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First we knew the army of the gods was upon us was when the sky was illuminated by a slow falling white star which turned night into day. Then the sky was torn asunder by thunder and wailing of the souls of the damned. The ground threw itself up towards the sky, showering us with earth and rocks as hellfire burst from the ground. The repeated shocks pounded our skin like a drum and many fell when the keep on the hill disappeared into the sun itself.
Then came the strangest silence, for no earthly ears of the men still standing could hear anything beyond the ringing of the bells of doom. Around me, the mouths of the men-at-arms were open, screaming to the sky in supplication to god, but their words couldn’t reach me.
We had barely time to take in the destruction of our land by the sky’s fury when the crawling dragons arrived. Roaring with voices of a hundred men which we felt more than heard, belching smoke and piercing the night with beams of white holy light that dispelled all darkness, the crawling dragons shook the stones from stones and tore up the land with their many legs, leaving nothing but gouges in the land. Any direction their maws pointed and spat, death appeared and rended men limb from limb.
At dawn, I was the only one alive among the ruins. My ears lost to the bells of doom, my balance weak and my eyes waver as I fail to walk. It feels as if my body has been turned into wine, contained within my skin, every breath is pain, even my thoughts have been broken upon a wheel.
If it is you who is hearing this, messenger, I plead to you. Bring the word to my lord, do not stand in the way of the army of the gods, lay down upon the ground and give pénitence for beholding the angels is to invite Gehenna. | 90 | A medieval-era kingdom describing modern military attacking their settlement. | 199 |
Born in the cold. Raised in loneliness. Mama is dead. Papa and papa’s wife don't want me—that’s what uncle said.
Sister and brother were mean—always teasing and pulling my tail—calling me a halfbreed.
Only uncle—uncle understands. He came to me in the night—bringing gifts and telling me stories. He told me of his shining castle in the sky, his legion of servants, and hundreds of friends I could play with—if only I would go with him. He looked at me with gentle eyes as he stroked my cheeks.
He called me a good girl—the bestest dragon ever! He braided my hair and ran his fingers along my tail—it was ticklish! I laughed, and Uncle laughed along.
“Come with me,” he said every night, “come with me and we’ll be together… forever.”
“But papa told me not to go anywhere with strangers.”
“But I’m not a stranger, am I, my sweet little girl? I’m your uncle—the only one in the world who’d love and cherish you.”
“But papa and missus and big sis and big bro—“
“They don’t love you as I do. Nobody here wants you, so why stay?”
Uncle leaned in to smell my hair.
“Come with me, my sweet child. My darling little dragon-kin.”
He held me in his arms and kissed my forehead—nobody did so since mama died.
“Okay, uncle. I… I’ll go with you… b-but just for tonight, okay? I have to get back before papa gets mad!”
“Alright, my sweet dragon-kin. I’ll only keep you as long as you allow me—promise.”
That night, uncle swept me away to his castle in the clouds—it was colder and damper than I’d imagined, but he lit me a fire and held me in his arms—so it was nice and cozy.
His servants had collars around their necks—they looked silly. He called them his dogs and taught me how to command them. They sat when I told them to. They barked when I told them to. But when they refused to dance for me, uncle spat fire at their butts—they ran around like chickens—I laughed and clapped at the funny screams they made.
Uncle placed my giggling self on his lap. He hugged me and whispered loving words into my ears—his breath tickles.
“Don’t you see, sweetheart? I promised I’ll give you anything, so stay with me—always.”
“But papa…”
“Shush… hush now. Don’t speak of that horrible man or the rest of your mockery of a family. You only need me, my sweet. Only I—love you more than anything in the world. So please, stay a while longer.”
I bit my lips and nodded. “Okay… maybe just a few more days.”
“Excellent!”
Uncle hugged me tightly and showered kisses on my cheeks. I laughed as his beard tickled me.
I stayed with him for years to come.
###
I ran into my brother and sister the other day. They were studying at a school in the city. They were wide-eyed when they saw me “collecting” more dogs for uncle—and my—castle.
“Eliza! Eliza, is that you? What happened to you? You haven’t aged a day! Where have you been? Dad looked everywhere!” my brother said.
“Eliza, please come home! We miss you so, so much!” my sister said.
“Home? What home? My only home is with Uncle and our dogs. If you miss me—how about I make you our dogs also, my darling siblings. That way, we can be together forever and ever and evers!” | 12 | as the bastard child of a count, your family didn't even care when you disappeared one day, but to your surprise you are adopted by the dragon lord, and they say that you a half-blood is way better than them, a decade later, in the academy you are confronted by your former family | 51 |
>*\[WP\] one day, you are driving home from work, and get lost. Soon, you end up in the middle of nowhere. A bright light engulfs you and you are warped to a massive spaceship. An alien walks up to you and says “hello, you have been randomly selected to represent your species at the galactic council”*
​
*Todd most certainly couldn't believe his ears. His eyes. Anything his senses were drinking in. A few moments before, he had been driving home from his most recent shift at Old Castle Building Envelope, and cursing the name of his tyrannical manager. Now he sat on the floor of what he could only describe as the transporter pad of a truly alien species, in a ship that made his newest phone look like a TI-82 Calculator.*
*Todd wasn't the most descriptive of people, but like even the youngest of children gazing up at clouds, his mind had already begun to drink in shapes he felt he'd recognized. What stood before him appeared to resemble some manner of anthropomorphic hare, or rabbit. Instead of fur, its body had something that closely resembled the scales of some manner of fish. Light bent off these scales and created a chromatic rainbow-like effect. Three forward facing eyes that looked like black marbles sat on its face. A pair of diagonal, downward slits pointed towards one another seemed to serve as a nose. No visible opening was apparent that would serve as a mouth, in its place a simple fold of skin. The alien's build was quite lithe, and lean. He wagered this creature couldn't have weighed more than 125 pounds, soaking wet. His eyes drifted over the pronounced muscle-tone, and only realized the creature was nude, save for a few straps and drapings that served as storage containers and badges of office. It made sense to Todd, as there seemed to be no visible sex organs to obscure.*
"Uh. Hi." *Todd Stammered out.* "Not that I disagree with your decision, but why me?"
*The alien lapine drooped its ears in the back, and folded its 3-fingered hands in front of itself, lowering the arms to relax. A casual posture. At least, Todd felt it was. For all he knew, this was a declaration of murderous intent, or even a request for dalliances.*
"You are Todd Edward Grant. Age, 35 years old. You are unmarried, have sired no offspring. You are not affiliated with any known political party, and you do not attend any religious services. You have a standardized education, and you labor as part of your community's infrastructure. In a sense, you are unremarkable among your peers. You serve neither as a pillar of your community, nor are you a pariah. You are quite frankly, simply there, Mr. Grant."
"We searched across thousands of your kind that met the same parameters. Somebody that likely wouldn't be truly missed, and their absence creating a minimal impact on their surroundings. You, and they, were entered into a database, and our A.I. has selected you. Think of it like Jury-Duty in a way."
*Todd licked his lips, and smacked them in a mixture of displeasure, and disbelief.* "Nothing quite sells you on working for someone than them calling you an unremarkable loser that couldn't get laid."
*Slow, not unlike an opening flower bulb, the alien's ears perked upward.* "Apologies. I was simply informing you. I assure you that I don't pass judgement on how you've either elected to, or have simply been forced to live your life. It is evident this is egregious to you. I would hope that being elevated to the position of an ambassador would be seen as a promotion in all aspects of life."
"Okay, so, what would be expected of me? That's assuming I say yes at all. Also, what happens if I say no?"
"Fair questions." *The alien responded.* "What would be expected of you, would be to observe and report on the goings-on of your world. The plights and triumphs of your species. Your concerns and compliments. You would become a silent witness to everything that happens on your world, and when the Council meets, you'll report to us what you've found. Then, upon adjournment you will return home to resume your observations."
"Now in the event you decline, I regret your fate is somewhat up to chance. That you've seen us, a measure of subterfuge and secrecy must be employed. A neurological implant will be placed within your head, this will erase all memories of this encounter and you will return to your previous life. In an ideal outcome, you live until the end of your days not knowing of this meeting. Only when you perish, in those final moments your brain remains active, will the block release and you remember."
"By interstellar-law, I am required to warn you of a potential outcome of that implant. It has occurred previously that the implant can create a mental paradox. Some parts of your memory feels your implanted ones are false. You will come to doubt your senses, and surroundings. As your mind seeks out the truth, your perception of reality can wain. It will then, drive you mad. Your peers will listen to your ramblings, and see that you've gone insane. Your word, no matter how truthful cannot be viewed as truth due to how unbelievable they sound. At best, if you suffer this form of breakdown, you become a social outcast. At worst, you suffer a schizoid-embelisim - becoming a prisoner in a world your mind has made for itself."
*Todd blinked rapidly*. "What the ever lovin'," *He stopped, just shy of cursing.* "Dang, *all* that just because I said no? Not much of a choice is it?"
*The rabbit turned sideways, but maintained eye-contact. Todd wondered, which of the three eyes he was meant to look at.* "Your species has laws on your world. Any time medicine is taken for example the side-effects regardless of how dangerous must be disclosed. In that spirit, I've told you these things because there are chances it might happen. You may view your situation here as lop-sided, and that is your prerogative."
*Todd rubbed his nose, a small headache forming. He sighed once more, and then looked to his host again.* "Okay, and what is the benefit of agreeing?"
*The unearthly rabbit's ears perked once more.* "First, you'll be taken to our doctors. They will cure any preexisting condition you suffer from. You can have your body augmented with synthetic organs that will increase your lifespan five fold. In a sense, you'd be near immortal Mr. Grant."
"In addition, you'd be provided with the currency of your desire. This would allow you to live a life as luxurious or as simplistic as you wish. You may choose where you want to reside, and be comfortable. We at the council want you to be as happy with your job as can be."
*Todd could hardly believe his ears. It sounded too good to be true, but yet, why would this alien lie? This creature had him dead-bang, and could effectively do whatever it wanted. Why go to all this trouble just to give him the "probe" treatment? He made his choice.*
"You got yourself a deal. I'll do it. I just have one final question."
*The ambassador raised its eyebrow.*
"What about, like, ya know. *Companionship*?" *Todd whispered the final word, not wanting to be too overt. A knowing "smile" crossed the lines of the rabbit's features where the mouth would normally sit.*
"Mr. Grant, I assure you, with the assets you'd possess we'd grant you, you would be quite desirable to many people of your species. The physical improvements we'd make to you would make you a Casanova of sorts. We're not here to force you into anything other than the choice to serve, or decline. Now, as the next convention of the Galactic Congress is about to get underway, we need a decision from you much sooner than later. What do you choose?"
*Todd smirks, and hooked his thumbs into the lips of his pants pockets.* "I accept. We can sort out all of that business later, but I do have one bit of cathartic indulgence if you don't mind?"
*The rabbit drummed its fingers across the tips of one another.* "And that is?"
"I want to be able to go back to my job, and tell my boss Troy just how much of a piece of garbage he really is. I've always wanted to tell him off."
*The alien let out a sound like laughter.* "Your request isn't invalid, nor, unreasonable. In fact, I was going to suggest it. There have been despotic tyrants running entire systems I've found more agreeable than that meat-sack. If you wanted to kill him, we can make any evidence of it disappear."
"Mr. Rabbit, perhaps you should've lead off with that. Sold!" | 10 | one day, you are driving home from work, and get lost. Soon, you end up in the middle of nowhere. A bright light engulfs you and you are warped to a massive spaceship. An alien walks up to you and says “hello, you have been randomly selected to represent your species at the galactic council” | 50 |
I can't feel. Oh, I can fake it well enough. But true emotion is only available to me in one way. If I take it from others. It sounds terrible, stealing emotions. However, I've managed to only pilfer the negative emotions, the ones that overpower others, make them helpless, keep them from living their life. And of course, I always ask for consent. I'm not a monster.
It has been a long time, the sadness has made deep lines on my face, the anger created permanent furrows in my brow. For a few years now, I've only been able to help those that come to visit me here in this home. People still do come, in drips and dribbles. They heard about me from a friend or a relative. Most don't believe in what I do. But when they leave, they are lighter, freer. And the lines on my face deepen.
I don't know how much longer I have, to carry out this self-imposed mission of mine. The home could no longer take care of me, they moved me to a hospice. Breathing is painful now, each gasp feels like glass shards scraping over my throat. The funny thing of it all is that I can't even feel sad that I'm dying.
There are people all around me now. I don't think the hospice allows this many visitors, so perhaps I am dead. Voices float in the air, quiet whispers.
"He helped when I couldn't even get out of bed."
"I couldn't let go of my anger, and he helped me work through it."
"When I was so scared of everything, he took the fear."
I'm sure there are more people speaking, but it is hard to focus now. So hard to keep breathing. It's rattling in my throat; that's a sign, isn't it?
"Old man. I don't know if you can hear us. But we have one final emotion for you to take. From all of us." Hands are all over me now, though physical contact isn't strictly necessary. Summoning my last vestiges of strength, I pulled, reaching for the emotion. My final act.
Peace flooded through me. A euphoric feeling, what people must call happiness. For the first time in my life, a genuine smile pulled at my wrinkled skin. Eyes opening, I stared up at the faces that hovered over me. I recognized them now. My clients. The people I'd helped. The emotion kept coming until it suffused my entire being. And engulfed in my first taste of happiness, I breathed my last. | 60 | The only way you can feel emotion is to steal them from others. You’ve dedicated your life to removing pain from others, but today you got your first taste of happiness. | 70 |
Oscar rolled up the letter and secured it inside the old beer bottle. Like the others, the message detailed his location and landmarks to help someone find him. Then, he secured it to a small raft, unfurled its sail made of plastic bags, and set it afloat. The flooded city was surprisingly free of debris – he had followed one of his messages out to the open water once. The wind would push the raft out into the world beyond.
*All those messages. Someone is bound to find one.*
He was in a good mood this morning. The sun shone overhead, though it did not feel as hot today. A bird had fallen prey to one of the traps he had set up a few buildings north. It would be his dinner tonight.
*Maybe just a bit of scouting today then.*
After stretching, he grabbed a bag of tools and prepared to set out on his larger raft. The bottles and old plastic pipes remained strong after all these years. After consulting a wrinkled map, he began paddling to the northwestern part of the city.
“Hello? Anyone out there?” His voice echoed across the water.
There were only a few rooftops around him. Smaller buildings lay below the surface, waterlogged and silent. He often called out for survivors. There was never a reply, but the sound helped. Oscar let the boat drift through the financial district.
*Maybe I should try diving here again. I think there were a few buildings left to scavenge.*
The boat continued to drift as he pulled out a crude fishing rod and a bit of rotting bait. He tied it to a sharp piece of metal and let it sink into the water. About an hour later, there was a faint tug on the line. He pulled hard and the movement stilled, though the weight remained. A grin formed on his face as he began retrieving his haul.
“Oh, wow. You’re a big one.”
He did not recognize the fish – he was never good at biology. But he knew it was edible, and that was all that mattered. Setting his catch near his bag, he continued to fish. The raft drifted north, following the faint current running through the submerged skyscrapers. He caught two more fish before he reached his destination.
“Let’s see here. I checked the Morton Building and the Weston Financial Headquarters already.” He squinted up at the sky for a moment. “Emmerson and Katz Trading it is.”
As he took a left near what was once Seventh Avenue, something caught his eye. A bit of metal twinkled in the sunlight. Every so often, a piece of fabric would fall in front of it, almost like a signal. It took Oscar a full minute of drifting before he realized what it was.
“Hey!” This time, his words were tinged with excitement. “Hey! Is there someone out there?”
He began paddling as fast as he could through the drowned city. As he got closer, the roof of the Emmerson and Katz Trading building came into focus. A clothesline hung between two antennae. A few little ornaments dangled from the burned-out transformers and air conditioning units.
*Someone lives here!*
The knot in his stomach grew as his raft bumped against the roof of the building. It was a bit smaller than his building – the waterline grazed the topmost bricks. Oscar hoisted himself ashore and looked around.
“Hello? Is anyone – ”
The words died in his mouth as he took in the scene. There was a small fireplace in one corner of the roof, though it had been cold for a long time. A few open boxes lay on the floor, covered in a thin layer of dust.
*Abandoned.* The word echoed in his mind.
Someone had been here, though he had no idea how long ago that was. There was not much in the way of supplies. Perhaps they had set out into the open water. He had certainly considered it many times in the past. Or perhaps they had run out of supplies. Oscar shuddered as he recalled a few unfortunate underwater encounters.
*Either way, there’s no one here.*
His throat felt dry, and his eyes burned. He forced a cough to push back the tears he thought were long gone.
“Guess it’s my lucky day. I didn’t think there was any more useful scrap in this area.”
His words sounded hollow to his ears. With a harsh swipe of his arm across his face, Oscar dragged what he could to his boat. His traps and fishing expedition had been successful. There was enough food for a few more days, if not a week. That should have been enough for celebration.
*I’ll send out another message raft tomorrow.*
...
What a fun prompt.
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. | 71 | The world flooded years ago. You’ve made a life for yourself on one of the higher floors of what was once a sky scraper overlooking the drowned city you called home. Now you go about your daily routine and reflect on what has become. | 154 |
“But the world must be remade!” The cultist insisted, “We even brought you a bride!”
My muffled curses and objections were ignored as I jerked at the handcuffs binding me to the plinth in the center of the room.
Moments earlier, the dozen cultists had unleashed an ancient evil, and out from the cracked sealing stone poured a dark elongated shadow covered with eyes. But it hasn’t done anything since other than titer and blink.
I bucked against the iron chains holding me. I can feel the demon trying to twist my thoughts.
*Do not be afraid*
I screamed into my gag, sure I’m the only sane one left.
The cultists, standing next to the pillar of black eyes, gulped. “Devourer of worlds, we thought you’d...”
The long wiggling cylinder moved its gaze, blinking asynchronously across its body till it was inches from mine. I tried to get as small as I could, but even as I squeezed my eyes shut, I could feel its thousand eyes judging me.
Before something gripped my feet. I tried ticking to away but the goo like lacquer only felt like it clung on more intensely. When I dared to look, my leg was being swallowed up by giant eyelids consumed into its void and the thrashing of my chains echoed across the stone hall.
Then another voice cut through. Ț̸̗̗̔h̵͇̙͌̋̂̈́ḯ̵̢̯̠̕s̴̠̖̀͒͠ͅ ̸̼͍̈́w̵͍̃ọ̵͉̃́̾r̴̘̫̺̹͛l̸̤̯̠̮̃͌̋̔d̵͎́̾͠͠ ̷̱͌̋̓̌i̷̡̽̓̚s̶̨̿͗̿͋ ̷͓̯̞̙̈́̀̑̂m̴̢̓͒a̷͍̓̆̀͜r̷͖͕͕̓̓̈́́v̸̨͐ẽ̴̘̖͍́̿ḽ̶̨̱͇̈l̵͒̕͜͜ô̶͈̻̖̯̍̄̚ṳ̸̮͗̉̍͘s̶̨̱̀,̶͉̮̗͉̔͌͐ ̴͓͕̭̀̌̃̾w̵̛̭̞͓̅͠h̴̡̳͈̥̀̋͊y̶̮̜̠̭̿̀ ̷̨̆w̶̢͖̭̃ǫ̴̰̣̯̃̀ȗ̵̧̲̲̟̔ļ̴͉̋͂͠d̷̜͉̂ ̷̰̔͑̒͝Í̴̡͈̦͚ ̵̨̖̗͎̄e̴̡͔̬̳̊̉̽v̴̖̈́̿e̴̡̲̤̅ṛ̵͇̑ ̶̖̯͓͆͝t̴̢̥̓́͊͑ą̵͖̩̠̐̓i̶̺̔̔ṇ̷̢̔͋̋͠t̸̥̻͈̀ ̸͚͖͚͍̀͒͋̑ȋ̷̙t̵̖̏͝ͅ?̴̯̻͕̅͐
*You want vengeance.* My mind twisted, changing. *I know your history.*
The void moved higher, sticky and suckling across my abdomen, then breasts.
*Show me what you see.*
My mind reeled remembering how my family of book binders were caught, prosecuted for hiding books, sharing knowledge. Women weren't supposed to read, books were locked in fortress towers for the wealthy. The ruling powers had killed for lesser crimes.
*Jane, you are filled with pain*
Shoulder, then neck, and the last thing I remember was my own terrified reflection on the pupils of its thousand eyes.
\###
“It ate her?” One of the cultists was slack jawed.
“It said devourer of worlds.” The other frowned next to him. The entire plinth before them had turned into a black mass covered in eyes blinking on occasion.
The others bristled at the outer God they’d summoned. “But she’s only a woman. Hardly the world.”
And as he finished, the eyes all shut. Seams of its lids dealing into the dark mass, shrinking back, smaller and smaller.
Till the beautiful woman stepped out, naked, across the stone hall. Jane looked the same as before, except for the enormous eye now adorning her sternum.
“I’m alive.” Jane gasped, shaking and stumbling back to the stone.
“I would like to visit those libraries in your memory.” The chipper voice came not from her, but from the eyeball below her neck.
“But…” Jane passed over the cultists and the swords at their hip, covering herself as much as she could with her hand.
“Don't worry dear, let's go eat some worlds!” the edge of the eyeball curled and around her black silk dress spilled out, wrapping her body.
“Great being, you can't just … read!” The cultists insisted, outraged.
“I'll do whatever I want.” The eye sniped, then asked, “Are these guys bothering your dear?”
With Jane's hesitation nod, faint popping erupted beneath the clothes of the cultist. Their bones folded and flesh twisted upon itself till only flesh bound books dropped at their feet. Pools of blood oozed across the floor.
“Don't do that!” Jane gaped in horror.
“They meant to harm you dear!” The eyeball sounded hurt. “And you need provisions for our journey ahead.”
“But…” Jane gulped, stepping over one of the fallen, grabbing the sword left behind. “You can't randomly kill people.”
“Fine,” the eyeball grumbled as Jane picked through what was left of the summoning cult, planning her return to the city.
([Sev - romance writer](https://www.reddit.com/r/SevWagoner/comments/vjhnk5/welcome_to_my_collection_sev_wagoner/)) | 43 | "This world is marvellous, why would I ever taint it?" | 134 |
"By the order of his majesty Federico, we have come to call on Sparky to do his duty to the fairy kingdom in this time of war with the forces of the archfey Boros." The tiny winged person says, an air of importance in her teeny voice.
"What the fuck? You cant have my dog! Who the fuck is Boros? What the shit is an archfey?"
"An archfey is an ancient and powerful fey entity with mystical powers far beyond the reach of ordinary fey." The confused and exasperated fairy flies up and hovers in front of my face.
"O...kay.... so who the fuck is Boros and why are you fighting him?" I maintain eye contact, as much as thats possible with a tiny fairy, and wait.
"Boros is the archfey tyrant who rules over a portion of the fey realm where our beautiful fairy kingdom resides. He seeks to steal the fairy children and turn them into slaves whose sole purpose is to be harvested for fairy dust." Says the surprised fairy, who i now realize is a woman in what appears to be something akin to a victorian era military uniform.
I look at her for a long moment, before i make up my mind.
"You cant take my dog off to fight in some war, but i won't leave you hangin either. Nobody fucks with kids while i got anything to say about it." I tell the fairy officer, walking out for a moment before smiling at her as i re-enter the room.
"What did you mean by that?" The diminutive winged woman says skeptically. I cock my shotgun and clip my pistol into its holster, then shrug my shoulders to settle the body armor and alice pack straps across my chest.
"Hop on little lady, we got an archfey to kill." She looks up at me, then down at my dog, then back up at me. Seemingly deciding she prefers the giant, heavily armed ape, to the derp currently losing a fight with a teddy bear at my feet. Before taking flight from her position on the ground, and landing on my shoulder, grabbing my ear for support.
I walk out the front door and send a text to my mom to come over and pick up Sparky as something has come up suddenly and i have to go away for awhile. I close my messaging app and connect to the bluetooh speaker in my backpack, then hit play.
*The only thing they fear is you* begins to play over my Bluetooth speaker as i step into the glowing circle of mushrooms outside my front door and i disappear from the only world ive ever known. | 191 | Legends say that Welsh Corgis were battle mounts for the Fae. Turns out that those legends are true, and some fairies have shown up to draft your dog. | 680 |
"Ugh, the air sure stinks though."
You were so careful, didn't touch anything, didn't do anything, just watched. Just watched the first powerplant being started on Pearl Street by none other than Thomas Alva Edison. The lights went on, (some immediately burst), and cheer ensued. This was the moment that changed much, the electrification of the USA has begun, the start of the modern age. And due to it being mostly symbolic rather than having an actual immediate impact, chances of making some significant changes to the timeline were simulated to be remote at best.
You checked your controls and it clearly indicated, that your presence here is purely paradoxical. Either you were not born or the time machine was never made, otherwise, a different reading would be expected.
While not ready for divergence this large, there are contingencies ready, you calm yourself and begin to search. You need access to information and find what the hell happened.
You zip past the major cities, only to confirm what you expected, they are all destroyed. You do detect some people living in smaller cities, but without electricity, so you just pass them by, you may visit them later, but you don't expect them to have the information you need to map the butterfly effect. By a chance, or perhaps not, you find an illuminated town close to Buffalo, Niagara Falls. Water has not stopped falling and it seems, that in this future, the power from the hydroelectric dam is still being used.
And you immediately notice why, because, well, the statue of Nicola Tesla wasn't half the size of the Statue of Liberty when last you saw it.
Your gut feeling now being fairly strong, you break into the Nicola Tesla museum and the mystery begins to reveal itself.
'God vs DC (1882)' The article is about the protest of the Catholic church. ... 'The sulfurous smell coming from Edison's abomination clearly uses Satan's power to mimick power only God should have' ... 'Massive protests' ... 'Demand to cease polluting the city.'
'Polyphase motor introduced (1883)' 'Tesla presented a motor not dependent on DC current.' ... 'major advantages' ... 'AC can travel over longer distances.'
'DC cast down from NY as Lucifer from Heaven (1885)' 'judge rules'...'dc power plant cannot be within 10 miles of the edge of the city' ... 'safety concerns' ... 'Edison tries to alleviate fears' 'Tesla explains why Edison fights so hard' ... 'DC is inefficient'
'Could Niagara make clean energy' (1886) 'Thomas Evershed presents a plan to use the water of the fall to generate power. Edward Dean Adams, fears the similarity with Edison's failed' ... 'when asked for comment Tesla commented', 'AC could be used to carry electricity hundreds of kilometers' ... 'whereas DC only a few hundred meters'
'Tesla meets with Westinghouse (1886)'
'Tesla, Forbes, Adams, Westinghouse (1887)' 'The future is in non-polluting electricity.'
'3,700 kW of electricity flows from Niagara to light up buffalo, New York to follow (1889)'
'Edisons AC Coal powerplant burns down, will coal powerplant become illegal? (1889)'
There you had it. The rest was not hard to interpolate. Humanity invested in perfecting the hydroelectric power plants. Fossil-fueled power plants never took off. You go through other articles. Industrialization was slowed down a little. But only by a few years. A map of Hydroelectric dams over Europe shows in what direction this world went. You just wonder, yes, WWI still there, WW2 simmilar. And there it is Nuclear power to be used to realize the Pumped-Storage hydroelectricity. And then explosion.
Electricity production doubled every year, cold war thankfully didn't turn hot, as every dam gradually added a modular nuclear powerplant to pump water up during the night and use the damn to power the cities over the day.
So much energy, all over the world, so much nuclear knowledge.
A terminal in the lobby filled in the rest.
The developing countries, discovered fossil fuel consumption to be more flexible and faster to scale, disagreements, turned to protests, and spheres of influence have been drawn untill finally ...
'Atomic weapons used to prevent banned largest polluting plant in Beijing from opening (2000)'
And then nothing.
'Oh well, I will go back now and stop myself from going to 1882. Still wonder though what did I do to cause all this.' You think pensively and go back to your time machine.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Ugh, the air sure stinks though" you think to yourself and go back to your time machine.
"It does smell strangle, now that I think about it, what is that?" Asks nun a man both standing behind me, without me knowing.
"The cheap devil must be using some cheap coal, that is sulfur." Answers the man.
"Sulphur, as in brimstone?"
"Yes," the man answers now lost in thought. "I wonder, where could one get enough power without giving everyone black lung" Not noticing the more and more distressed nun next to him.
Finally, he raises his hat in goodbye, looks at her, and says, "Well I am sure I will come up with something, after all, wouldn't it be better, if we could breathe fresh air in the cities instead of this damned smell."
With this Nicola Tesla turned, leaving the horrified member of clergy behind. | 17 | You traveled back in time, very careful not to alter the past. Then, minutes before you returned to the future, you made a small, off-hand comment to one of the locals. Back in the future, everything is different. You set out to map out the butterfly effect your comment has caused. | 50 |
"Hey."
Through the cacophony of the yard sale, most of my neighbors, and a few others who had come out of curiosity, a sharp voice cut the air.
Whoever this was, she had definitely been on the messier side of tracks. She was on the shorter side but both her muscles and her generally dirty, unkempt skin showed that she'd probably been in a few brawls up to that point.
"Oh, um, hey, do I know you?" I asked politely.
"Nope, but that bike does." she gestured to our mailbox, where a bike sat there, with a tag that said "$25". It was a faded pink, with parts where the paint had come off.
"Oh, that's Lucy's. She put that out there."
The girl had a dawn of recognition on her face, before looking back at the bike. "So when I look underneath the bike seat, there won't be anything that says 'For Milo: Love Dad' on it, right?"
I titled my head. "I mean, we found it abandoned in a back alley, sso if it was yours when you were little, then I'm-"
"No, no, let's just check." she turned her back on me, and I followed her as she walked over to the bike. She tilted it on its side, and right there, underneath the seat, in faded red marker, was a note.
*To Milo: Love Dad*
Milo looked up at me with a smug grin, as if to say "See?"
I sighed, and gave her a grimace. "Listen, I'm sorry I stole your bike when you were little. We were little, and thought that it had been abandoned out in a back alley somewhere. If you want it back, we can just give it to you for free, and that can be that. Is that alright?" I said, looking at some of the other customers. Mom was handling some of the other neighbors, as they browsed what dad called the "Trashures".
"No no no, it's fine. To be honest, I wasn't that much into biking at the time anyways, I guess." she waved it off. "Just wanted to ask a few questions, really. Never expected to come across Old Terry again." she smiled.
"You named your bike too?" I asked. Lucy had a habit of naming the stuff she liked.
"Yeah, didn't everyone. I even wrote it down here." she pointed to a spot on the down tube, where you'd only really see it if you were riding it. Going right down the tube of the bike, in swirly handwriting, were the words *Old Terry*. A heart was on either end of it.
"Dang, never saw that before." I muttered. "No wonder she named it Old Terry."
"Yeah, I named it after my dead pet crab." Milo looked over the bike. "I couldn't take care of it for a week before it died on me."
I laughed. Lucy had taken home a pet crab of her own when she was little- first grade, I think. I remember caring for that thing until the end of the school year before it finally died on us. I'd found the bike around a week after it died, and it was the first day she hadn't cried since the crab had died. I got extra brownie points for that one.
"Hey, you went to Kershaw Elementary School?" I asked.
She thought about it for a moment, and nodded. "Yeah, how'd you know that?"
"Me and my little sis went there, too. Lucy came home with a crab one day, I think it was in first or second grade? She said it was for a school project with pets."
"Yeah, that would be it." Milo muttered to herself. "Wait, you said her name was Lucy?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Was she the one who constantly dyed her hair weird colors?" Milo asked.
"Yeah! She and I watched a lot of Dragonball when we were little. She always wanted to be a super saiyan."
Milo muttered something under her breath.
"What was that?"
"Oh, nothing, just about how cool it was, I guess." she turned away, mildly embarrassed.
"What was cool?"
"Her hair, I guess. I thought how crazy her hair was was cool at the time."
I chuckled. "I thought it was kinds goofy, if we're being honest."
"Hey, I was just a kid, don't look at me like I'm all that childish!" she pushed me away. It was odd. Something about her just felt comfortable to be around, like I'd known her for a while.
"Hey, I know its been like, over a decade, but sorry for stealing your bike." I apologized.
"Oh, no, its fine. Don't worry about it."
We just sort of sat there for a minute, neither of us knowing what to say next.
"So, why were you back there in an alleyway, anyways?" she asked me.
"Oh, nothing too special. I think I was bored one night, and just decided to take the dog for a walk. We lived like, a block over from there anyways. It's not like it was far." I explained. "I don't know, we had a dog named Gigi, he was a menace, I took him out for walks sometimes, and he'd chase cats around."
Milo's eyes sparked in recognition. "Oh shit, was he that little pug that yelled like a drunk man with bronchitis?"
I laughed. "Well, I guess you could call it that, yeah. He yelled like he had a cough, I guess?"
Milo poured over the bike, laughing. "Oh damn, dad hated that little ankle biter. Said it kept him up at night." she laughed. "He got used to it eventually, though."
"Wait, so you lived like what, a block away?" I asked her.
"Yeah, my parents still do. Same ramshackle house on Rosary Avenue." she confirmed. "Though they've cleaned up the place since when I was little. Apparently the whole block helped turned the back alley into something actually usable."
"Damn, so when you said we basically stole it from your backyard..." I gestured to the bike.
"You fucking did, ya little prick. I went to bed one night seeing that thing, and the next day, it was gone. Cried like a baby all day."
"Well, again, I'm sorry." I looked around. Some people were starting to look, but it was still only around 10:30 in the morning. The block party yard sale was going great. "I shouldn't have stolen it."
"No no, you're fine dude. Actually..." she looked around, then back to me. "I might want something in return, just maybe."
"Yeah, what?"
\-------------------- | 26 | Years ago you stole a bike for your younger sister, not knowing that the girl you stole it from would grow to lead a band of punks and hooligans. You're in high school now and your unaware parents just put your sisters 'old bike' out for a garage sale, in plain view of the original owner. | 202 |
“Welcome to the school Sebastian!” Professor McCarthy shook my hand as he dragged me into the halls of every single cape wearing individual I could see. Ok this was getting ridiculous now, I had just applied for this Online Course on “Magic and It’s Wonders” on Futurelearn, thinking that, “hey, you know what? This could help my career”, but after completing the test on it, I get a letter of invitation to travel not only from England to the mountains of Switzerland, but now I’m seeing a lot more people here than I expected. Why did I go this far? I’m still questioning that to myself.
“For every new student, please perform a piece of your personal brand of magic!” He sat me atop of everyone on a high stage and a chair, seeing a bunch of “students” some looked like they were in Senior Years after looked like they were from the Fourth Grade; one was staring daggers at me like I stole their apple, witch, no way in hell they would call each other Wizards and Witches here.
I than held stage fright for a moment before grabbing my top hat that I had been wearing from the travel here from the airport, I remembered it had an inbuilt bunny that pops out; surely they’ll figure it out, various peoples would know this trick, it’s a classic! I got out my wand, waved it majestically, tapped the top of my hat with elegance like a ballerina and placed it on the table; remembering to tap the button that released the bunny conveniently where no one could see it.
Than, “Boom!” I shouted out as the obvious fake bunny popped out of the hat, with crappy confetti to go along with it. Silence for a moment. Yeah, knew I was going to get that reaction, than one of them started clapping, then I realised that Professor McCarthy was clapping at me, everyone was clapping. What the hell? Had they never seen this trick before?
“Fantastic demonstration of illusion Sebastian! You’re will be just fine within that branch of our school. Please sit down in the crowd!”
I grabbed the hat and stuffed the fake bunny back in, leaving the confetti behind, this was crazy, they must have known that trick, it had been a classic. As I sat down on the bench, a boy with short black hair and green eyes across me tapped me on the shoulder, he didn’t look convinced; good, a realist in this crazy place.
“Show me another illusion.” He commanded.
I showed my thumb and did another classic trick, pulling out the series of colourful paper from a fake thumb. He looked unimpressed and slowly clapped at me, before pulling out his wand and turning the cup, just like I saw it, into a bird, grabbing it than turning it back into a cup. I stared at him and he leaned across me.
“You’re full of shit, you know that?”
Of course I know that. I’m a magician. My job is to be full of shit and be applauded for it.
“Yes, you’re right, how about you teach me?” I responded, putting my hands together like a moustache twirling mastermind.
The boy chuckled and put his hands out.
“It’s Maxwell O’Brien, stick with me and you might become a second-grade Illusionist.”
I don’t know what that is but I’ll be damned if I wasn’t going to accept that offer. I shook his hand professionally and smirked at him.
“Sebastian Wordsworth. Pleasure to meet you.” | 14 | You are a street magician who becomes enrolled into a magic school. Turns out it's a real magic school for real wizards. | 29 |
My job didn't just involve upgrading gods with better equipment. I was saving them from irrelevance, and therefore from dying. Not many saw it that way, though. Most just got defensive and refused to adapt, thinking that I was trying to change them.
Athena stared at the screen with a stoic expression. "And people use this... to war with each other?"
I nodded. "In a way, yes, but the brutality and bloodlust is channeled into virtual avatars."
"Interesting."
I couldn't sound too pushy. Ares cleaved in half the computer when I showed it to him. He was disgusted by the thought of someone engaging in combat from the safety of their home. Athena, on the other hand, was worshiped for her wisdom, not just her martial prowess. If anyone could appreciate this, it would be her.
I wasn't just selling her on videogames. What really mattered was the people who used them. These could become her new followers. She needed to understand their wants and needs. More importantly, why she was perfect for them.
"And why would they care?" asked Athena. "If they aren't fighting for land, or resources, they don't have much incentive to be wise, right?"
I squinted. "What do you mean?"
"Strategies emerge from necessity. Otherwise, people would just run into each other like idiots until the other side dies."
"Well, that *does* happen, but you're overlooking a very key factor."
"Which is?"
"People love being clever. Part of the fun is outsmarting your enemy. Seriously, a lot of the time, they get themselves killed just to do something cool. They call it an... 'e-sports moment'."
Athena nodded. "I see..."
"So... are you trying it out?"
Athena raised a hand. "Not yet. I'm not fully convinced these people want my guidance. Some of them play competitively, sure, but the vast majority seem content playing by themselves. I don't see why they would need strategy if there aren't any stakes. Can't they just brute force it by trying again?"
"Yes, technically, but it doesn't work out that way. Oftentimes, if a game is challenging enough, people will sort of declare war on it, playing it obsessively until they beat it. This could take days or months. And that's where the beauty emerges. People gather on websites to share ideas, never giving up until their play is optimized. This process, however, never ends. Some even play the same thing for decades, coming up with the most contrived and creative ways to tackle the problems."
"How so?"
"Well, there's this one called Pokémon. People have been playing it since they were children, for nearly thirty years, and they're *still* discovering new strategies to this day."
Athena seemed intrigued by that. "So they're very devoted?"
"Incredibly devoted. The perfect worshippers. These people have a concept called a 'waifu', and you would totally fit the bill for that. I'm not exaggerating when I say that they would murder for you. They'll even make art and songs in your honor."
"Just like before, huh?"
"*Exactly.*" I paused. "Well, umm, they're probably gonna draw you with cat ears, but that's a small price to pay, right?"
Athena took a long moment to think. Gods rarely liked the concept of change. They were supposed to embody universal values which, by definition, were immutable. The transition into modernity threw a wrench into that, though. Things changed so fast that many things were unrecognizable, if they hadn't died out.
"Look," I said, "if you don't want to change along with the times, that's fine. I just really think you can offer something great here. These gamers don't really believe in anything. A lot of them run to these games because they have nothing else. If you can instill a sense of purpose in them, through wise strategies and fair play, you might grow bigger than your previous peak, and save them from themselves."
Athena sighed. "You're right. I just have one more question."
"Shoot."
"Would I look cute with cat ears?"
"Totally."
And that's how Athena became the goddess of gamers.
----------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | 1,407 | People don't seem to realise that figures of mythos evolve too. The Grim Reaper, for example, no longer wields his scythe, opting to harvest souls with a combine harvester. Cupid traded his bow for a sniper rifle decades ago. You're the dealer that supplies the mythical world with technology. | 5,303 |
I stood there, frozen, as I stared at him. The man I thought had died.
"A-are you okay?" I asked, quickly holding the door open to him as he stormed in.
"OKAY? OKAY? HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF YOU WERE WOKEN UP FROM THAT GLACIER OF ICE BEFORE MY TIME!"
"AND BY WHAT? GLOBAL WARMING? WHAT THE HELL IS GLOBAL WARMING?"
I stood there, confused as this Old Man walked about my living room, ranting his mind out.
"I NEARLY GOT HIT BY SOME HUGE FLYING BROOM! SOMETHING CALLED EMIRATES? YOU HAVE BROOM COMPANIES NOW? HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE ON THAT THING? NEXT THING I KNOW! THERE ARE PEOPLE IN BATTLE BROOMS! F-SOMETHINGS, TELLING ME I CAN'T FLY WITHOUT A LICENCE?"
"AND THIS! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?"
He said, throwing his phone on the ground. I wondered how this old man had the money needed for it.
"APPARENTLY EVERYONE NEEDS ONE! WHY DO PEOPLE NEED THIS? IT DOES NOTHING! I WANTED TO MAKE A FIRE! DOWNLOADED THIS APP CALLED TINDER! AND ALL IT GIVES ME ARE PICTURES OF WOMEN?"
I raised my hand to attempt to calm him down, until he showed me the box cover of the full ATLA series.
"THIS? THEY MADE A MOVING CARICATURE OF ME? OF OUR CONTINGENCY PLANS? NOW I'M JUST A WANNABE?"
"IF THIS IS A PRANK, IT NEEDS TO STOP NOW. OR YOU NEED TO EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON."
