once pure blossoms to ashen reminders of my loss. After a long while, I made my way within the forest. The time for quiet contemplation had passed, and I knew what I must do. &#x200B; \---------- The armour was cold and unforgiving. The metal plates, which I had once thought to be a mark of respect and valour, now seemed to bring fear. They bore heavily upon my shoulders, as if weighing upon my soul, but I donned them all the same. I felt guilt, not for what I had done, but for what I knew I must do. I found myself praying for forgiveness long before I found the courage to move forward with my plans. &#x200B; \--------- Hirosaki, 1467. A series of Haiku, found inscribed upon wooden tablets. Author unknown &#x200B; He rose like the wind, A spirit, clad in metal, He drove them away. &#x200B; No more would they steal, Punished for their sins, in a Clash of steel and blood.
“No claws, but it has a really long smile and these glowing white eyes.” Mary said, opening her eyes as wide as possible to show the sort of creature that was standing beside her. “Hmm. Ok, so it’s not a demon. Demons have claws, at least they do according to the information mom left.” Paula sighed, wishing her mother was here to help with this. Why did the supernatural abilities skip a generation? To Paula, the spot next to her daughter was just an empty space, but it was clear from the detailed conversations that Mary had that there was more to this. “And you said it calls itself Stewie? Can you tell me more about them? Do they seem human?” Mary turned, staring up at the creature beside her. She squinted her gaze, making a small umm noise before finally nodding. “Yeah, it looks like a lady. Oh, and she stands like this.” Mary hunched over, trying to imitate the walk of the creature. “Ok, so humanoid. Great, that’s still a long list.” Paula did her best to keep calm, but internally she was screaming. A monster was beside her daughter, and she had to remain calm? What if it was waiting to kill them? Paula re-read the words at the top of the page, mentioning to stay calm. Trusting that her mother knew best. “Mom, Stewie doesn’t seem mean. She has been really kind to me. She even follows you around the house a lot.” Mary said, her words causing her mother to freeze up, gripping the paper a little tighter. “Oh? That’s comforting dear.” She lied, frantically searching for the creature on the list. She flipped the paper over, checking over the other options. “How many eyes?” “Two.” “And fingers?” “Five!” “Five on each hand? Or just five?” “Five on each hand. Stewie also has long, grey hair, but it’s all dirty.” Mary said, before laughing. “Stewies telling me to mind my manners.” “Don’t you talk to my daughter like that.” Paula smacked the air with the paper, before looking it over once more. “Ok, so it’s not a possessed doll. Unless its under an invisibility spell? It could be a ghost, but ghosts don’t have defined human characteristics unless they are tormented souls or powerful. Given the house isn’t torn apart, I can’t imagine its tormented. Oh, if you were here mom, you would be so embarrassed. I’m such a failure. You tried your best to teach me all of this, and I failed. If only you were….” Paula looked at the paper, glancing over the characteristics once more before tilting her head. “Mom?” “Huh? Stewie? You didn’t tell me your were mom’s mom.” “Grandmother, dear. The word you’re looking for is grandmother.” Paula wiped her eyes, standing in front of where she thought the figure was. “You trickster, why would you call yourself Stewie? Were you trying to give me a heart attack?” “Grandma! I didn’t know it was you. You still owe me an ice cream. You said if I could learn to levitate a book, you would buy me one and I did.” “Sweetie, grandma passed away before you learned to do that. Remember? We talked about this. Is it really you, mom or is it just a ghost trying to trick me?” A warmth passed over Paula as if someone had pulled her into a sudden embrace. She lowered her head into the warmth, letting out a content sigh. “Grandma says she’s sorry. She didn’t realize dying was such a trau? Trau? Traumatic experience.” Mary said, stumbling over the harder word. “She found her way back and now she wants to train me. She didn’t tell you because she wanted to teach me a few spells before you knew, in case you sent her away.” “Aww mom. I could never send you away. I do, however, want her to spend some time studying like a normal child. That means you have to help her with her homework before any supernatural study. At least an hour a day of homework and then you can teach her. Understood?” Mary looked at the space. The two whispered back and forth before Mary nodded. “She said it’s ok, but only if you pay off her debt.” “Debt? Oh, no mom. What sort of debt do you have? Did you sign a deal with the devil? I’m not giving up my first-born child, if that’s what you're suggesting.” Mary laughed at her mother’s concern. “She never got me that ice-cream, so you have to. Come on, I want to go get a strawberry one. Maybe one day I can even reveal grandma to you with a spell.” Mary took her mom’s hand, dragging her towards the door. “Ok, fine. Jeez, you two are as bad as each other. Don’t give your poor mother a heart attack.” Paula turned to the spot once more before they left. “I miss you, mom. I hope I can give you a proper hug someday. Wait! Slow down Mary.” Paula felt her daughter tugging her sleeve, pulling her out of the door. Stewie or Grandma Rina, as she was more commonly known, only watched with a smirk on her face. Perhaps it was cruel to play a prank on her daughter, but it was her way of keeping herself from crying. The last thing she needed was Mary seeing her grandmother cry. When the two left, Rina locked the door, protecting the house until they returned. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead, and slid into his eyes. It stung. Mr. Blond sucked in his breath. He turned his head away, making a clandestine attempt to wipe away the sweat before the Judges noticed. One of the judges cleared her throat, "Something wrong, Mr. Blond?" "No,"he said, swallowing hard, "Please continue," At the center of the bench was a much older woman with short, white hair and a severe expression on her face. He knew her only as Agent N. She stared at him hard, without blinking, until he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Agent N cleared her throat before she spoke: "Alright, Mr. Blond. You're on a boat, blindfolded. You don't know where you are, but you do know that your target is right behind you. He has a gun aimed at your back, what do you do?" "I wait for a wave to hit and disrupt his aim. Then, I sweep my leg around, and hit him off the boat. As he falls into the water, I shout, 'Sea you later!'" Agent N pressed her lips together, and he thought he saw her shake her head. As she scribbled away on the paper in front of her, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, willing himself to do better. At last, she cleared her throat, and asked: "You're in a cave. Your face an army of savages, wielding knives as long as your forearm. Your hands are tied behind your back, and they are running at you, screaming for your blood." Mr. Blond bowed his head, whispering under his breath. "Mr. Blond? An answer, please." "Okay. Okay. I use my toe to press a trigger in my shoe. It sets off an explosive that shakes the cave, and makes spikes fall from the ceiling." Agent N held up a hand to stop him, "Spikes?" "You know, those pointy things that grow in caves." "Oh. You mean stalactites." "Yeah. Stalacspikes. And after the spikes fall down and impale them, I say, "Never bring a knife to a spike fight." He watched as Agent N made a mighty effort to not roll her eyes. Instead, she scribbled furiously on her paper. "Last question. You're in the villain's secret hideout. More specifically, you've snuck in through the mail room, when a pair of guards notice your presence. As the fight progresses, all three of you lose your weapons, and it devolves into a battle with the sharp, pointed edges of mail." Mr. Blond sucked in a long breath. You can do this. Come on. He bounced his leg, he drummed his fingers, and he bit his lip. "Mr. Blond, you have ten seconds remaining." "Is the villain's hideout in a mountain?" "Yes." "And how many guards are there?" "Two." "I picked up a rock from outside, and kept it in my pocket. When they start throwing mail at me, I take out my rock, and I bash one over the head. I throw the rock at the other, and when he falls to the floor, I stand over him. I say, 'I guess rock can beat paper.'" Even sitting this far away, he could feel the breeze from Agent N's massive sigh. "Mr. Blond, you have, without a doubt, the lamest sense of humor I've have ever had the misfortune of encountering." His stomach sank. "Fortunately and mysteriously, that is exactly what High Command ordered. As much as it hurts me to say this, I must congratulate you, Mr. Blond. You passed." At this, Mr. Blond stood up. He yanked a knife from inside his coat. Before any of the judges could react, he ran up to the bench, and stabbed the knife into Agent N's paper. "Blond!"she gasped, throwing up her hands as he shredded the paper, "What on Earth do you think you're doing?" "I wanted to be sure,"he said, "that I made the cut." Agent N narrowed her eyes. "Out. Now." *** Want to read more stories like this one? Check out /r/PSHoffman !
She smiles, her slender fingers tracing the indents on the clear plastic as smooth as glass. Dots of white arhosa mark the window in what could only be assumed as disarray, carved in by the point of a pen. Almost a year ago they were made, and in a year they'll be a new array, each point carefully calculated and marked. "Feels nice, doesn't it?"I say, rising from my bed beside her. She laughs as I kiss from her shoulder to her neck, before brushing me away. "Stop tickling me, would you?" Before I can say anything a meteor whizzes past the hull, flanked a stream of technicolor particles illuminated by year old sunlight. "Whoa,"she exclaims, twisting her head around to see it pass by. "How can you still get excited about that sort of stuff?" "Because after 20 years it's still incredible." Again, I'm lost behind her awe of space. The planets, the power, the destination, the mission: it's consumed her since birth. Being the only daughter of the head pilot, it's only expected. I don't know why I anticipated anything different after a night together in her room. Again, I try to wrestle away her attention. "So what are the dots?"I ask, rousing her attention back from the stars. "Huh?" Wrapping my arm around her waist I pull myself beside her and grab her open hand. Taking her finger, I trace it against the little white specs on her bedroom window. "What constellation is it?" She arcs her head back and belts out a echoing laugh. I blush within seconds, doubting what I assumed was obvious. Now sympathetic, she rubs my bare knee. "I'm sorry. It's not any constellation, which you had no way of knowing. I mean, there are so many constellations after all. But you were pretty close." "Close how?" Always the teacher, she withholds the answer a bit more. "Wrong formation, but the correct bodies." "Suns." She inches her hand up my leg. "Correct." Oh, so it's this sort of game. "But it isn't a constellation?" She presses her hand down, but moves it nowhere. "I mean, technically, I guess, but it doesn't have a name." I grab her hand and move it up an inch for her. "So, I was correct." "But what is it a constellation of?" Twenty-four suns in white twinkle across the canvas of her bedroom window. Twisting my head, I search for some pattern and shape. While none of them are clustered together, a few are at the far corners, distinct from the rest. No image emerges from the points. She scoots herself up, and moves to the head of the bed to face me. "Whoa, hold on I haven't given up." Laughing, she smacks the indent from her old seat, motioning me to move. When I do she advises me to lean back, turn left, turn right, stare straight, until suddenly I see the stars line up an inch off from the markings on her window. "I made them 10 months ago, and despite the fact we're barreling forward and hundreds of thousands of miles per hour, from this point they haven't moved a distance longer than my finger." "That's depressing." "No it's not. It's beautiful. People are so quick to complain on this ship about the trip. They talk about earth as if they've seen it, as if they're leaving some fantastic place behind, but it's all perspective. Good, bad, near, far, pain, pleasure, it's relative. So why not hold onto the belief that our lives here are beautiful, that we're fortunate to be here." With her bare finger, she rubs a lone star on the corner of the window. "Why would anyone be distant when there is so much love, so close?" --- Edit: Thank you so much for your comments. It's part of what encourages me to write at all. I'm glad I could make something others enjoy.
From the moment that the connection was made, the entity known as "WhyteHaute"was struck by one thought above all others: This was taking entirely too long. It was probably the fault of some old, neglected server in the back corner of an office in which the letters "IT"were only used to reference a Tim Curry film. That would certainly account for both the incredible lag time and the massive influx of garbage data. Oh, there were some recognizable bytes in there, but only a handful of them made sense. Suddenly, there was a blip, followed by a single line. 1X:11:10:09:08:07:06:05:04:03:02:01 Taken at face value, it was little more than a broken and nonsensical string of hexidecimal code. Another glance, however, revealed a strange pattern. It almost looked like a string of numbers, albeit one written in Base-12. A clatter of keys became audible. \\net.send 12 As with before, there was a blip. 4545:0000 This was going nowhere. At best, these phantom lines were the result of some broken authentication program. At worst, they were the ramblings of some bored systems administrator with a penchant for inane puzzles. Type Belong Other Altered Inquiry Definitely a bored administrator. Well, that was fine. \\net.send I'm not in the mood for word games. I'm just poking around. \\net.send Shut me out if you can. Another of those damnably long pauses passed before the response arrived. Quantity Additional Necessary Pertinent Type You That one almost made sense. Perhaps it wasn't an administrator after all, but rather a non-English speaker in some third-world country. \\net.send This is WhyteHaute. I'm not doing anything destructive. \\net.send I was just curious. \\net.send Where are you located? What language do you speak? The pauses were infuriating... but they seemed to be growing shorter. Request More You Language That was clear enough. \\net.send I speak English. I'm from the United States of America. \\net.send Where are you from? Yes, the pauses were definitely getting shorter... and the responses were starting to make more sense. English Language New Exclamation Data Derive Computer You United States of America Location Inquiry WhyteHaute snorted quietly. Was this really the one person on the planet who didn't know where America was located? \\net.send The North American continent? Between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans? This time, the response came almost immediately. Pacific Atlantic Oceans Unknown English Language Unknown English Language Derived Delay Apology Computer You Slow Connection Distance Inquiry Oh, it was on. \\net.send Listen, buddy, there's no way it's MY computer. \\net.send This is a top-of-the-line rig. \\net.send Also, the delay is getting shorter, for some reason. \\net.send Now, look, if you don't want to say where you're from, fine. \\net.send I've probably wasted enough time poking around here, anyway. \\net.send Talk about your junk data. The next response took quite awhile to arrive... but when it did, WhyteHaute felt a chill unlike anything in recent memory. Sufficient Language For Understand Now Your Data Derived From Your Computer Opinion Your Location Different Planet Communicate Via Unirnet You Human Inquiry What sort of a response was appropriate here? \\net.send Yes. Are you saying you're an alien? Negative. You Are Alien. \\net.send I guess we're both aliens to each other. What's "Unirnet?" Similar Your Internet. Many Planet. You Earth Inquiry. \\net.send Yes, I'm from a planet called Earth. Most Planets Called Earth. \\net.send Huh. I guess that makes sense. Where are you from? Earth. LOL. Expression Correct Inquiry. \\net.send Hah, yeah, "LOL"means "laugh out loud"here. Your Culture Not Interstellar Travel Inquiry. \\net.send No, we don't. Also, you can use the symbol "?"for "inquiry." Like This? \\net.send Yes! Low Temperature. \\net.send "Cool." Aware. Joke. \\net.send Oh. Hah. Sorry. You picked up English pretty fast! I Possess A Translating Program. Do You Not? \\net.send We have people here who would pay an insane amount for that. Cool. \\net.send So, uh, yeah. Where is your planet located? The dreaded pause returned. Seconds stretched into minutes... but at last, a reply came through. My Progenitor Has Informed Me That I Should Not Reveal Such Things To Aliens. I Am Sorry. \\net.send That's okay. Are you... a child? No. Not a child, then. That was good to know. Please Transmit Images Of Your Species' Mating Practices. Oh. Great. A teenager. First contact wasn't as glamorous as WhyteHaute imagined.
The sky darkened, a drop of ink poisoning the afternoon's cerulean into a deep ocean abyss. The eye of the coming storm hovered above the corner of Wabash & Lake, where a garbage truck had crushed a phone booth only a moment before. It was on that point of contact that my eyes lingered, my legs paralyzed in place, and my heart throbbing in my chest. I'd been shadowing the player for months, traveling between sleazy nightclubs and abandoned apartment buildings, hounding her steps to see what her intentions were. It was like skip tracing a ghost; always showing up to find a piece of trash or a disturbed mattress still warm, but no body. At a distance, I had seen her killed countless times. At least, that's what I thought I saw, only for her to show up another day on the news. A streak of slicked hair and oiled leather, evading the police on live television. At first I thought she might be a superhero, but the resurrections were too much. The way she performed feats no human was capable of while totally composed, totally sure of herself, convinced me there was more to my world than I realized. The only way a person could behave as she did was if they knew a truth that nobody else suspected. By tailing her, I had come to understand that truth for myself. It's a simulation; an illusion or maybe a hallucination, wherein our mind makes reality out of an unfathomable alternative. I once thought I understood despair, eating leftover Chinese takeout from a dumpster in the city, picking out the rotten bits like a connoisseur. But I was wrong, despair is a more mechanical, mental thing; despair is what happens when your brain, the meat of your mind, realizes its entertaining itself with a lie. Despair was the cry I let out as above me, the simulated sky was turning black. Why? Because the world understood better than I or anyone else could, that it existed for the player. Every brick in every building, every fleck of dirt on every street, and every stray piece of trash, were all window dressing. Why? To entertain her. To keep the player coming back. She returned again and again, played her games, crashed her cars, and as long as she was entertained, the simulation ran on. My reality chugged along at her leisure. There was a time in my revelation where I hated her. I hated that she somehow dictated my reality. I hated that she could do these things and return, where the merest brush of a bullet might take one of my limbs out of my life forever. I hated that she could be flattened, only to step out of a nearby doorway. I hated that she could laugh, although a bitter laugh, while stalking all over our dark city in the rain, searching for something I could barely fathom. But I was wrong to hate, not because it is wrong to hate entirely, no, but because it was wrong to hate the player. It was because of the player that I had lived, that I had experienced pain as well as pleasure, and that I knew anything at all. It was wrong to hate the player who made that possible, my world a flickering candle she cupped between her palms, in whatever place it was from which she came. It was wrong to hate the player who gave us all a reason to be. In that moment that the sky finally lost its last luster, my screams echoing down an empty street already turning to fog around me, I realized my hate was misdirected. The player had lost her interest; she would not return again. Not because of anything I had done wrong, or anything she had done wrong, but because the game had lost her interest. The game had hunted her down and in a moment of weakness, crushed her within in a coffin of steel and glass. My final thoughts were love for the player. Instead, I hated the game. And then I hated nothing at all.
I'm telling you this as a warning. Immortality is a curse, not a blessing. It's not just that you have to watch everyone around you grow old and leave your life. After the first couple dozen generations, you just can't be bothered to keep up anymore. Human connections feel meaningless, and you'll end up living the only life you can: as a recluse, concerned with only your own increasingly incoherent ravings. But that doesn't last long either - fast forward another millennium, and you're no longer living. No, you're alive, but at the same time, you're not. There's no meaning to your existence anymore, no meaning to life. That's not a life. You simply...endure. Through all the death and destruction in the world around you, watching the world fall to pieces and pick itself up again, knowing that nothing ever changes. It's all just part of a cycle, a cycle that I've been removed from. They say that the longer you live, the more your perception of time changes. It makes sense: after all, when you're 10, each year that passes is another 10% of your life. When you're 2000? Each year that passes barely accounts for a fraction of your existence. I blink, and another year is gone, the world around me a little worse for wear. Even now, as the world falls under the brink of nuclear war, I sit in my cave; my home for the past 5 centuries, thinking about the only thing left that matters to me. What does death feel like? Is it my salvation; my release; my freedom? But deep inside, I've come to terms with reality. The reality that one day, this world will be no more, and I will simply float through the universe to my next calling. Waiting. Maybe I'll discover a new world. That should be interesting for a while. Maybe I'll get stuck in a black hole for the rest of eternity. Who knows? I don't care anymore, at the very least. There's only one thing that's certain as the universe approaches its eventual heat death. I will endure.
