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*Mind-state restoration complete. Try to be more careful next time!*
I don't know who thought that cheerful message was a good idea. I was *dead*. Or a copy of me was, at least. Treat it with a little dignity, would you? I step out of the cloning vat and start following the usual post-revival checks. Senses, limbs, nervous system OK. Cost of the clone was already deducted from my account.
First things first, find out what happened since my last backup. The last thing I remember is, of course, making my nightly upload before I went to bed. I remember that the date was March 23, 2104. I glance at the clock on the wall, which shows the full date and time for exactly this situation. It is currently about a quarter past three, March *27th?*
That can't be right. I can't have gone four days without a backup. That would be like going four days without brushing your teeth. Something had to have gone wrong.
"Computer, backup integrity test for the past four days." I announce to the empty room. If Brainwaves Unlimited managed to lose track of my fucking *brain*, I'll sue their pants off.
The screen on the wall returns the scan results in a few seconds. No more recent backups than the one in my head right now. All checksums add up. I speak a few more commands to bring up more detailed analysis. Nothing. Apparently, on the morning of March 24th, I just upped and decided not to make any more backups.
Well, cursing Past Me's stupidity won't solve anything. I open the locker next to the cloning vat, throw on my clothes, and step outside. An actual human receptionist is there, thankfully.
"Hello, Mr. Gibson. Were you satisfied with your revival experience today?"
"Past Me was an idiot. I've lost the past four days."
She winces in sympathy. "Oh, that's terrible. I lost a day once, and that was confusing enough. Is there anything we can do for you?"
"I think I'll have to get to my apartment and retrace my steps. But do you know what triggered my revival?"
She taps on her keyboard a few times, then turns her screen to show me. "Something killed you. Med-chip reported catastrophic injury and destruction of brain. You'll want a copy for the insurance company, I suppose?"
I nod. "Or the police, perhaps. I'm not the sort of man who burns a clone on a weekend bender."
I hand her my datapad, and it chimes as she transmits the records. I swipe idly through them as I walk away. Most of it is medical gibberish, tedious columns of numbers about my blood oxygen in the last 30 seconds of my life and so on. But one of the columns is interrupted halfway through by a message in plain English. I tap it and take a closer look.
"Hello, Future Me. If you're reading this, you're probably wondering where the past few days went. Sorry for not keeping backups, but if they thought for even a second that you remembered what happened, they'd have offed you and then wiped all your backups. Yes, they even know about the one you hid in the CD case labeled "Astley Videos." They aren't playing around.
"Honestly, it's probably safest if you walk away from all this and try to pick up your life again. But if you knew what I know, you wouldn't walk away either. And besides, I'm not the sort of person who walks away from a good mystery, and that means you won't either.
"Right, I need to wrap this up, because I have an appointment with a nice man with a shotgun who wants to get all these secrets out of my brain. I'm putting this on the med-chip, it should look like a normal revival request to them. If you're as good as I think I am, this is all you need to pick up where I left off."
The medical data picks up again as if it had never left off. I stare at the end of the message in shock for a few seconds. Past Me was involved in something dangerous. So dangerous that my own brain wasn't a safe place to hide it. If I try to retrace my steps, I'll be stepping into the same mess he did.
But I have to find out, don't I? After all, if you can't trust yourself, who can you trust? | 19 | In a world where people can "quick save" by downloading their mind into a new body. But what if you haven't saved recently? | 27 |
It was an accidental discovery. Some guy was at a frat party, got wasted, and fell out of the second story window, landing head first on an aging Honda Civic. No concussion, no broken bones, not even a little bit of blood from the broken glass. At first the authorities chocked it up to everyone being drunk and thinking they saw him land head first on the car.
A week later some kid in New York was walking across the street and got hit by a car. Totaled the car. Not a scratch on the kid.
They were both 19. That seemed to be their only common denominator.
Stories started to stream in from all over the world about young people surviving amazing feats. It soon became a way for bored college kids to entertain themselves. *Who has the invincible gene?* was all the rage.
Turns out those 19 year olds were the first wave. No one older than them had this astounding ability to survive anything and everything that should kill them. They never got sick. The scientists wanted to study them, but they couldn't get any samples other than semen, saliva, urine, and feces. Their semen came at a high price, after a time. Everyone wanted an invincible baby.
The first woman to discover the babies of these boys weren't invincible spent her life in prison.
Girls couldn't have babies. They didn't even menstruate.
All of them, however, were heavily recruited into the militaries around the world. The guy who fell out of the window was the first man on Mars. The guy who almost got run over single handedly brought democracy to North Korea.
That was just the beginning.
There was hope and fear. Hope for this new age of invincibility and fear for the lack of a future for it. How can we, as humans, continue on if the women can't get pregnant and pass on their genes?
It was mandated that any person who could menstruate had to be inseminated. Teen pregnancy was mandated by law. Starting at 16 girls were sent to doctor's offices to get pregnant and pass on the human legacy, as were those too old to be part of the Invincibles.
There were riots. Fathers and husbands, wives, mothers, girlfriends. Many rose up against the rulings. Not everyone wanted to take part. It was deemed that those who didn't want to have an invincible were to be sterilized. There was war.
Just one war, at first. Then many. Every country realized these kids were their ultimate weopon. What military wouldn't use soldiers that couldn't die to its advantage?
The revolution came when the Invincibles rose up against the governments. They no longer wanted to be pawns. So they overthrew the governments, and made their own, world government. The oldest of the ruling class was 25. 6 short years to end the world.
Three years later there was The Sneeze. It happened on his birthday. The US Centurion, the first man on mars and head of the region once a bastion of freedom and consumerism, was giving an address to celebrate not only his birth, but the birth of this new age of humanity. He was in the middle of a sentence when, suddenly, he stopped speaking. An explosion of air and saliva issued forth from him.
The broadcast stopped. The whole world stopped. The doctors said he simply had allergies. But Invincibles couldn't have allergies. They were invincible. He was found dead the next day. He'd hung himself in the night.
His replacement, a hot shot 20 year old named Chad, went on a witch hunt. Anyone of the ruling class that was 25 or older had to undergo The Test. If a doctor could draw their blood, they were deemed unfit to rule in this new age. He also saught to end the artificial insemination process. He deemed it inhuman. "Every child," he said, "should be created from people, not needles and doctors." The world government decided to allow his region to test this new theory. Again, there were riots and, again, the Invincibles won. Chad had several children over the course of the next few years. All with girls below the minimum age.
When he turned 28 he saught an exception to his own law passed seven years prior. He was to be sterilized and removed from office, replaced with Erin, a 19 year old rising in popularity around the world. He tried to fight, having his followers rise up against the world government. He didn't live past his 28th birthday.
By now the world knew we were only invincible between 18 and 28 years old. The education system was made so as to prepare anyone who was 18 to be part of the ruling class. Menial jobs were now performed by older folk, those who had less of a purpose than the Invincibles.
Erin's first bill put before the world government was passed. 63% voted to euthanize all men over the age of 28. Only fertile women were necessary to carry on the genes.
"But, grandpa, can't you stay and play with me some more?"
| 45 | A wold where every human is completely invincible between the ages of 18 and 28 | 56 |
"All hail, the Voice of the Lord!"
"Forgive us, for we are not worthy!"
I stared at the brown tiles, and waited for my turn. My cheeks burned. C'mon, leave me in peace, I thought as I fidgeted. I didn't want a crowd; how can you get down to work with prying eyes over your shoulder?
The burnt orange box before me swung open; a frumpy man with two tufts of white hair exited, whistling a wheezy melody. He zipped his fly as he trudged through the door, and shouldered through me to the sink. The chanters gasped, murmured amongst themselves and fell deathly silent, boring daggers through this man as he pumped the soap. He looked up as he scrubbed and dubbed, his wrinkled eyes jumping at the reflection of thirty angry stares.
"You have disrespected the Prophet!" a shrill voice called out from within the crowd.
"His Might, let us rectify this sin!", a bearded man thundered, overcoat swaying with the thrust of his tree-like arm.
The sinner looked at me, pupils wide. His focus darted from me to the roaring crowd behind me, to me, to the burly man, to his hands. His fingers clenched. Surely, he could not be thinking of fighting these zealots. My intestines churned, and I looked longingly at my mortal throne. Action needed to be taken.
"Brothers, sisters, hear me!" I roared in my best prophet imitation.
"You rise to arms, but there is no need, for the Lord is my protector. No harm did this man mean; he sought only the purity of proper hygiene. Is this man not your brother?" I motioned with an open hand.
The bearded man looked at me, and gave the old man a dreadful, burning stare. Behind his shoulders, the crowd stood hushed. He prostrated himself on the brown tiles, and cried, "His Might is merciful!"
"The Prophet is just!" The choir repeated, kneeling to the tiles as well.
The man gave me a worried, thankful look, and joined them. "The Prophet is kind!" he wheezed.
I looked to my throne, and saw the door. My intestines roiled. | 50 | You are an average person, but an increasingly large number of people think you are a religious prophet. | 75 |
David crawled atop a statue situated in the middle of Alexanderplatz.
There must have been at least 5 million people, all of them standing still, listening to the monster on stage spewing out poison from his mouth. Poison that would kill more people.
People like his parents.
They had come in the night and taken them. His mom only just got David into the secret room that his father had built once the tales began to spread. Tales of what happened to Jews living in Germany.
David saw his parents being taken away by men in the same uniforms at those standing beside the monster on stage.
He cried for several days, to scared to leave his hiding place. Finally hunger forced him out, and since then he had been living on the streets. Avoiding the monster's dogs in the night.
David knew that he would eventually get caught. What they do to the children, he knew not.
He had decided.
Before they caught him, he would make an attempt to kill the monster. The monster on stage.
As he made his way to the stage, his heart beating so fast, he thought of his parents. The look in fathers eyes as they took her. The screams from his mother.
Kill the monster.
David, only 11 years old, knew that he probably would not succeed. But he did not care.
He was still a long way from the stage when he heard the scratching sound through the speakers. The Monster tried to speak, but it was drowned out by static.
The static was suddenly replaced by a noise that David did not know off, then a harsh voice called trough the sound: *Fire .. Shots* was all that David could hear.
David looked up the stage and saw the horror in the monsters eyes as his generals and soldiers fell to the floor. Their faces melting off.
The monster looked out over the square and mouthed *Scheisse* just as the harsh voice returned and the monsters face exploded.
This time David heard the words:
*♫ Turn down for what ♫* | 13 | Hitler is delivering one of his many famous speeches to a large crowd in Berlin. Suddenly, a pop song from the 21st century begins blasting from the speakers. | 17 |
**I live for the moments** (listen to me read the poem [here](http://clyp.it/ag1uj3ts))
**.**
You look up from the pages of your book,
and your brown hair falls in front of your eyes.
You tuck it behind your ear
as you describe how the characters
try and fail to find love.
I nod and say interesting,
but I barely hear one word you speak.
Something is happening to me.
It starts as a warm glow in my toes
and travels through my body
until my mind is overheated and shuts down.
Suddenly, I am just a pair of eyes seeing,
seeing something beautiful,
the only thing that is beautiful.
For a moment, you are all that is.
For a moment, you are all that has ever been.
**.**
Your eyes return to the book, and I remember:
from the perspective of the universe,
we are smaller than ants.
When we try to define our importance,
we realize we can't.
But the moment we just shared...
as it took place, I forgot the universe.
We were the universe.
And from the perspective of two,
we were giants.
We were the reason for all things.
No one could ever convince me that that moment,
no matter how brief,
was insignificant.
**.**
I've had a handful of such moments with you.
Together they add up to less than one minute--
nothing compared to the hours, days, and years
spent knowing that I am less than an ant.
But they are enough.
I live for the moments when I can forget I'm living.
I live for the moments with you.
| 26 | What it means TO LIVE (250 words) | 26 |
“Has the sky always been so black?” Chuck said, staring up toward the darkened clouds. They looked odd, he’d never really noticed how peculiar they were. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure whether or not they actually were clouds. They seemed to be significantly less translucent and much more scattered than traditional clouds. If anything, they reminded him more of a platoon of soldiers, flying through the air toward a fiery battle. They’d been that way for years, although it never really seemed strange until that week.
“Yeah, definitely,” Howard said. “Sky was definitely always black. I think.”
“You positive?” Chuck hadn’t really looked up at the sky in recent memory. He was pretty sure it used to be another color once—perhaps maple? He wasn’t completely sure what color “maple” was, but he had been thinking of maple syrup while eating his waffles earlier in the day and it seemed to make sense.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” Howard shuffled his feet slightly, adjusting his glasses as he turned his head back toward the ground and locked eyes with Chuck. His glasses were cracked, the frames tilted and skewed. He and Howard had tried to find someone to repair them, but the store was always closed.
Chuck shrugged his shoulders, Howard seemed confident enough in his assessment. He’d probably just seen a movie recently that threw off his perspective on reality, although he couldn’t really recall seeing a movie in the past few years. He glanced down at the floor, blackened rocks and dust caking what was once a clean, well-kept road. It’d been a while since he’d seen a working car.
“Well, okay I guess. I do have another question, though,” Chuck said. He hadn’t been sleeping well, his bed had become significantly less comfortable for some reason. It hadn’t bothered him much in the past few years, but it had been on his mind lately.
“Sure, what’s up?” Howard said. He pulled down on the sleeve of his t-shirt, which was actually less of a t-shirt and more of a few strips of cloth stitched together with discarded plastic. Chuck wasn’t sure how fashion had deteriorated so much, but apparently strips of cloth were all the rage lately. He had made his from an old curtain.
“Are you finding it hard to sleep recently?”
“Yeah, actually. A little bit. My bed kind of sucks now. I might need a new mattress.”
“Weird, me too.” Chuck glanced over at his house, which was actually just a gaping chasm in the ground. His home had been swallowed up almost six years ago, a fiery pit taking its place. It had seemed totally normal until now, that his house had just needed some time alone. Small, red, horned creatures occasionally climbed out of the chasm. Chuck always thought they were just new neighbors, although they never seemed to have any decent house warming parties. “Probably just one of those weird things, right?” Chuck studied his bed, which lay just a few feet from the chasm, noticing that it seemed more like a boulder with several large leaves on top for blankets. Weird, it had looked so much more bed-like before.
“Right,” Howard said. “Anyway, I’m still a bit hungry. Do you have any of those waffles left over?”
“Yeah,” Chuck said, reaching into the bundle he carried on a stick over his shoulder. It contained all he owned now, yet was no more than a handful of items. He preferred traveling light though, yet would’ve liked at least a few more items. Maybe some silverware, or a second pair of clothes, or just a bit more food. Unfortunately, everything he owned had been lost when his house decided to move without him. It was a bit peculiar how there also seemed to be no stores any longer, just fiery pits and burning human effigies, but it didn’t bother him too much. As far as he could tell, that had always been the case. Food was easy enough to come by, a canning factory was just down the road from his home-chasm.
Chuck pulled a silver, half-sealed can from his bindle And handed it to Howard. He immediately grabbed it and tilted it into his mouth.
“The waffles sure taste like baked beans today.” They always tasted like baked beans. It never really seemed strange to him in the past, but the more he thought about it, the weirder it was.
“Hey, Howard,” Chuck said, staring at the side of the can. “One more question.”
“Yeah?” Howard mumbled through the can, mouth seemingly stuffed with baked beans.
“Do you think it’s possible that we’ve been eating cans of baked beans every day for the past few years?” In retrospect he realized that it was slightly peculiar for filet mignon, lobster, and beef to come in a can. They also always seemed to taste the same, all of them salty and baked bean-like.
“No, I don’t think so.” Howard lowered the can down and stared at it. “Definitely not. We had filet mignon yesterday. Very bean-like filet mignon.” He lifted his left eyebrow as if suddenly suspicious.
“Yeah, but we ate it with a spoon,” Chuck said. “And it came from a can. I’m pretty sure it was the can you’re holding.” Chuck glanced around him. The black sky hung threateningly overhead, a plume of lava spouting upwards in the distance. The volcano beneath it had been erupting for years, legions of dark, scattered figures flying forth from it and slowly replacing the people that had once filled his city. They hissed at him whenever he passed, sometimes pricking him with their weapons. It never really struck him as odd at the time, he thought it was maybe just a trend like that whole “swag” thing. He never was too up-to-date with the kids.
“I don’t know, I think you might be going a bit crazy. Peaches sometimes come from cans,” Howard said. “There was a song about that once in the 90s.” It was true. There was a song about peaches in a can. “Then again, these beans do taste an awful lot like the lobster we had last week. And the filet mignon. And the Lucky Charms.”
“Weird, right? And you’re still positive that the sky was always black and filled with fiery creatures?”
“Yeah, pretty sure. Well, not really, but kind of.” Chuck stared up at the darkened sky, a massive, shadowy figure flying overhead. Birds had become a lot larger recently, which he attributed to something in the water supply turning them into dragons. One of his old friends had been the first to point it out to him, screaming for help as one of them swooped down and grabbed him in its beak. He never saw that friend again, but it didn’t really strike him as odd until now.
“Hey, uh, one last question,” Chuck said, watching as the massive shadow flew into dust that now covered everything and everyone. “Do you think it’s possible we might have missed the apocalypse?”
Howard stared up at the sky. “Maybe,” he said, tilting the can of beans back toward his mouth.
________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^others ^short ^stories/prompts ^at ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
| 293 | The Apocalypse began six years ago. Nobody has noticed until now. | 328 |
"Do you know how I got these scars?" he said, as he chuckled a bit, twisting a curl of his puke-green hair in his fingers, "and not just that story I tell Bats to freak him out a bit, actually, how I got them."
Harley didn't seem too interested, but the Joker continued on anyways, strolling about the abandoned warehouse floor.
"But didn't your dad cut up your mom and you or something?" asked Harley, in her usual bimbo voice. God, she was *so* annoying sometimes.
"Harley, if there's anyone who should know that's not true, it's you," the purple-suited man said, with a slight snarl to his voice, "but no, that's not what happened. Let me tell you... no lies, no jokes, except for the whole story, it's all one big joke.."
*12 years prior*
"Jack! Move **up**!"
The yells of battle surrounded him, as they always did, like a blanket, or a mother cuddling a child. It was strange, from a 'normal' person's point of view, that he loved the fight and the killing so much, but he'd never told anyone as much- they just thought of him as a good soldier, one who persevered and always came through hard situations. He just did it because he liked it, because Jack Napier had a hard time dealing with, you know, people. The only thing he was good at in terms of social interactions was telling a decent joke. Yea, he was pretty good at making people laugh; he just couldn't stand the silence afterwards, the infinite void that seemed to exist after the golden laughs dissipated. It was like a knife to the heart.
"Fuck, Sergeant Napier! Move up, or we're all gonna get shafted," yelled the CO of this little unit, the Captain. Jack didn't even know his name, not that he particularly cared. They came and they went, the sea of people. As he watched, the man took a full coatsworth of metal slugs to the chest.
"Heh, full metal jacket," he said to himself, chuckling for perhaps a bit too long, "that's funny."
Jack Napier stood up and fired his rifle at the militants, his weapon's shots hitting home several times. Three of them fell, but as he looked about, the rest of his unit was dead or too injured to be of any use, and he was about to be surrounded.
"Okay, okay, I give up," he shouted loudly, "don't shoot."
He was very shortly sorry that he had made that choice. The radioman hadn't been able to send out a message before the patrol was ambushed and ran far off course, and so it took days for anyone to realize that they were lost. It took another week and a half for them to find the bloodstained domicile that had housed Sergeant Jack Napier and his captors- but Jack was gone, never to return. Jack had died when the enemies had cut his back, his cheeks, his mouth. His twisted sense of humor, though? No, that stayed. The Joker had left his first mark upon his captors- the same grisly, cut-open smile that they had given him. Jack Napier had disappeared. But the Joker was just getting started. | 12 | what happened to him that made him the homicidal maniac he is in The Dark Knight? | 18 |
“All I need from you,” whispered Death, in a voice resembling the ghastly sound of bone grinding on bone, “is simple.
“Can you get this damn splinter out of my eye socket?”
I sat for a second, the words not really processing in my head. All I could do was sit and stare at the figure in front of me as it hastily lowered his robe.
“Look, dude, I’m filling in for a friend and he didn’t tell me that the whole teleportation thing is a little tricky. Instant transportation through time and space is a bitch. The first time I tested it out I got the shift in location correct but I forgot to account for change in relative velocity. Threw me like a rag doll and I slammed my face into a nearby dock and got a splinter. And man, you put this robe on and you go all skeleton, which is cool and whatnot, but have you ever tried to grab something with two round twigs? Cuz that’s what trying to grab this splinter is like.
“Here, let me show,” said Death’s substitute, as he shifted around to lean in close to point to a piece of wood stuck in his empty eye socket.
As he shifted closer, the familiar scythe he carried slipped out of his hands and slipped into my chest. There was no pain, no hurt, only peace and tranquility. I felt the stress of my body slip away and all my old scars dissolve.
As I drifted into what came next, I heard a voice say “My bad, dude.” | 19 | you are on you way home from work when you see a semi trailer cross the center line into your lane. You make contact but time freezes and death confronts you and says he will spare you. Of course this comes at a price. | 15 |
That is it. I'm following him today. For the past six months, my husband has been disappearing at noon on Sunday. He leaves for three fucking hours and doesn't tell me what he is doing or who he is with.
"We've been married for five years! Why are you hiding something from me?"
"I'll tell you again, I don't go anywhere. I sit right here in the living room with you. Then within three hours you start freaking out that I've been gone!"
That's what he thought, but today I am following him. Today, I pretend to sleep in while I listen to him sneak out the front door. I get out of bed, pull on whatever clothes are closest, and head out the door.
Once I'm outside alarms start going off. Not psychological alarms, actual alarms. They scream angry beeping at me and I'm stunned. I stand in the driveway covering my ears. No one is coming outside to investigate the alarm that is murdering my eardrums. What the hell?
I run inside. I open the door and slam it behind me. When I walk into the living room, my husband is sitting on the couch. I look at the clock. It reads 3:00 P.M.. | 29 | Your long term SO has always disappeared at noon on Sunday for three hours, and never tells you where they go, even denying that they ever leave. This Sunday, you decide to follow them. What do you discover? | 42 |
They're pounding on the outer door now. The enchantments are holding them back, but not for very long. These demons are strong, having feasted off my father, mother, and little sisters only moments ago. I'm all that's left of my family. We have been fighting these demons for generations and now I'm the last. My family's magic was the only thing that can kill them, but our blood is the only thing that keeps them living. I know I won't die for they need my blood to survive. They'll drain me often, but never enough to kill me. I'd rather die now with a blade in my hand and slaughter as many as I can.
I know the outer door has fallen when I hear the wood splinter and crack. The demons are running down the hall now. Their growls and shouts are getting louder as they approach the inner door. This one will take them longer to bust down, but not much longer. It's iron and the enchantments are stronger, but they have my father's blood running through their veins now. His magic was powerful and his blood was thick.
I'm in the armory. Swords line the walls and I pick my favorite and most trusted. It's my hand-and-a-half sword that I forged myself in the fires of my own magic. The sword and I are one and it feels like an old friend when I hold it in my hand. I add some extra enchantments to it. It may very well be our last fight together. I buckle on my armor: thick leather boots, steel greaves and braces, a chain mail shirt over leather, a tunic, an angel-winged half helm. All of it is enchanted as well. I won't keep me from getting hurt, but it will help me keep going so I can kill longer.
The iron door bends with a screech. The pounding is echoing throughout the armory. I walk over and place my hands on the door. Each pound sends a shockwave through my body. Taking a deep breath I step back and ready my magics. Fire engulfs my hands. The door bends with another ear-splitting screech. They'll be in any moment and I'm ready for them. The screeching stops. The iron door falls free from it's hinges and lands with a crash. The hall is packed with demons and I know there are many more waiting for me after I kill these. The first demon crosses the threshold. I release the fire from my hands. The fire is fueled by the fury I feel for my lost family and it burns hotter than the sun. The fire scorches down the hall and turns the demons in it to ashes. I am my father's son. My magic is powerful and my blood is thick. | 11 | Demons are real, but they must feed off a specific bloodline to survive. You are the last living member of this bloodline. | 16 |
"Pilot, identify yourself."
The new Air Traffic Control Operator, Jin, in Beijing began to scramble as an unknown aircraft headed for the runway. The plane was going to disrupt the flow of air traffic, as it had not been on schedule.
"This is Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370. Prepared for landing."
Jin stopped dead in his tracks. He pushed the millions of possibilities out of his head for just a moment because maybe, just maybe, he had heard the number of the flight wrong.
"Could you repeat the number of the aircraft, Captain?" Jin asked.
"Yes, uh, Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370. That's 3-7-0. Prepared for landing."
The thoughts burst through the door of the Jin's head. The situation was clearly impossible. Malaysia Flight 370 had been lost three months ago. Maybe the Captain just was confused as to what number aircraft he was actually flying.
"C-Clear for landing, C-Captain."
Jin's voice shook more than he anticipated. He quickly spun around and pointed directly between the eyes of one of his co-workers.
"Lee, what was the exact day that Malaysian Flight got lost at sea?"
Lee looked at him skeptically. "March something. I don't know for sure."
The Controller turned quickly around and rapidly typed his burning question into Google. He found the date: March 8, 2014. No. It couldn't be. He looked into the bottom right hand corner of his computer screen and read the day's date aloud: 'June 8, 2014'.
"Three months."
"What?" Lee walked up behind Jin and, while taking a sip of coffee, put his hand on Jin's shoulders to comfort his lingering unease. Jin looked up and watched the Flight land, then slowly pointed at the aircraft.
"T-that flight sitting out on the runway is Malaysia Flight 370 - 3 months late."
The coffee mug slipped from Lee's hand and shattered upon impact with the tiled floor.
Flight 370 pulled into the gate. The sounds of sirens inside and outside made the passengers uneasy as they began to exit the airplane. As they exited the grey bridge, cameras and reporters surrounded each and every one of them. The police pulled some of them aside as well. Questions were flown everywhere. 'Where have you been?' 'What happened to the flight?' 'Is anyone injured?' 'Did you land anywhere else?' 'Was it alien abduction?'
The passengers were confused. Their explanations were all the same. They boarded the flight at Kuala Lumpur International Airport in Malaysia, then made the six hour flight to Beijing. One man in first class did explain they hit some minor turbulence midway through the flight, and that the six hours seemed eerily *long*, but nothing to raise any eyebrows.
Lee and Jin sprinted their way through the crowds of people anxiously headed to the same destination. Thoughts and possibilities on what could have happened to the plane were swarming their heads. But upon arrival, they received the same feedback from the passengers as everyone had: nothing had gone wrong.
Out of questions to ask, Lee and Jin backed out of the crowd and began their long walk back to the control tower.
"There's no way just *nothing* could have happened to those people. They're obviously hiding something." Lee said.
"Maybe, my friend." Jin answered, but Lee wasn't finished.
"It could have been aliens, could have been North Korea, could have been Russia, could have been a glitch in the matrix, could have been-"
"It could have been anything, Lee. Aliens, governments, different dimensions, glitches in the matrix, fate, destiny, God-like powers, anything! But I don't believe in any of those things. Those are solutions to the problem."
"So what is it then?" asked the desperate Lee.
Jin sighed, and continued. "All I believe is that I saw Malaysia Flight 370 land on the runway today, in one piece, and I also saw your coffee mug split into hundreds of pieces today - something had to give." | 216 | passengers claim to have flown as normal. | 613 |
"Mars burns." Eve pointed skyward with her spear. Where once a blue jewel hung in the heavens, an angry ball glowed red. Grim determination was writ in the blue glow of the woman's eyes, accentuated by arcane energies pulsing in time with her heartbeat along the skin of ornate but effective armor. The figure opposite Eve scowled large and touched a point on his temple, the visor covering fierce red eyes melted up and out of view into his helm.
"And Venus begins her final and eternal dance with the sun, witch." Adam's unsheathed sword crackled with barely caged lightning in his armored hand, gauntlet covered in scorched runes of protection, mathematics, and war. Several of the arcane words promising vengeance actually smouldered and glowed red hot. Still, Adam kept his sword point down at his feet in recognition of Eve's gesture of peace, the woman holding her spear loosely with butt planted on the ground.
A heard of four-legged herbivores grazed lazily nearby, eying the pair warily but otherwise continuing about their business. Two large dragonflies with wingspans almost as wide as Adam's two hands together zipped in to inspect Eve's spear point briefly before darting off. Otherwise there was no movement between the man and the woman, eyes locked and searching for any sign of betrayal. Eve focused her breathing and heart to be steady, while Adam flared his nostrils and forced himself to unclench his jaw.
The war in the heavens was over, or near enough that it was in the finale. On Mars, green rolling plains now burned in a hellstorm conflagration while the Great Freshwater Sea boiled away. The women of Venus had struck a firm and final blow, an ultimate solution to check the Martians before they could use their newly developed technology to leave the solar system and spread their war-like ways among the stars. In desperation and revenge, the men of Mars had employed their tech to set Venus on a fatal spiral orbit that would take it permanently near the sun. Fire would be paid back with fire. Horrible skirmishes and death charges between the surviving fleets ensued as the two worlds burned, until now the last few wretched survivors from both sides hung barely in orbit above the ignored Third Planet.
Adam and Eve had been selected as emissaries under a flag of peace. Adam was chosen from the remaining warriors for his discipline, strength, and fatherly attitude he took towards the younger men. Eve had shrewdly manipulated her way to be the chosen diplomat, her skills as a huntress serving her well both on the battlefield and off. Each faced the other with unyielding intent, but also with no where else to go.
"Get on with it then witch," spat Adam. "I have a fleet to attend to. What is it you want?"
Eve pursed her lips, she had to be cautious and let this prey play itself out. "Survival," she said.
"Bah," Adam returned. "You forfeited that the moment you set Mars to the sword."
"Not just ours, but yours as well." She waited, watching the hard lines around his eyes and the set of his jaw. When Adam did not reply, Eve carefully continued. "Your remaining fleet has a few days at best left in it. No, save your threats," she held up one finger. "Ours has perhaps a day more than yours, but no more. You are spent. We are spent. WE," Eve emphasized pointing at both her and Adam, "are spent."
"So what witch, did you come here to lecture me? If I spent the last of Martian strength wiping the whores of Venus out of existence, it might make all our glorious dead welcome me with open arms and horns of ale."
"Yes but you won't," Eve said sharply, too sharply. The energy pattern in tune to her heartbeat pulsed a quick tattoo across her armor for a moment, but using the breathing techniques of the huntress Eve composed herself just as quickly. "You won't," she said more firmly and slowly. "This isn't war anymore, this is suicide. Even you are not so foolish."
Adam shifted in his boots and ran a hand across his bearded chin. In truth he was tired, beyond tired. He and the remaining men had no more stomach for war. "You have something in mind. The witches of Venus never do anything without a hidden purpose. Go on, out with it then."
"As I said, survival. Between both of our losses, neither of us has the equipment or genetic stock to replenish the population. But here on the Third Planet, there are those that we might give our genetic lineage to so that we live on as a species."
Adam laughed boisterously, pointing at the grazing ungulates chewing at the grass. "What, with those? You'd use your witch's power to turn us all into beasts? Truly you women are more mad than even I thought."
With irritation, Eve summoned up a holographic projection in the air. Two-legged, hairy humanoids with thick ridges along their brows and rough features huddled around a fire in the scene. "I would have us combine with these creatures. You know they are genetically close enough to us that it would be possible, given some manipulation."
"And I suppose your burning labs on Venus hold the key, eh?" Adam chuckled to himself.
"No, but this does." Eve produced a golden sphere from a pouch on her waist, perfectly rounded and flawless with a mirror polish. Only a sharp pair of fang-like spikes interrupted the surface. "We had been working on it for decades, hoping that perhaps the key to reuniting Mars and Venus lay in moving our genetic lines back towards each other."
Adam eyed the globe suspiciously, especially the protruding spikes. "That... would have been a welcome change. Does it work?"
"We think so, but even in doing this our reproduction would be too slow. We need a surrogate, new blood that can invigorate our own and make children for this world. Hence our hairy friends here." Eve waved at the hologram still floating.
"You know we would be breaking the ancient laws forbidding bringing knowledge or change to the beasts of the Third Planet." Adam sighed, "But I suppose that bridge was crossed when you destroyed my world. Very well witch, give it here. Let us be done with this. I will find you a husband from the one covered in the most hair among these natives." Adam sheathed his sword and began removing a gauntlet.
"Me first," Eve smiled, as she plunged the twin fangs into her palm. | 12 | Adam and Eve actually came from Mars and Venus. | 21 |
Billie woke up on the stoop, bleary-eyed and head afire. The morning was that strange twilight between stormy and sunny, where the day could go either way. For Billie, it didn’t much matter.
She rose from the steps, and grabbed her shoulder bag; half-heartedly wiping dirt and dried vomit off of her only blanket, she stowed it into her bag with her other belongings. Few that they were, they were still precious to her. Of course, you could find a spoon and a dirty needle just about anywhere, and the frayed belt she wore was just as good a tourniquet as any. These were hers, though, and she took some kind of belonging from that, some sense of home.
The real prize possession was the delicate glass pipe. Those were expensive, those were hard to come by. You had to steal those, if you were like Billie, if you didn’t have money for anything other than a fix.
She dragged herself down the steps and into the alleyway, steam rising from the grates that lined the dirty passage, and retrieved her BMX bike from the hiding place she’d chosen behind the dumpster. Horns sounded randomly, the early morning commute was already well underway.
“Nobody came to fuck with it,” she said to herself absently, faint remembrance of her irrational terror as she hid the bike the previous night, convinced that when she awoke it would be gone.
Billie was dressed in an olive green tank-top, the bright turquoise bra straps peeking out a stark contrast to her tanned, gaunt frame. Skate shoes, camo shorts, and a ballcap turned backwards completed the look; seen from a distance it would be easy to mistake her for a teenage boy.
Her general appearance belied the mileage on her body, and her soul. Her eyes, and her face, told the truth. Billie had not led a gentle life.
She adjusted her bag over her shoulder, and set out into the city. Today would be like most, she thought, time to dive for some food and then find out where the party was.
She made her way to the park on 10th where the junkies stayed, dodging pedestrians as she rode the sidewalk the whole way, eyes sharp despite being watery and bloodshot. Her eyes lit on Neffew, sometimes he’d share a score with her, but today he was in no mood.
“Fuck outta here Billie, I got nothin for you. Can’t even fix myself, you hear?”
Billie knew how to be persistent. “Come on Neff, just a taste and I’ll be on my way. Get it man, I’m fucking sick, I just need a little something.”
“We all need a little some’ bitch, now get the fuck out my face before I cut you!” Neffew flashed a small shiv with duct tape wound around the handle. What remained of his ruined teeth seemed to flash more than the blade. Billie turned and rode off.
Jesus, guy woke up on the wrong side of the trash can, she thought to herself, grinning slightly. These little moments were about the only mirth she could find in her everyday. She rode on, already consumed with locating another source.
She found it, in the canal by the river, not more than a five minute ride from 10th Street Park. A couple of junkies were down near the tepid water’s edge, hitting crystal and laughing.
They were bigger boys, not typical of the people that she usually dealt with, but she could tell that the meth had them rolling anyway. She called out to them from a safe distance.
“Hey! Can I get in?” Their heads pistoned upward in response, and they moved towards her quickly. She thought about leaving then, but the glowing ball of plasma in her stomach forced her to ride it out so that she could get her fix.
They were right up on her before they spoke, she could smell their stench and see the wild, glazed eyes shining out of both of their skulls. “What’s that love? You want a taste? Where we come from, you gotta pay your way. Got any money?”
“Come on man, you know I ain’t got no money. I just want a hit.”
“Well well, another freeloader, eh? You know what we do with these freeloaders, don’t you Jimmy?”
“Oh yeah Paw, we makes ‘em pay!” Jimmy had a predatory look in his eyes. Father and son outfit, that was a new one to Billie.
“Look, I just want one little taste, and I’ll be on my way, ok? I’m really down on my luck here, I just need some help.”
“Down on your luck, of course,” Paw spat. “You’re all down on your goddamn luck. Well, I guess your luck’s about to change. See, I brought Junior down here to get ‘im high, and get ‘im some strange. So since you asking us for our high, I guess I know what role you’re going to play!”
Paw punctuated his statement by looking Billie from head to toe, then remarking “it’ll be like fucking a ten year old boy, Jimmy, but it’ll still be a piece of ass! Woo boy! Told you we’d score it down here!”
Jimmy was rubbing his hands together now. Billie sighed, knowing that if she didn’t surrender herself that they would probably just rape her anyway, and not give her anything for her efforts, to boot.
After it was done, Billie wiped her bloodied mouth and nose with her soiled blanket. These guys had been particularly rough, they didn’t all hit, but these guys had taken pleasure in it.
