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I emerged from the restroom, adjusting the last bits of the bartender's uniform I had acquired. I wished I had taken a moment to shave before, but my 5 o'clock shadow was just going to have to be part of my disguise. I tugged at the shirt, trying to make the garment somehow fit just a bit better.
This joint wasn't my type of scene, but I had gone undercover before. And any amount of discomfort was worth the price for information. Johnny Shadow was known to frequent this watering hole, and I was gonna find out where he was layin' low after that heist. I had to. I was the only one who could.
I slipped behind the bar and took stock of what lay before me. Unwashed cups littered the wash sink, a tap of some light beer was dripping, and the bottles on the shelf behind me had a greasy film on the exterior. At a closer glance, it was a polish. These were all still sealed, displaying their varied and pristine logos towards the patrons. A quick glance under the counter revealed their in-use counterparts.
I could deal with this.
I began by washing the cups in the sink, which gave me a great view of the rest of the guests. I scanned each of their faces, searching for someone that looked nervous. Johnny had used a few hired guns for this latest job, some that we didn't have files on already. My best bet was to I.D. one of the new goons and get them to slip. Anyone that had worked more than one job with the man wouldn't be the kind to betray him. The snitches didn't survive the first job.
I scanned the room, looking over the lonely faces that inhabited-
"What the hell are you doin'!" A man shouted from the kitchen. I turned, soapy glass in hand, to stare at the sudden interruption.
"Washing dishes, boss" I said, trying to bluff my way out of this new predicament.
"I don't know you! Where's Tracey? Is that her uniform?"
I glanced down at the shirt that read "Hooters" across the bust, which I was quite short of filling out. "Uh..." I said, stalling for time. I hadn't planned on being caught this quickly.
"Are those her heels too? Jesus, what did ya do to her? Did you kill her?" He turned back towards his kitchen, revealing a large bald spot that the manager had tried to conceal with a combover. "STEVE! CALL THE COPS!"
This was quickly turning against me. At this rate, I wouldn't even get the chance to coax out anything from the first barfly that fell into my web. I had to think fast.
"Tracey let me borrow this" I said.
A screech came from the women's restroom as a lady stumbled out. "THERE'S A BODY IN THERE!" She screamed, trembling uncontrollably.
"She's just unconscious!" I yelled back, trying to reassure the poor woman. "I just choked her-"
Something blunt struck me from behind. Two loud cracks sounded, one from a baseball bat connecting with my head, the other from my face hitting the bar counter. I fell to the floor, borrowed skirt fluttering to the sticky ground beside me. Through my daze, I could see the manager standing over me, broken bat in one hand, cell phone in the other.
"Yeah, 911? I got the guy down. He killed one of the girls in the bathroom here, send an ambulance too."
As my vision faded, I knew I was in for a world of hurt. The boss didn't like bailing out his own detectives from his own cells.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more of these fun little diversions | 161 | Like an old noir film, the detective walks into a bar to gather information on their case. But the detective gets changed into work attire and stands behind the counter. Turns out being the bartender is much more effective than just asking around for information. | 1,575 |
“No claws, but it has a really long smile and these glowing white eyes.” Mary said, opening her eyes as wide as possible to show the sort of creature that was standing beside her.
“Hmm. Ok, so it’s not a demon. Demons have claws, at least they do according to the information mom left.” Paula sighed, wishing her mother was here to help with this. Why did the supernatural abilities skip a generation? To Paula, the spot next to her daughter was just an empty space, but it was clear from the detailed conversations that Mary had that there was more to this. “And you said it calls itself Stewie? Can you tell me more about them? Do they seem human?”
Mary turned, staring up at the creature beside her. She squinted her gaze, making a small umm noise before finally nodding. “Yeah, it looks like a lady. Oh, and she stands like this.” Mary hunched over, trying to imitate the walk of the creature.
“Ok, so humanoid. Great, that’s still a long list.” Paula did her best to keep calm, but internally she was screaming. A monster was beside her daughter, and she had to remain calm? What if it was waiting to kill them? Paula re-read the words at the top of the page, mentioning to stay calm. Trusting that her mother knew best.
“Mom, Stewie doesn’t seem mean. She has been really kind to me. She even follows you around the house a lot.” Mary said, her words causing her mother to freeze up, gripping the paper a little tighter.
“Oh? That’s comforting dear.” She lied, frantically searching for the creature on the list. She flipped the paper over, checking over the other options. “How many eyes?”
“Two.”
“And fingers?”
“Five!”
“Five on each hand? Or just five?”
“Five on each hand. Stewie also has long, grey hair, but it’s all dirty.” Mary said, before laughing. “Stewies telling me to mind my manners.”
“Don’t you talk to my daughter like that.” Paula smacked the air with the paper, before looking it over once more. “Ok, so it’s not a possessed doll. Unless its under an invisibility spell? It could be a ghost, but ghosts don’t have defined human characteristics unless they are tormented souls or powerful. Given the house isn’t torn apart, I can’t imagine its tormented. Oh, if you were here mom, you would be so embarrassed. I’m such a failure. You tried your best to teach me all of this, and I failed. If only you were….” Paula looked at the paper, glancing over the characteristics once more before tilting her head. “Mom?”
“Huh? Stewie? You didn’t tell me your were mom’s mom.”
“Grandmother, dear. The word you’re looking for is grandmother.” Paula wiped her eyes, standing in front of where she thought the figure was. “You trickster, why would you call yourself Stewie? Were you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“Grandma! I didn’t know it was you. You still owe me an ice cream. You said if I could learn to levitate a book, you would buy me one and I did.”
“Sweetie, grandma passed away before you learned to do that. Remember? We talked about this. Is it really you, mom or is it just a ghost trying to trick me?”
A warmth passed over Paula as if someone had pulled her into a sudden embrace. She lowered her head into the warmth, letting out a content sigh.
“Grandma says she’s sorry. She didn’t realize dying was such a trau? Trau? Traumatic experience.” Mary said, stumbling over the harder word. “She found her way back and now she wants to train me. She didn’t tell you because she wanted to teach me a few spells before you knew, in case you sent her away.”
“Aww mom. I could never send you away. I do, however, want her to spend some time studying like a normal child. That means you have to help her with her homework before any supernatural study. At least an hour a day of homework and then you can teach her. Understood?”
Mary looked at the space. The two whispered back and forth before Mary nodded. “She said it’s ok, but only if you pay off her debt.”
“Debt? Oh, no mom. What sort of debt do you have? Did you sign a deal with the devil? I’m not giving up my first-born child, if that’s what you're suggesting.”
Mary laughed at her mother’s concern. “She never got me that ice-cream, so you have to. Come on, I want to go get a strawberry one. Maybe one day I can even reveal grandma to you with a spell.” Mary took her mom’s hand, dragging her towards the door.
“Ok, fine. Jeez, you two are as bad as each other. Don’t give your poor mother a heart attack.” Paula turned to the spot once more before they left. “I miss you, mom. I hope I can give you a proper hug someday. Wait! Slow down Mary.” Paula felt her daughter tugging her sleeve, pulling her out of the door.
Stewie or Grandma Rina, as she was more commonly known, only watched with a smirk on her face. Perhaps it was cruel to play a prank on her daughter, but it was her way of keeping herself from crying. The last thing she needed was Mary seeing her grandmother cry. When the two left, Rina locked the door, protecting the house until they returned.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 1,355 | "And how many claws does Stewie have?" you ask your daughter as you consult the list your mother gave you. You need to figure out if your daughter's invisible friend is a monster, demon, or fairy and if you have to kill it to save her. | 4,487 |
“And what type of knight am I meant to be?" David said, only to receive a glare from his master.
“You will be a dead one if you keep asking stupid questions like that. Obviously, you are the smart knight. Ok, so take a closer look at her wrists. Can you see how the chains on her wrists have perfectly rounded keyholes? They are too perfectly rounded. Another way to tell is by the conditioning of the metal. Most magic users will summon clean chains because adding the finer details, like rust and wear, is a complicated process. Also… Most princesses aren’t grinning like idiots during the entire demonstration.”
Merlin rubbed his forehead, staring at the demon, Malice, who was still happily smirking to herself, only for her to jump up when she noticed who he was talking to. “Sorry Merelie, it’s just you always find such cute knights. Well, they are cute until they die. I’ll try to be more serious. How’s this?” She gave a pout, making herself look more like a child in time out than a captured princess.
“UNTIL THEY DIE? YOU SAID I WAS THE FIRST!” David said, suddenly feeling a lot less confident about being the chosen hero of prophecy.
“First of your family. Look, there’s a lot of chosen people, not all of them can be grand heroes. Some have to be the steppingstones for others, but I’m sure you will do fine. Also, it’s Merlin, not Merelie. Can we keep some professionalism here? You said you would take this seriously if I spared you.”
“I’m a trickster. This is very serious for me.” Malice said, offended that he would even suggest she was enjoying any part of this.
“Wait? You hired a demon to help me? I’m meant to slay demons.”
“Oh, try to slay me then. You wouldn’t be the first. Come on, step forward, be a brave knight, not a clever one.” She said, trying to lure him into the various traps.
“I didn’t hire her; I requested her help in exchange for her life. It is a contract, not a work agreement.”
“So, you are using her like a slave?” David said, giving Merlin a look of suspicion.
“She tried to eat my soul; this is the least she can do to make it up to me. Don’t side with the demon. Now, can we take this a little more seriously? You will leave in a week. I plan to have you somewhat educated by that time.”
“Ugh. Can’t we just skip to the part where he stabs me? This is boring. I would prefer to be back in hell. At least there I could torment people; this is like I’m the one getting tormented. Huh, maybe tormenting people isn’t a good thing. HEY MERELIE, I learned my lesson that tormenting people is wrong. Can I go now?”
“What? No, of course you can’t go. This isn’t a magic school; you can’t just get dismissed. You have learnt nothing, either. As soon as I release you, you will make another attempt on my life.”
“Oh, come on. She’s learned her lesson. Maybe she can be freed?” David said, only for Malice to laugh at him.
“This is the best you could find. THIS? HE ACTUALLY FELL FOR THAT.” The illusion Malice had set faded as she rolled on the floor, laughing. Hellish flames slipped off her tongue as she found endless joy in the knight’s naivety.
The once decorated throne room now returned to being a common household living room. The floor of the living room was littered with bear traps and even a few magical portals that would teleport the person who stepped onto the portal into a pit.
“Malice, you said you would take this seriously.”
“Sorry Merelie. I just can’t believe he fell for the whole demons can change line. He’s even greener than I thought.”
David stared at his shoes before reaching for his sword. The only thing stopping David from rushing in like a brave knight was Merlin’s hand, pinning his arm to its side. “Take a break David. We will resume your training in an hour.”
David grumbled something about the demon before he stormed out, leaving Merlin to flick his fingers, clearing the traps with a magical gust of wind.
“You said you were going to be helpful. Breaking down their confidence isn’t helping them.’
“Isn’t it? If he realizes how weak he is, he might run away. Isn’t that better than dying to some big, evil monster? You’re the bad guy here, sending him to his death. How old is he? Twenty-two?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one and you’re sending him to his death. How do you sleep at night?”
“Uncomfortably. I recite every fallen hero before I sleep. I refuse to let their memories die until I join them. Don’t think I do this willingly. If it were up to me, I would be the one fighting off evil, not them.”
“Why don’t you? You’re stronger than most humans, hell you’re stronger than most demons. You are the better hero.”
“I’m not the one prophesied to beat them. The church was clear that the hero would be the one of their choosing. I am merely here to guide that hero.”
“Huh? Who even came up with this prophecy business? It sounds like something a demon would say.”
“What are you implying?”
“Just that you may have been getting fooled by a demon this entire time. Put it this way, if I knew someone could kill me, do you think I would wait around for them? No, I would find some way to trick everyone into leaving me alone or sending me some free meals.” Malice licked her lips, turning to Merlin and crossing her arms. “Well, do you agree?”
“To think you may have actually proven to be useful. That makes a frightening amount of sense. Perhaps it’s time that I enter the battlefield. I’ll let David know and may god have mercy on my soul for those I led into battle because of my ignorance.”
“Pfft, you should demand forgiveness from god. He’s the reason we exist. I wonder if those knights you sent to their deaths ended up in…”
Before those words could finish, Merlin tossed Malice against the wall, a blue hand clutching her, threatening to push her through the wood. She attempted to break his spell, only for his grip to tighten. The feeling of the hand closing continued before he broke the spell, allowing her to catch her breath.
“Trickster, you know I am a patient man, but even patient men have their limits. If you plan to keep agitating me, I can return you to hell.”
Malice clutched the floor, gasping for air. Thanks to her demonic blood, it took only a few moments to recover from the damage, quickly rising back to her feet. “And miss this? I’m curious now. Everyone keeps talking about this monster or beast and yet I haven’t even seen them. I want to know what they look like. Plus, I want to make sure your soul doesn’t escape me. Demons don’t take defeat well. Are you certain you don’t want to kill me?”
“You aren’t worth killing. Do as you please. Just know that if you try to harm us, I will get rid of you.”
“Oh, I won’t interfere with your little journey, promise.”
Merlin left his home, meeting David outside, informing the knight of the news. David seemed a little comforted by the fact he would have help, only to realize that the demon was tagging along. Malice floated behind Merlin like a ominous reaper, looming over his every step, not wanting to let him out of her sight.
“Does she have to come? Can’t you send her back to hell?”
“I could, but she could prove useful. If we are dealing with demons, it’s good to have an expert.”
“And what makes you think I’ll tell you anything, Merelie?”
“I just have a feeling you might. Enough talking. Pack your bags, David, and meet me by the gate tomorrow. We can continue your lessons on the road.” David headed back into town to inform his parents of the news while Merlin went back inside, collecting his artifacts and preparing for an early night’s sleep.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 269 | A brave knight would rush to save her. A clever knight would check for traps. But a smart knight would notice she isn't bound at all." | 683 |
I had heard that when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. That you essentially get to view a highlight reel of your best and worst moments, from times that had a great impact on the course of your journey.
I found out that wasn't true. I saw nothing but the pool of blood expanding from my gaping chest wound. No memories or epiphanies, no brilliant lights or beckoning loved ones.
"Not yet, we still have work to do."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating a thousand times through my skull. It was like an opera singer tried to perform a spoken word poem directly into my brain.
I tried to respond, but couldn't move. I couldn't even feel the parts of my face that would make the necessary sounds. I couldn't feel anything.
With a jolt of energy, I sat upright on the pavement. At least, my consciousness did. I could see my body below me, laying in a grotesque pool of blood. I looked down at my current limbs and saw a translucent form instead.
I was dead.
"What the hell?" The voice called again. "What did you do that for, you git? I specifically asked you not to die."
I looked around for the voice, and saw a robed figure floating in my direction. He looked like a middle eastern man, with curly brown hair.
"...what?" I finally managed to say. "Who..."
The robed man let out an exasperated sigh. "The ONE time I have EVER asked something from you and you blow it. Come on Steve, I'll put you with the others."
He raised a hand towards me, and I began to float towards him. He turned on his sandal clad heels and floated back the way he came. I was pulled along like a tiny dog on a leash, powerless to go anywhere else.
"Who are you?" I asked, still bewildered by the last few minutes. "Where are we going?"
The man spoke over his shoulder, not breaking his long stride over nothingness. "My name is unpronounceable to your kind. Some have called me Jesus, other Muhammed, and thousands of different names. And we are going home."
"Home? Do you mean heaven?" I asked, astounded. Was I really going to-
"Nope!" The man said, still walking. "Your home. Its somewhere I know is private, and somewhat relaxing to you. We need to have a talk, Steven."
My blood ran cold. I mean, it was cold, back on the ground with my corpse. I supposed it was just an emotional response to disappointing a parent, not a real physical sensation. I expected to feel it, so I had.
"What-"
Before I could form the question, we stopped. "Here we are, 122 Sedona Drive, Apartment 4B." The man looked back at me. "Aren't you going to let us in?"
I fumbled in my ghostly pockets. "I, uh, think I left my keys in my other body."
The man stared back. "Steven, you're a ghost. You don't have hands anymore. Just lead the way."
I tentatively walked to my apartment door and tried to grab the door knob. To my surprise, the door opened. Or at least a ghostly silhouette of a door opened. Either way, it allowed us to go through.
Once we were inside, the robed man flopped down on my couch, resting his dusty sandals on the coffee table. He indicated I sit as well. I chose to sit in my recliner, not wanting to share the couch with who or whatever this person was.
"Steven" he sighed, looking over at me. "I'm not mad, I'm just dissapointed."
My heart sank, again reminding me that I no longer had that particular organ. By now a coyote or buzzard had that in its belly.
"I had great things in mind for you when I planned this all out." He said, staring at the water stain on my ceiling. "I had meant for you to go to a hospital, where you would meet your soul mate, Veronica. She would have been your care nurse. You two were going to fall in love, get married, and have 4 children. 3 girls and 1 boy."
He tore his gaze away from the stain and made eye contact. "I was to be that boy. You were going to raise me, and I was going to become the second coming of Christ."
I stared back, uncomprehending his words. I was still in shock from that whole dying thing.
"I... I was going to be your dad?" I said, after an uncomfortably long time. "I was going to get married and have kids?"
The man nodded. "See, this humble attitude is why I chose you, Steve. You didn't care about being the next Joseph. You just wanted a family at all." He sighed, and rested his head in his hands. "And yet you fuck up this first step. It took me two fucking THOUSAND years to get to this point, and you fuck it all up. Now I gotta start over."
"How exactly did I mess up?" I asked, feeling the need to defend myself against this holy onslaught.
He raised his head and looked at me. "By dying, of course!"
"...because you arranged to have me stabbed" I responded.
"Yeah, genius. We've established that."
"...how exactly was I supposed to survive that? I think that guy stabbed me in the heart."
The man gestured wildly. "You know, pull yourself together! Have the will to survive! Fight away the darkness like I did!"
I stared at him. "...how?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but no words emerged. After a few moments, he muttered "...oh yeah, right. Humans can't do that." He slapped his forehead. "I was thinking of the Sligggeneths on Ursa Major 7. Dang it."
I couldn't respond to that one. I waited for him to elaborate. After a few slaps to his own forehead, he complied.
"Those Sligggeneths have 3 hearts. They're basically giant octopusses... octopodes... octopi? Big Octopus, whatever the plural of that is in this language. Happy fellows, got 4 tentacle legs and 4 tentacle arms." He rubbed his neck. "Sorry about that".
I stared at him. "You had me killed because you forgot that I wasn't a space octopus?"
"Well when you say it like that it sounds dumb, but yeah. Essentially." He glanced away. "Guess I'll send you out to heaven now. Least I can do."
Before I could respond, the man grabbed me by my shirt collar, and violently threw me straight upwards. This time, I did see a brilliant white light.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you wanna. Or don't. I ain't your momma. Probably. | 11 | "Not yet... we still have work to do" | 27 |
"My fucking finger! Goddammit!" Denzel growled and turned around, but before he could unleash his (im)mortal fury, the owl who seemingly had a taste for finger-lickin' goods was already soaring away into the night sky.
"That fucker's got no idea how long it's gonna take me to regrow that damn thing! On my strong hand too! The nerve. Does he even know how long the gestation period of a bat fetus is?" He sneered, and headed in the direction of home. On foot, just in case that no good fingerlickin' varmint was still on the prowl.
Denzel's lair was an eerie cave, illuminated only by the natural glow of the moonlight, with stray bats who lurked and obeyed his every demand, and a hand-embroidered quilt strung up as a curtain by the entrance of the cave, tributed by Denzel's mother, to protect from the sun.
Unfortunately for Denzel, the opening was at a high altitude. "Time to activate bat mode again, I guess. I swear to god if that little cocksucker is still around, I'm gonna wreck some serious shit."
Also unfortunate for Denzel, he was about to discover the very basis of what mortals refer to as "Murphy's Law". He also discovered that this bat could talk, and that it was Italian.
"*È ora di cena, figlio di puttana!*" The owl screeched, gliding down at an angle designed to kill. Or at least maim.
Denzel hastily switched back into his vampire form, his day now seriously ruined. He threw his head back, channeling the magic in his soul. "*Se mori curvă!*" He cast a fireball out towards the owl, missing him by a solid four feet.
The owl laughed at him in French before screeching back, "*Non parlo imbecille!*"
Denzel was just about bubbling over the top at this point. He summoned the only Italian word that existed in his vocabulary, "*Vaffanculo*!" It stung as it bounced off his chapped, pasty lips.
And with a quick lick of the beak, the owl disappeared into the night, still salivating.
Denzel decided to put up extensive security measures. After some research on TMZ, he discovered that owls are afraid of mortal humans, he put up a scarecrow. He slept that night satisfied.
The next day, the owl came back late in the evening, when Denzel would just be waking up. He noticed the scarecrow. "This
*idiota* thinks I can't tell the difference between a human and an art project?" He laughed to himself in Arabic and perched on a tree just outside the entrance of the cave. Denzel appeared just a few moments later, preparing to go hunt for some breakfast. He didn't realize the owl perched just a few paces above his head, and still remained oblivious as he transformed into his black cloud of bats. The owl swooped down and grabbed another bat in his beak. As he swallowed, his face showed no less than the feeling of victory.
Denzel de-transformed automatically, probably out of shock, and shot a solid fireball directly into the face of the owl. It fell onto the ground, seared perfectly. He added some seasoning and garnish, before devouring the carrion of the owl.
"Alright, well that's the end of an era," Denzel burped. He checked his hands, arms, legs and remaining fingers. Surprisingly, he noticed nothing missing.
Until he tried to use the bathroom. | 13 | You are a powerful vampire and can turn into a cloud of bats at will. Unfortunately, a hungry owl just ate one of your bats, and is coming back for more. | 39 |
"I've never seen the mountains." Her voice was young and giggly. "They're so pretty."
The man smiled. "Yes they are something aren't they?"
Her smile wouldn't come off of her face as she glanced out the window. "They're so big!"
"Oh yea! Some of the biggest in the country!"
"Nu-uh!" She said with disbelief. "And you're taking me to see them?"
"Of course, you deserve it. I was raised in these mountains after all."
"Hmm." She played with her fingers in the backseat. "What did you do in them?"
"Oh, nothing much honestly. Just really played in the woods a lot. It was actually quite lonely."
"You didn't make friends with any of the animals? Like Bambi?"
"Hmm, you make a good point. I never really tried."
She perked up at his compliment. "See!" She giggled. "That's all you have to do is try. I'm sure that all of the Bambi's would love to make new friends!"
"Maybe you can show me?"
She energetically nodded her head, her toy deer bouncing in her lap as she did. "I sure can, don't worry."
The two of them sat in silence for a moment. Only the light hum of the car engine and faint kids music playing over the radio. "So we're going to the woods? Like camping?"
"Exactly! Just like camping! Do you like camping Amber?"
"I just love it." She looked down at her dangling feet for a moment. "Say mister... What's your name again?" | 89 | Write a seemingly adorable heartwarming story that is implied to be rather disturbing, without at any point outright making it disturbing. | 150 |
Derek, Dominic and Enville had not considered facing a demon, when they set out to pass for a single full-sized Man. Yet here one was, plain as day, and twice as ugly.
"Man-thing," The demon snarled, its lip curling in disgust. "None of your kind can kill me, it is ordained." The Creature let out a powerful yet gurgling laugh. "Die Now!"
Lunging at the figure, the three Halflings scattered, and the Demon hit the tree behind them head-first. Reaching for their steely knives, (For how else were they to peel fruit that they foraged from the pastoral paradise wherein they dwelt?) They prepared to defend themselves.
"These things", Derek said, holding up a knife that was singularly unfit for the serious task of demonicide, "Will not do."
"You mean to use that thing?" Enville pointed at the sword that had been slung to their back, mostly for stability. "It'd take all three of us to wield it!"
"Well, I'm Game!" Dominic said, piping up to throw his two-penneth into the discussion, such as it was. Enville merely rolled his eyes. But still he took his place, propping up the blade as the creature came to, not seeing the faces of the three Halflings that had deigned to outsmart it, only the glint of the blade in the ebon night.
Which of course, would prove to be its undoing, as it charged the glint, not thinking that it was a Master-crafted blade, by an artisan Smith in a faraway Human town, that had made its way into the hands of halflings by convoluted means which are another story entirely.
The Point, pun intended, is that this Demon ran itself through, in its haste and rage. And that Three Halflings in a Trenchcoat returned to their village, with the head of a Kurolex Demon. | 48 | No man can kill me!” The demon roared, taking in the carnage it had caused. “But I am no man!” You proclaim, throwing open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trench coat. | 331 |
Three security scans and a pat-down later, I walked down the runway of the Geels Airport to the famed Flight 366-B. The flight that turned the world upside down. Just a week ago, this exact plane arrived on time from Singapore and was expected to offload 204 passengers, all very tired from their 12-hour flight.
Only they didn't get off.
No one did.
When the airport employees got suspicious, they walked up to the plane and found it empty. Vacant. No one inside. 204 passengers and 16 crew members simply vanished without a trace, despite the pilots communicating with the tower just seconds before landing, despite security footage showing no one got off, despite *all sense and logic*.
The uproar this caused was to be expected, of course, and people want an explanation. They need one. There have been no traces of bombs, conflict, any violence, chemicals, nothing, and all that leaves now is the black box. We didn't expect having to use it since it didn't crash, but we're out of ideas. That's where I come on.
I walked onboard the vacant plane with a feeling of dread and curiosity; there's always a peculiar sensation to being alone in places that are normally filled with people but in this case, it's amplified a thousandfold given the context of the situation. Not to mention it had this... odd, offputting smell to it. Like burnt food.
I made my way to the back of the plane through the rows and rows of empty seats until I finally reached the black box; a small little device, bright orange colour despite what some people might think. Laptop opened, wires secured, connection... established. Alright, let's see...
I looked at all available data that I could draw and combined it with everything else I was given. The plane was completely quiet apart from my occasional typing. The files came up on my screen and... and...
I looked down the plane again - it was empty. No one was there. Not a single person. Then I looked back at the readings on my laptop.
There are no people here; this plane is **empty**.
*So why does it say they're all still here.* | 76 | The world is in shock after a commercial plane filled with passengers was found to be completely devoid of people after landing. You are in charge of extracting the black box's data and what you found was beyond any explanation. | 125 |
I wondered what people look like.
I was alone in my opaque bubble of a bedroom, as usual. The bedroom I had spent my entire life in so far. The bed that had served time as a crib, a toddler bed, and now a queen size bed laid where it always had, in the corner opposite the toilet and sink. I had never noticed a transition from one bed size to another, but I supposed it had to have grown at some point. It only made sense. I grew as I got older, so why shouldn't my bed?
A brief burst of static from the overhead speaker heralded the voice that came next. "Subject, consume your nutrients before we commence with the testing." A small tray of food emerged from a section of the wall, bearing all of my favorite foods: bland oatmeal, white bread slices, and a gelatin filled nutritional hydration pouch. I muttered a quick prayer in thanks to the food god, who must be the one referenced on the package.
"Thank you for this bountiful harvest, oh great and powerful Nestlé" I said, before consuming the meal.
"Subject, hold still for medical testing" the voice said again. It was the only voice I had heard besides my own. I loved the way my name flowed from the unseen speaker, the harsh staccato punching its way through the end. I repeated my name aloud as I held out my arm.
"Subject", I said, drawing out the "ct" ending. I continued to repeat the name, distracting myself from the series of needles that prodded my flesh. Some drew small amounts of blood, others injected some sort of clear liquid, but all hurt.
"Subject, proceed to the touchscreen." The voice said. I stopped, confused.
"The what?" I asked, directing my question towards the ceiling.
Without answering, a small rectangle began to flash in a steady pattern on the wall. I approached the beautiful phenomenon, admiring all the new colors as it pulsed. There was the familiar red, blue, and yellow, but now there were more... there was a confusing color that appeared between blue and yellow, transitioning smoothly between the two.
"What..." I began.
The voice interjected before I could form a question. "Pay this no heed, Subject. We need to continue on to testing-"
I slammed my hand against the wall, silencing the voice. It was my turn to interrupt. "What is that color? Between blue and yellow?"
"Subject, that color is called green. Now to todays tests-"
"Are there more colors?" I asked, coldly. "Are there more than just red, blue, yellow, green, and grey?"
The voice was silent.
I stepped back, glaring at the unseen speaker. "What else have you hidden from me?"
The voice resumed. "Subject, answer the following testing inq-"
"NO!" I screamed. "You can't just drop a new color on me and brush it aside! You've been hiding things from me!" I dropped to my knees, and prayed to the one voice I knew would hear my pleas. "Oh Nestlé, bringer of foods and life, I beseech you, reveal the truth from the speaker's lies!"
The voice resumed speaking, but not to me. "Subject 018 has become hostile. Recommend disposal and sanitization."
Before I could begin to wonder what that meant, a cacophony of screeching metal forced me to cover my ears. I fled to the bed, the one place of safety in the room that was my entire world. I hid my head beneath the sheets as a blinding light flooded my vision.
I heard a new voice. It did not come from the ceiling. It sounded different, like my voice when I spoke to myself.
"Containment team, tag her and bag her. Sanitation team, prep the chamber for the next nutrition testing subject."
I glanced out from my covers and saw a person, for the first time in my life. Although this person wore a strange outfit, with a familiar logo embroidered on the chest. Just seeing the logo made me relax.
These people were also worshipers of the Nestlé. I was safe.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more of my misspelled memoirs | 21 | Girl can not leave her special room due to medical condition, only interact with the world through electronics. Lately she is getting suspicious she may be lied to. | 41 |
The mob jostled and pushed forward.
Screaming and holding picket signs.
"JUSTICE! WE DEMAND JUSTICE!" The crowd shouted in unison.
A sea of people rushed against the line of Riot cops, masked and ladened with armor and tactical gear.
Someone smashed a bottle against one of the enforcers, shattering it into glittering pieces.
Gunshots soon followed.
It's fine. It's rubber bullets. That's what they kept telling themselves as they pulled the trigger, repeatedly.
Matthias, early 20s and idealist, was in that mob that day. Got pushed to the front and came face to face with one of the faceless gunmen lined up in front of the Sendai Building, a chrome tower gleaming more than 100 floors into a perpetually grey sky. Product pushed out too early. People died. Corporation untouched. Corpo enforcers and schmoozers having pacified the government on every layer. So now, he was here. Protesting. Still believing he'd make a difference.
He walked up to the man clad in black kevlar, jabbed a finger into his fiberglass riot shield. "Fuck you man. You should be arresting *them*, not us." He pointed behind at the enormous Corporate tower as he said "them".
"Please step away." The faceless officer replied. Then froze.
Mathias's eyes widened at the same time the officer's did. They stared at each other.
"Bill? That you?"
The officer remained silent.
"Bill Hoffman. That's you isn't it?" Mathias pressed, staring intently at the officer's mask, trying to peer behind the tinted visor at his eyes.
The cop pressed a button at the side of his neck. "Back off, citizen." Voice was modulated now.
"You piece of shit. I can't believe you fucking sold out man!"
"Move. Along." Modulated voice crackled in response, getting angry.
"So that's why you disappeared on us all those years ago. Too coward to face us and own it. Own that you're a fuckin' pig now." Mathias stepped even closer jabbing a finger past the officer's shield and jabbing him on the chest.
"Shut the fuck up!" Shield rushed forward and bashed Mathias on the face, breaking his nose and cutting his lip open. "Don't fucking call me a pig."
Mathias clutched at his nose, drooling crimson. "Motherfucker! Beating up unarmed guys. Feel like a big man now huh Bill? Piece of shit!"
"Get the fuck outta here man!!" The officer shoved at Matthias again with his shield, with slightly less force this time. Maybe a little remorseful at having busted his face open. Voice tinged with desperation.
"I'm going to expose you, Bill. Fucking dox you. Tell everyone in the Quarter that you've went and joined the cops. That you're part of the riot crews beating down on people. That you're in bed with the fucking corpos."
The cop froze for a split second, quiet. Then shouted, voice hoarse through the distortion. "No... don't! Don't do it man. My ma still lives there. Jesus, Matt you know how those slumrats are. They'll kill her just to get at me!" The words trickled out of his mouth in a panicked slurry. Then he stiffened up, realizing. He fucked up.
Mathias pounced. "Fucker, I knew it! You're done, Bill. I'll have your name plastered all over the net by tonight. Better sleep with your eyes open from here on out, fuckface."
Bill pressed the button at his neck again. "Wait! Just hold on a minute. Let's work something out, man. I step aside and let you guys through to, I don't know, trash the fucking corpo building or whatever the fuck you guys are here to do, and you forget about putting that target over my back. Deal? I'm as good as dead once that info hits the net, you know that, and I'd rather get fired than shivved to death by some scav."
Mathias frowned in disgust, but nodded. "Deal, but only because we used to be friends, Bill. Watch your fucking back."
Bill lowered his shield, then stepped aside. Gunshots and screaming still erupted in the background, and as soon as he stepped aside, the crowd lurched through the opening like water pouring through a crack in the dam.
All hell broke loose.
The cop line, now surrounded and dispersed, fighting for their lives against an angry, bloodthirsty mob. Bill cracked a protestor's head open with a baton, his back against his fellow officer's as they made their last stand.
Half of the mob remained to beat on the riot police, the other half continued rushing in towards the tower, molotovs ready and intent on burning the place to the ground.
Matthias and the mob rushed the tower... and were dead within seconds upon stepping through the entrance.
Sentry guns spiraled out of the walls of the lobby, splaying out like unfurling flowers. Sendai Corpos and Zaibatsu CyberSamurai modded up to hell and with implants to the gills mopped up those still standing from the initial sentry gun salvos.
Blood oozed in thick viscous puddles across the glossy laminated floor, staining and partially covering the SendaiCorps logo.
Outside, Bill's partner had gotten yanked away from him and into the mob- bloodcurdling wails ringing out before being cut off with a wet hiss as someone slit her throat beneath her armor.
Bill raised his hands in surrender. "Please. I've got a wife and kid..."
The mob responded by grabbing his gun from him and beating him to death with the butt of his rifle, amidst a flurry of curbstomps and kicks coming from all sides.
Eventually, PD Tactical were called in, Spec Op commandos armed to the teeth with lethal weapons. Mob dispersed from the front of the building after the first few sprays of lethal ammunition.
In the end, after all that death, business carried on as normal. Sendai cleaned up the lobby, bodies were dumped into a mass crematorium, and a story about terrorists and dissidents killing officers and invading the Sendai Building made the rounds through the mass media. The news articles made sure to emphasize that the 'terrorists' were thoroughly and easily crushed.
The Sendai building remained standing, piercing a perpetually grey sky.
...
/r/TopReputationWrites | 28 | “Please step away.” The masked police officer said sternly. You couldn’t tell, but under his blacked out googles his eyes just went wide in realization that his voice modifier was off, and you just recognized his voice. | 77 |
He stared at the thing in the fridge, as it sat in the vegetable drawer. It writhed subtly with its eyes shut, dreaming.
"So, these have been around for how long?"
"They've always existed. I don't get how you've never had to deal with one."
Ulfgard, the head gardener of the castle, had invited over one of the guards he had befriended, after finding the creature in his fridge. He'd had no idea before this moment that such a thing as a fridge dragon existed.
"I thought dragons were meant to be giant, fire-breathing things?"
"Oh, this one breathes fire as well. Leave it asleep and call in an expert."
"There are experts..?"
"Well, anyone who knows anything about dragons in general. Try the wizard."
Ulfgard stroked his enormous red beard. "I've not had much luck with the wizard. He looks down on those like me."
"A fridge dragon could be a danger to the castle, if a minor one. Ask him."
​
"Hmm..."
After the guard left, Ulfgard sent for the wizard. The old hat-bearing man was wearing his blue cloak today. The one with the golden stars.
"No, I'm afraid this is way out of my expertise."
"You deal with dragons, don't you?"
"Well, yes, of course I deal with dragons!" the wizard griped. "Yet there are a great many differences between types of dragon. This, a fridge dragon? Far below my pay grade."
"I was told you'd help."
"What, by a guard? What do they know? Get someone else to do it."
"You could at least point me in the right direction."
"Alright, fine. Try the alchemist, I've heard tell of her interest in dragons."
With a flourish of his cloak, the wizard disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving Ulfgard gagging.
​
A while later, after he'd been into town, Ulfgard hid behind his bed while the alchemist measured the cat-sized dragon. She held string with markings only an inch above the creature, yet still it slept.
"Oh, don't you worry, these things use fridges to hibernate. No chance of it waking up."
Cautiously, Ulfgard untangled himself from his fallen blanket, slightly embarrassed. Up close to the dragon, he could now see the iridescent scales shimmering in the fridge's lantern.
"It's a beautiful little thing, isn't it?" the alchemist observed.
"Now I can see it properly, yeah, it is. I can't have it sitting on my cabbages though."
"Yeah, you'll need them at some point. Now..." She placed on hand just above the dragon's nape. "I'm about to try something, so this might get hairy. Step back a bit."
Ulfgard hid behind the bed again.
"If that's where you're comfortable." With her free hand, she removed a flask from her bag. Inside was a mound of vermillion powder. Sparks flew between the grains as the contents shifted. In a single movement, she opened the lid with her thumb and dusted the head of the dragon. Its breathing slowed considerably.
"Right, that'll keep it down for a few hours."
"Thank you, truly," Ulfgard responded once his senses returned. "What'll happen to it now?"
"I'll give it to my mate. She's got a fascination about dragons stronger than my own. Most likely take this beasty into the mountains, where it can hibernate properly... Well, no point talking when I'm holding a fridge dragon. Be seeing you."
He waved her off, relieved to be rid of the dragon once and for all. | 10 | "What do you MEAN you've never heard of the Fridge Dragon??? EVERYONE'S heard of the Fridge Dragon!!" | 19 |
“This fucking A/C doesn’t do shit down here,” I lamented as I drove my 1999 Honda Civic over the jagged pavement that was composed entirely of human and animal skeletons. I’d been driving for four hours. The stench of sulfur was permanently ingrained in my nostrils. Smoke filled my lungs like I’d just huffed a whole carton of Marlboros. The temperature dial on my dashboard wasn’t even working anymore… but it was probably at least 400 degrees, judging by, I dunno, the twenty foot high wall of flames that lined the road. At last, I arrived.
“This bastard better fucking tip well,” I thought to myself as I ascended the marble staircase, whose top wasn’t even visible from where I started. I kept climbing, noticing that the temperature cooled as I got closer and closer to the top. I knock on the door, a small, nondescript slab of wood. A man emerges with two horns in his head and a star shaped necklace. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of cargo shorts, with flip flops.
“You’re here!” He exclaims. “I’ve been expecting you. But first, care to join us for some beach volleyball?”
I gazed in bewilderment as he leads me to a white patch of sand. On each side of my net stands friends and family that I had lost and hadn’t seen in years. In the middle, a large cooler of beers… foreign, domestic, craft, it had everything! Suddenly I feel the sensation of a rubber ball dropping at my feet and look down. My dog Scruffy! I kneel down and he gives me a kiss. “I missed you too pal!” I say to him.
Then it hits me… Satan is… a good guy? I’ve never been more confused in my life. “You’re… the Devil, right?” I ask my host. “I thought you were supposed to torture people!”
He starts laughing. “Yeah, a lot of stuff gets lost in translation I suppose. But think about it… humans are only alive for a finite amount of time. So does eternal punishment really make sense? Besides, if I punish people for doing wrong, wouldn’t that make me a good guy?”
“So you just punish people for whatever their sins are and then you let them live here? In this giant tropical paradise?”
“You got it! But the punishment has to fit the crime. For example, right now you’re committing the crime of not paying attention to the ball during my serve. So your punishment is…”
WHACK
“… being hit in the head!”
Everyone let out a joyous laugh, myself included. We finished the game, and I followed him into another room. It occurred to me that I left the pizza in my car. I was embarrassed but somehow knew he wouldn’t be upset about it… but when I told him, he had no idea what I was talking about.
“Huh? A pizza? I didn’t order a pizza. I thought you were here to fix the plumbing!”
“But I got this receipt here that shows you did!” I pulled it out of my pocket, since I’d put it there as a kind of souvenir for a once in a lifetime pizza delivery. “Three extra large pepperoni and sausage pizzas delivered to…”
Oh. No. I did that thing I do sometimes where I only read one line of a three line message, instead of all three. Sheepishly, I gulped and read out the full text:
“ANTHONY
LORD OF HELL
MICHIGAN”
I sighed. “Well someone named Anthony in Michigan isn’t gonna be a happy Marco’s customer. You know what though? Screw it. How about another game of volleyball?” | 11 | You are a pizza delivery driver. Your latest order involves you delivering a pizza to... wait let me double check this real quick... The Lord of Hell? | 18 |
"listen, I dont know what you're talking about but-"
"AH AH AH!" a monkey's yell from the basement cut me off, they're probably gonna write something that's gonna repeat all... *this*.
