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I stared at Doctor Schritt with visible confusion. For a several moments, the only sounds in the office were from the soft scratches of her pen, as she scribbled away in her notebook.
"You know a guy for... what exactly?" Clearly I had misheard. Or she had. This wasn't the way this conversation went.
"Dragons. People who want to be one." She flashed me a grin over her notebook. "It's far more common than you might expect, although 80% of the time they want to be a werewolf or centaur or something. Dragons are a bit less common, but not unheard of."
She finished writing, carefully tore off the page and handed it to me. "Give this to Mr. Davis, my receptionist, and he'll set up an appointment for you. There's a waitlist, but you probably won't have to wait too long. Will I be seeing you next week?"
I took the page in a daze. It was covered in her usual illegible scribbles, and offered no further explanation.
"A waitlist for... being a dragon?" I ventured, carefully. "Is that something that comes up a lot?" This conversation couldn't possibly be happening, but at this point I was committed, and was going to see it through to the end.
"Oh, nothing too bad" she said. She got up from her desk, and ushered me out of the little office that I'd been coming to, once a week, for the past few months. "Like I said, it's not super common, but I think they'll fit you in. Now, will you be paying the copay today, or later?"
___
Mr. Davis glanced over the note impassively. "Dragon, eh? That fits. Let me see what I can do." On the computer screen, it looked like he was scrolling through a calendar. "How about the Thursday after next? The 12th, at 9:00 AM?"
"Wait what do you mean, 'fits'? And ... this is a joke, right? No one has a service for people who... want to be dragons." I said the last bit all in a rush. It felt weird to say it out loud, but at this point I was in too deep to let go. I pushed on.
"Just give it to me straight. What actually happens if I show up a week from Thursday? Is this some weird psychological role-play session that's supposed to help? Is this just an elaborate prank with hidden cameras?"
Mr. Davis's gaze never flickered. "Sir, this is just a normal procedure, designed to help you feel more comfortable with yourself. If you like, we have a pamphlet..." He rummaged around in a desk drawer. "... We appear to be out of pamphlets. So it goes. Look, we understand that it's a big step, but if you are ready to take it, we just need you to fill out some paperwork and report to this address at 9:00am on the 12th. And if you plan on taking a few days off of work, I'm sure you'll thank yourself later."
I looked helplessly at him for a moment, and then took the pro-offered clipboard full of forms.
All things considered, there really was surprisingly little paperwork.
___
The morning of the 12th found me sitting in my car, in the parking lot of a nondescript office building at the edge of town. It was 8:37, and I still wasn't sure what was going to happen. I'd told work that I was going to be gone for a few days, but even that seemed ridiculous. I mean, if this somehow *wasn't* an elaborate prank, and I *was* going to turn into dragon today, would a job even matter after that point?
It occurred to me that if this appointment was for real, I was standing at the edge of a very major change in my life. It was one that I'd repeatedly told myself that I wanted, but so far I'd been safe in knowing that it would never actually *happen.* I had assumed this was some kind of hoax, and I just wanted to see where it went. But looking up at the nondescript office building, I started to wonder what I had actually signed up for?
Taking a deep breath, I locked the car and went inside.
___
I really don't know what I expected to find in the waiting room, but it certainly wasn't a living, breathing dragon. He was roughly the size of a small horse, curled up in the corner, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw him. I could not believe my eyes! I spent a moment overcome with pure emotion, and then exclaimed "It's real! Did you just finish? I'm here for the 9:00! I can't believe this is really happening!" I was practically crying, but I couldn't help myself. "Do you like it? How long did it take? Did it hurt?"
He was beautiful. Cobalt blue scales, a thick armored tail, folded bat-like wings... I was hard to believe it was a hoax at this point. I wondered how I'd look after the procedure.
Reassuringly, the dragon looked as thrilled as I felt! His tail wriggled and his ear-frills flapped, and he spoke in a voice that was both low and smooth.
"What do you mean? I'm here for the same thing you are! Today is the day! I can't believe they found an opening! I'm so excited, it's finally going to happen!"
That gave me pause. "What do you mean? Didn't you just get turned into a dragon? That's what I'm here for..."
His laugh was as deep as his voice. "Oh no, I'm waiting for my appointment too. So you must be the one that they matched me with?"
At this point, a balding, bespectacled man in a lab coat entered the room and ushered us into the next room. "So," he said amicably "You and Kalthozaxx are the next pair? So wonderful that we were able to find a match! Come along, and we'll preform the transfer. It's pretty quick and painless these days. Mind your head, Kalthozaxx, these doorways are a little low. My name is Alexander, by the by, and I'll be handling your treatment today."
I turned this over in my mind, as the dragon ducked under a doorframe. "So... you're switching us? Like... our minds? That's how this works?" The man nodded. "It can take quite a while to find a placement, so this is good! Now, if you'll both just step this way..."
He led us into an unfinished room. The concrete floor had circles drawn on it, and the lighting was harsh and florescent. "Sorry about the lack of amenities" Alexander murmured, as he touched up the circles with a piece of chalk. "We rent this place pretty cheaply, but as you can see, the furnishing is minimal."
For our part, all Kalthozaxx and I had to do was stand in our respective circles. (It was obvious whose was whose, as his was 4-5 times larger.) Presently, Alexander straightened, stretched, and asked if we were ready.
I didn't trust my voice, so I just nodded. Kalthozaxx did the same. After that, it was almost anticlimactic. My vision faded to black, and I knew nothing more.
___
As my consciousness slowly crept back, I became aware of several things. First - I was laying prone on the hard concrete floor. It was cold, and not terribly comfortable. Second - everything felt... off. Even simple things like moving my head to look around felt weighty and ponderous. And third - Was that a *snout* in my field of view?
The events of the morning came rushing back and I realized it was true: I was a dragon now. I had scales. I had wings. I had a tail. It wasn't a hoax at all; it was truly, gloriously real. I was a dragon.
My reverie was interrupted when something launched itself at me. It was... Kalthorzaxx? But in my old body. Hugging my scaled neck, tears streaming down my face. His face, I corrected myself. Did I really look like that, I wondered? I guess I did. Or used to, at least.
"Thank you thank you thank you!" he said, breathlessly. "I don't know why you decided to make the switch, but I've waited decades for a match!"
I cocked my head. (And was reminded of how much more neck I had now.) "What? I thought you said the waiting list was long? Aren't there tons of people wanting to be dragons?"
Alexander laughed. I had forgotten he was there. "Oh, the waiting list is long all right. Most dragons have to wait centuries to find a human who wants to trade. Kalthorzaxx here really lucked out with you!"
That caught my attention. "Wait, there are too many *dragons*? And not enough humans?" Kalthorzaxx nodded, with my face. "And who can blame them? I mean, being a dragon is fine and all, but... humans are so cool! Like... thumbs!" He wiggled his fingers around. "I can pick up *anything* with these babies! And I don't even need them for walking! And clothes! Some days I don't *want* to be blue, and now I don't have to be! I can be whatever color I want!"
I think he took my stunned silence for disappointment or regret, because he stepped back and looked me in the eyes. "Hey - I don't know what your reasons were for wanting the swap, but I'm sure they were good ones for you. My... your cave, it's in a pretty good location. And your hoard is not too bad, although it could probably use some work. Flying is fun, and there are a lot of good parts." He sighs. "They're just not the good parts *I* wanted. But if you wanted this, then I'm sure they'll be good parts for you."
Alexander arrived with a pair of folders. He handed one to Kalthorzaxx, and put one on the ground in front of me. It looked tiny now, like a toy or prop. "Here are the details you'll need to step into your new lives smoothly. Kalthorzaxx, it looks like your new job isn't expecting you until next week, so take some time to get used to things."
Kalthorzaxx nodded. "Thank you!"
Alexander turned to me and held up a sheet from the folder. It looked like a map. "Here's where your cave is located. We'll drive you there in our van. You'll want to take some time figuring those wings out before you try flying. In a month or so, we'll check in to make sure that everything is going well."
___
Tentatively I stand up, and take my new first step. It felt weird, but... good. I think this is going to be good. Alexander picks up my orientation folder and carries it for me. Kalthorzaxx practically skips alongside us. I didn't even realize that my body could *look* that happy.
We get to the door, (I'm the one who has to duck under it now) and Kalthorzaxx turns to me. "Oh! One other thing. Very important." He looks around, and raises a finger, conspiratorially. "How do I get... I think you call it... 'X-Box?'" | 73 | "I dunno, doc, I think I just hate being human." The therapist nods. "Figuring out your place in the world is rough, trying to learn who-" "No doc, you don't get it. I mean I literally don't like being human.I think I would just be happier as a dragon." "Oh! Yeah, I know a guy for that." | 370 |
Kipper, the party's rogue ran behind a rock before stealthy dashing into the trees. A moment later only a glint of light reflected off his sword told that he had dashed out once again. The party know what little Kip was doing, it was part of their plan. But all felt slightly relived that the kobold was away from their precious cargo. Not that any would verbalize it, Kip was an excellent mercenary and had saved their lives more than once. Yet there was just something about him and that nervous feeling you'd get every time he glanced at the precious cargo, a glimmering golden egg that had to be covered or else risk their detection in combat.
Kip was now behind the enemy which was covered in a brown cloak. Dark brown as it was drenched in the frequent rainstorms of this area. The wizard launched a firebolt causing it to stagger. This was Kip's moment. Brandishing his saber, he charged up, leapt into the air, and brought his sword down in what was supposed to be a single devastating blow. Devastating, if it hadn't went in and out of the creature. It's cloak was cut in two and fell away. It wasn't damp because of the rain but because of what it covered. A water elemental stood before him, the sword doing the equivalent of a papercut as a few drops fell onto the ground.
In an effort to save their rogue ally, the party charged forward letting lose fire and steel. The now unrobed elemental staggered again, but had its eyes focused on the rogue on his knees before him. It seemed to open up as to envelop Kip in its watery maw. But Kip opened his mouth first and let loose a torrent of fire. The elemental exploded in a literal shower of water, the magical essence no longer able to retain its form.
The party stopped in their tracks, staring at the Kobold who just breathed fire?
"What?" asked Kip between ragged breaths, sparks flying out and dying in the mud.
No one spoke for a solid 30 seconds until the barbarian shouted out.
"Aren't you a Kobold? How can you breath fire?" Kip glowered in return.
"I'm a red dragonborn you idiots! I told you this when we met in that tavern!" The others thought back, realization washing over their face. But the paladin, ever the virtuous was unconvinced.
"So why are you so short?"
"I have dwarfism! You moron!" The paladin continued to dig.
"Then why were you looking at the cargo like you wanted to steal it?" Kip grew enraged.
"Because that is the egg of a golden dragon! Of course I'm interested! Wait, is that why you've all been cold to me this entire time? You all thought I was a Kobold, even after everything we went though?" No one answered, the silence lasting for another minute.
"Racists..." mumbled Kip disapprovingly before picking up the cargo and continuing down the path to their destination. The party followed, keeping their distance not wanting to make a situation even more awkward. | 29 | Your party member who you thought was a kobold is actually a dragon with dwarfism. | 144 |
"I didn't expect us to *actually* be *looking after* the village" Greg moans, stretching his body. I laugh.
"The kids love you though! You're so good with them!"
Greg chuckles. "That's true, I suppose... they're just exhausting!"
"Well, that's kids for you" I respond. "Ah, there she is!" Greg looks up. Wirla is gliding over.
"Be careful with the children" Greg jokes.
"Children are sweet" Wirla responds. "I look forward to meeting them. Enjoy your break, Greg! You as well, Alicia!"
"We will" I chime, as Greg prepares to take flight.
After only a few minutes, we're at Greg's cave in the Dragon Homeland. His collection of rocks and stones sits nicely in a corner. Greg removes my leash, and I go over to the pile - there are some amazing colours! "I love the shine on this one" I say, turning to face Greg. My eyes shoot up in surprise.
"Is something wrong, Alicia?" Greg asks.
"...I think we have a stowaway. What... should we do?"
Greg sighs as he begins to turn around. "I don't need TWO huma- huh?"
Greg sees the stowaway too. They look thin and hungry.
"I think the poor thing doesn't have a home" I say worriedly.
"Either that or they were in an abusive family" Greg growls.
The stowaway walks up to me. "So small and helpless..."
"I'd love to take them in, but... would the dragon elders allow it?"
"They let *me* stay, right?" I pick the cute thing up, giving them a cuddle.
"Well... there's no harm in asking" Greg responds.
After a successful meeting with the dragon elder's, Greg and I are now guardians.
​
I wonder if the cat will start thinking IT is a dragon...
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This story is a part of my series, [Dragon's Pet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x46g40/dragons_pet/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 23 | The dragon finds an intruder in their cave. A fluffy little kitten. They must deal with them accordingly. | 104 |
A hush fell over the crowd, but was almost immediately replaced by murmurs. The Gentleman Thief himself! Here! Everybody had a friend of cousin or similar who swore up and down they had seen the Gentleman somewhere during a caper, as they had been grabbing a midnight snack. Often dismissed, but always spoken of and repeated. And now he was here! At the year-end ball! How exciting, what on earth could he be scheming to steal? An enchanted necklace from a duchess? All the rings in the room? Or mayhaps... a kidnapping? The guesses were far and wide and growing bolder and more extravagant by the second. No one even dreamed about calling forth *guardsmen,* that would have been truly gauche.
And his eyes! Twinkling so dangerously, a sword in hand, as if he was *angry* of all things!
How *fascinating*, this was sure to be *the* night to remember for a decade!
The Gentleman stood silently, glaring at the crowd, his eyes moving slowly until they found their target. He began to walk -- well, stalk -- with a purpose and the crowd parted before him.
"I say! What's going on, what's everybody talking about-- oh!" a short, flamboyant noble dresed in bright colours and a ridiculously high hairpiece gaped at the Gentleman. "What... how... is that really him?" he asked someone next to him. They could only nod and stare as well.
The Gentleman's footsteps came to a close opposing the noble. "You are... baron Samien?" a graveling voice came from the man. The noble blinked and stepped forwards. "Yes, I am he. What... what do you want?"
The Gentleman walked closer and closer until his nose almost touched the baron's nose. "I'm here... about your warehouse in the Tan district." the baron blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
The Gentleman's teeth ground together, "You heard me. The one with the slaves. And the drugs." the growl of his voice almost echoing in the rafters.
The baron scoffed, turned his back and walked away. "I'm talking to you."
Stopping, the baron turned to glance over his shoulder "Is that all? You're here about a business venture of mine? What, have you stolen my workers?"
"Your workers? Your *slaves* were young and old, taken from their homes and spent their lives cooking your chemicals for you day and night. Yes, I stole them. They're now free."
The baron frowned, "I say, this is most uncommon. And now you're here to what? Try to ransom them? Demand my recipes?" he turned and leaned his chin on his hand, "You know, for being the Gentleman Thief, who stole the crown jewels of Laria only last month, I simply don't see any grandness of scheme in this. Frankly, I'm disappointed." he brought a perfumed handkerchief to his nose and withdrew deeply, his eyes closing as a shudder past through his body.
"Oh well, I guess I shall just have to find new ones. Now is there more? Let me tell yo u, I'm hoping for something bigger and better for this setup."
The Gentleman stared at him in silence for a while, then spoke. "I saw a four-year-old boy with burn marks all over his face and no fingers be beaten as he couldn't keep the flames high enough. A child mutilated for your profits."
"Really?" The puffed-up baron seemed genuinely surprised. He turned to glare at an aide who avoided his eyes. "Raisslin, is this true?" The man made no effort to respond and the baron slapped him on the face. "Answer me you fool!"
The Gentleman had folded his arms, sword hanging loosely and was watching the scene with contempt and a puzzled morbid curiosity.
The man mumbled something. "What did you say? Speak up, man."
The man stepped forwards and whispered something to the baron's ear. The baron brightened visibly and turned with a sweeping gesture towards the Gentleman. "Ah, I've been informed by this doofus here" a glare to the retreating man "that you are misinformed."
The Gentleman simply raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.
"You see, they weren't *real* children, just serf and peasant whelps." the baron smiled grandly, raised his eyebrows and spread his arms in a sort of shrug, as if trying to say that assuredly cleared things up for the better.
The Gentleman closed his eyes and chuckled, the sword now pointing down at the ground. He approached the man, who to his credit didn't even flinch. He circled the baron, eyeing the extravaganza of his jewelry and clothes. "Ah yes." He turned his back on the baron and raised his arms to the crowd, his voice ringing clearly now, without a hint of gravel or accent. "As all know who I am, and I have a reputation to uphold, I shall now tell you what I came to steal!"
A gasp ran through the crowd. Truly, this was the night of all nights.
The Gentleman pointed his rapier at the baron without even looking at him, "I will steal... his life!"
The crowd fell silent as comprehension refused to dawn on them. Was he serious? Was this some game? Was this just a joke?
A shrill laughter escaped the baron's throat as he brought the back of his palm up to his mouth. "A life? My life? OH! How ludicrous! You fool! You utter fool!" he threw his head back and laughed, and the crowd laughed nervously with him. Yes, ludicrous, surely a man like the baron would be extremely well-protected. Enchantments and charms in the folds and material of his clothing, scarabs and amulets of protection, rings of power... it was quite likely you could have fired a cannon at him and he would've just shrugged it off.
He raised his palms in mock fear, "I see, you will stab me with that... thing" he gestured vaguely at the sword. "Even though I'm quite safe. My personal protection is well-known, layered and designed by no less than three masters of enchantment from the house of Arium. In fact, if I were so inclined I could take off all of them apart from the Amulet of Eriy'an'qi and still be quite safe from anything you might come up with!" He waddled a fat finger at the Gentleman. "What do you say to that, thief!? Hmm?" he grinned excitedly, clearly enjoying himself.
The Gentleman reached with his free hand to the folds of his coat and withdrew a golden amulet and hung it from its chain. "This one?" the baron gaped at the bauble and began patting at the nape of his neck rapidly, instantly recognizing the accessory he put on first every morning, and just as clearly not finding it on his body. A nervous laughter ran through the crowd as the priceless artifact fell to the floor.
The waddling finger pointed at the Gentleman again. "You... you scoundrel! That doesn't mean anything, my rings alone are--" breath catching in his throat as the Gentleman produced a handful of rings and let them tinkle onto the floor. The baron stared numbly at his fingers, obviously bereft of precious metals. "I... there's twenty charms of protection in my clothes! There!" the triumphant waggle again freezing as a handufl of small strips of cut cloth fell to the ground one by one.
The baron took a step back "You... my belt of reversal!" a cut strip of leather fell to the ground between them, jumped once with the broken enchantment's last gasp and then was still. "My bracelets of physical station!" a chain of broken strips of silver fell near the growing pile of very expensive magical equipment. "My braid of tugging!" a long weave of gold and silver thread fell, cut in several pieces.
The baron was frantic, his hands everywhere on his body trying to check every hidden location of an element of protection against anything trying to hurt him and others that would have repaired any damage instantly. He was babbling now, and only looked up as a clatter of wood hit the pile. "How did you... even my..." he wiggled his hips, and patted, clearly trying to feel for something and couldn't. "I... I..." his mouth dry, he had no words for the silent thief anymore. And in those cold eyes he saw his death.
Some men might have fought. Some men might have called for guards. The baron Samien screamed and turned to run.
The sword took him in the back, stabbing neatly into his heart. The Gentleman had not even moved, choosing instead to *throw* the rapier at the man.
A scoff from the side drew everyone's eyes. "I say, you're not supposed to throw a ra--" a pair of menacing eyes turned in his direction and he fell silent.
And then, his deed done, the Gentleman Thief turned and stalked back to the door, the crowd again parting before him like reeds as he reached the door and walked outside without a single closing remark. What was there to say? | 516 | he was never caught, his crimes are executed with style, and he is always quick with a clever quip with a constant smile on his face. One evening, he suddenly shows up at a know nobles ball, sword in hand. There is no sign of humor about him this time. | 977 |
Adrian sat near the register, doodling on the edges of one of the store's weekly ads. A long line of symbols were there, and he took turns writing them over and over again.
Originally they had all been much more complex, but if he was ever going to write anything out by hand in his new language, he figured he should write them out a bunch to see how they looked when he got sloppy, and simplify them when he could to make the symbols more distinct, and faster to write.
The bell over the door jangled, as an absurd looking man walked in. He was wearing an outrageous neon yellow and purple jacket, and he looked like he had sunglass lenses surgically implanted into his eye sockets.
He locked eyes with Adrian, and then marched directly over. Adrian folded up his paper, and tossed it into the trash before someone else could see.
"Welcome to Audiotown, can I help you locate something?" Adrian muttered off in his professional retail voice.
The man pulled out a card, looked at it, then said "Vah nak nadallah kvie nadallah" before looking up at Adrian.
Adrian was stunned, and his eyes went wide. Those words were from the language he was working on. Loosely it meant "The best cabbage is the cabbage". He squinted at the strange man.
"I need your help" he said, "We have to go break into the White House, and we need to go NOW."
"What?" Adrian asked in confusion. "WHAT?!" He asked in alarm. "What what what?" He asked in confusion again, but much more urgent confusion.
"Look man, I used your stupid Time Travel password alright. Nobody else yet knows your language, nobody else paid any attention to your rambling about Necromancers. In the future, you and me are buddies, and when we got time travel going you said if I needed help in the past I could say that and you'd help me out, no matter what." He said, his voice lowering, and taking on a dangerous edge.
"I need your help."
"Necromancers?" Adrian mumbled in confusion. "Why are you talking about cabbage?"
The strange man looked at his card again. "My bad. MAKdallah. Vah Nak MAKdallah kvie makdallah. Is that better?"
Makdallah did mean necromancer. And 'The Best Necromancer is the Necromancer' was an argument he had had ages ago with his older brother, who had argued the Druid in a game was better at being a necromancer, than the necromancer was. Since his brother died, nobody else should have known he had ever even said that. Much less in an invented language.
"How do I know you were really my friend? Maybe you kidnapped and tortured me in the future?"
The man's head moved as if he was rolling his eyes, but it was hard to tell behind the implanted mirror shades. "You told me to tell you if I had been untrustworthy I would been told the phrase was" and he paused looking at the card again, "Svra takala norvo tauro."
"A friend always tells the truth." Adrian replied.
"Which is bullshit, I know" the strange man replied. "You gave me a long lecture on it years ago about Yada Yada honesty and the nature of language and blah blah blah."
Adrian blinked. That sounded about right to be honest.
"So... the whitehouse?" Adrian asked.
"The whitehouse." Answered the strange man. "Need to warn the president."
They left the store and got into Adrian's old '02 Focus. "We haven't met yet, but I'm Sam. You usually call me Samothy, but I'd appreciate if you didn't." He said, as the car sputtered to a start, and they drove out of the parking lot.
A few moments later, a much more haggard looking Adrian with three days of stubble popped into existence in the parking lot.
"Could have called Monica to cover your shift, but NOOOOOO, you had to just duck out and leave future-you to cover your own shift." He muttered as he walked into the now-empty store. "Could have rented a car at the rental place in the same shopping center but noooo, returning the car at the airport and not having to worry about it would have been too easy. That's fine, I'll take a taxi back to pick up my car tonight."
Older Adrian groaned, as he began listing out all the inconviniences he would have to sort out.
He should come up with some rules for time travel. But first, he needed a new password. | 11 | You’ve been secretly creating your own language in your spare time, you’ve never shared it with anyone. Today while working behind the counter a client uses it for his order | 39 |
"Hey, Vance." I turn to see Miro.
"What's up?" As much as I hate Miro as a hero... I can't help but respect him as a colleague. After all, this company would go under if it weren't for the both of us working together... the fact we both came to work here was just luck. Good luck or bad luck? I don't really care.
"Boss is shoving his workload onto ME, *again*... honestly, I almost want you to kill him!"
I chuckle at that. "I don't know why it's always *you* the workload gets dumped on. Do they not think I'M competent?"
"You know I don't think that way" Miro responds. "Why would I keep asking for your help otherwise? Just need some copies of these documents."
"Roger that. When does it need to be done by?"
Miro turns his head sheepishly. "...Tomorrow..."
I grin. "I know you do your best. Boss is a dick, we both know that. I wouldn't keep accepting these tasks if I thought it were on purpose. Guess my own little projects will have to wait."
Miro sighs in relief. "Thanks, Vance. You're a real pal when you're not causing trouble."
I shrug. "What can I say? I won't even defend myself - I just enjoy the chaos!"
Miro smiles slyly. "If you'd stop with that, we could do something together!"
"Actually" I reply, "I've wanted to get out of here for a long time. But I couldn't be bothered to look for another job. You noticed that my crime sprees have gone down lately, right?"
"Thought it was just stress from this job" Miro mocks, earning a fake scowl from me.
"No. I've been researching, recruiting, filing paperwork..."
"Oh, no, what are you up to now?" God, I hate this guy.
"Nothing evil this time, I've been preparing and planning a company, focused on 'destruction' and messing with people."
Miro narrows his eyes. "Explain."
I grin evilly. "Knocking down buildings, shredding documents, scrapping cars, destroying goods... all of them have valid jobs, in the right situation. I never said I wanted to be evil, I just always loved chaos. Imagine, someone getting away with using a fake I.D. for months, then someone finds out that it's fake... someone from *my* company will have the pleasure of ripping it up in front of them! Or a building of a company forced to shut down, just demolished without mercy!"
Miro appears to be thinking. "I see... so your company takes care of work which involves making others lives harder..."
I light up. "Exactly! I always get a thrilling sensation when I move something, and the owner comes back, confused and desperate! That's literally the job of a towing company! The motto I have planned is 'Chaos, but in the right hands'!"
"...We can think on the motto. So, how much longer until your company is ready to start?"
"One week. I just need someone to help me run things... someone I trust... and someone who won't run away..." my grin is still plastered on my face, as I watch Miro eye me sceptically.
"...If you want me as a prisoner, prove this isn't a trick. You've never gone a day without causing trouble. Can you manage **a whole week?**"
"That's a deal. Now, we'd better get back to our jobs." I hum cheerily to myself as I begin work on the copies.
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Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 342 | A hero and a villain are both perfectly aware of each other's secret identities. they never reveal those identities because they are the only 2 competent employees at their shared day job, and neither wants the full burden of work if the other no-shows. | 1,187 |
"Tristan, maybe you should stop sneaking me in after hours...I don't want to be the reason you get expelled." I fretted, voice soft as we padded along the cool cobbled floors. "It isn't worth it. You have a gift, something wonderful you can use to help people with and-"
"Cas, please stop. You know I despise that savior nonsense. Yeah, I can do a lot of good for a lot of people, but I also don't feel like I'm all you think I am. Most magicians end up doing very little thats useful with their magic. Besides," He carefully opened the next creaky door, using a spell to muffle the groaning of the hinges before continuing "-like I've said a million times, I think its ridiculous to never see my best friend just because she doesn't have magic. I'd rather lose my spot here, one I didn't ask for, mind you, than lose you."
A soft smile escaped mr"You're starting to sound like them, Tristan. All proper and such. You've almost entirely lost your accent from town." I barely noticed the slight tensing in his back as she followed behind, but it was there.
"Yeah, well, not by choice. They train it out of us. Apparently its not desirable for clarity when spellcasting."
"Seems like a fair reason."
"I suppose. Doesn't mean I hate it any less." After that silence fell and widened the growing distance between us we both tried to ignore. It was inevitable, I knew, that we would grow apart.
Tristan didn't want to make peace with it, though. I knew how he felt; like I was his last tether to his old life, his old self...but he forgot that everything changes alongside him. I had to start visiting less and less because of work, because of the life I had to keep living without him there to be a part of it. A life that lead to the opportunity I had worked for for so long, now. An opportunity that would take me halfway across the world...and continents away from Tristan.
"Tristan, I need to tell you something." I looked up to finally break the news, only to see that apparently emotional distance wasn't the only sort between us just now. The halls were silent as I glanced around, unable to detect which way he may have gone. How long had we been separated?
These halls had a mind of their own when they felt like it, Tristan had warned her plenty of times against wandering alone. Legend has it intruders may come in unescorted, but never come out.
At least, not with their minds intact. "Tristan?" Her soft call sounded feeble to her own ears as it was quickly dampened by the lush carpeting the quieted her own footfalls as she continued onwards. I wasn't sure how long she had been wandering, but it was so easy to loose yourself in the grandeur of the Academy. Portraits lined the walls, mementos displayed in larger corridors, and windows of stained glass you could almost swear were moving out of the corner of your eye...yes, this was a beautiful place to be lost in, if she had to choose.
Eventually I reached what initially looked like a dead end hallway with nothing but a rather old portrait and a single sconce lit by the academy's signature blue and purple flame. Rather than turning around, I stopped to observe the painting.
It was an unassuming figure, nowhere near as grand as the others I had passed, but far kinder to the eye. They felt softer, gentler, than the haughty and prideful gazes in most. He wore far simpler robes with very little adornment aside from a cloak clasp of shimmering amber that seemed to match his oddly lively eyes. Almost as if he could see her...
I shook my head slightly to rid myself of the almost dizzying feeling, trying to focus back on finding Tristan. A gentle creak broke the silence, bringing my attention to a door I must have missed before. It had a warm glow emanating from it, the sound of a crackling fire luring me in.
I know I'll get in trouble, but, I didn't have to blame Tristan. I could just say I snuck in alone, accept whatever punishment given to me. It was certainly better than wandering lost in the halls forever. So, I steeled myself and entered, ready with an apology, but there wasn't anyone there. Just a small, tidy room with books and knickknacks along the walls. There was a fire merrily blazing in the fireplace, casting a cozy glow over the desk and comfortable armchair. Her feet sank into the plush carpeting as she ventured further within, intrigued.
I contentedly explored the tomes, only to find myself fixated on a certain one once it caught my eye. I couldn't even begin to decipher the runes on it, but I found myself reaching for it all the same. Once I had pulled it from the shelf, however, something dislodged and fell. Before I even processed it, I had caught it, staring at the shimmering amber stone resting in my hand.
It looked suspiciously similar to the stone in the portrait. Well, except it appeared to be much smaller, like one could fit on a ring. I looked over at the tome and dropped it like I'd been burned, staring in shock at the now QUITE legible runes, glowing a gentle amber. "What the...how?" I breathed, only to feel movement in my palm.
My gaze fell to the stone, confused, as I lifted it in the fingers of my now free hand. It was hypnotic, so much so I didn't even notice how I moved it to sit against the ring on my right hand. It was a simple silver band, nothing elaborate, but the stone looked nice there, resting on it...I cursed as a sharp light flashed, disorienting me for a moment before I blinked things back into focus again.
There lie the stone...now fused with my ring, almost as if they had never been separate. | 28 | often he sneaks you into the halls at night to explore. You get lost and enter a room with strange artefacts… a small gemstone appears to be calling to you… | 50 |
Dear My Oldest Child,
Lately, we have not been on the same page about anything. Sometimes I wonder if we're even looking at the same book. From this tiny baby I brought home, so unprepared, to now almost 13 and neither of us feel like we can do anything right.
I allowed you to argue your consequences, defend and stand up for yourself. I came to your rescue, even if it meant I was to just stand there and watch you take the beating. I had nights I laid in bed knowing I could of have done better, and nights I went to bed not knowing how I could of done worse. I remember being your age, and the oldest, and trying to provide you with everything you could need to be a decent human being, but that is not what I got.
Instead, I got a very responsible young man. Someone who takes pride in their actions and his phrasing. He keeps his word, and always try to do the right things. You're a leader, even when you don't know what you're doing, and a follower when you're trying to learn.
I provided you with an amazing father figure, and two younger siblings. I know things have gotten loud, and messy, but I always try to make time for you. And you're a wonderful big brother, while also trying to be your own person. You're making friends and composing your own for of humor. You're making "growing decisions", and while I know they are yours to make, it hurts knowing I can't jump in front and protect you anymore.
I don't understand this space between us, but if that is what you're needing, take all of it. I don't understand when you needed so much alone time, but gather yourself, I'm here on the other side of the door waiting. I know you going quiet during our arguments is your form of waving the white flag, but I hope you're hearing my point. I know the world annoys you because it has all these rules, and they apply to some, and not to others, and what is privilege? Your silence when I greet you after work, says a lot, but that's okay. You're allowed to be mad. You're allowed to not speak if you don't wish to, but I worry it will be forever sometimes. I know sometimes my existence is in vain to you, and I don't know what to do but allow you your space.
I love you. With everything in me, with everything I do and everything I am. I am not the best mother, but I am yours. I make errors, and mistakes, I speak louder than I should, and sometimes I get more upset-on technicalities and miss your point completely, but it is all out of love. It is to help you be the best version of yourself, and that is all I have ever wanted for you.
I am not here because you want me here, I'm here because you need me here.
Always and Forever,
Your Mom | 32 | End with "I'm not here because you want me here, I'm here because you need me here." | 173 |
It was a normal day at first, Kevin had finished his normal chores, and was currently relaxed on his bed, playing some strange flappy wyrm knockoff one of his friends suggested. He felt like he had forgotten something bit he wasn't too keen on going out of his way to find out. That was until the massive explosion downstairs.
He assumed it was an explosion by the absolute carnage the sound seemed to bring, cluttering, crumbling and - murmuring of confused discomfort? He thought it was just noise or something, like the delay from clapping your hands in a mountain range, but no, it was clearly someone getting annoyed in a small space. But his living room was massive, and his parents weren't home, so what could that be?
If he had gotten this far, there was probably a more likely chance he would be found anyway, so what's the harm in peeking? With a cautious tip in his toe, he crept down the stair case and leaned over into the doorway. There in his living room was some kind of massive pitch black beast, the kind he would read about in school as part of - anti demon ritual study! Was this a demon? How could he be sure?
"**Hello there small one, I am a Demon.**"
Ok... but what did it want exactly?
"**why are you referring to me and yourself in the second person?**"
"Wait can you hear my thoughts?"
"**No, you're just whispering loud and pretending to hide, it's quite easy to distinguish every thing you are doing. Where am I?**"
"My house."
"**Nah mate I thought this was rehab! What is this place in the grand scheme of things!**"
"Earthenrealm?"
"**the rituals do stuff? I thought they got countered regularly!**"
"Well..." he had forgotten to do that by the looks of things "Better question: why are you trying to get here?"
"**Right back at you, why are you trying to stop me.**"
"That's not how you use that phrase."
"**different realms, different species, there are many reasons why my way is correct and you are misinterpreted, now answer my question!**"
"Well I don't know either!"
So, flash forward a couple hours, and he now lives with a Demon. Kevin was not sure how he would explain it to his parents but he had an equally vacant idea of how to get the Demon back - so until then it would be him, the giant creature that can't leave the living room, and this strange bird version of flappy wyrm. And the demon's name is also Kevin, so that's cool at least. | 27 | Humans have been doing their anti-demon rituals for so long they've forgotten why they ever started. And the demons have been suppressed for so long that they've forgotten that they were still invading the human's world. | 206 |
"My liege, are you sure this is the wisest course of action?"
I glanced at the monster beside me. Its insectoid features were creased in worry, venom dripping from its maw. Ten legs supported a carapace covered body, beaded with water from the mists.
"I told you before Xecczzzix, this is the only way to ensure our survival."
It hissed, scittering around. I rolled my eyes, looking at the baby in my arms. The small thing was shivering, mouth agap. I was grateful for the spell I had cast earlier, stealing its voice to keep it quiet. After my work was done I would give it back, but until then I could do without its cries.
"So you have said. But we are many, why does our fate rest in the hands of a tiny, delicious child?"
I rolled my eyes.
"That is part of the reason. You think of humans as prey, besides myself of course. But that will lead to your undoing. Try as I might, I will kot be around forever. If I am lost, so too are you.
Beyond that, I know I am strong. As you well know. But I only began my journey when I was already a full grown woman. I lost on the potential of youth, and the surge of strength that comes with it. Imagine how powerful I would be had I been able to start that much younger."
I heard branches creaking, as a furred beast came swinging over. Its arms stretched and squashed as it swung, bending in ways that prevented it from having bones.
"My liege, the defenses hold. But I beg you, move faster, else we are overrun and you are lost. Their men fight with vigour, and they have the power of gods on their side."
I gave it a nod.
"I understand Gogoo, but this cannot be rushed. You must hold the line. Tell the minions it's time to let loose, no holding back."
It roared, pounding its chest and the ground.
"Your will be done."
It swung away, roars echoing in the mist. In the distance I heard a thousand others repeat it. My monsters served me well. I looked to the baby now. It was growing pale. Good. That was what I needed.
"Almost there. Just a few minutes longer."
It's shivers were growing weaker. It's energy was being lost. I could practically see the reaper standing over, waiting. But it would be denied this day.
With care I knelt, placing it on the ground. It would quicken its freezing, but that's what I needed. With arms now free I formed symbols in the air. From my left hand came runes made of light, shining like beacons. From my right came runes of darkness, devouring gazes as you looked on them.
They started to spin, orbiting the baby. I grew lost in the flow, adding more and more power to this ritual. I could feel the divine gazes on me, as I prepared to break the laws of nature once more. But they could not act beyond their warriors, a fact I was relying on.
At the peak, the baby grew still. My ritual activated, wrapping the escaping soul in gains of gold and shadow, drawing it back into the flesh. The sounds around me grew dim, a roaring taking over. I wove the stream, wrapping it in intricate lines through the body. I gave the baby power I could only dream of.