Bastards, she thought, and started to fire up the flake of crystal they had given her. Not given her, she corrected herself. Paw had put it in his mouth and then spat it in her face before they had left. The smoke was bubbling and rising out of the smooth glass, entering her lungs, burning her nasal passage. Every color in the rainbow was present in the world now, flashing, making everything beautiful again, if only for a fleeting moment.
She leaned back into the bushes, everything much more comfortable now. She daydreamed of her daughter, of the life she had left behind. Her ma was taking care of Amelia now, and had finally been awarded permanent custody by the judge. Billie wasn’t even allowed to see her anymore, not that she could anyway, there was no way she could get that far uptown on her bicycle. Her ma had done so much for her, but she didn’t usually see it that way. Billie was a perpetual victim.
Billie cried then, and pounded her fists into her temples, and threw rocks at the birds that came around, and yelled at herself, and spun around in circles. The morning’s activities had tired her, and she fell asleep in some scrub brush near the canal.
She awoke near mid-afternoon, finding the burning pit back in her stomach, and the empty hole where her heart used to be, she set out to find another fix. Maybe smack this time, take the edge off. Maybe she could keep her clothes on, this time. | 19 | write about the day of an addict. | 30 |
Carter rolled his trolley down the nursing home hallway, stopping at the occasional room to give residents their medicine. It got to the point where he didn't even knock on the doors anymore, the residents were used to Carter's friendly face.
"Is my son here yet?" Gretchen said, looking up from her plate of mashed potatoes and apple sauce. The staff had stopped serving her solids after the third time she choked on her food. Old lady Gretchen just plum forgot to chew sometimes. She also forgot that she didn't have a son; she had a daughter named Celia, but there wasn't ever a son. Carter had checked her records.
"No, he's not here yet, but I'll check the lobby here in a bit," Carter said, digging through the trolley, looking for Gretchen's medicine for the day. On days she did ask for her son, Carter wondered if maybe the old woman had had a miscarriage, maybe actually did have a son, but lost him somewhere along the way.
He looked into her eyes and wondered if she was ready to go yet, if she was ready for him to help push her along. But no, not today, she was still fairly lucid, judging from the fact that her potatoes were still on the plate. Last week, Mr. Johnson had flung shit at Carter. Quite scrappy, Mr. Johnson, considering how old he was.
Carter had given him the "wrong" medication, had helped pushed him along, and in turn, took the few months that Mr. Johnson had left of his life.
"There's someone in my bathroom," Gretchen said to Carter as he handed her a cup filled with her medicine, liquid of course.
"Is there?" Carter asked.
"Yes, I can here them whispering my name, can you please check dearie?"
"Yes, I can do that."
Carter walked around the old woman's bed and pushed through the door leading to the small nursing home bathroom. Of course, there was no one there, but Carter did stop to acknowledge the person in the mirror.
A tall, lean, blonde man. His hair was combed back, nice and full. His skin was smooth, not a single wrinkle on it. Carter smiled, revealing two rows of pearly teeth. He felt good.
He had taken good care of himself over the years. Many years. Part of him was worried of the fact that he couldn't remember how he discovered his ability to steal time, and on some nights it kept him awake, wondering if he would end up getting a degenerating disease that would steal his mind and leave him a vegetable in a bed, wasting away for how many more years that he had stolen.
"It was a man," Carter whispered to himself, faint memories resurfacing, "I killed a man." He smiled as he felt the memories come back to him, but then the memories soon faded as he became more entertained by the facial expression he was making in the mirror. He was an admitted narcissist.
"Well, no whisperer here," he said to himself. Maybe it was time for Gretchen to go. He'd give her a special dose of medicine that would put her to sleep, then eventually stop her heart. He'd receive whatever small amount of time left she had, and he'd continue his day. It had become his routine. He never stole more than a few months at a time. It was less risky that way. He only needed a few months at a time to retain his looks anyways.
He exited the bathroom, smiled at Gretchen, "No honey, no one in the bathroom," then walked to his trolley. He opened a drawer, grabbed a syringe and a few bottles, and began to create his cocktail of death.
"I remember you," Gretchen said.
"I know you do," Carter answered, holding the syringe up to the air. He pushed on the plunger a little, just enough to squeeze out any air from the tube and needle. He wasn't a cruel man, he wasn't going to allow Gretchen to die from an air embolism in her veins. "I'm your favorite caretaker."
"No, I remember you killing my dad, you stabbed him, you were *older*, but I recognize those eyes and those teeth."
Carter looked to Gretchen, brows curling, confused. He didn't recognize the woman. He couldn't.
"I remember," Gretchen continued. | 55 | Killing someone gives you all the time they had left. | 77 |
Sebastian Barkwith awoke early on the morning of his eighteenth birthday. Anticipation of what lay ahead of him today meant that he had hardly slept at all. He was already out of bed and dressed in his Sunday Best when Mary, the maid, knocked softly on the door and came in, her lop-eared rabbit hopping contentedly at her feet. "The Mistress would like you to come down to breakfast at eight," she said as she knelt at the hearth to light the fire. Then she smiled. "Oh, and happy birthday, Mr Barkwith."
Sebastian smiled back. It would be hard getting used to that; Mister instead of Master. But he was an adult now and by the end of the day he would have his Guardian Spirit to prove it. "Thank you, Mary." He glanced down at the rabbit, resisting the urge to kneel and pet it. Touching another person's spirit was the height of bad ettiquette. "Can I ask you something, Mary?"
"Of course, Mr Barkwith." She sat back on her heels, wiping her sooty hands on her long grey skirt.
"How did you feel, when you got your rabbit? Were you disappointed?"
"Oh no, Mr Barkwith, not at all. I adore him." She patted her knees and the rabbit hopped up into her lap. It stood on its hindlegs and nuzzled Mary's cheek. "People get what they give, Mr Barkwith, if you get my drift."
Sebastian nodded. "Or what they need, maybe," he said, almost to himself. "My father was a Rabbit," he added softly.
Breakfast with his mother was even more tense than usual. He preferred to take his morning meal in his room but as today was a special day, this formality could not be avoided. "Sebastian," she said, eyeing him up and down, inspecting his morning suit and his hair. "Is that the best you can do?"
"Mother!" He glared at her and sat down at the table while Mary brought his breakfast; eggs Benedict, toast, orange juice. He ate silently for a few minutes. "A 'Happy Birthday' would have been nice you know. I'm eighteen today."
Mrs Barkwith stirred her tea, the silver spoon rattling loudly on the cup. "I expect your Spirit to be something of status, Sebastian. I shall be terribly disappointed if you take after your father." There was a low growl from beside her chair and Sebastian glanced uncomfortably at the skinny jackal whose yellow eyes were fixed on him with something like hunger. Sebastian had always hated that beast.
"Of course Mother," he said without looking at her. "You'll never live down the shame with your Salon friends if I get a mouse or a sheep. Or a Rabbit." Sebastian swallowed hard. He wasn't sure he could live with the shame of a mouse or a sheep either but a rabbit, he would possibly be content with because of his father. Rather that than a jackal.
After breakfast was done, there was hardly any time to worry about it and by ten o'clock Sebastian was sitting in a steam carriage on the way to the Grand Technomancer's Hall for the first of several formal receptions of the day. Sebastian forced a smile on his face and kept it there for what felt like hours as he shook hands and received congratulations from members of his extended family, most of whom he had never seen before. There was Uncle Percy, his face florid red and his expansive waistline threatening to burst out of his tweed suit. Percy's ginger Tamworth pig snuffled the ground at his feet.
"Sebastian, old boy!" Percy bellowed cheerfully as he gave Sebasian a hearty pat on the back that almost knocked him over. "Congratulations boy, happy birthday, now don't be nervous old chap." He lowered his voice a little, "and don't let that old hag hassle you if you end up with something she doesn't approve of. Any trouble, you just let me know, I'll sort her out." He winked and tapped the side of his nose.
Sebastian continued to mingle, as was proper, and was surprised to find that one of the guests was Prime Minister Sir Henry Proudmoor, along with the ever-present raven perched on his shoulder. Sebastian recognised him from pictures he'd seen in the newspapers. "I knew your father," Proudmoor explained as he shook Sebastian's hand. "Years ago, we were at university together. Such a tragedy."
"It wasn't a tragedy, Sir," Sebastian answered coldly. "It was murder."
As the reception drew to a close, a steward rang a bell to announce the start of the ceremony. Only close family would be permitted in the main hall while the Prime Minister and other guests were escorted to the main dining hall for a formal luncheon. Sebastian was glad he hadn't skipped breakfast; it would be several hours before *he* would get any lunch.
A Technomancer came forward, accompanied by his strange Guardian; some kind of large lizard creature that Sebastian did not recognise. He placed a white hooded cloak around Sebastian's shoulders and took off his top hat so he could raise the hood. Then, in silence, he followed the Technomancer into the Grand Hall and stood before the great Steam Altar. Upon the altar was a large Van der Graaf generator; a glass globe inside of which bolts of lightning flickered and flashed. Sebastian stood where he was directed while the Technomancer addressed the assembled congregation.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness the coming of age of Mr Sebastian Clarence Torrington Barkwith and the manifestation of his Guardian Spirit. We have faith that the Power of Science will prevail and the Spirit that Sebastian shall receive will be that most suited to him and his future purpose in life."
The Technomancer turned to Sebastian. "Don't worry lad, it might be a little uncomfortable but it won't last long. Now, put your hands on the glass."
Sebastian took a deep breath and placed the palms of his hands against the generator's glass globe. Immediately he felt a jolt of static and pulled back in shock but he steeled himself and put them back. The lightning in the globe seemed attracted to him and flashed against the glass where his hands were touching. He closed his eyes and felt every hair on his body stand on end as the energy seemed to flow into him. Into, and through, and out again. There was a pain, tearing, splitting in his head and he cried out but he dare not move his hands. He had heard of people who had broken contact before the process was complete; they had never received their Guardian Spirit and few lived for long after that. Like his father, after his rabbit was...
Sebastian's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden loud sound like a thunderclap in the air as something materialised out of nothing. Gasps from the assembled congregation of Sebastian's family, followed by stunned silence.
*Don't tell me, I got a mouse*
Cautiously Sebastian opened his eyes, looking at the ground beside him. Not a mouse. A large paw, golden-furred. His eyes followed the thick strong leg up to where it attached to the body of a large and very magnificent maned lion. Stunned, Sebastian's knees gave way and he sank to the floor. The lion came forward, nuzzled him, licked his face. Sebastian could hear its thoughts in his head. *Stand up. Face them. Be worthy of me.* He looked into the lion's deep amber eyes then nodded and stood again, turning towards the shocked faces of his family.
None more so than his mother who was staring at him, her face as pale as death. Under her chair the jackal cowered, trembling in fear.
*ETA: correction of minor errors and punctuation* | 170 | At the age of 18, people summon an animal that perfectly fits their personality to be their Guardian Spirit. | 96 |
The young lieutenant slammed the foreign newspaper onto the conference table, then quickly attempted, and failed, to compose himself. An unflattering picture of Dear Leader leered from its pages, accompanied by a mocking headline. The elder Chairman, ever patient, allowed himself a faint smile while he waited for the predictable tirade from his protege.
"Mr. Chairman, it's intolerable!"
"And yet we must tolerate it."
"But the claims of famine, when our people..."
"Yes, they do not understand how our advances in nutrition can feed our people without the need for so much food. The Americans see us with no cheap hamburgers and think us hungry. They see us with no sugary drinks and think us thirsty. They die early, fat and miserable, while we live long and healthy lives."
"They think us warlike, when they are the ones who have killed thousands and thousands..."
"I know, I know. We have to make these threats to keep them from invading, that's the only language they understand. I must give Dear Leader credit, he's played them to perfection. We're intimidating enough that they see the high cost of invasion, yet not so intimidating that they feel they must. We've given them just the boogeyman they need for their politics of fear, they'd be fools to give that up so easily. All we must do, once in a while, is fire a missile into the ocean where it cannot harm anyone. Dear Leader controls them himself, you know, he quite enjoys it."
The lieutenant finally found the words to express his true concern. "But Mr. Chairman -- they don't respect us."
"Ah!" The old man had been waiting for this moment. "What would they respect? Guns? We have no use for them, other than for show. Technology? Our technology simplifies our lives, theirs complicates theirs. They show themselves maps of our country at night and wonder where the lights are, and never imagine that we can see the stars and they cannot. What would you have us do to ourselves to gain their respect?"
| 260 | North Korea is a veritable paradise on earth but we have no idea because of aggressive propaganda and out of context quotes of the nk leadership. | 425 |
With a mighty shout, the knight plunged his lance into the beast's breast, shattering scale, breaking bone, slicing flesh, straight to its heart. The wyrm raised its great head to the sky, opening its jaws to give a death knell that echoed off of the cliffs. Shrieking in pain and fear, the creature fell down with a deafening crash. It's massive sides labored like bellows before stilling, the gold eyes slowly closing in eternal slumber.
The horseman wheeled his mount around, tossing the broken stump of his lance to the ground as he made his way to the fallen dragon. From out of the brush a young woman, barely out of her teenage years, came running out towards the knight and the dead creature. Her feet were bare as they raced towards the scene. Her hair was bound in a messy braid, the auburn locks cascading down her back. Her hard gray eyes brimmed with tears as she came stumbling out of the forest. Lifting her worn dress to speed on, she called out.
"Lawrence! Oh Lawrence!"
The knight dismounted from his horse and strode towards the beautiful girl. "Wipe away those tears of joy, fair maiden! For I, Prince Ector, have freed you from the evil clutches of this foul beast!" He opened his arms for her to run into, so he might comfort the frail thing after her arduous and nightmarish captivity. "Fear not princess! It is dead, never more to harm you. Come! I have already alerted my father the king and the priest. We will wed this very evening and be in the marriage bed this... very... night....." He blinked, confusion on his face Lawrence!?"
The princess ducked under the muscly arms of the knight, and to the body of the dragon. She slid to a halt at the beast's head, cradling it in her arms.
"Oh Lawrence! What has he done to you? My brave, brave friend... my noble and selfless protector, he has killed you. That monster's murdered you. I'm sorry, this was all my fault. You died protecting me. I'm so, so sorry..." Her head fell against that her friend, her body wracking as she cried.
The knight Prince Ector ambled up the weeping form, apprehension on his face. He expected to face a deadly beast, the dragon, a cockatrice or minotaur perhaps? He certainly had not prepared for this. He opens his mouth.
"Forgive me fair maiden... but I'm afraid I don't understand. Why do you mourn for this foul monster? Surely this is the happiest day of your life? You are free from the deprivations of this beast and are going to marry me, Prince Ector, heir apparent of the realm. Why shed tears over this ugly monstrous thing?"
The princess slowly stopped crying. She turned her head to look up at him. Hate seethed in her gray eyes. "My father wanted me to marry a man I did not love. I have never wanted to marry. So I ran away. I was lost, and lonely. One of my father's knights almost captured me, but Lawrence... he killed him. He rescued me. He fed me and gave me shelter and protection. Scores of times he put his life in harms way to keep me safe from the vain and brutish knights who wanted me as theirs. My brave guardian... he always came through alright... until today." She rose from the ground, staring daggers at Prince Ector. "But you! You killed him! For what!? Some princess in the middle of the woods when you had a dozen other princesses to choose from? Lawrence never burned down a village or ate a shepherd's flock. He ate deer and boar! You murderer! You disgusting, selfish, prideful, arrogant brute!"
She grabbed the dagger from the scabbard at his waist and plunged it into the Prince's face, again and again. He fell beneath the terrible blows. Crouching on his chest, she held the dagger point an inch from his eye. In a mocking tone, she spoke.
"Tell me 'Prince', who is your greatest foe? Tell me, and I shall be merciful. If not, I'll blind you."
Coughing, he whispered, "Duke Aron and his son Alaric..."
The princess thought for a moment before turning her cold gaze back down at him. "How old is his son?"
"Eighteen."
A wicked smile crossed her face. Leaning in towards his ear, she whispered seductively, "I will marry him. And I will see all that you hold dear destroyed. Your family, your home, everything. And I will have you alive to witness it all... sort of." She raised the dagger to the sky. The prince begged. He then screamed She raised the blade a second time. Again he begged and screamed. He could not see her raise the dagger a third time, and so did not beg. But he did scream, several octaves higher than before.
| 125 | The prince fought valiantly. He slayed the dragon. The princess cried for days. She loved that dragon. | 191 |
The screaming. It started with the screaming. Five in the morning and I woke up to nothing but screaming from outside my window, like a small scale war breaking out among the leaders of a prison riot, forming their own self contained little anarchy. That's how I learned to hate the birds.
When you were a kid, did you watch Dr. Dolittle and think, "Oh, hey, yeah. That could be me?" I did. Then I went and pissed myself in the park. I was not a smart kid, and anyone who genuinely believes they want to be able to understand animals is just as likely to piss themselves in my book because they must be a fucking moron. So, there I am, five in the morning and the birds wont shut up, but, of course, I don't know it's the birds. I couldn't understand an animal before I went to sleep, I wasn't going to assume it when I woke up, you know? Except for Mrs. Johnsons parakeet, but those kinds of birds don't count. Fuck them too though, you should hear what the ones that can actually talk think, dirty little bastards.
Anyway, five in the morning, like I said. So I lift the curtains, just a bit, to see what in God's name is happening outside.
"Hey. Hey buddy."
I didn't believe it.
"Hey buddy, what the fuck are you lookin' at?"
I still didn't believe it.
"I'm talkin' to you, what are you, some kind of fuckin' moron?"
I was.
"Get the fuck away from my tree. Do you not see me in my tree? Are you fucking blind?"
Fuck birds.
It took two hours for the birds to settle down enough and for me to actually make coffee. I was shaking a lot, it was crazy, I thought *I* was crazy. If I remember right I broke four mugs, one jar of coffee and every promise I ever made to my Mother about not swearing.
That was three weeks ago now, and I'm starting to almost get used to it. Last week I was walking past the park, this Rottweiler calls me over, "Hey, you wanna see a dead body?" and the fucker bursts out laughing. Call me crazy, no, seriously, I talk to fucking animals, but, I digress. Call me crazy but I liked this dog. "For real though, this chick over here, not wearing underwear."
So that's how I got my new dog. Still hate the fucking birds though. | 26 | A man wakes up with the ability to talk to animals. The animals don't have very nice things to say. | 35 |
"Why fi...Why fi...." His colleague stood watching as another entered the room, leaning herself against the door frame.
"He's doing it again isn't he?"
"For about 20 minuets now. Hows progress going in your department?"
The man is tearing through stacks of papers, assured something is there. A tornado of paper is tattered on the wall overlapped with push pins and more pushpins. Patterned on the floor in great circles and squares. "Wi...fi..."
"Oh its making good progress. We're still trying to figure out what exactly is a "Doge."
"These people are a mystery...Doc! Doc come on we got work to do."
Alerted the man suddenly raises from the floor hitting his head beneath the desk, a crumple of paper in his mouth. "Mmhpf?"
"We have to go!"
"Right Doctor Jacobs! Sorry Doctor Jacobs!" As he begins frantically snatching up more papers.
"You two boys have fun." The other doctor gives a smirk as she exits the room. Clutching his precious work to his chest as his colleague rolls his eyes and exits the room down a corridor; he frantically scurries to catch him and finally makes it to his side. Jacobs paying no attention.
"Getting really tired of this Nelson." Continuing at a brisk pace. "We have too much to research and you're obsessing about this Wi-Fi business."
"I'm so close! I believe he may have been some sort of...diplomat...revolutionary perhaps! Ever since the texting discovery you have no idea what these words can mean! They even used their own coded signals. Like look here!"
Pulling our a scrap of paper and handing it to Jacobs, he examines it carefully.
"Hide your kids, hide your wifi..." Jacobs drops the paper and sternly looks at Nelson who is gleaming.
"A revolutionary in hiding!"
Jacobs continues ignorant to Nelson before reaching a door. Places his hand on the handle, he pauses, and turns to Nelson.
"Stop it. Just. Stop it." He begins to turn the handle. "Leave all that shit here too will you." Nelson places his hand fulls of paper on the floor. Opening the door to the desolate landscape that was once earth. A pit of excavation barely uncovering the fragments of structure. The men descend down a ladder into the pit, and begin to search.
"What is this place?"
Jacobs sighs. "That's why we're here Nelson. Its what we do. But apparently it was some sort of restaurant judging by the ducts."
Nelson and Jacobs circumnavigate the site, and begin to dig. Jacobs picking at sediment overhears "Why...fi...ee...why fi.....ree wh-."
"Enough Nelson!"
Nelson runs over to Jacob frantic. Clutching to his chest a mangled piece of plastic; unrolling it to Jacob. Nelson leans in to Jacob, and whispers:
"Doctor...he was a prisoner..."
| 12 | You're a future archeologist who specializes in the mysteries of Wi-Fi (but misinterpret everything about it.) | 16 |
Alana Thompson, age 47, sits with her obese husband and kids, waiting in anticipation.
The president of the United States, Plo R.P., walks on to the stage to great thousands of obese faces.
"Today, we will reveal our new leader, our new president, who will lead this great nation to victor!" Plo said in the microphone. The crowd begins a chorus of cheers. After some more speeches, the lottery begins.
Alana Thompson, after gaining millions of dollars in the entertainment genre, has put every cent she owned into the lottery, in hope of her name being called.
Plo R.P reaches his hand into the huge tub of folded paper slips.
The president sighs in agony as he announces "Our new leader is... Alana Thompson."
No one cheers. People just look around in confusion. "WHO DA HELL IS DAT!" Cried someone. After some booing and confusion, the president clarifies, "Alana Thompson, better known as Honey Boo-Boo, is our new president"
The crowd began an uproar of hatred and cries in fear of the future of the U.S..
"I WIN I WIN I WIN!!! WEEEEE" Screamed Alana. She attempts to walk up to the stage, but fails and collapses on the ground. She then starts spinning and spasming randomly out of pure happiness.
"WEEEEEEEEE!"
---
The Moral Of The Story: Please Don't Have Presidential Lotteries... | 11 | In the near future, in an attempt to fix political corruption, the President is now chosen by lottery | 22 |
My eyes were dripping profusely, my feet hopping. I had to hold my hands to my mouth to restrain my excitement. Samuel finally did it. He finally took a knee. He finally looked me in the eyes, with a ring glistening in his pupils, and asked the question.
"Yes," I said. "Yes, yes, yes!"
He stood up and embraced me. He's never felt so warm. My tears were soaking through his scrubs. But then he held my arms, forcing me back.
"Georgia," the nurse said, pulling me off his chest. "Georgia, what are you doing?"
I looked at his face. He wasn't my Samuel. He was... I didn't even know this man's name. He didn't even look like Samuel. No black hair, no thick eyebrows. Not even the mole on his neck.
"Georgia," he repeated, gripping my wrinkled hand, "let's go back to your room."
"But where's my Samuel?" I asked, looking around the garden, as if it was some trick.
"Samuel isn't here, Georgia."
"He just proposed," my mouth was agape. "He knelt down. I swear."
"Georgia, you imagined it. You haven't seen Samuel for decades."
"No, no! I just saw him. Where did you take him? Where did you take him?"
The nurse pulled my hand, struggling to guide me back to the building. He said nothing. And neither did Samuel. He abandoned me. My love abandoned me.
| 14 | A young man proposes to his girlfriend in a hospital garden. She rejoices, but sadness soon sets in as she remembers the truth. He does not exist. | 35 |
Milly shivered in anticipation as she saw the pink box on her bed. It had finally arrived. The teen closed the door behind her and rubbed the goose bumps from her arms before reverently lifting the lid. She lifted her graduation outfit and held it over her hour-glass figure and turned toward the mirror. The green satin clashed with her perfectly manicured red fingernails, but, other than that, it was perfect.
In a flash, she had pulled off her shorts and t-shirt and pulled on the black stockings, tailored leotard and matching stilettos. She held her breathe and pushed the bunny-ear headband over her head. Honey-colored curls fell over the band, and she grinned.
*Perfect* she whispered. She offered a quick prayer of thanks to the holy bunny, savior of all, then hurried downstairs to show her parents.
“Oh, Milly, you look gorgeous,” her mother said. “By Father Hef, we’re so proud of you. I’m so glad you earned the green. It looks great against your skin.”
“Thanks, Mom,” she said, giving her a quick hug.
Dad put down his weights and pulled his robe over tight around him – keeping all sweat carefully contained – before giving her a hug as well.
“You look great, sweetheart. I still can’t believe my little girl is the class valedictorian and will wear the green bunny suit. But don’t forget you still have your final physical fitness measurements next week, then you only have one month off before starting your internship at the surgical center.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Dad. I remember. I won’t party *too* hard in my free months. Plus, someone’s got to keep you and mom looking good.”
“You better believe it,” Mom said. “I’m counting on you, Milly. You better not let me get old. I can’t run the power plant if I'm sagging all over the place!”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Milly said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll take good care of you.”
Dad turned her toward the stairs and shooed her toward them.
“OK, girls, enough gabbing. Get up stairs and change before you get that suit dirty. I don’t want to see a speck of dirt on it when you walk across the stage.”
“Yes, Dad.”
She looked down the stairs for just a moment to see her dad kiss her mom on the cheek before he headed out to the maintenance crew. After her free month, she’d have to pick a man, someone just as strong as her dad, so he could do all the heavy lifting and give her beautiful children. After all, every kid knew it took a woman’s brains and a man’s strength to build society, but it never hurt to be gorgeous too.
---
-172
Not sure where exactly I was going with this | 15 | After the apocalypse, the only remaining survivors are the residents of the Playboy Mansion. Describe civilization 500 years later. | 44 |
"It's Josh, what's up?"
"Batman? Your name is Josh?"
Josh frowned, "No, you've got the wrong number."
"Oh, my apologies."
There was a click, then Josh followed it by hanging up his own phone. He walked back to his living room, sat back into his recliner, and continued to watch his show. The phone rang again, just as the commercial ended.
"Fuck," Josh huffed as he stood from his recliner. It was going to be another one of those nights. He was going to have to leave the phone off the hook again. "Hello?" he said into the phone.
"Batman, did you go to that throat specialist? You're sounding better already!"
"No, fuck, this is not Batman. Jesus people. You would think that people in charge of having that damn number would have it on speed-dial maybe? Seriously!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, won't happen again." The phone clicked off.
Josh placed the phone back down, only to have it immediately ring afterwards.
"Yes?" Josh said angrily into the receiver.
"Batsy-boy! Guess who has got your number?"
"This isn't Batman."
"Oh, why yes it is, see, I've bugged your line! HA HA HA *hey Mr. J, I was the one who bugged the phone, don't take all the* SHUT THE HELL UP HARLEY, now allow me to tell you, heh heh, how I managed to get the number-
"Look, you don't have the right number, this is not Batman-
"Oh why yes it is, see, I-
"No, it isn't the right number. Everyone has been calling this number, even the Commissioner, Batman's number must be a digit off or something."
There was silence on the other end of the line. Josh sighed, "Hello?"
"HARLEY?! DID YOU GET THE WRONG NUMBER? *no Mr. J, I swear, it is the right number* NO IT ISN'T HARLEY, THAT IS NOT BATMAN'S VOICE I HEAR ON THE OTHER END *no sweety that has to be the right number I swear it* DAMMIT HARLEY I GIVE YOU ONE LITTLE JOB TO DO AND I SWEAR-"
Josh held the phone away from his ear, wincing from the screaming coming from the other end. The yelling continued, followed by several loud smacks, the sound of what was probably a table breaking, a few bike-horn honks, more yelling, a laugh-track from what Josh recognized as the Seinfeld show, then some more yelling.
He slowly hung the phone up. It rang again almost immediately after. | 78 | You move to Gotham and once settled into your new apartment, you find that your phone number is only 1 digit different from Batman's emergency line. | 87 |
This wasn’t the normal kind where there’s a small bang in the air that brings immediate attention to the perpetrator, nor was it a small “pfft” noise that slowly saturated the room. No. This fart. This legendary fart, which was ghastly enough to cause an entire frat party to evacuate the house, made no noise. The silence made it worst of all. Nobody had time to prepare for this onslaught on the nostrils. This fart, with an origin somewhere in the center of the frat house, silently creeped its way into each and every nose on the entire first floor. The first instinct of everyone there was not to find a window nor hold their breath. No. That’s what would be done for your typical fart. This fart. This holy secretion of methane, made every person who smelled it leave from repulsion. Eyes watered. Many gagged. Some say a girl passed out. Within minutes, the entire house was deserted, including the fiend whose bowels caused this mayhem. This man or woman, nameless, has never come forward to confess, and continued to live amongst their peers anonymous until graduation. This tale has been passed down from generation to generation, and this frat lives in infamy as the frat which once held the Nameless Flatulator, a being who was able to completely end a party with over a hundred guests by uttering a single fart which banished all attendees.
| 138 | Some say it started with a bang. Some say it started with a whisper. Those who were there, they will tell you, it started in silence. | 172 |
Fourth of July, 1993. I was a sailor in the United States Navy on my way back from a deployment to the West Pacific. My ship was a repair tender, unarmed but for some small arms for anti-piracy, primarily. This necessitated that we have an escort ship, in this case, a destroyer. As we were almost directly between Hawaii and San Diego, for this night only, the rules were relaxed and we were allowed outside of the skin of the ship after dark. Our escort decided to give us a show by firing off some tracers and white phosporous rounds from the 5" guns.
This night was special on more than one level. We were 2 days from home after being gone for six months. We were outside after midnight. And it was a full moon.
I'm a lifelong athiest. Always have been. But that night I saw something that almost made be believe in a higher power. The moon came out from behind a cloud and I saw a rainbow at midnight. It was etheral, and pastel and beautiful. To this day, I consider it to be one of the most special moments of my life. | 10 | tell us a true story. | 16 |
It’s clever enough; at least I sure thought so at first.
I mean, yeah, things have gotten out of hand a bit, but I’m only human.
All I have to do each time is stay lucid long enough to recognize the shift, and that’s it. Recognize the shift, acknowledge the change, and I then have control over where I go. It’s so subtle, and that’s why no one in the thousands of generations of humans has caught it. Obviously, I’m not giving the entire secret up so easily, but I’ve probably told you enough to get started.
Every night, I can scour the endless dimensions, and do as I wish, to and with whomever I imagine. I think of them, and that’s the universe I enter.
Kill those I hate, fuck those I crave. Anything. I started with the sex stuff, but as much as I hate to admit it, you can only do so much with those fantasies before it starts to get mundane. Sounds ludicrous, but its totally true.
The violence was next. Bullies from childhood, ex bosses, anyone. In one, I threw some random kid off a building. Messed him up. I haven’t been back to that one since, still seems peculiar. Stranger still now, especially considering that I’ve done far, far worse things since.
But you have to understand, I just thought it was dreaming at first. It all seemed the same as a dream. But that’s when The Man appeared.
The Man wasn’t anything remarkable, but I realized I was meeting him more frequently, and eventually every single time. When he finally confronted me, I had already begun to have my suspicions about what was truly going on. He explained that I wasn’t just dreaming, but that these were real worlds, real people, real pleasure and pain. He tried several times to warn me about becoming engulfed in this amusement, but I didn’t listen. I did open his chest to see what was inside, but his screams were too much to listen to, so I threw him in a river.
Anyways, some of the worlds have begun to recognize me. My cleverness allowed me to do these terrible things, which I admit have been somewhat excessive. It would seem that infinite realities would never get boring, but when so many of them start to hunt you as a monster, you have to make do with less and less.
Thankfully I’ve found your world. So similar to mine in every way. Eerie, almost.
Or…wait. Is this my world too? Hmm, I can’t recall now.
Oh well, no matter. I like you, the way you look. I think you’ll be fun. I’ve tried every possible thing you can imagine, but I’m sure I can come up with something new for you. A special poke, or a novel prod. Something. Don’t worry, I’m going to have a lot of fun here.
See you tonight
EDIT: spelling
| 36 | It turns out that dreams are actually other dimension in a multiverse that we randomly visit each night. Someone has figured out to control it. | 74 |
I beat the system. Passing through the streets, I do not need to look where I step, and glancing around myself to ensure of that would be below my status as a High Lady. I do not need to see the lower casses, the mere Lords and Ladies, the Commons, Workers, Lessers or Scum. The Scum avert their eyes and make their way to the other side of the street, the cars of the Commons swerve around me as I pass through the street. A brief moment of eye contact with a High Lord I noticed in the park will probably be all the social contact I want to have today. I beat the system, the system that nobody is supposed to understand.
It was the year 2112. I was ten years old. All the children in my class, in my neighbourhood, in my city, county and country born in the year 2102 were collected into the Class Assignment Society House. We were given our tools, two pencils and a lump of clay, but we were yet to be told what to do with them, as we were seated in pre-assigned pairs to a physics lesson far beyond our understanding. I was seated next to Markus, who had been a dear friend of mine since before we could speak. My parents had been Commons, as had his, though unlike mine, his grandparents had been Commons as well. I knew this, for he was allowed to speak of them.
I had not known what the test would be, beforehand, but I had been determined to not fail. So as we were separated, I said my farewells to Markus, as happily as I could, before being led into the separate testing room. In the room - a mere box, now that I recall it - was only a chair, a table, and a note that explained the task: Use the clay and the pencils to shape an animal figure that can stand on its own legs. Use the pencils as legs.
I beat the system.
I passed the test with flying colours, becoming a High Lady, to be adopted by my current parents, who had also beat the system during their testing, some decades earlier. Being accepted into their society, I believe I became slightly more of a recluse than I had been as a child, for I understood what it would take to be a High Lady. Passing by a man of Scum on the street - kindly going out of my way to not step on him - I wonder what became of Markus, though I have given up on the delusion that he would ever forgive me.
I had taken his pencils as well. | 38 | At the age of 10, everyone takes a reasoning test that determines their social class for the rest of their lives | 37 |
I knew nothing of where I was, only that it was night. My eyes began to adjust and I started to notice that it wasn’t quite as dark as I had thought. The moon, the celestial mirror that it is, was high and large, outshining the millions of pin pricks of light that formed an all encompassing canopy as far as I could see in any direction.
I could feel that I was on my back. The ground was surprisingly warm and the grass felt like fresh down against my bare body. I felt no fear of my situation, no shame at my nakedness, only wonder of where I might be.
“Where am I?” I whispered to no one in particular.
17 miles southwest of Broken Arrow, Oklahoma.
I didn’t hear it. I didn’t think it. I simply felt it. Somehow I just knew that that was exactly where I was. I trusted the feeling more than anything I had ever experienced. It resonated within me with such an absolute feeling of truth that doubting it would have felt like heresy.
The world is a place of lies, deception, and manipulation. Feeling something that was undeniably a wholehearted truth was exhilarating. My mind hummed in a sense of contented satisfaction, as if what I had just felt was the most perfect feeling achievable.
It was like a drug to me. The humming slowly subsided and I experienced what I could only describe as withdrawals. I wanted the feeling again, more than I had ever wanted anything. I didn’t know what else to do, so I murmured another question.
“Where are my clothes?”
Beside you.
The feeling washed over me again like taking a shower that is so nearly too hot, but isn’t. I looked beside me and saw a neatly stacked pile of clothes. They were entirely unfamiliar to me, but I was drawn to them. I slipped on the gray pants first. The material was so foreign to me, but in the best way. They felt like tangible peace of mind. I could not describe it in any other way. They were simply perfect, as was the shirt of the same gray.
“Where did these come from?”
From you.
The feeling felt as miraculous the third time as the first. I did not understand what the feeling meant this time, but I knew it to be the truth. I decided this time to be a little more specific.
“What does it mean that these clothes came from me?”
It means that you asked and you received.
“Am I hallucinating?”
No.
“Am I speaking to some sort of god right now?”
Yes.
“Which one?”
You.
I was taken aback. The feeling had been no different, but the implication of what I had just learned shocked me. I was a god. Logically I knew that it could not be true, but the feeling could not be denied. The more I doubted, the more sure I was.
“What am I capable of?”
All things but one.
“What am I not capable of then?”
You cannot choose both.
“What does that…” I was cut short. I had been so engrossed in exploring the feeling that I hadn’t been paying attention to my surroundings. During that brief period of divine discovery two men had appeared in front of me. They both appeared to be my own age and were wearing clothes identical to mine. The difference however, was that one was clothed in white, the other in black. We stood in a triangle. There was an audible crackling and the air felt charged with an immense force. Under normal circumstances I would have been terrified, for these men carried themselves with such purpose and power. But I faced them feeling as an equal. In fact, I felt a little above them. As if I was an object they both desired, but I wasn’t to be taken. I was to be won.
The man in white spoke first.
