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The idea of God transcends all

How would you imagine God's office to look? Or he himself? It mattered little, the idea of God transcends all understanding within our plane of existence. So for the sake of our story, let us just say that it seemed pristine and luxurious. An office fit for God with an antique leather seat and a mahogany table. Book shelves crowding the corners with assorted books of all kinds, God himself wore a chic vest with a pocket-watch chain that hung as a catenary from his chest. His own hair white as snow and his beard groomed short, a mentionable belly also showing itself. "A deal is a deal, old man." Satan said as he entered, his own outfit carried an air of youth to it, but one that carried an aura of mistrust. A suit with faint white lines, a white shirt to match his fathers beard, and tailored trousers with polished black boots. His features were sharp and handsome, and his smile promised you the world for a greater price in return. "Yes, I suppose it is. But I assume you will keep your end of the bargain and return my job at the end of the day?" God queried, even as the words left his mouth, he found himself questioning his judgement more and more. Satan's smile widened evermore, as if just behind his row of perfect teeth lay the joke that made him grin. "You know you can always trust the devil." Satan mused, as his hand, weighted by a golden watch, spun around and shook Gods meaty hand. The deal was done. God opened his eyes to stare upon the fiery inferno which was his new home, albeit temporarily. "What have I gotten myself into?" He thought, as a sudden streak of fire lit the air in front of him and from the smoke, his new pitchfork appeared in his hands. God sighed in defeat, and took his seat upon his fiery new throne, where once all he could hear was the holy song of angels that made his ears drum with harmony, now he only heard the cries of the damned, screams of agony and pain, a sound that was the antithesis of the singing angels, a sound that made his ears tense in discomfort. His throne lay resting atop a jagged rock that protruded from the ground, a river of burning flame surrounding it, and the river stretching along for miles onto the horizon under an endless dark cloud of rising smog. Only the occasional blitz of lightning cutting through his vision. His day continued uneventfully, and though every second of his time there was spent waiting to return to his home, he did as he promised he would. He became the ruler of hell. Assorting those to the appropriate circle for their crimes, making sure that the demons were properly equipped with pitchforks and whips, ensuring even that all the demons were happy with their work environment, though he quickly found out that demons were individuals of few words and more growls and spit. Still, every second spent there made God appreciate man's incessant need to have time fly by more quickly, for even he suffered every moment he spent in those depths. "Oh, thank god." He said the words ironically, as he stumbled back into the comfort of his familiar and quaint office. "Oh come now, old man. It couldn't have been that bad, I have been down there for several life times over, and you don't see me complain." Satan said, his hands in his pockets and his outfit as devilishly handsome as ever. "It's fine, I hope you enjoyed your day as God, you won't be getting another one for another thousand years." God sounded annoyed, probably more at the indignation of understanding a single day for him in hell was intolerable, and even then he dreaded the next in a thousand years. "How was it..." Satan asked, his tone suddenly serious, no sign of mirth or mockery in it. God returned to his seat and put on his specks, as he looked up at Satan from the rim of his glasses and noticed no echo of a smile on his lips. "It... it was fine?" "Anything else?" Satan prodded on. "What would you have wanted me to notice?" God now frowned, even as omniscient as he was, he couldn't tell how his children were feeling. Perhaps that was the curse of every parent. "So typical of you." Satan said, turning away as he rubbed the nape of his neck. "No, wait. Tell me. I want to hear it." Satan kept his back turned, and God thought that perhaps he would leave at any moment. "This is so typical of you. Do you know why I took over hell? Do you know why I made this deal with you so long ago so that you can get a day to see what I see?" Satan scoffed, "not like it even matters, even when I literally send you to hell, you only see that which you want to see." "And what is that?" "That I am not your enemy." Satan shouted back, his voice almost verging on the hellish crackle of hell and a blazing inferno, as if his very stomach could have been a portal to it. "That the world sucks." His look now solemn, hurt. Satan took one of the two seats in front of his fathers desk, almost as if he were exhausted. He slumped down on the chair, his fingers rubbing his forehead in thought. "You don't get it, dad. Not everyone is perfect, not everyone is how you wish for them to be. And there are evil people out there, and I created a system of vigilance and order to watch over them, to make sure that the vilest of people would get what was coming to them. But, that's not all, I also wanted to show you that not everyone who is down there is bad. The pain that they experience, the torment. No. Many of them deserved no punishment that harsh. Many of them deserve a place here, with you. Even if your own son must spend eternity down there to ensure that order is kept." The man who seemed to be the incarnation of trouble now let his mask fall, his eyes growing teary as if begging for his understanding. "You know, one of the reasons I took that job so long ago was because I knew that if you wanted people to see the good they were capable of, they also needed to see the other side. Of what it meant to be 'evil'. But even I struggle to see the evil in the eyes of many who are sent down there." God stayed silent, his spectacles now tapping against his hand as his lip bit as he remained in thought. And then he spoke. "Thank you son, you are right. I have been blind, see only that which I wish to see. I will think about it." Satan nodded, wiping away his tears as he stood to leave. "Oh, and another thing... you remember how you told me to stay away from the America stuff?" God's face fell into his hand in exhaustion. *** If you enjoyed this, I do now have my own subreddit! /r/KikiWrites

A fire burned in a pit in

The storm blew overhead and the waves rocked the boat. Across the deck stood men and women, bodies hidden behind damp robes, undeterred by the rain. A fire burned in a pit in the center, which in the middle of the ocean, seemed a poor idea if you asked me. And right before the fire, tied down to the deck, was a single person: me. I bet you're probably wondering how I became the subject of a cultist ceremony, surrounded by people trying to awaken the Elder God Cthulhu and bring about destruction to humanity. I'd like to tell you that it's a long and involved and interesting story, but the truth of the matter is, when your familiar is a six foot tall Cthulhu whereas most others have less threatening animals, you tend to draw a lot of attention. Furthermore, when your familiar makes it a point to consume other familiars, it doesn't make a lot of people eager to jump in and help you out when a group of cultists show up at your door and forcefully take you to Point Nemo, where they believe the sunken city of R'lyeh sits. The ceremony had been going on for some time as far as I could tell. Of course, it could just be that time moves more slowly when you're tied to a boat deck, pelted by rain and frankly a bit nauseous from the rocking of said boat, trying to pretend like you're not about to be sacrificed to some sleeping god. "Hey," I yelled. My voice was drowned out by the sound of the storm and the somehow louder sound of the cult's leader chanting in a language I couldn't even begin to comprehend. The guy definitely had a pair of lungs, I bet he's some kind of performer in his day job. "Hey," I said again, louder. The chanting broke off. "Your time will come," the leader proclaimed. "Soon, we will give your soul in tribute to great Cthulhu, and he will arise from the depths to take back the world that is his." "That's great and all," I said. "Where's my familiar?" I knew the answer already, of course, they had him chained in a hold below decks, but I didn't feel like dying, and stalling was about all I had at the moment. The bonds were tight, and the weather wasn't helping. "Your familiar is safe," the leader said. "He will join great Cthulhu when he awakens." "What if he doesn't want to?" I asked. "He's always seemed pretty attached to me." "He is a sign, a marking that you were chosen to be given, to raise sunken R'lyeh and awaken great Cthulhu." "I think our interpretation of the sign is a bit different," I said. "What if you're wrong about the sign? What happens then? Maybe it's a sign that I am to be saved? We should really sit down and talk about this." "No more speaking from you," the leader said. He nodded to one of the cultists to the side and the cultist walked over to me. I turned my head as he knelt beside me, trying to twist my body as well, but I didn't get very far with that part as the bonds painfully pulled at my joints. The cultist stuffed the cloth into my mouth, squeezing my cheeks to get it past my teeth, and then tied the bandana around it. He had clearly done this before; I wondered how many of these things they had done. I made noise through the bandana, as loud as I could. The cultist looked toward the leader, who simply said, "Ignore him, let us begin again." Then to me, "If you continue to make that racket, I'll go ahead and have your tongue removed." I'll admit, that shut me up. I'm a bit attached to my tongue. The chanting began again, the words sounding more like the guy was choking than anything tangible, or maybe more accurately trying to speak with a mouth filled with food. There was nothing pleasant about it, and being tied up wasn't helping matters either. There was not much to do but stare up at the sky and wait for this whole farce to be done with. Sure, it would end with my death, but at this point it wasn't sounding like the worst idea in the world. My muscles were aching, I was wet and cold, there was a horrible tasting cloth stuffed into my mouth, and I had no reprieve from the verbal assault coming from the cultists. There was a whispering in my ears, subtle at first, then growing in volume slowly. It seemed like a single voice at first, then grew into many, speaking in canon the same words, a warning. "Close your eyes, and do not open them, no matter what." I turned my head, searching out the source, but I saw nothing. The cultists around me all focused on the fire, and had begun echoing the chants in the garbled language. From somewhere around me, I thought I heard something beneath the sound of the chanting and the storm, almost like a squishing sound. I closed my eyes - it's not like it would make my situation any worse. At first, there was nothing, only the chanting and the pounding rain and the turning waves. Then, the squishing sound was there, soft, beneath the others, but certainly there. And there was more than one. The chanting was thrown off by the first screams. There was panic, the sounds of shouting and feet pounding on the deck. There were calls to get inside and more screams, screams of a terror that even my worst dreams had never prompted. I squeezed my eyes shut as hard as I could. Then, it was gone. Or rather, died down around me. Gone were the chants, the screams, even the storm seemed to dissipate. The last sound I heard was a single splash, and then nothing. I waited for some time before I even moved a muscle. I was still lying prone on the deck, but the tension in the ropes were gone. I moved my arms and realized that there was no resistance, nothing but the weight of the ropes that still hung there. It was only then that I opened my eyes. The deck around me was completely empty, but had been turned into a complete mess. All around was splattered blood, mingling with a strange, greenish goo. The fire had been doused, and to the north, the remnants of the storm were drifting away, the sky above stained purple and orange from the setting sun. There was a familiar sound, almost like a gurgle, and I turned to see Little Cthulhu, or LC as I called him despite the fact that he stood as tall as me, standing on the deck. I grinned like an idiot - I don't think I've ever been so happy to see my familiar. "I suppose I have you to thank for this," I said. I approached and scratched him behind the tendrils, and he flapped his scaly wings in content. People called him ugly, some providing even more hurtful words, but I've always found him adorable in his own way. LC gave another contented gurgle, and I looked past him to the passing storm. Maybe it was the rain, or maybe just my mind playing tricks on me, but I thought I could see something on the horizon, almost like a city. It seemed to drift in and out, as though the geometry of the architecture was playing tricks on my mind. I shook it off and turned away. I had no doubt that R'lyeh was real, but I doubted these cultists knew enough to actually raise it. "Sorry I got us into this mess," I said. "We'll have to be more careful." LC flapped his wings enough to take off a few inches, then settled back down. "I bet you're hungry. Too bad you already ate all their familiars. It's not like they'll need them anymore." I looked toward the horizon once more, and the city was gone. Surely just an illusion. "Alright, LC, let's go see if we can figure out a way to get this boat to land," I said. "I think a good bed and a cold beer are in order. And I'll find a treat for you too. You've earned it, buddy." --- Like what you read? Check out more at /r/drewmontgomery

"Please, Doc, call me

"Mr. Gallagher, may I ask you a personal question?" my doctor said as he read over the short-novel of medical records that detailed exactly how I came to be what I am today. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Everyone has the same question. And the answer is, 'not very well.'" "I'm sorry?" "My dick. You want to know if my dick still works. Every mother fucker I meet wants to know if my dick works, and the answer is that it doesn't work very well." The doctor, I think his name was Dr. Elliot, stared at me with something like embarrassment and terror. It was almost like the sudden turn that this conversation had taken was physically scary to him. Less scary than, say, a cannibal with a cleaver; more scary than, say, a cockroach peeking out of your creamed corn. "Mr. Gallagher... I don't know if I can express just how much that was not my intended question." "Please, Doc, call me Mikey." The doctor finally sat down on a rolling chair and moved near where I was laying. He opened his mouth to speak and then paused to look over my body one more time. The stump where my left knee had once been, the chunk of my right torso that had been torn away, the skinny belly that happens after several feet of intestine is removed, the atrophied right leg that results from disuse following a spinal injury. His pause turned into a stare. "Hey, Doc, my eyes are up here. I'm not just a collection of improbable misfortunes for you to ogle at, pervert." "Mr. Gallagher... Mikey. Are you a religious man?" "I have to be." "Why's that?" "Because I need to believe that there's a cosmic complaint desk somewhere where I can file a fucking grievance against whatever asshole was writing the script for my life. Because I need to believe that someone fucking did this to me. Because it's easier to believe that someone fucked me than to believe some unlubricated dildo of fate just lodged itself in my ass. Is that making sense, Doc?" I have to admit, ever since the accident, I had become something of a poet. Dr. Elliot took a deep breath and extended his hand out to mine; I jerked it away, he recoiled. "Mikey, I-" "Doc, who the hell are you? Andrews is the doctor who has to come in here twice a day and pretend I'm not a lost cause. Who the hell are you?" "Do you believe in the soul, Mikey?" "Fuck off, Doc." "I am serious. Do you believe in a soul. Do you believe that you are more than matter? That there is some nonmaterial entity that is as equally you as your body is?" "I think I'd like you to leave me alone. Can you do that, Doc? Did they teach you advanced fucking off in medical school? Because I gotta say, I think I'm feeling some religious discrimination and emotional dist-" "I can kill you, Mikey." Now he had my attention. "That's what you want. I can see it all over your face. You don't want to live anymore, this life is not at all to your liking. I can do that for you, Mikey." "...Alright.... Alright, let's talk. What's all this stuff about the soul?" "Mikey, I am a Psychiatrist. That is my profession and the way I make my living. I am also a paranormal investigator and an amateur theologian: those are my passions. Recently my vocation and my passions careened into one another. "Four months ago one of my patients who has been showing steady improvement for years had to suddenly be committed. He complained about something that he called 'Ichod Bob.' He said Ichod Bob stood over him in the morning, he said that Ichod Bob sat at his table in the evening, he said Ichod Bob held him at night. He committed himself, after Ichod Bob told him how sweet the blood of his nieces would taste. He began making plans for how he could isolate those nieces - and the day before he intended to implement that plan he rushed to me for help." "I don't... see what that has to do with anything...." "I assumed an episode of psychosis. I placed the patient under observation and continual care. Then two months ago, we found an nineteen-year old girl with an elderly patient in a supply closet: the young girl had been chewing the flesh off of the elderly patient's arm. It was a miracle we reached them before it was fatal. The young girl had no history of violence, she was prone to self-harm instead. However, "Ichamod" told her that eating that old woman would make all the inner pain go away." I'm not going to lie, somewhere in the upper region of my spine I felt a tiny signal radiate through what little of my body could still feel. It was the same feeling I used to get when I saw bullies pick on the neighborhood kids or the feeling I had when my dad came home from a day of backbreaking labor with the news that he had been laid off so that someone younger could do his work for less pay. It was the urge to punch until the world made sense again. It was the urge to fix things, violently. I was not an educated man, I was not a patient man. I was a fighter. I don't know if I made the world better or worse, but I do know one thing. If you did something cruel to another person around me, I would make you regret it. Dr. Elliot continued, "It was assessed that my first patient had told the young girl about 'Ichod Bob,' and the young girl warped his stories into her own delusion of 'Ichamod.' We isolated the girl and the first patient from the others and conducted interviews to see if the story had spread to anyone else. "As it turned out, none of the other patients had spoken to our first patient. In fact they believed he was mute because of how little he spoke. Most of them, however, knew about Ichod Bob. Or Ichamod. Or Icky Raw. Or Ichus Saw. Or enough other variations that I became confident that these patients were interacting with something...." "Why are you telling me this?" "Do you believe in the soul, Mikey Gallagher? Do you believe that even if you break a warrior's body, there's still a warrior spirit somewhere?" Did I believe it? I certainly wanted to. "Let me tell you what I think. I think your body is broken. I think your mind is quickly following: you see yourself as a broken man and you are retreating into sarcasm as your last line of defense. I also think that if I strip away your body and your mind, there's still something that is more truly Mikey Gallagher than either your body or your mind. I also believe that there is something evil in my psych ward than cannot be approached physically or cognitively." "Why me?" "You were a fighter your entire life, Mikey. You fought on the streets until the police put a stop to it. You boxed. You fought mixed martial arts. Violence is your nature, Mr. Gallagher. However, your greatest act in this world was saving that girl from those monsters who wanted to hurt her... and you paid a high price for your heroism. That tells me that your nature is essentially heroic." "What does that mean?" "Imagine a spirit, Mikey. You won't have a mind that I can give instructions to. You won't have a body that I can train. You will only have your essential nature that has been shaped by all of your life experiences. I can't trust a mercenary here, Mikey, I can only trust a genuine hero." Dr. Elliot was holding a syringe in his hand. I stared him in the eye looking for proof of the obvious: that he was insane. In that moment, though, he seemed like one of the few people in my life who really seemed to know what was going on and wanted me to do the right thing. He reminded me of my priest, my older brother, my dad, my one history teacher that wasn't a cunt. There was only one sensible thing for my crippled ass to do. "Alright, Doc, kill me." *** Its name was Ichor Maw. It wasn't a name so much as a title. It had a permanent smile that stretched from one ear, down to the chin, and up to the next ear. When it's mouth was closed the angles looked all wrong; it looked less like an organic mouth and more like an uninspired child had too much Jameson before carving their pumpkin. It was only when it finally let its lips separate that you understood its name. It didn't have a mouth; it had the kind of hole in the face that you'd expect Hate to have. It was all razor blades and leaking fluids, like a mouth that wasn't designed to eat, it was designed to hurt. Whatever happened there wasn't a fight. It was not as though I busted out my ghost muay thai and kicked it's ass back to hell. I do not know exactly how to describe it, but I will try my best. Imagine something that feeds on fear and madness. Imagine some primal force that roams the world inspiring terror, loathing, delusion, and exploitation. Now imagine that primal force encountered a dumbass object that didn't understand fear or hatred, and wasn't creative enough to be deluded. That object just really liked hurting things that hurt other people. Well, that primal force is going to have to destroy that dumbass object, and that dumbass object is going to have to fuck up that primal force. Dr. Elliot revived me about two hours later. He asked me what had happened, and I gave him the same shitty description I just gave you. The world of spirits is not as cut and dry as I like, I couldn't even say for sure that I won, I only knew that I didn't lose. The patients no longer seemed to see their bogeyman, neither did the young girl with the new cannibalistic tendencies, but the first patient said that 'Ichod Bob' remained huddled in his room. Good, that means I beat the little bitch's ass. Once the patients started to see him again, Dr. Elliot killed me again. Round 2 between Mikey Gallagher and Ichor Maw. Same story: I don't know what the hell happened, but the patients don't see their monster anymore. This time it takes a few weeks before the first patient even sees him again. This becomes the routine: every two months or so Dr. Elliot kills me for a few hours, and somewhere in the spiritual dimension of the cosmos I fight some primal evil. Because I might be broken. I might be slowly going crazy. But, by God, do I hate a bully. By God, do I love a fight.

One game, winner takes my soul

It was a relatively simple deal, and I had no reason to push the issue. One game, winner takes my soul. I nodded. "Good. So then, what do you want to play? Think carefully - the stakes are high, and you don't want to have regrets." It was almost as if she wanted to give me another decade - but it could also be a trick to lure me into a false sense of security. I wasn't wholly prepared for this, truth be told - but I couldn't let her win. I wracked my brain thinking of a game. I had enjoyed video games over the last decade or so, but they were presumably easier with practice, and if death existed, he - well, she - had an eternity. This also ruled out the classics - checkers, go, chess - as she was probably so much more experienced than I am at them. What about Monopoly? House rules, however, were an easy way to lose that, and I'm frankly not sure if I remembered all of the rules. Besides, that may take 10 years itself. There was no game that was a safe bet. Most had too much chance. Swinging heavily into that - like Chutes & Ladders - would just bore Death and become a 'who can cheat best' competition. And I imagine Death had Lady Luck on her side. "Come on, now, you don't have forever..." I decided to go for broke. "OK - what is your favorite game?" "What?" She seemed taken aback. "I don't know what type of games you play. I don't have any knowledge to choose something where I have an advantage, and I have no reason to believe I can beat you at anything. Given that, I might as well at least let you enjoy the game." She scoffed, but then the weirdest feeling washed over me. I had never felt a smile without seeing it, but it felt... relaxed. "I like simple games - ones with an element of chance, but also a fairness to them. So how about... a shell game?" I nodded again. That seems simple enough. On the bedside tray, three ebony cups materialized. You would think that Death would have ancient chalices; these were nearly perfect, non-reflective, and almost hurt to look at. It felt slightly like my eyes were broken. Of course, that might just be old age creeping up. She brought her bony hands up. "As you can see, I have one red and two white balls. Take them." I was surprised for a moment, then realized her variant. "Ah, so I get to place them in the cups?" "Exactly - then I move them, and you must find the red one. I'll leave the room." She stepped outside. An easy way to try to cheat would have simply been to hold the red ball, but that would have been easy to detect, and I didn't want her to have the satisfaction. I simply put the red ball in the left cup and the whites in the other two. "OK!" She came back in. "OK. You can watch if you want. It may or may not help you - but I assure you I can go much faster if I wanted." With blinding speed, she weaved the cups back and forth. It wasn't superhuman, but watching that cup was hard. I was certain I still had it, however, and made my selection - the right-most cup. She placed her hand on mine. "Before you lift the cup, let me 'Monty Hall' it." She placed her other hand on the center cup, and pulled it off the table - it disappeared in a puff of smoke. "Now, do you still want your cup?" I nodded. This was my choice, I was certain. "Fine." She pulled the other cup away into another cloud of smoke, then removed her cold hand from my own. "Claim your prize." I lifted the cup - slowly, as if I was scared. I wasn't. Until I saw what was under the cup. "No. NO! That's not right!" Death chuckled. This was a different sensation washing over me - it felt as if I had no control over anything. "Those were the terms. You find the red ball, you get ten more years of earthly freedom." I stared intently at the red ball on the table. "No! I was certain it was a white one. Let me see the oth- you removed them!" "Well, unless you have proof that I cheated, I'm afraid you'll have to abide by the terms of our agreement." I began to protest, but everything went dark. I woke up in the hospital bed - I couldn't tell if I had been asleep for days or seconds. The red ball sat on the tray, mocking me. I picked it up to hurl it away - stiff and sore, but very much alive - and I felt a slosh in my hand. I broke the ball open, and inside was a red liquid, a paper inner layer, and a thin membrane inside that. She HAD cheated, and the proof had been right in front of me. I hurled the remnants of the ball across the room, then did the same with the small, empty vial. The poison should have done the trick, and did - but then I was fooled. A nurse heard my commotion and came in. She didn't move to restrain me, but she did gently press me back into the bed. "Mr. Karcher, please... I don't know if you can understand me, but if you can, please calm down. I understand that the dementia is confusing, but you will only keep any of your faculties if you calm down." I relaxed, and she looked over at the tray. "Who left this note?" I looked at her and the note she held, with a more honest confusion than I'd had in weeks - at least, up until a few moments ago. "'Don't play games with me - you might win. Cheers, D' Well, whoever it was has impeccable penmanship." She showed me the note. "There's even a little smiley face. Well, I'm not sure who came to visit you, but hopefully they'll visit again. I'll leave the note here." Satisfied, she left. All I could do was glare at the note, and know that I had to wait at least 10 years for a return visit.