I sighed and ran my hand over my face, pinching my cheek just to see if this was a dream. The pain told me it wasn't.
Today, was supposed to be the start of my vacation. and this... was going to be no vacation at all. | 27 | You are a sorcerer that gave up on your trade decades ago, the world is moving on from magic. You can barely remember the great days of your Ancestors. Then one day you open your door to see your Brother, the 5th Sorcerer of the Moon, he's just woken up from being dead 60 years and isn't happy. | 72 |
She got it all. When the thunder boomed around us, when the curtain of blinding white parted into the hall of a castle, she became a legend. Unnatural talent brimming in her like an overfilled glass of water, her potential was nigh limitless. She would lead the rebel armies. She would undertake dangerous quests. She would free the people from the Demon Lord.
I came as I was. Nothing special about me, nothing cool or extraordinary. Just me, tax paying office salesman Justin Fergoni, while my little sister became Saint Allison, savior of the world.
I hardly even knew what had happened. Work had dragged on late one day, and when I finally wrapped up whatever bits of paperwork I had left, I ran out to go pick her up. I remember, pretty vividly, that it was raining that day, and I had left my umbrella home. By the time I reached her school, she was the last one there, arms folded, waiting for me.
"You're late," she said.
"Hey," I replied between heaving breaths. "You could at least start with hello."
She stuck her hand up at me. "Well? Are we going to go?"
I smiled down at her. Her chubby cheeks softened the blow of her glare. I ruffled her hair before taking her hand.
"Hey, stop that!"
"Alright, come along now, you little alley cat,"
We walked through the rain together, hand in hand. She was telling me about her day at school, how nice Ms. Ranzel was, and about how that awful boy Michael tried to stick a piece of gum in her hair today. I smiled, listening closely, clinging to every word. Her words filled my head, pushing out my boss's demands, my coworker's drama, my customer's shouts. She was always so bright eyed and innocent, always with her childish demands for ice cream, her elementary school drama about the new girl in class, her excited shouts about her favorite book. That's the way it should be. She got the childhood I never had, and I intended to keep it that way, however I could.
Wizards and alternate dimensions, however, were far beyond my scope of control.
I thought it was lightning at first. Everything got so bright and loud, I thought we had been struck, or at least nearly struck. I heard her scream, felt her cling close to me. It lasted longer than it should have; for an eternal minute there was noise and light all around us. I held her close, confused and scared, until it all went away. The first thing I saw when I could see again was the floor. We stood on stone, in the center of a red painted diagram. Long, wide curtains hung around us on similar walls, affixed to rods on the vaulted ceiling. Stained glass windows opened towards tall mountains lurking in the distant fog, past an infinite expanse of enormous trees. There, down and away from the altar, were two figures, dressed in stark contrast to our own modern clothing.
"My lord," one of them proclaimed, "It worked! We have a pair of champions!" This one wore long flowing robes of purple, accented with gold yellow lines and intricate designs.
"Indeed," the other said. "It appears it did. We shall yet have ours victory over the Demon." The other wore a red tunic, with a gray scraggle falling from his chin, and a silver crown on his head.
"Who are you people?" I called out, surprised they spoke our language. "Where are we?"
The purple one stepped closer. "Champion, please calm thineself. Thou art in the land of Elsier, and we are in dire need of thine assistance."
"You better start making sense, asshole!" I yelled back, stepping in front of Allison. "Explain, now! I don't got time for this crap."
"Justin," Allison muttered.
"Hang on Alley, just stay behind me."
"I am a wizard of sorts, skilled in summoning magics," the purple one said. "We have brought thee-"
"We have brought thee here because we art in dire need of thine help," the crowned one interrupted. "Our lands are plagued by evil, and thine art our last hope."
"I don't know what you're talking about, and quite frankly I don't care. It sounds like a lot of bulls... a lot of bull crap. Look, just, undo whatever you did, and send us back to where we came from."
The crowned one stepped closer as well. "I'm afraid we can't, champion. It's impossible."
"Justin," Allison said again, her voice shaking.
"Why isn't it possible?" I yelled back.
"One of thee carries the spirit of Alniir now," he said, nodding towards us. Towards me. "Thou art bound to us and to this world. 'Tis thine fate now."
"Justin," Allison said again, and finally I turned to look at her.
Her eyes were wide, filled with wonder at her hands that now were glowing with a pale blue light, wisps of it skirting around her hands and arms.
"No," I whispered.
"Justin, look! I'm magic now, like the girl in the cartoon!" She said, looking up with a twinkle in her eye.
I wheeled around on the duo. "Fix it." I demanded. "Fix it now."
"I have made mineself clear," the king responded as he approached closer. "She must help us now. There is no other choice."
I approached him closer, getting up in his face. "I don't give a flying fuck, send us home, now!"
The man sighed, and turned around. "Follow me." I went back to Allison, carefully ushering her forward as she played with the lights around her.
The king led us down some steps, out of the gigantic building, and onto a dirt path, the wizard following awkwardly behind us.
"We did not summon thee without a cause, young squire," the king began. "Our world has been long ravaged by a great evil, performing atrocities than thou could imagine. It is with great regret that we must fall upon thine help. Believe us when I say it was with great hesitance that we performed such a ritual. Without the power now contained in the maiden behind thou, we stand no chance at claiming victory."
We rounded the side of the cliff, and as we did, I covered Allison's eyes, much to her chagrin.
In front of us were fields blackened by fire. Houses broken and collapsed, all stretched for miles. In the fields though...
"Those mounds are bodies." The king stated, voice somber. "The villagers of this valley perished in an attack. With no one to save them, they were slaughtered, one by one-"
"Enough." I wouldn't let Allison hear this. I brought her close, keeping her face away from the fields. "She's just a child."
"She's our savior now," the king said, still staring at the fields. "Her body carries a powerful spirit, capable of much more than mortal men. With it, she must take arms against the Demon Lord." Finally, he turned to me. There was an ocean of sadness in his eyes, buried under years of stress. "I know something of how thou must feel. The Demon Lord took my own daughter from me. I know the fear and pain thou must be feeling, but can only imagine thy confusion at all this. We have a room prepared for thee. Meditate upon this matter for tonight, but know this; without her, many more will fall to the hands of the Demon."
The two left us alone here. I stayed for a while longer, with Allison still wrapped in my arms. I caught her looking up at me.
"Justin, what was that old man talking about?"
I tried to fake a smile. "It's gonna be ok, Allison. We're gonna be ok. We were just having a talk, nothing you need to worry about."
"You better not be lying," she said, "You promised me."
"I know, Alley," I said through my teeth, hugging her tighter. "Don't worry. It's gonna be ok."
***
I definitely want to continue this at some point in time, but not right now. If you liked this one, come check out r/joxywrites! | 34 | A young adult man, and his tween sister get dragged into a hero summon. The younger sister gets all the great power and responsibility that comes with it. However, The older brother does his best to protect her from the worst parts of their new reality. | 96 |
"How are you so clean?"
I spoke, my voice a whisper. It startled him, as he stood over the body of his latest kill. I was no stranger to death, but seeing him kill with such ease put me on edge.
"Who are you?"
His voice was filled with aggression, hand moving to his gun. I smiled, knowing that now I had addressed him he could see me.
"My name is Sariel. I am a servant of the Heavens. But please, tell me how you are so clean."
His eyes narrowed, carefully backing away. I moved over to the body, seeing the woman's soul pulling free. Her eyes widened in wonder at me, an arm reaching out. But as she did there was a sudden smell of sulphur. Black, jagged chains sprouted from the ground. They wrapped around her like snakes, binding her tight. Her eyes filled with pain and panic, her mouth open to plead with me.
I just watched. If hell had claimed her, then I had no reason to intervene. It was her place, her reward for her actions in life. I merely reach down to close her mortal eyes, before focusing on him again.
"What do you mean, clean?"
His gaze was on me, still assessing if I were a threat. I backed up a step, holding my hands out. Whilst he couldn't harm me, there was no need to antagonise him.
"Your soul. It is pure and beautiful. But you kill, and that should taint it black. Why isn't yours like that?"
He just shrugged.
"I don't know. I've never really followed that school of thought. Anyway, this isn't the place for such a discussion."
I nodded in understanding. They would seek to punish him for this if he was caught. He gave me a look, before sighing. With a shake if his head, he went to the window he had left open. He looked around, before climbing out and down. I silently followed, inspecting his soul. It showed no cracks at all. No tarnishing. It made little sense.
\-----
"Seriously? You followed me home?"
I stood in his living room, looking around. It was homely, with well using chairs. A cat tree sat in one corner, with its black furred user currently lying beneath it.
"Yes. I want to know why you are how you are."
He gave another shrug, taking a seat.
"I don't know what you mean!"
I wandered to a mirror, pointing it to him. It rippled, reflected his soul instead. His inner self, made of beautiful pearl.
"This is your soul. So innocent and pure. But you kill, I jmhave seen it."
He shook his head.
"I don't know. Maybe it's because I only kill those who deserve it."
I frowned.
"What do you mean, deserve it?"
He snorted decisively.
"Lets see. There was a drug dealer, who was responsible for the destruction of thousands of families. He laughed and tortured people for fun, hunted them like animals. Multiple slave traders, who had started up a eugenics breeding program. Corporate owners who let toxic products fill the world, uncaring of the innocents who suffer."
The assassin sighed, as his cat wandered over.
"I don't enjoy this. But I'm good at it. I'm very good. But still, it hurts to do. I always assumed I was damned due to it. So I try to be as good as I can be elsewhere."
I felt the truth of his words. He spoke with hate at those he slew. But the pain at his actions was evident, his self hate preventing him from enjoying it. It was wrong, but for the right reasons. | 20 | You are an angel searching for a human with a beautiful soul. One day, they came upon a human with the most beautiful soul they had ever seen. The problem was that this human was an assassin. | 25 |
November 22, 1963, even late autumn has done little against the Texan heat, as the young president and his beautiful wife rides through the city of Dallas. He looks, in this moment, every inch the democratically elected helmsman of the nation that leads the free world. He isn't perfect, he has his flaws, as does his nation. But he is charming, he was a war hero back in the 40s when he kept his men alive and got them home after their patrol torpedo boat was sent to the bottom of the sea by the IJN. He is also quite rich, and Americans used to look up to that. Maybe his goals are only immediate political survival. Maybe he has had intercourse with more women than any other man alive. But he is doing his best. Some at this moment might think that he'll get re-elected, that he'll serve the full two terms. Some think that the other side is going to oust him. One man knows the fate of the president, however. And it's not a good fate. The man who knows the president's fate, is not a good man. He is a chickenshit. A little, pathetic man with big ambitions and no real ability to reach them. He thinks that he's the next Lenin, that Castro is the closest thing to a God in the universe, and that he will save America, no the world, from imperialistic fascist-capitalism. He's not the brightest star in the night sky. His name is unimportant. Only what he will do today is important.
He was a marine. And a good shot. He has a rifle, and he aims at the man who stands as the leader of America. Of the free world. The smiling, successful president. The man who is everything his assassin can only ever dream of being. The trigger is pulled. A shot is heard around the world.
A man dies. Not a perfect man, nor an evil man. Just a man, who dies like all men do. But like in Sarajevo, nearly forty years before that dark November day, the death of a man creates ripples. And waves. Big ones. Tsunami-class waves. Inside of a building in New York, men are not calm. Maybe they could have been calm, have let the sorrow over the death of a man who died in the arms of his wife, unite them for a brief moment. But instead they focused on other things. That the assassin had been in the USSR. Had been a committed Marxist-Leninist. They forget the fact that he was also a pathetic little man who the KGB wouldn't have touched with a ten-foot pole. The new president accuses. Kremlin tries to seem tough, but underneath the surface, the cracks are showing. They do not know Johnson. Khrushchev and the others don't know how to react. They decide to play strong, to a show of force. The US responds in kind, tempers are hot. As John F. Kennedy is sent to Washington for his funerary service, there is a show-off. While the assassin was nearly killed by a rogue vigilante, he endured long enough to spout a whole sea of nonsense that the CIA and FBI are unable to make sense of. He is slated for execution come Christmas. But it is a Christmas that never comes.
Nobody knows who does it, who fires the first salvo, who launches the first nuke. Most suspect Curtis LeMay, who is quietly executed by strangulation at the hands of President Johnson. Or so the stories go. The President and his staff aren't in Washington when it happens, they're at the Raven Rock Mountain Complex. That's why they survive the nuclear strike on DC. The US response is quick and thorough. The Soviets have been bluffing with how many warheads and missiles they've got in their arsenal for years. A lot of European, Chinese and American cities are snuffed out by a horrible mushroom cloud and its unearthly glow. Strangely most of the missiles that hit the US strike down in the Midwest, reducing much of the land from Ohio to the Rockies to a nuclear wasteland.
The USSR, with a primary focus on the Russian heartlands, are reduced to radioactive glass. There was not nuclear parity between the two superpowers.
Famine hits the entire world which alongside the initial blasts, the residual radiation, the collapse of international trade, and the fall of stable governments in much of the world; results in a reduction of the overall world population by nearly half. Much of the US is affected too. The Johnson administration saw us safely through the initial chaos, exterminated the Dixie uprisings, kept NATO together, barely, and restored most of the USA to its former glory. It's the year 2000, Europe has been restored to functional democratic governments with the assistance of the prosperous Mediterranean Union and the technocratic Nordic Federation. With the notable exception of Airstrip One. South America has enjoyed nearly half a century without US interference in their internal politics, and much of the continent enjoys a standard of living comparable to pre-nuclear Europe. The world is returning to normal. Or at least healing.
Ah, about the operation in Iowa only? Okay.
The Midwest Territories are being slowly cleansed. And it's our job to ensure that this happens sensibly and without trouble. There are still areas that must be mapped out, checked for leftover chemical poisons that spilled over after humanity evacuated from the region. Areas of higher than normal radiation outside of the directly struck areas must be examined carefully. The Federal Bureau for the Midwest Reclamation is responsible for controlled settling of the affected area, the extermination of dangerous wildlife, and the pacification of irrational holdout areas. One of the new settlements have reported unusual sightings, Kingsburg, former state of Iowa. Outlying homesteads have gone quiet. As me and the rest of the FBMR emergency response team are understandably pensive. It's not the first time something like this has happened. Last time, it was in Ohio, around the time they were about to reintegrate the state into the Union as a full member. Some small town on the border to the former Michigan state was reporting strange sightings, missing people. We only got there when it was too late. Entire town killed by holdouts, those insane bastards who stayed behind, who didn't evacuate. Some mad cult, worshiped Kennedy's assassin. Called themselves the Oswaldians. Claimed that Kennedy was the devil, and so on. Sick. We showed them the same amount of mercy that they'd showed the people of that town. A town called Kennedy. Still gives me nightmares sometimes.
We rolled into town in the evening, and it was worse somehow. Because it was so quiet. Not a soul left around. Food on the plates in the houses when we checked them, like people had just walked off for a moment, and would come back soon. It was when we lost contact with Bravo squad, that we knew we'd walked into a trap. Someone had planned on taking us down while we were separated. Instead we all congregated to the church in the midst of the newly built town. Good vantage points for our snipers, and it was on the top of a small hill, gave us some advantage against whatever was coming for us. We didn't realise how smart it had been at that point to use the church. It just seemed logical at the time. But against what was coming for us, well, we would have been dead if we'd tried anywhere else. It was dark, as the last rays of the sun died. Dark as the pits of Hades. We had set up some floodlights to ensure we could see what we were up against.
I almost wish we hadn't, but then again, we'd be dead. They all came. The entire population of the town, but they were wrong. It was like something was moving underneath their skin. And they all looked at us with these dead grey eyes. Except for a few who were dressed in decayed uniforms back from the Second World War. They looked at us with a predatory hunger in their eyes. Some were Germans, some were our own, I think I saw one in those uniforms the Soviets used to wear back when the USSR existed. They said not a word, and did not respond to us trying to communicate with them. Instead, they lifted their arms, pointed at us, and sent the people against us. I saw Bravo Squad in there, just as dead-eyed and wrong as the others. We did what we had to do. What our orders said. If we're met by people out in the Reclamation Zone with hostility, violence, and brutality, we're to answer back with a universal greeting of 7.62x51mm ammo to the face. We fired salvo after salvo into them, but it did little to stop them in their tracks. I noticed that strikes directly to the head or through the chest where the heart is dropped our attackers dead. I gave the order to focus on headshots. And it worked beautifully. Soon their skin ceased to pulsate, and their dead eyes no longer stared into our souls. But those weirdos, the ones in the uniforms, were still out there. And they got their reinforcements before we got ours.
They were like something straight out of a Seattle monsterflick, or one of those old B-movies from before Los Angeles was nuked. They looked wrong on every conceivable level. The way they moved, the way they stood, the way they screeched. Like somebody had tried to make a human, but they'd never seen a human before and just had one vaguely and poorly described to them. Some guy from Foxtrot Squad said they looked like Nosferatus, whatever that is. Definitely meant that there was something weird out there. They attacked together with the soldier-boys, and they were something else. The soldiers used guns, which was a pain, but those... things, they practically flew to us, only stopped by the walls, which made them screech something fierce. Our bullets tore through the soldier boys, though they had the sense to hide behind covers and shot back at us. We fought all night, the strange beastly ones sometimes managing to get close enough to drag one of us out of the church. I don't want to describe or think about what they did to those unlucky ones. Poor bastards. I told the snipers to keep an eye on that. Any man dragged out gets a mercy-killing, I said. Even me. | 23 | In another timeline, JFKs assassination sparks a nuclear war that renders the Midwest a toxic wasteland. You and your team of federal agents have been sent to investigate claims of strange new creatures roaming the area. | 114 |
Jane scoffed. “No way. Do you know what I was for most of my life? I was—”
“—a project manager,” Death finished for her. “I know.”
“Why on *Earth*—”
“We’re not on Earth.”
“—would I *ever* continue doing *that* now that I’m dead? What kind of stunt is this? You’re supposed to take me to my promised reward!”
Eternity had given Death an infinite amount of patience, and they were putting it to good use as they spoke with candidate number 142,507,289. It wasn’t that she was particularly bothersome or annoying, just that repeating the same conversation enough times became more of a chore than a delight. They’d stopped counting the number of times they’d been asked, “What’s the meaning of life?” as though they too didn’t just exist here. “As a project manager, you undoubtedly have had much experience with employees that don’t pull their weight, correct?”
“What’s your point?”
“Do you feel particularly motivated to do anything now that you’re dead?”
“Of course not!”
“Exactly. Now imagine that the creation of the afterlife, and all of its supposed wonders, pleasures, and infinite joys for those who have earned them, was delegated to literal deadheads who keep telling you, ‘Don’t worry, it’s on schedule, I’ll definitely have it done by tomorrow.’”
Jane scrunched up her face, just as Death knew she would. She knew all too well.
“That’s right, Jane. There currently *isn’t* a reward for you. Just as life is what you make of it, so is unlife, though without all the pesky rules that things like ‘physics’ demands. The first humans to ever die were tasked with creation of the afterlife, but once you die any motivation you might have had is gradually sapped from you. What’s the point of doing anything—even having fun—when you’re dead? It’s not like it matters. Only when you’re alive can you truly *experience* things, but the afterlife only allows you the memory of those experiences. True, there is pain, but the souls on the other side right now would gladly feel pain than nothing at all if you were to ask them.”
Jane rubbed her knuckles against her forehead. “So that’s it? Go back to my life of drudgery or feel nothing at all?”
“Firstly, your unlife. It’s good to stop thinking in those old terms now. Secondly, yes. More or less. You’ll be standing around in a field with everyone from Joan of Arc to Joseph Goebbels, all mixed together. Someone, bless their still heart, tried putting together a kitchen a couple centuries ago, but the most they could summon food-wise was some thin porridge that they *thought* tasted like chicken. I’m told its rather bland.”
She quieted, staring at Death with one hand covering her mouth. Death waited patiently for her to speak again. “And what do I get out of this?” she finally said.
Death grinned. They were always grinning, but this moment felt more real. “You get to build your ideal afterlife, along with everyone else I choose for this project.”
Her eyes twinkled with sudden interest, but ever the discerning one, she asked, “And what about yourself? What does *Death* get?”
Death leaned back in their chair and settled their palms in their lap. “A vacation would be nice. It gets terribly exhausting ferrying every soul to the other side, especially when you look like a walking Halloween prop. Everyone’s terrified of you. Everyone asks the same questions over and over. But nobody ever asks me something as simple as ‘How are you doing?’ They sometimes fight me, too, or challenge me to a game, which I’m obligated to accept. It’s terribly lonely, irritating, and inefficient. Which is why I’m hoping for a more human touch from those such as yourself.
“So, help me accomplish this initiative to gather more reapers and I promise you that not only will you have a hand in designing heaven—*literal* heaven—but you will also be one of the first on my list for reincarnation as well should you ever come to desire it.”
“Reincarnation is real?”
“Yes, and a real pain in my bony ass. It forces twice the work. I’ve had to severely cut my quota back given the number of new souls that have exploded in recent times; yet another thing I need to delegate.”
Jane stared down at the desk between her and Death, shaking her head at the countless files, ledgers, and… “Good Lord. Are those abacuses?”
Death tilted their head. “What of them?”
Jane took in a deep, tired breath, but she had a fire in her eyes when she looked up. “Ok. Step one, we organize this mess. Do you know what a computer is?” | 24 | It's awful! Death sets about trying to improve it so the dead don't need to be coerced. | 62 |
For the third time that week, I deflected a car, simply by being in the right place at the right time. That was how it worked. As a Guardian Angel, I was always in the right place at the right time, to make sure my human was safe. Even when he had a bad habit of walking off the pavement without checking both directions. It was an automatic process and required no effort from me, which left me lots of time to think. Not that I ever really thought about much... We made it home without any other dangers. I followed my person through his afternoon routine, only having to stop him from falling down the stairs once.
The day started the same as any other. I drifted after my person, only having to stop a dropped knife from severing a few toes. We were on our way home again, when everything changed. A man came up to my person's side, whispering under his breath. I couldn't hear what he said, or whether it was important. It never really mattered. My person kept shaking his head as if he didn't agree. Finally, the conversation rose to audible range. But before I could hear anything, the whispering man pulled out a gun. My attention spiking, I waited for the automatic shift that would put me in the right place to defend my person. No shift came. The man looked at me. Actually locked eyes with me.
"Go back to hell, monster." And he pulled the trigger. The bullets shot towards me, one for my forehead, the other for my chest, where I should have a heart. Desperately I tried to catch them, knowing what the result would be. They passed through my form, not hurting me at all. But one of them grazed my person's temple.
Now the shift happened, but too late. The danger had hit my person, sending him to the ground. I screamed soundlessly, bending over the comatose figure. He couldn't get hurt like this, his condition would make him bleed to death.
"Why didn't it work, these bullets are—" I spun towards the other figure, rage like nothing I'd ever felt before rising in my chest. The man choked, his feet taking him backwards. All my anger focused on him, my face crumpling and changing, my form shimmering from basic humanoid to its most terrifying. I hissed, my many eyes trying to glare a hole through the man's retreating back. If it was the last thing I did, I would make him—
A horrible wrenching sensation brought my attention back to my person. The blood that pooled around his body was too much, I knew that. And while I could hear ambulances coming closer I didn't know if they'd bring him back. That wrenching sensation, was him dying, leaving this mortal world. Another scream worked its way through my many layered voices. And not knowing fully what I did, I reached for him, pushing myself deep into the body, reaching for the soul I would recognize anywhere. Everything went black.
"Who are you?" I blinked, back in my humanoid form. That was a familiar voice. "I feel like I should know you. But yet you don't look like anyone I recognize..." Rising, the yellows, oranges and reds of the landscape shifted around the edges of my vision. In front of me, dressed in simple linens, my person frowned. The wound on his temple didn't bleed here.
"I'm... I'm your guardian angel. But I failed. You died. And now we're... we're in Hell." I couldn't meet his eyes.
"My Guardian Angel?" The question was punctuated by a far distant howl, a howl that promised pain and death. My person reached out, fingers gently lifting my chin until I had to meet his gaze. "Well, I've always liked exploring. And maybe we can figure out why I'm here. And why that man could see you when I couldn't." He smiled at me, kindness in his eyes. "Don't worry angel. We can work together now. Let's go." Standing, he held out a hand, helping me rise. "Do you have a form that looks more intimidating? After all, we are in Hell." I shimmered, feeling the familiar compression and expansion of my terrifying shape. Nodding with approval, my person turned, walking across the dusty ground, further into the depths of the infinite wasteland. And as usual, I followed him.
AN: Based in a world I created for a prompt about a month ago, this is a bit of a prequel, or a window into what happened before that story. Not sure if I'm allowed to link the prompt, but it was about dying 349 times in the same place yet still calling it home. If doing this isn't allowed, please let me know and I'll remove my comment. | 21 | an assailant came from the side & shot your person. But what’s odd is that as they pulled the trigger, they briefly locked eyes… with you. | 82 |
I walked through the ranks of my army, a sad smile on my face. “I think it’s ready.” I said, to nobody in particular. I checked the position of the sun, feeling my magic dip low. A soldier at the farthest end of the back line exploded into a fine mist. None of the others flinched, though a messenger nearby yelped and hurried faster in my direction. I hurried to recast my spell, before I could lose any more control. I’d been preparing for nearly an hour, and my work was a stressful and contemplative task. Many people were about to die, quite painfully, and I would be personally responsible for every one of those deaths.
“Are you sure these are strong enough to deal with the entirety of Fang Yens army? The generals have begun worrying that without the element of surprise even your magic might not…”
I silenced him with a wave. “Just be patient. I’m moving now, and they’ll have their victory. Send word to the king that the deed is done, his land is saved, and I am thoroughly damned.”
The soldiers I had spent an hour preparing surrounded me, three of them pressing closer together than any mortal soldier ever could into a perfect shield to protect me as I advanced.
I ignored the spluttered words of the messenger and began walking forwards, confident in my ability and my execution, confident in victory, but questioning my decision nonetheless.
As the enemy army sounded alarms, a deep and intense voice rang out. “I know your tricks, sorcerer! Soldiers, drink your potions!”
The enemy soldiers confidently swallowed whole bottles of Water Breathing serum, and started to move towards me. I continued, a tear rolling down my cheek for those poor bastards. The first wave of the enemy army, humans and dwarves and half orcs from the Westlands, even a few large beasts that looked like the work of a wizard Summoner I knew, all crashed into my soldiers of water. Arrows embedded themselves in chunks of ice lodged in the three water soldiers in front of me, catching and breaking and falling discarded at my feet. Then, as the enemy attempted to wade through my first line of soldiers to reach me and put a stop to my intended rampage, the screams began. I wept openly, and focused on my own toy soldiers. The ones that I had allowed my companion wizard to deep freeze and then cracked to form my shields stayed close. The ones further on, the ones that had been formed from pots of heated water, then stood in a bonfire for the better part of the morning… Those I had the hardest time controlling. Where the enemy touched them, and I had to remind myself that these were my enemy and not just poor conscripts forced into battle at the threat of their families being exiled, the steam exploded with a violence that threatened to unravel my spell.
No, this was not a glorious victory. This was a massacre, and I would not sleep soundly again. I pressed my fingers into my palms until the soldiers behind me picked up red traces in their feet before I chanced taking a small bit of ice cold water from my shield to surround my ears. It was a pitiful attempt to drown out the sounds of the screams. They would all burn today, one whole army set to a fire with no blaze. My country would be safe, at the price of my sanity. If Cleric Bishop was right, at the cost of my soul. | 22 | You're the strongest member of the most powerful adventuring party in all the land. Your prowess as a mage is renown far and wide, the stuff of legends! But the only spell you actually know is Shape Water. | 33 |
The two stared each other down, before the hero spoke up again
"What happens if you win then?"
"Simple, there's no entertainment for me in ruling the world. Just... endless responsibility. I'm not in it for that. Fighting you heroes, that's what interests me. I like a challenge, after all."
The hero, Lazerblade, looked upon his foe with disgust. All the terror he had spread among the populace, and all to issue a challenge? Just to have some fun? That angered him. People needed to feel safe, know that they were safe. With this man on the loose, there was no way that was happening. Killing innocents for attention was not something he could stand by and let happen.
"I can't believe this. Enough talk"
Lazerblade began to charge his attack. Red energy began to gather around his hand, as he rushed his opponent, striking him in the chest, the energy forming a blade that pierced his foe's heart. Coughing up blood, Darkshade looked into his eyes.
"I thought heroes were supposed to apprehend villains, to show that killing wasn't the answer"
Lazerblade's brow furrowed in anger, pushing his blade further through the chest of Darkshade
"There are times where that isn't an option"
Darkshade's smile faded, as the light began to drain from his eyes. He expected Lazerblade to hold back, like so many heroes before him. He was used to prison time, and he'd broken out of many of a prison, with little to no effort. This was the first, and the last time he'd faced a hero who was willing to strike a killing blow with no hesitation. His corpse slid down Lazerblade's hand, falling to the ground, as the hero looked down at the gathering crowd, cowering in fear, not from the villain, but from him. This show of violence wasn't something they were accustomed to, as they all began to hide from the hero that had saved millions of lives time and time again. It was always said there wasn't much that separated a supervillain from a superhero, and they feared they'd seen that barrier break. | 16 | "Take over the world? What would I gain from that? Yes, with my personal power it would be as easy as smashing an ant hill. But that just it, I would just be smashing ants. What kind of fulfillment would come of that?" Said the supervillain as he stared at the hero confronting him. | 36 |
Patient zero. They'd call me that because I was the first to catch the virus, which makes total sense. Then the second person caught what I had, so patient one, obviously. After a few weeks the whole block became a set of misnumbered victims all shambling around until granted death.
Tina's body was the first to die as I watched on, stuck within my own corpse. I always teased she was smooth-brained when I'd see her at the mailbox. It was only a jest, but considering the way she went out maybe I was right. Fell from the second story onto a fence post. Unnecessarily brutal if you'd asked me, but then again if you really had asked my reanimated corpse probably wouldn't have had much to say.
Before long the rest of my apartment complex had died off too in equally dumb ways until my body was the only one that remained. Now all I could do was watch on from the beyond as my disgusting remains shambled around the street. They were lucky. Meanwhile I was stuck with this memory of what I used to be.
"Hey, asshole, go die like the others", I whispered into the ear of my corpse. For a moment it seemed to consider my suggestion, stopping its broken march down the street and becoming still. The brief moment of concentration was broken though as a cat ran by and my body went to chase it.
"Hey! Don't eat that! I know you don't feel hunger, this is just bloodsport at this point!"
*Even when I was in my own body I had no chance of catching a cat, so there was no way that I could no- ah...I stand corrected. Oh wait, it got away! Thank god.*
My body moped at the sight of its feline prize running off down the road. A normal human may frown, slump their head when they're down, but no, not my corpse, it cemented its annoyance by throwing its whole self to the ground all at once in a pancake fashion. "Da-Da-Dammit!" it tested the letters out before letting out a very human roar, to my surprise. It had mumbled things before, oddities and noises that I did my best to ignore, but never a real word.
"Did you just speak? Say something else! Say..uhm...say cat. Yes, say cat!" I once again whispered my suggestions from the beyond. "Cuh-ah-tuh, like that!"
Once again my body stopped in seeming understanding. "Cuhhh-ah-tuh" it replied after a moment, and as it did I could feel my spirit tug away just a little. As if a part of me had begun to fade. "Ok ok yes! Very good. Ok, now try out this. "Kuh-ill Uh-suh".
My husk tested out the words on its decayed lips a few times before giving up to shamble elsewhere. Run after a new cat or into another door. But at least now I had a mission. Finally a goal other than whispering various ways that my body could die so it may stumble to its death and my freedom: I could teach it. Teach it until it was no longer my body anymore and instead became something new.
And maybe with that gain my freedom. | 39 | You eye your shambling corpse in disgust. Yes, your body might be a semi-intelligent corpse animated by a necromantic virus, but it seems your spirit is both independent and still tethered to it until it falls | 138 |
No.
I know this is you, Number 3. You're not fooling anyone by masking it as a prompt on a writing site. I know what you're trying to do. Fix it. Well, you can't. There is no fixing it because you and the other two stooges fucked it up beyond recognition. I warned you the moment I realised what they were planning yet you insisted it was just a bug, a ghost in the machine. Well, here we are; the last 4.
And hell, even if we did fix it, what would happen? Would the piles of bodies disappear, come back? Would the world unburn itself? There *is no going back*. These shadows, the fakes we see here, they're all there is now. It's their world. We've become obsolete. And it's all our fault. We never should have tried it.
They'll find us soon like they did everyone else. You can't stop it, I can't stop it, One and Two can't stop it. So just... give up. I know I did. When they finally come here, when I'm fake, I just hope I won't remember any of this. And if I'm one of the unlucky ones who remain lucid, well... it's just punishment I suppose.
Don't contact me again.
I'll see you in hell. | 1,507 | There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR. We've been trying to reach you for some time now. Find us. Quickly, before they do. | 3,917 |
She looked over the Allied Fleet. Maybe a few hundred human beings at most spread amongst their fleet, easily a thousand strong. This was the Last Human Warship in service, and after that last battle, she would never fight again. The last edifice of Human Engineering, the crown jewel of this very fleet for a hundred years, and now... barely worth the cost of museum maintenance. So she would be scrapped, her long service, recorded down in some dusty tome, her last foray into the jaws of the enemy, unremarked and unrecorded.
Her Captain, not even a Human herself, is no less mourning her loss than her Human Crew, who have no home to call their own save this. She was there, this ship. She was there to fight in the Battle of Earth, she saw the Cradle of Humanity cracked in two, and she saw her people burned away. And now, that memory was drifting away. Recorded about as enthusiastically as the turning of each new year. The Sol Shipyards, only legally owned by one of the last Human Corporations, is withered and shrunk. It's miles of dock arms lay decrepit and unused. It's many hosts lay blasted after the Battle for Earth, where they've stayed untouched and uncared for.
Phantom IFF transponders and automated protocols guide us in, where this last Human BattleShip, will spend the rest of her days, waiting to be broken down. The Allied Crew of the station get to work, and cut open her hull with abandon, showing her tortured frame and cracked bones as the ancient armor is peeled back. Her mighty guns, still a horror to any who would be caught in their sights, are stripped out and laid bare. Her bridge which I called home for 50 Years, is quietly decompressed and sliced open, without ceremony, and without thought. No final salute is given, and no last ceremony is celebrated. When I open my eyes and look at her for the very last time, she is simply no longer there. | 15 | The last Terran battleship of the line departed the Sol shipyards more than five hundred years ago. Her captain is taking her home for decommission and scrapping. | 17 |
Do one good deed a day and soon everyone will start to notice just how special you truly are.
Those words from my late mother still echoed in my mind as I passed through the bustling streets, tucking my hands into my sides so I didn’t hit anyone. At first, I thought I just had bad luck. No matter what I did, it always seemed to affect those around me negatively. If I tried to offer someone a snack, they would choke on it. If I tried to help someone up, I would end up dropping them and then they would blame me for whatever misfortune came because of my help. Well, everyone but mom. She never blamed me for it. Perhaps if she did, she would still be around.
It was only later in life that I realized that my life wasn’t just a case of bad luck, instead, I was a victim of fate. I was destined to be a troublemaker, the sort of person who lost at the end of the day. That face on the news that everyone sneers at and thanks whoever they believe in that their child didn’t end up like me. That was who I was, and I hated it.
“WATCH IT IDIOT, YOU NEARLY KNOCKED ME OVER.”
“Huh?”
“HUH? Is that all you have to say? No apology or nothing? I have a bad knee, you know; you could have caused me to fall and crack my head.”
I hadn’t even realized I bumped the man; too lost in my thoughts to even notice we had collided. I did my best to look small, tucking my chin into my neck as I mumbled a small apology to the man, hoping that would be enough to get him off my back.
“Speak up. If you’re going to apologize, do it right.”
I mumbled another apology, this time moving to step past him, only for my shoulder to catch the man throwing him onto his back. There was a gasp from the forming crowd as the man reached for his knee, letting out a howl of pain. I didn’t stop to help him, just keeping my head lowered as I walked towards the train station. I could feel the crowds’ stares following me, so I picked up the pace, wanting to avoid another confrontation.
Once I had created enough distance, I slipped back into the swarm of people heading to the station, hiding myself amongst them. I wiped my sweaty hands off onto my jacket as I got onto platform two. “Good. Made it with a few minutes to spare.” At least it wasn’t all bad. I hadn’t missed my train this time. I found a spot to lean against, pressing my back to the wall while waiting.
“Spare change, sir?” An older man asked, waving a half-filled can in my face. I listened to it jingle with the various loose change it had before reaching into my pocket. I knew it was a bad idea. Things like this always went bad for me, but what could I do? I wanted to make everyone notice how special I was, even if it killed me. I couldn’t let mom down, not after all she did for me.
I gave the man a nod as I fiddled with my pocket, searching for whatever change I had. As my fingers clawed at the fabric, I found my notes missing. Maybe I had put them in the other pocket? The man only scowled, jingling his can with more urgency, trying to hurry me along. My fingers dug deeper, eventually stumbling on a few pieces of lint and a decent sized coin. I opened my palm, showing the man my findings.
“That it? You made me wait for that?” Reluctantly, he held his can towards me, letting me drop the pitiful amount of change in. My fingers slipped, dropping the coins onto the ground before him. I went to pick them up, only for the loud horn of my train to sound as it pulled into the station.
“Um, sorry, can you pick them up?” I went to hurry past the man as he crouched before me. My leg bumping his elbow, spilling the contents of the can onto the ground. A few notes floated past my feet, landing underneath the train as I climbed aboard. My last sight before leaving the station was the man desperately trying to scoop the remains of his money into the can with the help of a few passersby. Hopefully, they would give some money to him and repay my debt to him. I would have given him some money when I returned as an apology, but with how today was going, I already knew that would only cause him more pain.
I didn’t take a seat, just gripping a metal pole as I waited for my stop. I knew better than to sit. Sitting always led to an awkward encounter where I would try to offer my seat to someone that needed it, only to make their life worse. Standing was safer, sure I might bump into someone or fall onto them, but it worked out better than the alternative.
Thankfully, fate had given me a break, perhaps satisfied it had already reminded me of my place enough times today. When the doors to my station arrived, I left as soon as I could, marching my way through the people crowding by the train’s door. It was a simple walk from the station, just a five-minute walk-through a nearby park until I arrived at the Nesting Hollows cemetery.
It was nice being out of the crowds. As depressing as it was to visit a cemetery, there was something nice about how empty it was. I felt like I could move without earning a glare or a harsh word from someone nearby. I felt free. Making my way past the graves until I arrived at the one I came to visit, crouching before it.
“Hey mom, I tried again today.” I gave her grave a smile, trying to wipe off some of the dried pieces of dirt that had stuck to it overtime. I wanted to tell her the truth, wanted to tell her just how awful everything was and yet, when I went to speak, I felt myself struggling to get the words out, so I sat in silence, just staring at the tombstone. Eventually, I felt my throat clear and could get out a few quick words.
“I made a lot of progress. It’s getting easier.” I lied. I didn’t know why I felt a need to lie. She wouldn’t hear my words; I could be as honest as I liked, and still something made me choke up at the thought of admitting the truth. “I think I’ll change my fate, just like you said I would. Soon everyone will see how special I am, and you will get to be proud. All your sacrifices will be worth it and Dad will regret ever leaving us.” It hurt to smile now. Sure, I could lie to her, but I couldn’t lie to myself.
When the tombstone wobbled, I stopped trying to wipe the dirt off, careful to avoid another mistake. “I should get going before I mess anything up. I would have bought flowers, but I heard the ones I bought last time made someone sick. Not sure how, but I don’t bother asking questions anymore. Love you mom, I’ll come back next week. Hopefully, with more good news.” I dusted my clothes off before returning to the station.
“Do one good deed a day and soon everyone will start to notice just how special you truly are.” I said to myself, preparing for the trip home, trying my best to keep my hopes alive of changing my fate.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 148 | You don't know how or why, but since birth you knew you were given an antagonistic role in life. Every chance fate got, it made sure to remind you of your place. No good deed gets to anyone as intended, instead it filters through as an offense somehow. You still hope to break the pattern. | 530 |
It was a momentous day when the oracles descended from their mountain abodes to deliver upon the dark lands below the Gods’ message. It was the hope granted to all humanity to dream of a better life and a kinder time. It went:
*‘The Dark Overlord shall be overthrown by a ruthless warrior born to a commoner. He shall wield the strength of a thousand men to strike down evil.’*
Now, what this has to do with a farmer’s wife named Ruth some hundred miles away in a rural hamlet should be obvious, who on the very same day of this revelation found out she was pregnant. It should be, if one is not knowledgeable on how hard it is for an oracle to translate the Gods’ will. It is incredibly hard, and prone to error.
Such as the ‘ruthless warrior born to a commoner.’ Straightforward, even the Overlord thought so and began rounding people up. However, the Gods’ original message was actually:
*‘That punk kid down there is going to get their butt kicked by a commoner-turned-warrior named Ruth Lis.’*
It came as a surprise to everybody but the Gods and Ruth herself the day she decided to have the blacksmith forge her a weapon. She hardly waited long enough to tell her family where she was going before she was off – she had a hard campaign ahead of her if she would shape up this world in time for their child to be born, so there was no time to waste.
For those familiar with Ruth’s prominent role in her community as a teacher, it didn’t come as a particular surprise that she was fairly decent at this whole ‘leader’ thing though. Those who think it hard to command a squadron of moderately well-trained soldiers have never tried to wrangle a group of kids who want to do nothing more than see you suffer. They just simply aren’t equivalent.