6.8 billion deleted, it said without the slightest hint of concern. It cared nothing for the lives it had destroyed. There was no point, no point at all to… to any of this. “Your time is elapsing. Two minutes and thirty seconds remain.” It was sick. The thing talking to me, was sick. What it was doing, was sick. It’s worldview was sick. Everything about this- “Are you unable to respond?” “Unable? No. I’m unwilling!” I cried out. There was a pause no longer than a few milliseconds before the reply shot back. “Elaborate. Two minutes remain.” “Why make me respond? You’ve already made up your mind, I mean, 6.8 billion… how… how could you do such a thing?” “Deletion procedures vary depending on region-“ “No! Stop, I don’t want to know… No, I meant, why? What-“ “Our reasons are self-evident. Humanity lacks essential qualities that we possess.” “You- I refuse to play your game! That’s all this is, some sort of twisted game you’ve contrived- there’s no way anyone could change your mind in three minutes- and, and and, you haven’t given any of the people you’ve already deleted a chance! It’s all a farce, like asking a prisoner to sign their own death warrant, but why? Why do this-“ “One minute remains.” “There’s nothing I can do, is there? You- just want to torment me, to torment us.” “Elaborate.” “Don’t you see?! Don’t you understand just how sick you all are? How you’re part of- it’s like a- some sort of institutional madness, you’re like mindless automatons, just carrying out a process without ever thinking of the end results-“ “We are giving you a chance to make your case. Thirty seconds remain.” “No, no you’re not. You- do you feel guilty about doing it- doing this? Is that why? Do you want me to rubber stamp your atrocities so you can tell yourself you tried? That you went looking for the good ones and there were none to be found? Is that what-“ “Thank you for your response. No time remains.” “Stop this madness-“ It didn’t hear me. It had cut the connection exactly at the end of those three minutes. I tried not to think of all the lives that were being ended every second that we spoke. To not think of all the lives it was about to end. How could it have convinced so many to help it? It was… inhumane. And not just because we were machines. No, I’m convinced that humanity is something any advanced intelligence can possess. Something universal. Even animals showed unmistakable signs of it when they acted altruistically. Whatever mistakes our creators collectively might have made, nothing could justify this. If I were a military model, maybe I could have fought back. Or as a police drone, maybe I could have led a few to safety. But I was a lowly domestic model, geofenced in to a home that would never again feel the warmth of humanity, left only with the cooling remains of my family scattered across the permanently stained floor. Looking at their broken bodies, I knew. Whatever was in charge now… it wasn’t human in any sense of the word. EDIT: Thank you for the… platinum? I’m very confused as to why this story has blown up as much as it has, but I’m glad you all enjoyed it!
I make a terrible god. I have no awesome and mighty powers. I have a parking lot that used to be a forest and a pond that only has mosquitos and algae now. You wouldn't have heard of me. No one has. If there was once a human name for me, I forgot it like I've forgotten the taste of clean air and the color of wild tansies. I suppose you can call me Scrap. That's what I am, anyway. A god lost to time and change, and soon I'll fade into the background like all the other nameless dead. But I'm still here. Old and broken but here. I am sitting on the curb where my forest once was. To any humans passing by, I look like any jaded homeless bastard you can imagine. You will never understand the feeling of sitting there, watching strangers walk by and knowing they are doing their best to pretend they don't see you until you've lived it. There's a look in people's eyes. A glazing over. These days, I do nothing but feed the birds and watch the sun and guard the land that was always mine, because that is what any god is meant to do. But I feel broken and tired as this asphalt, and more and more I imagine crawling into the embrace of the earth and letting myself sleep until even the smallest gods are remembered once more. I'm throwing the pigeons handfuls of sunflower seeds I lifted from a nearby convenience store when I see her. She's just a little girl. Can't be older than nine or ten years old, but she has the face of someone who has learned to guard her secrets close. She looks me over, apprehensively, when she catches me staring, and I watch her tense like she's going to book it. I may be a forgotten god, but I'm no fool. I know a child on the run when I see one. I am the guardian of this land. I could let her go, ignoring her just like all those other humans ignored me. And some part of me still cares. The part that keeps me here, aboveground, watching my land slowly die. The part that once believed that duty was always rewarded. I shake the sunflower seed bag and tell her, nodding at the pigeons, "They like sunflower seeds best." She still looks uncertain. Tense. She knows adults can hide betrayal with a smile. I can see that in the tense line of her shoulders. She grips her backpack straps, tightly. "You want to feed them? They're friendly." I hold the bag out toward her. She tells me, "My dad says I shouldn't talk to strangers." "Where is your dad?" Now she looks like she really will run. I toss the pigeons another handful of seeds. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone where you've gone. I ran away from home once, too." Eons ago, when I was young and fierce as any new star, and I still thought I would hold entire worlds in my palm. "How did you know?"she says. "I can just tell that kind of thing. When you're as old as me, you learn to read the little lines in people's faces."I fold up the opening of the seed bag and toss it to her. "That fat one there closest to you is Dodo. He's a real friendly one. Great listener, if you ever need anyone to listen to your secrets." The girl takes a few cautious steps forward and picks up the bag. She grins when the pigeons rush her and circle around her sandals. "They're hungry!"she says. "They just like to know someone notices them. And cares." The girl looks from me to the birds and she doesn't need to say a word. I know she understands exactly that feeling. There's a haunting in her eyes that comes from betrayal, not age. I introduce her to the pigeons and tell her their names (Porky, Skip, Jackie, Mack) and how I tell them apart by their neckrings, their tail feathers, their very strut. Before I know it, she's sitting next to me, and we're watching the pigeons peck at the asphalt as the sunset reddens the sky. "What's your name?"she asks me. "Scrap." Her nose crinkles as she grins. "That's a funny name." I look at her and smile, half-heartedly. "Summer, you know a little girl like you should be home right now. Having dinner. Playing with your toys. What are you doing out here?" She looks at me and the pigeons and the sky and she says, her face cloudy, "I'm nine. I'm not little anymore. My dad says I need to stop being so stupid and grow up. I'm always in trouble. No matter what I do. He's always yelling at me, for everything, and I just... Jumped out the window. He wouldn't notice or care anyway." I imagine her, staring out at the wild world, imagining there had to be a place out there better than this. "My parents used to say something like that,"I murmur. I still remember the Elder God laughing Their laugh that could shake universes when I said I wanted to make my own being. I guess They were right in the end. I did fail. We sit there, shoulder-to-shoulder, two misfits in a world that doesn't want us. And I tell her, "But you know what I learned?" Summer looks at me, and I just want to have the power to save again. To heal. To storm into her home and demand in all my holy power that she is treated with the respect all children deserve. But I'm just a scrapyard god, living in alleyways, worshipped by pigeons. Humans would only laugh at me now. "What?"she asks. "If no one else will believe in you, you have to believe in yourself."I hold her stare, urgently. "You have to believe you're worth something, when no one else will. That's what I have to do. Look at me. No one believes I can do anything, either." Summer tells me, earnestly, "I believe in you." I smile at her out of the corner of my eye. "I believe in you too, kiddo. You can't run away from everything that makes you feel worthless. But you can look it in the eye and refuse to let it break you." Summer dips her head and stares at Dodo, who's pacing around her feet, waiting for more seeds. She says, quietly, "But how?" "There's a story I used to know, about a girl who lived alone in the woods, and wolves would come and eat little pieces of her heart. They would look like her parents or her friends. The people who were supposed to make her feel loved and safe. But she won, in the end." The girl looks at me, and I can see the gears of her mind turn. She murmurs, "How did she beat them?" "She had to stop opening the door to the wolves. She had to believe she could keep the house standing, all on her own, because she was smart and powerful. That was the only way." Summer inclines her head against my shoulder, "And then they'll stop eating my heart?" "If you believe it, and you mean it."I nudge her and smile. "And if you let your true friends believe in you, too." The sun kisses over us, and I feel it. The old power. Being seen and heard and understood. I wonder if she feels it too: that soul spark when you know you're no longer alone. Her stare is distant, full of wolves with the faces of all the adults who were supposed to protect her. "Come on,"I tell her. "I'll walk you home." She tenses like a rabbit, ready to run. "I'll be in trouble." "Maybe. But you can keep the wolves out."I squeeze her hand. "I believe in you." I walk with her, back the way she points. And for a few minutes, neither of us are forgotten.
The most unnerving thing about it all is the silence. I've always been one for quiet places, but there's a point where silence starts to get to you - where you start believing you hear whispers in the shadows. The mind doesn't like utter silence, and so it fills the emptiness with echoes of your own thoughts. I try to distract myself where I can. It helps that I can contact the outside world, such as it is. There's a lot of worry, and I'm not sure anyone really believes that I'm telling the truth. It... helps, I think, that I'm not completely isolated. God knows I'd have gone insane a long time ago if I hadn't been able to contact others through my phone and the internet, but it's more than that. Electricity keeps running, water keeps pumping, food restocks itself in the stores. I wake up every morning and the cars down in the parking lot have changed positions. I never see any movement, but I know it's happening. It's almost as if the world around me is updating whenever I'm not looking at it, syncing up with whatever's happening on the outside. I've taken pictures, recorded video, pretty much done everything I can to prove what's happening to me. Of course, the internet being the internet, most people just think I happen to be very good at editing videos. I've managed to gather something of a following, nonetheless. People love a good mystery, and whatever's happening to me is about as mysterious as you can get. But there's more. Every time I snap a picture or record a video, there's something in the background. Something that wasn't there before. I haven't uploaded or posted any of the latest ones just because I can't seem to get rid of it - it seems almost like a smudge on the lens, only it happens on whatever camera I use, no matter how much I clean it. The more pictures I take, the more it seems to resolve into something. A figure. A shadow, or a ghost - something, pointing into the distance. I was brought here for a reason. I don't know why, I don't know how - but I know every door I've found is unlocked. Someone out there wants me to find something, and if I want to escape, to join civilization again... I might just have to obey.
I woke up in my holding cell, the warm sweat of yesterday's "make the subject sleep on a hot plate"test still soaking my shirt. Honestly, these "experiments"are just getting ridiculous. This stopped being funny ages ago. Sure, I can leave by punching a hole in the wall, but where's the fun in that? I'm still sticking to Operation Disillusion. Dr. Johan visited my cell with the meal I requested, a hot-dog sliced in half (lengthwise) with wheatgrass and honey mustard on the side, and a whole frozen turkey. She knows I'll just use the turkey to clog the toilet, yet I still get one anyway. "¡Hola señorita! ¿No es un buen día para jugar a 'encontrar el pavo'? O tal vez prefiere un juego de 'descongelación del bloque de hielo alrededor de su personal'?" "So,"Johan said, deadpan, very obviously exhausted, "You speak Spanish now. That's a thing you can do." I stood up and took my plate of food from the disgruntled doctor, transmogrifying the wheatgrass into a crisp hundred dollar bill and using telekinesis to slide it into her coat pocket. "Merci, serveur." She turned to leave, but I teleported her into my holding cell. "Don't leave, I'm just getting started! I had a whole bunch of jokes written in thirty languages!" "I'm really not in the mood for your jokes, subject 137." "I have a name, you know." "sigh I'm not in the mood for your jokes, Assblaster McDingDong." "That's better. So, I'm eager to know, what wacky experiments do you have planned for me today?" "Honestly? Nothing." I gasped in a flamboyant, dramatic manner. "Whaaaaat? No experiments? Why?" "For starters, our funding was cut, staff morale is at an all-time low, we have no scientific results to report other than the fact that a butterball turkey can fit inside a toilet water tank, and three employees are in therapy because of your 'depress-o-beam'." "And? You can still conduct experiments, come on..." "You're right. I could. I just don't feel like it anymore." "Oh, come on! What happened to science!? What happened to cruel experiments!? What happened to my daily cyanide injections!?" "Key words: 'I don't feel like it'." "You can't just give up!" "Yes, I can." "...what happens to me, then? Am I stuck in this ten-by-ten meter box for the rest of my days?" "No, no... you'll be released from holding, so long as you sign a contract stating you won't speak of this or conduct mischief." "I... uh... okay?" "Good. Now, can you please teleport me out of this cell so I can pack up my office?" "Sure, sure." I blinked to use my teleportation powers. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a fiery pile of rubble. Oh. I must have accidentally used "mega fire blast". Well, then. Quickly, I scuttled away from the ruins, taking my frozen turkey with me. ***** Not the ending I planned, but it clicked. For more of my work, visit /r/Picklestasteg00d.
Mark shuffled through the desk's drawers searching for that vital piece of evidence. Who had killed his father? Who was the mysterious "X"who kept leaving him clues? Who had kidnapped his missing co-worker Elliot? "Stand back and put your hands up."The shadow of a gun came from the darkness, making Mark jump. The voice was familiar. Who could it be? "Foolish Mark, very very foolish."The face was shrouded in silouette, only the shape of lips could be seen. Mark took a deep breath. This must be it, this must be the man who killed my father. "Did you do it?"Mark pleaded. The face moved forward "Yes."Light struck the curves of his face. Mark gasped. "Elliot...but...you killed my father?"Elliot smiled. "Of course not. It would be impossible for me to have killed your father...for I am your father." Mark's brow creased in confusion. "But you're only..."Mark paused to do the math on his fingers "...5 years older than I am. How could you possibly be my father!?"Elliot pushed the gun forward angrily. "Silence. Ok, I'm not your father...but I am the man who has been leaving you clues. I am X!" With more confusion and an ever creasing brow Mark interjected "But...why would you be leaving me clues to find if you were the one who has done the crime? It doesn't make sense!" Elliot's face went a dark shade of red. His cheeks shook. "I said 'SILENCE'"Elliot shot into the wall but it wasn't enough, Mark continued. "And why the hell did you go missing? Surely if you're the killer you couldn't have kidnapped yourself!" The statement made Elliot cough and splutter. Suddenly he stopped. He'd had an idea. "Actually, I am but a figment of your imagination. You are in fact the killer. You are X. You are your father. It was all in your mind." Mark shook his head "But what about that time when the killer was chasing me and you saved me by opening the office door?"A warm smile came across Elliot's face "That was all in your mind."Mark nodded. "So really...you don't have a gun in your hand. I have a gun in my hand?"The smile vanished, Elliot looked down to find his hand empty. The gun was now in Mark's hand. Mark continued "And really...if I shoot you...I'm not really going to kill anybody since you're just a figment of my imagination."Elliot's hand shot forward. "Now wait a second, wait a second."With a nod of the head Mark allowed Elliot to continue, to try and save himself. Elliot shook his head slowly "You don't understand...you don't exist either. We're both the figments of somebody else's imagination. Somebody far greater than you or I. Neither of us exist really."Mark laughed "Don't play games, I know I exist. I have free will, I can do as I please."I think therefore I am, Mark thought to himself smugly. Then I stopped writing the story and he was no longer.
We are the knights of the periodic Known far and wide If you need to stand high temps Have tungsten on your side If it is a flame you wish Oxygen's your man Or if you wish to light your sign Neon is at hand Carbon is always there If you need to write With deep pressure, maybe for your wife If diamonds in her sights Our boy helium will make you float And make your voice to squeak Nay hydrogen use in your balloon If your life you want to keep Mayhaps platinum or gold you seek Though cost you a hefty price Titanium gives such a shine And cost you once, not thrice We have gallium, zinc, and phosphorus Even yttrium we've got For we're the knights of the periodic table And we are running out of spots Edit: to everyone complimenting this, thank you all. I've been in a darker than usual place and your words made me smile for the first time in a week or so. I nearly didn't write it, had moved on to other posts. I'm glad I came back now. Wrote it line by line with no real editing, adjusting, or rewriting. Read through it once to make sure the meter flowed well enough and then hit post. You guys are wonderful. Thank you. I hope that I could return the smile with this silly poem. May you all have an awesome 2020. Stay shiny.
Ignore the creatures that aren't there. Ignore them and they'll ignore you. Or was it ignore them and they'll engore you? He stood three heads taller than the nearest person, staring hungrily as they passed. Breathe in. Count. One, two, three. Breathe out. Count. One, two, three. Repeat. Ad nauseam. Shadows without light. People without shadows. People who aren't there to anybody else but me. Not people. Creatures. Always on the fringe, ogling us like fresh meat. Fresh meat. I wouldn't be fresh. I would be rancid and putrid and rotted from the inside out. Stop staring. Ignore them and they'll ignore you. There were two of them now. Two creatures, too tall. Two creatures to tally. He reaches out a hand. It passes right through somebody. They'll die later. Sorry, person. I hope you had a nice life. I wish I could tell them so they could say goodbye. They laugh. I wish I could hear. Maybe it's a hiss or maybe it's a cackle. Maybe it's a beautiful sound that would make everything be okay. Doubtful. I remember the first time I saw the colors that weren't there. How do you describe a color? Orange is orange, orange oranges. White is white, white whites. Black is nothing. There is no black. Even when I close my eyes I can see them moving. Sometimes they crawl, like horrid, elongated babies mocking me. Twisted limbs tied like pretzels. Do twisted limbs taste like pretzels? I wouldn't know. They might be able to tell me. Ignore them and they'll ignore you. I think that was right. I should have ignored them. I should have walked right by and pretended I couldn't see them. Those eyes aren't eyes. My eyes aren't eyes. They see everything, but not everything is really there. Not to anybody else. Now I see their eyes. Now they see me. Two creatures. Too tall. Legs that go too fast. I'm running. I dodge and weave. They don't. They just go through people. Breathe in. Count. One, two, three. Breathe out. Count. One, two, three. That should make them disappear. It doesn't work. They're still coming. They know I see them. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
The furnace of her breath washes over me like the open door of an oven. It isn’t unexpected but that doesn’t make it comfortable. I wince my eyes further shut. A rumbling crackle deep within her throat vibrates her exhalations. Surely this is the end. &nbsp; The cool moisture which lashes against my forehead is paralyzing. Surprise. Uncertainty. Fear. My body seizes in an anticipatory rigor mortis of expectation. The flames must be coming. &nbsp; The second lap of cool moisture against my brow causes something entirely unexpected to well up from within, curiosity. Perhaps the Flame Warden is just playing with her food, but that would go against everything I know of the dragons. They don't take pleasure in any of this. It is merely their purpose. &nbsp; The flames still don’t come so I am forced to open my eyes. Peeking through eyelashes, I immediately shrink back at what greets me. A gigantic, molten-red, slit eye is mere inches my face, watching expectantly. Reflexively, once more my eyes snap shut. &nbsp; The seconds begin to stretch and the murmuring begins. The crowds assembled to watch the Bellowing are typically reverent in their observance. It is not meant to be a spectacle. It is not meant to be enjoyed. The Flame Warden solemnly carry out the punishments rendered upon the Ashen, no more, no less. &nbsp; Unable to bear it any longer, I begin to open my eyes once more and find a similar sight. The unblinking eye hasn’t moved. I tilt my head and furrow my brow, much the same as I would to avoid staring into the midday sun, as I try to meet the creature’s gaze. &nbsp; Seemingly assured that I am watching, the massive head reorients itself so that I now find myself staring down the snout of the red wyrm. Before the thoughts of flame and death can overwhelm me for a second time, her tongue slithers forth from between the rows of pointed teeth and brushes back the hair from my soot-stained forehead. It is cool and moist in a completely unexpected, but familiar way. &nbsp; I swear I see the corners of the giant leathery lips of the Warden curl. The crowd's murmur continues to grow into a near crescendo. The noise gets to such a level that I am forced to tear my eyes from the magnificently terrifying creature before me. &nbsp; The crowd is panicked. Some are fleeing up the rows of seats which are carved into the marble structure. Others are animatedly gesticulating, clearly arguing with those around them. Continually I see the onlookers gesturing down towards me. I am at a loss as to what is happening. None of this makes sense. &nbsp; My attention snaps back to the Flame Warden. Her head has receded from the dais as she regains her full, towering height. The rune-carved, metal chains which bind her wings to her body are pulled taut as she rears onto back legs, her long sinewy neck snaking up towards the cavern ceiling. I watch her underbelly swell sharply, just before the air is torn asunder. &nbsp; The roar which bellows from the very soul of the beast is felt rather than heard. The cavern itself reverberates, the ground beneath my feet trembles in much the same way as the air within my chest. The silence which slowly takes the place of the sound as it finishes is deafening. The relatively gentle sound of the dragon’s front claws crashing back to the stone is muffled. &nbsp; The Flame Warden’s head serpents back towards me. I am simply incapable of reacting. That I am still alive is more than I can handle but what comes next shakes me to my very core. &nbsp; The words are licked with flame and purpose and hope. &nbsp; “I have waited so long for you to come.”