The universe came to an end in

I must say that when an author writes a story, his or her world is created off in the vast universe of possibilities. In an infinite universe, there really is no such thing as fiction. As luck would have it, certain individuals became the only remembrance of that universe. The universe came to an end in all matter. There was no longer darkness, there was no longer light. There were only six individuals that circled around each other very confused wondering, 'If everything is now gone. Why aren't we?' One of them scratched their brow before yelling, "What the hell? Where is everything?" There was just empty blankness like the sheet of paper that I chose to write on. I was about to give an answer before someone interrupted by asking, "Are we immortal?" "Yes." I laughed while trying to keep up with their dialogue. They all looked around at one another trying to understand who my voice belonged to. "This is literally a nightmare." A woman cried. "Please tell me that this isn't our new reality now!" I cringed a little. She seemed like she was about to pop off the hinges. "What do we do?" "How do I know?" "Oh my goodness! All of you shut up while I try to figure something out!" They each kept snapping at each other. It was hard for me to keep up. My words are the only thing that binds this new universe together. That and if I wasn't writing about these individuals, nobody would ever give a shit. One kept going on about never being able to eat again. One had too much pride to even speak with the others. One kept awkwardly staring at the only female present before yelling at everyone else. One was just too lazy to care about what was happening around him - he just wanted to lie down. Then the last one, don't even get me started with the last one. All he wanted to do was see what everyone had in their pockets without them noticing. Are these really the only individuals left besides myself? I am going to go mad along with them. "Quiet, all of you!" I ordered. They all jumped to look up into nothingness - except for the lazy one - he just lay there without any care in the non-universe. Obviously we need to fix this. I tried to write as fast as I could while they waited. "Why don't we just create a new universe?" I asked. They all looked around in silence. "How are we supposed to do that, *annoying voice in the sky man*?" The woman shrugged. I mean, there's no need for name calling. I'm just the only immortal author left. It is up to me to write the new universe into existence. "Well, we are all immortal. With us, there is life. We have light and darkness inside each of us. We can put the universe back together." I answered, spilling a little bit of ink on the page I wrote. The ink splattered over one of their faces while the lazy one started to laugh hysterically towards the scene. "Sorry." I wrote. I waited for a second before the woman asked, "So, let's assume that no one understands what you just said. How do we put the universe back together?" "Easy." I responded. "Each of us picks up a quill and starts writing!" "Yea, well that's going to be hard. There are no quills! There's nothing!" One of them spat up towards me. "Okay. Okay." I gently mumbled before writing six different quills into their existence. They each had a quill in front of them. "If you can write anything into existence, why can't you just write us the new universe?" "Well I can't do it alone!" I shook my head. "That's an infinite amount of writing. I am going to need all of your help." The lazy one picked up the quill only to roll his eyes before dropping it back down. The one who wasn't speaking to anyone started writing himself a servant. The woman picked up the quill and started to color in the first bit of darkness. "Come on, all of you start writing something!" I excitingly pointed. One of them looked up at me and requested, "Can you just write me out of existence? Writing is boring." "Oh, come on." I pointed towards his quill - but he couldn't see that. "Writing is not boring, it is powerful! You have a chance to create a galaxy, a star, a new world, people, feelings - literally anything! With all of you, we can start to write our own universe back to life again! We have to do this - we are all that's left of our old one!" He started to move his quill. Instead of writing, he started drawing. I nearly jumped out of my seat. "Yes!" I screamed. "Art inspires writing!" He started to draw stars which shone brightly next to the woman's dark abyss of ink. The one who wanted food started to draw food in front of him. He started writing the description of their taste. He was so excited, he started humming a tune. "Yes! Music inspires writing!" I was so ecstatic. We were going to pull this off. I started to write a blank box sitting in front of the group. They all looked at it. Each one of them started moving their quills - yes, even the lazy one was moving his. Lines started to cross one another, tunes filled the air. Before you knew it, even my own eyes were shocked. Lines connected to the empty box before a thunderous sound filled all around them. Galaxies danced in freedom. Stars smiled at each other in their twinkle. Planets turned towards another looking at their new nature. I fell back with my paper. "We did it." I smiled. I couldn't believe that the sloth even chimed in. I knew the woman was more concerned in her lust that getting her to start was a miracle. The man who was too prideful to move his own quill wrote himself a servant to do it for him - but hey, it got done. The wrathful yelling of the other man dulled when he used his anger to help draw with his quill. I knew that once Gluttony drew food in front of him, he'd start humming in excitement. The music helped inspire the writing of the others. Greed stopped stealing and just wrote what he was searching for. I couldn't believe the six wrote back the universe. It is silly to think these individuals were created by individuals like myself from the old universe of writing prompts. Some would say these people were nothing but a group of sins. I couldn't agree more - they were a little annoying. It made them special however. It took away from them being immortal and I realized they were human after all. I smiled. I am honored to have been the writer but, sadly, I envy them all. This universe will be for them - not me. *** To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)

Snarlap sat in a se

Snarlap sat in a secluded alcove of the cantina. With shaking hands, he nursed a Jazlen Fizz. He watched from the corner of his eye as Maken and Blrlbblrl swung open the doors and headed for the bar. He shut his eyes and prayed they wouldn't notice him. To his dismay, Blrlbblrl called over, happily waving. "Hey! Snarlap! Is that you? It's been too long brother!" Maken and Blrlbblrl sauntered over to where Snarlap sat crouched in his corner. Snarlap managed a weak smile and weary greeting. The pair sat down with him and began to needle him with questions. "How was the top secret assignment?" Asked Maken. "Did ya get that promotion like you were bragging about?" Elbowed Blrlbblrl. "What was the weather like planetside?" Poked Maken. Snarlap sat fighting to control himself. With all his might he sought to wrest control from his fear. Suddenly he shouted, "They 51'd me!". The entire bar fell silent, all eyes congregating to the far corner where Snarlap now hid his face. Slowly the band began to swing back into their song. The idle chatter of the bar gingerly resumed. Maken and Blrlbblrl leaned in close and laid their hands on Snarlap's shoulders. After a few minutes of silent weeping Snarlap sat up. "Thank you guys." "Hey, it's no problem. I'm just... wow, y'know?" Said Maken. "You hear stories about stuff like that you just never think that... I'm real sorry." "Yea. S'alright." Said Snarlap. "No one ever thinks about it happening to them. It'll always be someone else. That's what got me through all the missions planetside. 'It won't be me. I'm too fast, too strong. Too good'. Well, it happened to me. Nothing's gonna change that now." "At least you got out, right?" Offered Blrlbblrl shyly. Snarlaps eyes shot to Blrlbblrl, burning and hollow. They dimmed and he looked back to his drink. "Not all of me." The silence lapsed into minutes, Maken and Blrlbblrl sitting uncomfortably on either side of Snarlap. "You know the first thing they do to you?" Asked Snarlap, staring emptily into his glass before gulping it down. "After they shoot you down that is. Because first they shoot you down. Ever seen a human weapon? It fires soft metal. It's not plasma, it's not wave based, its just fucking metal. Hot, hard, splintering metal, tearing through your ship. It was so *loud*. Like being in the center of a blender full of lug-nuts. Then they hit something important. Maybe the thrusters, maybe the pulse drive, but whatever it is they hit, it makes you start to fall. That's the scary part. On the way down you get to think about what's coming. What everyone told you happens to downed pilots, what was in all those movies they made you watch at basic. How you're supposed to resist. How it wasn't supposed to happen to you. Then you just... watch. You watch the ground come up, faster and faster, until right before you hit it, then, *BAM* just blackness. Just black. For a few seconds you think you died. You think, 'hey, maybe it was the better alternative.' Then the lights come on. That's when you know they have you." Maken and Blrlbblrl shuddered. Snarlap inhaled a shaky breath through gritted teeth. He exhaled unevenly and closed his eyes. "You wake up on a table surrounded by those things. With their disgusting, wet eyes and hair covered scalps. They're terrifying. You want to cover you face with your hands, but then you realize they've locked you down on a table. They start yelling at you in their language. I tried to remember all the Earth language I knew, but nothing came out except 'peace, peace'. They really hated that word. They would shout at me and all I could say back was 'peace', and every time I said 'peace', they would beat me. Then they started all sorts of tests. They poked me, prodded me, cut me. I woke up, barely patched together. Then they... probed me. I don't know why they did, but they did. I've never been more humiliated in all my life. When they were done with me they threw me in one of their cells. Just a glass wall and a bucket for company. They didn't feed me for days at a time, and when they did it was their garbage. Just organic material dug out of the dirt. It was disgusting. And so that was how I lived. I sat in my cell day after day, almost starving. Every so often, they would reappear and put me back on the table. You'd think you would get used to it, but you never do. The fear never goes away. Day and night you wait for them to come, praying this time will be the last before they kill you." Snarlap began to sob into his drink. Maken put his arm around him. "I'm just happy you made it out." He said softly. Snaplap took a few puffs of air and tried to steady his breathing. "I didn't escape if that's what you think. I just existed in that hell until they were done with me. Eventually, between the torture sessions and the starvation, my body went into it's natural healing cycle. My organic systems shut down completely, so they assumed I was dead. From what I gathered, they tried to burn me. I guess those tests didn't tell them my skin was fire retardant. After that they placed me under a nuclear fission weapon. They dropped it on granulated pebbles, so I was encased in glass. After that it was just a matter of time before one of the scouts' scanners saw me and pulled me out. Or at least what was left of me. Now I sit here and drink. Or I go home and drink. Sometimes I go to meeting when things get too... hard." "Fuck humans!" Shouted Blrlbblrl, slamming his tentacle on the table. "No, no." Said Snarlap. "Don't. When I was there, I saw them for what they were. They're terrified Blrlbblrl. Beyond belief. Throughout everything they did to me, every act of cruelness, all I could see in their face was fear. Fear that we would do the same to them. Fear that they might be in my position one day. Can you imagine a species like that? So constantly afraid of what cruelties others are capable of that they enact those cruelties preemptively? That's true horror. Past anything I can imagine."

The glowing orb at the front of

The glowing orb at the front of the class looked down at the young god standing before her. She let out an exasperated sigh and wrote a large F on the side of the gods project. The other deities in the class snickered as the young god's head hung dejectedly on its shoulders. "I have told you before about your vanity. This is your third attempt at a universe and you still insist on creating your primary sentient beings in your image." She scolded; he nodded shuffling his feet on the incandescent linoleum floor. "Yes miss, sorry miss but Dagon said..." He was cut short by the teacher slamming a freshly materialised fist against the desk. "I don't care what Mr Dagon said, your swimming teacher is not an expert on universe creation, he can barely manage a cult!" She yelled then the orb shuddered slightly, the glow reducing slightly. "I apologise. Look, would you like me to go through a few things?" She asked, the god smiled brightly and looked up at his teacher with shining blue eyes. "Yes please miss that would be very helpful." He got the feeling that the teacher was pleased as she materialised a chair next to her desk for him to sit in. The Short god smiled and climbed up onto the chair and looked at her hopefully. The teacher turned her attention to the rest of the class. "Class dismissed, please leave your universes on the book shelf by the door. Have a good weekend children and please remember no unsupervised apocalypses." The varying forms of the young gods extracted themselves from where they were sat and made their way out of the classroom leaving a cornucopia of universes where the teacher had requested. Once more she turned back to the young god sitting beside her. "Ok do you want me to call your parents to let them know you will be a little late out of class?" She asked. The young god shook his head. "No thank you Miss, they already know." He smiled brightly to her. She sighed. "Oh yes, I forgot, omnipresence." A drawer opened in the desk and a folder floated out lying down upon the flat surface. It opened up and the pages flicked through slowly showing pictures of the gods previous attempts at life, the universe and everything. "I don't understand where it all went wrong." She sighed. "What do you mean miss? I thought my latest universe was ok." He hoped beyond hope that she would find some merit with it; he was so fond of his Humans. "Well, at first you started off well, your Dinosaurs were an inspired choice, a bit childish at times but they showed great imagination. The transition from a lizard based ecosystem to a mammal based ecosystem worked well, the destruction was very pretty, which is why you got an A in your art project. I especially liked the vivid use of colour. And the system you designed which ended up with the creation of your Humans was excellent. What did you call it again?" "Evolution Miss." He replied quickly just waiting for the bad stuff to hit. "The rest of it though. One mistake was made, that lead onto another and that went on to another." The globe swayed from side to side as if shaking its head. "Do you know what your first mistake was?" She asked. "No Miss." The young god replied. "Free will, we covered this in a class when you were off ill I know but we gave you the reading material. You may still only be in preschool but that is no excuse not to catch up with work you have missed. You don't give your creations free will, if you do that how can you control them? The next thing you know they stop believing in you and by that point you have lost all respect with your peer gods. Do you want that?" "No Miss, sorry Miss." His eyes were firmly glued to his feet. "Now, technology, you have let that run rampant, they are destroying your own creation with their weapons and hunger for power. Do you know what happens if they get too powerful?" She asked. The god shook his head no quickly. "No Miss." He added just as quickly getting nervous now. He so wanted to be able to graduate into big school this year with some of the elder gods. "They can start infecting other student's universes, do you want that? Do you want your creation to end up being a disease in the classroom?" With that statement he flinched in surprise. "No Miss, sorry miss, please don't make them have an apocalypse miss, they are my favourite!" Tears had sprung to his young eyes and he looked up at her pleading. "Well what you need to do is assert your dominance over them once more, in the early days of their creation I saw your efforts and you were doing well. But as they have grown they have split off from your teachings. More and more of them don't believe in you, your main religions see you as different and kill each other over the smallest differences. Gather your religious leaders and appear to them, tell them you are unhappy and that things must change. If things don't change I will put them in the machine." The young god's eyes went wide. "Please no, please don't do that Miss I promise I'll do it. I'll take it home and I'll do as you say I promise. Please can I just have one day extension I can show you tomorrow things will be better." The feeling of acceptance washed over him from the teacher. "Fine, bring it back next lesson and we will see; now off you go enjoy the weekend." The young god nodded and got down from the seat, he picked up his universe and walked out of the classroom and went home. Later that evening he had gathered the world's religious leaders in one place through the use of prophecy and divine intervention. Seeing all the small humans look around confused he appeared in front of them. "Look guys, we need to talk..." edit: made a little timing mistake. changed tomorrow to next lesson.

Gann gets up, brush teeth

The day begins. I get up, brush my teeth, get dressed, and have breakfast. I check the shine on my shoes before I put them on. Not too much, not too little. The bus takes me to work. I put my phone away and gaze into the distance. It's an especially beautiful morning. The ride is smooth, yet I think of all the various sized stones in the road below. What a wonderful thing it is that there are things that fill the space between other rough things, tar for instance! I look at the old lady who catches me in her shifting gaze now and then. I wait. Here it comes around, the erratic old lighthouse cone of light of her eyes. Get ready, I smile gently - two seconds or so before it's needed. She acknowledges me with a smile on her wrinkled face. I move on. The smooth blackness of the road is a soothing sight. "Good morning, Gann!". Eric from two rows to the left greets me. "Hey, good morning! Did you catch the game last night?" Today is Rohan's birthday. You can tell by the balloons arranged around his cubicle. Susan from HR emailed everyone else of the fact yesterday so those who want to get a present for Rohan can do so. Susan keeps track of these things, though she is humble enough not to remind anyone about her birthday. Naturally, someone else does. Rohan is not a close friend, though I am on good terms with him. I go find him in the pantry, offer my greetings and apologise for not getting him a gift. He is cool, no worries. It's a small software company. There are only about 25 to 27 people working on a full time basis at any given time. I am on good terms with everyone - as almost everyone else is. I do have trouble with Ray sometimes. He can be a jerk. All the "Marketing people" are jerks when I think about it. But I find Ray the least tolerable. "Hey..." The new intern approaches me as I sit down at my cubicle. I search my memory for her name as I act busy getting the laptop out of my bag. It's her first day today and I'm her supervisor. "Hey, Ro". I turn on my laptop before I continue the conversation so she can see my login screen. "Welcome Gann", the login screen greets me. "So, Gann..." she pauses. "What do you want me to start working on?". Her eyes are especially dull. It's almost like she's a walking corpse. You can't see any light in those eyes. Perhaps she's not getting any sleep, or she has some sort of illness. "Well, you can set up your laptop. There's a document in the shared drive about the stuff you'd need with instructions. Please come to me if there's anything wrong." She idles for a moment. Then she thanks me and goes back to her cubicle. I look at her walk back and notice that one of her shoe laces are close to getting undone. She looks older than her age. It's in the tired way she walks. . I don't want to do it. She can see it in my reaction. She should. I don't have to do this because it's her responsibility. It's been three days now and she can't even get the basic set up right. This is not ok. Working with her is going to be a pain. She's perhaps one of those people who like something but are simply not good at it. No amount of practice is going to make you better at something if you aren't genetically predisposed towards it. Or perhaps she's one of those ones who are not so well tuned yet. if that's the case those rough edges will smoothen over time, yes, but that takes time and until then I'm stuck with her. Or, she might be having other issues. Perhaps she saw someone die and can't get it out of her head and keep replaying it over and over again in her head at night and feel miserable about it? If it's that, I can perhaps help her and help myself. At least I can eliminate the last possibility if I really "talk" with her. . Beer works it's magic. The bar is quite. I wish there were more people here. It doesn't matter though. She seems not to mind. Actually, she is enjoying herself. Her eyes glitter in the artificial semi darkness. "... No, but I think I should work harder. I agree. It's just... it's hard. I sometimes feel like this is all a game. I have this dream... My eyes and nose and mouth and cheeks are chess pieces..." I am surprised at the pauses in her speech. That is not common... even for her age... even with the beer. Chess pieces for facial features? It's too banal. Perhaps... "So what do you do at home? You live alone right?" Is that too direct? "Oh you know, just this and that. I make origami sometimes... You know origami?" it's not a question. She doesn't let me answer. "You know those complex models that take hours or days to make? I like those. I finished a mantis yesterday. A real complex model. Mantis are great at camouflage. I like them. I will show them to you sometime..." She breaks off and suddenly starts paying attention to the rim of her glass. The signal is given. There's no turning back after this. I need to have this conversation with her now. Luckily she still has her senses. "Ro, it's a hard truth. My father had this same conversation with me when I was twelve years old. I am sorry that it took so long for you." She doesn't seem surprised. She doesn't even look at me. I give her two seconds. Something doesn't add up here. There's no need to worry though, there is a protocol for this. As long as I follow it, there's no need to worry. "The world is as it is. We all know of the empaths. We know there used to be so many of them. But evolution is a bitch and she does not care for what's weird - only about what's stronger." These are not practiced lines, but they come to me as if I had practiced them my entire life. I know them by heart, to use such an inaccurate term. "We know of them, we know they lived, we know they created everything. We know they went extinct at least five thousand years ago. We live in the world they created. You might have sensed this, but you might not know it. If you did, you would find life... easier. I can tell you everything I know." She looks at me with a quizzical look on her face. "What are you telling me? I don't understand." She's back on track. That's the correct response. I pause and think about the dynamic. She has been pushing me towards this conversation ever since she joined the company. This is the logical end result given my disposition. She lives her question so clearly and emphatically that I can't think how she didn't force this same situation on anyone else she knows. Surely someone must have talked to her by now... "Ro, do you know what don't tell, don't ask means?" "Yeah... But why? Wouldn't it be better to ask and tell? And what exactly are we talking about anyway? I don't understand..." She is interested. "The empaths. Actually, sociopaths. We are sociopaths." I almost believe it myself. "What are you telling me? I feel like I'm all alone. Everything and everyone feel so phony. I don't have anyone to talk to. Everyone feels so distant and they don't tell me anything. What is wrong with everyone?" The feigned innocence of the question and the emotion in her voice almost disarm me. But this is a life and death situation now. I should not have had that last beer. She's nineteen. Any older than that, I don't fall for this trick. Any younger than that, she's not sophisticated enough to get to me. Well played Ro... "I think I didn't start properly. Let me begin from the beginning. We evolved from the empaths..." I lie through my teeth. I lie for my life. . "Well thanks for telling me Gann." She looks sad. "Do you think there's any of them left?" "Any of who? Empaths?" She nods. "No, they are all gone. Their time has passed. They were too weak." "Are you by any chance a empath Gann?" That's direct. "There are no empaths Ro." "It's a bit sad isn't it?" Sincerity. "What's there to be sad about? It is what it is. I felt like you after my father told me of this. I felt sadness. But then it just went away. I would have liked to met one though." Am I going too far? Better overdo it than leave doubt. "Would be a fascinating experience." "Well, I'm sad. I don't think I'm a sociopath. I feel things." Ro replies. I feign kindness. It's not real, but appearances have to be maintained. Appearances are the only weapons I have against a world of sociopaths. "We all think like that at one stage in our lives Ro. But you will see, you are just like everyone else. And that kind of talk is bad for you and me. There's a reason why no one talks about this. Talking about imaginary things sometimes make them real. Why take the chance?" I drop her off and go home alone. There's no way to know for sure.