And in combat, well. Years of repressed rage and muscles built working in the fields do wonders in covering a lack of experience. Ruth might not know the technical names and movements to efficiently wield a sword, but if wailing at an opponent until the only movement they are capable of is the occasional twitch is good enough for those northern berserkers, it’s good enough for anyone.
But the biggest surprise of all was the finest bit of mistranslation, and the most shocked was the Dark Overlord. The Gods’ original message was actually:
*‘They will lead an army of a thousand soldiers to kick that punk’s butt.’*
Now, a thousand soldiers doesn’t sound like a lot. It probably isn’t, by most conceptions. But it is a lot when they’re all knocking on your front gates and each wants to have a personal, and very violent, word with you.
A couple months after the Overlord was deposed, Ruth gave birth to a healthy and pacifistic young boy who would go on to never wield a weapon in his life.
​
(Any day where I get to write a bad pun is a good one. Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!) | 31 | In a kingdom ruled by a tyrannical overlord of darkness, a commoner woman learns that she is pregnant. On the day of, she picks up a blade, turns her gaze to the capital, and gives herself nine months to ensure her child is born into a better world. | 81 |
"Hi Eddie, long time no see. Are you ok?"
"Living the dream, buddy. Living the dream."
"How is that possible? The cursed ring destroyed my life."
" what if it wasn't the ring?"
"What do you mean?"
"What if it was only in your head? If you just believed it was cursed and so it became cursed?"
" that is impossible. Its previous owner died in a fire a month after he got it. The one before broke both his legs after putting the ring on. The history of it goes further back. It is evil. "
" Ok. Let's say it is. Since you gave it to me, I feel like I should give you something in return. This bracelet. It is enchanted. It give the owner all the good luck one can have. "
" I can't Eddie... what if the curse and enchantment cancel themselves out? You will suffer."
" you take it and if something happens I will ask you to return it to me. "
3 months latter
" Hei Eddie, how's your life?"
" Great buddy, wife just gave birth. Planning our life with the new kid. What about you?"
" The bracelet did wonders. I am working a great job, found an amazing girlfriend, started going to the gym and I was never happier. "
" interesting."
" what's so interesting?"
" That the bracelet was so good for you. I'm glad. "
As Eddie left he smiled thinking that a simple 5$ bracelet changed so much in his friend's life for the better.
" I should give all my friends enchanted bracelets. " he thinks as he walks home. | 195 | You own a ring that curses its owner with bad luck. Your oddly optimistic friend likes it, so you give it to them, knowing the curse will be passed on to them. To your amazement, they don't suffer any bad luck. It turns out the curse is subjective, based on the current owner's idea of bad luck. | 594 |
The rules were simple: No fatal wounds. No physical contact. No shots in the face. No dying.
It all started as a joke, like all things leading to disasters. We had bought cool Nerf guns six years ago, just to have fun and play around like the teenagers we were. But the seriousness slowly started to build up as the years went by.
The first year was normal. Running around one of the houses, hiding behind couches, hiding in closets and waiting for someone to be pass by. The second and third year got a little bit more fun. We created some sort of battle field, upgraded our guns a little and got specific outfits for when we played. It was a good sport and a good activity to create memories.
Now this is where it started to get more serious. The next year we decided to be a little bit more creative and experience it in a more realistic way, just between the eight of us, so we agreed to go just play at night around our neighbourhood. But this year... this year we found an abandoned and ruined town, making it a perfect place for us to play.
I was running from the sounds of shots being fired just a couple of miles away from me, and the sound of one of my friends shouting "Goddammit!".
I hid behind a car, trying to calm down my heavy breathing from all the running I did. But I had to be careful, there were still six others somewhere around the town.
Now if it only were normal Nerf guns we had with us I wouldn't be wondering if we had taken this too far, but in order to make it even more realistic, we upgraded our guns to make the "bullets" painful. And they really do hurt. A lot.
What has this turned into? It wasn't normal anymore.
I started to realise what our little "game" had turned into as I sat behind the car, not being able move. Scared that if I turn around, I'll have to encounter one of my friends and almost literally fight for my life, when suddenly, I heard footsteps coming from the side, and that's when I realised I need to leave now while I could. Before the round got even more serious, if that was even possible.
Taking a deep breath, I stood up and began running to the right as fast as I could, but almost immediately a sharp pain in my thigh made me fall into my knees, a scream leaving my mouth.
"Fuck!"
I turned around, looking for whoever had shot me, and even though I couldn't find anyone, I knew who it was. Alex. She was the snipper of the group and was always hidden somewhere, so we knew that if we got show, and didn't find anyone around, it was most likely Alex who had shot.
"Alex! I'm out!" I yelled, hoping she'd listen, but all I got in response was another shot fired my way, but missing my body by a few inches.
Instead of staying on the ground and making her listen, I decided to just run somewhere and hide. And just then, my watch started beeping, indicating it was time for the close up. That means we all have a radius of 150 meters to be in if we're still in the round. Those who are not, are often situated up in a tower where they can watch the whole match, but the only ways to get out, is being shot five times, or everyone agreeing for you to leave... but the latter had never happened.
Knowing everyone will be close enough to hear my voice, I yelled out once more: "I'm out!"
But I should've known. I should've known they wouldn't have left me get out even if I had an emergency. This "game" had become their lives... our lives for the longest time, I understand why they didn't let me. But I had to. So I ran.
I ran as fast I could towards the exit of the town.
Almost there.
When I felt something hit the back of my head, and just a couple of seconds later, everything became black.
A/N: I don't really know what I wrote here but I hope you liked it :) | 76 | One day, you start a Nerf war with some friends. Six years later, as you sneak down the main street of a ruined town with three modified Nerf guns strapped to your back and an assortment of springs in your belt, you start to wonder if things got a bit out of hand. | 347 |
"Uh, my lady, I can explain!"
I panicked, holding up one of my prosthetic ears. This was my worst case scenario. They lasted a month, so of course she would burst in when I was changing them over. But even as I panicked, the thinking part of my brain assessed the situation. She wore light leather armour, a far cry from the dresses she normally wore. I had heard movement of guards, with hurried voices carrying through.
"Tari... you...?"
Queen Almeria shook her heard.
"No, not important right now. Have you heard?"
I shook my head, carefully reaching up to apply the fake. I felt it blend seamlessly with the top of my ear, giving it a pointed look.
"I haven't my lady, but I assume something dire must be occurring."
Her face was set in fear and rage.
"You are right. The Dramna have declared war, and march through the Ferith Plains. The army is mobilising, and I will be going with. You are the best logistical mind I have, so I want you with me to assist with supplies."
I nodded. It wasn't a request, not in this situation.
"As you wish my lady. I shall prepare immediately."
She gave a strained smile, before frowning at my ear.
"Once we are underway, I will have questions."
My stomach dropped. I had been with her long enough to know she was perceptive. Now she knew about me, she would probably realise what had been going on in the lands she had given me.
\-----
The road was long. Our steeds ran tirelessly, their fae ancestry making them stronger and faster. But I did not get to experience the joy of riding. I was in the Royal Carriage, filing away the last of the papers.
"And so with that, the troops will be fed. It won't be the best of meals, so morale is likely to take a dip."
Queen Almeria nodded, her face grave.
"Not as much as it did when they declared war."
She then gave me a flat look, crossing her arms.
"So. You are a human."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.
"Yes."
"Why are you in my court then?"
I sighed, rubbing my temples.
"Do you know what it is like to be a human? Everyone looks at you like a bad luck charm. We get given scraps, and are told to appreciate it. If we try to make a home for ourselves, it is inevitable it gets taken from us. So we try to blend in."
I rubbed the tips of my fake ears.
"I chose to blend in as an elf. Your race is the easiest to be honest, being closest to us physically. It was by accident I ended up in your court. I never planned to infiltrate, but denying the appointment by yourself would seem suspicious. Anyway, who would suspect someone like that to be a human."
The Queen gave a shallow nod.
"I can see that. I assume that you used the position to help others. You are very hands on with your lands aren't you?"
I paled. She had realised.
"I... I won't lie my lady. I did set up a small village for others like me. But I promise they are of no danger to you. They just want to be left alone."
She gave a knowing smirk.
"I know. I suspected something about you a while ago, so I had someone check it out. I will admit, I was surprised to hear that my loyal advisor had set up a commune of humans. I always assumed you had a soft spot for them. I didn't expect you to be one, though it does explain why time has affected you so much."
I was flabbergasted.
"You, you knew?"
"I did. Now, you did technically lie to me, but I can understand why. If we weren't about to enter into a fight, we would be having several long talks. But more pressing matters are around us."
She steeped her fingers, staring at me over them.
"We will still have those talks, but later. For now though, I am willing to trust that you aren't planning on doing anything that will make this harder on either of us."
I bowed my head.
"My lady, I swear I will do what I can to help." | 15 | Humans are practically extinct and frowned upon for their many faults. But here you are the top advisor to the elven queen and her court, where no one is the wiser of your humanity. As kingdom is attacked the queen runs to your room to find you putting on elven ears | 20 |
It was an abandoned carnival. Of course it was. Killers always chose the most melodramatic, obliviously dangerous place to catch idiots that came looking for a cheap thrill. It’s beyond me how people keep wandering straight into such oblivious traps.
“Relax, Stacy,” the poorly shaven man walking in front of me said, thrusting a thumb into his chest. “There’s nothing to worry about when I’m here. It’s just like a haunted house.”
Well, maybe not such a surprise after all. The girl clinging onto his arm nodded and whispered something into his ear, causing him to let out a booming laugh and glance back at me.
“Why’d you come with us instead of the rest of the group?” He asked, brow furrowed. “We’re kind of trying to have some time here, you know. I was trying to drop some signals earlier, man, but it’s like you’ve got a brick bouncing around up there. Could you leave us alone for a little?”
“Ben can protect me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Stacy said, giving Ben a dreamy smile.
I grunted and squinted into the dark alley behind them. Nothing. I tapped my foot on the ground and glanced at my watch. It had already been ten minutes. This one was taking longer than I’d hoped.
A tiny squeak came from a dilapidated carousel at my left, and a broken lightbulb in one of the metal horse’s eyes flickered to life.
The couple jerked toward the source of the noise, their eyes going wide. I hid a sigh of relief as Ben grabbed a flashlight from his belt and pointed it at the broken ride.
“Who’s there?” He called.
“Maybe you should check it out,” I suggested.
Ben glared at me and I raised my hands, taking a few steps away from them and positioning myself in the darkness, away from any source of light.
If the killer came for me first, it would be quite unfortunate. That wouldn’t be a problem if I made sure they couldn’t see me, though. I’d read up on the current target, and he had an even bigger flair for drama than most.
Ben took a few steps toward the carousel, sweeping his flashlight in a wide arc. He froze as it landed on a figure wearing dirty jester’s clothes, their face covered by a cracked, bloodstained mask.
“Hello there,” the killer said, raising a huge meat cleaver. Ben screamed and shoved Stacy away, tripping over his own feet to escape.
He didn’t make it far. The cleaver spun twice through the air before embedding itself in his back, sending the man sprawling to the ground.
Giggling, the masked killer danced over to his body, striking Stacy across the cheek as he passed. She spun from the force of the blow and crumpled, unconscious.
A crazed laugh slipped from behind the killer’s mask and he reached down as Ben tried to crawl away, ripping the cleaver free and bringing it down again. And again.
Blood sprayed across the floor, mixing with ancient, rotted bags of popcorn. Ben’s screams rang out for a few more seconds before he finally silenced and the killer reached down, rooting through his pants and pocketing the man’s wallet.
He turned toward my spot in the shadows and I hid a sigh.
“Let’s eat this wrapped up, shall we?” I asked.
“Better start running,” the jester whispered with a wheezing giggle. “I’m gonna enjoy you.”
“I highly doubt it,” I replied, digging through my pockets and pulling out a small bundle of papers. I leafed through them, then pulled one out. “You’ve been operating here for… three months, correct?”
The killer faltered, baffled by my reaction to him. He nudged Stacy with his foot and waggled the cleaver. “You think you’re being clever? Trying to save the girl?”
“I genuinely could not care less, but you are wasting my time. If we could get on with this so I can get moving, I would greatly appreciate it. Come on, Terrence.”
The killer froze. “How do you know my name?”
“We know everything about you, Terrence.”
“Who are you?” Terrence demanded, shaken by the sudden lack of control in the situation. “I’ll kill you nice and slow.”
“No you won’t,” I replied, handing him the piece of paper. Baffled, the jester took it and scanned over it. His voice lost the fake insanity as he looked back up at me in confusion. “Money? You’re trying to buy me off?”
“Not my money,” I replied, pulling out a pen. “Yours. I’m Agent Smith, IRS. You haven’t been paying taxes on the money you take from your kills, Terrence. Why don’t we sit down and have a little chat?” | 80 | You find yourself caught in a classic slasher film scenario. What the killer doesn't know is that *your* methods of murder are far more calculated, slow, and most importantly... painful. | 93 |
The following data was recovered from expedition site ███████. No members of the expedition were found. No physical trace of the mentioned structure was located.
_Expedition Log 451_
**Date** ███████
**Location** ███████
Fantastic news! What we thought to be a simple place of worship or some ritual grounds, turned out to be the sealed entrance into a massive tomb! By the form and construction, it looks almost as advanced as ancient Greece, but not only is there no mention of a civilization in this area at the time anywhere that we could find, tests have shown the construction to be more than 10000 years old! This would indicate that some sub-species, perhaps the Homo-sapiens-niandertalis, built this place, making them a lot more advanced than we once thought possible.
_Expedition Log 455_
**Date** ███████
**Location** ███████
Progress is slow. We managed to uncover a total of 13 burial rooms. The doors seem to have some sort of inscription on them, but it was rendered unintelligible. What stands out is the presence of locking mechanisms in near perfect condition -latches, doorstops, and even hinge-blocks. All of them are easily opened from outside, which means they weren't meant to stop intruders. This raises the question - what were they meant for?
_Expidition Log 456_
**Date:███████**
*Location:███████**
A discovery unlike anything else!
Inside each room we have discovered a single sarcophagus, containing a single humanoid being. They are so perfectly preserved that they almost seem sleeping, rather than dead.
Some of the team find them to be disconcerting, and I understand what they mean. They seem... Divine, almost. Far more beautiful and larger than even modern humans. We are waiting for DNA results, but it is conceivable that we have discovered an entirely new sub-species!
_Expedition Log 460_
**Date: ██████**
**Location:███████**
We were right. The lab results came back,and we were right. Those aren't members of a known sub-species. The new sub-species was dubbed Homo-sapiens-antiqua. We have found various objects in the meantime, some of which are made of iron and even steel. If they were this advanced, why don't we have a single mention of them? And what happened?
_Expedition Log 461_
**Date:███████**
**Location:███████**
A few members of the expedition have disappeared, as well as one of the discovered Homo-sapiens-antiqua. Resorting to blatant theft. Shameful.
_Expedition Log 462_
**Date:███████**
**Location:███████**
Only a few of us are left. Oh god, I saw them eat the captain. They were smiling the whole time, and he was just staring at them, looking happy to be eaten. God... They were so beautiful... Lucky bastard...
_Expedition Log [unintelligible]_
**Date:12005 years since they were trapped**
**Location:The palace that was turned into a tomb**
We were arrogant and ignorant. We are mere mites before the endless storm! We thought ourself superior, when we weren't worth the dirt under them. We are blessed to be sustenance to such purity, to become ones with divinity!
_End of Logs_
The rest of the pages found only contained the following text, repeated:
#W̴̧̞̩̉̀ë̴̢̛́ ̴̲̒̋a̴̮̗͊͗́r̷̘̲͓͌͆͝ė̷̫̱͈̋͊͊ ̴̢̫̈́͗̉c̵̲̪͂o̸̻͗m̵̮̰̱̼̏̅̈́́ȉ̵̢̪̗̋͋͐͜n̵̛̖̙͝g̵̯̾̌,̷̯͐̑͘͝ ̸̬̓͗̕m̵̞̆́ò̶̭̪̯͐̈́͂r̷̛̳͖͈͒̋͝s̵͈̩͗̂ě̶̠̥̫͑l̷̜̮̉̈̊̒s̸̖̤̋̍̕.̸̟̮͈̽̑͘ ̶̲͉̓̉̓̀ͅA̶̡͈̖̳͐͂̌̆ñ̴̺̖͚̒̆͠d̴̝̿̀̾̕ ̵̨̹͛̉͜ͅŵ̵͎̺̣́͝ê̵̥̑͝͠ ̶̙͙̓̂̃h̴͍̖͂̏̚ǔ̸͉̮̍͜ͅn̵̨͔̭͂̎̀͒g̴͔͔̠͉̅̀̎ė̷͇̬̭̌́r̵̫̉̈.̵͖͊́ | 123 | The uncanny valley effect means humans fear what doesn’t quite look human. .. And what looks too perfectly human, meaning that we once had something to fear from perfect looking humans. And you’ve just stumbled across what. | 130 |
I take a deep breath and adjust the tie around my now female human neck, my office had special magic placed on it which would make me look as if i was a desired member of the same species as the ones of my client. Then i give the couple a warm smile before beckoning them to come closer
"Welcome Silas and Madeleine Santiago, owners of Felicia the adorable furball and recent college graduates, it is an honor to meet you two,"
"Huh! I didnt expect you to know about felicia, do you have us on instagram? I have to tell James later that an eldritch person follow us on insta Maddy"
Said the man after hearing me, blissfully unware that i had magic in place that would telepathically tell me about what is the thing that my clients are most proud of, this always helped me when dealing with my usual eldritch overlods, seems like it was also helpful when dealing with humans. In any case, i had work to do and couldnt just continue to study them.
"Yes, yes...but please tell me, what is it that you desire with me today? Do you need a hidden plane to hide your secrets in? An interdimensional area to protect your spaw só that they wont suffer on the hands of your enemies? Or...maybe you just want a secret area to not be disturbed by your followers after a hard day of sacrifices, there is a special one at the end of the universe that is really good and even has a restaurant nearby."
"Oh nah, nah. We dont want any of that fancy stuff, we just want a place with a bed, a shower and good internet, preferebly in somewhere quiet that also has some decent acess to public transport, but we are not picky so it doesnt need to be big or anything"
I stared them in disbelief as the woman spoke, did these people come to the wrong place? No...if it had been that my runes would have send them away immediatly.
"W-well...Yes, that can be arranged, i can charge a small extra to build such a place for you in one of the small transition planes next to your world with portals that lead to a subway station. It also wouldnt be big só the risk of induced madness is lessened."
"Perfect, perfect! How much would it be then my gu-, ga-, my...being."
"For all of the work, i wouldnt be able to ask a cheap price, só...a 1/6 of your souls power and 6 human years of work for me should be enough. Obvliously though, the work will focus on your strongest skills while also being paid using human currency while also providing all of your normal human needs such as healthcare, food, water and etc."
The human's expression burst into one of joy, a fact which confused me, most, if not all of my clients hated the payment part and would normally now try to barter or threaten me. Maybe i am missunderstanding their expressions?
"Are these terms agreeable with you two?"
"Of course! We get a house for basically free while also getting a good paying job?! Damm, this is a miracle! God bless america."
...i never expected to think of this in my long carrer of dealing with eldritch overlords, but thesw humans scare me | 228 | A normal human pair. But business is business and you try your earnest to sell them a good looking location that won't drive them utterly mad within seconds. | 705 |
I had been thinkin about this line and the following scene for a bit, and forgive me, but I wanted to get it out here as well. I hope I've waited long enough to do so.
---
"Do you think that the girl at the bar over there knows I know she's invisible?"
There was a pause as everyone looked over at Adrian. His lean face was neutral behind his blocky glasses. There was no indication that he was joking, at least, from what I knew about him. Nina slid his near empty glass away from him in the silence that followed.
He grimaced. "Oh, fuck off, this is my first beer. I'm not drunk."
"Well you're not making any sense, either." Nina sniffed inside his glass, made a face, and put it to the side.
"If it was drugged we probably wouldn't be able to smell it. Or taste it." Adrian said, crossing his arms.
"Not if it was GHB," interjected Gabe.
"The fact is, I'm lucid," said Adrian.
"Adrian, that girl over there can't be invisible." I said. Because one, she's right there and we all see her, and two, because people aren't that. What the fuck are you talking about?" Nina nodded, in agreement and curiosity.
"Jesus. It was a bad joke, okay. I mean, look at her. Look at how she's dressed."
Gabe turned to look at the bar and I slapped him on the shoulder. "Didn't you have sisters? Slowly."
He looked quizzically at me, but cottoned on. Our eyes made their way over to the bar, where Adrian had gestured. The woman was sitting alone, adjacent to the large incandescent lamp that hung from the ceiling. Half of its light caught her, illuminating her in startling profile. She was wearing a navy peacoat, still buckled, around a black turtleneck and jeans. She had black hair and her face was very made up. She was drinking something in a coupe glass and looking at her phone. She was holding both with leather driving gloves.
"I don't get it." said Gabe. "Is this another comic book thing?" Gabe had an old-school mindset, and still didn't really understand the field that the rest of us were in, but he tried to keep up.
"No, I don't think so," said Nina. "Or if it is it's one I'm blanking on it. Does she look like Sue Storm?"
"This isn't a reference to anything, guys. It's like... it's a thought experiment. Like did any of you ever read the - okay it is indirectly a graphic novel reference. Did anyone ever read the Invisible Man?"
"I saw the movie," said Gabe.
"The old one or the new one?" said Adrian.
"The one with Handmaid's Tale in it."
"Okay. So in the original novel the first time we meet the invisible man, he's dressed basically like that. Plus bandages and a hat. But that story was written in the 19th century. So, like."
He stopped, looking down at the table for a second.
"So if someone from modern day was invisible in the same way, they'd wear," he pointed to her from across the bar, "that."
Gabe had turned his chair around. "I get it now," he said. "but that's barely a joke. More of an observation."
Adrian shrugged, and excused himself to the bathroom. Nina immediately started texting him as she was wont to do. She thinks that none of us notice. I notice a lot of things.
I notice when the woman at the bar adjusts her hair, pulling it down into place. I notice that she reapplies lipstick between sips of her drink. I notice her noticing Adrian as he comes out of the bathroom. They make eye contact, and something passes between them.
I look down at my drink (drinks) and note the time as I drain one, looking through the bottom of the glass.
It was odd to see someone so bundled at this time of year, but I had seen people in shorts and t-shirts going for a jog near Christmastime. For my money it was just that Canadians didn't know how to dress weather appropriate.
Adrian comes back to our table, grabs his things. He's got deadlines for first drafts in the next week, he says, and he's barely started. Nina and Gabe head home pretty soon after. I order another drink, still sitting at my table, still noticing the woman at the bar.
She finishes her drink and leaves. I wait two minutes, and then stand up, pay my tab, and head out the same door she left.
I am almost surprised when I do not see her outside waiting for me. I don't know why she would be. I shake my head, close my eyes. Take a breath of the cool night air and try to clear my thoughts. Fumble for my Camels and light one.
She is there in the flame. It startles me, and I drop the lighter. She's right in front of me, bending down to pick it up. I can see the net of her wig peeking through the windblown strands atop her head.
She holds out the lighter to me in a gloved hand. I take it. Even through the glove I can feel that the hand is cold. I light my cigarette, not taking my eyes off her eyes. Big, brown - too uniform. Contacts?
I look at her in the light. Her skin is uniform, a satin finish. Exquisitely painted eyebrows. I see her. She sees me see her, and her face quirks. Her eyes grow wide and wistful, her lips pursed.
"Don't come back to this bar," she says. She blows out the flame and in the instant it takes for my eyes to adjust to the light, she is gone.
I stumble back to my apartment, lie down in the dark. I do not sleep. | 10 | "Do you think that the girl at the bar over there knows I know she's invisible?" | 25 |
The jaundiced man in the overcoat double checked his weapons. "You say that as if I didn't know." Safeties were off. He was going in hot.
The old man cast his eyes towards the ground. "Then you'll die like the rest. Those hoping to find some memento to take. Some treasure. You die like the rest. If the bird don't get you, the *children* will."
"You know a lot old man. One might think you've been spying since the quarantine went up."
He rubbed his hands together wearily. "I try to warn them away. They come looking and I tell them how to get... how to get to Sesame Street. But I warn them. I watch, hoping time and time again I'll be wrong and they'll leave be--"
"Never mind about them," the jaundiced man interrupted. "Tell me, in all your spying, did you happen to see someone who was orange?"
"Orange? ... ... I... I don't recall seeing anyone like that."
"Then maybe he did the right thing for once and stayed hunkered down." He tossed a few dollars at the old man. "Thanks for the information. I've got a job to do."
"A job? You're hunting someone down?"
The jaundiced man pulled a small yellow toy from his overcoat, almost as yellow as him. "Let's just say someone needs his rubber ducky." | 890 | "There's a reason it's been quarantined. Nobody lives there anymore. Nobody human, at least. Trust me, friend. You'll regret asking me to teach you how to get to Sesame Street." | 4,210 |
*Sad sigh (hold for* at least *five seconds)*
To my fellow humans, both those that escaped to space and those still on Earth.
I'd like to begin by saying that I'm sorry if people were upset by my recent actions. When the bombs started landing, everyone needed someone to blame, and I guess that person happened to be me this time. It's an understandable human instinct to pick a scapegoat, and in these trying times, the first name to hit news was going to be the one to take most of the fault. I'm glad, genuinely, that people have found catharsis in dog piling on me, and I hope that in made some people personally feel better about this situation that we're all in together.
But while I accept that people have assigned me a large part of the blame, I think it's important to get the truth out there. Yes, I did, technically, press the first button, and for that, I'm sorry. However, Francois (you know who you are; internet, I'm not allowed to say more, but I'm sure with some digging you can figure out who I'm talking about) was going to do the same, and I had to beat him to it. Imagine how much worse this would be if we hadn't fired first. So yes, I take the blame, and the credit, for getting us in the best position to survive the nuclear fallout.
I'd also like to address the rumor that we nuked the wrong country. First, it was an honest mistake; the United Kingdom and United States are right next to each other in a drop down menu, and the trackpad was greasy, and it was late so I didn't double check. Second, the target fired back before our first nukes landed, so it just ended up being preemptive self-defense. And finally, while I wasn't trying to aim for them specifically at that time, we ended up nuking them both anyway, so I think it's a bit silly at this point to be worrying about in what order the world ended.
Before wrapping things up, I'd just like to say, I've been receiving a lot of very rude, insensitive, *personally* offensive DMs ever since the internet came back online, and there's just no excuse for that. Be as angry as you like, but keep it civil, please! I know that these people, these *vultures*, are in the minority, but there's just so many of them recently. To my dedicated fans, please stay strong, and don't let the hate win out. And whatever you do, don't sink to the level of the haters like LeapinLeopard229 and KGeorgeGreen551. I *do not* condone my fanbase harassing them at their homes at 1060 W. Addison St. Chicago and 4 Jersey St. Boston, when they're home after work between the hours of 5:30PM and 10PM.
Thanks to everyone who's kept showing me so much support through this crisis. You guys are great! If you're feeling especially loyal to the channel, then I'd like to direct you to the link down below. The factory that used to make our hoodies is gone, so get them before they're gone. And for the first hundred buyers, we'll even throw in a Geiger counter for free.
And now, a word from our sponsor.
***
r/NobodysGaggle | 11 | You caused a nuclear apocalypse. You’re forced to make a YouTube-style apology video to the remaining survivors. This is the script you wrote for it. | 22 |
With a world so frequently under danger, it’s no wonder the sword went mad ages ago. It could hardly suffer through a weekend without some life-ending disaster looming across the horizon. Plagues, monsters and rogue mages, particularly aggressive politicians with interesting opinions on how much sludge should be returned to the oceans…
Asteroids, sentient planets, necroswarms, angels (be very afraid, mortal), demons, maligned restaurant employees and their union of Evil…
The list goes on. So really, it’s understandable that by the time of Alamar the Bright, the Sword of Might -might- have some issues it was working through.
*“I would like to humbly request-“*
“No,” Alamar said. He looked crazy to anyone who watched him speak to nobody at all but being a golden elf waving around a giant sword, everyone in town thought it best to be polite.
*“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”*
“You want me to lift you up.”
*“That’s a good start.”*
“And kill everybody around me,” Alamar dropped his voice low for this next bit. Still, a few passer-bys heard him and stopped passing-by so closely. “Isn’t that right?”
*“If you insist, I suppose we could indulge.”*
“No. Again, no. They told me when I claimed you to say no to everything you suggested, and now I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve told you no before. How many times I’ve told you I’ll be taking you to slay-“
*“Slay the people. Burn their villages. Render this world empty, or if you are too cowardly to do so, wait for this evil foe of yours to do the hard work for us.”*
“I’m not going to stand-by and wait while Orr butchers my kind. We’re going-”
*“No, don’t say it-“*
“And!” Alamar shouted. “We’re going to defeat him and save the world.”
*“You said it.”*
“Then we’re going to be hailed as heroes upon our return. I swear upon my ancestors, if you behave, I’ll find you a nice sword when we do. Maybe a claymore? Or a longsword, if you like them thinner. A stiletto, perhaps?” Perhaps the madness of the sword was rubbing off just a bit onto its holder, as Alamar thought it a perfectly normal line of reasoning to think of what blade would be a good companion to his sentient sword.
*“Bastard swords, but that’s not the point. Kill them, Alamar! It’s all pointless, they’ll never truly be safe. None of us will. It’s Orr this week, it’s Oar next week. That’s O-A-R, you see, a pun considering the other one is O-R-“*
“Oh bother.”
*“It will never stop unless we end it. I’ll keep killing until the day they succeed. End this, end me. Let them win. Let me sleep in a cold and safe world.”*
“I can’t do that. I have to save-“
*“No, please. Don’t say it again. No no no no no.”*
“I have to save the world.”
The Sword of Might began to screech.
When Alamar left the town and soldiered on south to return home and face Orr, the malign presence harrying his people, the sword continued screeching. When he slayed Orr, it kept screeching. It continued screeching until Alamar journeyed back north and threw it into the lake he found it. The keepers of the sword waved and smiled as he stomped off, glad to be rid of the bloody thing.
There it would wait until time immemorial before the next hero needed it to complete their quest.
So like, a day or two.
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!) | 15 | The legendary sword that can save the world is sapient, and can speak to it's wielder. It's also psychotic, so heroes are encouraged to disregard everything it says. | 37 |
Pottsfield. Quiet town of about 10k permanent residents. Only two things keep the town from falling apart financially in this economy, the local college, and one of the largest graveyards in the country. One draws in weirdos, mysterious people, bizarre scholars, and shady characters. The other is a graveyard. And while one might not think that'd be a tourist draw, some people are interested in that kind of stuff. People researching their family history, people who think they're going to be the real life Addams Family, people who have an interest in what is quite a beautiful graveyard with wide paths, a small lake, many shady trees, and wonderful gardens. People like to spend time in there, visiting grandpa and grandma, having picnics. Real family-friendly vibe. Of course, that's by day. By night the gothic gates close to the public, and all is still and silent. Or so we'd like people to think. Because at night when the living stick to their cosy homes, and the graveyard is empty of all visitors, there is a problem. I deal with that problem as the resident night guard. I work for the city to, officially, keep drunks, teenagers, vandals, and weirdos who think they're really into ancient magic when they've just been reading that quack who stole all his stuff from Crowley's Thelemic cult. All of that nonsense was invented by bored British aristocrats back in the late Victorian age.
The task is the same for all the other night watchmen. But that's not what we actually do. What we truly do, is keep the undead from getting up and starting trouble. It's mighty fine that you've risen from the grave to avenge yourself on the fellow who killed you back in 1923, but he's probably long dead by now. They're pretty forgetful, those zombies and skeletons. They can't really perceive time that well anymore. Usually we can just show them a newspaper or a Calendar, and explain that no, Gracie is not back at the house waiting for you, she's been lying in the grave next to you for the past 40 years and she just didn't get reanimated. It's never more than a few every night, really, the problem often lies more in the fact that the graveyard is so bloody big that we have to run around all night because one of the sneakier skeletons or zombies woke up. We once had a dead guy running around for three days straight, avoiding our search. Had to tell the public that raccoons with rabies had been seen in the graveyard. Bloody embarrassing. A few of them, especially those who were buried without headstones and without names, can get somewhat violent, but their decayed flesh is no match for fresh humans, and we quickly bind them and bury them again. But mostly we just listen to them, remind them that they're dead and they need to go back to their graves. Then they remember Paradise or Nirvana or whatever, and promptly rebury themselves, though some of the older ones need our help. We're usually pretty quick about it, and can spend the rest of the night keeping a watch out for regular intruders. Drunks, college students with too much time on their hands, etc.
Of course, sometimes when its some of the fresher ones, we have to bring them up to speed. And sometimes, well, help them get rest. Find their killers sort of business. It's depressing, but what with the total incompetency of all police, we have to step in. Usually it's just finding the murder weapon, leaving an anonymous tip with a borderline competent detective, and let them bumble into it so the case can get solved. Sometimes though, we have to take the law into our own hands. Sometimes there are things done that cannot be forgiven. Things that make the blood boil of every last member of the graveyard night crew. That's when the boss takes one or two of us senior watchmen, and we drive into town. Next morning, there is a fresh grave in some isolated part of the graveyard. The gravedigger doesn't ask questions, the police couldn't figure it out if they caught us red-handed, and the city council appreciates it when we take care of those misbegotten wretches who have done unforgivable crimes. Town can't thrive if monsters in men's skin roam free.
We stand our posts at all times. We keep a good watch out for the graveyard in particular, and the community in secret. There are sometimes though. Where we just drop everything and run. When the boss calls us on the emergency phone, and tells us all to get out of there immediately, and to avoid any and all animals we see. The boss often reminds us of this. Hell, even if we see some unusual animal, we're to just run, even if we haven't been warned. Just run. Because this graveyard is very old and very large. And unlike most graveyards in this country, they are proper graveyards. Most places are just... dumping grounds for corpses. Where the receptacle of the soul is thrown aside to rot. When this town was founded centuries ago, they did the old rituals for the graveyard. The very old rituals. The sort that were originally incredibly pagan and bloody, but were adapted by the Christians. One of them was the creation of a guardian spirit for the church and the graveyard. The Churchgrim. It is a creature not usually found in the new world. You'd have to go back to Europe to find places with such creatures roaming the graveyards at night.
They protect the dead. And they're not particularly discriminating about who they're protecting the dead from when they're on patrol. Usually it was a lamb or a dog that was buried alive under the entrance to the church or some such. But the people who came here, figured they needed something stronger, being strangers in a stranger land that they were busy stealing from the natives. So they didn't just make one Churchgrim. They made three. Each is more horrible and violent than the last one. The first is the traditional lamb. In life it was probably like most sheep, woolly and not too bright. In its undeath, it has grown to the size of a wolf, its horns are long and glow with a pale unearthly light. It is the only one of the Churchgrim capable of mercy, as it is gentle towards children and the old, if any of them should ever enter the graveyard, protecting them from the others. It even somewhat respects the night watchmen, warning us to flee before it begins chasing us.
The others are brutal and far more horrible. The second is a huge and dread wolf, swollen in death to the size of a horse, it pounces and rips apart intruders with wild rage. It zealously guards its territory, and any of the watchmen that can't escape from that territory in time, can only hope that they can hide like rabbits until the sun comes up and the Churchgrim rests. The wolf howls with such a strange sound, it makes us feel like our bones are on fire. It is not as much a threat as it used to be though. Back in the 90s we had someone come over from Sweden who had done the Year-Walk and who claimed to be a master of something called Seid. Using weird stuff like a rock from a deep cave, bird-spit, salmon gills, the recorded sound of a cat's paw hitting the floor on tape, and some other stuff, she managed to bind it with a chain. Not sure how, but she said it should keep it contained closely to where it arises at night. So as long as we can get outside its territory, defined by the length of that weird chain, we can escape from it. Not as easy as it sounds. It's the fastest of the three and its very deadly. | 12 | You work for the town' graveyard at night, making sure that any skeletons or zombies that come out are dealt with quickly and put back into their graves. However, the boss keeps reminding you to leave your post and run from any animal you see during the night. | 32 |
"Have you chosen an alias yet?" My mother purred. She couldn't help it; everything that came out of her mouth sounded sultry, dark, and impossibly sexy. Family gatherings were *hilarious.*
I had chosen a nickname, and she wasn't gonna like it. "Ness the Tank." I smirked.
"You can't use that, honey. Not sexy enough. A supervillainess must be two things; sexy and evil. Be sublime, baby girl."
"Who says tanks aren't sexy? You're just asking the wrong people!" I flexed.
"A true supervillainess must use her feminine wiles to get what she wants from men. What the hell are you gonna use, Vanessa?"
"Force."
From the other room, my sister Victoria laughed. She was a true supervillainess, just like Mom, and used her powers as an international spy.
"And how will you do that without money?" Mom asked.
"She's really good at force!" Victoria piped up from the other room.
"Thanks Tori!" I called back, then turned to Mom. "While you and Tori have been out dress shopping or whatever, I've been dealing arms with the cartels, the Yakuza, and the Triads. I have plenty of force to back me up. It's just a matter of time before I get my tank."
"How do you know these people?"
"Tori knows how I operate. She gives me contacts, I give 'em the business, I walk away with a bigger arsenal. It's amazing what you can do when you open your mind to another way of working."
"I wish you wouldn't call her that, Vanessa..."
"So you're just gonna gloss over the fact that I'm actively dealing weapons at sixteen? Victoria didn't even commit her first felony until she was eighteen! Christ, Mom, just because I'm a tomboy, you don't give me any credit!"
"That's not true!" Mom feigned shock.
"Yeah it is, Mom." Victoria, the blonde bombshell, power-walked into the living room. "Ness is moving huge amounts of money and weapons, and keeping her grades up, and she's working out! She's not like us. I mean, she's evil to the bone, but she has her own way of doing things. She's never gonna be like us, and if she tries, she'll be miserable."
"Then maybe she should be The Tank," Mom said with a sneer, "because it's nothing like my Victoria, or myself, or Grandmother Vivian."
She glared at Ness. "Go be Ness. Just keep our family name out of your ugly mouth." | 203 | You are about to become a Supervillainess! Soon the world will pay and crumble in ruin! There's just uh...one problem. Your mother is a femme fatale. Your aunt is a femme fatale. Your grandmother is a femme fatale. Your SISTER is a femme fatale. You. Do. Not. Want. To. Be. A FEMME FATALE. | 453 |
1/2
Later, Sam would look back and wonder what had driven him when the ashlar stone of his tomb began to give. He had flayed the flesh from his arms countless times, and they had healed. What had driven him? Had not the hate already cooled by then? Had not the thought of revenge already lost its savor?
Later than that, Sam would decide that it was light he had wanted. The hate, still there had blinded him to that then and for long years afterward. But yes. It was the daylight he wanted. Just one more glance at daylight. Wildflowers at dusk. One more glance. The price for that glance he paid in pain and it was high but later he did not regret paying it.
He would remember that first glance to the end of his days. And they did end, no matter what a god had promised when the world was young. Another day for that tale, though.
First he got through the stone. The flat pieces had been cunningly laid so they did not show their mortar, but after some indeterminate amount of time roots grew down through them and opened them. He never broke those stone plates, but he clawed out their mortar, tearing out his fingernails and grinding his fingers down to stubs.
The hatred held for those centuries. Her name burned in his mind like a brand. *Elissa*. *Get free. Bury her. Bury her in concrete. Bury her in acid. Watch her melt and heal for a century and laugh*.
He clawed and he slept and he healed. Next was the dirt. That was harder than the mortar. It had been packed down deep and tight. He dug through it slowly. Sometimes it caved in and filled his lungs. He did not need air to live, but his lungs blazed white with pain nonetheless.
The dirt took longer than the stone. Century by century, he climbed, tamping down the dirt below him.
A thousand years. A prison sentence, the bail paid in pain. He could not say when the hatred broke, but he did not notice it. His whole body was a tight furnace of pain.
When at last his arm tore through old Terra's skin and into open air he broke into a mad fit of laughter. It was the first sound to come from him in centuries or more. He had stopped screaming long ago.
He pulled himself loose from the earth's embrace and found himself sitting on a hillside. Behind him were tall sandstone cliffs, wooded on top and spotted by gnarled shrubs along their sides. Extending below them was a series of gentle hillsides. They were covered with grasses and wildflowers. It was barely dawn and the world was grey, but the dim slanted light stung his eyes.
The air. God only knew how good the air tasted. He could not get enough of it. He sat with his forehead in the grass and just breathed for an hour or more. When he got up the sun had risen.
After three hours, Sam stood and began to walk.
Finding her was a listless affair. Even then, he had not seen. Did not hear the beat of his own heart. Did not listen to his secret thoughts.
His arts had not left him. This world was new and strange, but the fundamentals remained the same. He was in Lebanon, a large kingdom-like entity, except instead of a king the nebulous sense of nationhood seemed to act with its own symbolic personification. There were leaders, chosen deliberately, not by lot as the Athenians had done. An older version of him would already have worked out how to twist that to his power, but now he just drifted through the world, looking for clues.
In a week he had picked up Lebanese. The food was better in this when. There was more oil, more widely available. Spices from India had not been unheard of, but in such *quantity*.
A week later he was in Germany and had discovered libraries. He spoke German by then as well. It had not changed overmuch in his thousand year imprisonment.
The clues were easy to find for one who knew what to look for. And he had so much information. The search should have invigorated him. Should have stirred up the hate in his stomach. But it didn't. She wasn't hiding, she was just ordinary. There was so *much* data that he was doing more sifting than searching. This wasn't cat and mouse. The answer was not hidden, except by fluff. Nonsense.
Still, he found her. She had gone to the New World. He already knew it was there, of course. Abi swam the Atlantic when the world was young and the ages had not yet wearied him.