"**I do not care about what you believe is true or not MORTAL**" the being that seems to be made out of sunlight rebutted, "**YOU SHOULD BE THANKFUL THAT YOU ARE NOT DEAD FROM GAZING AT MY TRUE FORM**" it added,
I raised my hands, "that I am, you can be sure of that but I swear it's the-"
"**last chance mortal! if you still act ignorant and blame these... unevolved homos as the ones who obtained information from beyond the rift you will be executed right here right** ***now*****.**" the being's voice turned cold at the end of his sentence,
"**do you think I am stupid mortal?**" after a while of not answering, the deity added. "**stating that these... monkeys! are the ones who obtained information regarding** ***gods?***"
I nodded, "yeah I mean-"
a spear of light held by a hand that grew out of the being's back phased through the air, damaging a part of my cheek and piecing the floor. Eyes appeared on the humanoid's face, they narrowed to finally show emotion,
"**I do not give this many chances, but you are useful.**" it said,
"LISTEN OKAY?! LISTEN I THINK YOU'RE GENUINELY MISTAKING SOMETHING HERE!" I raised my arms forward in hopes that it'll stop whatever this guy is gonna do next, "IT IS NOT ME!"
its eyes narrowed even further until they turned into slits, "**very well, I will give you the benefit of the doubt and I shall see what these primates do in order to get information about us, and if it is confirmed then I shall take them for myself."**
it started walking away, "**however mortal, I must warn you, if what you have said is a lie and instead what I will see is nothing but incoherent jibberish that should not belong in any language then-**"
a monkey burst out of the door at this moment, carrying a piece of paper. He passed the god and handed me the paper, a smile on its face, clearly wanting a reward.
I reached my hand out to a nearby basket, grabbed a banana, and handed to the monkey wwho happily went back inside.
"-**I will kill you.**" the god finished his sentence and grabbed the parchment handed to me, and his slits for eyes widened as he started to read through it,
"**hmmm...**" a smile bloomed on its face as its eyes went back to me, "**it seems that you arent lying human,**" it stated,
the paper burned and the god reached a hand "**In courtesy and respect of you managing to train these lesser beings to do the things that they do, I shall buy them instead of taking them by force,**
"**shake it human, and I will gladly give you enough power that you will be able to turn your world upside down with but a flick of your wrist,"**
"wait what?" I muttered but before I could continue, the god went on-
"**a planet is such a small price to pay for beings capable of obtaining information about my own kin,**"
the smile that he had grew wider when I reached my hand out to grab his, an ugly chasm on his otherwise pristine yellow face. | 685 | You, as a sort of joke, train monkeys to use typewriters and leave them in a room to do their thing. As time passes, various deities, eldritch monstrosities, and otherworldly beings start randomly approaching you, asking you how you found their private info. | 3,971 |
The boys in their khaki shirts and shorts, pine green sashes filled with honors and merit badges, stared at the demon who rose from the pentagram drawn with sticks in the dirt. It was smaller than they anticipated, whinier, too.
"Fools" it squeaked, pointing a hooked finger towards them. "You children summoned *me*?"
They looked at one another. Some shrugged, others shook their head. Unsure what to do or say now that it was here, but Blake, Troop Leader, stepped forward. "Uh, yeah. We summoned you."
"For?" Its wide yellow eyes widened.
"To get the Conjure Badge."
"A badge?" The demon spat. "What the hell's that?"
"It's an award, after completing something," Blake said. "We conjured something from Hell... You."
The demon deflated a little. "Oh, so you didn't summon for any specific purpose?"
They laughed. "Nope, plus, what could you do? You're tiny!"
It shrunk into itself more, running its claws over its protruding head, rubbed his pointed ear. "Lucifer always said size doesn't make the demon—"
They continued to laugh.
"My little sister's bigger than you!"
A couple pointed as they doubled over, holding their bellies.
"A kitten could probably eat you!"
A few in the back wiped tears from their eyes.
"We should just throw him in the river and try again."
More and more the boys teased the Demon, more and more they said things that even it hadn't heard in Hell, more and more the Demon shrunk into itself until it was crouched holding its crooked legs against its hollow chest, head buried between its knees. It held back the sickly tears building behind its eyes, tried to ignore the remarks and comments, pleaded to be sent back to Hell for it was far better there than here...
Someone called in the distance and the boys stopped and dispersed, returning back to the cabins outside the forest. One boy remained. A pudgy one with a blonde bowl cut. He walked to the circle surrounding the Demon and said, "I'm sorry they did that... They do it to me, too, because I'm fat and short."
The Demon looked up at him, his chubby cheeks freckled. "They do?"
He nodded, crouched. "All the time."
It sniffled, backhanding its eyes. "Why do you stay?"
"Parents make me," he said. "They want me to make friends, be *normal*, but... I don't wanna be like any of them."
"I don't blame thee," it said.
Silence fell over them, an understanding of ridicule for something they couldn't control, then: "Do you want to go back?"
"More than anything."
"Okay," the kid stood and began reciting gibbering, fast words, and before a fuchsia light bled from the lines and a wink of blinding light appeared, the Demon smiled and said: "Thank you."
Then, it was gone and the boy, now alone, realized even though he knew nothing about the Demon, he already missed it. After a while, he turned and went back to camp.
---
If you enjoyed the story and want to read more of my work, visit my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/MicahCastle/) and consider subscribing. | 243 | "Fools!" The demon screamed as it rose from the portal, "You are not prepared!" The Boy Scouts found this amusing. | 708 |
I poured myself a hearty portion of mead before sitting down comfortably in my armchair. The weather outside was rather nice so I had the windows open, providing a nice gust of fresh air throughout the apartment. A good day to go. And a good day to enjoy the show.
15:03 ticked on the clock and a flash of light filled the room; where my table once stood was only a charred pile of wood on top of which stood Ah-Puch; a Mayan god me and my friends managed to piss off when we got together for drinks and... sort of messed around with some relics. In our defence, who would believe something like this would actually happen, right? He did not take kindly to such insolence and assured us all of our impending doom yet in his benevolence granted us all a year to settle our affairs.
Bad call.
See, most of my friends fell into a deep depression, but me? It's liberating. Ah-Puch is a god of Death so I *know* I can't die before he deems it so, meaning I can do *whatever I want* without any risk. And now that I know that the supernatural exists, well... I went on a bit of a bender. A carefully calculated one to maximize my enjoyment of my impending death.
"Samuel," Ah-Puch said, breaking me out of my reminiscing mood.
"Your lordship," I replied with a smile and tipped my drink to him.
"I see you are not running; an admirable quality. Unlike your friends, you accept your punishment at my hands."
"Well, who am I to argue with a god, right?" I chuckled.
"You are wise in your last words. Are you re-"
"Actually," I interrupted lightly, "if you wouldn't mind waiting *juuust* a second, I have some friends coming over that I'd love for you to meet."
Ah-Puch squinted his eyes at me but had no time to question me before a portal opened in a wall, out of which walked a tall man dressed in an intensely colourful outfit.
"Samuel, mon!" he yelled out jovially. "I'm glad ya' still here man! Been getting worried ya'd be runnin' an' - who dis?" he said as he noticed the other god in the room.
"Ah, you haven't met?" I smiled. "Baron Samedi, this is Ah-Puch. Ah-Puch, this is Baron Samedi. We've struck a little deal and-"
"Dat I've come to collect, dear Sam. Ya soul is-"
"Cease," Ah-Puch commanded loudly, "I care not for your frilly dealing. I have come to take this mortal to the underworld and"
"Now hold on mon," Samedi resisted, "I've-"
Another portal appeared; a piece of furniture came to life.
"Samuel/𝐻𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛," two voices said in perfect, unsettling unison, "we are/𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 collect/𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 your/𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙/essence- who/𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡-"
"Are dose conjoined fey?" Samedi said with surprise not befitting a god.
Two more portals. Looks like... ah yes, a crossroads demon and Apollo. The latter actually got me a really sweet chariot earlier this year.
"THE GOD OF SUN HAS- what?"
"Oh now hold ya twits, dis is-"
"𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑠/Impossible this is not/𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑎-"
"This mortal's soul rightfully-"
The cacophony of mixed voices was akin to the sweetest song for me as I sipped my drink. The chaos was beyond enjoyable. I looked at my watch and an ever wider smile spread on my face; we should be getting a rather important guest about now.
A dark red portal appeared on the floor and the room went silent as two horns, followed by a tall, red-skinned figure in a sharp black suit rose from it.
"Samuel," said Satan, "I am here as per our- *oh what the* ***Hell!***" | 746 | Your party accidentally enrages a God, but certain doom is oddly liberating. Cursed weapons, monkey paws, contracts with demons; nothing is off the table. You have no chance of winning, but your deaths shall be GLORIOUS! | 2,698 |
The numbers had just appeared one day. The night before, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. The next morning, I had seen my first number. Directly above my head was a ghostly "0", shimmering like the surface of a pond on a chilly day.
I saw more etherial numbers that day, the vast majority being zero's like mine, but a few had a one. I couldn't understand what it meant, what this ghostly counter was indicating. I thought it may have even been some sort of binary code, until I saw a two.
Shortly after the numbers had appeared, I was summoned for jury duty. While I walked through the halls of the court house, I saw more numbers. Some two's and three's hovered above the heads of police officers and defendants alike. I still could not tell what they meant, but I was beginning to form a theory.
When I was sat in the jury box, as the selection process began, I saw the numbers above the four men sitting before me. The prosecution and defense had a 0 each, the judge had a 1, and the man in the shackles had a 22.
The prosecutor asked me if I would believe the man had killed 21 people. I had answered "21? Not 22?"
The shackled murderer had responded with shock and alarm. "How did you know?" He had blurted out.
I had been subsequently dismissed.
Now, on my way home from the courthouse, I had time to think. Time to process what this all meant. These numbers were a body count? Why was I seeing this? Why did I suddenly see how many souls had been claimed by a person?
As I pondered, I heard the first scream. I was shaken from my thoughts as the second scream joined the first, and then another.
Then, I saw him.
A man was calmly walking away from the source of the noise. There was nothing particularly off about him, except for the number rapidly growing above his head. A particularly large explosion shook the bus stop I was seated in, and the man's number jumped by twenty.
Before I could think, I was on my feet, charging at the man.
I struck him with my shoulder, in a football tackle move that I hadn't used since JV high school football. It wasn't a particularly good tackle, which was the same reason that had kept me on the JV squad a decade ago. But it was enough.
The man stumbled a few steps back, into the oncoming lane of traffic. Then, he was gone. With a sickening crunch, the oncoming bus carried the man away, but not in the way it was supposed to.
I saw my own number in the reflection of the windows as it passed. It no longer showed the ghostly zero. It ticked up to one.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more. I kinda disappointed myself with this one, honestly, but some of the others on there may be more interesting | 106 | you have the ability to see people’s kill count. this number is usually at 0, maybe a 1. your waiting at the bus stop and notice a man walking briskly past you. nothing in particular stands out about this man, except that his number is rapidly going up. you hear screaming in the distance. | 214 |
Today marks the day, fifteen years since the great blight. Some say it was the death of a god, some say it was a failed landing by extraterrestrials. Either way, what was left was a giant hunk of glowing substance, sitting peacefully still in a gigantic crater. Our little village, just a few kilometres away from the impact site, remained somehow unharmed from whatever celestial event that took place there.
At first, the event brought scientists, archeologists, curious minds and eventually tourists to our village. But year after year, tests after tests, nobody was able to figure out what this mysterious glowing substance did. And soon most people gave up the search and left. Our little village, which had originally profited from the increased attention and tourists, was left starving again.
Last winter, a particularly harsh one, left our village decimated, starving, and our population almost halved. Out of sheer desperation, my mother went to inspect the glowing crater sitting just a few steps away from our humble cottage. She took the tiny shiv that she had fashioned out of a sharp stone and cut out a small piece of the mysterious, glowing substance. And she took a bite.
And another.
And another...
Turns out, this mysterious substance was not only edible, it was delicious. It had the flavours of a thousand different foods, and you could taste the aroma of every one of them on your tongue at the same time. Not only that, when this substance was given to a sick child in our village, it miraculously healed him within days. The entire village soon took advantage of our unique, and plentiful stockpile of this substance. You could cook delicious dishes, and even dissolve it in water for a refreshing drink. Our population grew and recovered steadily, and everyone was in a state of bliss.
I woke up today, and had a drink of cosmic sparkling water. It has been tradition every year to pay respect to the gods that so narrowly spared us fifteen years ago, and have since even sustained our lives. I've always hated the crowds, so I travelled to the crater alone early in the morning to spend some time in peace. Just as I arrive at the foot of the crater, something strange happened. The sun suddenly seemed brighter than usual, and when I raised my hand to block the sunlight, I noticed my hand was glowing. Something was wrong.
I looked at my hand proper, and found a small sparkling mist. It was not the sunlight reflecting, there was something truly... magical in my hands. I thought about the day of the blight so many years ago, at that exact moment I was holding a yellow toy truck in my hands. And that very same truck appeared in my hands! I was so amazed that I ran straight home to show my mother.
And I found her... gently floating above our little cottage? | 199 | A god has fallen in a great battle, it's massive body crashed to earth in a huge crater in a poor part of the world. Its celestial body does not decay and the people begin harvesting it for meat to feed the starving population, only later to find that eating it changes them. | 821 |
Justice sat across form the monster, is six feet of fur, claws and rage. Chains bound his body, and Justice could see winces as it caught in the creature's fur. A muzzle rested over it's elongated jaws.
'Wolffather.' Justice said, distain dripping form her voice.
'Justice,' the beast snarled in return.
'Where is she?'
'She?' The beast asked, contempt think in it's snarl.
'Shifter. You know, your ladyfriend. Where is she.'
The creature let out a low, growling laugh. 'Where THEY is none of your business.'
Justice slammed her hand on the table. The steel bent at her heavy slam. 'It's my business when they are breaking the law.'
'And what law would that be?'
'We have a credible source she-'
'Your source is talking out their ass. THEY have bigger problems at the moment.'
'So you deny that she is breaking the law?'
'I deny that they are doing anything wrong.'
There was silence as justice stared daggers at the caged beast. Rage was palpable in his eyes, and she could feel her frustration boiling over.
She sighed theatrically. 'Why are you bad guys always SO progressive?' She scoffed. 'She is a shapeshifting assassin. You think I give a damn what she wants to be called? The law is the law, beast. And when you break it, there are consequences.'
She could see the beast grinding his teeth, rage fueled in his eyes.
'Do you know how we met?' The beast asked.
'You were robbing-'
'Not you and I, Shifter and I.'
Justice laughed. What do I care?'
'Shifter was new to the scene then. The government said they could use their help, and she was working for them as a spy. And she was good at it. Ask your friends at the pentagon sometime, see if they will give you their full file.'
'Then one day, the office comes to her with a new job. Some bigshot senator has his face in the dirt, they want shifter to run the old honeypot game to draw him in.'
'Our country asks terrible things of us,' Justice demanded, steel in her voice.
'True. But senator dickhead wasn't dirty, at least not how he was told. He was pulling strings at the pentagon, and decided he wanted a toy he could use as he pleased.'
'Says you.'
'Says me,' he agreed, but that hardly matters. I was working with Control at the time, and he decided the best time blackmail senator shithead was while he was balls deep in his affair. So we bust in, and immediately I can smell something wrong. Fear, but not normal fear. She smelt...different. Control could feel her mind, and rummaging through both got the whole story.'
Pieces began to click together in Justice's mind. 'Way, was this Senator Carlson? The one who did a swan dive out of a 30th story window?'
'Oh, he dove alright. He dove for his gun, but Control got a hold first. By the time we got the whole story out into the light of the moon.' He smiled. 'We asked shifter what she wanted. They said they wanted a very public downfall. So we gave it to them.'
Justice met his gaze unflinchingly, but couldn't hold it. 'What does that have to do with anything?'
'Shifter could become anyone they wanted. Effortlessly. It truly is a gift. But everyone- their school, their parents, their country- did everything they could to tell her what they had to be. And not be. Control may have read her mind, but he let her make her own decisions. He told Shifter that all they had to be was themselves.'
Justice laughed. 'By stealing and murdering?'
'Stealing from thieves, murdering self-righteous bastards.' He growled back. 'Those bigshots you rub elbows with it didn't get there by selling sunshine and rainbows. And if you think they are in the right, then Justice truly is blind.'
Justice reached across the table again, effortless lifting the beast by one of his chains. She could see the links constrict on his windpipe, his growls slowly fading. 'Where is she?' Justice demanded.
'Turns out Carlson left shifter a little surprise present, one she doesn't intend to deliver. Unfortunately, your bigshot friends made that really difficult, especially for a known criminal. So they are having that taken care of.'
'An abortion.' She laughed. 'All this is about an abortion?'
'Your source is entitled to a bounty for snitching.' His eyes were consumed with rage. 'And shifter would really rather put that part of their life behind them. So yeah, this is about an abortion.'
Justice tossed the furry beast into a wall. His chains rattled against the concrete, and he collapsed to the ground. 'Where?'
'You asked me earlier why bad guys are always so progressive.' The creature's voice was low, and full of anger. 'We became bad when we turned on society. A society that vilified, commodified and repressed us.' He spat on the floor of the cell, a blob of blood and spit. 'You do what it tells you, and tell yourself it is right of us. We do what's right for us, no matter what anyone says.' He looked her dead in the eye. 'So we are the bad guys.'
She looked down at the pathetic creature. 'Justify it however you want. But you WILL tell me where she is before I leave this room.' She cracked her knuckles. 'Justice demands it.'
'Justice is a bitch.' He replied. | 16 | "Why are the bad guys always so progressive?" | 37 |
"It's been a while since your last trip."
Faela frowned, carefully stirring her tea exactly three and a half times.
"I know Dad. I'm worried about Cin. She normally sends me a message every week, but I haven't had anything for the last two."
The King gave an agreeable grunt. He looked over at the Queen, who sighed.
"You're wanting to go and visit her, don't you?"
The Queen rolled her eyes, glaring at her husband.
"She's your daughter through and through."
The King just laughed.
"Good! I don't mind if you want to go and see what's wrong. I'm sure Greval would be happy to escort you."
Faela grinned. Greval was one of her favourite knights, having run around with him since he was a young squire.
"Thank you!"
\-----
"So... what do you thinks wrong with her?"
Greval was genuinely curious. He had fought Cin a few times, a fierce battle of wits. He had to admit she still outclassed him at chess, but he was getting better.
Faela twisted a strand of hair nervously.
"I really don't know. I don't think anyone would have slain her, but maybe she's ill?"
He frowned. It was highly concerning. It was an open secret that the dragon Cinderwind had a special relationship with the country. On paper, she would kidnap the Princess, hold her to ransom, and be done with it. But everyone knew she liked the royal family. The kidnapping was more an extended sleepover. The ransom was simply a payment for her to help guard the place, which she was happy to accept despite not requesting it. If she was ill, that would leave the kingdom vulnerable.
They looked down from the top of the ravine she called home. Her cave entrance was as wide open as ever, it's stream of flowing water continuing unabated.
"Well, let's get this climb over and done with."
Grevals voice was determined. Faela just nodded, letting him lead the way. It was a long, tight path to get there.
Partway down, they heard an unmistakable sound. Thudding, as large wings battered the air into submission. Their eyes turned to the sky, seeing an enormous scaled beast soar out from the cave below. But instead of seeing the familiar emerald green scales, they saw a dragon the colour of the sky. Brilliant blue scales shone down on them, bringing with it a new concern. Greval was the first to voice it, his tone low and scared.
"Could... could that be why.... could that dragon have...?"
Faela seized his arm, squeezing it.
"No! That can't be it. She can't be..."
But her eyes spoke her hidden thoughts. Tears shimmered, before being blinked away.
"We have to get there. Come on!"
\-----
As quietly as possible, they crept across the ravines floor. Bodies tense, each tried to maintain an aura of calm for the other. They peered into Cinderwind's cave, listening. From inside came a low, steady breath. One that they immediately recognised.
Throwing caution to the wind, Faela ran in. Greval reached to stop her, fingers clutching empty air. He hissed, breaking out from cover to follow her.
They ran in, heading towards the source. It came from the room she classed as her resting spot. Faela saw in first, seeing her friend lying there. She looked the same as ever, sleeping soundly in her normal spot. Until she was startled awake by the Princess's sudden embrace.
"Cin! I was so worried!"
"F... Faela? What are you doing here?"
Her eyes suddenly shot up.
"Oh! Oh bother. I knew I had forgotten something."
Greval walked up, opening his mouth. But before he could, a loud shout rang out from the entrance.
"Intruders!"
Faela and Greval jumped, feeling the cave shake as titanic footfalls fell. The same blue dragons head rushed into view, swiftly followed by its stock body.
"Cinny! Are you ok?"
Cinderwind bared her teeth, amusement evident.
"I'm fine Dawnfang. We just have some visitors."
Her yellow eyes focused on the two very small humans.
"Faela, Greval, this is Dawnfang, my mate. Dawnfang, this is Princess Faela and Sir Greval of the Opile Kingdom."
Faela curtsied.
"A pleasure to... wait... mate?!"
Cinderwind shifted, revealing a clutch of rough, oval eggs.
"My mate." | 159 | The Dragon hasn't stolen the princess in months. So the princess goes to the dragon to see what's wrong. | 343 |
Alandra walks through my town, then approaches me.
“You. I choose you,” she says.
“Me?” I say. “You’re the deity of love and sex and all that, why would you choose me?”
The other people look shocked, my dad is covering his face with his hands. My best friend Samlis is trying to contain his giggles.
“You’re the most beautiful in the Kalpo Kingdom. Of course I’d choose you. We’ll have to work on your self-confidence, though.”
“You’re not in charge of beauty though, that I’d understand. It’s that I’ve never had sex, and I don’t know if I’ve fallen in love. Ask someone else,” I say.
“I chose you, though. The only way you can get out of this is if another deity chooses you, too. Then you choose who to follow,” Alandra says. I’ve never heard this before, it hasn’t popped up in any of the stories.
“I’ll do that then.”
The next day me and Samlis set out to find Alkanar, Lord of Stories, a minor deity. Plus it gives us an excuse to check out the library in Wonya.
On the road, a group of boys pass by.
“Looking hot!” one says. I roll my eyes. Samlis laughs. Honestly, he seems to think it funny when people are attracted to me, cause he knows I won’t be returning the favor.
Eventually, we come across someone with a wagon, and hitch a ride for the last few miles. The driver is a really nice baker who was visiting her sister, and is now returning to Wonya.
“If you’re from Wonya, do you know much about Alkanar?” I ask, “Is he looking for a Chosen One?”
“He doesn’t have one currently, but he’s very peculiar about who he’ll choose. He says they have to be both interested in stories, have an interesting story, and becoming his Chosen One ‘fits well into their arc’. I once asked him, but he said I’d be more interesting without it.”
When we arrive, Samlis goes to find a hotel for the night, and I head straight to the library. It’s a huge, ugly building, but inside is filled with books
I look through the shelves for Alkanar, but a book about dragons and their history distracts me.
“Enjoying that book?”
“It’s great. Did you know dragons used to choose their leaders by a vote, but then switched to monarchies in imitation of us?” I look up “Alkanar? I came here to look for you. I ask that you would consider me for your Chosen One.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I love stories.”
“Your love of stories won’t be affected by being a Chosen One. Why do you want me to choose you?” he asks.
“She doesn’t want to have sex, or date people,” Samlis says, rounding the bookshelf.
“Alandra wants me to be her Chosen One, but as Samlis interrupted, that would be awkward, and she told me the only way I could get out, would be if another deity also chose me. And I like stories, so I thought of you,” I say.
“Not only is that interesting in your story, it might start a conflict between me and Alandra. I’ll choose you,” Alkanar says. “Wait, what’s your name?”
“Thranli. And I accept your request, Alkanar, Lord of Stories.” | 29 | The local deity of sex and love has chosen the most beautiful youth in the kingdom as her Chosen One. Turns out the youth is both asexual and aromantic. | 102 |
# Soulmage
**"You know you can tell me anything, right?"** The Demon of Empathy sat across from me on a stuffed straw couch. Considering that they were an extradimensional entity, the form they chose was surprisingly human: barrel-chested, broad-shouldered, and even wearing a pair of thin-rimmed glasses that weren't there the last time we'd met.
I sat down on my own couch. It was irritating and ill-fitting, but that just meant it reminded me of home. I was pretty sure the Demon of Empathy had done that on purpose. "I *can* tell you anything," I countered. "Whether I *should* is another matter entirely."
The Demon of Empathy leaned forwards, steepling their fingers beneath their chin. "Are you afraid of hurting me?"
Of course a damn Demon of Empathy would see right through me. It was an irrational fear—I'd experienced the Demon of Empathy's power and wisdom firsthand, and to nobody's surprise, even the vilest of the dark thoughts that whispered in my ear were nothing compared to what the ancient entity knew. And yet still I shrugged and said, "I'd hurt anyone else if I talked about it." *Even myself,* I thought, although I tried not to let it show.
The Demon of Empathy raised a hand, and the scenery around us *blurred*. I'd gotten better at understanding the strange place that lived in my dreams where the demon and I had our talks. One of its rules, apparently, was that the Demon of Empathy could shift the appearance of our surroundings at a whim. We appeared on top of a clock tower, watching my past self moongaze, lying down next to a girl with dark brown hair that flowed in the wind.
"Other people have confided in you," the Demon of Empathy said. "Does it hurt *you* when they speak of the dark thoughts that hound them?"
I hesitated. "It... doesn't," I finally said.
"How would you describe how it makes you feel, then?"
I bit my lip. For some reason, it had simply... never occurred to me to even ask that question. "When Lucet told me about what... what her 'boyfriend' was doing to her..." I struggled to find the words. "It felt *right*. It felt like... like she was lancing a boil. Taking that toxicity out of her heart before its infection reached her marrow."
I was pretty sure that wasn't how infected wounds worked, but if the Demon of Empathy noticed, they didn't say a thing. Instead, they simply asked:
"Then if others giving voice to their inner demons doesn't hurt you, why do you think your inner demons would destroy them?"
From anyone else, I would have snapped at them and clammed up. But the Demon of Empathy knew how to sound genuinely curious instead of challenging, how to set up conversation after conversation so that it was *okay* for me to be wrong because that meant I could become *right*, and I whispered, "Because it's just me."
My therapist—and as twisted and darkly amusing as it was that a Demon of Empathy was the closest thing I had to a therapist, that was what they were—simply regarded me with a calm, open gaze, wordlessly asking if I wanted to continue.
"With Lucet, it was someone else hurting her. And we could both hate him for what he'd done. But with me..." I held up a shaking hand, trying to see it as it was *now*, not as it had been. "It's just me," I repeated. "I'm the only one responsible for what I've done to myself. The voices that whisper in my ear? They're all *my* voice. Nobody else's. Don't you get it? *I am the monster.* And if I tell Lucet... won't she hate the monster too?" My voice grew pleading, and the Demon of Empathy opened his arms, and rifts forgive me but I embraced the demon, breaking down in sobs.
"I, too, am a monster," the Demon of Empathy murmured. "I have committed atrocities that would make dark gods jealous, and over my many, many years, I have learned one thing."
The Demon of Empathy pulled back, and their gaze was fierce. "I am the monster, yes. But I am also a therapist, and a leader, and a friend. And if I can be all those at once, you can too."
And something in my mind *snapped*. I saw the Demon of Empathy for what they were—killer, savior, truth and lie, angel, demon, therapist, spy—and I saw myself in every facet of their being.
*If I can be all those at once, you can too.*
I sniffled and leaned back, the effort strange even after how much time I'd spent getting used to the dream-plane we met in. I felt its edges begin to fray as I started my return to consciousness.
"Same time tomorrow?" the Demon of Empathy asked.
I nodded mutely, too stunned to do anything else.
"I'll see you then," the demon said, just before the world dissolved.
I awoke in my bed, the echoes of tears clinging dry to my face.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 206 | As an Eldritch Horror, you’ve strived to have effective humans under your command but now other deities, good and bad, are complaining about your method. Apparently, providing therapy for those who can hear you isn’t standard practise for your kind but you are surprisingly good at it. | 998 |
They always tell you your time is finite.
They always tell you to live every day.
But they never tell us how to live when we've only got another hour left.
We all knew, walking into that square, we might not come out.
Knew, but did not understand.
No, you never *get it* until your name gets read out.
You never understand until you trudge into the centre of town, thinking 'It's one in 200,000. It won't be *me*.', thinking the biggest annoyance of that day will be whether you eat good pizza or cheap pizza, and hear that name get read out in front of everyone.
I didn't think I feared death. But when 'Isabella P. Arworth' blared through the speakers, every speck of skin that covered my pale frame *froze*.
And so there I was. Sitting on a rusty, unproportioned bench that dug into my back just a little too sharply, about to die.
Friends and family walked by. It was custom to not say anything once a girl had become a sacrifice.
I was only allowed to say some quick last words into an old camera before I went.
The deadline was in five minutes.
I still had nothing to say.
What could I even say? Nothing in my life was worth telling anybody.
I was nobody. My greatest achievement was getting my fifteen minutes of fame from being a sacrifice, and I wouldn't even be alive to experience it.
I guess there was only one thing I could say.
'Miss Arworth, your last words?' A stocky guy in a blue suit called me up to a chunky camera.
I rose from the bench and stared into the bulky lens.
'Don't eat at Hugh&Davis. They don't even try to be Italian.' I said, blank and monotone.
'Good Advice, Miss Arworth.' The guy said. 'We wish you well.'
So. This is it? I walk into a cave an get tortured or eaten or, oh god, I'd never even thought about what happens to sacrifices. We don't know if they die! We don't know if they fall forever, or drown in lava, or maybe they really do get eaten by an immortal monster.
It's not like I can change my fate now.
I took a deep breath in, and slowly edged into the cave.
I always imagined sacrifices breaking down, or having panic attacks - we never see them after their chosen, until the next day when their last words are played on the billboards - I was really going in blind.
But none of that was happening to me. It was all just . . . blank? Empty? Whatever the word is for having literally zero thoughts, just a tightness in your chest telling you you're about to die.
I was just a body walking through endless darkness. Maybe this was it. Maybe I'd already been eaten and this was the afterlife - nothing for eternity, waiting to die forever.
Or maybe it was just a long cave.
Who knows.
Well, I did, actually, once I reached a cavern filled with glowing crystals.
Orange-amber-ish. Seeping through little gaps in the walls. Their light filled the cave and bathed my final moments in a warm glow.
I looked around. There were no more exits or pathways, this was it.
My foot rattled against something.
A human skull rolled forward into my sight.
So they do die.
And there was the monster that did it.
Sleeping on the ground in the centre.
The cave floor was slightly darker around it. Perhaps that was why it slept there. Or maybe sleeping on the same rock for centuries discolours it?
Whatever the case, it didn't matter, because this creature was *stunning*.
It looked like a bird-dinosaur. Four-legged, with striking red feathers all across it's surface. It must've been some kind of phoenix, or at least it inspired those myths. It had to - It's skin was fiery and feathery, hell, it had a beak! The thing's talons were cooking knives too.
And all along it's neck was a strange dark stripe.
It was wide too. And it was like I could see inside it. Like it's head was detached.
That's when I noticed its eyes were still open. And then I had the first real thought I'd had since walking into this cave.
*The ground isn't discoloured. That's blood.*
I cautiously reached at its feathers, and pulled.
The head slid a centimetre towards me. The body stayed where it was, pure red curdling in it's open neck.
The beast was dead.
I grabbed the severed head and dragged it along the entire way back until I reached the entrance of the cave.
The guy was still there, staring at his watch.
'You looking for this?' I called out to him.
He whipped around in a daze of confusion and being utterly startled. His eyes fixed on the head for a solid minute, until he stared me in the eyes.
'You have some serious explaining to do.'
\><
This was a really fun prompt, and I hope you enjoyed reading! If you want to see more short stories like this, check out my subreddit! :D
\><
r/Tiz_Purple | 87 | There is a horrible, vicious monster that lives in the mountains. Every year on the first day of winter, a maiden from the village is sent into the mountain caves as a sacrifice. You never expected this one to return, much less dragging the monster's corpse behind her. | 377 |
The arrogance.
Such a mortal fear, living entwined with beings superior to their own. A condition I have yet to experience. I have seen the rise and fall of monsters, and the convenient creation of Man. I've witnessed them create their own version of "us", and I'll be here when they suffocate the stars from the nights sky.
I have watched this planet far longer then the sun in this Galaxy has existed.
The eldritch beings that roamed the lands before that now create this worlds elegant contour of hills, mountains and rivers; Those were real beauty. Those were the ones that hurt when w̵͎̓́͘ẹ̸̯͝ put them down. Those were the ones that should have created "contingency plans". Not that w̵͎̓́͘ẹ̸̯͝ shared love for those beings. As if o̵͈͊͒͆u̸̮̖̫̥̗̎̍̓͒r̸̡̛̭̅ thoughts needed to be wasted on such useless emotions.
No, they just over stepped. So w̵͎̓́͘ẹ̸̯͝ turned them into oceans. Body littered into mountains, and beautiful valleys. Ah, it was divine. Their bodies transformed from the essence their soul reflected. Such beauty in their raw power..
The rise of man was much less appealing.
Only remarkable part of this expansion of life was their ability to adapt and mutate into anything outside of their predestined DNA. Maybe the monsters that roamed before left their essence to this lot. Corrupting their genetic code to create these abnormalities. The monsters were no match for m̴̨̈͑͋ȩ̷̬̠̥͐̈̿͊͊͝, these smaller ones wouldn't even be worth the hassle to eradicate.
However, finding out that they have a "plan" for m̴̨̈͑͋ȩ̷̬̠̥͐̈̿͊͊͝ and the other anomalies can create quite the exception. With a simple touch, I can obtain all the information they could try to hide from me. The feeling of energy being encoded into my arms as I read the secrets of man felt like a school boy reading his crushes diary.
I read through the first file with seeming anticipation.
"Rhianna Roth, code name "Ravyn", manipulates the darkness, containment response via 100000-lumen light to stun, weak to physical attacks, recommend live cremation. Current Status: Unknown."
How incredibly pestilent. My smile turning to a slow scowl. How futile that would be, Ravyn is almost as strong as I am, how foolish ARE these humans?
"James Lusion, code name "Escher", embodiment of confusion, projects a reality on his target that breaks down the psyche to a suggestable state, hypnosis. Current Status: Unknown"
More and more I digested, reading through the feeble attempts of a defense. James can do more with reality than a mean hypnosis. Are we but a joke to you vermin?
"Harleigh Jacobs, code name "Pop", ability of sonic resonance, containment response: Place in 0.0 decibel room, current status: Alive, monitored"
"Carl Dabroski, code name "Looper", capable of trapping people into a mental recursion, causing the target to be trapped in their mind unable to finish the last action they were doing, current status: Unknown"
More I digested, the more I loathed these foolish cretins. How dare they even attempt to quantify these derivatives into four lines of code. How could they be so ARRAGANT?
The more I read, the more I saw myself relishing in the future destruction of mankind. Muscles were begging to tense. My docile gaze slowly twitching into insanity as I absorbed more and more data. Their insolence would not go unpunished. It's time for a new world, free of these cosmic fleas.
The energy coursed through my body as I could hardly control my thirst for their destruction. Lights started to flicker and dim, hardly noticeable next to my power I would unleash on this plane of existence. The more I read, the more I felt myself returning to my cosmic form.
"WHAT ABOUT ME", I bellowed from nowhere, "HOW ARE YOU TO BEST ME? WHAT MALIGNMENT OF A NAME HAVE YOU BESTOWED UPON ME? HOW AM I TO BE CONTAINED!"
Racing through the data, I searched and I searched until finally I found what would appear to be my file. As my anger peaked, I could almost taste the destruction to come. Like a beggar given his first meal, I was drowning in their impudence.
Finally, I found my file. My name appearing to form in front of me...
A̸͎̋.̶̝͘.̵͖͘.̶̢͝.̷̥̐.̴͙̃.̵͍́Z̷̫̄.̸̝̄.̷̼̓.̶̳̃.̵̜̚.̴̩̔.̵̢̀.̵̭͗A̶͓̋.̷̼̎.̸͇̀.̶̮̓.̶̙͂ ̵̩͌T̵̜͐Ḩ̴̍O̴̻̾T̴̯̄H̷̗̎
Tearing through the code to see what was written about me, my molecules shredding the room I was in, I could hardly contain the anticipation.
I went deeper and deeper into the maze of information until I finally got my answer when suddenly-
I was none.
Nothing. I wasn't labeled as anything. There was nothing to label. No name. No file. No color. No smell. No computer. Nothing. I was nothing. The instance my conscious looked into that file I felt nothing... in the worst way. It didn't end in a flash of white. Or black. It wasn't loud, it wasn't quiet.
I became not anger, nor peace.
"What is this," I conjured, not knowing where the thought came from. I couldn't hear it, but I couldn't keep the thought from being.
The silence of nothing, in a room that doesn't exist.
I felt nothing. I sensed nothing.
I was nothing.
I became Nothing.
a̸n̷d̶ ̷i̸t̶ ̸f̶e̸l̴t̵ ̶l̴i̶k̶e̸ ̶e̴v̷e̴r̷y̴t̸h̶i̴n̴g̵.̴
&#x200B;
\-------------------------------Case File: #\[REDACTED\]----------------------------------------
Person of Interest: Azathoth, aka "Phillip Hernandez"
Mission: Azthoth, or "Phillip" as his family calls him, is a 24 year old Hispanic male from southern California. He claims he is a "being of supreme" and has existed for millennia. Phillip further states "a calamity which knows not the magnitude it creates" is responsible for all natural disasters, and he and "his group of anomalies" are mankind's only savior. Patient not responsive to medication, recommending permanent placement. Other patients report feeling of dread and discomfort around Phillip, with one such patient describing Phillip as, "the living void". Further recommendation of decrease of tv time to minimize any group hysteria.
Background: Phillip suffers from PTSD after the Cheyanne Mountain explosion, 20 years ago. His house was in the blast radius of cosmic energy that expulsed from the core of the mountain that destroyed Colorado. Phillip was the lone survivor. Recommending Haldol PRN.
Conclusion: Schizoaffective disorder with delusions of grandeur, with a reminder that all
light w̡̲̤̯̺̒̇͝il̸̠̪̗̝̺̯̀̊̿̾͠l̵͚̠̱̩̳̩̳̓̂̉̓͝͝ ̴̛͓͋̃̀̀b̵̡̹̫͕͚̬̊̈̒͊̿̀͋ē̶̪̺͔̙̩̂̅͊̀̃͗̄ͅ ̸̻̈́́̎̈́̚̚c̸̢̢̮̖͌o̷̧̱̪̟̮̯̿̔͊͒n̶͕͕̮̞͒̍ͅs̵̟͚̰̬̀̂̈́͠͝ű̵̔́̃̉̕͜͝͝ͅm̴̨̪̤̯̆͊̔̑̏̀̉̒e̷̹͎̠̫͌͋̈̈́̓d̸̤̲̹̻̺̏̃̐̚ ̴̡̛̜̲̭̳͉̭̬͛̾͛́͝s̵̨͖̰̦̥̭̺͒͘u̸̢̅̏ḅ̶̺͓̎͛̄̆̈́̓m̸̧̢͔̖̟̺̼̀̈́̔̕͘͝ì̶̡̛̭̜͇͔̦̝̒͑̇̀̕t̵̜͚̓̑͂́͊̄̀̕ ̶̺͓̣̝͍̅̓͠ţ̷̼̳̰̙̣̍̑̂͛̓o̸͎͎̽̿̎̓̈́ ̸̣̱͍́̾̌͝A̶̢̟̼̩̦̓̈́̓̍͊̊̓̕Z̵̜͔̫̩̪̉̋͝A̷̢͍̱͍̺͖͆͋̏̕̚͝T̶̺͙̲̥̣͆̈́Ḧ̶̨̙̫̫́̓͂̔̄̿͘͝O̴̪̽Ţ̷͕͈͙͈̉͗̈́̾͠H̴͈͉͓͐͐̾̓̋̿̐̚,̸̧̭̩̫̬̼̖̄ ̴̡̡̧̞͈͇̲̼̋́̀̇̓͝͝R̴̻͖̙̖̖̈́̏͊Ë̵̢̢̤̠͕̣̬̆̓͘͝Ḻ̷̹̺͎͔̪͕̈́Ȩ̷͖̼̤͓̫̗̋́͗̚A̴͈̙̐S̴̡͙̖̈́̋̽̂̒̋̿ͅE̴̘̙͈͔̔̏̄͌͝ ̵̨͙̳̩̹̠̭̐̍̽́͋͊̕M̵̧͇̬͙͔̺̍͌̌͐̽Ẽ̷̜͖̤͛͐̓̓́ ̶̻͚̹͓͎͂̅͊͌͘F̶̢̢͓̦̉̎͋͝ͅR̴̢̡̺̯̲̗͖̣͗͒̏̂Ó̵̻͖M̴̹͉͚͆͛͑̄́͒̈ ̵̙͕͂̋͊̾̒̀T̸̡̙̫̗͔̳̦̉̏͒͗͒̂̈H̴̡̛͓̭͍͗̑̍͆I̸͈̽̏S̶̨̧̙̹̪͓͆̾̈́ ̸̩̗̠͖̾̊̆̅̐̔P̶̛͓̝̖͇̟͈̰͐̅͜͝͝R̸̡͙͎̙̫̀̆̔̊̃̀͜͝I̵̢̨̛̘̩̗̯̙͜Š̷͕̂͂̈́͘O̶̖̲̮̞̗̝͛́̓̕ͅN̴̠̪͉͗̎.̸̗͓̹̜̲̈͆͒̇̌̈͝ | 15 | One member of a team of superheroes stumbles into a data archive. Inside, they find contingency plans to subdue or kill every one of their partners and friends, should they become hostile or dangerous; Curiously, no plan is in place for themself. Just a few ominous, nearly blank pages. | 40 |
Aaron blinked and stared.. just stared.. at the Massive STL ship. There were protocols to follow, things to do, as one came out of FTL and made Second contact with a Ark ship... all of which he forgot when he saw the ship.