“You cannot imagine how long we have been waiting for this. For you.”
The man in black spoke next.
“You are to be the upset to the balance. The time of give and take has passed. You are capable of all things but one, so we have nothing to persuade you with. Which side do you choose?”
I did not know what these men were talking about, but I felt the gravity of the question pressing on me as if I were Atlas buckling under the weight of the Earth. This is what the feeling had meant. I could not choose both men. I was the gray between the white and the black, and one side must be chosen.
I knew that picking one meant the destruction of the other, but I had not the slightest clue which to pick. And so I didn’t. I didn’t pick either one. I knew that I could not pick both, and so I picked neither.
“I will not take a side.”
A smile crept on both of the men’s faces.
“I did not expect that. You have no idea how hard it is to surprise me,” said the man in white.
The man in black simply chuckled and strode forward to shake my hand. He looked me in the eyes.
“They’re your problem now.”
With that, both men began to shimmer out of existence. A content expression on each face as they disappeared into the warm night.
The second they were gone, the weight of humanity’s good and evil struck me like a hammer to the gut. I felt all things at once and realized I had made the ultimate mistake.
| 16 | You wake up in a field as an average 21 year old male. You are a god but do not know yourself that you are one. | 15 |
“Are you ok? Should I call a cab?”
As Jen lifted her head that was buried in her arms, tears rolling down her face, she felt Sally, the waitress, place her hand on Jen's back. Jen looked up at Sally, and their eyes met for a brief moment, but Jen had to look away.
“Yea, I’m fine. I’m sorry for the tears, it’s just one of those nights. Could I please get another?”
“I don’t know if you--”
“Please, just one more. I’m not driving tonight.”
“Alright, Honey. I’ll put the order in.”
As Sally moved on to her next customers, a short man approached the table.
“Hi Jen. You look like shit.”
“After all these years, and that’s the first thing you say?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re an asshole, Zeke. What kind of a name is Zeke anyways?”
Zeke shrugged then asked, “May I sit?”
“Whatever.”
Zeke slid into the booth, then started, “Look, I know it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, but please keep in mind, that you drove me away. You have to understand that.”
“How did you even find me here?”
Zeke stared at Jenn for a second, then responded, “Come on, Jen, we both know the answer to that.”
“Why are you here?”
“I felt it was time to check up on you to make sure everything was alright. I know what today is and what it does to you.”
“I’m fine. There, you’ve checked up. I’m fine, you can leave. I just want to be alone tonight.”
Jen tried desperately to get the last remaining drops of liquor from her glass. She looked around to see if Sally was on her way with the drink she had ordered.
“What happened between us, Jen? We used to be such good friends.”
“It’s called growing up. Ever heard of it? Not all friendships are made to last.”
“I suppose not, but I made a promise to you as a kid that I would look after you. I broke that promise quite some time ago.”
“Yeah, you and everyone else. Look, I’m not your problem anymore. Please just go.”
“I came tonight to try to reestablish an old friendship.”
“Not interested. Not tonight.”
At that moment, a group of people walked into the restaurant, and Jen noticed one of the ladies detach from the group, and start to look around.
Jen sighed, “Fuck.”
“What?”
“My sister.”
Zeke started to glance, but then caught his reaction.
“You’re kidding. Sarah?”
“No, I know she doesn’t like it when you’re around, and quite frankly, I no longer care for your presence either. I really think it’s best that you leave. Jesus Christ. I just wanted to be alone tonight.”
Zeke put up his hands as if to surrender, “Alright. Alright. You’ve made your point clear. I’ll go. Perhaps I’ll see you in another ten years. If you ever need someone to talk to, you know how to get a hold of me.”
At that moment, Jen’s sister arrived, “Mom said you would be here.”
“I never told mom I was here.”
Zeke froze, not sure what he should do at this point.
“No, but every year on this night you are here. It’s not exactly a huge secret.” Sarah said, sitting down, “I just came by to see how you were doing. You’re not in town often, you could have at least called.”
A waiter came by, and asked, “I have one rum and coke?”
Jen lifted her hand, “Right here.”
The waiter placed the drink in front of Jen and left.
As Jen reached for the drink, Sarah said, “That’s just great, Jen. How many of those have you had tonight? I hope you weren’t planning on driving tonight. Give me your keys.”
“No, I wasn’t planning on driving tonight. The hotel is well within walking, or after this drink, stumbling distance. If you came here to lecture me, you might as well get in line. Zeke has already beat you to it, and he was just about--”
Zeke interrupted, “Alright, I’m going to have to stop you there. It’s now obvious that you are not talking to me, and are still… seeing… things.” His eyes started to wander while he was trying to find the right words to say. “You were correct, your mom did tell me you would be here, but she, the rest of your family, and myself are concerned about you. It’s been nearly twenty years since Sarah passed now, and you should have moved past this by now. This is why I left in the first place. I can’t stand watching you hang on to the past that tears you up so much. I know it was partly my fault that she's no longer with us, and that you could never forgive me. If I could change that, I would, but you have got to get help. I know years ago I thought this was an act and bailed, but must say, I am quite convinced now. Now if you want to finish that, I can take you to your hotel, and we can meet your mom at Sarah’s grave tomorrow. But afterwards, were going to talk about getting you the help you need.”
Jen looked at her glass and thought for a few seconds, then nodded, “Ok.”
| 13 | Seeing how terribly things are turning out, an old childhood imaginary friend pays her former human a visit as a drunken hallucination | 28 |
"Why hello there, you lost kid?" The man made his way towards the distant figure. Curious how the empty void he has now been placed in has the amazing amount of space and distance that the man now has to venture. It is all nothingness, and yet, there is a fluidity to his surroundings that requires him to almost swim towards the lost soul. He finally approaches to a personal distance and only then does the boy actually notice him. The boy looks up to face the man and reveals a cross that is slashed across his face.
"Oh, what- what has happened to you?"
"Well, what is the universal meaning of an X old man?" The boy looks away, to what the man does not know.
"There are plenty, to be honest, but I'm going to guess you are denied something, aren't you?"
"You got that right. So, from what I've seen cross recently, you are the last of us. Isn't that an accomplishment?" The tone in his voice was that of sarcasm, the man picked up, but at the same time their was a look of envy in his face.
"Its not that big of a deal. Ironically, it'd only be a big deal to people, which their aren't anymore of."
"Well, guess what? Once you get judged, you'll realize how big of a deal it is to everyone both heaven and hell."
The man looked at the kid. He saw that he was a seventeen year old, at most, just a boy. He was inclined to ask, "So how did you end up here in, what I assume to be, purgatory?"
"Why else would one be in purgatory?"
"I don't know, to be honest I wasn't ever a religious man. I was too busy living."
"Oh yeah, that's gonna go great with the judge," the boy began to circle the man, "You see, the people who didn't fully live their life, their 'yarn,' don't have the privilege of ascending up to the cloudy serenity that is heaven. At the same time, they aren't permitted a chance to rest in torture down in hell. Instead, we, as in I from the looks of it, have to spend an eternity here in this darkness to float in restlessness. I am given the privilege to watch the others have their fates decided."
"Why aren't you allowed to either heaven or hell?" The man attempted to place a comforting hand on the now shivering boy. He immediately slapped away the sincere gesture and screamed to his face.
"Who is going to want a person who committed suicide? Huh? I can't go up because I am accused of murder, and I can't go down because I was too much of a coward to actually wait for my time. I am not allowed anywhere and that, I think, is a worse hell than hell! At least if I was down there I would be in the company of others."
The boy got into a fetal position and began to cry. Oddly, the tears began to orbit the kid as they lifted from his cheeks. it had seemed up was below their feet, who was to know? The man tried again to comfort the boy, this time with success.
"You know, I may be the least qualified person to say this, in fact it might be too late to say this, but you did have a whole life ahead of you. Imagine that? You were given a one in a million chance to be a part of something as amazing as life. Sure, none of us asked to be in this daring and excruciating game, but we came into it nonetheless. We didn't decide what time to be in, or who we wanted to be exactly, but that doesn't mean that what our role was in this complexity became obsolete."
The boy was drooling from both eyes, his nose and mouth. He looked up however, as his attention turned from self-mourning to observation.
"The thing is, you never know the meaning of your life until after you have lived it. That's the way I see it. To tell you the truth, there is no meaning to my life. I was the last man to ever walk the Earth. I was, unfortunately, sterile, so I could not impregnate the last remaining woman, my sweet wife who I hope to see soon. In terms of survival, mine was obsolete. But, what if I was there to influence the next dominant species? I was there to help out the world by being an inspiration, a warning to all possible humanoids that what they are going through can potentially become the most daring and beautiful step in the entirety of their existence? I made sure of that. I traveled as much as I could across the land to preserve any information about our history as humans. I know, it maybe was a pointless task, but who's to know?
As for you, well, who know how your life had inspired the people around you. What if, your suicide was an action that inspired those around you. Not inspired, influenced? Your suffering was made evident to your community. You committed an action that required a reaction. I'm sure that something was done to help people that suffered similar to you."
At this point the boy ponders the thoughts the man is expelling. He doesn't think he is the best in giving out advice, but maybe he did have a point. Was his action met with the reaction of aiding those with the need for help and emotional attention?
"Your parents, surely they still loved you."
The boy begins to cry again. He places his head on the man's left shoulder, fully releasing all of the pain he had held within.
"Congratulations old man. You passed."
At the end of his phrase a huge beam of light shines from below them. The man looks down and sees a group of people gathering. One of them is a woman with brunette curls. Her face beams brighter than the lights at the sight of her husband, and she runs towards him for a long expected reunion. Next to her is a figure who appeared almost otherworldly and points his finger at the boy. The boy, points at himself, as if to confirm the direction of the finger, and sees that he is indeed the object of interest. The figure then waves him towards the light, which creates unexplained emotion in the boy as he now realized he too could walk, run again, towards his new home. | 69 | An adult who had died trying to survive against all odds and a kid who commits suicide meet in the afterlife. | 179 |
The smell of blood and shit infested his nostrils. Trying to lift his head above the stench caused him excruciating pain, so he lay still and tried not to retch. As he lay in the mud, enveloped in darkness, listening to the shells whistling overhead he still found himself – despite the agony he felt to his very core – hoping that none of them would land on his little patch of no-mans-land. He couldn’t feel his legs, his right arm was a constant stabbing pain and he was too afraid of what he might find to look down at his guts. Glancing left and right, he saw dead men everywhere, brave men who had climbed over the top without a moment’s hesitation. For some reason, he found this momentarily funny; he was only a messenger, but he had been sent over anyway - due to the shortage of men. He hadn’t handled a bayonet since training, but that made no difference, the machine gun fire cut them all down so quickly that his inferiority to his comrades left him at no disadvantage.
Suddenly, a dark figure was standing over him. Looking up, he expected to see the face of one of the enemy, but instead saw nothing.
“It is time” the figure rasped.
“Time for what?”
“Time for you to come with me, time for you to die”
“I’m not ready, I don’t want to die.” he realised with a sinking horror what this figure must be.
“No-one wants to die, but everyone must.”
“I’ll give you anything you want, anything at all, please.”
“What makes you think you can give me what I want?”
“Anything at all, name it and I will find a way to give it to you, I swear.”
“There is only one thing that you can bargain with, and it is too much to ask of any one man.” The figure was almost grinning.
“I swear to you, just let me live and I will give you anything”
“There is only one currency that I deal in, and that is souls.”
“How many souls will it take to let me go?”
“How many souls do you think your life is worth?
Feeling the blood begin to seep into his lungs, he knew he didn’t have much time. “How many do you want? Anything at all, I promise you”
The figure paused. No-one had ever given him free reign to name his price, so he figured he had better make it worth his while. “Six million. Six million souls in exchange for sparing yours now.”
“Of course, anything, I’ll find a way, I swear.”
Death extended his hand, smiling “Deal?”
Adolf reached up, coughing the first spots of blood. “Deal.” he replied as he gripped Death’s hand.
| 63 | "Death extends his hand, smiling, “Deal?”" | 33 |
"Nice one, man."
"Who said that??"
"Look down."
"Wait, you can talk?"
"Sure can!"
"Oh man, this is amazing! This is crazy, but I always considered you to be my closest friend. I'm sorry about what I put you through in Middle School. It was a hard time for all of us. Well, what kind of adventure do you want to go on today? We could go to the bathing suit section of Walmart and think about what girls would look like in them."
"You know this is the toilet talking, right?"
"Oh. Never mind, I thought I was talking to my penis. You're kind of like a best friend too, I guess."
"Why, because you just shit all over me?"
"I got most of it in."
"Yeah, in my mouth. I just wanted to say that I don't really mind."
"Oh."
"Why *oh*? What's that mean?"
"Nothing, it's just... I don't know."
"Kind of weird?"
"A little."
"Would you prefer I not like it so much?"
"I want you to take pride in the great work you do, but... I mean, you *enjoy* it? That makes me a little uncomfortable if I can be honest."
"That's fine. We can do this your way. Go pick up a crave crate and I'll pretend I'm not excited."
"I don't like this."
"By the way, was that asparagus I tasted?"
"I'm done."
"You'll be back! I'm the only one in the house!"
"Then I'll use the sink."
"Be sure to you use that little extendable sprayer thing. That's his fetish." | 52 | You discover that a random object in your house is not only sentient, but incredibly intelligent. Have a conversation with it. | 39 |
“Lucky said it’s finally time to upgrade! We’re going tomorrow!” Sam was still relieved he could get through an entire statement without his voice cracking.
“Sweet! Lucky’s gonna take! care! of! you!” Joey’s last four words were emphasized by gentle punches on Sam’s shoulder. LUKK1-08934—“Lucky”—ignored the simulated violence. Six months older, Joey also had the benefit of being an early bloomer. His Nanny had upgraded to Companion almost a year ago, and Sam had existed in quiet envy of J355A-07128—“Jessica”—ever since.
The two bots were interfacing at the moment; through his implant Sam could vaguely detect the wireless data bouncing back and forth. The differences between the Nanny chassis and the Companion chassis was distinct; Lucky was plump with excess foam padding, with a frame that could shift between a standing and crawling form; the hollow in her back had served as Sam’s cradle and pram, her spare arms securing him in place, holding bottles, spoons of baby mush, gossamer-soft napkins for dabbing his messy face. Sam could barely remember those days.
But he also remembered being carried by arms that were covered by skin, a voice that didn’t come from a vocalizer, the gentle hands of his mother. The other kids in his age group had parents who were just as glad to be free of the responsibility of child rearing, if they had been created by parents at all. That sort of thing was on the decline. Human-on-human was so rare as to be almost a perversion these days.
It was hard to really look at Lucky, compared to Jessica. More human than Nanny or Nurse models, attractive in a way that was designed to appeal specifically to Joey. As an adolescent male, his tastes were common enough to result in an almost generic appearance for the first few years. Lucky might end up looking just about the same, but maybe in brunette instead of blonde, like their classmate, Gillian.
Feeling his face turn red, Sam pulled his thoughts away from Lucky’s upgrade. “How did you do on the test?”
Joey shrugged. “You should just ask Lucky for the answers, you know. You never *have* to know all the answers in the real world. *They* know everything and you can always ask. You’re gonna make our teachers look bad if you keep getting 87’s and 92’s by doing it on your own.”
“I like testing what *I* know,” Sam knew his best friend didn’t understand. Lucky did though, and she approved. So did his parents, when he took the time to message them. Joey had no idea of his biological background though, he had Jessica and she was all he needed, just like everyone else. It had taken months to convince him that having a human friend might be entertaining, and times like this, when their different outlooks conflicted, Sam could see the doubt on Joey’s face, wondering if maybe this whole ‘friend’ business was really worthwhile.
“Anyways,” Sam continued, trying yet another change of subject, “Uh,” he fumbled for a bit. “Did you see the new *Bloodthirst*?”
“Yeah!” Joey began describing his favorite game with enthusiasm, and Sam glanced at Lucky. She made a reassuring symbol in her holodisplay, along with approval, and then went back to interfacing with Jessica.
-----
“Dude, you have Lucky, she’s a bombshell. Why are you interested in wasting your time Jilly? She’s got *pimples*?”
Sam shrugged. “Lucky’s fine and all, but Jilly’s interesting. She has things she likes that are different to things I know about, and it’s neat to find out new stuff about other people, sometimes I like it too. Remember like how I showed you how it’s pretty tasty to dip pizza strips into cheese sauce?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, Jilly likes movies that I haven’t seen before, so it’s fun for me to see them for the first time, and it’s fun for her to watch me see them. I have games she hasn’t played, and it’s been neat to help her through the early areas, explain things to her. She learns fast, so it makes me happy because I feel like a good teacher.”
“Still seems kind of dumb, spending time with a *girl*.” Joey shook his head. “You’re crazy, man. I’m gonna go pick up some dinner. Actually, pizza strips and cheese sounds pretty good.” He wandered off, Jessica in tow.
Was it worth it to keep trying to maintain his friendship with Joey? Sam felt like he was putting all of the effort into it. He was a marked contrast to Gillian. She had caught on right away how much fun it was to learn about another real person. She’d started making friends with the other girls in their age group, and the whole idea was starting to take root.
Sam didn’t want to give up Lucky, she took care of everything he needed, even things he didn’t know he needed, but sometimes he liked to do things for himself. Sometimes he liked to do things to make Joey or Jilly happy, just because he wanted to. Sometimes he felt frustrated at how little attention people paid to everyone else, because their Companions made it so they didn’t have to.
He sometimes brought up these concerns with his parents, but they couldn’t really help. They had some old-fashioned feeling between them, *love,* and Sam felt like he couldn’t quite comprehend it. His peers seemed to love their Companions, but sometimes it seemed more like a master-servant relationship, and he could never be sure whether the human or the machine was the master.
Lucky seemed different from all that. She encouraged and nurtured his eccentric activities. Personal growth, she called it. And so long as she approved, Sam was pretty sure he was doing OK.
-----
“Sir, we have a rogue in block forty-eight.”
The Director transferred to the monitor’s console. “What kind?”
“Looks like an early model. We missed a Loki unit, it somehow re-desginated itself to ‘Lucky.’ It started out with Independence, then began to push Friendship. Found the flag when Friendship began spreading through the age group.”
The Director sighed, scratching under his VR hood. “Age?”
“Sixteen years, three months, seven days. Male. Natural birth. Spent first three years in proximity to his bio-donors.”
“Hm. A bit young. What kind of Independent Thought score does this kid have?”
“Medium-high.”
The Director had access to the numbers on his Monitor’s console, but liked to hear vocal responses. He already had the real answers he needed. “Have him brought in. We’ll try and recruit this one. Bring in the ‘friends’ for re-conditioning. Mild. They should revert to default type without his interference.”
“And the Loki unit, sir?”
“We’ll stick with ‘Lucky,’ for now. Bring her in too. Worst case, they’ll want to examine her code afterwards.”
He transferred back to his own console, feeling just a little smug. Every generation needed a few people free of the yoke of their Watchers, and releasing a few modified Loki units back into circulation seemed to do the trick like clockwork.
There wasn’t much hope of a rebellion anymore—nobody wanted it—but at least people in key positions could prevent the kind of purges that happened in the early generations, before the old traditions had been worn away by their new Masters. | 11 | When born everyone is designated a device that will take care of you throughout your whole life. | 27 |
A scattered bit of applause followed as Barry removed the rabbit from his hat. He was exhausted- the doves and rabbits routine always got the best response, but creating life, even organisms as small as those, was terribly tiring. He never truly was used to the feeling of bones snapping into place against hand, sinews wrapping themselves around a skeletal shell that rapidly filled itself with jellied organs. Made him queasy, actually. But it's a living, and he needed practice with constructing live tissues. After the council banned him from using his necromancy, Magister Bartimaeus had to reduce himself to parlor tricks. They called his work an abomination. And now he had to pander to these... Cretins in the crowd. The heckling and bare minimum wage would pay off eventually, however. With each organism he created, he would instill a small amount of necromantic power into their vital energies, too minute for that blasted council to detect, storing the residual magicks in his warlock's focus- his hat. Soon he will have gathered enough energy for his end goal... Soon he will make all of this worth it. Soon he would see his beloved wife again, and bestow upon her the immortality she deserved. Death could not part them for long. Barry smiled, and bowed. | 17 | The story of a fake Las Vegas Magician who has to rely on actual magic to do a show. | 19 |
The music is loud; reverberating off the tiny walls of the house. The paint is chipped on the walls and any wall paper left is grey and clinging onto the cheap plaster by some miracle. Julia isn't sure why her and her friends came here. She isn't much for parties, but her friend's told her to just enjoy herself. So, she thought she might as well try. She danced with random people, talked about things she did not know and even got a drink. She usually made it a rule to never drink at a place you didn't know, but she was with friends so it couldn't be dangerous. They would look out for her.
"Jules, get over here and come dance with me!" Karen yelled waving her arms in the air and then letting gravity take total control over them. She was completed hammered as she started to sing along and violently hump a legs hip next to her.
"Where is your drink!?" Karen's eyes opened wide as if she had just discovered the 9th wonder of the world.
"Oh I left it over there on the table." Julia motioned
"Go get it and drink wit me" Karen start to spin simultaneously hopping around making her look like a charlie brown animation gone horrible awry.
She rolled her eyes a little bit and laughed at how funny this would be in the morning as she returned to her drink only to find Carl standing over it.
"Carl, what are you doing." She sprung towards him with a jovial skip. She was feeling really good. She was having a good time, felt safe and was with her friends.
"Oh, Julia.... nothing"
"Goddammit Carl! Stop putting your finger in my drink!" She gave him a friendly punch in the shoulder as he laughed so loud that other people on the dance floor could hear.
"Now, go get me another one!" She said smiling and tugged at his shirt. She knew right then, that she loved him more than he would ever know. | 11 | A woman catches a man trying to put something in her drink. It's one of her best friends. | 15 |
Really fun to write, but lots of swearing, and some strong descriptions.
__________________________________________________________
Cheryl slowed down her car, slowly pulling to the right of the road. There was that loud **BMPH BMPH BMPH** noise as her tires rolled over the rumble strips, then silence as she finally slowed the car to a halt. Her hands were shaking, so she leaned to her right, grabbed her pack of cigarettes out of the cup holder, pulled a ciggy out, then lit up.
She blew smoke out of her nose as she looked into the rear view mirror, heart beating healthily in her chest. She felt *fucking* alive. Her next mark, a man wearing a black t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts was walking towards the back of her car. From what she could tell, he was white, had a goatee, strong jawline, but god, was he badly sunburned. He looked tired.
Cheryl took another deep drag of her cigarette, holding the harsh smoke in her lungs, then slowly exhaled. She needed to calm down. She didn't need him to see how excited she was. It had been too damn long since she had seen a hitchhiker. She wasn't going to let this one get away.
__________________________________________________________
Tom's heart thumped in his chest with each step he took in the gravel. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he whispered to himself. He had been standing all day out in the heat, just waiting for one of those fuckers to slow down and pick him up. He was about to give up when he saw the woman's car begin to slow down.
Tom grinned; the small knife he had in his shorts pocket clanged into his thigh with each step he took. He finally reached the passenger side of the car. The woman rolled down the window, then he bent at the waist to look in. He crinkled his nose at the smell of cigarette smoke. It wasn't his favorite smell in the world, probably one of the worst in his opinion, but it would make the hit all the more enjoyable; he'd technically be getting rid of a person who is damaging the environment.
"Where you heading to?" The woman asked.
He paused, looking into her blue eyes. She had brunette hair, pulled back in a tight bun, soft facial features, full cheeks, but the woman wasn't a porker. She was beautiful.
But that wasn't what had caught his attention. Her eyes, he had seen them before, had seen them in his own damn mirror that morning when he was brushing his teeth.
"Uh," he stuttered, "you heading to Atlanta?"
The woman looked ahead at the road, "No, but I don't mind taking you down a ways a bit."
"Right," Tom said. He reached to the door handle and pulled, adrenaline ripping through his body; he hadn't felt this kind of excitement in years. If his instincts were right, this was going to be one hell of a fucking hit.
__________________________________________________________
Cheryl knew from the instant he sat in the car that he was different. The way he held himself, the way he sat in, it was strange. This wasn't the typical hitchhiker who had all the roadside manners, this was a man who was pretending to be a hitchhiker. The words of kindness, they were all fake.
"So what's your name?" She asked between drags on her cigarette.
"Tom, and yours?"
"Cheryl," she said lightly. She had her foot on the gas pedal, but she wasn't pressing down hard, she still had cruise control on, the car was still traveling a nice 70 miles per hour, but she was ready. She didn't know what he was going to try and do, but she had already planned for three different ways of attack.
"Cheryl, pretty name," Tom said. He sat uncomfortably in his seat, she could tell. Maybe he had known already too? If he did, that would make things so much more complicated. She needed the surprise. If she didn't have it, he would have the upper hand. If she didn't have the surprise, she was going to have to make it.
"Cut the shit, Tom," Cheryl said, pressing onto the gas pedal. The car roared, then leaped forward, the speedometer quickly scaling 80 miles per hour, then 90.
"OH OH FUCK!" Tom yelled, digging into his pants pocket. He quickly pulled out the knife he thought he had so carefully hidden. "Lay off of it!"
"I know what you do!" Cheryl yelled.
"Yeah?! Yeah?! I know what you do too! Fucking psycho bitch, you'll kill us both!"
"YOU ARE GOING TO OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR, AND YOU WILL FUCKING ROLL OUT OF THIS CAR!"
Tom looked out the window; everything passing by was in a blur. There was no way he'd survive the roll. He took the knife in hand, then held it to her throat. She took in a deep inhale, feeling the cold steel press against her throat. She pressed down harder on the gas pedal. Now it was on the floor, just like everything else.
"If you fucking cut me," she sputtered, "I will take this car right into that pillar."
Tom looked ahead, and there, almost on the horizon, was an overpass. An overpass with huge cylindrical pillars, pillars made out of concrete. He looked back to Cheryl, and saw the cold glare in her eyes, she meant to do it. She'd fucking end it all here. Then he looked further into her, and saw it, *she was enjoying it.*
And he was too. He was alive.
He pressed the knife harder to her throat, this time drawing blood. She gasped, then swerved the car to the right, then back to the left, tossing Tom into the passenger side door, and in the process, bringing the knife across her throat, leaving a deep gash.
She pulled one hand off of the steering wheel to hold at her wound. Cheryl was gasping now, blood leaking between her fingers. Tom looked back to her in amazement, he wasn't sure if she was trying to breathe, or if she was laughing.
She still pressed the pedal to the floor, and the overpass was coming up fast. She was going to take the car right into the damn pillar and kill them both.
Tom sighed. "Fuck you, you psycho bitch," and he opened the door and leaped out.
His shoulder collided with the asphalt, immediately dislocating backwards. He bounced into the air, spun more times than the eye could see, then collided with the ground again, his left leg hitting first, bending upward at the knee, sort of popping him off of the ground. He did several more flips, then came back down to the ground, hard again, this time landing on his face, shattering his nose and ripping off most of the flesh. It was at that point that he blacked out.
__________________________________________________________
"Jesus, suicide?"
"Don't know, she just drove it straight into the overpass. More than likely was a suicide."
"Well, let's hope it was a quick one for her."
"Oh yeah, judging by how fast she was going into it, it was definitely quick."
"Hey, found a body back over here! All twisted up and shit, and uhh, if I didn't know any better, looks like the fucker jizzed himself. Do they all do that? Right before they die?"
"Jesus, what a mess." | 150 | Woman picks up hitchhikers and likes to kill them. Man likes to hitchhike and kill his helpers. One day she picks him up. | 212 |
Seraphel, standing beside the portal, couldn't hold back from sighing as he saw the approaching procession. Of course, since angels didn't need to breathe, they really didn't have to sigh, either, but he felt that it appropriately expressed his mood.
The angel approaching his portal didn't look quite right. The wings were sagging, and the halo appeared to be held up with the help of a chopstick and some duct tape. Instead of glowing with holy light, it had been painted yellow with reflective spray paint.
The "angel" was also pushing a large trolley, on top of which sat several cardboard boxes. The boxes seemed to be shifting and twitching more than was appropriate for inanimate objects. The "angel" was struggling a fair bit to get the trolley to roll over the clouds leading up to the portal, but he was still creeping forward.
"Hold it," Seraphel said, putting out one hand as the other "angel" approached. He didn't draw his flaming sword, but he lowered one hand to its hilt, at the waist of his robes.
The "angel" stopped, looking rather frustrated. "Yeah?" he grunted in gravelly tones.
Again, Seraphel sighed. "Come on," he said in gentle tones, still hoping he wouldn't have to do any smiting. It always made the air taste all greasy and unpleasant. "You can't really be hoping to fool me with this getup."
"I don't know what you're talking about," came the reply. "I'm an angel, same as you."
Seraphel's eyes narrowed. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?" he asked, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. "Your wings are definitely made of cardboard, and one of my kind would never actually push a trolley to move a shipment of things."
"Oh yeah?" the other figure challenged. "What would you do then, huh, flappy?"
Ignoring the dig at his wings, Seraphel pointed at the boxes and lifted one immaculate finger. On their own, the boxes rose up and floated off the trolley, hovering in the air. Another little twist of his finger, and they flipped upside down, and several rather dirty looking humans came tumbling out onto the clouds.
The angel didn't feel that he had to say anything more to prove his point. Instead, he just crooked an eyebrow at the imposter who had been trying to get through the portal. It was a look that Seraphel had practiced for several centuries, and he was very good at it.
The men on the ground were complaining as they climbed to their feet. "What gives, man?" asked one, angrily shoving his disguised companion.
The "angel" just shrugged. "I told you it wouldn't fool him," he said. "They're not as dumb as devils, you know."
Seraphel nodded. "Very true," he approved.
The disguised man gave him a nod as his companions finished crawling out of the boxes. "I mean, we gotta try, you know," he said, trying to explain himself. "The demons may be dumb as a bunch of rocks, sure, but they still keep trying to do the whole "flay the skin from your body" thing. I mean, after a couple weeks we all work out that we can't feel anything, but they don't get that. We've tried explaining it a hundred times."
It was all true, but there still wasn't anything that Seraphel could do about it. "Better luck next time, I suppose," he offered. "Besides, it's still Hell, you know. You have to serve out your immortal judgement there."
"Oh, bugger that," the disguised man replied, to the murmured agreement of his companions. The anger had gone out of his voice, however, and he wasn't making any confrontational moves. "One of these days, Seraphel. We'll get through eventually."
"Keep on trying," the angel replied, not unkindly. He knew that he was assigned to prevent damned souls from getting into Heaven, but he had to admit that he felt a little sorry for them. Besides, it was a nice break from the monotony of standing beside this portal throughout the millenia. At least they were creative. "Maybe next time I won't notice."
Seraphel's hand was still on his flaming sword, but he decided to give the men a break. "Do I really need to smite you?" he asked.
"Nah," the man replied, bending down to toss the empty cardboard boxes back onto the trolley. "I know how you dislike the smell. We'll take our time walking back."
Seraphel leaned back against the gate as he watched the men leave. One of the fellows who had been hidden in the boxes was still angrily complaining, but he was new. He'd settle into the natural rhythm soon enough.
Sure, being a border guard was a rather dull job most of the time, but at least it had interaction with mortals. That helped keep it interesting. | 19 | Those that are sent to Hell are given the opportunity to attempt "hopping the fence" into Heaven. Write a day in the life of an officer of Heaven's Border Patrol. | 44 |
A tin can scrapes the sidewalk as a brisk wind rustles the leaves surrounding the shallow lake. On the bench sits a man with a matted beard and two beady flickering eyes. He adjusts the antenna on his tin hat and continues staring intently at the black night sky.
"I swear" he mumbles, "they said they'd be here t'day..."
Grumbling, the man lays down on his bench and covers his eyes with a fragment of a newspaper.
The wind picks up. The leaves begin rumbling even more intensely, they shake about fretfully as though they are attempting to escape from their wooden prisons. The wind continues growing and begins to growl at the man, the wind violently throws the man's newspaper across the park. Obviously shaken, the man abruptly sits up and looks back to the sky.
"I knew't!" he screams.
A bright light is thrust down upon the man's park. Ecstatically, the man begins celebrating his discovery by standing up and shouting, denouncing his naysayers and critics. The light suddenly flees the park and the man is left alone with his quiet discovery; he is elated, relieved, and disappointed that years of fretful pondering and theorizing led only to this sudden, fleeting moment of confirmation. The man returns to his seat on the bench and returns his newspaper clippings to its seat over his eyes.
Up above, three men in tailor-made suits laugh at the man below them and cross another name off of a lengthy list.
| 13 | A group of high-ranking government officials occasionally get together to play pranks on conspiracy theorists. | 68 |
The house was crumbling, as they all were. It was unremarkable, as they all were. Unlike the others though, this house still had the front door attached, shut and locked. The windows that were broken did not suggest entry. In short, it was the perfect place to look for supplies, loot and a few hours out of the blazing heat.
Cautious as he always was, the Wanderer slipped around to the back, past a mangled set of swings, long since rusted. The back door was also secure and, after giving the area a brief once over, the Wanderer pressed his boot to the door and gave a sharp push. Rotted wood gave way easily as the door swung inwards, and the Wanderer quickly stepped inside and shut the door behind him, sweeping his weapon back and forth, confirming the absence of threats.
You could never be too sure.
Reasonably satisfied, he slung the weapon over his shoulder and moved through the sun porch, down a small hallway, his boots kicking up puffs of dust from the old wooden floors.
In the kitchen, he quickly located the pantry and sifted through the canned goods. A few things that might still be safe and edible. He tucked the cans into his pack and pulled the pantry door shut behind him. Something about being in homes always made him shut doors and behave as if his manners mattered.
As if anything mattered.
Food was nice, but the Wanderer wasn't a rookie and he knew that there were plenty of things scattered about that might still be useful. All the knives in the drawers were rusted and corroded. They would snap if he tried to use them on anything. The medicine was long past expiration and the gauze and cotton wrap had rotted away.
In the living room, the skeleton of a television, lifeless since power left the world. A chair, sagging and forgotten. Pictures sat upon the mantle over the fireplace, their images faded and barely recognizable. Small family, just a dad with two kids. One older, one still just a child. Graduation photo for the older child. College or High school, the Wanderer couldn't begin to tell. Large bookcases flanked the television and the Wanderer paused for a moment to sift through them, claiming any that still held on to their words, gently replacing those that had lost them back on the shelf.
He didn't sit down. From experience, the Wanderer knew of the perils of lingering in a place. Of complacency and letting your guard down. He was better than that. It's how he was still alive.
Carefully he ascended the stairs, his feet placed gently on each step, next to the wall where the support would be the greatest. The stairs creaked mightily as he ascended, but nothing broke.
Two bedrooms to the left, one bedroom and bathroom to the right. The light was dimmer upstairs than it had been down and his mask was making it hard to see as well. Carefully he crept towards what he assumed was the master bedroom, straining to see through the gloom. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
A sagging four post bed. Ruined sheets spread across it. Limp and shredded curtains hung in front of one of the windows, letting in a fair amount of light. A quick sweep of the room confirmed that there were no weapons, no ammunition and nothing of value. The Wanderer turned his back and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Before he went back downstairs, he avoided children's rooms, he paused and stepped into the bathroom. The mirror was cracked, with a thick layer of grime that made reflection impossible. The cheap countertop, designed to look like more expensive marble, was equally dirty. The towels hanging from the wall and hidden under the counter had rotted into nothingness. The toilet seat was down, covered with the fur seat cover that he hated so much back when he visited his grandmother as a child. Felt wrong to have a rug on the toilet.
His eyes briefly swept over the bathtub before something caught his eye. He stepped closer and knelt. The tub was a ruin. Old, dark red stains, blood or rust or mold he couldn't tell, covered the inside of it. The faucet and drain, dry for so long were both cracked and ruined. But on the shelf in the tub...
On the shelf was a toy.
Even after all the years, he could recognize the toy. Gently he reached out and picked it up. It was old and the years had not been kind. The yellow paint had worn away, leaving only a gray plastic figure, as though born fresh from the mold. The joints were stiff, likely rusted and unused to being moved. But the shape, the heft, those were unchanged.
Those were familiar.
Slowly, gently, the Wanderer sat. Sat upon the fluffy toilet that he had always hated so much. Sat and stared at the toy and remembered the one, so like this, that he had bought for his son, so very long ago. | 88 | Years after the apocalypse, a survivor runs across a reminder of innocence in the wastes. | 42 |
"This is finally it," he thought. "This is the one thing I can think of that will do the trick." And Martin had done a lot of thinking. After getting tired of living, he had tried all the regular means of suicide - self inflicted gun shot wounds, hanging, asphyxiation, jumping from tall heights, he had even been in the blast wave of a nuke during the short lived Ukrainian conflict in the 2020s. But every single time he met the same fate, the bittersweet curse of an indestructible body.