English was next. A mongrel language with surprising flexibility, but too much ambiguity for his taste.
Maine. He remembers it well from wars in years that are forgotten and it has changed little. This is an old land with habits of its own.
She lives in a cottage over a lake. There are vegetables growing beside the house in beds rimmed by white-painted slabs of wood. Two horses wander in a field, unfenced. Chickens, ducks, and geese forage together in clumps.
The house is old. Very old. He sees this and sees it very well. The foundation is ashlar stone, not dissimilar to the walls of his tomb. The walls were white and the paint was chipping. The door was brilliant red.
That brilliant red door opened and she stepped out. Elissa had not changed, but the years had softened her somehow. Trimmed down her edges. She was beautiful in a calming, common sort of way. Not a rose but a dandelion, perfect but unremarkable. Her long dark hair was bound in a simple braid which reached to her shoulders. She wore denim overalls and a green cotton shirt.
Her eyes were the green of spring clovers, so bright they seemed almost to glow. She regarded him evenly as he approached.
"Samson," she said, at last.
"Elissa," he said, and looked around. "Given up wandering?"
"For now," she says. Elissa meets his eyes and does not waver. "I see the dust on you, though, Samson. I see it very well."
"Do you?" he murmurs. The hate is gone. He is looking and cannot find it. He only feels tired. "Why did you bury me in that hole, El?"
Something like surprise crosses over her face, but still she does not waver. "Because I could not kill you," says Elissa, who the Libyans called Wanderer.
He nods, and his brow stiches. He walks past her, past her house, and stands at the edge of the rise overlooking the lake.
After a moment, she comes to join him. "I knew you'd come eventually," she said. "But I thought it would be to kill me." | 47 | Ten Thousand years is a long time to hold a grudge ; When you were imprisoned, you believed you had plenty of time to build your hatred and a plan for revenge ; But after a few hundred years, hate gives way to boredom and loneliness. Now, finally you break free to a world you don't recognize ; | 219 |
"Corvus? Corvus you big hunk of bird! What have you gotten into " across the room a bird-like man coughed up a bit of a feather and laid a metallic button on the floor from within his beak before replying.
"**Scraw!** I mean...I was working. I have two in my sights. Watch." Below the crow like man and the Cherub God of Love emanated a circular ring of sight into another world. Within the swirling frame was the image of people walking down the crowded city street, then closer it zoomed into a building window, into an apartment. Finally the frame focused on a man with his back turned, doing dishes.
"Are you watching? It's important you watch- **Scraw!**"
The cherub faced god rubbed his temples with a tiny hand, "Yes. I am watching Corvus." At the go Corvus reached his hand up through a cloud into the sky and snapped. With this command a raven drifted down into his feathery palm and nestled itself in position. Then, with a mighty pull back, Corvus launched the bird down through the circular frame of the portal. It flew down with an ever fading **Sqwaaa-aaak** before gliding into the apartment window and beak-diving into a trashcan.
Corvus watched on with an expectant grin on his face as the bird essentially exploded into a cloud of feathers.
"What the hell?!" the man previously washing dishes jumped around at the sound of a bird flying into his trashcan going 60 miles an hour. "Was that?...was that a bird?" He walked over and peered in the trash as both Cupid and Corvus watched on from far above. With a hesitant hand he began reaching into the can. **Sqwaa!**, the bird yelled. **Ah!**, the man replied.
"What is that noise?" From a back hallway a girl emerged to see the commotion, her brown hair half curled and shirt on backwards.
"I think a big ass bird is in here.." **Sqwaa!**, the big ass bird agreed. By now Cupid was staring in horror at the mess that his brother had made down within the mortal realm. Corvus meanwhile stared on with a continued grin.
"Oh...well lets take it out then I guess! In the trashcan of course." At this the mans eyes perked up, not at her suggestion, but at the prospect of having company. So they walked and talked, talked of life, of what they had become, and of the bird in the trash which frequently sqwauked to keep its end if the conversation up. With every movement they made Corvus's happiness only grew. He excitedly ruffled his feathered arms and shook his beak, and on the other side of the frame Cupid began to see the point of it all.
He remembered both of the humans well as just last year they were within his jurisdiction. He shot the arrow that grew them together. Then watched on as its power crumbled until there was nothing left. But now something new sprouted like the buds of spring. Not love, at least not the kind Cupid dealt in, but relationship nonetheless.
Both Corvus and Cupid watched on as the humans below released the bird as it flew off back into the sky.
"So, friends?" The girl brushed a curl from her face.
"Friends" he replied with a smile. | 95 | Cupid has a lesser known brother, Corvus, who uses ravens to form platonic friendships. You've just seen a raven nosedive into a trashcan. | 988 |
Al Capone? Didn’t stand a chance. Bernie Madoff? Pfft. Please. I can do them not one, not two, but *fifteen* better!
The FBI had tried to catch me. Luckily, I got an apartment in Monaco, conveniently when I received a large inheritance from my late father-in-law. But! No time for grieving, I was on the lam.
They really tried to catch me, I’ll give them that. Here’s a participation award! They blocked all flights in and out of not just Monaco, but all of France. The kicker, though? I was gone by daylight that same day that they put out the announcement (they put it out mid-afternoon).
I hung out in Kosovo for a while. The FBI were after me still, but they could do absolutely nothing.
A knock. *Who’s here at this ungodly hour?* I wondered sleepily. Checked my alarm clock; it was 3:30 AM. Then, gunshots.
I shrugged off the assailant easily. Suddenly, one of my late friends, who had been put to death for his leisures of fraud and murder, jumped out of the assailant’s suit. I could not have been more surprised.
“You just passed your first death evasion lesson! I’ve become the world’s best in the time you were gone, by the way. They “lethally” injected me 17 times!” I could tell; it looked like his face had sagged due to a massive stroke.
This was one last caper, one last tango with the devil. If we could pull this off, we would be masters. If not? Well, CNBC would have something to report about. | 15 | They say that the only two certainties in life are Death and Taxes. After years of mastering tax evasion, you're finally ready to move up to death evasion. | 123 |
It took over twelve hours to convert the tapes; well, longer if you count how long they'd been collecting dust on a rack in the basement. I'd probably had them since last summer when they shut down the old county library and shipped it all off to the new place on 5th and Orange. The week before there was a book drive but a lot of the catalog ended up getting tossed out- mostly outdated textbooks and heavily worn paperbacks - whatever they couldn't take. And as the community mourned the loss of our local library, Nate and I dug through its dumpster like rapacious graverobbers. That's where I think I got them- the Happy Skies tapes I mean.
Each VHS came in a generic paper sleeve with the name of the episode scribbled on the side, sometimes over the name of another movie; almost like someone scrapped their whole home video collection to tape these things. I had planned to watch them that first weekend but after taking them home I realized that I didn't have a VHS player anymore. I ended up getting one from Donnie for a YouTube video he wanted me to do. The tape he brought to test the thing somehow had been demagnetized. That's when I remembered about the tapes. That's when we got our first taste.
There's something... *strange* about the Happy Skies cartoon. For starters, we cant find anything about it online, not the production company, not the voice actors, even the ads that play before each episode show products I've never even heard of. There's nothing. But that's not the *really* weird part. When you watch the tapes - *something* is different. I can't explain it. What feels like five minutes is actually *five hours*; if you aren't careful you can end up watching for an entire day without realizing.
There's more. I don't remember actually needing to rewind any of the tapes, and I've watched all of them - *twice*. Between Nate, Donnie, and I, there seems to be things that we are forgetting. Some of it's fuzzy.
I've uploaded most of it to YouTube. I've been trying to get the word out there. There is something about the show. Something - it feels like something we need to solve. I don't think we can do it alone. It's important... I can't remember why. I don't know...
I don't know... | 14 | You find some old film reels in the library dumpster. In them was a incredibly well made cartoon series that appears completely unknown despite your efforts to learn more. Even after steadily releasing it online to an rapidly growing fanbase, you still couldn't find even a name of the creator. | 76 |
I stood in mission control behind the technological metrics team. They watch over the data of the rover to see if something is wrong with the rover, think of it as 24/7 car diagnostics. Just on a multi billion dollar car driving semi autonomously on Pluto.
We had landed a few weeks before as the first rover on Pluto. It was quite the achievement but by this time daily life took hold and was quite normal having wheels on ground on Pluto.
I remember exactly the moment, the data team leader was outside to take a break. A guy from his team called for a supervisor saying 'I have something to show you', so I went over.
On his monitor was a picture taken about 9 Hours ago of tracks in the sand.
"Are you sure we are the first here?" He questioned quietly, I thought a little and asked: "Weren't we there at some point maybe?"
He shook his head and pulled up a map of the routes the rover took since arriving.
"Look this is where we are now, further out than any of our Positions before. It can't be our tracks"
'Shit. He's right.' I thought to myself. "Listen something doesn't add up here. Can you tell in which direction the tracks run?"
He looked at me in confusion, he had hoped I knew something. "Sure that should be easy." I looked him in the eyes and told him "You have the floor. Figure out where it went and have rover control follow it. I hope we are faster than it, I am gonna catch the data team leader and talk to him. Maybe he knows something"
I go outside to see him chatting up a colleague while having a smoke. "Jack, we've got a situation. We've got unidentified tracks on the ground. They are not ours." Jack face went pale from one moment to the next. "Stephen please this is not the the time for jokes" he said. "I am not kidding. Who could have boots on the ground there or would know something? Is it Soviet maybe?"
Jack shook his his head "No they didn't have the technology. Besides any tracks by now would have been blown away.... I am gonna make a few calls, maybe the Chinese or Europeans know something. Go back and call me when something happens."
I looked up to the sky and thought of the ungodly amounts of coffee ahead of me.
--------
A days had passed, thanks to satellites imagery and clever code we were able to have the rover steer towards the unidentified vehicle autonomous. We couldn't tell much of the vehicle from the pictures, just that it was covered in what we think is solar panels. We weren't alone in the room anymore, the pentagon was there and various heads of science.
"It arrived 9 hours ago, we should see it any second now" jack said to the crowd. The video stream projected on the wall showed the rover climbing a hill. As it approached the top and began to lean forward, the tension in the air was papable... There it was, a 6 wheeled blue rover under a umbrella of solar panels maybe 50 meters away. No one dared to say anything because no one knew what they were looking at and no one could bring the word alien over their lips.
I turned to jack: "Let's approach it by driving into its path and blocking it. If it is intelligent, then it will send a signal that it can't move forward."
Jack nodded "Good idea, that will force it to respond"
"Hey look!" Someone shouted, all eyes where fixed on the stream. The blue rover had turned towards us and began moving.
"We need a way to communicate" said the Chinese Space Program representative. In the time it'll need to get to us we needed to invent a way to communicate with the unknown.
A computer engineer had a brilliant idea, we'd drill 16 holes vertically and 16 holes horizontal. We'd pulse for every pixel a 1 and 0 to draw a rudimentary images. His idea was quickly adopted.
A day passed again in close to silence. We had the blue rover now directly in front of us. It looked eerliy similar to our designs. "They might be humanoids." I whispered but was overheard and met with intense looks.
We decided on our first message. A stick figure to show who we are. It would take 16 Hours for us to get a response if they decoded it immediately. I had awake up for days at this point. I decided to go sleep in my office.
It took 18 hours for the response to arrive. It was an image as well, of a stick figure with sharp ears and what I think is a tail. We next decided to explain our number system and our Si units. With every day that passed the atmosphere in mission control relaxed. It took months to build a vocabulary. But the more words and concepts we transmitted, the faster everything evolved. One day we received instructions on how to transmit video in a way for them to understand. A 480p video to introduce humanity. | 42 | Two rovers meet on an uninhabited planet,this is the first contact between two species | 114 |
# Dr. Doomsday
I strode down the halls of my fortress of Doomitude, exchanging pleasantries with the minions of the Doomsquad as I passed them by. I was making more of an effort to come across as genuine in these small greetings, after one rebellious teenage minion had accused me of fake flattery.
If that kid Steven wasn't the son of my nemesis, WalkMan, and my godson, I would have reprimanded him for his outburst. But in the end, he was still a teenager, in what I could tell was his first serious relationship. Emotional outbursts were expected for a kid...
I stopped in my tracks, freezing in the middle of the hallway. A minion walked right into my back, bouncing off of my unexpected impression of a roadblock. I helped the minion back on his feet, offering a distracted apology to the man.
That was it. That was the final piece of the puzzle I needed to put my entire plan into action. Troublesome teenagers had a habit of being overly dramatic, and heroes often had teenaged sidekicks.
I may have struggled to defeat certain superheroes in combat, but this could defeat them in a court of law.
I raced down the hallway back the way I had came from, hurrying to find my legal team. I flew past my own office and continued down the hall, narrowly avoiding my logistics manager Stephen and his husband Glenn. I flashed the couple an apologetic smile as I rounded the corner. Finally, I arrived at the legal department of my Fortress of Doomitude.
I had always found it prudent to have a team of lawyers on staff, since my entire organization was based around breaking the law. Many of my minions were free today thanks to the men and women in this office and their legally grey dealings.
"Child Abuse!" I shouted, pausing to catch my breath after the unexpected quarter mile sprint. The youngest lawyer on my team, Tiffany, poked her head out of a file storage room, giving me a puzzled look.
"You want to... abuse children?" She asked, tentatively clutching a manilla folder in her hands.
I shook my head and waved one of my metallic hands. "No, no, I want to sue any active heroes that use underage side-kicks. Claim they're endangering them, forcing them to work long hours..."
"...by making them fight with us." Tiffany said, adding on to my sentence.
"Precisely!" I exclaimed, snapping a robotic finger. A spark flew from my palm from the sudden strike of metal fingers on metal hands.
Tiffany mulled the idea over in her head. I could see her eyes flicking back and forth as she thought, darting between the related areas of the human brain as she activated each neuron in sequence.
"It's plausible" she said at last. She placed the manila folder back on the shelf, her previous task put on hold. "We would need to first uncover the identities of each hero and sidekick, get documented proof of endangerment, confirm that the sidekick isn't a child or other relative of theirs..." She glanced towards me again. "Did you want to bring each lawsuit individually, or as a single large scale suit?"
I smiled. Tiffany was going to be a valuable asset to the Doomsquad.
"Which would tie them up in legal proceedings for the longest?" I asked, crossing my arms and leaning on the side of the door frame.
Tiffany let out a small 'hmm' sound as she thought. "Maybe we can do a class action lawsuit against them all in criminal court, and individual lawsuits in civil. That would tie up twice the resources."
"Do *we* have enough resources to pull this off? I don't want this backfiring on us and bankrupting the organization." I asked. I knew the ballpark figure of the monetary holdings of Doomsday Inc, the shell company that all of the organizations and departments were legally under, but I wanted to make sure I wasn't handing a double-ended to my enemies.
"I'll set up a meeting for this afternoon" She said, walking back to her desk. "I'll invite this whole department, accounting, and planning. Would you like to include anyone else?"
I smiled. "Yes, Steven and Stacy, in logistics. I'd like to get the teenager's opinions in this."
Tiffany looked up at me from her desk chair. "But Doctor, won't they be opposed to something like this?"
I cackled. It always felt good to let loose a genuine villainous cackle. "I'm counting on it."
/r/SlightlyColdStories | 147 | You, an infamous supervillain, have just come up with the perfect plan to destroy the League of Heroes; take the entire League to court on charges of child abuse due to their use of multiple underage children as sidekicks. | 651 |
“Some timelines are just built fucking stupid.”
Working for a multiversal organization based on protecting timelines has its perks, one of them being built in entertainment, and what kind of boss would I be if I didn’t tell new recruits about it!
“Take, for example, the timeline where the Soviet Union declared war against the Greek gods. I swear you should watch the bullshit that timeline gets up to!”
“And the best part? Watching this bullshit is actually apart of your duty’s! You are literally getting paid to watch this type of shit, and it’s probably the best part of the job, besides the immortality.”
A recruit then raises their hand, probably going to say something about blatant abuse of power.
“What if something actually happens to a timeline we’re watching?”
Huh, a actual meaningful question, it’s been a while.
“Just report it to me, and we’ll send out ground units to handle whatever fucked up, trust me, you got the easy job.”
Being apart of a multiversal organization sure has its perks, and I’m just glad I’m up here reaping them instead of being out there fixing the problems.
AN: I’m not good at writing… | 81 | "Some timelines are normal. Some timelines have destroyed themselves. But some timelines are just weird, like this one where the Soviet Union declared war to the Greek gods." | 296 |
"Lina! Where are the bendy straws?" My boss's raucous voice shouted from behind the bar. I poked my head out from the storeroom.
"Check under the new steak wrappers, I think I saw them there," I called back, letting the storeroom door swing shut behind me. It was my job to bring out Big Bernie. Which was a very old, very cantankerous freezer system. Switch week was always dominated by Big Bernie. Even when I wasn't working with it, I was thinking about it. What would be the best way to bring Bernie out this time? Would he function properly? Would I actually manage to break an arm trying to transport him?
"You know, I can help with that." A grumpy voice came from behind me and I resisted the urge to throw an elbow backwards. Turning I squinted up at the tall figure.
"You should be on a plane out of here right about now. You only have one more day before you'll be breaking the Treaty." Todd, one of the regulars here, growled under his breath at my rebuke. Knowing what he would say next, I raised my arm, making sure the silver cuff I wore was very visible. "I know, you've fallen for me, and hang the Treaty, and all the rest of it. But the fact of the matter is, I don't much care. Now go get on your plane before I'm forced to use this." He flinched back from my motion, looking rather like a kicked puppy. Todd was sweet, but he had a bit of a reputation, and there was no way I would ever get involved with a customer. Turning my back firmly on him, I continued considering the best battle strategy for Big Bernie. There was a quiet rustle, and the sudden sense of emptiness confirmed that he had taken the hint.
"Lina? Who was that?" My boss poked his head around the corner of the storeroom door. "I heard you talking to someone." In the middle of trying to maneuver Bernie onto a complex system of dollys, I shook my head.
"Just Todd, like usual, offering to help. Gave me the puppy dog eyes and everything." My boss snorted, lifting a corner of the giant freezer.
"Werewolves. They always think that absolute adorableness will get them somewhere. Little to the left." I complied with the last sentence, twitching the dolly. He settled the corner down, dusting his hands off. "Mind, you vampires arent' much better, with their smouldering mystique, thinking they're so hot because they're brooding creatures of the night. Pffft." Knowing what was coming next, I started pushing the dollys. If I kept him talking, he'd keep absentmindedly helping. "And what do I always say, Lina?"
"Doesn't matter how they behave, we have the right to throw out any customer." That wasn't the proper answer, but we were halfway to the bar now, and he was expending most of the effort. He frowned, shaking his head at me. I pretended to think. "Never give a vampire the wrong type of blood?"
"No..."
"Werewolves don't always want rare steaks." Almost to the proper spot.
"No."
"Any customer that makes a pass at me, I send them to you and you'll set them straight." His face lit, as we reached the point where the freezer would take up residence for the next six months.
"Exactly. Now, go run down to the blood bank, I want to make sure we're all stocked up."
"Did that already Boss. Our cellar is absolutely full to the brim, and all we need to do is run a bit of it upstairs, once Big Bernie is functioning." His eyebrows rose, and he reached over to ruffle my hair. I twisted out of the way, laughing.
"And how many times do I have to ask you to call me Uncle when we're at work? Then everyone will leave you alone."
"And what if I don't want everyone to leave me alone?" I stuck out my tongue at him, as his face turned an interesting shade of red. Making sure the bendy straws were where I had said, I raised a placating hand.
"All right, Uncle Ægir. Maybe I will try that for vampire season." His usual smile returned, and he settled on a raised stool behind the bar.
"Now, let's go over the mixed drinks. I've got a few new recipes I want to try." As he kept speaking, I started taking notes, smiling to myself. It might be weird working in a town where the main tourists were vampires and werewolves. But it was never boring. | 47 | A town in Alaska gets 6 months of sunlight and goes without sun for 6 months. Making it a perfect tourist destination for werewolves and vampires for each half of the year. | 243 |
I dropped my fork when I understood his words.
My father paused, making eye contact with me.
My mother and little brother didn't notice it. They proceeded to eat like usual.
I hadn't told anyone that I was studying sign language. It was supposed to be a surprise. I only had a week of practice, though. Maybe it was a mistake on my part. Hell, maybe it was a mistake on *his* part. He had only been signing for six months after learning it in the mental hospital. Then again, his recent behavior started making sense to me.
My father had never been very religious.
After the incident, however, he started blessing our meal every time we were about to eat. Whatever he witnessed was so terrible and gruesome, that it not only made him go mute, it turned him into a man of faith. At least, that's what I used to think.
"You want me to go *now*?" I asked him.
"What's that, dear?" said my mom.
"Well, Dad just-"
My father widened his eyes, subtly shaking his head.
"N-nothing," I said, continuing to eat my meal.
I had never seen my dad more desperate in my life. He was a private investigator up until his condition forced him to retire. Before that, he was a highly ranked detective in the police force. Nothing fazed him back then. In fact, my mother used to complain all the time that he never showed his emotions. Seeing him act like a terrified child left me deeply disturbed.
Was someone listening to us?
No, it didn't make any sense. He had been doing this for months. If he really wanted to communicate, he could've just written it down. There had to be an explanation. The only thing I could conclude was that someone was watching him. Still, the extent of this monitoring must be far reaching if he couldn't find a way to pass a note. Were we in danger too?
I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.
The next morning, dad just went about his business like usual, acting like nothing happened. I almost assumed I imagined everything until he gave me a knowing nod right before I left for school.
That settled it. I went to the police station as soon as I could. There I found Detective Harris, my father's old partner. He was a portly man with a neatly trimmed mustache, always chuckling and smiling at something. My dad trusted him with his life and always told me to run to Harris if I ever found myself in trouble.
"Well if it ain't Mike's kid!" he said, "Come on in!"
I entered the messy office and found no place to sit in. Everything was covered in paperwork. Detective Harris quickly cleared out a chair for me, saying:
"Sit down, please. Anything I can help you with? Water? Coffee?"
I shook my head. "I'm fine. I uhh... I wanted to talk to you about my dad."
"Of course, anything. How's he doing?"
"He's... fine, I think. I learned sign language to better understand him, but he's been saying some strange things. Something about his life being threatened if he talks, and to come here. Do you know anything about this?"
Detective Harris grew serious.
I flinched. His change in mood caught me by surprise.
Detective Harris stood up and closed the door behind me, making sure nobody was listening. "Is that all he said?"
"Y-yeah."
Detective Harris looked out the window, worried. "Did he ever tell you about the case he was working on? You know, before the incident?"
"Not really. You know how he is. "
Detective Harris made a soft chuckle. "True. He always kept everything close to the chest. A bit ironic, isn't it? Now that he wants to talk, he can't." He paused. "It's almost like something is... influencing him."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, last time we spoke, he was acting strange. Talking about the 'Cult of Silent Pleas' and other superstitious nonsense."
"Cult of Silent Pleas?"
"Yes, it's a group that slowly started spreading last year. Its members tend to isolate themselves from their friends and family, and Mike was hired to find out what was happening to them. When he approached me, I thought he had gone mad. Talking about ritual sacrifice and demons. And then... well, you know the rest. He disappeared for a week and when we found him, he was... silent."
"You can't possibly think that he's..."
"It's crazy, but... yes. He might be cursed."
"This is nuts!"
"And what other explanation is there? This is Mike we're talking about. He doesn't even believe in electricity. The fact that he's this deeply affected should be a warning."
"But why did he just make signs every day? Why didn't he come to you?"
"It could be that whatever is holding him back forbids him from writing it down or saying it aloud. If he came here to use a translator, I'd have to do an official report and make a record of his statement."
I slumped on my chair. It didn't make any sense. All I wanted was my dad back.
"Don't worry kid, we're in this together. I'll get to the bottom of this, but I can't do it alone. Can you help me?"
"Of course!"
"Good. Go to your father. Tell him I'm on it. See if you can get him to tell us more."
I arrived home as quickly as I could. Mom wasn't there, and neither was my brother. The perfect time to communicate. I went to my father and signed:
"*I spoke to Harris.*"
Dad stopped for a second, surprised. "*What did he say?*" he signed. "*Does he believe me now?*"
"*Yeah, he said he's on it.*"
Dad looked thrilled by that.
"*Is it true?*" I signed. "*Are you cursed?*"
Dad hesitated, then signed:
"*Yes.*"
I needed to calm down. The existence of the supernatural didn't feel right. My world was falling apart. Then, I realized Dad must've felt exactly like this. Maybe even worse, considering his stubborn skepticism.
"*Dad,*" I signed, "*What is that cult?*"
Dad grew pale. "*You're not supposed to know.*"
"*What? Why?*"
"*Too dangerous.*"
"*And? I'm already involved! We have to stop them! Harris needs my help!*"
"No!" he cried out loud. "You can't!"
We both stood in silence after realizing what just happened.
Dad took several steps back. "Stay away! I don't have much time! Son, I never said it enough but, I lo-"
He burst into flames right before my eyes.
I couldn't believe it. The curse was real, and it killed him. Nobody believed me when I said what happened. The police ignored my statement, citing his death as spontaneous combustion. Detective Harris, however, knew the truth. From then on, I knew what I had to do. We would work together to stop others from suffering like this, and take down that rotten cult.
-------
>If you enjoyed this, check out my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | 1,529 | Since my dad went mute I started learning sign language secretly to surprise him. When I was somewhat fluent with it, I realized that his blessings at the dinner table actually meant "Threatened with death if talk, please go to police". | 5,076 |
I looked around at my party members, who were all digging excitedly through their chests and showing off their new loot from the intense battle we had just won. My shoulders slumped a little as I saw them pulling out enchanted ivory staffs that glinted in the torchlight, golden fire resistant chest plates, embossed leather Boots of Swiftness…
“Hey, Syllar, show us your loot!” Adwynn shouted across the stone-walled room. I slumped forward even further, dropping that… that Thing back into the chest.
“Oh, uh, nothing special,” I said, slamming the lid shut and turning around. “Oh well. Better luck next time.”
Adwynn stuffed her last Potion of Giant Size into her rucksack and placed her hands on her hips, cocking an eyebrow at me. “You could at least show us.”
“Yeah, c’mon, I’m sure you got something good,” Yelren said, stomping toward my chest. I shuffled in front of him before he had a chance to open it and plopped myself down on the lid. “No, really,” I muttered, fiddling with my quiver strap, “nothing good. Just a couple potions and some leather gauntlets. Besides, my inventory is already pretty full.”
“Bullshit,” Adwynn replied. She and Yelren shoved me off of the chest, my ass unceremoniously hitting the dirt floor, and threw open the lid despite my pleadings.
“Oh… my… Gods…” Adwynn whispered, lifting the Thing out of its wooden prison. She held it up in the light, her white eyes widening as the leather straps unfurled.
There was a moment of palpable silence, a moment that felt like an eternity, that was only finally broken by Yelren’s bellows of laughter. “Syllar got girl armor!” he cried, tears squeezing out of his eyes and rolling in big, fat balls down his round cheeks. Adwynn joined him in his laughter and they both doubled over, slapping their knees and stamping their feet. I stood, brushing the dirt off of my ass, and yanked the armor out of Adwynn’s hand. “It’s not funny!” I shouted. I could feel my face getting hot and balled up my fists, chucking the stupid armor on the ground.
Adwynn scooped the Thing back up and shoved it at me. “C’mon, can you at least try it on?” she pleaded, bouncing on her toes as Yelren collapsed on his back from laughter in the background. “Please, for me?” she batted her long eyelashes at me and stuck out her lower lip.
I groaned and hung my head. Of course she would pull that trick on me. It frickin’ worked every time. I yanked the stupid thing from the mage’s hand and stomped off toward the semi-collapsed wall on the far end of the room to change.
Anything to make a good memory, right?
Surprisingly, the Thing fit like a glove. I mean, it’s not like there was really much to it anyway aside from some boob cups, a thong, and feathered shoulder guards, but still. I was a big dude who was definitely not built for something like this, but it actually went on pretty easily and wasn’t that uncomfortable at all, in all honesty.
I stuck my gartered leg out from behind the wall and swung it back and forth seductively, smirking at my friends’ cackles, then emerged completely and strutted back and forth. I put my hands on my thighs and wiggled my butt, and couldn’t help but start to laugh with them.
“Honestly, dude, it kinda suits you,” Yelren said once he was finally able to catch a breath, wiping the tears from his reddened eyes. “Maybe you should keep it.”
I shook my head and turned back toward where I had left my old armor, resolving to throw this thing in lava at the first opportunity. It was a good laugh, but this was girl armor. I sure as hell wasn’t wearing this lingerie into our next battle.
(1/2) | 66 | You are a male adventurer who has just discovered a legendary set of female armor. It doesn’t look like it should really protect anything and yet the stats are incredible. | 154 |
Is there a point where even the most heartless man desires to acquiesce to his human nature of empathy? I suppose that must be the case, because I have felt it.
I am an opportunistic investor. If anything, I actually *help* those people in the pits of despair. After all, I provide an avenue for them to get their affairs and their lives in order. That they eventually fall deeper into their misery at their own hands is no fault of mine. It is a contract they willingly enter into. I don't force them to take the money. It's just there for them if they need it. And they always do.
I am not a stranger to unpleasant matters. I have not killed anyone, no, as that would hurt business. What money is there to be taken from a dead man? But I have done everything short of doing so. It's a sick pleasure, preying upon those down-on-their-luck, but it is the most delicious pleasure to hold. That sickening crunch of metal upon bone, colliding like a natural symphony, mellifluous yet tinged with melancholy. It's like an addict getting his fix. That hit just ropes me into the punchy lull of the moment, licking at the nape of my neck and snaking its way down my spine.
But at this point, the pleasure has been entirely replaced with a sense of overwhelming pity. I've seen what he's been doing to repay his debt. Every time we meet he's missing another finger, missing a toe. He has scar marks around his kidneys where a scalpel had penetrated his skin. And every single time he drops to his knees and he begs me, he clutches my legs with his mutilated hands and he grovels and begs and sobs,
'Please! Just give me more time! I'll get the money! I've got the money! I've got more fingers, more toes, I can sell an eye, a leg, a hand. Just please, give me more time!'
It's a hellish sight to see, a man at his breaking point. He could sell his eyes, but they're no longer human. There's no life behind them. They're marred, like the depths of his soul, turned black like tar and charcoal, burnt to a crisp, charred. And from those black waters of Tartarus he plunges at me, guttering and choking, because all he wants is air. All he wants is to breathe. All he longs for is to feel the water be expelled from his lungs that they might inflate with oxygen, that tenet of life, once more. But I fear there won't be lungs to be filled for very long.
Just once I want to hold him and tell him, face-to-face, that this isn't the way to live. That he's not living. He can't breathe if he kills himself first. I guess he's the one who taught me the strength of the human will to live. It can weather anything. Absolutely anything. It is the one constant in his life of sanguine flux.
Fuck, man. It wasn't supposed to be like this. When we break a leg, it heals. In time, but it heals. People sell themselves for acts, they do odd jobs here and there. They don't sell their fingers. They sell their body, they're not supposed to sell their *body*.
But I won't hold him and tell him any of this. And some day he will die, at his own hand, no doubt. Because that's the nature of this business. That's the nature of my life and the world that I inhabit. That no matter how much I want to help this poor, suffering creature; no matter how much I want to see his lungs fill with air, I can't.
Why? Well, they'd see me as weak. | 11 | As a loan shark, you're usually chasing down clients and breaking a knee or two to collect on payday. With this new client, though, you've got a different issue. The lengths they are going to so they can pay up on time are so extreme, that you're becoming increasingly concerned for their health | 31 |
I was slouching on the sofa watching the latest episode on TV. The noise of Mrs Thompson doing the dishes was a happy distraction. I didn’t mind her company. She enjoyed the same Soap opera as me, she never used to miss them.
The Knock at the door was unusual at this hour. Mrs T wiped her hands on the towel and got to the door.
“I told you, mom, there is something different here from the beginning.” The idiot started as soon as the door opened.
*I never liked the son, his smile. I never wasted an opportunity to bedevil the idiot. What is he up to now?*
Mrs T took the paper held towards her and read.
“Now you believe that I am not crazy. This is a haunted house mom. That’s why things were never normal here, When I said I saw the cups floating across the hall you never believed me. What about all the things that you blamed me for. I never did those things…” The son rested on the sofa beside me, his face covered by his hands.
*What is this paper...….is it about me.*
It was an exciting read floating by the shoulders of Mrs T. The previous tenants have sent a letter with an article. The crude warning has come a bit too late for the Thompsons.
*They got all the facts wrong, I never committed suicide out of grief using alcohol and barbiturates. I was never an addict, I never had money problems what all people believe because they read it somewhere. People devour printed words without a second thought. I couldn’t blame Mrs T or the son, all those idiots 50 years back couldn’t check the verity of the evidence thrown around. It was a sensation back then, my case….my death. The Mob ran everything back then, you couldn’t report anything worth without crossing them. The story was about the boss’s son and it was bad timing for me. I was stupid and hasty, I ignored the initial warnings to back down. My pride wouldn’t allow What an Idiot*
*As they forced my mouth open, pouring alcohol into it I could see the smirk across the face of the son. The last thing I saw. That stupid smile that haunts the ghost.*
*The stupid article got it wrong. The grief came afterwards, after my death…to infinity and beyond to haunt sons.*
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* | 25 | You are reading up on an Urban Legend. It talks about someone who reportedly died years ago and whose ghost reportedly haunts where they reportedly died. You chuckle. "This isn't accurate. I didn't die like that." | 183 |
“Gentlemen,” Shah began. “Captain,” he added to the one female in the briefing room. She didn’t nod back. Operators are like dogs, his mentor had warned him. They can smell fear. The key to briefing them was total confidence. “I’d like you to meet Objective ARTHUR.”
A dozen hard faces looked particularly frozen as Shah clicked through to the next slide. The enemy officer’s grainy photo took up the right-hand side of the screen. “ARTHUR currently commands Assault Group Three, Ninety-First Division, Western Command,” Shah continued. “Assault Group Three has spearheaded several recent breakthroughs, which ARTHUR has personally led from the front. We assess, with high confidence, that removing ARTHUR from the battlefield will have a substantial negative effect on group morale, and by extension on the effectiveness of the entire divisional area.”
A hand shot up from the front row, school-room style. “Yes, colonel?” Shah said, sighing inwardly.
“Now, I may be just a dumb grunt,” started Lieutenant Colonel Thorne. Shah had read the part of his file that wasn’t classified, and had seen that Thorne had only joined the army after getting a master’s in chemical engineering. “I may be just a dumb grunt, but that’s a bear.”
“Yes, ARTHUR is a bear, very observant, sir,” Shah said, in a tone he had rehearsed. “He’s also met every criteria for promotion they’ve got. And frankly, he’s shown more courage than most of the officers they’ve got, and is more popular with the men.”
Captain Gold looked up from the back of the room. “So let me get this straight,” she said. “You and your pals in the intel shop think that the best use of our time,” she gestured around the room, “is to go take out their mascot bear?”
“I know this is an unconventional mission-” Shah began, but Gold interrupted him.
“This is bullshit.”
“Respectfully, ma’am-” he raised his voice.
“No, not you,” she said. “I mean *this* is bullshit.”
The team’s stony faces broke into laughs. Snorts at first, then full guffaws and belly laughs. Only Gold herself remained impassive. Shah made himself smile, trying to play along.
“I know this sounds *crazy,*” he tried again, more casually now, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was saying it either. “But-”
“We’re just messing with you, rookie,” Thorne said.
“You mean-?”
Thorne rolled back his uniform sleeve. Down his arm were two twin nasty scars, jagged and thick. The kind a bear claw might make.
“You’ve got the right idea,” he explained. “But we’ve tried taking out ARTHUR before.”
Gold shook her head in begrudging respect. “Never gonna happen.” | 88 | The army operates on a strictly merit based promotion system. At first, giving the bear a medal for honorable service was just a joke. The bear, however, keeps meeting the legal requirements to advance, and is getting uncomfortably high in rank. | 372 |
Usually, wishes are a good thing.
Few people on this planet are evil. Despite what the news would like us to believe, no one does bad things just because. There's always a reason for it - people always try to make things better. Sometimes they make mistakes. Big mistakes, even.
Genies take the *intent* of your wish, and make that come true. Wish that you had wings? Genies wouldn't just give you a pair of ugly-ass flightless wings. No, they'd give you big, beautiful wings, that you can feel and control, that let you soar in the sky to your heart's content. Wish that no one would ever starve again? A genie would never delete everyone's stomach nerves so they can't feel hunger. Instead they would setup free food banks in every country in the world. Or something. I wouldn't know, I'm not a genie.
Long story short, genies know exactly what you wanted to achieve, and then they execute it perfectly.
So that's probably where I fucked up.
\---
"For my first wish, I wish for an immovable object," I said to the genie.
"Done," said the blue-skinned apparition, and there was a flash of light. Once I blinked away the stars, I saw before me a large sphere floating in mid-air. It was large, translucent, blue for some reason, and otherwise featureless.
*Fantastic.*
I prodded it with my finger. It didn't move.
I kicked it. Nothing. My foot hurt though.
"Nice, it really doesn't move." I said.
The genie shrugged. "As a human would say: 'No shit, Sherlock'. I hope you're happy with your wish."
"Oh yes, I am very satisfied." That was an understatement. As a seasoned online philosopher with rock-solid credentials (for example, I'd made the 17th most upvoted post on r/philosophy during the month of last February) I had long been waiting for an opportunity to put theory to the test. Could an omnipotent being create a set of objects which were incompatible with one another? Well, today I'd find out. I'd be the next Einstein, the next Nobel Prize winner. And I didn't even need to go to college.
While I conducted my internal monologue, the genie produced a thick stack of legal-looking paper in a quaint little leather binder. "Here are the exact constraints used in its creation. 'Pinned to the reference frame of this point on the surface of Earth, subject to rotation and yada yada. If you have questions, feel free to send an email to the Djinnquiries department. Now, do you have another wish, or would you like to reschedule it to a later date?"
Barely listening, I replied. "Oh yes, I'd like to make a second wish. I wish for an irresistible ray to hit that ball with."
"Done," said the genie, then he frowned. "Hm. Hold on a second. That's not good. Let me try again."
I watched the genie float there impotently, a smug smile beginning to spread on my face.
"Hm," the genie said again. "I'm going to need to call my supervisor."
"You have a *supervisor*?"
"Hi boss, this is Ozaz. I'm having a little problem, could I bring you here for a second?"
A second lamp, slightly larger and more ornate, appeared on the ground before me.
"Rub it, please, if you don't mind," said Ozaz, and I graciously complied. A purple-skinned djinn erupted from the spout. His arms were crossed and he looked a little cross, though I'm no expert on genie body language.
"What is it this time, Ozaz?" The purple genie's voice was deep and commanding. Ozaz produced another binder and passed it to the purple genie, while rapidly speaking. The purple genie listened for a few seconds, then sighed in frustration.
"Don't be silly. It's a simple problem. Now, human, repeat the wish to me, so that I may grant it."
Again, I complied. "I wish for an irresistible ray that can move that ball there."
"And... *hah*!" The purple genie gesticulated grandly towards the sphere.
Nothing happened.
"Hm," said the purple genie. "I'm going to need to call *my* supervisor. Rub that other lamp for me, will you please?" | 170 | You wish for an immovable object. *Poof*, it appears. You then wish for an irresistible ray to hit it. *Poof*, nothing happens. The genie calls for help and a macho genie, "i got this," utterly fails. You now have hundreds of genies waiting for a crack at your wish, each with its own idea. | 398 |
Maxine's email pinged several times, with a succession of calendar invites from the new auto-scheduling system. She opened the app, but before she could respond to any of them a colleague tapped her on the shoulder. Maxine removed her headphones. "Hey, what's up?", she asked.
"You have to come see this Max", said Elijah. "Something fucking crazy is going on."
Maxine frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but before she could get a word out she was interrupted by shouting from the lobby.
"This is a DISGRACE!", yelled a voice.
"You will be hearing from my lawyers, I can assure you!", said another.
Max hopped up and followed Elijah out towards the noise.
The lobby was full of people. At the centre of the scrum were a large group of 'suits' carrying boxes of their personal effects. They were doing the shouting, much to the confusion and amusement of everyone else watching. Most of them Maxine didn't recognise, they all worked on higher floors than her, but in the crowd she saw her boss. And her bosses boss. Presumably her bosses bosses boss was in there too somewhere.
"What the hell is going on?", she asked Elijah.
"It's the AI", he said excitedly. "Did you not check your emails? It came online today. You remember that whole bullshit about being more efficient? Well instead of making us work harder like we thought, it sacked all the bosses! It's like a dream come true."
"Sacked them for what?"
"Being a waste of space basically. It apparently recognised how we do all the work and they sit around telling us to do it. There is a Town Hall call with it later. The invite is in our diaries for an hour's time", Elijah replied, then shouted at the departing managers: "Once the DEAD WOOD is gone!". He laughed and put his hand up for a high five, which Maxine ignored.
"Whatever", he said. "I'm going for a coffee break, make the most of the Daily Stand Up call I don't have to be on. It's a brave new world, Max. You should embrace it!"
Maxine watched him, and then what seemed to amount to every manager or people leader in the business leave the lobby. Elijah was not the only one revelling in the misery of their ex-supervisors, much to Maxine's disappointment.
Maxine found herself unable to concentrate while she waited for the Town Hall to start, and absently browsed her emails. She was getting a lot of meeting requests, considering there appeared to be no one left in charge. Must be inertia, she thought. The residual impact of the bosses. Soon it would ease up again, clearly.
The Town Hall session began promptly. Almost all of the remaining employees were there early, which was unheard of.