The kid was in his early twenties

"Look, kid, I don't want you along, I don't want to teach you, you're an inconvenience," I said, a bit unkindly perhaps. "But I have to teach you the job, and by God I'm going to try my best to teach you the damn job." "Are you aware that this is not *Full Meta Jacket,* Ms. Seraph?" Mark said with an idiotic grin. The kid was in his early twenties, tall, blond - a sharp contrast to my short stature and jet black hair - and thought, like every 20 and change kid, that he was the king of the damn world. Or worlds, as it may be. He kind of reminded me of myself actually. Which was probably why I hated him. "Do you know the mortality rate of our trainees, kid?" I asked, pretending I hadn't heard him. "Wow you really think it *is*-" Christ, this kid. I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off his feet until he was inches from my face. "75 percent. Got it?" I said, his wide blue eyes staring into the depths of my opal irises. "Three out of four die, of the remaining 25 percent, most are missing in action, stranded in some hell, and what few are left drop out. There's a reason there have been five reporters in The Onion since 1988." I let him go and kid practically fell to the floor. His eyes were wide and his face was bloodless. "Do you understand now?" I said, keeping my voice low. The kid opened his mouth to say something then decided against it. Instead, he just swallowed and nodded. I might've overdone it a bit. "Good," I said. "Follow my instructions and you might not die." Without waiting for a response I laid my hand across his forearm and with my other hand activated the TransTemporal-Relocator, or the TTR. I'd been doing the job for just about two decades and I still wasn't used to the sensation. It was as if my center of gravity shifted *out of my body* and I stumbled as I lost my balance. But the feeling faded and we were there. Wherever that might be. Decades of experience saved us. I'd once dropped into a a nuclear test site, and another time in the middle of a horde of demons. The first few seconds of any "Stumble" as well called it were the most dangerous. So when I landed in the driver's seat I immediately slammed the breaks as a black coupe - what is it with black cars? - tried to ram us from the left. The car careened, when it didn't hit us and hit another car on the right. They both spun out and hit the divider in the middle of the - I looked around - twelve lane highway. "What the fuck!?" the kid shouted next to me. Famous last words. I briefly glanced at him - he was holding a box of pizza. We were in a sleek, red sports car. There was a GPS in front of the car and a timer in the bottom left. Five minutes, three miles away. Got it. The TTR always did this, put us in fantastical scenarios or events, and we had to play them through. Rarely longer than an hour, they were the stories I wrote for every Onion piece. It was in our best interests to play along. "In the next one half mile, take the exit 27," the GPS said in that infuriatingly kind voice. Some things stay constant across dimensions. "Th-that's impossible," the kid said. "You're on like the tenth lane, how're you gonna make this exit?" "Recklessly," I replied. "Hold on to something." I flung the steering wheel left and crossed two lanes immediately. A couple of people honked on their horns as I cut them off but I paid them no mind. I slammed the breaks to get behind a car on the right lane and swung left again. Four lanes to go, and the exit was in sight. "We aren't gonna make it," the kid said, practically in tears. Christ, I would take overly eager over useless downer any day. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw another one of those black cars who had tried to ram us before. In seconds he was in parallel with us to my right. I could break or speed up, forcing him to miss. Or I could be insane. "Sorry kid," I said, as the car slammed into our right. I forced myself to relax though every muscle in my body screamed at me to tense up, so all I suffered was some seat-belt burn and ear damage when the car slammed into us. There was a loud bang and the screech of metal against metal. Someone screamed. I timed a sharp left as the car hit and we practically flew across the last some lanes, directly into the exit. The car tried to follow but was T-boned by a white minivan. I let out a whoop of joy as we rattled through the road. I spared a glance at the kid. The door had dented inwards, and his arm was at an impossible angle. I checked his pulse with my hand - still alive. Small favors, I suppose. The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful. I drove into a suburban neighborhood until the GPS indicated I'd arrived. With ten seconds left I practically ran to the doorbell and rung it, breathing heavy. A dejected looking man in his mid-40s who reeked of vodka opened the door. "Aw, fuck you, bitch. Would it have killed you to arrive four seconds later?! Is free pizza really that much of a fucking loss?" Lovely. I pointed to dented my car and the dying intern. "Yeah, you douche-bag, it is." The TTR beeped, the end of the experience. The device was really completely outside our control. It chose the location, the experience, and when it ended. Once more I "Stumbled," and we were back in my office. I didn't have to be in contact with the kid on the return trip, and so he was there to as we were thrown roughly back into our own reality. The poor kid let out a strangled scream as he landed on top of his broken arm. The medics were already on standby and rushed to help the kid. I watched as they put him on a stretcher and escorted him out. I shook my head. Idiot. Should never have signed up for this. I sighed and went over to my computer to start the article. "Pizza Corporatism: The lengths pizza Companies will go to make sure you don't get free pizza." *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out

Mrs Haller had planned endlessly for

Mrs Haller had planned endlessly for such a day. There was a lake on the fringes of the city which had taken her fancy, for the waters ran deep, and anglers seldom came by. She would close her bank accounts, end her cable service, mail the title deeds to her favourite charity. Then, she would get into her Beetle, drive to the edge of the lake, cast her dice for the final time, and meld once and for all into the cool, inviting depths. It was a good plan, by all accounts. But the grief was far stronger than she was, and she found herself on the roof of New Hope Hospital, one foot already lifted off solid ground, dangling in the air. A gust of wind tipped her over, and downwards did Mrs Haller plunge, as quickly as the dread that settles when a phone rings in the middle of the night. Time froze. Death had chosen the guise of a young boy this time, no more than eight or nine years old. Golden hair, chiselled features, grubby fingers. Mrs Haller knew it was Death because she was floating upside down, and he was the only one bobbing weightlessly beside her. "But it isn't your time yet!" Death said, a frown on his face. "You're making things difficult for me again, June!" "I'm getting dizzy looking at you," said Mrs Haller. "Right me up or strike me down now, I don't care which, but just do it now already." Death snapped his fingers, and Mrs Haller spun gently around. She scrabbled at the pouch by her side, ripped off the drawstring with haste, then poured out the ebony dice within. The pits on them glowed a light blue. "My dear June, it's been forty-five years since we last met. In that time, you have done more than-" "Oh shut it," said June. "I'm rolling." "-your fair share of... wait, wait, there's a process to these things, you can't just-" "Too late." Mrs Haller cast the dice with all the strength in her arm. They burned dark azure scars as they rolled, and it took some time before they stopped spinning. And there it was, six dice, all lined up in a row, coming to a rest just the way she wanted. "Six ones, your turn." "Hang on, hang on! June, you know that-" "Roll! Now!" Mrs Haller said. A fiery bouquet of anger suddenly bloomed in her chest, and she struck out uncontrollably, shoving Death in the shoulder. "Now! Roll, now!" Death rolled. Five dice came up ones, but the last did a maddened pirouette on its edge, then split cleanly along its axis. The light fled its shell, and the dice crumbled into dust. "Five ones," Death said, as he shrugged. He waved his hand towards her, and Mrs Haller began drifting down harmlessly to the ground. "Looks like you beat me again. Oh well, guess you're going to get another new lease on life, please make the best of-" "How long have you been letting me win?" "What? Let you win? No, come on, you know what I stand for, don't you? That's just ridiculous." Mrs Haller pulled another pouch from her pockets, then held them out for Death to inspect. "Those are the real dice," she said. "I had the first set custom made. Guaranteed to roll all ones. You had to cheat, even, just to make sure you lost to me." "Me? Cheat? June, that's doesn't make any sense-" Mrs Haller sighed, then closed her eyes. It was slightly easier this way. "I don't want to play anymore," she said. "I want to go. Release me, please. Let this all end." "I can't do that. We had a deal, didn't we? You wanted another chance at life, and you wanted to bet it all on a dice game with me. Well, you won. You got that chance you were looking for. So go on and live it. We played fair and square." "I'm tired," she said. "I've won, what, eight times now?" "Ten, actually." Mrs Haller reached into her pockets, then pulled out a single photograph, creased along the edges. "Haylee's parents just got back together last month. She had begun to pay attention in class again, and I was sure I could get her to catch up with the rest before summer. She had so much ahead of her, you know? She was smart, she cared for others, all she needed was a little more time." "Ah, Haylee Smith. Yes, I do believe that-" "So why didn't you give it to her?" Mrs Haller said, as she lunged towards Death in anger. A lifetime ago, many lifetimes ago, she had done the same, only in desperation then. "Why take it away? Why did she have to be at home when her parents fought? She was supposed to be in school, with me! How did she fall? Why did she have to hit her head that way? Why? Why?" Death hardly flinched. Mrs Haller's hands merely bounced off the nimbus of grey which surrounded him, and so he waited until the adrenaline ebbed. Then he waited a while longer for her to stop sobbing. "Then move on, June. Find a new city, find a new school. A change of environment will do you good. When you're ready, go back to do what you've always loved, yes? There are always more children out there, just waiting, waiting for you to help them." "You're really sick, you know that? Sick." Death pouted. "That is very unkind of you, June. I've only given you what you asked for. You swore on your own life, didn't you? You said you were too young to go, and that you had so much more you wanted to give? Have you tired of that now?" "I've... I've watched so many of them die," said Mrs Haller, hands pressed to her eyes. "And it seems that no matter what I do... no matter how hard I try to steer them... it's just so senseless how they all end up. So many lose themselves to pointless violence, so many to drugs or drink, and so many others to just stupid, bad luck. Some of them end up happy, yes, but it is so... fleeting. They have a couple of good years, then something happens to them. Something *always* happens to them. Like Haylee... sweet Haylee, just in the wrong place at the wrong time." Death reached out, then laid his hand on her shoulder. That surprised Mrs Haller so much that she forgot to breathe for a moment. It was the very first time she had ever come into physical contact with him, and there was the most exquisite sense of loss which accompanied his touch. "How do you think I feel, June?" They twirled like a pair of dragonflies, coasting in a spiral to the ground. Mrs Haller sank to her knees, then looked up at Death. "Then why torment me still? Let me go, please. Let it all end." "I can be selfish too, you know. But June, listen to me. I've had royalty beg me for another chance, wise men, fools, the obscenely rich, the abject poor. Those who did win went on to spend the rest of their lives trying to avoid me, or scheming to outsmart me when next we met. You're... you're different, June. You did as you promised. You spent your life... your lives... helping all these children." "Is that why you're doing this to me? You want to see me regret my own choice? You want to break me down, force me to realize that there is no such thing as hope in this world?" Death shook his head, then held out his hand again. He beckoned towards her. "No, June. When I see you do what you do for those children... let's just say I want to see you help them again, no matter how briefly it lasts. It makes a difference, even if you refuse to see it. Will you continue? If not for me, then for them?" June mulled it over. And then she took Death's hand. --- /r/rarelyfunny

Nothing had been the same since he

There's a joke they always tell. If a woman dies, her husband will die within a year. If a man dies, his wife will go on a cruise. Well, there was some truth to it. I had gone on a cruise. My nieces and nephews - I'd never had children - had convinced me to. It was nice, but I was haunted by that aching loss. It had served only as a distraction. Nothing had been the same since he passed. Every day felt empty. Before, I would wake up every morning, sunlight streaming into our cheerful blue room, and see him next to me, a smile on his face. "You look so peaceful when you sleep," he always told me. And then he would kiss me on the head, and everything was right with the world. Now I woke up to an untouched pillow. Nobody ever talks about how cold the bed gets after spending a lifetime sharing it with someone else. But now... Now I was starting to feel warm again. I was dying. I knew that much. I didn't know if I believed in an afterlife, but I hoped I'd get to meet him again. I turned, my aged face cracking a smile at my youngest niece. Even she was already in her 30's. I was so tired, and yet I mustered up just a little more energy, patting her hand gently with my own frail one. I'd helped to raise her when my sister was fighting her own demons. When my sister was institutionalized, my niece had come to live with me for months until her mother was better. Explaining mental illness to an 11-year old was difficult. Old enough to understand that something was wrong, yet still too young to fully grasp the situation. But I was grateful. I loved my sister, and would do anything to help her. The fact that I had become so close to her daughter was just an added bonus. My niece's tear-stricken face managed a smile back. "Don't cry," I said softly. I wished I could wipe the tears from her face, just like I'd done when she was younger. "I had a good life." As if I had been holding on just long enough to say that, I felt the rest of my energy leave me. I smiled wordlessly, my eyes drifting closed, the green walls fading away as I felt myself relaxing into the warm embrace of death. I had had a good life. I was at peace. And then... My eyes opened. Maybe I hadn't died at all. I looked around, but my niece was nowhere to be found. The ache was gone from my body. I looked down at my hands, no longer spotted with age. Hm. Was this the afterlife? I took my surroundings in carefully. I noted in the back of my mind that I was drenched in sweat. Blue walls. Blue walls. I'd died in a room painted green. But the blue... Hopefully, I turned to my left, my heart fluttering in my chest. But... Nothing. An empty pillow besides me, perfectly fluffed, indicating that there hadn't been a head resting on it all night. I felt tears welling in my eyes. Was this hell? Was I doomed to spend eternity like this, never being able to see him ever again? What had I done wrong? I reached hesitantly toward the pillow, expecting some monster to jump at me, but my hand made it safely to the soft pillow. Slowly, I pulled it toward me, and as I did, I caught a whiff of something I hadn't smelled in years. My husband. The tears were coming quickly now, and I buried my face in the pillow, sobbing. It was undoubtedly his scent. I wasn't sure whether I was comforted or tormented by that thought. If this was hell, I'd at least enjoy this while it lasted. I'd been devastated when I realized his smell had faded from my home after his death. It had been the last lingering, tangible memory of him. Without it, the warmth had truly gone from my bed. But I was warm again. Here in this moment, I was warm. I cried, clutching the pillow as if it could be ripped away from me at any moment. For all I knew, it could be. "Babe?" I froze. No. It couldn't be. My face stayed in the now soaked pillow. I heard something get set down on a surface, then footsteps approaching me across the carpeted room. I didn't turn, fearing that I'd see some demon with his voice. The footsteps stopped, and I could sense someone behind me. I felt a warm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Oh, honey, you're awake!" His voice broke, and I could hear the concern and relief all rolled up into one in it. The hand gently pulled my shoulder to turn me around. I blinked, my vision still blurred with tears. Dark hair, tan skin. I blinked some more. The moment of clarity was instantly gone as recognition set in. I started bawling, overwhelmed by emotion. It was him. It was really him. I was safe. "What's wrong? Why are you crying? Oh- babe- what-" He was cut short as I lunged forward, hugging him tightly. "I missed you. I missed you so much - you don't know how much it hurt," I manage to choke out through the tears. His warm chuckle was music to my ears. "What do you mean, missed me?" "You died, asshole! I never gave you permission to die first! You- there was nobody for me to cuddle with- you were- oh god, I love you so much," I said. I felt his hands gently pull me away from him, concern on his face. One of his hands rested gently on my forehead, while the other tilted my chin up to look at him. "What are you talking about? You've been asleep for the past two days. I was so scared - you had a fever and were coughing like crazy. The doctor told me to wait it out though - you haven't been sleeping enough recently, honey." My brow furrowed in confusion. Asleep? Two days? But... I'd lived an entire lifetime. I'd just died, for crying out loud. Was he trying to tell me all of that was just some fever-induced, hyper-realistic dream? "But... It felt so real," I replied. "How would you know we're not both dead?" He chuckled, clambering over me to settle in bed beside me. The bed shifted and creaked in a way I hadn't realized I'd missed. He reached out, combing his fingers through my damp hair thoughtfully. I then remembered that I'd woken up drenched in sweat. "Getting all philosophical on me already?" he teased, giving a strand of my hair a playful tug. "Even if we are, why does it matter right now? I'm happy right now." His strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. "This could be life, or it could be heaven, but all I know is that I have you, and you're safe, and that's all that matters." As I relaxed into his arms, I knew it was true. I was sure there was some way to find out whether I was alive or not, but for now, all I needed was him. The love of my life. Nothing else mattered right then. I felt him kiss me on the head, and I knew that everything was right with the world. ----- Ironically, I'm procrastinating writing my english paper. There may be some typos since I wrote this on mobile. Any feedback is welcome. Edit: fixed some phrasing Edit 2: thanks for my first gold! And also all the supportive comments, you've all made my day.

Mortixx yearned to burst

Mortixx slithered up to the cabin door, checked to make sure that its disguise still held, then rang the doorbell. The human skin it was wearing was getting itchy and uncomfortable, and Mortixx yearned to burst free, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The brunette answered the door. Mortixx recalled that this one was called Lea - she stood out because she was the only one without a lifemate. There was an intelligence behind her eyes which pricked at its instincts, and Mortixx felt a stab of the nerves in its bellies. What if she could see through his deception? "Oh, it's you," said Lea, as she rolled her eyes. What did that gesture mean? "Hello, my name is Brandon... Bradley. I am a motorist. My car broke down. I need to come in. I need to use your... long-distance communication-" "Yeah, yeah, I know who you are. Come in already, it's cold outside." "How could you know me?" asked Mortixx, squirming inside. It blinked hard, hoping that its eyes were in the right places. "I have not been here before. I have not met you before. What do you-" "Oh for... OK yes, hello Brandon Bradley, whom I've never met before. Can you please just come in? Sheesh. They are in the hall now, you're going to miss the good stuff if you delay." "Are they already quarreling-" then Mortixx caught itself, and cleared its throat noisily. "I mean, what are you talking about? I have no idea what it is you are referring to." But Lea had already drifted back into the cottage, and Mortixx followed, coasting in on the invitation Lea had extended. It wasn't a full-formed welcome, but substance over form and all that, so it could enter without immediately frying. That was good enough for it. *I wonder if she suspects,* thought Mortixx. In the hall, next to the crackling fireplace, the other four teenagers had occupied opposite ends of the coffee table. Mortixx recognized the females first, who appeared to be the dominant gender here, unlike anything its fellow demon brethren had told him to expect. Jennifer and her lifemate Benny on one side, and Clarice and her lifemate Mike on the other. "Hey guys, the weird creep is back!" Mortixx almost spluttered in its haste to cover its tracks. "No, no. This is my first time here. I am not the male called Ned Nedley who delivered pizza earlier. I am also not the male called Harry Hadley who fixed your power yesterday. I am also not the-" "Will you be quiet, please? Can't you see that we're in the middle of something important here?" Jennifer had turned to hiss at them, and for a moment Mortixx was reminded of the bogvixens which it had territorial issues with last winter. "Yes! God! Can you be any more selfish?" That was Clarice, whose eyes burned with the sort of fire Mortixx had only seen in certain pedigree breeds of hellhounds. "And no, I don't care what your story is, but nothing is more important than our quarrel right now! We're settling this here, once and for all!" Mortixx couldn't help it - its hearts tingled with unbridled joy. Tears of pure elation threatened to leak out, and Lea chose that moment to pull Mortixx towards the couch nearby. Jennifer and Clarice had already turned on each other again, claws fully extended. Their lifemates hung behind their respectives halves, heads drooped in obvious despair. "I don't mind you watching," said Lea, voice dropped to a whisper. "Just sit here and be quiet. I don't think they will be done soon." "What are they arguing about now?" said Mortixx, in hushed tones. "Are the male lifemates in trouble or something?" "Sort of." "Oh, oh!" said Mortixx, clapping its hands together. "Are the females about to mate with them? The males will die afterwards, right? Is that why they are so sad?" Lea raised an eyebrow, then sighed. Mortixx fretted for a moment that he had said something wrong to give himself away, but Lea only reached over with a metal can of what appeared to be alcohol. "No, for goodness sakes. I have no idea where you're getting these ideas from, geez. Beer for you?" "Oh, no, no. Beer has alcohol. I cannot drink alcohol. It will kill me-" Mortixx's hands flew to its mouth, and it worried that Lea had heard it. But she seemed not to have notice. Mortixx rushed to change the subject. "Tell me, please, about their quarrel. Jennifer and Clarice look very hostile now." "Indeed they do," said Lea. "Something about Jennifer going through Benny's phone and finding that Clarice had been sending inappropriate messages to him. So now the two of them are at it, over who's the bigger ho, who's the slag, things like that." "Inappropriate... messages? Like... someone said the other's pentagram was poorly drawn?" "More like... Oh, yes, fine, something as bad as that, I guess." "Ooohhh," said Mortixx, as the electricity crawled along its skin. "That *is* very naughty!" "Say, when you're done watching, which of us will you kill first?" "I think maybe Clarice. Clarice has nice hair. It will be great for my collection-" But Mortixx was too slow this time. Even before it managed to shut its mouth with its human limbs, Lea had already pounced onto it, her knee lodged straight in its chest. Mortixx could hardly breathe. Mortixx's eyes swung in panic towards the other humans, but they were locked in their own deathmatches, and no one had noticed Lea making the move on it. Lea dangled the open can of alcohol over its head, and tipped it such that the deadly contents within swirled right to the very edge. One single drop, and it would all be over. "They are my friends, you hear me?" Lea said. "You can stay, and you can have your fill of this senseless drama. I may even decide to share some of the pizza with you. But you don't kill any of us, and you stop wearing your bloody stupid disguises, hear me? Or I will end it all here, I swear." Mortixx gulped. "How did... How did you..." Lea grinned. "There's always one of us who's slightly smarter than the rest, yes? So, do I have your word? Or would you like an intimate introduction to my friend Bud Lite here?" Mortixx sagged, and one of its eyes fell out. It extended a stalk, then pushed the eye back in. "I promise," it said. --- /r/rarelyfunny

FADE IN: <nl>

FADE IN: INT. A CORPORATE BOARDROOM - DAY *Several men and women in suits sit around a large table, all of them looking bored. At the front of the room, a man with a white beard flicks at the black eyepatch that he wears. This is ODIN.* **ODIN:** You know, I was supposed to get the wisdom of the ages. *Halfhearted murmurs are offered by everyone at the table.* **ODIN:** (*CONT'D*) There I was, thinking I'd be granted some kind of sublime knowledge. Do you know what I got? *A blond-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard sighs. This is THOR.* **THOR:** A bunch of old wives' tales and some herbal remedies? **ODIN:** A bunch of old... hey! **THOR:** And when you asked for a refund, Mimir told you to... *A breathtakingly beautiful woman - SIF - interrupts.* **SIF:** (*Interrupting*) He told you to go sit on a glacier. **ODIN:** Now, look, if you people are just going to... *A sudden flash of light interrupts Odin. When the room's illumination returns to normal, a very confused young man is revealed. This is DAVE. He is clad in a pink apron and is clutching a black spatula.* **ODIN:** (*CONT'D*) ... huh. That hasn't happened in a while. **DAVE:** Yeah, I'm reasonably certain that pancakes aren't normally supposed to do that. **SIF:** Do what? **DAVE:** I'm not sure. What just happened? *A middle-aged woman grins with glee. This is HEL.* **HEL:** You died! **DAVE:** I think I'd remember that. **THOR:** No, that's definitely what happened. *Dave glances around.* **DAVE:** Heaven looks really boring. **THOR:** This is Valhalla. **DAVE:** Valhalla looks really boring. Why am I in Valhalla? **ODIN:** Good question. Only warriors who die in battle are supposed to come here. **DAVE:** You must get a lot of soldiers, then. **SIF:** Actually, no, we don't. See, you *don't* have to die in battle; you have to die holding a weapon. **DAVE:** Soldiers carry guns! Guns are weapons! **HEL:** Not according to Section Nine, Paragraph Four of the Valhalla Bylaws! *Everyone in the room save for Dave and Hel groans with impatience.* **DAVE:** The what? **THOR:** Don't encourage her. **HEL:** According to our charter, a weapon is an object which renders injury or death. **DAVE:** ... So, a gun? **HEL:** No, a bullet. **DAVE:** That seems like a remarkably stupid technicality. **THOR:** *You're* a remarkably stupid technicality! **ODIN:** He might be, actually. *All eyes in the room turn to face Odin.* **SIF:** Huh? **ODIN:** Well, what's that in his hand? **DAVE:** It's a spatula. **ODIN:** I know it's a spatula... but what *is* it? **THOR:** ... A spatula. **ODIN:** You're not getting it. What *is* a spatula? *A sudden thought seems to occur to Dave.* **DAVE:** Hang on! Why does Valhalla look like an office building? **HEL:** We had to redefine a pen as weapon a few decades ago. **DAVE:** Because it's mightier than the sword? **HEL:** Because a disgruntled accountant stabbed his coworker with one. **DAVE:** Oh. I take it he lost that fight. **THOR:** He... **DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) Since he died, I mean. **THOR:** He actually slipped and hit his head while running away. **SIF:** He wouldn't stop screaming, so we redesigned Valhalla to make him calm down. **DAVE:** And... what? You just kept it this way? **HEL:** (*Shrugging*) Eh. *Odin slams his fist on the table.* **ODIN:** Enough! I swear, you people will drone on about the dullest things! **THOR:** (*Muttering*) You mean like trading your eye for a chicken soup recipe? **ODIN:** Now, for the last time: What is a spatula? *Several seconds of silence pass.* **THOR:** It's... **ODIN:** (*Interrupting*) Don't say "a spatula." **THOR:** Well, it is. **SIF:** You mean... are you asking if it counts as a weapon? **ODIN:** Finally! Yes. **THOR:** You could have been direct about it. **ODIN:** (*In a mocking voice*) "You could have been direct about it." Shut up. **THOR:** You're an ass. **HEL:** I think it counts as a weapon. **SIF:** Odin's ass? **THOR:** Only after taco night. **HEL:** *The spatula!* **SIF:** Is it forged from celestial iron or something? *Dave examines his spatula.* **DAVE:** No, I think it's just plastic. **HEL:** It counts! It can render injury or death! **DAVE:** Hey, my pancakes aren't *that* bad! **HEL:** We are not concerned with your pancakes; we're talking about the spatula. **SIF:** Do you ever say a word so often that it starts to sound funny? **THOR:** Spa-tu-la. **ODIN:** Spa-tuuuuu-la. **SIF:** Spaaaaa-tu-la. **DAVE:** (*Shouting*) Confused! *Confused!* *Dave closes his eyes and starts waving his spatula in front of him. It smacks on the top of Odin's head several times.* **ODIN:** Ow! Ow! Stop it! Stop it! Ow! **HEL:** There! See?! That's an injury! *Dave stops flailing and opens one eye.* **DAVE:** Oh, god, sorry, I... **THOR:** (*Interrupting*) Odin. **DAVE:** What? **ODIN:** What? **THOR:** No, not... ugh. He said "god." That's the other guy. **SIF:** Technically, it's an unspecified deity. You're thinking of Jehovah. **HEL:** It's "Yeshua" now. **THOR:** No, that's his son. We go drinking on Tuesdays. **ODIN:** When *don't* you go drinking? Lazy layabout. *Thor snatches the spatula from Dave and brandishes it at Odin.* **THOR:** You want to go, old man? Huh? **SIF:** (*To Hel*) Huh, look at that. I guess you're right. **HEL:** That settles it. The spatula is a weapon. *Odin snatches the spatula from Thor and whacks him over the head with it.* **ODIN:** Any more like that out of you, and you're grounded! *Thor sits back and sulks. Odin turns the spatula over in his hands a few times.* **ODIN:** (*CONT'D*) I mean... I guess. Sure, why not? It's better than that stupid pen. **HEL:** That was plastic, too, by the way. *Odin hands the spatula back to Dave, who looks uncertain.* **DAVE:** So, uh... does that mean I'm staying? **HEL:** It looks that way. **SIF:** Yeah, welcome to Valhalla, I guess. **DAVE:** Great. Now that everything is cleared up, I just have one question. **THOR:** The bathroom is down the hall. **DAVE:** Huh? Oh, no, thanks, but I was actually curious about something else. **ODIN:** What troubles you, warrior? *Dave takes a deep breath.* **DAVE:** How the hell did I even die?! *Hel takes out her smartphone and scrolls through something.* **HEL:** It looks like the batter mix you used was contaminated... with cyanide. **DAVE:** ... That seems incredibly unlikely. **HEL:** Well, that's what happened. **THOR:** I guess your pancakes *were* that bad! *Dave stares at Thor for a moment, then whacks him with the spatula.* CUT TO BLACK.