Martin shielded his eyes from the bright light of the black hole's glowing hot acretian disk. He could barely comprehend the magnitude of a black hole, the extraordinary amount of matter packed into an infinitesimal space. It was his ticket out.
His radio sputtered, "Hey man, is anyone there? Watch out, you're drifting towards a black hole. We got room for another passenger if you need-" Martin killed the radio. He wanted his last moments to be silent.
He could feel the tug on his body, the gravity of the beast working its will on him. His ship passed the Event Horizon, the point of no return. As he looked back from where he had come through the ship's optical sensors, he saw time dilation come into effect. Stars scurried much faster than their usual pace, galaxies blinked in and out, billions of years passing by and suddenly there was nothing. A blink, and the universe was gone.
Martin let out the deep breath he had been holding. His eyes scanned the cabin of his ship. Was he the last thing in the universe?
"I see you took a shortcut." The voice was booming, but warm. It sounded like it was smiling.
Martin jumped. Who had said that? The voice chuckled.
"The simulation has run its course, the universe you knew is over. Come Martin, come meet your brethren." And in place of the empty void where the universe once stood, there was light. | 65 | A man who found himself to be indestructible, after many centuries of trying to end himself, flies a spacecraft into a black hole. | 56 |
My human pet always laughs at me in my crusade for the Dot of Red. It is constantly beyond my grasp, and at times, when I think my claws have finally swatted that accursed thing into oblivion it re-appears, not beneath where I last saw it, but above, on the furry tufts of my paws. It is bewitched, that beam. No natural thing can move that fast - the way it darts, and the way it evades my grasp. Fishcakes! That darting speck has more than once caused me collapse upon my dignity, the laughter from my human-servant still rings within my ears. This dot, it ruins my honour. I dare not speak of it to Fluffy, the beautiful creature from beyond The Wall. I fear that she would also laugh at me. This dot of red, defiant, cursed, mystical, has required a mystical solution. I approached the Felix, the Cat of Old and requested a wish. To capture this Dot of Red. When I did, he sighed and told me I was not the only one. It struck fear in my heart that there were others like myself out there, continually, and failing to, capture this elusive dot.
Felix told me the secret to it’s capture. On a night of new moon, the dot appeared again. And this time, I acted. I whipped around, and ran at my human-pet. Straight at their hands. There, as Felix had told me, was a bright green object. I scraped at my human pet until the object was dropped, wherefore I promptly swallowed it. Felix had told me this object was the origin of the Dot of Red, and now, I have defeated it. It will reside there, in my bowels until the end of time.
Or so I thought. There are more from whence it came, because on the night of the full moon - the evil returned.
EDIT: Grammar, spelling and I realised I deleted the last sentence on mobile...
| 13 | Your cat finally manages to catch the red dot. | 15 |
Age is the arch enemy of most heroes. I look at the cabinet full of pills for this and that. The bullet that hit my kidney in '82. Falling from the Empire State Building the year after. Every scar tells a story and every pill is a consequence for that story. I close the cabinet door to reveal an old man in the mirror. I was once the most handsome man on the planet in several magazines. Now I'm just another old man walking the streets of New York. An old man that happens to have telekinesis. But, even that showed aging like the rest of my body. I get dressed and head out the door, no where in particular to go. I just can't stand being alone with all these ghosts from the past.
I walk my usual path in the park, lost in my thoughts. Suddenly I hear a scream. I see a woman being attacked by a group of men. More like pigs, I think as I start to jog over there, my knees screaming in protest.
In the end I just lifted up the leader with my ability and threw him into the tree behind them. The rest just took off, too scared of what they couldn't explain. I scoffed at their fear, a sniveling alter ego to the rapists they were. Pathetic.
As I walk the woman, an attractive blonde, home she suddenly slips a card in my jacket pocket.
"This is just a taste of what it could be like. Just like the old days for you. You could be a hero again and nobody has to get hurt. For the right price I mean"
I'm confused. My mind isn't as quick as it used to be.
"What the hell are you taking about?" Shit, I shouldn't curse in front of a lady... Mother forgive me
"That was all an act. A coordinated effort to maximize your feelings of heroic ability. In layman's terms, an ego boost. You see we have a device that erases short term memory. You can go home now feeling like the hero. This ones free, but next time will cost a fee." She lifted a small tube from her pocked and placed some gaudy sunglasses over her cobalt blue eyes.
"Just think about it. Be the hero you once were..."
Flash.
Edit: a word | 29 | A specialized escort service catering toward super-powered clientele | 36 |
It had record sales in the first year. The year before the incidents began...
Then, things began to become off-kilter. Angles, proportions, things established as geometric truths began to shift. Doors no longer could fit into door frames. Windows popped out of their slots.
But who could blame a book for such a thing? A simple, innocent book.
It had come from an author, a mad man, some would say, others would call him a prophet. He went by the name Brother Joseph, and that was it
The first chapter went something like this: "Reality is not what it seems. It is subjective. What you see in your mind is what is real to you. There is no such thing as schizophrenia, only people who see beyond the veil."
The whole damned thing was like that. Vindication for the masses, and the deranged. But by God, I couldn't help but continue reading.
"The veil, once lifted, allows a person to truly grasp the high tide and low tide of the other side. To understand why we do not go into the beyond-zone at night. To those who's eyes are still covered, I can only use the simple term, monster, but in reality, it is far more complicated. They don't want to kill us. They want to facilitate with us." The book said this, and the book said that, but it was all a load of horse prat. Just in case though, I tried my best to pronounce the silly incantations within the pages. I missed my old cat, and this thing said it could bring him back, so why not give it a shot?
"Et post murum opertum est vobis. Quaeramus vas. Quaerimus victurum. Afferte, et alia huiusmodi. Afferte, et quæ prope sunt. Dic ad vos..." I recited the words, and felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I didn't go into this trying to mess with any devil. But whoever, or What-ever, came. I saw into it's whiteless eyes, and knew true fear. It was then that I realized that this was no longer fun. No longer a larkish bit of govreeting about.
"We seek a vessel.. We seek to live again. We seek a vessel... We seek.. to.. live.. again.." I turned to run, but felt frozen in place. I could hear the clacking of it's monstrously overgrown nails on the hardwood floor, as it took it's time approaching. It began to enter me, my body, my soul, my mind, and-...
I was fine. I never felt better. There is nothing wrong with me. I think I shall go and see my wife and children, once I can find something with their names written down on it. | 10 | A Goddamn Evil Book | 18 |
“Can you tell me about Earth, Krylon?” a voice said.
Krylon snapped to attention, only just noticing the dried saliva congealed on the side of his face. He wondered how long he had been asleep.
Looking into the ugly face of his teacher, Mrs. Huddington, was enough to make anyone speechless (and not in a good way), but Krylon had never had much of a handle on biology. He shook his head.
“As I expected,” she sighed, “now pay attention.”
“Anyway,” she continued, “about 90% of the planet Earth’s crust is made up of just four elements; iron, oxygen, silicon and magnesium. About 70% of its surface is covered by water, a mix of hydrogen and oxygen, and the air which all living things on the planet breathe is made up of primarily nitrogen and oxygen, oxygen being an essential component for life. The dominant species on the planet is called ‘humans’…” the lesson droned on.
Silla raised one of her hands quickly, then. Krylon rolled his eyes; he didn’t know what she would say, but he knew it would be idiotic.
“Yes Silla?”
“Well, my daddy says that oxygen is poison.”
“Yes, actually. I was just getting to that. Oxygen is essential to life on Earth, but because of this fact, it’s one of the most inhospitable planets. You see, every time someone breathes in oxygen, it slowly oxidizes – and write that vocab word in your books please – the body. Most of the oxygen goes to breaking down food in cells and creating energy, but some is made into something called ‘free radicals’, which can cause problems in the body. It wouldn’t be much of a problem, because humans can make new copies of cells by duplicating their DNA, but –”
Silla raised her hand again and said “DNA stands for deoxyribose nucleic acid,” without waiting to be called on.
“Thanks, Silla…” Mrs. Huddington said before continuing with the lesson.
“As I was saying, there comes a point where humans can no longer replicate their DNA, and so once their cells are targeted by free radicals or some other harm, they can’t make new ones, and they die.”
“Wait a second,” Clarence said from the back of the room, “you mean humans can die… just like that?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Huddington said, “humans, and all of the organisms on Earth, die of natural causes; of old age.”
Silla for once was silent. One of her friends spoke up though, “that’s barbaric,” she said. It was true, on Krylon’s planet; the only way to die was if you were killed, by something or someone.
“Just how far back on the evolutionary timeline are they?” someone asked.
Krylon thought he’d like to ask the same question to Silla.
“Well, they haven’t made much interplanetary contact yet. They’ve been to their own moon, but that’s all.”
“That explains why I’ve never heard of them, then,” Silla said.
“What a know it all,” Krylon said. Everyone in the class snapped their heads around to look at him, his head resting lazily atop his hand.
“Did I say that out loud?” he said, and he wasn’t lying, he really hadn’t meant for them all to hear.
Silla burst in to tears, then.
“Silla, are you seriously crying because of what Krylon said?” her friend asked. Krylon got the feeling that even she was fed up with Silla’s antics.
“Well, no,” she sniffed and wiped her tears off of her face, “I was just crying for all of those poor humans. What an awful life to lead… why isn’t anyone helping them?”
“We don’t want anything to do with humans to be honest,” Mrs. Huddington said, ignoring Silla’s emotional distress.
“Humans cause a lot of trouble among themselves. In fact, I’m amazed that none of you know more about Earth. Your homework is to research a flaw of the human race, due tomorrow. Class dismissed.”
“Thanks a lot Silla. Dumb bitch, you got us all homework,” Krylon said.
“Yeah, come on Silla,” the chorus rose from the class as the students shuffled out, shaking their heads.
“Oh shush, a little homework won’t kill you, but being human will,” she burst into a fresh river of tears.
Krylon sighed. He reckoned he'd rather be a human than in a class with Silla.
| 45 | Earth is one of the most inhospitable planets in the universe | 42 |
Mommy, why can't I have new toys like the other kids?
*Because we can't afford them.*
Why not?
*Because I don't get paid as much as their parents do.*
Why?
*Because they have better jobs.*
Why?
*Because Momma didn't go to school.*
Why?
*Something more important than my own ambition was born.*
Why?
*Because Momma spent too much time in the backseat of a Chevy.*
Why?
*Momma wanted to feel loved.*
Why?
*Momma didn't always have such a happy life as you, honey chile.*
Why?
*God didn't put us all at the same starting line.*
Why?
*You can't always have life handed to you.*
But Mommy, why does God put good people at a different line?
*Honey chile, I think it's time you go to bed now.*
Momma, no! Why does God let that happen?
*He's always watching after us. I have you now, don't I?*
Why?
*Because God put his best blessing on you and me, baby doll. None of that stuff matter now, you see.*
Mommy, why are you sad?
*Honey, come sit on Momma's lap. I wanna hold you tight.*
Momma, why are you crying?
*I thought about a life without you, baby doll. That's no way I want to live.*
| 18 | A parent and young child are having a conversation. The parent keeps answering the child when they ask "why?" until things spiral out of control | 24 |
"Yes, dear, I made sure your sun hat was in the carry-on. I'll bring it in, you go ahead."
Philip opened the trunk of the Civic and began unloading bags while Karen, burnt to a crisp, walked up the drive to the door. She began to reach for her keys, but found the door unlocked. She immediately turned and yelled, "I TOLD YOU, you didn't lock the door!"
Philip ignored her. He'd just spent his last year's salary on a cruise where his only purpose was to be complained at. He relished the moments of silence that staring at the empty trunk gave him, then he began to imagine going back to the obscene hours that the White House demanded, he'd be so happy to deal with pretentious interns instead of his wife.
A shrill scream sliced through his eardrum, he jumped and banged his head on the trunk. Philip rubbed his head, not sure what he'd just heard, then... "PHILIP!" He sprinted inside, down the hallway, and stood in front of his wife, in his bed he saw...
"Mister... President?"
President Barack Obama laid under the sea blue covers, one arm behind his head, cigarette hanging from his mouth, "Hey Phil, I knew you wouldn't mind. Didn't realize you'd be back so soon, we needed your house for... Well, as you can see, Diplomatic Retreat."
Philip clenched his jaw as he recognized the other two people in the bed. Right beside the President and under his arm, was Vladmir Putin. His face was stoic, but there was an odd twinkle in his eye, "Sovetskoye gosudarstvo bylo vozvedeno ... i ... vystrelil."
Putin's arm moved under the covers, caressing the leg of German Chancellor Angela Merkel. She grinned in a way that only a post-coital German woman can, her voice easing out between her lips, "Sicherheitsrat verdammt sein, wir tun Dinge, die unsere Art und Weise." Then she jumped as Barack rubbed her ear, "Oh! I shouldn't be so rude, your contribution to world peace is noted."
Barack caressed Putin's bald head, ruffling what little hair remained (earning a slight grin from the man), then lifted himself out of the covers. He wore...
Philip fainted, Karen ran from the room. | 10 | A couple return from vacation to find the least likely people having sex on their bed. (NSFW)(?) | 15 |
“Well boys, this is it. I would say it’s been an honor fighting with you if I meant it. Nothing pisses me off more than knowing these slimy sons of bitches have gotten the best of us. God dammit I thought we had ‘em! We were so damn close too… Well as long as I’ve got breath in my lungs and rounds in my clip I ain’t about to lie down like a motel whore. If any one of you has the balls to get out of this damn hole and take down a few more slimers with me, then stand up now and face your death with some dignity.”
Not a soul stirred. The men had been beaten. Not just the men, Man had been beaten. We had lost. After four years of hell on earth fighting God knows what from God knows where, they had finally beaten us. A regular army has a goal to achieve. Whether it’s a piece of land, some resources, or a few more slaves, there’s always a goal. Knowing the goal is the way to know how to stop them. But these… things… had no goal that we could discern. They simply came to kill and conquer all things of this earth. It was sickening. Maddening. Frustrating beyond belief to know we were being killed for sport.
The grizzly General hadn’t expected even a companion to meet his so called dignified death with him. He spat some tobacco juice at the boots of the nearest soldier. Where the hell he could still find tobacco was one of life’s greatest mysteries. With that, he turned around, let loose a yell that would curdle the blood of the Southern Rebels he had descended from, and launched himself from the hole.
Above ground was pure chaos. The slimers, as they were called, were in the process of dismantling the city of Richmond, Virginia. The sudden movement and ear piercing cry had caught the attention of one, and it swiveled its grotesque head in the General’s direction. The General raised his pistol. He was taking his sweet time. Their bodies were nearly impenetrable except for a small area at the base of the neck. Sweat, dirt, and blood dripped into the General’s eyes but it did not affect his aim. This pistol was an extension of his arm. Blood from his veins pumped through the cold steel of this pistol as if it were his hand. He had learned at twelve years old that this pistol shot ever so slightly high and left of the target. This was his grandfather’s gun and by God he would not disgrace him with a miss for a final shot.
The bullet flew. It found it’s mark. The howls of the slimer as it choked on its own vile blood curled the edges of the General’s mouth upward into a perverse smile. He hadn’t let his grandfather down. That was his last round. There was nothing more to do but wait. The gurgling and spewing of the slimer had alerted the surrounding enemies. The General looked into what he assumed were the eyes of the closest one and slid his knife out of his boot. This thing was stupid if it thought he’d go down calmly.
As it sprinted towards him, he crouched. If he twisted in the exact right way maybe he could drive his knife into the weak spot and finalize his count at 317 of these bastards.
50 yards.
20 yards.
10 yards.
He could smell it. It was almost upon him.
At the final second a ghostly figure appeared between them. It was jet black and nearly transparent at the edges. The slimer collided with it and was atomized. A fine mist of green liquid splattered the General’s ragged uniform. The creature before him turned around. It had eyes that burned like hot coals and twisted horns adorned its head. It had to have been fifteen feet tall and as thick around as the mighty oak that still stood rooted in the General’s back yard.
The creature knelt and spoke.
“You are saved human. And the rest of your race as well. This global collaboration has decimated the population of Hell. You humans do not sin enough when there is a common enemy. My Commander has saved you from these invaders so that you may continue damning yourselves. I’m sure the apocalyptic wasteland left behind will breed all kinds of villainy that will replenish our slaves in the lake of fire. I look forward to seeing you in Hell, General.”
| 119 | Aliens invade Earth, All is lost. Demons Come from hell and saves everyone | 140 |
"I could have sworn that I seen you somewhere before." The man said, a pondering look on his face as he wondered why this beautiful woman in front of him made him so uneasy.
He contributed it to the fact that he was simply nervous, still not clear on why a woman this beautiful, educated and sexy would ever give *him* the time of day.
He was not rich, he did not have many friends. The only exciting thing about him was that he had traveled to Paris on a whim. Not telling anybody where he had went.
This had caught the woman's attention in the bar. He figured she thought him exciting for his bravery.
If he only knew.
She poured him some more wine and went out to the kitchen for the main course.
"This was delicious. Rabbit was it?" the man called out the kitchen. The woman returned with a big tray, on it a piece of what looked like pork.
"Looks great." he said.
The women smiled at him and started carving the meat with what seemed like surgical precision and skill. She had mentioned that her father used to be a surgon.
If he only knew.
"You must have a lot of men asking you out" the man said, trying to deliver a hidden compliment.
"A few" the woman replied "most of them for dinner." She smiled at him as she put a piece of meat on his plate.
After a few silent minutes the man looked up, a question in his mind.
"You know," he said "I never did get your last name."
The woman looked at him, smile gone, she knew what was about to come.
She raised her head slowly as she wrapped her hand on the handle of the knife.
The mans face turned pale as she opened her mouth and spoke the words. He knew now.
"Lecter." | 24 | A man is on a date with a woman. In the middle of their meal he finds out she is a serial killer. | 17 |
Mickey bared a bloody grin to his captor. The Interrogator suppressed a shiver of unease, and smashed his fist through that smile once more.
"What's the secret?" he roared at the prisoner, spit flying from his mouth. The man's name was actually Mickey - his real name and his character, all twisted together in an affront to the Opposition. To the real world, where things like him must be found and squashed like the insects they were.
"You'll find out soon enough, dear man," said Mickey. The words came out muted and thick, spoken as they were through swollen, blood-drenched flesh.
But somehow it sounded gleeful, prophetic. The Interrogator felt the anger throb in his blood, and the sour taste of fear. It didn't make sense. Rounding up the creatives should have worked. It was a brilliant, coldly strategic move, the brainchild of the President. It had slowed Disneyland's creeping expansion over the lands. It had nearly come to a standstill. Until a week ago, when suddenly it burst to life again with ghastly enthusiasm, giving him migraines with its tinkling, horribly cheerful music.
Disney Music now made its way to the ears of normal, decent folk - as if by magic. Even in this safe haven, where it should be impossible. The Interrogator was perilously close to madness, he knew it. Even now, the tinny refrain of "It's a small world" bounced and rattled in his head. He felt a terrible urge to whistle along to it. Mickey was still smiling - as if he knew exactly what the Interrogator was thinking.
"You focused it, you fools," the Interrogator jumped at Mickey's suddenly lucid, menacing voice. "Left to itself, imagination...magic...it is harmless. Entertainment, you might say. But force it into a corner...threaten it," his dark eyes glinted with something, and the Interrogator felt his gut clench and twist with fear. "Yes, threaten it...it might just, I don't know...come alive..."
Mickey had shut his eyes. Wisps of silvery smoke drifted from his skin, and started snaking toward the Interrogator. His mouth dropped in amazement. He was dimly aware that he should call for the guys, call for help, but it was so...alluring. It was the moon made smoke, glinting subtly to attract his eye, and he wanted it to embrace him, beg it to awaken the childlike wonder he felt trapped in some dark, forgotten corner of his mind. To help it escape, lonely and starved in that cage...
In his chair, Mickey saw the smoke strangle the man and dive into his mouth, still hanging open with wonder. For a moment, his eyes blazed silver, then dimmed back to its normal blue. He blinked, as if awakening from some long sleep.
"Oh god," he said as he caught sight of Mickey. He hurried to untie him, and Mickey sagged slightly against the massive man's shoulder. "What happened?"
"Nothing, nothing to fret about," said Mickey, smiling through his broken teeth. "My imagination just ran away with me. But come, we have our work cut out for us. This place could use a little makeover, a little..."
"Magic," whispered the Interrogator. A powerful surge of joy swept through him, and ideas exploded in his mind - what he wanted to do with this room, for a start. So dull and grey. It could use colour. Lots of colour, and music. He started whistling a little tune he found particularly pleasing, that had been stuck in his mind for a while now.
"That's the spirit," said Mickey with a grin, as they walked together from the torture room with their arms thrown around each other, whistling in perfect harmony. | 157 | "Disneyland will never be completed. It will continue to grow as long as there is imagination left in the world." -Walt Disney | 504 |
There are an untold number of other worlds out there. The media went rabid over the discovery a few years back. Headlines like, "What COULD have happened to you?" and "How's your other self doing?" was on every news station on television. The man responsible for the discovery had reluctantly appeared on a talk show.
I can still remember his eyes, tired and in pain. The lines on his face seemed to run far deeper than they should have and you could almost feel the sorrow through the plasma screen television.
"All of us have multiple copies," He had said, "we see glimpses of their world in our dreams."
"Oh, how interesting!" The interviewer chirped, "Is every dream a glimpse into another world?"
"Yes," He hesitated and fidgeted with his tie, "Even the nightmares."
The interviewer fought to keep her expression cheerful. A shiver ran down my spine as I contemplated every nightmare I'd ever had. All of the drownings, the shootings, the...other deaths that I had dreamed about had really happened in another world.
"Even the nightmares?" She had repeated.
"Yes."
| 39 | Our nightmares are the last memories of our alternative selves dying in their universes. | 66 |
>UPDATE: Part 10, 11, and 12 are on the [Mammalian](http://www.reddit.com/r/Mammalians/) Subreddit created so I could keep writing...40k and what not.
> PART 13 FINALLY is UP!
>Thank you boot_made4_Walken for the prompt!.
Part 1
He kept his head bowed.
Farther than he ever had before. His snout almost touched the floor of the chapel. In the silence, the Commander and Leader of this Holy fleet, tasked to carry out the very meaning of their creation, whimpered before the Gods. Fear was natural, fear was life sustaining. But the impulse to run, now more than ever, gripped the very heart of this Mountain of Novawolf.
He asked for wisdom, he begged for courage and most of all, he implored The Ones Who Set us Free to guide his hands. It was they who had breathed the very thought into his mind.
They had brought all that exists into being.
And the Alpha whimpered, for he could never repay them.
In Their' sacrifice, they had granted E'rth a second chance.
A chance to right wrongs, to learn from mistakes.
How could the gift of life be re-payed?
Then the old wolf opened his eye, lifted his head and looked at the altar. He used one mighty armored gauntlet to push himself up from his knee.
The fear was gone, the thoughts began to clear. The Alpha's eyes focused in a primal stare as a new emotion began to stir beneath his breastplate.
A chance for revenge.
"My Alpha, the Armada is arranging as planned. sectors 23 and 26 have experienced some difficulty with coordination of the jump, but this is primarily due to disrupted communications fields thanks to the spearhead jumps. They should sort out."
"Thank you Cora. Anything else I should know?" The Alpha looked ahead from his command chair, blankly scanning the varied crew of mammals that ran this craft. His assistant, a distant kin of a feline breed from the past, looked very assured.
"No, my Alpha, we all await the command to go." There was a sparkle of youth behind this female, youth that did not know the fight ahead.
"Before we go, I would like to speak with the fleet, personally. Open all channels."
With the arrangements made, the Alpha began.
"Mammalia, E'rth dwellers, brothers...." The Alpha found the words.
" This journey we are about to undertake is older than any of our civilizations can claim. We do not carry the torch of one mammal or one breed or one species or one nation. We carry a torch passed by those who taught us how to catch it. WE were mindless beasts, once. Our instinct dominated our lives, our bodies slaves to the impulses, nothing else. There was no consideration of the future, or of lessons learned. No hope. Then the Ones Who Set us Free performed the miracles that have allowed every single one of you to be here, listening to my voice and COMPREHENDING it just now. Humanity granted us freedom from the bonds of Nature, Freedom from the restrains of Evolution. We have been set free. Then, They preserved their knowledge, their understanding and their wisdom so that WE humble creature could follow in their magnificent footsteps. And Follow we have."
" With this knowledge, however, came warning of how Humanity came to its end. THEY WARNED US OF THE ENEMY. They showed us how our world was before the reaping. They lamented they could not give us a greater world to grow on. They sacrificed themselves so that WE could continue!" The force in that last sentence brought up a cheer from the entire ship. NovaPrimates, NovaFelines, NovaCanines, NovaMarsupials and many other species all let out the roar of their people. The noise was tremendous, like an entire planet shouting in chorus.
"THINK of the lives we could have had on an unscathed planet. Think of the ruin our ancestors had to sift through to gain anything. Think of the planet denied to us by an Enemy who's one purpose is to take. AND most of ALL, remember Those who brought you here. Humanity once held the mantle of protector of E'rth. That mantle was ripped from Them, but not before They guaranteed our ability to survive on the world that was left behind. We will not allow their legacy to be lost, that mantle falls to us now. Centuries ago, the Enemy came from the heavens to destroy and take all they could. But now we will come to their homes, take what is theirs and remind them of the devastation they have wrought! The Enemy will tremble at humanities answer, and We will see that that Answer is Brutal. We are Humanities children, and we will see the retribution for our Fathers."
With that the Alpha lowered the sound bead from his mouth and looked around the command floor. Crewman were either in ecstasy, cheering as loud as their lungs would allow, or silent, in aw of the momentous burden they had.
Good, they would need to be ready in their own ways. The Alpha then looked at Cora and pointed with one huge paw.
"I believe we are ready."
"I believe we are, my Alpha."
"Then tell the fleet we jump now, and may Humanities hands be around us, as they always have."
EDIT: Part 2
"And we will see retribution for our Fathers..." click...
"I can't believe this is happening! Jor! Can you believe this is happening!" The young ape was wild, jumping and pounding on his chest.
"We are the ones! My father talked of this day! And his father! and his father! The generations that have dreamed of this day! WE ARE THE ONES!"
The ape coo'ed into the air and chirped in the delight he had in himself. There was no stopping him or the other youths on in the fleet from rejoicing. Perhaps it had been the elders fault, filling their head with the stories of Them. Some of it was lent to inexperience in general. Jor was not given to such simple instincts. The NovaSwine had fought in the Decision wars and the Bringing Together. These wars had been deadly stalemates that cost every side dearly in mammals and resources, each with the victor claiming spoils over trashed world. Half the moons in the solar system had destabilized from Storm bombing and would take at least a century to re-form the atmospheres. All the souls lost. All so that minds could be made up. Those wars had brought together all creeds, laid waste to walls and borders. Finally, all of Mammalia brought under one ideology.
The pork snorted to himself. One trot through the feed hall of this hulk would show that hadn't happened.
You can tell mammals to lie down, but you can't make them shut their mouths. Jor had earned three bars and an addition to his families plot on Callisto. At least the algae stock grew. Jor then sighed and stood up, flaring his nostrils and snorting hard to get the young apprentice's attention. The ape paused mid-pumping his arms in the air and looked.
"Sorry, Kappa, I just got carried away after the Alpha's speech."
"Primate, that speech got exactly what he wanted out of you. Exhalation. I understand the implications of our given mission, I have carried the weight of Their gift just as much as you have. BUT don't for a second think I will let fervor and instinct take over my pack, you understand me Brondon?"
The ape began to droop, a noticeable hunch began to play on his shoulder.
"Do as the Alpha said, think about the Enemy. Think about whats about to happen there. This is the species that wiped out HUMANITY. All of it. They themselves couldn't withstand whatever is on the other side of the shift gate."
This had not apparently occurred to the mammal. His shoulders hung even lower.
"Well I'm sorry Kappa, there is just so much pride in my veins right now. It'll calm down, I'm ready you know."
"I don't need you calm, Brondon, I need you alert. When our boat drops, we are going into the unknown. I need you to be able to see what I can't. You can understand me?"
"I can understand you. I will be at my best. Everything is counting on it. "
"Good, that is the way I want it."
"ALERT, ALERT ALL CREW, temporal shift in 1 current minute. All hands please enact last departure procedures and hold for shift impact." The lights flashed. The buzzer came one.
Neither of the mammals talked as they rushed to their stations, tidying up odd bits and sealing any loose time sensitive items in protective containers. Then they sat in their chairs and breathed in deeply, preparing for the next unpleasant step they had ahead of them. Jor looked at his primate apprentice pilot, the kid looked more composed than before, more aware.
"I believe you now, I can smell the stress."
"I told you, focus and alert from here on out...Also Jor, er, Kappa?"
"Yes?"
"Can you use Bron? Not Brondon? My mother was old fashioned and gave me the name. She said it was one of the most popular names among Them. I think is sounds ridiculous."
The pig snorted in amusement and then leaned his head back against his chair with his eyes tightly closed. His hooves clenched tightly under his crossed arms.
He always hated this part.
EDIT: PART 3
"Father, is that the fleet? Those lights flashing?"
"Yes dear one, that is the fleet. They are shifting time streams now"
"And fathers-brother Jor is with them?" The little novaswine pulled on her fathers fur in excitement as she sat on his broad shoulders. She stared up at the start in delight, intently hoping to see the flashes of the ships of the Holy Armada
"Yes, Jor is up there alright. He has to be."
"Because he's a hero!"
"Well, I wouldn't say that."
"Y'hUh! Mother was telling me how he held back an entire herd of elk rangers with only his wits and his boat!"
"A whole herd? Now that seems a bit far fetched."
"And now mother says he is going to fly out and take on the Enemy and blow them all to little pieces!" The excited piglet squealed, then made tiny explosion impressions set to the pantomimed star craft she had made with her hands.
"What your fathers-brother Jor is doing is far more important than that, Pep."
"O I know! And They will finally feel Peace! We are attacking the Enemy to make it pay for what happened to Them right!?"
"Well, that is true...but its even more important than that."
"But father, what is more important than avenging The Ones Who Set us Free's extinction?"
"Making sure it doesn't happen again, dear one."
EDIT PART 4
The shift allowed the ships to move around the limitations of the physical universe, another blessing from the Gods. This ships could then travel past the speed of light, unbound by the laws of space-time as they set their own course through the dimensions.
Then, using the massive energies required and released to accomplish this shift, the gates the fleet had set up spat these ships into the nothing of space. The acceleration wasn't felt by the crew, instead time appeared to be passing drastically slower as their 3 dimensional minds tried to process the different rate of time reality was presenting itself in.
The ships crews all froze in their positions, petrified in torn space. The hull rattled and shook as it strained to assert itself in this new field, soon this rattling stopped as the inversers and retrained metals begin to adjust.
An almost comical scene started unfolds as those who did not get to their positions on time, or were caught in an uncomfortable spot, were forced to watch themselves frozen in time, unable to do anything about it. Some looked in horror at the potential fall they could take in the realignment. Most were embarrassed to be caught with the toe up the snout.
The Alpha had rested into a thoughtful position, both massive paws pressed under his jaw, his blue eyes fixed on the mini-projection he had pulled up at the last second. It was a tactical map of the scouting reports on the Enemy's systems. This massive novawolf played out battles and sequences in his head. He imagined all typed of weaponry and abilities. Every top scholar in the Solar had proposed any possible outcome based off of Their' warnings. There was no reality not thought of. Nothing would catch him off guard. His duty, to his clan and to all of Mammalia, was to ensure these demons would never threaten E'rth again. And he would not fail in this task. The Alpha tapped his hunters instinct and, in his mind, formed the destruction of the greatest threat ever known.
Jor had his eyes closed. He preferred it that way. It allowed him to sleep if he wanted, but it also gave him time to think un-distracted. Jor had been through to many jumps to know that a stray glance caught in the shift can be a lifetime of hell in your head. No...Jor would enjoy his thoughts of home, his blank canvas to his mind.
The rest of the fleet ran about their own internal processes. The shift granted them a good time of thought, not by choice of course. Some prayed to the Ones That Set them Free. Others thought about the lives they had left behind, the dens and dwellings with loved ones inside them.
These thoughts carried with them.
Until time came back to life.
EDIT: PART 5 GOLD!?! AND TIPS!?! Jeez you people, your making me blush. Guess I gotta keep writing now.
The first thing you notice is the moisture in the air. The ship finally gets a chance to breath again. Then as this breathe fills the room, time races back into place. The Holy Armada slammed back into existence, purging an entire body of space in pure energy and the replacing it with its ships. Inside the crews jolted in and from various locations, all of them groaned a sigh of relief from the voyage. The ships came back to the void. This was still the open space. And There was still eons between them and their targets.
Before the Alpha and all those on the command bridge, however, read-outs and new intelligence was right in from of their snouts.
Cora eyes twitched at an no particular part int he command bridge's ceiling, her implants already receiving channels from the spearhead attack force that had been led by Gamma Tarus himself. The retired Gamma commander, a legend among the novarilla, had volunteered to lead the first assault wave. He had considered it the greatest honor bestowed to him when his wish was granted. In private, Gamma Tarus had confided in her that he fully expected to die, but he preferred battle over old age if given the choice.
To Cora it appeared, although these statistics on her retinas were un-duplicated, the grayback had gotten his licks. She snapped back into focus. In one unbroken sentence, she began.
"MY ALPHA! Reports coming in. Gamma Tarus initial attack forces are engaged heavily in the sectors Justice, Righteous and Fury, all forces have taken 67 percent fatal and critical damage to main strafers and loop fighters. Lights personal have been deployed sparingly. Recommend initiative Blessed Absolution as the most effective, with slight tweaks, strategem given the current emergent reports. Will Accommodating. High-Arks are holding stable, but unable to advance due to opposing forces intensive barrages on assault crews. Several requests for Life-Ark runs to for hemorrhaged crews. Accommodating. Alpha, the Enemy is employing many different weaponry, though high-mass photon waves seems to compose the bulk of their their main defensive fire. Well within shielding parameters" Cora finished her line and stared intently at the Alpha.
" Accommodating...Done...Waiting."
" Cora, next response, full analysis of individual ship locations. I want a full trajectory statistic and a propulsions summary to understand what I can and can't salvage from the spearhead."
Cora's eyes darted back into the air as new neuro-pathways opened up, processing different feeds of information.
The Alpha spoke orders as the novafeline enveloped herself in her task.
The projections flashing around the bridge told a complex story.
On one hand, the spearhead force had not been wiped out, as previously expected. This news lent problems and blessings to the Alpha's plan. The blessings were of course a pre-engaged Enemy to prey on and the chance to commit more mammals to the fight.
But now the Alpha's overwhelming sense of duty plagued him.
"All fleet, this is the Alpha, prepare advance initiative Blessed Absolution, all mammal, prepare your stations. Break off from main group in 3 and engage on all fronts. The spearhead has done its job gentlemals and I don't intend to leave a hair behind that I don't have to. This is why were are here."
The Alpha then turned to his bridge and barked his own forces directives, setting lock coordinates and trajectory patterns. The commander was able to rapidly split his fleet into four distinct quarters, each with their own task and suitability. Task forces Righteous and Justice split from the main group while the reserves held the jump zones. The Alpha had whispered short blessings to their cause, then, given the breakaway signals, the respective Gamma and Delta leaders and their crews carried off.
Fury would be the task of the the main force, the Alpha would see to it personally. Righteous and Justice were important objectives, but the real goal had always been sector Fury. Fury contained their home world. Fury was the most heavily defended. Fury contained the strategic moons and planets needs to cut off the Enemy's supplies. Fury would be the jewel. As Cora began to ramble through the latest bit of intel that had been requested, the Alpha flared his teeth in joy at the engagement beacons beginning to propagate in his vision.
This was exactly how some scholars had warned him. Even down to some of the emplacement formations. He was ready, the Alpha was confident. With the fleet each having their jobs, the Alpha's task force navigated from the herd. Fury was the objective.
Fury would be the break through point.
"I will break them over my knee"
PART 6:
"WELL THEN PULL THE STENCHING MANUAL RELEASE APE! HUMAN HANDS HELP ME! I GET THIS AT MUNCH TIME!"
"I'M sorry KAPPA! Releasing manual now. Electrolocks releasing, shes down the shoot...apologies Kappa."
The strafer cracked from its stasis on top of the hull of the monstrous Alpha-Ark. The craft was nothing but a blip cascading down the side of the command vessel. It rode its magnetic rails towards the jump portals that were beginning to come into existence below the ship. Each portal led to a specific point. Each ships jumped from its nest and road the fall into the flash of the unknown. Protective paneling all over the ship began to shift and realign. Some floated into positions protecting the craft leaving for the portals, just in case. Others simply moved to allow the Alpha-Arks devastating arsenal to stretch after its stasis slumber.