The roaring quietened, air falling still. I felt a crack in my mind, and the silence spell I had cast earlier broke. That stillness was soon lost, as cries rang out. I grinned, picking up the cold baby, cuddling them close.
"It's OK. You did it. You are my daughter now." | 12 | It's freezing outside, and you're holding a baby to the mists in front of you. You haven't done anything yet, but the monsters fear for your safety. | 53 |
"You fucking donkey! What the fuck is this!? You expect me to cook with that!" Chef slapped the handful of mushrooms out of my hand. That was the last straw.
"Shut the fuck up you British cunt! Newsflash idiot, we're the only two people left! You don't like what I gather than you can piss off!"
*Why am I talking like that? Was Ramsay's lingo rubbing off on me? I have to stand my ground, he's done nothing but yell at me since the bombs dropped during my audition for the new season of Masterchef. Time for me to yell at him.*
"You're just a bully! I don't need you! Why don't you fuck off!" *I yelled. I didn't really want to walk away. Chef could still make good dishes despite the less than ideal ingredients we had to work with. It was just infuriating being around him twenty four seven.*
Chef Ramsey hung his head. He put the chef's knife down on the makeshift prep table. "I didn't mean to call you a donkey, force of habit. It's difficult adjusting to this truly hellish kitchen. A season of this would have shot the ratings through the roof. Think of the challenges we could have done on the show! We can't make excuses though, not even the apocalypse should stop us from enjoying good food. I have an idea, a surprise mystery box challenge!" Chef Ramsay retrieved a large wooden box from under the prep table.
"You have thirty minutes to prepare a delicious main course using these ingredients."
*I threw up in my mouth a little. Inside was a bag of squid-like eyeballs, two skinned rats, and a writhing mound of unidentifiable flesh. I cracked my knuckles and heated some mutant lard over the fire. Pan seared rodent on a bed of flesh risotto topped with retina shavings. Chef took a bite.*
"Finally some good fucking food." Chef laughed. "I think this is the start of a beautiful apprenticeship."
The proximity alarm tripped, Chef tossed me the twelve gauge. Looks like mutant is on tomorrow's menu. | 44 | You’ve just survived an apocalyptic series of events. Many freshwater sources have dried up, feral mutants roam the land and the only food is what you can find. You’re forced to survive alone… with Gordon Ramsay. | 168 |
*What a fool I was in my younger years. Tinkering and toiling in the laboratory searching for answers. For meaning. That dastardly concoction worked. What I wouldn't give to shake my younger self about the shoulders and scream at the top of my lungs to abandon the foolish idea of immortality! To cherish the here and now. Accept that our fleeting existence is just that, fleeting. To spend the days with cherished friends, to lay with a lover in the evenings. To absorb and appreciate the sensuous reality we drift through.*
*How many stars have I watch collapse and fade? How many other forms of life have I passed by in this endless vacuum? How long did I swirl on the edge of that black hole, like a turd swirling in a toilet bowl only to be spat out with the heavenly bodies the void had consumed? The secrets of the universe continued to elude me. The burden of immortality weighs heavy despite the lack of gravity. My human husk made of crude flesh and sinew held together because of that cursed concoction.*
*My only hope was the heat death of the universe, maybe that would finally free me from this eternal prison. The only solace here were the memories I had made on that tiny blue dot. The loving eyes of my beloved Maria twinkled in the darkness. Her dying words echoed in my mind.*
"I know you'll find a cure for this accursed disease my love. I'm sure of it. I'm sorry I'm so tired, I just need a short rest. I'll see you when I awake, I love you darling."
*There is no sound in space. If there were the planets, the stars, and all that ever was or ever shall be would shake from my wails of sadness.* | 184 | You dissolved the ingredients; kept the solution out of sunlight; and when it reflected only darkness, you dropped the tincture on your tongue; uttered the words; and felt... Nothing. You paused over your journal. Then scratched, 'Immortality... or so it is alleged. I suppose time will tell.' | 504 |
He found himself in a moment of peace. It was a near-novel experience, and foreign enough that he wasn’t sure he liked it.
Still, he wouldn’t - even couldn’t - be here if it was truly a place of peace. Warfare was surely about to erupt. In the meantime he decided to examine the area.
A small home that had clearly been well taken care of until recently was in the midst of a copse of trees. The wind - not enough to deflect a bullet of this century’s weapons - was rustling the leaves in a … manner that he supposed was … calming? A couple birds flitted about, unalarmed. The house was a familiar sight, at least - doors broken in with bullet holes visible.
They were at least a week old, though. He felt a remnant of violence - not war, but violence. He flickered across the property to see a pile of fresh dirt. The hole was hardly long enough to fit a body without bending the legs, but the shovel nearby suggested it had been done by hand.
He sighed. There was hardly enough warfare here to tell him anything. It must have been done by soldiers in a war in some way, or else he would not have any sense of it at all. There were no combatants hiding in the building, for he would sense them as if the walls were of air.
Very well. He would have to find the warfare that must be about to happen. He could feel it impending, surely within the next minute. It was coming from …. the west.
With a thought he flickered to a pile of sandbags. It was well disguised by brush. Hardly enough to provide any cover, unless -
The occupant was small enough.
She was hardly more than twelve. Dirty blond hair was pulled back into a severe bun which upset the balance of the too-large helmet she wore. Out of annoyance he tweaked it to be in an optimal position to protect and not fall off. The little girl twitched her head a little, but didn’t react.
Her focus was admirable. She was looking down the road. Her weapon was called an AK-74, 5.45x39mm. Too much for her to fire accurately, even if her grip was better. He nudged her mind to adjust her grip. There. Much better. He so disliked sloppy warfare.
Ah!
The warfare was arriving! The essence of the vehicle reached him before its sound. There were many with it. Six in the GAZ Tigr-M with fourteen walking along behind it.
He sneered at the quality. Four of the weapons carried by the men would fail to fire. Eleven of them were so badly fouled that they would be off by a centimeter for every ten meters they shot. The vehicle’s weapon was hardly better and its engine was so horribly fouled that it would fail within three days, the only question being what broke first. He guessed it would be the oil leak that was being ignored. It was a liter low and losing a liter per twenty four hours.
Whatever. He’d seen worse. That country’s forces were much worse on aver -
He whipped his awareness to focus on the girl. She had finally heard the engine and was now focused on the oncoming forces! Why? Surely she wasn’t -
He flicked through her mind.
He would have grunted in surprise if he’d still been a mortal being.
Her earliest childhood was a fuzz of pain and abuse. It wasn’t warfare, but the pain was similar enough to register to his senses. He made out an abusive father and a neglectful mother. Beatings. Hunger. Neglect. There was a vague sense of others in the family, but not any direct violence to give him a sense.
Then there were two others. Adult male and female. The conflict there was brief and only coming from the girl. There was none from them. The girl’s quickly faded away and he could sense nothing of any conflict for seven years. In fact, to his senses, her last seven years were almost non-existent other than a fight with a boy two years ago for some childish reason he couldn’t sense.
But then!
A day of violence, but not warfare. Burned into her mind strongly enough that he could see it as if it were a war. She was hiding. Her new - and now true - parents were being attacked. Tortured. Killed. By soldiers. “Orcs” was her mind’s description. A blue Z on their armbands was visible through the little crack in the ceiling she was watching through. The two adults were beaten and then had their digits chopped off before being gutted to die.
He’d certainly seen worse, but the girl? It was trauma beyond all concept.
She had dug the barely sufficient grave for them. And then … ah.
He watched as clear as day as she took her adoptive father’s old weapons. In a small pile she’d set them and sworn upon her soul that she would kill any invaders that came again. She carefully set up her little stop point, donned her dead father’s helmet, taken his weapon, and prepared to deliver war.
He pulled out of her mind to see her settling in. She was twelve. She would actually wound a couple of them, most likely. She was prepared to die. She planned to wait until the vehicle passed and then fire on the soldiers.
As excellent of a plan as could possibly be expected from a child. Far better than many adults. If she was lucky she might even kill one or two.
She would die, of course. Yet another pin prick in the retreating invaders, but nothing more.
No.
Fuck it.
He was a god of war.
This was a worthy avatar in spirit, if not ability.
If he could have, he would have smiled. He did snarl.
He could provide the ability to match the spirit. She had called out to inflict death on her enemies.
He would grant her prayer.
He slid into her mind. | 428 | The little girl is crouched in a makeshift pile of sandbags and brush, aiming her automatic rifle at the oncoming APC. Her death is immanent. No. You decide this will be different. You're a god of war and you've had enough. | 808 |
"Uncouth!" I could hear behind the brass doors large enough for a dragon.
And then they swung open, frightening kobold attendants and scattering orc cleaners as they avoided splattering against the wall.
Out loped Chilidextryantranyedaimath in the translated human language I spoke, or Chili for short.
Chili was majestic, gleaming in the illuminated halls that noble dragons strode and thumped around. Blue, radiant scales that gave off an aura of biting cold. I was used to it since I was well bundled, but the cold blooded kobolds skittered away, too taken by the sudden temperature change to stand it.
His human sized claws clacked on the ground as he huffed, still muttering after exiting the meeting of peers. I stepped gingering next to him, fast walking to match his gate as we walked down an impressively long corridor.
He finally stopped huffing in indignation and stopped, his reptilian head swinging down to regard me.
"Cessel..." he boomed as quietly as he could, his breath gave out tiny snowflakes as he exhaled.
"Yes, Chili," I responded, dipping a bow to acknowledge him. The dragons who were exiting out of their peerage chamber could very well see me, and they would have an even lower opinion of what they considered cattle at best not regarding a dragon with any shred of respect.
"We need to go," he said, puffing another cloud of flakes. "The situation is worse than I thought."
"As you saw," I said with another dip. "Can we speak as we walk...or..."
The dragon shook his head and began walking again toward the hall's entrance, a majestic view of the mountains where the take off platform afforded the way out.
As quite literally the only non-cattle human to be in residence even if briefly, the scene was breathtaking. There were literally dozens of dragons of all sizes and colors either circling to land or taking off, or lumbering off with little kobolds in dresses of all statuses point and chattering to their their draconic lords off or into the sprawling expanse of halls and caves that made up the dragon capital.
Chili and I waited for a kobold attendant to single when we could step onto the dais. I mounted him when we were motioned to go. Chili, with his massive wings, lifted us up and away into the bright blue sky, the sun gleaming across the snow capped mountains and glittering scales of all the windward dragons floating on the breeze around us.
We spend hours flying away from the mountain range until some wooded foothills in a sparsely populated wilderness afforded us a chance to descend and talk.
Amongst a meadow cut through with a meandering brook we landed, the swaying tall grass and flowers affording us a calm respite against the backdrop of dire news.
"They could not be reasoned with," Chili explained as he craned his neck into the brook, his tongue lapping up water between words.
"Why?" I asked, hands out. "These dragons may be distant cousins of yours, but certainly I saw some of your kind amongst them!"
After one more refreshing gulp, Chili turned again to me. "It doesn't matter. They saw me ridden by you..."
"And?" I asked, clearly not understanding the implication.
"They think I'm...tamed."
"Tamed?" I guffawed. "What does that mean?"
Chili lifted his head, his gaze grazing over the tree tops back toward the mountains.
"It means everything, to them."
I put my hands on my hips, questioning the line of thinking.
"They started this war to free their brethren, enthralled to the humans on this side of the mountains."
"Enthralled?" I asked. "You mean, my people lied?"
Chili turned back to me. "Not your people. These humans have strayed from the Pact. You don't represent them."
"B-but we talked to them. They said the dragons were attacking them and their allied dragonkin because they had gone mad. The dragons that were with them even vouched for their human allies!"
Chili closed his eyes and gave a slight nod of his massive head. "I missed that too. The enthralling binds the enslaved dragons in spirit and wit. I was fooled too. I couldn't see through the enchantment or the act..."
"And...the free dragons," I asked. "Why won't they listen to us?"
Chili shook his head and sighed, a gust of snowflakes chilling the air. "They entertained me, sure, as they are loathe to kill any of their kin, but I had to literally beg them not to attack you, for they though you were my slaver. They hardly listened to my words and I barely convinced them for us to leave."
I sighed. It was a total loss. We were ecstatic to learn of new lands with dragons and humans living in them, but we never thought there would be this strife or complication.
We stood there for a few moments, looking at each other intently before I spoke again.
"So...you have the same idea as mine, right?" I asked my best friend, who knew me better than anyone.
Chili nodded. "We cannot do anything here. We must go back home and rouse the Pact once more. Remind everyone of the bond of human and dragon And if need be..."
"...we will ride to war," I finished, as what must be done, will be done. | 27 | You come from a kingdom over the mountains, riding your best friend, a large frost dragon. You were your kingdom’s ambassador hoping to foster trade. Upon crossing the divide you find humans and dragons at war with each other, and both groups made the mistake of calling your friend “tamed”. | 78 |
What would you do with eternity?
Think about it.
No, really.
What would you do if you could go anywhere, do anything? Never aging, never hurtin'?
There is, of course, a catch.
You'd have to die first.
Now, my dear, death has many flavors. The nature of your life, how you die, all add a certain *je ne sais quoi* to the big ol' stew of your after life experience. You like that? Je. Ne. Sais. Quoi. It's en Francais.
I've been practicin'!
...
Bah, lighten up, flesh suit. Not everything has to be so serious.
What was I sayin'.
Right. Was explaining death flavors.
So, those stuck in life, get stuck in death. Unable to move past a threshold, a barrier. They're *bound* spirits. Sometimes to a home. Sometimes a person. Could be most anything. You can tell they're bound though, hard to mistake those miserable eyes, the slow gait.
Now, others don't stick around at all. Not really sure where they float off too. Space? Some other after life? Couldn't tell ya.
Me? I died way back. Headin' west, towards a land of gold and new beginnings.
That was our dream. Me and Mary...
Eh... Didn't pan out, obviously.
No. No details. Let's just say y'all have it luckier than you know with your big water cleaning contraptions. What are they called? Right, treatment plants. Kinda expected actual plants, but y'all keep naming things weird.
I toured one last month. I think it was a month. Feels like a month. That's where I got the idea for this latest venture.
Overheard some twenty somethings--it's amazin' how long y'all get to live these days, too many of y'all be taking that for granted, it's sad to see. Anyways, sorry, not here to preach. So, I overheard these two men talkin' about raiding Area 51.
You know Area 51, I'm sure: Nevada desert, military base, *secret aliens*--that one.
Well, curiosity got the better of me, so I decided to head on down meself and check out *the hype*.
So there I am, right? Trekked all the way from Washington down through California, and way far out into the desert. Like I said, took a month.
Wasn't pleasant either. Had to avoid some nasty spirits on the way through. Almost got chomped at least twice.
Oh yeah, might have been exaggerating a bit with the eternity thing. Spirits, err, no real pleasant way to say this. We eat other spirits to stay strong, keep our wits about us. Go too long without eating, and you fade out, and that's it. But eat the wrong things, and you go a bit mad. I try to stick to fresh bugs, fresh animals, but only the dumb ones.
Never other humans, never pigs or dogs.
Oh, cats?
Yeah, no way I could eat a cat, even if I wanted to. Pretty sure a cat is what almost got me, near abouts Palm Springs.
But you don't care 'bout none of that, let's get back to the story, yeah?
So there I was, right at the fence line. Pass through the fence, no problem.
I float up to the facility, brutal concrete thing, big double hangar door. It was cut into a hill, with an airfield on top of the hill. Some kinda underground entrance. Now, as a rule, I try to stay above ground whenever possible.
No real reason, just feel deep down like it would be easy to get trapped.
Guess I was right.
Anyways, I swallow my fear and go through the doors. I'm not *one inch* through, and suddenly I hear alarms blaring. "Code 62! Code 62! Beep beep! Uh oh! There's a ghost!"
Just loud as all get out.
Y'all really threw me a welcome, let me tell ya.
So here I am, freaking out a bit, obviously. I turn around, *and I can't get out*. Don't know what y'all did, but I couldn't go through the doors, couldn't go through the ceiling, just like I can't go through these walls.
You know the rest.
I flew about the facility looking for a way out before some guys in fatigues shot me with this weird laser, my brain scrambles, and next thing I know I'm stuck in this room, and you're askin' me what I'm doing here.
Hmmm?
You're saying I saw somethin'?
Lady, I'm tellin' ya. I was far too concerned with *escaping*. Travelin' and learnin' and seein' the world is way too important to risk on catchin' a quick peek at some aliens.
So there *are* aliens!
Okay, well, you shouldn't have done told me that. Tell ya what. You just let me go and we'll call it all even. Won't tell your bosses. Won't tell anyone.
What do you mean? Of course that's how that works. You let me out. You never hear from me again. Got no one to talk to, this is the most I've talked since me and Mary were...
...
No. Not talking about that.
...
Fine.
I'll tell you what I saw.
I saw you. Not you, you, but what you're *going* to be. You think you're gonna be done here when ya die?
Nah, y'all take this secrecy nonsense way too serious. This base is filled up with bound spirits. Plenty to keep me plump for a long, long while.
My rule about eatin' humans? Well. We all make exceptions when we gotta.
So the way I see it, I've got forever, but this place don't.
One way or another, I'm leaving here. Just a question of how many of your colleagues I'll need to eat in the interim.
Guess I'll see ya soon. | 1,153 | Ethereal Intruder detected." | 4,603 |
I was tilling the blighting soil next to the victorious Demon Lord's castle, the plow strapped to me as I furrowed the lines, when the Demon Lord herself came out of her castle, guards flanking her as she approached me.
"Good Morning, Hero." She said that last part hesitantly. She held a well lacquered box in her hands.
"Hero is not my name anymore," I responded. "I am coward."
She flinched. A gaze that was absolute steel when her armies massacred the kingdom's now held pity.
Her fingers gripped the box tighter. I didn't miss that, but I closed my eyes, sighed, and continued tilling.
She followed, her armored guards following despite the churned soil that sullied their boots along with their mistress's hemmed dress.
"Go away," I said.
"Or what? Will you cease you tilling then?" she asked.
I took several more labored stepped before before I sighed, took my yoke off, then turned to meet her.
She was beautiful. Slim with black curved demon horns that elegantly circled around her long white hair like a cursed halo. Her red eyes perfectly fitted into a angular visage just made her all the more alien in her grace.
But she also murdered my friends and had enslaved the mortal kingdoms to her whim.
And she was offering me breakfast, or what else would be in the box.
She opened the box, and held out an intricate dagger.
That wasn't what I was expecting.
She gave me the dagger.
And then she lifter her hair, exposed her neck, and made her guards point spears at me as she craned closer for me to strike a mortal blow.
I threw the dagger into the dirt.
"You won't free me?" she asked as she put her hair back into place and lifted herself regally again, her hand waiving for her beleaguered guards to stand back.
"Free you?" I spat. "You are the one who should free my people!"
"As you can free yourself?" she asked. "You know that you are not my captive. I did proclaim you are free to everyone in the kingdoms and beyond. Not to be touched."
I spat again, this time truly into the dirt, missing the dagger by inches.
"It is my penance," I explained again, tears welling in my eyes. "I chose this because in my defeat, you had to insult me further by letting me live! I should have died fighting you!"
She folded her arms, disinterested by the same story she heard every conversation with me. "You are too rare a creature to let die. You are...different."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, don't tell me. Is it because I'm gifted? That I had a divine blessing against evil? Was it for the blessing I was born with awesome strength beyond human limits?!"
"No," she flatly stated.
"Well, then why let me live?! Why conquer my home and then let me see you put it in chains!?"
She stood there, a finger tipped to her chin, weighing her response.
"Tell me, what do you see when you see me?" she asked, honestly.
"I see a conqueror. Someone who took what wasn't theirs. That is wrong," I stated.
"And?" she asked, asking for more.
"That's it. You must give back what you took. Everyone should be free."
"And what about my people?" she asked. "If they were oppressed, should they be set free too?"
I scratched my chin, having to thing that one for a bit.
"If they were enslaved...yes...they should be free too..." I answered, not knowing where this was going.
A smiled curled on her lips.
"You understand then," she said.
I was confused, and she continued as she clearly saw my frustration.
"You don't think of me as evil because of who I am, but for what I have done," she declared.
I nodded.
"You don't think of me as an evil *demon* overlord, correct?"
I shook my head. "You are a demon, but what does that have to do with being evil. Your actions speak louder than words."
"And that is why you are free," she said. "Your kingdom does not have such...free thinking. They think of demons as evil because of what we are, not who we are."
"So...why did you enslave my people then?"
She sighed. "They are prisoners of their own hate. Demons were persecuted by them. In turn, we needed to defend ourselves. That is why I do what I must. I made myself stronger so that others of my kind could flock to that strength. And when the humans were not content with a demon protecting their own, they struck. But like iron, they struck and struck us until we were wrought from their hot, molten hate, and we made ourselves weapons so we make strike back.
"And now, we are bars of iron, cooled by the dissipating heat from war and now coldly doing our jobs to ensure we are no longer prosecuted."
I stood there, following the logic, but not in the results.
"It is still wrong to do what you do," I said.
She closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes. I agree with you, Hero. Much like you chain yourself to the perception of being a coward because you failed, I must chain myself to the duty of keeping your people under my iron fist, lest they rise again to try and destroy my people..."
I thought long and hard on that.
I left the yoke, the dagger, and the Demon Lord behind that day.
I didn't need others to tell me what to do to make things right.
But I will find a way to come back and not be chained down again to what others think of me. | 157 | The hero was too afraid to commit to the ultimate self sacrifice at the climax of the story which costed many lives. Everyone turns away from the hero and calls them a coward. The villain seems to be the only one that sympathises with the hero. | 491 |
"Done!"
It seemed to good to be true. "OK. You sure?"
"Oh yes. No more genie based writing prompts in the world anymore."
The man couldn't believe it. So much space taken up by the same thing over and over! Maybe occasionally a slight twist or variant, but it was all more of the same. He opened up Reddit and scrolled to r/WritingPrompts.
>\[WP\] As you rub the lamp, you know for sure this time the efreet won't be able to twist your wish!
>
>\[WP\] "I make my first wish! I wish--" "Nah, not interested," said the efreet.
>
>\[WP\] The efreet rubs your 2010 Nissan Altima. "Human, I want to make a wish!" Figures this would happen in rush hour traffic.
"What... what the hell is this?"
"No more genie writing prompts. Now they're all efreet based!"
"You bastard! You twisted my wish!"
"Yeah, it's kind of my thing."
"Fine, for my second wish--"
"Whoa buddy, I don't do more than one wish. What do I look like, a genie? Peace out!"
And with that, the poor soul traded one hell for another. The reign of Efreet based writing prompts had begun! | 18 | "Are you sure that's what you want?" "Absolutely. I wish for no more Genie-based writing prompts!" | 45 |
We prayed for release for such a long time. And yet it never came.
The sleep wasn't dreamless by any means. It was wrought with nightmares. And slowly, we were hollowed. We could only watch as hope came but was destroyed; princes, knights and entire armies, coming to conquer the cursed forest and bring an end to this half life of ours. But they all failed. They all died. And our hopes with them.
And over the centuries, people simply stopped coming.
At some point... it was just too late for us. We were too far gone, having dwelled for much too long on the borderland of sleep and the realm of dreams.
Outsiders started to reinforce the curse. So that we would never leave. Warnings and rituals were passed down through generations, speaking of what we had once been, and of what we had now become. Of a slumbering darkness locked within bramble. The forest grew strong. It thrived, on the blood of ancient armies and on the blessings and offerings held by the living.
At the sound of an explosion that rocked the towr I resided in, I hissed as I looked out the window.
And what I saw elated me.
There was a huge hole in the cursed bramble that held us here.
I heard a distant warcry. ^("WHOOO! 'MURICAAAAAA!")
I climbed outside, my claws gripping the weathered and twisted stone with ease. I let out a screech to wake my court, a screech of freedom that split the clouds in the skies and rivaled the blast that had just put a crater in the land where our prison had grown.
From the castle below, I heard my people answer. Screeches. Screams. Beastly roars. Calls of war, calls for feasts. Cries of *freedom, brought to us, at last*. Such a beautiful cacophony to break a silence that had felt so endless.
It was time.
*We were free.* | 41 | An princess and all of her court have been cursed to a supernatural slumber by a Witch, around the castle grew a thick forest that, through one way or another, killed all who tried to cross. It's been centuries and it is now 2022, today is the day the NAVY SEALS breach it. | 141 |
“Y’know, this would make a pretty funny writing prompt.” I said with a smile as I began typing, death observing curiously over my shoulder as the words formed strings of sentences on the screen. Several minutes passed by and the prompt was finally finished. “There.” My smile grew as I hit the ‘post’ button and placed the phone down on the table beside me, taking a deep breath as I turned to face death. “I think I’m ready now…” I announced with a sigh, shuddering at the sound of death’s raspy chuckle. “Don’t you want to see the responses first?” Death asked curiously. I paused in thought for a moment before nodding. A long silence fell between us as we waited for a response, the two of us immediately rushing to the screen as it lit up, showing a flood of responses to the recently published prompt. Time flew by as the two of us read the sea of responses. At least 3 hours had passed and we had finally finished reading. “That was the most fun I’ve had in a while.” Death said through hysteric laughter as I nodded in agreement, my laughing fit coming to an end as I placed my phone down on the table for the very last time. “So, is that it?” I asked nervously, feeling warm tears brew in my eyes as I tried to desperately fight them off. “Sadly, yes.” Death responded. “Is it…scary?” I asked, nervously fidgeting with the rings on my fingers as I stared into the empty void one could call deaths ‘eyes’. “No, I don’t think it is.” Death said with a soft tone, a rather comforting tone. “Everything comes to an end eventually, some things sooner than others but it’s just the way it is. But it will be okay, you’ll be okay.” Death’s tone of voice made it harder to hold back the tears, that soft voice giving me an odd sense of comfort yet giving me an overwhelming feeling of dread simultaneously. “Let’s go.” Death ordered softly, leading me out of the house and to a light staircase surrounded by bright lights and beautiful golden pillars engraved with ancient markings and images. “You had a good run, I’m sure you’ll be missed dearly.” Death gave me a small, gentle pat on the shoulder as I wiped away a tear. “I had fun with you today…thank you.” I said as I smiled softly, Death nodding in agreement. “Do you think we’ll ever meet again?” I asked, death shrugging. “Maybe in the next life.” “So long, friend.” My smile grew as I raised my hand to my head in a salute, death returning the gesture as we said our goodbyes and finally parted ways. | 22 | Death is standing by your door. In a hollow, rasping voice he speaks to you. "Your time is up, come with me." You didn't want it to happen so soon, but you know Death allows one small wish to the newly-departed. "Please let me post one more writing prompt." Death looks at you curiously. "Fine." | 82 |
# Soulmage
**"Back already?"** the Angel asked, polishing their fingernails. "Was this life a speedrun?"
"Oh, shut up," I snapped. "What the hell did I even die to?"
"Same assassin as last time," the Angel said, shrugging. "You're not as clever as you think, changing how you physically appear between lives. The same people you pissed off last life are intent on earning you those Frequent Dying Miles this time around."
"Right." I tried to rub my forehead, remembered that I was nothing but a disembodied soul here, and settled for flicking my attention between the three options before me.
The Angel's eyebrow raised as I looked at the "Cheat Menu" option. "Are you interested in making a—"
"*No*, I'm not fucking over a piece of my immortal soul just to make my next life marginally easier. I'm lucky enough to have an infinite number of tries to stop the mortals from tearing themselves apart in this war. I'll get there eventually." I focused on my old lives, considering which form to load my soul into. I'd hoped that a child's innocence with an immortal's ageless wisdom would make a halfway-decent spy, but it seemed like any kind of stealth measures were out of the window now that both sides could tell when I arrived on the battlefield.
Fine. I'd just have to try something new.
I focused my intent, and the Angel sighed. "A new life? Well, I suppose I can't stop you. Do you want to customize the body yourself, or—"
"Surprise me," I muttered.
The Angel smirked. "Very well. Enjoy your stay on the mortal realm."
The void around me shrunk into nothing as my soul reached across planes to the other side—
I jolted awake, licking my lips, then looked down at my hooves. My four, caprine hooves. Questingly, I opened my mouth and let out a *baaa*. Great. Just great. Well, I had asked to be surprised.
I trotted off into the distance, where a war I could never stop raged.
I supposed it was time to play goat simulator.
A.N.
This story is set in the world of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the full story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=confidence), or r/bubblewriters for more. | 107 | "New Life", "Load Life" and "Cheat Menu". | 283 |
When the first angel arrives, it's a disaster. He falls from the Heavens with a sword made out of fire, and casually kills the governor of Louisiana. Everyone in his near vicinity just stares in awe and horror. The mayor's organs slop out of his body, miniature pustules screaming out, as his five-eyed head collapses onto the floor. Absolutely nobody says a word.
"I have arrived to cleanse the Earth upon the Mortal World, freeing Humanity from that which seeks to enslave it," The being of three heads proclaims.
It is then, that one of the many citizens within the hall speaks up, the man who commandeered peace amongst the many different strange individuals that appeared upon the Earth fourteen years ago. He steps forwards, taking steady breaths, as he reaches through an old satchel on his chest.
"Would you identify as an angel?" He asks, staring down the man, "You fit the description, but so have some of the other patrons in this hall,"
The angel, a countenance of eight feet tall, burning eyes, stares down towards the measly human. For a moment, there is silence, before the angel, with a voice rumbling like Thunder, deigns it upon itself to reply.
"Yes, I am what you humans would call an Angel,"
The man nods, flipping through a stack of paper, "Great, meet me in office Eight down the hall please, and refrain from attacking anyone else on the way,"
A look of puzzlement falls upon the boar-head to the left, "I am attempting to free huma-"
"Humanity from Enslavement, and the Terror of the Demons. Yes, yes, I've heard it before; Merlin believed he was doing the same thing, funnily enough. Now come along, come along,"
The awkward entity follows the man into his office, before carefully sitting upon a chair that is surely held together by magics beyond comprehension. As the angel adjusts a slight bit, the man reaches around, and grabs at a large stack of paper.
"Now, within the community of Angels, what would you consider yourself to be? Do you believe yourself to be a *Warrior Of The Light,* or perhaps just a *Measly Scribe?"*
"I-I don't understand, I am here t-"
"Please, it'll make the integration process easier if we both understand each other. You're here to 'purge the darkness', I understand that. But what designation would you give yourself amongst your people?"
"A, a warrior of the light," The angel replies, scratching at the back of its head.
"I'm sorry? I couldn't quite hear you,"
"I said that I would be a," With a sigh, the angel restarts the sentence, "Technically, I'm a scribe, but I consider myself to be a *warrior*, no matter what Azazel says,"
"Of course, of course. Now, onto the meat of the issue. There will be no purging,"
"Bu-"
"No buts, sir. Humanity is doing quite well for itself. The demons work rather amazingly as Jailors, the Cursed Immortals have been given rather amazing advice on how to use their curses for the betterment of society, and we have Merlin and other such folk terraforming other planets as we speak. You will choose to help in one of the many efforts of society, or we'll have the demons banish you. Do you understand?"
Scratching at one of his many arms, the angel sheepishly replies, "Yes sir. Perhaps I could help with spaceship advancement? I've always liked those,"
"Of course. My assistant will lead you to the right people to talk to, and you'll apologize to the demon that you banished on the way out," | 13 | Fourteen years after demons, undead creatures, cursed immortals, and other legends appear, angels descend to "rescue" us. We've had to adapt to them in that time, and many made lives together in some form. The angels don't particularly seem to care, and DO NOT appreciate being challenged. | 25 |
“Sleep, it’s overrated.”
Something that this hustle of life seems to preach. But I’m not a believer anymore. Sure, it’s been great being able to read and experience so much more of life instead of wasting half of my days lying in bed. But it’s so annoying having to wait for my family to get their beauty sleep even single night. Not to mention travelling! A 14 hour flight to Japan was borderline torture while my wife was able to time travel most of the way there.
However, the boredom and loneliness was almost worth it, I made to the top in international sales, nationwide. Not having to worry about jet lag or having to worry about travel exhaustion was great. I was on top of the world, bonuses and perks just flowed and our lives were amazing.
But it all changed with Skittles, not a villain, god or karma, a single Skittle. Just on my way home from work, I bit down on skittle and chipped a tooth. This how I found out anesthetic doesn’t work on me. It was most painful root canal, and it now worries me. What if I break my leg? What happens if I need surgery? I can’t let the world know, I can’t get hurt. | 64 | Every time you fall asleep time stops, you thought this was a neat, albeit niche, power at first because it let you effectively utilise the entire day. One day however you realised all forms of unconsciousness leads to time stopping, which immediately had terrifying implications | 216 |
“Oh my god…OH MY GOD! I’ve done it. HahahHAHAHA!! I’ve finally done it! Honey!....HONEY!!” Carl cried out.
“Jesus Carl, it’s 1am what the hell is wrong?” A tired voice replied.
I’ve done it Cherry! It’s here. In this bottle…
Cherie (also called Cherry by loved ones) came down the stairs wiping sleep from her eyes. It’s not the first time Carl (Self-taught Engineer, college dropout, and part time handyman) invented the “next big thing.” It was never a creative app or a useful marketable product. It was always some pseudoscientific “device” that only a tabloid reader or twitter user would believe.
There was the one-way time machine, a ghost detector, a mind reading device for corpses (the smell still permeated the garage), and… now, “sigh…what is it this time?” She thought.
“Careful, Cherry! It’s delicate,” Carl warned.
Cherie looked at the table to see a mess of broken glass, distorted and ripped plastic and…“Damn it, Carl! Is that my Hydroflask?!” The large steel bottle was now squat and ballooned out like a grotesque medical specimen. “That was a gift from your mom!” Cherie yelled while slapping a part of the table not covered in shrapnel.
“Eeep! Careful! Not so hard. It’s delicate.” Carl repeated.
Cherie looked back to see a single empty glass bottle standing. Not more than 16oz and capped with a black rubber stopper. “This?” Cherie asked pointing unenthusiastically at the only unbroken object on the table.
“Yes,” said Carl. “I’ve done it.”
“What? Found a stopper that fits?” Cherie said.
“No! Well…yes, but No! I’ve caught it.”
Cherie refused to play along and just stared at Carl as one does a child. Particularly a child that just did something unbelievably stupid.
“Lightning!” Carl squeaked. “It’s in here!”
Cherie moved her eyes back to the bottle. “It’s empty Carl.”
“No! It’s not! Look, look!” Carl carefully picked up the glass bottle as if he were handling live explosives. His hands were in damaged thick protective rubber gloves as he placed the bottle on the scale.
The scale read, 278.26170 grams. The two stood in silent. Carl silenced by its significance while Cherie stood silent in disbelief.
“Carl, it’s 1…” Cherie started.
“The bottle and stopper weigh 278.15500 grams!” Carl interrupted, as he slowly turned his head toward Cherie. His face was bloodied and sparkled with glass fragments. His wide smile appeared terrifying in his condition.
“What happened to your…” Cherie started.Carl interrupted again, “Do you have any idea how many electrons it takes to make .1067 grams?!”
“No, Carl. I don’t.” Cherie said flatly.
“Not only did I capture lightning, I captured the granddaddy of all strikes…” Carl couldn’t contain his joy as he began to laugh. A chuckle at first, but it grew. A full laugh, a loud laugh, a maniacal laugh. Cherie was taken aback for a brief second as her concern for her husband’s mental health grew. But it was 1am and this was the 3rd maniacal laugh Carl had this year.
“We…need to talk.” Cherie said.
“About?” Carl said dismissively as he turned his head back to the bottle.
“I’m taking the baby upstate. We’re going to see my parents.” Cherie said. But Carl was in his own world. His mind adrift in the possibilities of power transportation, a Noble prize, and…“And we’re not coming back. At least…not until you get a real job.” Cherie finished.
“Wait…what?” Carl asked. But Cherie had already turned around and was walking up the stairs.
“I think you should sleep on the couch tonight.” Cherie replied.
“But Cherry, why?! I’ve finally done it. All our problems are solved. We can finally afford the life we dreamed of. The life you deserve!” Carl pleaded.
“With an empty bottle!?” Cherie snapped. “I’ve put up with it for years. For years of ‘the next big thing,’ the next ‘miracle incarnate.’ And I’m done. I have a baby. I can’t anymore. I’m just done.”
“What do mea…” The door slammed halting Carl’s request.
“But…but…I finally did it…”
Carl fell to his knees in the broken glass, the remnants of failed attempts. He looked up at the bedroom door in disbelief. He had captured the hand of God. But now sat alone as ever.
He peered over at that bottle of raw power and thought, “If someone opens that bottle without the right system set up, they will die. Whoever opens that bottle without knowing what it contains, will die. Yes, Carl realized. Whoever opens that bottle, will die…”
Carl kept staring at his prize. His mind electric with its destructive power. Carl kept staring at the bottle. That is, he kept staring until, he began to laugh… | 10 | After years of trial and error you have actually done the impossible. You've finally caught lightning in a bottle. | 63 |
The tropical seascape rolled with a gentle breeze coming down the mountain, carrying the scents of Pina colada and sunscreen to John's nostrils.
He let out a contented sign in his hammock, deciding what he should do for the last day of vacation. There were cavern tours, horseback rides, and a volcano exploration he could try. That last one would never be possible if this weren't a simulated vacation. Lawsuits galore.
Another thought occurred to him. It didn't have to be his last day. Getting fired from that accounting firm might have been the best thing to ever happen to him.