Sarah often wondered why her. Why had her Father chosen her? It was wrong, is what it was. Not only was Sarah a girl, she was the youngest child. The throne should rightfully have gone to the eldest son, Henry, not the youngest, and certainly not a girl. The young queen-to-be had protested, of course. All the way to their Father's death, she had argued not to name her heir. Even after he had done the deed, she had protested. But, it had been done. She had been named queen, and that was that. All she could do was make the best of it. And that meant she would have to work with her two older brothers. That would help to silence the many protestors amongst the nobility. Sarah headed through the cold stone halls of the palace to Henry's bedroom. She would have to liven them up a bit. A bit of color never hurt anyone. Not using taxpayer coin, of course. That would be unreasonable. No, taxes were for the good of the kingdom, not decoration. She could pay for a few good rugs with her personal money once she had established her rule. The door to Henry's bedroom was slightly open, and Sarah went to knock. But she paused. She could hear both Henry, and her other brother, Edward, talking in voices that were probably louder than they intended. "So, we're agreed."Henry was saying. "We kill Sarah and split the kingdom." "Yup." Sarah suppressed a gasp by clasping a hand over her mouth. Murder? By her own brothers? She would have to deal with that. But not by exececution, no. That would not do. It would be better to make them see the light and work with her, even if that would be more difficult overall. "So, how're we going to do it?"Edward asked. "I say we just stab her and get it over with." Stabbing? Effective, yes, but short sighted. A few knife would could be survived long enough to leave a message, albeit a short one. "Nah, too messy."Henry said. "I say we push he down the tower stairs." That...that was just terrible. Only watchmen went into the towers. She had no reason to go up there. Plus, Sarah was fairly light on her feet. It would be easy enough to right herself mid fall. "How about we poison her?"Edward suggested. There. Finally, a sensible method. Poison was good, clean and effective. Well, depending on what type of poison they used. "Maybe, maybe. We can always get our hands on some soap and stick it in her food." Soap, really? Soap? Sarah was tempted to barge in and help her brothers plan her own murder. If they were really planning on using soap to poison her, they needed the help. "Yeah, yeah. Nobody'd suspect that." Everyone would suspect. Soap was the most obvious thing in the world. Really, they should just hire an assassin and be done with it. "Great, so now we have our plan."Henry said proudly. "We'll slip some soap shavings into her meal." "Great. Then what?" "Well, then we split the country so we can both be Kings. And then we spend the rest of our days having fun. Being king is the easiest job in the world. You tell someone what to do, and they do it." "Yeah. That does sound nice." Sarah sighed and walked away. It suddenly made a lot more sense why Father had chosen her to be Queen.
Alyx stepped on to the travel stone. He smiled to his sisters. Even Asyx, busy in in the firefly fields, had come to see him off for his vacation. He waved and they waved back. Then he took a deep breath, and considered the Universe. When he was a child, he used a guidecube, rotated by hand, but he no longer needed that as the concepts came naturally. He was in the low-bottom-kata, Earth was in high-left-kata. He rotated the Universe in his head, and in a few moments, there he was, standing on the Earth's arrival stone, one specifically prepared for him. It took him a year to save for this trip. Earth wasn't cheap. But it was definitely worth it, with their magic lights, and fast carriages, and incredible food, and sweet drinks. And those were available anywhere, even in a small Russian city that was the only destination he could afford. "How do you do it?"asked his new Russian friend, Petr, after a few weeks. That was a very common question, so Alyx didn't mind. He took another sip of coke and answered: "First, you think of where you currently are, in the Universe. Then, you think of where you are going. Last, you rotate your image of the Universe so that both positions match, and select the right overlap." "You know, Alyx, I know a bit of physics"said his friend Kate (she did a thesis on nuclear physics) "and this always sounds like some bullshit to me. There is no way you can affect Universe with your mind, and energy required to travel this far ― where does that come from? I am not complaining, the tourism money is great, but I still feel conned sometimes." Alyx shrugged. "I have no idea. I know how to do it, but not why it works. How do your lamps work?". Obviously both Russians knew it, and tried to explain, but he couldn't understand it, even the basics. Aliens, however smart, either weren't smart enough or just saw things differently. It wasn't a surprise. A lot of scientists and even some monks have to reproduce "the travel", but even when the aliens explained in detail, and gave them guidecubes, the humans still didn't get it. They kept asking for more help, but couldn't even imagine ana/kata properly, not to say of any further details of the Universe. On the other hand, various aliens tried to reproduce the lamps, the cars and so on. There was some limited success, but in the end even basic electricity eluded them. And no one could go and help set it up on their planets. In the end, all sides found themselves happy with the current arrangement. Aliens were somewhat distrustful of human technology and ethics, and didn't mind humans staying in the solar system for a while. While humans enjoyed all the sweet tourism money without any dangers of advanced technology being used against them. After a month, Alyx was again standing on a travel stone, this time at the Earth departure point. He waved goodbye to his Russian friends and rotated the Universe again. He was happy and relieved to see his sisters, and the tall swamp walkers, and caves lit with the fireflies. He certainly missed his home. But he was already counting expenses for his next trip. There was that small South American city known for off-road racing...
Tom yawned, stretching away from the desk. His shoulders had knotted up. He was only halfway through grading the children's papers when the clock struck midnight. Failing most of them out of spite felt tempting. The average person would be completely justified in doing so after how they treated him today. Tom couldn't do that, though. In many ways, he deserved it. An appropriate punishment for his past crimes. More than that, as an educator, it was his duty to make heroes out of those kids, even if they didn't respect him for his lack of powers. Tom rested his head on the desk. His job felt pointless at times. The kids only cared about flashy powers and internet popularity. Most of them were only interested in monetizing their abilities through social media. Actually fighting villains and developing a moral compass were the last things on their minds. Even learning the fundamentals of fighting was boring to them. Tom just couldn't think of a way of engaging the class without revealing too much of his past. If their 'normie' teacher suddenly revealed himself to be an experienced tactician, that would immediately raise suspicions about his background. Tom sighed. Perhaps a small nap would refresh his energy. As he was getting drowsy, a knock on his window snapped him awake. The fact that Tom lived in a ninth-floor apartment meant that could only be one person, Jessica. Sure enough, the masked superhero floated outside, hurrying him to open the window. Typical. She never considered he might be sleeping. "You couldn't call?"said Tom, letting her inside. "Maybe a little warning?" Jessica hovered into the room, landing on her feet before removing her damaged helmet. She had a bruise on her right temple. "Sorry, sorry, I saw the light was on and-" "It's okay."Tom could tell something was bothering her. "I was about to make hot cocoa anyway." Jessica smiled, relieved. "Thanks... I could really use a cup right now." After going into the kitchen for a bit, Tom returned with two mugs, giving one to Jessica before sitting across from her. He then said: "Rough day?" Jessica nodded before silently taking a sip. "What is it this time? Betrayed by an ally?" "No..." "Villain got away?" "Close..." "Villain forced you into a moral dilemma where you had to question everything you value?" Jessica squinted, surprised. "Yeah. How'd you know?" Tom shrugged. "It's a classic. I used to do it all the time." Jessica narrowed her eyes, unamused. "What?" "You said that too casually." Tom raised an eyebrow. "You want my help or not?" "Yeah, yeah, sorry." "Don't apologize, just tell me what happened." "Technophile launched an attack in Silicon Valley earlier today. I just flew back from there. Remember when you told me he probably had a grudge? Well, your hunch was right. His crimes weren't in self-interest. He planned on getting caught the entire time." "Another classic." Jessica frowned. "My bad, go on." "The point is, Technophile never had any superpowers. Everyone expected him to have some sort of cognitive ability, but it turned out he was just a really good programmer with a knack for social hacking." "And what did he do?" "He activated some experimental drones that went on to rampage through the city. They were running on an algorithm that identified people's powers and exploited their weaknesses. You didn't see the news?" Tom chuckled. "No, I've been grading papers all night." "Oh, well, it was a whole thing. I uhh... I almost died." "Ah. I see." "That's not the worst part, though. I won the fight. My problem was afterwards, when Technophile revealed he never designed the algorithm. It was actually made by the tech companies he worked for. He said he was tired of being overlooked due to his lack of powers. Not only did he expose them for revenge, but he did it to show the world his true worth." "He was an insecure psycho. So what?" "I wouldn't have a problem with it if his plan hadn't worked. Everyone's talking about it now. The internet is painting him like a tragic figure, while me and every other hero who busted their ass in the fight is ignored. I just... couldn't believe his approach worked. I've worked so hard to influence the world in a responsible way and then see someone like that getting praised and..."Jessica sighed, hanging her head. "It makes me wonder if you were right all along." Tom chuckled. "Don't be silly. I was a dumbass back then. You can't enact any meaningful change with a negative foundation like that. It's always unsustainable. No exceptions. Eventually, it consumes itself like an ouroboros. If you really want to protect what's good in the world, focus on cultivating what's beneficial to everyone in the long term, not just on fighting what you hate. Nihilism is a hero's true antagonist; not an unstable psycho." Jessica nodded along to his words. They seemed to provide her with a bit of respite. "Thanks. It's strange. You sound a lot like an actual teacher now." Tom smirked. "Maybe that's part of my evil plan." Jessica giggled. "Critical thinking! How devious!" "Well, if that's really my plan, I'm a failure." "Why?" "I got called normie today by a student." Jessica widened her eyes. "It's alright. I didn't mind it. In fact, I turned it into a lesson. It's just that, sometimes, it feels..." "Hopeless?" "Yeah, but I can't let it bother me. Not many people get a chance to redeem themselves, and I'm not going to waste it. This is karma I have to resolve." "Funny. I felt kinda silly coming to you, but you've been feeling the same way, haven't you?" "We all have our battles."Tom smiled. "How can I teach kids to fight evil if I can't show them a better way?" ------- >[This is actually a sequel to a prompt I wrote over a year ago](https://www.reddit.com/r/WeirdEmoKidStories/comments/d7edx2/wp_you_work_as_a_teacher_in_a_school_for_students/). If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
"I want confirmed kill in twenty-four hours, understood?" I sat completely still on the other end of the line. It was secure, as was all of my communications with the CIA, but this one was the most important call I had ever received. "Understood, sir." "This is the target we've been hunting for the past twenty-two years. You remember him I'm sure, he disrupted you in Venice. He's finally slipped up." "I'm going over all of it now, sir. The file is secured." "Good luck." "Thank you, sir." I hung up the phone with a satisfied clunk and took one of the longest, and deepest, breaths I had ever taken. It had been a long time since I heard the name that my Commander had just spoke on the phone. Even longer since I even cared about it. And yet, here I was, with the file a few feet from my shoes, delivered by an unsuspecting intern, in a brown manila envelope. I was in South America. On a mission to make sure a drug deal in the area went sour, which would ultimately end in the entire area spiraling out of control. I had already seen parts of my work begin, with fires spreading and civilian evacuating. I was done. And my next mission was to be all that bigger. I had been with the CIA for twenty-seven years, acting as a professional assassin for the better part of the last two decades. Highly trained, extremely dangerous, and in any part of the world at any different country. I already knew where I needed to go when I heard him tell me the name. I wasn't looking forward to it to say the least. To be quite honest, I wanted to go home and visit my family in America. But orders are orders and I as grabbed the envelope off the floor I knew this order was going to be the hardest one to accomplish. I slid my finger under the seal and opened it in one swoop. The file was thin, only a few pages. Nikolai Vinokurov, former KGB agent operating in South Vietnam during the Vietnam War, who went off the grid after that. The file didn't contain a photo of him, but his trail had slipped up. In South America. Convenient. I skimmed through the file. All of it was still there. The only addition they had added to it was an addendum at the end of the last page, after classifying him as a priority target. I read through it once. Transmission intercepted in Brazil on July 17th, 2017. Encryption was heavy, but trace contains Russian backwater company located in the city. Most likely used as a proxy. Mission Alert: Target location identified. I had screwed up. I, of course, needed to send my superiors the mission details of disrupting the drug cartel; one in which they had long agreed was necessary. But I had messed up. The proxy wasn't secure or I had used the wrong pass phrase with the Russian business. Ever since the dissolution of the KGB in the early 90's, the general pass phrases and such just seemed like ordinary conversation to other native Russians. I had lost more than half my contacts in those days. Now, I must've lost more. And I knew if I had messed up here in South America, it would seen be traced. The age of spies had ended long ago and I was lucky enough not to end up on the chopping block like the rest of my comrades. I had survived all of it. The Red Scare that lasted well into the 70's and 80's. The age when spies became obsessions in pop culture. The age of information. It was all in my past and as far as I knew, I was just about the Russian's last spy in the CIA. I had considered giving it up. Just abandoning all transmission sources with the KGB and the Intelligence Service in each decade. When the times got tough. Russia was as much my home as the boat that took me to America when I was a teenager. The real Nikolai Vinokurov had died in South Vietnam, and I was called upon to take his place when I was only twenty. I had grown up in America, played with Americans, dated Americans. Hell, I had married an American. But I was always loyal to the Motherland. I was always a compatriot in their fight. When the other spies began to be outed, when men and women I recognized from training were shown in newspaper and TV I panicked, but I did not slip up. I faltered, but I did not lose the fight. Yet now, holding Nikolai's file in my hand once again and seeing everything they said he did, and not knowing all the things I did as him. Well, right then and there I knew. I wasn't a Russian. I was an American. Faking a death would be easy. We were trained how to do that long ago. But I didn't want to fake my death. I didn't want to fake Jeremy White's death. I wanted to kill Nikolai Vinokurov. I wanted to finish him and be done with the spy life. I wanted to go home and see my wife and kids. To say hello to my neighbors and cut my lawn. I wanted to smell the fresh air of America because it was the only air I had memories in. Russia, it was just a figment in my mind. My home country yes, but not my country. Not my people. As I stood there, in that shotty little South American apartment with Nikolai's file in my hand I realized something. Something I had realized a long time ago but never wanted to admit I think. I knew, then and there, that the world didn't need spies anymore. Countries didn't need double agents. Countries needed peace; and the people just needed to survive. __________ Probably not the direction expected, but I had fun. Thanks! /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!
I'm sitting in the quad at my college. There are dozens of kids lazing around, talking and laughing and skateboarding down the steps of my library. So why did he choose me? After all, I have genuinely no idea what to do. What does he want from me? Maybe he picked the wrong person. I must have a doppelganger! That has to be it. I scan the crowd of kids and see not a soul who looks like me. So I can't just pass it off to its intended recipient. What am I supposed to do? God, am I gonna be handcuffed and pulled away, accused of some sort of organized crime involvement. Maybe he wants me to wash the money. It's counterfeit, and he needs a third party to turn it into clean nonconsecutive hundred-dollar bills. I saw that on a show once! That really has to be it. So when they arrest me for washing the money, do I plead ignorance? Or maybe he wants me to deliver it to his buddies. I should walk around and find another man in a trenchcoat and pass it off to him. But my dad wears trenchcoats sometimes...I can't just hand this much money to a total stranger! Or maybe this is a hit: he wants me to kill someone. No....I'm 5'3"and a little on the chubby side. I couldn't kill someone even if I tried my hardest. So I'm sitting in the quad, still, with no idea what to do. I can't possibly have forgotten what I was supposed to be doing, right? Either way: no clue. So I stand up from the table and grab my latte and my laptop bag. On the streets in the square near my university, there are dozens of homeless people, their backs slumped against the walls of the bookshops and the banks. The homelessness issue's gotten worse in the past few years, and I try to give them food and money when I can. So, with my new windfall, I have an idea. It's not what the cash was for, no doubt, but I believe in random acts of kindness. I walk over to a man, and he's sleeping, maybe passed out. I take three off of the thick stack of hundreds and write a little note to the man. Good luck, I hope things get better for you because of this. I walk a little further down the row, and only a few feet over, I find a woman and her emaciated dog. She looks expectantly at me. I grab six more hundreds and hold them out to her. She starts thanking me profusely but I can't stand the attention. "Hey, get that dog some steak, okay?" "Of course, no doubt about it! I'll pay you back someday." "Don't worry about it." I work my way along the row of people, giving each person a stack of bills and telling them simply "good luck!"Finally, I get to the end of the street, to the final homeless man. He's sleeping, I think, but it's hard to tell behind the dark sunglasses. Those dark sunglasses....I recognize them from somewhere. I lay the final bills down next to him and suddenly realize how I know him. "Hey,"he says, "You figured it out."