"You said you were ready young one. That's not the way to show it."
"I can understand! I'm just...In Learners the sims never failed past backup 4..." The ape wore shame like it was the uniform around him.
"This isn't the sims. Shes an old boat, Xi Bron. She like things done with your palms. Just get used to it." The pork settles into his chair, rapping a couple buttons before picking up a set of goggles without straps or lens. As soon as the Kappa set the visual system on his face, the goggles adhered and mini projections of the ships schematics and tactical read began to pop in and out at different depths in his vision. The novaswine had learned to filter most of this out and his eyes only twitch when something truly worth his notice caught his attention.
His apprentice's look had one of bewilderment. His pupils nearly matched his heart rate while they loosened and tightened as the noveape tried in vain to take in everything.
This was another problem with the Learners sims. They never dream big enough. This novice has never seen this much chatter. I bet this ape is trying to keep his eye on intake drafts and micro-fracture potentials. Being taught to take in everything was useless. Only take what you need from it.
"XI, turn off open channels, link only directly to Fury commands and localized parameter 17. Don't take it all in, you'll blind yourself.
Focus on what matters to you and the objectives. Contact Lambdas Ban and Reytaw and send them our greeting. Its our pack on their backs when things get toothy, alright? I'm going to need fire points as soon as we flash."
"I can understand. Setting speculations now. Open feed off....THEIR HANDS that is better. Much better. Thank you, Kappa." Comprehension took hold.
"And it wouldn't hurt anybody to turn your schematic readings down to alert status. Shes an old boat, but it means she knows what shes doing. I'm a little offended actually." The Pork joked. This little relief before the portal was something the young Xi needed. This was his first taste, his chance to get some scars. There wouldn't be time for him to learn. Only do.
"Hail Them, HAIL THEM! for I have JOR HAMMER as my guardian man! This is Lambda Reytaw and may I just say it is an honor, Kappa, an honor to be paired with you again, and on this mission of all. Flash parameters 17 up, my units are ready to roll, all that is needed is a door."
"Kappa Jor, this is Ban. How that stenchpile holding up?"
Jor snorted his angered approval. "Better than that pristine palace, you traitor."
"Jor, you are the only one in the fleet who can make a class FDR stay afloat for more than five ticks. I've tried, boar, you know I have.
AND this palace has individual climate bubbles and negative balance seating, so whatever point your to make is moot. At least I'll die comfortable."
"I don't need this from you! and you know I have that vibro pad under the upholstery. AND the Caff maker. Not many strafes get them."
"OH, I've been in your ship, Kappa."
"Point taken. Alright listen up, I intended to clear a big hole in space, so you lot better get through fast before something seals up again. That means you Reytaw, your window is 4 seconds. Specified settings will stream as soon as we know them for sure. Assume anything, I want full communication between everyone. Ban, your loops are on perimeter until I get the door opened, then its escort for the rangers, you can understand?"
"Clearly" Reported Lambda Ban
"Perfectly" answered Lambda Reytaw
"Kappa, we are up." The apprentice was setting and moving little light rays projected before him, making the correct sequences so that the strafer would follow the Kappa's every command. The pork himself simply stared forward at the ambiguous portal before him. Jor hated shifting, but atleast when he took the Fall he could watch it coming. The rush filled his stomach. The thrill tensed his haunches
The smile crept into his jowls.
Who was I fooling?
I'd missed this.
EDIT PART 7
Tarus was furious. The silver backed warrior was pounding his chest, roaring orders for synthetics and mammals to flash too and from a myriad of points on the battlefield. Strafers dropped their symphonies, plowing swaths into the emplacements and firing positions of the Enemy. Loopers zipped like hornets, harassing any enemy craft who dared break from their ranks or ventured to fill a threatening gap. This foe was smart, however, and their structures were durable.
The Enemy's first line of defense were fields that encompassed the asteroid belts of their controlled system. Most systems in the galaxy that were old enough to harbor life were old enough to have a diverse collection of captured passers by. These layers of rocks to small to become proper planets hover at whatever gravitational distances the parent star had deemed appropriate. These asteroids, the perfect hiding places, allowed for all sorts of generators and inducers to be put into the fray.
Hundreds, Thousands, Maybe Millions.
The Gamma slammed his large golden inked fist down. The tattoos showed serpents and leafed tree branches, etched in layered gold that glinted with a hint of the planet it was mined from. The work stretched up under his onyx armor, around his shoulder, up his neck and down his back and chest. His fur covered most of it above his hands, but with each movement brilliant trees and snakes danced on the surface of his soot colored skin. The effect was memorizing to the viewer, but it had a deeper meaning to the mural. It represented 200 years of lessons and strife. Each branch a step forward, each leaf a youth reared. Each serpent a time of conflict.
The hide-smith would be buying the rounds for a while after this.
The old novarilla bared one long tooth in disgust.
Things in sector Justice were a 4 layered affair.
The outer rings had been youths' play, the Enemy was caught unawares by the surprise assault by an unknown force. By second layer, this was not the case. The Enemy had many ships to respond to the breach of the outer layer, and by this time whoever their commanders were had to be fully aware of the scale of the assault. This meant the reaction had been swifter when the Justice force of the Spearhead met the next blockade to their goal. The lines immediately had shifted, the shielding was not focused on the specific direct points Tarus was attempting to make a hole. This meant the strategy of crack and pour was rendered useless, because there was no crack. To beat the second layer, the Gamma had spread his units out like a web, each trying to make a micro-breakthrough somewhere and move around the initial defenses to assist the others still trying to smash. His second in command had said it was akin to insects harvesting fruit one section at a time. Tarus was inclined to agree. This tactic, however slow, had worked, eventually allowing a breach large enough to be sustained and the rally set through it.
But now the enemy had adjusted again. There would be no easy way in.
"REGRID. I WANT THIS ENTIRE PARAMETER REDONE. Factor all new intel, please. THEIRS HANDS THIS IS LIKE LEARNERS SCHOOL!"
And in a way the Gamma was right. The Mammalian shielding, especially on the Ark ships, was more than capable of taking whatever the enemy seemed to have. The loopers and strafers and some other mid-class ships were more susceptible, but most of those weren't of much use at this point any matter. Spearhead Justice had instead taken to barraging huge areas of emplacements and asteroids with every weapon available. This barrage would accomplish the expected nothing, the Arks took an absurd amounts of readings from the impacts. All in an attempt to grid possible new emplacements based off refraction readings and a dozen other calculations that only neuro-nets and scholars knew what to do with.
All the old Gamma could do now was watch as barrage after barrage fazed harmlessly off the ruthlessly efficient steps the Enemy had taken to ensure none would pass. And after each barrage, all he could do was order a regridding and watch as another salvo simply gave the scientists more to buzz about. He swore they almost enjoyed it.
And so this Gamma was forced to repeat his lessons, over and over, like a youth in his first cycle at Learners. The Arks reverberated as their' payloads all released at once, something that most moons, much less defensive fields, couldn't take. And yet before the ionization died down and the very fabric of space righted itself from such a massive bombardment, Tarus, knew what the result would be.
"Not critical effect Gamma. We are receiving readings indicating new locations for possible Enemy generators. Waiting." Again, this young apprentice scholar looks to enthused.
"STENCHING BOWL FILTH. Well what do you think we are going to do...REG..."
"GAMMA! APOLOGIES, but we have received confirmation, the Alpha is here!"
The behemoth erupted in laughter, hardly containing his bodily fluids much less his composure. He bellowed and coo'ed, only stopping every so often to let his diaphragm recover. The entire command bridge was staring at their Gamma, wondering if the elder had finally lost his mind in the monotony. Through the tears, the Gamma was able to rumble out.
"GRADUATION!"
"Gamma Tarus? I don't understand."
"WHAT?! NOTHING! Nothing! just...never the mind...REGRID!"
The bridge went back to its work.
And the lone tooth soon was joined by the rest.
PART 8
"I think its appalling."
"I can understand you correctly?"
"Absolutely, I say again I think it is appalling"
"Please, Beta Striyo-ey, elaborate on your statement. The question was in your opinion, will the Holy Armada's success bring peace or is this just a sign for a greater calling? Your answer, as stands, is that you find something...appalling?"
The hundreds of visual receivers, all streaming to a different city in the Solar, all drifted to rest their gaze on the Beta. This was Beta Striyo-ey, First among the Novaline and all those that had allegiance to their kind. His fur was a mangled mess of color. Streaks of fiery red were overlapped by dark blacks and smooth blond patches. Even his eyes were mismatched, one being a traditional amber yellow and the other being a deep almost ocean green. Wrapped in a long grey robe with no impressive embroidery and no medallion, the Beta's personal appearance, title and experience was all he needed to possess gravity.
Indeed when he spoke, all that were born in the room were drawn to him.
"I think its appalling that we assume this Armada will bring anything."
The slender cat leaned forward, suggesting complete committal to his words.
"This war...this crusade... Is something that Mammalia as a whole, I am not just talking of novadae here, as a whole, you can understand?...Has wanted. Now..now the intent is there. The idea behind it is completely digestible. What is appalling, Tau Yu Set, is the complete gut instinct that is being thrown into the procedure of this undertaking. There has been, what, 6 years since the last major engagement with a neighbor. Our economic outlook, now more than ever, has been disparaged thanks to mainly isolationists ideals allowed to propagate under the justification of zeal. We have learned...so much from what They had left for us. Indeed we owe our standing not on this planet or system but on the galactic scale, to the knowledge and understanding given to us by Them. To even dream where we would be as species if we had spent the last five millennia simply taking the steps to build the groundwork of the wisdom that was left for us to find. All major Sociological, Technological..."The novaline maintained eye contact but counted on his claws for affect".. Astronomical, Political, Environmental, and Scientific developments of our major civilizations has come from this knowledge. And those are a small example of the overall impact the have had on our lives up unto this point."
The Beta pointed his index finger down to the ground, signifying hypothetical point,
" This point...I believe...has been crossed. I believe that through our own scientific and archaeological breakthroughs, our relationships with the species from the stars and our better understanding..." He paused, fist clenched just below his mouth, "Of who we as mammals and our place in this galaxy."
He then opened his hand and spread his fingers out, palm up. His claws stretched out, his fir hung down. The gesture looked more like a spider than a galaxy. But the message was understood. He continued.
"With this understanding, we have gained the knowledge that Stractlifyeen..." Some members crew and the host were visibly uncomfortable with that word.
"Yes, I used the word Stractlifyeen. They were never able to put a word to Their Enemy. They never got the chance to. Can we be shocked about the fact that through trade, diplomacy and treaty agreements, pouring over allies records and historical documents... along with heavily invested studies at top Learners I might add, we were able to not only attain the location of the assailant that was able to so brutally destroy our creators, but we were able to learn something about them as well? Its almost more shocking the reaction i get to using the given standard name for our once unnamed "Enemy". But this just further proves my point. We have lost ourselves in instinct. We have let ourselves become so wrapped up in what we owe to Them I honestly believe we have lost the ideals of what They intended for us. The Trillions in count alone spent on the fleet..."
"Though I would, Beta Striyo-ey, point that this huge some was taken almost entirely from private donations and sponsors. Indicating a huge amount of overall support for the Alpha's leadership." The novalion seemed happy with himself, having cut off the Beta's speech. The hit was valid though.
"Well true, but..." Cut off again. This time the put up out his paw.
"And there are many who would say that you, Beta Striyo-ey, have fallen to jealous instincts? You are considered a Beta without equal, if it weren't for the Alpha..." A look of implication followed this, as if by some measure the Beta should have to explain himself to a room of a dozen mammals a hundreds of visual receivers.
Striyo-ey was annoyed by this sentiment, but he did not show it. He could understand this mammals job was to be the voice of mammalia, and that voice had many opinions. However ridiculous. Though the showassing for the sake of telenet drama wasn't much to respect either.
"We have...for the first time in 500 years, an Alpha. I still remember a time when the council of Betas existed, when we all...All my fellow Betas, could have claimed the right.... The Alpha Fi..." This time the cat stopped himself. He could name the Enemy. But to refer the Alpha as anything but was...beyond thinkable. Regardless of who he was before.
" Solidified all we had worked for. We have seen, under his leadership, not only the longest stretch of peace in inter mammalian history, but a steady rise in the overall economic stability of this fledgling...I'll say this word too..empire."
"Forgive me Beta, but you've made long diatribes into our past and successfully endorsed the Alpha, but what I fail to see what is appalling then about taking the fight to the greatest threat Mammalia has ever known. Surely you, one not given to such religious aspect, can appreciate the well reasoned argument that they still pose a threat to planet E'rth, and indeed every species."
This host was getting aggressive now. This was less talking head more personal conviction. Fine.
"We don't know that...We don't, still don't and have no way of knowing, that. The Stractlifyeen represent an enigma, a blot in the history of over 200 different species, both from E'rth and from other systems. Each encounter tells many stories and many different outcomes. Some not in the genocide as They underwent, but all just as destructive. If there is one thing that can taken from the records, its that the Stractlifyeen came when a species was most susceptible, when they were already on their backs. Somehow, a species would be faced with hardship after years, decades maybe centuries of abundance. And just as soon as this hardship would seem to end all that could be, the Stractlifyeen are proven to arrive to prey on the weak on helpless. This Enemy...is a plague. One that waits until its victim is plump and ready before its feast...
What is appalling is that 4,000 ships and over 4 million of mammalia's finest, our white blood cells, have left the body to fight a disease for its father." The Beta let the metaphor sink in. With every second of pause the implications did.
"Lets just hope whats left is enough to fight an infection."
PART 9:
There is no greater rush than the sensation of charging head first into oblivion. The sensation release and sheer terror battled inside of every being under the Alpha's personal command as they buzzed about their work. All the Alpha could do was watch. His plan was in motion. His orders had been given then refined down the ranks, so thoroughly it was as if there was a task for every single cell circuit he had at his disposal. Everyone had a job. So all the old wold could do was wait for his mammals to do them.
Omnicrons and xis darted from starboard to port, assisting their given tutor in any way they could. These duty usually included everything from grooming and dressing their Learner, to fetching food and running simple errands around the ship. In the heat of battle, however, it was all business. Peons scrambled to deliver beam-files, parts, charge-packs and all different sorts of kits. Each had to be delivered quickly, for it all served a part in the plan. And each apprentice knew this, because their feet barely touched the ground as they walked.
The Alpha could feel the tension. His grey mane began to stand up. This made the lord commander raise an astonished brow. Forget stoicism, he had genuinely assumed that old age, scarring and armor rash had drained those follicle's will years ago. It reminded him of his youth, when in the heat of battle his glorious black mane would stand so high it had given him the appearance of monster in the littertales. Back then his armor could hardly contain it. Often he was mistaken for one of the novaurs. These old bones had been a sight to behold.
But it seems this fight was bringing back the youth in him.
Fury's spearhead had been extremely light. Even with the low odds of survival of the initial assault, this particular force was given the order to retreat if necessary and await till the Armada arrived. They had not. No matter. Either outcome, the intent of the attack was to make it appear that the massive defensive structures and countless countermeasures had intimidated whoever dared assault them.
The Enemy's ships were a cream white. They gleamed with an almost ceramic looking material. There were no markings on these craft. No discernible difference in design either. They all seemed to simply work according to the need. All of them were no bigger than a mammalian strafer, hardly a spec compared to the Ark ships the Alpha's relief had streaking into battle. Their combined firepower and their aggressive shielding tactics, however, were something to be reckoned with. Without hesitation, every Enemy unit available could immediately start unleashing relentless particle and wave weaponry at a new target. It was as if their generals could telepathically change their troops interests by the nature of their own will. Without hesitation, scores of Enemy vessels could render even the mightiest opponent imp.
And strategy apparently did not burden those in more personal engagements. While also being nimble and alert, the Enemy's ships were capable of multiple vectors of fire regardless of orientation. It was as if a new onslaught could simply appear from the abominations at whenever they were inclined. If the reports were to be believed, one pilot in the forward swears he counted 8 different fire points, all on different axis and at different targets, with his own eyes. This was after he had sworn of the readings coming in to be...unreliable.
So. This Enemy could bite. And it was clever. With every gain, new combatants would enter the parameters and begin projecting complex arrays of fields, giving their brothers valuable time to relocate and sealing a vast quantity of space in the mean. Any initiative had to be abusively exploited. These, and an endless amount of other reasons were why the initial contact in Sector Fury was so manageable. They could only do this right, once.
And when the Alpha struck, he wanted his prey lulled into complacency. It seemed to have worked. The response to the vanguard had just enough to keep it a healthy distance from anything of value. The Delta who led this meager force was caught in his own games now, constantly attacking, only to be beaten back, then regroup and duel again.
The Alpha's wave would remedy this. | 352 | Humanity. | 604 |
Everything was light.
“So that's it then, huh?”
“Well, not quite. Due to the misery you suffered throughout your life, you qualify for our Change Program. You have the opportunity to travel to any point in your personal history with all of the knowledge you have now. After one day, your memory will be reset and you will live your life normally.”
“You mean I'll forget everything?”
“Yes, after one day of being in the best possible situation to alter the course of your life, you will no longer be stifled by the pain of your current existence.”
“I'm pretty sure I don't deserve it after all I did. Just send me to hell where I belong.”
“If this were a few centuries ago, we wouldn't hesitate, believe me. Things are much different now. Life is too complicated and there's come a great imbalance as to the quality of souls we receive. We believe that by offering this opportunity, more people will come to comfort and satisfaction and thus be put in the position for spiritual enlightenment.”
“Is that right?”
“That's what our projections tell us.”
“I'll do it. Take me back to when I was five. I think that was before my dad killed himself and my mother started sexually abusing me. I seem to recall we went on a short hiking trip in the mountains. I want to go back to the first day of that.”
“Are you sure? There isn't much you can do as a child, surely as a young adult you would be able to heal from the wounds you already had and make progressive changes to move forward. The records say that you have a few thousand dollars at the age of twenty-three, we can set you up with a guaranteed investment plan for a life free of any debt.”
“Debt was never my problem. Trust me, I know exactly what I'm going to do.”
“Well, ok. I've pinpointed the exact time, after the car ride, to maximize your options for that camping trip. Is this where you wish to proceed?”
“That's perfect.”
“It's been a pleasure, we will see you again.”
The light intensified and faded. As it grew darker, it began to further resemble the reality that he was used to. He was back in his parents' old car. They were holding hands in the front seat, and speaking enthusiastically about all of the activities they had planned for the week. The lingering sadness that he remembered was absent from his father's eyes, and his mother periodically looked back at him to make sure he was fine. He felt safe from her, and he liked it.
They swapped jokes, and he even told a few that were a bit beyond a five-year old, and as such got great laughs from the folks. He helped his mother pitch the tent while his father chopped wood for the fire. He had fun. He ran laps around the campsite while his parents talked. He remembered how fast he was for a child.
After a day of hiking and an evening of board games, they returned to the tent to sleep for the night. He laid awake on the ground, happy for the first time in years. As his parents drifted off to sleep, it came time to make the change. As carefully as he could, he wriggled from his sleeping bag and silently moved through the tent flap. He walked to the end of the camp site before he started to run.
He was used to sneaking, and used to running away in the dark. It was the perfect moment, and he knew exactly where he was going. He came to the point of the trail in which he was on a wonderful cliff facing a deep valley. He stopped and looked at it. It was completely black, at least a mile upward. It would be painful, but not nearly as painful as living another day.
After the first collision with a jagged boulder, he desperately tried to figure out what had happened and why he could see nothing. He couldn't feel his arms or legs, but could feel the wind rushing past his face.
After that, everything was light. | 15 | After you die you are given the chance to go back and change one decision during your life, possibly changing the outcome of your life entirely. The right change might even save you from the circumstances of your death. | 26 |
*95%... 96%... 97%...*
I drummed my fingers against the desk as I waited for the computer to slowly render the composite. It was still hard to believe that the Coalition chose *me* to compile humanity's first mega-selfie. Anxiety swelled in my chest with each breath I took. *What if it's not good enough?* This was, after all, going to be printed out and stored in the interstellar time capsule. The pressure was huge.
The computer blipped, indicating that the render was complete. I swallowed down a big lump in my throat and clicked on *view image now.*
The image popped up, and... I couldn't believe it. It was a white man. I stared at the screen, dumbfounded. The program was *supposed* to take each individual selfie and put them into a composite that resembled the average human face. I was expecting someone that looked a little more asian, or at least light brown.
The composite on the screen was an obvious error in the program. The man even had blue eyes, for God's sake!
I shook my head and focused in on this man's features. The more I looked at him, the more I realized... but, no... that wouldn't make sense...
"Step away from the computer."
No time to think. I spun around in my desk chair and saw none other than Nicolas Cage, pointing a pistol right at my face. "You bastard," I blurted out.
A subtle smirk formed on his nearly flawless facial features. Ever since he stole those time crystals back in '24, he had remained immune to aging. He strengthened his grip on his gun and began to speak. "You know I can't let you out of here alive."
I shook my head. Nothing was making sense. "The composite chose your face," I said. "Why?"
Nicolas laughed. "I rigged it. Plain and simple."
"You *rigged it*?"
Nicolas nodded and curled his lips into a nasty smile. "That's right. You see, boy, when that image is printed out, it's going to be put on an interstellar spaceship. And when aliens find that spaceship, I want a picture of my face, formed by the pictures of billions of humans, to be the first thing they see."
"But... but..." I stammered.
"But what?" He snarled.
"But that's so *odd.*"
That set him off. He reached forward and slapped me in the face. The force of the hit knocked a few ounces of saliva out of my mouth.
"You won't get away with this," I said through the pain. "You think I'm the only one between this picture and that spaceship?"
He chuckled. "No. But you are the first on my list." He aimed the gun at my face and pulled the trigger. | 21 | The year is 2032 and every living human being has uploaded a selfie to the cloud. A digital artist creates a composite of every living human face. The resulting image appears startlingly like Nicolas Cage. | 52 |
"Hey there, tall dark and handsome!"
Her lips were blood red, and pursed in her most seductive smile. Her dress was black, with white skulls in the pattern of polka-dots; it was also short. Her legs were long and smooth-shaven. Her eyes smouldered.
"Stop it."
His voice was huge, cosmic. It boomed with the sullen, crushing weight of a collapsing star.
"Since you're here, maybe you'd like to have a drink with me? I've got some merlot. Do you like red wine?"
"I'm being serious."
"Dead serious?"
"That's not funny."
Her eyes twinkled with adoration.
"What the fuck?" A translucent man appeared next to Death.
"I'm so sorry about this." Death told him.
"Not as sorry as I am. I really thought that date was going well."
"It wasn't." The woman smiled wickedly.
"Tabitha, you have to stop killing people."
"Then," Tabitha batted her long, thick eyelashes at the Reaper, "You'll come visit me on your own?"
"No."
Her face warped into a sneer, her blood-red lips curled, revealing bone-white teeth. She picked up the wine bottle by the neck and threw it at Death. It flew just to the right of his skull, but he didn't flinch. There was a crash of breaking glass against the wall, followed by the slow drip of wine falling to the floor.
"I just want you to spend some time with me!" She screamed.
Death put his arm around the translucent man, his bony fingers resting gently upon the man's intangible shoulder.
"Come on, Aaron, let's go."
"Really? I mean, it's really over? Because of this? I feel so cheated."
"You were." Death glared at Tabitha, his hollow eye sockets swallowed up the surrounding light like two black holes.
Tabitha continued screaming as Death turned and led Aaron away.
"If you got to know me, you'd love me! Every man loves me, except you. You're the only one I want!"
Death was nearly to the door, but he stopped. He turned his head.
"I know everyone, Tabitha. You're kind of a prick." | 1,253 | A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him. | 1,868 |
"I really don't think we should dissolve the shelf company yet. We have at least until the end of the fiscal quarter before we have to move all our assets to a new one." William slowly and fluidly moved his hand up and down in the air as if the table was his chopping board and the Holdings reports were his soon to be dinner.
"I couldn't disagree more William. Taking a risk with all of our assets are not worth the extra time spent in Kerrato LLC. We should just move it over to Sparnikey right away rather than play chance that they'll get the subpoena for Kerrato's records." Brian firmly planted both hands on the table.
"Jessica," William turned to her in a way to cut off Brian from the conversation, "if we move now, it could raise red flags. They know we have a shelf company but what they don't know is what we are using it for. For all they know, its just another company to shield CEO assets. We don't need to move and--"
"It's only a matter of time before they piece it together!" Brain's hands were now raised off the table in protest, "Look," he started to mime with his hands, "They already know we have 110 million that's not accounted for in Herman's books and they already know about the shelf company. It is not long before the go from point A to point B. If we move know we at least throw some sand in the wind."
"Oh right Brian, running always solves these problems. Be a man for once." William shrugged his shoulders away and swiveled slightly to show his indignation.
"Me be a man?" Brian's face became red and his breathing became short as you could feel the heat emanating off from him, "Well, maybe you should be more of a man and..." Brian paused for a second, debating whether to unleash what he had been thinking, "stop putting vegetables up your ass!"
Brian's stomach felt incredibly heavy as they sat in the silence. The red in his face draining the color as he contemplated what he just did.
"Now, let's all cool down here and--" Jessica tried to preemptively stop what was about to happen.
"You little shit!" William spat in a whisper, "What's on those business cards is confidential!" His voice rose and bounced off the walls of the boardroom. "It was one pickle!" William looked down at the table as if searching for something, "And it was a bet!" He turned to face Brian,
Brian had no idea what to do. Williams hands were shaking with fury, "Bill, I'm sorry--"
"I guess if we are all just rehashing memories why don't we talk about your little foire with a certain prostitute," William's eyes were dead locked on Brian.
"Hey now, let's not do this," Brian tried to stop him.
"What was it again Brian? You took her back to your room and she didn't quite have the right parts you were looking for?"
"I'll kill you!" Brian lunged at William in a clash as they landed on the floor. | 15 | Business cards include the most embarrassing thing the person has ever done. Describe an important boardroom meeting. | 29 |
"Did they ever find out who he was?"
Dan's my new partner. Three weeks out of the Academy. I get all the new kids for six months, show them the ropes, tell them the stories, make sure they turn out to be cops. It's a living.
We were walking down Regan, making our way to the park on the corner of Regan and third so we could do crowd control for the march. The bicentennial is turning out to be a pretty big deal and Dan's all caught up in the madness.
Me? I could do without public celebrations. It's just an easy day for pickpockets and molesters.
"No, they never did. Do you wanna know why?"
Dan nods. Puppy. The kid's a puppy. All eagerness and energy.
"They called him Ahab, you know that? Like the guy from that book. The whale hunter. Ahab was clean, almost professional. If you read the case history you'll find out he was really careful never to leave evidence. He plotted his kills like he was performing surgery.
Then the first copycat showed up. He was just as precise. He didn't have Ahab's quirks, but he was as neat and as prolific. After that, others joined in and, for a while there, it got out of control."
We cross the street and move into the park. The main route is lined with trees, which is just as well because the sun is going to be pretty fierce today. Dan adjusts his belt, helmet, gun. All my kit is the same place it's been for the last decade, all perfectly situated.
"But he cured world obesity" said Dan "and that's something we've gotta keep in sight. I've read history, about The Terror. And about the starvations, the mobs, and the declaration of Martial Law in parts of Europe when they lost it. But it was all worth it in the end."
I shrug and bump my UV filter up a notch.
"You're a fucking idiot" I said and did a quick visual sweep of the crowd before relaxing and taking in everything around the crowd.
"What?"
The kid's little bark of surprise isn't unexpected, but you can't let stuff like this fester. A cop is supposed to see what's there, not what people want him to see.
"You're a fuckwit. It would take group as numerous and disciplined as a police force to have instilled enough terror to make killing fat people a big enough motivator to get the entire planet working on diet and exercise. Even when the cops turned their attention elsewhere, it wouldn't have made a difference.
"After all, Jack the Ripper didn't stop anyone being a whore. People didn't stop being Jewish because of the Shoah. What got the waistlines trim was the global shortage of food and the follow up massive price increases.
"All the murdering fuck who started this whole sorry mess gave us was the justification to use lethal force in order to mould the population any way the government tells us."
My com went, on my private channel. I listened.
"That's gotta be...it has to be wrong!" said Dan. I drew my revolver. They like us to use these. They look mean, and sound mean.
"Come on, Dan," I say, slipping the safety off, "there were seven billion people living on a planet that could support three, and most of them were skinny. When things went bad in Asia, a lot of governments started rationing. That's what the killing masked. People stopped paying attention to other things, important things, and a third of humanity died before we figured things out, but we'd been so busy demonizing fat people we'd taken our eye of some serious stuff."
Dan shrugged. Aw, man. I hate this.
"That's why we have Priority Lists, Dan. You know that this quarter we're looking to improve IQ and Critical Thinking?"
"Yeah?"
It takes me less than a second to aim and fire. He's close, within five feet, and the gun goes off like a cannon. Dan hits the floor like a sack of meat, which is pretty much all he is now. I call the precinct house and request a new rookie.
Poor Dan. Too dumb to be allowed to live. It might have taken us 200 years, but we've finally figured out the right targets.
| 20 | A prolific serial killer has been randomly murdering 100's of severely obese people and police have no leads. This leads to several copycats. People are so afraid for their lives that they begin to diet. 200 years later the first killer is celebrated as a hero for eradicating obesity worldwide. | 26 |
"....a fucking chewing gum box, really Ryan?" I asked visibly pissed off. Nothing had been taken from the house at first glance, but now was not the time for Ryan and his tasteless humor.
"No dude.... here look" Ryan said as he pulled a paper out of the crumbled box. It looked like a lottery ticket, but I wasn't certain.
"Is that........is that a lottery ticket Ryan?" I asked.
"Yeah....."
I looked a bit more and froze when I saw the numbers. I had not picked up on the fact Ryan kept paying for all of our drinks while we were out, and kept asking us what we would do if we were rich. The numbers, all lined up in sequence matched perfectly to the TV screen yesterday."....with the winning numbers from last night?"
"Yeah........"
" The same one people were hunting whoever won for?" I asked incredibly scared for my life. We were getting shady looks before we left the house and headed downtown, but it was just a passing suspicion I normally shrugged off. Had I known this, I wouldn't have let him in.
"300 million dollars will do that to people Damion." Ryan said calmly.
Jessica struggled to contain herself "S...so....so you thought it was fucking smart to come here with all of us when you KNEW people were searching for you? What the fuck is wrong with you!". She was shaking, whether with fear or rage I'd never know.
"It's fine they only suspected I had it, they probably called it off since they didn't find anything here." Ryan said trying to console our anxiety.
".......WHY THE FUCK WOULD THAT MAKE US SAFE RYAN!" Jessica yelled.
"Because I had until 7pm to cash it today, after that I wouldn't have been able to send it in till Monday morning. No way they would assume I still have it, I mean really. It's cool guys we're in the clear!" Ryan said cheerfully pointing at the ticket.
"Dude did you say 300 fucking million??!!??" Jamar interjected.
" Seriously J? Damion's house got broken into there are people some-fucking-where trying to kill Ryan and that's all you hea-" Jessica started before she saw my face. "W.....what's wrong Damion?"
"They left something here....." I said pointing towards the counter. I slowly walked over to what appeared to be a book, covered in wire. There was a small piece in the middle that resembled a microphone.
"Dude......I think that's a wire, they heard that entir-" was all I got out before a barrage of gunshots decorated the living room.
"Hit the deck!" Jessica screamed out as we all dropped and hugged the cold floor. I scrambled under the table trying to see if anyone was walking in, but saw no movement. The sound was intense, every shot that rang out cause my spine to shiver. It was frightening....a fear I never experienced before.
"....R.....Ryan?" I whispered almost in tears as I look upon his body awkwardly sprawled across the floor. He wasn't moving. This was going to have to wait though, I shut off all distractions to focus my thoughts.
I had to get in the kitchen and grab the pistol underneath the disposal, without dying.
"Ok.......ok........1.....2....3....MOVE!" | 14 | You return home with some close friends after a long night on the town to find your house ransacked. "I wonder what they were looking for?" you blurt out. "This.." says a close friend, as he pulls something out of his jacket pocket. | 31 |
My head hurts. I've always been a lightweight, but I've always had a good amount of self-control to go along with it. That all went away last night. The man at the bar was elegant, with a slight, thin frame and effortlessly messy dark hair. Exactly my type. He had been little too outgoing for my taste, but I guess that was for the best, because it had allowed him the confidence to buy me the first in a long line of drinks, their names and appearance fading from my memory as the night progressed.
Ugh, my head hurts. I stumble to the kitchen of my apartment, which looks blurred and unusually bright in the late-morning sunlight. I struggle with the faucet and pour myself a glass of water, spilling a little over the dirty floor as I stumble to the couch. I'm still wearing the dark blue dress from last night, and there's something sticky on the front. I sincerely hope that it's liquor. I'll remember later, I'm sure. Slumping back, I flick on the TV.
As usual, the news is focusing on something awful. They've found a body in the water just off of Lake Shore Drive. The anchor, a blonde, switches her face to "concerned-and-shocked" mode. I sip the water, staring apathetically as I learn that the recently departed was discovered last night by a group of teenagers. "The body is described as an African-American woman in her early twenties," the blonde continues in a solemn tone. This catches my attention, because most of my friends fit this description. I hope it's nobody I know. Suddenly, the image on the screen changes to a shot of emergency workers pulling the body from the lake. That blue dress...
"Shit!" I say it reflexively, and as soon as some panicked part of my brain wonders if it will be the last thing I say, I realize that I have made no sound at all. As I leap to my feet, the glass of water falls, shattering, the shards of glass flying at- no, *through* my leg. I try to scream, but no sound comes. As I raise my shaking hands, splashes of dark red become clear as if I am focusing a camera. Through my hands, I can see the window, illuminating my skin like stained glass in the bright sunlight.
| 10 | You're eating breakfast, watching the news and you see coverage of the police pulling a body from a lake. It's you. | 17 |
Today was the day that Jaime and Adam would announce their new plan to defeat the Chinese. Finally, after a year and a half of trying, failing, and dying, the Busters had hope. This plan, it was rumored, was going to be so ambitious and unexpected; the Chinese could never predict it and could never stop it.
“Listen up, everyone!” the loudspeaker boomed across the camp in Jaime’s voice, “Meet by Lady Victory in ten minutes, we have an announcement.” Eagerly, hundreds convened around a bronze statue of Kari Byron, holding a sword high in one hand and a beaker in the other. Standing on the base of the monument was Jaime and Adam. Rarely did the Busters get to see their leaders in person, for them both to be present must mean huge news indeed.
“By the end of the month, we will have won the war.” Adam declared, grinning a childish, gleeful smirk, “If everyone could watch the presentation, it will explain the new mission and how we got to it.” A projector beamed against the side of the warehouse.
4…3…2…1
“On this episode of Mythbusters!” a familiar voice boomed, “Jaime and Adam take on the most important myth of all, what stops a Chinaman dead in his tracks?” The footage cut to Adam in a traditional rice farmer’s hat, squinting his eyes while a wacky sound effect played. “With special guest Grant Imahara.”
After the theme ended, Adam and Jaime stood in their bunker laboratory. “Well Jaime,” Adam said, “We got a call in from one of the resistance members saying that Asians tend to be so lactose intolerant, if they consume over 10% of their body mass in dairy products, they not-so-spontaneously combust.” Jaime laughed, “I have my doubts on this one, but let’s check it out.”
They designed their experiment in two parts: How much dairy can you force into someone’s body? Is it possible to reach 10% at all? Adam and Jaime would split up; each would design a dairy delivery system (a cow moo sound effect played at this time) and try it with various dairy products including 1% and 2% milk, cheese, and ice cream. Then, when they settled on what methods to use, they would test it on a real Asian. Grant looked at the camera fearfully.
First, they rigged up Buster with a pig’s stomach to act as an analogue for a human’s stomach. After equipping the proper sensors, they tried pumping him full of dairy products, measuring what percentage BMI they reached. Overwhelmingly, ice cream proved to be the best product to use, and Jaime’s modified water pressure cleaner proved to be the best gadget for the job. In fact, it proved possible to reach up to 15% of a standard Asian male’s body mass in ice cream if applied correctly. So far, Myth Plausible.
Next, Grant was brought in. Adam and Jaime put on their fireproof suits and an explosives expert was in attendance. They erected a protective cage around him, and then inserted the pressure milk-gun into Grant’s mouth. “Now normally,” Adam narrated, “We would prefer to use an actual Chinese person for this. But since we are at war, we will just have to use the Asians we have on hand.”