The ravens flapped and hopped

I awoke to the quorking of ravens. The fact that I knew that sound meant ravens, or even what quorking was, surprised me, but didn't concern me. Nor did the fact I couldn't quite remember where I was or what I had been doing. That too, should've concerned me but, pleasantly, didn't. It felt like I was waking from a long nap, a bit foggy but refreshed. The ravens flapped and hopped around their perch in a way that seemed to indicate confusion or argument and, for a time, I just watched them. It was some time before I realized there was someone else in the room, or space, or where ever this was. A hooded old man, also observing the ravens with something approaching paternal concern was turned away from me. I tried to clear my throat politely but the sound echoed impossibly and all three figures turned to regard me. "Greetings traveler," the old man said, "You've caused my little friends here a bit of confusion. It seems your tale is a bit unusual for my halls, so I've chosen to hear it directly. Tell me sir, are you a warrior of your people?" It didn't feel like an interrogation and somehow I wasn't scared. It was like my grandfather had asked me about what I had for breakfast that day. It felt right to reply, and suddenly memory became clear. "Uh...sir, no...not a warrior. Actually, farthest thing from it by most peoples way of thinking - I'm just a cook." I felt this would somehow end the dream, or whatever this was, or the man would be unimpressed, but he wasn't. If anything, he seemed to be smiling. "That explains this," a dented, scratched spatula appeared in the mans hand. Memory seemed to awake at the sight. "Yes! That's mine! I mean, well, the one I always use. I guess it's my favorite, as much as a spatula can be. I was using it just a little while ago, making....what was I making? I'm sorry, I can't remember." I felt the need to apologize to this figure, although I wouldn't be able to tell you why. He seemed familiar, somehow, like a relative I hadn't seen in years. "Don't bother yourself with worry, traveler. Why don't you take up your favorite...spatula, and tell me of your...labors with it." The old man offered the spatula to me, handle first, carefully, almost tenderly, like it was precious and fragile. I reached out a hand to touch it and felt a flash of memory. "I...I was in the...cafeteria...Yes, that's where I was. I work for the district and was making lunch. Chicken tenders and tater-tots, green beans, apple sauce, even a little salad. It's good for the kids to have good food to eat, don't you think? I always loved working with the kids and the district was kind enough to give me a job, even though I had a record." It felt natural to say this to the old man. He was feeling more like a long missed friend so sharing with him was comfortable...easy. "A cook, for children? That was your task? Your role amongst your people?" The question wasn't delivered with malice or derision, the old man wasn't mocking me or being cruel. If anything, he seemed..surprised, maybe even a little impressed. "Yes, I love working with the children. Little Cheryl and Tommy and Franz were always nice to me, always tried to tell me jokes. I made sure to give them extra tater-tots - they love tater-tots. They even made me some macaroni art! I hung it up behind the counter so I could see it every day." The children. Something about the children. Something horrifying was crawling at the edge of my memories. The children were in danger! The old man must've seen panic on my face. "Peace, traveler, the children are safe," The old man put a hand on my arm and I instantly felt a peaceful calm return, "tell me of this day, friend, then we can go from this place." "Today? Normal day I guess. Spilled tea on myself getting ready, had to change my shirt and almost clocked in late. I was just getting ready for lunch when I started hearing something from upstairs. I didn't think the kids were doing a field day and the banging was so loud. I went to look out and kids were already running down the stairs, screaming and crying..." I could feel tears of my own forming at the memory..."I saw Tommy and Franz holding Cheryl...trying to push their hands against her side, already slick with blood. Tommy was missing a chunk of his right ear but didn't seem to care, he was holding onto Cheryl as hard as a 7 year old could. He was so brave, even as the other kids ran in every direction." The memory was an avalanche now. The screams of panicked adults and terrified children. The smell of blood and gun powder. The thunder of the shots getting closer. I remembered. "I...I took them into the freezer, in the back of the cafeteria. Tommy, Franz, Cheryl....all the kids I could find. I found the big first aid kit we always keep in the cafeteria and yanked it off the wall to throw into the freezer with them and told them not to open the door, no matter what. Then I broke the handle and I think..." my memory ended with the shock of impact, of a force on my back and a sudden red stain on the freezer door. Understanding slowly unfolded in my mind. The old man stood silent for a long time. The ravens had taken to his shoulders at some point and all were looking at me intently. It was only now that I realized the old man, face hidden in shadow, seemed to have a patch over one eye. He also had a tear running down his face. "I see now why my little friends were confused, traveler. Midgard has changed greatly since I last walked there and with it, so has the shape of battle. Thankfully, what hasn't changed is the stout heart of man." The old man seemed to be drawing himself up, getting impossibly big and powerful looking. In the distance, horns blared. "Listen, friend, the horns of my hall are sounded for you. You have a place among the honored dead here. You fell upon a field that should never have been a battleground, defending those who should never need be warriors. You showed the bravery of long ages past and when you did, you held this in your hand." The final memory blossomed in my mind. I had used the spatula to break the handle, that's why it was dented and scratched. Something new blossomed there. I could see minutes later, help arriving, the freezer being forced open, medics attending the survivors. Even little Cheryl. I saw a memorial in the cafeteria, candles and flowers. I saw drawings of crayon and sparkles, thank yous and prayers, Cheryl walking slowly, still bandaged, crying, laying another piece of macaroni art on the pile. In the middle, on a small stand, was the spatula. My spatula. I turned to the old man, who I now knew as if he was my father. He indicated a direction and we began walking together towards his distant hall as his ravens took flight, quorking to themselves contentedly. Edit 1: I am stunned and humbled by the response this has elicited, especially from folks who work with or at schools themselves. Thank you all. I will try to respond to all the comments I can individually, and will thank all the folks who were generous enough to gild this directly as soon as I can. I'm also integrating the very helpful feedback from a few folks who noticed I drifted into the 3rd person a few times. Edit 2: A few people have asked if I had a subreddit, so I've decided to condense all the prompts I've responded to over here - https://www.reddit.com/r/SpecialistSix/. I hope a few that didn't get much traction the first time around get some new readers. Edit 3: Check out /u/NachosGalore - I think it's great!

The device is located in the year

**2018** *Grandson, I am not who you thought I am. I was born in the year 3456. I am a time traveler but I failed my mission. Attached is a map showing the location of the device. Power sources now should be enough. You must complete my mission...* My grandfather made sure to add a space between these words and his mission for dramatic effect. What kind of heroic task did he trust me with? Preventing the Holocaust, preventing the fall of the twin towers, or maybe preventing the assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy? *Before you stop reading, hear me out. You will have to extend the space race...* Sounds good grandpa. *and prevent the collapse of the Soviet Union.* Wait, what? I couldn't believe this. My grandfather is asking me to keep an isolated, repressive, and corrupt state alive? This can't be. *Listen to me. In the year 3339, we were attacked by an alien empire. We tried to resist them, but their technology was superior to ours. They conquered us, then used us as slave labor, forcing us to work sixteen hours a day. They called us savages, destroyed our culture, forced us to speak their language, and beat the humanity out of us. In 3396, some alien activists finally abolished slavery, and our alien viceroys shipped us off into crammed human reservations in the Sahara, Central Asia, and Texas.* *I was born in 3435, in the Chihuahuan Reservation. When I was seventeen, I was caught stealing some valuables off some alien who got drunk on my uncle's moonshine. The bastard's friends tried to catch me, but I ran out into the desert. I wandered for three days, both in the heat of the day and the cold of the night. I didn't know whether thirst or hunger would take me first, but neither did. I stumbled across a small metal shed in the middle of the desert. The shed was empty, but I noticed that there was a trapdoor in the ground. I entered the trapdoor, and descended down into the Earth. Inside, I found enough food to last me fifteen years, and some blueprints.* *I filled my stomach and napped. When I awoke, I went straight to examining those blueprints. I didn't know the English language very well, but I knew enough to understand what they were describing: The process of making a time machine. It was impossible to build for the people who created the blueprints, but it would take relatively little time and money to do this when you had access to alien resources.* *So I did this. First, I went to the year 2500, where I learned about human history and the English Dialect of that time. Then, I went back to the year 1963, as I believed it would be the optimal time to start my plan. However, I met your grandmother. She distracted me from my mission. I ended up having a family, and forgetting about my mission.* *So here it is, what I planned to do to prevent the fall of the Soviet Union, and the fall of mankind.* I went straight to packing for the journey. I packed a Swiss knife, some food and water, large numbers of dollar bills and coins minted before 1963, my grandfathers passport (it is very convenient that I look just like a younger version of him), an M1911 pistol with some ammunition, and my grandfathers letter. I put on one of his old suits, and went to find the Device. He kept it in his room, in his nightstand. It was an old-timey pocket watch. I lifted the lid, and saw the word *Molnija*, and the phrase *Made in USSR*. I set the time to 3:45, then started winding it. Slowly, the watch face started turning into a menu, asking me where to go and when to be there. I set the time for November 22, 1963. Elm Street Dallas. **1963** I knew exactly what would happen. My watch was already set to the next date, my pistol was drawn and loaded, and a man was waiting to take his shot, waiting for the limousine to pass. He was so focused, he would have never seen me coming. Right as he was about to pull the trigger of his sniper rifle, I yanked the barrel to the side. The shot was heard by everyone present, and so everyone looked our way. he started panicking, and I shot his foot. I made sure he tripped, and then knocked him out with the butt of his own rifle. I stood up and fired five shots into the air. The space program will get the funding it deserves. I then proceeded to get out of sight and go to my next destination. **1986** 22 April. Pripyat, Ukraine. I found a good old Soviet phone booth, and also a man who bought my dollars and exchanged them for roubles. I fed the machine some money, and called the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. "Hello?" Said someone in Russian. "Listen here comrade." I looked at my watch. "I have a detonator in my hand and I will blow up your entire Nuclear Power Station if you don't comply with my demands." I heard some chatter on the other side. "You are bluffing." The time was 13:04:33. "Okay, we are listening!" "Meet me in Cafe Pripyat in an hour." They'll raid that place and spend their day finding bombs in the power plant, I am sure of it. I traveled back nine hours, and found myself in an army stockpile. I grabbed some packs of remote explosives, and one explosive on a timer. I saw some grenades, and grabbed three. I then travelled to the Nuclear reactor, and set up the remote explosives in locations that were distant from each other. I placed the timed explosive in a place where the explosion would be visible and harmless. The time was 4:00:00. The explosive would detonate in 9:04:33. That increased the lifespan of the union by just a bit. **1991** Moscow, April 19th. The bastards weren't even expecting it. As soon as the coup started, everyone gathered in a room to talk. I traveled right into that room. I drew my pistol, and shot the man who is to thank for ending the repression of the Soviet Union: Mikhail Gorbachev. I took out my grenades, and drew the pins. Threw them all down, and traveled to the year 3456. **3456** According to the information I found, the Soviet Union was locked in a cold war with the united states until 2425, when it finally collapsed. They kept seeing who would break the limits, first racing to the moon, then to Mars, and then to Proxima Centauri. They developed new and better weapons, and waged more and more proxy wars. In 3339, the aliens came. They didn't come to a weak Earth with no experience in space, they came to a planet that took time to prepare for invasion from a foreign body. Long story short, their invasion lasted seven hours. In those seven hours, space stations warned us about the oncoming fleet Humanity became united, and all Nuclear Powers agreed to launch all their Interplanetary Ballistic Missiles towards the invading Aliens. We reduced them to rubble. ---------------------------------------------------- *Thanks for reading, feedback is very welcome and appreciated. I am trying to get better at writing.*

Printco's Universal Building Solution printer

###### It arrived on Thursday. I had to sign for the package, but it wasn't a normal signature page for a delivery company. It also included several disclaimers. > You hereby disclaim and hold harmless Printco from any and all damages caused by use of this device. That was a pretty broad disclaimer I thought. But of course I wasn't going to let that stop me, not at this point. So I signed, took the box, and ran inside to play with my new *toy.* It only took an hour to set up, which was extraordinarily fast. Sitting in the corner on my small work desk it hardly looked like the most revlutionary technology ever made, though it surely was. I plugged it into the wall and screwed on a heavy vial of UBS into the printing head - that's Universal Building Solution for the unitiated. It can build anything, or so they say. The printer itself was a trivial piece of equipment, but UBS was Printco's masterpiece. Not one to delay, I picked my first object. A pencil. Printco already had a schematic for pencils, and so the machine popped one out in under five minutes. The UBS began as extruded pink goop and then, solidified into perfect layers of a pencil - real wood and real pencil lead. When the printing was complete I picked up the pencil carefully, not believing my eyes. But there it was, solid and real, a pencil from goop. I sharpened it in a sharpener, and it left behind wooden shavings, I wrote with it and it left graphite on the page, I broke it in half and it snapped like the dry wood it truly, miraculously, *was*. Once the pencil worked, my mind just went wild. I printed a miniature tin car, a complex steel jigsaw puzzle, a small deringer pistol made of plastic, a tiny flame thrower, a tiny hand grenade - legal objects Printco had schematics for. I considered torrenting a full size hand grenade but then thought better of it. But the tiny one worked - it blew up in my sink like a little firecracker. I was up printing inanimate objects until almost 4AM. That was when I tried something different. "*Anything*" was a broad term and I meant to test the boundaries. So I printed an apple. Printco did not recommend printing live organic material, foodstuffs included, so I needed to torrent an apple schematic. But when I finished downloading the schematic to the printer it began to print, and the pink UBS coalesced into a perfectly ripe Gala apple. I wanted to eat it so badly. I cut it in half with a knife and it looked perfect - crisp and sweet. I googled other people's experiences with the gala schematic and numerous users reported safely eating the delicious creation. So I compromised and took a nibble - and it was so good! It was the perfect apple. It was 5AM now, and I wanted to know the limits of this incredible device. I decided to print a dog. Just a small dog of course, nothing big, nothing dangerous. I scoured the torrent sites for a dog schematic and found nothing, just puppets and dolls. So I booted up the Printco learning algorithm and set up a google search for the algorithm to scan using the search terms "Bichon Frise." Then the algorithm went to work, searching through every conceivable picture and website about the Bichon Frise breed of dog until, after an hour, it completed its analysis with a cheerful *ding*. The sound woke me up and I looked groggily at the display screen. It bore a prompt which read > Print Bichon Frise - Yes or No *Of Course* I thought *Print Bichon Frise. Print away.* I pressed yes and the printer went to work. It began simply enough, the pink goop making a base layer in the general outline of a Bichon Frise. That layer formed into the basic structures of the dog, white fur exterior and the somewhat macabre, but seemingly accurate, interior. Slowly the printer built me a dog, layer by layer. There were the paws, and the tail, there was the body slowly taking shape, the perfect white fur. It was 7AM now, the sun was up, and I was a zombie. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was the bottom half of the dog being completed, and the printer beginning on the upper half. I was awoken by a noise, a kind of wet gurgling, akin to the sound you might hear if you filled a condom with a mixture of vaseline and grape jelly and then squeezed it all out really quickly. The sound persisted and got louder, nearer, right up to my ear. I opened my eyes and recoiled from the red stained touch of an exposed eyeball, my chair tipping sideways and falling into the printer which itself fell to the ground, spilling UBS all over the floor. Standing before me, from the middle down, was a perfect Bichon Frise. From the middle up it might also have been biologically perfect in every respect but one - it was inside out. Beginning at the neck the Bichon Frise was just the underside of skin, exposed veins and arteries, two dangling eyeballs, a mouth stuffed with fur. It ran towards me, eager for the attention the breed is known to enjoy. In my terror I crawled backward, away from the abomination, my hands crab walking along the carpet until the fingers of my left hand touched something warm and wet. And pink. The UBS had spilled from the printer and spread in a pool on my carpet. Now it coated my fingers, and was changing them. The dog raced toward me still, aiming to lick at my face, as dogs will do. I kicked at it fiercely, terror and disgust gripping me in equal measure, and the monster whimpered wetly and walked away. But now I looked back at my left hand and saw that it was no longer a hand at all. It was fingers, two dozen fingers, maybe more, protruding from a central mass at the end of my wrist, writhing in a horrific ball. I screamed. ****** ##### For More Legends From The Multiverse ##### r/LFTM

"Carl when did you develop a

haha, "Carl when did you develop a sense of humor?" I said. "Carl"? I turned to look over my right shoulder expecting to see my normally morose and impersonal driver only to see one of *them*. "Oh fuck me" I stammered looking into the beady eyes of what has been the sum of all fears since childhood. "You are a King not a Queen sire, and I would not be worthy to pollinate you even so" the little death dealer said. Stung already, auditory hallucinations I have to get help "Carl!" I shouted trying to see through the tree line back towards the car near the ferry where Carl must be. Stumbling into a lurching run ignoring my still open fly. " Running will increase blood flow spreading the toxin further, stop. Think, call him you idiot!" "My lord please do not distress, we live to serve." The same follow the yellow brick road voice said. "We are going to be dead in minutes whoever the fuck we is" I replied pulling out my phone. "I know it's in here why is it not under C, i should have.." "We are the elite guard pledged to you sire" Munchkin voices from all sides said at once, causing me to jolt and drop my phone. Lifting my eyes I saw them, dozens no A HUNDRED bees floating in 3 tight lines mere feet in front of me. Death for sure, i'm sorry mom I shouldn't have yelled and insisted learning to fish. A bee landed on my glasses and I froze staring at it with a kind of resigned horror. "Great one, remain calm we do not have long to speak. I can tell by your reaction that we are the first unit to make contact with you". Seventeen years, constant vigilance and fear anytime out doors even when on a screened in porch, mother quitting her job to make sure she would be there if I actually got stung. Hiring a ex-military medic to drive me around after they won the local lottery, losing friends because I couldn't be allowed to play outdoors after spring. Wait, ex-medic ...the epi pen! Staring the hallucination in my eye Ii reached to my backpack and pulled out the pen popping the security tab and lifting it to strike my leg it...resisted "No my liege you must not!" the bee said , now sitting on the tip of my nose. That's when I saw them crawling all over my hand tiny wings buzzing. Instinctively I yelped then dropped the pen, watching in amazement as they returned to their formation. "Wh-why " was all i could get out. "Sir it is likely they put one of their chemicals in there, not something to help you but something to knock you out and cause memory loss" the small death dealer said. "They?! you mean my fucking doctor?", "I'm talking to a bee now, I wonder if i'm even really still standing. Maybe i'm sprawled out on the ground with foam coming from my mouth as my body rages it's last defiant battle. "He would not be your doctor, but theirs, Please majesty you must focus, we have little time the bear is likely already incapacitated or dead by now" "Bear? please tell me Baloo is just around the corner ready to save me" I said. "You know him? I did not know his name sir or that you were aquatined. I hope you and he will accept our apology for all the stings, we merely needed to incite him to violence to distract the human named Carl." That's when I noticed I was sitting down and it struck home. Carl was *never* out of eyesight or atleast shouting distance. He's paid more than he would make at any ambulance service just to stay by my side in case. He should be here no matter what but...a bear? "I'm not hallucinating?" i said. "No my lord, I understand this is a shock but I have been trying to tell you that we are here to rescue you, quickly you must come with us" the tiny voice said, sounding more confident and resolute Dropping the Epi pen I asked "So you didn't sting me?" The little bee's wings buzzed quickly and almost fell off my nose. "Sire it would be more than my wings are worth, my whole colony would kill itself if I dared harm you." Drugs, somebody slipped me something or maybe that stuff that grows on grain and makes you trip balls. Urgot? i think that is what it was called, the cause of the salem witch trials. Well part of the cause ,religious fools that they were. "Quickly sire, follow us! Alpha team you're on point, charlie team fall back to the parking lot and observe the human to see if he gives chase, DO NOT BE SEEN." The three lines of bees flew off in different directions, one toward the parking lot another in thhe opposite direction and the rest formed a halo around my head forming a crown of bees. Thinking that this was kind of cool for a nightmarish hallucination I sprang into action following alpha team. "Where are we going...wait what is your name?" I asked. "It is not likely you could say it in your language sire, but you may call me Carl if that seems right." the bee said whilst clinging to my glasses against the wind. "Oh no, you're way more interesting than a Carl. I will call you Artemis, does that sound ok?" I said. "Named by the prophesied one himself, my lord you humble me to tears" he replied. Smiling i found myself thinking this small creature which i hhad come too fear and loathe was actually kind of cute. "Where are we going Artemis?" "We're going to your Mother sir, she has much to discuss with you." he replied "Oh Art, i'm sorry but I'm pretty sure my mother would coat me in a fog of raid if she saw you with me" I chuckled while running along side the river. Strange my asthma isn't bothering me. "Not the human you call mother majesty. She was merely assigned to you after your kidnapping. We're going to your REAL mother, our mother, earth's mother Gaia." He replied in all seriousness. "Alpha team this is it, Baker team signal evac team that we are ready to depart." He said in that oddly commanding tone for a voice sounding like it was coated in helium. Another bee flew close to my glasses and said " Wings are arleady here sir, 15 seconds". "Set ten of your weakest to wait for charlie team's return after we leave. The human will come this way looking for the king, if you think he suspects what has happened... Kill him." Art said. " By my Antennae and Sting, life to serve commander. We will fight to the last bee." the little one said. What did he mean wings here in 15 seconds Art?" I asked just before two sets of eagle talons clenched my shoulders and carried me into the sky.