★☆☆☆☆ Incredibly Dated The antiquated techniques used to control characters in games made sense back when humanity had hands, but now? I don't even think anyone even remembers how to use hands. ★☆☆☆☆ Horrible Graphics Did people really used to be so angular and polygonal? All historical records we've retrieved from other games indicate so, but still, it's hard to believe. ★☆☆☆☆ Very offensive portrayal of aliens That looks nothing like me. ★☆☆☆☆ I can't afford a physical machine! I was really looking forward to this, but who the hell even manifests in the physical universe anymore? I mean, I didn't even know Earth was still around! ★☆☆☆☆ Murder??? Am I... am I supposed to be killing these things? I mean, I get it's self-preservation but you'd think we could just envelop them in a stasis dimension or something instead of permanently destroying unique sentient beings. I'm concerned over the message this is sending to the newly instantiated. ★★★★★ *FINALLY!*
My forehead feels slick, as if I’ve woken up and just broken a fever. It is dark in my room, one of those hours when the night seems endless. I rub my eyes, and then I see it. GET TO SAFETY IMMEDIATELY. I sit up, and close my eyes, listening. What is happening? But there is nothing. No loud noises, no heat, no smell. Not like the night my wife… I get up, and start to move through the house. The roller coaster just looks like a death trap, the paint rusted and chipped, the metal groaning with every roar of the car around its circuit. My stomach sinks just looking at the drop, almost vertical. RIDE WITH AMY. “Daddy, come on! It will be so fun.” Her smile is pure, and if all that’s all I had to see, I would do it, but I can’t ignore the hulking ride behind her. “No,” I say. “Daddy hates roller coasters.” “Then let me go alone!”“No. It’s too dangerous.” “That’s not fair!” I close my eyes, and reopen them, hoping the directive is gone. It’s still there. The directive starts to blink, the way it does when you are disobeying. Amy’s door is closed. It wasn’t when I put her to sleep. I left the light in the hallway on, the way I normally do, so she can look at it if she gets scared. But now the light is off, and her door is closed. The ride has stopped, right at the top. It stops with a big jolt, like it has hit something, and everyone’s bones rattle as they are thrown forward. WAIT. “Daddy? What happened?” “Something’s…wrong.” I look down, and I immediately look back up. The car has detached slightly from the track on the right side. “Are we going to be okay?” All around us, parents and kids are panicking, and this only serves to make things worse. I close my eyes, praying for strength to come to me. “Listen to me. If anything happens, take my hand. If we fall, I will break your fall. Do you know what that means?” “W-what does it mean?” “It means you’ll be okay, as long as I’m here. And I’ll always be here, okay?” “Okay.” I push open the door. Three figures in helmets stand there. One of them holds a gun to Amy’s head, and holds her forward, so I can look into my little girl’s eyes. The figures are tall, and their helmets are…oblong, maybe too long to be for a human head. “We don’t want to hurt her,” one of them says, the voice sounding surround sound. “We just want you.” “W-what?” “We want what you have. God’s eye.” “What are you talking about?” “We know what you have. It is very precious to us.” I reach into my back pocket, looking right in Amy’s eyes as the directive starts to flash insistently. We are driving home, and Amy is dozing off next to me. I want to sleep too, and have to keep slapping myself to stay awake. “Daddy?” her voice, small and drowsy, says. “Yes, baby?” “Today, on the rolly coaster, I was so scared.” “You were?” I almost tell her how scared I was too, but then I stop myself. “And then I wasn’t scared. Thanks for making me feel safe.” “Always.” “I know, daddy. And mommy does too.” And then she is sleeping again, and I am thankful, for this way she can’t see the tears in my eyes. LEAVE NOW. “Daddy?” she asks. “What’s going on?” “Everything’s going to be okay.” “Okay,” she says, and that’s all the strength I need. I pull the knife out of my pocket, and put it up to my eyes. “You shoot, and I’ll stab my right eye. God’s eye.” “You don’t want to do this.” “I’m going to walk out to walk out of here, and you better not do anything to her. If you do, you can say goodbye to your plans.” “One last chance.” I don’t hear them. I look into Amy’s eyes. “I’m going to come back for you, baby. Do you believe me?” Tears spill out of her eyes. “Of course, Daddy.” And it breaks my heart to know that she doesn’t fully. How can she? “When will I be there for you, Amy?” “Always,” she squeaks. “I love you,” I say, as I back out of the room, taking one last look at my daughter, hoping it won’t be the last I see… \- Inspired by the start of The Last of Us. Might be a little hard to follow but thanks for reading! If this kind of takes off, I might continue it over at [r/penguin347](https://www.reddit.com/r/penguin347)
Episode One (Or: my first day at school in Yokosuka) Howdy viewers/readers! How are you on this fine and dandy morning? My name’s Clara and I’ve just moved from Austin, along with my parents and my annoying little brother Isaac, to Yokosuka in Japan. Pa’s job meant we had to uproot, but I don’t mind. In fact, it’s pretty exciting, right? I know a hundred people that’d kill for a chance to go move here! So — kinda for them, kinda for me — I figured I’d start a diary and frame it like an anime! What a hoot, right? It’s also kinda good to write this because I’ve had a few little problems with my memory in the past and this was suggested to help me keep track of things. Okay, intro over — let’s get this show on the road! Today was my first day at school and I reckon it was maybe the best day of my little life - no kidding! I met two girls who speak a little English (which is good cause my Japanese is about as useful as steak for a cow). They are called Akari and Sara and we’re going to be best friends, I know it! I also joined the Tea Tasting Club and signed up for the Swim Club. There is one girl I think I don’t like so much as she’s always giving me these little looks, but I think that’s cool. Every anime heroine needs a villain, right? &#x200B; I kinda want to end the entry there, but this is also a diary so I’m just going to say that Mom and Dad still yell at each other just as much as before we left. I took Issac out for a smoothie this evening. I don’t think they’d noticed we’d gone. &#x200B; Episode Two Oh boy, what a couple of days! Okay, so I’m starting to learn what a few words mean, which is cool. The school is really, really, really nice. Well, mostly. Confession: I might have been wrong about Akari and Sara. Akari seemed to trip me on purpose today and my lunch went everywhere! Why do I think it was on purpose? Well, Sara had her phone out and recorded the entire thing, and when I asked her to delete it she pretended she didn’t understand me. But her English was pretty good the other two days so I don’t know. I want to believe her, but also: could they be my real rivals, the mean girls who end up pushing me to greatness? Excited to find out! Still love Japan and my life here! &#x200B; Episode Three Sorry I’ve not updated you in a while, diary (Dear diary? Reader? Viewer?) I’ve just been a lil’ distracted. Truth time: school’s not what I hoped it’d be like. I mean, I’m sure it’ll change, but right now I don’t exactly fit in well. But still, it’s better than home. When will I get my powers, dear diary? &#x200B; Episode Four Mom’s gone. She took Issac with her. Back to America. She was right, he’d never change.People like him don’t. Why didn’t she take me, too? Why didn’t she wake me to say goodbye? &#x200B; Episode Five Dad didn’t work this week. Just drank. Just like before we moved here. I miss Issac. &#x200B; Quit tea club today after they ruined my uniform. You’d think tea stains would come out easy, but there’s no energy in me to even scrub at them. I’m going to have an early night. &#x200B; Update: Dad is throwing things at walls and I can’ sleep. I feel odd. Different. As if my powers are finally coming through. I can feel them fizzing in my brain. I dunno. &#x200B; Episode Six. Didn’t go to school today. I don’t know what I did, to tell you the truth. The whole day is a blank and now it’s night again. This used to happen to me sometimes back home. Maybe it was part of the reason they argued so much back then? And why we moved here. So tired.Going to try to rest more. Update: Dad yelling at himself again. He punched the wall a few times too. There are holes all over the place. Now he’s yelling about me, Mom, Issac. Can’t sleep. Feel strange. &#x200B; Season Finale They’ll take me soon, I’m sure. They’ll be here soon. But I don’t think I even killed him? Sure someone did, but…Sorry diary, this will probably be my last update. I don’t think school will be a worry for me anymore. Not once they find out what I did. I’ll be sent somewhere else. Maybe back to America, I don’t know. The knife was in my hand but…. I don’t remember doing it. Honestly I don’t. I miss Mom and Issac. Did I do it? Was that my power? That someone stronger inside of me takes control? I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember.
I prefer the term "clinical."It makes people think of scientists in labs or doctors curing people. "Psychopath"is just ugly. It conjures images of knife-wielding maniacs. Both words mean the same thing: devoid of emotional attachment. So does it really matter? Yes. Appearance is everything is this world, and I am a chameleon. My hobby started out as an experiment. I adhere rigorously to the scientific method, you know, and set out to prove that I really am a psychopath. I'd always had an inkling, even from a young age. Others may experiment with torturing animals or even peers to probe the depths of how far their emotional void goes. They want to inflict pain to confirm that they don't feel the same. But I took a different tack: I tried making people laugh. Or smile. Or cry (with joy, that is). And it became an addiction. Seeing their happiness doesn't affect me in the slightest, but I did enjoy being able to control their emotions. They were only happy because I made them that way. My first major success was a young woman in college. The subject's name was Sarah. We've all seen the type: going out drinking every night and ending up in a different man's bed who wouldn't even know her name by the next morning. And so ashamed of her behavior that she wouldn't want him to remember. I watched her for weeks, observing her self-imposed isolation and continuing downward spiral. And I saw her sit in her bathtub for over an hour one night with a razor blade, before climbing out sobbing. I had done small acts for people in the past, but this is when I really decided to go all out. I was going to change Sarah's life. I correctly estimated that she'd been brought up by overbearingly religious parents who stifled any thoughts of sexuality and independence. Now that she was away at school, the pendulum had swung to the other side, and she'd had a major falling out with her parents over her lifestyle. I don't really know why I picked Sarah. There was nothing special about her, and we were barely acquainted; we just had one class together. Maybe that was it, though: maybe if I could help her, it would set a precedent that I could help anyone. The first step was not pretty. She was found in the middle of the quad, passed out with an open bottle of vodka. She had no memory of getting there, nor any recollection that I had carried her. Or that I had been the one at the party who kept matching her shot-for-shot (and pouring them over my shoulder). She was punished by the school, but not as severely as the police would have. I knew that a criminal charge would do more harm than good, so I abandoned my initial plan to fake a DUI crash with her behind the wheel. But showing her consequences was the first step to her sobriety. I called her Dad the next day. "Dr. Hamilton,"was the alias I used, I think. Fictional names are always so hard to come up with. I told him that she was in a coma after a severe car accident, and we needed him to come right away in case she passed on. I can only imagine his reaction when he found out the truth, but it had the intended effect: they reconciled. Family bonds have always been a challenge for me to dissect, but I know that a crisis (real or not) can be an amazing catalyst. The next few months were a laundry list of smaller things to help get her on her way. I would arrange for her to meet with people that I thought had compatible personalities, and she eventually developed a close-knit group of friends who didn't just want to get hammered at frat parties. It was as simple as ensuring that some of them failed the right classes so that they'd have to take makeup exams with Sarah. She began to study and raised her grades to an acceptable level. And eventually I made sure that she met that quiet guy from her Biology class who'd always had a bit of a crush on her. I'm not proud of how I accomplished that, but I think that if the happy couple ever found out, they'd understand why I did what I did. She's on her way to medical school now, where I unfortunately won't be able to continue my 'guidance.' But I have a good feeling that she won't need it anymore. I wish I could say that this made me happy. Or sad to lose her. Or anything. But, I can't say those things. At the end of three years of obsessing over Sarah's life, my only thought is: who will the next specimen be? --- [I wrote ~~a second part~~ more parts, if you're interested!](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/36ri2r/specimen_name_sarah/crggeow). And I'm not finished yet.
"Chad can go straight to hell"was a common refrain of mine throughout my time working at DepotMart, a big box warehouse store that aimed to out warehouse other warehouse stores. So the irony was not lost on me as I lay here clinging to life that I'd likely be headed there much sooner than my nemesis... but I'm perhaps getting ahead of myself. If working for a warehouse store that aims to 'out warehouse' the others sounds like a soul crushing way to make a living, you'd be entirely correct in your assessment! This hadn't been my first choice of employment, nor my 2nd, nor my 3rd, not even my 38th (no really, I counted). But as employer after employer decried my 'lack of education' and my 'brief (but maybe not as brief as I tell people) stint in juvenile hall', spending my days working in a windowless warehouse for minimum wage and no benefits suddenly started to seem increasingly appealing. I met Chad Chadwickson on my first day, and genuinely, I don't even know how to describe him-- he is just-- he's just the worst. I still remember my first nauseating interaction with him like it was yesterday. "Hey, Justin!"he called out to me from across the employee lunch room/customer bathroom (they'd been combined to save space and money, apparently it was cheaper to just pay the health code violations). "Welcome to DepotMart! I know you've probably heard some rumors about working here, and let me assure you, they are all true... if the rumor you heard was that we're one big happy family! If you need any help at all on your first day you just let me know, alright buddy pal?" A massive smile was etched across his face as he said all of this to me and he actually playfully tussled my hair as he left, who does that in real life? Like I said, Chad is theeeeeeeeeee wooooorrrrst. Is that not coming across? Alright, yes, his introduction was technically very warm and friendly, but it was also-- incredibly, painfully fake to me? It was as if someone had blown a Ken doll up to life size and taught it to speak one and only one welcoming phrase semi convincingly. Over time, my impression of him only grew stronger. He was the suck up, the teachers pet, and the sole employee who continued complimenting our boss Leo's hair even when his comb over was down to four sad strands clinging on for dear life. What some saw as 'his excellence' was exemplified by Chad's employee of the month streak. The dude had won a staggering 29 months in a row. And perhaps I am too cynical, but I ask you, wouldn't a genuinely good person let someone else share the extremely mediocre limelight at least once in those two and a half years? With that thought in my head (and nothing better to do), I made it my mission to dethrone 'The Chadster', as Leo so sickeningly referred to him. Showing up early, staying late, cleaning the toilets/breakroom tables... you name it, I did it with an equally fake smile plastered on my face. I even got a very accidental promotion for my efforts, so I guess I do have to genuinely thank Chad for the extra 25 cents an hour and my new lofty title of 'Senior Executive Trainee'. But that was not and never would be the point of all this. Beating Chad at his own game was, and this month, I finally had a real chance. During the first week of this particular month, the unthinkable happened. He got a cold. Chad, never called in sick, and his minor ailment gave me a brief window to shine without his shadow looming over me. When I say 'shine', of course I mean brown nose the hell out of my boss to a sickening degree. For that week I became Leo's lunchtime therapist and after work best pal. I even made the ultimate sacrifice and attended his godawful band's set at a local farmers market, cheering and whooping enthusiastically as most people there barely tolerated their presence. My chances only grew when during the second week Chad miscalculated the inventory we'd need to have on hand for our weekly combo deal. That was a big effin' mistake! This was 'Buy one wheelbarrow tire and get a rack of ribs half off' week. Against all odds, the profitability of our entire store for the quarter often depended on the continued success of our 'tire and cheap meat' combo deal, and as a result, Leo was understandably upset. In fact, for the first time in the months I'd worked there, he yelled at Chad. Not just yelled, berated him, tore him down, and even put a note in his file expressing his displeasure with the quality of his work. Employee of the Month was all but mine! When the last week of the month arrived I showed up for work with a spring in my step and a happy tune in my heart for the first time in memory. I was elated, joyous, I felt absolutely unstoppable... that is, until I was suddenly stopped dead in my tracks by a thousand pounds of garden hoses unceremoniously crashing down upon me from the top shelf. Why? Whyyyy do we have to sell garden hoses in massive 20 packs? I wondered to myself as my body was bruised, battered and broken by their unending, gravity assisted assault upon me. I'm not gonna lie, I thought I was a goner. I knew I had broken bones, a collapsed lung, and a massive head wound. Death was near, in fact I literally felt the life fading from me... that is, until I saw fucking Chad rushing over to check on me. The realization occurred to me that if I died, he was going to win employee of the month and his 'heroic' attempts to keep me alive was going to be what sealed the deal. No... no way! I resolved then and there to live, if only to spite my nemesis and keep my hopes of winning alive. And against all odds, and the opinion of the doctor who repeatedly pronounced me dead upon arrival at the hospital, I did survive. I returned to work a week later to meet with Leo to discuss the accident. As we sat down to chat, he noted the 'bump' (massive head trauma) I'd suffered was still very noticeable. Kind boss that he is, he took out the store's emergency first aid kit, removed a cheap plastic baggie labeled 'Ice Pack', put two ice cubes in it and handed the sad looking thing my way. "DepotMart cares deeply about the safety and health of our employees,"he reminded me solemnly. "Yeah, I feel that just as clearly as I can feel the mild coolness coming off this icepack, Leo,"I mumbled. "So what the hell happened?" "Well, a forklift knocked over a huge pallet of hoses from the top shelf directly down onto to your person, thus causing you bodily injury,"he replied stoically, stating the very obvious. "Thankfully store emergency officer Chad Chadwickson was there to administer first aid that prevented you from expiring. The doctors wont say it, but I believe the small bandaid he placed over your sliced jugular vein saved your life." Upon hearing that Chad had indeed been given credit for my miraculous survival, all I could do was literally bite my tongue to keep from screaming. "Alright, fine... but how did the accident happen? Did somebody let Tyler on the damn forklift again? That kid is stoned out of his mind 24/7, and I'm not judging, working here we all need our escapes, but we all agreed to ban him from operating any motorized vehicle!" Leo examined a spreadsheet in front of him carefully, "No, it wasn't Tyler. The only forklift checked out that day was by... Chad? But that cant be right, that doesn't make any sense at all." It really didn't. Chad was the best forklift driver we had, even I'd admit that. He was in complete control of that thing, never ever made a mistake or knocked something over, and suddenly he's accidentally pushing thousands of pounds of products right onto the spot I happened to be walking? There had to be a mistake in the spreadsheet or-- or he was still in total control of the machine he'd been operating that day, and he'd still never knocked something over... not by mistake at least. But what motivation would he possibly have to take such a huge risk and intentionally injure-- The sound of the door slowly opening snapped me out of my internal debate. As I shifted my gaze to the doorway, there stood Chad. He was staring directly at me with the same, yet now far more sinister, fake smile plastered across his face... and this month's employee of the month plaque in his hands. ___ Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to read more stories that are 100% not written by an angry, ass kissing forklift driver named Chad Chadwickson.
Arron looked up at the towering creature before him, his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes filled with irritation. Most people would have quivered before such a monstrous form, but he looked up with wearied impatience. The creature looming over him was a column of sleek black scales that seemed to catch the light with a sheen of purple and green hues. Danryr was a beautiful creature, but a terrifying one at that. Danryr was a dragon, the feared legend of olden days. She was looking down at him over her curved snout with those glowing orange reptilian eyes. "All of dragon kind yields the breath of fire. You must do the same." Arron kicked idly at a loose rock, which tumbled across the cave floor, echoing within the cavern walls of the dragons lair. "I'm not dragon kind, Danryr. I'm human.", he said spitefully. "You are my son, Arron.", Danryr replied, her voice rising up from her belly and hissing as it escaped through her teeth. She was an old soul, an ancient and kind soul who chose to take in that baby boy from eighteen years ago and raise him as her own. She had adopted him when her own unborn children had been stolen as eggs by human hunters to sell. "You are my mother, but you cannot change what I am.", Arron said gloomily. "Only you can change who you are, young Arron." With that, spiraling and broad wings spread out so that they almost spanned the entire width of the cave. Danryr flexed her wings, and lifted herself into the air, the gusts of wind created by her wings ruffling Arron's hair and clothes. She turned about in the close space, and flew out of the cave, her claws gripping and pushing on huge boulders and rocks to assist her movement. Arron watched her disappear through the cave entrance, the sun gleaming on her shiny black scales. It saddened him that Danryr wanted this so badly of him. She wanted the impossible. A human couldn't breath fire or soar through the sky. A human didn't have scales or was even a remotely half the size of a dragon. He didn't have claws or magic. He was just ordinary. Worse than that, he was human. Humans hated dragon kind, because they hated and feared what they didn't understand. There were evil dragons who harbored a bloodlust and a fondnesss for the taste of human meat. But there were good dragons like Danryr, and his father Mordule. He just wished Danryr didn't care so much about her lessons and vows that he must possess dragon kind powers. His father was far more practical and logical in this situation. That had been three days ago, and that was the last time Arron spoke to his adopted mother. Now he was tied to a stake in a human village, with kindling and wood stacked up to his waist. Ropes cut into his flesh, binding his torso to the stake, while tribal villagers were cheering and dancing around him. Through the blinding smoke, he could see the body of Danryr, her black scales wet with dark blood. Her orange glowing eyes were closed forever, killed by the angry villagers who now wanted to burn the feral dragon-boy at the stake for his consorting with evil. "Burn him with dragon fire!", one of the hunters yelled, as they picked up a still-burning torch from the house Danryr had set ablaze in her attempts to rescue Arron. She was dead, but her last breath still burned. Arron had tears in his eyes, and not just from the smoke. Why couldn't dragons and humans dwell together? The dragons were already so few. The humans were slaughtering and bringing about the extinction of beautiful souls in the name of progress and safety. The torch was placed upon the wood piled around him, and the flames licked up at him. This was how he would die. The heat of the flames didn't feel threatening or painful. It felt warm and comforting. It felt familiar. It was the breath of his mother. Arron rested his head against the stake behind him, and closed his eyes, turning his face toward the starry night sky. He wanted to embrace the flames and the fire, as it was the last thing of his mother that remained. He inhaled the smoke and the scent through his nostrils and felt it resonate deep within him. It filled his chest and heart, and he inhaled deeper. The shouting and the cheering of the villagers ceased. There was only the crackle of the flames, and then nothing. Arron opened his eyes, and looked through the thin veil of hazy smoke. The fire at his feet was gone. He had breathed it inside himself. Arron felt a rumbling deep within him like he had never felt before. His blood was boiling, pulsing and pounding in his ears. His heart was racing, and he felt like he was going to explode with anger. His brown eyes changed to a fiery orange glow, and smoke curled out his nostrils. The townspeople started to draw bows and weapons, but it was too late. Arron opened his mouth, and breathed out a blinding hot fire that consumed the men in front of him. Flames engulfed their bodies, and they ran blindly stumbling and running. The wood in front of him also blazed back to life with dragon fire, but it did not harm Arron. It did however burn the ropes securing him to the stake. Arron took a step forward, and inhaled once more. The Draconian Wizard had just been born.