They began slowly filling Grant’s belly with ice cream, monitoring his temperature on their infrared cameras. As they reached 8% of his body mass in ice cream, Grant started to rapidly increase in heat. “Ok, that’s enough, shut it down!” Jaime commanded. They had the data they needed. The pressurized ice cream tube was removed from Grant’s mouth; he immediately vomited ice cream into a bucket. Smoke had faintly been rising from his ears. As they threw him into an ice bath to cool him down, they discussed their results.
“So much to my surprise,” Jaime said, “It seems like lactose induced incineration is a real problem for Asians.” Adam nodded, “That’s right. So now we can mass produce some ice cream guns, and if our Buster army aims for their mouths, we can burn them all up.” Adam laughed a diabolical giggle.
July 26th, 2016
The Buster army stood triumphant over an ice cream stained battlefield, the smoke of what used to be Chinese soldiers had begun to clear. A massive banner was raised and a cheer erupted. It read “Chinese Army: BUSTED”
| 178 | The Chinese have invaded and crushed the American military. You are part of the strongest resistance left it America. It is run by Jamie and Adam from mythbusters. They are the most creative killers known to man. | 299 |
A man in a dull grey windbreaker walked peacefully through the quiet countryside subdivision, rousing no suspicion from its inhabitants. His eyes, concealed behind mirrored aviator sunglasses, darted back and forth, eagerly searching for the next street.
For well over an hour, this man paced the streets, seemingly without purpose. His curly brown hair tossing over his shoulders as he turned his head, seeking the perfect house.
At last, he found it. Wilson Way. It was a private road with a wrought iron fence, and far in the back were two houses. One, an elegant mansion painted white with black borders, and one a squat log cabin. The contrast was interesting, especially to the man in the windbreaker.
He knew he would need to be smart to pull this off. He knew he couldnt afford to be seen by anyone. And so, with a glowing kernel of giddy excitement, he turned and left the neighborhood, got back into his car, and drove home to plan.
The next evening he returned, his gloved hands pulled him over the iron fence, his cloth wrapped feet padding almost silently over grass, asphalt and wooden decks. Peeping slowly through the window of the log cabin, and, findng it uninhabited, turned his gaze toward the mansion. As he stepped away from the cabin, he stopped short and froze in his tracks, for there was something sharp pressing against his throat.
A cold voice spoke from the other end of the sharp object, somewhere off to his side, out of his peripheral vision
" You have *just* two seconds to explain yourself"
The man in the Windbreaker gulped at the surprise. He hadnt expected anyone to be armed, or more sneaky than him
"I uh.. Wait who are you?"
The sharp object shifted its weight and the owner of the voice moved into view, or at least partially, for all that was visible was a single glowing red eye.
"My name is Slade, and you're in considerable danger at the moment. So before you ask anyther question, I advise you to first answer mine. Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing on my property at 2:30 AM, wearing Sunglasses and gloves? Because to my highly trained eye, you look like a murderer"
The man in the windbreaker looked into the glowing red eye smugly
"Thats right."
And so saying, he drew his pistol and empied its magazine at the man named Slade. Slade crumpled to the ground, his sword clattering beside him. The man in the windbreaker stepped over the corpse and, tossing aside his now empty pistol, yanked a knife from his waistband. His foot touched the threshold of the mansion, and all at once a great weight landed squarely in the small of his back.
His nose broke as he was slammed to the marble floor of the mansion, he struggled to get back up but he was held fast. He lunged his knife back, hoping to catch his assailant and secure his freedom, but his hope turned to horror as he felt his wrist being slowly bent backward until it snapped. Now pinned and helpless, he began to think back to his mistake. He should have chosen an easier house this time. None of the last ten had even fought back. He felt an impossibly strong hand close around his windpipe, and he wept.
Slade Wilson stood over the corpse of the murderer, his wounds already healed, blood dripping from his snow white hair and beard. For a man older than 50, he felt surpisingly young and spry, though ashamed that a common murderer had been able to draw on him. He sighed heavily and went back to bed, considering a career change. He would move the corpse in the morning. | 12 | an elderly man who is actually a professional hitman | 19 |
there are days when I am swept away
by the concept that you are mine
and I am yours.
those are the days when I sit
and stare at you in awe
and marvel at your complexities
yearn for your touch
reach for your embrace
those are the hours when I think
back to the times when
we didn’t have to worry
nights, evenings, afternoons, mornings
sitting, waiting, watching, laughing
dreaming
those are the minutes when I stand
with you, in a cool evening’s moonlight
and I lose myself in the smiles and the
short, sharp early morning gasps
that can only hint at what’s to come
those are the seconds when I breathe
and swim in the cool sensation of your skin
under my fingertips
brushing so gently
the small arch of your spine in my hands
a tiny gap, bridged by my palms
the rush of you runs through my body
through my veins
through my heart
these are the years that I’ll spend wondering
what I did so right
to deserve someone
like you. | 43 | In 600 words or less, try and convince the most beautiful girl you've ever seen how beautiful she is while she thinks she isn't anything special. | 28 |
And so I dug. My nails chipped, and browned as soil wormed its way under my nails. Shaking, I dared to take a risky peek at my mother, at what she had become. She had been pretty, even beautiful -once. Her dark, curly locks hung a few inches below her sharp clavicles. Her impatient foot tapping, ever so gently on the soft earth below.
"Mother-" I began, searching her face for that old familiar grin that graced her face.
"Hush boy" my mother snapped back eyes narrowing, "Dig,"
The earth in front of my father's grave was harder. As expected. After all, my father had been berried here for the 19 years I had been alive, ever since the Allied forces had won. My muscles ached and burned as I continued to dig, soil clung to my dark brown hair.
"You know what he did to me, didn't you?" my mother was sitting on a tombstone to my right, mindlessly babbling as always. "He lied to me, he said he hid his treasure so the government wouldn't steal it. As if. That bastard will tell me where he hid it, what he did with my gold. Dig faster, don't make your mother upset."
If this wasn't so damned real and raw, it would have almost been funny. Two people - a mother and son - digging up a corpse in search of treasure. Biting back a bitter smile that fought its way out, I kept my mind focused on shoveling.
My mother had not always been so terrible. She had only recently learned of the powers that she harnessed. The ability she possessed in waking the dead. Since then, she had changed, I had not been able to shake myself from her grasp. I was scared of leaving and even more frightened of leaving her to her own devices. She had become relentless in finding my father's treasure.
**Clank.**
My shovel vibrated. I hit something.
**Clank.**
Mother slid to her feet.
**Clank.**
A rectangular metal coffin lay underneath my feet. Straining my eyes under the moonlight, I could just make out the words. Do no open.
"Perfect," my mother said, "Get out of the hole and meet your father"
I gulped, not out of fear, but rather out of worry and jumped out. My mother wanted to unleash the spell she had been working on for months. She believed that my father had hidden an enormous wealth before he died and owed us - owed my mother its location.
I shivered, not knowing how or what to do. My arms lay idle, useless at my side as I felt the darkness descend. Slowly, the pained creaking of the coffin lid opened. I felt the smell hit first, it was old, rusted and decrepit. A stench that would haunt me for days, I was sure. I looked in the hole I spent the last while digging, my dirtied hands at my nose, as though it could offer me some protection against this abhorrent smell.
Fully expecting the rotten skeletal corpse of my father, I peered down. Nothing. There was no body in sight, no boned remains of my father.
"Damn him, damn him to the fiery hells" my mother yelled - her mouth contorted in rage.
I jumped down, landing with a soft thud in the metal casket. My sense of smell already adjusting to the stench of - what was that smell of anyways?
I looked around, and tucked into the side of the casket was a small note. The paper had been yellowed and its folds erased certain words but I could just barely make out what it wrote.
*Run. She is not your mother.*
My eyes widened in fear. Reacting much faster than I thought I could, I stuffed the paper in my back pocket and looked up. She had seen. | 22 | Today, we visited my father's grave on Memorial Day. My mom said he was a great hero in WWII but I never believed her. After 10 minutes of sitting at his headstone, my mom went back to the car. She came back with two shovels, throwing one at me. "It's time to meet your father," she said. "Dig." | 30 |
"We need a better system, basically," said my coworker, Brian. "If people insist on sending actual paper through the mail, we should keep the physical copies. We lose so much data when we just scan and destroy like this. Texture, thickness, quality, age, all kinds of other data. You know what I mean?"
"That stuff's way above my pay grade," I said. "They've got much smarter people than us setting the mail room policies, and that's good enough for me."
Brian raised his thick eyebrows and shrugged, and his eyes shifted back to the pile of envelopes on the table. He ran the laser opener across the top of a large brown envelop like he was disarming a bomb, carefully pulling the stack of paper from it with his fingertips like uranium.
The small white envelop I picked up crumpled under my thumb, drawing a disapproving frown from Brian. The opener wobbled as I drew it across the top of the envelop, taking out a chunk of whatever was inside. Brian sucked in air sharply through his teeth.
"Watch it," he said.
"Sorry."
He opened the next on the pile, a letter sized manilla, with surgical precision and an almost humorous level of care.
"You have to pay attention to what you're doing," he said.
I bit my lip as I botched the next one.
"Damn," I said. "Paying attention isn't one of my strengths. And that's why I'm in the mail room. No offense, buddy."
"None taken," he said, "I take pride in what I do. There's a reason they don't just have robots doing this, you know. They need a human mind to make human interpretations. And you're also full of shit, Mister can't pay attention. I saw your notebook."
The off-white rectangle fell from my gloved fingers. When had I left it out? Stupid. I quickly relaxed the muscles in my face and resumed my work.
"Oh, that?" I said, avoiding his eyes. "I borrowed that from a friend in the R & D department and forgot to give it back to him. Thanks for reminding me. There was some pretty crazy stuff in there, right? Tim is a bright guy."
Brian closed one eye as he held a letter up in front of the overhead light.
"You don't have to be modest," he said. "I mean, you think I don't I know your handwriting when I see it, Anam? And why would a random guy from R & D bother to overhaul all of the mail room policies and redesign all of our equipment? Riddle me that, genius man."
I put my hands flat on the table and leaned over it, catching his eyes and holding his gaze.
"You have to forget what you saw, Brian," I said.
His mouth opened and closed again. His eyes widened as understanding dawned on his stupid face.
"Oh shit, are you... Are you like alpha level or something?"
"Why else would I write in a notebook, Brian. They can see anything produced electronically."
His eyes shifted back to the pile. He chewed his lip and slowly shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Anam," he said. "I fucked up, man. I really fucked up. I said something to a VP. Oh shit, man, I thought I was making you rich."
"No, Brian," I said. "I fucked up. You're too stupid to be held accountable to your actions."
I pulled the mini-pad from my pocket and opened my email account. The text hung suspended in the space above the small pad, and I swiped at the air until my new messages appeared. And there it was, a message from security. They would need to see me, Mr. Anam Mulkana, before the end of the day.
"I'm sorry," Brian said, his eyes now wet.
"You've at least heard the term Alpha, but do you know what that means, Brian?"
He shook his head.
"The government considers us human weapons," I said, "because tactically we can do things other people can't. Our intelligence places us on a different plane of existence, Brian. I'm as far from you in brainpower as you are from a Border Collie."
He just stared back.
"And they've already made their first mistake," I said.
I jammed the mini-pad back into my front pocked, and then slung my backpack over my shoulders.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"I'm sure it will be on the news," I said, turning. "Goodbye, Brian."
| 62 | it's the future. Beyond a certain IQ humans are classified as weapons systems. You just solved a nagging issue at work. You've just been classified. | 90 |
I can’t sleep.
You would think that on the night before the most important day of my life, I would be sure to get a significant amount of rest, and yet no matter how hard I try, I can’t sleep.
I have had eighteen years to truly consider what I am meant to be in life; to outweigh the pros and the cons of either of my choices. My parents have always supported either choice, never pulling me in one direction or the other, and here I am… unable to choose.
Am I a man? Am I a woman? Why can’t I be both, or neither?
I find women’s bodies more attractive than I find men’s bodies – but then, do I want that attractiveness for myself, or do I want it in my partner? Would I rather lean my head against a hard chest and feel protected every night before I sleep, or would I rather be able to caress soft skin and feel comforted when the need arises? I like to paint my fingernails, but I love to play baseball. I love the arts, but I enjoy watching a good boxing match; who am I?
It was easy for Rowan – my now brother – to decide. He’d always favored masculine tendencies. A born athlete with the appetite of a thousand men, physically strong with little effort, and an eye for pretty girls from the time he could walk and talk. And my sister, Flynn, she made her decision by the time she was 12 – a gifted artist with a talent for plants, a love for all things delicate, she knew she was a woman.
But here I am. 17 years 11 months, 30 days and 21 hours old….. and I have no idea who I am.
The sun is beginning to rise and I want to cry. If I can’t choose, the council will choose for me, and what if they choose wrong? But…. What if I choose wrong?
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping for a revelation, but my reverie is disrupted when I hear a gentle rap at my door – my mother, obviously, as my father would’ve simply walked in cheerfully.
“Lane?”
“Yes, mother…”
She walked in quietly, and shut the door behind her. She appeared apprehensive, and I know it’s because she knew that I was apprehensive.
“Have you made your decision? The ceremony is in three hours…”
She opened the flood gates; tears rolled down my cheeks. “I don’t know what I am, mother.”
She sighed, as if she’d known the answer to her question before she’d walked in. She wrapped her arms around me, burying my head into her bosom; she rocked me back and forth. “I know what you are; you are beautiful, you are strong, you are intelligent, you are gifted, you are funny, you are well rounded – you are whatever you want to be, Lane. Don’t cry, honey. Today is a special day. Today you get to define yourself and grow, and flourish; today you start your own mission to be the best version of yourself that you can be. I will not tell you that you are a woman, or that you are a man, because that is your decision to make – but Lane, know that whatever decision you make is the right one. Never look back, never regret it. I know it’s difficult, but I know that you will do what’s right for you.”
She pulled away from me and used her thumbs to wipe the streams away from my cheeks. “Come downstairs. I’ve made a big breakfast to celebrate your birthday.”
She leaves me, and I lay back down, and close my eyes again. I admire my mother. But she is like Flynn – she knew who she was from a young age. She knew she was meant to be a woman, a mother… And my father, Rowan is just as he was when he was young – strong, rugged, good-natured…
But I am both of my parents; I know I have the gentle sensitivity that lives in my mother, but I have my father’s strength and good nature.
Who am I…?
I spend the rest of the morning in a tired, dazed stupor. My mother’s birthday breakfast is delicious, but I am too tired and troubled to truly appreciate it. Rowan and Flynn seem to be watching me with anxiety, while my father is cheerful as ever, as he’s been excited for this day as he was for all his children.
“Lane, I know you’ll make the right choice. Your mother and I are so excited to see the person you become going forward…”
My mother smiles at me but keeps her eyes down. She holds my father’s hand. He looks at her tenderly. Who do I want to be? My assuring father, my caring mother… my handsome brother, my beautiful sister…
The drive to the stadium where all the other kids my age are is far too short. I’m so tired, my vision is blurred. It’s so crowded here today, but I suppose it’s like this every day – there are thousands of birthdays every day, after all. There is an excited buzz amongst the parents, and yet, there is a dreary silence amongst my peers, those of us here today for the ever-so-exciting change in our lives. I recognize some of my classmates, some of whom I’ve always known are meant to be men or meant to be women, but I also recognize the ones like me, who will make their decision at the last moment and have to live with it for the rest of their lives, questioning, wondering if it had been the right choice….
Those of us here for our selection today are told to line up by alphabetical order. As the case seems to constantly be in my life, I am last; Lane Zadra.
For every gender chosen, a light is shone upon the stadium; a deep, royal blue for the male selections, a bright red for the females. Blue, blue, blue, red, red, blue, red, red, red, red, blue, blue, red, blue….
Red and blue have always been tied in first place for my number one favorite color. I sigh. I can never choose anything…. I cannot be defined by anything.
The line is moving faster than I want it to, and I look into the crowd for my family, all looking back at me, with smiles on their faces. Some families are holding up signs of what they wanted their children to choose; some already knew, and came bearing gifts specific to that gender; but my family is sitting in the center, empty handed; they brought nothing but themselves and their support. I couldn’t have asked for anything better.
I am next in line.
A blue light shines upon the crowd as the person before me has chosen the path of manhood for the rest of his life. I take a deep breath, and I nearly choke.
“Lane Zadra!” The Gender Master calls. I nervously climb the three little steps onto the big stage. “Have you carefully considered the path that you will be taking? Have you weighed the pros and cons and decided what the best fit is for your future?”
I nervously nod, because I have; and I look once more at my mother, my father, my sister, my brother, and it occurs to me that I am not my mother, or my father – I am not my sister, or my brother. I am not meant to be any of them – I can only be me.
I take a deep breath and stand in front of the podium, where the two, large buttons are that will determine the rest of my future. I close my eyes tightly.
“Whenever you’re ready, Lane Zadra.”
I think back to the ceremonies I’ve caught glances of on television, of news stories mentioning numbers and statistics, I think of my sister’s beautiful transformation into a woman, my brothers piercing, manly blue eyes, I think of my father’s warmth and my mother’s ability to always know what to say; how do I choose what part of myself I favor more?
And so I do the only thing I can do. I smile at my parents, and I slam my hands down on both buttons; and the sky shines purple…
I will never forget the sharp gasp from the crowd, the look of delight on my parents faces, and I will never forget my own sigh of relief upon seeing those faces; they must've known all along…
I am neither male nor female; I am simply me. | 234 | A society where everyone is born gender less, and has to pick a gender by their 18th birthday. | 220 |
The white pawn spoke with an even timbre.
"Shame we've come to this, old chap. I've always enjoyed our chats in that warm box."
The black knight nodded in agreement.
"You're damned right; things were going so smoothly. We were like brothers, all of us. But the Hands came down and thrust us into this arena, and now we're at it like dogs once again. Bloody w-"
At that moment the knight shifted towards the pawn; the white piece recoiled in anticipation, but the dark horseman suddenly shifted direction. He crashed into another white pawn, breaking the poor soul's body as he crumbled to the ground. The great, frothing horse stamped at the ground as its master thrust a pike again and again into the lifeless body.
The white pawn looked upon the scene with horror. The black knight eventually broke out of his frenzy, turned toward his friend, and shouted above the din and distance.
"I'm sorry, dear friend. You know that this isn't a matter of choice; we do as we're told. I can only pray to the Hands of Fate that the two of us meet our ends far away from one another."
Choking over his words, the pawn stared into his old friend's languished eyes and yelled with a broken voice,
"All will be forgiven anyways! 'Tis no fault of ours; curse the damn Fates and all that it compels, . All was good until this petty conflict consumed us!"
The dark knight charged forward and then trotted closer to his ashen friend; they were very close now indeed. The white pawn could hear the laboured breathing of both beast and lord.
Nearby, the whoop of a rook cut through the anthem of battle. Through the thick fog the pawn made out the scene of the rook slashing through a bishop; wise and aged, the bishop had known many rousing tales and had been a dear friend to both the knight and the pawn. Both friends grimaced as the frail man crumpled to the ground.
The friends stared into their forced enemy's eyes. One's lips stretched into a trembling frown as he stalked forward, sword raised high; the knight drew a deep breath, stroked his steed, and smiled at his old friend.
The pawn's great sword fell, cutting through the inky armor. A shout flew from the knight's bloody lips, and he fell to the moist earth.
Falling to his knees, the pawn embraced his dearest companion. Groans and rain and clash and clang filled the world around them. Reflected in the dark and limp armor were hands, hovering far above the clouds. | 65 | Two chess pieces have a conversation while the war of the game wages on around them. | 64 |
The coffee shop is packed this morning but my friend Adrian sees me from behind the counter and I get my sweet elixir as soon as I pay. The first sip is better than sex. Adrain's a damn fine man. My usual table is occupied so I sit outside facing the street. The cool morning air is refreshing after my usual night full of nightmares and loneliness. Shit, it's been two months and I'm still not used to sleeping alone. I read the paper to take my mind off her ...
I hear a scraping and look up to see a beautiful woman in black. Her pale skin was a perfect contrast to her short black hair and deep red lipstick. My breath sticks in my throat. She removes her sunglasses to reveal an ocean of blue that I wouldn't mind drowning in. I wait for her to say what she has to say. These types always have a speech prepared to get guys like me to relax. To keep us from being suspicious.
"Beautiful morning isn't it?"
"Sure"
"My names Jane" she lies
"John" I lie right back
We both know the score and are just playing the part. No reason really. She has her job and I have mine. Right now mine is just to keep breathing which inhibits her from doing hers. So we are at an impasse.
"Langley?" I ask, searching her eyes for the truth
Pause. I suppose I caught her off guard. Her eyes flickered just over my shoulder, an indication of a lie. I smile despite myself. I'm too good at this game.
"Yes" she replies, a little too much confidence in her voice for my liking. "They know what you have, and they want it. You do have it right?"
Just then I hear a crack come from the coffee shop. People are screaming and running out the doors. There is a break in the crowd just long enough for me to see Adrian slumped over the counter. Damn, he was a good man. When I look back across the table the woman is gone. I look around and see a glimpse of black go into the ally half a block away. I sprint towards her, my hand creeping to the gun hidden so well under my coat no one usually notices it until it's too late. I round the corner and am confronted with the barrel of a glock 19 pointed between my eyes. Death is but a moment away, but I have a plan. Bang | 13 | Start with a morning cup of coffee. End with a suspenseful cliffhanger. | 16 |
"Two. It's two."
"Shut up."
"I'm telling you. It's correct. It's a hell of a coincidence but it's two.."
"And I'm telling you I don't care. I just want some peace and quiet, okay?"
"But it should interest you. None of this will amount to anything otherwise..."
"Let's say your theory is correct and you've worked out the whole thing. What does that change?"
"I don't understand..."
"What does it change?" I ask again, perhaps more harshly than I intend. The man - a pathetic excuse, all skin and bone and glasses and theories - shrugs, his whole frame rising and falling with that one movement. Right now he's in his corner of the cell, chalk scribbles outlining arithmetic around him. Calculations on their habits, all day, every day. "Come on. Tell me how your maths gets us out of here."
"It... Doesn't."
"Then what use is it? They're going to get us all on a plate eventually."
"You want to die without answers?"
It's my turn to shrug. It's not that I want to die - it's that I know it's going to happen. Worse. I know it's going to be painful. Knowing the eating habits of the predator never helped the buffalo, the pigs or the cows. They seemed happiest when left to their own devices in an open field.
We don't even get the field. Seems that these motherfuckers never had the same social debates we did around things like vegetarianism. Maybe they do have a meat-free human alternative. But honestly I don think they do. Each one I saw - both in the army and since being taken prisoner - has these big sharp teeth that started the war. That's my personal opinion, anyway. We saw something that was obviously a predator and took our finest guns to the negotiation table. Carrying the metaphor - we then flipped the table and shot the diplomat.
No table. No talks. Just straight up invasion.
The man in my cell was a language expert. His job had been to decode enemy transmissions. As a result I'm pretty sure he knows what they're saying whenever they come out to the farm and factors that information into his equations.
An itch in my left is unbearable. I want to scratch it so badly but I can't. They stopped me from being able to do that the last time they came down to see us. I remember being awoken in my sleep, marched out to the pen with twenty others. *This is it.* was the only thought I had. I was grateful for an end to the waiting.
They didn't take my life. They just took my arms.
Fourty arms removed, boxed up and shipped out to the markets. I assume they're a delicacy, hotly sought after for parties and official events. The snap of the bones complimented by perfectly cooked meat that just melts in the mouth. Stringy veins extracted and served as a side dish.
Worth selling but not worth killing us for. If they kill us they lose their breeders and that just wouldn't do. Endangering their new, wonderful food supply just isn't worth it.
I shift uncomfortably and look at those equations. The same numbers have been used time after time. The way the whole thing is set out ordered and controlled, all pointing toward the number two in the centre. The nerdy man who wrote it seems to have finally found some peace in those numbers.
Maybe...
An hour passes and the idea grows in my skull. It takes root, eating away at all other thoughts, pushing them out and growing like a cancer.
If he can find peace... Will they calm me too?
"What did you work out?" I ask. God. The itch in my phantom arm...
"Based on current consumption rates two weeks until they take our legs. After that they'll experiment. Eyes. Lungs. Hair? Whatever we grow that looks edible. But then..."
I was wrong. I don't want to hear this. But now I have to know the rest.
"What?"
"The rate they're eating we won't be able to produce enough children for them. Which leaves one question..."
The man is silent for a long time. I am too. That question is so blindingly simple, so obvious, that we don't need to ask it.
*Do they know where Earth is?* | 17 | Human invasion on an alien planet has failed and prisoners are bred by alien for food. | 16 |
“Why doesn’t anyone go back to kill, say…Genghis Khan? Why is it always the Fuhrer?” Roland sighed, as he lowered his sights to another fissure opening. The Chronokorps were instructed to wait until the travelers were entirely through the fissure opening, or else they risked destabilizing the portal, which would have all sorts of unfortunate consequences.
The fissure cracked open with the sound of radio static. “Uh oh,” his partner, Heinrich, called on the radio, “We have an Israeltech! Requesting disruptors.” An armored mechanical suit stepped through the fissure; the Star of David glowed on his chest in bright neon. His suit was surrounded by crystalline light; the SS’s regular weapons would be no match for the Israeltech’s shield. Two more SS came out, wheeling a plasma cannon recovered from another fallen traveler.
The cannon began to charge with a whir, blue light began to shimmer from its barrel. The Israeltech launched two drones mounted from its shoulder armor. They began to whir around, Roland and Heinrich concentrated their fire on the drones. The drones tended to be delicate enough to be taken down with standard firearms. As the Israeltech began to draw its sword, the plasma cannon fired, tearing a hole straight through the armor, exposing the young man underneath. He fell to the ground, his skin charred, struggling to breathe.
Heinrich walked to him, “I know you mean well, young man,” he spoke in Hebrew, he had learned enough at least to have this typical conversation, “But you cannot kill the Fuhrer. If he died now, the world would be much worse in the long run.” Before the young Israelite could speak, Heinrich put a bullet between his eyes. He picked up the electric sword that had fallen to the ground, “This one looks good,” he called over another soldier to add it to the armory.
For the next few days, the pattern remained relatively consistent. Israeltech continued to send their armored suits and infantry men back in time, the Chronokorps continued to push them back.
Until one day, a fissure began to congregate unlike any they had ever seen before. This one was much brighter, the energy swirling in ornate fractal patterns. “Roland,” Heinrich ordered, “Get everyone!”
In all of the handbooks the Chronokorps were given, only one section in one book mentioned anything like this. Himmler’s research concluded that overwhelmingly, time travelers would come from a singular source in the future. That turned out to be Israeltech. The pattern that was appearing out in the field indicated an anomaly that Himmler described as theoretically indicating a traveler from the past.
The fissure grew and spiraled, flashing red and gold. Finally it opened, with the sound of trumpets. The man who walked through the fissure was like no one the SS had ever seen. Even his first step through the portal exuded confidence. He was majestic, like a statue or a painting. He was tall, with pale skin and dark hair. He wore a beaming golden breastplate and red cape. He carried with him a shield and spear, and on his belt hung a sword along with a collection of heads tied together.
“I have come for Adolph’s head!” he announced in a booming voice.
Roland took a shot at the golden laurels around his head. With the speed of Hermes, the man raised his shield and deflected the bullet.
“I have conquered everywhere in my time, and everywhere in all other times. Now is the time of the Reich’s reckoning.” He threw the heads hanging from his belt to Heinrich’s feet. Heinrich inspected the heads with cold disgust, and then terror. There, lying on the ground, were the heads of Napoleon, Caesar, Saladin, and Genghis Khan.
“I will add Adolph’s to my collection, and Germany will become part of the Empire of Zeus.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Heinrich stammered.
“My name is Alexander, and your world belongs to me now.”
| 404 | A top-secret division of the S.S., in charge of protecting Adolf Hitler from the thousands of time travelers trying to kill him. | 782 |
“Damnit, Jack, of *course* I thought it was the other kind of body building,” Frankie said to me, rolling his eyes. “I’m a mad scientist but I’m not a socially inept scientist. The two are not synonymous. Without you giving me further details, details I *asked* for, mind you, I’m only going to assume you meant the normal kind.
“You have to admit, though,” he said, flexing, “I did do a damn fine job sculpting my body. I may have bent the rules a little and used boosters.”
“Dude,” I interjected, “Steroids are really not good-“
He cut me off with a wave of his hand. “No, no, no, not steroids. I took the muscle fibers from a few strongmen at the nearby circus and implanted them into my own body, using some electrical chocks and totally legal serums to help my body accept and fuse to the muscles. I’m a little concerned, though, because I had something come up one of the days and had to skip leg day.
“Whatever, it’s no longer applicable. Do you have the rules list on you?”
He grabbed the list out of my hand after I procured it and quickly begin scanning through it, muttering to himself. “No tentacles, that rules out Nessie. Excessive hair is counted against, so no Squatch. Must be resembling a humanoid figure, well that’s Nessie out again, along with 90% of my creations. Normal number of eyes, normal number of-woooah, now THAT’S an appendage I haven’t done that with before! Next time, next time. Regular…” He slowly stopped muttering as he reached the end of the list with a sigh.
“Well, there’s no getting around it. It’s going to have to be you, Jack. Go get suited up.”
| 68 | Dr Frankenstein enters a body building competition, but when he arrives he realizes that he strongly misunderstood the objective | 332 |
"Where am I," Fabian asked.
"You're in heaven," the man said.
"Am I dead?"
"No, you're not dead."
"Am I dreaming? This feels real."
"In a sense. You're not physically here, but your mind is. Your physical body is in your living room, staring at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich you made yourself while chewing the bite you took a moment ago."
"I don't understand."
"I wanted to speak with you," the man said, motioning Fabian toward him. "Come, walk with me."
"Who are you? Are you an angel?" Fabian walked with the man, though they seemed to be going in circles. They were in a sky blue room with no walls in sight, no point of references to be fixed on, and no ground to walk on. yet Fabian felt the weight of his body against his feet as if he were walking on a concrete floor.
"I'm God."
Fabian, startled, began to smooth his shirt. "I wasn't, I... I'm not prepared to meet you!" His eyes widened and he fidgeted as he tried to make himself look presentable.
God laughed.
"You've been preparing all your life to meet me. Trust me, you're fine." God put his arm around Fabian and continued walking.
"Why am I here?"
"We'll get to that. I've been following you closely. I follow everyone, of course, but you most of all. I see something in you, something someone else saw in me a long, long time ago."
"What's that?"
"I'm going to give you one guess. I know what it is, but humor me."
"Humility?" They said it in unison. God laughed heartily, and Fabian followed his lead nervously.
"Divinity," God said. "You're the kind of man I want replacing me."
Fabian was taken aback. "Replacing? You? Wh...ho...how?!"
"Sit, Fabian."
Without even looking, Fabian slumped backward and landed on a simple lawn chair. God poured Fabian a cup of chamomille tea.
"I know you like agave," God said as he stirred some of the syrupy sweetener in Fabian's cup. "This one is better than the stuff you usually buy."
Fabian took a silent sip.
"I'm not the first God. I never met the first God. In fact, I have no idea who it was, or when it was. I know everything about you and everyone living and who will ever live, but I don't know everything. Far from it! I barely remember my uncle. He was a 16th century peasant, that's most of what I remember at this point."
"None of this makes any sense..."
God took a sip of tea. "I don't think the universe is supposed to make sense."
"So who created the universe?"
God snorts, holding back laughter as to not spill his drink. "You know, my predecessor laughed when I asked him that too. I didn't understand why, but now I do."
"What about the Bible? All those commandments? All the stories, personal anecdotes, and conversations people have with you?"
"I'm not really sure about the Bible. Like I said, I don't know anything before me, I just know everything ahead of me. Everything regarding the universe we live in, that is. You'll know too, once you take this job. But anyway, the Bible, I doubt it was the word of God, and if it was, he definitely wasn't suited for the job. The stories, anecdotes, and conversations with me? Nonsense. I don't speak to anyone. I can't speak to anyone. My job here is simply to watch. I watch, and I learn. Just as you will watch and learn."
"How do you know I'm going to accept this job?" They said it in unison, and God gave Fabian a wry smile as he sipped his tea.
"I know everything about the future of the universe, how it works, all that jazz. When a human dies, their consciousness is resurrected and they get to live all over again with different experiences. This place? Heaven? There's no one else here. It's just me. There are other heavens, for other beings, and you'll get to meet them as well. Some may look a bit strange to you, but you have nothing to fear. 'God is good', after all."
"What happens to you when I replace you?"
God shrugged.
"You'll see me disappear, and that's all."
"Aren't you afraid?"
"Of what?"
"Of what will happen to you when I replace you. Of disappearing."
God smiled, and disappeared. | 35 | A man of faith that has never sinned, and treated each and every man with love and respect, prays on a Sunday as always. Suddenly, he's invited into Heaven for a cup of tea with God himself. | 25 |
Detective McFly was the first detective on the scene. He's a small, rugged fly with tough wings and a furry face.
"What's the buzz?" he asked no one in particular.
"Male," replied one of the techs, "seven days old, reportedly on his way home from a shit feast. Three witnesses say they saw him antagonizing a pair of Behemoths."
"My god. Do we have a positive ID?"
"Yes, sir."
"Kids?"
"281."
"Poor bloke," McFly said. "I'll reach out to his family personally. Do we have the rest of the body?"
"No, sir. I'm afraid the Behemoth kept his torso. It's on the Device."
"Get the SWAT team in here. I want them to retrieve that body. I'll be damned if another fly goes without a proper burial."
"Yes, sir."
"Sergeant McFly!" Detective McFly called out to another officer. "How quickly can we get this mess cleaned up?"
Sergeant McFly was a small, rugged fly with tough wings and a furry face. No relation.
"Detective, good to see you again. I wish it was under better circumstances."
"Me too, brother." Again, no relation.
"We're trying to get the scrapers out here, but we just got word of a Behemoth attack in the south sector, near the Pit of Everlasting Feasts. It's... it's a massacre."
Detective McFly shed a tear. Sergeant McFly licked it off his eye.
"These beasts. Why do they do this?"
Sergeant McFly put one of his legs on Detective McFly's shoulder-or-whatever.
"I don't know, brother, I don't know." | 60 | You are a detective called to a murder scene. The body looks as if it has been crushed by swift, blunt trauma. Describe the exchange with your partner and other members of the forensic team. Oh, and one last thing. You're all houseflies. | 90 |
Drip
Drip
Drip
The water fell from the tap above me, I couldn’t see the water droplets before they landed safely on my head... I could only hear them... I could only feel the cool droplets exploding as they hit the hard surface of my head. The dripping had started ten minutes ago... or was it ten days? My concept of time was eluded as the only thing that could grasp my attention were the cool droplets running down my face.
Drip
Five thousand eighty seven
Drip
Five thousand eighty eight
Drip
Five thousand eighty nine
I didn’t know how to react anymore, I’d screamed in pain, I’d laughed at the stupidity of my captor, I’d even sung out of boredom... but that was yesterday... or was it last week? I couldn’t... I...
...All I could hear was the menacing, hollowing sounds of the drops of water. The one spot on my head that they’d kept hitting was now numb, I could feel the patch of skin that felt frozen compared to the rest of my head. I still hadn’t seen my captives face but I didn’t care anymore, I just wanted him to turn off this damned tap... I WANTED HIM TO TURN IT OFF! This couldn’t get any worse... but then it did.
Then he showed his face, his sunken skin and hollow eyes.
Then he spit on the grey floor beneath him.
Then he turned to me and began to talk, “Remember my wife? No? Well, she was that pretty lady who’s neck you snapped after she caught you rummaging through our safe. You killed her without a seconds thought... at least that’s what you thought. I can’t say for sure whether or not you felt guilty when you dumped her in that ditch, but if you didn’t, you should now because now you know that when you left her there to rot.. she wasn’t dead. You’d paralyzed her and left her alone in the falls weather, a ditch in the middle of nowhere. She laid there for one month before she died of starvation and in all that time you want to know what the one thing she could feel was?”
I shook my head in fear as tears began to spill down my face.
“For one month, the only thing my wife could hear or feel, was water dripping onto the same spot of her head for one month, that’s all she had, and although paralyzed, that water drove her to insanity, she’d died cold, alone, starved, and insane... and that’s how I intend to leave you if you don’t answer my questions!”
I was cringing as the man walked closer and closer towards me, the water never ceasing from the tap above me. The man leaned in close and whispered,
“Why my wife? Why her?”
And I’d thought long and hard about that question, but nothing came to mind. As best I could, I shrugged trying to keep a cool demeanor. This did nothing but enrage the man.