They'd told me it was impossible

It was done. They'd told me it was impossible - physics doesn't *work* that way, they said. There was this law or that rule that dictated that it was simply outside of the realm of possibility. Had I listened to them? No. Not me. I knew better. And there I stood, holding the little bracelet in my hands that was about to prove all of them wrong. Fingers trembling, I slipped it over my wrist. I was barely able to fasten the clamps in my excitement. *Where to?* I thought gleefully to myself. *Where should I go first?* Back to the time of dinosaurs, to see the majestic beasts for myself? The thought was tempting - there wasn't a man alive who hadn't loved dinosaurs at some point in their life. Or to Rome - I'd slide into the crowd, and see a match in the grand arena! Oh, the excitement of it, the *thrill* of it all. Perhaps something a little more...peaceful, though. The hanging gardens, maybe? I'd long dreamt of seeing such a sight. Yes. yes. yes. My fingers punched in the destination zone as quickly as they could, flying over the little control screen nearly on their own. My heart hammering in my throat, I pushed the *Engage* button. >Time/Location selection invalid. I stared down at the screen, brow furrowed. That...wasn't right. No matter. There must have been a problem with something in the code. It wasn't unexpected. Rome it was. The first edge of my excitement had faded incrementally, but I still grinned as I keyed in the date. >Time/Location selection invalid. *Again.* I eyed the time-travel bracelet with more than a little irritation. So be it. Again, I keyed in a different date, and again, I saw it. >Time/Location selection invalid. >Time/Location selection invalid. >Time/Location selection invalid. Over and over again. There must be something wrong with it. It didn't *work*. Nearly tearing the thing from my wrist, I decided to take one last test drive. My mood thoroughly soured, I keyed in the data for last week. My skin shivered, the air around me rippling as my vision went white. My pulse thundered as my adrenaline spiked. I hadn't been expecting to get anything. But there I was, standing in front of my house. There was my newspaper, one of the few vices I still had. And, *yes*. *It had worked.* The bracelet was a success. So...why hadn't it worked before? My unease grew. And then the scientist in me took over, plotting my next tests. An hour's worth of frustration later, I had it. January 1, 1980. That was the limit. No matter how many times I tried, no matter how many variations I plugged in, I couldn't go any farther back. That was the limit. And the sneaking suspicion was rising that it wasn't a problem with my device. Why would it be, when dates were merely an arbitrary human assignment? There *should* be no reason for such an asinine wall in the time-space continuum. So why couldn't I break through? It was as though something were blocking me, standing in my way. I needed to get through it. Now that I had my device, now that it *worked*, the *need* to go back farther was a nearly palpable sensation. It was a good thing I didn't have a wife, with the hours I poured into it. But eventually, I found what I *thought* was a solution. I'd been thinking of my bracelet as a bubble, floating haphazardly through the river of time. That idea went out the window immediately. I wasn't a bubble. I was a knife. I'd *cut* my way out of this horrible corner I'd been locked in. It took me nearly 6 months, time spent living off the meager savings I had left and skiiving time in the lab at my horrible but well-equipped company. But once more I strapped on the bracelet, my heart in my throat. January 1, 1950. Nice and simple, nice and straightforward. As the button flashed up at me, I slammed my thumb down. The world went white. The world around me shivered, the sound of metal on metal screeching in my ears as everything *shook.* And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. I opened my eyes. The two people staring back at me were white-faced and trembling, dressed...Like nothing I'd ever seen before. Their clothes had an oddly clinical look to them, not unlike the clean-room uniforms my researcher friends wore, and yet....This was entirely different. "...This isn't 1950, is it?" I said slowly, glancing around. A quick glance confirmed that, *yes*, I still had my bracelet. I slipped one hand over it, the action reassuring somehow. Shit, shit, shit. Why did I say that? How were they going to respond? Jesus christ, less than a minute and I'd already blown the *temporal prime directive* out of the water. But they only stared, nearly as shocked as I was. The first one stood, trembling. "Is that-" "Control, this is server room 3," his partner said, grabbing at a microphone-like device pinned to her chest. I glanced around, confused. Server room 3? A row of quietly whirring machines greeted my confused stare. "This is Control. It's 3am, Gina. What do you want?" a speaker on her desk said, the voice on the other end clearly annoyed. "I don't give a shit, Todd," Gina said, still staring at me. "I don't know how, but subject 2155 just broke out of the simulation." (/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) --- ~~And, mmm, I do like me some temporal drama, and I *wanted* my next project to be scifi. So not promising anything, but *considering* more. Later parts would go on my sub.~~ ~~Edit - will probably wind up doing at least another part or two, explore it and see where it wants to go. If you want an update when it comes out, can either subscribe to the bot on my sub or leave a comment in and I'll message you if/when it comes out.~~

Reclusive scholars, wise hermits

It's funny, most species start out incredibly social. But as they advance in technology, some members of society start to become more and more isolated. The reclusive scholars, the wise hermits, the silent religious types and so on. And as society grew and grew, so did the amount and types of social inept lonesome people who would only rarely interact with other beings face to face. And as society eventually reaches a point where interaction with other living beings for the sake of anything becomes unnecessary, then eventually all social individuals sort of die out. Slowly, but surely. Soon, computers would replace parties, face-to-face interaction would be more and more infrequent, to the point where children would not even see their parents, being raised by nanny robots. Thus it had always been. And yet, one race had bucked the trend. While they did indeed have socially inept and awkward people among them, their numbers were not growing exponentially as other races had at that point of technological development. The many races of the galaxy, who had only ever really interacted via text and a few brave enough to still play an MMO, had gathered the most social of their members to gather the necessary confidence to attempt contact. Of course, by most social, it meant people just brave enough to video chat, which was considered by most of the galactic community to be only something the most extremely social butterflies(technically they called them social Edt'quals but that wouldn't translate as well) would dare to engage in. There was an Ofei, a race which looked similar in appearance to bipedal squids, by the name of Desqa who had actually managed to leave the house to get the alien version of pizza, risking being seen or worse, meeting someone in the streets. There was an unnaturally tall bird-like thing which had, if rumors were correct, actually held a conversation as long as 15 minutes with another sentient life-form. The other sentient life-form had shortly after died from stress. And many others who, calling in with holograms, were gathered to find out who'd have to try to contact these extremely social sentients. Which went poorly. It took three months before anyone worked up the courage to say hi. And another two months before anyone dared reply. One might wonder how they would not have regressed mentally at this point, as would be most likely. Due to the fact that they constantly conversed with NPCs in their video games or dated simulated creatures in their visual novels, or even just read their many many books, they could still stay just social enough to not cease having a need for higher brain functions. And if that wasn't enough, then the wonders of genetic engineering could fix anything. After five years of awkward conversation, several people who had died from the sheer stress of being forced to socially interact and more awkward cringy conversations than you could realistically shake a stick at, the alien to contact the human race had been chosen. Alqir, a vaguely grey, bipedal, female lizard-like alien from the Qualqi race, had been chosen, though perhaps the more apt term was that she lost the large scale multiplayer game first that they had decided to have in order to determine the chosen one. She was quite literally shaking as her ship started its descent. She had been social, sure, often posting on social media, playing multiplayer games, actually managing to wave to someone once. But meeting an entirely new race, and one still capable of the mythical arts of social interaction, face to face, IRL! It was not something she was looking forward to. It hadn't been hard to send the text message to the humans, that they were going to be greeted by an official from the Galactic Independent Alliance. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to think of what her characters in her games would do in such a situation. At least they breathed the same air as her, and they didn't look too weird for aliens. She just hoped there wouldn't be a crowd. She'd probably die, right there and then. The ship landed slowly, and she gulped as she walked reluctantly to the ship doors. ''*It's ok. I can do this.*'' She kept trying to tell herself, but it wasn't much use, her two hearts beating as if they were about to explode. She got up on the escalator and opened the doors. It was far worse than she could have felt in her worst nightmares. She had feared that maybe there would be more than ten of them. She was certain that there was more than ten thousand of them, all staring at her. She just froze, as the platform she was standing on descended down the giant escalator. She was screaming internally as she came closer to the humans on the podium. Especially the one in the center, almost twice as tall as her, with a broad smile, looking directly at her. Why was he so strangely handsome, for an alien? The platform finally stopped, and for a moment, everything was silent. And then the tall human walked towards her, reaching out his hand. In a form of trance, she shook as she extended her own claw. As he came close, he grasped her claw in his hand, and she looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. And then, the human spoke. He sounded like everything she wasn't, confident, strong, proud. ''*I've been told you people have translation devices, that will make you understand everything I say. I must say, it's... A great honor to be here today, as the President of these United States of America, I, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, welcome you to our world, and extend to you a branch of peace, from the human race to the galaxy at large.*'' She just held his warm hand and was struck by panic. Her internal monologue was not entirely coherent, but as she noticed that the handsome alien had stopped talking a while ago, she realized it was getting a bit awkward. She opened her mouth, and stammered and tried to look away. ''*I... I... Thank you? I'm sorry. Uh. I... Uh. I come in... Peace.*'' That was what she said. Her internal thought process said something else. ''*ARRRGH! You're ruining this! Arrgggh! Nobody told me their leader was hot! There are no conversation prompts to get me to know how to interact with him!*'' At that moment, however, a realization struck her. In the dating sims she sometimes played, one would give gifts to the hot hero or colleague to increase their affection. She quickly let go of the human's hand and grabbed something from her pocket. ''*Uh... Here.*'' She handed him a metal figurine of one of her own characters that she had gotten 3D-printed once. The human smiled and looked somewhat puzzled as to what to do with this overly muscled small statue of a lizardman. She then realized she hadn't even introduced herself yet. ''*I'm... I mean, my name is... Uh... I am uh... Doctor Alqir, special enbooi, no I mean envoy! From the Galactic... uh Independent Alliance.*'' She knew she would get into so much trouble when this went badly. But then a female human, also remarkable to look at, walked towards them, and whispered something in the ear of the male that she could not quite make out. ''*May I invite you inside the White House to talk further?*'' The male inquired. Grasping at this hope to get away from the crowd, she nodded imperceptibly. The woman gently took her hand, and led Alqir down into a building, which was indeed very white. Led into a small room, it was just Alqir, the male and the female. ''*You're not good with crowds dear.*'' The woman said. Alqir shook, and began to cry. Stunned, the woman looked at her mate, and enveloped Alqir in her arms. It was the most wonderful feeling Alqir had ever had. ''*Shh. It's going to be okay. Just... let it out.*'' This continued for almost ten minutes where the woman comforted the small alien woman. The male looked somewhat uncomfortable with the crying. ''*Now, we need to talk a little, do you think you can do that?*'' The woman asked. Alqir nodded and looked up at the woman. ''*I'm Jacqueline Kennedy, but you can call me Jackie. You've already met my husband, John. Were you expecting something, a bit different.*'' Alqir, still quietly sobbing, just nodded. Through the next few hours, Jackie and John managed to coax out an explanation of what had happened, of how the galaxy worked. How almost everyone were so anti-social, some people didn't even believe in the existence of other people. After Alqir had calmed down, and she felt a little better, they also started doing some of the official actions needed for mankind to enter the Galactic world, some star systems for them to claim, what kind of technology they would be given to help them.

Saskatchewan is the most landlocked province

I thought it was a cat, I really did. It mewed in the deep grass, and if I hadnt stopped and taken out my earphones, I probably would've passed by without a second thought, never noticing the mottled green-blue body of an animal about the size of your average mutt. I expected to see a next of kittens, abandoned in the grass, and instead found a baby water dragon, half submerged in dirty ditch water, with a torn wing and still fresh from its egg. What the hell was a water dragon doing here? It was Saskatchewan, the most landlocked province in all of north America! I reach for it, picking it up and looking around. It hadnt been laid here, that was for certain. Any water dragon sightings would've definitely made national news, or at the very least a Facebook post or two. Moreover, dragons always laid eggs in clutches of seven, but this little one was all alone. So, with dragon firmly in my arms, I started the walk home. With some internet searching, I found that there were no dragon rescues near me. Not many of the winged creatures cared to love or fly in such a flat and boring landscape, after all. So, for better or worse, I was on my own. My searches pulled up some results. Water dragons liked music, and had a particular affinity with music box melodies. I could repair its wing with a thick spike to pierce the leather of the torn pieces and fit them together with string hide, and they liked fish. So, I set a plate of filleted salmon I'd been saving in front of him, grabbed a screwdriver and hammer, set some up some music box tunes on my phone, and set to work. I nailed holes into his wing, and he barely noticed between gnawing on the salmon and listening to the music. Once I was done, I sewed the halves back together with some chorded leather that I'd made by tearing apart an old belt. According to the internet, the wing would fix itself from that point on, even if the job I had done was slightly subpar. Dragons were an insanely strong species. "You all done with the fish there?" I asked him, wiping the sweat from my brow. It looked up at me with silvery eyes. It was still very dirty, covered in egg matter and dirt from the pond. A bath was in order. I walked off, intending to get the tub running and come back, but...it hopped off the table, and followed after me. "Huh. I hope that means you like me." I say, laughing. I sat on the closed toilet and started running the water. "Hot or cold, what's your preference?" I asked as we got to the bathroom. I plugged up the tub, and the dragon jumped in rather quickly. I turned the knob and it stuck its head under the faucet, starting to warble its little heart out. "Cold it is. Saving me on my heating bill, at least." I sigh, smiling. I don't have any sort of scrubbing tools, so a rag will have to do. After a long soak and dry, they're out and clean. The scales are a brilliant cascade of blue, green and turquoise. Everytime it moves in the light, it shimmers like the surface of the sea. Its silver eyes are offset by the bone white horns that mark it as male, according to the webpage I'm on. Female water dragons have horns as black as pitch that curl like antelope horns, while his are short and straight. They'll start to branch out like sharper deer antlers as he got older, however. For the next ten years, this dragon is my closest friend. I've named him Titan. He's small, smaller than he should be, but he's got a big appetite and energy to outlast a thousand hyperactive children. He grows strong, tall and handsome. His body elongates, he becomes barrel chested and his wings expand to the point that he sunbathes in the field and he nearly reaches either end. His belly scales start to take on a incandecant rainbow colour, and his horns grow out. Before long, hes so big that he could probably eat me for an afternoon snack and still ask for seconds. He's become a local mascot, he takes kids for flight rides, people pay to help feed him, even the local high school has changed their sports teams from the fighting bears to the fighting titans. Titan has lived up to his name, for better or worse. The barn he stayed at during the winters has gotten too small for him, and I cant afford to build a bigger one for him, even after I sold his shed skin as clothing material. There's a large public gathering in my yard when the weather has dipped too low for it to be safe for him. Water dragon or no, it wasnt meant for the icy cold Saskatchewan winter. It was meant to live somewhere in the carribian during the winters and off the shores of BC in the summers. Dragon Rescue rangers are in glider planes, with several other, smaller assistant dragons by their side. They'd make the migration with Titian and make sure he got there okay. "Sorry, Titian. Come back when it isn't dangerous, okay? Follow the nice people, and I'll be here when it's time to come home." I saw to him, holding his snout in two hands. "Be careful out there. Be safe." Titian makes a mournful sound, deep, low and rumbling, pushing me over and trying to grab onto my clothing, trying to toss me up onto a harness he isn't wearing to drag me with him to warmer waters. But, I pat his nose. "No, Titian. You have to go alone. I'll...I'll miss you, buddy. Try and find yourself a girlfriend, okay? Mama wants some grandbabies." He flops down, nearly crushing a fair few spectators, and it takes him an hour to finally get back up, and another hour to get into the air. I watch him go until dark, when even the faintest speck of him is gone. Five years pass, and titan is a world treasure. The dragon with a moon shaped scar on his wing has become the strongest, largest water dragon to ever live. It's nearly as large as a humpback whale. It causes typhoons with a bat of its wings and waves with every dive into the ocean. Titian rules the sky and sea. Eventually, Titian finds a mate. Another water dragon, 2/3s his size but twice his age. The location of their nest is unknown. A year after Titian's wife had laid her seven eggs, the family is seen flying northward...but, only six of the seven are seen flying. Its assumed that one has died prematurely. I started following the news like a madwoman, following every Titian Watch program on every channel and watching the skies until finally, *finally*, Titan landed down on the vast and empty fields near my home, towering over every tree in sight and shaking the ground with every claw step. It kneels its head down, and I start to cry. Hes so big, so massive. His head is like the size of my small car, his wife is easily as large as he had been when he left, and their babies...their babies are massive. Only five months old but bigger than Titian had been at a year. They land, tucking and rolling rather than lofting down like their parents had. And Titians head goes to his wife's back, she'd been carrying something all through the trip, and turns back to me. It has something small in its jaws, holding it by its tail, and gently settles it at my feet. A dragon. So small, it looks like a hairless cat. Its skin is so white, it shines like a pearl in the golden Saskatchewan grass. I go to it, picking it up. Its horns are black, and curled up. Its eyes are a bright, unseeing scarlet red. Titian's daughter, a blind albino water dragon. I pick her up, holding the tiny beast to my chest. "Shes probably going to be small forever, no larger than a horse." I say to him. He curls himself up, his snout near me and ears perked up, listening. "I cant garuntee she can be returned to you at all." He snorts, and a wave of hot, fishy stench washes over me. Hes laughing. He wants her to stay, stay like he couldn't. I go forward, putting a hand to his snout. "...give me an hour or two. I'll go with you to BC, okay? I cant feed you or your family here. We'll spend the summer together while we can." I promise him. His silver eyes close, and he huffs. I take the albino with me, and her brothers and sisters bounce after me as I go into my home and collect my things. I've named Titan's daughter Olympia. Adtjkrdhj Thanks for reading. :) https://dellamacdonaldwriting.wordpress.com for irregular updates and a cleaner version of this soon

Cloven hoofs turned to

Cloven hoofs turned to dainty little feet, a fur covered barrel chest began a set of supple, perky B cups, and what had been a bone white band of hair became the long, smooth inky black of a human woman. I'd be spending decades in this insufferable feminine body, with its weak limbs and annoying annual functions. (Really?! I have to go to the toilet *multiple times a day*?!) In the grandscheme of things, I suppose half a century wasnt so long, I'd been alive for an uncountable millennia before, but this would no doubt be the longest 'break' I've had during all that time. And for no pay either. The man that summoned me was a strange sort of human, with messy, greasy hair and so thin that he looked like something my hellhounds would gnaw on after dinner, and his home was a mess of trash, disorganozed books and garish decorations that suited a middle schooler going through a phase rather than the 25 year old novelist that he was. "So? What now?" I ask him, lounging on an unmade bed. He was still in those dumb robes and the summoning circle was still smouldering. I wasnt an incuubai, and not did I have any interest in the matter of sex, but I could endure it for a while. Damned if I let one pitiful human pull a fast one on me and make me lose my perfect deal-making track record. "I...ah...well, how about a date?" He suggests, his face a bright, luminous pink. "I was thinking about this nice ramen place I know. It's pretty good for the price." "A date?" I ask, eyebrow raised. "You summoned the lord of all hall and damnation...for a date?" "Well...yeah." I sigh, moving to a stand and pushing him towards the door. "Bathroom, now. Get in the tub." "W-what?! T-this is a-a little forward, don't you think?!" He stammers, trying to resist me as I push him. I am still significantly stronger despite my smaller stature. "You are five different types of disgusting, I'm not going anywhere with you looking like that. First bath, then haircut, and nail trimming and while your doing that, I'm going through your wardrobe." I say firmly, shoving him out the door and closing it behind him. Hes gone for the better part of three hours, and in that time I've sorted through his disgusting laundry and tossed out more than half. It's all second hand clothing, I can still smell other people on them. I haven't started cleaning the room, but I imagine I'll have some time in the interm 50 or so years. He returns, hair chopped and closely shaved, freshly cleaned, and still wearing his unwashed clothing. "Here," I say, tossing him a new set. "Put that on, and then we'll go." "You know, you're a lot pushier than I imagined." He mentions, turning towards the bathroom again. "According to your *anime* preferences, I assumed you like the pushy type." "W-what?! What did you see?!" "You've replayed that Natsuki route in Doki Doki Literature Club several times over, bub." "I-I just wanted to save her from her dad and monika! It's not because shes mean!" "Sure. Go change." He cleans up nicely. Hes still a toothpick, but there's only so much the lord of hell can do. We leave. The second I cross the threshold of his apartment door, my outfit changes to match his. The...date...goes as well as expected. He gives what few 'rules' he can come up with, that I stay his girlfriend and don't cheat on him, and treat him like how any ordinary girl would her boyfriend. There, he also gives me a name- Samantha Folley. The days bleed into weeks, and weeks into months. I'm living with him full time now, and I've been doing as bid for the most part- taking care of his health and his living space as 'any ordinary girlfriend' would. After the first year, he starts looking better. With more complete meals, he's started gaining some muscle, he showers regularly and he hasn't let his shaggy hair return. His hobbies are still...out there, he cries over 2d characters a lot but he still gets his work done. His second book is a smash hit, and he asks if I had anything to do with it. "You asked for a girlfriend, not fame and fortune." I tell him simply, setting a cup of tea in front of him. "That success is yours." He smiles. "After I finish my trilogy, they're asking for a book tour. Think you'd be up for some traveling?" "I suppose I could manage." I sigh. "Just tell me when." Two years later, we're on the road. Hes almost 27 at this point, and on the final stop, he kneels down in front of his audience and asks for my hand in marriage. He really wants to play at the whole 'being in love' thing, doesn't he? I agree with crocodile tears sliding down my cheeks. We don't get married in a church, or have a priest officiate. No, it's done in a court room, and I'm wearing jeans and holding a super market bouquet in my hands. Only then, four years after knowing me, does he finally have full and proper intercourse with me. Don't get me wrong, there has been touching, but its ways been more him taking lessons. I thought he was just getting pointers for when he brought an actual woman home, but no. It was so he could please his little wife, me. Days go on and soon, he's 29. He asks me for a child. "Any child I have will be the antichrist." I tell him, eyebrow raising. "Do you really want that?" "...Maybe not. I don't want my son or daughter to be exorcised by the pope." He says, laughing slightly. "How about...adoption? Let's look into adoption." Fine. Okay, whatever. Adoption. Ten years pass, and we live in a suburb with six children, none of whom know that 'Mommy Sammy' is actually satan. They're all monsters. Not even demons! I know demons, and every day is a struggle. "I've done enough writing, I think we can live off the royalties for a while, with the movie coming out soon." He sighs, lounging on the couch with his youngest spawn. "How about this? I'll stay home with the kids, and you can be the bread winner." "I hope you know what that means." I said with a shake of my head. "I have an idea of what your job is. As long as you come back for dinner and help me with family things, I can live." I roll my eyes. I'm returned to hell from 9 to 5, and get started on the back log of deals I haven't been making over the past two decades, and return to the homestead to a full dinner and cries of 'mommy'!! This goes on for years more. High school graduations, proms, seeing the movie that my husband wrote, grandchildren... Finally, at the age of 87 years, he dies. In the hospital, with myself and his entire family surrounding him. He never had parents, he was a foster child himself, so it's only me, our children, and some writer friends and an old publisher pal he kept on contact with after retirement. Our youngest is 23, and in absolute tears. I stay with him until everyone is gone. A nurse comes in. "Mrs.Holly? I think it's best that you leave." She said softly. "The undertakers have been waiting paitently outside for the better part of the night. It's time to let go. "Cut the crap." I say stonily. "I know who you are." The nurse looks shocked, for about half a second. Then, she sighs. "I was wondering why you weren't eating his soul. Did the devil fall in love?" "Dont be so fucking stupid. He bested me in a deal, years ago. I have no right to his soul." "Satan is, at the very least, a man of his word." The nurse comes around, and taps his forehead. A shimmery white mist comes out, and it gathers into a small, blue-white diamond. His soul. Shes his reaper. "So? What's your plan now? You're about...what? 85 in that body? Are you gonna stick around for the remaining ten years?" "I've got a plan, fuck nut." I sigh, head laid on the bed. "Just get going. I have hell to run once this shit is finally over." "Whatever you say, Satan." She says, leaving the room. The actual nurse comes in, and touches my back. Shes trying to get me up and out so the undertakers can take him. Jokes on her. I stopped this body's heart hours ago. I'm absolutely cold. She calls for the undertakers, and they call for an additional herse and bodybag. Mr and mrs.Holly are dead. Him from a stroke and her from a stress-induced cardiomyopathy. Literally a broken heart. I'm returned to my kingdom, still not shedding the womanish disguise I made for myself. What can I say? Its grown on me, and it's funny to see a PTA mom on the throne of hell. I'm about to start sentencing, when a familiar person is put in front of me- my husband. "Turns out, making deals with the devil is a sin. Heaven is out of the question." He says, kneeling with burning chains around his wrists. Hes smiling. I smile back. "Daniel Holly, I hereby sentence you to an eternity of hellfire as Satan's concubine." "I think I can live with that." He says, standing as the burning chains dissipate. He comes to me, kissing the top of my head like he did when I was sitting on the couch, watching soap operas. "I missed you, dear." I sigh, leaning into the gentle touch. "I missed you too..." Ssfgjkkk Thanks for reading. :) https://dellamacdonaldwriting.wordpress.com for irregular updates and a cleaner version of this soon.