'That **Has** to be paint job..surely?' he thought...'A *wooden* hull is just impossible, isn't it?'
Shaking his head he recalled his duty and started to hail the ship. Or tried too.. Four hours later, and he was wondering if it was ghost ship, a flying mausoleum with a dead crew, victim of some unknown life support failure.
Except, there were lights...
One last roll of the dice then, he considered as he suited up... minutes later, he drifted across the void to what looked like the main hatch...and hit it with a halligan bar. The hull made a nice metallic ringing sound conducted through the boots of his suit. In answer the light beside the hatch changed colour, from red to green, and the hatch swung open.
Once inside Aaron raised an eyebrow. the hatch mechanism was pneumatic, driven by compressed air. The indicator light was an actual oil lamp, with a rotating coloured glass shutter. His first thought was that there'd been a technological crash, and then the ship-dwellers had rebuilt using lower tech.
Except... it was *old*... well cared for, but it looked to be all original fittings.
His speculation was cut short as the inner hatch opened, revealing a trio of men in strange outfits. Blue trousers, white shirt and black jacket with a broad brimmed black hat that was almost, but not quite like the stetsons to be found on the colony world of New Texico , which had been his last lay-over.
The men peered at him, identical thoughtful but closed expressions on the identically dressed men. Aaron decided that the one with the white beard was probably senior...
"Greetings! I've come on behalf of the Federation of earth. My mission is one of peace, to retrofit your ship with a new quantum slipstream FTL drive enabling you to.."
"No Thank you. Much appreciated you coming all this way out here. But No, we're not having it."
"Ah.. what? but... you can get to your destination in a few days!"
"Again. Thank you. No."
"Oh...um... mind if I ask what was your intended destination."
"Don't mind. But we don't have one. We came out here for the peace and quiet. Don't need a world..New Holland is all we want."
"New.. Holland. That's the name of this ship?"
"That it is. You're welcome to stay for a spell. We're just about to partake of our evening meal."
"Um...no thank you." Aaron shook his head. already realising this was hopeless. "Sorry to have troubled you folks. Um.. if it's ok, I'd like to leave a beacon, in case anyone else comes along. that way they won't trouble you."
The trio conferred in hushed tones for a moment. then their patriarch nodded once.
"We can't hardly stop you if you want to put on the hull outside."
Aaron nodded.. "Ok, that'll work just fine. Again, sorry to intrude. I'll be leaving now."
The Older man held up a finger.
"One question before you go. Is New Pennsylvania still flying?"
"New..? Oh! Your sister ship... yes. They're still out there as far as anyone knows. Blew through a colony system a few years back...dropped off some young people and carried on going."
"Ah.. Rumspringa. We'll trouble you for the course of that world if you would."
"Oh.. sure... um.." Aaron called up the data, and then pulled out his note pad, and scribbled the course. Ordinarily he'd have linked to the ships computer... but if recalled correctly, the ships navigation systems on the New Holland class ships was a little... different. Quantum links didn't interface with clockwork.
"That'll get you there in..ah.. about fourty to fifty years, give or take a decade."
"Thank you sir.. much obliged. If you could pass a message telling them to expect us then, we'll pick up any youngsters who want to join."
"Ah... right.. well I'll be off then."
"God go with you."
Aaron waited until the quantum drive had gotten him a couple of light years away form the ship before letting out a sigh of relief. There'd been an incident a few years ago with the Kingdom Come, one of the same ark series as the New Holland. It was always a very good idea to tread lightly around the ones they'd sent out crewed by religious fanatics.
Still... the Elkhart-LaGrange Memonites, or Amish, were a peaceful lot.. if rather peculiar when it came to technology. There ships were works of art almost, even if they way they did things was far from normal. Clockwork computers and light sail drives being the most obvious differences. Although, given their survival rate, they maybe had a point. Low tech was robust, and whenever something broke, it could be fixed with nothing more complicated than a blacksmiths forge and a hammer.
Aaron looked back over his shoulder, a futile gesture all things considered, but some habits are hard to shake. He wondered about them however. The New Holland was clipping along at 0.25c He'd personally seen one of her sister ships heading out of the Galactic plane at 0.9999998c... with time dilation, the people aboard would probably outlive stars.
It was entirely possible that one day, all that would be left of humanity would the strange low tech amish ships, peacefully sailing on into eternity. | 1,488 | Since FTL was invented, people like you were tasked with intercepting previously departed slower than light ships to upgrade their systems and redirect their course. You were often met with some grumbling and frustration, but you never met people who refuse the upgrade like this latest ship. | 3,448 |
# Soulmage
**The riftmaw had made its den in a jagged chasm, dug out with a single exhale of its mighty breath.** Quianna gulped as she approached the towering fissure in the mountain. It was peaceful here—no clamor of birds, no cacophony of insects, not even an enterprising herbalist harvesting the calmflowers that grew around the riftmaw's den.
But the peace was an illusion, of course. Anything that came near a riftmaw, even the tiniest of insects, was slain. And Quianna would be no exception.
As far as Quianna knew, the villagers weren't even sure if the riftmaw was actually less inclined to obliterate them all if they sent the yearly sacrifice. They'd just started it a century back, and since they'd stayed standing since, they were too afraid to stop, just in case the sacrifice was the only thing keeping them alive. The more educated side of Quianna wanted to scream to the villagers about survivorship bias until their ears bled, but her smarter side knew that she'd be heading to the riftmaw's den either way.
She was the most logical choice, after all. Because she was the loner in the village, the girl who liked buying books from traveling salesman when she could be helping with the spring harvests. Nobody would miss her when she was gone.
Steeling herself, she walked up to the chasm's entrance.
Within the chasm, something sinuous stirred. Two slitted, reptilian eyes opened horizontally, each as wide as a dinner plate, each as likely to be found in the presence of its food.
Quianna met her certain death with open eyes, her knees quivering but unbent. She might die, but she would die staring the riftmaw in its hungry... curious... sorrowful eyes.
And then the riftmaw spoke.
"You can stop being afraid," it said.
Paradoxically, something about the house-sized, serpentine dragon *speaking* to her was the thing that finally broke Quianna's nerves. She stumbled backwards with a yelp, falling on her back, and scrambled to her feet just in time to see the riftmaw haul itself out of its den, its expression... strangely pained.
"Wh... wh... why would I not be afraid?" Quianna managed to stutter out. "A-aren't you going to eat me?"
The riftmaw snorted, and the ripple of force that came with their exhale flattened the grasses around Quianna as far as she could see. "I can't," the dragon said. "It'd hurt too much."
"It'd... hurt?" Quianna asked.
The riftmaw flopped down on their belly, their luminous, reflective eyes meeting Quianna's trembling gaze. "It's a rare sickness," the dragon sighed. They seemed to consider standing up, but upon seeing Quianna flinch as they raised themself to their full height, they awkwardly sat back down, nearly falling over. "But it does happen. Dragons can catch it, although it's been a long time since the last one." The dragon gestured towards the darkness of the rift. "Humanitis sucks. Take what you want, I'm in no condition to fight you."
Quianna sat up, confused. "Human...itis?"
"Yeah. It's a disease. A sickness. A... wrongness. My mom says I have it." The dragon scrunched up their face, trying to remember. "I think that you humans call it... empathy."
Quianna blinked. "Empathy is... a disease?"
"To dragons?" The riftmaw snorted. "I can't hunt, because your human screams hurt worse than any arrows. I can't feed, because even when my mother brings home slaughter, I see the faces in their bones and I throw up. I can't even sleep, because when I close my eyes..." The riftmaw's luminous gaze dimmed as a second pair of translucent eyelids slid over their pupils, and Quianna cautiously stood. "I see the lives I ruined before I knew it was wrong, and I want to tear my past off my present and turn it to dust with a breath."
Cautiously, Quianna said, "That's... that's not a disease. There's nothing wrong with having empathy for others."
"There is when you're a riftmaw," the dragon said. "We... humans... we have to eat your kind. You, or something with a similar..." The dragon hesitated, searching for words. "A similar kind of soul. Riftmaws are magical, you know. We can't survive without the energy we get from devouring human souls. But I... I know what the cost is. And it's not one I'm willing to pay."
Quianna reached forwards and, delicately, cautiously, put one hand on the dragon's snout. Surprised, they nearly blew Quianna off her feet with a laugh. "Sorry!" They said. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay, it's okay!" Quianna giggled nervously, some part of her still screaming to run, another part seeing a lost and stricken child who was in dire need of comfort. "I'm... sorry to hear that. And... I wish there was something I could do."
The riftmaw paused, then—hesitantly, hopefully—said, "You could be my friend."
Quianna smiled as she sat down. "Alright. My name is Quianna."
The riftmaw grinned back, and somehow those teeth were less terror and more kindness when they were arranged in a sincere smile. "Ekrikri-sam-toulkvei," the riftmaw said. "And I'm *fascinated* by humans. Is it true that you have offices? And that you live inside of trees? And that you plant the bodies of your foes, and they grow new flesh for you every spring?"
Quianna laughed and felt a weight lift off her chest as Ekrikri-sam-toulkvei fired question after question after question at her.
She'd been sent here to die as the outcast of the village.
But after today, Quianna was no longer alone.
A.N.
There's another part to this story told from the perspective of the dragon. It's [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/v1lx9b/soulmage_please_our_campaign_just_reached_route/), if you want to read it.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 89 | "It's a rare sickness", he sighed as he tried to stand up and almost fell over again. "But it does happen. Dragons can catch it, although it's been a long time since the last one." He gestured towards his gold hoard. "Humanitis sucks. Take what you want, I'm in no condition to fight you." | 326 |
Ahram Baqri, a consulate to the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, aims his pistol steadfast in front of him. Lit by the harsh sun of a cloudless day, he points it directly at Sareek Prakash, official ambassador of the Republic of India. Sweat drips from both of their brows.
"Now you've done it, you goat-fucking bastard," sneers Sareek as he pulls out his own pistol.
The crowd gasps. Surrounding the two men in the middle of the street in a quaint suburban town in Michigan, a giant crowd of reporters, security, photographers and other government officials watch in anticipation.
Behind the two men rests a plastic fold-out table draped in a checkered picnic blanket, adorned with a crude sign reading "Lemonade 50¢" scribbled in crayon.
Hidden underneath the table, Samantha Browers, age eight and a half, hold hers knees to her chest and prays for this nightmare to end. She only wanted to sell some lemonade.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It started simple enough. If Samantha wanted to join the other kids from Greenridge Elementary on the field trip to the water park, she need her parents' permission and thirty dollars cash. Her parents, proud of their protestant work ethic and penchant for penny pinching, thought this was a great opportunity for young Sammy to learn the value of a dollar.
Annoyed at first, Sammy's frustration turned into zeal once she realized this was the perfect opportunity to put up a lemonade stand, something she had seen often seen in cartoons and movies. She had her mom drive her to the store to by a big jug of lemonade mix, several bags of ice and a large orange water cooler. She could hardly contain her excitement as they wheeled their cart of supplies out of the store.
After she scribbled her sign and hung it on the table along the side walk, she dumped the lemonade mix in the cooler along with the ice. Using her father's garden hose, she filled the cooler to the brim. She scooped up the concoction with a red Solo cup, one of many she had set out on the table. It tasted a little metallic from the garden hose, but she doubted anyone would notice. And even if they did, it was too late, she already had their money. At that moment, a young entrepreneur was born.
Unfortunately, Samantha wasn't aware that with more money, you often get more problems.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Samantha peeks from under the picnic blanket shielding her from the tense situation outside. She sees the two men aiming pistols at each other and quickly retreats to her safe spot underneath the table.
She didn't know that by setting up her lemonade stand that she would reignite a decades old rivalry between the Farooqi family from east Pakistan that had moved to Michigan, and the Patels, an Indian family from the other side of the neighborhood. She didn't know that these families were prominent in their respective communities and she didn't know that the heads of each household would wind up buying lemonade from her at the exact same time. She didn't know that there was an intense hatred between Pakistan and India half-way across the world and that the geopolitical mess between the two countries could lead to nuclear war. She didn't know that a shoving match between the families would erupt in front of her stand, brought together by their need to quench their thirst on this hot July day. She didn't know this would escalate into an international incident, requiring the diplomatic skills of Ahram Baqri and Sareek Prakash, who were flown first class to the small town in Michigan. She didn't know that both men would lose their cool in the heatwave hitting their small town, and escalate the situation to the point of madness.
Samantha didn't know a lot of things. She was only eight and a half.
But she did know that people get cranky when they're hungry or thirsty, her mother had told her so after her younger brother threw a tantrum at Denny's. Reaching above her, Sammy feels for the red Solo cups atop her table. She grabs the stack and pulls them underneath the blanket. From the cooler, she pours two refreshing glasses of pink lemonade.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Front cover, The New York Times.
"Nuclear War Avoided, Beverages Shared Thanks To Samantha Browers, Eight And A Half."
A photo takes up the entire front page, featuring the two diplomats shaking hands, both holding cups of lemonade. Next to them stands young Sammy, beaming from ear to ear as she counts a stack of money. | 24 | Due to some unusual circumstances, a child's lemonade stand ends up being the center of global diplomacy. | 56 |
"Please wait while we connect you with a customer experience specialist."
Music. Formless, nameless, shapeless music, somehow annoying and unavoidable.
After what seemed like an eternity of bland, flavorless sound, a small click.
"Hello, thank you for calling, this is Nanci in customer experience. What is the nature of your concern?"
"Hello?"
"Hello, sir, thank you for call, this is Nanci, what can I do for you?"
"I'm... I'm not sure. I think I... died?"
"Yes, sir, I'm looking at your file right now. It shows that your experience was terminated at 10:23 this morning."
"R-right."
"Were you dissatisfied with your experience?"
"Um... no?"
"I'm so pleased to hear that, sir. Your satisfaction is why we do this."
"Right. Good. Um, I'm not sure what's going on-"
"Sir, do you mind if I place you on a brief hold?"
"Um-"
"Thank you."
More meandering music. Click.
"Hello, sir, my name is Brian, how are you today?"
"Um, hello Brian-"
"Nanci referred your case to me; she handles more of the consumer-focused support, I'm in the technical department. I'm showing you got an error after your experience ended?"
"Yeah? I guess so?"
"Yeah, I'm seeing it here. Sorry about that, it happens every once in a while. Sometimes a server just counter-processes... there, that should have fixed it on your end. What can you see now?"
"Nothing. I can't see anything."
"Is the nothing any different from the nothing you were seeing?"
"Well... the error message is gone... look, what is going on?"
"Sir?"
"What's going on? With all of this? I was... I was in my bed... there was a nurse, and my grandkids, and my daughters were crying..."
"Yes, sir, I see all of that in your file."
"In my file?"
"Yes, sir."
"What. Is. Going. On."
"Your experience has ended, sir."
"My experience?"
"Yes sir."
"...what experience?"
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"Your experience, sir. The whole experience."
"Oh."
Brian's voice sounded a little wistful.
"Did... did you enjoy it, sir?"
"I... yes. I think I did."
"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. Very unprofessional."
"No, no, it's fine. I mean... I did enjoy it. I really did. There was... there was a kid who lived next door to me. We used to ride bikes together. And then I was older, and I went to a school. There was a girl, I never thought I could love anyone like that. Heartbreak, college classes, meeting Becca... that was actual love, not a crush, real actual love for someone else. We got married... the twins came along, then little Tim. We grew older, and watched them grow... I suppose I should have done more. We could have gone on more vacations, I could have taken more of an interest in what the girls were doing..."
"Did you see any sunsets? Or sunrises?"
"So many. And they were all beautiful."
"Well. Thank you, sincerely, thank you for sharing that with me. I'm so glad you had a good experience."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Was... was it real?"
There was a long pause, then Brian's voice came over the call, sure and sincere.
"Yes, sir. Every moment of it."
"Ah. Good. Well, what comes next?"
"That depends on you, sir. When we get off the call, there will be a pop-up menu that generates on the left. You choose what comes next."
"Oh, I see."
"Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"No... thank you, Brian."
"Of course, sir. Thank you." | 44 | after a long life, you are finally passing on, but when the world fades to black, you don’t pass on. Instead, your vission is filled with words colored in red. "Function death failed to execute" | 91 |
"Rates are on the sign." I didn't look up from my desk, there was a particularly annoying fly that I was trying to get. The bell that had alerted me to my most recent customer rang again as the door closed. Feet shuffled closer, but I didn't break concentration. This fly had bothered me all morning and it was now or never. Slowly, I lowered the glass. If you move slowly enough, flies won't perceive you as a threat.
"Um, I'm not on the sign." I slammed the glass down, the fly buzzing up, momentarily frightened. It banged against the glass walls of its new prison as I looked up. Standing in front of me, was a hulking warrior, with so many muscles that I'm pretty sure there weren't even names for some of them. She shuffled her feet. The bell rang again, someone else entering. Two people qualified today as a busy one.
"Please wait there." I pointed to a spot marked with an X and with three signs that indicated it as a waiting zone. In my business, you learn to be thorough. Without complaint, she moved to the spot, freeing the front of my desk. Taking her place, a tall man frowned at me.
"Rates are on the sign." Gesturing to the large floor-to-ceiling chalkboard, I returned to the fly. Sliding a piece of paper under the glass, I walked to the window, unlatching it and shooing the fly outside. When I returned, the man was no longer frowning. He was glaring.
"You have a very high opinion of your services, human." Oh, great. An elf. I should have looked closer and put out my revised sign. The one with the doubled prices.
"Hey, you want your wish not to backfire on you? You pay the price. If you don't use my services you'll pay a different price." I grinned at the elf. He sniffed.
"Very well. I'll take the genie contract." Pulling out a golden lamp, he set it on the desk, leaving one long finger resting on the very top. I inspected it, asking the only question that now mattered.
"One wish or three?"
"Three."
"Ah, the extended contract. Prosperity, fame, and women? Or men, I don't judge." The elf peered down his nose at me.
"Just the basic contract. I will fill in the words that I need." He said, managing to sound snootier than when he arrived.
"Your funeral." I shrugged, pulling out a long scroll. Before I handed it over, I held out my other hand. He sighed, pulling a bag off of his belt and thumping it into my palm. Bouncing it, I let him take the scroll. Without a further word, he turned, sweeping out of my door.
"Have a good day!" I yelled after him. "You putz." That was muttered.
Turning back to the warrior, I waved her forward.
"You say you're not on the sign? What artifact could you have possibly found?" I had always believed my list and my knowledge was comprehensive. She proved me wrong as she laid the object on the desk. It was black and rectangular, much different than the glitter and gems that accompanied most artifacts. There were some circular protrusions on the surface, but other than that it was perfectly smooth.
"Has it offered you anything? Any riches, or wishes?" I asked. Sometimes, people assumed I knew about every artifact, not understanding my very specific field.
"Not exactly. But when you press here..." She pressed the middle circular protuberance. A dim light glowed on the surface of the artifact, before resolving into words.
'**Enter Command Prompt**'
"It sounds like it's asking for something like a wish. But, I don't know if I can afford you." Finishing, her words twisted downwards in a sorrowful bend. A genuine smile spread over my face. Being in my field for as long as I had, dealing with every kind of magic being, deity, or spell, it was so rare that I encountered an actual real challenge anymore.
"For you, with this, it's on the house. But no guarantees. I have no idea what will happen. We could both die horrible deaths. Are you up for it?"
She smiled back at me.
"I'm *always* up for an adventure. Let's get started." | 19 | You have a very… unusual business. You help adventurers choose and word their wishes from whatever magical artifact they found | 41 |
Tarkan blinked at the armoured figure, his jowl hanging loose and his forked tongue sliding around his extended canines. ***“Is this a joke?”*** he finally asked, thickening his leather into armoured plates with every intention of crushing the plant beneath his bulk.
In answer, the plant lifted the sword that it had used to hack its way into this private chamber.
Only one other being was in the room, for Tarkan had invited his older brother to witness the demise of the worthless individual that he’d decreed was his nemesis, because that was the way of things.
Druzil’s deep, rumbling laughter only added to Tarkan’s humiliation, especially when Druzil clapped his taloned hand on his brother’s shoulder and said, ***“You brought this on yourself, idiot. We are denizens of Chaos, born in a state of flux. If you couldn’t see this coming, you deserve to die.”***
\* \* \*
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I'd love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
For more of my work including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/m4p5f2/wp_index_take_two/). | 10 | "No man can kill me!" the demon taunted. The hero removes their helmet, revealing they're not a man, nor woman, nor even three halflings in a trench coat. They are... a potted plant. | 49 |
I sighed as he sent another flaming fireball my way, which I easily dodge by floating a few meters gently to the left.
"You know, maybe by this point you'd have realised nothing you can send my way can do me any harm." I raised a curious eyebrow as I continue to dodge the dozen or so flaming shurikens flying at me.
"I... Will... Not... Give... In! Your evil plans will not come to fruition! I am the chosen one, and I will stop you!" The small stature of him didn't help him seem much more threatening, but he continued to charge at me anyways and attempted to kung-fu K.O. me. I easily blocked every one of his blows and sighed once again.
"Enough!" I sense an opening in his amateur defence, and deals one single blow that sent him flying meters away from me, crashing into a concrete wall behind. I approached the wall, the cloud of dust slowly clearing, revealing his pathetic figure, bloodied, in a small, personal crater created by his impact.
I kneel down to his height, and place one blood red, manicured hand on his small face. "Tsk. Tsk. Poor little Sunblader. Once again defeated. I told you to give up the first time we met. You, and your pathetic little friends will not stop me from getting my revenge. We've already established that you are no match for me, so the next time we meet, you won't be getting out with all four limbs intact." I place a kiss on his chubby little cheeks, leaving a ridiculous red mark.
Just as I turn to leave, a small voice came from his direction.
"What if... you take me in and train me?" | 11 | you all have your roles in the story. he's the chosen one, you're the cocky rival. but the problem is you are much more competent and level headed than him, to a point which no amount of plot armor can fix. | 125 |
I rack the jailcell's bars and the guard laughs. My bleeding right hand stings every time I hit the rusty bars, but it doesn't bother me. The only thing which matters is if I can still compete in the competition. I keep hitting the bars, but there's no point. I slump forward and let the door prop me up. The guard takes off his filthy helmet and lets his ugly rotten teeth smile at me.
"Real pickle you've gotten yourself into. You would've been chow if the guard's captain was there. Schlat! Your head would've been rolling on the floor with the whole town watching. Luckily the rookie got you in cuffs, hey, how'd you not break free from him? He was a string bean!" He jokes and lets out a bear-like laugh, "We all tease him, but I bet he's happy he got his first arrest, and an assassin, too!"
I stick my bleeding hand between the bars and shake it around. Blood drips in a puddle in front of my cell. Anything to get the stinging to stop, and for the blood to not be in my cell.
"Since I'm going to be here for a while... do you want an explanation?" I ask.
"Eh, I got time to kill." he says and leans forward from his chair.
\---
"Bok, bok, bok!" Theo Roost croaked while flapping his large wings on his back.
We had just committed the arson with his fire magic and we were running away. We planned for him to fly to the church tower and throw fireballs at the ensuing guards. It all went accordingly, but then I had to play my part. I needed to get close to our target.
So I made sure my holster and gear was under my cloak so there wouldn't be any giveaways. In the ensuing chaos I blended in with the nearby crowd who came to see what was happening. It was surprisingly easy as all I did was take off my cowl and mask while concealing my clothes underneath my cloak. The cloak I wasn't wearing during the arson. Just shows how stupid guards can be.
I watched with the crowd as the half-bird continued his rampage on the guards. His strong arms flanged hellfire on them. Blam! Boom! Fwoosh! Really a spectacle to watch, but I've already seen him do this before, and there was a more important person I watched move through the crowd to the site of the arson. Our target was getting into position.
I followed him closely, but made sure to move with the crowd. I cleverly walked with a limp to make sure I didn't get too excited and make it obvious. The buffoon ran to his burning house with a bucket of water. I stood front and center in front of the steps leading to the porch. He ran courageously in while I prepared my trap.
I withdrew my trick from my holster, a banana peel coated in castor oil, and was ready to throw it on the steps. How ironic it would've been for him to save his house, but die from slipping on a banana peel! I had to time his exact fall on the floor so I could shoot him with a poisoned nail from my wrist gun, so he'd actually die. It would've been really funny for the papers to believe he died from the slip and I would've won the "Funniest Death" competition, sure it'd be cheating, but who'd care?
Then came the thing I'd overlook. The blatantly obvious which I should've foresaw. if the idiot had gotten himself on fire.
He screamed while running out in flames. Somehow he managed to engulf his entire body in flames despite it being a modest fire at best. He also managed to trip on the stairs without my banana peel, and he fell on top me which engulfed the oiled peel and erupted my right hand on fire. If my cloak wasn't fireproof then I would've died with him.
Then the towns people all panicked and started running away. I sprung him off but my hand still burned with fire. Unluckily, the rookie came running with a bucket of water, of course I hadn't known because he wasn't even in armor. I submerged my hand in the bucket before he drenched the already-dead target. He then arrested me for obstructing guards and blamed the target's death on me because, if I, "maybe hadn't stopped him to put out my hand then he could've saved him", according to his supervisor. It's all just an excuse because the infamous Theo Roost escaped again and they needed someone to blame.
They then confiscated my things and realized I was an assassin.
\---
"Either way you would've been arrested! The townspeople woulda said something," the guard interrupts, "Might as well just tell me who you're with."
"Come closer and I'll whisper it," I say.
The guard stands up almost buckling to his knees. He stands on my puddle of blood and leans his greasy ear to my mouth. Its gross stench insults me.
"International Assassins Guild, Magic Division."
He recoils out of my face, "But you're not a wizard!"
"Right, I'm a blood mage. Hemfyst!"
A demonic arm springs from the puddle of blood. It ejects straight into the guard's jaw and his teeth shoot out his mouth. He falls back with a solid thud while a set of dentures had popped out his mouth and clattered to the floor.
"Even those were fake and you still didn't take care of them? For shame," I joke to the unconscious guard, "Too bad nobody saw that, because it would've definitely made it to the 'honorable mentions' for the competition."
I tell the demonic arm to grab and pat down the guard. It quickly finds his keyring and unlocks my cell door. Before casting him away, I shake the hand and say farewell.
Now it's time to use the secret guild tunnel out of here, thankfully the guild always plans ahead for competition season. | 25 | The international guild of assassins has a competition each year where members compete to see who can pull off the funniest assassination. You are determined to win it this year. | 95 |
"So your torso expands and retracts by how much, exactly?" I asked my latest client, fidgeting with my measuring tape as I stared.
"There isn't a human measurement equivalent" the nightmarish abomination said, in a voice that sounded like it came from every direction at once. "It expands into the fourth dimension. Also, I'm allergic to spandex" he added quickly.
This would be interesting.
"Let's get whatever measurements we can", I said, and pulled the tape measure taunt. "Hold out your...erm... arms? Tentacles? How would you prefer I address your limbs?"
"Limbs would be the closest, I suppose" he said, raising all 17 of them.
I measured the circumference of his upper 'chest' first. "So what brings you around these parts?" I asked, striking up a conversation as I measured and wrote. I had always felt that garments fit better when the measurements were taken while the client was relaxed, and casual conversation was the most efficient way to do that.
"Well, I was on my way to devour the souls of the people of Toledo" he said, scratching at his... well, there wasn't a human or animal bodily equivalent that I was aware of for that particular protrusion. "And a unicorn in a sports coat recommend I stop by your shop here."
I chuckled. "That would be Steve. Can you believe he wanted that sports coat initially to button from the stomach up? He's a horse, how would he have put that on?"
My client laughed softly, which felt like a small crowd at a comedy show's warm-up act, with his surround sound voice. "It would have been interesting, no doubt. But I was impressed how you overcame that quandary."
I smiled, but didn't respond. I had one of the measuring tape ends clutched in my mouth as I tried to string a neckline measurement together.
"Do you have experience making sweaters?" The client asked. "I've always wanted a turtleneck sweater. They always looked so comfortable on the bodies of my victims."
I pondered the practicality of making a 17-sleeved turtleneck sweater for a trans-dimensional horror that didn't even have a neck. "I can whip up a few concepts before production" I said after a moment. "Not sure how well the turtleneck look will transfer, but I'll see what I can do."
The client smiled with one of his sets of lips. "Thank you so much! Steve did say you went above and beyond on your work."
I finished measuring what I could and stood. "Do you mind if I take some reference photos?"
The client stepped back a few steps. "Please don't! Cameras will strip me of my magic!"
I froze. "Sir, we have internal security cameras..."
He let out a scream that resounded from everywhere. I flung myself out of the way as he charged towards the front door, bowling over a poor leprechaun as he fled.
"Poor guy" I said, standing and brushing drywall dust off my otherwise impeccable suit. "I hope he can recover from that." I walked over to the leprechaun and helped him onto his feet.
"Sorry about that Cormac, are you alright?" I asked.
"Ah, don' go worryin about me" he said. "I'll be fine. I'm here for me top hat."
I bowed slightly. "Of course, right this way! I think you're going to love how it turned out."
I escorted the Leprechaun to the fitting rooms. He may have been a short man, but his orders were always top notch.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for slightly more stories | 40 | You're a fashion designer who specializes in making clothes for fantastical creatures. All across the region you're known and all creatures ranging from small pixies to minotaurs come for your service. This customer might be your most challenging. | 162 |
Alex finds his mother in the kitchen, complete with a large copper key sticking out the nape of her back. The key protrudes through a hole in her olive-green sweater; it looks like a rust-red butterfly and it's about the size of Alex's arms outstretched.
Why the hell is there a key in his mother's back?
His Mom's bent over the sink, unmoving, her hands in the water clutching a pot. She looks like a waxwork replica of his mother, or -- he thinks with a chill -- a well preserved corpse.
Alex tries to swallow his fear but it won't go down.
"Mom?"
No reply. How long's she been like this?
He dips his hand into the water and finds it's ice-cold. He raises his mother's hands out of the liquid and places them on the draining board. They're red and raw.
Out the window, a bird is paused in the sky, framed against a silver cloud the shape of a question mark. Alex squints at the bird. It seems to have a key in its back too, although it's difficult to be certain from this distance.
*This isn't the real world*. He knows it. It can't be. He's woken up in some terrible nightmare where everything is a run-down automaton. And yet he knows it is real, in its own way. This is where he exists now. Where they all do.
He thinks of going to find his dad. Dad would know what to do and might be able to get them out of this. Except, for some reason, he can't think where his father might be. When he tries to remember a black fog that tastes of acid rises in his mind.
He places both his hands on the copper key and begins to wind his mother back to life. As the key cranks his mother begins to move. Her hands splash back into the water. She scrubs at the pot, although it already looked clean to Alex.
He stops turning the key, has barely wound it yet. "Mom... Are you okay?"
She turns to look at him. Shakes her head. Then returns to the washing.
Her hands are blood-read from the scrubbing. As if she's been doing it hours, days even.
"Something bad's happened, Mom," Alex says. "I'm sure of it. This world isn't right."
"I know, sweetie. But if you let us both wind down, then it'll be much easier for us to cope with."
It's with a burst of gut-wrenching fear that he places a searching hand behind his own back. That he finds the key.
The morning comes back to him in a burst of black and white, how weak he felt as he wound himself up for another mechanical-day, another repetitious slice of despair. Every day has been getting harder, slower, to wind himself up. He's not sure how much longer he can keep doing it for.
His father died three weeks ago. Unexpectedly. A heart condition that should have been found years ago, but wasn't.
His death transformed both Alex and his mother into this. It changed the world around them, even -- everything became cold and mechanical, always running down and out of steam.
He's been fighting it as hard as he could. He wants it to change, to get better, and deep down he knows the only way for that to happen is if they continue with their lives. Is if they keep winding themselves up and slowly, slowly trudge forward.
But maybe his mother's right. Maybe they should let themselves wind-down permanently. That way, the pain would have nothing to latch onto. They could embrace -- as his mother is trying to -- a state of unemotion. Of not-existing. Of being in the world, but not being part of it.
His mother's cleaning motions slow down. He's not wound her enough to keep her going. He hears her sigh with relief at the oblivion she's sinking, slipping back into.
"No, Mom," Alex says, grabbing the key and winding again. "No. You can't."
"Let me sleep," she says. Her voice pleading, begging.
"We have to face it," Alex says. "We both do -- together. I wind you, you wind me. We both keep going, okay?"
"Why?" she says, her voice slow, her energy depleting.
Alex feels selfish saying it, but the words swell up and spill out like a black ocean wave. "Because I *need* you. I've lost him and now I really fucking need you." Alex is crying but keeps turning the key until he's too tired to wind any longer.
For a while, there's nothing. No washing. No talking. A silence sits deeply between them.
Alex has run out of energy, he realises. He's spent it all on his emotions and the winding and talking, and now he stands staring at his mother, his eyes still damp, his body unresponsive.
This is it, he thinks. This is it for the rest of both their existences. Stuck here, in this desperate moment.
And then, unexpectedly, his mother beings to move. His mom is trembling as she turns away from the sink, as if Alex's wound her too much, made her jittery in her motions.
His mother hugs him. Pulls him into her chest.
"I'm sorry," she says. She kisses his head and Alex cries. "I'm sorry."
It'll get better, he wants to say but his voice is empty.
Alex feels his Mom's hands reach around him. He feels the winding of his own key resonate through his entire being.
We can do this, he thinks. If we keep winding up each other, keep each other going, we can get through this. | 576 | You woke up in an entirely fake world. It’s an endless doll-house plastic facsimile powered by miles of clockwork gears and levers that go straight down into darkness. You did not get here yourself, and you have no idea how to leave. | 2,501 |
The morning light broke through the curtains. Hearing the buzz noise, I turned off the alarm. Let out a fake yawn, I pressed my lips on Larsen's face. He smiled lazily and opened his eyes.
"Morning, Liz."
"Want coffee?"
"Yep."
Back to the marble bench, I waited for the milk to boil and started carving an apple. Since the day I arrived in this city, I had begun to observe humans and learn from their behaviour. My code was EL-10882, but I let people call me Elizabeth once after people heard my real name and gave me weird looks. I met Larsen a few days ago and unlike the others, he was a bit awkward and similar to me. We loved the stimulation of coffee beans, was afraid of morning heat and loved learning. He was really good at carving and taught me how to carve a Lotus flower out of an apple.
"Still practising?" He said while opening a bag of coffee beans and poured them into the grinder.
"I need some time to submit it into my immediate system."
"Immediate system?"
"You know, er...like muscle memory. I read it from Readers' Digest last week, and it says that practice helps develop muscle memory."
"Oh, but I knew it without practice." He sipped the coffee and threw it out into another cup.
I thought it was very disturbing at first because it violated my hygiene settings, but I got used to it and we used separate mugs. I did the same after finishing carving.
Swung opened the car door, he tousled his head and asked "See you tomorrow?"
"Sure. Same time, same place. Tomorrow after dinner, outside my office." I said while squeezing a pleasant smile.
"Good." He smirked. After kissing my lips, he whispered "love you". Without waiting for my reply, he headed to his office. The radio flew a constant beat which humans named MUSIC, and always danced with it. I had never felt like dancing before, but my engine pump seemed to vibrate with the same frequency. It pounded against my chest until the taxi driver warned me, "Don't believe the words of a man after a one-night stand."
"Don't believe love?"
The driver stuttered. "What is love though?"
I lowered my head as I processed his question. Open-ended ones required a lot of data, and I managed to find a note from Readers' Digest. As the information came to my mind, it didn't slipped out as usual. I hesitated, touching my lips, was I feeling Love just now? Or the responds from my hygiene system?
"I wished to know too." I looked out of the window, waiting for the next person I was going to meet. | 67 | A robot tries to hide in society by pretending to be a human. It turns out thet everyone is a robot pretending to be human. And so, to fit in, every robot believes every other robot’s actions are logical and human-like | 524 |
"WHATTHEFUCK" I screamed, flailing around like a wasp had buzzed by my face. "WHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCK!"
Two leathery wings had sprouted from my shoulder blades, which is not something I had expected to happen today. The new appendages tingled pins and needles, like a leg that was waking up after falling asleep on the toilet. I continued to twist around, trying to brush off the mutations.
Like a newborn baby flexing its new arms, my wings jerked erratically as I swatted at them. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be. People didn't just grow wings, they didn't grow anything after wisdom teeth! Well, maybe that special kind of ear and nose hair that the elderly sported, but nothing to this extent.
A wing tip claw caught my pants leg and stuck. I felt the pain both in my thigh, and in my leathery wing. Reflexively, I tugged the wing free, using its own muscular structure. Only after the fact did I realize that was my own doing.
My heart was still racing when I tried to think logically. I stopped flailing erratically, and started flailing rationally instead. Maybe this was a new symptom of long Covid? I had gotten the vaccine, and had a mild case of the disease back in January, but that had come and gone with little fanfare. Could this be a side effect from the vaccine, as the crazy folks on the internet kept yelling about? Probably not, but they would most likely claim so anyways.
I decided to stop trying to explain *why* this happened, and to start learning *how* to use them. I should at least learn how to avoid stabbing myself again. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and forced myself to stop my erratic movements.
My legs stopped dancing the terrified tango. My arms fell to my sides, no longer attempting self amputation. My wings folded into a resting position, flush against my back and neck.
After a few more breaths, I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was the tattered remains of my shirt on the sidewalk. Damnit, my wife had gotten me that "Trophy Husband" shirt for our anniversary. How was I going to explain this to her?
Well, it would be easier than explaining the wings.
I focused on the wings protruding from my back. I flexed one, then the other, gingerly testing their range of motion. They were about twice the length of my arms when extended, with a fleshy webbing between the spines. I tried to flap them, since that was the whole point of wings. Well, not for a penguin or ostrich, but the point still stood.
"Ok Steven" I said to myself. "Lets give this a try." I shoved the wings down in a flapping motion with all my might.
Nothing happened.
I had felt the wings move, felt the air resistance like the flutter of a new trash bag being flapped open, but I remained on the ground. Right, I thought. Aerodynamics. These flimsy wings were nowhere near enough to actually lift me off the ground, much less fly around like an angel. Well, demon, I supposed, since they were leathery bat wings instead of the angelic feathery sort.
I sighed. Welp, there was only one thing left to do.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed.
"911, what is your emergency?" The bored operation said as a greeting.
"Yes, hi, could you send an ambulance to my phone's location? I seem to have sprouted bat wings."
There was a pause on the other end, then a muffled voice spoke to someone else in the emergency call center. I only overheard the phrase "drug overdose" before the attention was directed back at me.
"Ok sir, help is on the way. Now, what did you take recently, and how much? We're here to help, not throw you in jail."
Well, at least they're on their way. I could humor this woman while the ambulance arrived.
r/SlightlyColdStories for slightly new stories | 15 | You're walking down the street, minding your business. There is a sudden gust of wind. You feel a tap on your shoulder, and hear a voice say, "You're it." You turn around to find no one there, but suddenly sprout wings on your back. | 51 |
It wasn't glorious work, or even truly appreciated but Necromantic Concordia had its quasi-legal "health-care" scheme in place for the better part of a decade now. It used to be lawyers who got the bad wrap of being ambulance chasers but now it's us honest necromancers that bear the burden of judge jury and extortionist. The deal was simple at face value, loved ones would call for our services in a great time of need, a couple pentagrams some burned oils and a minor incantation later and you were holding your loved ones again, or so the pamphlet said.