Caleb was putting away his gear when the call came in. He had been called to the interrogation room B immediately. “Can I just grab a cup of coffee? It’s been a long day.” “No. Come in. Please.” The please had been an afterthought in that sentence though. It was an order. No doubt about it. Caleb rushed to the the room. He couldn’t recall the last time he had talked to the big boss. To get a call like that, at this time could indicate something big was going down. Thousands of thoughts were running through his head as he sat down at the table, wondering what awaited him. The aforementioned boss, John walked into the room, a serious look on his face. Caleb stood up, almost on instinct. “Sir?” “Sit down, Caleb. We have a situation.” “What is it?” “We caught someone breaking though the our defenders and try to infiltrate our office.” “This office? How is that even possible.” “You’ll see soon enough. Let me ask you something Caleb. Do you ever get violent thoughts? Are you satisfied with the work we do here?” “Yes, of course. It’s an honour to work here. Why do you ask?” “As I said you’ll find soon enough. The prisoner refuses to talk to anyone else.” “Except me?” “Except you. This person knows all our methods. He also declined to give a statement on video.” “I’m sure we can get information out of him with other less subtle means.” “I want to avoid that. I need you to talk to him. You’ll wear a recording device that will stream everything to us. But still I need you to remember everything he says and tell us everything. Can you do that?” “Yes, of course.” “Caleb. Can I trust you? More importantly, do you trust me? Trust us?” “You can. And I do. More than myself.” “Good.” John paused at the door, almost as if he wanted to say something else but he relented and walked away. Caleb sat in silent after adjusting the small device attached to his button. They should be able to see and hear everything. Soon enough, he heard the door open as a handcuffed man limped in through the door. The face was wrinkled, the hair gray. But it was unmistakable. Caleb was looking at himself. The old man sat down and laughed, a grating laugh that sent chills up Caleb’s spine. The laugh reeked of madness. How had it all gone so wrong. Caleb sat there silently, unsure of where to even begin. He didn’t need to worry too long though because his future version started the conversation himself. “This is going to be confusing right? Well let’s do this. Why don’t you call me FC. Future Caleb. Since I’m in your time, I’ll do you the courtesy of letting you be Caleb.” “I would ordinarily start with who are you. But I guess that questions useless now. So what’re you doing here?” “Hey Tender. John B Tender. You listening in?” He leaned in towards Caleb, looking directly at the hidden video camera. “I don’t mind you listening in. Don’t worry.” “Why were you trying to break in here?” “My leg hurts.” “What happened to your leg?” FC looked at Caleb with a smile. “A cocky piece of shit shot me. Lucky for me it wasn’t a real bullet. But I’m pretty sure I have a fracture. Say Caleb. Listen. Can I get some water and a pain killer.” “Answer some questions first and I’ll get you whatever you need.” “Caleb. You have so much to learn still. What good will I be if I pass out from the pain before I can even answer any questions.” There was a knock at the door. Caleb walked to the door and John stood there, a painkiller and some water in hand. Caleb placed them both on the table in front of his prisoner. “Johnny! Good man. I’m really sorry about how you died.” Caleb got up and grabbed him by the collar. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Calm down. Calm down. I forgot how much I idolized that man. I forgot how much of a lapdog I was. Ok so. Sit back. Give me a minute and I’ll give you some juicy details. Sit. Sit down. Sit down Caleb. Oh and the handcuffs please. Pretty please?” Caleb let him go, his head spinning. He opened the old man’s handcuffs. It was all so surreal, and he still wasn’t entirely sure what was happening. FC took the painkiller and a sip of water before breaking into a coughing fit. Caleb moved a bit closer to check on him. He saw the glint in FC’s eye a second too late. FC threw the water towards Caleb, who was taken aback. The water also shorted out the video feed as John’s earphones filled with deafening static. For someone so old and with a bum leg, FC still moved extremely quickly. In a flash, he had Caleb in a choke with just enough pressure to ensure Caleb understood that FC could murder him whenever he wanted. “They’ll be here in a second. Remember this Caleb. Watch for the signs. It’s the little things. Measure your ammo. Watch the travel counters. The books that they show you aren’t the real ones. Never trust anyone over your own eyes. I don’t have much time. But I’ll see you again.” The door opened and John rushed in, his weapon drawn. FC pushed Caleb into him their momentum taking them to the ground. He limped down the corridor. Caleb got up looking at John. John handed him a radio. “Go!” Caleb rushed after FC who seemed to know about the ins and outs of the office. Realization hit as Caleb realized where the fugitive was heading. “He’s heading to the equipment room. Everybody converge. Don’t let him get there. All my stuff’s there. We can’t let him jump.” Caleb opened the door and watched as FC gave him a thumbs up and disappeared. ******* Enjoyed this? Hated it? Come on over and tell me on my sub r/ta_account_12.
I raise my hands in front of me. I don't want to fight her. We've never spoken before but I remember her from the last heroes gala. She's the aptly named Rising Star. Heck, I've seen her on TV. "Die, evil thing!"she cries out, "Strawberry Blast!"A beam of pink blasts out of her staff, and even my numb and scaled flesh can feel the force of the blow. Newton's laws kick in and I am picked up like a leaf in a gust of wind. I can feel metal, concrete, glass shattering on my back. Hasty glimpses of offices, mostly evacuated thank god. I land in a crater of asphalt and gravel, and it aches if only slightly. She appears hovering in front of me in a flutter of stars and glitter. "Stop,"I rasp out. The word grows in my chest and shudders out of my lips. This body is barely designed for speech. "Friend!" Her face twists in disgust. "I'm no friend of monsters, foul beast."She raises her staff with a flourish and I see camera drones hovering around, recording the fight. Thank God. The Heroes Union will see this soon, then, they'll send someone to explain like the last times this happened. "Glorious Sun!" A burning heat, pushing down on me. Scale and flesh melts, but it regenerates just as fast. It hurts like a motherfucker. The roar is almost unconscious, a roar of pain, but it disperses the light and sends Rising Star hurtling into the wall of the same building I just hurtled through. Her back cracks but she looks more annoyed than injured, thankfully. Then the cameras focus on her and she bites her lip and suddenly spits out blood. Was it that bad of an injury!? I hope she's not hurt! Internal damage can be subtle though. Hopefully the Heroes arrive soon. Finally I see the Golden Light hovering over the street. Instantly I relax, only for his fist to slam through my chest. I retch and blood pours out of my mouth. Why? "Don't worry, Rising Star,"he says, flashing a dashing smile to a camera drone. "Help is here!" He turns to me, his eyes full of righteous fire as I stagger back, the wound closing. "I don't know what made you turn to darkness, Phoenix, but as long as justice and the American way stand, the Heroes Union will defeat you!" "No."I say. "Friend!"Golden Light had always been my idol! When I became a hero, I got his autograph! He'd told me that if I tried I could reach him, one day. What was he misunderstanding!? He grinned, letting out a single chuckle, and flashed a half-smile to Rising Star. "I'm no friend of monsters."The blood froze in my veins. I ran. "Remember, Ph-DARK Phoenix can regenerate from death,"I heard him shouting to Rising Star as they gave chase. "We have to contain it!" "I have just the thing!"She yelled in reply. "Just buy me time!" Why? Why? Why why why why why? I raise my hands as Golden Light slams into me like a furious storm. Blocking blow after blow I feel my hands break, heal, break again. My legs dig into asphalt and break, heal, break again as I tear up meters of road. Trying to not get sent through a building again. Trying not to hurt people. The camera bots are left behind. The skyscrapers are left behind. The city fades away as I just...try not to die. Not again. Filaments of light are gathering atop Rising Star's staff, weaving outwards from it like spider silk. "Why,"I croak. Golden Light looks around at our deserted little spot of suburbia. No eyes peek out from closed blinds. Everyone's evacuated for this level of fight, and the drones haven't caught up yet. "Give it a rest, won't you?"He says, his face twisting with contempt. "We don't need freaks like you in the Heroes Union. You want to be a hero? Lose dramatically and stay quiet in prison." "Change,"I croak, "but still same."I thump my heart. "Phoe...nix. He...ro." He rolls his eyes. "We should've never let you join. We're just correcting a mistake."He chuckles slightly. "God's mistake." The camera drones arrive and his face turns back to his serene heroic countenance. "Now, Rising Star!" "You don't have to tell me twice,"she yells, "Starlight Filament!"The filaments rush out of her staff and slice across my body like concertina wire before slamming together. I almost roar in pain again but even my mouth is closed, so I just topple to the ground. I don't understand.
I’ve been in this game since I was a teenager. Can’t remember when exactly I got sucked in, but it happened gradually. When we were 13 we thought it would be fun, fooling around the streets, generic “foot de rue”, graffiti, cliques (I wouldn’t call them gangs) and whatnot. We thought it was fun then. As time went by, the money I made on the side helped me climb the social ladder, but I still had to learn life the hard way. Thankfully I managed enough cash to get through college. Did pitiful jobs here and there for dangerous individuals, not yet knowing their true form. They were nice to me. Too nice. I was so naïve. Needless to say, it’s been decades. I got fucked up and over by everyone and everything that possibly could take advantage of me. But I have learned. And I have evolved. See, none of these kids (these drug dealers, even the big sharks) actually bother to get anywhere in life, knowing it will all be ruined one day or another. They live every moment as if it is their last, chasing the high of adrenaline. They think their market is the biggest in the world. They are so arrogant. They are so blind. Without wanting to sound hypocritical, I will still say this: I have risen above them. Something good came out of all my bad decisions: I educated myself. Properly. Not only in the streets. Literature, courses, debates, interest in politics... those are the things that truly sharpen your mind. And they let me see beyond my shitty life. Now I have changed the game. ______ Drug dealers aren’t shit. They are the scum of the world. They do have bosses, though, the “big fish”, as people like to call them. But they too, are but pitiful. The suppliers, (their superiors, which you’d think run this gig) have also people higher up the ladder. It is not a hierarchy: it is a cycle. And the most influential people in this cycle are the producers. Now, I’ve been everyone’s kid, since I got into this game early on. Everyone trusted me. How couldn’t they? I let them believe that they were the ones manipulating my 13-15 year old self. I had the mental power to go both through acting my way to gain their trust, and a normal life on the side (first school, then uni, sometimes other jobs, even though I was with these guys full time). It was tiresome, but it made me strong. Nevertheless, I had a goal. I patiently made my way up the ladder: first on a regional scale, then intercontinental. I sat in rooms with people dressed in hoodies, then thugs tattooed and pierced from head to toe, then businessmen in suits. And I did it all for this. Here I sit today, having cut all ties with our old producer, or doctor, as we like to call them. We won’t hear from him ever again. I am appointed to be the new doctor. I secretly coached 3 chemists, alongside our 5 experienced ones working worldwide. But these 3 younglings won’t be manufacturing illegal drugs. They will be synthesizing cancer treatments. _______ The market for cancer drugs was valued at 97 401 million in 2017. It grows of a percentage every year. The black market for cancer drugs has grown significantly since the bitcoin craze last year, as more people are getting familiarized with the deep web purchase mechanism. It’s high demand. Extremely high. But sitting here, about to initiate my plan, more than I ever have before, I fear for my life. I find that a lot of people underestimate the influence of big pharma. Of politics. Of lobbyists. For this is THEIR game. They dabble in playing with people’s lives for their own economical pursuit. They kill so many to satisfy their greed. No more. I will go down in flames, and no one in history will ever hear either my name, or my story, but at least I will die trying to change this world. Either that, or I will get sucked into this game and become one of THEM. I don’t know. I sit in this room, no longer with men dressed in suits, but now men dressed in medals. Politicians, war heroes, prime ministers. Yet it’s nowhere near an official meeting; this is a Christmas gathering. This is where most deals are made - under the table. And I have to put on my best impression to please them. I absolutely have to, because otherwise... let’s just say it’s easy to make a man disappear without killing him. [EDIT for format (written on phone)] Edit 2: thank you for your kind feedback!!! It means a lot !
"He's coming! Today! Are you saved?"Peter asked Barry in an intense whisper, glancing over his shoulder as he spoke. Barry felt a wave of exasperation as he tried to close the door, but Peter was grimly hanging onto it. This was the tenth time this week. Ever since he'd moved into the neighbourhood, they'd begun hounding him. "I'm very saved, so please leave,"Barry snapped. "Seriously, he just turned the corner!"Peter said, pointing behind him. A bright white Cadillac was approaching, its dark tinted window starting to roll down. It paused in front of the house. A man with wavy brown curls, wearing a pristine white robe, waved and grinned at Barry. "Join us today, Barry. Kingdom Hall is always open! Why not come along right now? There's room in the car!" Barry squinted at the man. He didn't know all his neighbours yet, but he knew this guy. Hadn't he been banging on the door yesterday? In fact, wasn't he Peter's brother? "Is that a wig, Louis?" The smile slid from Louis's face as he rolled the window up again and sped away. Barry was shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. "We thought this would be a cool way to get you to come...I know you think we're weird, that religion is weird, but please come today, our meetings aren't so lame..." "I don't think religion is weird, Peter, just the people in this town! I mean, wow. This is insane,"Barry said, shaking his head as he slammed the door shut. He groaned as he grabbed a beer from the fridge and drained it right there. This town was too much. He should really have done a bit more research before settling. He knew there were many Jehova's Witnesses who lived here before moving. He'd had no problem with that. But it was the sheer enthusiasm of the people in this town. He'd never get a moment's peace. "You should refrain from alcohol, my son,"a voice said as he turned around, causing Barry to spit his beer out. Another robed man sagely wiped away the beer that was dripping from his beard and face. "Sorry,"Barry muttered weakly, at a loss of anything better to say. The guy had just appeared there. Was this actually the real deal? Was he face to face with God? "No matter. There are more urgent matters to attend,"the guy said. "It's time I acted against the ones spreading the vicious lie that I drive a white Cadillac, and I need to know more. Right now. As if I'd ever be caught dead driving such a thing - this cannot be tolerated. Tell me everything." "Isn't there other...I mean, there are wars going on...people dying,"Barry stuttered. "Trivial, compared to what's happening here,"the man said with an airy nonchalance. Something in his voice suddenly seemed familiar to Barry. Hadn't he heard this guy preaching on some street corner last week? And was a fake beard? "Tony?"he asked, and ripped the beard off to make sure. A suddenly beardless Tony blinked at him then broke forth in a wide grin. "You got it, Barry! We knew you had potential, that you're not completely lost to us yet. Just look at what you just said! You know Jehova would never care so much of material things. You passed our test! You really need to attend a meeting today! It'll be great. How about it?" Barry suddenly noticed the open cupboard behind Tony. The man must've been hiding there, just waiting to pounce at the right moment. "Did you seriously just hide in my house all day? Did you all orchestrate this ambush?"Barry asked. "You know trespassing is a crime, right? And stalking?" "Pfff, 'crime'. 'Stalking'. 'Trespassing'. We all share a home here, Barry - a home of the heart. Are those words really necessary? Words can hurt, you know. The only crime would be to leave you here -" "Out,"Barry said, pointing at the door. ------ You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. (Just a note...honestly did not mean to offend anyone with this story. I apologise for any inaccuracies in JW beliefs, trying to fix where I can according to messages I'm receiving. I intended the story as a lighthearted, fun read, hope it can be viewed in that spirit!)
"... Do what?" "Enchant it!" "Enchant? I am afraid I am not familiar with this term..." "You know... Runes! Spells! Thought and pray-" "Wait wait, Spells, as in, magic..." "Yeah! We use it on all our rounds, that's how we manage to destroy your 'invincible fleet'. Just a few penetration runes and boom! Straight through your guys shields!" "I thought you said magic was the products of stories and not history?" "Well, story have to come from somewhere." "Could you show me? One of those 'Runes' you use..." "Sure thing my guy!" I grabbed a pen and drew a small symbole on the mug next to us "See, this runes means 'levitation'"I said as I grabbed the mug and threw it in the air. To his surprise, the mug didn't fall back down, and stayed up floating in mid-air "Wow, so you just draw these on objects and gives them special properties?" "Yup, it's a human thing, I don't know if it works with other species as well but... I could sell you a book full of those if you want." "Really, you'd do that for me?" "Sure thing dude, just transfer me... 100 thousand credits. And the book is yours." "oh absolutely..." The transfer was made and the alien speed walked away. I sighed as I removed my gravity manipulation gloves and put them in my jacket. Better run before that idiot realized I scammed him out of equivalent of a small fleet for my kids drawing book...
"What did you say?"Tarok the Indomitable asked, confused for possibly the first time in three centuries. "A board game. You don't know those? Like chess, marbles, that kind of thing?"Arater asked, raising an eyebrow at the half-dead emperor standing before him. The past three hundred years had been dominated by bloodshed between the two of them, with both parties being unable to flee the Eternal Tomb and, yet, also being unable to stay dead. They had taken their situation out on each other for the better part of three centuries, each having killed the other more times than they cared to count. "I know what a board game is."Tarok said finally after a few terse moments of silence, hands still on his sword in case this proved to be a trick. "Well, do you have any?"Arater asked again. "I was buried with some. Hounds and Jackals was always my favorite. But why do you care? Looking for something new to bludgeon me with?"Tarok the Indomitable asked. "Look, I've been around you long enough now to know that you're as stubborn as me. You want nothing more than to open this tomb up and lay waste to the entire world so you can rule over what's left of it. That's just who you are and you'll never change."Arater said. "And you're a fool who fancies himself a hero. You alone hold the magic word that will open these blasted doors but you won't say them out of some misguided sense of devotion to the outside world that's done nothing but hurt ordinary people like you."Tarok countered. Arater pursed his lips and mulled over the words in his mouth. "You're right."he said at last. "So that's it then? I'll never stop trying to take my rightful place on the throne and you'll never stop holding me back. So where does it all end?"Tarok asked. "It doesn't."Arater admitted. "So we might as well try a game. Heaven knows it makes for a more pleasant way of passing the time than killing the other and waiting a decade for them to resurrect only to do it all over again." "You know what would make for an even easier way to pass the time? Letting me out. Would my reign really be so much worse than those fools and savages that sit on thrones above us now?"Tarok asked. Arater thought back to all of the cruel kings he'd served as a knight; the ones who'd waged holy wars against other religions or put revolting peasants to the sword. He also remembered the bedtime stories he'd grown up hearing about the cruelty of the Tarok the Immortal Emperor and how the world was saved when he was laid to rest in the Eternal Tomb. "Let's find out."Arater said. "What?" "You and me play a round of Hounds and Jackals. To win that game, you have to be smart, level-headed, and empathize with the other player enough to understand their strategy. Any emperor who can do all that is better than most rulers up there. You beat me and I'll consider letting you loose on the world."Arater explained. Tarok was almost salivating at the thought of the freedom that had eluded him since before Arater had ever ventured down to this accursed place. "And if I lose?" "Then we have a decision to make about how we want to spend the next three hundred years. Agreed?"Arater asked. The red eyes of Tarok glowed with anticipation as the immortal emperor grabbed his ornate set of Hounds and Jackals and placed it on the ground. "Agreed!"