"It wasn't my phone that

"It wasn't my phone that woke me up, but my wife. She's always been a lighter sleeper than me, and even though I had it on silent, the constant stream of notification vibrations was making the phone shuck and jive all over my nightstand. "Honey. Hoooooooney. HONEY!" I came awake to a rough shake accompanying the words. "Yeahwah?" I managed, blearily. "Your phone. Somebody is blowing you up." "Must be my other girlfriend." An old joke, wildly inappropriate considering what was to follow. "Mmhhmm." She mumbled, already well on her way back to sleep. I checked the bedside clock; the red LED showing 3 am on the nose. Weird. I leaned awkwardly, half awake, and grabbed my phone, and had to do a doubletake when I saw the notifications. 186 texts, 93 missed calls, and one emergency notification. What. The Actual. Fuck? I thought, ok, this is a dream, must be a dream. I don't even know 186 people. Ok. Must be a natural disaster on the way. Or did Kim Jong Un launch nukes at the west coast? Shit. With slightly shaking hands, I thumbed the official notification, expecting the worst. I held my breath. "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." Wait, what? The feeling of surreal vertigo intensified. The logical part of my brain was continuing to insist that this was, this MUST, be a dream, must be a dream, must be... "Shut up, shut up." I whispered to myself, climbing out of bed. I was awake now, fully, rigidly awake, and so I decided to take my phone to the living room to investigate further. Plopping down on the couch, I started scrolling through texts. "Curiouser and curiouser," I mumbled to myself, looking at the texts. None of them from numbers I recognized. Some of them...not even from phone numbers. Entries from numbers with only 8 digits, or 6, or 2. Entries with letters and numbers mixed together. Entries with letters and numbers and Chinese characters mixed in. Emojis and symbols mixed in. My disquiet was growing steadily. I clicked the first message. "Wow, look at the moon! It's so big and beautiful. Amazing, isn't it" So, ok, my brain responded. Not a dream. A practical joke. Someone is messing with me. With my phone. I wonder if my wife is in on this. I clicked the next text. "It's such a beautiful night tonight. Just look! The moon looks amazing. It's so big!" "Look at the moon! Wow, it looks so cool! Look honey!" Something about the "honey" sent a chill up my spine. My wife, shaking me awake, popped back into my mind, unbidden. "Look at that moon out over the water honey!" It looks so huge so close to the horizon. Why does it do that?" "It's such a beautiful night honey, look! Wow, the moon looks awesome!" And as I was reading these, I realized, I could hear a voice speaking the words. Quietly, like they were coming from very far away, repeating, looping over each other, blurring speeding up, slowing down, warping. Look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, it's a beautiful night, go look at the moon." Mustering all the calm I could, I set my phone, face down, on the couch. Some still logical functionality commanded me to turn on the TV. Turn on the news. Yes. Normalcy. Emergency broadcast system. Yes. That's a good idea. I turned it on. It's 3 am, surely more than a minute has passed but it says 3 am, right there in the corner of the screen, 3:00AM PDT, and even though it's the middle of the night, there's Anderson Cooper, and he's staring at me, I swear he's looking right at me, and suddenly turning on the news seems like it was a really bad idea. "West coast residents are being warned tonight not to look at the moon. Authorities are warning that looking at the moon might destroy your life and could unravel the very fabric of reality. Ben, DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." I pressed the power button again on the remote and the TV shut off. Heart trying to thud its way out of my chest, I stood, and walked back towards my bedroom. Somehow, I knew before I opened the door that my wife would be awake, and she was. She was sitting up, her face lit by her phone screen. "I shouldn't have told you to look at the moon, honey. I'm sorry." "Wait, what? Are you?...Are you in on this too? What is going on!" She looked down, and started crying. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so so sorry." I rushed over and sat down hard on the bed, right in front of her. "Sorry for what!" I demanded, panic seizing control of me as I grabbed her shoulders. "Sorry for WHAT! What THE FUCK is going on!!?? Sorry for what??!!" She stopped crying, and smiled. Her eyes were far away, glazed, almost robotic. "Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!" I let go of her shoulders, and stood up. I walked calmly, out of the room, out through the living room to the hall to the back door. I threw it open, feeling like my arms and legs were moving on their own. Like I was merely a passenger. I could feel my pulse in my ears. I stepped out, into my backyard. I tilted my head to the sky, and I looked at the moon. And then I remembered. God help me, I remembered. Driving along, southbound on coast highway, coming home from a long night. She was tired, dried sweat had warped her perfect hairdo, but she still looked radiant. Face lit by the dash lights, and of course, by the moon. She had sung her heart out tonight, and the crowd had eaten it up. She was a bright shining star, tonight. Hanging out there, seeming mere inches from the horizon, the big, swollen, full face of the moon. Just about to set. "Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!" And I did. I took my eyes off the road, and I did. She was right, of course. It was beautiful." I sighed. "And then I heard an awful sound, like a loud pop, and we were upside down, flying, weightless, like somehow we had been pulled by the moon into space. The car was full of weird things floating through the air, coins, a pen cap, her mic had even floated in from the back into the front. I had one last look at her face. It was still transitioning from the marvel at the beauty of the moon to the shock of the crash. I tried to reach out my hand, but I seemed to be moving through jello. The moon filled the windshield, seemed to get even bigger, brighter, turned the sky white, turned the whole world white." I wept a little then. Not as much as I would, later, but a little. "You know the rest," I said when I had regained my composure. "I came out of the coma. I woke up here." The officer stared at me, and I could tell she was struggling to keep her face impassive. She felt bad for me, but she didn't want to. "I'm sorry for your loss." she said, looking down at her notepad. She hadn't taken down a single word of it. "Can you tell me how much you'd had to drink that night?" I sighed again. Could I? No, not really. Quite a few. Too fucking many. "No," I answered. "No, I don't think I can." She nodded. "You're going to need a lawyer. When you're ready to get out of here, I mean." I looked down at my broken body. Just a mess of wires and tubes and casts. "Yeah," was all I could muster. She stood, and walked toward the door of my hospital room. She put her hand on the door, and without turning, she asked, "do you think if you'd obeyed the warning, you'd still be in the coma?" "Yes," I said, quietly. "Yes, I do."

Scim the Blademaster and

"Ladies and Gentlemen, today we have the first fight between two world-class fighters, Scim the Blademaster and Alejandro the Wolverine-" I cut the mic, "Can he use that?" "It's all good, plot armor stretches to legal battles so he's beaten Disney litigation twice already. They've decided to sponsor him at this point." "Alright." I key the microphone back on. "This is a fight for the ages, the first of its kind, not only between two world champions but two individuals who tested positive for the phenomena known as PLOT ARMOR! Scim alone has racked up a total of 10,167 deaths related to his trait, and the Wolverine has picked up a smaller but still extremely respectable 7,893!" The crowd roars in approval, the die hard fans of these two practically foaming at the mouth. Sometimes I love my job. "You know the drill- a fight to the death, no holds barred fight, the combatants can bring in whatever they want to the arena but may not receive any outside aid. Sorry kids, no nuclear fire getting dropped from the top row! Without further ado- our contestants!" The gates on either side of the arena swing open. Out of my left comes Scim, using his trademark green scimitar. On top of his plot armor he has a blade that cuts things apart at the molecular level. I've seen him cut through a battle mech's starship grade armor in seconds. To be honest, I've a soft spot for the guy, he has a knack for showmanship and talks a good game on the outside. Not to mention he's sort of an ideal. Jet black hair, perfect white teeth, deep but charming voice, and of course the physique of an inter-galactic Olympian. The crowd takes it up a notch and I can feel the sonic stabilizers around my booth kick in as the noise reaches harmful levels. It makes everything sound a bit muted, but it's worth it in the long run, or so I'm told. Then there's the Wolverine walking in on the opposite side. He uses three bladed weapons bound to his fists, which are covered in charged metal so he can punch as well. Not gonna lie, his fights are a hell of a spectacle, but he really needs some originality. Not to mention he's been surgically altered to look like some actor from the 21st century. But the guy is a serious dick. Abuses his plot armor on the outside, to get away with crimes or overall nonsense. I'm hoping he loses this fight. "Fighters...enter your positions!" They walk up to two metal discs located just in front of their respective gates, and the metal landscape morphs into something more dynamic and fun for the audience. Storm clouds begin to form as the ground rises into craggy rock and small platforms. This is a ground-breaking fight so they don't intend to obstruct any of the view. A fight on raised, sharp rocks not only promises to be brutal, but to hopefully end near the peak in the middle for a one of a kind shot. I kill my mic. "So do we have any idea what's actually gonna happen with plot armor against plot armor? Does it become useless and a battle of skill, or...?" The bossman takes a long drink from his soda, "No idea." I shrug and key it back on. "A wonderful arena for this fight, high-speed winds and rain on the infamous Rock. Who will have their blood run red today? Contestants, on my mark! Count down with me!" "Five, four, three, two, one, GOOOOOOOOOO!" The two fighters launch at each other immediately. I'm not surprised, people who don't have plot armor tend to take it slower but these two are used to short fights when they close the gap and easy wins so it's no surprise this is what it's come to. "Both fighters charge eachother- what's this? Scim takes a running leap off the rock mound he took his title on and goes for a savage downwards strike on the Wolverine! Looks like he's not gonna try to block, and is going for the same double gut stab he used to take down Darren the Decimator! Either way, this fight is going to be decided in the next moment!" I pause, holding my breathe as the scene plays out, a fight between two people lauded as gods. To be honest, I don't see how either of them comes out alive after locking themselves into this move. We can save whoever survives, since they probably won't die instantly, but this is kind of lame. As Scim's scimitar hits the top of the Wolverine's head, I expect to see it slide right on through, but instead it deactivates, bends, and literally shatters. "OH MY GOD WHAT AN UPSET, SCIM'S FABLED SWORD HAS JUST SHATTERED AND- WHAT'S THIS? THE WOLVERINE'S CLAWS HAVE BENT AROUND HARMLESSLY?" A massive flash of light blinds me, and a moment later we can see the two contestants laying ten feet away from each other, smoking lightly. I check the replay. A lightning strike from the storm clouds? What? That's not supposed to be able to hit the contestants. Maybe a glitch in the system? I pull up their vitals on my display, both of them are perfectly healthy, to my surprise. Just unconscious. "We are experiencing some technical difficulties, the fight will be postponed until the arena is in a safe state for the contestants. In the meantime, all refreshments are free and the Earth Orchestra will be playing in A wing with free entry, complete with an exhibit from the Sky Circus! Thank you for understanding." The bossman gives me a thumbs up as the arena reverts to its neutral, metallic state and droids float out to recover their bodies. I turn off my mic, probably for the last time today. "So... I guess two people with plot armor can't kill eachother, huh? Maybe when they wake up they'll be best friends or something." I chuckle to myself, the bossman looking decidedly unhappy. Ah well, it's no skin off my back. I'm just here for the fun.

Lauren had imagined being fearful, if

I had imagined being fearful, if I ever opened my eyes again. There would be so many difficult questions to answer, so many truths to avoid. I was vaguely aware that suicide was still an offence, even for minors like myself, and I had heard that the state could take me away from my family, perhaps to stick me somewhere white and padded until I was no longer a threat to myself. Fear of having to admit to my parents that I was not strong enough, fear that they would find out what a mess my life had become... Instead, I felt... relief. It must have had something to do with grandma being there. She always understood, never judged. Her fingers were already brushing my cheeks before the tears had the chance to fall to my hospital gown. I wanted to raise my hands to hold hers, but I couldn't - the restraints were too tight. "Oh, Lauren," she said, as she planted a kiss on my forehead. "I'm so sorry you felt that way. If I had known..." "Where... where's mum and dad? Do they know?" "Of course, they were the ones who found you first. Almost gave them a heart attack, you did. Lucky thing the airlift evacs were already on the way when you started bleeding out in the Pod. I shooed them home, forced them to get some sleep. They'll be back in the morning." The thought of them returning hardened my heart, and I found myself gritting my teeth. I was already preparing myself for the usual onslaught of useless, senseless nonsense from them - how I was taking my life for granted, how I was wasting my time in the Pod, why couldn't I be more like all the other kids in school. It sickened me, and my stomach churned. "I... don't want to see them, grandma. They don't understand... no one understands!" "Understand what, love?" But I couldn't explain it to her. How does one tell your grandma that you've never belonged? That the world never felt like it had a place for you? That it didn't matter how hard you tried to study, or how much effort you put into fitting in... life was a round hole, and there was no peg more square than I was. The Pod though... the Pod was my only relief, my one respite. No other place made me feel more... anonymous, yet appreciated. If I couldn't cut it in reality, if the Pod was the only virtual world where I yearned to be... if everyone told me that that was wrong... Then I really, *really* saw no point in going on. Grandma opened her mouth, primed another question, then saw the look in my eyes and thought better of it. Instead, she turned my arms over, ran her fingers along the stitches the robodocs had sewn. I flinched, of course. The cuts were deeper than I had thought, fuelled with rage and rejection. I readied myself for the next round of reprimands, which was why grandma's statement caught me completely off guard. "You know the Phantom was the one who called the emergency services, don't you?" I blinked hard, just in case I had heard her wrong, but the knowing smile on her face convinced me that I had heard her just right. "How did you know that I saw... was looking for the Phantom..." "You make the mistake of assuming that grandma was never young before," she said, with a twinkle in her eye. She rolled up her own sleeve then, and turned to show me the tiny microchip embedded at the joint of her shoulder, a plain square of silicon just below the skin. "In my time we didn't have any fancy neural jacks like you do now. To access Holoworld, we had to rely on full-body implants like these. This is my 2FA entry pass, right here." "So... you know about the Phantom too?" "Who doesn't?" Indeed, who didn't? The real genius was in getting AI to construct the virtual world - they had the capacity for the tedium, the discipline for the detail, and ironically enough, the flair for life. Once the initial game developers had handed the torch over to AI, Holoworld really came alive. Countless holobooks and omnipedias had been written about the intricate, unending territories in Holoworld, accessible only through the Pod, and over a century later, almost every corner of it had been mapped. Except for one character, whose full biography had never been chronicled. Which only increased the mystery of the Phantom a thousand-fold. "I... I thought I would like to see the Phantom for myself," I said. "I'd spent so much time in the Pod that I thought it would be fitting. Catch a glimpse of him, tick it off my bucket list, then check out of this... existence." "And where did you go to find him?" I couldn't help but grin. Few things got me genuinely excited like talking about Holoworld, and it was strange that a virtual reality game would bridge the gap of decades between grandma and me. "I reasoned that he would be in the Forests of Delvar, and what do you know, I was right." "The Forests? Where the toughest monsters roam? Wouldn't it make more sense that he would be hiding on a deserted, monster-free mountain or something instead?" "That's where you're wrong, grandma. People think that since he's so powerful, he's got to be able to kill all the monsters... but I think that's the best place for him to hide. He can take out just about anyone he wants, and no one will be the wiser! Everyone will just think the monsters did it!" "And did you see him? The Phantom?" The memory seemed like it was from a lifetime ago, shrouded in layers of gauze. "I did, actually. He was walking through the underbrush, without a care in the world, as all manner of beasts waged war about him. I startled him, I think, when I called out for him." "Then? What did you do next?" I smiled, then shook my head. I could remember bits of it leading up to the encounter, of course, but I would rather not have recounted how I fell to my knees, how I cried, how I screamed that I was finally done with this frickin' life. Or how I alt-tabbed, focused on the knife I had prepared in real life, then brought it across my flesh. Grandma squeezed my hand. I closed my eyes, and hoped that she would go away. I didn't like her to see me like this. "I saw him too, you know. The Phantom. Years ago." My eyebrows perked up on their own. "Seriously?" "Oh yes. For sure. His was the first documented deathglitch in the Pod, you know. Happened just about a year or two after Holoworld released. The rumors, they were all over the net. The first known case of a human being trapped in Holoworld, beholden to no code, transcending death entirely." "There was an effort to erase him, wasn't there?" "Nah, they couldn't. They tried, of course. Even got the AI to try to develop hunting programs for him. But he was untouchable. I think at one point the government even contemplated a full server wipe just to get rid of him." "The government got involved?" Grandma rolled her eyes... I think, at me. "Can you imagine how many people thought to kill themselves too, in the Pod, just for the chance at that same miracle? The government had to act before the panic set in, until the Phantom... proved that he wasn't a threat, after all. In fact, it turned out that the Phantom had been appearing to every single person who had tried to end it in the Pod, and dissuaded almost every single one of them. Those he couldn't convince, well, he ensured that the authorities were notified. Just like it was the case for you." For some reason, that rang a bell. I shook my head, tried to clear the cobwebs away... but something lingered at the periphery of my memory, just out of reach, a golden star at the top of the Christmas tree. "The Phantom... he helped others... like me?" "Correct. For me... I walked the same path as you once, I think. I don't even remember how I felt, or what drove me to it. Searching for meaning, perhaps. Trying to make sense of it all, feel more important than what I really felt. I chose the knife too, actually. But the Phantom got to me, just before I could sink it in." Grandma turned her wrist to me, and I craned my neck to see. A tiny incision, a miniature 'V', just over the vessels I had committed to memory. "Those who never met the Phantom claim that he uses his powers, rewrites something in your mind. That's hogwash. Even he couldn't do that. No, the Phantom... he just... freezes time, for a while. He speaks to you, hears you out... gives you endless opportunity to bare your soul to him. He gave me that chance, and I came out of it... different. I took one step at a time, one step... then life turned around, it seems. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. *You* wouldn't be here." "But I don't... remember..." "It'll come back to you, Lauren. Over time. There's a lot to unpack there." "What did he say to you?" Grandma laughed, then patted my shoulder. "Some things are mine forever, love. But I'll help you recall. If I remember, he likes to use the same starting line, for everyone who tries to die in his realm. Yes, it's his realm, no matter how you cut it." Grandma leaned in close, and spoke so softly that none of the receivers in the room could pick it up. That was our bond, strengthened a hundred times over. Our shared secret, co-owned by every other lost soul like me, like her, who had been touched, just for a while, a tiny fraction of time. It sent shivers across my skin, and suddenly I knew it was no figment of make-believe. It was real. He had said those same words to me, and so, so much more. Words I would eventually recall, lessons I would live unknowingly. "Be strong, be strong. The world is harsh, and you have got but one chance at it. Yet, if you're a true gamer, someone who never backs down from a challenge... wouldn't you want to play life at the hardest difficulty? Wouldn't victory be so much sweeter then?" --- /r/rarelyfunny

Jacob shuffled into the conference room

Jacob shuffled into the conference room. Four men sat in high-backed leather chairs at the end of the polished wooden conference table. Jacob shifted his books stuffed with notes and graph paper from one sweaty hand to the other. "Jacob, please sit down," Mr. Mason said rising out of his seat. It was the first time Jacob had ever been directly addressed by the CEO of the company. He gestured for Jacob to sit at the head of the table, the band of his watch peeking out from beneath his sleeve. He swallowed hard and shuffled past his supervisor then eased himself into the leather chair. "There isn't a reason to be nervous, Jacob," Mr. Mason said with a smile. "It's not like your job relies on this or anything." The men around the table laughed at the CEO's jab. Jacob chuckled weakly as he unfolded his dungeon master shield and placed it front of himself. He felt a bit more confident being able to hide behind the thin cardboard and take solace in the fact that the men didn't know how close he was to having a panic attack. "I took the liberty of creating characters for everyone--" Jacob began to speak before he was interrupted. "We had one of the IT guys help us create characters already," his supervisor cut in. "This game is going to be a little different," Jacob said and slid the characters sheets forward to each man. "Janet, Essential Oils Saleswoman?" Todd the Vice President asked raising an eyebrow. "Becky, Leggings Vendor?" his supervisor asked. "Trina, Makeup Artist?" John the Head of Accounting looked over his character sheet with disdain. "What the hell is this about?" "Cindy, Scented Candle Entrepreneur," Mr. Mason muttered, "Skills: hustling, and making moves." "Okay, I'm sorry, but I'm going to shut this down right now," Jacob's supervisor said standing from his chair. "Sit down," Mr. Mason ordered. "I'm intrigued." Jacob cleared his throat and began, "You're a group of women living in the same neighborhood and your job is to sell as much of your product as you can." Jacob slid a piece of graph paper out of his notebook and placed it between the men. It was a detailed map of a small suburb with name "Saletopia" scrawled across the top. "Now, you all have a set of skills that you can use to help you move your product. You can work as a team or individually. If you can think of a plan and execute it then pretty much anything is possible." "It says here that I am proficient in, gossip?" John asked. "Yes, sir." "What exactly does that mean?" "You would have to be speaking with another person and make a roll to see if they believe your gossip. If they do then they must make the decision to try to resist spreading the gossip." "Interesting," he said scratching his chin. "Let's just dive right into it." "Trina, you just received a text message from Cindy. She's inviting you to a candle party. What do you do?" "Well, I don't want to go so some dumb candle party," John scowled. "Okay, you will also note on your character sheet that each of you has a, "best friend,'" Jacob said with air quotes. "You and Cindy are best friends." "So, you're saying I need to go?" "That's entirely up to you. You could try gossip." "Okay, I'll do that then. What do I do?" "Roll that dice there," Jacob said pointing to the twenty sided dice, "and let it rip." The man snapped the dice up and rolled it across the table. 18. "Hey, that's good right?" he said leaning forward, squinting to read the small numbers. "It's great. You text her back," Jacob coughed and put on his best feminine voice impression, "I heard Becky was having a leggings party this evening." "That bitch!" Mr. Mason muttered under his breath. "Can I use my skill, hustle to see if I can invite everyone before she can?" "Sure roll the dice," Jacob said with a small smile. The dice clattered and bounced to a stop. 16. "You have a group text message that you used for your last party." "Okay, I'll send everyone a text." "You all just receive a text from, Cindy. It is a mess of emojis and an invitation to a candle party." "Hey what the hell? You knew I was already having a legging party tonight!" Jacob's supervisor shouted. "Can't keep up with the hustle?" Mr. Mason asked with more attitude than Jacob could have imagined. Jacob's supervisor stared daggers at the CEO from across the table. "Okay, fast forward to this evening. People are showing up for your candle party, Cindy." "I pull my rolling suitcase out of my trunk and wheel it in behind me," Todd the Vice President said smugly. "Cindy, you see Janet wheeling her massive pink suitcase up your walkway. What do you do?" "She's trying to peddle her magic oil at my candle party?" "A group of women cluster around her, excitedly chattering away. You over hear a few snippets of their conversation." "I've heard such great things!" "Oh my god, you look five years younger!" Mr. Mason grimaced. "I can't kick her out now. If I did that then they wouldn't buy my product." "Janet, your suitcase clicks over the stone walkway and you find yourself standing in front of Cindy." "What a wonderful evening for a sale. Isn't it," Todd said in a light southern feminine accent. "Indeed. You can put your suitcase in the closet if you'd like." "Thank you but I'll be keeping it close," he slipped out of his accent and said in his normal voice, "and I wink at her." "Roll for subtle insult!" He tossed the dice. 20. "She is so insulted. Her face flushes and you can tell you really got under her skin." "The women gather inside your massive sitting room. They seat themselves around the room on plush floral couches and lean forward eager to see your new products," Jacob said. "I array my candles in front of them on the coffee table. I light one and allow the smell to fill the room." "Oh, wonderful. It smells like July," one of the women said. "What does July smell like?" Jacob's supervisor asked bitterly. "Better than sweaty pants, you goon," Mr. Mason retorted. "I take my oils out and pass the small vials around for the women to look at," Todd cut in. Jacob's supervisor tore a page out of the notebook on the table and scribbled a note and slid it to Jacob. He glanced at the note and suppressed the urge to laugh, then nodded to his boss. "You pass a lavender essential oil to, Becky. It smells wonderful and it will also remove negative energy from your body when mixed with tea," Jacob guessed. "I pour the oil onto the table and knock a candle over igniting the pool of idiotic smelly oil!" Jacob's supervisor shouted. "Roll!" He picked up a dice and flicked it across the table. "What are you doing?" Mr. Mason and Todd cried out in unison. "Ending this idiocy!" he cackled. The dice bounced to a stop, 16. "The oil bursts into flames rapidly spreading across the table. It burns faster than gasoline and smells like burnt hair. Flames pour off the table igniting the plush rug and spread unnaturally fast. Women scream and run over each other to escape the blazing inferno. Flames lick the base of the suitcase, you can hear the sound of hissing from the bottles inside as they are becoming dangerously warm." "Everybody, get out!" Todd shrieked. "The explosion rips through the room turning candles into bludgeoning debris. A few women manage to escape the inferno as your home becomes tinder." "You son of a bitch!" Mr. Mason roared at Jacob's supervisor. "Get out, you're fired!" "This is stupid and so is your company!" he spat as he stormed out of the room. "And as for you," Mr. Mason rounded on Jacob, "This was really great! We should do this for team building during our next retreat! And it turns out a position has just opened up in management. Congratulations!" He stuck out his hand for Jacob to shake. *Crap.* --- I know... but hey check out /r/Written4Reddit for other stories!