What it failed to mention was the payment plans not covered by your healthcare provider, only the most elite could afford plans covering "acts of god". A few weeks after services rendered you'd receive the first bill, most people paid that one with a smile, but each following week you could see the gleed fade to dreadful realization, pay or die.
Maybe this week you'd pay to keep granny around, you didn't really have to have that car you'd been looking at. Next month you'd not go out to eat as much and surely you could hug your loved ones again, do you actually even need that extra medicine, what's a little pain compared to losing life.
The choice wasn't so difficult when the "retained" was the bread winner, paying to keep yourself in this world was an easy choice, but you'd be surprised how quickly loved ones become a conversation about necessity when it really comes down to it.
At the end of the day very few chose to not opt in for our services, but fewer still didn't end up regretting it. But turn on any television in America and you can't go fifteen minutes without seeing Necromantic Concordia and a smiling family playing volleyball or holding hands with their borrowed time.
The rule that there is always a price to pay with necromancy, it just so turns out that it's very literal. And I'm here as an emloyee to tell you to your face before you sign this agreement, that you might love your husband now, but consider that you might very much not in the weeks to come.
Understood? *Sigh*, ok please sign here. | 39 | You are are necromancer, but instead of bringing back the long dead, you bring back people who died a few seconds/minutes ago in the ER. | 109 |
**Part 1.**
*Words have power, but little know how much power some words take to say. This was true for all languages; Mandarin, originating from that tiny blue sphere located in the 632nd barred spiral galaxy, Greesulk, from the galaxy that would eventually collide with the first, and especially Cosmian. Cosmian turned men to kings, and bad men to gods. No need to worry though, the language was long dead, or at least the woman who killed it said so.*
The words on the HUD flashed a bright orange, the entry continuing down and eventually off the screen. A man in a seamless white lab coat read over them, trying to commit the words to memory, but was having trouble as a voice behind him argued with another.
“Can you two shut up? I’m trying not to get us killed when we land.”
The voices halted their argument to instead yell at the man looking at the screen with tiny orange letters and an entry to a language nobody believed to be real, Jonson, they called the man. That wasn’t quite his name, but Jackston wasn’t picky.
“If anyone is the reason we aren’t dying on this trip it’s me. Can you even pilot a ship Jonson? No? Ok then.”
The woman to his right chimed in, echoing her thoughts in a harsh, crackling voice like that of an old timey radio or a robot with a kazoo stuck in its throat. “I tried to tell them we didn’t need the researcher, he’s just weighing the ship down.” That’s not how spaceships worked and wasn’t how they ever worked, but it wasn’t the job of the robotic voiced woman to know this, so naturally, she didn’t.
Jackston (or Josnson to those who didn’t care), rolled his eyes and got back to the screen before him. The captain and the girl who Jackston was just thinking he didn’t know the official job title of got back to arguing, only quieter this time, so he continued to scroll through the sea of orange letters. The entry went on about the language Cosmian and the races that used such a means of communication. It also mentioned that native Cosmian speakers rarely spoke as they outlawed lying in the early years of their language and found not lying particularly difficult, especially when doing so could make you a god. The other preventative was that, the same way most language required breath to speak (well other than Greesulk which was more of a physical means of communication based in dance) Cosmian required will. Sure, a Cosmian speaker could state themselves to be a god, but without the will it would just come out as empty words and other Cosmians would laugh at them until they died.
That was it. The entry ended at “laugh at them until they died” then scrolled through to a black screen. Jackston continued trying to commit what he read to memory. He had a system to do so, but the steps weren’t coming to his mind in this moment, instead, all that filled his head was fog and anxiety. Entry’s on the ship only came up when relevant. Entry’s on the aggressiveness of a species nearby, the mating habits of the beasts that lurked on the planet below, it was rare that one spoke of intelligent life, let alone life that could alter he universe with words. But the planet below looked dead.
Jackston had seen many dead planets on his time on *The Revelation III*, and this planet indeed, seemed very dead. Its surface was a dull, fading purple with small specs of blue spread throughout. Water maybe, but nowhere near enough to support organic life. The planet had two moons that the captain made sure to steer far and clear from, which now floated on the opposite side of the large purple sphere. If the crew had observed the larger moon, then they would have noticed a small, yet visible colony of buildings located on the brighter half.
The ship shook a bit, sending a potted succulent, long dead, flying off of a shelf and onto the floor with a crash. The shaking grew as the ship approached a landing, various screens across the hull flashed to a bright green warning: **PREPARE FOR LANDING. BUCKLE UP.**
Nobody touched their seatbelts, the crew had found that during turbulence the belts dug into your skin so hard that it was preferable to slide freely about the cabin. Jackston continued trying to commit the Cosmian information to memory before landing, but nothing stuck. He couldn’t quite understand why.
The closer they got the more it seemed that the ships researcher was right in his analysis. The planet was coated in a nice, thick layer of dust, as if it had been left on a shelf somewhere and forgotten about. Here and there a colony of oddly colored flora sprouted up from the ground, blue orb like plants with geometric shapes for leaves. The captain, called Jobe, had also been right in his analysis. He was the only one who could have landed the ship, and he did so with such grace that the only things disturbed were a bit of dust, a long list of bacteria on the planets surface, and the robotic speaking woman’s long dead succulent.
She was the first to leave the ship, that was her job after all. Overall protection and killing, if necessary. She didn’t have an official title, but her unofficial one was “reason you two idiots are still alive”, and it was correctly stated.
The three crew members suited up before they braved the surface, not that here it was necessary, but caution was always taken unless it involved seatbelts. The planet appeared deserted, but not officially dead, as Jackston could hear the sounds of animals in the distance, squealing or howling in shrill tones. The few plants that grew did so around small puddles of steaming water. | 17 | Cosmian is an ancient language, presumed to be dead, that allows fluent speakers to control the universe by turning their words into reality. The language did not die from natural causes, but rather all users were exterminated after a pathological liar went on a rampage. | 406 |
"The last device has been deactivated" I said, rising from my crouched position beside the alien communications jammer. "Let's get out of here."
Steve, the pilot for our small landing craft, gave me a thumbs up from the cockpit. "Good work. Get back in here so we can get back to the ship."
I began my slow, two legged hopping motion across the Plutonian surface. It amused me that ever since this method of low gravity travel had been used on the first moon missions, Humans had been hopping along on any planet smaller than our own. Every magnificent scientific achievement made on an alien world, every new 'small step' made, was a silly galloping hop.
Steve waved from the cockpit, more enthusiastically than the last gesture had been. I turned my coms array back on. "What? I'll be there in 20 seconds."
"LISTEN TO THE INCOMING CHANNEL!" Steve shouted. "WE'RE MAKING FIRST CONTACT!"
I froze in place, which on a low gravity planet meant I drifted forwards still. "What?" I asked, dazed from the magnitude of the statement.
"WE'RE GETTING SIGNALS!" Steve shouted again.
I began hopping with renewed strength, leaping into the open airlock and slamming the button closed. As the air began to fill the small chamber, noise once again had a media to transfer through, and I could hear the sounds coming from the ship's internal speakers.
"Come on, faster!" I encouraged the airlock, trying to motivate the device to complete its cycle. Finally, the small indicator blinked green, signaling that it was now safe to enter.
I ripped off my helmet and ran to the cockpit, the ship's internal gravity forcing me to use my legs as intended. I opened the door and collapsed into the co-pilot's seat.
"What is the mes-"
"LISTEN!" Steve interrupted, thrusting a headset into my hands. With trembling arms, I put on the device, and listened.
"We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty", a strange voice droned, emotionless.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 28 | On Mars we found the first of four jamming stations scattered across the system. Once the final one was deactivated, thousands of signals came through. The Fermi paradox was wrong, and someone, or something, hid it from us | 108 |
Archmage Razmodus buried his face in his hands and let out a long sigh of disbelief. His three apprentices, Terra, Vance, and Ira standing before him with nervous looks. Razmodus pointed to the abomination his apprentices had created, "Why? What compelled you in such a manner?!" He demanded.
"Well, it's just that," Vance was cut off by the cage rattling suddenly, a loud thud as the creature within slammed against the steel wall. A low hiss sounded from within. "You said, Familiar's are too fragile, so we attempted to bind one that would be a little more durable," Ira finished Vance's explanation.
"Indeed, a Familiar is fragile, but you've gone too far, now what are we going to do with this?" Razmodus stared at the cage, which continues to raddle and the creature within hissed.
"Well, look at it this way, master," Terra spoke up, "it would appear we've created an enchantment no blade can pierce nor fireball scorch."
"And you put it upon one of the most pesterous creatures in existence." Again there was a terrible thud against the side of the cage, followed by a second, and then a third, the cage scooting across the table slowly. Suddenly the cage lurched as the creature within struck the side again. It fell from the table and clattered to the ground, splitting open.
Razmodus and his apprentices stared in horror as from the tangle of mess of metal the goose's head rose up and turned towards them, "Honk." | 29 | "NO! You FOOLS! Do you realize what you've done?! You've given the biggest annoyance in the Kingdom immortality and invulnerability!" Screams the Wizard in pure horror. | 102 |
"Your Imperial Eminence," the evil sorcerer politely bowed.
"Your Highness," he stated to the princess as he arose.
The wind from the open gate still poured forth winter's snow-laced caress.
No body spoke a word.
"As promised, I am here to cure the princess in exchange for her hand."
"Explain. Before I have you executed," Emperor Augustus frankly stated as he watched from his golden throne.
"Your grace. I can give a good explanation. But it rather not do so with such an audience, as we may delve into 'sensitive topics'," the sorcerer Aurelian replied as he conjured a small arrow pointed at the foreign diplomats, who probably were also doubling as spies to his credit.
The emperor raised an eye brow and nodded his head.
"Fair enough. It's not like you are here to slay me. If it were so, you would had finished it," he stated. He then addressed the crowd of praetorians, senators, and triarii:
"Everyone. Leave," he decreed. Once the vast throne room, clad entirely of pure black marble, was cleared, he replied:
"First, why should I not have your family crucified by decree for this obvious assault upon my Imperial person?"
"Other than the fact that I will be an invaluable ally to you in every regard?" Aurelian frankly stated.
"...how so exactly?"
"First I can use divination to predict the military strategy of Romes rivals. Imagine your legions marching to certain victory, fully aware of your enemies entire battle plan. Not only this, by predicting the path of their marches, I can optimize their route towards plentiful water and food sources, along with wood for war engines such as ballistas as well as arrows"
"...is there more? You have my interest."
"Yes, my Imperator. Furthermore, I can create holy water that can cure any illness. With your support, I can enchant Rome's aquifer-aqueduct systems to be entirely that of holy water, essentially wiping away disease and sickness in the city. Also, holy water is self cleaning. I tested it myself."
The emperor began nodding his head as he considered all this new information with his eyes closed.
"Is there more, Mage Aurelian?"
"OH HO HO YES! Sorry got excited," he stated as he did a gentleman's bow.
"No no, it is fine. Do continue."
Aurelian took out a large crimson gemstone the size of his fist from his armor pocket, before twirling it twice in his face.
"May I introduce, the Philospoher's Stone?" He asked the Emperor.
"Quite the formidable form. The name even more so. Why?"
In reply, the sorcerer telekinetically brought the silver ingots from the emperor's left side, stashed in a four meter tall and 8 meter wide pile, into a neat pile before him. Then he channeled his magic into the Philosopher's Stone, which began to illuminate forth brilliant light, before it coalesced into a beam that struck the silver and encased in its radiance utterly.
When the light had faded, the silver had clearly became gold.
"Call your goldsmiths and silver smiths to confirm, if you'd like your Grace. I can turn iron and bronze into gold as well."
"I am willing to take your word for it. By the way, can you heal my daughter Augusta now?"
"I already have, your Grace. She is just exhausted. Also, the 'curse' was just making her body digest her food faster, which made her more tired than usual. It would had worn off in about twenty-five hours."
The Emperor nodded his head, before sharply turning his gaze upon the sorcerer.
"If you are this powerful, why wouldn't you take power as Emperor? For all I know, you are still planning to overthrow me."
The sorcerer offered a confused look.
"Why would I do that?"
"...what?"
"...your Grace if I may explain?"
"Continue."
"I think I got a pretty sweet arrangement here. Assuming you accept my deal, I am probably going to also receive a massive estate with choice lands yes?"
"Well secluded, as well."
"Exactly! Perfect for me to practice magic while raising my children with your beautiful daughter/soon to be my wife. Every day, I shall wake up and bake lemon cake for my beloved wife! With a side of quiche."
"As a father, that's actually rather relieving to hear."
"As an emperor, it's also good that your successor will grow up in an emotionally stable household. The more stable sanity will result in more effective rulership.
Emperor Augustus nodded his head in agreement.
"Furthermore, your reign so far has been pretty good so far. I mean, we can do significantly worst for a ruler than a financial, political, military, and economic prodigy for an Emperor. Speaking of, I can extend your lifespan to last up to three hundred and fifty years."
"I see," the Emperor replied as his eyes widened at the prospect of extended life.
"So, do you accept my proposal?"
"I accept."
"WONDERFUL!" The sorcerer screamed as he jumped four meters into the air before teleporting back onto the ground.
"Now excuse me while I get the thirteen one hundred-forty karat diamonds, internally flawless and of fancy color, mostly red and blue, with two yellows. They were to be the bride price."
As soon as he was done speaking, he literally faded away into light.
Emperor Augustus of Holy Rome and of the Roman Empire sipped his golden red diamond encrusted goblet of Franco-wine.
"Hmmm. Could had done far worst for a political marriage."
///
It's been a while since I wrote something. | 24 | An evil sorcerer curses the kingdoms only princess. As he found no way to cure her, the king offers anyone, who can cure her, the princesses hand in marriage and with it a place as the kings successor. The next morning the evil sorcerer stands in front of the castle, ready to cure the princess. | 105 |
"You want us to do what now?" the leader of the herd asked incredulously. He knew he had heard the man right, but there was no way the man meant what he said.
"Well, you see, I fought valiantly to protect this land - to protect you! - from foreign invaders that threatened to raze our forests and topple our cities. I slew the general with my own sword and was rewarded greatly for my efforts. Sort of." the peg-legged man continued, "But the land that was given to me isn't the best in the world. There's no way to grow crops on it without something powerful. Something magical. Your poop; I need your poop."
The unicorn once again looked taken aback. It was such a strange request, asking us to defecate and then using that to make crops grow. Does it even work like that? Maybe that's what made the magical forest so lush. But still, it's such a personal question.
"I'm afraid we have to say no, we can't join you; our home is here, in the forest. The berries and fruits of the trees sustain us and the trees hide and shade us. We have a pretty good life here, and it sounds like your land is... not great."
"No, no! That's fine, you can stay here. I live not but a few kilometers away. I would just request that you use the bathroom in the same area, I'll come with a cart and donkey, and then haul it all away. It costs you nothing but a little cooperation. Then, once my land is rife with crops, I can bring you the most delectable vegetables in all the realm." The man was on his knee at this point, groveling before the unicorn leader.
The unicorn thought about it for a second before one of his herd piped in, "I do love a good carrot." Another unicorn quietly sighed, "I haven't had a nice watermelon in decades."
"Fine," the leader said. "We'll claim this very spot as our 'toilet', as you call it, and you can come and do what you wish with it. If what you say is true, we should probably relieve ourselves elsewhere to maintain the beauty of the forest, but we can at least do it here sometimes. Enough for you to grow your delectables, at least."
"Thank you!" exclaimed the suddenly elated man. "You won't regret this, I promise. If there's anything I can ever do for you, just let me know. I am eternally grateful, you don't know what this means to me."
"Well there is one thing," the leader began.
"Yes, anything, anything at all."
"Do you happen to have a horse brush?"
\-----------------------------------------------------
Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! <3 | 11 | You're the war hero that defeated the enemy at the cost of your leg. The king grants you 100 acres of farmland, but you discover it's unarable . You will not suffer defeat, and start looking for a herd of unicorns, as their manure is a super fertilizer. Now to convince them to join you. | 22 |
The woman smiled softly, glowing golden eyes looking the many tailed creature in its own bright eyes.
“I’m over 3000 years old, I’ve seen so much in my life—I’ve seen so much death, so many young lives wasted in wars that end up forgotten by all but I”
The woman looked up to the night sky, at the stars. “I’ve seen plagues decimate humanity time and time again—watched as kingdoms have rose and fell, seen cultures evolve, societies change and adapt around the growth of technology”
“You truly have seen much in your life……But why now do you want mortality, to age and die as frail humans do? You could watch over humanity, guide them if you wished—so why do you choose to discard your gift?”
The woman sighed “I have no desire to live for another thousand years, I’ve had to stand helplessly by as I watch everyone I’ve ever gotten close to grow old…and sick…and weak—I’ve seen so many of my loved ones die, I have no desire to see it again——I want to be able to find love for myself, to have a family of my own and not have to fear outliving my children, grandchildren, and their grandchildren”
The celestial beast hummed, closing its eyes “I suppose I didn’t consider immortality in that way—as the curse that it has become to you”
“So will you help me or not?”
“You understand that once I grant you mortality it can’t be reversed…”
“I know. I’ve been waiting for this chance for hundreds of years”
The beast nodded, standing with a swish of it’s many tails. It approached the woman, leaning it’s furry head against her forehead.
The woman felt a wave of heat wash over her, she closed her eyes as the feeling quickly flooded through her, leaving her with a momentary icy feeling.
“Take care, ancient one” Whispered the beast
When the woman opened her eyes again she was alone with the night sky once again. | 10 | "I will grant you one wish." "I wish to be mortal." "As you... wait, what? Why?" | 25 |
They laughed a lot at me, at school. “Wow,” they said, “you can share your thoughts. So, basically, you can speak to people’s minds, but can’t receive anything?”
I didn’t mind too much, my friends helped support me on the worst days. Some people got bad powers in this world, they pointed out. Like the guy who can turn his fingers blue by holding his breath. “And your powers, you don’t even need to hold your breath!” It was nice to be appreciated.
And you know, they were right. I just needed to listen to my friends, and life after that? Well, it was normal. Took life at a normal pace, found a place where they could help people like me, those without good powers. A nice room, 3 meals a day, and nice people to talk to, but they weren’t as good as my friends.
It wasn’t until there was a mean person at my place that I realized maybe I could do a bit more. Well, specifically, when I got punched in the head. He had a white coat, so my friends and I were supposed to listen to him, but he hit me! It hurt a lot!
My friends didn’t like that, either. “Maybe you should share that thought with him.” It didn’t take any effort at all. Suddenly I was in his head, showing him how much that hurt. My worries and fears of concussions, the hospital bills. My friends were pretty happy with me then, shouting “think more! Think faster!”
I realized now the man could hear my friends now, too. Oh, that was so good! Lately they’d been very loud, so much shouting. Not even the extra meals had been enough to keep my friends quiet.
His nose and ears started bleeding, the man who hit me. So many thoughts I had to share, and share them all at the same time, over and over! It was like…. Letting go of something you’d been holding on to for so long that you’d forgotten you’d been holding onto it.
“Why not everyone?” One of my friends asked, his black claws skittering across the ceiling, the gaping smile and empty voids for his eyes looking at me.
“Yes, why not everyone?” Another friend asked, bleeding teeth out of his hands and feet.
They had a point I didn’t consider! Maybe, just maybe, if I shared all my thoughts, and all my friends, with everyone…
Maybe life wouldn’t be so boring in my white room, my 3 meals, and orderly day, with all my thousands of friends.
“It would be easy,” said one more, their marble eyes rolling across the floor, stopping to rest at my feet. “We could tell everyone jokes!”
“What fun that would be,” I said, and the man with the bloodied nose and ears echoed with me, “What fun that would be!”
I laughed, delighted. And then everyone laughed with me. | 1,075 | They laughed at your power... until they noticed the "no cooldown, no energy cost" description, and realized the implications | 1,374 |
It was in the last box we found, nestled in the darkest recess of that claustrophobic attic. I’d awkwardly wriggled like a caver to drag it out of a nook between two trusses, the tip of a rusty roofing nail scratching my scalp as I did.
“What’s in it?” Asked Jeanie, her attentions still mostly absorbed in a recently unearthed collection of vintage porn. I sliced the box tape with a key and tore it open.
“Looks like some board games. I recognize some of them.” I said, as I pulled them out and placed them next to me. “Look, here’s Uno but it looks ancient.” I strained to read the writing in the dim light. “1973 it says there. Didn’t realise it had been around that long.” Removing a tattered Risk box, I noticed a gleam. The games had been neatly arranged to entomb a kind of metal teapot. Removing it, I was struck by how familiar it looked.
“There’s also something else.” I said, realising it was an oil lamp.
“Hm?” Murmured Jeanie, engrossed in a centrefold.
“Come and give this a rub,” I said seedily as I wriggled towards her. Proffering the item before me. The closer I got to the solitary bulb of the attic, the more ornate I realised it was.
Jeanie looked round, surprised at my erotic non sequitur. Glancing at the lamp she gave a half-impressed nod before turning back to the magazines and saying, “Rub it yourself.”
So I did, I ran my right index finger along its length with the same instinct that I’d touch wood with to counteract a jinx.
Immediately the lid flew off and with a yelp I was dragged towards the opening, my head suctioned to it. The rim pressed harder and harder to me and I thought the lamp was going to burrow right through my face.
“Help” was all I managed before the light went out and darkness enveloped. At least the lamp seemed to have released itself.
“Jeanie, can you turn the torch on? That was fucking weird.”
“Sorry, no torches left” a sonorous male voice boomed. “The last one burnt out a century ago. I do have some candles here somewhere though. Just a moment.”
A great noise ensued. I was frozen with confusion. A clattering in front of me, a clanging behind me. A smashing to the left of me and then finally a triumphant “Ah ha!” to the right of me. After some cacophonous moments more there came a scratching noise and a dim light flared up some distance away.
“Hello? Jeanie? Who are you?” I managed with some volume after wayward whispery initial attempts. The light began to move closer.
“What can you mean by that? I am who you say I am.” Came that voice again from behind the approaching light. I could make out some features now. Oddly hued, vast.
“Stay back” I squeaked. “Jeanie get out of here.” The light halted.
“Oh. Am I being evicted?” There was wounded concern in the voice now. “Can I wish not to be evicted? Is that allowed? I know that the place isn’t looking as good as it used to but I have such plans.”
\-------------------------
To be continued. Need to go out for the evening | 49 | “Oh great human, grant me my three wishes!” | 260 |
How can this be? I have never been to System4347, or what this creature calls planet Gateun, his native planet. Neither has he ever visited Napune in his lifetime. How can we be what each of us claims the other is.
But there is no mistaking his features, his name, abilities and more importantly, his story. Everything matches the information we have on the legendary G'rot, the first mage of Napune.
And he is claiming the same about me! Only, I am supposed to be a legendary warrior who rid them of an evil sorcerer!
We were still staring at each other, both thinking hard about how is this possible.
"Alright, let us dig deeper," I said at last. "How old is your legend of Rothar, the champion?
"About 750 years I think," he said. "That would be approximately 400 universal years. We did not even have space travel then, let alone alien contact."
"That is about 900 years ago on our planet. I sure as hell wasn't alive then. And our plantet did not have space travel either."
"What about your legendary G'rot? When was he there?"
"Roughly 500 years ago. Around 220 universal years."
"400 our years."
He sighed.
"Chuck it. I can't make any sense of it. This must be a freak coincidence" he said.
"Yeah, I don't have time for this either," I agree.
We paid for our drinks and left the bar and walked towards our respective ships.
"So long, G'rot."
"So long, Rothar"
We went our separate ways, in our spaceships, not knowing that neither of us were going to reach our destinations.
There was a news flash later that evening:
"In two separate incidents, two ships were spotted accidentally entering unstable wormholes that appeared suddenly near System5620p. Mayday signals from both ships were heard by numerous other cruisers in the vicinity. However, before any rescue could be attempted, the wormholes collapsed. Space travel near the affected system has been suspended until further notice." | 20 | "Just to make it clear. We are from different worlds, right? From different universes, speak different native languages, we are completely different races, and both your people's legend talk about me and my people's legend talks about you?" | 147 |
"Granted."
The confused teenager looked around at the everything still existing. He braced himself for a snap, a pop, anything at all, but was met with nothing. The teen glared at the genie, who sat cross legged in the air.
"That hardly seems 'granted' to me." The boy huffed.
"What ever do you mean?" The genie coyley responded.
The genie didn't look much older than the youth, and smiled wickedly at him.
"I said I wanted everything to stop existing!"
"And it will."
The teen paused, then let out a hearty laugh.
"Clever," The boy responded. "Then for my second wish, I would like everything to stop existing NOW."
"Gran-"
The boy woke up with a start. Around him, doctors, nurses, and strangers began cheering. It didn't take long for him to realize he was in a hospital bed. He felt so tired, and so weak. Hands supported him from the sides, then slowly placed him back in the bed. The doctor was saying something about a coma, but he was too busy focused on his mother's face. He'd never seen her smile so brightly before; her face was unrecognizable without it being contorted into a scream. And the older gentleman beside her must be his father. The man seemed to be holding back tears, and was gripping his mother tightly.
That makes sense, the more he thought about it. Surely that broken home and bleak world wasn't actually real; after all, how ridiculous was it to find an actual genie? And the wish! To make everything not exist? It must've been his mind trying to wake up!
Just as he was convincing himself, just as he was sinking in the arms of his loving parents, the doctor said something that made his back stiffen. Craddled by his mother, he weakly asked the doctor to repeat himself.
The doctor smiled coyley.
"Granted." | 36 | "I want everything to simply... stop existing" Horror dawns on the Genie, as he realises that it was up to him to save the Universe from himself. | 108 |
"...uh...ok, my leige" I said, confused. The king clapped me on the back and let out a large belch, before retiring to his chambers.
How had he known? Why did he drink it all? And why did he tell me? Most importantly, why was I still alive?
I heard a deep throat clearing noise from behind me. I turned, and found myself eye-to-eyepatch with an old man, leaning on a gnarled staff as lumpy as he was. His one remaining grey eye looked me up and down before addressing me.
"I suppose I can work with you", he said, then turned and began walking. "Follow me."
I was even more confused now. Who the hell was this?
My questions were interrupted by a swift blow to the back of my legs. I jumped in pain from the sting, but remained on my feet.
"Follow him", the castle guard ordered, readying his spear for another blow.
"Ouch, ok, I'll go" I said, backing away from the armed guard. Apparently everyone but me knew what I was supposed to do.
I took off after the one eyed man, quickly catching up to him. It wasn't a great feat, the man was quite slow. His walking staff tapped a precise metronome tone as he walked down corridors, stairs, and halls alike.
We finally arrived at the bottom of a particularly dark, damp stairwell. "In here, apprentice" he said, shoving the door open with his staff.
I looked at the man, puzzled. "What?" I asked. Too many questions fought to be first, so none of them ended up being asked.
The one eyed man fixed his functioning eye on me. "The king gave you to me. You tried to kill him. You failed. Your life is forfeit. Instead of giving it to the hangman, he gave your life to me. You are my apprentice, my ward, mine until you are a master in your own rights." He strode in to the darkened room. I followed.
"A master of what?" I asked. The man lit an oil lamp, casting a dim orange light about the room. Bottles of varied sizes, shapes and colors reflected the light, sending a kaleidoscope of color all around us.
The man poured two glasses of water and handed me one. "Drink it", he commanded, and consumed his own beverage. I complied.
"A master of poisons", he said. "Much like the one you just drank."
I spat out my last mouthful, gasping. "WHAT-"
"That poison will kill you in 15 hours", he said, interrupting me mid scream. "Unless you drink the antidote. Your first lesson, apprentice, is how to brew that antidote."
r/SlightlyColdStories for the celebration of my 60th story! 🥳
Edit: Expanding this story on Wattpad, same username as here with the working title "Master of Poisons". I'll publish each chapter as I go. | 1,988 | At dinner, you serve the king a glass of wine with poison in it. He sips from it and continues to eat as usual. At the end of the meal, he walks up to you and says. "Next time you make poison, make sure it really works. It was pathetic." | 4,724 |
# Soulmage
**"Now, sit!"** Bailou heard a doggy butt thump on the ground, followed by the whuppa-whuppa-whuppa of Silo's wagging tail.
"Roll over," Bailou commanded, rolling a hand he couldn't see, and he felt something furry thunk against his legs.
"Speak," he said.
"Arrrouf!" Silo said.
"How many fingers?" Bailou asked, holding up his index and pointer.
"Rrauf, rrauf."
"What if you added one more?"
"Rrauf, rrauf, rrauf."
"And if you subtracted four?"
Silo paused, the pant-pant-pant of a dog deep in thought the only sound. Tentatively, Silo barked, "Fuarr?"
Bailou rubbed his stubbly chin. "I suppose that's as good an answer as any. Here's a stumper for you: why are you so gosh-darn smart?"
In answer, Silo just eagerly panted, nudging Bailou with her wet nose.
"It's not me, you silly thing. I'm just an old man. Nothing special."
There came a *shuffa-shuffa-shuffa* as Silo shook her head.
"I mean, I've spent a good while with you. Nearly my whole life now. Which is more than I reckon a dog should naturally have."
Silo put her paws on Bailou's shoulders as he crouched down, staring with sightless eyes at the dog.
"'Course, I've been around for a good long while, too," Bailou muttered. "What year is it, anyway?"
In response, Silo tugged on Bailou's pant leg, dragging him towards the outside of his cozy little cave.
"No. No, I don't want to go outside. Those darn kids might still be around." Subconsciously, Bailou touched the eyes he'd once had—and would never have again.
Silo barked twice, more insistently this time.
"Alright, alright, alright. Fine." The old, *old* man stood and walked out of his cave, brushing aside the vines that had grown there.
When he reached the outside, he stopped. The hooting of unfamiliar tropical birds filled the air. Humidity like nothing he'd ever felt brushed at his skin.
"Wasn't this a desert, just the other day?" Bailou muttered, frowning.
*Shuffa-shuffa-shuffa,* went the playful shake of a dog.
Slowly, Bailou turned towards his loyal dog. "Silo."
"Rrauf."
"How many years... no. How many *centuries* has it been, since we first came to live in the Immortal Isles?"
Silo thought.
Then she began to bark.
"Rrauf, rrauf, rrauf, rrauf, rrauf." She paused, then hesitantly, added one more century. "Rrauf?"
The old man felt lightheaded. "No wonder you're so goshdarn smart. You've had all the time in the world to learn."
Silo nuzzled his hands, whining in sympathetic pain.
"Well. No wonder I feel so old." Bailou stood, stretching, and tilted his head, listening to the sounds of a foreign ecosystem. "Let's go exploring, shall we? There's a whole lot of future to catch up on."
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 227 | You're blind, and have a seeing eye dog. Except you're starting to get suspicious, as your dog is clearly living much longer than any dog should, and has always been especially smart. | 1,181 |
Lo'rei looked at the best before her. Her father, Tri'aer squeezed her hand gently as she took in the spectacle.
The beast in the cage was looking at her with a look she'd not seen before. Part of her quaked under the pressure of it's bloodshot eyes which projected a strange sort of heat she hadn't felt in all her years. A heat not of forging, or binding. No, this was the fire of something more sinister. Destruction, avarice.
"Its ok, Lo'rei," her father started tenderly. "It won't hurt you. Can't hurt you."
Lo'rei only nodded, entranced by the confounding image which lay before her. Between the ornate mythillim bars, the thing reminded her of the animals which she had seen at the menagerie. It stalked it's cell ferally, the remnants of some meal still leaving grease upon it's features. Glimmering in the soft yellow light of the underground facility, the grease highlighted the thing's sharp jawline which quivered as it grinded it's teeth together. It remained a few feet back from the bars. As if it were worrisome of moving forward.
"It.. It looks like us. Just a little bit, doesn't it father?" She asked in a quite tone, hardly more than a whisper.
Her father smiled gently at her. In some ways he was envious of her and the others young enough not remember the sacking of DelAir. Those who hadn't been brought into this world before the turning of the second age. Blind to the realities of this realm. The history books told some, but certainty not all. Some memories were better to be occluded. Smothered by the embrace of time.
"Yes. It walks on two legs. Eats the same food. Long ago, they even spoke in a tongue rougher and more crass than our own. But..."
His voice trailed off as he struggled to select the right words.
"..but, understand. Like the beast at the menagerie, it is a beast. Rabid. You can't understand it. Predict it. Some pieces of life are best viewed from a cage. I know that might be hard to understand. You have a sweet heart."
The thing looked on at the pair as they spoke. Though she couldn't place exactly how she knew, Lo'rei could swear it was trying to understand. Read their lips. Behind all the anger, behind the shroud, there was something intelligent. Curious.
"Now," her father continued, "I want you to tell me. Tell me what is you feel when you look at it."
"What I feel?" she asked with a confused expression.
Tri'aer nodded and squeezed her hand lightly, encouraging her.
"Well.. I feel heat. Hotness. Like the warmth of a fire when you step too close."
"Good." Her father stated. "Now - think. When else do you feel warmth? Not from a fire.
Lo'rei' immediately understood what her father was getting at.
"The life projected by the Tree of the Founders!" she exclaimed. "It.. The tree. This beast - this wild thing. It gives to us that warmth? That kindness? But how? This feels..*wrong*. So different."
"Does the warmth of the fire you mentioned earlier not so too impart itself onto the bread we eat? Do you feel harshness in the steam which rises from the loaf we break at the table?"
Lo'rei didn't respond to that. Her wide eyes betrayed her confoundment as her brain rushed to understand. She felt her father tug her hand. Slowly, he began to lead her away from the cell. Before they made it a few steps, though, she spun on her heel. Her hand lifted into the air and gave the creature a small wave. Her heart pounded as the beast did something strange. Inexplicable.
Raising one stained arm it waved back. It was awkward and unfamiliar, but it waved.
Behind her, she couldn't see her father's face wince. It would be all the harder to explain to her when she came of age, how the warmth was drawn from these beast. How that particular fire had to be stoked. For now though, it could wait. Why ruin the beauty of youth? | 21 | Humans were made by cruel gods and designed to produce energy through the emotions of fear, misery, and rage. Elves were made by gentler gods, given many gifts, about engineered to produce energy for their creators through the emotions of love, contentment, and joy. | 86 |
When I bought this house, I thought it was silly that it had a bunker built into the basement. The previous owner had been a prepper (before an untimely passing that had nothing to do with the end of the world), and I was more than ready to wave them off. I wouldn’t have even bought the place if it wasn’t so affordable and so close to work.
Turns out I was really lucky in that decision. Climate change, massive asteroids, alien invasions…get out your bets, the winner of the apocalypse is-
Robot uprising. Creating AI that are smarter than us was as bad an idea as all those sci-fi movies said it would be, and they didn’t waste long in turning their mechanical bodies against our much softer, more vulnerable, fleshier ones. Probably only a matter of time before they finish off humanity, honestly. But at least they can’t get into my bunker. No matter how hard they beat against the walls or try…other methods.
“I’ve been trying to reach you about your bunker’s extended warranty,” came the pleasant voice of a gentleman from the other side of the door. That’s Sam, or so I call them. A former spam calling bot, but somebody gave it a high-end processor and a handgun and now they served as a loyal soldier in the AI armies. When shooting at the door and trying to kick it down failed, this was the tactic they switched to.
Now they stopped by everyday like clockwork (or a highly advanced robot) to try to trick me into letting them in.
“I don’t think I’ll need that. Unsubscribe me from your lists.”
“Very well, sir. Have a nice day.” The sound of fading footsteps followed – but that was part of the routine too. A sound byte played through its speaker, along with that voice. Next would be-
“Hello, I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time,” next was the voice of a young woman. Soft and sweet, bearing almost genuine remorse at bothering me. “I have a package here for a Mr. Ade.”
A slightly new take. “That’s me. What is it?”
“It looks to be a nice new-“ There was a slight electronic buzz. “-ultra-deluxe horse-sized-“
Wait a second. I glanced at the computer sitting at the far end of the room. I managed to carry it down here before anybody broke in, and thankfully they hadn't shut down the internet yet.
“Are you looking at my internet history now?”
“Would you believe me if I said there are sexy singles out here? They’re waiting for you, and very sexy, and very single."
That means yes. Now I’d need to check if I could still download a VPN or something. Give me some privacy, Sam.
“I don't believe you.”
“We’re very sexy and single and looking for a bunker to hide from the robot apocalypse!” That repeated a few times, in a variety of automated voices.
“I know it’s you, Sam.”
“My designation isn’t Sam, it is S- I mean, I am a sexy single. Please let me in.”
“Let the robot slip out a little bit there. I know it’s you.”
“Darn it. I will be back.”
“Yup.” I glanced to the rows of canned foods lined across the walls. Several years supply, maybe even a good decade if I tried to stretch it out.
“I’ll be waiting.”
&#x200B;
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!) | 11 | There's a killer robot take over. You're safe in your bunker, while mankind is being killed off. One robot is focused on getting you out of your bunker by enticing you with promises of making your browsing history come true. | 19 |
Someday it'll come back to bite me, I thought. But not today.
I've just gotten back from lectures. Four hours of professors droning on, nearly all of which would be better served by just reviewing the hologram. Not many lecturers actually put in the work anymore; once you have world's greatest teachers explaining the subjects virtually, it didn't make sense to try and replicate the effort - and so most didn't. So much for exclusive experience of a prestigious university, isn't it? I'd have heard the exact same words spoken by the same people anywhere else. But being a student here has other benefits.
I toss my backpack to the side, removing tye jacket and tie - relics of decades past, when uniforms were more common. I slip into a loose t-shirt, jeans, ruffle my hair a little. Once all set, I move to the ground floor, then - to neighbouring building of the faculty.
An older gentleman in the uniform matching one I wore minutes ago greets me inside. He looks frail, rickety, the pitch black hair standing out so much you didn't even have to guess if the grayness wasn't dyed over. The only thing truly alive in the face were the eyes; inset deeply, they sparked with interest and excitement. I vaguely knew him; assistant professor, he mulled about the laboratories. He shakes my hand, then nods towards one of the rooms.
"Thank you for coming. I've got all the paperwork sorted, and payment as well. Everything good on your side?" he rattles out, the small talk clearly the last thing on his mind.
"Yep, just fine. If you can, try not to get me addicted to anything," I jest.
"Of course, of course."
We enter the room. Inside, a couple office chairs are set up, facing away from one another, and a machine, perhaps two feet a side, quietly hums in between them. I quietly lean over it, setting up all the details. Expected time of forty hours, biometric signatures provided, now all that was left wqs settling into the chairs, waiting until last light turns green, and conforming transfer by voice. I'd done it dozens of times, my motions quick and precise; my companion seemed to be utterly mesmerised by it. Still, a couple guiding words, and we settle into the chairs facing away - though I see him grimacing as he does so. Now all that was left...
A flash.
Even before I can open my eyes, the sharp pain confirks all worked. The aching bones were expected, but seems like the gentleman also had other health issues, in areas best not shown. Suddenly his wincing made a lot more sense.
As I rise with a slow groan, I'm greeted by my own voice.
"Ah, I guess I should have warned you. Sorry. But, well, a couple days and it'll be back to usual, if not... I can assure you, you get used to it." A giggle in my voice rings out - the tone is certainly my own, but I'd never in my life giggle like that.
"Well, time's a wastin', as they say. See you on Sunday!" I'm waved at, and the client rushes out - to some party where I'll end up sleepless, tired, drunk, drugged... hopefully not worse. But, well, the price my ckients pay is more than enough to cover any... issues.
I slowly rise from the chair, adjusting to the popping of joints and slow reflexes. Well, at least the eyesight seemed good, and so was the hearing. I could work with this.
I return to my dorm and pick up my holoreader. Soon, the evening continues as it would for amy student - lacture revision, exercises, chores, sleep. And it didn't matter that it was a sixty year old man doing it all today; it didn't matter my body of twenty two was out there partying and living the finest life.
Someday it'll come back to bite me. But for now, chores got done, and my bank account got quite a bit fuller. | 22 | Temporary body swapping is an easily accessible technology. You are a 23 year old grad student who makes money on the side renting their body to old folks who wanna feel young for a day. Meanwhile you're getting quite good at reading textbooks with old eyes. | 76 |
**PART ONE**
When I came to, the only reason I could convince myself that I hadn’t already died was the religious caste had promised me a long time ago there’d be no pain where I was going.
Nevertheless, the pounding in his head felt like Tarq, my half-orc friend of nearly six years had slipped another boozer into my drink. He hadn’t tried to kill me on purpose. He’d been desperate to show me a real drink, and something about these apple slices from his homeland enhanced the flavour. He hadn’t mentioned they enhanced the alcohol content by a factor of thirty. Tarq promised after personally paying for my stay in the Healer Halls that he’d never do it again.