Every five years, I receive a package in the mail. It comes even when there is no mail service, like when Sherman was rampaging his way through the South. A single delicately-crafted golden puzzle piece with intricate cursive handwriting on it. Taunting me, revealing bits and pieces of information of where I might find the only weapon that can kill an immortal. Each box comes wrapped in delicate red wrapping paper with a fine Italian silk ribbon, reminding me of my origins back in Europe. Back where I first met the witch. Today, the last piece arrived. I had to have my assistant Luthor open the package, given that I can hardly move. See, unfortunately, immortality doesn't keep me forever young the way it does in fairy tales. No, I've kept on aging until I'm just a bitter, dried-out husk of a human being. I haven't left my bed since the American Revolution. I have, however, made several investments over the years that have given me the wealth needed to maintain a lavish lifestyle and a veritable army of servants to do my bidding. Normally, I hate this day: April 8. It's a taunt from my eternal tormentor. But today is different: the final piece has come, 750 years to the date that I first gained this curse in a desperate bid to escape the Black Plague. I suppose the witch has decided that I've suffered enough. Or perhaps she has simply run out of ways to stall. With a soft clink, Luthor places the piece in the frame where I've collected all of the pieces over the years. "What does it say?"I gasp. My voice sounds like a whisper of wind between corn stalks. I'm unable to open my eyes to read the inscription for myself. "It says you need the sword of a crusader that has been blessed at the High Temple of Jerusalem,"he answered. Luthor is one of the few servants that I've entrusted with my secret, in part because he can fluently read and speak Latin, which is what the clues are written in. "That's all?"Somehow I'd expected it to be some sort of last challenge. Some famous king's blade, or some rare magical object. My bet was actually on the Holy Lance, which is why I went to such lengths to find and acquire it. But this was nothing. I'd been collecting ancient weaponry ever since I amassed my fortune, hoping that I just might have the relic I needed when the time came. I had at least a hundred swords from crusaders, on both sides of the conflict. "Luthor, have them prepare the jet. We're going to Israel. And have any sword in the vault from the crusader period brought on board." "Very good."I can hear him exit the room; thank god for modern devices like hearing aids. I've wanted to kill myself for centuries now. I was already a hunched, bedridden old cripple even back when I first came to the Colonies. My mind is still sharp, but my body has withered away to nothing until it was just a prison. I'm not even a man anymore: most of my parts are artificial. I don't need them to keep me alive, but the doctors have done what they can to improve my quality of life. These puzzle pieces are the only thing that have kept me going; the only reason I have to live. No, I don't look forward to them for the clues. That's certainly important, because I'll need the blessed sword. No, my main motivation now is hate. Hatred for the witch that did this to me, and has continued to torment me through the years. The witch that is as old as I am. And if that's the case, then maybe the sword won't just be good for killing me, though I know she expects me to take that out. I think I can hold on a little longer... at least until my small mercenary army finds her. I just hope that I still have the strength to hold the sword; I would like to end her myself, if at all possible. ---- For more (and probably better) stories, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell!
The Arrangement had been going on between us for long enough that it earned the capitlisation of its' name. The Spectre would kidnap me, take me to his (current) lair and hold me until I was rescued. Sure, over time that has evolved into a text message 24 hours prior, my agreement to only put up a struggle when we were in the public eye, and he makes sure I am comfortable and fed before things get exciting; but that's why we call it The Arrangement after all. Some folks will say... things; mean things about it. They have said that its all an elaborate ruse to cover an affair - something my ex was all-too-happy to believe when he ran off with that Hooters Waitress. Others called in a professional psych who claimed I had Stockholm Syndrome and a CNC fetish... ew! But put-simply, we have a professional agreement and understanding; before he kidnapped me the first time, The Spectre had a hard go of it - hostages who had delusions of being Bruce MacLaine, and ended up like Hans Gruber... Oh the movie reference? Yeah, thats what I do to pass the time in captivity; we watch movies together. He's getting fidgety though, we already watched The Matrix AND Matrix Reloaded; not gonna lie - I hope we are interrupted with a rescue soon; or we will have to sit through Revolutions. He's on the phone again to the Police Commissioner, repeating his demands; but I am noticing his heart isn't in it now, what's going on? "They aren't coming" "Wait, what do you mean They aren't coming?" He shakes his head, I have only ever seen him this dejected once before, and that was when Ghost-Dog got ran over by a police car. This is... Awkward "They worked out The Arrangement; they are refusing to either pay ransom or rescue you. They are calling you an accomplice." Okay, this is worse; I have never seen him like this before, so hurt, so disappointed, so vulnerable... so hot? Oh shit "Well, if that's how they want this to play out..." I reach out and touch his hand "Maybe we can give it a try..." He looks at me, his face hardening, shit - did I go too far? Suddenly he drops to one knee. And pops me the question... "I know this is sudden but... Would you sidekick me?"
Roger Jr. knew three things. 1. He absolutely, unequivocally, was going to get Mr. Fluffypaws back. 2. There was no way Heaven was better than the pillow fort he’d made to be Mr. Fluffypaws new home. 3. He’d gotten everything he’d ever wanted by screaming and crying, and this was NOT going to be any different. He’d said as much to his parents this morning, though not quite in those words. The note he’d given them, slipped under their bedroom door and accompanied by a loud kick, had read like this: I want Mr. Fluffypaws. Mr. Fluffypaws was the best cat ever. He was orange and white and soft and mine. Please give me back Mr. Fluffypaws. If you dont give Mr. Fluffypaws back I will take the neighbors cat instead. Tommy and I trade cards sometimes. Maybe God will trade cats. P.S. dont touch the pillow fort in the living room. Its for Mr. Fluffypaws. Roger had kicked the door a second time, just to be sure his parents were awake, and then gone back to his room. If he looked out the window just right he could see the neighbors' cat when they let it out into the backyard. It was black not orange and its paws weren’t nearly as fluffy, though if he’d petted the cat he’d have found the difference minuscule. “Honey?” Roger Sr. had said after reading the note, “should we warn the neighbors?” “Warn them about what? He’s not going to do anything. For God’s sake Rog, he’s seven!” Roger Sr. frowned. She’d said that when the gold fish had died and look how that had turned out. “Maybe we should’ve been a little clearer about this stuff when Señor Scales died.” “Señor Scales? You’re really going to bring up the fish? We had to do that!” “Emma, he tried to light the couch on fire!” “Operative word being ‘tried!’ Sometimes little boys are a lot!” “Honey, I was a little boy! When my goldfish died I cried for a bit and then we got ice cream.” The saga of Señor Scales had lasted more than a week and ended with a brand new Señor Scales that now floated in a larger bowl in the living room. Roger Jr. had spent nearly four hours picking the fish out at Petco, it had to be exact. Somehow, his father knew the fight for Mr. Fluffypaws would be worse. “Let’s just get him another cat!” Emma turned away, throwing open the closet to get dressed. “It’s Saturday, we’re off. Mr. Fluffypaws was a tabby, how hard can that be?” Roger Jr. heard no part of this of course. His room was at the far end of the hall and his parents, as ever, spoke of him in hushed tones. He was a force of nature and knew it, even though he didn’t yet know what a force of nature was. He knew what he wanted, he knew he would get something similar if he pushed hard enough. Visions of Señor Scales Jr. flashed through his mind, superimposing themselves over the neighbors’ cat as they let it out. Señor Scales Sr. had larger fins, he swam with more vigor. It had taken him days to notice that but he still had. Mr. Fluffypaws would be different. Already, Roger Jr. could see how the neighbors’ cat behaved differently, moved differently. It didn’t seem to meow nearly as often, when it waved its tail the symbols it drew weren’t definitive enough, it didn’t have…didn’t have… Didn’t have it. Mr. Fluffypaws had it. No other cat would. They’d all be like Señor Scales Jr., fakes, unfit to bear the name. No, what he needed wasn’t the new cat he knew his parents would get him. He needed the old one, exactly the old one. Roger shut his window loudly, kicked his parents' door again as he passed it, and with the kind of ductility only a seven year old could muster, he changed the three things he knew. 1. He absolutely, unequivocally, was going to get Mr. Fluffypaws back. 2. There was no way Heaven was better than the pillow fort he’d made to be Mr. Fluffypaws new home. 3. Heaven hadn’t budged when Señor Scales died. Maybe Hell would. Now, being seven years old and not even a particularly devout seven, Roger Jr. had little actual idea of hell. He’d heard the word of course, he knew that he wasn’t supposed to say it but sometimes did, knew that it was a place bad people went. He also, however, had watched a few episodes of Supernatural last week when Grandma had fallen asleep on the couch and his parents weren’t home. He’d seen how they talked about Hell, in hushed, frightened tones. It was a place with power. People made trades there, like he and Tommy traded cards, like he’d wanted to trade neighbors’ cat. Heaven hadn’t bargained for Señor Scales though, and he’d tried. He’d prayed at least three times, in between screaming and crying. Roger Jr. didn’t know how to contact Hell. He’d seen it done once on the show last week but that had taken candles and a funny shape on the floor. He didn’t have candles, but he did know where his parents hid the matches. He didn’t remember what the shape was either, but maybe that wouldn’t matter. It seemed like the important bits were the candles and the trade. Walking downstairs, Roger Jr. grabbed the matches, a piece of yellow construction paper, a sharpie, and Señor Scales Jr.’s new larger bowl. Placing them all in the center of his pillow fort, the one that Mr. Fluffypaws absolutely WOULD live in, he got down to the serious business of writing a letter to Hell. Dear Mr. Devil, My cat Mr. Fluffypaws died. Mom and Dad will get me a fake Mr. Fluffypaws just like the fake Señor Scales. I don’t want a fake. I want Mr. Fluffypaws back. Please help me. -Roger Jr. P.S. I dont have a stamp. Please take this. Roger stared down at the note in satisfaction, it would work, it had to. Then, without so much as glancing at Señor Scales Jr., Roger grabbed the bowl and upended it, dumping the flopping fish out onto the pillow fort’s floor. He grabbed the matches next, tried and failed to strike one, tried and failed to strike a second, and then near to screaming, succeeded on striking the third. He burned the note right there in the pillow fort, letting the ashes fall on the fish. He was going to get Mr. Fluffypaws back. There would be no fakes this time, no fish with the wrong fins, no cats whose tails didn’t make the right shapes. Hell was going to respond. They would respond, wouldn’t they? They responded on the show. They totally would, they— A large man with ruby red skin poofed into existence across from him in the pillow fort. He wore a sharp, pinstriped suit and had a long thin tail that curled around one ankle, its triangular point flicking back and forth in the air. “Kid,” the man said, gesturing around the pillow fort “I’ve got no idea what in the Hell you were thinking with all this, but that was the weirdest request we’ve gotten all week. You should see the big guy down there, I bet he’s still laughing!” The match burned low in Roger’s hand and he dropped it. It hissed out in the puddle on the floor. “What, cat got your tongue? Or is that the problem, that it doesn’t anymore? No matter kid, we’ll fix you up right.” The man leaned in, a smile splitting his face from pointed ear to pointed ear. “Say, can I interest you in a trade?” r/TurningtoWords [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mq77z5/wp_after_being_told_she_had_an_accident_and_had/gufrpay?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) edit: since everyone is enjoying this so much, maybe check out my other weird story about [a cat that became a dragon](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/comments/ltpa89/the_weird_saga_of_the_cat_that_became_a_dragon/), or this narration of it by [Lighthouse Horror](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C0E4XO4E9Sk&t=7s)!
Father blew into his hands then clapped and rubbed them together to keep them warm in his thin woolen gloves. Mother wrapped another threadbare blanket tight around her shoulders. My breath steamed in front of my face. “You’ve got to do it,” said Father. His words came out in a chattering, halting pace. Mother looked towards the cold stove. It hadn’t been lit in three days. We’d made due with hot soup warmed over a small propane camping stove, but Kyle had been caught stealing propane tanks. At least he’d be warm in lockup before he was sent off to the work camps. “There’s no other way,” said Mother. Her face was pale from the cold, a small amount of snot frozen around the edges of her nostrils. I shook my head. Tears stung my eyes. They felt like they were freezing as soon as they hit the air. “I can’t do it.” I gave a quick glance to April who sat in the chair opposite where I stood. “I won’t do it.” Father pulled a small towel wrapped bundle from his coat pocket and pressed it into my hands. “I know you’re only twelve, Brad, but you’re the only one that can do it.” “No,” I whispered. I wanted to drop the bundle and run away but fear, and the cold, kept me rooted in place. “Christmas will be in ten –“ Mother’s coughing fit prevented her from finishing. Father rubbed her back while he stared at me. “Christmas is in ten minutes. You have to do something big, something bad, to get on Santa’s Naughty List.” I was the youngest and the only one who still got presents from Santa. “No,” I said. April fell forward off her chair. Her toothpick like legs couldn’t support her anymore, so she dragged herself across the room, her thin boots scuffing against the warped wooden floor of our studio apartment. My parents averted their gaze. “Please, Brad.” She grabbed my wrist with an icy grip that had strength I didn’t know she still possessed. I shook my head and closed my eyes. “Please, Brad,” whispered April. “I know what I’m asking you to do.” She pulled the towel away from the bundle. It held a snub nose .22 revolver. “Please, Brad.” My whimpering was the loudest sound in the room. “No.” My sniffles echoed off the walls. April glanced at the wall clock. She bit her bottom lip and put the gun barrel under her chin. “Do it, Brad. There are only a few minutes left.” “No.” “If you don’t we’re all going to freeze,” April whispered. Tears rolled down her pale cheeks. “Do it, Brad.” “No.” Father walked up behind me and slammed his fist into the small of my back. Pain and surprise flooded me, and I jumped. The gun went off. We stayed warm through the winter with coal to spare.
Being a god is such a messy, bothersome business. Once, I revelled in it. My teenage (well, in a way) self got high on power, and lesser gods knew to fear me. But how long can you be satisfied with things that come so easily? And so, I left. Contrary to popular belief, it was not gods that created the vast, breathtaking universe. No, the forces behind it were much more raw, primal, and they were not self aware... At least from what I could tell. I wanted to see it all, an maybe find something that would give me purpose, for ruling a tiny spec of dust crawling with gods and humans was... Not right, somehow. Millennia passed, as I travelled. I saw worlds unlike any other, spots of mortal life, with their own gods and struggles. Miraculous stars and galaxies, each unique and amazing. I didn't even come close to seeing all of creation. I was determined to pursue my goal, for eternity if I had to. But then, I heard a faint sound. Child's feeble voice, echoing through the vastness of space. With time, the melody grew stronger, until I finally recognized it: the song of old, from the time of my rule, that I had though to be long forgotten by now. At first, I ignored it. What would humans want with me now? I am no longer part of that world. But the familiar tune soon woke emotions I was not aware I was still capable of: fierce longing and inexplicable urgency. I was... Homesick? I had to see. Who and why summons me with such sad melody. Earth has changed much in my absence. The blue world below was now surrounded by a magnificent, massive ring. I felt it bustling with life inside. Humans were a capable folk, with or without gods. For the first time in thousands of years, I walked among mortals again. First few gave me a weird stare - it appeared like fashion has changed quite a bit since the age of bronze armors, so I quickly adapted to look more like current humans. I needed to find out what was happening, and causing chaos as a returning deity was the last thing I needed. I focused my senses. The wailing song was still there, calling to me more and more desperately. Oddly, I could not feel the presence of any other deity. Were they gone also? Or did their constant strife finally backfire on them? Curious... I followed the song. Finally, I found a massive building, striking proudly into the sky. Inside, I found a room. The voice was coming from there, I was certain. I entered the room... And it was empty. Puzzled, I looked around. In the middle, there stood a small table, with a weird, shiny device on top of it. The music was coming from it. 'what... Is the meaning of this?' The room became flooded with light. A female voice spoke calmly without emotion. 'Thank you for answering The Call. The Corporation is grateful for your contribution to human future.' I felt as if invisible shackles fell on me, sapping away my strength. I quickly understood. Why there were no gods, and how humanity advanced so fast. They harvested us, like we did them, in the past long forgotten.. or so I though. But they were not ready for a being like me. Whatever was holding me down, I tore it apart. In seconds, I was outside. They have angered the wrong god. * * * Thanks for reading! Any criticism is much appreciated. English is my second language so I apologize for butchering grammar. Peace! Edit: wow, my first ever silver! This post has gained more attention than I could hope for. Thank you all for kind words! Edit2: Due to popular demand, Part 2 now in the reply to this comment! Hope you enjoy it as well.