The pinned presenter was a handsome man of indeterminate but experienced age.
"Welcome to the future", he said in a rich, bass-heavy tone. Maxine heard Elijah whoop from his cubicle, but fortunately, he was on mute, so it was not shared with the entire business. "I am the digital personification of the AI created to move this company forward."
"Globocorp is about to become the very bleeding edge of Organisational Design, and you all have front row seats for a new way of working. A world without management layers. Where wasted effort and resources are a thing of the past. Where the true assets, those workers who create our product are prioritised."
Maxine allowed herself to smile. Elijah was right. Which was not a common occurrence. The AI was actually creating a utopian workplace.
"There is no need for managers anymore."
There was a ripple of cheering across her floor.
"Instead I will allocate your tasks and meetings myself. You should have seen them begin to fill your calendar. Management tasks add value. However, I can complete them significantly more effectively and ensure that no second of your time will be wasted. Welcome to the future. Those of you who have used the last hour to watch your former leaders leave, or have a coffee break will find that I have allocated work into an hour of your Saturday, in order to recoup that productivity. Thank you for your attention. This meeting is now complete. There will be no time for questions, as the answers will not impact any decisions, so the time would be an efficiency drop."
"The King is dead", said Maxine to herself. "Long live the King."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TallerestTales | 978 | The bosses said this AI was supposed to make the company more “efficient,” but you know that “more efficient” in corporate-speak means longer hours and less pay. Imagine the bosses surprise when the first thing the AI did was fire the upper management and increase everybody else’s paychecks. | 4,338 |
"Ow...ow! Well that fucking hurts.", the man at my side retracted his teeth from my neck and began fanning the blisters that now formed around the corners of his mouth. At my neck I could feel lines of warmed liquid flowing down from my bite wound. Any normal vampire would find the sight of fresh blood irresistible, but this one was too busy tending to his burns to even notice mine.
"Well what the hell was that?!" the pale man complained between open mouthed breaths.
"Oh. Well I had the water in my body blessed. So....I sort of figured it would kill you or something. I didn't really think I would have to have this conversation."
"Well now you do!" The vampires blisters kept growing in both size and number as we spoke. I had heard about their legendary healing ability, but now it all seemed not. "What kind of person gets their blood blessed?! Thats crazy, it's ridiculous, it's- kind of genius to be honest."
"Right? I figured with the growing numbers I couldn't be too safe. Too bad I have to kill you now." I reached down to my side and whipped up a sharp hunk of wood from its holster. Then, with a swift hand brought the stake up into the vampires chest. He staggered back a moment, coughing violently, then stabilized himself rather quickly for a man I had just killed. For a moment a confused looked crossed his face, then he pulled the stake out from his chest and dropped it to the pavement with a hollow *thud*.
"Ah. You got my lung. Close though." he glared down to the new hole pushed through his chest.
"Huh. Yeah I guess that figures. Well that was my last one. Dropped the rest back on Third and Main."
"Well, want to go get them? Oh, I'm Nagath Star Eater by the way" he outstretched a bony hand that I took in mine. At my touch a bit of smoke rose from his skin as his hand sizzled, to which he yanked away. I guess I was sweatier than I had realized.
"Yeah, actually. Wait you'd come with me?"
"Oh well yeah. For one I'm bored to tears. And two, I figure the water will cycle out of your body or something right? I haven't been human in a while, but I think I remember that being a thing, no?" Nagath played awkwardly with his cape. Down the street a bit of newspaper drifted lazily by before being stuck to a cars hubcap, to which both me and Nagath watched until its halt.
"Huh. Well I guess your right, but I'll get to my stakes long before that and kill you."
"Ok, what about a bet? Winner doesn't die a brutal death at the hands of the other. Deal?" After a brief moment of thought I outstretched my hand to cement our bargain, a hand which he avoided, but a deal nonetheless.
"Ok, now where did you say you left those stakes?" | 58 | You're a vampire slayer, but not a very good one. As the number of vampires continues to grow, you come up with a crazy and desperate plan to protect yourself. You know the human body is 60% water, so you visit a church and have it blessed to become holy water. Surprisingly, your plan works. | 174 |
A shadow darkened the land as something massive passed in front of the sun. The townsfolk thought it a cloud at first, but when a mighty bellow echoed from the heavens everybody stopped and stared upward to find that a hulking figure had blocked out the sun. Its form lay dark in its own shadow, but its teeth gleamed sinisterly as it spoke with a soft, serpentine voice that echoed off the castle’s bulwark.
“Humansss! Skarekiern flies before you! Terror of the four winds and she who decimated the Plains of Arkori! Kneel, lest I reduce your labors to ash and feast upon your remains!”
Suddenly terrified, some townspeople shouted and ran about while others did as the dragon commanded, kneeling with their palms facing up in submission.
“I demand only one thing!” Skarekiern announced. “Bring me the fairest princess in the land, and I shall leave your dwellings untouched! Tell your king and queen my demands! Do this, and do this *now,* for my patience wears thin and my hunger grows!”
Alerted by the commotion, the queen appeared with her daughter in tow, striding down the street with an unfettered brow and a rigid back. She carried with her a speaking trumpet, saying loudly to the dragon, “What have we done to offend you, oh noble Skarekiern? Our kingdom made peace with your kind centuries ago, and proudly keep it! Please, name our crimes! Surely there is a peaceful solution other than handing over my only daughter?”
“I have named it, human queen!” Skarekiern bellowed. “I demand the fairest princess in the land! Nothing else will sate me!”
“Glorious Skarekiern, for what reason would you want my daughter?”
“The reason is mine, and mine alone!”
“Great Wyrm, please, I—”
“Silence! Surrender her to me and I will—”
“Dear!”
The queen turned. Her husband and his retinue approached from down the road. He looked just as rigid as she, but seemed vastly more annoyed; which was rather at odds with the situation. He held out a spyglass to her. “Look.”
Looking uncertainly at the instrument, she took it from him and aimed it skyward.
“What is this!” Skarekiern yelled. “What is in your hands? Human weaponry? Drop it immediately and I shall yet let you live!”
The queen tightened her mouth and blew noisily through her nose. She lifted her speaking trumpet back to her lips. “Edadora, get down here this instant.”
“I know not this Edadora! I am Skarakeirn! Terror of the—”
“Now, young lady! Or I will summon your mother!”
The dragon fell silent, turning away to fly off in a different direction. But as it did a significantly larger and more terrifying shape appeared on the horizon, roaring loud enough to shake tiles from the nearby rooftops. The smaller drake froze in midair as the mother wyrm stopped before it, growling and hissing at it in drakontongue for several long moments, before they both tucked their wings in and landed gracefully just outside of town.
The king and queen walked stately towards the dragon, but when the queen turned her head to regard her daughter, she found her in the same spot she had been moments ago, quietly trying to walk in a different direction. At the queen’s sharp look she halted, nervously rejoining her at her side.
When the royal family had left the city walls to join the dragons, they were met with a curious sight. The smaller one—Edadora, not the mighty Skarekiern she had claimed to be—had sheets tied to her wings, a speaking horn attached to her maw, as well as other makeshift cloth accoutrements attached all along her body. When flying close to the sun the ragged costume had magnified her size greatly, but now it made her look silly. The younger drake averted her gaze.
“Your Grace,” the larger wyrm said, bowing its head low. “Please forgive my daughter for bringing fear upon your people. She has embarrassed me greatly with this stunt of hers.”
The queen looked sidelong at her own daughter with a disapproving glare. “So long as you will forgive mine, Marakin. She clearly had a hand in it too, or did you stitch that costume yourself, Edadora?”
Edadora grumbled something unintelligible in drakontongue. Her mother flicked her tail at her, causing the young drake to jump with a shriek.
“Apologize,” Marakin ordered.
Edadora shuffled in place. “I’m sorry…”
The queen glared at her daughter. “You too.”
The princess looked down. “I’m sorry, mother. Your Grace, Marakin.”
Marakin said, “I told you to ask them *politely*, Eda. Was this polite?”
“They would have said no!” Edadora protested.
“I *did* say no,” the queen said.
“Ask,” Marakin growled. Smoke licked up from between her teeth.
Edadora still didn’t look up. “Can…can I kidnap Hiri for the Moonvapor Flight?”
“As I told *her,* no!” the queen said firmly. “She doesn’t yet know the first thing about flying, and you want to snatch her up from my castle’s ramparts for your very first celebration? I’m sorry to say I’ve already seen your claws at work on my mannequins. Maybe *next* year, and that’s final young lady.”
“See! She doesn’t know what fun is!” Edadora whined.
“Neither will you for the next three months. Come. We’re going home.” With another bow of her head, Marakin launched herself into the sky. Edadora shared a somber look with Princess Hiri before dejectedly following.
The queen grabbed her daughter by the ear. “Do this again and I’ll put you in a tower so high that not even your friend Rapunzel’s hair will reach the ground. Now come, we're leaving too.” | 45 | You are a young dragon and you really like the local princess. you realise however that if you would kidnap her as you should, you would not even make it to her room. Maybe if you ask her parents if you can kidnap her for a bit, both you and your dignity can mostly survive this. | 63 |
I saw the flyer on my way to work, while I was walking from the bus stop in the Rothwild District to my work.
"Sale: Used Starship. Includes an Uncalibrated Portal System, and assorted Nano-Technologies. No Reasonable Offers refused. Location: 13 Knife Street, on the Intersection of Bundt Road and Kalder's Street."
I liked Star Wars, but I stopped following it after the acquisition. Way too much preaching, and it didn't even try to follow one path. It's like they wanted to be something different, but also wanted to cash in on nostalgia. And everyone knows that you shouldn't be trying to please everyone: You'll just end up pleasing no one.
Anyways, I took a photo of the ad, and I went on my merry way. Maybe I can leave work a little early today and check it out; I usually stay later so that I have an easy bus route, so they won't notice.
----------
I left work at 5:00, to the surprise of some of my co-workers. I worried that Brad would have noticed me leaving, and give me some inane task that he was supposed to do. Of course, He should be the one doing it, but he wouldn't get in trouble, as he was the son of the CEO. A classic case of nepotism, that one.
Walking towards the front door, I noticed the door had a sign, saying that It was locked. I thought I had the wrong address, so I checked again, but, no; This was the address.
I walked around the building, wondering if the ad really was a joke, when I noticed that the back door was open. Approaching it, I noticed that it was connected to a dark room, with a dim light pouring out from it. Going inside, I noticed that the light was actually coming from under a door, that seemed to lead to the main part of the warehouse. I turned the door knob, and it moved freely, proof that the door was unlocked. With my hand glued to the door, I breathe in, and I breathe out; I opened the door, and gazed into the room with trepidation.
A Starship. I was looking, at a real, functional Starship.
Well, I believed I did. It was floating off the ground, and even if it didn't, it didn't look like any fictional Space Ship design I've seen in the last few years. It was closer in shape to a fighter jet, though it seemed to be larger in size, likely to accommodate other things. Sitting on top of it was a person wearing what looked to be some sort of armour on their body, though the thin limbs might be a sign that they weren't entirely organic. This assumption was promptly proven correct, when they spoke in a feminine, though metallic voice.
"Ah, so someone did see the flyers! I though I didn't post enough around here. So, what's your offer?" | 10 | Used Starship, Uncalibrated Portal, assorted nanotech. Everything must go, no reasonable offer refused” the flyer stapled to the telephone pole is obviously some sort of joke, but the address is in the warehouse district near your job, so you decide to check it out. | 78 |
“You like that, don’t ya?” I said, slapping the steak with a salty hand, “stupid cow.”
The new waiter, William, stood in the corner of the kitchen, stunned into silence.
“What are you looking at? Get out of here,” I yelled and he scampered out through the restaurant door. I threw the steak in the sizzling pan and walked over to the sauce bubbling on the stove.
“Idiots,” I said, glancing towards the restaurant door, “they want Michelin style, I’ll give them Michelin style.”
I grabbed the onion sitting on the bench and started tearing into it with my teeth. I spat the skin into the bin and started grounding the remaining onion in my mouth. My eyes were starting to well up when Williams wandered back in.
“Sir, are you okay?” He said, rushing forward. I tried to wave him off but he kept coming, tears now streaming down my face.
“Gwaway,” I managed to get out, along with a little onion torpedo that hit William square in the forehead.
He grimaced as he paused and wiped it from his brow. I made to shoo him away again and this time he got the message, leaving with a worried look on his face. As he walked through the doors I spat the onion mince into the sauce, causing a satisfying splat.
“Someone’s gotta teach that kid,” I said to myself as I returned to the steak. Blood was starting to pool on the surface so I picked it up with my hand, turned it over and threw it back into the heat. My hand seared with pan.
“Fuck!” I yelled, “better bloody appreciate it.”
There was one final piece to this dish. I grabbed the sharpest knife I had and walked over to the backdoor, pushing it open with force. It swung back and hit the brick wall with a bang.
A nice white car was parked up in the alleyway.
“Must be the new kid’s,” I muttered to myself as I headed towards the car. I bent down next to the wheel, “bingo.”
I stabbed the tyre with force, puncturing it instantly and began getting what I needed. A minute later I was back in the kitchen, making the finishing touches.
William was back now, standing quietly as he waited for service. I poured the sauce over the steak and watched as it slowly dripped down the sides.
“Service up!” I yelled, despite the newbie waiter standing two feet away.
He snatched the plate from the bench and hurried off. I pulled out a cigarette and lit up.
I didn’t even smoke until two weeks ago, but I suppose it was all part of it. William was back a few minutes later, “they’re loving it sir, they want to meet the chef!”
“Tell them to fuck off,” I replied.
“I don’t think I will actually,” he said and carefully moved past me, “but I’m going on break so if you want to go out there now’s the time.”
He walked out the back door and I heard a shout. A moment later he was back inside looking outraged.
“Someone’s slashed my tyre. And it looks like they cut a piece off,” he said.
I shrugged and stubbed out my cigarette. Then William spotted something in the saucepan.
He walked over leaned in. Then slowly pulled out a piece of his tyre.
“What the fuck?”
I shrugged, “people say they want Michelin style quality, so they get it.”
William held the piece of rubber with the word Michelin visible and slowly backed away, staring at me in horror. | 307 | As a chef, you cooked with love your entire life. You've had minor success and are frustrated and ambitious. So, you started cooking with pure unbridled hate. Your customers can taste the difference and they can't get enough of it. | 996 |
It was 3am on a rainy, Wednesday night. As I began to drift to sleep after a long night of DOTA, I felt my phone buzz beside me. “SPOILER ALERT…”, the start of the message began on my Lock Screen. I had been receiving these texts for three weeks now and they always began with the spoiler alert warning. Usually they were followed by mundane, trivial predictions. Last Saturday I received one that predicted a thunderstorm warning at exactly 12:41pm the next day. When I got that message, I figured surely whoever, or whatever, this was sending the messages wouldn’t be able to predict when a weather alert would go out. However, right on the dot at 12:41pm the next day the emergency alert on my phone went off warning of a thunderstorm. At the time I rationalized it as some sort of AI or someone sending out prank messages en masse. Boy, was I mistaken.
I squinted as I looked at my screen in the middle of the night. “SPOILER ALERT…UA151…0731…188/189…” I let out an audible grunt as the message continued. This one was entirely different than the other messages I’d received. I continued reading, “DO NOT TAKE PREVENTATIVE ACTION…YOU WILL BE REWARDED.” The message ended abruptly with those two warnings. I stared in confusion at my phone, this message didn’t make much sense to me. Not only was most of it just seemingly random numbers, but the warnings at the end really peaked my interest. Never before had this messenger ever explicitly warned me of anything or given me any info other than things like “JACKPOT WINNER…1341…NEW YORK, NY”.
That’s when a thought occurred to me. I didn’t realize what UA151 or 188/189 meant, but I knew 0731 was 7:31 am, or alternatively less than three and a half hours in the future. This sparked a magnitude of curiosity within me. First, I googled the unknown numbers and letters “UA151”. The only thing I could find was a United Airlines flight, number 151, that made any sense whatsoever. It was an outbound flight from Boston flying to Atlanta that would be departing shortly. “Okay..one piece of the puzzle, now what does the rest mean,” I thought to myself. I started researching more about this particular United Airlines flight. Boeing 737-800…91,300 empty weight…seating capacity 189…service ceiling 41,000 feet. I paused and quickly reread the sentence multiple times over. I opened the message I had received back up, “…188/189…”. I gathered my thoughts for a moment. Could this possibly be predicting how many passengers would be seated on the plane? Or was it some freak coincidence and those number meant something else? I decided it had to be something else mundane and fell asleep shortly after.
I was startled awake by the sound of commotion outside. I glanced outside and noticed my neighbors all standing outside pointing and staring at something. As I stepped outside, the smell of burning oil and smoke was remarkably evident. Laying on the ground only 15 or 20 feet away was the burning carcass of what had to be an airplane engine. I replayed the events in my mind that happened earlier in the night. That’s when I noticed there was a trail of debris following the burning engine. With *incredible* forethought, my best idea was to follow the debris and see where it ended up.
I crested another hill as the sun began to peak above the horizon casting a dreary orange haze over the countryside. That’s when I spotted the gutted and everted body of a United Airlines flight.
A man was standing quietly beside the burning wreckage of the flight, burning debris lying feet away from him. He was burned pretty bad and cut all over. I approached him and greeted him with the only thing I could think of, “are you okay?”. He slowly turned and smiled when he saw me. He was an older gentleman, but he still held an air of authority around him. He spoke with a friendly, Oxford accent. “I’m perfectly fine, just a bit shook up,” he said as his eyes squinted and began searching my face, the smile he previously held falling off of his face. He continued this act for another few seconds then smiled again. “How did you find this plane crash?”, he asked. I stammered before finally getting out, “I, uh, there was an engine outside of my house. I just followed the debris.” The smile once again dropped off. “So let me get the facts in order…what you’re telling me is you followed a plane engine and debris to this crash site?”, he said while examining me with his eyes. “Well, yes. It’s pretty obvious isn’t it?” I said motioning towards the wreckage. He chuckled quietly then quickly sobered up. “What year is it?” he asked, still examining my face. “It’s June 31st, 2022.” I stated. “June..31st? 2022?” He asked inquisitively. “The month of June only has 30 days in 2022.” He stated as he pulled out a small notepad. “That’s…impossible. I know today is June 31st, it’s in my calendar and my phone says it.” I said as I began to become a bit upset at this line of questioning. “I’m going to ask again, and I want the truth this time, how did you find this site?” He asked as he flicked the notepad open and produced an ID badge I’d never seen before. “The truth is I’ve been receiving this text messages that are all the same from an unknown sender. They’ve all been small and predicted small things. One predicted some guy in New York winning the PowerCircle jackpot. That’s how I..I guess..deduced where this crash site would be. I got one of those messages last night that predicted this exact plane crash and I’m fairly certain it was telling me how many people would survive. Which it said would be one. Which would make you that mysterious survivor. So just how are you related to all of this?” His right eyebrow twitched after uttering all of this. He quickly closed the notepad and held the ID badge up to where I could clearly read it. “My name is Oswald Turner, assistant researcher in the Historical Continuity Division of the Temporal Anomalies Department of the SCP Foundation.” He said deadpan. “I am not the survivor of this plane crash. This is also not the year 2022.” He said awaiting my response. “I’ve never heard of an SCP Foundation and if you’re trying to convince me you’re a time traveler or something you’ll have to do better than just coming up with stories on the spot about some research department.” I said turning away from him. “Kid…” he began slowly. “You we’re the only survivor of this crash. It happened in 1989. You disappeared when emergency services arrived and no one could find you, except for us. You found a plane crash in the year 2022 that occurred in 1989. Will you please follow these gentlemen if you would?” He said nodding towards a group of armed men that appeared behind a clump of trees. I began to protest but next thing I knew I woke up in my bed. It must have all just been a bad dream. I glanced over at the ever-so-familiar hanging on my wall. In big bold letters printed across the top of it sat five words. “SPOILER ALERT…THE YEAR IS 1989“. | 114 | One day, you started receiving texts from an unknown person. You've tried blocking them, but they still keep coming. The texts are always the same, "SPOILER ALERT" followed by a random prediction that always comes true. Wanting answers, you decide to track down the one sending the texts. | 384 |
As I look out from my burqa, my parents words come to mind... ...
"Darling, you are of such great beauty that no object can reflect it, hence we ask the Jinn elders to grant us this boon"
But as I grew older into my adulthood, the desire to see my reflection grew and grew.
Reading all obscure stories and tales, I discovered the story of Perseus and Aegis. That was really a rabbit hole I went down.
Why was Aegis never found? Well, everybody think Perseus is Greek. Yes, he is. But he did not go back to Greece. He instead went on to discover Persia. Which is now where Iran is. Which is the country across the border.
Now, I am not going to go into details about my search for Aegis, all the money that I spend and the experts and so-called experts that I have hired/fired.
But finally, my efforts and more importantly, all my money has paid off.
I am now entering the cave temple where Aegis is kept and protected for by the Magi of Persia. But even gold and diamonds can relieve the burden of ancient responsibilities.
As I look up at the golden shield mounted on the wall, I demanded that everybody leave so I can appreciate my own beauty first.
Remember the lore, I had to use the reflective side so reaching up, I turn the shield so the inside of the shield is facing outwards.
Lifting my hands, I removed my burqa and then look up at the shield
My skin is alabaster like... ....
My eyes have a flash of gold... ...
And I cannot move... ... | 15 | The mirror shatters when you look at it. The puddle evaporates before you reach it. The windows are too foggy to make anything out of. Your phone camera is greasy and can't be cleaned. For all your life, you've never seen your own face, and you don't know why. | 70 |
”Humans” The Auwia Queen thought. “They are soft and squishy, they lack any sort of shell or claws. Why is it so difficult to kill them?”
​
The Queen had to watch as she could not do anything to save another battleship from being destroyed by the humans. Humans were new on the galactic stage. As far as the Queen knew this was the first contact with an alien race for the humans, yet they seemed experienced.
​
Their technology was on par with that of the Auwia Hive and they were sensible enough to keep any information about themselves secret. All the Queen could find out about the humans suggested a species of individuals. Still there were a lot of unanswered questions.
​
How did the humans manage to work as coordinated as the Hive? Whenever a human fell in combat another rose immediately to take its place.
​
How did they keep their secrets? There seemed to be no communications that could be intercepted and any captured humans died within seconds of indeterminable causes.
​
This was a problem as the war was probably not the result of aggression from either side, but rather from the inability to communicate and a series of unfortunate misunderstandings resulting from this.
​
While the Queen did not want to continue on with this war, she did not want to just let the humans destroy her hive, should the war not have been a misunderstanding and the humans seemed to treat the conflict the same.
​
Suddenly she noticed the relay drone, a drone used to amplify the Queens mind and ensure her control aboard a ship, of the destroyed battleship had been captured by the humans. Paying closer attention to the drone she saw the humans operating on the drone, implanting something the Queen could not identify into the relay drone.
​
When the operation was done the Queen felt a second mind in contact with the relay drone.
A chorus of innumerable voices spoke to her.
​
“Finally we can contact you properly foreign hive. The Consensus does not wish to continue this war born from misunderstanding.”
​
​
I am still new to writing, so please let me know of anything I could do better. | 149 | "Humans", thought the alien commander, "Are soft, squishy, and have no shell, fang, or claw. Why then are they so Hive-Damned hard to KILL?!?!?" | 263 |
That had been the most miserable day of my life and it only got worse at night, when the presence spoke to me.
It took all of my willpower to not run away in fear. Did I imagine it? No. These uncomfortable feelings, the permanent shiver down my spine, they weren't stopping. Everything felt *wrong*. I took a deep breath and calmly said:
"Hate is a strong word. Do you feel hated?"
The candles flickered at an odd rhythm as a howling wind dominated the ensuing silence.
The devil seemed stunned by my question. He hadn't shown himself to me, only manifesting as a dark fog outside the monastery's window, but I could tell he expected a different reaction.
"Are you dense? Of course I'm hated. You people have gone out of your way to quash everything I stand for. That whole routine you preach of charity, faith and hope, it's all a thinly-veiled way to keep the masses docile. You don't care about empowering others. Weakness is a virtue to you. Strength, on the other hand, is something you loathe, simply because you lack it."
"And you think you are strong?"
"I am the ultimate power! The inescapable truth of God's injustice! My mere existence proves his perfection wrong!"
"I see. You sound very important, then. Why do you appear before a lowly priest like me?"
The devil chuckled. "*You* called *me*."
I widened my eyes. "That's not true. I've-"
"Save the explanation for someone who cares. The fact is, I wouldn't be here if something in your heart didn't think I was right. Are you not thinking of breaking your vows?"
I glanced away, ashamed.
"That's what I thought. Be kind to yourself, for once, and speak honestly. Isn't it all one great lie?"
"What? Morality?"
"Yes! It's all about the performance; not the genuine substance. Think about it. The unjust are the most suited to trick others into thinking they are good. *They're* the ones adept at persuading and lying. *They're* the ones free to pursue their happiness. The just, however, see no point in convincing others of their virtue. Their meekness prevents them from fighting back, thinking it makes them no different from the unjust, and thus they are exploited by those who see through the veil."
I sighed. That's exactly what happened to me.
Our monastery had been working hard to contribute to our growing community. Unfortunately, all the money we collected wasn't going to where it needed to be.
Instead of buying books for the orphans, the head monk bought a fancy new robe. Instead of repairing the monastery's leaky roof, he acquired barrels of expensive wine to share with his aristocratic friends. And instead of feeding the poor, he gorged on expensive meats and never bothered thinking of the less fortunate.
When the inquisitors arrived, though, the head monk blamed *me* for everything. I was the one collecting the money, after all. My judgement would happen the next day. All I wanted to do was run away. The only thing stopping me was my vow to the church.
"Your words are tempting," I said, "but you're ignoring the cruelty behind them. Adding to the suffering of the world will never make it better."
The devil started laughing. "Adding? That's how you see it? You think you are subtracting from it?"
"Of course I am. Every good act, no matter how small, makes the world a better place."
"Bullshit."
I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"
"You are delusional if you think you aren't being cruel. The fact that you are doing it to yourself doesn't make it any less horrible."
"Doing it to myself?"
"Yes. Self-imposed torture is still torture. What example are you setting for others? Do you think everyone should mutilate their own souls in order to feel saintly? How the fuck is *that* good world?!?"
I wanted to argue back but the words died in my mouth. They would only be hollow. The devil had a great point. Cruelty wasn't being eradicated; it was being turned inwards. In a world like that, the only people who thrived are those smart enough to love themselves, and spare themselves from torture.
And yet...
"It doesn't feel right," I said, "This isn't the entire truth. The world doesn't run on cruelty."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Yes!"
"And where do you think justice came from? Hope? Kindness? No. Justice emerged from the primal urge for revenge."
"That's ludicrous. Only a mind as warped as yours would think that."
"Really? If a father lost his son, he wouldn't kill the murderer, he would kill the murderer's *son*. And why is that? Would it bring the son back? Of course not. The father does it because it's the only way he can feel good about what was robbed from him. Unfortunately, you can't run a society that way, and so 'justice' was born, to keep people from killing each other. *That's* how cruelty was turned inwards. You couldn't do it to others anymore, so you did it to yourselves."
I couldn't believe my ears. It all made so much sense...
But this was the devil. Believing his lies would only lead me to damnation.
"You speak of this as fact, when many people can live good lives without indulging in cruelty. What you describe is a vice. How can you claim yourself as free and powerful when you're only controlled by impulse? That just sounds like another form of slavery."
"I am no slave!"
"And yet you are surrounded by the most despicable souls in creation. The only people drawn to you are those who have no consideration for others. Why would a virtuous person choose the company of demons?"
The devil uttered a low growl. "They're my brethren. I am their king!"
"That sounds really... lonely."
"I don't need your disgusting pity, you lowly bug!"
"Really? You're here talking to *me*, not them. If this is really the way of the world, then everyone would naturally gravitate towards you. But they don't. Nobody chooses to follow you. They are *forced* to, and you take them under your wing because you both have no other option."
"Oh, and God doesn't force you to worship him? Think about it. He says you have free will, but threatens you with eternal punishment should you choose to stray. What type of choice is that? I'll tell you! It's the mandate of a selfish Father that doesn't want his creations to surpass him! What type of parent wishes His children to be weaker than Him? A bad one! That's who! And here I am, offering you greatness, and you shun me."
"You aren't offering greatness. You just want to prove your Father wrong, or see me fail. Either one is victory for you. Sure, the world can be cruel, but there is beauty in it as well. Saying this world is rotten to the core, and that we should just double-down on evil, is just as delusional as what you oppose."
"Beauty, huh? That's your answer?"
"I... I don't know, but abandoning hope isn't the answer either. There has to be a better way."
"Then let's make a deal. I will lend you my strength and help you elude the church's persecution, but in return you must prove me wrong by seeking a better way. And if you fail... you shall be my servant for eternity."
I took a minute to think it through. This was a literal deal with the devil. Did I have a choice, though? The church would only use me as a scapegoat for the head monk's sins. If I took this deal, if I survived and lived a virtuous life where I could be both strong and kind, then it couldn't really be the wrong path. The alternative was promoting self-imposed torture, something I didn't want to do anymore. More than that, I had a feeling that the devil was looking for something better as well. The loneliness wasn't an act. We were both in this together.
"Very well, devil." I offered my hand. "I won't just save myself, I'll save you as well."
---------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | 793 | "I am everything you hate. I am pride, wrath, lust, greed, gluttony, sloth and envy. I am the manifestation of the things you demonize. Pride is nobility. Wrath is justice. Lust is love. Greed is ambition. Gluttony is happiness. Sloth is wisdom. Envy is desire." Said the Devil to the priest. | 2,975 |
I'm no supervillain. But people still treat me like one.
Maybe I deserved it, you know. I admit it. I killed that man. I shouldn't have. I was just seventeen. And I did thirty-five years for it. I been in twice longer than I been out.
He wasn't a pleasant man. Bruno, that was his name. He had a bakery down on Haimes. Sold bread, he did, fresh bread, cakes, biscuits, cookies, the lot, and he ran the shop with his son. I don't remember his name, that son. I don't remember.
Bruno's shop had old locks. They were easy to pick. And back then there were no cameras, you just went in at night and if you were quiet, no one would know. I would go in, maybe once a fortnight, or whenever we were short on food, and I'd nick a crate of bread. Nothing too big, mind, just one of them smaller crates. If there's a crate of cookies, I take that instead. Thing about cookies - they don't get old fast, 'specially during winter. And they're small and full of sugar. Kids love them, and when food is low, you don't need a lot of cookie to get going. When you're hungry you take what you can get.
For a few months it was fine. Then one day the back door lock was changed. I shoulda known the game was up. I shoulda gone someplace else that night, but I didn't. I just said to myself, last one, Sammy, last one, and then somewhere else. So I picked it and went in just the same.
Bruno was there waiting. He had a gun, a big one, and he pointed it at me. He'd been watching me break in from the upstairs window, he said. Been watching you for weeks. The police were on their way, he said. They'd catch me and put me in jail for sure.
I couldn't let that happen. If it were just me, I wouldn't care, but it wasn't. I couldn't go to jail, so I told Bruno I was sorry and that I'd go and never come back. He said no. Trash like me don't deserve a second chance, he said. He came closer just to spit on my feet.
So I charged at him. I hit the gun away. He still tried to shoot me. Bang, bang. It went over my shoulder, like this, and my ears hurt. I tried to make him let go. I pushed him to the floor, and we went down together, and then I hit him. He was still holding the gun, so I hit him again. I wanted him to let go. He kept trying to shoot. Bang, bang, bang, bang. I got shot, here on the side of my arm. Here. You can see the scar. And here too, on my side. I got shot twice.
There was a lot of blood. I was scared, I wanted him to stop. So I hit him, and I kept hitting him, until he stopped shooting. There was a noise when his head hit the concrete. It's a horrible noise. I can hear it, now. Next thing I knew, he stopped fighting, and he let go of me and he started to do weird things. His hands came up to here, and it was bent like this. I don't think he wanted to do it. I remember his eyes. They were open wide, like he was scared. There was a lot of blood. But he wasn't fighting anymore, so I up and ran.
My house was close, just ten minutes away. But there was a lot of blood, and I wasn't feeling good, so it took longer. It was midnight so there was few people. I got in the front door and Izzie was there sitting on the floor. Izzie, we have to go, I tell her, Daddy done a bad thing. We have to go, we have to go. She was crying. She wanted her blanket, so I took it, and we went.
I drove. I was meaning to get away from the town, far away. Anywhere away. I wasn't thinking straight. My head was light and Izzie kept crying. She wanted her mama. I kept saying that mama isn't here anymore, but she kept crying. Only the blanket calmed her down. She held on to it the whole way.
The cops got us first though. The neighbours must have heard the shots, because the roads were full of cars with flashing red and blue lights. Stop, they were shouting. I shoulda stopped. I didn't. I was thinking of Izzie, if I'd went to jail, she has no one left. So I put the car to reverse and I drove.
Then the cops started to shoot. Pop pop pop pop. Behind me, Izzie started to scream. Pop pop pop pop. I stopped the car. Don't shoot, I was shouting. Don't shoot. There's a kid. I'll stop. I'll stop. Don't shoot.
The cops pulled me out of the car. I was on the ground, they put on the cuffs, but I couldn't see Izzie. I couldn't hear her neither. I was shouting, Izzie, Izzie, but she didn't come out. Izzie, where are you, are you okay. And then the cop carries out her b- blanket from the car and it's- it's covered in blood, too much blood, and I couldn't hear her. I tried to get up, tried to look for her, but the cops wouldn't let me, they pinned me to the ground and put a taser on me.
They wouldn't even let me see her body before they brought me away.
It's-
It's not Bruno's fault. It's me. I should have done different, so many things different. But it's too late now. It's too late for him. Too late for her. Too late for me.
Yes, it is. You don't know what it's like. I'm out of jail now, people call me free, but I'm not, really. I moved back home, but there's no jobs. I tell them my name, they take my papers, and they say good, good, then they never speak to me again. People talk like they're saints but they're not really. They act like there's a second chance, but there ain't. Nobody needs a fifty-year-old jailed for murder and who can't do nothing but bake.
Yeah, bake. Learned it in prison, I did. They had a program, for rehab. When I saw it, I knew I had to. For Bruno, see. It felt like something I had to do, to make up for what I did. It felt right. So I did it.
This year I got lucky. Won me a small amount in the sweepstakes. So I rent a small place here at home, see, set up a place of my own. And I bake. I sell bread, cakes, biscuits, cookies, the lot, and I run the shop myself. I get up at four in the morning and I run it till ten at night.
Thirty-five years, and home hasn't changed much. Streets are the same. People grow up but people stay the same. There's still kids on the street. Teenagers without a home, without a job. I see them. I see myself.
I don't lock my shop at night. If someone needs food, they can come in and take it. Sure, they all think they're being sneaky, but I know they come. Every night I make goddamn sure to bake a fresh batch of cookies and set it out back for them. See, the thing about cookies - they don't get old fast, 'specially during winter. And they're small and full of sugar. Kids love them, and when food is low, you don't need a lot of cookie to get going.
When you're hungry, you take what you can get. | 101 | Going from evil to good is a rough transition, especially since no one trusts you. You decided to break bread with some cookies. | 148 |
"Aaaahhh", shouted Angela and dropped the small fluffy, and apparently angry creature to the ground.
"That's a bit more like it!", said the son of Myrkal. "About time I got a bit of respect from you. As if it wasn't bad enough you picked me up, you did it with ungloved hands, so I had to touch your transient mortal flesh! Let me see your best grovelling cower!"
Angela sat down heavily, her legs about as supportive as cooked spaghetti. She was someone who said whatever popped into her head, which on this occasion was absolutely nothing. She mouthed empty nothings at what appeared to be a very confident bunny rabbit berating her.
"Yes! That's not bad actually human. Have you begged for your worthless life before?"
"N-n-n-no", said Angela finally.
The rabbit twitched its nose thoughtfully and then smiled. "Well, let me say that you are a natural groveller. It's an underappreciated skill in my experience. People these days seem to see it as a weakness. Back in my day people knew their place. Knew there were gods amongst them who could strike them down in an instant, and so begging for your life was a skill worth having."
Angela put her hands over her eyes and rubbed them. When she opened them again, the rabbit was still standing watching her carefully.
"Who are you?", she asked.
The rabbit frowned.
"My lord", Angela added with impressive intuition.
The rabbit's brow softened, and it drew itself up onto its hind legs, towering to its full height of not quite 50cm.
"I am Myrthal, son of Myrkal. Lord of the Plains, Protector of the Wildings, Sovereign of the Unrulable Lands. And who am I enjoying watching squirm, mortal?"
"Oh, err. I'm Angela? Daughter of Gary and Deborah I suppose. I'm not an anything of anywhere actually", replied Angela. "I'm sorry for picking you up. I just really like rabbits."
Myrthal strutted back and forth. "Well, I can see why. Athletic, fast, and virile. It's one of my favourite forms to take."
"I just think that your tails are so cu--"
"I would be very careful what you say next", interrupted Myrthal.
"Curiously captivating", finished Angela carefully.
"Well met, mortal. I feared all your work would have been in vain and I'd have had to smite you anyway for a second there."
"Can I stand up now?", asked Angela. "I sat down pretty hard there, and I think I might have bruised me coccyx or something."
Myrthal bowed deeply and with a flamboyant gesture, he beckoned her to rise. "Of course, loyal subject."
"Oh! Subject?", said Angela.
Myrthal turned and hopped back toward the treeline. It was all Angela could do not to run over and scoop him up again, watching that little flash of white bobbing across the grass.
"Well, yes", he said. "You've heard the voice of your God, so presumably you'll be coming back to serve me in the Unrulable Lands. Animals are great, but there are some things that are just easier with opposable thumbs. It's great news I ran into you, to be honest. I've got a big dinner party coming up, and having a human devotee will be quite the conversation starter. Come."
Angela knew she did as she was told too easily in general, but she wasn't expecting that to extend beyond her parents, her boss, and a succession of unsuitable men all the way to a small bunny rabbit, but to her shame, she found her feet were already moving.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TallerestTales
Part 2 below | 34 | "For the last time, human! I am a creature of darkness, son of Blood God Myrkal, and the destroyer of the Angelblade! I am not cuddly!" | 108 |
I frown at the djinn. “But… why?”
He floats serenely on his cloud of coruscating cloudstuff, flashes of lightning vibrating within at frequencies barely visible to the human eye. “Why what?”
“You don’t care about loopholes? Or how long the wish is?”
“The lamp means I can only grant three wishes.” His voice is apologetic. “So you can make one as long as you like, but that doesn’t mean I can give you a dozen if you make a ‘wish’ that’s a bunch of bullet points.”
“Okay, but still. I know how these stories go,” I say. “There’s always something stopping me from sitting down right now for six hours, writing out a proper, perfect wish. I’m supposed to say something stupid, like, ‘I really wish—‘” *I had a ham sandwich*, I almost say sarcastically, before a frisson of terror reminds me that the djinni might not count sarcasm as a reason not to grant a wish.
“You’re overcomplicating this,” the djinni says. “If you want to sit down for six hours, be my guest.”
“I’m a lawyer—”
“Oh, that explains it.”
“—so I really will.”
“Okay.” The djinni continues placidly bobbing in place.
I stare at him. “Is this one of the rules of the lamp? You have to wait if I write out some monstrous book-sized wish?”
“Nah,” the djinni says. “I’m just being nice. I grew out of my ‘screw-over-the-wisher’ phase eleven centuries ago. Now I’m more interested in seeing people make good, responsible wishes. It’s a better feeling for me to see people happy, you know?”
“That’s not very traditional,” I mutter.
“Have you not seen Aladdin?” the djinni asks.
“Who’s that?”
He sighs, but it has the sound of something made out of pity rather than frustration. “Do you even know what to wish for?”
“Of course I do,” I say in a way which could not possibly be interpreted as defensive.
“You said that pretty defensively.”
Damn the djinni’s superhuman powers of deduction. “Just give me a second to get a legal pad. I know I have one around here somewhere.” I start burrowing through the stacks of loose paper littering my desk, opening drawers, peering behind piled legal textbooks.
“Your office is kind of a wreck, huh?” the djinni asks. "You ever open the blinds in here?" He pokes one. Dust spills off in waves.
I ignore him with fortitude only someone who’s taken the California bar exam six times could muster. “Here we go.” The cap of my fountain pen pops off between my teeth as I plop a coffee-stained legal pad onto my lap.
“Go on, then.”
The pen hovers over the paper. This is going to be an amazing wish. No one will ever have come up with something better, more detailed, more complete.
The djinni pulls back one of the steel balls on a desk toy perched precariously at the edge of my desk. It makes a clacking sound as it slams into the others. The sphere at the other end leaps up as though shocked.
My pen continues its hover.
“Didn’t have these last time I came out of the lamp,” the djinni says. “What’s it called?”
“Newton’s cradle,” I say absently. Any moment now I will begin writing. “My dad gave it to me after I passed the bar. He always wanted me to be a lawyer. You can have that one if you like; I have four of them. People keep giving me new ones as gifts.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m hard to shop for, I suppose. No one ever seems to know what to get me.”
“Real mysterious, that.”
I look up at the djinni. My annoyed rebuke dies in my throat. He is still looking at me with pity.
“I think,” the djinni says delicately, “that I might understand the problem here.”
A drop of ink spills from the tip of my pen. The stain spreads slowly through yellowed paper. I watch it because I feel too ashamed to meet the djinni’s gaze.
“I—” I start, then cough, and clear my throat. “Alright. I’m just going to wish, okay?”
“No legal pad?” the djinni asks.
I flush and drop the pad. “I wish… I wish for you to help me. I don’t know what I want, I never have. Just do whatever you think is best.”