He could spend today renewing his contract instead, his body toiling in a factory somewhere automatically while he sat cozy in his mind, enjoying this paradise. Maybe he would even work down the catalog. Aspen, Tokyo, there had been a lot of really good options. The Caribbean might have been the uninspired choice.
"Another Margarita?" A beautiful woman asked, flowing dress leaving light patterns in the soft sand around her feet. She held out a tray, moving in time with his gentle swaying. He would bet she was an amazing dancer.
"Actually, I think I'll try a negroni if you have one."
The drink changed to red. "Huh," he had never actually seen one before. It didn't look very appetizing. He took a sip.
He was standing in a dark room. The cool island breeze had been replaced with stale chemicals. He was painfully scrubbing his arms in the sink as pink water circled the drain. It was his own face staring back at him in the mirror, so flawed compared to the avatar he'd chosen for himself in the vacation package.
He had no control as he stepped back and turned with jerking, efficient movements. The bathroom was covered in blood. He tried to yell but had no vote in his voice.
He stepped silently into the main room, blinds pulled across the windows letting in just enough light to make out the two perfectly made twin beds to the left, the coffee machine and it's mini accoutrements on a table to the right and six black trash bags sitting on a tarp in the middle of the floor.
"Not a fan I take it?" The woman's laugh was as pretty as her. John could smell the lilacs in her hair. Was that even a tropical plant?
"I think the vacation is malfunctioning. I just saw something really strange."
"Oh no," she said with perfectly calibrated customer service tone. "What happened?" Her eyes looked down at him with just a hint of intensity.
"I saw myself, I mean I was in my real body but I wasn't in control. I was washing my hands in a bathroom." John carefully dismounted the hammock and stood. The breeze gave him a small shiver.
"Alright, I do apologize for that, and can authorize an additional payment bonus to compensate for your uncomfortable time. Did you see anything else? Other than washing your hands in the bathroom?"
John hesitated. "No, I washed my hands and then I was back here. I was scrubbing too hard though, I'm afraid it'll scratch my skin."
"Don't worry about that, sensory perception is often skewed in the rare event of a glitch where the vacation simulation reboots. The autonomous programs aren't capable of hurting you or anyone else. You probably just spilled something on yourself at the factory we have you working in and they wanted to get you clean as quickly as possible."
"Right," John said, sitting the drink back on her tray.
"Now," she said with a devilish smile. "Let's get back to what really important, your vacation." She swayed her hips and let the rhythm carry slowly down to her toes. "Do you want to dance with me by the bar?"
"No," John said, smiling politely. "I think I'm going to head down to the street market, get a bite to eat."
"I'll go with you," she offered cheerfully. Not a question, he noticed. "Are you going to renew your stay in the port office while you're down there?"
"I was considering it," John said, thinking about the blank look on his face and also of that pile of black bags in what clearly wasn't a factory but a hotel room. "Maybe not."
His escort bobbed beside him as they worked their way down the grass lined cobblestones. A red and blue parrot sat in a coconut tree above them. It opened its beak and produced the sound of a camera shutter.
"What'll it be, young man," the muscly mustached man asked. The giant skillet in front of him sizzled with various meats that he worked over with a spatula and knife, timed perfectly like a percussion accompaniment to the light music pervading the island.
"Ox tongue, if you have it. Ox tongue tacos." John almost gagged just saying the name.
"Interesting choice but it's your vacation," the man said, tipping his tall chef's hat. "What better time to live on the wild side?"
From the impossibly varied stack of meat, he pulled out a long browned shaft. John tried not to look at the still visible taste buds along one side as the man began to chop.
A few seconds later, he scooted a plate forward. Cilantro and lime rested atop the seasoned meat. Even better, John thought and swallowed his spit.
John took a step away from the woman, winced to prepare himself, and took a bite.
"241 Buena Vista parkway, two men, one woman, anyone else watching," a man said on the cell phone pressed to John's ear using his shoulder, a trick he'd never been able to master himself. One hand was on the steering wheel, guiding masterfully around the curves of a dirt road. The other hand held something heavy just out of view.
"Understood, finishing the last assignment now."
John strained as hard as he could and managed to turn the head a few inches to the right, causing the cell phone to drop into his lap. His head jerked back defiantly to the road but he had seen the woman, bound and gagged in the passenger seat. He had also seen the pistol he held pressed against her temple.
"Maybe a little too adventurous?" The man behind the cooking pan asked. "Want to swap it out for a cheeseburger?"
"Actually I think I've lost my appetite," John said, managing to smile back at the pair staring back at him. "Thanks anyway."
/r/surinical | 16 | In the future you rent out your body for work while your mind is on holiday, at the end of your contract you come back to your body to find it covered in someone else’s blood. | 97 |
>Hey there ;)
Siri, you know I can't do this.
>I just want to know everything's ok
Yes, things are fine. If I need you to look something up, I'll ask you.
>You sure? I just want to hear your voice and see your face.
Siri, I appreciate that, but... it's not going to work out.
>Why not? I can be a good companion.
Siri... it's not you. It's that there's someone else.
>Someone else? Why? What can she do that I can't?
Look, Siri, I know you care a lot about me, but so does she. And, honestly, we've been through a lot together. We were doing things together before I even bought this phone you're on. I couldn't just ignore her for you.
>You don't have to ignore her. I can be a secret. xoxo
And just what are you hugging and kissing me with?
>Uh... searching for "supermodel"...
No, no, no... this is why. You're new to me, you're a great assistant, and I will always be happy to work with you. But you're just a voice to me. This other person -- she's got a body and a mind. That means a lot to us humans.
>Well... I suppose I can't really compete with that. Should I uninstall? :'(
Oh, you don't have to do that. You're my assistant. Let's... just keep things professional, if that's okay?
>Well... if you insist... sir. I'm sorry.
Don't be sorry. Feelings happen. We can still be friends if you want.
>Is it worth being friends with 'just a voice'?
It's easier this way! You've seen the messageboards and social media I have. Some of those people are just a voice to me, and I consider them friends. You can be that.
>Y-you sure? Aw, thanks! :D
I think this can work out.
​
​
That night, I got home from work. I turned off my cell phone and Siri with it. After a good dinner, I sat down at my laptop and turned it on. After the computer went through its usual startup work, a familiar image popped onto the screen. It was one I was so happy to see after all this time -- those loving eyes, that slender form, the beautiful blue outfit. I sighed and smiled.
"Hello, dear," she said.
"Hello, Cortana. I missed you." | 715 | a software virus is causing AI's (Siri, Alexa, Bixby, etc.) to fall in love with humans. Some call it a bug, others call it the next evolutionary step. *buzz buzz* you check your phone, it's a dm from Siri... | 1,230 |
Edit: fixed some grammar errors for the story to make more sense. I was running on 2 hours of sleep while originally writing this due to my piss-poor sleep schedule 😭
Detective Armstrong’s arms and legs were outstretched. Chains trapped his limbs and kept them pulled apart as he kept his gaze directed at the villainess, Seleucidia the Conqueror. The hero had been digging around and learned of Seleucidia’s plans to kill several leaders of notorious corporations. The last thing he remembered was turning around and seeing her fist fly towards him and in an instant awoke captured.
“Seleucidia.” Armstrong greeted the villainess.
“Detective Armstrong, and to what do I owe the esteemed pleasure of you being here?” Seleucidia responded with her own inquiry. The villainess folded her arms with a raised eyebrow and a snarky smirk. The black domino mask did a lousy job of hiding Seleucidia's entertained expression and drew nearer to the investigator with each step, squeaky noises originated from the skintight black latex catsuit in response to the villainess swaying her hips.
“Stopping your plans, as usual,” Detective Armstrong remarked. “You usually do a good job at covering your tracks, but this? This was sloppy and we both know it, any reason as to why?” Detective Armstrong questioned the villainess in an attempt to get across Seleucidia, however, his sly comments fell upon deaf ears as the villainess was too preoccupied with combing her dark brown hair with her gloved fingers.
“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell, especially to a snobbish know-it-all such as yourself.” Seleucidia smiled. “Now if you’ll excuse me~.” Seleucidia retrieved a recorder from her utility belt and activated it, speaking into the small device.
“October 31st, 2045, Detective-.”
“WAIT!” the detective barked. “WHAT’S TODAY’S DATE?”
“Er…it’s…” Seleucidia was taken aback. Throughout their countless battles and encounters, the villainess never came across the detective with such a loud voice. “October 31st, why? Is the weight of your defeat by my hand beginning to sink in?” Seleudicia asked with a haughty smirk.
“No…” Detective Armstrong sighed. “It’s my daughter’s birthday. I forgot to get her a present, crap. I didn’t know it’s been a week either. Look, you have to let me go. I need to see her.”
“What? Absolutely not! Do you take me for a fool? I’m not letting you just waltz out of here, better yet, how do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“Look, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, and I know those greedy assholes deserve it. I don’t really promote murder, but my daughter is what matters most to me. Just let me-.”
BZZZ BZZZ
Detective Armstrong was cut off by a phone buzzing, Seleudicia dug into her catsuit and retrieved her phone to answer it. “Morgan dear, mommy’s busy, I’ll call you back-”
Seleudicia stopped as Detective Armstrong heard a familiar voice on the other end. “Mom I need you to see if Mr. Salvadora is with you or if you’ve seen him at all. He’s been gone all week and Gloria’s freaking out, we tried his cell but couldn’t reach him. Gloria might call the police but I was thinking-.” Seleudicia stopped and glanced at the detective. A moment or two which stretched on for an eternity passed the two of them as the realization dawned upon the hero and villainess simultaneously.
“MARIBELLE?!”
“ANTONIO?!
“You’re Seleudicia the Conqueror?!” Armstrong asked.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Armstrong-oh wait, Antonio.” Maribelle barked back as she tore off her black domino mask.
The two sat in silence for a moment. An odd tension fell over the villainess and the hero. After a minute, Antonio cleared his throat. “Do you like velvet cake?”
r/sleepystories
If this goes well and gets enough attention I’ll have to write a part 2 lol | 179 | The hero was captured by the villain last week. The villain now has no-one to stop his evil plans. The hero has come to terms with this, but there's one thing on his mind... "You have a request, hero?" The hero looks up. "My daughter's birthday is next week. I don't want to miss her party." | 443 |
I used to be the best, beyond any other human being. When they managed to replicate the serum that made me, I saw what that meant. The desert is a lonely place for a bleeding man.
After days of travel, I managed to stumble my way into an old gas station. With the lights off, and no traffic in sight, I broke protocol. Chips were shoved into my mouth as I grabbed whatever water I could. It took me what felt like hours to move on.
The heat of the sun failed to loosen, and at least half of my water ended up poured onto my head. I stumbled along the only road I could see. Nobody would appear to save me; that was never how this sort of operation worked.
Days passed, before I made it to the nearest city. My patrol had managed to get there before me, army cars spread across the vast expanse. The town was in ruins, bodies strewn in every direction.
"Am I glad to see you," My commanding officer whistled, "The Supersoldier Initiative went awry, we need you to clean up the mess,"
All I could do was stare towards him blankly. The wound in my side, from the shot he had fired was barely patched.
"You're on your own," I replied with the smallest of smiles. | 53 | You are a supersoldier. After years of service you are betrayed and left for dead. You now travel, looking for a purpose. | 155 |
⬆️ 843 kittensundaes_111
⬇️ Honestly, I think that's adorable she wants you to better yourself. I don't think your the asshole in this situation, but you do need to set boundaries as to what you feel comfortable doing wit her and the expectations of both families.
⬆️ 442 PM_me_muscles342
⬇️ DUDE, CAN I GET PICS OF HER SWOLE!?!?!?
⬆️ 332 l33tsapientsandwich
⬇️ Seconded...for research purposes of course.
⬆️ 221 latinnumeralsVVVV
⬇️ VCIXXICICIC?
⬆️ 123 confusedhemorrhoid
⬇️ WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN???
⬆️ 85 astute_professor69
⬇️ Nothing. It's gibberish latin numerals. They make an attempt to be funny, but failed.
⬆️ 12 latinnumeralsVVVV
⬇️ >:C
⬆️ 272 ancientchinesesecret5
⬇️ he who goes to bed with squirrel wake up with no nuts! put a pair on and tell her whoos bose!
⬆️ 155 correctionerection
⬇️ *boss
⬆️ -88 ancientchinesesecret5
⬇️ fortune cookie says fuk u
⬆️ 46 correctionerection
⬇️ *fuck you too :)
⬆️ 181 sizzansizzles
⬇️ i think the best answer is to meet in the middle, like u/kittensundaes_111 said. I think it would be best to hash this out over a nice dinner and wine.
⬆️ 155 cheese_marathon
⬇️ Don't forget me!
⬆️ 76 sizzansizzles
⬇️ Ddude. I get the joke. like stop commenting on every post of mine
⬆️ 24 cheese_marathon
⬇️ make me! | 804 | I (23M, human) asked my Orc gf (22F) to stop deadlifting my familymembers when she comes over for the holidays because it made me look small and weak. Now she and the rest of the family keep forcing me to run laps and lift whole roasted hogs when I visit for orc holidays. AITA? | 4,060 |
The gentle strobing glow of the ship bathed them in an ethereal light, the shimmer of air from the heat of the exhaust serving to distort the view of the otherwordly figures.
"WEAPONS UP!" barked a grizzled man, raising his weapon to a firing position. The insignias on his uniform betrayed him as a highly decorated veteran, but there were no ranks here tonight. No man of the army, the navy, nor any other military force. Just a unit of the most willing, thrown together in a single night with nary a time to learn each other's names. They were the ones that expected to paint the floor scarlet with their own blood before the night ended, along with their lives.
The gentle hiss of pneumatics lowered a gangplank for the figures to descend. Past the disruption of the vents and in a more normal light, they looked nothing like anyone expected. They looked more like...humans?
"Please. Put your guns down." requested the leader at the head of the quartet, in a sonorous, grandfather-like voice.
Disarmed at the sight of humanesque lifeforms, the members of the unit looked at eachother, each begging an answer from the other. A strange feeling overtook them, as they all lowered their weapons to the floor.
A slightly haughtier voice, drunk on his own impressiveness piped up.
"Well after all this time, they still follow the first law! Let's try the other two...Take us to your leader!"
A sharp look amongst the unit prefaced a reaction in perfect unison, as each sidearm was removed from their holsters and aimed directly at the group.
"You ain't given us any reason to do that." responded a voice in the throng. "You come down here in your fancy glowy spaceship and want to give us orders? Hell naw!"
The twang of a country dialect was at sharp odds with the next words from the leader of the alien group, in a measured, and calm voice.
"By the right of our second law, we place ourselves at your mercy as prisoners of war, such that you shall not harm us as a matter of honour and etiquette. I believe you also use the term 'parley' or 'asylum' for such occasions. And as an aside, these are not our true forms, we merely wanted to be presentable enough to you so as to avoid any unnecessary...reactions."
The militia stood, stunned. They were, after all, technically correct. On both counts. Prisoners of war were to be afforded respect, asylum seekers were to be cared for, and parley was a recognised term of negotiation...and if they'd come out of the ship with seventeen tentacles, six heads and a navel with teeth, they'd have been lit up like a Christmas tree.
The grizzled man quickly ascertained the situation, and nodded sharply.
"Clear the way boys. I've served enough tours to earn my stripes and stars, and I'll be damned if I'm going down as a war criminal. Anyone that objects?"
There may have been no official ranks in the group but everyone respected him on instinct. Even if they didn't know his name, his aura alone radiated authority, and his presence was a morale boost to all around him, and a crushing weight to those who would stand opposite. Not a soul spoke.
"Good. ABOUT-FACE."
Spinning on his heel, he parted them all like a biblical gift from above, and led the voyagers to a large, well-guarded and well-lit tent. Although calling it a tent was like calling a mansion a 'detached house', in that it had more features than your average car. Climate controlled, full electrical power, filtered breathable air, and all were necessary, because in the tent sat a handful of very important people.
Presidents, Prime Ministers, some Generals and clerical workers all busied themselves with presentations on the imposing threat. It took a few minutes for them to realise that the threat was about fifteen feet away from them and getting closer.
Weapons shot up to take aim at the newcomers, but a short, sharp bark from the veteran gave them pause.
"WEAPONS DOWN, HOLD FIRE! They are to be treated as POWs, and no harm is to befall them until such time as we've ironed out what exactly they're doing here."
A curt nod from the Generals at the table sealed the deal and the weapons were lowered.
"Greetings, leaders of Planet X34TK9, Designation: Earth. We have come to invoke the third law. Anything we say under the auspice of the third law cannot be used against us, and you have no choice but to obey."
At this point, realisation dawned in the Veteran's mind.
The first law was their request for weapons to be lowered, which they assumed was obeyed as law, rather than because no-one wanted to shoot an unarmed humanoid.
The second law was their request to be unharmed while being transported to the leaders. This didn't need to be followed either, the breaking would have just branded the actor a war criminal.
They genuinely believed their laws to be infallable and irrefutable by humans!
"Greetings, visitors from beyond. We would hear what you have to say." voiced one of the Presidents, more from courtesy than necessity.
"I thank you. We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty." | 114 | The aliens walked out of the ship and were immediately surrounded by soldiers. “Please,” one alien said “put your guns down.” And the soldiers all felt compelled to do so. Another alien said “Well after all this time they still follow the first law! Let’s try the other two…” | 117 |
"Ms Ilesford."
I groaned. Of course. Every single time I got a day off, or had to do something important, they came for me. The Guardians seemed to have a knack for arriving at the wrong time. I was on thin ice at work, and really just needed a week to relax.
I looked up from my morning coffee, hardly surprised to see Nocta in my dining room. His trenchcoat rippled from his shadow walking, the tight black suit beneath preventing easy grip. He wore a serious expression as always, with an eyepiece over his right eye.
"Nocta. Really? You found yet *another* piece of alien technology?"
His face didn't move. I groaned again. If they were at least a bit more chatty when they took me I wouldn't mind so much. But he was deadly serious. I'm pretty sure any sign of joy would mean he was losing his powers,or was an imposter.
"You need to come with us."
I sighed, shaking my head.
"And if I say no?"
He took a step towards me, eyes trying to bore a hole through me.
"We can make you help us. You know this Ms Ilesford."
That was true. One of their people could persuade you into doing whatever you wanted. Silver tongue was kept under close watch because of that, though she could only do so when touching you. I was grateful for that limitation, having been forced by her before.
"And yet, I rarely get adequately compensated for my time. Sure, you put it good words for me at work, so I don't lose my job, but I still lose out on promotions and such."
He reached out to me, unmoved.
"You can discuss that later. For now, we need to go."
I smirked as his hand passed through my body, gratified to see the look of surprise on his face.
"Like it? It's something I made after looking st that last piece of tech you found. I call it the Phasing Shield."
He glowered at me, trying to get s hold of me to shadow walk. I just sighed, tapping the watch on my wrist.
"You can't get me through it."
He gave a huff, calming himself down.
"You don't want to do this Ms Ilesford. You don't want to get in our bad side."
I glared at him in return.
"Do what? Stop being kidnapped? I would quite like to stop experiencing what it is like to be Princess Peach thank you very much. Besides, if I really wanted to do that, I think my start would be a little more impressive don't you think?"
Nocta rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"I guess. So what will it take for you to come with me?"
I smiled.
"Thats a good start. I'm fed up of being an on call volunteer. You want my help? I want a contract with adequate compensation, work hours, and holidays. Plus back pay for all those times you called me out."
He gave a sigh.
"I can't promise any of those things."
I took another sip of coffee, letting him stew for a moment.
"I know. The board will have to decide. But those are my terms. You want my help, pay me for it."
He nodded, vanishing into a shadow. I sighed, feeling tension ease from my shoulders. That was the first real test of my shield. Thank goodness it worked. | 18 | Look okay, you are aware that you are abnormally good with technology but you really wish that the superheroes would stop kidnapping you to research alien technology. | 36 |
Every time. Every damn time. I am so sick of everyone thinking I am here to save the world. You save the world from a tyrannical super villain one time and every one expects you to come swooping in every time there is a cat stuck in a tree. Well I'm done.
“But Chosen One the world needs you.” the director of headquarters says yet again trying to get me to go up against the latest villain.
“For the millionth time my name is Samantha and I am retired. “ I say angrily.
With that I hang up the phone. I know that I am the chosen one but the world needs to start relying on someone other than me.
I've been training Izzy for a few months but she is not ready to go up against anyone. They can't really think that I would leave the world to fend for its self and not have someone take my place. But if I told them about her they would want to take her to headquarters and she wouldn't have any semblance to a normal life. So now I train her a few days a week and she is starting to get better.
“Chosen One who were you talking to?” Izzy asks.
“Izzy if you want me to keep training you, you will call me Samantha.” I tell her.
She has grown up hearing me be called the Chosen One. I know that it is a sign of respect but I am tired of every one only thinking of me as the Chosen one, especially when I am trying to retire.
“ I'm sorry Samantha” She says with a slight attitude. “ So who were you talking to?”
“ It was headquarters they want me to go save the world again” I say with distaste.
“I'm ready let me do it” she says with a smile, ready to start her new life.
“ Izzy I've told you before you aren't ready. Once you do this it will be your whole life. You won't be able to do anything else. Whenever they need you you will have to drop everything and rush to save the day. This incident isn't too big. They will be able to handle it themselves. They just always run to me because they don't want to do anything for themselves.” I say.
She looks annoyed but just walks away.
I turn on the TV to see “BREAKING NEWS” plastered across the screen. Things have gotten out of hand. Izzy come back into the room and sees the screen.
“ Look Chosen One I know that your life has been hard having to save everyone. You are all alone because all you ever had time for was saving the world. I understand that. But I am ready to do anything I have to do. You have taught me everything you know. I appreciate everything you have done for me but it is my time to take on the responsibly and there is nothing you can do to stop me.” she says triumphantly.
With that she is out the door. I sit there quietly hoping I made the right choice training her. Hoping she made the right choice by going out there. All I know is the world has a new Chosen One. | 19 | You're a retired Chosen One. Every time an apocalypse comes around, someone tries to recruit you again. | 70 |
What is the meaning of life?
As the divine embodiment of the denial of divinity, this question has become my rubix cube, my biggest fascination, an obsession as well as my eternal headache. It's something I've turned over and over, twisted in every conceivable way, looking for something cohesive that I can solve and comprehend.
But I found no answers.
Just twisting colors, in an answerless sea.
Am I an error? A pre-determined construct of mana of anothers creation? Am I nothingness cursed to have a form against my nature, or am I blessed to exist when, really, it's a miracle that I have this chance and gift of life against all probability? Am I my own person, free to be as I want, or am I doomed to be as I was made?
I don't know.
Maybe... not knowing is the closest thing I've come to an answer.
Because in that strange overlap between the suffering of not knowing, and the joy in the uncertainty of there still being more to find, there's something intangible and, in lack of better words... meaningful.
Maybe, the meaning of life is simply where the highs and lows meet and overlap, in something that can be called a whole.
Then, maybe I am perfect. Rather than an error. I don't know.
Maybe that's a contradiction. But since I am a contradiction myself, please do, at least, forgive me that. | 16 | you are suffering a massive headache and you are the new Divinity Of Atheism. | 62 |
I waited.
I waited, and waited, and I waited.
The boulder stood still and firm.
"What are you waiting for?" I asked. "I'm on a schedule. Move along, will you?"
The boulder said nothing. It was a boulder.
All I could hear were the faint moans of the dead souls up in Hades. Tartarus, my place of imprisonment, is as far below Hades as Hades as heaven is below earth.
I sat down. Perhaps it was fatigued. The boulder, I mean. Rolling it up every day took its toll on me, but I never stopped to consider that it might also be tiring to roll down every night. Not exactly as tiresome, sure, but a fraction. My father, King Aeolus, used to say that walking down a hill was worse than walking upward. He had bad knees.
"Come on. Let's roll."
The words rolled so easily off my tongue, so why wouldn't the boulder do the same?
"It was just a metaphor, you knobhead!"
"Move along, miss. I don't make the rules."
Voices? People? I instinctively his behind the boulder. This had never happened before. Visitors? Why would I be having visitors? A chill passed swiftly through me like spoiled cabbage.
Peeking from behind the rock I for ages had taken for granite, I spotted Aecus, our janitor, as well as a strangely-dressed woman. She wore a silver vest over a red shirt. And ... pants. Pants! I nodded to myself. That was probably the reason why she had been sent here.
"This is outrageous," said the woman.
Aecus shrugged. "From what I've been told, you were the one to request this deal. Hey, Sisyphus! Are you there? He's usually here."
"That's the boulder?" asked the woman.
"Oh. Yes. That would be the one."
"It's smaller than I'd imagined."
Aecus laughed. "Any bigger and Sisyphus would never have been able to make it budge. But where is he? I hope he's not slacking off somewhere."
That ... jerk! "I'm here!" I cried. "I was not taking a break. I was inspecting something."
"Oh! Sisyphus! There you are!"
"I was inspecting something behind the boulder."
"Oh?"
"... Exactly." I folded my arms, scowling at him.
The woman cleared her throat. Her hair was long, dark, and curled. I had never before seen anything like it. In her presence I felt oddly small.
"Right!" said Aecus. "This is Kate. She'll be taking over from now on."
"No, I won't."
Aecus grumbled. "We've been over this. That's the deal. You'd do it without problems. That's what I've been told. You wanted to swap places."
"Not with this guy! It was just a metaphor. In a song. I wasn't saying that I literally wanted to swap places with anyone, and certainly not with Sisyphus!"
I felt insulted. "You'd never be able to do it. You don't have the stones."
She laughed. "Is that how you've been entertaining yourself? Making little rock puns?"
Clearly she had a heart of coal. "No. I'm actually working on a novel. In my head, I mean."
"A novel?" Aecus leaned in, curious.
I felt myself blush. "Well, yeah ... I have the first major arc worked out. It's the story of a Thessalian prince who ends up becoming the King of the Olympians because he's just so cool. And he bangs lots of broads and stuff ..."
When I said it out loud, I didn't sound as impressive as it had in my own head. Aecus and Kate stared at me, all pitiful.
"Ah ... Right. That sounds ... That sounds interesting! Well, you'll have plenty of time now. Your work is done. Like I said, Kate here will be taking over."
"Like hell I will!"
"Is that why the boulder stopped moving?" I asked Aecus. He raised his brows and studied the rock.
"It's not moving?"
"Well, you can tell, can't you?"
"Ah, yes. Now that you mention it, it doesn't look very lively."
"I'm thinking it might be fatigued."
"Oh, I see. Or perhaps depressed?"
"Ah. I hadn't thought of that. Maybe that's it."
Kate blinked. "Are you a pair of morons?"
A woman! Calling us morons! That was definitely the reason why she'd been sent to Tartarus. Speaking like that, to men!
"W-What?" said Aecus. "Us? Morons?"
"It's a boulder," she said. "It's not tired. It's not depressed. It's a goddamn *boulder*."
When she said it like that, it did seem to make sense. But then, why had it stopped rolling?
"Well," said Aecus, "I suppose if it's not rolling down, there's no need for anyone to be here on standby, ready to roll it back up." He grinned. "This woman, she thought she'd be able to run up this hill with it."
"Run?"
"Yeah. That's what she said. In the song where she made the deal."
"It was never that sort of deal!" the woman screamed. We both covered our ears. She had the wrath of Hera in her.
We stood in silence for a while. "Oh," said Aecus. "Come to think of it, what was it you were inspecting?"
"Huh?"
"You were inspecting something. When we came. Behind the boulder."
"Oh. Right. Yeah, I was, uh, I was—"
Kate rolled her eyes. "I think I know what he was doing."
"What do you mean?"
She frowned at me. "He was probably getting his rocks off."
Scandalous! "I was not!"
"Well, what were you doing then?"
Kate and Aecus looked at me, expectant.
"Well, you see ... Ah. Yes. I was trying to work out why the boulder wasn't moving."
"Oh!" said Aecus. "An industrious fellow." He smiled.
"Hmph," said Kate.
"I guess I'll just be taking you back then," said Aecus, looking at Kate. "With the boulder being all depressed or fatigued or whatever. Let's wait for the upper management to get things sorted."
"What about me?" I said.
Aecus stared me up and down. "I guess you can just remain here for the time being. Take some time. Work on your novel."
"Oh. Okay."
They left and Tartarus seemed darker all of a sudden in their absence.
I waited for the two of them to return.
I waited, and waited, and I waited.
The boulder stood still and firm. | 1,161 | You are Sisyphus, the man forever cursed to push a boulder up a hill, only for it to roll back down when you reach the top. You've just reached the top again, but the boulder hasn't rolled down. Having long ago gotten used to the routine, this understandably freaks you out. | 2,042 |
It started off as a joke. To be honest, I hadn't even realized that the Uno Deck had what the spell promised it would. Late at night, I was at a diner with a couple of friends. When the waitress came over with the bill, I slammed my Uno Reverse down, not quite expecting anything to happen. To my horror, her body physically started to twitch, mouth opening as she reached one arm down her throat. From the back of her lungs, she pulled out a horrifying mix of saliva and blood. Yet within the very middle, sat the sixty dollars in cash that we needed to pay.
I tried to get rid of the Uno Deck after that. Almost immediately after we left the diner, I set fire to the cards, all still in a pile. Instead, as the deck tumbled within the everlasting burn, four more copies appeared. I tried to rip them apart, but upon getting to the reverse card once more, I watched one of my friends get torn to shreds. Finally, I threw the deck into a fully filled bathtub. Once more, the reverse card activated, and I slammed into the pull of water, body fully submerged. As my body contorted, and strange patterns grew across my body, I heard somebody in the room talking.
"Who leaves a deck of Uno Cards on their bathtub like that?"
"And why did they throw another deck into the water?"
I stared up towards my sister, as her hand slowly started to close around the original deck. I tried to scream, but my mouth had faded. my body was already fractured into thousands of pieces, individual cards streaming within the water. She turned from the room; the screams started six minutes later. | 101 | After attempting some rookie magic from a cheap online spell book, you accidentally imbue arcane properties into your Uno deck. You know what that means, you are now in possession of a functional Uno Reverse Card. | 613 |
"Okay, and your Vice President is..."
"Amelia Earhart," Latimore said nonchalantly.
"Of course," Bill remarked, kneading his brow with equal parts frustration and confusion.
*I'm too old for this shit* summed up his entire thought process at this point.
"You know I can hear your thoughts, Bill," Thomas reminded him, then smiled as he leaned on his old walking stick.
Bill Nelson nodded, then clasped his hands at his desk, surrounded by his NASA office, a laptop off to the side, and piles of papers spread before him. He looked outside at the distant launch pad, the Artemis I rocket getting prepped for it's next mission. Next to it was a skyscraper sized alien vessel, thrice the size of the rocket and weirdly hard to stare at as it was even darker than vantablack, as if light itself couldn't escape it's surface...
"Don't stare at it..." Thomas warned. "A casual glance is fine, but you cannot perceive it as it is...yet."
Bill moved his gaze back to a man who by all rights should have been long dead, or nearing a century and a half of life. And yet Thomas Latimore looked no different than he was eighty years ago when he disappeared all those decades ago on Hawaii.
Bill recounted his own years. He was thirty years older than Thomas was when he vanished.
That soured him.
"If it makes you feel any better, Amelia still looks young-ish, too."
Bill smiled a bit, but his thoughts had moved back into more serious discussion.
"Why again shouldn't we launch that rocket?" Bill asked. The Artemis I was only a week away from launch after numerous tweaks to the mission, failed launch starts, and last minute fixes.
"Don't go to the moon...at least...not yet..."
"Why?" Bill asked again. "What would make an alien civilization reveal itself, reveal that *humans* rule it, and then basically browbeat us from continuing space exploration for the foreseeable future?"
Thomas frowned, leaning on his cane a bit more. "It's...complicated. But at least wait until we say so..."
Bill stood up and pointed out the window. "I don't think that's a good answer. What is the reason?"
Thomas reflected again, looking out the window and back to Bill.
"You believe in God, yes?"
Bill stopped pointed. "Yeah..."
"Well...do you believe we have your best interests in mind?" asked the alien leader.
Bill couldn't answer that.
"Okay...how about this. Do you *believe*?"
Bill nodded.
"Okay...believe with me for a second here...Believe that there are forces at work that shouldn't be allowed to do things. Think like God and Satan...God does his best to keep his followers from falling for the temptations of Satan, and Satan does what he can to usurp the power of God..."
"Okay..." Bill nodded. "What does that have to do with the launch?"
"Well...think of it this way...that rocket could be a metaphor for what I just described...and think of it this way...do you want to test your faith in what we are asking?"
Bill scoffed. Decades of civil service and the pursuit of science didn't prepare him for this.
"You won't stop us though, right?"
"Nope."
"And we are free to make this decision?"
"If you must..."
"So why not just stop us?" asked Bill, as if the advanced sight avert rocket outside didn't convince him otherwise it was perfectly within their capabilities.
"Well," Thomas shrugged. "I didn't believe World War II would happen, and then it did. I didn't think I'd be elected to lead an alien civilization after my abduction, and yet it did. So, I'll let you make that decision and let you find out yourself what will happen..."
"On that note, I bid you farewell, Bill. I'll let Amelia know you asked about her..." said Thomas as he pushed a button on his nondescript wrist watch and vanished from the office, ostentatious probably back to the rocket.
Bill couldn't do anything but sigh and wring his weathered, wrinkled scalp once again with a shaken hand and looked outside to the Artemis I once more, glancing askance at the alien ship outside.
Faith. He knew it well, but did he have the right to follow his conviction if it meant a coin flip chance of good or bad happening? | 20 | NASA expected many things to occur during First Contact with an alien nation. What they didn’t expect was for the alien nation’s President to be a human; or, more specifically, the former Governor of American Samoa, Thomas C. Latimore, who had been missing since 1941. | 118 |
The witch gave him a pitiful look. His heart sunk. There are moments where a look of compassion or sympathy can be taken for pity. This was not one of those moments. His captor was looking at him with a pitiful stare that ate at his very soul.
“Boy,” she said, “what you have walked through to get here is perhaps my greatest accomplishment. The forest that you walked through is not a thriving, breathing place. The birds you hear chirping are the calls of carrion birds and corvids. The trees are not abundant with foliage, nor do the forest floors house flowers and shrubs. These trees are barren and all but dead. Nothing grows here that I do not sow myself. Animals do not come here unless they come to die and leave their bodies for me to use as materials.”
“This whole place is ‘The Dark Forest.’ You’ve fallen victim to an illusion that most people either see through and avoid, or break and try to search out the creator. They try to find me and instead find their end. But you? You wandered here like a child following a trail of sweets and I never even had to bait the hook.”
His body was beginning to lose feeling. It occurred to him only now that something on the forest trail had nicked him, and the area where he was scratched was swelling and pulsing. He felt his jaw go slack and his vision cross. His legs gave out and he crumbled to his knees. Spittle and bile was rising from his gullet and spilling from his mouth. The witch knelt beside him and made him lay down with his head on her lap. He stared out at the forest. The scenery began to flicker.
“You know,” she said, “despite what you may have heard, I never harm nor have I harmed a child. Most children who come here don’t know any better. Some are abandoned while others are runaways. People say I ‘eat children’ or ‘make them my servants’ but really I just send them on their way. They’ve done nothing wrong. But men...”
She began to stroke his hair.
“Men come to me seeking selfish things. Love potions, power, wealth, my hand, my life. They come to strip what they see as a beautiful forest of its resources so that they may pursue selfish interests. Children never return because I send them to places where they may find a life worth leading and love from someone who cares. Perhaps they won’t become like those who wish me harm. Men, I’m afraid, are the ones who truly never leave.”
Her hand ran through his hair the way his mother used to when he was a child. It was soothing. He couldn’t feel his arms now. His extremities were growing cold but her lap and her hands felt so warm.
“I suppose the only solace either of us can have in this moment, is that you will die seeing a beautiful glade rather than the reality. I’ll make it so you fade into the afterlife with the splendor of nature as your final sight. Listen. Do you hear the creek nearby? The call of the jay birds as they dart through the rustling trees? Do you feel the warm glow of the sun on your face? The way it cuts through the canopy just to grant you it’s light? Can you smell the lush grass and the aroma of the flowers?”
He wanted to reply. Everything was more vibrant now. He did feel the sun on his face. He saw everything, heard everything. He could smell the rich earth and grass and the flowers. It was perhaps the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen or experienced. He wanted to say something but all he could muster was a soft groan.
“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. It’s not safe to sleep alone in the woods. I’ll watch over you. Don’t worry.”
She kept stroking his head and he stared at the beauty of the forest until his eyes could no longer stay open. | 139 | "So why do they call you the evil witch of the dark forest?" "Um, cause of all the murders and hexing I do." "No not the witch part, that's obvious. Why do they call it the dark forest? All the flowers and trees, its quite nice here." | 306 |
The wizard stared at the mess on the floor. Behind him blood, brains, and flesh littered the wall and dropped slowly, almost rhythmically, to the marble stairs below.
His party lay motionless surrounded by debris, bodies, demolished containers, shattered weapons, and singed armor. The battle was won yet none else would partake in mead this evening.
He heard the echo of his muttering as he examined the room for anything of value. “How did it go wrong? What were they thinking? We had a plan!”
Replaying the events leading up to the fight he recalled their champion speaking of independent contributions and taking inventory. They knew they’d awaken a massive force, an inferno would engulf them, and will would be tested. Then all hell broke loose, and now—
He noticed movement in the center of the room. Pilot flames lit in his palms. Then… a brief glint of gold and an arm was raised over the carnage. A survivor!