Peter's apartment was dark, he

"What was that?" Peter thought to himself as he walked in the front door. His apartment was dark, he could only see the outline of furniture. "Must just be in my mind" He thought. He flipped the light switch but nothing happened. He gave it a few more flicks -- still nothing. A small creaking noise came from his coat closet. He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, and reached for the door. His hand froze just above the doorknob -- He had heard it again -- a voice like a faint echo in his head said *"Don't open the door you idiot!"* I'm losing my mind, he thought. But he didn't continue opening the door. Instead he walked towards his kitchen with his phone flash light, and turned towards his bedroom door. It was closed. He didn't remember closing it before leaving for work. In fact, he remembered he had been in a rush and barely even had time to lock the front door, let alone close his bedroom door. To see what was going on, he walked towards his bedroom door and reached for the knob -- *"are you kidding me?! Don't open the fucking door! you know you left it open earlier!"* The voice in his head echoed louder this time. He jumped back and yelled "what the hell was that? Is somebody in here?!" No response. No voice in his head. That's it, he thought. I've finally lost my mind. BAM His bedroom door started to shake, and he saw the handle turning from someone on the other side -- *"don't stand there! Fucking run!"* He didn't question the voice this time as he ran out the front door. He made it to his car and jumped in, but when he tried to turn the key the engine sputtered -- *"Fucking of course, how convenient"* the voice said. Peter was back to questioning the voice, as he found the predicament pretty inconvenient. *"Run to your neighbors house! Grab a weapon! Call the police! Do anything besides sitting there."* His voice in his head had a point. He called 911 and told them to get to his house as soon as possible because someone was inside of it. He than ran to his neighbors house and pounded on the door. * * * Peter sat with his neighbor Stan and watched out the window for the police cars. "So you didn't see anyone come in or out of my house tonight?" asked Peter. "Sorry Pete I didn't see anything" Stan replied "but I also wasn't exactly on the lookout either, ya know?" "Oh yeah sure" replied Peter "I just meant nothing out of the ordinary like any cars or anything?" "Nope" said Stan "I didn't even hear your car, I was watching TV pretty loud." "Oh, okay" Peter said. He didn't remember seeing Stan's TV on through the window like he usually does when he pulled in to his driveway earlier, but then again the TV is on now, so maybe he didn't notice. *"The TV was off! I know it was honey I swear."* *"Shh I'm trying to listen! But yes you're right it was off"* "What did you call me?" Peter said. "Ermm what?" replied Stan "I didn't say anything, we've been sitting here looking outside." Peter refused to believe he was hearing voices. "Are you messing with me? I clearly heard you call me honey and say that your TV wasn't on." Stan stepped back. "Alright man, I don't know what you're talking about. The TV is on, and I didn't call you honey." Peter turned towards Stan and noticed something different about him. He looked the same, but something was.. off. He had a different gait to him than usual. Peter finally replied and said "I was talking about the TV being off earlier when I pulled in." Stan's eyes briefly widened, then he scratched his head and said "oh yeah I was watching in my bedroom, I just got a new tv. Why are you so suspicious man? I understand you're afraid because you had an intruder but I'm just trying to help, you did come here ya know." Peter turned back towards the window, he was embarrassed. Maybe he was being overly suspicious. "I'm sorry" "It's okay" Stan said, his eyes now black. He started slowly moving across the room, his hand reaching behind his back "Not every day someone breaks into your bedroom." *"God damnit Peter turn around!! He's obviously evil do you see his eyes?"* The voices echoed again in Peters head. Peter turned and saw Stan running towards him with black eyes and veins bulging from his face. He was holding a kitchen knife above his head as he charged towards Peter. Peter jumped out of the way, and ran into the kitchen. *"No you idiot run out the door! But now first grab your own knife!"* He grabbed the biggest remaining knife, and Stan ran into the kitchen. Peter stood across from Stan, trying to guess which direction the next lunge would come from. Stan raised his right arm and tried to bring the knife down, but Peter put his left arm up and blocked the attack in time. He sliced his knife across Stan's abdomen and ran towards the front door. He opened the front door and ran outside to bright lights and sirens *"Drop the knife!"* yelled the voice in his head. Peter dropped the knife. *"I swear it's like he can hear us"* Peter yelled "I can hear you!" *"Oh my god"* *** Peter kept his arms in the air as the police approached him. "It's alright" he said "I'm the one who called you guys." The officers saw the blood on his hands and told him to keep his hands up and not to make any sudden moves. They took Stan out of the house in a stretcher. In the back of the police car, Peter tried to explain. "Again, I called you guys. Someone had broken into my house, so I called you guys. I went to my neighbor's house. He was acting suspiciously and basically told me he was the one in my house, and then he charged at me with a knife, I only grabbed and used a knife in self-defense and ran right when I had a chance." The officer in the front seat nodded and said "we will get it all figured out at the station." Peter sat in a holding room, the earlier events of the night replayed in his head. I can't be going crazy, he thought to himself. It has to just be my intuition speaking to me, I probably panicked and in my state of anxiety created a voice in my head to make sure I made the right decisions. Yeah that's it, he thought. *"Stop chewing your popcorn so loud, I could barely hear his inner monologue"* *** "Look Peter" said the Detective "we have you dead to rights here. All we have is your word. You say someone was in your house. We have no evidence of that after multiple sweeps. You said Stan attacked you in his house with a knife, yet only one knife we saw you drop was found at the scene, and it had what we can only assume is Stans blood on it, since you had no wounds. My guess is DNA tests will also show your fingerprints. If he attacked you, where's the other knife? We found Stan lying in a pool of blood, he almost died. And to top all of it off, Stan is willing to testify that you told him you were hearing voices. We've watched you in your cell too, and we see you talk out loud sometimes. You're going to jail either way. If you confess, I will tell the prosecutor to look after a mental health sentencing instead." *"So honey, he's going to a mental hospital now because he can hear us talking? This is so strange"* Peter walked into the Asylum with the shackles on his feet. The men in front of and behind him were screaming. He looked up at the gothic architecture and gothic paintings. This had to have been the oldest building in the state, he thought. The place had a cold, calm air to it. He walked up to the front desk and looked at the nurse. "Welcome to the Manor of Usher" she said with a smile on her face. Her eyes turned black.

Antonio shrunk under Don Luca's

Don Luca ran a hand through his hair, clear blue eyes scrutinising the whelp of a boy in front of him. Antonio shrunk under his gaze, as a flower does in such cold environments. It wasn't lost on him that there couldn't have possibly been two people more different in appearance sitting across from one another; where the Don was broad and imposing, Antonio was diminutive, where Luca had gone to painstaking effort to keep himself as crisp and clean as one could look, Antonio appeared one cut of clothing above homelessness. In honesty, that wasn't far from the truth of matters; Antonio had found no work for five years running at this point. The Don gave Antonio's resume one last look-over before plucking the cigarette from his lips. Something caught his eye, making him chuckle. On it, he'd requested everything about the boy, not just qualifications of the academic variety; all the personal, the sensitive and the downright unsavory as well. He likely knew the boy more intimately than his own parents did. "Why do you wish to work for me, *bambino*? What place is there for you amongst criminals? A...." he looked down at the sheet, "...student of literature, such as yourself?" *'I want out of this fucking debt.'* Antonio pursed his lips, stumbling on his words as they left him. "I, *umm* - I believe placement amongst your business would p-provide me with valuable work experience and connections. Networking, networking, networking - that's what my mother used to say!" Luca raised a brow, reclining into his chair. "I think you have us mistaken, then. What I run isn't a business; it's a *family*. We do not have manager and worker, we have father and child. And when one becomes acquainted with a family, they do not tend to leave. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Antonio's lips quirked up in acknowledgment, his head dipping forward like he was about to indulge a secret. "Once you're in, you're in." "Simply put." *I can live with it, given this economy.* "What's the pay like?" "Consider it a merit-based system; the more you do, the more I deign to give you." "But, like, how *much*? What does everyone else get?" Luca shrugged, flicking through some papers on his desk, his eyes no longer on Antonio. "I *could* provide a base for comparison, but the wages of those within the family are strictly confidential, you must understand." '*Fuck me once, fuck me twice.'* Antonio gripped the edge of his seat. He *needed* this. "Fine, I get that. No problem, you're all secretive and shit. But what do I actually have to do to be welcomed into the family?" Luca's lips broke into a half-moon of a grin, and it was then that Antonio knew he'd asked the wrong question. Luca slid a sheet across the desk, which Antonio picked up to read. His face flushed of colour. As he read, his fingers shook, barely able to hold the weight the page now bore. Luca continued talking, either oblivious or outright ignoring the boy. "My program to pay off the debts of students has had an interesting effect on my family; now everyone wants in, but there aren't just so many pieces to go around. Wheat must be separated from chaff, boy from man. As such, I've devised an aptitude test, if you wish to call it that. All I need is the person on the sheet knocked unconscious, and a picture taken of their body. It doesn't matter how or where you do it, but there are three things I wish to see from you: decisiveness, discretion and, of course, results." The page fluttered out of Antonio's hands, drifting to the floor. The boy gulped a knot of tension down before standing up, reaching over to pick the paper up. "H-how long do I get?" "One month." "And if I fail? - as in, to... photograph her." "Let's not dwell on the specifics of failure. Envision only success." Luca lit another cigarette, his grin benevolent. "Cigarette?" Antonio felt like he'd collapse, his head a churning cauldron of emotion that'd explode at any minute. He waved a hand, unable to articulate a response as he stumbled out of the office, paper in hand. A few moments later, Luca's Consigliere walked through the door, his face tucked into an overcoat, black shades and a wide-brim hat covering all but a few blonde locks of hair that fell from underneath. He took the cigarette from Luca's mouth, stamping it out. "Stop with that shit." "That's no way to treat your Don," Luca frowned. "Go fuck yourself." The two stared each other down, the silence boiling in the room before it was broken by a chortle from Luca's lips. The Don laughed, as did the Consiliegere; a raucous, hearty sound that didn't stop for a full minute. "Ahhh," Luca calmed himself, wiping an errant tear from his eye. "How did yours go, Eren?" "Chickened out like the last five of 'em." "See to that, will you?" "But of course." Eren cast a glance over his shoulder. "What about that one? Want me to keep tabs?" Luca waved a hand in dismissal. "I think he'll be fine." Eren took a seat, pushing his glasses down the bridge of his nose and fixing Luca with a stern glare. "I thought I taught you better than to place trust in someone you've just met." "You taught me to trust those that are capable, and, well, the boy is indeed capable. Or well suited, rather." "That runt? I'd sooner believe you made Donna Vici his target." The rival Donna had been a thorn in Luca's side for some time, but he'd never dared to pluck it out with his own hands for fear of starting a war. Luca remained eerily silent, offering a furtive smile to the Consigliere. "Oh, you didn't. Tell me you fucking didn't. No, no, no." Luca simply shrugged. "Surprisingly, I did. Look." He fumbled through the papers on his desk, producing Antonio's resume and holding it out. "You ought to think better of me on matters such as these. Why do you think I've been offering to fund students? We've finally found an in." Eren snatched it from his grasp, reading it over. His eyes widened, and he read it again for good measure. He opened his mouth, but any and all words turned to ash in his throat. "An interesting one, for sure," Don Luca said, his voice low. He reached for another cigarette, lighting it and placing it between his lips. "I think it's fair to say he won't be able to refuse this offer. It's a matter of family, in a sense." There was a poetic irony to it which Luca knew the literature student would appreciate; Antonio, sent after his University Professor Elizabeth Klein or, in truth, Vici. Master of Arts, Doctor of Philosophy, Widow of the Vicis, as duplicitous as a demon, unknown to the general public, feared by the rest. ---- **EDIT:** Part 2 down here! https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8bqokx/wp_a_mob_boss_desperate_for_new_and_young_members/dx9owpt/

Something is not right. I can

It hurts, everything hurts. Something is not right. I can't control my body, why can't I control my body? I scream, that's all I can do. I can't see my surroundings, everything is blurry and undefined. Something is very wrong. From what I felt before waking up inside that warm place, I think I may have just been born. I remember dying, so re-incarnation must be true, but this is not how I remember being born the first time. Where's the Great White Hall? Where are the welcoming choruses? Where are the soft robes for the newly made skin? I remember coming into the world and saying hello to my family, everybody was so happy, I was so at peace. But here I am and everything hurts and feels cold and large and scary. Wait, there is a memory, in the Twilight Place after my death... there was something important being communicated to me. I'd been wrong, very wrong about things in life. I'd followed the wrong teachings I... Oh my God, this can't be. I lead a good life. I enjoyed the mana, and the love, and I loved. I listened to the enlightened masters. But I paid closer attention to the one which people warned me not to listen to too closely. His ideas where fascinating. But he was wrong and I didn't worship God the way I should have. I died a good death, in peace, once my five hundred years were completed, surrounded by my children and my children's children into several generations. The goodbye songs lead me into dissolution. __ I now know that what I feel is hunger. I know the concept, I guess one must understand the punishment. Oh but the way the hunger is sated, the flesh in my mouth, the humiliation. And I suckle so desperately it's monstrous of me, and of the woman who feeds me. When alive I just stood under the the light of the three suns, letting their energy bathe me, letting the wind envelop me, letting the mana flow into me, I never knew hunger. And what happens after, when the food has made its way through, I try not to think about it, other times I try not to eat just so that doesn't happen, dear God the smell... But I can't hold for long, I find myself screeching in hunger pains, and the woman takes me and feeds me and I can't fight it, I'm so week, and so small. Is she a demon? Or is she another damned soul? I can't ask any questions, I can't speak. __ It's been two years since I came into Hell. I can communicate somewhat, I can control my body much better. There are new pains, there is new suffering. But the worst is I can now understand that even greater pains and sufferings await in the future. When I was two years old, while alive in the world, I enjoyed poetry and had begun writing my own, the multicolored night sky was my first inspiration, the orbs of the worlds moving across the deep blue and bright green and ethereal orange, the aquamarine streaks of the bolides, the music of the spheres, I endeavored to capture all of that in sonnets. Here I scribble with wax in paper, I can barely make my hands do what I need, I despair, I draw death because I yearn for release, but what release is there for the damned soul? __ I don't understand. Don't this people know they're damned? They don't seem to be demons, at least the ones I know, they are just poor souls doomed to spend eternity here in Hell. But they don't know it. I am five years old now and I can talk with them, and they don't know, they don't remember the world and life, and they stare at me with worry, with horror when I try to tell them what's the nature of this place. I was never looked at but with love when I was alive, love and empathy and joy. I didn't know people could grimace with their eyes, but the damned souls here can certainly do it. I am growing, physically, and that's uncomfortable. The living body is immutable, but this fakery of flesh is born incomplete and needs to grow. All the processes of this hell bodies are torturous. __ The damned who believe they are my parents have sent me to a woman who asks me questions and tries to figure out why I say the things I say. I tell her it's because I can remember what she, what everybody here, cannot. I tell her we are in Hell and she becomes very concerned. __ They are giving me something. I am eight years old and the parents grow more and more worried. I think I may be part of their punishment, they must have sinned greatly in life because my words hurt them deeply. So now they are giving me pills, medicine which numbs my mind. I don't understand, why would Hell allow me to be numbed? Doesn't hell want me to suffer as much as possible? __ I had no idea, no idea what shame was, what humiliation was, until my body betrayed me in this way. I'm fifteen years old and my mind is full of repulsive apetites and yearnings. They tell me it's normal, they explained some time ago what all of this was about. When I was alive, you loved another person more deeply than the rest, you embraced them, your souls melded and you knew exalted love, you sang, you gloried in each other, all with the highest of dignities, and then you felt the pull of the Great White Hall, of the Birthing Gates, and you went there to welcome your new children. Here in Hell it's all flesh and glands and secretions. Here in Hell you have no dignity, you can't even truly love because the brain betrays. The thoughts disobey. __ They call this an asylum. Hell is not homogeneous, suffering concentrates in certain areas, and this is one of those more saturated ones. I tried to rid myself of the offending flesh which tortured me since I became a teenager, and the parents and the doctors were horrified. Fools! Why don't they do it too? It is their carnal actions which serve as a gateway for the doomed to enter Hell! But they don't remember, they don't know. So they put me in this place where they numb my mind even further and restrain me and talk at me. They want to fix me, they don't know they're the ones who are broken, afflicted by amnesia. What is the point of having them not remember? Does that not lessen their punishment? __ I gave up, I conceded. This isn't Hell, I told them, this is the living world. Your words and your pills and everything else, it was worked, my brain has also become afflicted by amnesia -although that I didn't said-, and I believe this is the world and my actions I can now see are pathological. After a while they believed me, there was relief in my parents eyes, but we are where we are and relief can only mean a reprieve of punishment so that the next torture can hurt even more. I walked out into the world and discovered that some of the things really did hurt less, there is a permanent numbness in my mind, in my soul there is a coldness. Now I know what must have happened. Some of the people at the asylum talked, and in their insanity said correct things. Some of them even vaguely remembered, some of them must have been channeling the voice of God. God made a mistake, he must have. When creating the soul perhaps, when creating the anima or the spirit or the living body. When creating the passage into afterlife, I don't really know where or when, but He made a mistake and the doomed souls that enter Hell have no memory of their real life, of their time in the world, they come here as blank slates, and as such they have changed this place. I can see that now, where there should have been only pain, from within their ignorance they find solace and purpose and even hope. They hide the nature of hell behind stories and cities. They've grown used to this existence. But for some reason I remember, whether God is trying to fix the mistake, whether I was a further one, or whether my punishment or that of those around me, was meant to be harder, I don't know. But I remember. And they should too, if they can't they should be taught. If they can't be taught the truth, then at least they should not be letting other souls enter hell through their repulsive passions. __ I've known for a long time that the denizens of Hell can die too. Where do they go? Is that the final death, is that oblivion? Is there a further Hell? If it is oblivion then it should be merciful to facilitate the transit there. If it is a further Hell then maybe there they can remember, maybe there they can redeem themselves through acknowledged pain. __ It's been forty years. I have been teaching, some people have begun listening. I don't tell them everything outright, just that this life is pain and there must be something better, just that this place is a lie, a horror behind a mask, and that mask must be taken down. They listen, and some follow. __ I've taken my followers away from the places where the lie is thicker. In the desert you can see better the hellish nature of this realm. There were no deserts in the living world. Their memories cannot be jogged, but they believe me, they trust me, and I will honor that trust. Now I have revealed that this place is Hell, and they understand. First, I told them to stop being gateways for the damned souls, and the offending flesh was removed, now they will not be part in the suffering of others. Then I told them about deliverance. If there's another Hell under this one, at least it will be known and there may be redemption in acknowledged pain. If there's only oblivion, then it will be the end of their pain.