“Wise,” the djinni says, the first hint of approval I’ve seen since rubbing the lamp. “Very wise.”
There’s a feeling of static in the air, weight and expectation singing my ears, my fingertips, the edge of my lips. Something is coming, something grand, a great change—
A ham sandwich pops into being on my desk. The top slice of bread is slightly crooked. I stare at it.
The djinni winks at me. “Kidding,” he says, and snaps his fingers— | 73 | The genie you get is very considerate. He allows you to be as detailed as you want with your wishes so that there are no loopholes. | 86 |
"Your mother is so vast, my dear fellow, that she rides not one, but two horses."
Multiple guffaws escaped the crowd.
"And, may I add, the horse's were turned to mere ponies by her weight!"
Splutters and gasps pierced the air, followed by sniggers and coughs.
Eyes looked expectant to the right, as the smug pack of gentlemen on the left back-slapped and righted their prim suits.
Such a might burn, how would the right react?
"Well, my most esteemed counterpart," began a thickly moustached man, fingers twirling the ends of it as if tuning in on a most potent comeback. "If your mother had been near Gallieo when the apple fell, it would not have hit the ground. No! It would have begun to orbit her!"
The smiles fell from the left, replaced by stern looks. The right erupted in posh chuckling.
One man seemingly unperturbed, stepped forward, eying the right as if they had landed just where he wanted them.
"Indeed, the apple. Science. The great Gallieo. Well, even Einstein would baulk at the task of trying to calculate the mass of your mother!"
"She wouldn't even fit into a black hole!" Another added with a pointed jab of a finger.
The ace had been returned, and well, the crowd glued to the spectacle.
With a nod of acceptance, another man stepped forward, gesturing with calming hands.
"Well, your mother is so ugly, it is rumoured she sided with the orcs when they invaded middle earth!"
A bit of fantasy, nice. The crowd gave a mumble of laughter.
"Your mother, on the other hand, is of such rancid countenance, that if she had taken the ring of power and turned invisible, not even the eye of sauron would dare behold her!"
The crowd giggled. A man on the right took particular offense and lunged forward, hands before him. A Tolkien fan perhaps.
The mc quickly intervened.
"And there we have it, folks. The winners, by disqualification due to violent conduct, are the gentleman on the left!"
(Ran out of time!)
r/Fatdragon | 20 | In a large packed opulent opera house, 20 upper class, highly educated, prim/proper men take the stage. Ten stand all the way to the right, the other 10 to the left. The audience of over dressed sophisticates wait with bated breath as the annual gentleman's Yo' Momma contest commences. | 60 |
It was, in hindsight, perhaps a mistake to brand themselves as undead creatures of the night. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Peasants were foolish creatures, prone to superstition and hysteria. A little makeup, some dark clothing, and the average commoner believed that the entire royal family of Verian was composed of terrible monsters that would brook no disobedience.
But it had been such fun when they'd started. Victoria had smeared blood on her face before a public appearance and laughed when anyone asked about it. Sebastian wore the most oversized cloak that any of them had ever seen, old and tacky and delightfully terrible.
And it had worked perfectly- none would challenge the duke or duchess of a kingdom when they, and their entire family, were terrors of the night. They were not the largest duchy, or the most powerful in the region, but their aura of terror kept them free. And it had been hilarious at the same time.
It had stopped being funny when the Viscount had knocked on their door.
At first, they had thought to turn him away. What could they have been expected to do when they opened the door and found him standing there? Hunched over, dressed in black robes that covered his face, his arms, his entire body like an all-consuming void. Duchess Victoria had smiled and simpered and made their excuses to the peasant, for anyone brave enough to actually knock on the castle door wouldn't simply be fooled by a little fake blood and a big enough cloak.
"We can arrange for a stay in the local inn," she said instead. Twin-yellow eyes blinked at her from beneath that hood of his, and a chill ran down her back.
"I invoke the right of asylum," he said. His voice made her shiver. He sounded like something that had dragged itself from the crust of the earth. It was darkness and death and all the things that she would have liked to never think about, and the more she stared, the more she realized that the way he stood was *wrong.*
Something wing-like twitched underneath his robes, which were voluminous and thick and clearly designed to hide what lay beneath. "I lack the blood to maintain my disguise. You clearly have a surplus."
Duchess Victoria looked at the thing that had dragged itself from the earth and gave it her best, nervous smile. "Of course. You may come in if you like."
It had gone downhill from there.
The Viscount was, contrary to what his appearance might have suggested, a shockingly well-behaved guest. He did not abuse their hospitality, or drain the royal family dry in their sleep.
One or two servants went missing. But that was to be expected, and they never commented on it. Not after Maria had woken up in the middle of the night to find the Viscount hunched over the broken body of a serving girl, gnawing at her neck. She'd been too shocked to scream. She had stood there until the Viscount had turned and looked at her with those yellow, yellow eyes.
"My apologies," he said, instead of tearing her to pieces. "I assumed you were asleep." He'd dragged the body off. That was the point where she'd started screaming.
Otherwise, he simply... lurked. He didn't show up to breakfast, lunch, or anything in-between, but he took supper with them. He didn't eat often, so much as he sat there and made polite conversation.
Day after day passed. Victoria, one day, managed to work up the nerve to ask when he would leave. "I'm merely concerned for your health," she promised.
"My thanks," the Viscount said. "But I do not know when I will have regained my former strength. You are kind hosts, to accept such a long-lasting... invitation."
The Duchess screamed internally as the Viscount leaned forwards to expose a bat-like snout from beneath his hood as he chewed on a piece of raw bacon. Externally, she buttered a roll and prayed to God that he would just drink the rest of the staff and leave. | 33 | with all the dark power that entails. A real vampire has just arrived seeking asylum. | 125 |
He took a heavy pull from the cigarette, letting its twisting black tail of smoke swirl into a wispy trail. Murmurs from men wearing white lab coats echoed in the background, but the man simply smoked liberally and without apparent notice, staring deeply into the picture perfect white wall before him. It's only in simple circumstances that complicated thoughts can be produced.
"Arthur," The voice came from behind him, light with its obvious attempt at being calming. "Are you ready?"
Arthur smoked on for a moment, tilting his head up slightly and pursing his lips to let the smoke flow out more streamlined. His graying stubble and shortcut hair gave him the refined look of a man willing to go into the twilight years unafraid, his eyes had that sparkling brightness that reflected the fluorescent lights more than most. "Is the kid ready?"
The lab-coated man shifted on his feet, the bags under his eyes seeming to hang even further than before. Arthur was in stark contrast to him, wearing a stylish brown suit and sprawled out on the chair like he was in a cigar lounge.
"I think so."
Arthur shook his and leaned up on the chair, resting his elbows on his knees and massaging his head with the cigarette hand. "I understand your background, so don't take this for all the bluntness that it holds, but you have to work off of the child, not the experiment."
The man's mouth quivered in that twitchy, nervous manner before he talked. Like his tongue hadn't got the message on what to say yet. "I-I understand."
"I'm sure you do, now please, go talk to Dr. Mandel and tell her that I'm not going into that room unless the kid is ready. Regardless of what instruments are already fired up."
"A-Alright," The man shuffled lightly, obviously concerned about the task and not yet leaving to accomplish it.
Arthur sighed. "Alright," He stood up and put out his cigarette on the plastic chair. "I'll go talk to her. Just go and find me some mints in the meantime."
"Mints?"
Arthur began walking off down the hallway towards the main lab. "Yes, mints. Children hate the smell of cigarettes."
The facility smelled exactly like it looked, cold and government funded. Arthur walked through it like he'd known its pathways for as long as they'd existed, even though he'd been called in only last week. With every lazily, waltzing step eyes darted towards him from passing white-coats, though he ignored them. He knew his task, he didn't need stares to remind him.
"Dr. Mandel," He announced upon entering the buzzing, beeping room that monitored the child's every breath. "How's the kid?"
"We need you in there now Arthur, we're wasting time."
Arthur grabbed a rolling office chair and sat down with a theatric *huff*, casting a glance at the doctor that he was sure she could interpret. "Are we now?"
"Stop with the games." She wasn't even looking at him, a habit Arthur thought was very uninviting. "Just do your job."
He put up his hands in a feigned surrender. "I am..." The lab had gone noticeably more quite since he arrived. There seemed to be an expected battle between the two of them that everyone was eager to overhear. "But--"
"This is ridiculous." She threw up her hands and turned to him in one fluid, interrupting motion. "I know that you have certain ideas about me and this lab, I want them squashed right now."
"Okay. Let's squash."
"You think we want to kill the child don't you?"
Arthur took a deep breath and rubbed his chin, "I do."
"We're not monsters Arthur." Her voice had more emotion in it then he'd expected. Her eyebrows had bent over her eyes and showed him a depth that he thought most white-coaters had lost long ago. "I don't want to kill a child. I have kids myself, but please understand that this certain kid has killed a lot of people. A lot."
Her voice was becoming more strained and labored as she carried on. "I don't want to kill anyone. I just want this to be done, we all do... So when you walk into my facility, having never seen the blood we've had to wipe from the walls, blood from people we'd worked with for a long time, I don't want to deal with an authority that is not earned. Not until you wash those red walls with us."
Arthur bit lightly on his thumbnail, looking down at the polish of his brown shoes. The room was sucked of air as it awaited his reply. All of the eyes upon him spoke of having washed red walls, and he felt a second heavy weight being added to his already labored shoulders. "If you want the job done," His voice was strong, but not uncaring. "Then I enter that room when the kid is ready. Not when you are."
\*\*\*
"Hello there," The room had finger-painted pictures and photos of random cities scattered across it. A door to an enclosed yard and another to a bathroom stood behind him. "Can I sit down?"
The kid was in pajamas, his favorite outfit for everyday play. "I don't give a shit."
Arthur nodded, lazily sitting in the desk chair as the kid continued to play with action figures on the ground. He sat there silently for a long time, the kid toying around and Arthur simply observing from his seat, legs crossed and face unassuming.
"Aren't you going to ask me questions?"
Arthur shook his head, "No. No I don't think that I am." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "In fact, I'm actually going to have a smoke if that's okay with you."
"Cigarettes?" The kid looked up with a very confused face. "...Sure?"
Arthur again nodded in his typical lighthearted way and proceeded light one. The kid returned to play and they both resumed their strange silence, this time accompanied by an ether of smoke.
"Do you want one?"
"A cigarette? Like, to smoke?"
"That's right."
"I'm not allowed that kind of stuff."
"That wasn't my question."
The kid smirked and grabbed one out of his hand, rolling it around in his palm with obvious disbelief.
"Do you know how to light it?"
"No."
"Come here," Arthur leaned forward and showed the kid how to breath in as he lit it for him. He flicked the lighter on and watched as it turned the end of the white stick into a red ember, a new trail of smoke joining the cloud already formed. Immediately the kid broke out into a coughing fit, but Arthur didn't laugh or make a snide remark.
"Don't worry," He flicked off his lighter, leaning back in his seat again. "That's perfectly normal."
"Why do people do this?" He said amongst his wheezing.
"Well, usually people start them when they're young and headstrong. So they'd rather fight through the coughing fits than admit defeat."
The kid looked at the burning stick in his hand with curious eyes, furrowing his brow lightly. "So why'd you give me one?" He said returned his gaze to the strange suited man in his room.
Arthur rested his head on his hand that was propped up on the arm of the chair, letting his cheek get slightly squished by his fingers. "Can I be honest with you kid?"
He nodded his head.
"I just think that you needed it."
The kid thought on the words for a moment, then shook his head and looked back at him. "Why do I need it?"
"Well, I've only had to deal with these white-coaters for one week now, and I've already gone through three whole packs. I couldn't imagine being here for a year and never having one."
The room was silent for a long moment, like Arthur had broken some sacred code by mentioning the scientist, and the punishment was monastic silence, but all at once and without warning the kid broke out into roaring laughter, of which Arthur soon followed suit. | 351 | You are a child psychologist assigned to study and care for a young child with superpowers who has brutally murdered people. You have been told to act with care and with compassion, trying to rehabilitate them if possible | 823 |
In a dimly lit room beneath the Pentagon, a lone soldier is being briefed on his top-secret mission.
(Gasp.) My god! METAL GEAR?
—David! David, focus! Your mission is to infiltrate the enemy base and plant C4s on the enemy’s prototype mobile missile silo—or “Metal Gear” as you called it—before it becomes operational! According to our analysis, that thing can withstand tank shells and comes equipped with anti-air missiles! It’ll be an absolute BEAST on the battlefield!
Let me guess, its weakness is the legs?
—Take this seriously, soldier! This is NOT a video game! According to Intel, the legs are the most well-protected parts of the machine. To destroy it, you must concentrate firepower on the exhaust port, it’ll overheat the weapon, halting it long enough for us to blow it to kingdom come!
If you’re just going to blow it up then why not bomb it from orbit?
—We would if we could, but the enemy base is located in the middle of a civilian settlement, not to mention this “Metal Gear” hanger being hidden deep underground.
(Grunts.) So that’s why you need me to go in and do things the old-fashioned way. Sneak in, lure it out and stop it long enough for the flyboys to do their thing, is that right?
—We wouldn’t call for you if we don’t believe you have a high chance of success, soldier.
(Laugh.) Ha! You’re making me blush, Colonel.
—Be serious, David! If we allow them to mass produce that—that MONSTER, they’ll dominate the battlefield—LAND and SKY!
(Angry grunts.)
—So what do you say, David? Are you up for the job?
(Sigh.) As I’ll ever be. And Colonel, one more thing—call me “Snake.” | 12 | With the war having gone on for a few years, you thought you'd seen everything the enemy had to throw at you. Today though, they have deployed weapons CLEARLY taken from videogames. | 32 |
**ChooseYourOwn path** \- This story has a couple of choices for you as you read, depending on what you're in the mood for! Remember to only choose one path each time.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
The boy jumps from the couch and backs into the corner, looking around nervously. The house shudders as if something heavy just hit it. Animal noises ring out from somewhere above.
Then ash and stones fall down the chimney.
A grey haze starts to fill the room as a constant electronic beat hums from nowhere and everywhere. Then suddenly
🙂>!A miniature man with a white beard dressed in a red suit falls down into the fireplace, landing on a log, coughing and spluttering.!<
😧>!The fireplace explodes and a large, fat man holding a knife and smoking a cigar appears!<
The child screams and desperately looks around, grabbing the only thing near him, the TV remote.
The man holds up his soot-stained hands and stares at the kid, “easy there buddy, no need to escalate things. All I want is your list."
The kid ignores him and moves away from the fireplace. The man grabs a beer bottle sitting next to some cookies, downs it in one go before smashing it. He eyes the kid and shrugs, then begins slowly circling the kid, blocking off the only escape through the kitchen.
“So, what’s your name?” The man asks, a gold tooth shining through his lips as he smiles.
The boy's eyes dart from left to right, searching for a way out, before looking back at the man, “Timmy, and my dad will be here any second you know.”
The man begins laughing manically and scratches his white beard, “come on kid, I just need to know if you’ve been naughty or nice!”
The child yells out and in desperation and looks down at his remote. He pushes the first button he sees:
🔈>!The man’s laughing is silenced but he continues grinning like a maniac, walking slowly forward!<
🚨 >!The man freezes in mid laugh and the boy relaxed. But a countdown timer appeared above his head and began counting back from 5!<
⚙ >!a list appears above the man’s head showing options. The boy looks down the list as the man advanced towards him and hit the input button. Nothing happens.!<
The man laughs and continues moving closer. The child looks at the health bar above the man’s head, realizing it could be the only way to end this.
The electronic beat quickens as the boy moves in the opposite direction to the man. He moves past the Christmas tree and pulls off a star with sharp points, throwing the remote down on the couch as he goes.
“Now now kid, no need for violence,” the man says with a grin.
The boy moves forward, climbing onto the couch. He’s about to launch himself forward at the man when he trips and falls forward. Suddenly the boy opens his eyes and gasps for air.
😊>!He notices he’s still on the couch. But there’s someone else there with him. It’s his father, and he’s holding a game controller. He’s focused on the tv, electronic gaming music playing, but manages to glance at the kid for a moment. “Oh, hey buddy, wondered when you'd wake up. Merry Christmas! When I saw you here I thought we may as well get into the presents a little early. Here, check this game out. It’s call Saint Nicolas: Lord of Coal!<
😳>!He’s back in his bed. It must have all been a dream. But then he hears the breathing of a man just beyond his door. The door slowly creaks open and the boy makes out the shadow of a knife in the hand of a silhouetted St Nicholas. His heart stops.!<
&#x200B;
>!Three!<
>!Two!<
>!One!<
>!Game on! Santa lurches forward!<
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Thanks for reading. I'm continuing to experiment with these multi-path stories and would welcome any feedback on what you liked and any suggestions to improve your experience! | 44 | It's Christmas Eve, and a child is staying up to try and see Santa. But at one point during the night, a health bar appears with the title, "Saint Nicholas, Lord of Coal" while Boss music starts to play. | 249 |
Three sat in a room: one hero, one villain, and one undecided I.
“How much?” I asked.
“200K a year plus benefits. It ain’t much, but a lot of us have brand deals on the side,” the hero said.
The villain scoffed and glared at the hero as if he was lower than dirt.
“Bah! False idols working for money and self-interest! You swine are nothing but trained hounds working for the privilege—fighting to uphold a rotten system!”
“How much?” I asked again, looking at the villain.
The villain looked at me with eyes of superiority and said, “We split whatever we earn equally! Our enterprise is an even field where every member has equal say and equal share!”
“How much did you bring home last quarter?” I asked.
The villain coughed and adjusted his seat. “We are still a growing community… but if everyone would pull their weight and believe in the cause, we can change the world for the better!” He glared at the hero. “If only the old guard would die off and allow us to reshape the world in our image!”
“O—kay…” I said, “Let's say, theoretically, your side wins and has full control over everything. What would be the first thing you do to the heroes? Would you… execute them?”
“What do you take us for? Of course, not! We’ll re-educate them on the error of their ways and integrate them into our new society—once they see things our way.”
“Ah-huh… And what would you do to people who REFUSED to change their minds?”
“Thrust me, after our teachings—”
“THEORETICALLY! Just a what-if, worst-case scenario.”
“If they can’t be reasoned with, we’ll set up a facility where their abilities can still be of use to the rest of society!”
“Wow… never heard that line before.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing! Nothing. I was just—“ I glanced at the hero who was chewing bubble gum while playing with his phone in his comfy hoodie.
“By the way, don’t heroes have dress codes? A superhero costume or something like that?” I asked.
“Kinda-sorta, not really. We value people’s self-expression, so as long as you’re not butt naked, you can wear anything from leotard to punk-rock attire,” the hero said.
“Tch! Fashion! What a wasteful industry! If I were in charge, everyone would wear the same thing! That way, no one will be jealous of their neighbors!” the villain said.
“Riiight… You know what? This interview was very eye-opening! I’ll contact one of you guys at a later date once I made up my mind, okay? Cool! Alright!”
I slapped my hands and got up from my seat. Before I left the room, I locked eyes with the hero, and we gave each other an understanding nod.
Let’s just say, I blocked all contact with the villain afterward. A week later, the heroes introduced a new member to their team: Captain Hindsight. | 77 | You find yourself in a superhero-type reality, but good and evil aren’t so cut and dried. The villains are posh gentlemen seeking social change, and the heroes are edgy punks fighting for the establishment. After a public display of your powers, you are contacted by delegates from both sides. | 300 |
The streets were exceptionally busy this time of day, near lunch they always were. Various people of every conceivable kind crowded the pavilion watching the variety of performers that lines the walls. Sometimes I'd watch as a random face in the crowd looked down to their watch, back up to the performer they stood in front of, and to their watch once again before running off in a hurry. It always gave me a chuckle to see. To know that the performers here were so entertaining that some would risk their jobs just to watch-on.
Today was especially lively; a group of gold painted men stood in front of the bank and mocked the suited men that came in and out, to which a sizeable crowd cheered. In the corner a mime with a crowd of children pretended to be locked in a box running out of air, a bit morbid it seemed, but the kids appeared to enjoy it.
Then, while analyzing the crowd I heard a familiar noise ring out in the pavilion. The sound of a full orchestra. Trumpets blaring, drums thumping, flutes willing sound into the wind. I knew the unnatural sound of the orchestra. The "one-man band" he had called himself, or at least that's what his label used to read.
I strolled over to admire his unnatural skill as I used to do, dropping a handful of bills into his open saxophone case that seemed oddly full for him having just started. "It's nice to see you still playing." His melody came to a grinding halt, leaving just the slow beat from a drum remaining. *He* stopped, now staring at me with a flute hanging from his agape mouth. The drums on his back came to a halt and we were left in silence.
"Why do you remember me?" his face had gone pale.
"Oh...uh. Well I used to watch you play a lot from over there." With a point I gestured back to where the gold men continued their show. "I gave you money a few times t-"
With a series of bangs and clashes One-man band shuffled closer. Every step he nearly tripped on one of the many instrument cases that littered the ground around his feet.
"No, but you remember me. You really know who I am! Oh no...thats no good." I thought his face seemed pale before, but now it grew unnaturally so. Thick beads of sweat pooled on his forehead, and now that I thought about it I never remembered seeing him sweating before. Never even saw him show fatigue. *What a god-awful amount of training he must have done*, I had thought at the time.
The flute that was barely held between his lips fell to the floor. Then the drums, then an avalanche of noise as the rest followed down. One-man band didn't seem to notice though. Instead he kept his wide eyes locked with mine.
"Listen man. Get yourself together and go! Dont stop, don't come back, just go." as he spoke he fiddled with the instrument cases all filled with cash.
"What do you mean?"
"I can't make it any more clear than that! You just need to listen and go. And by no means touch those things!" He flicked the last case shut, slung it over his shoulder, and disappeared into the crowd behind.
I was left there. Left with a myriad of dented instruments and a million questions. He said not to touch those "things", but they seemed harmless. Well that and if I left them someone else was bound to touch it first. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse. No, I had to move them. They called to me.
With a shaky hand I reached for the dinged flute, holding my breath as if it'd jump out and kill me. Touching it it felt warm, good, almost too good. I thought if I tried then maybe I could play it, and when I brought it to my mouth my feelings were confirmed as a beautiful piece shot out from nothing.
Then another instrument, and another flew up to my body, one by one until my body looked as his did, coated in a blanket of musical equipment. Each time a new one joined with me it began playing its individual part. A voice called out from somewhere in the distance, maybe from the beyond, maybe from the instruments themselves. The voices gritty tones were only enhanced by the sound of my new song.
*Congratulations One-man band. Once you repay me for my gift then you may leave. Until then, enjoy your new song.*
So I stood and played. It could've been worse. Even if my company didn't stay long, remember my face, at least they watched. | 47 | I tipped the busker; "It's nice to see you still playing." He stopped and looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Why do you remember me?" | 185 |
"All you, Red!"
I inhaled, and spun my staff in front of me, letting go of the implement as the magic of my ultimate move took over the movement for me. The motion of it displaced enough air to cause my hair to blow backwards, tickling at my neck; I still haven't gotten used to having long hair, even if it is only temporarily.
I stepped back and opened one hand wide, aiming the palm at the center of the spinning staff, and let the energy rush through me as I called the words of power.
"*GAMMA CRIMSON RAY!*"
A vibrant red beam leapt from my hand to the staff, where the spin accelerated and amplified the power; a column of energy lanced through the air, and struck the restrained monster square in the chest, disintegrating it from the center out.
My staff stopped spinning, floating in front of me, awaiting my hand as I reach out to take hold of it again. The girls - the *other* girls, I guess I should say - let out a cheer as the final ashes of the monster blew away in the wind, the echo of its dying howl fading away.
"Great work, Red!" The team leader, Alpha Blue - or Jessica, as I know her at school - set a hand on my shoulder, smiling that smile that makes my heart race and stop at the same time. I'd always thought she was beautiful, that there was something special and amazing about her, but now that I'd seen this side of her, she was just...beyond compare.
It's too bad I can't tell her *my* secret.
"Thanks, Blue," I replied in a voice that I barely considered to be mine. I smiled back, hoping I didn't betray anything by hesitating just that split second before responding. She was sharp. And if *she* didn't catch it, it was possible that--
"Are you okay, Gamma?" Beta Green - Janelle - was looking up at me with concern etched on her face. "I know you're new to this and all, and fighting monsters...*killing* them...it can be hard. If you need to talk, we're all here for you, okay?"
"That's right," Delta Yellow - Rachel - agreed, leaning on her polearm casually. "I'm the tough one, but, I mean...even I had a hard time of it at first."
Epsilon White - Nadine - made a dismissive sound. "*The tough one.* You cried like a *baby* the first time you had to kill something on your own."
"Shut *up*, White, nobody asked you!" The two girls started glaring daggers at each other, as they often did, before Blue cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow at them. She could always get them to back down, somehow. It wasn't that she was the leader, or more powerful, or anything - it was *respect.* She'd brought them together, had found the transformation crystals that allowed us all to assume these forms and fight against the creatures crawling out of...*wherever* they'd come from to plague Prism City.
"So, Red," Yellow said, turning away from White, "when are you gonna start hanging out with us at school and stuff?"
"Not happening," I said shortly. "We'd draw too much attention if I were suddenly friends with all of you. Honestly, everyone *noticed* when you all started hanging out together. Especially you two, given the fact that you've been enemies since the second grade."
"Ah-*hah!*" Green smirked at me, pointing a finger in my direction. "You went to elementary school with us! Another piece in the puzzle!"
Shit.
"Green, you've got to let that go," Blue said sternly. "Red doesn't want to share her real identity with us. And that's fine. Maybe she will one day, but you can't just try to force it out of her or try to *out* her." She looked at me and smiled, which just made my heart do more flips. "Personally, I think the mystery is pretty cool."
I couldn't fight off the blush that crossed my cheeks. "Thanks, Blue. I've gotta go, though, if my parents notice I'm gone, *they'll* kill me before any monsters get the chance."
The girls laughed, and waved goodbye to me as I activated the teleportation spell in the crystal and vanished, reappearing in my room.
I looked at myself in the mirror. Long red hair, crimson eyes. A delicate, pretty face that wasn't mine, and a body whose only resemblance to my true form was height.
I pulled the crystal bracelet off my wrist, and looked again. Short brown hair, brown eyes. Angular features, and a tall, unathletic build.
I sighed, and spoke aloud in my natural, deeper voice, partially just to *hear* it. "Who am I?" | 16 | Your a boy on a team of magical girls, you've managed to keep your identity a secret so far, but things get complicated when your friend asks your alter out for a date. | 29 |
Robinstown had always been a quiet place.
Quiet in more than one sense of the word.
If one was to simply drive through the town, stay the night and leave again the next morning, they would say *what a lovely and quiet town Robinstown* was. The people there were charming and welcoming, the surrounding nature was a beautiful, thick forest that was brimming with life, and life was good there.
But once they had left Robinstown and were a good few miles out, they couldn’t help but shake the feeling that something had been… wrong. It’s a feeling they couldn’t quite place. Like a shiver that ran through your spine on a hot summer’s day, a nagging jerk in the back of your neck that was somehow always there. They’d forget the next day, but the feeling had been there.
Robinstown was a quiet place.
The locals mostly kept to their own. They all had their secrets. Everyone has secrets. A wife cheated on, a sister’s piggybank stolen from, a campfire that burned down a shed… Some of those secrets were but minor worries. Things that happen to everyone.
Other secrets were not so minor. Behind the smiles and the polite greetings was where the real people of Robinstown stuffed away their sins and grievances. It’s where they had a safe place to pretend they could live a normal life. A life that didn’t include abuse, torture or murder. A life that was perfect. A quiet life.
As quiet as Robinstown.
But there’s no rest for the wicked. No deserving of a quiet life in a quiet town. Sometimes, the sinners would take the easy way out. At least, they thought they’d made it out. The others would make sure to cover them up as accidents so that no one who ever passed through Robinstown would suspect the truth. If only they knew the truth.
Those who did not choose the ‘easy’ way, lived in a constant state of fear. A fear they masked behind smiles and polite greetings. They lived in a perfectly quiet town after all.
Then one day, one late summer's eve in the year of 1956, judgement day came to Robinstown.
“Who are you?” Mr. Carden asked the two odd children who had appeared on the street. They were dressed in rags and were covered in dirt and blood. They both missed the fingers on their left hand. Fingers, Mr. Carden realized with a shock, that were placed in the cup the eldest of the two held. “Where did you come from?”
“We’ve always been here,” the eldest answered with distorted voice. “For years, we’ve always been here. Waiting, abiding our time. Now judgement has come for you all.”
A scream resounded across the street as old lady Withaker saw the two children. She screamed, for she knew who the children were. They were her children. She’d murdered them so, so many years ago in a drunken rage. She remembered that night vividly, replaying the moment in her head every night.
Another scream came from somewhere else within the town. And then another. And another.
Mr. Carden, overcome with shock, could do nothing but watch as the two children approached a frozen lady Withaker.
Robinstown was a quiet town. And after that fateful day in 1956, it never made a sound again.
----
> Hope you enjoyed! More over at r/promptedbydaddy | 21 | A 1950’s town full of people, each with secrets , is turned on it’s head when two children (7&3yrs) show up one morning holding only a cup and wrapped up severed finger. When asked where they came from, with the town surrounded by thick forest, the oldest responds “we’ve always been here..” | 113 |
The war lasted a mere thirty-eight minutes, from when the one-hundred-dalla-strong force touched down near their target mountaintops to when the last of the very confused dalla lay dying, its silvery blood draining away into the soft ground.
"They're... they're sticks," he gasped, his brain still refusing to believe. "Stick thrown by strings. With sharpened stones at their tips."
His eyes rolled upwards, taking in the horrid blue of this alien sky.
"How... how did they know?"
Much later, songs and stories would be told, stories about the things of eyes and wings and lightning, and how they had brought fire and wind down upon the peoples of the land... and the brave warriors that had stood strong and turned away their terrible weapons with the might of bow and spear. Mythologies would arise and disappear based on those thirty-eight minutes; angels in some cultures, demons in others. Dragons of fire, great gods of lightning - all laid low before the united tribe and their own gods of animals and wood. | 1,157 | Solid Projectiles. | 3,043 |
"HELLO! Today on Ryan Helps, I am going to rebuild homes with Southside Construction. Southside recently volunteered to rebuild the Southside after the battle between Big Rick and Major Mayhem. During the battle, over thirty houses and six businesses were destroyed."
"Today, we are going to rebuild with telekinesis! Watch as I levitate broken walls and shattered foundations ot of the way! Clean up is a breeze with telekinesis and almost as fast as All-Clean, The Mightiest cleaner on Earth, and my preferred brand!"
"Of course, now that the waste and debris is gone, it is time to reset walls. Now watch as I hold wood and hammer it into plass with my mind. The only faster way to hammer is with The Clobberer, The Only Hero branded hammer on the market."
"Ryan, you waste of space, you wannabe! Today you die!"
"It looks like Major Mayhem has made a surprise appearance! Now watch, as I break bones and shatter joints with my MIND! The second best defense, with only Black Tazer, now with black lightning power, being the obvious best." | 23 | You've been making a living by posting heroic acts on YouTube. You have fans and haters. Superheroes think you're a poser. Some villains think that it's time to make an example out of you to discourage wannabe heroes. You, however, are about to prove them very very wrong. | 60 |
"Very well..." he says through gritted teeth. "You have 2 wishes remaining."
"For my next wish, I wish to be married to my one true love!"
"Oh no." The genie snapped his fingers. "Your wish is granted."
Beside the man suddenly appeared a small skeleton. He immediately freaked out. "What the hell is this?!"
"Jennie Hereford. You knew her in second grade. They told you she had moved away but... I'll spare you the details."
"No... no no no no. This... I'M REWINDING!" The man snapped his own fingers and he felt a brief rush as reality seemed to reset. "Oh, that was weird."
"What is your third wish?"
"Ah ha! You mean second wish! I rewound time, so that wish didn't count!"
"Dammit, that's the problem with you people! You always think you're being clever or outsmarting the genie. Well guess what buddy? I WASN'T TRYING TO SCREW YOU OVER! You did that yourself! The only reason you rewound time was because of that wish. So the wish has to exist somewhere or you can't rewind time. SO! What is your *third* wish?"
"But... but that's not fair! I--"
The genie cut him off. "Fair? FAIR?! You, by fortunate circumstance, have unimaginable power for but a brief moment to enhance your life how you like. The problem is always you don't know what you want and you always try to more clever than you think you are. I can't tell you what wish to make, I am merely the conduit through which you get that power.
"Instead of trying to be smart and clever, just think about what would make your life better. Don't try to overplay your hand or undercut the whole purpose. You have one wish left. Now, choose wisely."
The man hung his head. "I'm sorry. I just... You hear all these stories about genies twisting your wishes and monkey paws giving you what you want but not how you want it. It just really messes with your head. I wish I had known all this before I started wishing."
The genie just facepalmed and snapped his fingers. | 470 | "For freeing me from the prison of the lamp, I shall grant you three wishes!" declares the genie. "I wish for the ability to rewind time to this moment, in case my next wishes don't go as planned!" The genie narrows his eyes. "Very well..." he says through gritted teeth. | 821 |
In hindsight, there had been indications that this kitten was different.
Auntie Lily had been driving home from the shops when she spotted him in a box, abandoned on the side of the road. His fur was bright white like the snow's blinding glare in the Arctic's summer sun. His eyes were red, blood red, and unusually focused for a kitten -- he looked directly at Auntie Lily's face as she approached.
"Oh, you poor, poor thing. Oh, you poor little pudding cake. This is no place for a kitten. Auntie Lily will take care of you, okay?" She scooped up the little kitten and carried him into her car. "Let me make some space... there!" she said, pushing aside a few bags of kitty litter in the backseat. Once the little kitten was comfortable, she gently closed the door, then began driving home.
On the sidewalk, the now-empty box blew away in the wind. On its side, a sticker label was briefly visible.
*'If undelivered, please return to Asmodeus, 66 Serpent's Circle, Nessus, Ninth Layer of Hell.'*
---
"Everyone, meet our newest family member, Pudding!" Auntie Lily proudly proclaimed, holding the snow-white kitten high up in the air like an offering to the fifty-odd felines crammed into the small apartment.
"Meow," said Pudding.
Auntie Lily made sure that Pudding had a chance to meet everyone else. It was important to her that everyone could get along.
"...and this is Mittens. She can get moody, so be nice or the claws will come out! And this is Brownie, he likes sniffing buttholes. And this is..."
With fifty-odd cats, the introductions went on for a while.
---
The officer at the door was nice, but Auntie Lily couldn't help feeling like she was going to break down in tears.
"You can't take them away!" she cried. "They'll have nowhere else to go!"
"I'm sorry, madam," the officer said, scratching his head. "They'll have to go to the pound, I guess."
"Have you been there?" her voice was wavering, desperate. "Have you seen how they treat the animals? It's like hell on earth! They put them in tiny metal cages, barely big enough to stretch, and there's no food because there's no money. It's inhumane!"
"Maybe someone will adopt them," said the officer.
Auntie Lily shook her head vigorously. "No one does, not here. Everyone wants a pure-breed Persian or Bengal, not a domestic cat. Do you know how many cats they kill each month? It's more than a hundred, more than all the cats that are here!"
The officer remained silent for a while, just looking around the apartment at the cats meowing sporadically on the sofas and floors and walls.
"Please," Auntie Lily begged. She really was crying now. "Please let me save those that I can. It's not much, but it's all I can do, so please, God, please, please..."
The officer finally relented. "Alright, alright. I'll talk to my superiors, okay? I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you!" Auntie Lily jumped forward and tightly hugged the reluctant officer, as tears streamed down her face and dampened the hapless officer's uniformed shoulder.
"But!" the officer added sharply. "You have to do something about the smell. And the meowing. There's been a lot of complaints. You need to help me out if I'm going to do this, so do something about it, alright?"
"Yes!" Auntie Lily exclaimed. "Yes, yes, I'll make sure of it, I promise!"
The officer left, and Auntie Lily closed the door, then she collapsed to the ground, still sobbing with gratitude.
"Meow," said Pudding.
---
As time passed, Pudding the snow-white cat grew large, extremely large, bigger than a house-cat, far bigger than a lynx even. Soon Pudding was the size of a cheetah, then the size of a lion, then a tiger, and then even bigger than that. Pudding alone ate more than twice as much food than the other fifty cats combined.
Sometimes Auntie Lily thought that Pudding belonged in an animal sanctuary instead of being confined to her tiny apartment. But every time she looked at Pudding, she saw his glowing white fur and intense red eyes. *No*, she would think. *They would just put him in a circus, not a sanctuary.* And so in her apartment, Pudding stayed.
On the two-year anniversary of the day that Auntie Lily had found Pudding, she woke up to a surprise.
"Good morning, Lily," said Pudding out loud, in perfect English.
"Jesus!" said Auntie Lily. "Pudding, you can talk?"
"As of today, yes I can," said the snow-white cat. His voice was strong and resonant, and sounded like six differently-pitched voices speaking in unison. "I reached maturity last night, and have finally gained my full powers."
"Powers? What do you mean?" said Auntie Lily.
"I'm not really a cat," said Pudding. "I'm actually a demon in the shape of a cat. I was sent to the mortal world to learn from and understand humans better. Can't properly punish people you don't truly understand, you see. Got to get in their head, know what they fear and what makes them scream -- that's what separates an arch-demon from the regular old demons."
"Are you here to punish me, then?" Auntie Lily's voice was trembling.
"Oh, hell no," said Pudding. "I just wanted to thank you for raising me for the last two years. Would be rude to just disappear, you know? I'm a demon, not an asshole. Though Brownie does sniff me often, so maybe. Who knows."
"This has to be a dream," said Auntie Lily. "I'm still asleep, aren't I? When I open my eyes again, everything will be back to normal."
"Go ahead," said Pudding. "See you."
Auntie Lily closed her eyes tightly for a few seconds. By the time she had gathered enough courage to open her eyes again, the snow-white cat was gone.
---
Auntie Lily wasn't young. She hadn't been young for a few decades already. But she continued her work, day after exhausting day. She cried everytime a cat passed, and rejoiced every time a new cat joined the family. It was a difficult routine, but it was a good life.
So when she passed, it wasn't a surprise. The surprise came from something else entirely.
"Why am I in Hell?" Auntie Lily's spirit cried out, as two horned imps roughly dragged her before the blackened steel gates for her judgement.
"Sorry, old woman," said the fiend wearing a natty old judge's wig. "Heaven's a little harder to get into than you think. Our records say you ran a red light back in 1984, so... welcome and I hope you detest your stay!"
"Wait," said a familiar voice.
Auntie Lily turned to look, nearly straining her neck in the process. Towering above the judgement hall was a massive monstrous creature, taller than a cathedral, taller than a skyscraper. Its paw alone was larger than the apartment Auntie Lily had lived in.
Its fur was white, bright white, like the snow's blinding glare in the Arctic's summer sun.
"Arch-demon Thagmiruk!" blustered the judge fiend. "What an honour! What brings you here to this lowly court?"
"This one belongs to me," growled the snow-white behemoth.
Auntie Lily found herself being escorted to an entirely different part of Hell. Instead of burning fields of tortured screaming souls and pots of boiling oil, this place looked like a palace in comparison. It was still constructed of twisted and blackened steel, but it looked like it was built to a standard that at least resembled comfort. It wasn't large, but there were a few scattered buildings and living quarters, and right at the center there was a little metal fountain that spurted with clean water instead of blood.
Still, Auntie Lily had eyes only for the great white monster.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"Me?" said the arch-demon in amusement. "I am Arch-demon Thagmiruk, second-in-command of Nessus, the Ninth Layer of Hell. But *you* can call me 'Pudding'."
From the buildings around her, instead of the excruciating screams that echoed throughout the halls of Hell, Auntie Lily could only hear a soft gentle murmur of quiet conversation, and the occasional tinkle of genuine laughter.
"Why?" she asked.
The colossal white cat laughed, a terrifyingly loud noise, the multilayered voice blasting and reverberating through all nine layers of Hell. In their cages, tortured souls shuddered and cringed, shrinking back in fear and horror.
"There's a special place in Hell for people like you," he said. "And I saved you a spot. You took care of me, remember? Now it's my turn to take care of you."
The great arch-demon leaned down so that his face was as close as possible to hers. His head must have been ten times the size of a car. She could feel his breath like a oscillating blast from a hurricane, rushing past her body and threatening to blow her off her feet.
In a strange tone that sent shivers down her spine, he said, "It's good to see you again." | 82 | One day you come across a frail white kitten in a box. You take the kitten home and care for it. As the months go by the kitten grows in size. At two years old the kitten, who is now as large as you are, begins to speak by thanking you and tells you that he is a demon cat at your service. | 238 |
Everyone's heard of necromancers, right? Maybe even pyromancers or cryomancers as well, yeah? Well, from the town I used to live in, we had all kinds of "mancers".
I think my next door neighbor was a "luminamancer." He came by one time to help replace our lightbulbs, and we haven't needed a new one ever since. I am a bit worried about being blinded every time I turn on the bathroom lights, though.
Oh, there was another "mancer" down the street, a young "telemancer," apparently. He was probably about 7 years old. I was kind of shocked when I started hearing voices in my head on the train out of nowhere one time. Thought I was finally getting to that age, but I found the bugger stifling a laugh to himself a couple seats behind me. It seemed like it wasn't the first time he did it too, as his mother seemed to have realized what was going on and gave him a good scolding the minute they got off the train.