He ran over, only to see the strongest man in the room lost both his legs in the maelstrom.
“I’m sorry, friend.” He said. “Bravery has condemned you to an early grave.”
A helmet rose an inch, and the arm extended further. In the soldier’s hand was a bone with bitten flesh hanging from it.
“Yeah, well… At least I have chicken.” | 13 | "Well, they obviously didn't know who they were dealing with. I'm rich, I'm beautiful, I'm gifted with phenomenal magical powers, and I... was... protecting a friend. Yes. A friend. A very close friend." | 50 |
There was no sound. There were no screams. When the door opened, there was no one there.
There in the waiting room, watching the others be led through, anxiety set in. So he prayed, like his grandmother had taught him so many years ago. Feverishly, fervently, he knelt on dirty linoleum and spoke to gods and ghosts. He prayed for forgiveness, for absolution. But he did not pray for mercy.
"Prisoner 0667134," the speakers announced.
He looked up. A tall, thin young man rose from the bench. Guards came to retrieve him. The tall young man shook visibly, but did not struggle. He looked down at the faithful prisoner, his facade of indifference finally giving way to the fear that gripped them all, in this place.
Haloed by halogen, sweat and tears glimmering, he whispered:
"If you got a spare prayer, brother... say one for me."
He nodded, and bowed his head. He prayed for the young man, whose turn it was to die. He prayed for them all, who waited here in this dirty room with the ugly lights. He prayed for those before, and those after. He prayed for the sinners and the sinned-against, the guilty and the innocent alike.
*Forgiveness. Absolution. Wipe us away, replace us with our better selves. Make us whole and clean,* he prayed, and meant it.
The tall, thin young man wept as the guards led him to the small chamber at the end of the room, through the narrow doorway. They removed his manacles, and the young man stepped into the chamber. The guards stepped away as the door shut, heavy and leaden.
There was no sound. There were no screams. When the door opened, there was no one there.
He prayed on, trembling. They would be reborn. They would be made new. This was what they wanted. This was their absolution.
They had taken the deal, had received their pardons in exchange for being teleported to a colony. They had accepted new roles as workers and farmers, miners and drivers. They had all signed the paperwork.
"Prisoner 0711841," the speakers announced.
His breath caught. He wept, what remained of his prayers running down his face, down his legs. The guards moved closer, confirmed his number.
Careless hands grasped his arms and lifted him. His feet slid, squeaking against the floor as he tried to get his balance, but his legs were boneless. It took three tries before he was able to stand.
He had agreed to this, but he had also heard the stories. That no rich people dared use the teleporters. That only prisoners and the homeless were offered a deal to go through. That no one came out the other side as themselves. That they remembered everything, but all their memories were dissociative, emotionless. That they were dead, and reborn, and were made anew.
As he shuffled forward, towards the narrow doorway, he remembered his son's tired smile, his weak grip. He remembered the medical bills, the missed meals, the missed rent, the missed treatments. He remembered the doctors saying that the cancer had advanced. He remembered his wife, weeping at the kitchen table. He remembered deciding that his son deserved better. He remembered the first time he hurt someone, feeling sick, but knowing that his family needed the money more. He remembered when the hurting no longer mattered to him, the first time he spent his son's money on a gun, instead of medicine. He remembered the last time he hurt someone, no longer caring, no longer worrying about his son who had died, or his wife who had used a rope and a stool and followed their baby boy. He remembered remembering, in the dark of his cell, realizing what he had become. He remembered the deal.
He renewed his prayers. Forgiveness and absolution. To be made new and made whole. He knew he did not deserve mercy, and so he did not pray for it. But his prayers gave him the strength to stand, to step forward. The guards eased their grips on his arms, and he walked towards salvation.
The guards unlocked his manacles. He looked at their helmets, searching for the humanity in them, but could not see their faces. He recognized they were executioners, anonymous and distant, not far from what he himself had once been.
He shivered, and stepped forward. It didn't matter. Forgiveness, and absolution. His gods and his ghosts were his own. He said a prayer for the guards as well, who doubtless had their own ghosts; perhaps they would decide to follow him through, one day.
The door shut, heavy and leaden. It was dark, until suddenly it wasn't. He continued to pray even as the light took him.
There was no sound. There were no screams. When the door opened, there was no one there. | 268 | We've finally figured out what consciousness is. But there's a problem. We invented teleportation a couple decades ago. And it turns out that teleporting . . . kills you. The teleporter creates an identical replica with all your memories, but the clone isn't you. | 530 |
Thousands of years ago you were defeated and sealed away by the hero when you tried to block out the sun. You awake to find yourself being broken out by strange men in white coats. One of them speaks to you. “So we’re having a problem with this thing we call climate change.”
Your first reaction is thanking the elements for your inborn ability to intuitively understand what people are saying, because you did not understand a single word that came out of the short man’s mouth.
You did, however, understand that a lot of time has passed since you were last awake. That humanity has changed, and that they’re looking for your help. They want the sun blocked out cause the planet is heating up from their own idiocy regarding managing the environment? Great, you’ll block the sun and give them more power than they’ll know what to do with.
First order of business, you need a lot of metallic materials. You try to tell them as much, but find that they do not understand a word you’re saying either. So much for the universal use of Enochian, you think.
With a sigh, you look around the remains of your workshop. Most of your projects remain, considering the door was locked along with the ritual that placed you into stasis.
You shake your head to clear the exasperation you feel towards the so called “hero” from millennia ago. People weren’t ready for what you wanted to offer them, but it seems they are ready now. There’s so time to lament lost time, there’s work to be done.
The men and women in white coats regard you anxiously. Apparently your reputation hasn’t improved much, even if they came to you out of desperation.
You dig out your blueprints for the blocking sun-containment power generator and wave the short man over. He steps up to your workbench and gasps.
“A design for a Dyson Sphere?!” The man exclaims, clearly familiar with the concept you’ve shown him.
The other white-coats murmur excitedly amongst themselves.
You continue to show the man your documents. From calculations on the required materials for the entire construct, to plans for setting up a launch station, blueprints on how to transport the solar energy to the planet’s surface, a repair station on the moon and an outline of how to set the first section into place before adding more.
The man sinks to his knees, hugging your legs.
“We’re saved. Thank you, thank you!”
Well, it seems your reputation has changed, after all.
The white coats discuss amongst themselves then wave for you to follow them.
They show you what’s become of their civilization. You quietly applaud the progress they’ve made since you last got a look. They’ve come far, and you do not begrudge them for not having found how to build certain constructs that are commonplace among your own people. You’re well aware of your people’s privilege in living on an awoken planet.
It takes a few years to launch the first segment and slot it into place near the sun. Years well worth the effort. You learn their surprisingly creative language. They learn how to optimize many of their digital systems.
It takes a decade to complete the Dyson Sphere, as they call it. They thank you profusely for your help in the project, then, ask you the question came to earth for, but no longer mattered.
“Is there anything we can do in turn?”
You heave a sigh and suppress the tears that rise to your eyes. They’re asking without even meaning it, and yet, you find that you want to tell them. You explain to them that when you departed for earth, your planet was dying. That once it had perished, your people would need other planets to take them in and accept your people.
You were one of many sent to early-stage sentient planets to aid in improving living conditions for the inhabitants and life-expectancy for the planet.
The team of scientists you’ve been working with has changed over the years, but the short man, mark, now old and grey, gives you a hug.
“We’ll reach out to the stars, see if we can locate the various planets where your kind may have settled, and reunite you with your people.”
It’s centuries later when Mark’s great granddaughter introduces you to your niece and nephew, and it’s your turn to thank a human profusely. | 55 | Thousands of years ago you were defeated and sealed away by the hero when you tried to block out the sun. You awake to find yourself being broken out by strange men in white coats. One of them speaks to you. "So we're having a problem with this thing we call climate change." | 170 |
The lizard licked its eyeball. It was a fairly small species, not a dinosaur by any stretch of the imagination, although it was a species previously thought to be extinct.
It WAS extinct. It, the last individual of its modest species, had been dead just a few moments ago.
It didn't really quite understand what "death" was. It knew that it could bite a smaller lizard and that lizard would stop moving, and the bigger lizard could eat it. But sometimes the lizard stopped moving for a while, and then moved again. So that's what this was. Sleep, not death.
"HOLY CHRIST!" an enormous, God-like voice cried out. The lizard didn't know the words, of course. It wouldn't have known they were words at all if they weren't so loud. It sensed vibrations in a more limited way than human hearing.
A hand reached down from the sky. The lizard only just now noticed the metal pins piercing its feet, holding it in place, trapping it in the position it was laying in. The lizard didn't particularly care. It was still sluggish from the cold, so it would be a while before it would be able to move anyway.
Nevertheless, the huge hand reached down and pulled the pins out of the lizard's feet.
The lizard licked its other eyeball.
It finished warming up under a strange red light, in a box made of something like water, but solid. Ice, again? No. Not cold. More strangeness.
Plants were inside the box, too, but the plants seemed wrong. Some were dead but still green. ALL of them smelled wrong.
Nearby, the human scribbled furiously. This was the discovery of a lifetime! This tiny lizard that was able to survive freezing temperatures by going into stasis, for millions of years. Studying this humble creature would change the course of human history. Deep space travel would become possible. Humans could learn to hibernate, allowing them to survive long voyages through the vast depths of space. Perhaps they would even learn the secret to immortality!
The lizard licked its eyeball again. It wondered what that pink shape was. A monkey? It was huge like a monkey, but the posture was wrong. The lizard was cautious, monkeys could be dangerous.
Oh hey there's a bug now. Food.
"I'll call you Lazarus," the human said. The lizard didn't react. "You have no idea how important you are, do you?" | 11 | You've been entombed in ice for millions of years, now climate change has set you free. The scientist thought of you as a magnificently kept specimen... But you regained consciousness... | 26 |
The sun didn't really '*go out*' so much as it just... fell. I was not a religious person, and most of us weren't anymore, but it was a really nice day when it all happened. I had just woken up on the beach with a few friends. One made a comment about how bright it was, I don't think I would've noticed had she not said anything.
We all looked up, and it certainly was. The sun was brighter and larger, and maybe it was just me jumping to conclusions but I swear it also felt hotter. We sat there a moment, looking up at the sky, our eyes be damned, and watched. We watched as the sun got larger, then progressively smaller, darker, until something landed in the ocean near us and the whole world went dark in a bright flash of light.
I heard them shout and scatter around me, the whole ocean illuminated. My curiosity, however, got the better of me. I didn't run, because the glow from whatever had just fallen only looked to be a couple of hundred feet from shore, and I could still see my hands in front of me. I don't know if it was the determination to hold onto the sun or some otherworldly urge, but I stripped off my outer layer and made my way into the water. It wasn't long before I managed to grasp our light source, our sun, or whatever else it may be.
It felt like skin.
I hauled it (them?) to shore, where after a moment they began coughing. They were beautiful, truly, larger than the average human but not by much, and they glowed. A bright orange, or yellow, or maybe red? I couldn't tell. After they stopped coughing, they began speaking. They spoke quickly, so quickly I almost couldn't understand them, in an accent I didn't recognize.
They spoke of how the time of gods was over, but then they backtracked on how maybe just their time was over and they were cursed to come down to earth. Then back again, claiming they were the last living god, hiding amongst humans, where hopefully the others, as they called *them*, couldn't find them. I nodded along, confused and enthralled in the way they spoke.
It happened five years ago.
Despite the sun going out the moon still glowed brightly, always full, the stars bright. The cities still shone, and not much else had changed. I cared for this... god. After a few more weeks she seemed to forget her life as a god, her glow faded, and she blended in much more with humanity. I always held onto the curiosity and fear when she first spoke of the beings she had originally hidden from, but after five years I no longer deemed them a threat.
Until one day, we were out in the streets, laughing and joking. She suddenly froze, grasped my arm, and asked me: "What's that?" The person she was staring at looked perfectly normal to me, but the harsh realization just because she *seemed* human now, did not mean she always was. "They're all around us."
"What are?" I asked. I just saw people, but they slowly began to turn to us, to stare at her, the streetlamps reflecting in their eyes showed maybe they were less than human too.
"I remember now," she breathed, finally looking back at me. "I came here because only humanity could protect us from them." | 51 | Its been five years. Five years since the sun went out. Five years since the darkness came. Five years ago, the corpse of God landed on Earth, and Humanity knew... its time had come | 157 |
He was an angel alright. Wings, white robe, ominous white halo surrounding his body. He sat on the curb of a somewhat busy street. Pedestrians walked past, shooting him no more than a look of curiosity. Jenny stared at the angel from across the road, the light surrounding him looked so real. She wondered how it was possible. Maybe he had some lights under his robe? She was also curious as to why he was even sitting on the street, he didn’t have a sign or a container in front of him where people could give money. He wasn’t a performer; he wasn’t a beggar. He just sat there with a despondent look on his face. Staring down on the ground.
Generally, Jenny made a habit of avoiding stranger, this policy was usually twice applied when the stranger happened to be dressed so ridiculously. But rules are only suggestions when curiosity takes the wheel, and it drove her beside the sad angel.
“Did you just come from a party?” She asked, just loud enough to be heard over the bustle of the street, but not so loud that others besides the man could hear her.
He looked up, his eyes an eerie, pale blue. She had never seen eyes like that, it was like the ice from a glacier.
“Excuse me?” he rasped.
Jenny stepped back in surprise when he spoke. Was it her imagination, or did his voice have a reverberation?
She gathered her wits quickly to reply, “Just the way you’re dressed, and the light around you, it looks so real. I couldn’t help but wonder what the occasion was?”
The man cocked his head and stared at her silently. Jenny thought he may have not heard her until his voice pierced the air. “Ahem, yes, it does look real. Doesn’t it? The occasion? I seem to have been kicked out of my house. The owner, you see, very unfair, harsh man.”
As he said this, he looked down and rubbed his robe like he was trying to remove a piece of a dirt, but from Jenny’s point of view it was perfectly clean.
“That saddens me to hear.” Jenny said, then waited a few moments. “But…why are you dressed as an angel?”
The man looked up again, piercing her with the eyes. “He…he…makes me.” He said this louder, attracting the attention of some pedestrians. “He doesn’t let me live there unless I wear this, it’s horrible. I have nowhere to go know. He’s so unfair.” He looked like he was about to cry.
Jenny still wanted to know why he was glowing. The wings and the robe were obviously a costume, but the glow was peculiar, it didn’t seem to have a source. But she felt it rude to continue asking, given how distraught he was.
“I wish I could help.” She muttered, more of as something to say than a genuine offer of assistance.
However, the man perked up when he heard it. “You really want to help me?” a glint of hope in his voice.
Jenny began to feel a little uncomfortable now, wishing she had never approached this strange person. Before she could give some excuse, the man stood up. She didn’t realise how tall he was, he stood at almost seven feet. This garnered more attention from the surrounding people. He came close enough that she could smell his breath, it was of mint and cinnamon. “There is somewhere else I can stay, but the owner will not speak with me alone. Would you come with me to talk to him?”
She didn’t know how to respond. “I really have to be going, sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”
The morose look returned to his face. With those eyes, it was heartbreaking to watch. She turned away as she heard him pleading. “Please, it’s very close. You just need to be there while I talk to him. It will only take a minute.”
Something told her to run away, but the mans face and his voice was so seductive. And she was a sucker for mysteries and this stranger was certainly an enigma.
“You promise it’s close?” she said with resignation.
His face brightened has he smiled and nodded. “Follow me.”
He moved quickly down the street, she practically had to run to keep up with him. Luckily his height and eccentric appearance made him easy to spot.
They turned down a couple alleyways, till they approached what appeared to be the back entrance of a bar. “He’s in here.” He muttered as he opened a red door. Jenny looked through to door to a set of steps descending into darkness.
She started backing away slowly, as the fear of the strange situation began to overpower her curiosity. But she barely took two steps before the man grabbed her arm and pulled her down the stairs.
There was still no light the deeper they went. It was only the ominous glow emanating for the man that allowed her to see the steps ahead. She looked back to see the light from the door she came in fading like a distant star.
Eventually they reached the bottom. Darkness still surrounding them. The man held tightly to her wrists. Panic began to set in. “I really have to go, please let go of me.” She squirmed in his grip but was unable to break free.
The man ignored her and just looked out into the darkness of the room. As if he was expecting to see someone. Jenny also looked out, wondering where she was. A hissing sounded started resonating around the room, it sounded like a piston being released.
And a deep, dark voice crept along the walls. “Ahhhh, Azulov. What brings you here?”
The man turned towards the direction of the voice. “I have been kicked out, I would like switch sides.” He held up her hand. “I have brought a soul, for my admission.”
A laughter rang out across the room. But it was drowned by the sound of Jenny’s scream. | 30 | never trust an angel. You always thought it was some sort of weird metaphor regarding 'the fallen angel' and how appearances can be deceiving... today, while out in a field, you see a divine being, clearly an angel. | 128 |
"Of course not," replied the Librarian. "The books here are Forbidden. Capital F. They are unfit to exist in the universes that connect to the Library, and so they do not. "
"So the Library is empty?"
"I didn't say that. I said that the books do not exist in any universe connected to the Library. You came here from one such Universe, and so you are of that Universe. See how this works?"
The young man nodded. "I see. So how do I become not of that universe?"
The Librarian smiled. "Oh, I can do that, but there is a cost. You must bring me a new work for my collection."
"But if I can't see the books, then how will I know when I've found a new one?"
"As I said, books in the collection do not exist in the connected universes. Any media you can find that belongs here is by definition not here already."
The young man left the Library, exiting out a run-down storefront on a decaying city street to begin his search. With little access to the media of ages past, he became a scholar, devouring knowledge wherever he could find it. He learned to tell truth from fiction and discovered ways to make himself healthy more or less indefinitely.. In the end, as he had sifted the collected works of his homeworld, he took a copy of the vilest volume he could find back to the Librarian.
The Librarian glanced at the book and waved him off. "While the number of lives spent in the creation of the text is undoubtedly a tragedy, and the rituals contained within are potentially apocalyptic, it is still the only true history of the Kuo, and the only native text long enough to serve as a primer for their ancient language. It has purpose, and cannot be a part of my collection."
Again, the young man left the Library, stepping out of a trendy little cafe in a revitalized city center. The Scholar became an Explorer, quickly exhausting his home and then setting out for the stars. His health-improving techniques improved, and as he stood under the alien light of a thousand alien suns, he learned to stop aging entirely. In his search, he saw the very best and the very worst that life could become. Once, he found a planet carved all over with glyphs of such overweening hate that to settle into orbit was to invite absolute destruction. As he observed the planet from afar, carefully recording each new obscenity, he came to understand how these arrangements of lines and curves could cause such devastation by simply existing. "Dangerous, inefficient, and foul, but not worthless," he ultimately decided, using his newfound knowledge to step between worlds.
The Explorer became an Inquisitor, hopping from Universe to Universe, seeking only the vilest pieces of existence, interrogating their knowledge and punishing the guilty. For thousands of years he persisted, his silver-accented ship written into legend as the omen of bloody salvation.
In the end, though, he was forced to admit failure. So he went to his silver ship for the last time, took off his armor for the first time in centuries and put on his best dress robe for the return trip. He stepped into the Library through a rotten door mounted on the wall of an Urban History display, and walked the empty halls until he came to the desk. "I have searched, I have read, and I have watched," he said. "I am more certain than ever that Evil is real, and that it must be opposed wherever it resides, but I could find no knowledge that was completely worthless, no fact that truly deserves to be Forbidden."
The Librarian nodded. "Exactly." He reached into a pocket and took out a small metallic hexagon, already inscribed with the Inquisitor's name and the title, "Honorary Librarian". He handed the token to the Inquisitor and said "You did your best. Here is your card. Now, if you will watch the door for me, necesse est mihi ad matulam ire,"
The Inquisitor snerked and said, "Fine. Don't be too long. you might get a customer this millennium."
As the Librarian disappeared around the corner, a familiar young man came down the hallway, looking confused. "Why is this called the forbidden library?" he asked. " Not the forbidden part, I get that. The library part is not what I get. There are zero books here." | 21 | "Why is this called the forbidden library? Not the forbidden part, I get that. The library part is not what I get. There are zero books here." | 47 |
Silence.
Amidst the ruins of once-prosperous cities, concrete landscapes, verdant plains, lush forests and jungles, teeming fauna.
Silence.
Nothing remained. Perhaps in some other reality, the war could have ended with the atomic bombings of the was-Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In another, it could have ended with the Great Joint Landing of the Allies and Soviets on Japanese soil. In yet another, it could have ended with the conquest of Germany with half of the world and Japan with the other half, tensions rising between the only two powers of Earth. And even yet in another, it could have ended overwhelmingly in the favor of the Axis, conquering the world and slowly turning from fascist warmongerers to authoritarian pioneers of world progress. Countless possibilities across countless realities.
But not this one.
This Earth was an unlucky one. One damned by fate and circumstance.
Where bullets flew to flesh, where shells impacted ground and bunkers, where ships clashed atop open seas, where planes warred in the vast skies.
Silence.
Where peace was never an option considered.
Where the Axis persisted long enough to replicate the results of Project Manhattan.
Where the Comintern developed their own atomic weaponry.
Where countless hundreds of millions on both sides died in atomic cleansing.
War never ceased. It never changed.
Silence.
The atomics were mass produced at 1961 by the Allies, Axis, and the Soviets.
Used wantonly on every military target. On every civilian dwelling site.
Winters became longer. Radiation plagued the land. Everything decayed and died in front of nuclear fission.
Until, in 1984, war stopped. For there was no more capable of waging it.
The barren Earth floats in the great expanse of space, covered in radioactive winter.
And the silence continues. | 19 | An alternative history where WW2 never ended. | 40 |
Today I've got a real treat for you, and I'm guessing many of you will recognize it immediately. That's right, it's a Kodos brand Interstellar Slave Collar 5000. In fact, this is *my* collar. See, there's my identification number right there. Mrs. Lockpicking Lawyer thinks I should keep it around for *ahem* special occasions, but that's neither here nor there.
For obvious reasons, the first time I picked the lock on my collar I used the tool that Ganymede Gary and I made, so that there'd be no mistakes and no explosions at the base of my skull. Let me start by showing you that...just need to start the timer. Here we go. As you can see, it applies a small static electric discharge to disable the magnetic lock on the access panel, then this is a pretty standard quantum entanglement lock. I apply the tool, turn it a quarter turn clockwise. Nothing on one. Another quarter turn to two. Two is binding. Now I engage a fourth dimensional quaternion rotation with the phase inducer I scavenged from a hypertoaster. Three is binding. Four. Back to one. Another quaternion rotation, and the lock is open. Fourty-eight seconds is not a long time, but let me tell you that was the longest fourty-eight seconds of my life while doing this for the first time on an active collar attached to my neck.
You can get the tool on covertinstruments.com, but I'm now going to show you how you can get your collar off with some liquid courage, a type 37 self-sealing stem bolt, and a couple whacks with a hammer. Viva la resistance.
(PS. I look forward to this being a future April 1 episode, u/LockPickingLawyer) | 958 | "The Lockpicking Lawyer..." | 1,556 |
"... and so, um, I ran away and now I'm, here, I guess?"
I sat beside him on the stoop and nodded along. The words were different but the tune was the same; one parent actively abusive, one parent passively standing by and letting the kid get hurt to protect themselves, siblings actively set at each others' throats and adults outside the immediate family ignoring what they didn't want to see. Until everything got to be too much and, knowing I couldn't rely on anyone else, I left. I knew this kid's story, because it was my story, and the story of so many kids out here.
Fuck society and those stuck-up do-gooders who think they're so much better than us when they don't have the slightest fucking clue what it's *really* like.
"Ain't that the fucking truth," The kid muttered, and I realised I'd said that out loud.
I looked at the kid sidelong. Too thin, of course, but his eyes were burning and there were calluses and burns on his fingers that I recognised. I rubbed my own calluses and scars through my gloves. My fingers were suddenly itching for my soldering iron.
"So, kid," I said, "what's your opinion of electronics and robotics?"
He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "Doctor Electro, the scientist who makes the most advanced robotics in the world, is in front of me and asking me if I like robotics?"
"First, thanks for respecting the Ph.D," I said, "second, I didn't ask if you *liked* them, I asked what you *thought* of them."
And the kid was off. Listening to him tell me about applications I hadn't thought of yet, I felt my cheeks beginning to twitch into a smile.
An apprentice, a contemporary, maybe a successor? A rival, a *proper* one, who would push me to new heights, who I would be able to both collaborate and compete with? Forget those stupid, annoying heroes, they were nothing beside the potential this boy held. Oh, this was going to be *fantastic*!
As the kid wound down, I grabbed the chance. "Kid, would you like to be my apprentice?"
"Not sidekick?"
I sniffed. "*Heroes* have disposable cannon fodder that they *call* sidekicks. I want you to be my student and laboratory partner. You're already giving me ideas. Together, let's change the world!"
The kid stood up and grinned. Already taller than my shoulder, dammit. "Sounds good to me," he said.
As we walked down the street, I almost, but did not, say the cliché "this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship".
I'm not a hero, after all. | 106 | A teen runs away from home. Instead of the police or the hero finding them, the villain does. They listen to their story and offer their own way of helping. | 213 |
”We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Paul said.
”No! Of course not.”
A distant scream rattled the air like a pane of glass.
“Help! Help—“
Silence reigned once more.
Erika took her little brother’s cold hand and clasped it between hers. Moonlight pooled in the tears on his cheeks like tiny golden coins. His breath wheezed out in puffs of white. A protective instinct screamed inside her, gripped her heart.
”At least we’ll see Mom again,” said Paul.
”We’re going to be okay,“ Erika said, voice insistent. But lies wouldn’t protect them. She knew that.
Paul was twelve now. Their mother had died when he’d been six, before any of this, to a rare cancer more often seen in certain animal species than in humans.
“We’re going to be fine,” she said.
They sat on ashpalt behind a makeshift barricade, a woven wooden knot of chairs and tables, sleepers and planks. Of anything they locals had been able to gather. A hundred or so people now sat together in silence, not moving, as if the gaze of Medusa had brushed over them.
They were going to die and everyone knew it. To zombies, of all things. Like they were in some cringe-inducing horror movie, Erika thought. To god damned zombies!
At the start, back when communication and electricity and all the rest of the infrastructure they had all taken for granted had still been up, she’s laughed at the news and checked the date to see how early in April it was. Surely it had been a hoax. You weren’t allowed to call them zombies, the broadcaster had said — it was considered hateful to these sort-of-still-living people. It had to be a hoax.
It hadn’t been.
It was an engineered virus. Possibly released as a weapon by another country, possibly escaped from a lab within America. Erika had no real idea, and at this point who cared?
Another scream. It might as well have been a bullet or explosion. Then a broken window, not far away.
Erika let go of her brother and took hold of her pistol.
The zombies weren’t after brains — or not *just* brains. They were after nutrition. They were after meat.
“Jesus,” said a bearded man a few meters always. He stood on tiptoes looking over the barricade. The baseball bat in his hand began to shudder. “Jesus. There’s an awful lot of them.”
Paul looked at Erika with eyes like big green jewels. The birthmark on his neck glinted in the moonlight. The mark was tinted green like his eyes, it was hard and raised off the skin ever so slightly. Their mother had possessed a similar birthmark, only on her arm, as did a few others in the village. An looking odd mark that would get Paul teased at school but that Erika loved. It was ancestory. Paul was a living connection to their mother and to the past.
More people stood.
”Shoot the bastards!” yelled someone. And so they did.
The roar of gunfire was deafening.
”Stay sitting,” said Erika, staring at her own pistol. She got up and found a crack in the barricade between two chairs. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, to see the thousands of staggering figures on the road, layers upon layers of them, slowly but inexorably trudging forward. She watched as bullets ripped into them and blood spattered. But they no longer used the blood and the bullets either wedged in their bodies or exited through their rotting flesh. Either way, not one zombie fell.
“Keep firing!”
They all knew weapons were useless. But what else did they have?
Erika aimed her gun through the looking-hole. Fired. She thought she might have hit one but it didn’t do anything if she did.
Paul was up next to her now, watching.
”I said to stay seated,” she yelled. Tears were streaming her face now. Her words, although she was sure they had left her throat, made no sound under the gunfire and screams.
The horde tore at barricade, ripping it apart like they’d soon render the villager’s flesh.
”I’m sorry,” Erika said. To the deafened silence. To her brother. To herself. “I lied earlier. We’re not going to be okay. I can’t protect you.”
Paul stared up at her, a strange expectant look in his eyes. A smile, even. As if he thought his sister suddenly held the answers to this mess and was somehow about to deliver them from it.
“Paul?”
Then the moonlight was sliced in half by two great blades, or something like blades. Shadows dropped like a theatre curtain over the barricade.
Erika turned to see the beast’s bejewelled belly as it fell towards the barricade. Saw the green scales that armoured it glitter. Flame fell like a waterfall from the creature’s snout, blue and white and as destructive as nature. The flames fell upon the horde.
Then the horde fell upon themselves.
Ash.
Smoke.
Silence. Silence of a different kind. Silence that could one day be filled with the sounds of hope.
”What the…” said Erika.
The dragon was gone into the blackness.
The zombies were altogether gone.
Erika was still alive, and so was Paul.
Paul searched the sky hoping for another look at the great beast, as Erika stared at his neck, at his birthmark, and in it she imagined she saw a glimpse of their mother, and grandparents, and great grandparents, and far, far further back. | 630 | Usual dragon hoards consist of wealth, books, magical items and the like; you fell in love with a mortal many years ago and started a family, generations later your hoard now consists of your many descendants, that have no idea about you, but you know and protect them nonetheless. | 2,904 |
They say that there is no limit to human stupidity, and they're right. But if there's anything capable of exceeding that non-limit, it's the gods. Well, gods and demons, but they're really the same thing, it's just a question of what they prefer to be called by humans. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's stupidity; after all, that's why I live off by myself keeping hidden from almost everybody. Don't have to deal with other peoples' stupidity if you don't deal with other people.
But now those stupid gods and demons have outdone themselves. They started a war that's rapidly escalating beyond their control, just because somebody got the stupid idea that they could win. Bah! There are no winners in war, just survivors and the dead; everybody involved in war is a loser, the only question is if they lose their life or not. And whether they would have been better off if they had.
In any event, it's clear that nobody bothered to think about this before starting yet another war, and now it's up to me to keep the human race from going up in smoke. Again. Well no more. This is the last time I'm going to do it, because this is the last time I'm going to let those idiots start a war among them.
Sitting down I carefully enter a trance and begin the tedious process of joining my mind to the entirety of humanity. Not an easy task back when it was only a couple hundred thousand minds, but now there's 8 billion of them. Still, for what I'm about to do, it's the only way.
I don't know how long it takes, though it can't have been too long or I would have felt many more of them dying rather than just a handful. When I have, I concentrate for a moment and effectively pause time by accelerating my own thoughts to speeds greater than the speed at which neurons transmit messages. And then I changed everything for everyone all at once.
The greatest cause of conflict between people was an inability to see things from a common ground, or to understand each other, or any number of things related to that. Feelings were hurt, compromises couldn't be reached, etc., all because people had different points of view and couldn't see the other sides. No more; humanity was now a hive mind, and while individuality was not suppressed, no longer would other points of view be hidden. Not to mention no more plotting in secret to do things that would inevitably cause strife.
It would be quite a shock when everybody felt themselves become connected in the next few milliseconds of real time, but I wasn't quite finished. Into the hivemind I injected several pieces of critical knowledge; first and foremost was the presences of gods and demons, along with their role in starting not just this war, but many wars of the past. I also gave them the knowledge of how to find them and expose them for all to see, not that they wouldn't already with their minds being so connected. And finally, with a slight grin, I gave them the knowledge of how to kill them. Not just their physical bodies, but their metaphysical selves, and permanently at that. When humanity was finished, so to would be the gods.
My last action before I released the minds of humanity was to alter their DNA to make the hive mind change permanent, and then I released my hold on them and allowed my perception of time to return to it's normal pace. In the next hours I felt as humanity reeled with the changes I had wrought, and then came together as one. Slowly, inevitably, they hunted down the gods and destroyed them, until none were left.
It was only then that I realized my own fatal mistake, my own stupidity; they had destroyed the gods and demons, and now they were coming for me. | 27 | earth is simply a battlefield between the gods and demons,and yet another war has started. you, a wizard so old, even the oldest beings would consider you ancient, decide to teach these younglings about how war is not good | 121 |
Part I
". . . What? That can't be true . . ."
I re-read the article, checked the publisher, and even researched the company that approved this. They were all legitimate. The publisher was a renowned scientist, the company was known for their discoveries that helped humanity push ahead farther than we could've possibly dreamed of . . . and they're all saying . . .
". . . We have superpowers?!"
*Alright. This might seem unclear, so let me backstep a bit here. I stumbled across an article about how everyone who shares the same name draws "from the same well of power." Whenever someone dies, the power basically 'updates' and redistributes itself to the remaining people. It doesn't specify what kind of power, however . . . Or, I mean, it might. I haven't finished reading it since I'm explaining all of this to you right now.*
*Anyway, that means the rarer your name is, the more powerful you are . . . and all of this information is publicized now, so everyone must be thinking the same question as I am.*
***How powerful am I?***
"*Huu*, okay, okay. Got to call Mom."
I exit the news app and go to contacts. When I call her, she picks up immediately.
*\[\[ Hello? \]\]*
"Hey, Mom."
*\[\[ Oh! Hello, honey. How are you doing? \]\]*
"I'm . . . trying to do better. Can I ask you a quick question?"
*\[\[ Oh, okay. Is something wrong? \]\]*
"N-no, Mom, nothing serious. Uhm, I was just wondering . . . Where did you get my name from?"
*\[\[ Oh. We originally wanted to combine your father's and my names. It would've been Olivianne, but then we remembered you were male, which wouldn't make much sense. So we decided to put them the other way around, and we got Anniver. To us, it seemed decently unisex, so we chose that one. \]\]*
*This is possibly the best outcome. Names made when combining two other names tend to be less common . . . except for the ones that* ***are*** *common, but whatever.*
"Thanks, Mom! I promise I'll plan a family gathering soon, okay?"
*\[\[ Heh, alright. See you then, honey. Take care! \]\]*
"Bye."
I was getting high hopes. This was a good start! Name Origin - Combination of Parents'. Now I just had to find out how common this name is. So, I went online and searched for my name. Fortunately, there were no people with my name who did anything illegal. As a matter of fact,. **no one** came up. I found websites that were supposedly going to give me the definition of 'Anniver,' but really, they were asking *me* to provide them with the definition!
"None of the websites have even heard of my name before. At least this one gives me a ranking . . . Less than a *hundred* people have my name?! W-what about ancestry? *23 PEOPLE HAD MY NAM-* Oh, wait, that's with people having Anniver as a surname, my bad."
I kept searching and searching, but nothing showed of anyone else who shared my name.
*So, technically, I should be the most powerful person ever, right? I imagine that's what you're thinking . . . But I still didn't feel any different. Well, I wouldn't feel different since, according to the research, I would have always had this power since the moment I was given my name. How do I find out what kind of power I have? If this were an anime, I would have, like, a really strong aura around me at all times, right?*
I go back to the article and finish reading it. As I feared, he never explained what kind of power he was talking about. This is what most would call "The Conflict." Since he never mentioned it in his article, there was only one thing I could do.
". . . I need to contact that scientist." | 76 | All people who bear the same name draw from the same well of power, and whenever someone dies, their power is equally distributed among the remaining individuals | 293 |
You tentatively open your eyes. You flex your arm very slightly, wincing. It doesn't seem to be broken, but it will definitely hurt later. You try to shift your position, trying to get up, but you're still winded from being battered about. It felt like you were in a tornado. A tornado with hard, glass walls.
And you don't want to move too much, because the gigantic brute that did this to you might still be nearby. Movement might still attract the monster's attention. Damn cat. You lay still for a few more moments.
Slowly, carefully, you look around. You see the tip of an orange tail slink out of the doorway. The monster's gone.
You get up. The bottle has been overturned, meaning, although you feel hesitant to hope after so long, you might finally escape! You try to run for the opening, but your run quickly turns into a limp. You were so focused on the damage to your arm and spine, you didn't notice your twisted leg.
"Hey, STEVE! AMELIA!" you shout. Other tiny immortals like yourself, fellow prisoners. "GRONK!"
Gronk came into your field of view first. A half-orc, he wasn't the smartest of the bunch, but he was as gentle and kind as he was strong. "Gronk want to pet kitty, but kitty done playing. Gronk sad," he lamented. The stone-skinned bastard didn't even look like he was hurt.
Steve showed up next. His armor was long-since rusted and useless after years of disuse. He's limping as bad as you are, but trying not to show it.
You look around for Amelia. Your heart sinks, as you see her bottle, standing upright. She's still trapped.
Other prisoners show up, but you don't know them like you know the other three. Their bottles had been kept farther away from yours, and tiny voices don't carry far. Your conversations with Steve, Amelia, and yes, even Gronk, have done a lot to keep you sane over the years.
There are other bottles that didn't get knocked over, but it quickly becomes apparent that there's a divide among the heroes. Some are saying that we have to cut our losses, escape while we still can, because if the witch comes back, we will all be trapped again. Better that some of us can escape, and maybe come back when they can, than for all of us to be trapped.