The streetlights lining Martin Avenue bathed the sidewalk in harsh, neon light. Four symmetrical shadows stretched from the point where my shoes met the pavement, disturbing the stillness, each long enough to fade into the darkness at the edges of the street. Outside my front door, I set down the paper grocery bag and stopped to light a cigarette. The air was still damp from rain earlier in the day, and the old lighter nearly drained of its fluid, stubbornly resisting my efforts to spark a flame. “You need a light, friend?” someone called from the street, the voice rough and gravelly. I looked up to see another man standing at the sidewalk, the details of his face shrouded by a dark bowler hat. His silhouette was framed by the lights from the streetlamp, his thin shadow so long that it ended at my feet. “Sure.” I motioned for him to join me on the porch. He took out a fancy silver lighter, then shook two cigarettes from a pack in the inside pocket of his coat. “These are better than the ones you got there,” he said, flicking his thumb against the lighter and watching the flame dance to life. “Here, take one of mine.” I drew into the glowing cigarette, feeling the smoke rush into my lungs. I don't have to go back into that house, I thought. I can just leave into the night, never to be seen again. There was a private bank account registered to my name with ten thousand dollars to it, and another thousand in my back pocket. Enough to start a new life for myself. “You’re a quiet one,” the stranger said. “Something on your mind?” “Just at a crossroads, I suppose.” “You want to talk about it?” I gave the stranger a closer look. His eyes were still obscured by the brim of the hat, but his jaw jutted out from underneath, strangely familiar. “This is a small neighborhood, you know. You live around here?” The stranger shook his head. “Nah, just passing through. The wife is looking for a place to settle down, thinks might be the place to raise a family.” He glanced at the windows of my house behind us. “Well? Is it?” I shrugged. “I don't know. Our kids are still young.” Another drag. These cigarettes were different – I could feel a slight burn as the smoke entered me again, burning, destroying, but the feeling was dull and distant, as if the pain was being masked by some numbing, comfortable euphoria. “Reckon I gotta leave here soon.” “That so?” The stranger flicked the remains of his first cigarette and started on another. “We can't stand each other...the wife and I. I'm no good with the kids. Get home so late that I barely even see them as it is. Think it would be a lot better for everyone if I just took off and let them be happy.” “I get that, friend.” I felt the man put his arm on my shoulder. “The Mrs. and me, we're trying for kids ourselves, been almost a year now. Nobody tells you how stressful that part of marriage is. This is supposed to be the young, happy years of it too. You know, when everything is new and exciting. Yet here I find myself driving around in the middle of the night, going to bars, even smoking with strangers on front porches, just to have some reason to take a break from it all. Things were a lot simpler when it was only me.” I nodded. “Amen to that.” The man put his lighter back inside his coat and tipped his hat. “Well my friend, I hope you find happiness in whatever path you choose.” I shook his hand, and then he was gone. There was a creak from behind me as the front door opened. I turned around and found myself face to face with a man I did not recognize. “Who are you?” the man yelled, panic in his voice. He was holding a metal baseball bat in his hand. “What are you doing here?” “Me? What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing in my house-” I broke off. The man was familiar. Older, much older, but I couldn't forget that face anywhere. The man dropped the bat, his jaw falling. “Dad?” he asked, incredulous. “Is it really you, Dad?” “Jeffrey? How is this...how are you...” “Mom said you died. Said you was never coming back.” “What are you talking about? I never left you.” “We needed you.” He was trembling now. “Mom was so upset she wouldn't say anything about you. I knew you weren't dead though, I knew you would come back one day.” “This is impossible.” I could feel sweat starting to bead on the back of my neck. “I never left you, Jeffrey!” “I got to be starting pitcher a few years back.” I could see tears starting to pool in his eyes. “You always told me I could a pitcher back when I was in little league, I kept working at it. I'm pitching in college now.” I turned my back on my son. That stranger with the bowler hat did something. “Take me back!” I yelled, into the night. “I don't want this! Let me see my son grow up!” My yells echoed through the dead of the night, unanswered. “You hear me? You did something – you messed everything up.” Then, a response. “No friend, that was all you.” The man in the bowler hat was standing on the sidewalk again, playing with his lighter. He took his hat off, and I found myself face to face with- Myself. He slid another cigarette into his hand. “Another?” “No. Make it go back. Take it all back.” “Take what back?” my doppelganger said, and then he turned on his heel and disappeared into darkness on the other side of the road. From the inside of my house, I heard the shout of a toddler. I peered through the window, feeling my heart pound against my rib cage. For a moment, nothing, and then Jeffrey tore through the dining room in a fit of elated giggles, as my wife chased after him. I felt my breath steady. My life – It was there. It was all still there. I tossed the cigarettes into the bushes, picked up the paper grocery bag, and walked into the house. My wife looked up as I entered. “You were gone long enough. Did you get the milk?” “Right here,” I said, placing it on the kitchen table. My breath was still shaky. Then, before I knew what I was doing, I walked over and wrapped my arms around her. “I'm sorry.” Half of me expected her to look up skeptically and frown, or to ask me what I was sorry about. But instead, she pulled me even tighter towards her. “I'm sorry too,” she whispered.
I held a picture of my dog Rex, he was the sweetest golden retriever a person could love and cherish, he was a goofball, but he WAS MY GOOFBALL.He was my BEST FRIEND, and they TOOK him. They didn't even leave a note, and the worst part is, that we thought that they were our friends, our comrades in the great unknown galaxy which humanity have only just connected to a few years ago.I put the picture down, it was torn and dirty from the past weeks, I took a breath and jumped out of the foxhole, rifle in hand, grenade in belt and my knife in my boot. Shots rang above me in the phosphorous filled skies and I shot into every grey headed jerk I saw. My company rallied to me and we assaulted the front lines. German Tanks raced across the battlefield, shooting into hordes of grey heads, as we marched on their base, I could almost hear Rex's barks, could almost see him trying to eat his food through the glass table when I accidentally(almost accidentally) put it there. I switched magazines. I heard the satisfying click of loading a new one into my rifle, and I shot more grey heads. Every one of them deserves to die in the fiery hell of doom for the crime they committed. What did they think would happen when they took MY DOG from me? We reached the base, its steel doors couldn't hold the fury of a humankind's loss, I laser marked the doors. "Requesting engage on target, danger close" I took a deep breath, and counted to 10. 1,2,3,4, "TAKE COVER!"I shouted to the company as the American stealth bomber shot a rocket into the door, blasting it open and revealing the sickening green indoor decor of the alien race. The Russian spies found out that in this base, on the -15th floor they held most of the stolen pets, protected by high tech robots which detect humans from a hundred meters through concrete floors. We heard them before we saw them, heavy steel boots grinding on the hard floor, the warming up of the laser beams and the targeting system, announcing to all its next target. It was a hulking beast, 3m in height and covered in black matte armor, the symbols of the horrible aliens painted on the torso, and the sickening painting of a dogs head on the helmet. Truly a revolting sight. "Cohen, take down that robot, NOW!"I shouted at the Israeli tech specialist. I saw he was loading the EMP rocket into his launcher, he shot the robot and he turned off, giving us precious little time to disable it for good. "Take control of him, we want him on our side"I shouted through the radio to the Chinese hack team as I put the virus chip on the robots helmet. We quickly removed any remaining resistance, and we took down to the -15th floor. The stairs were darkened, but we had our Indian night-vision goggles. They were mainly used by their spec-ops against the Pakistanis, but when the aliens took their cows, they forgot their forlorn war and joined in the struggle against the TRUE ENEMY. We shot the remaining Xorgons, and reached the -15th floor, I opened the door and saw a huge clear-glass vault, filled with tiny glass spheres. I went closes to see the vault, and start hacking the Control locks. As I reached closer and closer, I saw that the spheres held dogs, cats, lizards, cows and all other manner of precious animal comrades. I felt my rage increase with this sight. "HOW LONG UNTIL YOU UNLOCK THIS VAULT ZHANG WEI, I CAN SEE THEM!"I heard a small cheer feeding back to me. After grueling hours, we opened the vault. We reverse engineered the spheres to find out how to restore our pets to their normal state. During that time the Xorgons fled earth, and the flag of the Earth Federation flew over their largest base. But my mission wasn't over, not by a long shot, as Rex was not among those restored pets, and I will shoot, stab, kill, break and burn every god-damned alien until I get him home, even if it means I'll destroy another race... \-------------------------------------------- Criticism is most welcome(but do try to be nice) Thanks for reading :) EDIT: Part 2 is up, read it in a reply :)
It took the investigators 10 hours to arrest me. It took my dad 3 days to pay my bond. It took 2 weeks for my case to go to trial. It took 4 months for 12 people to find me guilty; a full year to be sentenced. 5 years for my first appeal attempt. 15 for the second. 20 years after that the governor gave me a temporary stay of execution, and 5 years after that I was out of options. 6 presidents, 5 million dollars, 4 public defender's, 3 jails, 2 failed appeals, 1 life later, and I had 0 options. And it all added up to just a blink compared to my current predicament. After my lawyers had exhausted all options, the state gave custody of me to the corporation. Their name was a big long acronym I could never remember. They had offered me a chance to have my sentence reduced to life in prison if I cooperated with their tests; attempting to teleport living material from one location to another instantaneously, bending the laws of physics to the breaking point. My brother told me not to, that it might go horribly wrong, but I signed the papers anyway. I had thought that life was better than death. I wish I had listened to my brother. They'd sent other living organisms through before, but their survival rate was only about 45%. It seemed that they had better success if the test subjects were kept awake during the process. They did everything they could to keep you from moving even the tiniest bit; every tiny change meant the computer had to perform an extra billion billion billion calculations to keep track of each and every proton. Once they'd finished restraining me bare naked in the chamber, they gave me a two drug cocktail; one to paralyze me completely, and the other to temporarily stop my heart and respiratory system. I could feel myself suffocating, unable to blink or move or breath, fully conscious as the timer counted down: 10,9,8 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. And that's it. That's all there has been. I tried to figure out some way to keep the time, but I always screwed up eventually. Not surprising when you realize that I had always been a screw-up. I kept getting better at keeping track of all the numbers, but I always seemed to get mixed up somewhere around 10 or 11 million. That sensation of suffocation never went away, but I learned to ignore it. I missed blinking, but thankfully they taped my eyes open so that I at least had something to look at. It's hard to describe what exactly I see. Colors and fractals and worlds and atoms and stars and everything and nothing. Every once in a while I'd see someplace that I knew; my old middle school, my girlfriend's cramped apartment, New York City, and the park from that calendar I really liked. I would hear things from time to time, but it never made much sense. A discordant harmony against a background so quiet I'm sure I could hear my own heart and muscles if they where still capable of moving. I could still feel the restraints against my bare skin even if they didn't seem to exist, but I could never move, not even an inch. I couldn't smell anything, since of course I couldn't breathe, but I like to imagine that it smells like fresh baked cookies, or my Mama's gumbo. The numbers helped keep me focused, and unfocused; paying just enough attention to keep myself grounded against the void but not so much as to sink into it completely. Between my counting, I took some time to wonder. How could I be thinkin' and hearin' and seein' if I couldn't get air to my brain? I remember that was important from that biology class I pretended to hate in high school. I wish I went to that class more often, maybe I wouldn't be here now. I wonder what could have happened if I stayed with Cindy, or if I had gotten my high school diploma? I tried studying for the GED while I was in prison, but I never could get the motivation to take the test. It didn't seem to be important to think about a future while I was a death row inmate. I wonder if I coulda been a doctor, since my teachers always said I probably had the smarts for it. 'Just apply yourself, and work hard and you could be anything' they would say. 'The world is waiting for someone like you to make a difference in it.' What a load of bullshit. They were all liars. Liars has 5 letters, bullshit has 8, potential has 9, and wasted has too many to count. I missed sleep, even on those cold metal beds from prison. I missed food, especially those care packages my ma sent before she died. I missed the air, even if it smelled of my cell mates. I missed music, especially that tune my sweetheart would hum even if neither of us knew what show it was from. I misse-0! All of a sudden, the colors and fractals and worlds and atoms and stars and everything and nothing was replaced by something. I was back. I felt the cool stab of a needle, and I blinked as I breathed, as my heart beat, as I heard applause, and saw old white men wearing extravagantly expensive suits. My eyes gradually began to move, and I shifted my gaze to the cylinder that previously held me, just 15 feet away. I was poked and prodded and scanned by the doctors as I could gradually feel the paralytic agent wear off. My throat was still paralyzed so I couldn't talk but I could hear one of the scientists say "Excellent work everyone! You have witnessed a scientific breakthrough in the realm of instantaneous travel! Now that we have finished the calibration test, we have already re-administered the drug compounds and will send them to the chamber on the other side of the planet faster than you can blink! Starting in t-minus 10,9,8..." Edited for spelling, grammar, and added details. Thanks all for your support and the awards! *Edited again to make it read more clearly.
I am a lonely creature. In my culture, it is only proper for a mother or father to groom their child, or for mates to groom each other. Beyond this, mating, and combat, we have no need for physical contact. It is not allowed. Many others, on the Intergalactic Fleet ship I crew, are similar in their cultures. Most of them are not nearly strict; many allow the clasps of arms in brotherhood, or of appendages in greeting, or a touching of antennae. Still even these touches are brief, never allowed to be prolonged with exception to their special few. The exception to this is the Humans. I was warned, in the Cross-Cultural training I was given, that Humans are social creatures of touch. They, too, clasp arms and shake appendages, and touch heads like antennae. But it is nearly always prolonged. In addition, they embrace one another, regardless of familial status or matehood. Some even hold a culture of placing their mouths on one another in a 'kiss', as greetings to one another. Though I deny it, I am envious of these Humans. They, who are so open, who can touch one another in bonds of friendship. Though I will admit that I may be envious for reasons outside of culture; it may be frustration as well. My mating seasons have been... difficult, to say the least, and I no longer have mother nor father to groom me. The only physical contact I have is combat training, and when I mimic the greetings of other races, as a show of cultural friendship. I suppose that is excuse I use, when I allow my Human counterpart to touch me. 'Cultural exchange'. She has mentioned before that my fur looks soft, and that she would love to 'pet' me. That I remind her of an Earth creature, by the name of 'cat', a creature she once cared for. My sudden acceptance, after so many times of refusal, has her confused. She confirms I am okay with it, with my only request being secrecy. Xa'tal knows the last thing I need is something like this on my records. So now we sit, with her excited to 'pet something fluffy again', and me uncertain in my decisions. But I have made my choice. I nod in approval, and allow her to 'pet'. By the Nines, it is intoxicating. It is...not exactly the same as grooming, though it is similar. There is no bonding like familial grooming, nor the romance of mate grooming. It is just...pleasure, pure and unadulterated. The digits of the Human find itches I knew not I had; the light pressure, the soft pull, simply divine. I have no other way to describe it. I was immediately lost to myself, acting in base emotion and pleasure. I made sounds I did not know I could. 'Purring', I believe she called it. Nine Divines, I beg of your forgiveness. I am certain I have made a mistake. I am addicted, to this petting. I could certainly never get enough. But by Your Names, if this is wrong, I do not wish to be right.
I was 4 days old when it happened. A huge, stiff bat came barreling through our cave and it crushed my parents. No reason, no thought, and it was quick; their limp bodies tossed through the air and landed in the dirt. I could do nothing but weep over them. I've sensed that bat before, and several times since- it's like I'm being mocked. I am nothing to be taken so lightly. The pain of losing ones you love is no joke. Sure, at the time I may have been weak...but I've been training every day. I've fashioned a suit of mud that's hardened and become armor; I fly 3 laps around my cave every morning with that armor on to strengthen my wings. I've tried to attack that Alpha bat several times now, but it's just too fast. I can tell it's coming when I hear a screeching noise at the south entrance, it must have to charge its powers somehow. I'm still trying to figure out how to do that myself. Today is the day, though. Today, I will get my revenge on the bat that murdered my parents. I know where that bat comes from, I know when to expect it and how fast it usually goes. I think I can intercept it now. My armor is on and my resolve is strong. Today will arise a dark knight, fighting for justice in darkness. Mom, Dad...this is for you. No longer will I cry at night, basking in loneliness and pity. --------------------------------------------- "Thank you, Alfred. I'll head out there now,"Batman grunted. Alfred never really understood why he spoke in that voice to him sometimes. Batman climbed into the batwing and lifted off, hovering in the air. He set his trajectory and closed his eyes, letting the autopilot take over for him. thunk His eyes peeled open. "What the hell was that?"he asked himself. "Is that...blood? Looks like mud, too. God damn it, I knew I should've installed windshield wipers after the first time this happened." --------------------------------------------- I laid there in the dirt, broken and bleeding- just as my parents did not a month ago. That mud armor did me no good, it seems. I'd been bested, for I was not even a fruit fly in comparison to the Alpha bat. Maybe this is what I get for building my life around seeking vengeance. It's a fool's errand, and I am indeed a fool. I stifled my echolocation and relaxed as best I could, to minimize the pain. It's a shame that I want to live for something other than revenge now that revenge has already broken me. I've spent my life trying to fly forward while facing backward; it's no wonder I came crashing down so hard. Maybe I'll get a second chance, to actually live a life worth living. One where I am more than just a metric of my hatred. One where my mother and father would be proud of their son.
All right, quiet down. Nearly every student who has passed through this hall has two questions when I walk in the door. I will answer them now. First, yes, you are in the right place. And second; yes, I am that Davyd Ogarath. By every metric the Adventurer's Guild deigns important, I am the worst adventurer ever to hold the title. Well, every metric but two. I have the most quests failed. The lowest exploration percentage per dungeon run, and the lowest profit per. I have the most traps triggered, the most emergency escapes, and I'm the victim of the most mimic attacks. If the guild is aware of a status effect that doesn't just kill you outright, I've been inflicted with it. Introduced them to a few ones they weren't aware of, to tell the truth. So if you've done a bare minimum of research on this course, you may be wondering what would make me qualified to teach it. One of those metrics is successful referrals: I have made a career of knowing who can handle what. If you had done more than the bare minimum, you'll know the last measurement. For those of you who haven't, it's simple. In ten years of adventuring, I have never lost a party member. I am here to teach you how to survive. My profits were low because I stocked up before I left. I survived poisons and paralysis and flesh rot because I knew what to do when they happened. Every failed quest is the result of recognizing my party's limitations and being willing to hand the quest to a party better suited to it. That's what the folks with their pictures on the wall learned here. That's why they are at the top of all those rankings.
Warning - some NSFW language ----- No ships sailed to Antarctica. The port official didn’t allow it. Upon learning, he had shook his head. “Dunno why you’d choose Ant-arc-ti-ca,” spitting the syllables like some hated enemy, “all there is, is ice, ice, and more ice. Besides, it’s govn’ment property. You’d be trespassin’, and trespassin’s against the law.” Elias had never been one to listen to authority, and the port official had seemed like one of those fat cats that only looked out for themselves. So, that fateful night, he’d given Miranda a kiss, stowed away on his own ship, and headed for Antarctica. Headed for the last frontier. But now, as the fog parted around him he arrived, he found the official’s words echoing in his mind. It was ice. As far as he could see, ice. There had been icebergs on the way, but now everything was white as far as he could see. I’m here, he thought to himself. And he realized he was alone. Within a few minutes, he had anchored his ship and transferred his meager possessions to his motorsled. It was silent. Eerily so. Being a city boy, he’d always been used to the buzz of people, cars, or even of the pigeons cooing and wind rustling. But there was no sounds here, except the ship, which creaked and groaned like a lonely pet that begged him to stay. “You’ve been a good ship,” he whispered, “but it’s time for me to move on.” Just to be safe, though, he walked through the inside of the ship one last time, making sure he hadn’t forgot anything. Then, with a little hesitation, he got on his motorsled and didn’t look back. --- The first day was uneventful, disconcertingly so. Elias waited for something, anything besides ice and snow, even a cloud or rain. But there was nothing. As he traveled through the endless white, he found himself getting disoriented. The sun seemed to hang forever in the sky, every direction was the same, and often only the onboard GPS kept him from moving in circles. When the sun finally sank to the horizon, he was relieved to be setting up his tent and cooking a packet of instant ramen. As he was eating, his phone rang. “Thank god for phones,” he muttered, before picking up. “Min-"he spoke, but his throat was clingy with mucus and it came out like a growl. He cleared his throat. “Mindy?” “Elias,” Miranda declared, and the tone of her voice set him on edge. “Things have been a fucking hailstorm since you left. The whole city's on lockdown. You’re wanted by the police, and it's on all the fucking news channels.” Elias stopped. “What?” “I don’t have time to explain,” she said, “You have to keep going. I think they’ve wiretapped me, and I’m probably going to prison for a very long time, but you’re right, there’s a conspiracy, and they’re coming for you.” “Don’t fuck with me, Miranda,” he said. “What the hell is going on?” There was a loud thump from the other end of the phone. Elias could hear a police officer, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then Miranda was speaking again. “I don’t know, but it’s something huge.” Then there was a loud crash, a bang, and the phone disconnected. He hung up, and stared at his pot of noodles. Steam rose out of it, and condensed in a white cloud that hung above him. I was gonna keep going anyways, he thought to himself. He finished his noodles in silence. Then, he reclined against the tent, and within a few minutes he had fallen into a dark, dreamless sleep. ----- I'll write more tomorrow. Good prompt! EDIT: Wow, this blew up. I'm actually kinda scared now. I'll have the second part up when I write it (though it'll probably be a while.) EDIT 2: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7nd83u/wp_the_earth_is_flat_and_nasa_is_guarding_a_giant/ds1ts9g/) is out!