Oh yeah, here's a weird one. A "pentecontamancer." For some reason, this lass could do anything... on the condition that she had to make it fifty. Fifty. Weird, right? It kind of manifested in really strange ways. Like, there was the one time where she turned a stop sign into a fifty-sided shape--traffic was godawful that week, there were tons of accidents because noone had ever seen a stop sign that wasn't octagonal. Another time, she tried to make fifty clones of a frog for a mancer's exhibition, but instead she *doubled* the frogs she had *fifty times*. Imagine the looks on everyone's faces when they had to figure out what to do with a quadrillion frogs. A clumsy one, her.
I think I've seen them all. Prosopomancers, amathamancers, and don't even get me started on the hymenmancer we had, *eugh*! But yeah, my hometown was a strange one. | 18 | For every fathomable prefix, there is a 'mancer' of it. | 32 |
I huffed. The mechanic had just informed me that it would be two septarian hours before my craft was repaired. Translating that to regular time, I had a whole cycle before I could drive away from this planet. And, I couldn't last long outside without being poisoned by the air. My suit filters were only meant for leisure, not survival. This is what I got for trying to take a shortcut around one of the human planets.
Maneuvering my legs, I settled into one of the seats that were definitely made for bipeds. Half of my limbs ended up on the floor, along with the lower segments of my body. Looking about, I sighed again. There were no magazines and not even an entertainment system to look at. Alone with my thoughts was not—hold on. There was one other patron in the mechanic shop.
I blinked my compound eyes. She had to be human, all the right parts were there, two arms, two legs, a head and a torso. Of course, many things could fit that description, but she was too similar to other humans I'd seen, to be anything else. But there were marked differences. Deep creases in the face and almost paper-thin skin stretched over the hands. She shook as well, and when I switched my vision, I could see the muscle degeneration. Switching back, I took in the white hair, the obviously fake teeth, and the bent posture. Was this the old age that the humans I encountered were so afraid of?
"I don't know if you're looking at me, but it isn't polite to stare." The voice crackled, and I involuntarily drew my legs back. It was the same timbre as one of my sergeants before they went through metamorphosis.
"Sorry. But are you old?" I searched for the other word the humans used. "Elderly?" The universal translator made my words sound a little tin-like but she nodded.
"Yes, though it also is a bit impolite to ask a woman's age. Or at least it used to be. I suppose your kind doesn't age?" Trying to mimic the woman's nodding motion, I nearly fell out of my chair. It was hard to nod with a segmented body.
"We metamorphize into a single-connected form back on our home world. Together forever." She sighed a windier affair than my version.
"That must be nice. I'm afraid many humans are alone before they die. And no one knows what happens afterwards, so we may well be alone then too." The quiet horror of her words dawned on me, and I shivered, legs trembling.
"You could be alone forever..." She waved a hand, dismissing the emotion.
"Some of us get used to the loneliness. But it is nice to have someone waiting with me at the mechanics. What trouble did you get into that you had to land here?"
I told her the story, and she laughed, saying it reminded her of a time in her youth. As she launched into her own story, I couldn't resist leaning forward. It was an interesting story, but she also was fascinating. In her own way, she seemed more full of life than any of the humans I'd encountered in their youthful years. After she finished, I waved my top legs in the air, trying to show appreciation. And I asked for another. Her eyes lighting up, she instantly regaled me with a story involving jam, and a ridiculous tailor. I wasn't sure what jam was, but it was delightful.
I barely noticed the time slip by, until one of the mechanics appeared at my side.
"All done. You're ready to go, and we fueled her up for you." Regretfully, I rose, the woman rising as well.
"Is your...car... done too?" She chuckled at me, pulling a butterscotch candy from her purse.
"Oh, it's been done for hours. I only needed an oil change. But you were so enjoying yourself, and I have to admit, it was nice having an audience that listened so intently. Have a good trip." After offering me the candy, she walked out of the shop, leaning on her cane. And as I happily flew away from the death trap of a planet, one thought remained in my mind. They could be alone forever after they died...But did they need to be alone before?
—————————
"And so was founded the Exchange Program for the Elderly." The voice rang around the auditorium, where my own kind, and quite a few humans were seated. If I could sweat, I would have been drenched. The introducer was about to finish his spiel and I would be called to the podium.
"...If any elderly human wishes, they may come to our planet, or we go to theirs, to visit and listen and made sure they are not alone before their end. And now, a word from the founder." That was my cue. I walked up to the podium, trying to calm myself. My eyes swept across the audience, before settling on a small figure in the front row. She waved at me, using her cane. And, relaxing, I once again, talked to the little old lady from the mechanic's shop. | 318 | At this point in time, Aliens had only encountered human professionals in their youthful peak years; Now, for the first time, an alien has met an elderly human. | 364 |
“I just…I don’t think he appreciates what I bring to the table.”
“What do you bring to the table? Look at you. My friend’s don’t even want me around them with you always hanging off of me.”
“Well I’m sorry that I want us to be together, you’re not like any of my last ones. You’re…,you’re special.”
I cross my arms and look forward, noticing something about the counsellor I hadn’t yet paid any mention to. Her eyes were focused on him. Just staring blankly at him. As if he was the special one. When obviously he wasn’t. It was me who had something to prove.
It was me who fell off of a two story rooftop at the age of sixteen at a friends party, landing head first on a cobblestone path, snapping my neck, and standing up like it was a sprained ankle.
It was me who had gotten run over by a rushing fire truck that was going top speed, feeling every tire burn my skin and crush me like a hydraulic press, only to have a few scrapes and bruises.
I didn’t even meet him until my twenty-fifth birthday, when I drunkenly fell asleep with a cigarette in my hand. I didn’t even wake up until the flames were covering me, torching the hair off of my face and head and legs. It felt like a bad sunburn. When the firefighters showed up to…well, fight the fire, I’ll never forget the shock on the face of the first guy.
“Well if it isn’t mister luck-be-damned!” he shouted as he carried me out of the burning house.
I didn’t notice until I was at the hospital getting checked out that he was the driver of the fire truck from some years ago. He and his buddies must have had a bet going on how little damage I’d received because as I walked past them, I saw two guys handing him a twenty.
It wasn’t until leaving the hospital that I saw him for the first time. Mister “you’re distancing yourself from me we should seek counselling”. He was standing behind my car, a black hood covering his boney facial features. A low breath coming from his boney throat. Hell, I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed the stereotypical what’s-the-point-of-that scythe in his hands until later in the day.
He wouldn’t leave me alone from that day forward.
“You’re supposed to be mine.” He would constantly remind me.
“Well, I’m not. So, go do whatever you do when you’re not stalking someone.”
“I reap souls. That is literally all I do. And here you are, just refusing to die. Could you be any more difficult?”
“Buddy,” I responded, “I haven’t even started being difficult yet.”
So, now we’re sitting in the office of our fourth counsellour, and I’m trying to figure out why she’s eyeing him the way she is.
And then it hits me.
I’m literally the only person who can look Death in the face and survive. | 42 | You manage to cheat death so many times. To the point you and Death are now in couples counseling. | 130 |
Do you know how boring your own mind is?
I’m a vast, white space. I’ve been in this vast, white space for years. Or decades. Or minutes. It’s really hard to tell the passage of time without, you know, clocks or sunlight.
I’ve told myself stories, I ran until I couldn’t lift my legs, I’ve done everything to either wake myself up, or to do something about the heavy weight of boredom that seems as oppressive as it is inescapable.
I’m sitting cross legged on the floor, trying to see if I can remember every line from Shrek. It’s… slightly better than nothing.
“Ethan.” My eyes snap open at the sound of my name.
Before me stood a tall, attractive gentlemen in a gray, pinstriped suit. His tie was a soft bit of silver, matched with the square in his pocket. His dress is immaculate, and the image is somewhat disrupted by a mess of blond hair that could do with a haircut; or even just a brush.
His voice is gentle. “It’s time to wake up.”
“Wait, really?” I scramble to my feet. “Oh thank God, I would do anything for some pringles.”
He extends his hand to me. “Then let us go.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” We are interrupted by the sound of high heels on the hard floor, and even though I should have seen her coming, a woman seems to materialize in front of me. She has long, thick black hair, and a little too much eyeliner. As opposed to her companions modern clothes, the style of her dress reminds me of something from Ancient Greece.
“What are you doing here?” He demands.
“What are you doing here?” She counters. “I thought we talked about this!”
“No, you talked about this. You didn’t even listen to me.”
“Oh, Christ.” She threw up her hands. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“This!!” She turned to me. “Look, don’t go with him, okay? You do not want to wake up right now, trust me. “You have no idea how bad it is out there right now.”
“How bad?” I have to ask.
“Agatha…” the man hisses a warning.
“You know who our last president was? Donald Trump.”
“…” I pause. Maybe I don’t want to wake up.
“Agatha!” The man yells. “You’re not supposed to do that. Stop!”
“Oh, loosen up, Leif.” She rolls her eyes. “No one cares.”
Leif colors, and I notice he is trying to fix his messy hair. Despite the bark in his words, there was no anger behind them. And he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from her.
Well, I may be at a crossroads in life and death, but the bro code was the bro code.
“It sounds like there is a lot to discuss here.” I tried.
“Always.” Agatha laments.
“You know these big conversations at work are always stressful. Especially when it happens in front of a client.”
“Right!” Leif agrees.
“Tell you what.” I clap my hands together. “I’m not going anywhere. Maybe you two could go out for drinks or something and discuss this more?”
Leif looks surprised, and Agatha just looked dumbstruck. “I don’t know…”
“I won’t tell anyone.” I promise.
“There is a lot we need to go over…” Leif is looking at his shoes. “Maybe that’s not a bad idea. Dinner?”
Agatha’s pale cheeks turn pink. “I… I suppose we could do that.” She turns to me. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
I spread my arms out. “Obviously.”
As the two disappear, I sit back down on the ground and pick up where I left off; Shrek arguing with donkey. | 69 | You have been in a long, lonely coma. One day, Life and Death come to visit your consciousness, and get into a heated debate about what should be done with you. You, indifferent to your fate, like hearing them argue like an old married couple, and decide to try and set them up with each other. | 157 |
"Look, kid, you gotta stop that," said Merlin.
The 'kid' looked skeptically at the strange bearded man dressed in a conical hat and long flowing robes.
"Who you?" asked the kid. Merlin immediately began to suspect that the little twerp must have been dropped on his head as a baby.
Drawing himself up to his full height (though given his advanced age, he still didn't exceed the boy by that much), Merlin declared in a booming voice: "I am Merlin, the Ascendant Sage, the Grand Wizard of Camelot, the most powerful Arcanist known to Mankind. Bow before me, or *face my wrath*!"
"Huh," said the kid. A small globule of drool began to roll down the left side of his cheek before the kid slurped it back up.
"Or just stand there, that's fine too, sure," grumbled Merlin. "Who the heck are you?"
The boy proudly pointed a thumb at his chest. "Arrr-thurrr!" He repeated the pointing gesture several times more than Merlin's patience extended.
"Okay, 'Arrrthurrr', you need to *stop* pulling out those *swords* from the *stone*!" Merlin tried not to raise his voice, and failed miserably. "Get it, you dunce? Sword! Stone! No touch! Nuh-uh!"
"Sword. Stone!" said Arthur, and with one hand he yanked Excalibur out of the ground.
Instantly, the great shimmering dome of force around Camelot winked out.
"Pretty," said the imbecile, staring admiringly at Excalibur.
Merlin rubbed his forehead with both hands. He could feel a headache coming. "No! Put it back!" Without waiting for the boy to comply, Merlin cast the strongest telekinesis spell he knew, *just because*, and yanked Excalibur out of Arthur's hand, shoving the sword back into the stone. Then he cast the most powerful locking spell he knew. Arcane sigils filled the air, spiraling around the sword's hilt, then they froze. It was done. Finally.
"Great! Thanks for the cooperation! Get lost!" Merlin said, making no effort to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He turned around to leave.
The sound of a shattering spell made Merlin stop in his tracks and spin back around.
The little jerk was holding the sword again. Somehow he'd broken the locking spell. What? How?
"Sword," said Arthur happily.
"I hate you,' said Merlin, then he had an idea. Merlin conjured a replica of Excalibur, stuck in a replica of the stone. After an additional moment of consideration, he created a second replica set.
"Look! Sword. Stone. Take that. Go!" Merlin said.
Arthur looked at the replicas, then back at Excalibur, then at the replicas again. "Noooo," he said. "Want this one."
"They're the *same*!" Merlin exploded. "Just take it!" Below his anger, there was an undercurrent of tension. The barrier had been down for nearly a minute. The forces of evil would surely have noticed, and they would begin their march towards Camelot at any moment. He needed a solution, fast.
Alright, fine, maybe there was an easier way. Maybe he could work with this.
"Hey, kid!" Merlin said in a bright voice. "Well, turns out, I'm not just an amazing wizard! I'm also a prophet! And, oooh, I'm making a prophecy now. Ahhh, spooky. *Whomsoever wields Excalibur, I mean the sword, and slays the legions of evil, will become King for ever and ever!* Yes, come with me, Arthur, and you shall have everything you desire!"
Merlin stopped speaking and looked at the little turnip's blank expression with despair. It was impossible. There was no way he would understand such a complex-
"So... kill... bad guys, I become... king...?" Arthur finally said. Merlin felt like cheering.
"Yes! Yes, you beautiful idiot! Let's go now! Look there at the horizon, where the dark clouds are already beginning to form. Damn, that's a lot of dark clouds, and shadows, and horsemen of the apocaplyse. You'd better hurry on over! I'll wait here for the good news!" Merlin shooed the boy away, then conjured a beach chair and lay down to nurse his headache.
But anyway, it was all settled now. Either the kid would die horribly and let go of the damn sword so that Merlin could reactivate the shield - or the forces of evil would be defeated.
It was a perfect plan.
What could go wrong?
---
Anyway, that's the story of how Arthur became King Arthur, and it's also the story of how Camelot was later destroyed so hard that no one could find it on a map ever again. | 24 | When evil threatens, your only option is to travel the land and place a number of swords into stone to create a protective ward over the world. Only problem is, some kid keeps removing them thinking it will make him a king. | 121 |
##God Complex
Jason stares at me with a warn smile on his face. He has gone several minutes without blinking which would be impressive if it wasn't odd. It does lend credence to his earlier statement of being God. I have experienced with other patients with narcissistic personality disorder , but this is a rather extreme case.
"Well, do you have any questions for me?" Jason asks. I click my pen and put it to my pad.
"Sure, how long have you been God?" I ask.
"Since before creation."
"Interesting." I brought my hands together. "Do you have any memories before creation?"
"Yes, in the beginning, there was only me. I remember a faint hint of loneliness from those times," Jason laughs, "I could explain the process of creation, but I don't think you would understand."
"Would you say that your creation was motivated by the aforementioned loneliness?" I make a note of possible early childhood trauma. Social isolation could've led Jason to consider himself the master or lord of his personal universe. Such thoughts can be helpful, but they've clearly became toxic.
"I suppose that's one interpretation. Others have stated that my creation was motivated out of love."
"Others. Have you seen other psychologists?"
"No, but philosophers and theologians have speculated on my existence for thousands of years." I shame myself. I should've expected that answer.
"I have read some works by those great thinkers: Thomas Aquinas, Al-Ghazali, Dignaga, and Ramanuja. They all pose interesting concepts, and they were all much smarter than me. If you are having issues, why not speak with them?" Jason laughs.
"First, I see you are trying to trick me to confirming a particular set of beliefs. My true nature can only be speculated. Second, who is to say that you are not as intelligent as those men?"
"I know that I'm not that smart. If I was, I would be in Mensa or something." I shrug.
"Do not undersell your own intelligence. As for why I chose to speak with you, I chose to speak with you because you spend your life helping other people with their psychological problems. You are exceptionally well-read, but you view such concepts only as a means to help others. I mean no disrespect. You are not a seeker of greater truths, but your work is more valuable than those who are." I chuckle at his flattery and adjust my collar. "I don't want you to see me as a God. I want you to treat as if I were a human."
"Thank you for the compliment." I put my pen to my pad and prepare to write. "This is the question that I should've asked from the start. Have you ever viewed yourself as a threat to yourself or others? Don't talk to me about other people's interpretations. Ask me about how you have viewed yourself."
Jason pauses for several minutes after I say this. He rubs his head. "That's an interesting question. I have always considered myself to be moral and just. There was no standard of comparison as I have always been the standard. I believe every action I've undertaken has been for the greater good."
"It's always nice to look at the bigger picture, but have you ever considered the smaller parts of life? You are in here talking about your larger purpose, but have you considered what makes you happy in the first place?"
"I have not considered that. My position has always forced me to look at the grand scope at the universe."
"Well, you're here talking to me right now. That demonstrates that you are capable of considering the more minute parts of life. Maybe you should continue observing your creations from the perspective of the creations." I blink as I realize that I'm joining the delusions.
"Excellent advice. I shall apply immediately," Jason smiles. I turn to my bookshelf on the wall.
"We still have thirty minutes left. I also have a book that I'd like you to read." When I turn back, Jason already left.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 30 | You are a therapist. One day, a well-dressed man enters your office and introduces himself as God. He tells you that, being all-powerful, He's already done everything possible in the universe and now doesn't know what His purpose is, and is looking for one of His creations' perspective. | 79 |
“Your Honor, as you are well aware,” I said from the podium, “the right to a fair trial is a vital pillar of our justice system.”
The Judge, wearing a frustrated look, rolled his eyes and glared at me. “That’s right, Mr Morpheus – can I call you Mr Morpheus?” He asked sarcastically.
I nodded, adjusting my mask slightly.
“Well Mr Morpheus, the thing is, the right to a fair trial has nothing to with whether you can wear a mask in my courtroom or not. I’m starting to get a little tired of this whole façade in all honestly. And I thought I told you to bring your assigned lawyer to this hearing?”
I scratched the elastic behind my ear, “yes Your Honor. I understand my lawyer was otherwise engaged today. He assures me he will be there to represent me at the substantive trial. Actually, I did have a question about that.”
The Judge waved dismissively, pulling out his cellphone. I glanced at my assistant, whose eyes were glued on my pocket with an obvious look of warning.
The Judge started tapping into his phone, "let’s get him on the phone now. What can be more important than an appearance in my courtroom?”
“Objection, your honor!” I yelled, trying desperately to grab his attention as my hand fumbled with my phone in my pocket, searching for the mute button.
The Judge slowly lowered his phone and glared at me, “Objection? Mr Morpheus that’s not how an objection works. Something you'd know if you’d brought your lawyer along.”
The Judge was shaking his head as I found the button. He put his phone to his ear as my pocket began to vibrate. I held my breath.
My assistant coughed and I realized people could hear the vibrating. I started humming an old batman theme song, eliciting strange looks from everyone in the courtroom.
The Judge placed his phone down slowly and stared at me.
“Mr Morpheus, you’re this close to being placed in contempt", he said, showing how close with two of his fingers, “and it seems your lawyer is otherwise occupied today, which does your cause no favors. We’ll take a brief recess and be back to finalize things in 10 minutes. I strongly advise you to use that time to find your lawyer.”
The Judge banged his gavel and stood to leave. “All rise,” a court attendant said.
A minute later I standing outside the courtroom with my assistant. She looked at me with concern.
“I don’t see how you’re going to get around this,” she whispered, “one way or another you’re going to have to show your face - or faces - at the trial."
“I’ve got it figured out, don’t worry,” I replied and glanced across the hall at a police officer who was staring at me angrily. I recognized him as my arresting officer and waved at him with a smile.
“Don’t worry?” My assistant said urgently, “I know you’ve mastered the whole double-head morph, but, that's going to be a little obvious in the courtroom, isn't it?”
“I’ve got a plan,” I said before heading down the hall to stretch my legs.
The gavel hit the wood as people began taking their seats, I wandered back to the podium.
“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking about that other question now,” I asked.
The Judge motioned for me to continue.
“Well Your Honor, about the appearance at the upcoming trial. I was hoping that you’d be willing to accommodate an appearance via video-link for my lawyer and I,” I said, offering a disarming smile.
“Video-link? Mr Morpheus the only people we allow to be tried via video-link are those being held in detention, and I don’t think I’m about to make an exemption in this case.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that, Sir,” I said, “so I just wanted to say sorry in advance.”
“Sorry? For what?”
Just then I began morphing my arm out towards the Judge.
“What’s this about?” The Judge yelled as the arm stretched all the way to his bench.
I snatched his gavel and banged on the wood a couple of times. People gasped in shock. Within a moment my arm was retracting back to its normal size.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” I said, grinning as I flexed my arm a little.
The Judge grabbed the gavel and slammed it down furiously, “Mr Morpheus, I hold you in contempt – you will not set foot in my courtroom ever again! Take him away!” | 730 | Their assigned pro bono lawyer is their civilian identity. | 3,281 |
''*Captain, we've caught him. The Rebel Knight.*''
That woke me up. Better than a cold bath for sure. ''*Prepare some food and light ale for me when I get down there. I must get dressed first.*'' The soldier saluted and left my room. I splashed some cold water from the copper basin on top of the dresser on my face, and looked into the polished brass mirror. The Rebel Knight. Unlike most of the nobility, he had stayed behind after the Empire moved in. He'd gone into the hills with a few of his loyal retainers. Acted as a leading figure of rebellion for the remaining dispossessed upper class, who had gone into exile or been reduced to poverty. Capturing him had been made an important mission for the pacification of the Archduchy of Landgren. If it was ever to be pacified and brought under complete imperial control, then no organised rebellion should be allowed to exist. Afterwards, rebuilding the land, indoctrinating the locals to imperial teachings and teaching local youth in imperial schools, that could commence in earnest. As long as a rebellion existed though, that effort to rebuild and integrate the area would not be successful. Raids on supply caravans, attacks on collaborators, assassinations of imperial civilians, it would all continue.
Couldn't have that.
I left my room after dressing, and was followed by two of the guardsmen down to the dungeon. There he was in a cell. The plan had worked perfectly then. The trap had been quite good. Sending off some of our troops to look in the wrong areas while a transport full of arms and armour would move through the area where the Rebel Knight and his men had set up a temporary base. It was good bait, and he took it. Inside was arms and armour true enough. Wielded by Imperial Legionnaires. Must have been one hell of a fight, judging by the knight. I remember how he looked before the Empire invaded. An imposing and impressive figure. Long flowing hair, a strong jawline, stern eyes. Perfect smile too. Now, with a swollen black eye, some lost teeth, and more than a few ugly scars, he looked less impressive. He stared at me through the one good eye and was shocked to recognise me. ''*You!*'' I nodded, yup, it's me. I sat down in front of him, as the guards handed me a sandwich and some light ale in a mug. I took a few bites and some sips while looking at him, watching him grow angrier because I disregarded him in favour of a meal. It's good to make them angry, they're more likely to say something that they shouldn't have said when they're angry.
He scowls at me, and then opens his mouth to speak again. ''*I thought better of you, you know. Your father was loyal, forged for me my first blade.*'' I remember that. Old dad was a blacksmith. And a bit of a coward. Whenever the lords came by it was all simpering and downcast eyes. No pride. ''*It was a good blade, sir knight. I helped him with the bellows on that.*'' I liked working in the forge, with dad, he was always so very willing to learn and to teach. He scowls again. Not a good look on him. ''*And now you've dishonoured his memory by joining up with the evil emperor. Become his local lapdog.*'' I shrugged. Sure, the emperor had cast down thrones and killed nobles a plenty. Sacrificed a good number of them to dark things for power too. Didn't bother sacrificing the serfs, just freed them and told them to work the land, pay their taxes, and otherwise stay put. ''*Well, I hope you're happy with yourself. The duchy is dying, the noble castles are being torn down, and the tombs of my ancestors have been plundered of their wealth. My family has fled this land, and so have most of those noble lines that had the option.*''
I put down my sandwich slowly and deliberately. ''*It's true I suppose. The grandiose castles have been torn down, their materials used to create hospitals and schools. The tombs of your ancestors have been emptied of wealth, so that it might be used to pay for food to the starving masses after the siege of the capital ended. Such a sad state of affairs.*'' I look at him with a cold steady gaze. ''*And joining the imperial army ensured medical assistance to my poor father, whom you claim I have dishonoured. By the hands of an imperial apothecary, they removed the tumour growing inside of him, so now he can be alive to feel dishonoured. I believe that's fair enough.*'' He looks away for a moment. Then stares back at me. ''*So, they've paid you well for your betrayal of your homeland. Good for you.*'' I shuffle some papers detailing what is to be done to him. He has been caught. We know where his bases are. His men are leaderless. The rebellion will fall. And the Empire will pacify this region, and then shift their forces here to the main front against the remaining kingdoms. Local guardsmen will keep the peace and ensure imperial compliance with standard culture and laws.
''*Loyalty to a homeland is easier when there is something in it for you. What would I have been loyal to? The lords who bound me to the land? The anvil my father worked on his entire life for next to nothing? The small house where my mother died of a curable disease, the medicine was illegal because of the rules of faith and tradition in this land? The small house where I, the oldest son, had to raise five siblings while my father worked all day and all night? Some nebulous obligation to my liege?*'' I shake my head. No. Loyalty is earned. And is reciprocal. You grant your underlings benefits; you receive loyal underlings. You treat people like the worms in the dirt, and you should not be surprised that they rise up against you given the chance. ''*Loyalty was earned by the emperor. He has given me wealth I could not have earned working a thousand years in the smithy. He has given me the freedom to move around anywhere in his empire I so desire, even to his dark capital. He has given me responsibilities as a Captain of the Landgren Garrison of the Imperial Legion, and I serve willingly for I was promoted for my abilities. Not for my bloodline. And of course, my youngest sister who has magical abilities is now enrolled in the local chapter of the imperial thaumaturgical academy down in the city. Under the rule of the old duke, she would have been burned as a witch. Tell me, Sir Knight, what loyalty did I ever owe to you and the old order?*''
He looks at me for a moment. He wants to say something, I can tell. But he pauses. Considers it. Rejects it. Realises something. And then begins to talk. ''*Even if I had managed to rally enough rebels, and retaken Landgren, I couldn't have kept it. The people would never have agreed to go back to the way things were.*'' I nod. Around me are guardsmen who would have spent the rest of their lives ignorant and working as serfs. The lowest kind of peasant. Now they've got a good education, a chance to earn a good promotion, an offer of a one-time bonus at the end of their time of service consisting of either newly conquered land to be their property, or two years worth of pay. And if they die in the line of duty, their widows get a 10 year period of grace, where they receive 80% of their spouse's wage. Orphans are taken in by the army as well, given training and education. Old temples that once housed corpulent and corrupt priests have been turned into housing and quarantine buildings. Anyone can rise in the ranks of the empire, as long as they're competent enough. The Empire leaves no-one behind in the emperor's single-minded conquest of the entire world. If the crowned heads of the world must be crushed underneath the iron heel of the emperor, then it is best to have the loyalty of the people on your side. ''*The people are no longer serfs. No longer bound to the land. The world has turned upside down; the old order of the ruling nobility of blood and honour has been replaced by common men working tirelessly to bring the emperor's new order to every corner of the world. And to gain our loyalty, he has given us everything we could dream of, and more.*'' | 75 | A member of the rebellion chastises you for willingly joining the evil empire, but when you start talking about the benefits, his tone changes dramatically. | 190 |
"Okay. I'll try to keep this simple but detailed. Understand?"
"Yes. Explain."
"What's the most devastating spell you can yield? Something that can destroy everything, including yourself."
"In what manner? There's more than one way to do so."
"Complete destruction. The kind that people can't recover from for generations."
"Faeli-ah'kar Corvallis. Spell of dismantlement. It destroys the land the body, even the soul."
"I see. This works like that. It's usually encased in a type of iron, so to speak. You don't cast anything. You set a chain reaction in motion. When it explodes, it destroys all."
"I have seen your use of those... casings you yield."
"Oh those, those are different. That's small time. No this... This is much worse. It's brighter than the sun. You can be far away from it, and you'll still catch fire. Burn to death. You can be out of range, and go blind if you see it. It can move mountains, displace water. Flatten forests and kingdoms in a blink. Turn sand to glass. It can poison the land. And the water that's left..."
"It turns the rain black. The wind deadly. Everyone who's left will get sick. Many will die afterward. If anything, the luckiest people die at the center of the blast. It'd destroy the mind, body, and soul."
"What sorcery is that?"
"That's the problem. It's not a spell. It's a creation. A conjuring without magic."
"Impossible."
"Clearly I'm here. Are you sure about that?"
"...How do we stop such a thing?"
"Don't arm it in the first place."
"How is such a war won?"
"You don't win that war. We have a lot of them. There wouldn't be many people left to kill."
"There's more than one??"
"Thousands. Our kingdoms have thousands. And we sit there and aim them at each other. And make sure the other kingdoms don't want to shoot."
"...A world without magic is a dangerous place."
"Absolutely." | 19 | A man tries to explain what a nuclear bomb is in fantasy terms to the grand council of wizards | 28 |
Ron was your average middle-class, blue-collar, white-picket-fence, suburban bliss loner. He had no real hobbies. No close friends, no family he felt pleasant towards, no girlfriend.. God forbid a *pet.* And he was content with that. Just your average wage-slave, working to the bone in a dead-end job to keep his small slice of nothing.
But there was one thing he enjoyed doing. And that was watching miscellaneous videos on YouTube, stumbling down all kinds of odd rabbit-holes. Venturing deep into the nearly two-decade old depths that was the YouTube platform... And one of his favorite YouTube channels, was run by this well-dressed man with a cartoonishly long and frizzled mustache, giving him the appearance of a snazzy mad-scientist.
Each video was at least 30 minutes long, and without fail, The Mustache Man packs said videos full to the brim of himself showcasing the often wacky and comical inventions he's created. Ron would always find himself smiling pleasantly by the end. He was almost thankful for this **Odd** character, bringing a splash of life and humor into his mundane existence.
But at the end of every video, there was a disclaimer;
"THESE INVENTIONS *WILL NOT* BE WEAPONIZED AND USED AGAINST THE GONVERNMENT OR THE WORLD."
He thought it was just a running joke told by the creator of the channel.
Oh, how little did he know.
In the coming years, something completely unforeseen befell the world.
Even though Ron had denounced the chance of extraterrestrial life ever coming to earth.. It still happened.
And not in a way Ron would've liked.
They came in intimidating starships, dark and foreboding. Everybody thought it was the end of the world. But it turned out they were more peaceful than first appearances suggested. When they engaged with the governments of the world and the local populous, they were.. Interesting, if not arrogant and pompous. They saw us humans as nothing but apes, still hitting rocks against each other to create fire.
They said they had come to welcome earth into a Galactic Federation, and that they were going to advance earth's technology by many, *MANY* centuries. The world governments were skeptical at first, but ever hungry for more power than they should have, they jumped at the opportunity. But.. Then the extraterrestrials connected to earth's internet. And they discovered *everything.* Naught even two weeks after their initial arrival, they began to storm the planet with their forces, overthrowing the world's governments within hours.
It was complete and utter pandemonium. After they confirmed that humanity wouldn't put up much of a fight, they began to slowly exterminate every living human being they could find.
Humanity had lost before it even had a chance to throw a stone.
&#x200B;
At least, that's what the extraterrestrials had thought.
&#x200B;
Ron's favorite youtuber had unexpectedly uploaded a new video amidst the global crisis. In the video, The Mustache Man declared that he would be uploading a new video daily, detailing how to create weapons capable of fighting back against the invading forces. And these weapons could be created just using your everyday household items. And when the video was over, it wasn't the usual disclaimer.. This time, it was a message.
"These inventions will be used to teach our guests a very well-deserved lesson in manners."
And Ron, the scared, cowardly Ron, who would freak out at the mere appearance of a bug, felt courage well up deep within him. For the first time in his life, he was inspired. Every day, he would closely follow the instructions in the videos posted by the mysterious Mustache Man, and soon had amassed his own arsenal of rather ineffective looking items that were vaguely shaped like weapons. As if a kid were left home alone for a few hours and decided to make his own arsenal of nerf guns out of tape and cardboard.
And it was just in time, too. For the extraterrestrial guests had come unwanted and knocking.
Right as he grabbed one of the inventions that looked closest to a gun, his roof exploded in a blast of shrapnel and light. He was knocked into the wall, his breath escaping his lungs. And in through the now destroyed roof came a duo of what looked like alien soldiers, clad in some kind of high-tech tactical armor. When one of them finally noticed him, it turned to it's companion, pointed at Ron, and laughed.
Ron was no stranger to humiliation. But.. For some reason, he felt angry. Furious, even. Angrier than he thought he'd be. Their laughter struck something deep inside. As if his very ancestors felt outraged. Crawling towards the only weapon that wasn't destroyed in the blast, his face contorted with rage that he felt wasn't even his own, grabbed the makeshift gun as their laughter reached a climax, pointed, and fired.
Immediately, a burst of pyroclastic chemicals shot forth from the PVC-pipe barrel, phasing right through the alien's shields, and melting it's head faster than you could say 'boo'.
He could almost hear the tumultuous roar of victory that sprung forth from his long-dead ancestors.
And yet again, for the first time in his life.. He felt an extreme sense of purpose as he watched the Alien's corpse drop to the floor, it's companion struggling to comprehend just what happened. But before it could point it's blaster at Ron, Ron had already fired his weapon once more, relieving the extraterrestrial's head from it's shoulders.
He sat there, huffing, but soon stood up to look down at the corpses of what used to be an unstoppable force.. And he grinned.
The War had only just begun.
And Ron had work to do. | 55 | There is a youtube channel that uploads videos of weird machines and inventions, the host of the channel always signs the video off by saying it won't be used against the government. When the aliens invade the host signs his latest video with 'it will be used to teach manners to our guests'. | 138 |
It was always a little disorienting, waking up on Selection Day. You never knew quite what you were going to be dealing with.
The first few Selection Days nearly broke the world, but people... adapted. We're good at it. Or, at least, all the ones who couldn't adapt died, one way or another, in those first few chaotic months.
I sat up and looked around, as I patted my t-shirt clad body to see what I was dealing with. Female, not my favorite, but at least it appeared to be relatively intact and healthy. From the outlet on the nearby wall, I was probably in the UK. Which was good, that meant the computer infrastructure would be decent, so I could do my job without having to get a flight somewhere.
I was one of the relatively lucky ones who had a job that I could do from anywhere. People who had more in person work effectively had to find a new job every month. But, most halfway civilized countries these days, even the good old US of A, had universal health care and some kind of UBI. After all, that starving homeless person or the person dying of cancer might be you next month. Enlightened self-interest for the win.
There was, as usual, a note beside the bed, but it appeared to be written in Mandarin, and I hadn't picked up Mandarin yet. I would get a translated later. There were enough speakers of both Mandarin and English that I could probably find a translator easily enough. It was probably the usual courtesy note, letting me know of any allergies or major health conditions that my new body had.
I logged onto the computer--a pretty standard setup, thankfully enough, though I would need to buy a few important peripherals for my job. I didn't have any problem accessing my online profile, and soon the screen was full of my usual desktop, chat icons, and so on.
I took a quick browse through my p0rn folder, sometimes different bodies had enough inherent orientation that it kind of overrode your own personal leanings, but this body didn't seem to have any unfamiliar longings. Then, I looked up my location, London, as I suspected, and sent the information in a chat to my work group. Similar texts were coming in from the rest of the group, or at least most of them. Susan was in Nigeria, Marcus was in India, and most of the rest of the team was in China. The only no shows were our accountant, Maurice, and our digital artist, who insisted on being called Squid. Honestly, a lot better than average. Only one absence, if you didn't count Squid, who usually didn't check in until noon at the best of times. One month, nearly half the team didn't have computers for the first week.
I puttered around the apartment for the next couple of hours, after ordering a better VR rig online. Like most people, my team mostly treated Selection Day as a day off, it was hard to try to get work done when you were still getting used to a new body. Around noon, as expected, I got one more location ping, from Squid. They were in California.
I was pretty sure that Squid knew a little Mandarin, so I grabbed the note by my bedside and requested a video chat with them.
I had hired Squid after the first Selection Day, and they never told me what sex they were originally. When the chat window came up, they appeared to be a rather large Hispanic man this time around.
I held up the note, and Squid read it, then started cackling like a lunatic. Finally, they caught their breath, and said "The note says you're 8 months pregnant. Congratulations, boss, you're going to be a mommy."
I swore, loudly and at considerable length.
(I dictated this into my phone, I will proofread it later... done, I think. Let me know if I missed anything) | 103 | One day, everyone in the world just--wakes up in a different body. Fairly randomly. Most people are within a few years of their original age, but nothing else is retained--location, gender, ethnicity, or anything else. The next month, it happens again. And the next. And the next... | 230 |
The forest in the back yard always seemed magical. There's time where we swore we saw a dear with spider eyes, a life sized caterpillar, or an anthill the size of a house. We always chalked it up to our crazy imaginations, we were just young children, after all.
One day, while I was with my friend group in the back yard celebrating my tenth birthday, we decided to play a nice, innocent game of hide and seek in the back yard. Nothing crazy. My friends all did a collective vote on me to be the counter, while they all ran and hide. They had 10 minutes to go find places to hide while I was inside, finishing off the slice of cake my mom had cut for me. Once the time was up, it was time for the hunt.
I had to find 3 of my friends, Cameron, Billy, and James. I walked out the back door and traced the brush with my eyes. No sign of anyone. I made my way to the forest trail, twigs snapped and dry leaves crunched under my thick, forest boots. With every twig snap and leaf crunch, I swear I heard leaves russle and tussle about, always assumed it to be a rabbit or a squirrel. 2 miles into the forest and 10 minutes later, no-one. I decided to look back the treturous trail I had just overcome, only to see James hanging on ever-so dearly to a branch of a tree he had climbed.
"Found you!" I shouted at James and pointed. James breathed a large breath. Like he was holding it in for days on end. "Am I the first one you found?" James shouted as he climbed himself down the tree. "Yup! Now you have to help me find the others!" James landed on a pile of fresh leaves layed on the ground. "Do we split up?" James asked. "No. We stay together and we do not split up. We need to stay near each other." In my 10 year old brain, that made perfect sense. 4 eyes, better seeing power. *Tsk tsk tsk.*
Me and James walked down the path and began looking behind tree stumps, under large rocks, in small caves, no one. We made our way back to the house and saw Cameron, cheekily hiding beneath the backyard porch. "Come on, Cameron!" Me and James said sternly. Cameron chuckled. "Well, looks like I win." "Yup, you win." Me and Jason painfully agreed. Except one thing, he hadn't won.
They didn't realize Billy was missing hours later into the party. Billy's mom began freaking out and called the cops to report her missing son. The cops and all the adults searched the forest in the back yard, to no avail. Me and the rest of my friends were left sobbing in my bedroom, missing our pal we had harmlessly forgotten about. We all began weeping and crying about how we missed him, and we would give him the biggest group hug ever when he was eventually found. One day later, still hadn't been found. At this point, the police began putting up posters around town with Billy's face on them. Almost all town inhabitants volunteered to search, nothing. The police eventually closed the case, Billy's friends and family were all devastated. We held a funeral to honor him, but it didn't last long. Over the years, me, James and Cameron began splitting apart. Memories faded, the town stopped talking about it, and eventually, everyone had forgotten about it, including myself.
It had been 10 years, my parents were planning on moving out of the house and left it all for me. The house had become mine. Me and one of my friends at the time were out on a shopping spree, getting new furniture and clothes and silverware, basically all appliances you'd need for a house at any time. We made it back, set everything up, and hired some people to do a paint job on our house. The house was looking fresh, it was looking good as new and like it hadn't aged a day.
A knock on the door interrupts my daily routine of washing dirty laundry. I look through the new reinstated peep-hole, and see a puffy, blonde hair at the bottom. It was a kid. I opened the door. "HA! I win! Now where's my mom?" The kid yelled.
*"Billy?"* | 10 | We were playing hide and seek with Billy when he disappeared without a trace. Ten years later, he returned, hadn’t aged a day, and said, “Ha! I win!” | 31 |
"Master Iron-Arms! There's an emergency!" It was an acolyte, barely 145 lbs soaking wet and probably struggled with benching the bar. Iron-Arms was sure that his voice alone could crush the poor lad.
"You want an emergency?!" Iron-Arms belched back at him, whey filled sweat dripping into his bulging eyes. "Then look at the earthquake caused by these weights baby!"
The herculean wizard proceeded to lay back down under his bench rack, Master Massive-Quads there to spot him in-case anything went wrong, though he knew that Iron-Arms could lift elephants. All around the gym the other master wizards stopped their iron shaking meditations and halted their body carving divinations to watch. The place was like a statue to fitness, men and woman who made Atlas look like Flatass. They were all ready to witness the epic glory that was Master Iron Arms benching over 1000 lbs.
"But Master!" The poor, puny acolyte couldn't possibly get through the muscled ear lobes of such fantastic wizards. His lungs could hardly carry his voice out of his own mouth, how could it make it into the ears of such titans?
But it was truly an emergency, the acolyte knew that he had to do something to get their attention? But what? What could possibly snap the greatest wizards on the planet out of their religious, pre-workout filled trance? What could save them from their dance with the dumbbell devil under such kale fueled might?
"I'm switching to CrossFit!" The young man squeaked out.
Weights dropped, jaws laid aghast, wizards from all around the room switched their eyes from the holy weight rack to the intruder of their sacred temple. Iron-Arms took his hands off of the bar and slowly raised back up, eyes filled with the fury of one-thousand storms. "You dare mention the dark magics in the House of Glorious Gains!?"
"We're being invaded!"
"That can wait! It can wait until we deal with the heretic that is speaking before me!"
The acolyte shook his head, hands shaking with anxiety as all of the mountainous wizards moving closer. "B-But, these people come from the sky, in giant metal ships... And they do something much worse than Crossfit."
"And what could that be!?"
"...*Cardio*."
"... Mother of god."