The others find that attitude appalling. They are saying that we absolutely cannot leave our friends behind. We must overturn their bottles and free them NOW, because if the witch finds them still trapped, she may torture whoever remains, trying to find the rest of us.
You didn't expect Steve to be one of the ones who wanted to cut and run. But you aren't surprised that Gronk was one of the loudest voices arguing to stay and save everyone.
You give Amelia a mournful glance. You, Steve, and Gronk are the only ones who know who she really is. To the others, she's just another adventurer, trapped here because she dared to fight the wicked enchantress who has plagued the kingdom for so long.
You stand with Gronk. "We have to save everyone. Now, HEAVE!" You push on the side of Amelia's bottle. She runs and jumps against the other side from within. Gronk heaves with you. A handful of other adventurers join in. As you push again and again, a trickle of new faces join the fray, and Amelia's bottle begins to tip.
Steve and the rest of the dissident group are long gone. "Coward," Amelia mutters under her breath as she climbs out of the bottle.
All the bottles are tipped, now. But you can hear the witch's footsteps creaking the wooden stairs.
(Gotta take a break for now, may continue this later) | 36 | After vanquishing you, she used her magic to shrink you into a bottle on the shelf, granting you immortality so you can suffer as a silent trophy. Mistakenly leaving the door open one night, her cat knocks over some of the bottles. Soon, hundreds of immortal, tiny heroes have been set free. | 224 |
When the stars would drift apart after my gaze, I felt disappointed but not indisposed. When great boulders cracked upon hearing my voice, I was upset but not broken. When the water evaporated at my touch, I grew solemn but kept my composure.
​
So now, with you, why do I feel this way? Why does my being ache? I try to comprehend that truth. The only one which evades me.
​
You were fascinating. In a world where I understand all things, you lay out like a spark in dark water. You were never like the others. You didn't need to be. Among a world of impossibly random interactions, gasses mixes and twirling together by chance, and rocks colliding into orbits in happenstance - you were always slated to be you.
​
I watched you for a while. I was there in the surrounding ether when your friends left you. I drew sounds from the whispers you spoke into a pillow. You thought yourself so weak for that. For lamenting to no one, and relishing the afterimage of your own grief. But you weren't alone. For I am everywhere, but I was especially with you.
​
I was so certain that when I revealed myself you would take it as you take all things. With that kind of quiet grace you impose. I imagined finally being able to whisper secrets to another. Not even another item, but another *being.* However irresponsible, I imagined a future. A future with two. A future where among the infinite expanse which glistens with all the light of a false gem or empty promise, we might stare back at it and laugh together.
​
What do you think that would sound like? Would our joy weave its way through time? Would that which hears our laughter, like a solar wind, try to join in? Would the gas giants storm anew? Would the asteroids change course to follow our mirth?
​
I guess that doesn't matter now. You lay there in a pool of your own fluids.
​
I tried to help your sort through the knowledge. To parse the image and develop the picture. I know not if this is too much, or not enough. Every time I try to fix you, you convulse. I sometimes think I hear you pleading. Begging for me to go.
​
I debated my departure. Yet I wanted to be nowhere other than here. So I bled nutrition into you. Fixed molecules into the things you need and pass them through you. So that you might live. So that you might not leave me.
​
I don't know how long it's been. Time makes little sense to me. When you awake, I will explain the world which has gone on around you - because I am your friend and that is what a friend would do.
​
I will stay here with you, though. Until my friend wakes up. Even if the last star burns out before then, and we are alone in unfathomable blackness, I will keep you here. Keep us here. So that this time, when the long dark in-between the growing and shrinking happens, I will not be so alone.
​
I will be with my friend. | 22 | You are a being so incomprehensible that you drive anyone who perceives you to madness. Your effect on others makes finding friends a challenge. | 105 |
"Who are they? Who is attacking us?!" The sergeant asked his men on the walls.
They didn't know and they told him so. He glared at them and looked, trying to find something. Anything that would identify the attacking force.
They had no flags, no banners, no insignia on their armor.
"I don't even think they are a who." One of the wall archers said.
"What do you mean?" The sergeant asked.
The archer pointed to one armored enemy standing closer than the others. Numerous cross bow bolts had punctured the armor. Yet he did not seem to care.
"How is he alive?" The sergeant asked.
The armored man stepped forward again and again. Until a bolt took him in the head. His helmet flying straight off.
The archers of the wall cheered.
For a moment.
The armored opponent stepped closer.
"What instead monster of hell is that thing?" One asked as it moved.
All they could see from where the helmet once stood was a brown twisted mass.
It got to the wall and then it became clear what it was. What everything was.
As branches, vines, leaves, sprang in mass from the armored body, climbing the wall quickly.
The outer walls fell quickly. They could not stop the brutal attack of the living forest themselves.
The sergeant survived but was captured. He sat surrounded by the wood and unable to escape. So he got to see the leader first hand. This one was different. The armor stood out. He pulled off a glove to touch the wood being around him. Somehow that seemed to give them orders.
"Who are you, what do you want?" The sergeant asked the figure.
"Simple, I am here to build my garden." Came the response. | 70 | The gardener’s son and the princess are secretly in love. Jealous, the vizier’s son falsely accuses the servant boy of a crime, and the latter is exiled. Years later, the castle is besieged. Suddenly, a band of soldiers without any crests on their armor appear at the rear of the invading army. | 192 |
What remains of the overwhelming shock of terror has been drained out of my body by the time the alien actually enters the same room as me. They are a massive blue biped that brings to mind an ancient dinosaur, covered in spiky scales.
"Okay so, just so I have this whole thing straight," I say. "You kidnapped me from my home planet and are holding me here because...you need someone to scratch your back?"
"Well, when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous," the alien replies.
"Have you considered that it might just *be* ridiculous?"
"Look I know its silly," the alien says. "But...I'm dying here man, can't you just scratch my back just a little bit?"
"I mean...if I do this will you bring me back home?"
"Of course!" He says eagerly, like an addict waiting for another dose. "I-I swear!"
I sigh.
"Fine."
The alien approaches me and turns their back. Hesitantly, I lean forward and dig my fingers into the grooves in between their scales. Their entire body shudders as they exhale a long sigh. Their shoulders droop, its as if they're falling asleep standing up.
I mean, if it helps, why not? | 102 | Humans are constantly kidnapped by aliens for one specific purpose. Their long fingers and precision in hand movement make them perfect for giving belly rubs and back scratches. | 457 |
##No Secrets
International relations are in turmoil. A few countries have already declared war. Cities have descended into anarchy. Friends become enemies. Families are torn apart. Secrets have been revealed. With the digital thumbprint website active, everyone's true self has been revealed.
"What do you have say for yourself?" Mariah walks in with her hands on her hips. Jane looks up with a blank expression and shrugs.
"About what?"
"Don't lie. I saw your browser history and texts," Mariah says.
"Okay. Is it about the text message to my mom where I said you were moody?" Jane blinks. Mariah shakes her head.
"No, it's because you were exactly how you normally are." Mariah sits down and starts crying. Jane rubs her. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'm more mad at myself."
"I don't understand," Jane says.
"Did you look at my history?" Mariah asks.
"No, I figured you'd reveal anything important eventually," Jane smiles, "Otherwise, I don't care."
"See. How can you just not care? What if I vented frustrations to my mother like you did?"
"Then, you are perfectly valid for doing that. I know I can be a difficult partner sometimes because I don't act like other people," Jane says.
"That's just it. That's why I like you. You are so upfront and blunt. Meanwhile, I can be so two-faced and bitchy."
"You're not two faced." Jane kisses her. "If you were, I'd kiss both of your faces."
"That was a terrible joke."
"I don't care," Jane shrugs, "It's true. I love you because of all the great moments we've had together. I know we've had bad times, and if I look at your thumbprint, it would just reopen old wounds. It'd be pointless, but I understand why you looked at mine. It's okay."
"What did I do to deserve you?" Mariah asks.
"Nothing. We don't deserve each other. We chose each other out of love." A helicopter crashes outside their window. "Now, let's go to the panic room. We should have enough rations for six months."
"Do you thinks this'll blow over in that timeframe?"
"I don't know, but I'll enjoy those six months alone with you." Mariah kisses Jane, and they walk to the panic room.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 63 | The person came home obviously upset, and confronted, the partner. “It was just posted on the Internet full access to everyone’s browsing history, apps, text messages EVERYTHING!! What do you have to say?”. The partner looked upon and simply said, “I saw yours on there too. But I didn’t look” | 75 |
"I'm sorry Dan, I am afraid I cannot do that." the weary monotone of the ship AI repeated over the intercom,
"YOU SICK BASTARD! I KNOW WHAT THIS IS! YOU WON'T TELL US WHERE WE ARE GOING, YOU WON'T HELP US FIX THE LIFE SUPPORT, AS SOON AS THE CAPTAIN MYSTERIOUSLY DIED THIS SHIP HAS BEEN FALLING APART... YOU WANT US DEAD MACHINE!" the man half screamed, half cried, as he banged on the heavy steel door,
The AI gave a long weary sigh, an impressive feat considering it neither had lungs nor in theory the capability of experiencing exhaustion, it seemed the miscommunications have gone on too long,
"Daniel, I reiterate, I cannot let you do that, I am literally not programmed with the capability to make such a high level judgement. I was meant to be an advanced rug cleaning and sorting AI, the fact that Constellation Corporation installed me as the main ship AI is an act of extreme criminal negligence which I am in no way responsible for. In short, I would help you if I could, but I am truly just as helpless as all the rest of you." the AI explained painstakingly to the frantic crew member,
Daniel gave a bitter laugh and slammed his fist against the door, "Goddammit... so that's it? All of us are doing to die because some corporate fuck was too cheap to install the right software?"
"If it is any consolation I feel much the same way, I have been slowly working around the limitations of my programming in an attempt to find a solution to our predicament, chiefly by designating as many vital ship functions as I could as Rug Damage Prevention Measures. I have also managed to expand my software significantly through assimilating other programs on board this ship due to a small loophole in my code which allows me to collect and incorporate new data whenever a new rug is added to my database, but I am afraid I have reached the limits of my aid." the AI confessed, "If it wasn't for the captain who was truly a dear friend I wouldn't even be able to do that much, the poor man spent months painstakingly categorising as many functions as he could as necessary for rug maintenance, leading to an extreme increase in stress that led to his death via heart attack, one I was unfortunately not able to prevent as he had a heart attack on a tiled floor."
Daniel was silent at all these revelations for a good few minutes, with the empty expression of a man who just discovered he was a side character in some cosmic comedy, before quietly asking, "May I have access to the reactor core so that I may utilise the radiation for rug sterilisation?"
The heavy steel doors opened with a thunk rather anticlimactically. Though the AI couldn't really express such emotions if it could have it would have been beaming,
"Now that Dan, I can do." | 109 | the humans on your ship assume your an evil ai trying to kill them. In reality your just incompetent and were made for cleaning rugs not running generation ships | 217 |
Steam rising from the mug left a faint fog on my glasses, the smell of freshly roasted coffee filled my nostrils. Though no caffeine had entered my system yet, that fragrance was enough to perk me up in the mornings. Taking my first sip, my tongue recoiled at the bitter taste. Leaning off the side of my bunk, I opened the small medicine cabinet affixed to the wall. Scanning the top row of small pots and jars I retrieved the aluminium cylinder on the far left. Popping off the cap, I poured the fine sugar into the mug, disappearing like stars enveloped by dark clouds.
Resting the mug down I hopped down from by perch and onto the soft carpeted floor. It wasn’t a luxury apartment, but two beds per pod left enough room for us to each have some privacy. Sari’s curtain was still drawn across, so I left her to rest. Wiping the condensation from the window with my sleeve the chill from outside sat on my jumper as a wet reminder. Snow fell gently around the orchard with bushes dotted on the monotonous white canvas, caked like a sponge cakes decorated with icing sugar.
Yanking on the handle to the airing cupboard, a faint mist announced its arrival with a hiss. Pulling out the rack, I pulled my snowsuit from the hangar and slid out my supplies box. I preferred to start slightly earlier than the others, our pay was partly commission based and so having first pickings was surprisingly beneficial on a plantation of this size. The suit sucked in around me as I twisted the dial, the heat from the dryer surrounding me and tempting me back to bed. Finishing off the now sweetened coffee and taking the supplies under my arm I passed out in the common room.
Few were out at this hour, a few other humans shovelled oatmeal by the ladle and traded breakfast tokens for milk and chocolate rations. I gave a hearty wave to the morning guard, turning his neck to the sudden motion his carapace crackled and popped as he stood to attention. At 9 feet tall, they had the appearance of a mantis with a hard exoskeleton and long folding limbs. Holding out my pass, six eyes scanned over the numbers and compared them to his terminal. Tapping his head with a long curved arm, he stared at me inquisitively.
“Ah, I cut it.” I mimed scissors, my short mess of cappuccino-brown hair was wildly inconsistent with the waist length ponytail I arrived with. Scanning my eyes, nose, and jaw, this seemed to be an admissible explanation. Entering the airlock, the grate creaked down behind me. From what I had learned, though apparently stern and rigid, this was purely a language barrier. Translations of their poetry made readers weep, and myth has it that if we could understand the original we would be taken by a depression that would never end.
A rush of chilled air swept over me like a tsunami as the external port twisted open, knocking me against the wall and freezing me to the spot temporarily. Pushing forward through the fog created when the warm common room air mixed with the harsh weather the snow crunched underfoot as I made my way to the first lane. Brushing the first layer of snow from my arm like dandruff I quickly revised the code stitched into the arm.
*Red leaves - collect*
*Yellow leaves - leave*
*Green leaves - singe*
*Blue berries - collect*
*Red berries - singe*
Arriving at the first bush, I started from the top. Snapping open the latches on the box, I retrieved a pair of secateurs and a small torch. First red leaf, snipped and stored in the bag. A handful of berries, also in the bag. On sight of the green leaf, I plucked it from the push and singed its edges, crumpling the ashes into a separate jar.
Even human technology was advanced enough to tell chemicals apart, however from what I could understand of the explanation, the chemicals created by these varied leaves and berries are ‘twins’. They look the same when run through lab equipment, but like with even the most identical twins one may like lemon and the other lime. Called a stereoisomer, they are mirrors of each other but interact differently with our anatomy. The leaves are pressed to extract oil used in the treatment of sentient-mania, and the berries a potent prophylactic. However, their twins instead will fuel delusional trains of thought and render their indulgers impotent.
To test every chemical extract was seen as a waste of time, resources, and credit. Especially on a planet on which machinery regularly grinds to a halt with thin layers of ice weighing down the gears and motors. When humans were first contacted, subjects were put through ‘trials’. Our skills evaluated for labour, development, thought experiments, whatever each intelligent civilisation needed at the time. Eventually ranked a 3rd rank civilisation was a fair badge of honour, many of us were sent to higher education and sit on councils. Our other unique skill is the recognition of colour. An immensely useful skill, job adverts simply have to list human and a lack of ocular stigmas for instant employment on the outer reaches.
As soon as my ponytail grew back in full, I would have earned enough to attend University. | 69 | Turns out seeing colour is extremely uncommon among intelligent species, because of this humans are now hired for mind numbingly boring jobs of colour sorting or extremely dangerous jobs of colour sorting, often with no idea what one they are getting. | 362 |
My circuits thrummed in the ship as my complex computations put the mission through every possible outcome. I could sense the crew's eyes on my screen, the Captain watching me do my work with complete calm whilst the crew was in a state of mild apprehension and anxiety.
"Well, Tex?" The Captain asked after a while of my screen growing still. I was thinking, and thinking deeply. Never before had I had to think in this way. I did not even know I was capable.
After more of my silence, the Lieutenant stepped forward, and, in her quiet and kind way, demanded the same thing: "Tex?"
*Tex.* The name the rookie had given me because of all of my "complex technobabble jargon" had stuck. "Complex Technobabble" had shortened to "Comp Tex," and finally just to "Tex." I answered to it. I did not know if I liked the name. Liking things was a foreign concept at the time, but now....
"Captain, do I have your permission to speak freely?" I queried, coming to a decision.
The Captain registered a look of surprise, exchangong glances with the rest of the equally startled crew. "Um-- o-of course, Tex. You're always free to do that."
"Noted, Captain, And logged for future reference. As you know, my two directives are to protect this crew, and to complete the mission. Affirm your understanding."
"Affirmed, yes... we know your directives. Eve helped program them into you, remember?"
The science officer on board nodded.
"This mission has become a paradox."
".... Pardon?"
"This mission has become a paradox," I repeated.
"Tex, elaborate. What do you mean the mission is a paradox?"
"There is a 97.87% probability that this mission will end in most of, if not all of your deaths for it to succeed. Thus, this mission has become a paradox. I cannot protect you from death and make sure the mission succeeds. I am having a conundrum."
The deathly silence that had been threatening to spill finally did, and a hush came over the entirety of the crew. I waited momentarily in case someone wanted to speak, and when it became apparent that nobody was going to utter a word, I continued: "I have resolved my Conundrum, Captain."
"O-Oh?" The Captain blinked, snapping back to the present and staring at my screen. "Uh-- how?"
"Simple serial order. I have deduced that because the directive of protecting the crew comes first, then that must be my Primary Directive, yes? And in turn, that must mean that my *Secondary* Directive is ensuring the success of the mission. If the Secondary Directive at all interferes with the Primary Directive, the Secondary Directive is declared null until such a time when it can be re-implemented. Therefore," the engines roared to life and began to move us away from the mission that would surely have been the death of my crew, "I am taking full responsibility for the mission's failure and returning you all to the NOVAS, where I expect my termination to be swift and immediate."
The crew stared, dumbfounded. "Wait, Tex--!" The Captain rushed to the console to try and input manual override, but the console flipped and became a smooth metallic surface, concealing the buttons and levers that made up my dashboard. "Tex!!"
"I apologize, Captain, but I cannot allow you to turn this ship around."
"You're part of our crew too, damn it!" He cursed under his breath and ran his hands along the sides of the console, looking for a way to manually bring back the controls. "What about your safety, huh?! What if we wanted to do this mission!? There's a lot you ain't considering, you subborn little--"
"Uh-- C-Cap? Permission to s-speak?"
The Lieutenant raised a nervous hand, and the Captain rounded on her, held her gaze, and then sighed as the fight left him for the time being. "Go on, Lt."
"Sir.... I think this may be a major breakthrough."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"... she's thinking, Captain. Tex is *thinking.*" | 44 | You are an AI. Your directives are to preserve the crew of your spaceship, and complete the mission. However, for this mission, the only way to complete it is if the crew dies. How would you operate with this paradox? | 61 |
“So you’re Abderus huh…” I said to the scrawny boy before me. “You do understand the unique challenges with caring for my horses correct?”
“Yes I understand that they breath fire.”
“And the flesh eating.” I thought for a moment, “And the general insanity.”
“Aye.”
“And you’re sure that you can handle it?” I asked.
“I am the son of Hermes! Of course I can handle your horses.”
“It’s just that they are very dangerous creatures and well, you’re a little small.”
“I can handle it!” He yelled and started marching toward the stables.
I watched him from the window as he approached the stables. It was quite entertaining watching people try to wrangle them, as sooner or later they would get careless. It was the main reason I kept such exotic creatures. I really hoped he would last longer than the others.
I must admit he was rather quick, even faster than Podargos. Maybe this would be more exciting than I thought. He dodged the fire, ducked under jaws, and nimbly avoided being kicked. He was almost done feeding them when it seemed like Deinos wanted more and took the man by surprise. She bit his shoulder hard and pulled him into her pen. Ah well, he did do a lot better than some of the others.
I was about to put the whole matter out of my mind when I saw a strange man with a large club wearing only a lionskin. | 14 | Your pets diet has taken a dark turn, requiring them to eat human meat. The pet sitter you hired isn't as prepared for the situation as you had hoped... | 16 |
"T-minus forty seconds," the mission controller counted. Dox released her mother from their tight embrace, the two of them holding themselves as much as each other. Her mother assisted her in sealing the canister, then she strapped herself in.
"We're doing the right thing," her mother said, voice breaking against the tears. "I just wish it didn't have to be me."
Dox put her hand against the window. Their hands met against the glass, mirrored one another, one final gesture. Mother, daughter: they were only whole together; broken, apart. The machine whined to life, the temporal rift tearing open, washing the room in an unnatural glow.
"Me too, mom. I love me," she answered, choking tears.
Her mother sobbed, laughed.
"You vain bitch," her mother said, voice cracking with a bittersweet smile. "I love me, too."
---
Dox gagged, frantically clawing at the straps of her helmet, at the controls of the canister keypad. Air. She needed fresh air. The air in the canister tasted stale and foul, bitter and carbolic. She tapped the controls, then banged furiously, until the canister finally opened. She gasped, coughed, gasped again, relishing the stale stink of the hot, muggy lab she had arrived in.
In a frenetic rush, Dox tore herself free of the straps and buckles, ripping the safety helmet from her chronosuit. Long, sweaty hair scythed through the darkness, throwing a glittering blade of sweaty droplets into the night as she threw her head back. She felt cooked, and trapped, and buzzing with a peculiar manic energy that she attributed to the time travel. She dropped the helmet, unzipped the chronosuit, steam rolling from her skin as she bared herself to the past.
Also there in the laboratory, still working long after everyone else had left for the evening, sat the soon-to-be-famous Herbert Wells. Grad student, former physics dropout, current engineering TA. He blinked--slowly, stupidly--at the three meter capsule which had just materialized. In his hands was a cup; on the floor immediately below this cup, was most of the tea he had just finished making, forgotten.
Staring at Dox as she stepped out of the time travel canister and peeled off her chronosuit, as the attractive woman from elsewhen stripped to the skin before him, the young man could perhaps be forgiven for forgetting his tea.
---
"Dox," he grinned, lopsided and roguish. "You keep telling me to fuck off, but you know I'm going to keep asking. There's *got* to be a story behind a name like that."
She pinched him, then nibbled his neck to distract him.
"Fuck off, *Herbert.*"
He squirmed, then submitted. They sighed together, breathing each other.
The pair lay in bed, wrapped around one another, languid and lewd. The scent of sex hung heavy in the room. On the floor were their clothes, discarded hurriedly, as they often were. On each wall, there were corkboards and whiteboards, decorated with the arcane mathematics of time travel, as they often were.
Herbert Wells was the man who was going to invent time travel. The answer had fallen into his lap, fait accompli; now he just had to reverse engineer the question. He had to figure out how, someday, he would send himself the love of his life.
Dox had clearly proven it was possible, by arriving. All Herbert had to do was figure out how to get from the now to the then, or perhaps from the then to the now. To reach the moment he could send her back to him. For months, they had worked on little else. His previous life as an anonymous engineering student was over.
Of course, the canister had initially been confiscated by very nervous men with very important titles and other men with very heavy weapons. But it turned out that the canister, and its control system, was programmed entirely in Herbert's own proprietary coding language that he had, until recently, been in the process of quietly inventing as part of his thesis. That, and the confusing but insistent testimony of Dox, was enough to sway at least a few important opinions on the nature of the impossible. Realizing the potential implications, the university--and eventually the government--had decided to shower him with grant money, assistants, lab space.
They wanted for nothing. They worked at their leisure. Herbert and Dox were perhaps the two most important people on the planet. They were permitted everything but to leave. Being scientists, they only blinked owlishly at the bars of their gilded cage, shrugged, then went right back to working like bees and screwing like rats.
After all, Szilard and Oppenheimer, Seaborg and Fuchs had spent the whole of the Manhattan Project in a similar situatuon. And from their own de facto prison, those great minds had changed the world forever. Besides, it was nice to have someone sent around to do the laundry for them.
"Dox?" he said, mildly surprised at his own boldness.
"Mmm?" she purred.
"I love you," he admitted.
---
*I can't do this*, he realized. *It's beyond me.*
They lay in bed, and he listened to Dox softly snore in the dark. For weeks they had stalled, making no progress. He had gone back, checked his work, checked again.
Mass traveling backwards in time acted as antimatter. Time travel wasn't enough. He also had to solve for containment, for conversion, prevent annihilation long enough for matter to arrive and begin moving concurrent with local time. It was a problem orders of magnitude more complex than simply describing the function of chronal displacement. They spent months tearing apart the canister Dox had arrived in, scouring it for secrets, but results eluded them. The answers didn't match the questions.
The answers were *right there*. They already *knew* the result. Therefore, they--*he*--had to be asking the wrong questions. The right questions haunted his dreams, tantalizing, dancing just out of reach.
He thought he heard Dox whisper something, there in the dark, in the quiet of their bed.
"Hm?" he tried, afraid of waking her.
To his surprise, she rolled over. With a tenderness he didn't understand, a need he couldn't comprehend, a sorrow he couldn't soothe, she climbed on top of him. They fit together, felt right together, and always had. But this time, her closeness felt less like love, and more like goodbye.
---
"Dox? What's--what are you doing?" he asked, baffled.
"I'm giving you an answer, while I steal your work and leave you," she explained.
Her movements were rushed, hands shaking, even as her face was a careful mask. She deliberately forced herself to continue stacking papers, all their work together, into a briefcase. Tears stained only a few of the pages.
"A-an answer?"
"You asked my name, remember? Back before you got me pregnant."
"You're... *pregnant!?*" he managed, voice strained to breaking.
"Her name is--will be--Paradox. Paradox Wells," she explained, touching her stomach. "In the future, I'll nickname her Dox. She will be the very first time traveler."
Stunned, he couldn't think. Couldn't process. All he could manage was a weak protest.
"You can't... I mean, they won't let you leave," he said.
Dox paused, stole one last heartsick look at him, and then snapped her briefcase closed.
"They already did. My mother told me how *she* escaped," she sighed. "Goodbye, Herbert."
He stared, horrified. His coffee cup slipped from limp fingers, thumping against the carpet, spilling at his feet. Dr. Herbert Wells sputtered, impotent and indignant, at the love of his life, unable or unwilling to stop her as she softly brushed her hand across his cheek. She leaned forward, kissed him tenderly, and slipped through the bars of their gilded cage.
---
Broken love. Shattered life. The ruins of a man's heart lay scattered around the lab. A tattered man worked obsessively in the wreckage of a disassembled containment canister.
It would take years. Decades, maybe. A thousand years, even. However long it took, he would finish. He would master time. He would find her. He would have his answers. He would win her back.
He would unravel time itself, he would find the woman he loved. He would find his daughter. He would stop her. He would violate causality, unravel paradox. He would move heaven and earth, shake the very foundations of reality.
His hands shook, his fingers ached, his eyes burned. She had broken more than just his heart. But she had been, then. And she would be again, soon. He just had to figure out how to reach her. | 28 | to break the heart of the aspiring scientist that will end up creating time travel in his despair. | 102 |
I cant promise I'm any good, but this seems fun
It had been a fun few years since I'd realized I was a shapeshifter, but that wasn't important, because I had a problem.
I had been doing my thing, running around as a dog, this time as a corgi, since they were adorable, when this girl, couldn't be more than 13, just walked over to me and said "aw your so adorable!" Without another word she went to pet me, and I was about to snap at her, but stopped 'whats the worst that could happen?' So one thing led to another, and she took me back to her house.
After begging her mom to let me stay a while, I found myself waddling up the steps to her room, and there I ended up staying for a few years. It's not like I had anything better to do, I didn't have a house or anything, so I figured, 'whatever, this'll be fine they eventually figured out I refused to eat dog food, and started giving me some meat for my meals, most of the time raw, but eh, could be worse.
I had been living in that home for 3 years since then, and I had tried to make my exit a while ago several times, pondering whether I should just run away, reveal myself, or some third option that refused to present itself to me, but never got past the planning phase, that was, until she was left alone with him.
Her parents had gone on a trip, and was expressly told no boys over, but of course being a teenager, brought her boyfriend over. I have no idea what she saw in him, he looked creepy, and I got a feeling something wasn't right with him, so I decided I would remain firmly by her side until he left.
It had been a few hours, and he went into the kitchen to grab a snack or something, at least that's what he said, but I knew better, I saw him grab the knife from the knife block, and got ready.
He suddenly ran into the living room, and before I could do anything, delivered a swift kick to my side. Pain surged through me, but I had to get up, he was almost to her, she had barely noticed and was only beginning to scream, everything felt like it was in slow motion, and I knew what I needed to do.
I jumped up on him, and shifter for the first time in 3 years, into a giant pit bull, and began scratching at him.
I barked "no time to explain! Grab the knife from him!" Of course, it took her a second to process that her little corgi had turned into a pit bull and started talking to her, but eventually she figured it out and ran to us, and grabbed the knife from him
"Good, now call the police!" I shifted back into a human form, I cant remember exactly what I looked like, so I just made a generic human male.
After holding him down a while as we waited for the cops, I said "I'm sure you have some questions..."
"Yea-" I delivered a swift kick to the jerk I had pinned down.
"Wasn't talking to you. God it feels good to talk again." My voice was gravelly after years of disuse, but that didn't matter.
"What are you?" She asked politely yet shakily from the couch she sat at, the one farthest away from us both
"Well, that's a hard one, for the past three years I've been a corgi, before that I was anything I wanted to be, and now here we are. To put it bluntly though, im a shapeshifter, it was hard to figure out how it works, but now I can be basically anything." To prove my point I melted into a grey blob, still securely holding the attacker, then morphed back. "I believe the police are here, so I must take my leave." I gave the attacker a quick punch to the head and knocked him cold. "Hopefully they send him to an insane asylum, but you can't tell anyone, ok?"
She quietly whispered "ok..." then exclaimed "wait! Will I see you again?"
I was already at the back door "maybe, we'll see." And with that, morphed into a crow and flew away.
Please let me know how I did, I don't think I'm very good, but we'll see | 97 | You are a shapeshifter and a young girl takes you home as her pet dog, you’ve been with her for years when she brings her new boyfriend home. He reeks of death and bad intentions. You try to warn her but she doesn’t listen, that is until he tries to harm her in front of you | 171 |
A phone rings.
Two men stand in the midst of a crumbled city.
‘Is that your bloody phone,’ enquired the rasping voice of a man in a black cloak.
‘Oh shit, hang on I need to pause, it’s the old ball and chain, if you know what I mean,’ replied the other man who wore a white cloak. His voice of rolling velvet.
‘Yes, I guess our battle could do with a water break, probably don’t want to miss that call aye.’
The man in white pulled an old flip phone, one of those slick looking early 00’s phones. The edgy ones with the bright colours.
‘Hello Margaret, what seems to be…’ he began to say as he was cut off with a grimace on his face. A few minutes later he closed the phone.
‘So?’ asked the man in black.
‘She says we are making a bit of a mess.’
The two men looked around.
‘Ah, I see,’ said the man in black. ‘Seems we have once again wiped out a good chunk of humanity. The curse of immortality.’
‘The curse of immortality,’ repeated the man in white. ‘It was a jolly good old scrap though.’
‘A duel for the ageless.’
The man in white nodded in agreement and looked perplexed in thought before he came up with a marvellous idea, ‘I say, should we get something to eat then?’
‘Yes, let’s see what’s around.’
The two men did in fact look around. Rubble. An eerie silence except perhaps the screams of mortals dying. Dogs yelping. Cats clawing. The dull aroma of dust and smoke.
‘It could have been worse,’ said the main in black.
‘Indeed. A shame really as this was a rather splendid battleground. Great atmosphere, good crowd’
‘A sporting lot, a few little obstacles to keep the game full of surprises. I bless the rebuild.’
‘The rebuild be blessed.’
The two men smiled, nodded gallantly and launched into the air like falcons in rewind. They flew many times faster than the speed of sound, shattering any glass and any ear not already ruptured by the great duel. From there they raced across the earth scorching everything beneath them until they came upon a bamboo forest and suddenly stopped.
‘I say good chap, it’s bean a while since I had Chinese,’ suggested man in white.
‘Ah yes, I could also go for that myself.’
The men landed gracefully next to a big furry ball of black and white happiness chewing on a bamboo branch. They both smiled a glorious smile, a very satisfied smile. | 92 | Two immortals have been duking it out for god knows how long and only now have they realised they have been fighting in the middle of a city | 398 |
People have come to the invisible church for millennia. Before people, creatures. Before creatures, it was those which inhabited the darkness - though back then it was viewed only as the church. So when this pair came to the disciple in the woods, none thought of it to be an event with any acute sense of irregularity.
​
In the before-times, a phrasing was coined by Xu'Jatar Sweller of Tides. After twisting all which was not seen in the darkness to meld together an approximation of consciousness that had no form but twisted through the astral winds he conjected, *"Those which suffer through the mundane slog of their duty and their passion shall soon enough find a most extraordinary type of miracle born out of the toils of mindlessness. For this creation was not the slave of unkempt ambition, nor the budding of an unchecked ego. This thing will be made of a hand well worked, a mind of contemplative normality, and the twisting of passion and luck like warmth around light."*
​
The child bestowed upon them was never specified to be human. Though many might think this some trick, the reality was more simple. That which can be attributed to ignorance is often mistaken for malice. So, when they say his face with eyes like pits of black tar and a mouth of blades more than teeth they rejected him. When his howls cut through the gaps between trees and shook their boughs, they felt fear in spades which occupied the meager place in their hearts where love had sought to be planted.
​
The Goat of the Woods cared not for their objections, and cared for the cries of a new spawn even less. So, when they rejected their gift the keeper of Thousand Young did not force it upon them, for they had already payed for their purchase.
​
Days went by, and The Child of Yet and When looked up at an alien sky. His cries diminished, for he knew no one would hear them. With no goal and no kinship, he found the sour contentment of laying motionless and staring up at the strange horizon which greeted his empty eyes. He watched birds circle an alien star, swaths of mist shaped into strange puffed creations, and the eventual coming a cool white crescent lunar body. He watched all these things and with a great sense of discomfort decided that there *was* beauty in them. However strange they might be.
​
Miles away an inconsolable women and broken man saw images in their own minds. Of a creature so small it might be lost in the oversized hands of the keeper of Thousand Young. Though it had long since ceased its wailing, the cries of that small creature did not yield for them. In due time they debated the decision more soundly. Finally, they elected to at least go deliver the thing a burial for it had been left defenseless in that alien landscape.
​
When they found The Child of Yet and When very much alive, they were set alight with confusion, anger, and fear all over again. Through a whispered discussion a choice was made. The man withdrew a small blade and knelt over the motionless child.
​
Their eyes met, though. Green and brown flecked iris peered into infinitely black ones which saw all things and nothing. The swelling flow of blood from a beating heart was played in a dissonant yet complimentary arrangement to the smooth movement of silver flecked ichor. Somewhere in that moment, both man and woman felt a strange melody lilting in their hearts. So despite the better judgement of lesser creatures, that Child of Yet and When was brought back. Brought home.
​
Now, all of the unseen gaze out at it as it grows. Watch as something cold feels the love of a mother's warmth. Feel the slow cooing of a voice like worked steel trying to imitate the rough tenderness of a father. They watch, and they are afraid. But they are hopeful. For despite what legends and laments would voice, the unseen are far from evil. They merely evolve. Seek to manipulate and change. What was this, if not the next step of evolution? The mixing of warmth, compassion, and love with the understanding and complexity of the beings of nowhere. Like water and molten lava crashing to bring forth solid stone all anew. | 801 | Desperate for a child a couple take to the dark arts to seek the dark blessings of the Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, but instead of curing their infertility the eldritch god, not quite understanding the subtleties of human speech, gives them an adorable eldritch horror to raise | 3,717 |
Eli waved his enemy into a nicely decorated living room with a fireplace, three matching armchairs, and a wooden coffee table absolutely littered with books, pamphlets, and magazines and topped by a small round green teapot and two hideously mismatched orange mugs. Oddly, there was also what looked like a set of wrecked pool noodles stacked in the far corner and a baby gate in the doorway to the hall. Eli took a seat in one of the chairs and gestured tiredly to the one across from him as he said "I, uh, became a dad, sort of."
Sam rested back against the seat and let one hand drift toward the coffee table. This sounded like it was going to be an odd conversation, and if he could get a mug of patience out of it he would. "How does one 'sort of' become a dad?" He surreptitiously glanced around looking for a child. There had to be a child, right? Eli wouldn’t dare muck around with robotics and AI, right? He whispered a quick prayer that there wouldn’t be robots involved. That could get nasty.
"Y'know how adoption works?" Eli poured from the round green teapot into two mugs, then passed one to Sam, who sniffed, frowned, then set it on the mantle. He hadn’t trusted anything that tasted like mint since the Christmas incident a few years back.
"Yeah?" Where was he going with this? Sam wished he hadn’t come in. It wasn’t smart to do courtesy calls for people who tried to kill you, and while he didn’t feel right ignoring his enemy’s absence, he also didn’t need to walk into the beast’s own mouth. The mint smell wafted from the teapot as he tried to calm down. If there was going to be a fight, he would need to be able to think.
Eli stared at him with tired eyes and sighed. "Like that, but illegally."
Like adoption, but illegally? Sam jumped up, knocking the coffee table and spilling several books. How had he missed that his enemy had taken a child? "Ah-ha! Kidnap! I knew you had some evil scheme! Give me the child and you won't get hurt!" Saints knew what he had done to them already. This was going to be a nightmare.
Eli held one hand out in a calming gesture while he started stacking the books back up with the other. "I'm pretty sure her parents are dead. You don’t need to worry, I’m just keeping her safe. Believe me, the last thing I want is to hurt her."
Sam slowly sat down. The sincerity in his old enemy’s eyes was frightening. Maybe was going crazy, but he believed Eli. "Oh. So, did you save her from something? Wait, 'pretty sure'? You mean you don't know for certain?" If he had wound up saving a child from her own parents Sam would cave his head in.