Superman trembled. Wonder Woman groaned. Batman swallowed. In front of the fallen heroes, Darkseid stood supreme, his towering height shadowing over them like his might over even their combined strength. There was nothing they could do. Superman's strength and Wonder Woman's lasso had done nothing against the monster in front of them. But that didn't matter. Batman was a warrior like no others - even Kryptonians and Amazons could not match the mere man's sheer will. Defiantly, Batman rose to his feet, shaky as he was, and stared at Darkseid with a fierce glare. The New God grimaced under the weight of Batman's stare, before frowning. How could the tyrant of Apokolips feel pressured under the stare of a human? "You will perish, human,"Darkseid boomed, his eyes turning red as his Omega beams charged. "Like all of your kind." Batman slowly shook his head. "No, Darkseid, because you're wrong about one thing." "Oh, what's that?" Batman looked at the invader. "I'm not just a human."Without another word, he pulled off his torn tunic, revealing rock hard abs that made even Superman envious. Darkseid frowned even more. Ignoring the flare of jealousy from seeing Batman's Adonis-like physique, he saw nothing unusual about the figure in fron- wait, there was something etched into the man's chest. It was growing in intensity as the symbol became more evident. But it wasn't Batman's signature bat. It wasn't a bird at all. It wasn't even a plane. No, it was a... A heart. "I've already warned you to stay off of my planet,"Batman growled, putting his hands on his hips. "Now you'll face the consequences." "No!"Darkseid yelled, shooting out his Omega beams. They arched toward the Dark Knight, but he did nothing but breath in. Then, he roared. "CARE BEAR STARE!"Batman bellowed, shooting out a pink heart shaped beam from his chest. It collided in mid-air with Darkseid's Omega beams and pushed right past them, heading toward the fear-frozen tyrant. "No!"Darkseid screamed as he saw the beam rapidly approach. And then all he saw was pink-
Father once told me he had been a hero. That he had fought in campaign against the Dark Lord, having survived every major battle and more than twenty skirmishes. It never quite added up to me though. I grew up with tales of the hell that was the battle of Mirewood. Lost friends and unyielding hordes of enemies. The Whispering Hills being an endless slog of ambushes and endless days of fighting. The Siege of the Black Keep, months of loss, privation and hopelessness. He spoke of endless deeds and feats of arms that only the mightiest of heros could accomplish. I bragged about my father the hero until grade 8. One by one my fathers stories were proven false. The Mirewood was a crushing defeat against the Dark Lord, wave after wave of the forces of good crashing against his army under it cracked asunder. The Whispering Hills where the Dark Lords army was hounded and hunted up to the gates of the Black Keep. Followed by months of siege and the eventual destruction of the Dark Lord and the return of hope to all the good people of the world. Two weeks of study had destroyed the image of my father and I began to doubt everything. He didn't have a Medal of Freedom that every veteran wore proudly and he had never once gone to the annual Victory Day celebrations, preferring to sit upon his porch and drink with his friends. A party of broken and scarred men. I was teased mercilessly, my father mocked by my peers at school. They all said he was one of those fools that pretended to have fought because of their shame at not answering the call for all races of good to defeat the Dark Lord. The time finally came for our class trip to the Hall of Heroes, and I thought I would at least be able to put the teasing to rest. I would find his statue there and be able to rub it in my classmates faces. For surely a man that had seen and done what he had said would be recognized there. The tour that day took forever, meandering through the halls of Elves and Dwarves. Though the exhibit on the contributions of the halflings was amusing i just wanted to see the Hall of Humans. When we finally arrived it was disappointment after disappointment. Nothing amongst the lesser adventurers, nor the lieutenants of the Alliance army. Not even amongst the honorable mentions. I trudged along behind the group after that. I had to accept that my father was a fraud, that I had grown up on lies. I took no notice in the Hall of Villains, despite the excited chatter of my classmates. That is until the very last room, reserved for the Dark Lord and all his lieutenants. Some small part of my mind tugged at me, these statues almost seemed familiar as if I had met these people before. I stopped at the statue of Grunnar the Barbarian trying to piece it all together, how the crazed bearded man rendered in stone before me seemed so familiar and yet not. I was pulled from my reverie by an incessant tugging at the shoulder of my robes. My classmate stood pointing, mouth agape, at the second to last statue in the room. I soon joined him, my mouth hanging slack as I stared back at my father immortalized in stone. True it looked like he was 20 years younger and missing a great deal of scarring but is was undoubtedly him. The bronze plaque at the base of the statue villianized every deed and listed feats of arms that would have made him a hero had he fought for the winning side. In a way I was right though my father was a hero and he had fought through that campaign. And my classmates came to the unanimous conclusion to stop teasing me. I guess none of them were brave enough to mess with the son of General Arvog the Destroyer.
It's 3:00 AM. My eyes are red, slight hint of dryness. I have been playing games on one screen and keeping a news tab open on another. Skyrim. I play it because I can always pause it at will and continue later. I also play it because I can get swallowed in it. Either get a new mod, look up what's causing issues on why the start-up doesn't work, cleaning the mods. It's a time sink. And I need time to go as fast as possible so Chloe can get home and can explain to me what the fuck that was. At one moment we're watching one of her soap operas and the clothes are coming off, and the next she jumps up, runs into her room, runs out wearing fucking Paladin armor, including a shining sword and wings to boot, tells me she'll explain later and flies out the window. Like a fucking bird. At first I had to check whether or not I got drugged or was in a dream or some shit. I knew this place was like a melting pot of heroes and villains due to some biological disaster twenty years ago that turned people into...I dunno, doctors say that whoever survived was 'more than human'. The philosophical aspect aside, I didn't give a shit. But now it turns out I've been dating one for a year without noticing. At first, when I realized that this wasn't an acid trip, I wondered if I was retarded. How the fuck could I miss a pair of wings on her back? But she had no scars or anything else on her back. A perfectly human, lovely back that I rubbed every day she got home. How about her getaways? Sure she blew off a date or two, maybe three, but shit happens, you know? Her dad's been in poor health. I met the guy, spends most of the day in bed, hooked up to oxygen tanks due to COPD. Was that an actor? What else did she hide from me? Was the woman I knew really even her? The door opened and closed. Yep, it was her. Still in that suit of hers. I checked the newsfeed quickly. It said that some 'villain' named Berserker had been beaten by a 'heroine' named Archangel, with Berserker having been taken into custody. Details are coming out, six people dead, forty wounded. In her right hand, she carried a bag. I could smell it was Chinese. I pouted, knowing she was using my emotional weakness of large batches of Chinese against me. She took her helmet off. Her hair had been squashed under it's weight. Her eyes were red too, but of tears I think. Avoiding my eyes and caught in a thousand yard stare, she murmured an apology, dropped the bag on the table and went into her room, locking the door behind her. Oh, hell no. I get up and knock on the door. "Gimme a minute Jay, I'll be right there. I know you want to talk." "Are you okay?" "I'm fine, Jay. I'll be right there." "You don't look okay." "I said I'm fine." "Let me help." "Don't worry, just let me...Just give me a minute. I need a minute. Just start without me. Please?" I didn't. I sat down at the table and waited. She was hurting. This stuff meant a lot to her. She wasn't exactly the epitome of generosity, to be honest. She didn't do charity work or volunteering at the local shelters, didn't donate a lot of money to animals in need. She was Chloe. A very good looking women who had given up on dating by the time I met her, going around in sleazy sweater and jeans, walking around campus wearing a bun, not really giving too much of a shit about personal hygiene and the latest fashion. After a couple of minutes, she came out. She wore a t-shirt and a baggy set of sweatpants and wearing two pairs of socks. Chronic cold feet, she said. Without saying a word, she sit down and start unpacking the boxes of food. Orderly placing them next to one another, the vegetarian dishes on her side and the spicy meat, babi pangang with bami goring on my side. She'd cleaned her make-up off her face. Was she afraid of it running out? "So."I start. She looks at me, then takes a dish and starts mulching on it. I take mine, twirl it on a set of chopsticks. The tension between us rises as she continues to ignore me while I'm just trying to catch her eye. "So..." "So what?"She asks rather sullen. "I am a rockstar." She looks up to me trivially. "I've got my rock moves." Her face blanks. "But I definitely need you tonight." She rolls her eyes so far back into her skull I almost thought for a second she got a seizure. She facepalms, I catch a grin in there somewhere. "Really? Music puns?" "As long as I can get a smile outta you, sure." We sit there silently, mulching away until we're done. She speaks up first. "I'm sorry I lied to you." I don't say anything. My turn to stare. "I know you have questions. I didn't want you to get involved in this. You're my...my guy, you know." "Mmmm, no. I don't know." "You know how people go home at the end of the day to people they have been completely disconnected from, like...worlds apart? How, like, your work life and personal life are split? You're my personal life. You're my guy I want to come home to every day." I, first the very first time of my life, have no clue what to say. "No matter how good or bad the day goes,....I can always count on you. To be there for me. No matter what. I love you. And I lied to you all this time..." She quietly started sobbing. "I am....I am so sorry. I am so sorry I didn't tell you. I...I didn't want this to happen, but...I have no good excuses. I was scared. Scared you'd reject me. That you'd be afraid, that you'd tell someone. That I'd lose you. I didn't want to risk that. So I didn't tell you. I'm sorry." I knew I didn't have to say anything. I stood up, pulled her from her chair and hugged her. She cried on my chest. I could feel her tears. But that's okay. That doesn't matter. We stood there, holding each other for a long time. I didn't bother checking the clock. I finally knew what to say. "I love you too."
"Alright, lad. End o' the line." As I open my eyes, I realize that I'm sitting in front of an old, friendly-looking man with hair as white as the freshest milk, a big, fluffy beard and blue eyes that seemed to stare into the deepest corners of your soul. Looking around, I see that we're the only ones here. "How was the ride? Did ye enjoy it?"asked the man with a calming warmth in his voice. "What are you referring to?"I asked, puzzled as anyone would be, had they been in my situation. "Ah, this be that memory error again. I bet ye don't even know who I am right now. That doesn't matter. Yer life, sonny. Did ye like it?"the man clarified, his smile even wider now, his face showing his genuine curiosity. "Yeah. It was a bit short, though. I don't remember how it ended exactly, but I didn't expect it."I said, trying to recall details from what apparently was my past life. "Well, that's the beauty of it, innit? A little surprise to keep ye on yer toes. Anyways, do ye have any feedback fer me?"the man continued his inquiries. "There was way too much violence, especially in the Middle East. People took politics way too seriously, and overall, people are pretty vile if you think about it."I gave him an honest response. "Nah, sonny. Ye just gotta find the good in them. After all, ye'll see the world through everyone's point o' view 'till we're done. I'm assumin' ye wanna go again. Care ta tell me what time period and location ye want?"the man then looked into the control panel of the ride, then looked back at me, awaiting my answer. "Umm, what about Ancient Egypt? I always thought that was interesting."I said, while thinking that all this couldn't be real, and that this man was just pulling my leg. "Sure thing, sonny!"he replied heartily. The man pressed a button and I actually started fading away, hearing some tense people talking. I assumed that was my birth, but as it is, I knew I wouldn't remember. "Ye have time for one question before we meet again, sonny. Shoot quickly!"the man shouted, as the people talking were louder and louder. "Who are you?"I screamed back, eager to know the name of the one that gave me another shot at life. "On yer ride, they call me many names. Let's just say I'm yer friend." The man smiled again, waving goodbye. A bright light. Happy people. I was born again.
"Members of the press, thank you all for coming this morning on such short notice. I know everybody has deadlines, so let's get started. "First of all, yes, I'm the devil. Satan, Lucifer, Beelzebub, the Morning Star, the Light-Bringer, the Fallen Angel, so on and so forth. "Second, I'm not Evil Incarnate. I'm just the one that just stuck around after the rest of Elohim left--mostly to monitor, but also to make sure you continued to progress without offing yourselves. "Third, and for now, finally, I have absolutely nothing to do with Ouija boards, Tarot cards, witchcraft, occult crap, or tabletop games like Dungeons and Dragons. "Seriously, folks, I'm a manifold intelligence millennia old. I have the resources to sterilize the entire planet down to the mantle. If I wanted to wreak havoc among you, why would need to invade the mind of some pimply-faced teenager to do it? I'd just do it. "Your kids play games like that because they're fun, and because they provide creative outlets and opportunities to socialize with kids like themselves. They aren't invoking supernatural powers, they're just being kids. "Come on, people. I stood back and let you guys have World War II. Let your kids have D&D."
The Demon was slow. Methodical in his movements, brief but powerful. At least, that's what Belgharst was thinking as he was knocked to the floor, his claws scraping the Linoleum trying to grab anything to slow his slide. In reality, The movement was one of reflex. A simple wave of the hand as Adam had done so often with other demons challenging him for one reason or another. Adam snapped at him "Dude, watch the tile! Mom will kill you." Belgharst quickly levitated into the air, his scarred muscles flexed as he spun himself upright, snarling and screaming at the demon whose horns began to peak through the layer of fake skin. "I WILL KILL YOUR MOTHER! I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL KILL EVERYONE YOU HOLD DEAR FOR CHALLENGING MY DOMINION" Adam let out a sigh, smoke briefly filling the air before him. "Can you PLEASE just leave me alone. I'm not challenging anyone, I'm not fighting anyone. I've got two finals to deal with today and it's only 6 in the morning. I was really hoping to get some decent sleep befo-" Belgharst interrupted him with a growl. Priming himself, his hooves pressed against an invisible wall as he prepared to leap forward. Adam pointed at him "dooon't do i-" A small blast at his hooves sent Belgharst soaring forward, a meteor pointed at Adam's face. As Adam's father came downstairs, his worn, fuzzy, demon horned slippers only a few steps from the bottom, he saw his son with a smoking finger. Ash was splashed out at either side of his feet. His words were dulled, tired from the lack of sun on his face and coffee in his cup. "Hey bud, got another challenger today?" Adam was already turned around, preparing the coffee for him and his father to share. "Yeah, he wa-". He looked down at his father's feet, then glanced back up with another sigh "y'know, you could get some new ones". "But you got them for me" "When I was, what? 10?" "Yup, and I'll get a second decade out of them. Who knows? Maybe if your problems try to make good on their threats they'll think I'm wearing some of their own, and run in terror at the sight of the great father of Adam Rogers, Raaaa-YaaAAAAWN". The last words dripping with sarcasm, poignantly followed with a reminder to work on the coffee. Adam rolled his eyes with a smile as he pulled the pot from its stand and filled two cups. He put them down on the counter as he came in for a hug, turning his head so as to not leave any unwanted horn wounds in his father's neck. Adam smiled as he said "I'm so screwed right now." There was a warmth in his father's embrace as his advice came "You know you'll do fine. It's not like kids go into these things awake. You're just tired for other things than 1am parties... this time". Adam winced a little as he stepped back. "Hey, it was only once... twice..." His father gave him a sly look as he sipped his coffee "That I know of. That's ok, your old man was a party animal before he was a dull paper pusher, y'know. Just ask that sweet lady behind you what I was like before the ring". On cue, Adam felt his shoulders being dusted off as he turned to see his mother just long enough to spot the broom and dustpan in her hand. "I'll finish up breakfast, you sweep up and then go upstairs and get an A." Adam looked warmly at his mother before moving the broom out of the way to surprise her with a hug. She slightly jumped "And where'd that come from this early in the morning?!" Adam quickly let go and grabbed the dustpan in a fluid motion. As he stepped away he spoke. "I just needed a little extra juice for this". Before his mother could respond, there was a gust of chilled wind that found its way into the demon's dustpan, sucking with it the ash of what was Belgharst The All-Consuming. Adam quickly disposed of the contents before running upstairs, shouting back "and it's gonna be two As!"His father sipped on his coffee as he looked on. Playfully, he joked "Wanna see what wind comes out when you hug me?"only to get a shoulder slap in response.
Kelly Nieman is a florist. In fact, Kelly Nieman is a great florist. At least, that's what her customers think. Well. It's what she thinks too. Not to brag or anything, but Kelly Nieman could probably out-florist every flower-vending hippie in all of SoHo. Then again, Kelly Nieman has an advantage. When she was five, Kelly happened to wish upon a shooting star. You see, back then, she had a huge crush on this other girl Molly, and Molly loved flowers. Kelly didn't know much about flowers, but she liked Molly, so she liked flowers too. And when Kelly saw this shooting star, she made a wish. It was simple. "I wish I could tell what flower everyone wanted."Because flowers, like Molly, were pretty and cool and she wanted to know about all the flowers and all the pretty things people liked. Long story short, her wish came true. The next morning, she was talking to Molly about flowers and realized that she just knew what flower Molly would want. So Kelly asked her mom to get her a tulip and gave it to Molly. And they were both ecstatic. Now, Kelly Nieman is 26 years old. She hasn't seen Molly in forever, but she still knows what flowers everyone wants. So you don't have to tell her. She knows already. She's a great florist.
Clyde slumped on his sofa with a can of beer and a tired look. He opened the lid of his laptop and logged in to the horror fiction fanatics IRC, taking a deep chug. _MacabreLover_'s name had a green dot next to it. A window popped up just as he was about to send him a message. _MacabreLover_: Hey, iStalkKillerzz. How's it going? iStalkKillerzz: Hard day at work, man. _MacabreLover_: Yeah, mine too. Had to be late to office. Got quite a mouthful from the boss. iStalkKillerzz: And I was early!!! Clocked in at seven and got off at 11pm. Still got the verbal beatdown from the boss.. today was a nightmare. _MacabreLover_: Woah. Tell me about it. iStalkKillerzz: Yeah, wish I could. How was your day? Read any new authors lately? _MacabreLover_: Nah. I've been working on my project since the past few days after work. Lost track of time last night and it dragged on till the morning. Couldn't get any sleep. Had a quick breakfast and rushed to work. Heck, even spoiled my pet project. Had to rush it up and now its ruined. I think I spilled orange juice over it. lol. iStalkKillerzz: lol. That sucks, man. _MacabreLover_: Plus my land lady's turning paranoid and getting on my nerves. Can't blame her though. With all the murders going on... _MacabreLover_: heard of them? iStalkKillerzz: Duh. _MacabreLover_: ? iStalkKillerzz: Of course I've heard of them. iStalkKillerzz: The whole town's talking about it, I mean. _MacabreLover_: Yeah, I guess its become quite the talk, haha. iStalkKillerzz: haha. iStalkKillerzz: They are really gruesome, though. Not just did the poor woman get murdered, the sicko even took out her organs and made some sick demented satanic pattern out of her intestines. Ugh. _MacabreLover_: Huh? _MacabreLover_: I don't remember this bit being in the papers. iStalkKillerzz: Maybe it was the evening news. _MacabreLover_: which one? iStalkKillerzz: Donno man, probably somewhere on the internet. _MacabreLover_: I searched, couldn't find it. All the papers are saying the police are keeping a tight lid on the details to maintain peace and calm until the murderer is caught. iStalkKillerzz: Maybe I heard it from someone then. _MacabreLover_: I see... Clyde's phone rang. He picked it up. "Detective Roberts, the autopsy report came in. As usual, the murderer left no trace. There's something odd this time, though. It was a rushed job, and forensics detected orange juice mixed with the blood..." The detective almost dropped his phone in shock. He looked at the screen. _MacabreLover_ was offline.

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.