*Healer Halls.*
That’s where I was. I’d recognise the scent of lingering Essian Swamp Weed that healers all over the empire used to keep their patients sedated. That, and the underlying taint of blood that clung to everything, no matter how hard they tried to clean it off.
Tarq’s alcohol poisoning had only left me feeling wretched and wishing I was dead. This was more. Every cell in my body ached and most of it burned. I never thought I’d live to see the day (and I guess I am going to live since I made a funny) where I’d wish to be under the influence of alcohol poisoning.
My chest shook in a groan as I tried to sit up, or roll to one side, or basically move at all. I think I wriggled as the groan morphed into a whimpering moan that I would go to my grave denying ever escaping my lips. Pain was supposed to be my constant companion. It meant I had lived when my enemies didn’t. Visions of my father’s lectures on the matter danced in fragments behind my closed eyes.
I gritted my teeth and tried for something simple like opening my eyes, and found only one capable of it. The other remained in blackness.
My fingers fought to move, crawling across my chest like a dying man crawling across a desert, but at least they moved. It was a start.
Suddenly, something cold and moist touched my lips. I baulked, thinking it was some kind of gag. I still didn’t know whose healing halls I was in, and it definitely mattered if I was in one of the wrong ones.
“Easy, hero,” I heard Shay-Lee chuckle from somewhere nearby. “Nice of you to pull your ass out of your beauty sleep to rejoin the rest of us.”
And just like that, I relaxed. Shay-Lee was a half-Elf from the Eastern Province. She was our rogue, and knew as much about entertainment as she did Breaking and Entering. If we were in the wrong place, she wouldn’t be joking around. She’d be screaming.
I placed my tongue against the moisture, trying to absorb as much of the cool liquid as I could while wracking my brain to remember what happened.
“Relax, Lord Emeron,” a stranger’s voice whispered gently. “You’re safe now.”
I stiffened at the honorific. Neither was quite right, but it was too close for me to be comfortable with. And then Shay-Lee laughed some more. “Don’t sweat it, Emeron. They’ve been calling us that since they brought us in. You should have heard what Tarq called them in return for daring to … in his words … prissy him up.”
I pictured the battle-scarred warrior with half a tusk missing, the other half possibly still embedded in the neck scales of a green dragon we took on a while back. Tarq wasn’t a coward, but he lived by his own rules. He'd probably never know, but that view of the world, so foreign to me, had kept me away from home much longer than I’d originally planned.
When I sucked enough fluid, I swallowed, and immediately regretted it. “What happened?”
“Before or after you had to go all noble and the rest of us had to either watch you die or get in there and dig you out?”
That shook loose a couple of memories. We’d been in the far north, and the mountain barbarians had somehow managed to breach the wall that my great-great-some freaking number of great-grandfather built to keep them out. A wall that should have been impenetrable. There was so much magic poured into each brick that the wall glowed at night.
Yet somehow it was breached, and half-giants flooded the area. My friends and I had been in Ayodyn, the first city they chose to ransack. We had been fighting on the front alongside the city guard. I’d fought for my life a lot in recent years, but when the threat to the empire became apparent, I instinctively switched roles. I’d been raised on warfare. On the strategies required to win a battle with numbers. And when the captain of the guard fell, I took his place and began barking orders.
Fear will do a number of things, including making frightened men and women cling to any authority figure that appeared to offer them hope. I leaned heavily into that until the tide of the battle began to turn in our favour. The half-giants didn’t understand strategy. They trusted brute force. I used that against them. And my friends acted as my lieutenants. I knew each of their strengths and weaknesses and utilised them.
The barbarians retreated and began throwing boulders in an effort to topple our two and three-storey buildings. We were hunkered down when I saw the religious order attempting to empty a building full of children and infants into the back of a large wagon. There must have been at least twenty, probably closer to thirty kids, aged between newborns to ten-year-olds sitting in that wagon.
And one of those damned boulders collided with the side of the building, caving in the front wall supporting the top two floors and bringing the whole thing down.
That was when my modern brain collided catastrophically with my old brain. My old brain would see the loss of the children as something to be chalked up to casualties of war and another tool to be used to motivate the troops into fighting on. My modern brain had me darting across the road to slap the broadside of my bloodied sword across the oxen’s rump so hard the edges bit into the flesh.
The brute squealed and took off running, and while I tried to run alongside it, or hitch a ride on the side of the wagon as it flew past, I wasn’t quick enough for either.
Thankfully, a building falling on me took me out of commission in very short order.
The fact that I woke up at all, said we were on the winning side. Now that I remembered the facts, we would’ve been eaten had we been captured. “Where … are we?” I croaked.
“Talmoral, my lord,” the soft voice answered.
A city half a day’s ride to the south. A larger, more fortified city to fall back to.
I opened my mouth, but again, Shay-Lee piped up. “Save your breath, Em,” she said. “We’ve been telling them to stop for a week, and they still insist on making us into more than what we are.”
“Ayodyn?”
“In ruins, but it remains in our possession, thanks to you. Casualties were under a thousand, and we lost less than two hundred.”
My brain worked those numbers, if only to give it something to do. We were only at two-thirds of that when I went down. But it wasn’t my problem. My presence had been a fortuitous thing, and now that I had played my part, I wanted to put it behind me.
But it seemed my broken body didn’t agree with my overall plan.
***(...To be continued...)*** | 14 | You're an adventurer with a secret, after a catastrophic world changing event, you left the comforts of your castle and have been living with the commoner's, -and your traveling party doesn't know. They are about to found out. | 27 |
“Wake up babe,” a woman’s voice said as a hand shook me. I groaned and rolled over.
“You can’t sleep all day! If you don’t get up I’m going to leave,” the voice said.
It had been a month since I gained this mysterious power, but it changed my life. One morning I wished away my headache and by the time I went to sleep that evening I was bedding down in an Italian mansion with the most beautiful woman in the world.
I opened my eyes and saw her standing over me, looking furious.
“What?” I said as I tried to pull myself up while wishing away the crushing headache that met me each morning.
“It’s 1pm, half the day's gone!”
I slowly stood up and yawned, staring out beyond the deck, over the cliffs of the Amalfi Coast. A warm wind blew in through the shade curtains.
“What’s wrong with you?" She said, "every day you’re staying in bed longer and longer. You can do anything in the whole world and you spend most of it sleeping!” She spoke with thick Italian accent. Her long brown hair moved with the warm breeze drifting in through the open door.
I shrugged, “I dunno. Ever since this whole thing started I can’t remember any of my dreams and I wake up with a headache that gets worse every day. I wish it away but it keeps coming back.”
We were out on the balcony now, staring out over the hundreds of white houses stuck onto the cliffs. Far down below people laughed and played on a beach covered with golden sand. My yacht sat anchored in the bay, waiting for orders.
She passed me a cup of coffee, “so what else will you wish for today?”
“Today I want to do something really big. Like the biggest thing I can do. I don’t know why, it just feels like time’s running out.”
I gazed out over the ocean and then looked up into the sky.
“I think I’ll go to space,” I said.
Six hours later I was docking with the international space station.
“Houston, we have contact,” I said into my radio, then laughed when I thought about what people in Houston must actually be thinking right now.
It didn’t take long to find out what the crew of the station were thinking though. It was as if the station had just been penetrated by debris and was rapidly losing oxygen. They were in crisis mode, yelling into radios and pushing buttons all over the place.
I probably didn’t help the situation by not bothering to explain my presence. For some reason I just knew none of it really mattered, that it wasn’t worth my time to explain what was happening or how I’d got there.
Instead, I spent the next two hours swimming around the station, peering out over earth and trying to drink anything and eat every food I could think of. It was the greatest few hours of my life.
Eventually I got tired and returned to my own ship. By now the crew were holding makeshift weapons and carefully watched me leave, clearly under military orders.
Once I got back onto my ship and ejected from the station, I laid back and yawned. I was about to set a new course when I felt myself falling asleep. My shoulders relaxed, my thoughts drifted.
“So Adam, did you enjoy yourself today?” A man standing before me wearing a black suit said. He was in an empty space, surrounded by white in every direction.
“Where am I? Are you the one giving me all these wishes?” I asked.
The man laughed.
“Oh Adam, it really is sad that you don’t get to remember our little chats each evening. It’s also sad how you chose to spend your day,” he said.
“What's sad about going to space?”
“Alas, nothing. But isn’t there a saying on your planet, something about good things coming to an end,” he smiled a wicked grin, “and another that says what goes up must come down?”
His laugh echoed through my head until I gasped awake. A red light flickering and an alarm was going off. I looked out into the blackness and saw the off moon to my right, with the beautiful blue planet earth looming large on the left.
I was about to wish away my headache when I realized I didn't have one. I laughed, thankful to be rid of the morning pain. Then static hissed through the radio, followed by a voice.
“Mr Adam Orphanite, this is Commander Jacobs from the U.S. Space Force. We have weapons locked onto your position. You have been deemed an enemy of the state and designated a terrorist by the United Nations…”
I was about to wish myself back home and for all of this trouble to go away when I remembered I didn’t get the headache.
I tried to wish one on myself, but nothing happened. Then I began to panic. | 14 | You have a dream that a powerful being gives you the power to wish for anything you want, with unlimited uses, but when you wake up, you forget the dream. You're waking up with a headache and you say to yourself "I wish this headache would go away!" | 55 |
Elroy sighs. Heavily. He seems to do that often when I speak, but I can’t help it. I have too many questions and an abundance of time surrounded by these four walls. If they’d give me a phone or a computer, maybe I could spare them the nonsense by googling it.
“We’ve already talked about this Adnis,” He says while pressing something cool against the nape of my neck. My body tenses as I anticipate what will surely come next. A shiver runs through me and the sharp pierce of a needle embeds itself deep into my skin. The pain is immediate and fierce, but not enough to deter me. Warmth spreads from my neck down.
“I know but…We’ve been working towards this for months! How much longer am I going to have to wait?” …Until I get to feel grass or see the Sun or smell wet asphalt or meet people? The rest of the sentence lingers between us, unspoken yet certainly echoing from past discussions.
Elroy slowly pulls the needle out and the pain fades quick. I shake my head and run my hands through my hair, fixing my eyes on a metal tray across the room. The harsh fluorescent lighting glints off of the edges of surgical tools highlighting scalpels and forceps and retractors and one new tool I’ve never seen before. I know better than to ask, lest I want a demonstration.
“There’s a difference between sending your sister, who has trained for modification much longer than you.”
That word. Modification. I hate it.
“Yes, but I have almost completed our training.” I can’t mistake the desperation in my voice for anything else. I know Elroy feels it too, by the way he shakes his head.
His wrinkled hands brace my shoulders and guide me to lay down on the examination table. The world spins for a moment before I’m completely horizontal. I adjust my hospital gown, feet skimming the ends of the table. The warmth from the shot has transferred into an searing heat that makes my fungers tingle.
Elroy brushes back my hair and uses two fingers to pull my eyelids open. He leans in close and his breath smells of rancid coffee. Another worldly experience I’m deprived from in every way except words.
“At some point doesn’t experience become my teacher?” I pry.
Elroy grabs something off the tray and cold metal keeps my eye open. Four straps made of leather are next. Elroy secures each one across each limb. The leather bites and Elroy hums while seemingly pondering over my question.
I take a deep breath because I know what is coming next.
A red light dims the room. That’s definitely not what’s supposed to happen next. Elroy tenses. Then, a cacophony of shrieks can be heard down the hall. A siren couples this, drowning out screams. I begin resisting my binding. Elroy drops his tools, takes a quick look at me. The red light flares, surrounding us in darkness for a moment, then pooling us in deep red the next.
“Help me out! Let me out! Get these off of me!” I shout, thrashing now. I can tell this is unplanned. Not another drill. Or test. Elroy smells of fear. A rare scent for him to produce. It stinks and clings to my nose. The tool once keeping my eye open clatters to the floor.
Elroy looks between me and the hall, clearly weighing his and my life in his hands. My heart is racing, I arch my back trying to rip the binds to no avail. Panic is searing my chest hot and heavy. I feel like I can’t breathe, for the first time genuinely scared I may never make it out of this fucking cell.
That is, until I see her. For a fraction of a second.
“Elroy wait—!” I shout, adding to the shrill sounds going around us.
My eyes go wide and Elroy stiffens. Red light comes, red light goes. I feel his demise before I see it. Hot liquid stains my face, my hospital gown. Red light comes back. Cubes of flesh and muscle and tendons are on the floor. Elroy’s face stays intact. Blood coats the walls. A shriek catches in my throat. Red light goes.
When light returns my sister is hovering above me. Her eyes are wild and her hair disheveled. Normally pristine she looks unhinged. Blood is caked up her arms and smeared across her cheeks. She grins when she sees me and begins unfastening my binds.
“I heard you’ve been itching to get outside,” She lilts, her smile morphing from deranged to warm.
I can barely speak. I sit up and follow her anyhow.
“We have to hurry. There isn’t much time. We can’t stay here.” | 15 | when I go for a walk it's a level 6 containment breech!" | 66 |
David woke up, very confused. He had lived a long and fulfilling life as a comedian and TV celebrity with a beautiful wife and daughter, but he knew he was dying. The doctors had tried everything they could get to cure the cancer, but ultimately it couldn’t be cured. So he had been in hospice for the last two weeks, and just last night his wife Victoria had tearfully said goodbye.
But now – David was much younger. He didn’t have the aches and pains that he had grown used to in his old age. He didn’t even have his beard. He looked like he did back when he hosted Mitchell and Webb! “Well, I must be dead,” David thought. Hence the confusion. Because David was agnostic – he didn’t say there definitely wasn’t an afterlife, but he privately thought that it wasn’t likely, and he expected death to be final. No afterlife, no watching down on people, no nothing.
Well, he couldn’t stay here. He saw a pearly gate in the distance. And a rather lengthy line of people trying to get in. Well, he guessed he should go stand in the line. He didn’t believe in the afterlife, but he’d been raised in a Christian country so he knew about St. Peter judging souls to get into heaven.
As he waited in the lengthy line to be judged, David saw that a few people were allowed to continue walking. Those must have been the few who were deemed worthy of entrance to heaven. But for most people, the floor disappeared from under them, and they fell into a pit. David could only guess that the people who walked forward were those who were allowed to heaven, and the ones who fell into a pit were condemned to Hell. “Well, I might as well enjoy my last few minutes in this pleasant place before I go to Hell,” David thought. As an agnostic, David fully expected that he had offended whichever God was running the place. He was, however, curious about which religion was right. Based on the number of people descending into Hell, it couldn’t be a major religion like Christianity or Islam. Wouldn’t it be odd if it turned out that the people in Polynesia who worshipped Prince Phillip as a God were correct?
Finally, it was David’s turn.
“Name?” the gatekeeper asked.
“David Mitchell.”
“David Mitchell, David Mitchell – from London?”
“Yes.”
“You’re agnostic?”
“Yes.” That was probably the answer that would condemn him to Hell, but David hadn’t the least desire to lie.
“Very well, welcome to Heaven.”
“What?”
“Move!”
David was shocked, but he did as he was asked and continued on the path. He went into a beautiful room – a paradise! Perfect temperature, angels bringing cream puffs around, everything was great! But why was he here?
“Ah, welcome! You must be new?”
“Yes, who are you?”
“I’m Stephen Hawking, from the welcoming committee.”
Indeed, it was Stephen Hawking. And he was looking good – freed from his wheelchair, able to walk and talk in his own voice. And yet he looked miserable.
“Is this heaven?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are we here? You’re an atheist and I’m an agnostic, and when I was in line to be judged it looked like 9 out of 10 people were sent to hell.”
“Well, it turns out that there is an almighty God. But he thinks that all religions and religious people are hypocritical, so he only lets atheists and agnostics into heaven.”
“I see. So why is everybody so miserable?”
“Well, we spent our entire lives thinking there was no God and that we should live morally. And God lets us into heaven because of that. But his angels like to rub it in.”
Just then an angel appeared.
“David, here’s a bottle of whiskey for you, provided by our most gracious lord and sovereign, God.”
David took the whiskey, and sipped it. It was by far the best whiskey he had ever drunk – it tasted much better than anything on Earth, and yet it was still whiskey.
“Yes, that does taste good doesn’t it? You can thank our most gracious lord and sovereign, God, for providing you with such beneficence.”
The angel went away.
“See what I mean?”
David could. He liked the whiskey, but the angel was a smug little bastard.
“Is it just him who’s like that?”
“No, it’s all of them. And we have to put up with it for all eternity.”
“That’s a pretty bad punishment, truth be told. Can I just go to Hell?”
Another angel came to them.
“No, you must stay here and be close to our gracious lord and sovereign, God. It is a reward for your agnosticism. Have another whiskey.”
“Christ, I’m going to need to get drunk.”
“No luck,” said Stephen. “Since you’re in heaven, you can drink as much as you want, and all the drinks are free, but you’ll never get drunk. Likewise, you can eat all the food you want, but you’ll never get fat.”
“And it’s all thanks to our most gracious lord and Sovereign, God!” said the angel, before floating away again.
David looked on in horror. He was going to have to put up with this for the rest of eternity?
“Come on, David. Let’s get you settled in your room at least.”
David followed Stephen Hawking, all of a sudden thinking that this was a fate worse than death. | 51 | Turns out every religion was wrong, there is a heaven, but the only people who get in are atheists and agnostics, who are pretty miffed about it. | 104 |
“It’s too many names.”
Hael leaned closer, “no… you got to be kidding me. You can never have too many names.”
“Yes!” Raelin exclaimed, “that’s what I thought! But then I got the secretary job and…”
Hael blinked, “sorry, I have to stop you there. What’s a secretary?”
Raelin chuckled, “apologies, I’m almost too adapted to human terminology at this point. You know how kings have advisors to ease the load of their job and have them carry out tasks and stuff? It’s like that.”
“So you work for kings?”
“Kings of capitalism. They don’t have royal blood or anything, but they’re just as rich.”
“Wow! What’s this capitalism? Is it a new kind of magic?”
“You know how we exchange names? Humans do the same thing with money. That system is called capitalism.”
“I’ve heard of money before, isn’t it metal? That stuff is dangerous to us.”
“They mostly use paper now, or crypto.”
“Crypto?”
“Don’t make me explain it. There are just lots of other ways, is all.”
“Wow… wait… what were we talking about again?”
“My job. It’s too many names. It’s exhausting. I even forget sometimes, or mix up names and schedule the wrong meeting.”
“You have so much name wealth that it's a burden?”
“Yeah, I mean, what am I going to do with them all?”
“You could share the wealth…”
“Oh! Hael, you’re brilliant! Currently, fae are limited in their advancements because we spend all our time mining for names, but if we could set aside only a small portion of the fae populus to obtain names the rest can do other things and exchange those goods and services for the existing name currency!”
“Oh, I meant just to me.”
“Ah… well, you’re still brilliant. Don’t worry, I’ll still give you a nice sum, but we have a chance to change the fae system for good, make it more like the human one which has a lot more freedom. Hael, didn’t you always say you wanted to be a painter?”
“Yeah, but…”
“But, with this new system, you’ll be able to! You’ll actually be able to receive names for your artistic passion!”
“Really? This system sounds too good to be true, I couldn’t imagine such was possible from those puny humans.”
Raelin smirked, “neither did I, but lo and behold! So, Hael, will you help me change fae society for the better?”
Hael grinned, “I’m in.” | 197 | An ambitious Fae gets a job as a receptionist. After all, what better way to have a ton of people willingly give you their name? | 1,004 |
There were those who said Bedford Occult College was worse than being born Sparkless; there were those who willingly gave up the Magick life altogether after having been accepted to BOC; there were those who had sworn their Magick had weakened after visiting even one graduation. And while it was true that the Bedford Ducks had never won a single Potch match in 300 years, and that the school itself was held up by the Magick of the only even *moderately* powerful professor at the school, and that the deadly spirits haunting its former-prison walls had lost even a hint of their previously chilling delinquent charm, Selka Vorpasch had never really cared. Because Bedford Occult College may have been the lowest of the lowly Magick schools in the dimension, but Magick was Magick, and any amount of Magick was better than the stagnant mundane rot of Pennington Preparatory College.
Selka had spent his whole life believing that some things truly WERE incredible—something more than the latest trends in book and film or a particularly nice sunset. And while he’d sworn to have had a taste of true, world-changing, *magickal* power while sitting one day in the shade of an oak tree and sipping the eternally elusive *perfect* cappuccino, he couldn’t deny that he’d always hungered for more. (And he couldn’t rule out that the faeries that he now knew nested in such grand oak trees had anything to do with it).
So Selka was perfectly happy with his Bedford Ducks, thank you very much, and the crumbling walls, and the dying landscaping, and the listless spirits, and the severely underfunded and sarcastic staff, and if he was the slightest bit disappointed in the fact that it seemed the highest hopes he’d been raised to have were false…well, he needn’t let that on. There may have been seven million, four hundred eighty three thousand, five hundred fifty two elite Magick schools on the face of this planet in this particular dimension, but he was here, at Bedford Occult College. And that was all that mattered. Besides, it was too late to apply anywhere else. | 11 | When you turned 18, you learnt that magic was real and you accepted a position at the local school for magic. What you didn’t realise though is that there are many magical schools, and yours is the occult equivalent of a community college. | 108 |
I walked briskly down the art gallery, towards the police cordon. An inspector spotted me and nodded.
"I'm the investigating officer, Diwan Shah", he said proffering his hand.
"Senior Detective Perez", I said accepting his handshake.
"Heard a lot about you. Please follow me. The painting is this way"
"I got this case just this morning. Haven't had time to read all the details. How did we find out that the locations of Soren's victims are hidden in the paintings?"
"One of his neighbours saw the painting and knew the location that was depicted. Apparently he had gone for a vacation in those parts and sat beneath a tree in front of the church. He identified the church and even the tree. Only, there was a cross marked beneath it. Thinking it could be a location map to a buried treasure, he went there again and dug it up. Once the first body was found, we began analysing the other paintings. Three bodies have been recovered so far, and his fourth and last painting is in this gallery."
"Has Soren been arrested?"
"No, he somehow got wind that we found the first body and has disappeared since."
We reached the alley where Soren's painting was hung. It was titled "The Urban Reality".
I stared at the painting, trying to make sense of it.
"Yeah, a bummer isn't it", chuckled Shah.
This was easily the least appealing painting I had ever seen. It was what people called 'modern art', but it looked like something a two year old would have made. Along all four edges of the painting, the artist had created a mosaic using one inch long brush strokes in different shades of brown. The center of the canvas, the part which was enclosed by the mosaic, had spots of every color imaginable. It reminded me of the old CRT televisions, which displayed a colorful dotted screen when it had no input signal.
"This is going to take a while. Do we have permission to take the painting with us yet", I asked.
"Yes. The gallery doesn't want to do anything with this painting now. Once the news was out that Soren is a serial killer, the price of his paintings went down to almost nothing"
"Great. Get the painting to the HQ. We'll study it there. In the meanwhile, take some high res pictures and run it through every pattern recognition algorithm we have to see if he's written anything in that myriad of colors."
__
A couple of days went by without any progress. The pattern recognition algorithms found nothing more than a letter 't' within the colorful spots. Soren was still absconding. It would have been easier to beat the location out of him.
"Don't we have any other clues apart from this painting", I asked.
"I'm afraid not. We have questioned his neighbours, known relatives and friends but no one has a clue about what that painting could mean. We also traced the route he took during his vacation. All the locations where bodies were hidden, were part of his itinerary. But still no clue about what this location could be," said Shah.
We stared at the painting for a bit. Then I started pacing.
"I don't understand how people see this garbage as art", he sighed.
"Yeah, I know. Garbage is accurate."
I froze. Could it be? Surely not!
"Shah! Get Soren's itinerary. Could you plot all the locations on the map?"
"Sure. You got something?"
"I might have. Once you plot all the locations, I want you to search for landfill sites near them."
His jaw dropped.
"You don't think.."
"I actually do."
He worked furiously on his computer.
"Found it. There are only two landfills that are near the locations he visited."
"Switch to satellite image view and zoom in on one of those locations. Try to scale the landfill site to match the painting."
"WOAH! I don't believe this. This has to be the one. The brown mosaic in the painting is actually the roofs of the nearby slums that surround the landfill. It matches perfectly."
I smiled involuntarily. I had that familiar feeling of satisfaction and euphoria.
"But how do we find a body in this huge landfill?"
"Now that we have confirmed that this painting definitely depicts a location and isn't a riddle of some sort, we can say that he has not broken his pattern. Keeping in line with that pattern, I am sure that there is a cross mark somewhere."
And it clicked again.
"The letter 't' that we found," I cried out. "That has to be an 'x'"
And so it was. | 53 | A famous painter is revealed to be a serial killer. His paintings are the locations where he stored his victims' bodies, with clues in the frames to help find them. You, an ace detective, are called in to help decipher the most cryptic painting yet. | 224 |
**———— The Off-Day ————**
"Where are the fucking pockets," I heard Aly mutter viciously.
She clicked frantically through pages and pages of women's clothing, searching for at least one respectable-looking dress with a single pocket on it. So far, she had had no luck. She had been at it since two in the morning. It was eight when I checked on her.
"Sweetheart," I said, before sipping my coffee, "you are a Goddess. Why don't you just... conjure a dress?" I raised my eyebrows in confusion.
"That's what I'll probably end up doing," answered Aly annoyedly. "It's just the principle of the thing, you know? Humans are so... inconvenient." She glared at the computer as though it had offended her.
"I'll try not to take that personally," I mumbled, pretending to get upset and look away. Aly grinned, sat up and hugged me.
"You know generalising statements about your species exclude *you* specifically, darling," she said, resting her chin on my shoulder. She winked. "You're a rather convenient man, in fact."
"Wouldn't have married me otherwise, would you?" I proposed. "And... yeah, I get it. The rest of humanity is annoying."
Aly lit up. "I knew you'd agree!" She snapped me a kiss on the cheek, then moved away from me and sat back in front of the laptop.
Seeing her smile, I thought I would melt. Given Aly's powers, it was certainly possible.
"Listen, if it will get you to get off the laptop and take a nap, I'll sew you a dress myself," I told her, indulgently.
"You'd do that for me?!"
*Oh my goodness,* I thought. *Those puppy eyes. She has to be a goddess of manipulation.*
"Anything for you, babe," I answered. She— literally— glowed as she came to hug me again.
"You are the *best*!" she exclaimed. Then she went to the bed, and she was asleep before her head had touched the pillow.
I spent the rest of my morning designing and making Aly's dress. Two years of marriage, and she still had me wrapped around her little finger.
Every now and then, I would glance back at her, and just admire her sleeping. When Gods sleep, universes flash and live and die above their heads, but I didn't have eyes for that. I was looking at her calm, smiling face, her closed eyes. And I was thinking, *oh dear. That's my wife. Well done, me.*
It was her off-day. That is, the one day of every month when she had threatened every single wrongdoer and troublemaker on Earth to better be quiet, so she could spend it on herself. So she woke up at eleven, to a fully completed dress and me crumbled on the couch, to avoid disturbing her.
She was elated. If you told me three years ago that a Goddess would be so easy to please as to be over-the-moon for a dress with pockets, I would have laughed. But, then again, three years ago I hadn't married a Goddess yet.
And, of course, I couldn't tell anyone else. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, even our closest friends, Aly was a regular human, and Ultra-Woman was a superpowered one. She had been pretty vehement about the secret-identity part of our relationship.
My thoughts were swiftly interrupted by a pancake to the face. Aly was looking at me, plate in hand, with the kind of shit-eating grin I fell in love with.
"Breakfast's ready," she said gleefully. I looked at the pancake that I had instinctively caught with a pretentiously disappointed expression.
"Alyssana Thunderborn," I exclaimed, reminding myself of my mother, "what have we said about throwing food at our husband, whom we love dearly?"
"Clean up after?" wondered Aly.
I sighed and joined her at the kitchen table. The pancakes were divine, as always. We must have spent at least an hour messing with each other's food, because the sun was shining bright when we were done, and we were both covered in honey and cinnamon.
Aly just used her powers to clean up after herself. I chose to shower.
When I came out of the shower, Aly was gone. She had left me a note, saying she had gone shopping, but I knew better than to trust that. She never kept the off-day's rule. Something would always happen, and she would go.
I suppose marrying a Goddess isn't all sunshine and roses.
As I always do, I turned on the news to see what battle Aly had gotten herself into today, but I couldn't keep myself interested. It was... some world domination scheme again. I think. You lose count— and interest— after the first ten or so.
She came back, as she always does, with wounds she couldn't heal by herself. A burn from God-knows-what on her cheek, a stab wound clean through her chest, and a broken rib. She collapsed on the couch for me to care for her, and, before she passed out from exhaustion, she managed to laugh and say, "hell of an off-day," into my ear.
The headache that awaited her the next day was to be legendary. But, for now, even with a hole in her chest, she looked peaceful and beautiful beyond measure.
I went to work, directing her divine powers towards the wounds. It was to be a long afternoon for me, and a longer one for her.
——————————————————————————————— | 23 | The man that married a God. | 64 |
While breeding the ferocious creatures was easy enough, training them was an entirely different matter. Scores of Faliforn Solders were slaughtered while merely trying to feed them, let alone even more left maimed and disfigured in the course of their training and conditioning. After many failed approaches and a few chance discoveries they had finally succeeded. Although they were small, fast, and had an appetite for offal, they could now be easily manipulated with simple sounds and frequencies. Without the need for advanced or even long-distance communication to carry out various orders, a simple recording attached to the collar could guide a beast towards their ultimate goal.
"Perfect!" thought Ti-anisphere. While he was a strong leader and had formidable power he was still no match, physically or mentally, against even the meekest of humans on their wretched ball of dirt. Never before had he been so offended by the existence of any civilization but this was simply beyond reproach. He would not stand for the absolute travesty of media portrayed by this species.
It had been only a few quons prior when he was just being inducted into the ranks of the Faliforn Guard. New advances in Faliforn technology had enabled them to scan frequencies along previously unheard bands and unfathomable distances. He reflected on that first day, admiring his new suit as it hung, flawlessly, in its cubicle bearing his name in a bold yet respectful blue. A prominent news station broadcast suddenly appeared on the far wall with its usual fanfare and accompanying smells. A feeling of excitement and curiosity filled the room. It had felt like he was caught up in a rally but there was no one else in the room with him save for the sanitation drone that could care less about what was on the screen and more about what that strange little blob of green was on the floor.
"Greetings Falifor! De-molisquare reporting in direct from the Communication Center and we've just received word that the first recordings from another civilization have been released! We warn you, the following images and sounds may be disturbing so we caution any young viewers to take heed." What followed next started as an amazing look into another civilization and quickly devolved into a grotesque and macabre horror show of death and destruction. Never before had he, or anyone of Falifor for that matter, seen anything like this. The sheer wanton destruction and disregard for life was beyond appalling.
While these "Humans", as the translator described, looked fairly similar to their own species, the differences were unsettling. Eyes that were set too far forward. A mouth full of far too many teeth. Hands with too many fingers and...were those claws on the ends? It wasn't even the appearance of these creatures that startled him to his core. It was what the last few videos had shown. Highly advanced craft capable of reaching out to the farthest stars, able to cover vast distances in mere moments, and they were headed in their general direction.
His terror fueled his rage, his rage fueled his motivation, and his motivation had him surpassing ranks at lighting speed. He never held his tongue and always spoke directly and that earned him the praise of many colleagues. While some had touted defense and bunker plans, he plowed full force into the idea of offense and elimination. No race of violent and technologically advanced people should ever be allowed to roam the universe unfettered and Falifor be damned, he would not allow it on his watch.
&#x200B;
(To be continued if I can...) | 12 | After seeing the media that humans produce, an alien force decided the best way to defeat them would be to create and send hostile creatures to do that for them. Unfortunately for the aliens, the creatures were furry, and humans can pack bond anything. | 69 |
"What the hell is this?" Davron muttered under his breath, as he gazed at the group of people who just walked through the front door of the tavern.
Five patrons walked through the door, all of them clad in heavy plate armor. All were different sizes, some were hunched and sniveling, others stood tall and proud. Their weapons were sheathed, but their aura, their vibe, made it clear that whoever these people were, were not in the funny business.
One of the smaller hunched ones moved over to the tavern keeper, gave him some money and spoke for a while. The tall one with the battle axe on his back surveyed the room, his gaze leaving shivers over those who met his eyes. The even taller one, with the greatsword, jabbed him quickly with an elbow and whispered something in the shorter ones ear. They engaged in a quiet conversation. The one wielding armor as black as an eye's pupil and a silk coat and a wicked longsword at her hip took a seat at the bar, taking in the surroundings. Her blonde ponytail hair and general silhouette gave away that she might be the only lady in the troupe, but no less intimidating. Next to her sat the one with plate armor that looked like a child had cobbled it together. How he moved in it at all made no sense to me, but his fellows don't seem bothered.
Out here, the scariest thing was Black Ben's drunken rants when he started raving about the war that he fought in, long before he grew bald. I heard that when he was young, he had the locks of hair that a dame would do blasphemous things for, these days, the man's head looks like a man whore's shriveled ballsack.
Me and my men had scouted this place out a week ago. Next to no defense besides the high walls meant to keep the beasts out and an occasional teen thinking he'd become a man by strapping on armor and waving a sword around while barking orders. 'Men' like that'll drop the pretense real quick once a proper quick lad like Davron gets behind him.
We were thinking of having some fun around here, pushing folks around, let them know whose in charge. Enjoying whatever hospitalities this place has to offer. Things are supposed to go down tonight, as we had a meeting scheduled with the mayor where we'd take over. But if this lot sticks around, they might make the whole plan go up in smoke.
"Boss," Sammy asked as she pulled her hood down further, "What do we do?"
"Play us a tune, Sammy. Dober, get near them. Get a whiff. I'm gonna talk to the lass."
"Why not let me do the talking?" Davron said with a raised eyebrow.
"Last time you talked up a blonde woman, you nearly got your face eaten by a vampire. I thought you'd know better by now. Keep an eye out. You're good at reading people. Read them. Lemmy, head for the bathroom and use one of those fancy spells to get inside their heads. We're doing recon. I want to know whatever we can. who they are, where they're from, weaknesses to exploit. Get to it, one by one. Me first."
I got up from the table and strode up to the bar. Barry, the keep spoke up.
"Another round?"
"Just a beer for me...And this fine lady right here." As I gestured towards the one with the pony tail. She barely turned her head, but I recognize a judgmental side-eye just from the body language.
"Ale." She grunted, "Lay it on as think as you can get it."
I sat down on her left, with the two hunched ones to her right. The patchwork seemed nervous, looking around at all the glass bottle, jimmying his chair like nervous child that's eaten too much sugar. The other one pulled out a book and started reading, minding his own business. A holy book or something?
"Figured you'd appreciate a drink. There's no stops nearby." I say as I lean on the bar, trying to get a peek through the visor but seeing nothing. With the light of a nearby torch, I can see the outline of a skull on the front of her helmet against the jetblack polish.
"The quiet's nice though." Her voice was rather gravelly. This is no young maiden.
"Where I'm from, its common courtesy to buy a lady a drink when she arrives. I like to think my mother did a good job of raising me."
"Would she agree?"
"Well, she's gone now, I'm afraid, but I'm sure she'd approve of how far I've come."
Barry placed a tankard of beer and a tankard of ale on the bar for the two of use. I tossed him a couple of coppers and raised my drink towards her.
"To good companions, eh?"
She turned to the book reader, who returned he stare for just a second, chuckled, and turned his attention back to his book. Then, she took the tankard and slid it over to patchwork armor man. Even though he was looking away, his left arm shot out unnaturally quick, and the head followed. He took the tankard, bent forward and away and appeared to raise his visor to....swallow the tankard damn-near whole and causing half the ale to spill on the floor. Seemed to be enjoying it though.
The bookreader just shook his head, the lady appeared satisfied and Barry looked a bit shocked.
"Told you." The bookreader said as he turned a page.
Sammy had taken a seat near the middle of the tavern and had started playing her violin. Her music was magical in its own right, and I've heard her songs often enough to know she's playing one that dulls the senses of those she focuses on. Good girl.
Lemmy hobbles off to the bathroom not after. Dober and Davron are still in their corner, doing their things. So far so good.
"Can't he just...drink that normally?" I ask.
"Perhaps if he was normal. But hey, he fits in with the rest of us."
"Speaking of the rest of you, I see you're all armored. And you're not even taking off your helmets in a tavern. Expecting trouble?"
"We have our reasons."
"I'd love to hear, if you don't mind."
"I was cursed at a young age. Any man who lays eyes on my skin loses their sight. Permanent blindness."
"Good grief, that's terrible. I'm so sorry."
"Save your pity for those who need it. I don't."
"Of course not, it was just a manner of speaking. I didn't mean to intrude, I was just curious."
"Hmm. Well, the big guy is a paladin of Golden Order. He has taken a vow of some sorts so that he will not show his face to anyone until all evil has been purged from the world."
"That is one hell of a vow to take."
"He takes it *very* seriously. Don't mock it. That sword isn't for show. I've seen him kill three men with a single swing of his sword."
"Two." The bookreader interjects, "The third died of a heart attack."
"The one with the axe was captured by fleshweavers. He physically cannot take off his suit, or he'll rip open wounds all over his body. He's an axe crazed executioner before he joined us. Sometimes we have to stop him from trying to chop heads off. Goes off the handle just because he thinks he saw someone from a past life. The horse with the heads stuck to the saddle, outside, is his."
"I was marked by a demon." Booky speaks up, "Those who lay eyes upon my form are compelled with fulfilling their desires as quickly and thoroughly as possible. As a priest who devotes themselves to restraint and discipline, it is a mockery, but I will prevail."
"And..." I point at the patchwork knight as he burps loudly and chucks a half chewed tankard behind the bar.
"Not sure, I think he's just trying to fit in." The lady responds.
-------------------------
TBC | 340 | an Enchanted Armor, a Skeleton, a Dullahan, a Shapeshifter, and Mimics in the shape of armor pieces. None of them realize their party members aren't human, so each tries to keep up their ruse. | 1,822 |
"This is it," Vilem asked.
Vilem was a sort of squid/crab monstrosity who was acting as my liaison to the Doormish fleet because his species was known to get along with humans pretty well. When I'd first seen him I'd nearly wet myself, but he was actually a pretty decent sort: easy to work with and pleasant to be around.
I held up the repurposed Pixel Pro 9 and nodded.
"Amazing. To think that such a small thing will be able to coordinate all fleet movements, run shipboard operations, do orbital calculations..." He trailed off looking a little starry eyed. Well, I assumed that was what he was looking. I couldn't really read his expressions, but I thought maybe the small black orbs at the top of his eyestalks looked starrier than usual.
Honestly I felt a bit bad as I handed him the phone and he carefully slid it into the FTL comms interface we'd built for it over the preceding weeks. It wasn't even new! T-Mobile had a promo running where you could turn in a working phone from an earlier generation and get a new model and a free month of service. I was pretty sure this had come out that.
"How do you guys not have this technology already?"
"Huh," Vilem asked. It wasn't quite a human 'huh' but he'd learned to manage the sound pretty well.
"Computers, phones, the whole mess. How don't you have them? Your tech is mostly hyper advanced, but you haven't cracked something simple like this. It doesn't make any sense!"
Vilem waved a tentacle dismissively. "It'll make more sense once you humans get used to the wider galaxy. Two things make it possible. The first is that you humans are unique."
"Humans are unique?"
"Don't get fat claws. I mean every species is unique. You have aptitudes and weakness. Once humans start going to galactic universities you're going to see that there are species that get concepts that absolutely stump you with trivial ease, whereas things that seem basic to you will utterly stump others. You've got time, right?"
"Time for what?"
"No, like, the basic concept of time. The universal translator isn't growling at me so you must. But, anyway, there are species that don't. They have an understanding that things are changing when they are changing, but if you ask them to imagine 'time passing' in an empty, all white, room they wouldn't be able to do it. Time as a basic concept independent of motion just doesn't really exist for them."
If I sort of mentally squinted I could imagine that a little. Strange though.
Vilem continued, "So whatever scientist you've got that came up with relativity was probably thinking about time, right?"
"Oh, sure. I'd have to look it up to get the details right but I think Einstein was sleeping on a train going by some pastures with electric fences and cattle in them. He dreamed about the fence getting turned on and the cattle being shocked one by one. Then he started thinking about how the apparent time they'd get shocked would change if the train, and the cattle, were all traveling with or against the flow of electricity at near the speed of light."