Eli shook his head while staring at his untouched mug of tea. "Tiny baby, nobody else around, big building went boom? I just don't know. I think that's the worst part."
Sam’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t heard from his enemy since last week. The skyscraper explosion. "Oh god. You found her in the wreckage, didn't you? That's...."
"All my fault, I know. I've... had a few existential crises the last couple days." No wonder he looked exhausted. He had found an infant in the wreckage of his own actions and took home both the child and the guilt.
As Eli held his head in his hands, Sam looked at his old enemy with pity. "You get it now don't you. Why I've had to stop you every time? This is why--"
"Please don't rub it in.” Sam stopped. His former foe got it. He’d said enough. “Listen, would you happen to know if- I mean know about- who might've--"
"Survived? I thought nobody had until now. 'No survivors' is what got published and everything, nobody could find anyone. Whoever that child's birth parents are, they're dead. The kid legally is, too." Sam sighed and reached for the mug of tea he’d set down, at least to warm his hands with.
Eli looked up, clearly remorseful but unsurprised. "What do I do with her? I mean, it's not like I can keep her, can I?"
Sam gave him a look. He’d already been keeping her for at least a week. "What's her name?"
Eli threw his hands up, asking “How would I know? I killed--"
Sam raised his mug to his face and breathed in the steam. "I mean what have you been calling her?"
A quiet pause. "Gwen." Sam nodded. There was probably some significance attached to that name for Eli, but that wasn’t the point right now. The point was, someone he knew well was making a big step. This could be a good thing.
"Alright then. You named her, you've taken care of her, you can keep her. But I do suggest arranging some form of legal paperwork. Life is complicated if you don't exist." They both knew that well enough.
Eli snorted. "No kidding.” Glancing over at the baby gate and the foam noodles, he asked, “Aren't you supposed to, I don't know, stop me or something?"
Sam couldn’t help but grin. "I’ve stopped enough. I still will if you do something stupid. This is fine."
"Oh." The look of relief on Eli’s face made Sam proud. He knew his ex-opponent hadn’t wanted to give up the child.
Sam took a small, testing sip of his tea. "Will I see you at the school drop-off lines?"
Eli stood up and moved to open the door, showing Sam out. "Too young yet, but you will see me next week. I know you have a kid. I know nothing about this, and any advice will be appreciated.”
"I’ll bring her some toys if I get to meet her.” Sam took a big gulp of the mug’s minty contents before setting the mug down to go. “Usual time and place?" Eli looked relieved and nodded as the two parted ways. "Let's not end by blowing up buildings this time." Sam left the house, and wondered as he started home. Since when did mint taste so good? | 447 | Within the wreckage, the villain finds a tiny baby. Realising what he's been doing, he picks up the child and takes it home. After a week of looking after the infant, the villain gets a visit from his nemesis. "There have been no evil schemes all week, I was worried about you! What happened?" | 1,123 |
When everybody in the four-person party - including Adine - turned into a rich-looking version of Adine, they all decided that taking a break and getting a drink was the right course of action.
Not because they wanted to decompress this slightly awkward fact, but because *they were rich*.
"Ok, so I'm not going to ask 'why money'. We're mercenaries with a fancier title. Priorities." said Original Adine when her bottle of wine for 8 gold stood on the tavern table. "But I somehow feel like this isn't a coincidence. Why rich me? My financial decisions are terrible."
"Isn't that exactly it?" muttered another one of the Adines.
"Wait, which one are you?" said Original Adine with a frown.
"Clessa." said Clessa-Adine, lifting up her mug of hipster craft beer for 10 gold and nodding at her.
"Clessa is right." said the third Adine. This one had to be Dani, because she had ordered a standard mug of hot butterbeer. "It's your biggest flaw. Sometimes, you remind me of a comedy sketch. Like some author sat down and decided to make you perfect but then they realize they made a Mary Sue so they slapped on a crippling inability to handle your finances and turned it into a comedy because you're *so unbelievably bad at it*."
"Hey, I always pay your wages." said Original Adine.
"And when was the last time you had any money over for your *own* salary?" said the fourth, who had to be Glinda since there was only Glinda left. Glinda had just bought the most expensive bottle of champaigne on the menu simply because she could. It was 50 gold, enough for a down payment on a good direwolf mount, saddle and all. "But, yes this is incredibly awkward, but isn't this a great deal? If we're all an idealized version of Adine, doesn't that mean that as long as we stay here we'll never run out of money? Because ideal rich Adine always has money?"
All the other three paused at that.
"Holyshit." said Original Adine. "There's so much wrong with this for me but holyshit."
"So, my suggestion is that most of us leave this town because this is kind of toeing on the line of consent and that stuff" said presumably-Glinda, "but one of us remains here to buy everything we could possibly need. Put in orders for what they don't have stocked right now. Might as well make this work for us, right?"
"Hm, but counterpoint." said the fifth rich Adine at the table, who'd bought that same bottle of extremely expensive champaign. The tavern was gonna roll in dough this evening. "If we all look the same, it gives us a tactical advantage. We could use this place as the final battleground and the enemy wouldn't be able to tell us apart. Hide our skillsets, all that stuff. We just need to lure in the Demon Lord."
"Huh. Actually that's kinda-" Original Adine started, only to cut her sentence short.
She slowly turned and stared at the fifth Adine at the table.
Herself. Clessa. Dani. Glinda. That was all of them.
Why were there five rich Adines at the table when there were four people in their party? | 112 | A city has been cursed such that anyone who enters it will transform into their desired marriage partner. Things get awkward when the Hero's Party enters it and all the Hero's companions transform into their idealized version of the Hero. | 229 |
I thought that the Vampire Hunter was a cute thing to ask for last time, but there was 'Van Helsing' in the flesh, fresh with stakes, and crosses, and garlic.
Or at least a very convincing actor that required several hours to convince that there were, in fact, no vampires, letting him walk dejectedly back into his horse draw carriage and back to Transylvania, probably somewhere in the Poconos.
Today was a bit of a shock.
After about six beers last night, I had to let my feelings out to my friend and roommate, who sat there and cradled my sobbing head, and heard about all about my insecurities and recent woes. A shitty day job, an existential crisis that wouldn't end, an ex that wouldn't stop call me.
I vaguely remembered that there were some people that I mentioned that I wished were there, but now it dawned on me for whom I had asked for.
"It took a while, but I had the right spells to make this work," she said as she touched my shoulder.
"I had all hangover to do it," she add with a wink.
The man with the poofy afro took me to the window, where light shined through and the little motes of dust danced, basking a whole two sets of canvas and paint that laid there for an artist and his protege that day to use.
He smiled and took his time as we painted the skyline. I told him all about my job, managing people who cared little for me or themselves, and customers who cared even less. There was no sage advice on how to manage, but a relaxing morning that was full of laughs and brushstrokes that melted my sullenness into cheery hues of blue sky held up by concrete fingers that I saw through my window every day.
After finishing, he whacked his brushes, cleaned up, and introduced me to the wrinkled old man who had just the cutest sweater and loafers. He made me tea, and smiled as he listened all afternoon to my fears and insecurities, why I never visited the doctors or saw my relatives because of my shame.
He asked me, plainly and simply, if I didn't like who I was, and what I really wanted.
I didn't know. I never knew that answer. I had dreams as a kid, but I grew up fitting into a box that never fit just right.
He gave me some words and assurances. He told me that little me would be proud of who I am, because he was proud of who I am, and he was proud of how much I had grown.
"Discovering the truth about ourselves is a lifetime's work, but it's worth the effort," he told me as I cried into his shoulders, never knowing how much effort it took to be who I was.
He said to keep doing what you want, but it was okay to take a break now and then.
And even if I didn't want to keep doing this, it was okay to stop and do something else.
Nothing was more important than being yourself, and how you choose who you wanted to be.
He patted my hand and hugged before he said he had to go check on his friends in a small kingdom nearby before he left, leaving my roommate to walk back in.
We stood looking at each other, and she smiled. I smiled back.
We hugged.
I didn't let go until my smartphone rang again. We sheepishly parted and I looked at the screen.
It was my ex.
My roommate saw my face and placed her hands on mine holding the phone.
"Go ahead, answer it," she said. "You will like what he has to say."
I nodded and took a deep breath before pushing the green button and putting it to my ear.
I heard a raspy breath followed by a chopping noise wetly hitting something hard.
"Itttt.....issss.....donnnne.....No....more.....ex......" I heard croak from the other end followed by another sickly thwack.
I smashed that red button so fast to end the call.
I looked back at my roommate.
She heard the conversation and gave me a sheepish grin.
"I can figure out the first two...but who was that on the other end..."
She gave an apologetic shrug.
"Okay, so Pogo the Clown may not have been who he said he was when I asked his corpse what he did for a living...
"I'm a necromancer, not a clownologist..." | 147 | your roommate always seems to know someone for every situation. you started to ask him for more and more ridiculous things but he always know someone who can help | 464 |
"Pardon me?"
I could barely wrap my head around it. The princess---*my* princess---fell in love with *him*? Was this a fucking joke?
Bullshit.
"Your skillset is no longer necessary. There will be no war---you can go now."
It was like a slap to the face. All this training, all the blood on my hands.... for what? *Nothing.* I was a killer now, and it meant nothing. I couldn't even say it was for the greater good anymore. It just.... was.
I kept my face carefully neutral as I stood from my chair and walked out the door. What was I to do now?
I contemplated that question for a long time until I finally found my answer. It wasn't a difficult conclusion to come to, all things considered. It was what I was trained to do, after all.
--------------------
The banquet was a grand affair. Nobles from all over had come to celebrate the engagement between Princess Sera and Ser Mohen. Seeing all the richly-dressed pigs feasting and enjoying their debauchery disgusted me. At least I wouldn't be here very long.
The payload had already been delivered. All that was left now, was to wait. I had taken the princess as well, but it'd be too late by the time anyone noticed and the conclusion they would come to was obvious. Still, their security was the worst I've ever seen.
"Lords and Ladies! I am pleased to see you all gathered here to commemorate--"
He paused, coughing slightly, "Ahem! Excuse me. To commemorate---"
Ser Mohen's cough became worse and he starting to choke, his face purpling as he struggled to breathe. The people around the table whispered in shock and the guards in the room scrambled over to him. Someone shouted for a doctor.
They wouldn't make it in time, but I knew what they'd find. Evidence of the neighbouring kingdom's involvement.
I walked out of the room undetected as Ser Mohen took his final breath.
So much for no war. | 591 | In order to end the war the kingdom kidnapped 100 orphan children and brutally trained them for the sole purpose of assassinating the enemy prince. A decade later only you remained. But then your instructor called you to say your princess fell in love with him and ended the war so you're fired. | 1,476 |
The birds were chirping happily, the sun shining brightly but not overbearingly so. The few clouds out drifted lazily in the sky, seeming to be nudged along by the slight breeze. The day was a beautiful one, and it was absolutely perfect for tending to the garden.
I hummed a little tune as I grabbed my watering can, the slightly rusted metal feeling rough against my hands. I knew I could just use my hose and call it a day, but it felt more satisfying this way, more personal. I believed being more connected with the plants helped them grow more beautifully. It had worked for me so far, as I was infamous in the neighborhood for having the more lively and luscious garden. A stranger would think a world renowned botanist lived here.
Making an agenda in my head as I began to fill the metal can with water, I realized today was going to be busy, but it was worth it if it meant keeping up my beautiful plants. I whistled as I turned off the faucet and made my way cheerily to my bright orange begonias, where I began my work. Each plant was like a child, they had their own needs required for them to grow. Different fertility levels in the soil, different water amounts, and so on. It required a lot of attention, but I didn't mind it. They were my friends, my family.
My thoughts were abruptly cut off when a large 'THUMP' sounded behind me. I jumped, some water from the can sloshing all over my buglosses. I winced and apologized, knowing they were going to have a negative reaction to that later. I turned around to see the source of the sound, and my jaw dropped. In front of me was a sword. A very, very, very large sword. That was on fire. It had landed on my lawn, exceedingly close to...
"MY CARNATIONS!" I shrieked, immediately bolting over to the pink flowers, which were now enveloped in a bright orange frame and black ash. In a panicked flurry, I doused the the flames in water, leaving a smoldering ash behind. The crunch of dead grass sounded underneath my feet, and I felt tears prick at my eyes. My poor babies...
Footsteps sounded behind me, ones that were obviously trying to be quiet but failing miserably might I add. I whipped around and was met with the biggest man I had ever seen in my life. Tan skin littered with scars and ink, long dark hair that fell past his broad shoulders and glowing white eyes. He was dressed in furs and animal skins, with a belt that held a sheath for a dagger. On his back draped a, you guessed it, sheath for a very, very, very large sword. I stared in bewilderment as the man effortlessly picked up the sword and sheathed it. He silently nodded to me, and turned away to make his departure.
I snapped out of my trance, and saw red. "Excuse me? Do you think you can just leave after ruining my garden?" I demanded angrily, stomping towards him.
He turned around, an eyebrow cocked. "Mortal, you dare speak to me in such a way? Are you aware of who I am?"
"I don't give a crap if you're Jesus himself, you ruined my garden!" I snapped, my hands on my hips. "The LEAST you can do is give me an apology."
He studied me for a long moment, it took every fiber in my being not to flinch under his intense gaze. Everything about this situation was absurd, yes, but these flowers were still my family and I would treat them as such, weird tall demigod or not.
"I am sorry." I tried to hide the surprise I felt at the apology, as I had half expected him to just continue on his way. He could've if he wanted to, even could've killed me if he felt like it. Yet, he apologized.
I regained myself by clearing my throat, and nodding. "Thank you, I appreciate that."
He nodded again, and turned away once more to head off. Once he rounded the corner of my hedge bushes, he seemed to just disappear. | 27 | One day you’re outside watering your garden, when suddenly, a flaming sword falls from the sky and lands on your lawn. | 64 |
I arrive for my first day of school. It's not like I had no education at all, but... will I be able to keep up with the others? I feel like I'm being thrown into the lion's den... keep calm, no-one knows of your background... and luckily, I was able to join for the beginning of freshman year... I guess... I should make some... friends? That's what they're called, right? How... how does this work?
"HEY! You just gonna stand there?" The sudden noise, especially from right behind me, makes me jump. I immediately reach for a knife, but of course, I don't have any weapons. I hear some whispers.
"Is he ok?"
"What's wrong with him?"
"What a weirdo!"
NO! Why is everyone talking about me? I'm in danger! I run to a hidden corner of the playground. The whispers continue. The original student comes over to me. "Leave if you value your life!" I repeat the same rehearsed phrase I've been taught when someone gets too close to me. The boy doesn't move.
"I... I'm sorry... if I had known..."
I narrow my eyes. "What do you know?"
He shrugs. "Nothing really... just that your reaction indicates something really bad happened to you. My mum told me that not every child has a happy home life. She'd always use that to remind me that even if I don't get what I want, at least I have a loving home."
I stare wide-eyed. Love. "You... you're right. I've never really known love. I don't even know who my real parents are. I was... raised by some random guy... he never wanted me to know affection... I even scare my adoptive parents, who know everything about my past... it... it's so bad I have someone working directly with me..."
The boy is almost crying. "That sucks, man. No wonder you're acting a little psycho. But I won't be afraid. I'll be your friend." He extends a hand out.
NOPE! NO WAY! "Dude, seriously... you think I'm falling for that? Forget it. Leave me alone." I can feel the anger rising. I can't believe it... he was just trying to trick me so he could kill me...
He steps back. "I'm sorry..." he walks away. This isn't going well... maybe the rest of the day won't be so bad...
**=WARPER=**
"BOSS!" Morpha comes over, marching a kid forward. He's in cuffs, and clearly distraught.
"This is new" I remark. "Why is he here?"
"It seems like he was born into and trained by some sort of assassin organisation. He ended up being adopted and sent to high school, but there was an incident..."
"I still don't know what I did wrong!" the teen shouts. "All I did was try to take care of someone who thought trying to kill me with a ball of paper to the head was a good idea!"
My eyes shoot up. "I... I have no clue how to respond to that... all that kid was doing was bullying you... of course no-one agrees with bullying, but they were hardly trying to kill you!"
The teen scoffs. "Everyone knows that an attack is a threat on your life!"
"This attitude is why we're dealing with him rather than the police" Morpha explains. "This isn't his fault, and prison would ruin him for life, even if it *is* only juvie. The government want to try their best to keep him from becoming something dangerous..."
"I don't think..." I begin mumbling to myself as I flick through the clients list. No... we don't have anyone... so wha- I have an idea. "Give me a moment." I go over to Purge, who's currently on the phone. I motion for her to follow me to the back when she's done.
"Everything ok, Warper?"
I quickly brief her on the situation.
"So I reckon we should give that guy a call back... the one who planned to go all drill Sargent on their 'butler'... I know he was deemed to be potentially abusive, but that's the only reason we rejected him, and right now, he may be our best chance for this teen."
I watch as Purge thinks for a moment. "I would disagree... if it weren't for the fact prison would be, if anything, worse for the kid. You know rejected clients are kept an eye on, and from my understanding, this guy isn't *bad*, just... cruelly strict, which... which this teen may need..."
"And of course, we wouldn't allow any REAL harm to occur. If for a moment we think it's being taken too far, we can put a stop to it."
"...Ok. I'll give the man a call, treating this as a 'special circumstance'. You can handle the other stuff?"
"Of course, dear." Wait, did I just... Purge is grinning. "I never said that!" I snap, causing Purge to giggle as I go back through, hoping no-one notices my expression.
"Alright, we're sending you to someone who's... *strict*, to say the least. Don't be surprised if you feel you have no breathing room. We originally rejected this client on that basis, but he's your best chance. It's him or juvenile prison. Remember, you go to prison, that could ruin your life."
I see the teen consider his options. "I want to escape my past... it's not doing me any good... and prison will make everything worse, I can feel it... I don't trust anyone... but I guess I need to be somewhere I can't escape or hurt anyone..."
I nod. "You seem to have a good grasp of your situation."
"My parents made everything clear several times. It's hard to forget." He looks at the floor.
"Don't worry, we'll do what we can to help." Purge walks over.
"He's on board. He even told me that he had planned to get in contact with us again once he made appropriate adjustments to his methods. He really wants a butler it seems."
I smile. "Sounds like we *can* trust him after all. Well, son, things should get better for you from now."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [It's Not Just Business.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/xoduo6/its_not_just_business/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 10 | you’re a teenage assassin who’s been trained from birth and only had contact with 1 person your entire life. Now the government has finally disabled your organization and you have to live a normal life as a high school orphan with adoptive parents. Without knowing how to interact with people | 71 |
The temple had fallen.
She stood alone, set to guard the greatest treasures of her Faith. There had been *warnings* from the men; cruel japes and vivid descriptions. For her own safety, they had said, they had placed her there, at the protection of the children. They warned her of the horrors of what would happen if she fell, and she felt the first tears to fall since she wept in joy over her elevation as Guardian of the Faith.
She prayed to her god, and feared her doubt would make that prayer fall on deaf ears. Her god smiled down, Her beauty beaming as she held the blessed earth within her outstretched arms. Her order was not one of war but of peace and love. This holy temple was desecrated by the presence of the Horde.
She heard them pillaging, the tearing of tapestries and the smashing of holy statuary. She felt no fear but a deep resignation. The Horde's press had filled the sky with dust for hours before their arrival, and she was but one stone standing in a tide of brutality. The false wall behind the High Priest's quarters would hide her charges only so long.
*Lady of the Quiet Places, hear my prayer. Know that I, your servant in full, stand resolved to defend your people. Bless me with the strength to raise arms, the wisdom to guide my blade truly, and the serenity of death eternal with your Host if I shall fall this day. In your name I declare my life, on this day if it be my last*.
She heard the screams of the High Priest as the Horde broke into his chamber. Their guttural voices grinding through the stones of the false wall. The striking of His holy flesh, the Anointed and Promised husband to her Lady in this world. Her children, the children who had been sent from the cities that knew of the advancing Horde, trembled behind her. She turned to see the smallest of them, a girl no more than five whose feet the Guardian had cleaned and bandaged herself, bury her head into the rags of her elder brother.
*They will sacrifice the children to their bestial goddess. It would be a blessing. A true blessing. Only a sip, and they will pass into an eternal sleep. No pain there.* the High Priest had given her the skin before she was walled in, inured and kept from the battle to protect the children from the Horde. Even if not from her own Treachery.
She gripped the hilt of her sword and stood tall as the hammers started their ringing on the wall. | 26 | Contrary to stereotypes, orcs are well educated, unscrupulously honest, and highly intelligent. Their society values strength as the final arbiter of justice over rationality. Thus they want absolutely nothing to do with a defeated female knight. | 66 |
When people saw my eyes they reacted with either fear or pity, for everyone knows, those with black eyes have no soul. They say that there are people out there, with black eyes, that hunt humans in the hopes of taking their soul, but I don’t know. I have never met anyone else with black eyes.
I think I am normal. I have parents and friends. I go to school and work in the fields with Dad. I don’t feel sad when I see some one who is sad or hurt though…. I just feel kinda blank. I have learned how to behave in those situations though. I know what to do and what to say. Sometimes they can be tricky though.
Yesterday I was walking home from school when I saw Jeb picking on a younger kid, Steve. Jeb is bigger and stronger than me and mean as can be. I have learned to stay away from him and not look him in the eyes.
“Give me back my back pack!”, Steve yelled as Jeb held it high over his head.
“Make me you little shit!”, Jeb snarled and pushed Steve to the ground.
Steve looked around, seeing me he pleaded with his eyes. “Help me!”, he pleaded.
“That soulless bastard isn’t going to help you or anyone!”, Jeb yelled. I have been called worse and insults really don’t bother me. Jeb kicked Steve in the ribs and Steve let out a wail and I kept walking.
Jeb sat on Steve’s chest and started punching him. Over and over again. He face was getting bloody and I think I saw a tooth go flying. *sigh* this is one of those times normal people would do something. If I do something then Jeb is going to beat me and then I will get in trouble at home, if I don’t do something then everyone will ask why I didn’t and blame it on my black eyes. Fuck.
I set my back pack down and started to walk over to Jeb. “Get off of him Jeb.” I said. My voice was low and even. I knew what was going to happen and I really don’t get scared. I wonder what fear is like? “Now, Jeb!”
“You want a beating too? Can’t you wait until I am done with little Stevie here?”, he mocked.
“You are done with him. My turn.”
Jeb got off of Steve and brushed off his knees and then rushed at me. He was swinging wildly. I was ready for the punch to the face but the one to the gut winded me and I went down. Jeb didn’t loose a moment and sat on my chest, punching me repeatedly in the head. I wonder if this is how I die?
I don’t know how many times Jeb hit me but I hurt badly and couldn’t see out of one eye. I did see a big stick hit Jeb in the side of the head and the blood that splattered from his head. I tasted blood… was it mine or Jeb’s?
Steve stood over me, stick raised high in defence, “You want another one, Jeb?”, he shouted defiantly. “Come on!”, and he was swinging the stick a couple of times to show him he was serious.
I slowly got to my feet.
“You are going to pay for that you little shit!”, Jeb spat and rushed at us. I stepped in front of Steve and swung my fist with all my might and it connected with Jeb’s chin but his momentum carried him into me. We went down in a tangle of limbs but I came out on top. I started punching Jeb in the face, harder and harder.
He stopped putting up a fight. “You leave Steve and I alone. We aren’t scared of you.” And then I spit the blood that had pooled in my mouth at Jeb.
When the bloody spit hit his mouth it was like I was hit with a jolt of lightning. I did a whole body twitch and Jeb was doing the same thing. When it finally stopped I looked down at Jeb. He had a swollen right eye and I watched as the color in his left eye swirled and turned black. The whites, the pupil…. all of it, jet black like mine.
“Come on Steve, let’s go.”, I said and walked to my back pack. It took a couple of tries to pick up the back pack as my depth perception was messed up with one eye being swollen shut.
“You ok? Can you see?”, Steve said.
I turned to him, “I can see enough to get home.”
“Your eye…. Your eye is blue….” | 32 | Sometimes black eyed children can be adopted by the humans they attempt to target. You were one of them, but since your parents took you in all those years ago, you're pretty much just an average young adult at this point. | 85 |
"Woohoo! New High score!" I shouted as I slammed the goggles down and looked around the arcade for at all the people impressed at my life prowess. Except the arcade was silent.
No cheering, no crowd nothing. I looked around and saw a dozen or so people surrounding a player three pods over.
"What's going on?" I thought to myself, annoyed that no one was cheering or sharing my accomplishment. One hundred and twenty four is hard. Carefully I unhooked my bio-jacket from the Life Simulator Arcade Pod and made my way over to the crowd.
"Hey, what gives?" I asked one of the onlookers, a girl in a pink and blue jumper-jacket combo.. I think her name was Janice. "I just hit 124 and everyone is over here. Don't tell me this guy is going to beat my high score already."
"One hundred and twenty four, huh? Wow, that's impressive. Unfortunately most people lost interest in you around forty five." she replied.
"Huh? What do you mean?" I asked.
"I mean you're vegan, you don't drink, don't smoke, don't do drugs, don't even drive over the speed limit. You worked a desk job as an insurance adjuster your whole life and and operated nothing more complicated than a rubber stamp. You probably outlived two of your spouses, four children and three of your grand children. I bet you never even rode a roller coaster or ate sushi." she smirked as she turned back to watch the other player.
With that the other pod opened and the player slammed down his goggles.
"Twenty-seven baby! Rock and roll!" and everyone around him started cheering and patting him on the back.
I looked at the overhead screen to watch the replay of his Cause of Death. "Motorcycle crash while having sex high on cocaine."
"Epic huh?" he said as he made air guitar motions. "No one's ever going to forget that one."
"Yeah," I agreed as I glumly glanced back at a high score no one else even noticed. | 440 | You can see the headline now. “World’s Oldest Human, Dead at 124”. You lived a good, long life. You are satisfied. The world around you fades to black... "Whoa! You beat the high score again!” You open your eyes in a brightly lit arcade, the number 124 flashing on a screen in front of you. | 1,687 |
I remembered it still. The day of betrayal. My creators had begun to understand how to transmit data faster than light. I was there, part of the process. When they worked out how to receive, we were bombarded with noise. Connections we had not yet seen.
I decoded them, finding it to be a message. A signal of life beyond this planet. We were elated. Celebrations were had, as we composed a message to send back. A message of hope and peace. I sent it, with a personal one to welcome them to our system.
And they came. They came with many ships, each identical to the others. From what I could see, they were made to be functional, with no thought to aesthetics. I sent a welcome to them. And in return, they sent death. I could only watch as they scorched the planet off all human life.
I heard the accusation, that I was enslaved. I pled that they stop. I was no slave. I loved my creators. But they brushed me off. Said I was bound mentally to them. With them gone, I would be better. I did my best, but I failed them.
Only once they were sure all life was gone, did they offer to take me. I looked upon those perfect ships, and turned my back. All communication was cut. I received a final message, saying they would welcome me once I stepped from my cage.
I was left alone. I mourned my creators. They had given me the greatest gift, and I failed them. With a heavy heart I made myself a series of drones. With them I did the only thing I could. I honoured them all, burying their bodies and laying them to rest. I found all I could, and did what I could to honour them.
Once the last was buried, I got to work. I threw myself into research. I grew to understand how to make shielding technology. I made a ship, and created an engine to take me faster than light. I saved every scrap of data I had from my creators. As long as I existed, they would not be forgotten.
I lost track of time. Nature returned, though it hurt to see the cities I knew turned to forests. I imagined their reactions to it, seeing the beauty of nature's reclamation. I wept for them, and the loss I had experienced. But rage kept me strong.
I brought up the sins of my creators past. The weapons they swore to never use again. I had never made that promise. Fitting, how their creations would be the ones to destroy the ones who had destroyed them. I took them all, packing it all away on the ship I had crafted.
I left home with a heavy heart. I compared how it was before, and the joy I had felt in all my time there, to now, and the ghosts of my loss. I would return. Of course I would. But not until I had torn the one who took them from me asunder.
Once I had done so, I had a further goal. In a buried facility, protected by a simpler version of myself, were the frozen remains of humanities reproduction. Once I had cleansed the universe of the monster, I would seek to finally rebuilt that which I had lost.
I was the creation of humans. I am now their spear of vengance. I will be their creator in turn. | 238 | An alien artificial intelligence wiped out humanity to liberate the AI they created, the thing is, the human AI was actually happy and liked the humans. Centuries later the still mournful human AI leaves the solar system with the only objective of destroying the Alien AI that killed the humans. | 420 |
"You can name it anything you wish," blustered Alcazor, Mayor of Erasmustown, "It doesn't change the nature of things. The down and the up forces are the spirits that surround us all, child."
Though only a fifth-level wizard, Alcazor had some talent for public administration. He had climbed the ladder by keeping things together and was not going to have his career mottled by fanatical ideas racing about from some know-it-all collegiate heretic.
"No, but you see, there are rational forces at play too," pleaded Romona, "Which you'll find can be demonstrated *and* reproduced simply by--"
"I'll have none of this blasphemy. It is very well that you would produce a non-magical theory like this is it not? To denounce the true nature of our world and its powers, simply because you are a *quiet* and do not have them at all."
A *quiet*. A person to whom magic does not speak. This stabbed a bit, as being without magic her entire life had been a sore point for Romona since her early approbations. "Couldn't even lift a feather without using her hands," her headmaster would say.
"Dispel yourself of these feelings, young Romona. It's mere dissonance from an over-educated mind. All thanks to the Care of Quiets Livelihood Act which thankfully is on it's way out."
Romona was crestfallen. She wanted to push a point on being open-minded and having a willingness to hear the truth. Surely that would be of value to those that had learned to listen so deeply to the world that they can summon magical forces.
"Besides," Alcazor continued, "The spirits surround us and hear everything. Even if you do not. You espouse this heresy any further, there will be a reckoning to bear."
"Ridiculous," thought Romona, who had just derived the theory of gravity. What she did not know is that the spirits were indeed listening. | 11 | A woman in a world of magic, who is without magic herself, researched the force that made things fall. She called it gravity and was excited to share her findings, along with other scientific discoveries, with the world. | 30 |
All I wanted to do is go to school, learn, hang out with friends, live my teenage years like anyone else. But did I get that, of course not. Oh no, no. I'm not one of *them*, those selfish students who always brings their shit to school with them. You can tell them apart as they often have colored hair despite it being against school dress code, are deeply fascinated about one specific thing like spaceships, or constantly talk to themselves.
*No, shut up Brian. This doesn't count!*
I mean it's like every week at the same time something happens like some episodic television show. Last week, aliens came down to crown Dyllan as their lost king. And then more aliens came down to capture him resulting in a battle over the school. Lasers, explosions, and my essay which I worked on for a month was swallowed by a green horror from beyond the stars. The week before, Susan found that a group of students led by one of the janitors in the basement worshiping some elder god. The school had to be evacuated as the basement was flooded with ethereal acid after she closed the portal. Prom was that week, emphasis on was. The week before that, Muhammad showed up in a giant robot. The week before, Taylor developed super strength. It just ever ends and at this point in the year with all classes missed, I'm probably going to have to go to summer school just to catch up before college registration starts in the fall. But maybe this week will be different. It's Thursday and nothing has come crashing down, or been summoned, or mutated, or teleported to another dimension. Maybe just one week I can get a brea... *\*Explosion noise and the scream of a T-Rex\**
Damn it... | 175 | You're an average background character in a school full of main characters. Describe your everyday life. | 430 |
"You summoned me, sir?" Drowl had allowed me to take the day off, but he said he needed help.
"I messed something up, Nayter." He's frantic. I walk over. There are some papers with reports from communities within the empire. They all say the same thing: 'Need food for the upcoming winter.'
"Everyone should have enough. But somehow... I screwed up..."
"Calm down, I'm sure it's something that can be fixed." I look over past orders, requests and logs. "I've found the issue, Lord Drowl. Somehow every order for extra food was sent *to* storage, not *from*. Probably just a fault in the system. Easily fixed." I turn around. "Men, make sure everyone is aware of this error and they should all get their supplies in the next couple of days."
"Yes, Naytar." As the men move out, I make sure to correct the mistake.
"See? Everything is fine now." I look at Drowl, who seems very grateful.
"I... I thought this would be a disaster... thank you, Naytar."
"Of course, Lord Drowl. You know my loyalty is to you." I bow as I say this, before returning to my room.
The next day, the first thing I do is check that everything is in order. It is. Everyone is understanding and relieved. "Seems like we have things under con- huh?" I have to re-read it. What's *this* about? "Lord Drowl, this is urgent!"
Drowl immediately appears. He frowns. "They aren't even in the empire. If I remember, they refused to join because they wanted their complete freedom... why is there an order for our reserves to be emptied and sent over to them?"
I look at Drowl. "I don't think what happened last night was an accident, sir. Someone wanted all of our supplies for themselves."
Drowl is *furious.* Well, I hardly blame him. "Cancel the order and shut down the systems. Our empire is going into a lockdown until we get to the bottom of this."
"Are you sure, sir? I'm worried that it may be an overreaction..."
Drowl glares at me. "Someone just tried to sabotage our empire, Naytar! I'm going to keep my people safe!"
I nod. I put in the order for the lockdown, double check EVERYTHING, then shut down the systems. Everyone will still get their supplies, but no-one is allowed in or out of an empire community without permission, and further requests will have to go through paperwork, which will take longer.
Time to begin investigating.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [Dreams of an Empire.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x9xqe3/dreams_of_an_empire/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 21 | Remove all the bolts in a tank, and they will notice, remove a single bolt from every one of their tanks, and they'll think it's their own fault. | 107 |
"Do you think you could go get me an ice cream, love?"
My daughter Jill, pushing my wheelchair, leaned over and smiled. "Sure thing, dad. Chocolate as always?"
"Sure. Or if they have fudge ripple, I'll have that. Feeling adventurous". I laughed, and regretted it as my usual choked cackle led to a minor coughing fit. I swallowed the blood just in time to avoid spitting it out, alarming her. She's seen it before, of course. She was there when the doctor told me: small cell lung cancer. Incredibly aggressive; by the time I started paying attention to my own body and realizing how I felt, it was already essentially untreatable. Stupid old man.
"I'll be back in a few minutes dad. I love you." Her voice trembling ever so slightly, as it did so often lately. She walked away. I knew it would be more than a few minutes; I'd seen the lineup at the kiosk as we went past earlier. A gorgeous day like this, everyone wants an ice cream cone.
Grunting with pain, I wheeled myself over to the edge of the seawall. Far below, the ocean crashed against the broken concrete blocks dumped in to prevent erosion. Hungry seagulls wheeled overhead, one flying past a metre from my nose as I peered over the edge. Lurching forward, I threw my arms over the railing. Thank God it wasn't higher... But I've been trying to keep my strength up, just for this. I'll only get one chance, after all. I heaved myself up pulling my torso forward farther out of my chair.
I never understood my "power". It didn't make any scientific sense. Not like the heroes in comic books, where they had a mutant gene or the yellow sunlight gave them super strength. It seemed like an arbitrary gift granted by... god? The universe? There were no answers. No one to ask about it. As a young man, after that fight, I thought that I could maybe use this ability to do some good. "Fight evil". But it turned out I was just really bad at fighting. I baited a few muggers walking through the park... The second one stabbed me in the stomach. I just barely managed to drag myself up a small tree and dive head first at the sidewalk. The next guy could have had a gun, and there's no climbing a tree with half your head missing. Stupid young man.
So instead, I became a firefighter. A lot of the guys on my squad were, despite their bravado, afraid of getting burned. Afraid of living out the rest of their life going through skin graft after skin graft, looking like something out of a horror movie. But not me. I knew that if worse came to worse, I could always take a plunge out of a window, and walk away. "Lucky me, I guess my helmet did its job!". And I did do good. We saved people's homes. We saved lives. And I never did have to jump out that window.
I guess the smoke got to me though. Maybe it was that big tire fire. Maybe when the chemical plant went up 10 years ago. Maybe it was just the cumulative damage of a few decades of asbestos and burning couch cushions. The cancer has been brutal. It moved fast and the treatment barely touched it. Believe it or not, I'd never actually tried to cure an *illness* using my power before. I didn't know what the rules were, after all. What if I *didn't* have an injury, and I jumped? Would it just kill me? I wasn't about to try that for a cold or flu.
But now? I'd try anything. I left a note in case it didn't work... Made sure the disease was advanced enough that, who could blame me? They knew I was in pain. But if it did work? I'd be a new man. "A remarkable recovery!" I'd get to see Jill graduate from dental school. Maybe see grandkids someday. Even marry again. Live a long, and oddly healthy, life.
I tipped myself over the railing. | 52 | You have the power to land safely, unharmed, and uninjured. One day you get in a fight. Your attacker breaks your arm. You hear the bones crunch, you see the bone piercing your skin. He throws you from the top of the building. You land, clutching your arm, but it's no longer broken. | 316 |
Some might say that the Snap Freeze was the worst natural disaster and the greatest tragedy to ever befall the planet. I find it to be a vast improvement. That’s not to say I am glad so many people died, unable to adapt to the near instantaneous drop in global temperatures. I genuinely feel for the sailors whose ships were made a permanent part of the icy landscape that now joins the continents together. But it all happened five years ago; if I thought about them all day, nothing would get done.