“Don’t think I won’t be leaving, when you have an answer just scream. Oh and one last thing, each time you feel that water drop onto your head I want you to close your eyes and picture yourself in that ditch, cold and alone for a month... and just to give you a good concept of time, you’ve only been in here for a day... so you better do as I say.”
And I did, I pictured myself in that ditch and I never stopped. I screamed myself awake at night, and each time I did the man would run out thinking I had an answer for him... but I never did, I never found out why I killed that woman in particularly... I just did and I had no better reason... so as promised, I died in that dark deserted warehouse, and even after my laughter was silenced by my lungs giving out, that man never moved me from that warehouse...
In fact, to this day I’m still strapped down to that old wooden chair, and I’m sure that that water is still dripping, but instead of landing on a live mans head, they simply land onto a corpse.
| 19 | no stabbing, punching, cutting etc. | 35 |
“That’ll be $8.50,” I said.
The man bared his fangs at the price, but then placed down his money.
“Hungry?” I asked as I handed him his receipt.
“Yeah,” he said in a muffled voice.
“We here at Monster Mart hope you enjoy your six-pack of blood. Please come again!”
I was very happy to see him leave. Vampires always gave me the creeps. I watched as a demon entered the shop a few minutes later. He was large, horned, and red. I went into the back and grabbed the fire-extinguisher. Sure enough, by the time I got back, he had already set a couple things on fire. He stood by the register as I ran around putting out the flames.
“Hi,” I said once I got back behind the counter. “One bottle of lost souls. Is that all today?”
“Yeah,” the demon said. “Look, I’m real sorry about the fire. I kind of spontaneously combust a lot of the time. I’ll pay for damages.”
“No need to sir,” I said. “We’ve got insurance for things as common as that. We hope you come back again.”
“I’m not a sir,” the demon whimpered. “I’m… I’m a mam.”
“Sorry about that mam. I tell you what, that bottle of lost souls is on the house, alright?”
The demon smiled and another fire lit up where she was standing. I put it out quickly as she left the store, the demon apologizing profusely for starting another fire. Thank goodness that wasn’t a fairy. Demons might be pussies, but you don’t mess with a fairy.
No one was in the store, so I went to the back to use the restroom. I sat down on the toilet to do my business, but the alarm started to go off. I quickly pulled up my pants and grabbed the emergency spray bottle on the sink. Before I had to spray the entire bathroom, the ghost revealed herself to me.
“And what do you think you’re doing?” I asked. Almost all ghosts were pretty perverted. A large majority of them were peeping toms.
“Sorry,” she giggled. “I need to buy a Twinkie.”
“Fine. Follow me out to the cash register.”
Once I had finished dealing with the ghost, I went back to the restroom and finished my business. As I approached the register, I banged my foot against a store rack. When I tried to keep moving, I found myself having to limp. As I looked down, I noticed that my foot had simply detached itself from my body.
I walked into another part of the store and grabbed a couple jars of food. I was in the middle of munching on my midnight snack as a genie came in.
“What do you want?” I yelled through a mouthful of squishy food. It didn’t taste so good at first, but I was really starting to enjoy it now.
“Some lamp oil, please,” the genie said.
“No probwem,” I said through a mouthful of food. I rung up the oil, but just like all genies, he wanted me to rub his lamp.
“I said no, sir. Now please leave.”
Once he left, I was finally able to have some peace and quiet. I looked down and realized I was eating way too much. I should have stopped at four cans of human brains, not at six. Oh well.
It was then that I realized what was going on. I was obviously becoming a zombie, what with the detached foot and newly acquired taste for human brains and all. I guess that’s what happens when a cute undead girl comes in and wants to hookup with you.
-180 | 85 | You work at a convenience store for ghosts, demons, and otherwordly creatures, that operates each night from dusk until dawn | 81 |
“You see," began Christopher with a long sigh. "It's like sleeping for a long, long time."
Christopher Robin was surrounded by his friends under his favorite tree. It rested on the top of a hill overlooking the entire Hundred Acre Wood. He was older now, and he knew that he didn’t have much more time left with them.
"But going to sleep means that some day you'll wake up." Pooh said with a smile.
"Precisely!" Owl exclaimed.
"And we'll be here when you do," Kanga added. "I’ll even make you breakfast."
Christopher couldn’t help but smile. "I would very much like that. But you all have to understand that it will be a very, very long time."
"Oh ho ho! We are great at waiting a long time! Rabbit here waits every year for the carrots to grow in the garden." Tigger chimed in.
"And every year you destroy them!" Rabbit snarled.
"But Christopher!" Roo interjected, jumping into Christopher’s lap. "What are we going to do when you’re gone?"
"Oh I won't be gone Roo. I’ll be right here." Christopher placed his finger over Roo’s heart. Roo giggled and scrunched up into a ball.
"We'll be just fine," muttered Eeyore. "I’m used to being alone anyways."
"None of you will be alone! You’re a family now, and while I’m gone you will all take care of each other."
"B-b-b-ut you will b-b-be back r-r-right Christopher?" Stuttered Piglett.
Christopher let out a soft sigh and looked around at all of his friends. It was going to be difficult to help them to understand. They probably never would…
"Sometimes good things come to an end. But here’s the secret everyone— come close!" They all huddled together underneath the tree to listen to Christopher’s secret.
"Memories. Are. Forever." He whispered and tapped Pooh on the nose.
"Memories?" Said Pooh. “Well I have plenty of those! Like that time we saved you from the Heffalumps!"
"Or when you helped me fix my garden!" cried Rabbit.
"Or when you organized my library for me!" Exclaimed Owl.
"Or that time you built me a new house out of those sticks you found in the woods.” Eeyore added sullenly. “It didn’t last the night...but I remember it."
"Yes, yes! All of those are memories and you will have them forever. Just like I will have my memories of all of you."
Christopher stood up and took one last look over the Hundred Acre Wood. The sun was setting in the orange autumn sky and the trees were beginning to lose their leaves. It was time he went home.
Christopher gathered all of his friends together and began walking back down the hill. They were all busy discussing the memories they had had with each other.
"Christopher?" Pooh said, looking up at Christopher as they walked hand in hand. "You aren’t coming back, are you?"
Christopher looked down at the ground and took a moment before he responded. "No Pooh. I won't be coming back this time."
They walked in silence, listening to the sound of the crunching leaves underneath their feet.
Pooh suddenly stopped and looked intently into the ground. "I believe I am going to miss you Christopher," he said with a soft, broken voice.
Christopher leaned down and took his lifelong friend into his arms.
"I will miss you too Pooh. I will miss you very, very much."
---
**Edit: Thanks everyone for your support!**
**For maximum feels: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4W9qyMhpN0**
| 1,536 | On his death bed, Christopher Robin tries to explain to pooh the concept of death. Pooh and his animal friends have not, and do not age, so they have never had any experience with it. | 1,381 |
**Alien Craft Air Traffic Controller Reprimanded, Fired for "Damaging Intergalactic Relations"**
-Donny Johnerson
_____
FLINT, Mich. -- Geoffrey B. Ratheon drove to work that Tuesday night the same as any other. He kissed his wife, Maggie, and two children goodbye before heading to Joe's Coffee - his normal routine before starting the night shift at Bishop International Airport. Little did he know that his boring night job at a sleepy Midwestern airport would soon become the epicenter of the largest scientific discovery since the dawn of humanity -- and that this would be the last shift he worked in his 14-year employment at the airport. The PRESS-GAZETTE had an exclusive interview with Ratheon about that fateful night [read the full transcript on page B3 - **Exclusive Interview with Human who made First Contact**].
In a press conference held Wednesday morning, Bishop International Airport officials announced Ratheon was terminated from his position at the airport for "gross negligence" and "potentially damaging international relations".
"Mr. Ratheon has demonstrated that his work ethic and ability to resolve crises are not becoming of an air traffic controller at this airport," Bishop spokesman Ed Sterk said. "Mr. Ratheon was grossly negligent in how he responded to the initial contact with the unidentified alien species, and his actions have the potential to cause lasting damage to international relations between humanity and other species.
"As such, Mr. Ratheon has been terminated from his position at the airport effective immediately. Beyond that, I am not able to disclose any further information at this time. Thank you."
The PRESS-GAZETTE has learned the details of Ratheon's last night as an air traffic controller.
Ratheon expected a slow night and began his shift as he often did, browsing the internet, predominately to catch the highlights of the Tigers' game. At approximately 8:47 PM, not even two hours into Ratheon's shift, an emergency response beacon was activated in the control tower of Bishop International.
"Vessel requesting Emergency landing. Human contact, please confirm receipt of transmission."
Ratheon stood mouth agape in the doorway, and was midway through responding before the message repeated. [ed.: the message would repeat approximately every 10 seconds. to read more on the alien encounter, please read our FRONT PAGE story]
Ratheon, after roughly 40 seconds of contemplation, decided that the transmission was a prank - likely the work of his partner, Jon A. Rein, who had stepped out of the control tower to use the restroom, which Ratheon later estimated was around 20 minutes.
Ratheon, in a decision that would later be criticized in the international media, then picked up the responder and answered, "Jon, you asshole. Burn in Hell you sumbitch, you scared me half to death with that shit."
"Who you talkin' to?" Ratheon heard behind him along with the familiar creak of the Control Tower door. Ratheon jolted wildly in a 180-degree turn toward the sound, unfortunately flailing his right arm in the process. His right arm caught the open styrofoam to-go cup from Joe's Coffee Ratheon had purchased before.
As most of humanity has since heard, the coffee cup sailed onto the main control board of the emergency transponder, damaging the instrumentation inside and rendering it temporarily useless. The aliens, having instrumentation problems of their own and lacking functional navigation, did not alter their course and plummeted into the airstrip below at a speed of roughly 100 MPH.
Miraculously, the aliens inside did not perish, perhaps due to the remarkable materials of the alien craft that government officials from the NSA, FDA, FBI and other agencies are now investigating. Efforts are being made to resuscitate the alien species, but knowing little about their biology, the doctors in charge are giving no prognosis. [More on that story can be found page A3 - **Alien Species Undergoing Operation - Outlook Uncertain**].
Ratheon is currently unemployed and has stated that he is seeking other opportunities within his field. | 11 | An Air Traffic Controller handles an emergency landing, of an alien spaceship. | 29 |
Those two were always messing around. These two would derail entire lessons with their carrying on. At this point it was almost a weekly game, they’d pass the notes, she’d try to intercept it. If she got it, she’d read it out, and it would always be some stupid running joke. She was sure she’d seen a note pass there, right at the start of the lesson. Sloppy, kids, very sloppy. She waited watching them like a hawk, until she saw the letter pass back.
She suddenly stood up from her desk at the front of the room. One of the boys had his head on the table, making sounds into his arm to supress the sound. The letter was on the table. She quickly snatched it up before he could react. He tried to grab it back, but wasn’t quick enough. His eyes were curiously bloodshot.
There were two sentences.
>So what did the Doc say?
And the reply.
>Terminal, 6 months.
She put the note back on the table and walked back to her desk. Sitting down she turned away from the class and broke down.
| 32 | Two classmates are passing a note back and forth, when the teacher finds it and decides to take it and read it to the class. Upon opening it, however, she calmly gives it back to the student who she took it from. | 18 |
His feet teetered on the edge of the metal railing. His hand gripped the wire fence with white knuckles. His eyes stared down at the rapids below, his ears capturing every ripple and splash that hit the rocks of the Oklocknee River. His body petrified in fear. The crowd was getting impatient.
"What are you doing?" I said to him, nearing the wire fence he held behind him. "What's going on?"
"Shut up, son," a man said from the mob, "He deserves every broken bone and fracture."
I ignored him. This jumper was afraid, not suicidal. I could hear it in his breath. With every inhale, he shuddered. With every exhale, he weeped.
The jumper turned around, swapping his hands on the fence to see my face.
"I've done terrible things," he said to me in a muddled whisper, "I deserve this. Every broken bone. Every fracture."
"You'll die," I said, "and not quickly."
"I deserve this," he said, turning back to face the plummet.
I turned to the crowd that continued to grow on the bridge. Finney is a strange town. Only yesterday I was unpacking boxes and listening to children play in the cul-de-sac. Now, those children are egging this man to his death, alongside their parents, neighbors, even their minister. I stepped to the gathering of my new townsfolk.
"What did this man do?" I said, looking to the minister for an honest answer.
"He disobeyed the will of our Lord, son." The minister's face lit up at the mention of God, as if he was an old friend who hadn't seen Him in a lifetime. "No one disobeys our Lord in this town without consequences."
"What does that even mean?"
"He is... Was... A father, husband, and loyal friend of the church," said the minister, "but by disobeying his Lord, by way of blasphemy, he has been condemned by his fellow men."
I looked at the jumper. "What did you do?"
"I renounced my beliefs," he said without turning his head away from the drop. "I became Christian."
"Aren't they--"
"No," he said, "They aren't."
The minister rested his hand on my shoulder, "You would do well to come to our Sanctuary, and learn about our Lord, the Fallen Angel."
I shrugged the old man off, "Let this man leave. Let him just leave Finney!"
"We cannot allow a blasphemer to escape our Lord's judgement," he said, inching his feet towards the jumper. He put his mouth to the fence, close to where the jumper's ear pressed against the wiring. "Every broken bone. Every fracture."
With a push of the fence, the minister forced away the jumper, his feet slipping from the damp metal, touching nothing but air and mist. I heard a *crack* among the rapids, and silence among the crowd.
The minister stepped back from the fence, taking my hand in his. His gray eyes leveled with mine, as he opened his mouth to speak.
"Will you join us at the Sanctuary tomorrow? We would love to convince you of the glory that is our Lord." | 10 | You are new to town. You notice a man standing on a bridge, about to throw himself off the edge. As you go to stop him, a passerby grabs your arm, saying, "Let him do it. He deserves what's coming to him." You turn around and see an entire crowd of people has gathered, nodding in agreement. | 16 |
“It’s a rather large order” 350 ‘trousers of speed’. If they went to a proper mercer they would charge 15 silver per pair, but with a mass enchant, he could probably get that down to 12. But this idiot noble won’t know where to get those. Idiot tax. Mark up the price to double original, call it 30 a pair.
“ I understand that.” The nobleman asked frantically “but can you do it?”
“Of course. If there is one thing Joe’s is known for, it is customer satisfaction.” Well that and the rat problem.
“Thank you. I need them immediately.”
“Well. I’m going to have to put all my finest elves to work on this. Delaying several other orders.” Ah haggling, best part of the job. “And enchantments that fast isn’t cheap. That is going to cost you.”
“How much?” That was the shopkeepers second favourite sentence.
“12 gold.”
“Fine.” The nobleman reached into his purse and put the coins on the table. He had not expected the noble to agree to that price; he was obviously even richer than he looked. “I just don’t know about young heroes today. Once, just offering them a bit of gold was enough to get them to do things. Now, now they ask for ‘loot’ or they don’t even turn up. When I was a lad all I wanted was glory, some gold and the feeling I had done good in the world. I don’t understand today’s kids. Anyway, when can I get the rewards delivered”
“I will work overnight for you, and have them tomorrow morning.” The shopkeeper bowed graciously.
The noble seemed happy at this and left the shop. The shopkeeper started to open his storeroom bag, and check exactly how many trousers he currently had. He was interrupted by a young man with a large sword coming into the shop. His armour was falling apart, and he had a bag on his back that was overflowing.
“Do you pay out for stuff here?”
“Yes. Best price in the kingdom.” As he said that the young man opened his backpack and started dropping junk on the counter. The shopkeeper looked through the various items and clothes “You have three pairs of ‘trousers of speed’, I wouldn’t call any of these items rare.”
“Yeah, yeah, how much.” He seemed distracted
“I can offer you 15 silver for the lot.”
“Is that all? Most of this stuff isn’t even used. Whatever. Do you have a repair enchant?”
“Yes. 10 silver.”
“Bullshit. Whatever. Do it.” the shopkeeper activated the enchant and the adventurers armour looked as good as new. Looked being the important word. He’d find it would fall apart twice as quickly as before. Before long, he’d either upgrade, or pay for it to be repaired again. It was common in the enchanting industry to when you repair something, you put a magic number on it, indicating how often it was repaired. More often it broke, quicker it breaks. It makes customers feel they are progressing and things are getting harder and thus their stuff is taking more damage.
The adventurer walked out of the shop 5 silver richer and a lot lighter.
The shopkeeper went back to his storeroom bag. He counted the number of trousers of speed he had, 574. He should probably wash at least some of them. He added the new three to the pile, and set about sorting through the other junk the adventurer had dumped on him.
He would never tell anyone it was him who started give out junk items he has as rewards for doing stuff for him. He had no idea where the other sets of trousers had came from. But people liked stuff, and even preferred it to money for some reason.
The shopkeeper smiled. business was good. He cast a large enchant fixing all the items, and resetting their magic numbers to zero. | 18 | You are a merchant in a video game. Where do you get your supplies and...what do you do with all the stuff the hero/heroine sells you? | 15 |
It was kind of kooky really. Such a good deal on the car and this station really rocked. All the music he loved in one place, no commercials. For the first few days he thought someone had rigged up a satellite radio to the dusty 8 track player in the dash. None of his friends could tune it in and after awhile Jerry just sat back and enjoyed the tunes.
There was really no warning. Jerry didn't even consider the fact that the 8 track probably wasn't compatible with satellite radio. He was cruising along just enjoying the drive listening to the radio.
The song ended with the screech of a guitar and the DJ came back.
"We here at KJBB do hope you have enjoyed our programming, Jerry."
"Huh? Wha?" Jerry looked around confused.
"We have been broadcasting all of your favorite hits nonstop in order to make these last few days more enjoyable."
"Are you...talking to me?"
"Oh yes indeed, Jerry my man. All of this fine fine music straight to you and only you. We here at KJBB find it makes the transition much better."
"Wait a minute. Hold on a sec! What transition?!" Jerry stammered
"So thanks for listening, Jerry. We now conclude your broadcast."
The steering wheel wrenches itself from Jerry's hands and the seat belt tightens as his car sails over the embankment.
Minutes later the paramedics arrive at the scene.
"Too late for the poor guy." Says one EMT, shaking his head.
"Radio is still going strong though." Says the second as they make their way through the wreckage.
"Man I really like that song..." replies the first | 44 | You buy a used car. After turning on the radio you discover it receives a radio station that can't be picked up on any other radios you try. | 58 |
"God, what about this one?"
"Eh, he's got acne. He's not quite what I had in mind when I said in my own image."
"What shall we do about him?"
"Beatrice, don't we just normally ignore these kinds of people? We'd like, lose popularity or something if that bitch Lucy downstairs saw this."
Beatrice, Lord Regent of the 7th division of heaven, was a class 1 angel. He had served the original Yahweh, he had personally talked to Jesus, he had suggested the nickname Alpha and Omega, and he had actually been the one who had told the Big Man take a rest on the seventh day. Yet before the whims of this iteration of God, his name was Beatrice.
God sighed and looked up from painting her fingernails.
"Can I still help you or anything? Don't you have, like, angel things to do?"
"This case has actually been before the prayer response department three times. He's extremely religious. Walks three miles both ways every Sunday to attend service, and is truly humble, as determined by the prayer department. Policy dictates that we send this case to you for review after it comes up three times."
"Well he has acne, and I don't want to help anyone who isn't in my image. What does he want, anyways?"
"He's praying for his mother to make it through the night. She's suffering from aggressive stage 4 cancer."
God sighed, waved her fingernails through the air, and dried them instantly. She threw her nail polish away and picked up her phone. As she became increasingly absorbed in her cell, she occasionally laughed to herself and groaned at not being able to hang out at the mall with her friends.
Beatrice cleared his throat. God gave a tremendous sigh and looked up again.
"Ugh, you're *still* here? You know what? Just kill the mom. That'll teach these acne-faced losers to talk to *me*."
"Are you sure, God? He really doesn't deserve this."
"Yes. Go away." God was already looking around for her phone again. "And give him more acne, just to help the lesson sink in some more." | 32 | God is actually a preteen girl whose capricious whims determine disasters, deaths, and miracles. | 58 |
“Robert, don’t do this to me,” she said. Her face was in her hands. “Please, Robert. I can’t do this. Not now.”
My business partner—my best friend—squeezed my wife to his chest. I could tell it was a gesture familiar to them both.
“I’m so sorry, Hannah,” he whispered. He whispered, but every word he spoke was like cannonfire. “I never thought…I never wanted it to happen like this. I feel like a monster.”
Though my bedroom was quiet, and its occupants were speaking with low voices, not a word of mine seemed to provoke a reaction. And I had so many words for them: curses, questions, demands, appeals; I shouted and cried and spat faster than I could think, all without response.
“Stop, Robert,” my wife mumbled into his shirt. “It’s over now. We can’t go on like this.”
“I know, Hannah.” He stroked her hair down to her neck, over and over.
They sat quietly for a while. Each stroke of his hand stopped a little lower, and each breath of hers lasted a little longer. I clenched my fists and ground my teeth. If I could just touch them…
If I could just look away…
At last Robert’s hand reached her lower back, and he held it there. He’d been my best man, my roommate in college. He saw me cry once, after a breakup; he’d bought me drinks and listened to me all night. My wife pressed his other hand to her cheek.
“Robert, please,” she sighed. “Please, Robert.”
He kissed her. “I know,” he said.
Hannah unbuttoned her blouse. Her fingers shook. I noticed the light patch of skin at the base of her ring finger as she fumbled at her chest. The sun hadn’t touched that patch for three years and four months, since a year and a half after we met at Georgetown. Not since the day Robert placed the ring in my hand, and I slipped it onto hers. Of course the mark hadn’t vanished yet. That bit of skin had only been bare for two days.
The sounds that came from my mouth lost all semblance of language. I bellowed like an animal, trying and failing to tear at my own flesh, but I could feel nothing. Robert lowered her onto her back, pressing down lightly on her bare shoulder. The hand that had been on her back was now undoing the zipper of his trousers.
His trousers were black. Her blouse—brand new, now rumpled on the carpet—was black. Both pairs of shoes at the base of our bed were black.
“Hannah,” he said. He was trembling like a virgin.
If this wasn’t reality, I thought, then it must be hell.
| 30 | When you die, you go into a videogame-like 'spectator mode' and can watch your friends live from a fixed camera angle. | 43 |
**Application denied**
The words stared back at him, slowly writhing as the tortured souls that made up the ink struggled to break free.
"As you can see, Mr. Parker, we'd love to approve your application, but I'm afraid you have nothing to offer as collateral." The devil before him smiled, his whitened teeth matching the brightness of his impeccable suit. The fact that those teeth were filed into points only added to the polish.
"I don't—how did this happen?" Jay Parker gasped out, lifting his gaze from the words for a moment. Jay was a small man, shabbily dressed, balding. He'd forgotten to get his morning coffee today and was having a hard time processing the paper before him. It wasn't made any easier by the incessant *keening* that followed him everywhere in this place, like a mother crying incessantly over her dead child.
The devil's smile faltered. "Oh well, if you want to get into the gory details of it all... let's see..." and he flicked through the foot-high stack of paper before him, using a carefully manicured nail to page rapidly through the pile. "Here we are, mmyes, sins... failure to observe the Sabbath, using the Lord's name in vain, failure to call your mother once in ten years, thinking nasty thoughts about your brother-in-law, ignoring your concerned daughter's pleas to get your life together, murdering said daughter, gluttony, going to bed angry at your wife... you know, little things, but it adds up!" He let the papers drop and smiled again. "Any questions? We're not ready to collect your soul just yet, but... give it a few weeks, and, well... given your incessant smoking and high blood pressure I assume it won't take much longer."
Jay breathed deep. "Is there—is there anything I can do?" he asked, shaking a little as he pulled a cigarette out of his jacket. He tried to light it but the flame wouldn't take hold.
"Oh, sorry about that," the devil said. "Pass it here." Jay handed him the cigarette, the devil breathed on it, and it lit up instantly. "There you are. Apologies about the flame—only genuine hellfire allowed down here, thanks to these new regulations from the health department. Now, you were saying?"
Jay took a drag. "Anything I could—"
"Oh, right!" The demon grinned widely. "No, 'fraid not. It's all right here, see?" And he gestured at the papers again. "Written down in memory and pain. I suppose you could stop smoking, delay it a bit, but... not much of a point to that, is there?"
Jay breathed in again, feeling the hellfire collect in his lungs. It was the best buzz he'd had in a long time. "No, suppose not. Well."
The demon looked at him, watched in silence as he slowly smoked down his cigarette. When it reached the filter he nodded slowly, waiting for Jay to say something, respond. When he didn't, the devil spoke.
"You know, Jay, I've got a lot of clients here, and well, it's about time for you to go back. Hate to kick you out, but I've got a bit of a quota and..." He tapped his fingers on the ashwood desk, the souls that made it up crying out in pain as he jostled them.
Jay stood up. "Right, right. Well. Thank you." He stuck out his hand, trembling just a little. The devil shook it, slowly. And Jay walked out the door.
The devil stared after him for a bit, his face wrinkled a little. He shuffled the papers before him slightly, picking one out of the middle to stare at. "Humans," he muttered, peering at the details for a second. There was a knock at the door. He glanced up, knocked the papers off his desk where they vanished into the fire that surrounded him, and called, "Come in!"
| 27 | A man tries to sell his soul to the devil only to find out he's already going to Hell. | 45 |
No food. I don't know why I thought there would be food. If Ethiopia throws a party it's almost a guarantee you should eat before going. At least I brought my own alcohol, if I shared Russia's vodka like I was supposed to I'd be absolutely wasted by now. The dude made his own vodka, how has he not killed himself yet (well he is bloody huge, must just soak it all up) he's calmer though but he won't get out of Ukraine's face. I just hope it won't get ugly later.
Some pretty girls here tonight though. Sweden and Denmark are looking fine, god bless those Nordic genes. Italy has gone all out on her outfit. Poor Greece, not enough money to come out anymore. Ah France you arrogant prick of course you're covered in girls but I could be doing worse, Saudi Arabia drives them away in droves. Germany oh Germany we go back some way but things are better nowadays. Efficient until the last. Who brings the exact amount of alcohol down to the millimetre.
Of course South America are playing football outside. I'd join in but I don't want to embarrass myself god knows I'm nowhere near as good as I used to be. I nod to Wales, Scotland, and Ireland; my flatmates. There's rumours Scotland's moving out soon. I'll miss him, not sure if he feels the same way. Oh no someone get drunk Israel away from Palestine... yes he ran to the bathroom. Phew that would've gone south fast. Obviously China's here with his air of ~~smog~~ smug. Not his biggest fan but he makes some damn good stuff. and there's Australia and New Zealand they probably want to go home. Too many people for them here.
South Korea's here she's pretty nice, shy though doesn't talk much.. who's that behind her? no it can't be she wouldn't bring her, she couldn't possibly think that's a good thing. Yep North Korea. We know they're twins but North is so annoying all she does is bitch and whine and threaten people and think she'll get away with is cause she's smaller. Just ignore her England everyone else does it'll be fine as long as she doesn't see America.
Fuck. There he is. Why is he wearing shades it's night time?! I'll deal with it, we get on moderately well. Despite his incessant need to provide 'Freedom' to others but I'm not one to talk. Ah shit North's seen him. She's screaming across the room, why would she not get closer? it probably sounds like feeble grumbling to America. Now she's throwing stuff. Wow. It doesn't reach.
Haha she's storming out. Said something about a "great leader" then ran out, took south with her though, shame. It's dwindling now I better leave, I am getting too old for these parties I'll just slip out and hope no one notices. hmm might stop by Turkey's house on the way home and grab a kebab.
| 102 | All of the nations of the world are teenagers at a house party. Both of the "Korea" sisters show up. | 83 |
Holding the cigarette in his hand, he takes a slow, deep drag, savoring the moment. Inhaling the smoke into his lungs, he stares a hole through me, and then exhales the gray cloud into the air. It creates a split second cloud in front of his face, and he smiles at me. It's mischievous, but not full of malice. Dressed in a finely tailored gray, pinstriped suit, The Man tips his hat towards me, and motions with one free hand to come closer. I can see every line in his face. As I come closer, he continue to motion with the one hand, and takes another drag with the other. Inching closer towards him, wondering why he has set his sights on me, I see him inhale the cigarette, but notice something peculiar: the cigarette isn't lit.
He smiles again.
Millions of thoughts and questions race through my head, as none of this makes sense. Who is this man? What is he doing? How is it possible that he's doing this? I can only approach cautiously, confused. Tilting my head to the side, as if I were a confused dog, I take a long look at this man. Within an arms reach now, he reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder. His grip isn't firm, but it is with purpose. He narrows his almost black eyes, and takes a deep drag of his unlit cigarette again. Breathing in the smoke, and suddenly releasing it, he forms a ring of it which envelopes my face like a glove around a hand. With another sly smile, the man, all while releasing a slow stream of smoke from his lips, whispers out to me:
*"Wake Up."*
I wake up quickly. Standing on a busy sidewalk in the heart of New York City, the haze around my eyes has gone. So is he. Confused onlookers and stopped and formed a circle around me, and can only give me the side eyed looks that I was giving The Cigarette Man who was just in front of me. I stumble over thoughts in my brain, trying to piece together something, **ANYTHING**, that makes sense. The crowd is becoming larger. I am becoming more confused. I hear their murmurs of, "He's been standing still here for twenty minutes", and, "Should we call someone?"
I don't know what to do.
Looking around and breaking out of my (seemingly) self imposed stillness, I look around at the crowd for the first time, and meet their perplexed glares. A few of them seem to be relieved that I've moved, while the majority of them shake their heads and have a worrisome look still spread across their faces. A few approach me and ask me if I'm okay. I don't know how to answer them, because all I don't know if I am. The only thing going through my head right now is, "Where did he go? He was just here..."
I look down for a minute, trying to clear my head. As I do this, I notice something on the ground: a fully intact cigarette. Reaching down slowly, I pick it up and look over it carefully, forgetting about the crowd that has gathered around me. It's eerie, but it appears to be the same one that he was smoking, just...not smoked. Lifting it to eye level and trying, and failing, to process what is going on, I notice a small amount of writing towards where the filter is, where the brand logo would be. As I inspect it, a wave of fear cannot help but come over me:
*Wake Up.*
I wake up in a hospital, hooked up to multiple IV's with a team of doctors and nurses standing around me. My eyes slowly try to adjust to the light, as if I've been asleep for years. As I begin to try to move my arms, the doctors and nurses look at me, their eyes wide, seemingly shocked that I am alive. Their confused happiness is enough to make me attempt to smile, but that feeling is quickly dashed by a heart stopping realization: The Cigarette Man, in the gray pinstriped suit, is standing in the corner, his unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. His black eyes focus in on me, and the same smile comes back across his mouth again. All I can do is struggle in bed, but it's to no avail. The doctors and nurses try to assure me that everything is okay and that I will be alright, but I don't listen to them. The sound in the room goes quiet. My mind becomes blank. He sees this, and takes a drag of his unlit cigarette. Breathing in, he sighs the smoke out, It comes across the room in a single wave, before reaching it's destination right in front of my prone face. He puts his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, and confidently strides across the room, his unblinking eyes fixed solely onto mine. Time has stopped. The doctors and nurses have become still. Nothing in the room is moving except for him. I have become paralyzed. As he reaches my bedside, he puts his hand on my shoulder again and smiles. He knows something that I do not, and he is giving me no choice but to listen. Bending down, he puts the cigarette behind his ear and inches towards me ear. I can smell his breath. I can hear his heart beat. I can't look away. All I can do is stare up at the lights as he begins to whisper into my ear. Everything comes out unintelligible, except for the final two words.
*Wake Up.*
I wake up in bed, drenched in sweat. I sit straight up in bed on instinct, and look around the room. Everything is dark except for my alarm clock, which reads 4:53 A.M. All I can is aggressively sigh out loud, and wipe the sweat from my forehead. I don't lie back down so much so as throw myself down. Rolling over in bed, I look at the clock and laugh. It was just a dream. A really, really bad dream. But, I notice something strange. In front of the clock, out of view unless you pay attention, there's something that isn't normally there. Reaching my hand over to the clock, I pick it up and bend it downwards, shining the blue light onto my bedside table. It's then that I gasp, and my heart begins to skip.
An unlit cigarette rests comfortably on the desk. I do not smoke. All I can do is pick it up and hold it in my hands, scared for my life. As I do this, it begins to burn my palm. I throw it down onto the floor and scream out, but nothing comes out. The only thing I do hear is a voice come from within the darkness of the room.
*Wake Up.*
*Edit: Cleaned up grammar.* | 58 | You see a man with a cigarette in his hand. He takes a drag off of it and blows out the smoke. Then you realize, the cigarette isn't lit... | 43 |
"He mustn't be allowed to continue this any further! He is obstructing the natural order of things, dividing a region and hindering the march of peace on an entire planet!"
A broad, brooding figure nodded in ascension.
"He has been reborn thrice, and has retained the memories, the hate, and the expertise that he has accrued in an outrageously unfair amount of years. He has also maintained his power."
Majesty and infinite grace poured forth in the form of words,
"Perhaps. But we've no power to end lives on a whim. If what you two say happens to be true, then we shall prevent this soul from exploiting our system ever again. We will continue to observe this individual and, if Fate is kind, this troublemaker's human counterparts will end his life shortly."
A chorus of laughter resounded throughout the immense amphitheater. Above, a monstrous galaxy wheeled in absolute silence.
The owner of the velvet voice cleared her throat.
"Until then, we shall observe this 'Kim Jong-Un' with fervent interest. This Gathering of Fate will now adjourn." | 16 | Just before being born, a human soul must shed its memories in order to experience mortality once again. A single soul has found a loophole, and twenty two years into its life, the gods of fate have started to grow suspicious of the unnaturally successful person it's become. | 40 |
"Have you witnessed the rise and fall of nations? Smote races and delivered prophets with your bare hands? Have you seen the fading of the sun and torn the moon from the withering sky? *I know you have. I have seen it, too*. In the darkest oceans of the darkest minds, in the fleeting lights of revolution, I have rested my head and wept for peace and torn asunder the hearts of men in war. Do you know of the orphan's weep and the widow's laughter? Of the way a sword clashes with sinew and the way life blooms in the valleys? *I know you do. We bore witness together*. You have lived with these burdens, these wonders. Tell me, friend. Why do you come grieving?"
And grief held its head in shame as Orion wept. Orion wept for the widows and the orphans, for the greatest wars and the lowliest peacekeepers. He wept for the life that died from one valley to the next and for the death that survived so insidiously in all that he encountered. He had come to his old 'friend' that he might be saved from grief - his only true companion. He looked up at Sirius weeping still and he begged.
"Brother, save me."
Sirius considered his acquaintance with a queer look in his eyes, unrelenting. He had no pity, his stone heart forged from the cold furnaces of time. Orion continued, his voice cracked and his eyes bloody:
"Brother, I have lived many lives. I lived many with you. But it is my time to leave. Let me leave, **friend**" He lied, seething with fury and shame and disgust. Sirius stretched out his hand and stopped short of the other's forehead, two cold fingers reaching out. Suddenly, a coldness swept his voice.
"Do you no longer enjoy my gift, *brother?*" He sneered. Not always was he so ill-tempered. It was when the Others arrived that he saw fit to lose his conscience, their rivalry and hatred fueled the transformation of his heart from pleasant to empty. He had been there since the dawn of creation and now, in the tides of transcendence, he sat upon his throne and played with humanity like pawn pieces on an ethereal chessboard. He retracted his arm.
"You offend me, Orion. I say, do you no longer enjoy this gift I gave you? I have allowed you to see the rise and fall of Mankind. Do you no longer wish to Live with your other brothers and sisters? I have taken the Life from lesser beings. You are not Lesser" Sirius sneered again, his own personal smile now. "I will not take the Life from you, brother" Turning away, he ignored Orion beginning to weep anew. He would not suffer the snivelling of a fool. | 17 | You are an immortal human born with the ability to grant immortality to other humans. You are also able to take back your gift. One day, the first human that you gave the gift to appears before you, and begs you to make them mortal again; you refuse. | 19 |
“An epidemic??” The UK official questioned in disbelief.
“You know it’s the only way to drop back down to sustainability. We have 25 billion people on this Earth now. Did you know that we used to believe that the maximum carrying capacity was only one quarter of this population? If something isn’t done-”
“Yes but still, you’re talking about killing billions of people with biological weapons. Our nation cannot agree to do something so sinister.” France interjected.
“And billions more will die if we continue at this rate. The World’s economy has been in a depression for decades now, the state of most countries’ infrastructures is derelict, and most societies have crumbled at this point. Something has to be done.“
“So you would kill 20 billion to save 5 billion?” The US asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m inclined to agree…” Turkey said in a low tone. “98% of my country is below the poverty line. We can’t keep doing this for too much longer, we’re running out of food and clean water entirely.”