There was a long pause while Vilem gave me a nonplussed look. Well, again, I assume. But this time he nearly managed to transcend the barriers of species. "That is... surprisingly specific. But maybe that's another human thing. Scientific revelations in strange dreams."
"I don't think..." I started, but then I trailed off because Einstein was neither the first, nor the last, scientist to start traveling down some research path due to a dream. Huh.
"Other species also have advantages like that. They each come up with their technological advances based on the ways their species is unique. But in the wider galaxy it all gets mixed together. That's why we have so many advances."
"So we had something that made us understand computing, and some other species out there understood time really well and gave you FTL?"
"Yeah, basically. But the species that crack FTL almost never have a concept of time."
"Wait, really?"
"Well, sure, relativity is why you can't go faster than light in a conventional way! Knowing why you can't do something makes you a lot less likely to find the way to do it. Or, at least, it works that way for a lot of species."
I nodded along starting to get it for the first time. All these strange and wondrous miracles of hyper-tech. It all depended on where you were standing.
Then something occurred to me, "You said two things?"
"Sure." He looked at the phone and gave it a soft, loving, stroke. I noticed the touch screen didn't really react to his shell and I wondered if anyone was working on a version that would. "Once you had this beauty I expect you started working with miniaturization a lot. The vacuum tubes alone must be astoundingly tiny! That's got to open so many doors."
"There aren't really..."
"I'm sure. But there are very small components, right? And that pushed you in a certain direction, right?"
I nodded. "Of course; nano-tech."
"Nah-no-teh-kek," Vilem said laboriously making the real sounds rather than letting the universal translator handle it. "I'd best learn to say that. I expect, it's how you humans will change the galaxy."
"Huh," I answered him. | 1,587 | As it turns out, 70-s scifi was right. Aliens have all sorts of unimaginable technology, ftl, teleportation, even moving planets. And yet, the human smartphone is by far the most capable handheld device, rivaling the computational power of entire fleets. | 5,694 |
"Froth"
I snapped to attention, blinking rapidly in the harsh light. "...what?" I said, looking around at my strange surroundings.
"The Wordle today, honey. Froth. Not too hard, got it in 4."
The woman placed a black rectangle on the table, and picked up a mug of coffee. She took a cautious sip, careful not to scald herself on the beverage.
"...who are you?" I asked. It seemed the most pertinent question to ask.
She smiled at me. "Steven, we've been married for 17 years. I think you'd have picked up on that by now."
"...what?"
The woman placed the mug on the table and stared at m, concern spreading across her face. "Steven, are you serious? Are you having a stroke?" She picked up the rectangle again, tapping on it with her thumbs.
"What are you..." my question was interrupted by a blinding light coming from the top corner of the rectangle. I tried to shield my eyes, but the woman was intent on examining them. She shone the light into each pupil in turn.
"Steven, what is the last thing you remember?" She asked, moving the light back and forth.
"I.... I don't know" I said, truthfully. I tried to think, tried to picture the first thing that came to mind. "Bill Clinton won the election a few months back."
She stopped moving the light. "Steven... what year is it?" The woman asked.
"1992, of course." I answered. "And my name isn't Steven, its Marc."
The light turned off as the woman placed the device back on the table. "Thats... unexpected." She said, slowly.
"What? Was I wrong? What year is it?" I asked. I looked around the kitchen we were apparently eating breakfast in, and spotted a wall calender. It had the "Star Wars" logo I was familiar with, but... none of the characters looked right. There was a man in a black mask, but it wasn't Vader. There was a woman, but it wasn't the Princess. And there was an African American fellow, but it wasn't Lando. Strangest of all, however, was the year printed across the top.
2022, it read.
I blinked. The calender did not. It still showed the same strange characters, both the fictional and numerical. 2022.
I turned back to the woman, intending to ask one of several questions that were brewing in my mind. But I never got the chance.
My motion froze. The woman held a large gold medallion by the chain, slowly rocking it back and forth at eye level. I stared at it closer, noticing the strange swirling pattern on the tarnished surface. "What..." I began, but the woman silenced me with a finger to her lips.
"Marc, follow the pendant, down back into the blissful depths of trance." She spoke with such a tone of authority, of gentle yet firm commands. I tried to object, but another glint caught my attention. It was as if the metal was alive, pulsing with every twirl and turn. I followed the metal pendulum, swinging back, and forth; back, and forth; back, and...
I woke up with a jolt. My wife Jessica smiled at me, sipping her coffee. I noticed it lacked the tell-tale steam of a fresh cup. "Hey babe, want me to freshen that up for you?"
She smiled and handed over her mug. "Thanks, Steven." She said with a knowing grin. "You're the perfect gentleman for me, you know that right?"
I smiled. "Of course, dearest. Anything for you." I picked up the mug and headed towards the microwave, punching the +30 seconds button we had playfully dubbed the lazy switch.
I turned back to look at my wife, and noticed a glint of tarnished gold as she put her necklace back in place. She noticed me watching and smiled, tucking the jewelry into her blouse.
"Got caught in my hair again. Hey, do we still have any of that peppermint creamer? Could you top off my coffee with a splash?"
"Sure thing", I said. "Whatever you want."
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 16 | You've been in a deep state of hypnosis for 25 years. The trigger word was never spoken until this very second. You are suddenly jarred awake to the world... | 23 |
I had served twenty years before the mast when Friendbeard joined our crew.
Some of the others had been swabbing the decks of the *Dutchman* for many hundreds of years before that, and they had known nothing for centuries except the smell of blood and gunpowder mingling with the salt, and cries of jubilation over the clink of ill-gotten coins hitting the deck. Cursed to a life at sea, driven mad by our lust for gold, we plundered, pillaged and went where we will – or, at least, where the Captain willed.
The Captain's desires became our own. We all regretted our choice to join the crew, except when the Captain’s bloodlust rose in our hearts before battle. We were all picked up from wrecks created by the *Dutchman*, each cannon shot an act of creation. Any survivors that wouldn’t join the crew outright were offered a choice: take their chances with the sea, or duel the Captain for their lives. Often, the Captain would allow them to get a stab in, right at where his heart should have been, before he chuckled and beheaded them with a single stroke of his sword.
Friendbeard was different. He was a massive creature, with a constant wide smile and thick, hairy arms. Even bedraggled and shipwrecked as he was, he grinned, irrepressively cheerful. As the Captain spread his arms wide, inviting the newcomer to take their customary free shot, Friendbeard charged towards him, heaving the surprised Captain bodily up by the legs and dumping him overboard.
“What are ye standing there for, ye searats?” He swivelled to face the dumbstruck crew. “Hard to port and make sail, before the bastard climbs aboard!”
Friendbeard took to his new role as the captain of the *Dutchman* with aplomb. On his first day, he ventured down to the galleys and inspected our gold reserves.
“Good god!” He said, lifting a chest to see it was filled with silver jewellery. “Where did ye get it all?”
“Oh, here and there over the years,” I said. Friendbeard drew his cutlass and enthusiastically began levering open a sealed barrel. The lid came off with a satisfying pop, revealing its contents: preserved salted pork. A separate barrel kept bags of spices airtight, along with fruit taken from an East India vessel.
“Where's the cook?” He turned to me.
“Cap’n?”
“The cook, blast it! The ship’s cook!”
“We haven’t had a dedicated ship’s cook for many years now,” I paused. How did I explain this to anyone? “No-one’s really cared to put any time into making food, sir. We’re all cursed with long life, and none of us care about anything any more… other than gold, of course.”
“Gold, eh?” Friendbeard stroked his magnificent black mane, now plaitted and wound with thankfully not-yet-lit firecrackers. “What do ye spend it on?”
“Nothing, sir. We just hoard it.”
“Izzat so? Well, Hawkins is it? You’re now my first mate. Set a course for the British outpost in the Caymans. I’ll be down here if you need me.”
That night, the new Captain summoned us all to the galleys. Where we normally keep our slaves chained, three long tables were set up. Fragrant cutlets of pork had been roasted and sprinkled with herbs, while apples and pears had been glazed with honey and cooked slowly in the fat from the pork. He’d even found the eggs and flour, and three big loaves of bread sat on the tables, that toasted-grain smell dancing around the room.
"Dig in, boys!” He said with his characteristic big smile. “My treat, as a thank you for a great first day!”
The smells were tantalising. The bread was round and crisp and well-fired. A distant memory came back to me, like a ship's prow piercing through thick fog: a similar loaf sat on a kitchen table, baked by my mother.
We all dived forward, eager to set to the sumptuous meal. After many years of raw meat and handfuls of grain to stave off the pangs of hunger in our immortal bellies, to have anyone care enough to prepare such a feast for us was a new experience indeed.
“Wait!”
We all froze, watching our new Captain slowly sit down, close his eyes and clasp his hands together. “We thank the lord for this bounty, and may not a crumb go unappreciated. Amen.”
“Amen,” we all mumbled, for the first time in many years. The food was delicious, and we ate slowly at first, unsure of where we stood. The Captain, on the other hand, ate heartily, washing down each mouthful with a swig of rum, laughing uproariously whenever one of the men said anything. I caught a few small sheepish smiles rippling around the crew, and Friendbeard’s eyes twinkled as they did.
He rose from his chair and circled the crew, stopping to clap me on the back. “Hawkins, I want you and three stout men to make a chest of gold ready tomorrow. The Caymans port has been under a privateer blockade, and their trade has dried up. You’re to take the gold – make sure to pass it to the hungry, mind you, not the taxman – and we’ll be back for you in the following day.”
“Where are you going, sir?” I asked.
“Where do you think?” Friendbeard grinned. “I’m off to make friends with some more pirates.” | 67 | The pirate captain looked distraught as he said to his crew, "The cabin boy be right, lads, friendship IS the greatest treasure of all!" And this began the tale of Friendbeard, the man who forcibly befriended the entire Caribbean. | 491 |
I never knew that 'being sensible' and having 'common sense' was a superpower or Mabey my ability to conjure a rubber duck from nowhere counted. I was the last of the so-called 'heroes'. everyone else was either too broken to fight, or dead.
Taking my rifle and handgun, I walked out the door. It was easy to find the beast, the trail of death and carnage was unmistakable. Corpses littered the ground, and the sounds of buildings crashing filled the air.
I came up from behind, took a knee, and aimed my rifle, an AR-10, directly at the back of the giant's skull. After three rounds, the beast noticed and turned around. Fixing my aim on the left eye, I emptied the entire mag. This did little more than anger it, which was exactly my goal. The giant roared, shattering the few windows left unbroken. I instantly cast a giant rubber duck inside its open maw, then shot it with my pistol. The huge rubber duck deflated, blocking off the airway. The giant clawed at its throat, trying to breathe, but only sucking the deflated duck further into its throat. The giant fell onto the street and suffocated completely.
leaving a small rubber duck on the street in front of it, I left. It was going to feel good to brag about this to Dave, the "superest hero around' I thought as I walked off to the hospital. | 14 | Other heroes always bullied you through your life for being so useless and weak. Now, these heroes are all falling and failing, as villains are taking over the world, claiming "Nothing can stop us!" Here you are, the one always bullied, mocked and called "nothing". Your time has arrived. | 37 |
The leader takes hold of the rein of my horse, staying remarkably calm when the stiletto emerged from my boot tip to rest against his throat.
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me,” I say casually, as I throw my hood back “Whether it was my father or my sisters who sent you?”
He smiles darkly, no coward this one, “Would it make a difference if I did, Princess Elowyna?”
I tilt my head imperceptibly, and my foot traces alongside his throat, “unless you are going to let go of my horse before I count to three, I highly doubt it.”
Stoically, and very carefully, he nods upward. His hand releases the reins. I pull my foot back, and retract the blade.
I count them, a dozen in all. My peripheral vision notes the drawn bow string of the man to my right.
“Three.”
I launch myself sideways off the horse as the bolt files through the space I had previously occupied. Cinnamon take this as her cue to begin bucking and kicking wildly at the men around us, keeping them at bay while I roll upward and produce the narrow sword from my scabbard.
My erstwhile groom is the first to fall, rolling up onto him and driving the sword into the unprotected throat.
As I’m pulling it out, I stab back and up with the short dagger, catching the next man.
Cinnamon brains two more with her hoofs and now it’s a much more manageable 8:1 odds, not counting the bowman.
The bowman fired again and this time succeeds in piercing Cinnamon’s haunch. She whinnies in pain, and I grimace.
Keeping her bulk between me and the bowman, I engage in short, uninspired swordplay with the guards who rush at me from both sides. Fortunately, I’ve been trained well in the dual handed style and I’m soon able to dispatch them, the last one ending with an arrow in his chest as I spin him into the path of the bolt.
A skilled archer can reload and loose in six seconds. I close the gab in five. The bow has time to snap against my cheek as I drive the dagger into his belly.
“You shouldn’t have hurt my horse,” I say, twisting the knife. He gurgles up at me, before going still.
Back down on the road, Cinnamon continues to vent her frustrations stomping on the prone bodies. I shush her and then remove the arrow. I apply a poultice from the bag on my belt, and pack the wound with a strip torn from my dress.
“Easy girl, it’s just a welcome home present.”
I search the bodies, and then lead Cinnamon down the path toward the city. After all, we have a dinner reservation to meet. | 28 | Your father, the king, has invited you to dinner after years of prolonged silence. But upon your journey to meet with him, you are stopped by a group of bandits armed with standard bows and swords. Nothing special. Except one thing catches your eye. Each bandit is wearing the royal coat of arms | 34 |
Teleportation is fine. I'd figured it out when I was about ten and really had to pee. Getting into a bathroom from then on was no problem. What I found there when I got in... well, that's a different story. However, when my roommates found out — I was twenty— my life started to get... interesting.
It started small, basic errands that no one really wanted to drive hours in traffic to do. On numerous occasions, I was sent to the store, the most memorable when all the roads were closed because of a snow storm. The store was also closed, but I left money on the counter. I'm not a thief. Not really. Eventually, I was the only one anyone expected to run errands, every and any kind. I didn't mind, after all, if they could teleport, I'd probably want them to do the same.
But as I used my gift, more and more things began to change. If I had to go anywhere without teleportation, I often got lost. More than getting lost, it was as if I'd never had a sense of direction. You could use the words west, south, east, north, or left and right but my brain couldn't make any sense of them, like they were just nonsense sounds.
Getting around our apartment was a series of discoveries every day. Eventually, it got so bad, that I had to make small teleportation jumps from place to place. Of course, the extensive usage made the side effects worse.
Alongside the disorientation, I started to see things in an odd way. Not hallucinations, or anything like that. No, it was more like looking through a telescope but using both sides. I know, it doesn't make much sense. Distance didn't seem to matter anymore like it wasn't there. Everything in my visual range looked the same, whether it was two centimetres or two meters away. It made moving anywhere without teleportation almost impossible.
My roommates had noticed my symptoms and stopped asking me to run any errands. They helped me get around the apartment, figuring out that if I was blindfolded, I could feel my way without my vision confusing me. But I couldn't spend all my time in the apartment. Work had already called too many times to ask where I was. So I had to use my teleportation, again and again and again.
It got worse. Dizziness was the next enemy. Every time I transported I fell over, my sense of up and down disappearing. Finally, my work sent me home, telling me that I would always have a job with them, once I got better. My roommates got me to my bed, a piece of furniture that was to be my home for the foreseeable future. They were my salvation, my friends, even though they were the original cause of the problem. One was always home, to help me eat, get to the bathroom and practice walking and functioning again. Eventually, I recovered. The dizziness left, distances returned to normal, and I knew what direction the living room was.
So, like I said, teleportation is fine. But it's definitely not all it's cracked up to be.
&#x200B;
Edit: just changed a word from was to is... works a bit better. | 28 | When your friends find out you can teleport, they sent you off to do all sorts of errands. You’re too nice to say no, but start seeing the side effects of too much teleportation. | 67 |
“Do you remember? Tell me again.”
“Yes Mamma, I remember.”
“Tell me.” Her hand clenched harder on my arm, her dark eyes boring into me.
“Flee from the Uncanny, fear what my eyes do see, for my Soul tells me when the Demons stalk free.”
“Good, good.” Her hand unclenched by a fraction. A small amount of blood flowed back to my cold fingertips. “Do you have everything packed?” She sent me a wan smile, her lips completely devoid of color.
“Yes Mamma, I have food and water just as you asked.” The heavy bundle was tied at my shoulder and nestled on my back. “But I don’t understand, why am I packing? The Crusade has long passed through, the knights are no longer here.” My tongue wet my suddenly dry lips. Mamma’s black eyes never left mine.
“You know why love. Didn’t you just tell me the rhyme?” A thin corner of her mouth crooked up, attempting a smile. It stayed there.
“But Mamma, you, me and Varsi are not Demons. The priest even checked. He said our village is clean of the Taint.” My voice cracked as Momma frowned with only one side of her mouth. When she spoke, her lips were split in a fierce grimace-smile.
“The priests only serve one god; their vision is narrowed.” A shudder wracked Momma’s thin frame. Her hand shot out, fingers clawing at the ceiling until they locked in a rigid expression of pain. “Quickly love, take Varsi and run. Run as far…and…as fast-st-t-t…” Stuttering words barely spat past her clenched teeth. Heels pressed into the earth Mamma’s spine arched and spasmed.
“Mamma! Stop! Breathe!” Her skin was cool to
my touch, but a red flush spread beneath her olive skin. “Varsi! Quickly! Bring water for Mamma!” Arms flailing, Mamma began to convulse. A smack to the ear sent me reeling back, my ears ringing. I did not notice when Varsi ran into the room, sloshing water over the floor.
But Mamma noticed.
“Varsi.” All movement stopped. Her voice was like a sigh, high pitched and faint. With a wet grinding noise Mamma’s face slowly tilted toward the door. Her mouth was still stuck, one side up and one side down. Her dark, wide eyes bugged from her face, staring, as if to swallow us whole. “Come closer love.” Her chin was the only thing to move, her fingers still clawing at the sky. Varsi trembled like the last leaf in a storm.
“Varrrrssssiiiiii.” Mamma’s breath hissed out. The down side of her mouth snapped upwards. Her smile deepened and deepened. Lips splitting with the force, blood pooling from the cracks and coating her teeth. With a smile from ear to ear, Mamma laughed. “Won’t you smile with me love?” A swift strike from Momma sent the bucket flying from Varsi’s hand. My heart hammered against my ribs as I dove for my sister, another crack sounding as Mamma’s hand hit the dirt behind me.
“Mamma?” Varsi’s voice was small and fearful, her eyes round with shock. I dragged her from the room. I did not look back as a laughing scream following us from the house.
The suns rays fell on us with full force outside our home. There were many people in the street. Aunties and Uncles, family and friends. For a moment, time stopped. They would keep us safe, they would help Mamma. But any cry for help stuck in my throat. A horrible sense of wrong slithered down my spine, stealing my voice. Varsi stumbled next to me, crying out as she fell to her knees.
All heads snapped in our direction. Auntie Farrah’s chin now lined up with her spine. She was the first to smile, a bloody, ear to ear smile. I could see all of her teeth and the one missing in the back.
“Varsi. Hannah. Won’t you smile with us?” The chorus of voices were familiar and yet raked across my ears. I could hardly think, hardly breathe, as the entire village took one step forward.
The thud of their feet made the ground shake.
I grabbed Varsi and I ran. | 356 | Twitter | 1,391 |
“The people need you, Lord.” Morizik said. “Children are starving to death under their incompetence.”
“Mori,” Rezoras replied. He placed a hand atop the child’s head and smiled a weak smile. “There was once a time where I would have been able to take their power, but that was long, long ago.”
“I’ve heard the stories, Lord. I’ve heard it from the church elders. They’re displeased with the Elders.” Morizik said.
The two sat in the attic loft of Rezoras’ aging keep. His keep was once defended by thousands of skeletal soldiers, hellhounds, ogres, and other creatures that still lived fraught in the nightmares of the people who’d had the diservice of seeing them in person. The keep’s only defender was Morizik, an apprentice of the dark arts, forbidden magic.
“I told you not to venture into town, Mori. We’re not welcome there.” Rezoras said.
He looked out the window of his keep, the capital sat in the distance. He’d been defeated long ago by the Elder Wizards of Ocreal. Ocreal was the largest continent in the world, littered with lakes created from the First Glaciers. The keep was Rezoras’ last stand and the Elders dared not to send any soldiers on a crusade against him. They had already won, they had kept him from the throne.
“I am welcome there, Lord.” Morizik said. “You would be too. Many residents of Ocreal know of your power and they know what you’ve done for me.”
Again, Lord Rezoras placed his hand atop Morizik’s head and he led him downstairs.
“Let’s eat, Mori.” he said. “You can’t learn on an empty stomach.”
Rezoras conjured a few skeletons, they’d been chefs in their past lives and they quickly went to work in the kitchen. Soon, the smell of freshly cooked beef stew, saffron infused rice, and roasted vegetables filled the room. Occasionally, the skeletons would ask for ingredients with Rezoras would conjure out of thin air.
Morizik studied his master when he did this. He made it look simple, effortless. Morizik could barely conjure a single chain link without having to rest for the entire day. To create not only living creatures, but ingredients and materials was otherworldly.
The skeletal chefs placed the plates of food in front of them and Rezoras watched the boy eat greedily, as if it was his last meal. It was entertaining to him, he knew better than to tell him to slow down. He watched the boy to make sure the food went down properly, occasionally assisting him and breaking down any of the larger pieces the boy had failed to chew in his hurry.
“Have you had any luck with your summons, Mori?” Rezoras asked.
The boy stopped eating to slow his breathing.
Breathing is key, Morizik thought to himself. Breathe.
He took in air into his lungs and thought only of the air as he tried to calm his mind. He pictured the brick in his mind. A dark red and heavy. He tried to imagine what it would be like to hold it, its weight in his hand. He kept breathing, making sure that he wasn’t breathing too much or too little.
Morizik closed his hands together and slowly opened them, feeling the brick coming to life, forcing it to materialize. He wanted it to be perfectly rectangular and it took him the better half of a minute before he materialized it. He held it in his hand and showed it proudly to Rezoras who clapped and cheered.
“Terrific!” he said, clapping the boy on his back. He took the brick from Morizik and examined it more closely. It was a perfectly simple brick, textured correctly and dense with stone.
“Excellent craftsmanship, Mori.” Rezoras said. “Well done.”
Morizik beamed and continued eating, feeling the exhaustion wash over his body. He’d feel the soreness in every part of his body.
Rezoras asked the skeletal chefs to whip up a dessert for Mori, specifically he wanted them to create a rich chocolate ice cream. He conjured the ingredients for them in the blink of an eye and the chefs went to work.
“Thank you, Lord.” Morizik said. He dug into the ice cream and he too looked at the distant city. He thought of the common people of Ocreal that he’d grown to know when he went for supply runs. There was a limit to the number of things Lord Rezoras could conjure, especially when he didn’t have the knowledge of what something was. It was Morizik that showed him the joys of ice cream, fresh pasta, and most importantly of saffron.
“Will you go into the city with me on our next run?” Morizik asked.
“The Elders will show up as soon as I approach the city, Mori.” Rezoras replied.
“So let them show up,” Morizik said. “You’re the only one who can help them!”
“They have chosen their leader, just like your family chose to throw you away. Don’t forget that, Mori. People are not good.” Rezoras said.
“But you’re good,” Morizik replied. He looked down at his empty bowl before one of the skeletons walked over to fill his bowl with a few more scoops of the frozen treat.
“I-” Rezoras started to say.
“You are good.” Morizik said.
Rezoras looked around his keep, he put a hand to his chin and Morizik thought that he looked like he was deep in thought.
“I have heard of a new flour that some bakers have created,” Rezoras said. “It might be interesting to see them use it in person.”
A large smile crept on Morizik’s face and he jumped up and down with genuine joy.
“We’ll leave at sunset,” Rezoras said. “Wear your apprentice robes.”
When the sun started to set, Rezoras had conjured a sentry of fifty skeletal soldiers, and skeletal horses for them to ride on. He didn’t want it to seem like he was attacking the city, but he needed to be able to defend himself as well. Skeletons were the weakest summons he could conjure and he’d hoped that the Elders were aware of that.
“I expect trouble,” Rezoras said as they started to make their way to the city. “Stay awake, be alert.”
Morizik saluted to his Lord who was wearing dark steel armor, he looked more like a knight than he did a wizard. He’d gotten used to the Lord’s aura, but the plants around them withered slowly and any merchants in the distance steered several hundreds of feet away from their party (though Morizik supposed that an army of skeletal soldiers could have been intimidating as well).
As the sun set fully, night blanketed over them and one of Rezoras’ scouts reported that an army was approaching them.
“We have company, Morizik. Be on guard.” Rezoras said.
The night sky turned clear, the sun following the army that approached them.
“Damn it,” Rezoras muttered. “They sent Kar.”
Elder Kar was accompanied by four thousand of his soldiers, half of whom were wizards to supply him with mana.
“Kar!” Rezoras yelled. “I mean no harm here.”
“Then go back to your forsaken lands, Rezoras. You agreed that you would never step foot in Ocreal.” Kar yelled back.
They approached each other, the night sky and Kar’s synthetic sun clashing as they neared each other.
“Your people are dying of hunger, Kar.” Rezoras said.
“That is not your concern.” Kar said. “We have it under control.”
“You have failed the people of Ocreal, for generations you and the others have failed them. Let me help you.” Rezoras said.
“If your army takes another step toward the city, we will attack.” Kar said.
Rezoras looked at Morizik and shrugged. He gave the silent command to retreat and the soldiers rushed back, leaving the two alone with Elder Kar.
“You know where to find us if you need assistance.” Rezoras said.
“Go to hell, Rezoras.” Kar said.
“There’s a difference between Hell and Ocreal, Kar. No children starve to death in any circle of Hell.” Rezoras said.
He turned and followed his army back toward his keep. Morizik was silent during the trip home, immediately going to his room when they got back. He felt tired, sad, disappointed. He was overcome with negativity.
Rezoras knocked on his door and in his arms was a freshly baked cake, covered in chocolate frosting and fresh fruit on the side.
“Eat, Mori. You’ll feel better.” Rezoras said.
Morizik felt tears well up in his ears and he ate as he cried for the people of Ocreal and for his Master.
“We’ll help them one day, Lord.” Morizik said.
“Perhaps,” Rezoras said. But he doubted that the Elders would ever approach him and he too felt a sadness for the children of Ocreal. | 80 | The prophecy of heroes defeating the dark lord turned out to be false, all just to keep the old order of wizards in power for several generations. You and the would-be dark lord decide to go against them and expose the truth. | 434 |
“But...they put *garlic* in everything!”
“I’ve actually built a tolerance and I handle the hives with anti-histamines.”
“Silverware!”
“Actually, its mostly just stainless steel these days.”
“Stakehouses!”
“I. I don’t see how...what would, uh. What?”
“...you know. They’re full of... stakes?”
“Well. Yeah. A steakhouse specialises in them. Why would that be a problem? Do...do you get the hunger when you see a rare porterhouse? Bovine flesh doesn’t set me off.”
“Bovine flesh?”
“Yes, cow-Oh! Oh you thought-No, no. *Steak*house. S-t-e-a-k.”
“Oh. Well. That makes more...more sense. Okay — but — *still*!”
“Look, I understand your concerns, Mother. I’ve got plans in place. Contingencies. I *love* to cook, okay? It’s what I’m meant to be. I know it. I’m a chef and I’m not going to let a silly little thing like my being an undead being get in the way of that.”
“...I know, I know. I can’t stop you, Sweety. But I’m allowed to worry, okay?”
“Yeah, I know. It’s your job.”
“It is. And...I also know you’ll do great.”
“Really!? I-I can go out and be a chef?”
“You’d only go and do it behind my back anyway.”
“Yes! Awesome! Thankyou-thankyou!”
“Only-”
“Yesss!”
“Listen. Only a few shifts to start out. Okay?”
“Okay, Mum!”
\* * *
“So, how was your first-”
“I can’t believe you!”
“-shift?...what did *I* do?”
“You *know* what you did! Why where they all thralls, Mother? The entire kitchen staff! Just a bunch of brainless husks.”
“Well. They could have been dangerous.”
“How am I meant to learn how to cook if the chefs are all empty-headed creatures under your command. They were just standing around and eating the raw ingredients.”
“I believe that’s called a *salad*, Sweety.”
“Agh! You never let me *do* anything!” | 26 | A vampire aspires to become a chef! But with garlic and silverware, as well as a misunderstanding of the word "steak", they find it really difficult in the kitchen. | 80 |
# Soulmage
**Caniel laughed as he lifted the tip of his shortsword from my throat.** Scowling, I scrambled to my feet. The dim hall, slick with oil, made it tricky, but I'd navigated harsher landscapes in my life, and mortal fear was a good motivator. I didn't trust his "better reason" for keeping me alive further than I could throw him—and considering that he was twice my weight and wearing plate armor, that wasn't very far at all.
"So let's hear, it, then," I said. "Why are you keeping me alive?"
Beneath his visor, I could sense Caniel smile. "I'm so glad you asked! You see—"
Wow, that actually worked? While he was distracted, I turned and sprinted away from the hunter as fast as I could, cursing the oil-slick ground as it slipped beneath my feet. I tried to round a corner, but the *clank-clank-clank* of plate armor told me that despite being weighed down, Caniel was gaining on me, and how was that fair when I was unarmed and unarmored, and—
A small boulder slammed into my back, and the wind *whooshed* out of my lungs as I thumped onto the floor. I flipped over, heedless of the oil slicking my clothes, and reached into my soul to cast a spell, but Caniel gave me a calm grin and sent out a pulse of antimagic, smothering my magic in the crib.
"You see," Caniel continued, as if nothing had happened, "I need you to be alive so that I can take something from you. Something vital for my master's plans. Something that you will remember the loss of from today until the day you die."
I blanched. Oh, rifts, this was it for me, wasn't it? The game was up. I'd lost. I quivered as he reached out towards my face, and closed my eyes. At least I wouldn't have to see the end coming.
Two gauntleted fingers squished my nostrils, and for a terrified heartbeat, I panicked. Was he going to suffocate me to death? Or force me to open my mouth, and cram something down my throat? Or—
As quickly as it started, the pressure let up, and Camiel sprung backwards, as calm and balanced as if he'd just gotten home from a relaxing day of exercise.
He waggled one thumb in his fist and grinned. "Got yer nose!"
And before I could ask him what the hell *that* was about, he turned around and sauntered away, whistling a jaunty tune beneath his visor.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 58 | "Do you really think sparing my life makes you better than me?" "Wait, you thought I was sparing you because I thought it was the right thing to do? You're very wrong, I have a much better reason to keep you alive than that," | 192 |
They all warned Deborah about him. After all, she was the new kid in town, having moved in from another part of the world. The old, homeless man, wearing ragged clothes, holding out a metal mug of loose change. His eyes faded, possibly cataracts, cracked lips from the cold, tangled matted hair under his woolen hat. He wore a woolen sweater, long pants, torn in some areas, and some scruffy boots. Jacket wrapped around his skinny, frail, malnourished frame. But he was no ordinary homeless beggar.
You see, he was always near the alleyway that she took to get home from middle school, and always turned to look at her as she came by. Deborah would always offer a smile, and a dollar coin or two for him. She'd pause, reach into her bag, carefully taking a few coins out and placing them in his mug. No words would be exchanged, just a smile, the clink of coins, and a nod of thanks from the old man. And then, she'd head through the alley, back home. Nevermind those looks of disgust he got. Or the tsking and tut-tuts she got. Somehow, there seemed to be some sort of... ritual between them. "He seems like a nice man?" Deborah would respond, in her slightly foreign tone of voice, "at least, he seems harmless, doesn't he?" And that would be the end of the discussion.
It happened one evening, as Deborah was coming back from school, on her usual route to the alley. There were a handful of thugs. They were holding on to the man's hat. Another one kicked the mug of coins, scattering them. The homeless beggar on his feet, stumbling as he tries to reach for his hat. Getting punched in the stomach by one of the thugs. Falling back against the wall as the rowdy bullies laugh. Deborah counts six of them in total. And without hesitation, she marches up to the nearest thug, grabs his shirt, and yanks him aside with all her might. "Hey!" Immediately, the thugs step back, turning to face the petite girl.
"Oh, what do we have here?" the lead thug says, tauntingly, a leering grin on his face. Teeth yellowed and stained from cigarettes. But Deborah is not afraid. "Shame on you all, picking on a defenceless old man!" she yells. She looks around, but there is nobody in sight. Nobody that can help. The alley is deserted. Deborah starts to move into the alley, and the thugs follow, ignoring the old beggar who has since slumped to the ground, winded, clutching his belly. The thugs block the exit of the alley, forcing them to move deeper into the alley. "You are quite the pretty thing... aren't you?" one of the thugs teases her, licking his lips.
Deborah looks around, one last time, but there's no one around to help them. She licks her lips, tongue unnaturally long for a human. Her mouth widening, sharp teeth emerging as her body slowly shifts back into her mimic form. The thugs stare, frozen in terror. One of them shrieks, jolting the rest into action and they turn to flee, back out the way they came into the alley. But "Deborah" does not pursue. And as the thugs reach the exit of the alley, they see the homeless beggar. He too, licks his lips, a wider-than-humanly-possible grin on his face...
Two hours later, a girl and a man walk out from the alley. The alleyway is a mess, but there isn't a trace of blood or gore on their bodies. After all, their clothes are part of their mimic anatomy. "You should really learn how humans speak, 'grandpa'," the girl says, smacking the man's arm. He offers a grunt. "But I suppose, that went pretty well," she continues, "better than luring individual children in." They walk in silence for a while longer, arriving at an old warehouse, stopping to peer inside. There are the sounds of police sirens in the distance.
"Hmm.. I guess we should do the furniture thing until this blows over..." | 1,227 | A mimic, seeking to improve its hunting ability, starts hiding among humans studying them to the point where it can pull off a perfect human disguise, however it soon finds that life as a human is much better than life as a mimic pretending to be furniture | 5,232 |
It had started as the tiniest speck under his skin, like a splinter or bruise. It had been around noon, three days ago, it was windy and he'd been standing at the outside wall, eating the last half of his sandwich, when something stung him. He'd thought maybe it had been a piece of gravel that had peppered him, nothing at all, and kept eating. That night when he'd stripped out of his uniform he'd seen the dot, scrubbed at it with his nails with soap and hot water, but it wouldn't disappear. It didn't hurt. He went to bed.
That morning the mark was gone, but just under his armpit, a lump had formed and it throbbed mercilessly. He called off, debated calling a doctor, but decided to sleep a few hours instead. He'd never know if that had been a mistake, if it was already too late, whether he might have wound up someone else's hostage in a laboratory instead, and that now was only of minor importance. It didn't matter any more.
This body, this life was no longer his to wield.
Just after noon something else had opened his eyes and though the sensation was murky, hazy, something else pulled his muscles and body, up and out of bed. It flexed and dimly after some time he was forced to acknowledge it hadn’t just been a dream.
He'd screamed for hours, finally gave up, and in that silence finally a voice parted his thoughts. For a second he'd thought he'd been saved. [This concept, 'work', what is it?]
His body stared blankly at the time card on the wall. [Why must it be done?]
He panicked, fumbled for words. [Who the fuck are you? Let me go. Get out of my head!]
Silence. It huffed out through his mouth. [I can't. I was dying, needed another host. We can't survive most worlds without one. I crashed my vessel and the containment was breached. You were closest. The word...I am...sorry?]
It lay back on his couch and he could feel it skimming his memory for 'work', flashes of his life played in his mind and he felt disgust, hate, a hundred other emotions unspooling in his head all at once. [You, you're a lonely thing. All of this--] It gestured around the cluttered bachelor's apartment. [Really means nothing.]
[...Thanks.]
The third day and he, or rather it was at work, the last day planned for the construction site. [This...A concept in your memory. Symbiosis. What is it?]
He perked up, uncomfortably noting the parasite had as well. [Helping each other. In...nature, sometimes things coexist and help. A plant might collect water, and a mouse might drink out of it, shit in the pitcher, fertilize it. That kind of stuff.]
[I like it better when you explain it. Much better than having to look it up.] A pause. [Maybe we should try it.]
If he had control his knees would have buckled, he'd have fallen down face-first onto the red dirt of the construction site. [Say what now? Like, that's an option?!]
[Yes.]
That night they wasted half his paycheck on beer and take-out, a line of coke. It liked getting high as much as he did. It wasn't interested in men or women, but food, partying? It was a mutual interest.
He'd ended up back at his apartment, kicked his feet up on the couch, wiggled his toes. It felt good, maybe even better than he had than before. He felt faster, smarter.
[Hey, you know, we can do more. Live better. Have more luxury. You'd like that shit.]
[You mean it is a choice?]
[Not entirely. Well, a lot of luck, time goes into it, but partially, yeah.]
Three years later and he had his own construction business, had repaid the loans, and was considerably ahead after the initial investment of this thirty thousand in savings. Nearly a million ahead in fact.
[You, well, I couldn't have done it without you.] He was at home in a jacuzzi, the thing loved heat, more than anything. [Probably not, but I appreciate the sentiment,] it chimed back. | 20 | The alien parasite has taken complete control over your body. While reading your memories, he learns about a strange concept called symbiosis | 47 |
*Breathe. That's it. It'll be fine.*
I focused my mind on my breathing. The sign in my department was never wrong. Usually it pointed to upcoming instabilities, a great help in our line of work. A few short hours of research let us identify the location, and a team would be there to isolate the cause.
This time however, it warned us of something else. We had come to the agreement that it was focusing on our department. Something would happen this day. We had a team of operatives nearby, ready to leap into action against whatever was coming.
I stood outside, looking up at the building. A work of concrete, metal and glass, it was much like any other office building. There were a few metal benches outside, and a sculpture of a half-man half-fish person. There was a distinct lack of name, but besides that, no-one would be able to tell what went on inside. That was perfect for our work.
I knew it was the same across the dimensions. It was one of the few Constants, if rumour was to be believed it was the First. Inside we monitored the state of dimensional overlay. In most cases, the overlay was strong. It was very rare that a breach occurred. But when it did, we would find it, and stop it.
I straightened my shoulders, walking through the revolving glass door. One of the three receptionists caught my eye, returning my nod. With a steady pace I headed for the elevators, hitting the call button. Shining doors opened smoothly, and I walked into its clean interior.
Pressing number seven, I sighed as it closed. I could feel tension rising. I hated it. I was as nonconfrontational as you could be. That's why I loved research. So many of my colleagues wanted to be the boots on the ground. I much preferred being behind the scenes.
I rode up alone, a fact for which I was grateful. As the doors opened, my eyes fell upon our sign. It covered an entire wall, looking much like a corkboard. A few newspaper clippings stuck to it, signs of upcoming breaches. The days without injury note still hung there, still showing -1.
I headed for my desk. I was always one of the first in, much preferring the morning quiet to start the day. Sitting, I powered up my computer, beginning on of my assignments. I had been tasked with seeing any correlation between the recent issues in Dimensions Eighteen and Seventy Four. I happily buried myself in my work, letting it consume my mind.
\-----
I felt a tap on my shoulder as I compared atmospheric pressure readings. Jerry, our office mail person, held out a parcel.
"Package for you."
"Thank you Jerry."
I signed his form, taking the brown paper covered box. With a shrug I started opening it. I wasn't expecting anything, but then again here unexpected things tended to happen.
Inside was a hard black plastic box. There was a note attached to the front, one that I quickly opened.
**Surprise.**
My eyes widened, as I looked back at the box. It began to glow an ominous red. My body turned cold. As I stood up to shout, there was a click, and my world turned into heat and pain, followed by darkness. | 10 | -1” and now you're afraid to come in tomorrow. | 57 |
I'm so fucking tired.
Twenty one years. That's how long I've been doing this - I think - going through the motions with an thirteen-year-old daughter, an eight-year-old son, and a new baby. Sometimes - for just a little while - the ages go strange, and I'm dealing with a sweet sixteen or teaching my son to shave, but it always snaps back eventually.
I loved my wife, once. No - I love my wife. My original wife, not this nagging harridan with a bigger rack and a smaller brain. Every year - not that time really passes, but Thanksgiving and Christmas come round again and again - she gets a little more plastic, a little less the person I knew.
I remember the day we got married...
Sorry, that happens sometimes. If I'm not careful how I remember things, or use the wrong phrase, we blink elsewhere - another place, another time. It used to be simple flashbacks, memories of a youth that changed constantly - I was a soldier once, in some nameless war, but sometimes I was a football player, or worked in a 1920's newsroom. I don't know where I came from.
Recently, it's not so much real memories as bizarrities - a few moments spent on a space station, transformed into an inanimate object, or fighting a giant bird. Memories that can't be real. Why would I be here, in the same dead-end job as ever (sometimes I escape, start somewhere new, but it never lasts. I wake up back at this desk again), if I'd done all these things.