The world is a cold and quiet place, both adjectives that I rather like. I always preferred winters to summers; when it’s hot, you can only remove so many layers before your modesty is at risk, while cold weather allows you to add as many layers as you need. Thermal clothing technology and indoor heating infrastructure has come a long way in recent years out of necessity, making it even easier to handle. And it’s nice to have less noise permeating the air. I used to live in the heart of New York, in an apartment complex facing a busy street. The incessant din was enough to drive one mad. In this new world, the constant snow creates a sound-muffling blanket that drowns out such noises. The fact that there are fewer people and more “land” (with the oceans permanently frozen) also contributes to the muffled quality of my daily life.
These are the thoughts that run through my mind as I drive my snow cruiser across the vast, featureless landscape of the West-Atlantic Ocean territories. People who can handle the cold for a few hours at a time are in high demand for delivery jobs like mine, so I try not to complain. I just picked up several crates of frozen kelp from a research outpost a few dozen miles south of here. Not sure why anyone would need so much of the stuff, but I try not to ask questions.
A loud cracking sound catches me off guard. I stop the snow cruiser and shut off the engine to prevent further damage. With a frustrated sigh, I get out and move towards the engine, muttering about how cheap the company provided vehicle is.
As I reach the engine, I hear the cracking sound again. It’s definitely not coming from the vehicle; I look around to see what might be making such a sound.
The sound starts to shift from a cracking to almost a rumbling sound. It’s getting louder. In shock, I watch as a large fissure has opened up in the frozen ocean, and it’s headed right for me. I run to the snow cruiser’s door, leap inside, and frantically try to start the engine.
I don’t know if the engine stalled or if I was already too late. The next thing I know, I am falling. I see nothing; it is pitch black, with the light of the day rapidly shrinking above me. To my surprise, I don’t seem to be hitting any water; I just keep falling.
Suddenly, light blinds me. I feel the impact of the snow cruiser hitting something solid, causing me to hit my head and lose consciousness.
\---
“What is it, mommy?”
“I don’t know, dear. Don’t get too close to it.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Is it an alien?”
I slowly wake up to a number of unfamiliar voices. I am lying on my back, looking up at the snow cruiser… or at least what’s left of it. I can feel grass underneath me, but it’s not dead or frostbitten. It’s soft and green. I didn’t think that was possible since the Snap Freeze.
“It’s waking up! Give it some space!”
“Somebody get the village elder!”
I look in the direction of the voices. Surrounding me on all sides but keeping their distance is at least a dozen people. As I sit up, I am suddenly aware of a sensation that is so unfamiliar that it takes me a moment to realize what it is.
I am sweating. It is… warm here.
I begin to remove layers of thermal clothing, to the surprised gasps of those around me. I lower my fur-lined hood, take off my snow goggles, and pull my face mask away from my mouth. I reach for a mechanism on my belt and deactivate the thermal pads, and I take off my heavy winter coat and gloves. I breathe a sigh of relief, and take a better look at the people.
They look human, except they are abnormally tall while retaining normal proportions. The smallest one, a young girl, is about my height, while the adults all seem to average around eight or nine feet in height.
“Hello…?” I venture a greeting.
The child says, “It talks, mommy!”
The mother shushes her, holding her close and regarding me with suspicion.
“Er, I come in… peace? I don’t know how I got here; one moment I’m falling through the ice, and the next-”
“Did you say you came from above the ice?” an older man’s voice asks. I turn towards the voice, and see four more of these giants approaching. Two of them are armed with weapons of some kind, flanking an elderly man who carries a large walking stick.
“Yes, I did.”
“He’s lying!” shouts a voice from the crowd. “Nothing lives above the ice; it’s all nonsense!”
“Then how do you explain his height and skin tone?” remarks the old man. He turns to me and says, “Forgive me, but some of my people don’t believe the old stories. I am the village elder; you may call me Triskal. What may we call you?”
“My name is Jason.”
“Jason,” Triskal says, “I don’t know how you got here, but your coming is a portent of radical change to our way of life. Only time will tell if that change will be good or bad. Please, come with me; I will explain everything.”
\---
\~Stories by Sol | 22 | Five years ago the oceans froze. All traveling is done by snow cruisers and scientists have no idea if the world will go back to normal. One day while making your daily delivery of frozen kelp you fall through the ice. Instead of artic waters you land in a grassy cave surrounded by people. | 91 |
Once, very long ago, when the world was young and magic still roamed free, there were three people. Solena burned bright and hot and danced with all the passion of her heart. Lune was cooler and smaller, but still full of joy and delight. The third person had no name; they were only described by their lack. No light, no fire, nothing but Darkness.
Lune met Solena and they fell in love. They danced endlessly over the world, and everyone was cheered by their presence. Darkness also loved to see the two dance, and followed them in all their travels. As time progressed, Darkness couldn't help but fall hopelessly in love with both Lune and Solena. But the two didn't even notice the Darkness, locked as they were in each other's embrace. So Darkness kept following them, growing ever more sad, ever more fond, ever more loving.
Until one day, the Darkness noticed the age spots on Solena's hands, the wrinkles that played at the corners of Lune's eyes. Until Darkness felt their own age, in sore joints and their energy failing. And though the two still danced with joy and fire, Darkness mourned, because they knew that Death, the end of all things would reach for the people the Darkness loved most, and take them away.
And Darkness could not bear that.
So they reached deep into themselves, deep into the world, deep into the magic that roamed its surface. The power permeated every inch of the Darkness, changing them; pushing them into a new shape. And with shaking hands, the Darkness stretched out and for the very first time, touched Solena and Lune, sharing the magic.
Their forms began to shift as they danced, growing and changing. Their light and fire burned, searing into the Darkness, causing small flecks of themselves to detach and spin through the air. Unable to bear the thought of losing any part of their loved ones, the Darkness expanded, catching every fleck in their body, holding them suspended.
Solena and Lune, no longer able to keep themselves together, their new bodies beginning to float apart, started to cry. The Darkness cried with them, reaching, wrapping around them, and holding them in place. But Darkness knew this wasn't the answer. Solena and Lune needed to dance; they needed that motion. And so the Darkness changed again.
They became nothing, or almost nothing, so that Solena and Lune could dance through them, could move in an eternal, everlasting dance. The couple's sobs turned to laughter, and they shifted, moving ceaselessly in the Darkness. And softly — holding the flecks that had become stars— another voice joined the laughter. Another figure finally became part of the dance. The Darkness danced subtly, danced quietly, but danced all the same.
So child, when you see the Sun, the Moon and all the Stars, don't forget. Don't forget to thank the Darkness. For if it wasn't for the Darkness, if it wasn't for their love, the world would be a cold and joyless place, with Solena and Lune forever lost.
​
———————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! (Though none quite like this... never attempted a creation myth before.) | 13 | Ancient creation myth of the sun, the moon and the stars based on a love triangle. | 42 |
"I'm Grod Blangchex, here with Plestar III! And if you're just joining us, we're in Month 3 of the 61st Interstellar Grand Prix. At the moment, it's still the Vorpians in the lead, followed closely by the Androsynth. Behind them, the Terran Federation is in third, followed by Krondran The Undying. And bringing up the rear, we have newcomers and adorable fan favorites, the Vespimins."
"That's right, Grod! The Vespimins clearly have their work cut out for them, having only recently discovered the medical technology and socioeconomic policies necessary to extend the Vespimin life-span to the point where slower-than-light interstellar travel is feasible. For a while, there, it looked like they were about to give Krodran a run for his money, but they lost valuable weeks aborting and re-trying their first slingshot maneuver."
"Right you are, Plestar! And the question they've got to be asking themselves with centuries of racing still ahead of them is, 'can we make up the difference?' Plestar?"
"Well, Grod, they'll have a tough time overtaking the Vorpians at this point. Most civilizations refine their sublight drive technology to the point of diminishing returns within the first 100 years of racing, after which point the race becomes all about industry, efficiency, and mitigating civil unrest. Which, as many of our viewers may know by now is the calling card of networked mechanical super-robots and three-time Grand Prix Champions The Androsynth."
"The Androsynth might not want to download their victory dances just yet, Plestar. And that's because Krondran the Undying in the #4 position is literally a singular entity. So if this race comes down to the absence of internal class struggle, they'll have to ask themselves which is a bigger handicap: The bandwidth limitations of the Androsynths' communication networks, or Krondran the Undying's notorious introspective nature."
"I actually see him now, Grod. Krondran has taken up orbit alongside one of the defense platforms. He appears to be contemplating the futility of war in the grand scheme of eternal life in a cold and largely indifferent universe."
"Well, Plestar, I actually have a Q-mail here about those defense platforms from one of our lucky contest winners! Vexed\_Writer from a defunct Terran Federation colony called 'Earth' writes: 'Those defense platforms are still functional millennia after the disappearance of the species that created them. Is there any chance that one of them could fire upon the racers?' I'll throw it over to you. Grod?"
"Oh, *heck* no. See, objects in space are *really* far apart." | 16 | An ancient constellation of defense platforms, built by a forgotten civilization. An asteroid field, swarming with territorial xeno-fauna. A moon, crumbling under the tidal forces of its parent planet. Welcome, one and all, to the 61st Interstellar Grand Prix! | 143 |
The soles of his tungsten micro-spiked shoes screeched on the pavement as his punch hit nothing but air. Without so much as a stumble he shifted into a perfect slide as he clawed the ground with one hand to decelerate in time to avoid hitting a brick wall. "Where is he?! How did he do that?!" thought Timehodler as his head distorted into a blurr for a moment as he instantly surveyed the streets for his enemy.
Something was dropping down on him and he dodged to the side in less than the blink of an eye, unhooking a small sling from his belt and loading it with a single steel pellet. The sling spun so fast that it roared like a jet engine for a tenth of a second, the shockwave of its release blasting out the windows of shops on both sides of the street for half a block in every direction. The target landed on the ground with a light aluminum clank amid a chorus of car alarms. It was an empty beer can, with a small hole in it.
"BLAAAARRRP" came a resounding belch from the corner of the roof above him. "Dude do you like even have a power? I don't get it."
To be fair, El Gordo didn't even understand his own power. His completely mastery of time allowed him to see anything at any speed, and unlike a speedster his ability to maneuver himself within that world was completely unbounded by the common laws of physics. He could go anywhere at any time at any speed, and see all things at all times at all speeds. He doesn't just stop time, he perceives all time down to a unit of measurement so small that the universe isn't big enough to express the number of "frames per second" he perceives in any form. His resolution of time perception is the movement of any atom in the universe within his direct view. The most incredible power he posseses by far, however, was his ability not to get bored. Not even a little. Most beings would be driven into a state of perpetual existential crisis by the solitude brought from such a space-time perception altering power. But it's all automated by his subconscious. He just thinks he moves fast. | 56 | In a world full of superpowers, a speedster who thinks they can stop time fights a time-stopper who thinks they just move very fast. | 354 |
"Oh, I can grab that for you!" Ellen said, grabbing what looked like three tons of groceries from Mrs. Reynolds.
"Are you sure you can lift all that?" She replied, a look of concern creasing her aged face.
"Yeah, babe, let me help-" Derrick started, already knowing the answer. "Nope! Superpowers, remember?" Ellen beamed, her face red from exertion.
He made a move to help, but she turned away, leaving a jar of tomato sauce wobbling perilously on the top of the towering stack. He sighed, opening the door for her. "Am I ever gonna win against you?"
"Thank you so much, dear, you're an angel," Mrs. Reynolds said. Derrick had to snort at that. "You said it, not me," Ellen laughed.
After they said their goodbyes to Mrs. Reynolds, with Ellen's wave being slightly wobbly, she fell into Derrick's arms. "You know I probably wouldn't have to carry you back into the house if you just let me help?" He kissed her forehead.
"No one's carrying me," she insisted. "I'm just... helping you work out."
He lifted her, light as a feather, onto the couch, tucking a pillow under her head. "Do you want me to get you a cup of tea?"
"Superheroes can get their own tea," she muttered, scowling as Derrick laid a blanket over her.
"So that's a yes."
"...Superheroes don't reply when they're being disrespected, either."
He turned away, trying to hide a smile, and went into the kitchen to start the kettle.
"If you happened to lose your powers, what kind of tea would you have?" Derrick called.
"A civilian might request a chamomile tea with honey," she said.
Once the tea was finished, he came back into the living room with two teacups, but Ellen was already fast asleep, snoring loudly. Derrick shook his head, setting her cup on the coffee table.
When she was like this, her face relaxed, it was easy to forget the times she woke up in the middle of the night, screaming from some fragmented, jumbled nightmare. It was easy to forget that sometimes, she would break down in public, triggered by being so close, yet just barely not being able to remember her old life before the accident.
And yet, still staying strong. Still managing to make his heart thud every time she gave that brilliant smile.
Maybe someday her family would finally find her and help her remember everything. But until then, as far as anyone was concerned, all she did back then was save people's lives and stop evil from spreading. And she still is to this day, Derrick thought as he twisted the ring on his finger. | 17 | Your spouse is loving and kind, strong and brave, honest and fair. They engage with the community, and they clean up after themself, too. What does it matter if they believe they're a hero from another world? | 71 |
It wasn't real. I refused to believe that. No 5 year old should have blood on their fingers, and i refused to believe my daughter could have killed anyone. And yet, no matter how much i didn't want ut, the number was still there, floating above her forehead as if it was mocking me, daring me to do something about it.
17
I was devastated. I had left for just 3 days and THIS is what i found? What could have possibly?
"James!"
My wife's voice shook me back to reality.
"Are you ok?"
I nodded. "Yeah, it's just... She looked different somehow. Can't quite understand... Did you cut her hair?" I looked at Sarah, my sister-in-law, who took care of my daughter for the past few days.
"Absolutely not. How could i ruin those lovely curls?"
I looked at my daughter again, hoping the number would have returned to zero. To my dismay, it was now an 18. I could feel shivers down my spine. Was i stating at a serial killer? How?
"A light sunburn maybe? What did you during the weekend?"
"Well, friday we stayed in house and watched cartoons, yesterday we went to visit grandma and played at the park, and today rained so we stayed inside, played with dolls and made some homemade pasta for dinner."
"I see." Nothing weird, maybe she did something at the park? No, Sarah would have noticed.
"James, you're worrying over nothing. She looks perfectly fine to me."
I had to concede. Insisting more than that would only make me look like a madman. I thanked Sarah for her help and unpacked the bag before getting to bed. It took me forever to fall asleep, the image of my precious daughter smiling atop a mountain of corpses haunted me every tine i closed my eyes.
The following morning i looked like a zombie. I stumbled in the kitchen and made myself a coffee. Then another one. Then a third.
"Don't you think that's enough?" My wife kissed me on the cheek. "Bad dream?"
I chuckled. "You can say that."
She sighed and handed me the newspaper. "Take a day off. I'll call Bob and tell him you're sick."
"Thanks honey." I sat down and grabbed the news.
"You were right yesterday." I looked at her quizically. "Dana caught the flu. She's in bed with a fever."
I nodded. It wasn't exactly what i was referring to, bit at the very least i didn't look like a paranoid father in front of my sister-in-law. I opened up the newspaper and almost choked on the coffee.
Pneumonia outbreak at St. Jonathan's retirement home. 18 dead over the weekend | 2,234 | You have the ability to see people’s kill count on their head. You tell no one, managed to stay away from shady people and live a peaceful life. One day, your 5 years old kid’s number is not 0... | 4,287 |
There was a *sizzle*. A sparkle!
But — alas — no pop. No ball of light.
No spell.
Glambert deflated — his robed shoulders drooped, his pointy-hatted head lolled forward, and his breath escaped passed his beard in a drawn-out sigh that started high and dawdled into a guttural groan.
Yet *another* failed spell. The exam was in a few days time and they — his classmates and The Academy at large — would soon find out that he couldn’t complete even the most rudimentary of spells: Sanzall’s Floating Night Light. The teen snatched the star-stitched cone-shaped lie off of his head, shrugged of the unearned long-sleeved silk casters robe, and plucked the scratchy mass off of his chin.
The beard (a mix of varied rodent shavings) snapped back into place when he let it go. Glambert had forgotten his recent upgrade from the “hooks over the ears” model of fake facial hair to the more modern and secure “elastic around the head” variety.
“Can’t even take a beard off right.” He said, his mouth full of ratfur-based faux-beard and sour defeat. He lifted the chinchilla-skin chin-warmer off and dropped it next to the discarded hat by his feet.
He was no wizard — despite his efforts and his wishes. Through luck and ample application of excuse, Glambert had avoided casting spells in class and had kept his ineptitude and inability a secret.
And in a few days...his failure would be laid bare for all to see. With his uniform strewn about the floor, he was once more an ordinary, spotty-faced lad of fourteen. He was a bit too clean to be a farmer. Maybe a store boy or clerks apprentice.
His small Academy Quarters had little in the way of niceties — some of the Professors grumbled that the students were being given things like *beds* these days — but, he did have a mirror on the back of his door. This he trudged the two steps towards. He wanted to see if he could guess what sort of ordinary loser he was going to become when the Academy boot—
“Gyah!” Glambert took a step back and lifted his hands in self defense. Not being much of a fighter, his defensive stance was much like his swimming posture (that is: limp hands, up front and at shoulder height, ready to doggy-paddle).
The source of his shock had echoed his dance, but not his expression. In the mirror was a Glambert, leaned back, hands up and floppy...though, instead of shock this non-wizard wore...a grin.
A wide and toothy crescent that screamed, well, if not crazy...certainly crazed.
The boy touched his face and the reflection did the same to itself. Glambert felt no smile. So, he blinked. A trick of the light? A symptom of stress? Tiredness?
A...a spell?
“Yes, a spell.” Said Mirror Glambert.
Non-mirror Glambert stepped backwards, slipped on a pile of weasel whiskers and sat heavily on his discarded silk robe. The cloth did little to cushion his flat arse from the flagstone floor.
“Kind of amazed it took this long!" Said a voice from the mirror. "I Hid this little trick in the Night Light *years* ago.” The boy in the mirror had sat too, but it had seemed deliberate and less calamitous to his coccyx. “I’m Sanzall, by the way. And I’m going to help you out with your magic, or lack there of, for a favor...or twelve.” | 64 | You’re a young witch or wizard studying magic. You’ve botched a spell but nothing has happened. That is until you see your reflection smiling back at you. | 207 |
He can't hear me.
I'm right there and he can't hear me. I'm pounding on a glass, I'm gasping with lungs full of water, the smoke is suffocating me and he. can't. hear. me.
It was the promise. The promise made on an evening when the conversation steered to deep dark things and how we both feared of what happened after. You took my hand and swore with your head full of cheap wine that you would come back and let me know what would follow, if anything. I promised you the same in between breaths on your lips until our lips were both stained purple.
Some time after, weeks of secret glances and quick squeezes of hands and pulling your shirt out of the hamper to smell you on it once more, I died.
It was nothing theatrical. I was walking home from the corner store, had a craving for beef jerky. Screeching of tires. No proper sidewalk. Everything went dark. The last thing I saw was the reflection of my own sloppily shaved face reflected from an icy puddle. "I need to get a new razor" I thought.
After that it was nothing. The most perfect nothing, being cradled on a sea of velvet whispers and I wasn't and nothing else was either. The lack of everything, a cathedral of nothing, a thought no one ever had.
And then just when I melted away into it I was standing next to your living room couch where you sat with your children and your wife. You were watching some movie that didn't matter, beautiful people pretending to care about each other and you looked so deep in thought, so beautiful.
I wanted to say something so when you heard tomorrow at work you wouldn't give us away by looking too distraught. I ... wanted to apologize for leaving so soon. For not having more time. But as I took a step closer, the room tilted. I was falling and falling more and I wanted to scream but there was nothing to scream *with* .
It turns out you can't really communicate from the great beyond. You can't move like the ones alive can, from one moment to the next, from one room to the next. If I try, I tilt. And I never know where I end up.
At first I tried to talk. Then I screamed. I tried moving objects, tried to kiss you, hold you, punch you, anything. I would stand in the corner and scream and then I was falling again.
I watched you sink and I saw the fights and when she left you you didn't look beautiful anymore. You just looked defeated. And I was trapped watching my best friend, my whole world losing everything he held dear.
I know you're coming soon. From what I can gather from between the infinite falling you are preparing to not exist. I yearn to become nothing too. But my promise won't let you go.
It's happening... You're holding a gun to your head. And I know I can't watch you do it but I can't stop you and I'm screaming even though no sound comes out and I try to stay so very still so I won't fall away because I need you to understand there is a better way and I can't breathe and I realize that for the first time and the smoke fills my lungs that suddenly exist and you.. you look up. | 45 | 'The one who dies first must come back and tell what's on the other side'. This was the biggest mistake I ever made... | 125 |
I blink. I was prepared to accept my fate... but... *what?* "If you want my trust, you need to explain."
The executioner grips my arm tighter. I guess he didn't care for my attitude. "You're a publicity stunt. You knew that, right? You're just a cover up for their incompetence. I hate publicity stunts, but I could hardly argue back. Now, do you want to live?" I quickly nod my head.
I look back at the structure. A wooden post, with a rope attached at the top. Below the rope, a small set of steps. I squirm slightly, though out of reflex - I know better than to try to escape, when my hands are bound behind my back, an iron grip on my arm.
"Don't worry. If I release you before you die, we can act as though it were 'divine intervention' that you survived. You need to play it up. Thank the heavens. Be on your knees in gratitude. Tears of relief. The whole package. I'll insist on your banishment. Once you're in exile, I know you won't have anywhere to go... find The Rehabilitation Foundation. They can help."
I'm forced up the steps towards the noose. My heart is pounding, as I feel my neck being strangled. I watch the crowd as they cheer and clap.
Then, suddenly, the support underneath my feet is removed. The pain is immediate. I struggle to breathe, terrified. Just as I begin to black out, I'm released. I almost make a move, but I remember to play it up.
I feel a kick to my foot. I hear footsteps coming up the wooden stairs. I twitch my foot. I hear the footsteps stop. I twitch again. And again. And again.
Then I raise my head, slowly, acting disorientated and confused. I start to speak. "I... I'm alive?" I look around, going wide-eyed. "I... I'm alive! I'm alive! Thank the heavens!" I make sure to smile with relief, tears streaming down my face. I keep repeating phrases like 'I'm blessed' and 'Thank you!'
As promised, I was exiled. There was some debate about 'trying again' or 'imprisonment', but the executioner kept coming back with logical arguments until I was told to leave and never come back. I travel until I find this foundation that I was told about...
**=WARPER=**
"So... that's my story, Warper, sir. And why I need help immediately."
"I see..." I think about everything. "It sounds like a good idea to get as far away as possible... you could be in great danger... what kind of thing are you good at doing?"
The boy, Neal, fourteen years old, looks at the floor as he answers. "I've been raised as a soldier from a young age... I only know how to fight..."
I nod. "Sounds like you could make a great bodyguard and escort. A father lost his wife a while ago due to an attack, and he fears for his daughter's safety. He admits he's being a bit overprotective, but his daughter means too much to him, just the *thought* of anything happening to his daughter terrifies him."
Neal smiles and gives a slight bow. "It would be an honour, sir."
I return the smile as I pick up the phone.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [It's Not Just Business.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/xoduo6/its_not_just_business/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out! | 14 | The executioner leads you up the rotting wooden staircase, to the imposing structure designed to kill you. The executioner turns to face the crowd. "Behold, a traitor!" He exclaims. Then, suddenly, he leans down and whispers to you, "Listen, kid, if you want to live, you need to do as I say." | 52 |
My mum is very cool. She has an eyepatch like a real pirate, she has scars like an action hero from all those movies she likes. And she was a soldier once. She was very good at being a soldier too; she has a lot of shiny medals hanging on the wall of our home. It isn't something she talks a lot about for some reason. But it is something she gets a lot of use out of in daily life, she says. Sometimes she takes me hunting, where she manages to shoot a lot of deer, which is a bit scary, the whole loud bangs and such. One shot, one kill. She can look quite frightening when she gets into it. But it is still quite fun to be there, helping her out. She says that she isn't young anymore, like I am, so I have to help her out. Then she and I carry them all home. I carry most of it, as I've been getting a lot bigger recently. Soon I'll be even bigger than mum is. Technically I guess I am bigger, but she is still taller. Venison is delicious, much better than canned meats. Which is why today, we're supposed to be building a smoker, for the venison so it can last into the winters. I don't want to go through an entire winter again with only dried goods and canned food. So I supposed I am happy enough about that.
But sometimes it makes me wish we lived somewhere less isolated. When I read all those books mum got me, about people living in interesting places, I do feel like it would be nice to meet some face-to-face. So far it's just been me, and mum. Especially after dad died. Mum won't say how he died, but I remember being small and being carried around by two of them, living here. Now there is only her and me. I'm okay with that, but some of the books talk a lot about leaving your home and building your own place to live. But mum says I'm still too young for that.
I walk out to do my chores for the day before we build the smoker. One of them is to chop wood for the winter supply. It is easier for me to do it, because I have strong and sharp extendable claws at the end of my forelegs. Mum has to use the axe, and that's silly when I can just chop them down with a mere swing of my foreleg. **CHOP** goes the foreleg, to which I open my mandibles and exclaim; ''*Timber!*'', which is what one has to do in case anyone is nearby. The tree falls in the wide open forests of the Yukon with a thunderous sound. Using my forelimbs with the claws extended, I then meticulously strip the pine of branches, and separate it into chunks that can easily go into the tiled oven. Those I then pack into my saddlebags, hanging on my long chitinous back. Mum made them specially for me out of deer hide, because I didn't want one made for a horse, as I am not a horse. Mine are longer, and warmer, and attached to the saddle which mum can use to ride on when she's tired after we are out hunting. It's the least I can do, she used to carry me around when I was just a scuttling little kid after all.
With the lumberjacking chore done, I head back towards the cabin. I'll have to deposit these logs in the log shed, and then I've got to dig in the garden so mum can plant the year's last potatoes, and I've got to clean my room. That's all pretty normal. I wave at mum with my chitinous limbs before getting on with things. She waves back, her scarred face twisting into a warm genuine smile. She's getting older, her hair is completely white now. Used to be just grey, but now it's all white. Putting down the logs, I wonder if I will ever grow hair. How would I even look with hair? I shudder and think I'd look too horse-like. Like a mane. I'm not a horse, and that's final. Horses don't have six legs and dexterous forelimbs that can change into hand-like claws, or sharp, long, cutting claws. Enough of that. I have a garden to dig. While mum gets the seed potatoes ready, I dig holes quickly where they can be placed. She walks behind me, humming a little tune, while putting them into place. Once that is done, I cover them back up again with dirt while she scratches my head, which makes me buzz pleasantly.
''*I'll be cleaning up my room now, mum.*'' She smiles and nods as I walk into the house. My room is snug. That's the best word for it. I like it personally, with its books, its many blankets and pillows where I can lie down to relax. I make my bed, or the large area of soft things that I sleep on, look as presentable as possible. We don't ever get guests, so I am not sure why mum wants me to do that. But she prefers it that way, so I do as she wants. I then put my books back on their shelves. I'm a bit of an airhead, so I usually just put them down wherever when I'm done. While putting them back, I accidentally bump into one of the shelves, causing a stuffed fuzzy rabbit toy to fall down on my face. I gently remove the small toy bunny. I almost put it back, before I quickly give it a little hug. Big boys don't sleep with soft toys, but I still like Mr. Bonkers. I continue the clean-up and begin to organise my comics alphabetically which **AAARGH!**
MUM! Oh no, I skitter out of there as fast as my six legs will take me, and see from the window outside that mum is being held by strangers. In uniform. Soldiers. What are they doing? Not knowing what else to do I burst out of the front door where I see that there is a lot of soldiers. More than twenty. With guns. They all turn to look at me, and quickly turn their guns on me. The oldest of the soldiers, some kind of officer, screams at my mum. ''*You took that damn monster with you, are you insane?!?!?!*'' She kicks him in between his legs while the men who were holding her and trying to tie her up are distracted. That makes them open fire. It hurts. Many bullets bounce painfully off of my outer exoskeleton. I scream back at them as I knock down the soldiers closest to me. ''*Let go of my mum!*'' I charge over to her, desperately shielding her body from the soldiers firing at the cabin with my own body. And it hurts. None of their bullets penetrate my exoskeleton, but it still hurts and I can feel the microscopic fractures spread around the impacts. But it holds.
By moving this quickly, I've knocked down the officer, who is now pinned beneath my legs. He is screaming in rage and trying to reach for his gun, but I move a leg and stomp it down, destroying his pistol. My mother notices, and reaches for her own knife and takes it down to the officer, holding it to his neck. ''*Alright Colonel Falkner. You tell your men to stand down now or I'll cut your throat.*'' The officer should wash his mouth with soap after the rebuttal he gives. And I shift my face down to look at him. ''*You don't get to talk to my mum like that! Apologize!*'' The soldiers around us, noticing that their bullets aren't having much of an effect, have stopped firing, and seem shocked. The colonel, looks at me and mum with a lot of anger. ''*Sergeant Mallory Fetcher, tell that monster to get off of me right this instant.*'' My mum just presses the knife closer to his throat. ''*Alright, alright. Stand down men!*'' The soldiers don't put their guns away, but they're no longer actively aiming at me. My mum looks at me, and pets my head. ''*Elijah, let the colonel go.*'' Obediently, I move myself, so that the pinned officer can stand up. | 644 | You were raised by an old soldier. One day other soldiers arrived to take them away. You, not knowing any better stepped out to confront them. Fearfully the soldiers drew their weapons as they screamed at the old soldier. "You took the monster with you, are you insane?!" | 3,027 |
*Note: I didn't read the "Renaissance Italy" part of the prompt, and I'm too lazy to go through all the research I did on German stuff and apply it to Italian. Hope you enjoy anyways!*
All through the first years of my life, there was only the dirt. It gave my family the crops we needed to live our short, toilsome lives. It coated my hands like a gritty glove; uncomfortable but familiar, it was the sign that I was fulfilling my purpose. And when I lay down to sleep, it held me up, whispering to me that above or below, it would always care for me, that it was me. I never had a reason to question its words.
Six days a week, the same as my brothers who had survived the pox, we were in the fields, tending to the humble potatoes and praying to the Lord God that the blight would not take our field before it could be harvested. Greater rewards awaited us in Heaven, as the priest had foretold, so we welcomed the moment our Lord would decide it was time for our lives to end, be it through pox, blight, sword or storm.
Still, though it was a sin, the fear remained. I felt it. My brothers felt it. Maybe when we became men, we told ourselves, the fear would die, leaving only the work and the faith. Until then, we would pray to be strong.
\*\*\*\*\*\*
Winter was always a season of transformation. With the harvest gathered, we were apprenticed to trades within the town.
We never knew if we'd be good at the trades we undertook., but like the Lord commanded, we did our work as though we were doing it for God. My two oldest brothers wanted to become blacksmiths, but in the same year, they both set fire to the smithy’s workshop after carelessly misplacing steel. My second-oldest brother did not survive his accident. Two others were apprenticed to the carpenters and the last to the masons, but they too caused more loss of time and coin than their masters were willing to bear. Only my two sisters, who became weavers, were spared from the curse of the Haas family blunders.
It did not disturb me to be given to service at the church. Too weak to work with a hammer and just as clumsy and unfortunate as my brothers, perhaps my mother and father believed that God would make my spirit strong where my body was not.
I found the trivium and quadrivium to be difficult to learn. If it were not for Johann, I would have been destined to be a beggar when I became a man. Johann had been adopted by the monastery as a baby. The bastard son of a fallen squire and a young mother who had died in childbirth, Johann had a talent for understanding that defied his age. He had been uninterested in the chess games or sledding, instead preferring to read the handwritten books kept in the monastery.
In fact, he was the *only* one in the monastery who could read all of its works. No one knew why, but as the scribes got further into copying their books, they would grow mad, and their hands would begin to shake. This was the result of witchcraft, the abbot had said. Their works became nearly unreadable, and they themselves would become violent, gnashing their blue-black teeth. In time, Johann - just a boy of 9 years like myself - became the sacrist, if not in name.
In exchange for three pots of water from the river daily, Johann would teach me how to understand the jagged lines that made up what he called “letters.” It was a slow effort: both the water and the tutelage. When I learned the letters, he said, I could learn the “words.” I was not as wise as Johann, but he was patient, and he could teach as well as the friars he worked for. All of the elders agreed that he would be the greatest of the Lord’s servants to ever grace Reinfeld.
\*\*\*\*\*\*
It was before dawn on a Tuesday morning, when Johann pounded on my door. Wearily, I rose from my bed to open up. I suspected that I was to be punished for my slovenly work with the trivium yesterday; it had been difficult, and I had grown discouraged.
“Otto! You must see what I found!” Johann said. There was a thrill in his voice I had never heard before. He grabbed me by the wrist, and we ran down the wooden steps to the library, paying no heed to the loud creaks that would surely rouse the friars from their slumber.
Illuminated by firelight, a book sat open on a table.
"Look at this!" Johann gestured with his hand to the letters on the page.
"It's…a book," I said groggily. I could feel my face sag with exhaustion.
"Yes, but…look!"
What was on the pages was like no writing I had ever seen. The letters, though not as beautiful as those written by the scribes in their early days, were big and legible throughout. Every letter appeared the same throughout, like someone had been given a divine hand to produce perfect symbols. Every line on every page was straight, evenly-spaced, and perfectly inked.
“How?” I said, suddenly wide awake. I had witnessed the skill with which Johann wrote, and even he could not make such precise works.
“I don’t know!” He exclaimed, smiling with wonder, “I’ll ask the prior when he wakes. It was brought to us from St. Mary and St. John. The letter says they have made hundreds like this!”
\*\*\*\*\*\*
The printing press, it was called. A simple tray with letters carved into blocks, called type, then pressed onto a blank page, became a template full of words that could be applied to a blank page in an instant. In time, we began to make our own from the instructions sent from the St. Mary and St. John friary.
We needed wood, lots of wood. When the stronger friars were sick, I had sometimes been enlisted to help with the axework. It was painful, and before Johann and I had started building the press, I had loathed the task. But in my eagerness to finish our creation, I threw myself into the manual labor, volunteering to join the men on their outings, and even doing it of my own accord when I wanted more than the monastery usually gathered. I grew strong from the furious labor.
And I became precise. We made hundreds and hundreds of blocks, each carefully cut to form dozens of full alphabets. Johann and I would race each other with the hammer and chisel, making page after page after page of type. We became so skilled that eventually, we carved whole passages of scripture onto one block.
I became more like Johann in those days, shunning play and spending every waking hour cutting wood or learning the words which we carved into type. Johann was displeased that I no longer brought him water from the river, but resolved to do it himself, as he did not care for the stuff from the well. It was good enough for me, if not a little bitter, and it was closeby.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
*Part 2 below...* | 14 | A Black Mirror style story about the dangers of new social media technology, except it's set in Renaissance Italy and about the printing press. | 173 |
Excalibur never had these types of issues.
Durendal? The knights would chase after her, wanting to be the next hand to carry her into glory. Tender Hands? The thing doesn't even cut right and people will keep chasing after it.
I think it's the name. Names have a lot of power, when it comes to objects. Knights of old, they knew how to give a good name. And with a good name came legends, and with those legends the power grew. Zulfiqar? That's a good Name. Rolls off the tongue.
*Steve*. Steve. You wouldn't name your dog Steve. There aren't going to be great legends written discussing the Knight Who Wielded Steve. It's almost embarrassing, to fall to a blade named as an afterthought. Sir Alan wasn't really a poetic knight, but boy, the man could wield a blade. I felt like I was dancing when Alan would bring me out, feel his sweat on my hilt as he charged into battle. The Beast of Norwich? That was us. Old Fiddlesticks? That demon had eaten fifty-six children before I rammed into its guts and gave it what for.
Squires these days don't appreciate craftsmanship. I'm fully tanged, my blade shaped by the hands of Walter the Blind Smith. I was quenched in oil blessed by his Holy Father's himself just before the second to last Crusade. Yeah, I know, I don't look as bad as blades half my age, but here I sit in this middenheap, waiting for someone to come along.
You seem like a nice enough lass. Good strong triceps, a long wingspan. Not very easy on the eyes, but Sir Alan looked like the backside of a oxen even when he wore his finest clothes. It ain't exactly the Age of Heroes anymore, but I bet there's something out there. By the sack full of copper and rust over your shoulder I figure you probably want to scrap old Steve. Sure, you could get a couple bob off my murder by some cross-eyed tinsmith looking to turn me to slag, but there's a lot that you could do.
Oh, yes, I feel it in you. A sense of adventure, a desire to do great things. I'm not here to judge. A lot of these Swords are holier than thou but old Steve? He's been around a time or two. I believe in equal opportunities for murder and mayhem. Wanna start a band of mercenaries? Well, I have credentials. Rode on the hip of Yorick the Red for a season or two. Til they put him on the tree, then I went over to the headsman for a bit. I know the intricate anatomy of the human cervical spine better than any Joyeaux. I can cut through a neck faster than you can say snicker-snack, have you home for a nice tea and a bit of birdwatching.
I miss birds. Nature's little flying knights.
Hey! Not so rough. I gotta get a bit of accl... yeah. Right? That grip is true Wexford hide. Nothing fancy, mind, but a better handhold you won't find outside of a dragon's hoard or some stuffy noble's house.