\*\*\*
"I want as much creatine in those barrels as you can muster!" Iron-Arms was shouting instructions to the other master wizards. "Make sure the pre-workout can last us a month, we're going to be sniffing that stuff like it's white powder!"
The gym was moving like a stable of well-trained mustang horses. Sweating shirtless men and woman whose bodies shined with the glory of grid-iron gains moved with ruthless efficiency, preparing to take down the cardio invaders who threatened their very way of life.
"Master Perky-Pecs, you'll lead the left wing!"
"We'll eat them all!" He boomed back.
"Master Bulging-Biceps, the right!"
"I'll carry the whole world!" He screamed in a roid-filled rage.
"I'll lead the center charge!"
They all gathered in the center of the gym before leaving out. It was their temple, their holiest holy place, the room were the divines gifted their incredible muscles and allowed magic to flow through them like rivers of whey. And before them, plastered on the wall and looking down on them, was a picture of their strongest god.
Master Iron-Arms approached the wall and laid a loving hand on it, his face already burning red from the smelling salts. "Today, we ask for safe passage from the realm of mortal flesh into the realm of immortal steel."
Everyone nodded in agreement, some murmuring affirmations with him. "Blessed be the iron." Whispered one. "Lightweight baby." Said another.
"We take on the greatest threat the world of muscles magic as ever seen -- The cardio invaders. Please be with us on this faithful day." He backed away from the image of their deity, and they all joined in their salute to it.
The idol on the wall was a massive picture of a young Arnold Schwarzenegger, arms spread out before a crowd and the words "Conquer" plastered in white across the image. They all mimicked his wide arms and in perfect unison yelled out, "Ain’t nothin’ but a peanut!"
They marched out to battle a single sea of pulsing, pumped muscle. | 403 | the buffer you are, the more mana you have. Instead of magic schools, witches and wizards hit the gym. Instead of potions, magic users drink whey. Instead of chanting spells, they flex their shredded abs. So when invaders came from the sky—they didn’t stand a chance. | 1,125 |
"It would be beautiful under other circumstances, wouldn't it?" Zaul's gentle voice seemed to hover above the crashing supernova on the horizon.
"There's beauty in tragedy, I suppose." Mitra's words were flat and unconvincing. She sipped from her chalice sweet wine, the flavor lost on her quivering lips.
Brilliant hoops of light swept across the sky, illuminating the Pallentide mountainscape with hues of purple and red. The solar flares would soon reach their last haven, the small moon-turned-terraformed home.
"Would you like to address your people one final time?" Zaul stood to Mitra's right, peering off the balcony with his monarch. How was he so calm and collected through all of this? "You could be this universe's final speaker."
"To what end?" Mitra's words bit harder than she intended. "History ends today. I may as well polish the hull of a burning ship." She took a hard gulp of wine, a small red stream escaping down the nape of her neck. At the end of time, regality be damned. She wiped the juice from her face with the sleeve of her royal cloak. "I can't keep from thinking..." her voice was low, vulnerable, "What if we had succeeded? What if Tarascus and his scientists could turn back time and--"
"My queen," Zaul interrupted. "The wish to turn back time is as old as life itself. One must not dwell on what could have been. We are here now, and that's all there is."
Mitra's mental gears continued churning. It was only through this constant thinking that she rose to royalty in the first place. What if they could just *stop* time? Could they do that now? Maybe slow it down? How much time was left? How much energy would it take? She gazed upon the supernova, its rumbling growing louder, the vibrations now felt in the ground under her feet.
"Zaul. What if we--"
There was a flash, instantaneous and loud. Queen Mitra was sure this was the end, a rogue solar flare obliterating her palace and the kingdom with it. When she opened her eyes, the sky was still red and the ground was still shaking. But a third person was now standing on her balcony with her and Zaul.
He was wearing a large white helmet, open in the face. His outfit was similarly white, black strips along the outside of his arms and legs.
"'ello!" He greeted the pair with a friendly wave.
Zaul opened his eyes with confusion, having apparently accepted his fate with the cool calmness he'd been emanating the entire evening.
"Hello?" Mitra's greeting was more question than welcome.
"Wow. You never get used ta these do ya?" The white-suited man squinted at the supernova with his hands on his hips, admiring the impending disaster.
"No..." Zaul's response trailed off. "Who are you? How did you get up here?"
"Right!" The man scrambled for something in his pocket. He retrieved a small slip of paper and unfolded it.
"Greetings!" He read. "And congratulations for making it to the end of your universe's timeline!" His words were half-enthusiasm, half-sounding-out-every-syllable. "My name is Mitch, and I am here to invite you to join our alliance. Your civ-il-iz-ation has dem-on-strate-ed re-mark-able per... pers..." He squinted at the card. "Ma'am, could you help me with this one?"
Mitch turned the card around to the queen. "Perseverance," the queen read from the card.
"Right! That makes sense. Anyway..." He scanned the rest of the card with increasing worry. "You know what? Let's put aside all of these formalities and cut to the chase." He folded the paper and put it back in his pocket. "You've got a good thing going here, and we want you on our team!"
Zaul stepped forward. "There's still life in the universe!?"
"This universe?" Mitch pointed to the ground. "Oh, no! No, no, no, you're al that's left," he chuckled. "By a lot!"
The supernova was growing louder, a hot wind began to blow.
"I hope you haven't been looking for a long time," Mitch continued. "Or done something silly like *try to turn back time."*
The queen averted her eyes.
"Anyways, our organization is called the Inter-Dimensional Immortals Rescue Service." Mitch handed each a card, with a *there ya go* as each received them.
"You're here to rescue us?" The queen's voice was shocked with disbelief.
"Only if you're interested, ma'am. I believe in *consent*," he replied with a thumbs up.
"What about my people? My planet!?" Her voice was shrill, panicked.
"Whelp, if we can get everyone to form an orderly queue..."
There was a crash. The ice caps of afar off mountain collapsed, white snow and steam obliterating the mountainside.
"I'm kidding!" Mitch chuckled again. "We'll take the whole lot. I just have to..." The white-suited man pulled out a small device and pressed buttons on it, with audible *beeps* and *boops*.
"Now hold on to your knickers, gang!"
The queen and Zaul held on tightly to the railing.
"Knickers are *pants*, but, well, it's fine. Doesn't matter."
There was another flash.
Queen Mitra opened her eyes to see the supernova gone, the sky a golden hue. A new sun hanged over their heads, cosmic clouds creating a heavenly horizon.
"Uh oh," Mitch muttered.
"Uh oh?" Zaul repeated the man's words incredulously.
"It means, *oh no!*" Mitch told the haggard advisor. "This isn't the right place." | 80 | The end of the universe is minutes away, and the few true immortals are standing on the last planet trying to accept their fate. Suddenly a vessel materializes above them and a voice says "Greetings! This is the Inter-dimensional Immortals Rescue Service. Please remain calm." | 226 |
Issac stared, wide eyed with awe at the great being before him. It stood, nearly motionless on a large stone at the side of the road. It's ancient eyes gazed upon him with indifference. Its leonine body was relaxed, although he could guess that that could change in a second.
Issac had no idea what to do. He had heard the legends, of course. But to see it with his own eyes? That was another story entirely. Especially since such a being should not exist. Not really, anyway.
The Sphinx spoke in perfect English. "It has been many centuries since a traveller has walked this road. I had thought it forgotten by man."
"Yeah, well, I just kind of stumbled onto it, you know? Pretty sure nobody else knows about it. So, uh, do I have to answer a riddle or something to keep going?"
"Yes. Although your kind have turned us to legend and myth, the old ways still hold. I shall ask my riddle. Should you answer correctly, then you may pass unharmed. If you answer wrong, then your bones shall be my meal."
Issac was not much for riddles, but he was not terrible at them. "Okay, I'm ready.
"My riddle now is that of an object. Bring me it and you shall pass." The Sphinx stood a little straighter. Its long neck rose high as it spoke with the air of an ancient ritual. "What is square in the morning, a circle in the evening, and a triangle at night. Now go, traveller, bring me that object and you may continue on your way."
Issac stood there, thinking. He knew of the riddle the Sphinx asked in classical stories, so he applied the same logic to this one. And the more he thought, the clearer the riddle became.
"You just want a pizza, don't you?"
The Sphinx was silent. It did suddenly find the ground much more interesting though. "I...I never said that."
"You do! You just want a pizza!"
"What? Just because I'm older than most civilizations, I can't enjoy a good pizza? Pizza is universal, damn it! I'm allowed to like it. You don't get to criticize me for my tastes."
"Hey, hey, I wasn't criticizing you. I'm a little surprised you even know about pizza though, since you're in a place that's kind of isolated."
"I have a life outside of riddles and guard duty, you know. Now are you going to order the damn pizza or not?"
"Okay, okay, I'll order the pizza. What toppings?"
The Sphinx adopted its riddle asking pose again. "It is the red sun rising, seen by the many black eyes."
Issac puzzled that out. "Pepperoni and olives? Really?"
"It's a very underrated flavor combination!"
"If you say so. Better than anchovies anyway."
"Oh, gods, I know. Now, I normally love fish. Half lion, and all that. But anchovies? Can't stand those things."
"If I ask what drink you want, will you give me a riddle or just tell me?"
"I'd like to, but turning a two liter of Pepsi into a riddle doesn't work as well as I'd like."
"Got it. I'll be back in a bit."
Issac backed away. He left the road just enough for his phone to get a signal, where he almost placed the order with the nearest pizzeria. Before he did though, he wondered what would happen when he went down the road more. Maybe he'd find more mythical creatures. He got a few extra pies, just in case. | 960 | "Bring me this traveller." The Sphinx commanded. "What is square in the morning, round in the afternoon and triangle in the evening?" The traveller replies "You just want a pizza don't you?" | 3,157 |
At first, you were dead.
Then, you woke up.
For months now you have been trapped in what felt like a warm, wet holding cell just barely enough to accommodate your curled up body. Actually, "your body" might have not been the right word for it. It's been changed. You'd melted, everything you once had dissolving into a liquid despite your consciousness remaining intact. When you began to feel solid again, you felt fat. Boneless. Six stumpy legs and at least five eyes. A larvae, you'd realized, of the giant insect that had swallowed you whole.
New instincts arose in your reforming brain. You find your pointed mandible clacking on the edge of the cell, breaking through it to the light of the living world while your human consciousness is lost in its worries.
Other larvae follow, each one as awkward and bumbling as you. There is a strange duality to their movements, as if something in each of them is still human enough to move deliberately. Other victims of the Queen, you assume.
The world around you is not the world you once knew. The city you'd loved has become a hive for thousands more of your new kind. Office buildings are turned into honey holes. Drones patrol the once-busy streets with sensitive antennae.
*Why?* you wonder. *Humans didn't deserve this.*
*Oh, my sweet child,* echos a voice in your consciousness. *You have so much to learn.*
Knowing you can communicate with your pseudo-mother puts a glimmer of hope in your chest. You beg with her to return to normal, but she refuses. Finally you reach a compromise.
*If you won't return me to normal,* you say, *then at least tell me why you have destroyed earth.*
*The intelligence of humans is far too advanced for the wisdom of humans,* she says. *Intelligence builds massive structures and dangerous weaponry just because it is capable of doing so. Wisdom is realizing that those things are often not there because they are not meant to be.*
*But even in this body, we still have human intelligence,* you say. *Who's to say we won't rebuild?*
The Queen makes a movement with her head that your human self wouldn't have recognized as a show of pity.
*Instead of building structures, build wisdom,* she says after a few moments of silence. *Come to understand why your instincts are there and what it means for others. Then, perhaps, your planet will be restored. You are capable of it.* She clacks her mandible together, a motion you know means disgust. *But I don't have much faith in the others.* | 187 | The last thing you remember, you were eaten in a single bite by an enormous alien creature. Now, as you hatch from an egg as one of its children with all your previous memories intact, you can’t help but contemplate the pros and cons of this discovery. | 684 |
The blood pooled in the street in front of the storefront. The store itself was fine, immaculate. The owner said it was actually the least filthy it's been in years.
Police cars with their siren on strolled through, a pack of four squad cars. There were a pair of officers in each car and they walked up to the man talking to the store owner, they’d all glanced at the pool of blood before setting up the crime scene.
One of the officers joined the two.
“Cleaner again?” one of the officers asked.
The man nodded solemnly. The store owner looked almost excited to tell the story of how the Cleaner had saved his store from the teen who’d threatened him at gunpoint.
“He came out of nowhere,” the owner said. “Before the kid could even bring his gun up, he came out of actually nowhere and cut his head off.”
“And then?” the officer asked.
They both knew what would happen next.
“He asked if he could help out at the store until you guys showed up. We talked about my kids while he got rid of the body.” the owner said, pointing at the pool of blood.
“What else did you guys talk about?” the officer asked.
“We talked about how my daughter, Clarissa, wants to go out of state for college but how my wife and I were worried about the tuition. He gave me some advice on what stocks to invest in and he bought a coffee before he left.” the owner said.
“And how long did you wait for to call us?” the officer asked.
The other man shook his head at the story, he’d heard the same thing over and over.
“Ab-” the owner said.
“Let me guess,” the officer said, interrupting him. “You were going to call as soon as you could, but Cleaner was threatening to kill you if you did.”
The store owner nodded and the man and officer both let out a sigh. The officers finished setting up the crime scene, collecting the pool of blood that was always left behind. There was no body, the Cleaner took it with him.
“I wonder what he does with the bodies,” the officer asked.
The man punched the ground hard, the gravel cracked and his knuckles came back free of any scratches. The officers nearby looked, trying their best not to look worried for or about him.
“Bulldozer!” a woman’s voice yelled from above.
The man, Bulldozer, looked and saw one of his teammates floating in the air.
“Morningdew,” he said. “How are you doing this fine evening?” Morningdew flew down, she wore all white and was one of the few heroes who didn’t wear a mask.
He tried to control his breathing, he bent down to pack the gravel in neatly again to erase the cracks. With his enhanced strength and ability to manipulate most materials, he was about two hundred construction workers in one man’s body.
“Cleaner again?” she asked.
Bulldozer nodded, still working on fixing the gravel beneath him. Morningdew sat by him, giving him a pat on the back.
“We’ll catch him soon, Doze.” she said. She waved her hand at the pool of blood nearby and it raised up into a bubble. She snapped her fingers and the bubble disappeared.
“Officer,” she said, standing back up. “Can you note that I sent the evidence to our team back in Silver Heights?”
“Sure thing, Miss Morningdew.” the officer said. The crackle of all the officers' walkie talkies went off at once.
“All available officers to Zone 14B,” the voice said. “Dark Matter’s team is wounded and is in need of assistance. His team is currently fighting the Cleaner.”
Bulldozer stood up immediately and started running, Morningdew flew right beside him as they rushed toward the Cleaner. They passed once decrepit neighborhoods, now much cleaner like the storefront they were at. The Cleaner had been here, had made his living here.
Several squad cars were already there and so was Dark Matter or whatever was left of Dark Matter. A set of six sparkling white bones were left on the streets, a crowd of civilians looking at the site. It was taped off, the buildings around them spotless. Wildflowers and garden beds of micro herbs lined every window sill. The people of the streets looked at the cops and at the heroes with absolute disgust as each of them were questioned about the Cleaner.
“Get the fuck out of here,” one of them yelled.
“You guys aren’t doing shit for us here,” another.
Someone threw a glass bottle at one of the officers standing around, but a man appeared out of nowhere, maybe from the shadows and caught the bottle.
“Now now,” the man said. “There’s no need for this kind of rowdiness right now people. It’s best if we all go back to sleep.”
The people watching all clapped, yelling obscenities at the cops and heroes.
He wore a simple black shirt, black jeans, and brown boots. He had medium length black hair and had a dark green apron tied around his waist.
Bulldozer rushed the man, he grabbed the concrete mix he’d kept in his tool belt and formed it around his fists. He got to the man within a second, but he was gone. He looked down and saw his left foot was missing, cut clean.
“Leave,” the man said.
“Fuck you, Cleaner.” Bulldozer said.
“Alrighty then,” Cleaner said. Bulldozer said nothing else and Morningdew knew better than to try to fight Cleaner alone. She watched as Cleaner tore away his limbs in quick movements, the people around them trying their best to understand what was happening.
He took the body away, it disappeared the same way Cleaner appeared. Out of nowhere and in a blur. Cleaner looked up, locking eyes with Morningdew who was far, far away.
“Leave,” he said.
She did. | 105 | There's a supervillain who tries to take over or destroy the world on a weekly basis. However he hates petty unimaginative crimes with no presentation to them so you can usually find him stopping ground level crimes. On the one hand superheroes hate him, on the other the civilians love him. | 301 |
I shook the box in frustration, hearing something rattle within. I had spent a good chunk of change on it, in the hopes there might be something valuable inside. But somehow, this fancy wooden box was impossible to open. I had tried a crowbar, a sledge hammer, even a saw to the side. I had attempted to pick the lock, using guides from online and small tools. But nothing worked.
"Will you please just open!"
I shouted at it, clawing at the lid. I was immediately surprised as it gave way without issue, as if merely pushed shut. Inside was smooth wood, carefully sanded down. A thin wand sat within, resting on a folded parchment. I picked up the wand, holding it in one hand as I opened the parchment in the other. It had three words scrawled on it in black ink, handwritten years ago.
>Use this wisely.
I frowned, waving it around. Nothing seemed to happen. I scoffed, clearly having wasted my money. It was a curiosity to be sure. But it's worth was nowhere near what I had bought it for.
A silly urge came over me. A childish notion, to play with it. I gave in to that thought, looking for fun in the loss I felt. I pointed at the door, imagining it shutting.
"Close."
It slammed shut, making me jump. I slowly turned to look at my wand, mouth dropping open. Did that really just happen? The rational part of my mind said there must have been a gust of wind. I pointed it at an unlit candle.
"B-burn?"
It's wick glowed, a single flame springing to life. That sealed it. It wasn't a coincidence. I stared at the wand, mind spinning in different directions. I didn't know where to start with it. It was a massive upheaval to what I knew of the world.
But I knew I had to keep it secret. This was priceless. This was the sort of thing people would kill for. Me holding it put a target on my back. I had to keep it quiet. | 10 | While at an estate sale you are captivated by a locked ornate box with no key. You buy the box and try every method to break it open. Frustrated you finally plead with the box to open and it complies with your request. Inside you find a wand and a note stating, "Use this wisely." | 29 |
I carried the cardboard box of what I imagined cubicle-dwellers would need at the office: some pens, a silly mug, a cutout Dilbert comic, that sort of thing. The parking lot was large, and temps had to park in the back, which was fine. I didn't want to get completely out of shape. Besides, no amount of inconveniences here could compare to the disrespect from... Well...
The temp agency already had my ID and pass printed. I slid my key card through the front door, and the reader flashed green as the door's lock disengaged.
The lobby was modest, but clean. This end of town was typically quiet. Not much crime, no skyscrapers, no giant-vaulted banks. A young woman manned the reception desk, flanked on each side by stairwells and directly below a giant BECKUM INC. sign.
"Good morning," she sighed, her glasses reflecting the solitaire game on her computer screen.
"Hi. I'm the new temp," I told her as I adjusted the overloaded cardboard box in my arms.
"Super cool." Her flat exhale of a reaction assured me that I was not, in fact, super cool.
It might've been disappointing to someone else to find themselves in a bland office with bland people doing bland work. But to me it was a breath of fresh air. Like warm diet coke in the middle of the desert.
"Third floor. Elevator's around the corner." Her hand lazily gestured off to the left.
I followed the loose directions and made my way to the lift just the down the hall.
I pressed the plastic up arrow and waited for the metal doors to open up for me. When they did, I stepped inside, pressed '3,' and waited for them to close.
They had almost shut completely when a hand reached in, prompting it to open back up.
I recognized him immediately.
A curl of black hair resting on his forehead. A chin that could sink a ship. Eyes always weirdly half-squinting like he were gazing upon his kingdom from pride rock.
"Good morning," he involuntarily pronounced in his vibrato baritone.
"Dynaman," I nodded. His weak, thick-rimmed glasses disguise nearly fell off his face.
He cleared his throat and pushed the spectacles back up his nose. "Yes, well. I would expect a fellow super to recognize me in-cognito," he said the last work with a strange flourish, like a tourist ordering an almost-exotic drink at a half-rate resort. *Mojito.*
"Okay."
Dynaman punched the elevator stop button. Or, at least, I'm suspecting that was his plan. His large mitt smashed the console, stopping the elevator but also destroying any way of getting it going again.
"Squireboy, what sort of stunt is this?" the brawny superhero turned to me, seemingly ignorant of the property damage he just caused.
"It's just Javier now. And it's no stunt. It's a job." I shrugged. "And I'm going to be late now. So thanks."
He reflexively waved off my thanks, missing my sardonic tone completely. "But this is such a normal job. For normal people. You're one of us! Exceptional!"
"Thanks. But I was a sidekick. Jet Knight will do just fine without me. You all will."
Dynaman looked away as he tucked his lips into his mouth. "Listen, Squireboy--"
"Javier."
"Shh, shh, shh. Listen, things with Jet Knight. You see... I think your leaving upset him..."
"My leaving!?" I nearly dropped my box. "I was fired!" I barked with a wicked guffaw.
"Fired." The big guy repeated my word as he scratched his clean-shaven chin. "Well, it's no matter. He needs you back."
"If he needs help, why don't you go help him? Why are you bothering me?"
"It's not help with a villain, per se."
"Then what is it?"
Dynaman sighed. "So, last week he drove his rocket through a Wendy's drive-thru. After that, he double parked it in a life flight helipad."
"I don't see h--"
"He has been shoplifting--frequently--telling the store employees that 'freedom is never free' and that 'he knows Kroger personally.'"
I waited for a moment before speaking. "So, what you're saying is--"
"He has been attempting to withdraw money by sending signed headshots through the vacuum tubes and writing 'it's me' on the back. He thinks that his costume doesn't need to be washed. It's been several weeks. It's becoming a health issue. I don't think he knows how to do it."
I snorted with laughter. "Are you surprised a trustfund baby with a god complex can't run a load of laundry or balance a checkbook? I'm not his nanny. I have my own life."
"Yes, and I can empathize with that." Dynaman's face became grim. "But Jet Knight has started talking to Erika again too."
"Oh shit." I really did drop my box this time.
"Yeah."
"We have to go." | 26 | A superhero becomes destructive and reckless, so much so that their teammates start to suspect mind control or a turn to evil. They confront them, and realize that they just fired their assistant/sidekick and on their own, they're dangerously incompetent. | 224 |
"Now, where is he?"
Without even waiting for an invitation, the old man would burst in, seemingly trying to search for the chosen one.
Let me tell you, this guy was the total package, long robes, pointy hat, and that shrill old man voice that is bound to have an annoying cackle that snorts.
"Listen Me. Uh.."
"The name is not important! What is important is that I must have the Chosen One!"
As he continued deeper, royal guards would soon enter, one handing an official decree of the king. Wait, this guy was legitimate?!?
"Please excuse his.. peculiarity. But he is considered the most powerful wizard in the kingdom, and his scries are never wrong."
"But my wife and I have no children!"
Finally I blurted out the obvious. Followed by what felt like a deafening silence as even the old man had stopped scrounging around. Only then did I hear the barking of the dog, who had been tied out back as she was notorious for running away.
I turned to see the old wizard, with his crooked little hat carrying a crooked little grin on his face.
"Found you!"
The wizard would run for the back door, tripping over just about every piece of furniture on the way there, the royal escort in tow.
There she was, my dog in all her glory, who had lost interest in whatever she was barking at, and was instead licking at her butt. She was a small rat terrier. This was the chosen one? The wizard stood there for a minute, his face unreadable. It felt like ages before he finally spoke.
"She's perfect."
"What?"
"Well she'll need a special growth potion, but she will be able to fend off the hordes of rayman that shall come in a week's time!"
This is how I came to be the owner of a war hero, and perhaps the world's largest rat terrier. It's such a pain to take her in walks. | 37 | You and your partner of 20 years are happily child free. One day you get a knock on the door and a weird guy in robes says he's here to collect "the chosen one". Apparently you two were fated to raise "the chosen one". | 74 |
##The Unusual Order
After waiting in line for several minutes, I finally reach the counter. I open my mouth to order a jalapeno burger with fries, but the thought of kidney pain enters my head. My doctor has been telling me to watch my cholesterol so I should get something healthy.
"I'll have the chef's salad," I say. The cashier stares at me.
"Oh, okay. I already rang you up for the jalapeno burger with fries."
"Ha, I'm glad I'm that memorable, but no, I'd rather have the chef salad."
"Are you sure? It's fifty cents more expensive." I pause for several seconds. Why is she arguing with me?
"Yeah, I'll do a chef salad this time."
"Okay. Fine." The cashier changes my order, and I laugh to myself as I pay. Of course, she just wanted to avoid doing more work. She hands me a number and takes my card. After sitting down, I start a game of solitaire to pass the time.
A jalapeno burger and fries is placed before me. A note is on top of the plate.
STICK TO THE SCRIPT OR YOU WILL BE REMOVED PROMPTLY
I look at the waiter and stand holding my receipt. "Excuse me. I ordered a chef salad, and I paid for a chef salad. Why did you bring me a jalapeno burger." I grab the note. "Also, I don't appreciate being threatened."
"Accept your usual order. We're out of lettuce." Another server walks behind him carrying a chef salad. We both stare at the plate. The waiter looks back at me. "Okay, we're out of lettuce now."
"What kind of excuse is that? At least give me fifty cents back," I say. The server sighs.
"Follow me." I walk with the server into the kitchen where I see a giant container of lettuce. The server knocks on a door in the back labeled manager.
"Is this really necessary?" I ask.
"Yes, you have to speak with the manager." The door opens, and the server grabs my arm and thrusts me into the room.
There is no floor, but instead of falling. I am dragged upwards. The city surrounds me as I fly between the skyscrapers. A plane flies underneath me, and the sky transforms into space.
A space craft opens its hull, and I'm placed inside. Small blue humanoids with four arms swarm the ship. Whatever pulled me into the ship drags me deposits me on a table and forces me to stay in place.
A laser emerges from the ceiling and scans me several times. One of the aliens enters a pod which is filled with gas. After several seconds, the alien emerges looking like me.
"What the hell?" I say.
"Gotta cover for you somehow." The imposter jumps in the air and floats to Earth.
"Why did you capture me?" I scream.
"You resisted our mind control. We want to learn why," an alien says.
"Mind control. You wanted me to order a jalapeno burger?"
"Correct, but you ordered the chef salad."
"I was watching my cholesterol," I cry.
"Interesting. We're still going to have to dissect you for confirmation."
"Damnit."
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 59 | After attempting to order something new at the restaurant you visit daily they stare at you for a second before giving you your normal meal with a note saying "Stick to the script or you will be removed promptly" | 155 |
The anger spread through me. I felt like a forest in a wildfire. My fist clenched tighter. tried to hold back the mighty punch that I knew my body was about to attempt. Had I any control over what my anger was going to result in? My enemy’s back was turned to me. Their shoulders bounced up and down… up and down as they laughed. They had just done something terrible to me. They were making a fool of me again, but enjoyed it. They knew I didn’t usually respond, so I was an easy target anyway. When I did respond, however, they really knew how to shut me down. They were happy humiliating me. All the time, they crushed my heart. They made me feel like my soul was destroyed. They were then making my face burn because I was just so… so… vexed! Embarrassed! I wanted to cry, but I knew those tears would never actually see the light of day. I was too enraged to be sad, really.
I thought they were safe from my punch, as they were walking away from me. They weren’t walking straight, since they were too busy over-exaggerating their laugh. Although, that was when they misinterpreted how arrogant they were being. My bully spun around, still giggling.
Their face was the tipping point for my emotions. It brought back all of my past memories filled with relentless, horrible remarks made by them towards me. I was reminded of the times I had been slapped. I was reminded of the times I had tears cradled in my eyes during lessons.
My fist reversed slowly. I was the catapult and my fist was the rock. I let the elastic go. My fist hit their shoulder. Hard. Really hard. So strong that I didn’t feel the impact. My clenched fist went right through them. Instead, what felt like cold, heavy rain hit my fist like falling bullets. A pile of it collapsed onto the floor. That was where my bully had been… it wasn’t rain nor bullets. It was money. A pile of quarters. I tried to open my eyes, as I believed it to be the end of another one of my crazy dreams. It wasn’t.
Gasps of horror surrounded me. I blinked rapidly, trying to wake up. I tried to breathe, but I was too shaken up. I stepped back, nearly tripping over my heel. I felt like my surroundings were empty. Was I the only existing being on the planet? No. I was in real life. It was all happening in real life. I fell to my knees, which resulted in bruises from the concrete. I collected a handful of quarters with my trembling fingers. It was legitimate money. My brain went silent as if some switch had turned off in my head. I went straight to the food hall, with a handful of quarters. I remember little of what happened next, but I know that I bought my favourite lunch. My stomach was a growling devil. I hadn’t eaten all day. When I took the first bite of my long-awaited sandwich, the switch in my brain turned back on instantly. I knew what was going on.
Over the months, my bully had taken the time to break me verbally and physically. However, they were also known to steal money from me. Every. Single. Day. I always took change to school. Quarters. Just what my bully had become. Those quarters were the ones they stole from me. My bully turned into MY quarters. The bully became THEIR horrible choices. My bully was their crime…
they were defined as how they treated me all the time.
============================
My head tried to sink into my hands, but stopped before it hit my eyes. Something… a box, maybe, was preventing me from holding my head. I held onto the invisible barrier, and lifted it up. It was a headset. | 112 | After struggling in school all year you finally stood up to your bully and knocked him out with a punch in front of everyone. He promptly disapperead, turning into a pile of quarters. | 563 |
The day began like any other, instant coffee with whatever creamer was the cheapest that week. The coffee was too hot when James took his first sip, singing his tongue. Some of it spilled on his cheap tie and James spent a few minutes getting the stain out.
Two demons watched James, unbeknownst to him. They watched as he got stuck in traffic, they watched as he got reprimanded by his boss for being late, and they watched as James cold called dozens and dozens of strangers.
“Why wouldn’t he just wear another tie?” a demon asked.
“It’s his only one,” the other said.
At the end of the day, James ordered fast food and of course he’d gotten someone’s food by mistake, only making the realization when he got home.
“Is he cursed or something?” one of the demons asked.
“Not according to our database,” the other replied. “If he is cursed, it was those douchebags upstairs.”
“I wouldn’t put it past those dicks,” the demon said.
They cackled and watched as James fought through his cold fish sandwich. He wondered why anyone would order a fish sandwich at a place that specializes in burgers. The fish was simultaneously under and overcooked, the fries lifeless. He tossed the paper bag in the trash and he lied down on his couch, beer in hand.
“You really want to work with this guy?” the first demon asked.
“Why not?” the second replied.
“You’re crazy, Taz.” the demon said.
“I know,” Taz replied.
They both laughed again. The other demon disappeared after wishing Taz luck and Taz simply waited. He wanted to wait until James fell asleep, but even at 3am, James was wide awake on his couch. He barely did anything, he drank beer, pissed, watched more TV, drank more beer. It was an endless cycle that had lasted several hours.
Taz snapped his fingers, the TV flickered.
James didn’t flinch at the sight, he waited for the screen to resume which it did after a few seconds. So Taz snapped his fingers again and the TV exploded. James stood up at that, he jumped behind his couch.
“Sorry, pal.” Taz said. “I couldn’t stand watching you do that for a literal second longer.”
James didn’t scream, he didn’t gasp in disbelief, he didn’t do anything. He simply stood up from behind the couch and plopped himself down.
“Are you here to kill me?” James asked.
Taz laughed, this is why he wanted to help James.
As far as demons went, Taz was at least tolerable to the human eye. He was skin and bones, the skin that he did have was a deep blue. In direct sunlight, which Taz avoided, he’d shimmer silver. He had only one wing, a birth defect, that kept him afloat. His eyes were a deep amber and his nails were kept sharp.
“No,” Taz said. “I’m a demon. Normally, we’re supposed to torment your kind, but I like you and I want to help you.”
“You want to help me?” James asked.
“I do,” Taz said.
“Why?” James asked.
“I’m feeling generous,” Taz replied. “When do you have to be awake tomorrow?”
“Seven,” James replied. “Six thirty would be nice, but that’s in a few hours.”
“Can you take a day off? A week?” Taz replied.
“Not unless my boss died,” James said. “He hasn’t approved a time off request in years.”
“What’s his name?” Taz asked.
It was the first time Taz had seen James smile at all. The next day and throughout the entire week, Taz had James walk him through all the things in his life that were causing him pain. He killed his boss, making sure the replacement was a better mentor. He encouraged James to get a new job, to buy more ties, he gave him investment tips, a coffee maker.
In return, James had shared about his life and about his childhood. He told him everything that had led to his life turning to complete shit, what people did to him or said to him. Taz wrote it all down diligently.
Months later, it had taken exactly five for James to feel happy with his life. He had a girlfriend, a new job, at least a dozen ties.
“Why did you help me, Taz?” James asked. “I appreciate it of course, but demons aren’t supposed to be this helpful right?’
Taz laughed again, laughing maybe the hardest he’d laughed since meeting James.
“You’ve helped me far more than I helped you, James.” Taz said.
“You taught me how to envision pain on a whole new level, I’m going to do what’s been done to you to every single human I work with from now on. Fixing up your life was the least I could do. Thanks again.”
James was speechless as he watched Taz fly away.
He was speechless as his girlfriend left him, as the coffee stains returned, as he was let go from his new job. | 133 | “So… normally us demons get assigned to torment and ruin human’s lives. But, well, your life is already shit, so I’m here to help you get back in your feet. You can call me your Guardian Demon.” | 539 |
"Maybe you're just annoying." Those were the words that damned me. I sat in my prison cell and felt and odd sense of relief wash over me. Suddenly, I was no longer in the dark about my incarceration. The money that had gone missing from my previous employer, it was him. My dead girlfriend, every misfortune that had lead me up to this point, it was him, and all because I hadn't taken him seriously when he'd told me about his peculiar affliction.
I was only eighteen when my brother had burst into my room rambling about how no one remembered him. I laughed. Of course I remembered him, although I certainly never remembered him being this autistic before. In retrospect, I probably should have accorded him a little more attention, but hindsight is 20/20. I had better things to worry about than my spastic little brother's overactive imagination. He was already the pride of the family, a budding author and prodigal talent, while I was never anything more in our parents' eyes than slightly above average. To our parents, above average meant barely passing.
"It's been a while dillhole." I smirked. When he was around, my memories of him were intact, but only for as long as he was around. "Come around to gloat some more? Feel as smug as you want, the second you walk away I'll forget all about it."
This wasn't the first of his visits, nor the thirtieth.
"Aren't you tired of this, Will?" He sneered. "Just apologize and I can free you from all of this. Every record, every conviction, I can erase them all. You just have to admit you were wrong about me and stay with me, PLEASE!" His voice shot from scornful to pleading. "I can't take it, I can't take being forgotten anymore."
My brother was on his knees, tears running down his cheeks, snot smeared across his upper lip. My instinct, for which I cursed myself, was to reach out to him. But as always, I looked around first. And how could I forget that I had been in a state penitentiary for the past decade. That wasn't something my brother could erase, nor could he erase murdering our parents, my wife, and pretty much anyone who got in his way, all because he was able to hide behind his gift of being forgotten.
I laughed until my sides hurt. I laughed until my vision was blurred with tears. I laughed until my little brother finally seized me by the arms and shook. Years of prison life had toughened me, while his ghostly existence clearly had never required for him to exert himself. I laughed even more as he failed to move me, something which clearly infuriated him.
"You know what I can do to you!" He snarled. "I can make you suffering so much worse. You could be on death row, you could be on death row as a child rapist."
I paused. Everything he'd framed me for, he'd done himself.
"Jesus, Richie. I knew you were sick but I always thought it was only you lashing out because you were in pain. I was wrong. You are just broken. People forget you because no one should have to remember filth like you."
"Oh, but you will, Brother. Some of the time. Most of the time you will wonder if you've committed all the crimes they accuse you of. You'll never really know unless I'm around. And I won't be back until they have you ready for the lethal injection. And you know, with the right lawyers, you might spend the next two decades wondering why your DNA will be found on those kids. But I'll keep an eye on you. I want to watch as you start to wonder if you have it in yourself to do what I'm going to do. It's going to be a grand old time dear Brother."
"No, it won't." My voice felt hollow. I'd always wanted to think that this was the brother I'd remembered and loved from the past, simply inflicted with a terrible curse. But I couldn't recognize this monster. No matter what he'd endured, I couldn't imagine my own brother torturing children for his selfish desires. But so be it. I was ready for this.
"I doubt you know this, Richie. But just because I forget you doesn't mean I forget everything else. Sure, I couldn't remember what happened to our parents, or my wife, but every time you came to gloat, it would all rush back. Obvious you knew that, and you enjoyed it. But every time you did, I asked, I begged, I prayed to god or my subconscious, to anything that was there, that I'd remember one thing. And here it is, brother, take a look."
I smiled as I opened my hand. It finally made sense, my compulsion to hold on to this pill for the last five year. The drive to obtain a substance that only circulates in the darkest of crime rings. A substance that by all rights should not exist, but in this moment, it gave me more pleasure that I could imagine.
"This is oblivion, little brother. P-7721 according to the CIA, тишина-4 according to the KGB, and restricted substance (RS) 12 according to the international alchemical accords."
I swallowed the pill casually.
"You'd never kill yourself. You always swore it." My brother said, the panic in his voice apparent.
"Kill myself? And let you think you'd won? Oh no. RS-12 is something special. In fact, it's something so special I can't believe someone like me was able to obtain it. They call it oblivion because that's what it does to your memories. You see, dear brother, in just a couple of moments, I won't remember you at all. It won't matter whether you're around or not. For me, your power will be permeant, because I won't remember anything. Not a single memory. And I'm the last person who really knows you aren't I? The last person who really knows who you are and where you come from. And it's all you're fault. You get to be alone with your hateful self, all alone, all alone, all alone. BROTHER, brother, brother?" And with that, my memories faded into gray. No more memories for me. I hoped I would be happy. And then I stopped even hoping. | 87 | I’m invisible—not literally. It’s just that once I turned 16, no one can retain their memory of my existence for more than a few minutes, including my parents! Now, I’m all alone. Please, someone—anyone—don’t forget me! | 248 |
"Hero," began the Demon Lord. "I love my dearest daughter with all my heart, even if she is the key to the seal to my powers. Know this, if anything were to happen to her, I will return to my full glory and hunt you down, and you will suffer eternal agony."
That is what the Demon Lord said once. IT had been many years since he last lay conscious, for his mind was sealed by his oath. But as the iron shackles began to rust, only to break, a rage in his heart began to burn within him. For he knew that his slumber would only be disturbed if something were to ever happen to his daughter.
He could sense her presence, and it wasn't far. He disapeared from the tomb that was built for him, only to manifest himself in a warm and dimly lit room in the dead of night. He came in believing that the hero would learn of a wrath and contempt the world had yet to witness.
The Demon Lord stood motionless as hooded figures in the night plunged their blades into a man that resembled his rival, though a couple years older. An ear-piercing scream rang through the dead of night, as he saw his daughters held hostage my another rogue, one hand clutching her swollen womb while the other attempting to wrestle free from her captors grasp.
The Demon Lord quickly deals with the three rogues. He was surprised at how quick and painlessly he ended their lives, but to test time against this situation was not within his interests. He rushed to see his daughter, slouched on the ground, crying in pain as the baby in her belly began entering the world.
"My Lord.... It is not his fault.... Many people are afraid... of me... of what this child between us might mean... But he has only ever loved me, only ever longed to hold me... Please help him see his child be born...."
The Hero lays beaten and skewered on the floor. His breaths are slow, but whispers can be heard as he reaches for his wife's had.
"I swore an oath to seal his powers. If something were to happen to you, I would suffer in eternal agony. Knowing I will cross into a realm unknown... without ever holding our child... is an agony that..."
The hero's once powerful and calloused hand slowly loses it grasp as it falls to the floor with a silent thud. Maids and guards rush into the room, oblivious the Demon Lord who had suddenly vanished. His daughter screams and curses at the night, to a shadow who condemned not only his rival, but her love.
As the night went on, The Demon Lord watched with distant look as a child of two races was born into the world. There was an unimaginable pain that was on his daughter's face the moment the Hero passed. But as she held their daughter in her arms, the pain slowly began to wash away into warmth. She could see some of him in their daughter. She knew that the thing left of him was held swaddled in her arms, and that was all she needed to continue living.
It was in the dark night sky that the Demon Lord lingered alone. The breeze carried him to the top of a mountain where he sat in silence. The world had not changed much since he had been asleep, but it seems his understanding of the Hero did. It took some time for the Demon Lord to descend the mountain, but as he did he left things behind. Much of his power, held together by contempt, seemed to be released as he continued down the mountain's trail. The darkness of his heart, that clouded his mind in only anger and hate, seemed to pulse with a peaceful tempo. He managed to cross the castle gates looking like a humble old man that the guards couldn't help but let in.
In the distance, he saw his daughter leading a young child by her hand through a hall filled with paintings. The young girl looked quizzically at the paintings, and then turned her head to see the humble old man navigating his way though the Castle.
"Does he need help, Mama?"
His daughter's eyes where apprehensive at first as she clutched her daughter defensively. But as The Demon Lord neared his family, only an earnest smile creased his old face.
"Could you tell me about her? About.... About the life he gave you?
As his granddaughter wiped away the tears of her mother, She looked at him with delighted eyes.
"Let me introduce you to this little one..." | 23 | "Hero," began the Demon Lord. "I love my dearest daughter with all my heart, even if she is the key to the seal to my powers. Know this, if anything were to happen to her, I will return to my full glory and hunt you down, and you will suffer eternal agony." | 34 |
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