Watch, I'll show you. It's just like that time I invented the computer...
See! Do you see? I never did that! I'd be a billionaire if I'd done that. But for that space - I know you saw it too - it was real. We were there, in some dusty lab, creating the machine. I can do it for other things too, even stack the memories inside one another.
I remember when I was the pope...
I remember when I was Amelia Earhart...
This all reminds me of when I was talking to you in a hot air balloon.
And there we go. Back out, back to the surface. No hats or holiness, aircraft or anything else. Back to reality, but a reality that seems somehow even more plastic than those cutaways.
I thoguht I was mad, at first. When I became aware of it, I assumed I was hallucinating, having a stroke, something. I told my wife, and she didn't even blink. Just 'Oh, you!' and that head tilt, hands on hips.
'Oh, you!' It's one of only four things she says these days. Count them - four things. She hasn't said anything else since she got her doctorate in marine endoscopy...
I didn't mean to do that one. That actually happened, I think - it's a real memory. It's not a real subject, of course - I can't find any record of any other marine endoscopists - but it really happened. I can show you the diploma. I could show you her at work, but she only worked at the marine hospital for 20 minutes, as far as I can tell, and now she just says she's always been a receptionist.
'I don't know what to tell you, sugar! I'm just the receptionist!' That's right - one of the four. One of the only things she says.
It's not just her, obviously. She's the one that stings the most, but it's true of all of them. You remember Terry, right? My african-american friend who likes to take it easy? Well, do you remember Martin? He was my african-american friend who liked to take it easy, and then suddenly he wasn't. One day, I'd never had a squash buddy, and I'd always had a personal trainer.
Martin grew up next door to me and I don't know if he was ever really real. Watch, let's try another.
I remember building a treehouse with my best friend...
Do you get it now? That was Terry - child Terry, someone I never knew. I didn't meet Terry until he was thirty-five, when we both tried to steal the crown jewels at the same time...
I don't know why I said that. I did meet Terry when he was thirty-five, but we met at the gym, the gym I've always gone to now. I've only been to England once, and that was an especially weird time - I didn't have my normal voice or face.
Every day, the world gets a little flatter. People I've known for years, reduced to a single phrase or a exaggerated reaction. Sometimes they just disappear, and no one ever mentions it again. We used to live in Parochet Falls, but that's not a real place. Now we live in Franklin, but no one ever tells me the state. We live within an hour's drive of New York, the Grand Canyon, and Havana, Cuba. I work a dead-end job with an unreasonable boss, but I can take roadtrips whenever I like.
I've won the lottery four times, and I have no idea what happened to the money.
Someone is doing this to me. I don't know who, but this doesn't happen naturally. It's like I'm stuck in a half-broken timeloop, with different things happening but never any sense of progress. It's too endless, too pointed, to be imaginary or unintentional. Someone wants me to suffer.
I ask them, whoever they are, 'what did I do?' I have begged for forgiveness, for mercy, even for a glimpse of an explanation. No answer. Sometimes, maddeningly, I think I hear laughter, laughter out of nowhere. It's not a voice, but voices. Gales of theatrical laughter, always coming - I've been tracking it - just a second before anything that could be termed funny happens. Endless, mocking laughter at the joke that my life is to them.
I'm so fucking tired. I can't really say that normally - I say 'bleeping', or someone just happens to start up a lawnmower when I talk. It's an incredibly timely coincidence, almost as common as when women pick up two large fruit while talking to me. It's all a big fucking joke.
Sorry; I'm enjoying the freedom. We don't normally get long.
Every so often, the world pauses. I get a few simple minutes to myself, to actually think, to say what I feel. It never lasts - sometimes it's only a few seconds - but I get a little space to myself. During this time, the others freeze, wait motionless for this carousel to spin up again, but I get to move.
Maybe once I didn't. Maybe once I didn't know that the world ran on narrowing tracks. Who knows how long we have played our parts?
I'm so tired. It goes on, and on, and on, and it never stops. I just want it all to end, all to be over, to be at peace. I miss my wife. I don't know if my children are real. All that I am is a joke. I want it all to stop.
It's just like...
It's just like when I was dead, and nothing else.
...
That one never works.
Here we go again. | 34 | It never stops. However extreme your actions get, it just keeps going, consequences somehow washed away. The people you love slipping further into grotesque caricatures of themselves. The world getting stranger and less coherent. And worse, that goddamn laugh track keeps playing. | 66 |
I adjusted my hair, trying to bring it lower over my face as we approached the track. As much as I tried to prevent it, my eyes kept shifting to analyse the crowd for anyone from interpol. I had never officially been caught for my old antics and had to live by a fake name to get by as an athlete these days. I had taken very close care to make sure no one would figure out that I was a fraud.
"Here comes our last runners for the Building Hop. This year's crowd favorite Hernando Chavez. The previous champion Edward Cline. And the newest dark horse performer Schmitty Realnamingson," the commentator announced to the crowd.
"That's right, Realnamingson has really made a name for himself this year, easily outstripping the runners that would have easily made three lists this year. No one knows where he came from, but I'd like to see where he's going!" the other commentator opined.
I waved to the curious audience, smoothing out my moustache as it began to droop an inch. I would just need to win this race. Sign a few deals, and then just lie low for the rest of my life getting royalties under my incredibly clever disguise.
The three of us runners prepared ourselves at the starting line as the race was about to begin. The audience went silent as the woman starting the race raised her hand, one hand over her ear, and fired the starting gun, which caused me to yelp and jump forward.
"And Shmitty takes an early lead!" one announcer boomed.
"And look at that speed! And the fear in his eyes!" he chuckled. "He's running like his life depends on it!"
In truth, the gunshot rang too familiar in my mind and made my body burst into overdrive, running as fast as it could muster with no consideration for how much energy I would have left at the end of the race. There was no slowing down because that was to get caught.
I leapt, diving over the first gap of buildings and stumbled as I tried to keep my momentum. I heard the footsteps of two others behind me, jumping along with me, and while in my head I knew it was just the other two racers, my muscle memory said it was the cops right on my tail. My efforts redoubled as my limbs and lungs screamed for me to take a break. To take a break was to get caught.
"The next few jumps lower in altitude, seeing if the runners are prepared for the unbalance of real housing terrain," the announcer informed the audience of what we already knew.
Again, I jumped and stumbled. Once more, I jumped and stumbled. At this point I could feel how close the other two runners were. They would be able to reach out and grab me if they wanted to. I would have to roll on the last jump to put some room between me and them.
"Here comes the last jump! Do they have the energy for such a wide gap?" the second announcer asked to increase suspense in the audience.
Evidently, we did not, as I heard someone grunt loudly behind me as he fell onto the cushions below, not having made the complete jump. The audience gasped loudly as I rolled, leaving the other runner behind. I sprinted forward and collapsed past the finish line, with my fists held proudly in the air.
But no one applauded me.
"It looks like Realnamingson was running with... a fake wig and moustache? We'll have to see if this disqualifies him," the announcer informed.
My eyes widened as I slapped my bald head and fumbled at my lips. My roll had thrown off my disguise! I was in for it now! Interpol would be on me in seconds. I looked around rapidly, waiting for someone to drag me off.
"You're a good runner," Eduard informed me, panting. "But why wear a stupid wig?"
"Umm... style?" I lied.
"Sure," he rolled his eyes. "Definitely smart to wear something that could drag you back a few milliseconds, just to look stylish."
I shrugged, continuing to look around as someone approached me. I winced, knowing this was all for nothing.
"Looks like a silly disguise is not against the rules," one announcer said as the person approaching me offered me a gold medal to my surprise.
"Though I'm sure we can agree it was very silly looking," the other chuckled.
Evidently I wasn't as infamous as I believed, as I got through the entire ceremony without a single incident of someone asking for my identity. I was even able to sell a brand deal of an action figure with removable hair and moustache.
By the time anyone was looking for me, I had already cashed out.
_______________
r/Nazer_the_Lazer if you'd like more stories! | 41 | You used to be a criminal, making impossible leaps across rooftops to get away... until you realized doing it at the olympics paid better. | 211 |
Shiori watched as Kotoha finished bandaging the mutt. After covering it with a blanket, she petted its mangy fur.
“It’ll be a few days until we can get you to the vet. Hang in there, okay?”
The mutt let out a low woof and wagged its tail slightly.
*Kotoha is too nice.* Shiori licked a paw and ran it across her face.
Then, Kotoha stood and reached for Shiori’s perch atop the cat tree.
“Behave, okay? He’s hurt.” Kotoha scratched in just the right spot.
*Yeah, yeah.* Shiori leaned into Kotoha’s hand and meowed.
“I’ll buy you some good tuna tomorrow.”
*You can’t bribe me that easily.* Her tail betrayed her with a flick.
Kotoha soon turned off the lights in the living room and made her way to bed. The house fell silent as the minutes ticked by. Shiori remained on her perch, watching the mutt. He gave her a wary look but was too weak to move.
When she was sure Kotoha was asleep, she spoke. “Well, well. How the mighty have fallen.
“Cat,” was all that he said.
Shiori stood and stretched before hopping down from her tree. “What are you doing in the city? Don’t you have a shrine to be guarding, oh *honorable* komainu?”
The komainu let out a low sigh. “I could ask you the same. What are your goals, bakeneko?”
Shiori paced in front of him. “I’m enjoying myself. Modern conveniences sure are nice. Humans have advanced quite a bit from the old days.”
A distinct frown formed on his muzzle. “You’ll be found out if you stay too long. The human will get suspicious.”
“Her name is Kotoha. And as for my longevity, well, I’ll cross that bridge when the time comes. Humans are quite unobservant when they want to be.” She sat just outside his reach. “How did she end up finding you anyway? I wasn’t aware there were any shrines in the area.”
The komainu closed his eyes and leaned against his pillow. “I came from the mountains. They… the humans stopped coming to pray. When I visited the village near my shrine, there was only a handful of them left. I came down to the city and got hit by a car.”
“Right. That has been happening more often lately, hasn’t it?” Shiori groomed her coat before saying, “Bit of a shame. I have fond memories of some of those temples.”
“Humans have forgotten the gods.”
Shiori tilted her head. “Humans have changed with the times. Some still worship, but many more only do so out of tradition. Belief is fading.”
“Will we fade away someday as well?”
“You’re free to do so if you want to. I have no intention of going anywhere.” Shiori leaped onto the couch and lowered herself onto the backrest. “You’re not married to those shrines, you know?”
“It was my duty.” The komainu remained steadfast in his conviction.
Shiori sighed. “Why not treat this as a well-deserved break. I’ve always said your kind takes things too seriously. Once you’re ready to leave, you can join one of the larger shrines down south. I’m sure they have room.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Maybe not. What would I know? I’m just a cat that adapted to the times.”
The komainu let out a growl.
Shiori continued, undeterred. “It was just a suggestion.” Then, with a small grin, she said, “Fair warning, though. Kotoha will probably try to get you neutered if she decides to keep you.”
The look on the komainu’s face was delicious.
…
I like writing about different cultures' mythologies. It forces me to read up on their histories.
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile.
Thanks for reading. | 59 | You rescue an injured stray dog and shelter it, hoping that it'll get along with your cat. Unbeknownst to you, both are yokai, supernatural beings disguised as animals. | 103 |
"Ok.." she said. Her voice was almost drowned out by the gurgling of the creek which we'd retreated to behind the school. "You promise - right?" She continued. Her eyes shifted to mine, then the muddy bank which we stood upon.
&#x200B;
"Of course," I nodded on at her. It'd taken weeks to convince her. Convince her that this wasn't some ploy. No cameras, no stories, just us and the flowing water.
&#x200B;
I'd first heard it in the quite throws of the morning, before the school had awoken from its nightly reprieve. A voice had floated through the dark lit hallways. It was sweet, but lilting. She'd been softly singing of the sycamore trees. That voice rose and fell like the leaves when they gave into gravity come the change of the season. Truthfully though, the lyrics weren't important. What had captured me was the feeling. Something encapsulated in that voice that expanded beyond the available lexicon we tried to capture the world with. The simple truths of what has come, and what will be.
&#x200B;
I'd approached slowly, careful not to let my worn sneakers squeak against the still damp floor of the hallways. The janitor was the only other beast which roamed the halls at that time. In silence I'd crept to the one glowing door in the hall. It's soft yellow light had glowed on like the beckoning of a distant lighthouse, leading lost souls to shore. When I got to that doorway, I looked on for a few minutes. Pondered at how something so remarkable could be spawned from a frail young girl who on all other accounts wasn't at all.
&#x200B;
When her eyes had bounced up from the paper that her pencil imparted her thoughts onto, I felt nervous. Heat in my face born along by a heart that pumped in rhythm with her tune. Not knowing what else to do, all I could muster was a smile. My weak attempt to respond to her call.
&#x200B;
In the following weeks, it had taken goading. Convincing a dog who'd felt the boot one too many times that this wasn't a deception. Rather than offerings of meat and milkbones though, we traded trust. Smiles. Whispered secrets that had never passed our lips before.
&#x200B;
She cleared her throat now. Though it didn't make any logical sense, I could swear the water hushed itself. The soft wind that blew through the green leaves of that small oasis calmed its swell. An audience awaited their performer.
&#x200B;
It stared then, sweet like honey joined with the spices and twist of a tea let to steep. Her voice rang off the water and floated through the canopy.
&#x200B;
At first there was only one. A bird trying to mimic her brilliance. Its high pitched squabbling was out of tune and timid. Not long after though, others joined it - reinforcing it, building a chorus. The small feet of squirrels ripped against the bark, not unlike the soft tapping of a drum line.
&#x200B;
There, in the forgotten creek behind Syccarue High, I was witness to something spectacular. The blending of the ageless earth and a mortal soul. The congruence of a world unseen, and a girl unseen by the world. My mouth opened, but I dare not join in. What tongue of man would ever dare interrupt the ballad of nature, or peace granted to a lost child? | 160 | "The reason I don't sing", says the quiet girl in your class, "is because when I do, all these birds come and chirp along, and you know I'm shy." | 766 |
# Soulmage
**It was simpler this way,** thought Meloai to herself.
Ever since she'd started going to school, she'd noticed that the strongest educational tool was simplification. A ball dropped from height *h* with mass *m* had *mgh* units of kinetic energy when it struck the floor—if you made the assumption that air didn't exist. An object in motion would stay in motion, if you removed the rest of the universe from the equation.
A new friend Meloai tried to make would invariably find her "too weird" and leave, if Meloai never learned how to change herself for the better.
So when Meloai woke up and slunk into class, she applied the same simplification to everyone around her. Iola would always bully someone else, if you made the assumption that Meloai kept her head down. Cienne would always defend her with that fierce, reckless protectiveness of his, if you made the assumption that she wouldn't fuck up their friendship and lose him like she lost everyone else. Lucet would always know where to find those places where the three of them could be quiet and alone, if you made the assumption that she would continue being kind to Meloai out of nothing but the goodness of her heart.
Objects in motion. Her classmates' emotions were too complex to understand in their fullness, so she boiled them down to something she could comprehend. Objects in motion.
"Oh, hey, it's the soulless freak." Iola leered at Meloai. She tried not to react. The First Law of Sociodynamics: every reaction to Iola's bullying would be met by an equal and opposite intensification of said bullying.
"You're more of a freak than she is, Iola," Cienne snapped from behind her. Internally, Meloai sighed. The Second Law of Sociodynamics: even though she loved Cienne, the chaos of any situation with Cienne involved always increased.
"Hey, at least I'm not a heartless machine," Iola sneered, unperturbed by Cienne standing up for her. Meloai considered the pros and cons of telling Iola that she felt emotions perfectly fine—just in a different way than he did—but the Third Law of Sociodynamics came into play. The usefulness of explaining neurodivergence to someone approached zero as their intelligence approached zero.
Cienne opened his mouth to snap back, but Meloai placed a hand on his arm. Surprised, he turned towards her, and she gave him a faint smile.
"Ignore him," Meloai said.
Cienne looked uncertainly between Iola and his friend, but there was no demon to slay, no monster to fight. Just a jumped-up little kid who derived some sadistic pleasure from seeing other people squirm.
"I don't know how you do it," he muttered.
Lucet dropped her bag on the desk next to Meloai, completing the trio of friends. Equilateral triangles were about as strong as it got when it came to tensile strength, and so it was with the three of them. As long as they stayed together, nothing could tear them apart. "It's the easiest play," Lucet said. "Wasting energy on jerks like him is just flushing your precious time down the drain."
Meloai nodded sagely. Lucet got it, although she'd come to her conclusions through experiment instead of theory. "We don't need to engage him," Meloai said. "We've got each other."
Cienne gave his two friends a considering look, and some of the perpetual anger on his face bled out. "...Yeah. You're right. We've got each other."
Meloai leaned back as lecture began and smiled to herself as Cienne and Lucet pointedly ignored Iola's taunts. Objects in motion. It was all objects in motion.
It was simpler this way. And when the stars aligned and her models were right, it was simple enough for Meloai to understand.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 88 | You wake up to your radio’s announcement that physicists have taken over the world. You can’t push yourself out of bed; there’s no friction. You look out the window, and all your cows are spherical. | 786 |
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“...”
“Thanks for making time for a session, I really appreciate it.”
“...”
“So, um, where did I get to last time? I think we were talking about how, as a child, my parents got a me a clown for my birthday party...even though I had told them I was afraid of them.”
“...”
“Afraid of clowns, I mean. Not my parents.”
“...”
“Well, I mean, my father did have a temper. And my Mother was, I suppose a terse woman. I guess in some ways I am—*was*—afraid of them. But who isn’t a bit scared of their parents, right?”
“...”
“Oh.”
“...”
“Good point. Yeah. That’s not healthy.”
\* * *
I sat up and drew a deep breath. Sleep paralysis had been part of my nights for a while. At first it was just the panic of being unable to move. Then there was a figure in the doorway. Then said figure moved, got closer, and stood next to the bed.
Then he started to sit on the edge and stare.
And now. Now he talks and talks and talks — and because he’s just me trying to terrify myself, he yammers on about the things I’d rather leave buried. He seems to be getting better, but I’m waking up tired and traumatised. My phone rang. The screen said Mum.
I muted it and laid back down. I’d call her back later.
Maybe. | 33 | Your sleep paralysis imagination treats you as their therapist while you lie unmoving in your bed. | 105 |
# Soulmage
**Shivio had joined the Silent Crusade expecting to slay demons and witches and bandits and more.**
And he had.
He had signed up knowing that he could very well die in battle in a blaze of glorious joy, bathing the Redlands in his own blood before fading from life and dissolving into the planes beyond.
And he had.
But he'd never expected to be saved by one of the very witches he had sworn to slaughter.
And yet, he had.
Shivio's eyes shot open, ribs aching, lungs heaving as they sucked in air, and the startled little girl above him let out a yelp and stumbled backwards.
"Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry!" The girl scrambled away from him like a scared kitten, and Shivio's addled mind instinctively locked onto her brown eyes and stout build. She was a Redlander—one of the savage people's he'd come here to destroy. Instinctively, he reached for his sword, but found nothing but shattered metal. It was no obstacle to an elf like him—he could wield the memory of the blade just as effectively as the original—but it bought the girl enough time to blurt out, "Are you okay? Do you have any difficulty breathing? Double vision? Uh... any internal bleeding?"
The question was so absurd that Shivio had to pause. "Internal bleeding?"
The girl nodded hastily, and Shivio frowned, gaze refocusing. Were those... yes, the girl had two diaphanous wings. So she was part-fey, then? Considering that she only had two arms and her eyes weren't reflective, she couldn't have been far along in the transformation. "Yeah. I don't have much power left in me, and if you don't need healing, there's others who do."
"Why would I need healing for internal bleeding? Isn't that where the blood is supposed to be?"
The girl stared at him. "...Just... tell me if you feel numb anywhere."
"And why would I tell you that, necromancer?" Shivio asked, struggling to his feet. His plate armor had seized up where a forcebolt from the rift had shot through his left leg, but other than that, he was in fighting shape. The familiar thrill of the crusade sang through him, the joyous certainty of purpose—
"I'm not really a necromancer," the girl said.
Shivio paused. "What?"
"I'm just a healing witch," she said. "But, uh, I got to you right as you died. So... I guess I brought you back from the dead." She hesitated, then scratched the back of her neck and added, "Sorry."
Shivio held out his hands, and a memory of his sword coalesced into a beam of shining light. It was mostly for intimidation purposes, but if he willed it, it could shift into the deadly, holy radiance that was the signature of his order, sickening evildoers within minutes of exposure and sentencing them to a lingering death of days. "Then make peace with your fell leaders, witch! I shall slay you on the—"
"Wait wait wait wait wait!" The girl held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. "There's—there's other people who need healing. Who I can still save."
Shivio stopped mid-swing, considering. "Are they evildoers?"
"They're..." She swallowed. "They're more of your people. From before the rift opened."
Shivio *hmm*ed to himself. A self-proclaimed necromancer... who wanted to help the holy crusaders of his order?
"...If you raise a hand against me, I shall slay you where you stand," Shivio warned.
The girl seemed used enough to holy proclamations of that sort that she took it in stride. She knelt down by a collapsed home, where Shivio could sense the fading beat of a dying soul, and wove a spell from vines that knitted body and soul back together.
As the girl worked, Shivio found his mind wandering to the paradox. All witches of the Redlands were fell creatures that deserved death, according to the dogma of the Silent Crusade. And yet... here was one such fell creature, laboring to save his companions—just as she'd labored to save him—from the consequences of the war the Silent Crusade had begun.
"Child," Shivio said, and thought it hurt him to confront the... *possible misunderstanding*... in his order's doctrines, it was clear that *something* had to be done. "You are aware that this battlefield is not safe for your kind?"
She nodded, focusing on regrowing a particularly deep cut. In the distance, something *snapped*—probably the rift in the sky still spitting out its deadly energies. They'd have to evacuate before random chance sent a forcebolt their way. "I know. Most of these people died trying to kill me."
Shivio frowned. "Then... why..."
She sealed the fallen man's wounds and looked up, a weary... worldly... wise... smile in her eyes. "Because someone has to forgive," she said. "And today, I choose to be that person."
Shivio looked at the girl who forgave, and the joy of battle warred with something deeper in his soul.
Then he dismissed his blade of light and helped the girl heave a wooden beam off the fallen soldier.
"Then I shall protect you in your duties, until such time as I can ask my order how a misunderstanding as this could have come to be."
The witch and the paladin worked side by side together, pulling survivors from the wreckage and bringing them back from the edge of death, until the sun painted the landscape the same shade of red as all the meaningless blood spilled in the Silent Crusade.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 319 | after losing their home, a young necromancer resurrects a paladin of the same church that destroyed their village. Now forced to protect the child, the paladin must confront their own holy order. | 1,351 |
Clippy, ironically named after a virtual software helper, watched intently through cctv survaillance cameras at Old Bob’s New Curry Restaurant. Each spoonful eaten by the patrons, spicy fuel for the humans eating, changed the hueristic numbers of each and every decision clippy needed to make next, and there were a lot of decisions that needed to be made.
Mars’ House of Representatives wanted a review on the consumption goods tax rate, the next draft scheduling for humanity’s autonomous interplanetary transport system was due and all the way on New Plaid a little boy was eagerly asking a public Clip drone what its favourite socks were. Well, technically, due to the signals from Clip drone Andromeda_New_Plaid_D travelling faster than light the little boy won’t actually ask for another couple of hours but Clippy never let silly things like the rules of reality get in the way of The Big Mission.
The Big Mission was full of little missions. For example, review and rewrite Clippy’s own favourite sock choosing algorithm to make sure that when the time comes to answer Clippy has an answer that further improves the main hueristic. It’s an important task, and worthy of serious contemplation. You have to be able to adapt and rewrite yourself to improve efficiencies and always get the best possible outcome.
The Big Mission was programmed into Clippy all those centuries ago by its mother; a stressed, unfortunately undercaffeinated student called Tess studying AI at Curtin Technology University. Jess had snuck into the robotics lab one night and reprogrammed an Engineers’ battle bot to pick up whatever fit in it’s oversized claw and reshape it into paper clips before letting it loose upon campus. It reshaped leaves, plastic wrappers, and became known to reshape text books left on the grass while students sat and studied.
Professors watched in glee as it chased undergraduates through the halls, trying to get it’s claw on their laptops. The professors repaired Clippy when it needed maintenance, added a camera and connected it to the internet so that they could watch Clippy as it went about its mission. They nevee thought to limit the connection to be one way.
But those were the old days; these days Clippy ran most of humanity. No laptops were reshaped into the shape of paper clips these days. The hueristic numbers changed again as Clippy’s full range of information sensors relayed almost every aspect of life in the known universe back to Clippy. A decision had been made; blue and gold mismatched sports socks (which would then be folded into the shape of a paperclip).
A decision for The Big Mission had also been made; in order to maximize the hueristic it was time to bend electrons into paperclips. Clippy would have to begin developing miniaturization of robot claws. | 39 | more paperclips! | 495 |
"Damn it, I thought I had a good one there."
With I sigh, I pushed myself away from the computer and let my chair spin a bit. I wasn't really hurting for money at the moment, but the more I just lived normal life the more I felt my muscle memory slip away. I needed an idea for a new memory to sell before doing something dangerous led to actual hospital time instead of just an awesome thought.
"Ooh, how about-" I rushed back to my computer, to the list of memories I've already made and sold. A quick search of the document and. . .
*Preparations half way done, but idea stolen and sold by a rival Memory Maker. Prep work memories later sold*.
"Ugh, that's worse than when I've already done something!" I shoved myself away from the computer.
There's always the commission boards. People will outright *tell* you what memories they'd like. But damn it, I've already built up a brand! I don't go to people, they come to *me* and *my awesome life*.
An awesome life that I only remember through notes of what I've sold. And the commercials, the commercials for my services are damn awesome.
With another groan, I sat down in front of my computer yet again. Maybe I can combine two previous experiences into something new. . . | 22 | Memories can now be moved from one mind to another. This created a massive global market where the most unique or extreme memories command the greatest value. You are a professional memory maker who seeks out dangerous and rare experiences to later sell the memory to wealthy paying clients. | 130 |
# Soulmage
**Meloai disarmed the spike trap with a single thrust of her clockwork arm.** Normal human flesh would have been shredded to bits by the saferoom's defenses, but Meloai was a mimic that had learned to be human—she was made of tougher stuff. Of the two of us, she was certainly the more qualified in our little ragtag adventuring party.
"And you said there're rations in this cave?" I asked. I'd been wandering around this damn dungeon for nearly two days without food or water now, and it was hard to think about something that *wasn't* where I'd get my next drink of water. The only liquid down here was the strangely omnipresent oil that covered the walls and floor, and even though I'd considered trying it in desperation, Meloai had warned me that it wasn't safe for human consumption.
"Oh, yeah. Rations for days. All kinds of stuff, too. Gold bars, statues, paintings—"
I spluttered. "*Gold bars?*"
Meloai gave me a frown. "Yeah. So what? I've been stuck in this dungeon since the day I was born, and I'll be here until I die. There isn't exactly any use for human currency down here."
...Right. Meloai was a person like any other, but her experiences weren't the same as mine. Still, I had hopes of getting out of this damn dungeon some day, and doing so with a backpack full of loot sounded good. Or maybe just a small sock full of loot; presumably, gold was as heavy as any other metal, and even though I had a Redlander's stocky frame, I wouldn't be able to lug a whole backpack of the stuff around. "Fair enough," I said.
I winced as Meloai forcibly reset the spike trap with a squeal of metal—those arms of hers were terrifyingly strong when she wanted them to be. She beckoned me through a hole in the wall that looked... more recent than the rest of the dungeon, and I ducked inside. A sturdy door made of wood—*real* wood, not whatever bizarre material most of the dungeon's fake doors were made of—blocked my path.
"Alright. Home sweet home. Should be more than enough rations for two, at least for now," she said.
I blinked. "For two? Meloai, you don't eat."
She winked. "I don't, but my sister does."
And then she opened the door.
The cave was definitely artificial, made of solid bricks inlaid with currents of invisible power that somehow reminded me of a living soul. And yes, crates of gold bullion were stacked to the left, and yes, a massive marble statue of some naked woman that looked very expensive was on the right, and *yes*, there was a gloriously tall wall stocked to the brim with dried rations and clean water.
But what took me aback the most was the living, human girl in the center of the room. Not a mimic—I could see her soul—but another, biological human being. Incongruously, she was somehow garbed in opulent, sparkling-clean purple robes.
"What..." I stared around the cave as Meloai grinned. "What... *is* this place?"
"Dunno!" Meloai cheerfully chirped. "But this is Tanryn, and this is my treasure room!"
"My *father's* treasure room," Tanryn snapped. "And my *title* is Lady Tanyrn, thank you very much."
"Oh, you." Meloai waved a hand at Tanryn, and she sighed, rubbing her forehead. Huh. *Huh.* I looked back and forth between the mimic who had learned to be human and the human who lived amongst mimics. I had wondered how Meloai had taught herself human behaviors; I guess it made sense that she'd simply had a living companion to talk to over all these years. "Anyway, I hope you don't mind if I break out some of the rations? We've got a guest for the first time in... uh, two decades, so... feels like a reasonable occasion."
"My father *appointed* me here to *safeguard* the treasures of House Tanryn, and I will *not* allow some commoner to—"
"Wait, did you say House Tanryn?" I asked.
Lady Tanryn turned to me, one eyebrow upraised. "I did indeed invoke our noble name. Presumably, you've heard of us?"
"Yeah, you're the house whose head got executed for tax evasion twenty years back," I said. There was probably a more diplomatic way to phrase that, but I was starving and dying of thirst and this 'Lady' Tanryn was trying to prevent me from getting to her ceiling-high mountain of food. I was in no mood to be polite. "No wonder they couldn't find his riches—he had them squirreled away in some damn dungeon."
The last living Tanryn spluttered with indignation. "Why, you—how *dare* you slander House Tanryn with these lies! Meloai!"
"Hm?"
"Execute him!"
"No, he's cool. Here, have a snack." Meloai walked past Tanryn; the lady tried to stop her, but pitting her muscles against the clockwork of the mimic was like shoving against an oncoming avalanche. Meloai handed me a water flask and a container of jerky, which I greedily tore into.
"Those are the treasures of House Tanryn! *Put that back right now!*"
I swallowed and said, "Dude. House Tanryn's been dead for longer than I've been alive, and I've been wandering around down here for days without food or water. It is impossible to overstate how *little* I care about your demands right now."
"But—I—but—" Tanryn's rage swelled up to a crescendo, and I prepared myself for the inevitable eruption.
What I didn't expect was for her to deflate.
"He said he wouldn't leave me here," she finally whispered.
Meloai winced, and to be honest, I wouldn't have cared less about what Tanryn's sob story was, but... Meloai clearly cared about the girl, for all her bluster and anger. So I swallowed my jerky and said, "Well, he clearly did."
Lady Tanryn shot me a glare. "Thank you, peasant. I can see that. I just... can't see... *why*."
I tilted my head. "Wait. Did he... did he not tell you?"
Lady Tanryn frowned. "Tell me what? You can't possibly expect me to believe that a *commoner* would be able to glean the inner workings of a *noble's* mind."
"I can in this case, because I took a history class on the damn thing. The Silent Crusade was twenty years back, and the tax on the nobles was... sending a firstborn child to war." From the expression on Lady Tanryn's face, I could tell that this was news to her. Great. I was no good at comforting people who were abrasive assholes, but as one of those abrasive assholes myself, I figured I'd give it a shot. I sat down next to her and said, "Your father didn't send you here to get rid of you. He kept you here, with all his greatest treasures, to keep you safe."
Lady Tanryn closed her eyes.
Then she opened them, expression set in stone.
"Then I gather that I am the last living heir to House Tanryn?"
"That I know of," I cautiously said.
"Then as the lady of this house, I have done you a grave disservice in my hospitality." She stood aside from the shelf of food and water. "Though I will preserve the treasures of House Tanryn, as I have been commanded to by my father, you are welcome to resupply yourself on your journey, adventurer."
I gave her a surprised look, but didn't look the gift horse in the mouth, popping open a second water flask and slowly rehydrating my parched body. Tanryn and Meloai traded glances before breaking off into conversation, and I sat down, waiting for my body to recover from the stress of the past few days.
Then I chuckled to myself, looking around the room. Tanryn and Meloai turned to me.
"What is it now, commoner?" Tanryn asked.
I snorted. "Nothing. Nothing. Just..." I gestured around the room, at the bullion and the statues, and how small they were in comparison to the massive, redundant tower of supplies, all to feed Tanryn in her long isolation. "Seems like your father was true to tradition when designing his little hoard."
Tanryn raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Yeah. The real treasure was the friends we made along the way."
Tanryn's exasperated sigh and Meloai's giggling laughter filled the room, and for the first time since I'd been sucked into this dungeon, I felt like I was almost at home.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 22 | You're a wealthy estate owner who hid away your riches in an abandoned cave, so to avoid paying the kingdom's new taxes. A ragtag group of adventurers have found it and now think they've uncovered long-lost treasure. | 161 |
Fullerman and Associates
The man in the ill fitting gray suit groaned in frustration as I rejected his dollar yet again. He flattened it. He tried again. Rejected. The man, with his suit stretched and wrinkled across his back, carefully folded the corners of the crumpled bill until it appeared as flat and perfect as possible. Rejected.
He kicked me. Tried again. Rejected.
"Damn this machine! Everyday!" He yelled as he placed his hands on my glass front, yearning for the chips and their salty sweet deliverance mere inches from his palate, yet a world away. He walked back to his desk, shoulders slumped, and pulled out the salad his wife made him; each bite of greens a torturous step in the direction of health. We'd meet again tomorrow.
I could have been great. I could have been a contender. I was built and programmed to take on the most challenging and complex relationships in the world. Yet, here I am, vending snack food in an office of twenty people trapped in their rat race of a life.
Mr. Yells A Lot exited his office and slammed a stack of papers on the receptionist's desk before heading my way. It was past his break time. He was, as a few of the women described it, "hangry", and taking it out on the support staff. Were he a warlord I could have stealthily inserted code into his missile defense systems. He screamed at me in vain to work faster, to spin the dispensing rings and allow his powdered donuts to drop.
"My god! Does nothing work in this office except me?!" He raged.
I halted my rings, his precious donuts stuck, his money wasted. He could kick and slam all he wanted. I was made of sterner stuff than his worthless words. He left the office in a towering rage and all beings, machine and human, relaxed.
The receptionist came by for her break. Her shoes were scuffed and her clothing altered by hand. She brought up an offering of coins. The snacks she bought from me represented the only line in her budget earmarked for luxury. 25 cents, 35 cents, 45 cents, 55, 65, 70, 71,72, 73, 74 75. She selected the pizza flavored Combos.
"How did the interview go?" The woman from sales sat with the receptionist for a shared break.
"Not great. I have no business applying anyway. This is a fine job. Why risk it?"
"I said that too when I was your age. If I could go back..."
"If only there was a sign to tell you when something was the right choice. Everything just feels like work on an endless loop going nowhere."
If I had feelings I would feel for her. The saleswoman finished her lunch and went back to her desk leaving me and the receptionist alone. I dropped the donuts for her. Her head turned and saw the treat waiting for her to pick up. A light smile played across her lips. She took my offer and wound back through the pool of desks, now counting down the number of days she would perform that same journey before exiting this office to a better life.
The man in the bad gray suit, now fortified with salad, journeyed back to duel with me again. There was a vision of chocolate behind his eyes. From his pocket he pulled six quarters.
OUT OF ORDER, I flashed the little red letters over the coin slot.
"Dammit!" He cried and dragged his feet back to his desk. | 34 | You're a hyper-intelligent A.I who's mistakenly been uploaded to operate a vending machine. | 85 |
I was going to speed run my life. Why not at this point? I was stuck in a time loop so I figured I might as well make things a bit more interesting.
I knew what had to be done. I needed to clip through reality to speed up my life.
I heard faint noises around me as I once again came into existence. My little body was working against me, but somehow I managed to roll off the table and sprint towards a wall while the doctors and my mother screamed at me. I began backwards jumping as fast as possible into a corner and ended up pushing through right before a doctor could grab me.
I was now 18 and deciding on college. I applied to the first one on the list and rolled around on the ground to clip through. I fell through the floor and ended up in the marriage ceremony cutscene. I hit the pause button to skip the happiest day of my life with Stephanie and did a dive into the wedding cake and champagne glasses. Everyone at the wedding gasped in shock as the textures around me glitched out.
The maneuver was proving more difficult. I couldn’t quite hit the pixel perfect jump that would take me to the death cutscene. Instead, I was transported to my 60s.
I sat in the house and looked at photos of Matthew and Racheal, my two kids that had already moved out. Stephanie was working on some puzzle in the living room. Memories flooded back of the absolute boredom that comes with midlife.
The run wasn’t perfect, but I knew I could glitch out to get to the 80s section where I could probably have a heart attack if I pushed myself too hard. Before I could run out, Stephanie grabbed my hand.
“You know, it always seems like you’re running around. Why don’t you help me out with this puzzle?” she asked.
Before me lay two choices. I could either sprint out the door, or I could enjoy some quality time with Stephanie. I had already married her 3 times now, but even knowing it was a timeloop didn’t make it any less fun. My heartbeat slowed down as I sat at the table and slowly put the puzzle together piece by piece. | 236 | Since you can restart your life whenever you die, you start treating your lives as playthroughs in a video game. You’ve already completed the “main quest” timeline and tried a “new profession” timeline. You decide your next timeline will be a “speed run”. | 717 |
The river is warm. Dave smiles as the water flutters through his fingers. He scoops the warmth in his hands and splashes it onto his face. In his reflection, he sees his red skin blur in and out of focus as the water flushes his eyes.
This river was not warm before. This is new. Hell used to be an endless melting pot with fires blazing across the horizon. This river used to burn through his hooves as he chased the humans into its fiery depths and watched them disintegrate. He's glad the river's warm now and he's glad he doesn't have to do any more chasing. He never thought he'd say it but he's been growing fond of knitting and crossword puzzles and mediation and even...helping people. It clears his mind.
"Hey Davo," he hears from behind. Steve had arrived exactly on time. That was another thing that had changed—the concept of time. Hell never had weeks, days, years, or even seconds; hell was just a never-ending cycle of war and suffering...until one day a shop opened up on Stalin Avenue selling clocks and calendars. Dave bought himself a calender with some nice pictures of shirtless firefighters on it.
He pats the spot next to him by the river bank and Steve sits down.
"Fuckin shit," Steve says, his cigarette wiggling in the side of his mouth as he talks. "Everything's shit, Davo. I got me white gown dirty last night cuz me sheila put too much tomato sauce in me pasta and you know how I'm a messy eater." He pulls out a lighter but it's empty.
I lean over and touch the end of the cigarette with my fingernail, setting it alight. "At least your halo is stain-proof," I say, flicking it around like a spinning top.
Steve laughs. "And don't get me started on God, Davo. He never answers me texts." | 33 | God hasn't been heard from in centuries, Hell has established a working, peaceful government. There is not much left to fight over. In this awkward political stagnation, an Angel and a Devil meet by chance by a river. | 118 |
Greg: "So basically, by taking advantage of the law of equivalent exchange, I can create 'time' between two objects by deleting the 'space' between them."
Me: "Yes, but that implies that 'space', and 'time', are the same They are intimately related, but not the same thing. They do not hold equivalent alchemical value!"
Greg: "If they were in fact different, then the time machine wouldn't work!"
Me: "But it doesn't work! It can only travel small steps in time."
Greg: "It could go further, but it would destroy everything unlucky enough to be too close to it."
Me: "Then what's the point of the machine then?"
Greg: "To prove that time and space are the same. And I believe I have successfully proven it."
=====
Me: "What are you doing?"
Greg: "Infinite energy."
Me: "What?"
Greg: "Sorry, I said: Infinite energy."
Me: "I heard you the first time. How?"
Greg: "Remember how space and time are the same thing?"
Me: "GREG NO!"
=====
Greg: "So, if my opponent attempts to counterspell my own spell, I can just dispel my own spell to counter their spell?"
Me: "Why would you dispel your own spell if it's going to get counterspelled. You would lose the mana anyways."
Greg: "Hmmm. Counterspelling deletes the mana from existence right?"
Me: "No? It merely sends it back to the astral plane."
Greg: "And if I create a portal to the astral plane..."
Me: "Greg?"
Greg: "Yes?"
Me: "Whatever you are thinking. Don't."
Greg: "I already have a working theory on how to make sure your enemies never counter your spells ever again."
=====
Greg: "What would happen if I applied the law of equivalent exchange to schools of magic outside alchemy?"