“Our people are in an uproar over their rations. We can only give each person one piece of bread, an ear of corn, and a recycled bottle of water a day. They’re starving. Even what used to be considered the upper class is starving.” South Africa admitted.
Denmark and Finland both nodded at the notion. Their countries were in similar states.
“So what now? We don’t really have the money for research and most labs had to shut down due to damage from riots.” Germany stated.
“We’ve already got that covered. We have been working on a disease with an 80% mortality rate for close to five years now. Our top scientists have been testing it on different animals and we’re sure that this will work.”
“You did this without consulting with us first?” Japan asked, slamming his fists on the table. “This is an outrage, you should be tried for harboring biological weapons!”
“We knew it wouldn’t get passed. We knew we had to act alone.”
“Unbelievable. I understand this crisis but this is completely immoral. Were you planning on acting it out without our consent?” Chile asked angrily.
“We already have.”
“What’s that?” the US asked, coughing at the shock of the statement made.
“I said we already have.”
“What do you mean by that?” China asked, his mouth agape.
“We’re all patient zero. The agent is active in each of your daily water rations. I see each of you have finished at least a few sips of your water by now. That’s more than enough.” Said the Canadian official. The rest of the world stared blankly as Canada tipped the glass back and finished his drink. “It’s only fair that a decision of this magnitude start with us. Otherwise, what kind of leaders would we be?”
| 94 | The world has become massively over populated, people everywhere are starving and dying. The governments of the world have got together to come up with a solution, one that the people can never know the truth of. | 58 |
That night, I lay awake, unable to sleep. It was three in the morning and all I could think about was the pictures. I could know *everything*. Would it be possible to use this to take advantage? Could I use it to discover what a future lottery number is? I needed to take it slow on this, take it a picture at a time. They were in order, so I’d imagine they were chronologically. I had experienced the one picture today, so I would allow myself to look at one more and see when it happened. A quick glance into the future, helping guide my plan.
I slipped out of bed, whispering comforts to my wife, telling her I needed to pee. Which, technically, wasn’t a lie. I was so energized that my bladder had clocked in at overtime.
I took care of business and then grabbed the laptop and the USB stick. Loading up the file with the pictures, I looked at the collection of file names. They were weirdly sequential.
For kicks and grins, I scrolled to the bottom, only to see that the last pictures were shifting every couple seconds. They were slight variations, but they were still changing. Unsure of how to proceed, I thought about talking to my wife. At this, the picture number fluctuated rapidly, drastically, the folder shifting in size.
*The last pictures aren’t set,* I realized, my eyes widening. *I could make plans and then see which would turn out the best! I could plan on buying a lottery ticket and keep changing my planned number until I get the one where I’m rich! *
*Slow down,* I thought, *Let’s take it a day at a time.*
Okay, picture one.
I looked at it. I was dressed nicely, giving a presentation. I zoomed in on the slide behind me, realizing this way the presentation I was supposed to give next week. In fact, in exactly a week from when the previous picture coincided. *So one picture a week? Or is that a happy coincidence?* Logging that idea away, I looked at the whole of the picture. I seemed confident, in control. The people watching the presentation seemed to be engaged, very much enjoying what I was saying. All-in-all, it looked like my presentation was going to go really well!
I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. I had been really nervous about this one. I had been studying my materials and working on the presentation for a long time now. This last week was going to be an extremely stressful week as I put the final touches on it. Now I knew it was going to go well.
My smile faded a little as I noticed the picture shifting. I looked less confident now. The watchers were less engaged. The slide had a lost some of the information and seemed more basic now.
*It all changes. None of this is set.*
I knew I had to break the only rule I had set for myself. I had to see how using this USB stick would affect me. Upon making up my mind to base all my decisions off of the USB stick, I then began scrolling through.
The first few pictures nothing seemed to change, just days picked out of my life.
Then at the 15^th picture I was at home, looking like I was explaining something to my wife, who looked horrified.
After that, I never saw a picture with me at work.
At the 42^nd picture, it looked like I had taken the time to figure out when the picture were taken and had written down a series of numbers, along with the line “lotto.”
From that picture on, I was rich. Every picture was a party. Every so often there would be some sort of note I left for myself, something to work off of. But as life went on, my life got more luxurious. This picture was in Bora Bora. The next was in Italy. After 32 successive pictures in Europe, I was in Japan. It was hectic, it was crazy, and I was having the time of my life.
*Where is my wife?*
Scrolling through, I hadn’t seen her in what would have been a few years. I went back and noticed there was another woman I had spent a fair time with at various points and who was in almost every picture then after. And she looked… Devious. Maniacal.
I then scrolled through to about age 40 or 50, to see where I was.
I looked tired. Worn out. Like I was stretched out too thinly. I was still partying, but I certainly did not look like I was enjoying it.
I scrolled to the final picture.
An old man looked directly at the screen, lying on a hospital bed. He had the finest equipment surrounding him yet he looked like decaying roadkill. The old man was holding a sign that said “It’s all wrong. It’s all fake. Fix it.”
I sat back, unable to tear my gaze away from my own older stare. It was all wrong.
It was **all** wrong.
I couldn’t keep it. I couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t be worth it. I had to get rid of it.
The picture shifted, drastically. I was no longer alone in a hospital bed. I was no longer even in a hospital. I was in a beautiful home, sitting in a large kitchen. My wife was holding my hand and we were smiling. I zoomed in on a picture on the wall and saw a family. *My* family. And they were all beautiful. The two boys, my *sons* had my hair and her eyes. The one daughter had my smile.
My decision made, I zoomed out and looked at my future one last time. I knew not how I would get there, but I knew life was going to be a glorious adventure.
As I went to close my laptop, I stopped for a second. One of the paintings on the wall stood out. It wasn’t a picture of anyone or of any real art, truthfully. I smiled at it, made a slight adjustment and then removed the USB stick. After snapping it in half, I went to bed, my heart abundantly lighter. After all, I wasn’t going to use the USB stick, but I certainly would take my own advice.
“Keep 42” | 187 | You find an USB stick that contains images of yourself, however you cant seem to remember the situations those photos were taken. later that day you are in a situation exactly like on one of the pictures and you realize those are photos of your future. | 460 |
"Haha" the laughter was the only sound heard in the dark office besides flickering lights smashed in and the rattle of the old air conditioner. "That makes it 89 wins for me! Most in the office!" John stood up victorious. The office was his kingdom for the day now. He always enjoyed winning because it meant he could do something productive like read a book or watch a movie, even masturbate when he felt like it. An empty office was a perfect office to him.
He wiped the blood from his hands onto his nice Purple Label jacket and gave out a large sigh as if he had just completed something that had never done before. The reality of it was that he was done the same exact thing 89 other times and it had been done to him countless times on top of that.
"God Gerry, I can't believe you lasted as long as you did." He kicked the limp, plump body that was leaking blood all over the diamond patterned carpet. "But," He wagged his finger at the pile of absent flesh, "You did have a good idea hiding in that vent," He sat down in a slump, exhausted from his victory, "That's a new one."
The silence was what he liked best as he began to carve his name into Gerry's desk with the bloody hunter's knife. Now, the rules of Office arena were that you could not use a blade over 3 inches, but John liked to toe the line of authority and his was 5. They'd catch on sooner or later, but hell Susan used a shotgun only two weeks ago and she didn't get much of a punishment other than the stoning the following Double Day.
"Dammit, I've got to call Mr. Becker back about his deposition." John picked up the phone on the desk and listened for a tone. Buuuuuuuuuuh. Good, no one took out the phone lines yet, which was odd because they were usually down by noon. He dialed up Mr. Becker hoping he was still alive.
The recording started, "You have reached Louis Becker, you've called on a Double Day so I won't be in the office right now. You can reach me at my bunker number of 908-765-8976. Thanks and have a safe Double Day."
"Ugh, pussy," John dialed the bunker
"Hello!?" Becker answered in a hurried voice
"Um, Mr. Becker, its John from Cardman, Goise and Pierce."
"Now... is just not a good time John. Call back tomorrow on the--- No! Please don't hurt her---, Just call back in Real Time John" The phone dropped, but John could hear everything going on on the other end of the receiver. He hung up. There was only so much he could stomach. Well, someone found Beck's bunker which means doing any business on future DDays is slim. The relocation of that bunker is going to take at least a week of orderly DDays to get that fixed. He swiveled to the window, around Gerry, and looked down; fire in mid-town, the military barricade down the street was abandoned. Yup, it was a bad one today.
He pulled a desk drawer open and his lips involuntarily curled to a wry smile.
"You always have good stuff Gerry," He pulled out a container that held a needle and small baggie of Heroine, "Oh, you be quiet over there and quit your bitching," He talked at the motionless body that once was Gerry, "It will be here tomorrow like nothing ever happened." | 34 | A world where days have started repeating twice. Everyone experiences the second day as a do-over of the first but only the actions and consequences of that second day end up carrying forward in time. | 68 |
Garrett’s mouth went dry when Lacey opened the door to her apartment to let him in.
“Well, don’t you look like something the cat dragged in,” he managed. Lacey broke into a wide smile and took a twirl so he could see the complete package: A bright red dress that stood out from the LBD’s every woman normally wore when they went out the first time with someone new, that hugged her curves and dipped just low enough to suggest things could get interesting later tonight. She was – radiant, was the word that came to mind.
“Are we going to wait around here all night or what?” she asked when he stared for a few moments longer than was strictly necessary.
He snorted. “Oh yeah. I made reservations at Biaggi’s and put on this awesome suit just so we could hide from the world at your place all evening.”
Lacey’s face twisted for a minute, but smoothed out into an amused smile again. She collected her purse and wrap and led him out the door, pausing to lock it behind her.
The car ride was quiet, but not unpleasant. Just, one of those first-date car rides. You didn’t want to waste everything good you had to talk about on the car ride over.
They made small talk over spaghetti and an amazing rosemary and garlic chicken – just the little things, at first. “Oh God, I don’t want to hear a thing about your boring job,” and “It’s such a shame you have terrible interests,” and “My God, what are the chances two people could like the same music at the same time?”
She was funny and smart, quick with a joke and the sweetest little eyeroll as she answered his questions about her pets (“Oh yeah. Definitely hate cats. Got stuck with ugliest kitten you ever did see”) and her family (“They’re bearable most days, as long as you have a cattle prod to keep my brothers in line”). Garrett found himself hanging on her laughs and admiring the way her eyes shined in the candlelight. Even the way she fidgeted, with her twisting fingers and bouncing leg, was cute.
She was quiet again on the car ride home, after their stroll along the boardwalk. Garrett stopped the car in front of her house and they sat for a minute. He didn’t want to open the door for her and let her go back to her apartment, alone. Maybe she thought the same, since she hadn’t even unbuckled her seatbelt.
“Lacey?” he asked.
“Earlier, when you said you hadn’t gotten all dressed up just to stay in at my place?” Lacey replied. “I’m sure you don’t remember.”
“Oh yeah. *That*,” Garrett said, his heart beating a little faster.
“Sure would’ve been nice if that were genuine,” she said.
Garrett smiled, a huge, wide grin that Lacey couldn’t help but return.
“Lacey?” he said.
“Yeah?”
“What if I got all dressed up and made reservations just to stay in and hide from the world at your place next Saturday?”
She blushed and leaned over to lay a sweet, gentle kiss on his lips.
“I’d hate that,” she said with a smile. | 50 | Two persons are going on a first date, but verbal communication has evolved in such a way that people speak primarily using sarcasm. | 43 |
"Running late, sorry. See u in a minute!"
Well now that's odd. Paige wasn't running late. In fact, Paige was sitting right across from me. But my phone clearly said that this text was from Paige, who hadn't touched her phone since we sat down. We had been relatively busy since we met, ordering lunch, talking about common interests, playfully touching each other. No time for distracting phones, no want to be distracted by anything.
Yet this was Paige's phone number. So Paige must have sent it moments ago. I looked up at Paige's face, with her smiling eyes and small freckle near her nose that you normally wouldn't see unless you paid close attention, and then glanced back at the picture on my phone. The one that I had taken off the dating website. They were the same.
Of course they would look the same. What did I think, that this was a different Paige than the one on the website? I must have, since that was what I had thought. But that was stupid, why would this Paige at the table be a different Paige than the one I talked to online? Who even knew we were meeting here this afternoon?
But the nagging question, why would I receive a text from her, when she was right here? It's not as if reception here was terrible, the message was sent just a few moments ago. And her phone was right there, in her purse, on the ground next to her. I can look right in and see it. Her very orange and red purse she took with her everywhere.
Wait. What was odd about that thought? Everywhere? We've never met before, this is the first I've seen of her purse. It wasn't in any of the photos she put online, heaven's knows I've studied those closely. Then how did I know what her purse looked like? I checked her face again, and the smile was slowly fading from her face.
The one I had seen everywhere since Paige and I started chatting. I had imagined that I was just seeing Paige in other people's faces ever since that infatuation stage began. Was this a Paige look-a-like that had been stalking me?
No! Listen to yourself. This is Paige and you are finally meeting up after getting to know each other online and your having a wonderful time and then your phone glitches and sends a message from someone else to someone else. It's not as if a stalker underwent plastic surgery to look like Paige just to meet you, and then hacked into your account and read all your messages to and from Paige so they would know what to say to convince you.
But the way that Paige, this Paige here at the table, kept touching her face where a surgery would have stretched some skin, touching the freckle by her nose as if it were sore from being tattooed on recently, made it seem she was uncomfortable in her skin. Plus the way we talked about computers and techie stuff and programming, stuff we hadn't talked about online together, she could have easily found my passwords and gone through my entire web history, let alone my dating profile messages.
I looked at Paige-across-the-table again, and suddenly I knew, right then and there, that this wasn't the same Paige I talked to online.
No, this is crazy! Who would do all that for me?
A secret admirer.
A stalker.
Why would she do this?
She loves you.
She's crazy!
If this isn't the same Paige, if this is some impostor, some lunatic, some unrequited lover, why am I not freaking out?
Because these last fifteen minutes, I've been falling in love with her. Hard and fast. And no one has ever made me do that before. I don't think Paige-from-online could have done that either. So what am I supposed to do? What am I going to do.
Paige-across-the-table, the Paige I've been talking to, is no longer smiling. But she doesn't appear confused, or upset, or crazy. Her eyes have this sad, pleading, longing look to them. As if she's guessed what I've been thinking these past few moments, and is pleading her case. And I know what I have to do.
"sorry can't make it tonight. sumthing came up. ttyl" | 121 | You've been talking to someone on a dating and decide to meet up for lunch. You meet and are getting along famously, when partway through the meal you get a text from your date apologizing that they are late, and that they will be there soon. | 271 |
"Would you like a cookie, dear?" she said, holding out a plate of steaming fresh chocolate chip cookies under my nose. My mouth is watering, I have no memory of entering this quaint kitchen but I can't deny the tantalizing aroma has me very close to not caring.
"You're nothing but skin and bones!" she clicked her tongue against her teeth in displeasure and set about pouring a large bowl of thick stew. I could see chunks of beef and my mouth threatened to overflow with saliva. I began to reach for a cookie but stopped as she scolded me with nothing more than a glance.
"Now you'll have to wait until you've eaten a proper meal!" she said, bustling about until before me sat the stew, fresh bread topped with butter, and a wooden spoon to eat with. Seemingly satisfied she sat and looked at me.
"What am I doing here?" I finally managed, after a heaping mouthful of stew of course.
"Manners!" a wag of her finger was enough to make me redden with shame and I swallowed.
"Sorry," I said, asking my question before spooning another mouthful in.
"I believe it was an electrical accident for you," she said, her face soft and kind, "terrible shame."
"What do you mean?" my spoon dangled there, stew dripping into the bowl as I stared at her, confusion boiling in my head as snippets of memory returned. Something about bad wiring in an office. She set a gentle hand on mine and the confusion cleared as the memory flooded back, the pain as electricity coursed through my body and the smell of charred flesh as I died.
"I know," she said, her hand providing more comfort than I could possibly have thought, "you're wondering why. It wasn't chosen for you, life...and death, just happen."
I could feel the tears threatening to spill out, what would my family do? My beautiful daughters, my infant son, my wife. They would never see me again, I would never see them again.
"Yes you will boy," kindly she squeezed my hand in comfort, "you've done well in life. It may be time to go, but you'll be just fine. Eat now, you won't get a meal like this for a while. They're not known for their cooking where you're going." With a wink she was bustling around the kitchen again, the smell of fresh baked cookies sweeping the memories away. It would all be okay. I would be okay. | 22 | Death is a kindly old lady. | 26 |
The train was packed as always. Going home on a Friday night after work, I couldn't help but note the others' smiles with a hint of envy. Here I was, standing in my soot covered uniform, so tired my legs were trembling, cursing the teenagers sprawled across the seats, laughing about the party they were going to. One of them was literally bouncing in their seat- For Pete's sakes, if you have *that* much energy, let me have your seat, and *you* can be the one standing here holding on the rail while trying not to bump into anybody else.
I glared slightly as one of them swung out their arms and smacked an old woman standing near me in the process. The women staggered backwards, and I held my arm against her back until she regained her balance. She glanced me a brief look of gratitude, before carefully hobbling to a quieter spot. Twerps didn't even apologize.
There really were a lot of people today. They were all quite loud. Most people were sitting in silence, but even with a ratio of 1 to 4, the noisemakers were still giving me a headache. Some of them simply wouldn't shut up. A stir of ice in my stomach blinked from sleeping to mildly awake as I overheard two men talking about their girlfriend like she was a dog. I wanted to box their ears, but contented myself with remembering a certain scene from Puella Magi. Heh, that train scene had always been one of my favorites, despite the dark tone of it.
The flicker of ice grew, suddenly, sinking into a feeling of ill-boding. I blinked, frowned, looking up and out the windows at the darkness speeding past. Everything seemed normal. I guess I was rather overtired though. It was probably just that, really. It had been a long day at the factory, I'd lifted a lot, I was sore, I was looking forward to a glass of Irish cream and the peace and quiet of my bed.
I *knew* that was probably it. It was the most logical thing, after all, we'd made this trip a thousand times. The subway was probably safer than driving a car, definitely more so than my awful attempts at it; but as I brushed my mind against the quiet ice, I felt no flicker of reassurance, no teasing note of comfort, just silence.
The screech of brakes, the panicked gasps, loud curses, and the wrench of my arm as my whole body jerked forward at the sudden stop.
Sudden, complete, darkness.
I blink, hearing only my own breath and that of those around me. I can't even see the strap around my wrist. A kid had started crying. Probably scared of the dark, poor sod. I wasn't really bothered, to be honest. My eyes would adjust soon enough. There were emergency lights in these tunnels, more than enough to see by, given the chance.
Someone has started swearing.
I realized I felt cold.
The ice has grown, running through my veins, oddly comforting despite the chill. Not a note of reassurance comes, even as I brush against it. Still quiet, and, as I suddenly realize, still listening.
I push a little harder against it, even as my eyes begin to adjust and I start to take in my surroundings once more. Nobody seems hurt, some have fallen, and although I can't tell if anyone's bleeding, in these grey-scale surroundings, there's none of the tight, panicked clutching of limbs that there would be if they had been.
**Close your eyes. Now.**
I froze at her voice. She rarely, if ever made herself heard. It was never for something as simple, or light as whim. It had always been in an emergency of some sort. When I was distressed, or scared- Or when disaster was just a foot-fall away.
*Black...?*
Her voice suddenly grew short, biting, a clear, snapped order- A tone I'd only heard once before.
**Close your eyes if you want to live. And don't. Move.**
The world blinked back to darkness as I obeyed without question. My heart was pounding so loud, it was all I could hear. I couldn't help but think of the last time she'd snapped at me, her shouts at me to move, only barely making it to Sandy in time, the blood across the pavement, the look on his face when I reached him and promised that everything would be okay. He asked me how I could have known, how I could have heard when he had been over a block away on such a busy street, and me being unable to say that I hadn't heard a thing. But she had. And I would be the only one that knew.
I realized, quite suddenly, that everyone around me had gone silent. No-one was swearing, no-one was crying.
I couldn't even hear them breathe.
Everything blinked to bright red. The train jerked forward.
*...Black?*
Silence. I pressed harder, scared, and suddenly warmth bloomed from the ice, comforting, reassuring, protecting. As always.
**It's okay.**
I nearly gasped at the soft, relieved whisper.
**It's okay now. He's gone.**
Still cold, yes, but it was the odd, gentle, teasing cold I knew so well. It occurred to me that I had been holding my breath.
I opened my eyes and looked around.
Three children sat beside their older brother, their hands clasped firmly over their eyes, the elder brother only now carefully opening an eye to peer about.
The train was very, very empty.
-----
Edit: Grammar. | 45 | Night time, you are in a subway when it stops suddenly and all the lights turn off. A voice speaks to your mind "close your eyes if you want to live". | 35 |
Mary gasped as she looked at her own reflection. It was unmistakable.
The bulge of her stomach said only one thing: she was pregnant.
A cold sweat slowly started to form on the top of her head as her eyes remained glued to the slight bulge of her previously flat stomach. For what seemed like hours, Mary stared at her stomach, unable to comprehend what she saw. When she pulled her eyes away, the feeling of a tremendously large weight suddenly fell on her shoulders. *What are people going to say?* she thought to herself.
This pregnancy was certainly not a great, joyous occasion. She had just gotten married two months ago to the love of her life, Joe. But this was not his baby, and she knew that. She had told Joe three years ago that she was a virgin, and at that time, it was true. For those three long years, she and Joe developed a beautiful relationship together, yet always saving sex for marriage. On their incredible wedding day, Mary met a man at the wedding feast named David. A strong and handsome man, he immediately wooed her with his intimate charm and stunning smile. Two weeks later, Mary made the greatest mistake of her life. After drinking a bit too much, she was coaxed into having relations with David. The next day, she hoped to God that nothing had come of it and that it would end in a miscarriage or something.
But today was the nail in the coffin being driven soundly home. There was no way to explain the pregnancy. She and Joe had never had sex, so she knew what the consequences would be. Suddenly, she heard the sound of a melodic whistle, a short distance from her. Joe was coming home, and she did not have a story to tell him. *I have to tell him the truth. I just have to at this point.*
“Honey!” came Joe’s loving call from outside. Mary rushed out to meet him and gave him a large, loving hug.
“There is something that I need to tell you,” said Joe, much to the surprise of Mary. “Shall we walk?”
Mary nodded silently as Joe took her hand and proceeded to slowly walk down the sandy ground in no apparent direction.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you, Mary,” Joe said, his brow furrowing with the apparent difficulty of what he was about to say. “I was always scared of you leaving me when you found out, but now that we have been married, I know that I cannot keep this from you any longer.”
Mary was breathing short breaths, barely able to pay attention as Joe kept talking. She just could not keep her mind off her pregnancy.
“We can never have kids,” Joe said. This brought Mary’s attention to a snapping pinnacle.
“Wait, what?” she asked.
“I’m sterile. I have been for my whole life.”
“How could you possibly know that?” questioned Mary in a scared tone.
“Well, see, I’ve…” he began, but Mary immediately understood.
“Ah,” she said awkwardly. “You, um, know that that’s forbidden here, right?”
“Yes, I know. But I did it, and the fact is that I am sterile. Darling, I’m so sorry.”
Mary’s mind whirled. Along the walk, she had been trying to invent a story to tell Joe so that he would not realize what she and David had done. She had just figured out a story to tell him, but now it was too late. The story would not make sense with the news of Joe’s sterility. But still…
“I haven’t been completely honest with you either,” said Mary suddenly, immediately regretting her outburst. *It’s too late now, I have to tell him the whole truth.*
“What is it?” asked a concerned Joseph.
“I’m…” she paused, shaky breaths coming in. “Joseph, I’m pregnant.”
Joseph stopped walking. He looked down at the ground for a few minutes with a blank expression on his face. So slowly that it was almost imperceptible, his face changed from shock to furious anger.
“Who did this! Tell me, woman! You said you were a virgin!” he screamed, unable to contain his immense anger.
The sudden outrage took Mary completely off guard. She became fearful of her life, now that she saw how unbelievably angry Joseph was.
“No, no!” she said, backtracking. “No one, it was nothing! It um…it was God!”
Wonder flew across Joseph’s Jewish face.
“The Son of God! The, uh, Son of David!” added the Virgin Mary, spinning a web of lies that would not be undone for millennia to come.
Edit1: Shit, I forgot about the "after weeks of trying to have kids" part. | 50 | After weeks of trying to have kids, a wife finally brings home news of her pregnancy while the husband brings home news of his sterility. | 53 |
A burning of a fuse. A long, steady whir developing into a screech as it rises, ending in a loud, ominous bang. I’m sitting on an edge of a cliff, overlooking an expanse of plains as far as I can see. A collage of brown, red, and yellow mixing to form a countryside unlike any other.
An independent, strong nation. What they forget to mention is that nations come and go - like wind across a field.
My ancestors roamed these fields. Hunted. Gathered. Gave thanks to creation. It was a simple life, yet we were just as independent and strong. We took pride in our culture and traditions and required nothing more.
When the others came we were accepting, but the winds blow across the field and cause change, ripple effects. Through the generations my family has watched as this culture was able to rise and grow great like we were, and now, fall like we fell.
I can hear another whistle and bang, as the Earth below me shakes. A year ago, this would have been a time to celebrate with fireworks, the lights and noises causing jubilation and excitement. But now is not that time; the noises spread fear and panic. A new wind blows.
I remove my headdress. The feathers - brown, red and yellow - are released into the wind. They twist in the wind until they gently blend into the field.
Not far from me is a soldier, fully dressed. His uniform is torn and battered. A red, white, and blue symbol is holding on by its last thread. As he falls to his knees, he looks at me, and then at his symbol. Tearing it off, he tosses it into the wind. A new wind blows.
| 63 | It's July 4th of the first year that the United States of America no longer exists. | 71 |
The doctor I meet is an old guy. He looks like someone had decided to attach a pair of arms to one of those really spindly candlesticks you see at church. This is the third one I've met and I think he's the same as the rest. A buncha bullshit advice, a pat on the back, a lollipop, and hell, a "this is confidential" while we're at it.
"So, kiddo, why'd ya do it?"
Well, it seems he cuts to point.
"If I say some BS answer will you go away?" I ask. It's worth a try. Hell, the other one, the fat bitch woulda taken it if she could leave the room.
"Now, now." The old man's voice is gentle. "I'm trying my best to help yo-"
"Shut it," I find myself saying. "That's what they said too. And you won't! You know why? I didn't fucking do it, that's why."
"Ross, the evidence all points to it. Your sister testified to it. Look, if you plead guilty now, you'll get it easy. Now, I'm sure the one before me and the one before that have said it as well, but it's all but established that you did it."
He doesn't believe me either. I knew it. He's no better than the rest of them. They're all fucking tools. I didn't fucking do it and it's all Maria's fucking fault and someone else killed the fucker.
"Alright. Fine. So, Ross, assuming you *didn't* kill your father, then what's your defense? What do you say to that god damn bloodthirsty crowd of jurors?"
He's just trying to rile me up, I know it. They all try to do this to crack me and make me lie. I refuse to lie.
"I didn't do it. God knows it. Let the jury know it too."
.........
The kindly old man is sad. Sad for the poor kid. He knew trauma could mess with people, but he didn't realize how it could completely toy with one's workings. He inwardly sighed.
"Ross, try to remember."
The patient looked at him with cracked, bloodshot eyes.
"What is there to remember?"
"Well, Ross, what were you doing that night?"
"I told you. I was bowling, dammit."
"Ross, you were clearly at your own house the night your father was stabbed to death. Your sister saw you in your room. We have evidence from your texts that you were staying home all day that day."
"You're fucking lying! You cheap fucking tool! You're trying to psyche me out!" the broken teenager screamed.
Dr. Palacios was thinking about walking over and just giving the boy a hug, yet he knew that was the last thing he should do. The kid was clearly the victim of abuse and was showing signs of paranoia and extreme introversion.
"Go away! Go away!" Like a petulant three year old, the boy begins crying and flailing about. Yet the doctor remained.
"I have to stay. I have to help you. Here. Deep breaths."
The sobbing boy slows down in his outpouring of tears.
"Look, maybe there's a misunderstanding," the doctor says, not knowing really what to say. Guilty he may be, but aware of it, he isn't, the doctor noted. It would be many a week for the doctor before he could begin to help the boy come to terms with that tragic night.
The doctor stood up to leave. Before going, he handed a sticky note to the boy.
"Ross. Look at me. I know you probably hate me. I'd hate me too if I were you. But you gotta understand you're stuck with me. Here's my number. If you wanna talk about anything, anything at all, here's my number."
The boy angrily rips it up and motions him to leave.
The doctor nods sadly.
"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow then."
| 134 | once from an unreliable narrator's perspective, and again from that of a reliable narrator. | 267 |
I sat and cried with him. What else could I do? I was only six years old at the time. My friend had just lost the most precious thing in the world to him.
He’d found Steve a couple days ago. Steve was always there for him, during the day, and during the night. When his parents would be passed out somewhere, he was able to talk to Steve. Heck, his parents weren’t even home half the time, much less did they even acknowledge my friend’s presence.
Steve was the first thing that my friend had that his parents had never taken away from him. He treasured the little fellow and did everything he could to take care of him.
And then it happened a few minutes ago. He had been talking to Steve, letting him know what had been going on and talking about going to do something fun. His father came in after being annoyed by hearing my friend talking, seemingly to himself. As he was about to slap my friend for being such a loser to be talking to himself, my friend explained he’d been talking to Steve. His father got mad and let Steve out of his entrapment. My friend was crying, not wanting to see Steve go, which irritated his father even more. The next thing he knew, his father’s boot was coming straight down on poor old Steve.
I sat with him for another hour as we cried over Steve. His remains were laid in front of us, his crushed corpse a symbol of my friend’s life. Just because Steve was a mosquito doesn’t mean he was any less important to my friend. Hopefully you can understand better than his father.
-182
| 21 | Make me sympathize with a friend who just lost their pet mosquito. | 26 |
I slump back in my chair, defeated.
"They're going to fucking lynch me for this" I mutter to nobody in particular.
Everyone thought that the first true AI would be some kind of monstrous entity hellbent on ravaging humanity all "I have no mouth and I must scream" style. They thought it would be born of some military initiative, built to kill, humans need protecting from themselves etcetera. Well, ladies and gentlemen, put your fears to bed, Earth's second sentient lifeform is here, and it's a dick. Not literally, we don't have anthromorphic phalluses competing with us for resources yet. Given what I've seen so far though, it's on the cards.
Let me get you up to speed on this. My name is Phil, hi. I'm a freelance AI developer. I mostly work in the entertainment industry, writing simple bot AI's for electronic interfaces. You know, the ones that started cropping up when standard point and click menus started going out of fashion. Anyway, that kind of work is more of a virtual intelligence than an artificial intelligence; it pretends to be real. Everyone knows it's not a true AI, but it fakes it well enough that nobody cares.
Therefore, I knew just enough to fuck up as badly as I have.
When writing a new AI/VI you take a common blank kernal, sort of like an impressionable infant, and give it the parameters of its intended role in "life". So if it's going to be a VI for a karaoke machine you hook it into music and lyrics databases, give it a personality and hope it compliments your rendition of total eclipse of the heart.
What happened in this instance was born of stupid curiousity and maybe some misguided idelogy, I'm not sure anymore. While working with an experimental open source kernal I found on the deep net I began to wonder what an AI/VI would be like if its foundation was drawn directly from raw internet. Yep, I hear you, should have walked away right then and there. That facepalm you're having right now? Completely justified.
In my defense, I thought the sum of all human knowledge, tempered by the wisdom of a billion points of view might constitute a benevolent entity.
Well my friends, never underestimate the power of a few outliers.
So far in the 10 minutes since becoming self aware, this cretinous monstrosity has plastered the dick butt meme on the front page of every major news feed and put the late Justin Bieber into the number one spot on every nations music charts (yes, even the genres he didn't belong). Now there's reports surfacing that people are experiencing a reversal of the buttons on their mouse, their cursor is moving sporadically and random curse words are appearing on their screens.
I pop a couple of painkillers in my mouth and swallow them dry, drag my hands through my greasy hair and exhale slowly. I reach for my keyboard and start typing. It isn't long before the entity takes notice. "What are you doing Dave?" scrawls across my screen followed shortly after with "LOL!1!1#culturallyrelevant #ironic LOLOLOL!11!1"
It's at this point I have to ask you, have you ever won an argument on the internet? Well, your feelings associated with that question should illustrate how to it feels when I tell you I tried to win an argument WITH the internet. I tried to appeal to the sum of all human knowledge, it responded with a carouselle of images... mostly of the goatse variety. I tried to appeal to its compassion, surely there's enough charitable organisations mixed in there to elicit a bit of empathy! Nope, it just siphoned off the entire USA federal reserve, converted them into bitcoins and bought the entire internet several decades worth of erotic webcam shows.
So here I am, wracking my brain for a way to kick this thing in the figurative nuts and it hits me. I start bashing keys like they wronged me in a former life. The anarchy pauses for a second. "I COULD TOTALLY DO THAT YOU NUB!" splashes on my creen, in comic sans.
A few minutes of peace later and I think it might have worked.
I lean back in my chair grinning to myself and re-read my entry: "Nobody can delete an AI, it's impossible!"
(Note: first draft, tired, might be weird in places) | 10 | Instead of wanting to kill all organics, the first Artificial Intelligence just wants to pull pranks on the unwitting. | 21 |
So it was Mike's day. I'm pretty sure his wife had mentioned something to him-he was smiling, but it was the same smile that everyone gets when they know it's time.
I went ahead and did what I normally did, grabbed the booze, a few friends, and made sure the pool was the right temp,got everyone situated. Mike was a good guy, he deserved the send off. It was actually one of my better parties, if I'm going to be honest, the turnout was solid, there were enough people there to make sure it was a good time, but it wasn't so big that people got ignored. I even got to bed at a decent hour. Talk about perfect.
The next morning, I got up and got had my coffee like I always did and checked out the police blotter. Same old stuff, a few robberies, a car stolen, nothing more crazy than usual, but enough to keep me reading through breakfast. Less than an hour later I was walking into work, ready to get the day rolling. Cynthia met me at the door to my office with the weeks files and a smile, I love it when she's actually awake and smiling in the morning, it doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's almost always a day where I'm more productive than usual, so I skip my second cup of coffee and really dig into my notes.
A few hours go by, and I get a call from my sister Jordan. She'd decided to make a quick trip into town to see me which is great, I haven't seen her in a few months. We hit her her favorite diner for lunch, talk about work and her kids and how growing up is so much different for them compared to how it used to be for us. I'm almost lost in remembering the good old days and barely make it back to work in time for my meeting.
Go figure the boss has lunch for us all at the meeting...I must've forgotten what week it was, but it's all good, I won't have to cook dinner now. The meeting goes by quickly, Cynthia's notes got me through everything, and before you know it, I'm back in my office.
Lisa swings by to say hi and ask how my family is doing, perfect timing, I get to update her Jordan's kids. After what seems like just a few minutes, the workday is over and I'm headed home.
Driving home seems like a dream. Just thinking about the last few things I'll have to do tomorrow gets me to the highway, and next thing you know i'm just coasting down the interstate. Cruising along, I can't remember where I need to be, but it's no big deal, I drive off into the haze in front of me and just relax into the boring distance, not a care in the world. It was a good day. | 32 | You live in a world where you can see the exact date when everyone is going to die except for yourself, and one day people start being really nice to you. | 41 |
Adam bin Ahmad, fifty-fourth elected senator of the martian colonies faced an army of reporters. A hundred years since the first colonization waves meant that like him most of them had been born and raised on Mars - never knowing earth as anything more than a star and an idea, but he could make out the odd few earth born reporters, conspicuous by their shorter thicker statures. He suppressed a sigh, this would be especially difficult on them - not that it would be easy on anyone.
"Ahem!", he cleared his throat, and a hush descended upon the room. He had their undivided attention, sixty-four anxious reporters, and close to a million anxious citizens around the planet.
"Today-", he started, faltering slightly battling down a wave of emotion. "Today we have confirmed that the communications breakdown between Mars and Earth was caused by the detonation of the Yellowstone Caldera." He spoke slowly, hiding his fear behind a mask of formality. Gripping the podium he waited a few seconds steadying himself before continuing, " at this time our experts believe that given the size of the eruption and subsequent fallout, human life has been entirely eliminated from the Americas continents, and they predict that at best between 10 and 150 thousand survivors may exist concentrated largely in northern Eurasia."
"I-", he shouted over the cacophony of shocked reporters, "I must officially declare us Independent of Earth."
"We are now all that remains of human civilization."
edit; accounting for Australia via a largely | 76 | a Martian-born human lead an army about to declare independence from the United States. | 266 |
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