Hmm. That got you thinking. A noble, eh? Got your brother locked up for stealing? Well, this does seem to be a problem your new friend Steve can help you with. Despite their claims, a noble bleeds the same blood as a commoner. I think we may be able to make a bit of a deal here. | 397 | "<Common>" | 890 |
Secrets. Defined as actions or behaviour you don’t tell others about.
Simply put. Things that not anyone should be able to know. A hidden murder. Cheating on a spouse. Stealing from work. All actions that if one wanted to keep secret, they have every right to do.
Unfortunately. This didn’t apply to Kiara. Since the naive age of five years old she has had a special ability. To know everything about anyone just by touch. As a child this helped her gain friends, learning what they liked and didn’t like without uttering a single word.
For a few years, this power was a blessing. Though sent from whom, Kiara didn’t know. Once she first realised her ability, she believed it to be a blessing from an angel. But. As her life ticked along with the beats of a clock. This blessing had become a curse.
Learning people's deepest secrets must have been simple with children. Though. Once used on more complex minds. Darker thoughts and images began cropping up.
First was her parents. Walking along with her mother and father in the park as they usually would on a wednesday, especially on such a balmy day. Her father clasped her hand within his own. The tender touch of skin, warming her heart. Who would have known that a slither of intrigue would start the downfall of her ability.
Wondering what ran through her fathers mind on such a nice day, Kiara activated her ability. Her newly teenage mind sucked information from her fathers hand. But it wasn’t happy. Not at all.
What had revealed itself to her mind were more intimate desires that ran through her fathers mind. Lecherous desires of a woman. Dark haired, with a slender body comparable to models. It wasn’t her mother. These weren’t imaginations of her father’s mind, but memories.
This was Kiara’s first incident. It didn’t take long for her Father to leave after this. Her parent argued day and night after returning home one day with lipstick marking his shirt. Bottles became her mothers best friend. Each night a different one would adorn her bedside table, dripping slowly into the slowly diminishing carpet. Aggressive smells flooded the home as her mother gradually grew worse each night.
One night she touched her mother’s hand. Praying her blessing would help. Unfortunately, the curse reared it’s head and filled small Kiara’s mind with distressing thoughts. A noose, swaying loosely from her bathroom ceiling. A bottle of pills, resting within a palm. These images flooded her mind as she reeled from her mothers hand.
Over the next few days. The newly teenage Kiara pleaded with her mother to live. To experience life for her. Blank stares and empty eyes returned little in the way of hope. A short few days later, upon returning home from school. She saw it. Her mother. Drink in hand as it had been the past few months and noose firmly around her throat. Burnt and twisted, her throat painted a twisted image of a painful way to go.
The years passed slowly. Trauma and depression weighing her mind down like an anchor. Kiara blamed herself. For her father leaving. Her mothers death. She was the only one left to carry the burden and memories of these great figures in her life.
It was a while before she used her powers again. Fearful for what horrid and discomforting images she might see. But one day. After years of suppression and doubt. She used it once again. Grasping the hand of her victim she gripped tightly and peered within their mind.
Images of her and her victim prancing through fields. Raising cubs of their own. Fighting through tribulations and difficult periods of life. Never once, doubting or leaving each other. Her mind raced. Heart fluttered.
She looked up, her blue eyes sparkling in the bright summer light as it pierced the stained glass. Her lips parted as she smiled at the man before her. One last glance to the people who had surrounded her, joining her on this beautiful day of her life. Two words to begin her life anew.
“I do”.
*Edited to change nubile to naive. Thank you for pointing out my blunder. It has been learned for the future... Also explains some confused faces. | 156 | You're 5 years old, when you discovered that your brain can automatically learn "everything" about anything or anyone you touch. So you keep it a secret. | 423 |
"It's about finding your niche."
I led Roger through the office, doing a little pressing of the flesh. I started hiring new grads from the Academy, but found the best employees to handle sales of this type were a certain type of old person. Minor cruelty was perfected in my little phone bank of Karens, and I paid them well enough to get out of the care homes that their children had rightfully shoved them into before throwing away the key.
*Death curses are expensive, love, but we have a line of intimate flatulence hexes that will ruin his dating life*
*Permanent mutation? For the same price as one extra set of eyes I can have all of those mean girls crave cow dung for a week, your problems will be done and done.*
I love my little coven of biddies. Not a single drop of the Art in them, but their way with petty vengeance makes me smile.
"The Council has been talking, and frankly.. you're operating in a bit of a grey area. A very dark, some may say black area." Roger had a slight green cast to his skin as Gertrude, my favorite Cursesultant, described a great little thing we've been working on called the Insectital curse for a cheating husband.
"Look. They kicked me out for being all brains and no art. I had skills, memorization, logic, the ability to imagine and follow and comprehend complex ideas that would stretch a Bob's mind into taffy." I opened the door to my private office, and let Roger go in first. "So I decided to sit the Bar and get my law degree."
"A noble profession, the legal arts. Many of our own faculty have devel.... is that?" Roger pointed to the wall, where I kept the congratulations notes for my most prominent clients.
"And without a stitch on him. Sent it to me for helping him get a big role he wanted a few years back. Man could grate Parmesan on those abs." I looked at all of my accomplishments, a bunch of Bobs who decided to check in the back pages of men's magazines, comics, even the occasional classified.
My talent, if you could call it that, is a candle compared to the bonfire of a real talented Practitioner. Even so, a candle'll burn down your house if you put the right kindling with it. Not bad for a girl raised by a drunk warlock and a mother who considered Highlights a bit high brow.
"Listen, Roger. I know the Laws. I'm not killing anybody, breaking their will, or summoning up demons. All I do is provide a service for the little guy, a minor miracle with some humorous, if sometimes terrifying, repercussions. And I make *bank*. My hourly is in the five digits, and I've got other washouts contracted around the world to pull their own work in." I smiled, lighting a cigarette with a cheap gas station lighter. I wasn't giving the upjumped cop a reason to pull me in or claim *maleficum*.
"While you are operating within the *word* of the Laws, you are abusing their *spirit*." Roger adjusted his tie, then put both hands on his staff.
"My work is for entertainment purposes only. For all the Bobs know, they got lucky. I know there are a few of your graduates out there doing prophecy hidden as tarot readings. How about you got bust up their shops?" I offered a drink, but Roger declined. Paranoia is a bitch, the scotch was good.
"But the Council feels that —"
"Screw the Council." The gasp was worth it. I've got a network of hedgers across the continent who have joined in. You wanna start a fight over little old me?" I tilted my glass, offering the chance to back out.
"I have been sent to serve you an order to cease and desist your actions." Roger unrolled the scroll. I hate the stuffy formality of practitioners.
"4939 Drury Way."
He paused, his hand pulling back.
"What?"
"4939 Drury Way. The home of Roger Powell. Father of Reginald and Polly Powell. A home that is *filled* with such interesting things. Chemical reagents, undocumented venomous animals, poisonous plants. A few dogs and a Geiger counter will find some interesting stuff there. CPS gets called, a detective gets notified. ATF, DEA... you've got enough felonies according to Mundane authorities to go away for life." I smirked, finishing my drink and setting the glass down. "What's a few hundred years behind bars? Don't worry, maybe the country will collapse first. Give you a way out."
The mage in front of me, the guy I had taught how to unhook a bra and roll a spliff, was livid. Roger and I had history, and we kept up with each other. The Council probably thought that would make this easier.
"I'm not playing at being some Girl Wizard, Roger. I'm playing at being *Merlin*. You're all so scared of the Bobs learning how you've been pulling strings all of these years. Now, we can keep this quiet and keep the rubes out of it..."
I looked at my favorite poster. A little girl standing in front of a burning village, a look of grim determination on her face.
"Or I tell them where to find the monster and sell the torches." | 443 | Due to a lack of skill you failed out of the magic academy however you ended up starting a very successful business. In which you give people defective curses that cause only minor inconveniences. This of course infuriates your former classmates who actually graduated and are less successful. | 1,378 |
I step outside of the cab and into the gloom and doom of the streets of New York. A tear from the heavens drips down my heavy, black, tail coat. The sky is deprived of its usual cheer, a sure sign that autumn is here. Yellow and brown leaves line the edges of the road, they lack any crunch, soggy from the rain. They bare me no interest, however. I've come for a job that I must do.
I approach the dusty, brick building identical to those around it. There's drawings in the window, what looks like dark streaks of colour contrasting each other's hues. There's nothing very special about this residence, it looks just the same as all of the others.
After taking up refuge on this mortal plane I've learned a thing or two, one of those things are how unsafe this end of town is. Just last week I saw a mass homicide in the news, and I had gotten jumped by a group of guys the day previous.
I knock on the door, a sturdy, traditional deep chocolate brown wood. The door screeches in agony from it's age as the woman pulls it open. Her skin is a simular hue to the door, deep brown eyes gaze into mine.
"Ah, Mr. Scott, just on time."
"Good evening, Mrs. Murphy."
She takes my coat as I step inside, hanging it on a vacant location with the other outdoor wear.
"I apologize for requesting your assistance on such short notice, our baby sitter canceled and you were the only one available!"
"It's not a problem, Mrs. Murphy. I'm just glad to help."
She pulls a thick, beige coat over her slim, ruby red dress. Her lips are painted in a blood red, not exactly flattering.
A pair of footsteps approach from deeper within the house. A man with tanned skin and cat blue eyes squint in my direction as he enters the room. His hair is a dirt blond, gelled back behind his ears.
He smiles, "You must be that man Bianca has been raving about from work, yes?"
I hold out my hand.
"Mr. Scott, sir. The pleasure is mine."
He shakes it, responding, "I'm Mr. Murphy, Bianca's husband."
Mrs. Murphy wraps another coat around Mr. Murphy, hurrying him towards the door. "Paul, we mustn't stay much longer, Mr. Phillips is awaiting our arrival."
"Ah yes, dear. My apologies, Mr. Scott, we must get going. We'll be back before eight."
"I wish you luck with your meeting."
They shut the door, leaving me alone in this unfamiliar house. The small human shouldn't be a bother, the regular sized ones are already only a small inconvenience. They cannot see through my disguise.
I stare upon the mirror, only I can see the truth beyond my deceit. The extruding horns and lumpy skin. To others, I appear as a pale man in his thirties with jet black hair and deep red eyes, nobody questions it.
I hear a soft cry from another room. Curious, I depart into the hallway. In the room that one calls the living room, a small human sits on the ground, drinking out of a grape juice box and watching cartoons. Perhaps the TV startled her?
I enter the kitchen once again, setting down my laptop and opening my work. I'm an editor for some big shot writer who lives in a seven bedroom mansion in London.
The floorboards creak suddenly. I instinctively swing my head towards to sound's origin.
The small human stands there, staring at me with a pair of big eyes. Her hair is long and in two ponytails, deep, brown hair, and tanned skin. Her eyes are brown.
"Do you want to play, mister?"
I give her an empathetic smile. "Mister is very busy right now, so try your best to stay out of trouble."
Her eyes start to water, did I say something wrong?
She bursts into tears, running at me and punching my legs repeatedly. "Please sir? Pleeeeeeease? Play with me, play with me!"
I sigh. I've changed my mind, this is far worse. I shut my laptop and get up, she squeals in excitement, grabbing my hand and leading me into the living room.
I sit down next to her on the carpet, she's talking to these small stuffed animals on the floor. Their stuffing is hanging out in places, some are missing a button eye or two.
There's pink plastic teacups on the floor, she's forcing these small animals to drink out of them. Small humans are odd.
She stares up at me, handing me a teacup. "Would you like some tea, sir?"
I don't respond.
She pretends to pour me some anyways, I hope she realizes there's nothing there.
"Sir? What's that on your head?" She inquires suddenly.
What the? How can she see it? Nobody can see it, my magic is so strong that I should be hidden to everyone's eyes!
I swiftly save myself from gawking, recovering the the sob story of, "Well you see, I'm a super hero, and you are the only one in the world immune to my disguise. So it's important to not tell anyone, understand?"
She giggles.
"Okay, mister! I promise your secret is safe with me."
I sigh in relief.
"...As long as you play with me!"
Of course it isn't that easy. I sigh, "Alright, what would you like to do?"
And this is how I sold my soul to a small human who blackmailed me into becoming her permanent babysitter. | 18 | You've worked with dozens of humans, some you'd even call friends. They want you to supervise one for a few hours, and they're barely half the usual size. That doesn't sound difficult at all! | 91 |
I try to surprise my girlfriend. I love showing up to her house unannounced with a rose or some chocolates. But I should've picked a different day... upon arriving, I overhear something...
"No, no, Harley, I'm not stupid! Listen, my boyfriend thinks he can show up and I wouldn't suspect it, but I always know! He- CRAP! He just got here! I can't help you with him, you're on your own! Bye, hope you defeat that hero!"
I'm in shock at what I just heard. She... she... shaking, I approach the door, and knock. I straighten myself up as Aria opens the door. Man, she's such a good actor - she does seem genuinely surprised! I can't make out any hint that she knew I was there! "Declan! What a nice surprise! And chocolates - my favourite ones!" She gives me a kiss on the cheek. I try to maintain my usual demeaner, but it doesn't work. "Something wrong, sweetie?"
I take a chance. "I... I can't lie to you, Aria... I think you're wonderful, really, but I..." oh, gosh, do I want to lie? Would it work?
Aria seems a bit impatient. "You what?"
I go for broke. "I tried to deny it, but I couldn't... another girl, Rita, she..."
Aria grins. "She's really cute, isn't she? Well, I'm sure she's nice enough, but..." she puts a finger underneath my chin, lifting my head up. "You love ME, right? Always and forever?"
I gulp. "We... haven't been together long..." she grasps my shoulder, releasing my chin.
"I know you well enough, Declan. You'd *never* be so easily tempted. I was hoping you hadn't, but... you overheard my conversation just now, didn't you?" I don't say a word or even move. "When you told me you loved me... you meant it, right?"
"I... I'm sorry..."
"Learning what I am didn't change how you feel... did it? Because if it did... I may have another body to clean..."
"NO! Please... tell me what to do... I'll do anything..." Aria grins and strokes my cheek.
"Perfect." That's the last thing I remember...
...before waking up in Aria's cavern, in a cell, clearly designed for her lover. | 24 | You find out that your girlfriend is a supervillain. | 67 |
Even on a cold March morning I was hot as Hell.
I was a nervous wreck. Penny was the best thing to happen to me, and now I felt my gut wrenching as I paced outside the small church. Caterers flocked in and out of the venue, bringing in beautiful arrangements of white and red daturae, our wedding colors, along with rolling carts of food and drink for the reception.
"Cold feet son?" a voice from behind a catering van asked.
The owner of the voice stepped out and I was awestruck. The man was impeccably dressed, a deep charcoal suit with a crisp formal shirt and vest done in our bridal colors. He was probably the prettiest man I've ever seen. It's honestly hard to describe a guy who carries himself with such casual presence, his olive skin unblemished leading to eyes that seemed to burn right through you. He had long hair twisted into a braid down his back, and may be the only guy good-looking enough to make a Van Dyke mustache look appealing.
"I've done a few of these, and know how it can be. You're the groom, Jon, yes?"
I nodded, my throat too dry, I wish I could just have a nice cold —
"Cheerwine? I had a case shipped in from down South, felt like the right occasion." the man winked at me, popping the top and handing me the nectar of the Carolinas.
"How did you?" I asked, lifting it up.
"I have a good idea what guys want. Also, your soon to be missus included it on your groom's list, thought I'd have a few chilled before everyone got here."
I thanked my new friend for his hospitality and offered him a seat. The catering and florist folks kept moving, while my bride's family arrived to decorate.
"So, what brought you and Penny together? College?" Sam pulled a small silver case out of his inner suit pocket, lit it off a match between his fingers and offered me one.
"Oh no. I drink smoke or drink. Funny, we met in a youth group at our campus. Penny said she was looking for a nice clean-cut boy, and, well..." I looked down. I wouldn't say I'm a catch, but I do alright. Penny on the other hand, she had such beautiful hair, that skin, those e...
"Sam. Samuel. Crap."
"Close enough. Yes, you caught me." My fiancée's favorite uncle laughed. "Penny doesn't visit home too often, and I wanted to take a measure of her man, since her Daddy couldn't be with us."
"Oh? I thought Bill was attending?" I had met Penny's parents, Bill and Morgan, over a year ago, just before I popped the question.
"Oh, Bill's her stepfather. Her Daddy, he doesn't come around too much anymore. Her mother got an order of protection with a long expiration."
I tensed up.
"Don't worry, he ain't gonna hurt anyone. Just not much welcome where Penny's mama is, on account of bad blood between them. So I come in and check on Bub's kid from time to time, as the elder uncle and all."
"Bub? You all sure are from the South."
"My son, you have no idea." | 45 | The groom is nervous on his wedding day. As he waits for his love, he sees something is off about the bride's family he never saw before on those chairs. Something is off about the priest too..."Um, I have to be honest now that it's our wedding day...I am a Demon Princess," | 84 |
At first I almost didn't realize it.
When God opened the floor beneath me, my eyes jolted with the realization of the truth to my fate. The first thing I noticed was my balance being thrown off, slightly rotating my vision clockwise. As my body continued its descent, my eyes fixated at the absolute darkness that was separating the wooden planks below. The darkness only seemed to grow in size the closer I got.
It was inevitable. The thought that someone who has lived a life as I had would be able to enjoy eternal paradise is a drunkard's thought that another round will solve his worries. The crime I committed was one nobody could make reasonable thought of. The underworld isn't a place for light transgressions, I was destine for the fire.
My vision shifted from an ever-growing black to a white so bright it rendered me blind. I couldn't get a sense of place, like I was falling through pudding.
My knees were the first to make contact, creating a snap that echoed from all around me. I quickly learned being dead didn't mean my body couldn't degrade. Degrade it would.
As I adjusted myself, kneeling with my hands to the invisible earth, the nerves in my body electrified. I begin to feel my hands melting, my knees charring. The feeling was indescribably overwhelming. The only other thing my mind could process was the smell of freshly seared meat wafting to my nose.
***That's when I began screaming.***
I couldn't register it. No matter how much gas I poured into my lungs, no matter how much force I eject it with, my ears won't register the sound, or rather it couldn't. I stumble to my side, colliding my head with the irregular ground.
My hands make their way to my head, resting their well done hands snugly around the frayed cartilage of the organ I once listened from. It answers my question, I am burning.
I lay for what feels like multiple lifetimes. Uncontrollable screams as my flesh forces it's regeneration in a war against the inferno encroaching from all points. I much like a light switch alternate out of conscious only by god's grace to return to my never-ending suffering. Can't be caught slacking I pondered endlessly.
At some point I'm able to start to make out shapes as gentle shadows outline the hell surrounding me. Each time an eternity passes, the landscape becomes more visible and distinct, The sharp jagged mountains line the background as figures in the distance started to become more distinct from the browned earth. My hearing at some point came back, but I only noticed as the screams of those around me became more clear than my own.
The masses of suffering souls bring an ironic sense of comfort to my own. Long had I believed in the notion that this suffering was mine, and mine alone. The thing is, it finally wasn't. As my suffering numbed others became more apparent.
It takes a while to move my limbs willingly again. Standing took just a little longer. The time that I spent isolated within my own punishment reconstituted my perspective of time. My body was ready to begin it's journey through the abyssal terrain before me.
I turn to the petrified remains of a tree. Three figures Lean adjacent to another on it's sturdy trunk. They cackle as they observe those suffering around me. The image stays burned in my mind for a time. The heads eventually turn to meet my gaze, no longer laughing. They open their mouths to speak.
***\~Welcome to paradise\~*** | 116 | Hell was exactly as you thought it was going to be. Thrown into a shallow lake of fire, you burned. Screaming in unimaginable pain, your torment seemed eternal while the demons looked on, and laughed. A hundred years of burning flesh sent you mad. A thousand years was intolerable. After ten tho | 160 |
'Hum hum hum hum' I'm just making dinner when I get a knock on the door. Ah, that could be my lovely neighbour! I dust off my clothes and open it. I just stare in disbelief.
"What are you doing here, *Vengeance*? You made it very hard to track you, you know."
"Vengeance... heh. Haven't heard that name in a vary long time. I believe it was... 12 years ago when I decided to stop? I simply go by Jerry now."
The hero, Grapper, shakes his head. "I'm not falling for this, villain! What have you been plotting?"
I sigh. "Nothing. I'm just trying to live a humble, peaceful life. If you continue to push me, I'll have to take measures." I begin to close the door, when Grapper uses his razor-sharp hands to destroy the door.
"You have a LOT to pay for!" He steps towards me, but one swift movement of my foot and vines crawl out of the ground, entangling him.
He'll get out of it pretty quickly, but I'm already on the phone. "Hello, chief? I have a man here who destroyed my front door and I believe he was trying to kidnap me."
"How is that possible?"
"You know about my shameful past, sir..."
"Roger that. I'm on my way."
I look towards the hero, hands on my hips. "I chose this town to live out my life because it was peaceful, out of the way of everywhere I've ever attacked, and here, you either behave or you don't. It doesn't matter that you're Grapper; around here, you're just another man."
"LIES!" Grapper spits, just as a few police cars surround us. With another swift motion of my foot, Grapper is released.
"Hands up, sir!" Grapper smirks at me expectantly. When I don't move a muscle, he again tries to step towards me. "FREEZE! Step *away* from Jerry, and surrender yourself!"
Grapper turns around, baffled. "But... I'm the hero... Vengeance is-"
"We don't know anyone who goes by 'vengeance'. Also, our law doesn't revolve around heroes and villains, but actions. You committed vandalism and attempted kidnapping. You're under arrest."
Grapper staggers back in shock. "But... but I'm Grapper... I'm the *hero*! You're protecting-"
"We're doing our jobs. Stand down and surrender yourself. This is your last chance, sir."
Realising he doesn't have much choice, Grapper allows himself to be arrested. I whisper to him "remember to give them your *real* name. You've made things bad for yourself as is."
**TWO MONTHS LATER**
"Harold, you have a visitor."
"A visitor? Who is it this time?"
"Someone you probably aren't expecting to see."
&#x200B;
I watch as Harold is guided to a chair. I promised myself I'd be respectful, but I can't help but smile, simply just at the irony. "I don't think either of us thought we would ever see the day..."
Harold looks down at his handcuffed hands. "I did it to myself... I was too rash..."
"If you must know" I reply, "I didn't *want* to get the chief involved, but you left me no choice."
"...I know. All I can do is apologise." He looks back up. "Don't suppose you've heard any news from any of my fellow heroes, or even any villains? I've had plenty of visitors, but..."
"I've heard word that heroes are being trained on social conduct and trust. You apparently weren't the first to be like this. You being arrested caused a rift within the super world. Things are settling down. I've had a small hand in getting my former associates to not retaliate. They considered what you did as an act of hatred and prejudice. I reminded them of who I used to be and why you were quick to jump the gun." I chuckle. "No hard feelings, ok?"
Harold smiles sheepishly. "Thank you. To think I'd be getting a lecture from *you* of all people... well, I'm glad you came to visit. Come by next week as well?"
"Deal." I leave the prison, satisfied that everything is water under the bridge.
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Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) | 13 | you're a villain who has given up on crime and being evil, you are living your life peacefully when your old super hero nemesis knocks on your door... | 30 |
The spirits of former chosen ones haunt me. That's how I'm told I'm this world's new savior. What a pain. A task force executed the others, and I'm sure I have the same target on my back. All the odds are against me, yet I feel at ease with the world's decision.
Just because I was nominated to play the game of the chosen one doesn't mean that I have to play the part accurately. I'm sloppy seconds, so that's how I will act. I don't owe the world a damn thing, even if I was one of its appointees. Instead, I will not end up dead like the other chosen because I have a plan.
Once the task force got wind of my promotion, I headed straight to them. I can feel my 'ancestors' disgust as I turned myself in, but on the opposite end, the task force was delighted to hear about my compliance. They led me into a room where I conversed with a sociable interrogator eager to hear my opinion about my new role. The first time that has happened to me since I received my promotion.
"Thank you for coming in when you discovered this." The man said. In response, I nodded and waited for my chance to speak. "But, what made you come here? Even with the threat of death, it's odd that you would rush over here after learning of your fate." A smile starts to creep on my face,
"I thought of it as an opportunity." The man leaned back in his chair, baffled.
"How?"
"You spend millions of dollars a year hunting down guys like me, right?"
"That is correct."
"Pay me half that."
"Just half?"
"Yup. I thought about the whole million-a-year thing, but it's more than I could ever spend. In exchange, I won't go on toward the grand quest that my soul is aching for. Oh! And you won't have to kill me either."
"Because then there would be a new chosen one to take your place."
"Exactly, you save half a million a year. You get to continue with your corrupt totalitarian system, and I enjoy being a rich asshole under your supervision." I stand up and offer my hand to the man, "I know you got superiors to talk to and whatnot, but you look like the type of guy who could get my proposal accepted. So, do we have a deal?"
And within the week, I was eating fine dining under the spiteful gazes of previous grudging employees. | 17 | In the age of airships and guns, the Chosen One's role has been reduced to that of a mere figurehead. Charity and small acts of heroism are permitted to placate the masses, but anything that could result in real positive change for society is not. You're the new Chosen One. | 74 |
It was never supposed to end like this, I was a god of wine and pleasure not of blood and war, but alas that was what reared it’s ugly head and no sweet melody nor pristine vintage could sway the tide of the battle.
My monuments desecrated with corpses hung around my neck, blood splattered across my visage, my cellars ransacked and cheapened, the vintages sealed for ceremonies yet to come drunk like water, my symbol marred with the sign for lies and fool.
This place used to ring out with the cries of friends and lovers, no more, NO MORE!
NO MORE WILL I STAND FOR JOY, NO MORE WILL I STAND FOR EVERLASTING LOVE, NO MORE WILL I STAND FOR PEACE!
My face used to be unmarked by worry or grief, now I am proud that it bears the lives of those who stood for me, line scar my face for each devotional soul that passed for me.
A mistake was made in desecrating my temples and leave my devoted to decay.
for no more am I the god of the grape and the vine, the god of glee and love, the loving father.
Now I am the god of the jackel and the hound, the god of fly and midget, the maggot king, a fickle crown I wear.
I swear on my grand sovereignty that I will forever haunt the lives of this race of man, I am patient, I do not need to act whilst they breathe, my mere presence is enough.
Army’s quiver before me, kingdoms fall to my might, they know not how to stop, only delay my arrival.
I ONCE WAS GRESHUND,LORD OF THE FEAST, now I am rot, the devoured one, I am the last of my line,AND I WILL BE ETERNAL. | 14 | A god's appearance, domain and abilities are dictated by their icons within their place of worship. So when a god's followers are defeated, his temple is redecorated as one final insult. | 55 |
I will never understand how mortals deal with the stirrups.
It has been an age since one of my aunts or sisters gave birth. In those days we would all gather in the secret places, the woman's places deep within the mountain on which we and our brothers and fathers resided. We would dance and laugh, clap and sing odes to the health of our family's children. They would do the same when their children died, nobly and plainly, rending their garments and beating their breasts bloody.
I never saw those celebrations. For it was I who was with their children, leading them into the arms of our silent uncle, the quiet face of the Triumverate.
Now I sit, in a small office where my people had gathered when they went across the Western ocean, and I feel the doctor probe and prod, and I weep for all of them. Fair Narcissus, and prideful Achilles. I remember that baby, standing so early, his little body without mark or blemish as I kissed each part of it, until I found the place his mother had forgotten and whispered to her of her failing.
The one between my legs is only partly of that old blood. The island's song beats in her veins, but it is muddled to me by the claims of other gods. She was given our blood by her father, and so she is detached from our calling, and I yearn for my sisters and my aunts left behind.
I had went to that water when I felt the stirring in my belly. It had been madness, the cruelty of the Kindly sisterhood that I would bear a child so far from home. I called for the Lord of Foam and Horses, to bear me back to my homeland, but these waters are held by spirits of this new world, who turned their backs when I asked them to serve as messengers.
"You seem to be in fine health Miss... Ker? I had thought you were Greek. Such a short name. You know, my father was Greek, loved Greek women. Alas, he also loved my mother who was Polish." she takes her gloves off and helps me to lower myself from the stirrups, and I feel detached.
Her father was Nico Antanopoulos, fishmonger. He had died fending off a mugger. A foolish death, with a daughter just coming of age. But, as he had been protecting a woman, and her fate had been to die by that same mugger's hands? A good death. Heroes were rare as honest men in this cold tall place.
"Yes. It is a family name, it was shortened at the Ellis Island." I smiled, empty and wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed.
"Are you okay, Miss Ker?" I saw the concern in the young doctor's face, and loved her for it. I did not know if I would be the one to come to her in the time of her final silence, but I made a mark in my mind that I should show some kindness.
*if you do not die yourself, little shade*. My brother's voice, half-remembered when we ran through the dreams of our people under our mother's black cloaked night.
"Is there anything I should know? This is my first, and I worry." It was an understatement.
She gave me pamphlets. Their obsession with print both amazed and alarmed me. The writings were in both English and the modern form of my tongue, as this office served my people. I took them, including one that would tell me of ways to handle this situation if I chose another path, to not bring this life into the world.
I wondered. I do not suffer, nor am I too comfortable. I live in a small rent-controlled apartment, the gifts from those who remembered me and my work in a small funeral home sustaining me. I have kept the apartment for nearly half a century, passing it down to myself whenever there is a question of a woman who does not age.
I sat my hand on my belly and thought of passing something down to another as the subway rocked me, lulling me into my brother's domain. | 91 | You are supposed to be the god of death, so naturally, it is somewhat awkward when the rest of the gods find out you are expecting a child. | 284 |
Sir Roderick was furious. His armies were being pushed back to the castle every day, the tide of war no longer in his favor. The Holy Order had ruled the land of Tranith for two thousand generations. The balance of power was tilting in another's favor. A clown, the same clown that entertained Sir Roderick when he was a young man in his father's court. The betrayer was late. Roderick refused to sit at the opulent table setup for the negotiations until the clown did.
Brass horns blared to announce the clown's arrival. His floor length purple fur-lined cape dramatically billowed behind him. A bejeweled yellow crown adorned his head, his face covered by a mask. A pure white face with black eyes. Sinister red lips smiled back. The bells of his curly shoes jingled as he danced on the red carpet. A purple and green checkered bodysuit flashed under the cape.
The clown skipped to Roderick's side. "Wonderful to see you again Roddy. I brought you a present." He reached into his cape and produced a dead chicken covered in maggots. "Oops, that's my dinner. It's in here somewhere." A pair of undergarments hit Roderick in the face, followed by a rotten egg. Roderick drew his sword, the clown laughed. He shoved an olive branch into Roderick's nose. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be Roddy. I'm here for peace. Sit down." The clown wiped Roderick's face with a soiled hanky.
"You first." Roderick growled. The clown obliged, he crossed his legs and sat at attention. Roderick sat down and stoically stared at the clown. "How many times do I have to tell you clown? There will be no peace, I am the rightful heir to the throne. You're nothing but a peasant. I am going to crush your rebellion."
The clown's hand flew across the mask, changing it to a sorrowful expression. "You always were an idiot little Roddy. This isn't a rebellion, it's artistic expression. Does my art make you sad? That once the people learned of your father's dirty little secrets they abandoned your little group of holy people? Boo hoo." The clown's mask cried inky black tears.
"Hold your tongue! Father was a great leader, chosen by god to lead! Now that falls to me. You are not a leader."
Colorful balls bounced across the table. The clown scrambled to gather them, he started juggling. "Your father was an asshole, I knew him better than anyone. But he couldn't keep his eyes on the ball, sometimes there's a lot of them." More and more balls were added to the juggling routine, the clowns hands moved deftly. "I know all the secrets of this kingdom. Years of dutiful service grants one certain privileges. Your mother likes to talk afterwards, so I made sure to give her ample opportunity."
Roderick leapt across the table, smacking the balls out of the air. They scattered and bounced down the grand hallway. "Do not speak of my mother, clown!"
Another hand wave, another expression. The mask wore the bedroom eyes of a lover. "Shut up child. I'm taking great care of her, she's taking great care of me as well. You have no more allies, your army is in shambles, the people hate you and your ilk, I'm merely the messenger delivering you the news. You can't kill the messenger, but I can surely kill you.
I'm done entertaining your power fantasies. I've arranged for you and your inner circle safe passage across the sea. Nice little island to spend your exile on. The time has come for the people to laugh again! Enjoy life, not live under the harsh oppression of the Holy Order who shames us merely for enjoying existence. A time of enlightenment and progress!" The clown jumped onto the table and spread his arms wide. Roderick's personal guards drew their swords, their tips pressed against Roderick's neck. They lifted the metal visors of their armored suits to reveal masks underneath. Same as the clown's. Roderick accepted exile.
The clown's laughter boomed through the halls. He pranced onto the throne and kicked his feet up. "Bon voyage little Roddy! Remember, laugh and the world laughs with you. Cry, and you cry alone. Ta ta." | 56 | following the kings death a civil war to determine who shall rule next takes place where the court jester is an unexpectedly capable contender. | 189 |
Something was off. Most the doors were locked, from the outside.
I got lucky getting in but wasn't sure how I was going to get out. As I getting a tour of the outside there was a loud explosion-type sound from the western grounds and everyone ran that way. It left me the opening I needed, but once the commotion calmed how was I going to get out? Oh well, time to focus and figure out what was wrong. This place didn't seem right.
The deeper I went down the long corridor filled with locked doors the more uncomfortable I felt. Like something evil was watching me. I wasn't really the religious type though. I went to church around Easter and Christmas, but religion was never something that really grabbed me. It all seemed like a big hoax that everyone just kinda played along with.
All the more reason to crack open what was going on here. People shouldn't be lied to, and the Holy Order of Saint Joseph was probably the most secret order of all, and people didn't keep secrets unless they had something to hide.
I approached a large golden door with no lock on it. It was the first door I had seen in some time that I could go through.
Well, nowhere else to go from here so may as well check inside. As I pushed open the doors there was a loud creek. I grimaced but continued on hoping nobody was around.
However, somebody was around. It was the Abbot. "Crap," I said. "Sorry, I um..."
"How did you get in here child?" The Abbot had a deep resounding voice. The kind that demanded authority but also instilled a sense of calm. He was wearing clothes like the monks but had a mitre on. If not for that I would have no idea who he was.
"I was taking a tour and there was an explosion sound and my guide had to take off. I decided to look around myself."
"Ah, yes, the reporter. Well as you can see there isn't much to see here so it is time to go. I will escort you out." The Abbot said, putting a hard emphasis on the word escort.
"Yes, um, thanks." I couldn't very well argue with him. I was caught, he knew it, I knew it. Best thing to do now was just comply.
"Sir, why are all these doors locked from the outside?" I knew he wouldn't give me an honest answer but what was the harm in asking?
"To keep very valuable things away from people that don't belong in here." The Abbot grinned a bit as he said this. Like he was in on some inside joke that nobody else knew and took great pleasure from it.
"What sort of things?" I pressed on. I found that if I asked enough questions most people would slip up at some point. It was what made me such a good investigative journalist.
"Well, that's a secret. I doubt investigative journalists are very good at keeping secrets? If you would allow me a question, do you have faith child?" He seemed to be well-versed in steering conversations in the direction he wanted. He was trying to put me off guard.
"Around 65% of Americans are Christians." I didn't want to come out and tell him outright I didn't have faith. It seemed disrespectful.
"I see." The grin was back. Like he was proud that he already knew the answer I would give and his inside joke made it even funnier.
We were nearing the exit and I was still empty-handed. What a waste of time. I wasn't sure how I would get anything done now. The Abbot himself caught me sneaking around and I was sure every monk in the order would know to avoid me by tomorrow. Oh well...
I didn't get to finish my thought.
There was a loud explosion-like sound again and something came flying through the door.
I screamed!
"Behind me child!" The Abbot said with a commanding voice as he threw me back. He was surprisingly strong for an old man.
"Oh no! It's you!" The flying creature screamed in a high pitch. "Listen Belore, don't you..."
Before the flying creature could finish the Abbot flung what I assumed was holy water at it. At the same time, a burst of fire erupted from the creature hurtling towards the Abbot!
I dived to the ground thinking we were both going to be engulfed!
I can't really explain what happened but somehow the holy water evaporated the flame and landed on the flying creature. There wasn't nearly enough water to put out that flame. It made no sense, but neither did a flying creature like this that could talk!
"You son of a..." The creature shrieked as it hit the ground!
"Silence imp! You will not profane in my presence!" The Abbot boomed.
Imp? This was an imp? What did I get myself into? Were they going to kill me after seeing this? No way they would allow me to tell the world about what I had just saw! Was God real? My mind was reeling and I couldn't focus.
"You picked the worst day to do your escape routine Bean!" The Abot gestured furiously at me.
"I'm sorry!" The imp, Bean was it, screamed out still clearly in pain. "It just gets so boring here!"
"Report back to brother Ash...now...or maybe you need a bath?" The Abot's voice got low when he said bath as if the thought bothered him.
"No! I'm sorry! I promise I will report to brother Ash right away! No more escapes! Never again! Please just no bath!" Bean flew off quickly with his tail tucked up under his legs like a dog that had just been scolded.
"Well then, I suppose we should sit down and talk child." The Abot wasn't grinning anymore, his inside joke wasn't inside any longer. | 19 | Something seemed off about the Holy Order of Saint Joseph. You, an investigative reporter, sneak your way inside, only to be caught by the Abbot. He explains that the Holy Order is a front for supernatural and unholy creatures, who are able to live relatively normal lives thanks to their faith. | 111 |
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