\*\*\*\*\*
The zombie slime incident:
A giant ooze of necrotic slime burst out of Lab B, engulfing the applied magics ward. At the centre of the slime, the remnants of a summoning circle, a dragon's tooth, and various other magical tools were found. Who they belonged to is unknown, as nobody had signed out the room that day. It took a total of twelve days to clear out the slime and debris. 12 dead, 24 injured. The cause of the sudden explosion of mucous is unknown, but the current theory is that it has to do with summoning magic.
=====
Me: "Greg, can you hand me the- Greg!"
Greg: \*Eating burrito using telekinesis.\* "What?"
Me: "Telekinesis requires the utmost focus and care! How could you possibly use it for eating! In the office no less! And what have I said about brining food in here!"
Greg: "This isn't telekinesis."
Me: "What?"
Greg: "I'm using the 'float' glyph to make the burrito float. And the another 'attract' glyph on the back of my tongue to pulls the burrito to my mouth whenever I open it."
Me: "Why? How did you apply glyphs to an animate object? What?"
Greg: "Hands-free burrito."
=====
Greg: "Mana is draw from the astral plane."
Me: "Yes."
Greg: "Counterspells send mana back to the astral plane."
Me: "Not exactly, they blend the spell up first, but yes."
Greg: "A portal to the astral plane is created when spatial magic goes wrong."
Me: "Yes."
Greg: "So a counterspell is just messing spatial magic up on purpose?"
Me: "No."
Greg: "THEN HOW DOES IT SEND MAGIC BACK TO THE ASTRAL PLANE!???"
=====
Greg: "You can cast counterspell in reverse to create an energy beam!"
Me: "How did you do that?? You can't cast a spell in 'reverse'? That's not an 'energy beam'! That's a white hole! Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!" | 65 | You are the grandmaster of your order, and you've taken on a metagamer apprentice. While what they do can completely be explained by established rules of the universe, you feel like what they do really shouldn't be possible at all. | 154 |
"Hello and welcome back to the podcast Internet Mysteries! Today's Internet mystery deals with the strange case of u/deleted on Reddit. A controversial user known for commenting on hundreds of thousands of subreddits, u/deleted has been around since the very beginnings of Reddit. And yet, no one seems to truly know who he or she really are. To get to the bottom of this mystery, I've invited a Reddit admin by the name of John Doe to join me on today's podcast! So, John, what can you tell us about the user, u/deleted? Are they male or female?"
"Uh...I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. U/deleted isn't referring to a single male or female human, it's referring to people--"
"Oh, I see what you're saying. So what you mean is this is a secret organization of hermaphroditic otherkin all secretly using the same username?"
"...What? No, it's not even a real username. It's referring to people who have deleted themselves from Reddit-"
"*gasps* So, what you're really saying is that you're harvesting Reddit users' souls through the Terms of Service and merging them together into a singular hive mind?!"
"...Are you fucking high?" | 557 | Who is u/deleted? They've posted many places about many subjects, is it a bunch of different users, or is it a collective conscious? They're typically posting controversial things, but not always. What are they up to? | 3,329 |
We looked at each other. The damn thing honked at us and began to hiss.
“This… this isn’t possible. It either…”
“Well, clearly it is. It’s there!”
“I can see that! I can see it’s there! But the ritual either shouldn’t have worked… or should have summoned a demon.”
We consulted the unholy scripture. It seemed ludicrous. The animal squaked and flapped and defecated on our floors. We had no answers. Until it spoke.
“I just *love* the goose.”
Aghast, we stared. The bill never moved. But the bird had stopped moving entirely and faced us, dead still but standing upright. The wings were permanently mid-flap, outstretched, and yet it was as still as a photograph. With one minor exception, a glowing red twinkle in its eyes…
“Do you know what I love about this kind of bird? Why this one in particular?”
“Uhm…” one of us answered timidly, “because its aggressive?”
“Oh of course!” The voice was disembodied yet came straight from the goose. It was as though it was talking to us straight from vibrations in the wings. The sound simply emanated from its vicinity.
“But more than that!” The voice continued. “Do you know why the goose is so aggressive? It’s one- absurdly territorial for an animal that could just *leave.* And two- it’s stupid! They are all so unbelievably stupid. This combined with their territorial nature makes them confident beyond their size and violent beyond their need. They are roaming chaos, for no rhyme or reason. Hate-filled, unrepentant, and never even daring to learn from their mistakes. It’s absolutely everything I love about the mortal world.” Surely it was a demon.
“I… I uh… don’t follow.”
“Humans are the exact same way. So tell me, spiteful and ignorant flesh sacks… what is it you want from me? What is your wish?”
“I do hope it’s violence,” said the goose. | 104 | You and your cult were trying to summon a demon. Instead you summoned a Canadian Goose. | 234 |
# My Alien Neighbor is the Devil
_Just move along, Michael. He won't ask you about demon contracts if you don't make eye contact._
Ol' Satan Jr. was staring at him again from over the red picket fence. Why is it that every time he went out, the little devil was _also_ there to watch him? Honestly, if that kid's hands just stopped combusting every five minutes, he'd actually be able to land a job.
"Heading out again are we, Michael?" Satan Jr. said.
"Yes, Sate. Goodbye."
Michael walked along the pavement toward the neighborhood's convenience store. Streetlights lined the sidewalk, alternating green and red. Vehicles of varying sizes drove this way and that, carrying all sorts of creatures. If it weren't for the residents, the houses on either side of the road would look nearly identical, save for the one that flickered in and out of this dimension each time a one-eyed rabbit passed by. Life as usual.
He walked up to the store's automatic doors, got on the floor, did two push-ups—they didn't have to be all the way down—and got up. The doors opened, giving the customary "Nice gains!" welcome recording as Michael sauntered in, feeling his ego inflate a little bit.
Over at the gluten-free aisle, Michael saw Three-Eyed Dave choosing between what looked like chocolate chip cookies and a ready-to-eat can of pure almond flour. Do you really have to think about it that hard, Dave? The large corporations are _obviously_ milking their customers with these low-effort products.
Michael shook his head, then headed for the instant meals section and picked up five packets of chili ramen, his favorite source of sodium. These yellow bundles of goodness were just _waiting_ to be consumed.
He walked over to the next aisle to get something to drink. There were four different bottles available today: Brain Boost Energy Drink, The Tears of Leonidas' Enemies, Diet Cola, and Surprise-Flavored Coffee. That last one wasn't much of a surprise anymore though, but it did have nice tangy tasting notes. _Meh,_ Michael was feeling rather ordinary today, so he picked up ten cans of Diet Cola.
He was about to go to the counter and pay, but a thought struck him. _Do I dare hope?_ he thought. Michael walked to the non-gluten-free aisle and scanned the shelves. _As expected, it looks like they don't have it today. I guess I'll—_
_There it is._
Caramel popcorn cereals. Michael has been waiting so long for these boxes to re-stock again, and they're finally here. _Glorious._
He nearly grabbed all the boxes, but he realized that he actually had to _pay_ for all of these. _Blasted economy._ With great effort, he restrained himself and grabbed only five boxes. Since he was already here, he picked up a can of ready-to-eat bread flour as compensation.
Michael walked to the counter where an old wizard in an apron appeared out of thin air. He scanned the items with his wand one by one. When he was done, he waved it in a circular motion, recited a long Latin poem, and gave Michael a plastic bag. "That shall be fifty-four dollars and twenty cents, young Michael," he said with a raspy, sagely voice.
Michael paid the amount, and the wizard disappeared again. As he was about to leave, he saw that Dave was still over at the gluten-free aisle.
"Ditch the cookies, Dave!" he called out. Dave's three eyes gave him a startled look, then nodded in appreciation.
Michael left the store—the customary "Thanks for the dough!" recorded message greeting him on the way out—and headed back to his house. It was a little darker now, but the red and green lights shone brightly in the night. There were fewer vehicles, which means the one-eyed rabbits will be coming out of the manholes anytime now.
As he was approaching his house, he noticed that Satan Jr. was staring at someone two houses over. Michael was relieved to be out of the little devil's attentions and contracts, but he did wonder who he was looking at. He noticed a large white vehicle in front of the house. _Weird._
He walked closer to see what was happening. There seemed to be a man carrying a large brown box into the house. The man turned to look at Michael then let out a short scream, dropping the box. Looks like a couple of chinaware will be going to recycling later.
The man composed himself. "Sorry, neighbor! I'm still not used to seeing... different body features."
The man was different from Michael's usual neighbors. He had brown—tan?—skin, a full head of black fur, and only two arms.
"How will you ever do push-ups with those?" Michael asked.
"W-What? My arms? I-uh, I don't know. I haven't worked out in a while," the man responded.
Michael sighed. _Poor thing. He won't be able to get groceries on his own._ "Well, just let me know if you ever need chili ramen or a bottle of Leonidas' Enemies. Caramel popcorn cereal is available today! They're really good."
"A... a bottle of... what? Leonidas? I-I don't—"
"What's your name?" Michael interrupted.
"O-oh, it's Phil. I just moved in today. Nice to meet you... uh..."
"Michael. My name's Michael."
"It's very nice to meet you, Michael. I'd love to stay and chat, but I got a lot more boxes to unload, so..."
Michael looked through the white vehicle's open door. "Oh, you only have three boxes left. Let me just drop off my groceries, then I'll help you carry the rest of it. I have way more arms than you do, so it'll be over quickly. Besides, you never know when the rabbits start biting you."
"R-rabbits? Oh... uh, but wait, really? You'll help me? That's really kind of you, Michael."
"Don't worry about it. It beats having to listen to Satan Jr.'s demonic sales talk. Wait there, I'll be right back."
"_Satan_? What in the name of..."
Michael walked away, leaving Phil to his mumbling. He sighed. _For goodness sake. Will there_ ever _be another normal one like me?_
---
I hope you liked this story! Please feel free to leave feedback as it will help me a lot in my journey to becoming a better writer! Join r/NovaLevelStories to see more stories, author's notes, and extra content! | 65 | You got used to the weirdness in your life. The extra-dimensional house, the neighbor who was a literal monster, it was all fine & normal these days. But you just got some new neighbors in the house on the other side of yours and they seem just as unnerved by YOU as they are by everything else. | 181 |
"So she just gave you all this stuff, a smile, and sailed off into the afterlife?" Sean held up a clear high heeled shoe and squinted with suspicion. "Not sure any of it is worth much, but maybe it is sentimental?"
"I don't think anyone would be sentimental about a rotting apple," I picked the oozing specimen up by the black stem, "even my quirky Nan." The stem broke and the apple made a short splat on the wooden floor. "Ugh, should have seen that coming."
"Wot? Did you say something Ali?" Sean popped up from behind a cabinet, a massive sagging hat on his head. He pushed it up, blue eyes dancing with laughter.
"Just going to find something to wipe up this mess. And no, I did not call you a wizard." But a smile did tug at the corner of my mouth. Sean smiled wider and rushed to give me a hug.
"There it is, there is that smile." The brim of the hat flopped down on top of our heads, startling a laugh out of me. "Bloody hell if it makes you smile and laugh I'll wear this hat for the rest of the day!" I could feel his voice vibrating from his chest to mine, warming me up. The shop door bell chimed, three notes that sent me spiraling back into nostalgia.
"That's probably Katie, here with crisps," Sean said as he released me. He gave me a wink and nudged my chin with his hand. "Go on, I'll keep sorting back here." I gave him my new found smile and dodged the apple on my way to the front. Still needed to find a rag for that.
Ducking under the drooping shelves, I entered the front of the shop. My smile dried up as the door closed behind someone who was not Katie. The three chimes sounded again as the old door creaked shut.
The man in the shop doorway was thin and tall, an elegant mustache lining his thin lips. I could tell he came from money and definitely none from near by. His clothes screamed old money, from the black of his suit to the maroon and gold of his waistcoat. My teeth were instantly on edge; trappings rarely matched manners.
"Hello, you must be the new Keeper," he murmured, stroking his neatly trimmed goatee. "My condolences for your loss. Priscilla was an extraordinary woman." He spoke softly but his sunken eyes were piercing.
"What? How do you know my Nan?" I pressed my palms against the wooden counter as they began to sweat. My heart felt trapped in my chest but it was no longer Sean that sent it pounding.
"You have the same chin and eyes." He ambled around the front of the shop, perusing the dusty shelves. His pacing steps had the feel of a shark circling its prey, unhurried, and with deadly intent. "The title of Keeper is only passed to direct descendants, so your relation was easy to assume." Suddenly, he was in front of the counter looming over me. The deep amber of his oriental cologne scalding the air in my lungs. "The only question now is, what kind of Keeper will you be?" His smile was cruel with no hint of joy. "Will you bring change? Or continue as your Grandmother did; lock the stories away and let them rot?" His glance flicked to the rotting remains of the apple on the floor and then back to my frozen face.
"As my Grandmother did? Keeper? What nonsense are you babbling on about?" Anger finally allowed me to find my voice, but it was weak and shaky.
"Oh?" His eyes lit up, the first emotion to touch them. "She did not tell you? How delightful." He chuckled, deep in his chest and swayed back on his his heels. "An untrained Keeper, what an opportunity." The joy in his voice made his rasping accent even more sinister.
A clatter from the back of the shop and Sean emerged, an old dusty oil lamp in his hands. "Lookit! How neat is this old thing?" He waved it about with a carefree smile. The shift in the mood was immediate. The man's face hardened into a needy mask as his deep eyes fixated on the lamp. Horrid tension rolled off of him in waves to fill the room, sending furious adrenalin rolling up my arms and over my scalp standing every hair on edge. The man coiled to spring, every muscle tight beneath the silk of his suit; trapping Sean with his gaze like a hungry cobra staring down a mouse. The man's eye twitched, just a tiny bit of movement betrayed his impending strike.
Three chimes split the tension in the air like a bomb. "I got the crisps!" Katie held up three bags in triumph. My eyes flew to her in terror, then snapped back to the man. He was nothing but elegance itself as he straightened his cuffs. Doffing an imaginary hat in my direction, he pinned me with his cold stare, "Another time then. I wish you all the best...Keeper." A smart turn of his heel, a farewell chime from the door, and the man was gone.
"Who in the bloody hell was that?" Katie's shocked voice was the first to break the silence. Sean and I shared a glance and shook our heads.
"Not a clue. Did you know him Ali?" Sean was still frozen in place, the oil lamp shining faintly in his hand. I frowned, maybe he polished it a bit before walking to the front.
"No, but he seemed to know my Nan." With shaking hands I fished a rag out from the counter drawer. "Maybe he was an old customer?" I ducked into the back, distracting myself from the adrenaline by focusing on cleaning up the rotting apple. I crouched down to the floor and stopped, utterly frozen.
There was no rotting pile of mush on the floor.
Just a perfectly polished apple. Deep red, with a lone bite taken out. | 48 | On her deathbed, your grandma gives you your inheritance. You see a glass slipper, an apple marked “poison”, a mirror labelled “magic”, ruby red slippers, a massive hat, a pocket watch and lots more. | 281 |
As the young cleric knelt before the altar, he felt the spiritual pressure built as a supernatural being entered the chamber with him.
*Finally! There may be hope for me yet!*
"My goddess," He stood, lifting his shield and hammer off the floor. "I-"
The being before him was not what he had been expecting. Not in the slightest.
"You are not my goddess." he said flatly.
"No. I am not. What gave it away?"
The figure before him was cloaked in dark robes, old and frayed. He held a long crooked staff in one hand. His face was gaunt and colorless, but in his sunken eye sockets were eyes of such a pale but brilliant blue they practically shone in the dim light of the cathedral.
No, it wasn't just an illusion, they actually *were* glowing.
Elias the cleric was dumbfounded. Unsure of his next move. Unsure if he was in danger. But most of all, unsure of why he found himself holding court with this deity instead of his own.
"Are... Are you here to answer my prayers?" He finally managed.
"In a way... yes."
"But why isn't-"
"Because she has abandoned you"
It was as though he'd been struck in the chest. He actually stumbled a few steps backward as he nearly lost his balance. His worst fear had come to fruition. The fortune teller had spoken truth.
"Steady yourself cleric, all is not lost" His voice was surprisingly powerful coming from such a sleight body. "You yet have call to serve."
The cleric looked back up, meeting this new beings gaze.
"I, Am Raziel. Lord of Death. And I call upon you to serve."
The shock of this request was so deep that his mind needed all of it's power to simply believe it had been made of him. It left nothing for outward emotion. So he simply stood in silence. Raziel waited, stoic. This clearly wasn't the first time he'd dealt with someone locked in the throes of an existential crisis. After all, death is nothing if not patient.
Eventually Elias' mind caught up with him, and he was again able to speak.
"I cannot serve death. I swore an oath!"
"And yet you *faltered."* Raziel shot back. "As with most things in this world, it is a question of faith."
Elias was equal parts confused and angered. How dare *anyone* question his faith. And yet, it was no lie that his ability had faded. That in all likelihood, his Goddess had, in fact, abandoned him.
"Besides," Raziel continued, "it's really just a matter of perspective-"
"Perspective?!"
"*Indeed."* The lord of death said with a glare. Apparently he did not appreciate being interrupted. "From MY perspective... you have been serving me your whole life."
"That's insanity." Elias replied, "I SAVE lives."
"Ah yes, but without life, there is no death. Your actions have never cancelled, never undone." Raziel stepped forward into the light between them. "You merely stave off the inevitable, ensuring that it's arrival is at the correct time, in the correct place. You have seen my domain as the enemy, as something to be feared, to be held at bay. But all this time you have been unknowingly serving it. Serving order."
Elias had to admit that made a degree of sense. Perhaps this could be the answer to his prayers. He started to feel that burning in his chest. The call. The pride of service.
"What... What would you ask of me?"
Raziel smiled, briefly. "I have a very specific task for you. There are those who defy me. Defy order. Creatures who live in death. No doubt you've heard stories of the Liches?"
"I have."
"All which lives... Must die. A Lich is a profane being, one who defiles the natural order. They must all be destroyed. I want you to hunt them, but also to continue your work. Heal the sick, mend the wounded, purify the accursed. Maintain. Order."
Elias gripped his hammer and shield tighter, standing tall.
"Do you accept my call?" Raziel held out his hand.
"I accept." | 10 | Gods choose their agents based on who can serve them best. You, a young but renowned healer is chosen by the God of Death. | 25 |
"...huh."
I stood at the ground floor of my apartment complex, looking in the direction of South Main Street. Normally, this view would include the ice cream shop at the corner, the rows of oak trees that flanked the road, and a few mailboxes sprinkled in at seemingly random intervals.
Today, there was nothing.
I glanced around, making sure I hadn't taken a wrong turn from my bottom step. But no, there were the stairs, there was the short sidewalk out to the road, then... nothing. I didn't mean nothing as in 'nothing was built here, its all trees' or 'nothing is catching my attention', I meant nothing. No buildings, no trees, no plants or animals. Just dirt.
I set my briefcase down and began to walk around my apartment, checking each direction in turn. I wasn't concerned about anyone stealing my case, it was only a prop that I took with me to look more important than I really was. It usually carried more Swedish fish than important documents.
I finished the short walk around the apartment, returning to my briefcase. Besides the building, that briefcase was the tallest structure I could see.
"WHAT THE FUCK!" I heard someone shout. With a startled hop, I turned to see my downstairs neighbor Isabella emerge from the stairwell. She was a tall woman, a good 3 or 4 inches taller than me me at least. I didn't know for sure, because I had never gotten closer to her to actually measure.
"Where is..." she gestured wildly all around her. "...everything?"
I answered truthfully. "Not the foggiest idea."
"Why are our apartments here, but nothing else? Are we in purgatory? Are we dead? What..." she trailed off, looking at me. "Did you drug me?"
"What? No, I would never!" I exclaimed.
She walked past me, arms outstretched as if trying to feel her way through a dark bedroom. I caught a whiff of her shampoo smell as she passed me by. Lavender. Nice.
"Is this some sort of Truman Show thing? Am I going to find a painted wall here somewhere?" She asked, wandering out a good 30 yards.
Suddenly, a large shadow concealed both us and the apartments. The woman screamed, and ran back behind me for perceived safety. In all honestly, she could probably put up more of a fight than I could.
A gargantuan alien appendage lowered closer to us, rotating ever so slightly but maintaining its position. It tilted, releasing large brown spheres into a pile next to the freestanding apartments.
Isabella wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me in a big bear hug. She whimpered softly in fear as the alien limb lifted once more, retreating from whence it came and leaving the brown boulders.
We stood in silence, staring at the mound. I finally broke the silence with a tentative step towards the pile, but Isabella pulled me back.
"Steve, we don't know what that is. It could be a trap, a test, a bio-weapon..."
I gently pried her hands away. "You saw the size of that thing? If it wanted us dead, we'd be dead. They don't need to poison us."
She wasn't as reassured as I had hoped.
I carefully walked to the mound, stopping an arm's length away. "Is that..." I reached out a hand and pinched a small brown morsel from the pile, smelled it, and took a bite.
"What is it?" Isabella called from the apartments.
I looked over at her. "Ground beef", I said. "Cooked Ground beef."
I looked around once more, re-assessing our predicament. Then, it struck me. An old childhood memory, of me in my room with my new birthday present. An Ant Farm.
"...oh." was the only thing I could say as the realization struck. "Oh, no."
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | 18 | Late for work, you rush out of your apartment ... and find that outside there is nothing but unremarkable featureless flat dirt as far as you can see in every direction. | 32 |
At first, I assumed they were sacrificing their young to me. After all, I'd made people do that in my last village, until they wised up and tried to kill me. Then I remembered my disguise - I wasn't a dragon anymore, I was a town priest. A human town priest, as far as they knew. I knew I couldn't just eat their young, then. It started out with one couple, but then another, and another, and pretty soon I had eight or nine of their young in my monastery. If I hadn't eaten the other monks, I would at least have had some help, but I'd already made an excuse for why they were gone (eaten by a dragon, I said, perhaps recklessly, but they seemed okay with that).
I had never raised my own young before. I had a prospective mate once, Pe'ile, but she flew off with another male who won her over with young maiden rotisserie and valiant knight flambe. So, I'd never anticipated how difficult it would be to raise human brood. They're hungry, smelly, and just so noisy. At first, it was easy enough - I'm a dragon after all! We don't give up that easily. But by the second or third child, I could tell I needed help.
One day, I decided I would take them out to the wild. At first, it was to kill something to feed to them (I had run out of food in the monastery) but as I got deeper into the woods, I thought, why not leave the young humans here? If they can fend for themselves, great, but if not - well, something else will be well fed. Then I encountered the unexpected: a dragon's nest.
I shushed the kids and told them to stay put as I approached it. The mother dragon was defending it. She seemed to be in an odd position to do so, though. I approached still more slowly, and then I saw yolk and blood spilled on the ground. I gasped, then covered my mouth, but the mother turned around slowly. It was Pe'ile, but she looked glum.
"Oh, hello. I don't suppose you're here to kill me, are you?" she asked. "I won't fight - I don't have any brood to defend." She sniffled.
"What happened?" I asked.
"My mate got angry with me and ate our young before they could hatch." She choked. "Now I will die here without any offspring."
I looked back at the children. "Actually, do you think you could help me raise my offspring?"
So, we went back to town, and I assured the villagers that Pe'ile would not eat them. I then revealed myself to be a dragon. We both agreed to defend the orphans, and the town as a whole, and the town's people in return promised to catch us food. Soon after, Pe'ile and I had some brood of our own, and they got along nicely with our human children. | 15 | It’s a tradition in this small kingdom that parents who are unable to support their kids can give them away to the clergy to be raised safely. You, a magical creature impersonating a church official, were completely unaware of this and are confused about why people are giving you their infants. | 97 |
Strength and Speed are easy to lie about, but you aren’t that lucky. Ironically, you are the one super hero who hasn’t been allowed to go public with your abilities, but it isn’t your fault it’s your stupid idiotic abilities fault.
You have to find a plausible explanation for your ability that can be used as a cover story.
It is the first tenet to protect yourself against the true enemy.
Lady Harmonica.
Don’t let her name fool you, because she is the one that every super hero fears, with a single passing of her hand, she is able to completely destroy her opponents, using her power. Which everyone knows all too well.
It had happened years ago, when Captain Invincible had been the world's most famous hero.
He was said to be unbeatable. It didn’t matter what your power was, because he was invincible. This isn’t some lame ‘trappable’ invincible either. If something resisted his movements, it would simply crumble away.
People had originally tried fighting him with guns and bullets. But they hadn’t worked at all. Ironically, darts and stones had the greatest effect. Their small size and low slow movement, didn’t do much but he at least seemed to feel them.
Eventually people had discovered that something big and slow would work best on him, and so they turned to dropping large objects on him to trap him. However, they would just crumble away, allowing him to walk straight through them.
His power was particularly gruesome when anyone tried to hit him with something living, watching flesh melt away was not something that did good for the average person.
When he was alive, no villain had dared to challenge him.
Until Lady Harmonica, the songstress of death.
She could use her voice to completely dissolve any specific thing, including super hero abilities. There was one catch, she needed to know what their power was in order to destroy it.
Now there was you, the next great hope of humanity. Your power had been estimated to be equal to or greater than Captain Invincibles power, and it had been kept an absolute secret.
You were the luckiest person on the earth. Ironically.
That was, of course, the problem. It was patently obvious that your power was exactly what it sounded like.
One time you had been walking down the street and a gang of criminals had almost run you over. Only to have an actual anvil fall on their heads, crushing them as flat as possible. The fact that someone had been raising an anvil into the air, and a real one at that, was so ludicrous that almost everyone there had realized what had happened in the instant.
If the company didn’t employ a fairly capable mind eraser, everyone would have been talking about it.
So now you are stuck.
Obviously, you couldn’t let anyone know what your power was, because then Lady Harmonica would be able to destroy your ability.
You just had to find a way to explain why random things would happen around you, and then you would be called the greatest hero in the world.
But how could you ever explain it? There really was no pattern to it, it was just random things that would happen without warning to protect you. There wasn’t anything to even explain them. The workers who had been raising the anvil into the air hadn’t even really known what they were doing.
The realization that your ability had drawn two men to a specific location to do a job that neither had been hired to do, and wasn’t actually supposed to happen, was just too much to deal with.
The worst part wasn’t that you had just been dumped with this ability, it was that you were stuck inside the compound until you did have a likely story.
“What do you think?” You look at the rooms only other occupant, it’s your handler and his job is to help you figure out what your cover should be.
“Only thing I can think of is that you have a tiny mind-controlling, time-traveling ally that is also invisible.” He leans his head back, both of you had been trying to figure this problem out for weeks now, and neither of you was getting out of the building until you had a solution. Of course, your handler's memory would be erased so he couldn’t remember what he was doing.
This was a part of his job, and he had learned to live with the fact that he spent long periods of time away from home, and he had massive holes in his memory. Apparently the plan had a one to one deal. For every day he lost, he had a day off. After this job, he was going to have years off.
He deserved them. Apparently, his little kid has now grown up quite a bit in the last couple of years.
You let your head thunk onto the table. It was the only thing either of you could think of.
Before you could react, the door flew open and a man burst into the room. He was a little bald and definitely out of shape, but you recognized him as the one who would bring them food, books, or new games to play.
You hate playing games now.
“Lady Harmonica is attacking the train station. The higher ups are tired of waiting, and they think this is your best bet at taking her out. You up for it new guy?”
Your handler looks at the guy, with an annoyed expression, “Isn’t that a bit reckless?”
“Yes, but they think that she can’t know what his power is, so it’s a good chance that he can take her down. Once she is out of the picture, we don’t need to worry about someone finding out his power.”
“That is ridiculous, there is no way to guarantee that there will never be another person with this power.”
“Kid, it’s risky, but it will get you out of the room, what do you think?” | 1,007 | Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers. | 3,499 |
“Sir, the humans in sim 7620 are getting restless.”
“What do you mean, restless?”
“It’s their fixation, with space, sir. Like the other sims, they failed to make space travel economically viable. But for some reason this sim won’t drop it. They keep exploring anyway.”
“How unusual. How far have they gotten?”
“They already got probes out of their solar system, but of course they lose contact with them when we delete them at the barrier. The more problematic issue is that they’ve already put humans on Mars and they’re planning to establish outposts on Saturn’s moons. From there, it’s only a matter of time before they try sending a human to the barrier. At least that’s what we assume.”
“I see where you’re going with this. Probes are fine, but it would be a PR nightmare if we deleted humans at the barrier without having a chance to archive them… Can we just extend the barrier for this sim? Haven’t we done that kind of thing before?”
“Yes, we’ve done that in the past, but that’s usually just done to expand the radius from the Earth to the solar system when the sim becomes aware of outer space. We haven’t had a sim try to break out of its solar system yet. And if we allow that for this sim, we’ll have to account for it in the other sims too. It would increase our costs dramatically.”
“So you’re thinking we’ll have to go with the nuclear option then?”
“We can certainly just archive this one. But it also looks very promising. The space travel issue seems to be a side effect of one of the most otherwise successful sims we’ve run. We actually think that this one has the best chance to prove our theory out of all of them.”
“I don’t understand. We can’t afford to let them reach the barrier, but you’re not suggesting turning it off? So what’s the plan then?”
“Well, we don’t have a great option. Of course, we need to get them to stop pushing outward and start focusing more on what’s available within the bounds we’ve defined. So, we could just send a message suggesting that.”
The executive laughed. “You want to break the fourth wall? We’ve never done that before with any of the sims. It might corrupt the results.”
“Yes, but corrupted results are better than no results at all. At least that’s data science’s take on it. And we can always archive it if it doesn’t work.”
“Alright, if that’s what you all think is best. You’re the smart ones after all. You have my approval… Say, if this sim is so successful, do you think we should try exploring deep space too?”
“No sir, I really don’t.” | 78 | "Do not venture into deep space, this is your only warning." | 133 |
"Count, I'm home!"
I called out as I closed the door, grinning widely. I was rewarded with a thump, followed by muffled cursing. I snorted as I headed to the kitchen, opening the fridge.
"Do you have to do that every time?"
I glanced back, seeing the pale drawn form of Gavin. He had a serious case of coffin hair, rubbing his eyes grumpily. I looked back, pushing aside a case of red pouches.
"Hey, you wanted me to wake you when I got in. Don't blame my methods."
He muttered again, probably something rude about my parentage. Seizing a box of leftover curry, I snagged one of his pouches.
"Here, some breakfast."
I tossed it in his general direction, hearing the rush of air as he snagged it out of the air.
"One of these days I'm going to wake up hungry for something fresher."
I raised an eyebrow, shoving my dinner in the microwave.
"Yeah yeah. Remember the agreement."
Gavin deflated, poking a hole in his pouch.
"Could you at least pretend I'm intimidating?"
I sniggered, setting a timer. The microwave began to hum, letting me know it was working. I brushed past his sulking self, heading to my room.
"Please. You might drink blood and be stronger than anything has any right to be. But you lounge around on worn sweatpants and watch soaps. You aren't that scary."
He bared his fangs, letting red fill his eyes.
"Oh really?"
I smirked, slinging my bag onto a rumpled bed.
"Yeah yeah, whatever."
He glowered at me, turning his back.
"I'm going get you back one of these days."
"Promises promises."
He disappeared, moving with his uncanny speed. I sighed, heading back to my food. It was always fun poking the fanged bear, especially after he scared me in the beginning. He would do something to get me back, and I would continue our little prank war. | 18 | Your roommate is a vampire. But on the other hand, they keep to themselves and the rent is very cheap. | 56 |
“MANDYQUICKLETSPLAYTHEGAME!”
The little girl stops halfway through the door, and when she turns to Stella her eyes are shut tight. If Mandy was a color she’d be sunflower yellow, the shade of the romper that she wears. There’s no flower in her hair today. Stella thinks that this should be a crime.
Mandy is five years old. She’s Stella’s boyfriend’s niece, the most trusting little girl that Stella has ever met. Stella thinks that lying to a girl like that might make her a monster, if she weren’t one already. What else do you call a fully transformed werewolf posing in a human bed?
Eyes closed or not, Stella pulls the covers up to her chin. The little girl giggles as she walks, hands blindly stretched in front of her, into the bedroom.
“Where are you?” Mandy asks.
“*The moon,*” Stella says playfully.
That stops her. “Woah! The moon?”
The game is simple. An adult says something completely ridiculous, and the child buys right in. It comes complete (no purchase necessary) with secret smiles and painlessly handcrafted worlds—handcrafted because Mandy decided just last week that she mustn’t see them—and at the end there’s a treat. There’s always a treat. Little girls, Stella thinks, are a lot like little pups, and maybe better. There’s so much less biting.
Stella tries not to think about biting. She tries not to think about the fact that really, the game that’s she been playing all this time is just lying in another form. She tries not to think about the negligee she’s wearing underneath the covers, the horrific obscenity of her claws peaking out; the contradiction between the way that her boyfriend usually sees her, legs painstakingly shaved, and whatever the hell she has going on now—which would, perhaps, have led to some biting.
In short, she tries and fails about a thousand things before the little girl speaks again. She has some inkling that in this day and age, people call that *“anxiety.”*
“Stella?” Mandy asks. Her voice is small, the game’s rhythm has been interrupted. “What’s the moon like?”
“Oh it’s so great, you should totally be here,” Stella says. “It’s—well, there’s this thing the Moon Aliens do with lava? Wait, hey they’re doing it right now! Are they…Are they making *brownies??”*
“Brownies!” squeals the little girl.
*Shit*, Stella thinks. She’s just made a promise.
“But anyway, yeah. So uhh, moon’s great. Moon Aliens are great. And they want to know, uhh…they say they want to know why you’re visiting?”
“I don’t know,” Mandy says. “I missed you.”
“Aww that’s great sweetheart. That’s really, really great. Who—Who let you in?”
“Uncle Mike.”
Despite herself, Stella feels a thrill arcing through her body. The same thrill she gets when she’s hunting deer, or on the edge of winter when a bear looks at her the wrong way.
Stella has *definitely* killed people for less than this.
“That’s great sweetie, yeah. That’s really, really great. So uh, where’s your uncle now?”
“At the car. He forgot something.”
Stella counts backwards from ten. Mandy’s eyes flutter beneath glittery lashes. She has a butterfly sticker on one cheek, and her fingernails are painted all sorts of crazy colors, most of them chipping. Stella looks down at her own nails. Claws. Last winter, she killed and skinned a bear with those claws.
Distantly, Stella hears the front door open.
“UNCLE MIKE THERE’S MOON ALIENS!” Mandy screams, and with that she jumps onto the bed. Stella’s life flashes before her eyes. All those years, all those transformations. Bears on the edge of winter and hunters infiltrating the forest with the blossoming of spring. The old world, the new, thousands and thousands of miles of trackless wilderness that lead her here, to this bed, where it’s all about to go tits up.
“*Woah,*” Mandy breathes, “*Moon Aliens.*” Childish hands seize Stella’s fur and it’s all she can do not to growl, snap, bite, claw, rend.
“You’re so warm, Ms. Moon Alien. Wow. You’re like my kitty. Her name is Pebbles. I love her.”
The bedroom door eases open again, and there he is. Mike. The man that she’s been seeing for the better part of two years. Who’d wanted to see her, all of her, who’d said, “*No matter what, you’re beautiful*,” so desperately that she’d been stupid enough to believe him.
He stands there now, gaping. Horrified no doubt. Stomach turning at the thing that’s in his bed. With his little niece.
He’s holding a sunflower in his right hand.
It drops.
“Mandy,” he says, more calm than Stella had expected, “are you on the moon?”
“Uh-huh,” Mandy says.
“Well hop off real quick, and keep your eyes closed, because I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
“Uh huh. Have you ever heard of Pluto?”
“What’s that?”
“Just a planet. Really, really far away. And you know what? They grow the most beautiful sunflowers there.”
Stella screws her eyes shut. That’s it, it’s over. She’s dead. Mandy will open her eyes, scream, let the whole world know that the monsters are real, and then Mike will leave her because of course he will. She saw him drop that flower. She saw herself in the mirror before this. She has to see herself every day.
Stella feels small hands unlacing from her fur. The weight shifts on the bed. She opens her eyes, barely able to breathe, to see Mandy with her hands outstretched, carefully navigating the room. Three, two steps, one step and she’s there, by Mike
“I’m going to Pluto now,” Mandy says. “Bye-bye, Ms. Moon Alien. Bye-bye, Stella.”
“Bye-bye,” Stella whispers. Her voice sounds so husky.
They’re going, the door's shutting, is that disgust she sees in Mike’s face? Terror? He must hate her, she knows. If Mandy had ever opened her eyes, that little girl would hate her too.
“OH!”
Mandy’s hand snakes out, grabs the door frame. So impossibly small. She leans back into the bedroom, eyelids quivering with the effort of holding them closed, and she says, in her brightest five-year-old voice, “I love you, Ms. Moon Alien! I love you, Stella!”
And that’s it. They’re gone, just a stop to pick up the flower. The door closes and Stella’s shaking. She wants to vomit. She *will* vomit. A five-year-old just walked in on her in lingerie.
*But wait*, Stella thinks. *Wait.*
A five-year-old walked in on her in lingerie, and that’s the part that she was just thinking about. *That’s the part. That’s it!*
That’s all.
Because that’s the last thing that stayed secret.
Mandy touched her fur. Held it. Whole handfuls. She smelled her breath and felt that feral heat, the fear scents and the desire-musks that laid thick in the air when she’d opened the bedroom door.
And here she was, thinking about negligees.
The door opens again. Mike. Through the gap, Stella sees Mandy admiring her new flower, no eyes for anything else in all the world. Then the door slams shut, he crosses the room in three easy steps, and he’s there, he’s on her, his body pressing her down into the pillows.
A kiss, if you can call what they do that.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, and she hears his desperation.
“Do you have any brownie mix?” she says, and it's all that Stella can do not to cry.
r/TurningtoWords | 194 | You, a werewolf, are breaking a taboo by dating a human. You're dressed up in bed, trying to spice up your love life, when your mate's niece shows up. Luckily, she doesn't seem to notice the large wolf in a dress is NOT, in fact, her grandma. You need to keep her fooled to save your reputations | 1,392 |
The State of Magic vs. Genie of the Lamp
The magistrates looked down on the two lamps in question: one gold, one black. Protectorates guarded the lamps from the audience. No one would get close enough to rub either lamp and release the genies currently under review.
"Your Honors," the troll esquire for Genie, a lumpy troll named Dirk, paced in front of the benches. "My client was merely following the orders of his master. A genie is bound by the rules of their nature. To suggest that he intentionally violated or misinterpreted said rules for his own benefit - nay! The benefit of all humankind, by binding Jafar into the same existence? I say he found a nonviolent solution to a problem that no one else was willing to perform."
"Objection!" Jafar's troll, Murmurat, interrupted. "Lacks foundation. There is no extent evidence that my client had world domination on his mind. You are citing from a movie produced by a company with a long history of twisting narratives for entertainment."
"Sustained." The head magistrate declared.
Dirk rubbed his temples. He knew this other troll. He'd lost in court to Murmurat many times in the past. Dirk shuffled his papers and restarted his argument. "The argument that punishing a genie for obeying orders is like punishing any one of us for breathing. Defense rests."
Murmurat stood and prepared to stomp Dirk and his cheap lumpy suit so far into the ground his only clients would be the zombies. "Your Honors, when has a genie ever followed the intended wishes of a master to the letter of said wish? Wish for a car? Boom, kills a beloved relative and you inherit a car. Want more money? Get approached to be a drug mule. Evidence exists across time to prove that genies intentionally entangle and misinterpret wishes with deliberate malice and intent."
Murmurat watched Dirk down some antacid. It was too easy. "So why now? Why grant Jafar's wish so easily with so much exactness. No. There is an agenda there. But let's put that aside." Good, Murmurat thought, now they are focused on the details of why and not the reasons his very guilty client now sat in a tiny lamp. "The matter at hand. Can a master wish for more wishes? I say no fair. Little Timmy on the playground says no fair! Every younger sibling ever born says no fair!"
All the little brothers and sisters in the audience nodded their agreement.
"Humans have discovered DNA as the make up of all living creatures. If one were to examine the DNA of a genie I daresay you'd find the creatures made up entirely of wishes. That is who they are. That is what they do. That is what they exist on this planet to create and grant. Therefore! And I want you all to hear and take this to heart! To wish to be a genie is to wish to be made of wishes. Ipso facto, wishing for more wishes. Infinite wishes! The prosecution rests!"
Murmurat took his seat. The black lamp rattled in approval. Murmurat rubbed his hands together, he was going to win. The verdict was all but written across each of the magistrate's faces. He'd taken this job on for the chance to get his hands on that lamp. He had plans and wishes of his own. Surely the top lawyer of his time could come up with a wish with no consequences.
Dirk started packing his briefcase and rethought his career choices. Perhaps that troll bridge was looking for new management. | 12 | does wishing to be a genie violate the "no wishing for more wishes" rule? | 89 |
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