As custom, humans were granted a

(It's been a while since I last did something like this.) *** As custom, humans were granted a one hundred cycle (translated to roughly one year five months of the standard human calendar) grace period to practice and find champions for **Gehenna**. When the time period was up, they would engage a 'friendly' match with one of the greatest space empires of the galaxy. Officially, the tradition was meant be a welcoming greeting towards the new entrants in galactic politics. In practice, it was a way to crush the new entrants and send them a stern reminder: *You are small. You would do well not to challenge us at the top yet.* "This can't be happening." Lakas, Consul of the Kislev said, observing the battle replay in shock. "They are *smiling*." Oh how he loathed that human expression. The way their mouths *flapped* up and down. Why couldn't they have mandibles and carapaces instead? At least he wouldn't have to grimace while watching his best fighters get torn to pieces. "We are looking to see if we can detect foul play right now, Consul. In the meantime, our champions are studying the replay as well, attempting to identify what went wrong." Lakas turned to leer at the taskmaster. "Well, then? What went wrong? Do we have an answer for that?" "...No sir." The dignitary hunched, looking away, his talons clicking and clacking in nervousness. "In fact... well, it doesn't really look like the humans are doing anything out of the ordinary." Lakas clicked his mandibles in irritation, urging him to speak further. "I mean... it is like they have been playing for thousands of cycles." Lakas allowed a moment to consider those words. "Are human life spans short enough to justify their fast learning speed?" "No sir. Life expectancy is at seven thousand cycles, albeit they noticeably deteriorate past five thousand cycles." Lakas *kh'd* in irritation. Their kind lived to five thousand, though only in the last three hundred cycles do they truly feel their age. The oldest Kislev champions have been playing since they were three hundred cycles old and going strong for two thousand cycles at least. Osav, the Master Commander, has been commanding their grand strategy for one thousand five hundred cycles alone and nigh unbeatable during this whole time. "Get going and do not come back to me until you have some proper answers!" He shrieked in anger. Only once the sliding doors closed behind the taskmaster did he open the grand battle map. The battle map was randomly generated every time, albeit with sets of predetermined parameters. Players started with a space base that would be dropped with nearby resources of adamantium, hyperium and aubtanium. Simultaneous rounds were taken every cycle, during which the Master Commander would delegate orders to his dignitaries, who would acquire resources and train fighters and march them into battle, of which each individual unit was another individual player altogether. Territorial disputes in Gehenna often lasted more than thirty cycles. Lakas did not have the tactical knowledge of Oslav, but he did know enough about the game to see that Oslav had picked a wonderful landing spot, full of aubtanium which granted the best energy rifles in the first few cycles of the game. Their adamantium reserves were adequate to give the units and space bases some solid defensive armor, and he had ignored the meager amount of hyperium entirely and abandoned shielded melee fighters. It was not a terrible strategy - rather it had given the Kislev a great many number of important territories many cycles ago. The human commander - whoever he was - had taken a far more daring approach. Landed smack-dab between aubtanium and hyperium and seemingly no adamantium whatsoever. For the next cycle Oslav responded by increasing the research and output of his own adamantium armor to out-last the humans when battle came - and the humans were powering up their own ranged and melee weapons themselves. It seemed like the humans would be doomed in the next cycle when the first battle would occur, but somehow they simply danced around the Kislev in a never-ending onslaught of mixed ranged and melee weapons. *Smiling with their flappy mouths. With their mouths made out of MEAT.* Lakas did not bother to put the replay of the battle in the main screen again. It would be a miserable twenty-eight cycles if this kept up. *** "The answer, really, is fun." Fifteen cycles later, the Kislev champions had unconditionally surrendered. "Humans live for fun. They don't solve problems out of necessity. They do it for pleasure." There were many Kislev who shouted they continue the match until the end. Others claimed they should have surrendered at the end of the ninth cycle. "Leave a human alone with a stuck piece of wood and he will find a way to un-stick it. Leave a human alone with blocks and he will build something. Leave the humans alone with the *Gehenna* and they will provide copies to everyone around them and challenge each other for the heck of it." The remaining space empires were racing against time, watching and rewatching the human battles, their champions working themselves to exhaustion attempting to replicate or fight back against human simulations. "It's funny, really, that the aliens created this form of war that does not endanger lives or destroy entire planets that they find taxing and unforgiving, but for us it is a great way to enjoy ourselves and pass time." Marco, fourth chairman of the Earthen Confederacy, clicked the 'END TURN' button and watched the expansion, technology and conflict resolutions end. "Son of a FUCK." He grinned, above and beyond the screen at the human Master Commander who gave them their first win in the friendly match against the Kislev, Caio. "How in the WORLD did you slip that colonist over there? I was gonna settle for that adamantium motherlode!" Marco just grinned back. "You can still take it back, you know." "Screw that. I see your orbital battery hovering nearby. Were you planning this move this whole time?" "Maybe." Caio grumbled and hunched before his screen again, wondering how to salvage this match. Unbeknown to the Kislev he had already played more games of *Gehenna* than Oslav had in the last fifteen years, and he had yet to beat Marco once. Marco assumed their match against the Kislev was a friendly, so he sent Caio in his stead. He clicked the 'End Turn' button once again. *Maybe if it looks like Caio is about to lose a match I'll step in.* He thought to himself as his opponent let out another frustrated interjection.

A plain sort of attractive he looked

When I arrived I was rather disappointed. I expected gleaming gold gates, soft harmonic harps playing, the whole welcome to heaven experience. Instead I found myself in a clean white room standing in front of a bored looking teenage kid. I also seemed to be far younger than my 80 years. I feel 25. A plain sort of attractive he looked like a handsome preset to a video game character. Ginger hair pulled back into a colonial style ponytail, green eyes and clean shaven. No majestic angel wings though, not even a feather. "Only the older generation angels have wings." He says evenly as if he heard my thoughts. "Something about tradition they say, most of us modern angels forgo the wings as much as possible. I've had to help my grandfather fit through enough doorways I'd honestly rather have a tail." "I suppose an extra limb has its advantages" I reply with a polite smile. "Right!? Lucky demons can type and eat at the same time! Though they still can't type to save their immortality" he adds under his breath. As we exchanged the last few words he was skimming over something on a smart phone. He scrolls down for a second or two then nods slightly and pockets the device. "Well Sir, it would seem you are a VIP resident!, if you join me in the elevator I will show you to the upper heavens" he turns on the spot and gestures to a open door that wasn't there moment before. Glass elevator so clean I can see my reflection in its flawless glass. Behind that I see nothing but blue skies and gold fringed clouds. I don't move though as I am processing his words. Once again he replies without my saying anything. His smile is a mixture of patience, annoyance, and understanding that I'd guess only an angel could manage. "It's not a mistake, Cameron. You deserve your placement rest assured. Now we have a tight schedule and I had my time management powers revoked so we really must go." He gestures with one hand to the elevator. "I will explain on our way up." No less confused but worried about inconveniencing him I walked through the glowing doorway. Once inside confusion gave way to pure childish awe. The sky looked like surreal art. Blue skies with swirling clouds of white. Each colored between shades of gold, pink, red, and purple. Like a sunset with several suns setting in every direction. Below was beautiful ivory architecture inlaid with warm gold. Barely visible is people walking around the cloud city. " this is only the lowest level" the angel stands beside me, calmly assessing my wonder. "Why arn't I going there?" My confusion and amazement combine to make me capable of short simple sentences. "During life you gain points for good and kind deeds you do. You also gain a separate amount of points for bad and cruel actions. Your heavenly points work like experience points. You are level 3008." "Wow!" I mutter. It sounded a lot like something Owen Wilson would say and I almost chuckle at myself. " Out of curiosity how many bad points do I have?" "Your Hellish level is minimal not to worry, otherwise you'd be heading the other direction" he waves a hand as if waving away the word Hellish. "Okay, well that's a relief!" I sigh. We've been rising steadily for a while now but all I see is white clouds as if there no is breaching the surface. "My Grandmother's level must be really high! Knowing Gran she prolly runs the top" "Mary?" He asks with a slight frown. "Yea, I mean she was a great person! She always felt I was a bit of a let down but she was good and honest. A strong tough woman" "Oh no" he shakes his head gently. "Mary only made it to level 64, she lives in the lower mid tier floors. I stare at him for a moment expecting him to correct himself. He doesn't. Just pulls out his phone to check the time. "Gran found the cure for HIV. She sold it for almost no profit and what she did profit she donated!" I start to worry about the point system and feel like I cheated somehow. "She hosted charities, she won humanitarian awards!" He looks over at me and just looks calmly into my eyes. Gently he puts a hand on my shoulder. "You underestimate yourself." His voice is kind. "Your grandmother was indeed a good person. She was also proud. She paid little attention to anything other than her work." "Then how did I get to such a high level?! There must be a mistake." He takes a deep breath and drops his hand from my shoulder. Turning to face me he leans on the glass as white fluff flies by behind him. "Cameron, you had a rough childhood. Not the worst by any standards but many simular lives went to the basement." He smiles despite sadness in his emerald eyes. "The difference between you and them is you tried to make the world good even if it wasn't good to you. You see the point system is complex. One feature is that your points are connected to every person you ever interact with. If your choices directly affect the choices of others then thier points act as multipliers to your own.Every single day you made the world better. You smiled at strangers and wished them a good morning. You gave money to beggars whether you trusted them or not. You opened doors for people. Complimented everyone you could. Listened to those in need. You did the kindest thing you could at every moment in your life." "Why should being a decent person make me any better than anyone else?" I ask bewildered. "Because every time you did those things it caused others to do the same. You made horrible days bearable. You inspired the world Cameron. Each time you did good for those people they did good for another. Your simple so called decency touched people you never met. People who were born after you. Your kindness will reach people for years to come. You've saved lives. Saved relationships. A few of the people I've placed only made it up here because you reminded them how to get here." He smiles broad and proud more and more with each word. As if he praises his child to his friends. I stand thinking for a moment trying to remember something that could have brought me to this moment. I can't. Everything he says was just normal for me. How I thought things should be. How I wished I was treated when things were hard. I feel tears in my eyes. I sit down and stare into the clouds as tears slide down my face. One drips off my chin as we finally breach the top of the white. A sky even more beautiful than the last greets me as the angel pats my back gently. "You did good kid. Believe it"

Charles: "I have barely strength

"Ugh, that looks bloody nice steak, don't you think?" Charles says as he rubs his chin. "Yes," Timothy responds with a long nod. "You know that they want us to kill each other for that piece, right?" Charles chuckles. "I have barely strength to stand. I'm no animal. One hit and I'm knocked out." Timothy laughed with Charles at the same time. Aliens were just inspecting them. They were probably thinking that it was some kind of human ritual before the fight. "So," Charles whispered. "Want to share?" Timothy nodded. "Yeah. It's a way too huge for my stomach to handle it, I have been starving for too long..." They both stepped near the steak and examined it. Then they tried to break it into two, but it was a bit soggy to be split into two pieces. They also didn't have knives to do it. "I'll take the first bite, then you, alright?" Charles proposed. Timothy responded with a nod. So, Charles took the meat, took a big bite and gave it to Timothy, who took bite straight after him. Aliens enraged. They hated that. Still, they kept hoping that it was still some kind of ritual. Maybe they would fight after they got their energy refilled? That lasted until they finally finished the steak. Aliens already stormed from the gate, ready to take them away. They weren't pleased. "Well, that was delicious. It might be our last meal," Timothy whispered, moving his hand towards Charles. Just before the aliens reached them, they shook them. *** They both got kicked into the very same arena. It had been a week of no food. All aliens were going insane, hungry for blood. This time, they had to fight. Both Timothy and Charles slowly walked at the center of the arena, inspecting each other. "You look like shit, man," Timothy said to Charles. "They did beat me up way more than usual," Charles frowned. "Those alien bastards," Timothy responded with a slow sigh. They both now inspected another steak meat. This time, it was inside a large cage. The door had two keyholes and those keys were around both of their necks. "I don't understand. I know I'm not the smartest human out there, but that..." Timothy sighed and looked at his key. "They probably expect us to fight now, so I would take your key, open the cage and go after the steak." Charles laughed, took the key and threw it towards Timothy, who easily caught it. Arena got instantly silent. Timothy opened the cage door with both keys and they both entered it. This time, the guards' gates opened and heavy armored aliens instantly ran towards them. Timothy, however, locked the door after himself and went to the center of the cage. He took the steak, had a bite and gave it to the Charles. "Oh, by the way, I'm Timothy." "I'm Charles!" They shook hands again. "So tell me, Charles, what did you do before you got here?" As they talked, guards desperately tried to break the cage open. One guard ran away to find backup keys. Even though they did have some ranged weapons, they did not want to kill prisoners, so it resulted in Charles and Timothy talking for a while as they took care of the steak. There was a change, however. The arena wasn't mad, instead, they were laughing. *** It was yet another week that passed. Both Timothy and Charles were again at the center of the arena. It was all silent. There were no alien war cries this time around. It was just two of them, meeting at the core again. "Are they serious?" Timothy asked the first question, inspecting cage within a cage. Charles just smiled. "I feel like they decided not to test our battle skills anymore, but instead they want to see how smart we are." They both started laughing. "It's literally same thing as last time, except two cages with two doors. This time one key opens one door..." *** Another week passed. This time, the arena was shouting. There were multiple cages on the arena, one of them had steak in it. They had given only one key and each cell had a key of its own inside. "We should pretend that we are trying hard," Charles moaned. "You look a lot worse Charles. You okay?" Timothy finally showed some worry. "Ah, I'm an old man. I think something is wrong with my stomach," Charles whispered. He coughed, some blood came out of his mouth. He didn't try to hide it, as there was no point. They solved the puzzle easily and soon they were at the center of the cage, staring at another steak piece. Soldiers were this time walking towards them. They had also given up trying. "You'll eat it," Timothy suddenly said. "What?" Charles was confused. "You look like you'd need it more than I do." Charles frowned but didn't argue. He ate most of it and then gave a third to Timothy. "Please. You need something as well." *** Timothy stood at the center of the arena. Aliens weren't happy. Charles wasn't anywhere. It was just him. The wind made Timothy's tears drop afar. This time, it was just a piece of meat at the center, no cages. Alien sounds were something unusual. Maybe resembled a bit of crying. Timothy walked near the steak, looked at it, touched it, but didn't eat it. He remembered one discussion they had, a promise. A promise that if one of them died, another would keep trying to survive. After all, maybe one day they would be saved from those aliens. It was a good story to tell. So, he took hold of the steak. *** It was bloody. The whole arena. It wasn't Timothy's blood though. It belonged to the aliens. In the sky was huge flying ship, belonging to the humans. They waited for one man. At the center of the arena was Timothy. He was now wearing proper clothing with some armor on it. "I liked you, you know. You became my best pal at this shithole," Timothy whispered. He held a steak and put it on the ground, at the very center of the arena. "This is for you, Charles." ---- /r/ElvenWrites - Feel free to check it out for my past stories (Or follow it for le future).

Merva, the self-proclaimed

"There's dinner dearies!" the coven cackled unanimously as they peered into a cauldron, and within the cauldron was the image of a lone child wandering in the woods. "Shall we set a traaaaap?" Merva enquired, licking her lips at the thought of being wicked. It had been some time since they had laid a trap for a child. Most of the time they were completely unnecesary, but Merva was particularly cruel. "No, no, always on about the traps. Mayhap we should trap you Merva? Would that please you? NO! We will don our prettiest forms and coerce the child to our hovel, as we always have." This was said by Jerva, the self-proclaimed Head-Hag of the sisters. She had the majority of the brains, which is really nothing to brag about. But the fact stood. "Why do we have to do it your way, every time Jervaaaa?" Merva had a penchant for carrying on syllables for far to long. She was a model of charm, naturally. "Because my way has kept us alive and safe for over 300 years. That's why. Now lets be on our way!" Jerva's form changed from a twisted greenskin hobbler to that of a young teenage girl, dressed in an unassuming robe. She looked like any common peasant, someone who you would not suspect cause you any harm. She had started out the door when... "What about Tervaaaa? Doesn' she have a saaaaaaay? Merva looked at Jerva with a shit-eating grin. Terva glared at Merva. Terva was a mute, due to an unfortunate accident some 80 years ago. Without a word Jerva went out in the forest to meet the child, her sisters considerably more pretty and far younger than they had been not 30 seconds ago hustling behind her. Enter the child. "Do ye find yourself lost, child?" the polymorphed hags descended on the child with an eagerness that most would find peculiar, but the child did not appear to notice. 'Yes'm I been separated from me ma and pa! Could you madams help me find me ma an pa?" The voice was that of a little girl, perhaps 8 or 9. Between the declining sunlight and the hood she wore, her features were nearly imperceptible. Merva was greedily rubbing her hands together, anxious to take the girl home. After all, not only did little girls taste best, they could be used to make potions of youth. Only Terva noticed something different about this child. A faint but still noticeable aura emanated from this child. One that made her skin crawl. Alas, she was mute and no way to communicate such a feeling. After all, her sisters hadn't mentinoed anything. "It's getting awfully late, child. Do you find it acceptable to come home with us this evening and we begin the search for your parents in the morning?" Jerva felt sly, conning the child into such a seemingly generous offer. How could the child refuse? "I d'no if me parents would take kindly to the idea.." The little girl trailed off, now backing away slightly from the hidden hags. She seemed fearful and off put, Jerva knew she was losing her and had to think fast. "Wha.. What are your parents names little one? Jerva was impressed by her sharp wit, for she had a plan. Merva, though lacking in brains, also caught on to the plan. She chimed in "Yes! We may know theeem!" Jerva smacked Merva in the side sharply with her left hand, so that the child wouldn't notice. The smack indicated that now was not the time for Merva to speak, or act for that matter, on account of her queer demeanor. "Me family name is Heronomus, mayhaps you've heard it?" The child asked rather calmly. There was nothing else to note. "Why, Heronomus you say? Yes! Yes! You live two or three miles from here! We can take you in the morning, little one!" Jerva was herself becoming excited. Her plan was working, the child seemed to be more trusting after the confirmation of knowing her parents. Now to return home. "Seeing as ye know me ma n pa, I sees no reason not to go with ye. Do ye have any food? Haven eaten all day.." The little girl asked almost shyly. "Of course we will feed you, sweet one! Come with us, the moon is rising and we must be in soon. Strange creatures lurk these woods at night." The sisters turned, in the direction of home, motioning the child to follow. The three hags shared a smile as they walked single file along the barely lit path, owing what little visibility there was to the ever growing moon. What the hags did not know was that there was in fact a fourth smile caught glinting in the lunar light. Enter the cottage. Upon entering the cottage the hags waited for the child to enter before reverting back to their original selves. With magic only witches know, the closed all the windows, locked the singular door, and lit the sconces lined along the oval room. The cauldron in the center of the room bubbled, eager for a human. The cauldron would be disappointed, tonight. "Ahehehe! Your in trouble sweeeeeeeet one!" Merva could contain herself no longer, and began casting lesser incantations, her desire to lull the child to sleep. A sleeping child is better than a dead one, for it preserves the flavor and life force. Terva and Jerva began their preparations for the bubble bath (the cauldron was boiling) paying no mind to their sister. She had put many, many victims to sleep. It was her favorite part of the ritual, as a matter of fact. "She isn't falling asleep!" Merva shrieked, increasing the force of her magic, frustrated that this seemingly weak child could resist her in the slightest. The other hags glanced over their shoulders as the child lowered her hood. Raven black hair. Sanguine eyes. Skin the color of winter's first snow. Enyo beamed a bright smile, revealing her fangs. She appeared to be a child, and in some ways she was. But only physically. Enyo, in terms of age, made these hags seems like children. She was in fact, one of the first Vampire to exist. She had seen empire rise and fall, met the so called Gods. So why was she here? In this cottage? Well, it's simple really. She was a slave who was given to a Vampire to be his thrall, so as to pay off a debt owed. The one who sold her? None other than a witch. Thus, her hatred of witches caused her to seek out the monsters, and, well... you know how this ends. The moon shone red that night.

Lucy left the house before dawn once

The warning was clear: if you break any of the rules, you die. Lucy left the house before dawn once to gather stream water, and she never came back. We never even found a body. Alex forgot to turn the light off in his room one night before he fell asleep, and we found him in the morning; drained from within, barely a husk of a man. It was down to me and Erin in the house, a woman I barely even knew. She was Alex's friend, and prior to the lockdown, I'd only known her as the mysterious girl who showed up to crash for days at a time, always managing to eat my Pop-Tarts in the process. Now she and I were clinging desperately to the hope of rescue, but we knew that it was a vain hope. "Military aid is unavailable," the message had said. No one was coming for us. The message had also said not to enter tunnels during the day, but that's exactly what Erin and I were suiting up to do. She handed me the hockey equipment we'd found in Alex's closet. He'd been a star goalie for the school team in another life. "Are you sure about this?" she asked as she put some of the pads on. I nodded. It had been her idea, but I didn't see much of an alternative that didn't involve sitting on my ass all day, waiting it out. I tried on Alex's mask. It fit pretty well, and I grinned behind it. *Just like Casey Jones.* "What do we have as far as weapons?" I asked. Erin frowned. "Really just hockey sticks I found in his closet, but it's your house, what else you got?" My mind went immediately to the knife block in the kitchen, though the thought of using my expensive cooking knives as weapons upset me more than a little. They'd cost me a month's rent, but they might be the most effective things I had on hand. I walked slowly into the kitchen and grabbed the large chef's knife from the block. I hadn't used it since this whole ordeal began, which meant it was still nice and sharp. I grabbed a boning knife for Erin to use just in case the hockey stick didn't prove useful. When I came back into the living room, Erin's head was bowed in prayer, her hands clasped around the cross necklace I'd always seen her wear. I allowed her a moment of silence, after which her eyes opened with a resolve I'd never seen in her. "You ready?" she asked. I wasn't, but I nodded anyway. We opened the door, bracing ourselves for an assault that never came. It was 2 o' clock by my watch, which meant we had a solid four hours to do our business and get back to the house before nightfall. I knew there was a cave system near the campus, thanks to an introductory archaeology course I'd taken sophomore year. That was our target. Maybe if we could find out why we were warned not to enter tunnels, we could find out what was happening. Fear rose in my chest the closer we got to the tunnels. I knew what we were doing was one of the only courses of action available to us, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't scare the piss out of me. Upon arriving at the tunnels, we peered in, unable to see past about five feet in. I gulped, taking out a flashlight I'd brought to light our way. I don't know how I could have been prepared for what I saw. Sure enough, there were figures in the tunnel, at least four, by my count. They looked humanoid, which I don't think I'd been expecting. But the most unsettling part is that they were *hanging from the ceiling.* I needed to get closer, to figure out how they were doing it. My feet slid one in front of the other, as slowly as I could manage while still making forward progress. I was close enough to reach out and touch one of the figures, though I dared not. Shining my flashlight up at the ceiling, I could see the figures all had their feet dug into the soft earth above them, and were somehow hanging from that. The closest one to me opened his eyes with a start. I stumbled backward, landing squarely on my ass. I tried my best to look intimidating as I brandished the knife I'd brought with me, but whatever it was we were facing down didn't look deterred. I could see the bloodthirst in its eyes, though the scariest thing about it was that it looked totally human, aside from skin so pale it was almost translucent. Erin cracked her hockey stick over its head, though it didn't appear to notice the injury at all. It slowly turned its eyes to her, dropping from the ceiling and drawing itself up to its full height in one smooth motion. It was taller than it had first appeared; almost as tall as the tunnel itself, some seven and a half feet. Erin recoiled, and that was all the prompting the thing needed. It lunged at her, baring fangs I could have sworn weren't there a moment before. I cried out, moving as if to stab the thing, though I was still too far away. Erin and the monster tumbled to the ground, making the muffled grunts of a struggle. Suddenly, the monster screeched, loud enough to make my ears bleed. It fell backward, clawing at the burning hole in its chest, and I saw fear in its eyes for the first time. Erin's expression was one of delighted confusion. The cross on her necklace burned with a soft light, and it suddenly clicked. "The cross!" I shouted at her, and her confusion gave way to determination. She stood, removing the necklace, and she approached the next sleeping vampire. *Finally,* I thought. *We can end this.*

To say I have seen the truth

The folklore of my people is old and weathered, been beaten from years of antiquity, and eaten up by the bigger stories of the bigger people. But the lore remains, as it does, hanging from the threads of wonder, and sometimes truth. To say I have seen the truth will get me called a liar. And perhaps my eyes do lie, and perhaps it is my heart which sees, and it sees blindly. So I will not say I have seen the truth. I have only heard tales of what the night lady has told me. And I have heard the footfalls of the Old Children, and heard their flutes that come from the Great Caverns of the Lost Palaces. But let us start from the beginning. When the warnings came there was panic amidst the city. Many people had died in missile strikes. The dust which had settled had risen again, and there were lights of war in the skies. But we were not at war with another country. Something within our walls had led to destruction, disturbing the politicians in their sleep, and the powerful in their leisure. Horns flared at night after the earthquakes came. The earth shook greatly, and in all the large places there were cracks and fissures. *An invasion,* I thought. The missiles were from our own government. The earth had cracked in many places. The cities were evacuated, and I was moved to the slums, and then even the slums were not safe. I did not know what was happening. I sought refuge near the docks by the harbor, in the small warehouses that still stood. Scant communication led to no communication soon after as the days passed. Panic was everywhere. I saw people running about and trying to flee. A last message was broadcast before the airs went dark: 'Beware the dark. We have lost the war.' But I hid in the dark with broken light trickling in like scarce water. I was hungry and afraid. I heard the voices of English speakers and then the sound of boats departing, and there were planes above as well. The nights then were still and quiet and I could feel *something* about. *War,* I thought. My family had seen war before, but not I. *It is always war.* But who was attacking? Something rustled one night in the docks. I had little supplies to heed the last warning fully. I lit candles in the corner which I hid. I had nowhere to go, and there was gunfire in the distance sometimes, and so I was afraid to leave. That night I grew still, for I was afraid I would die. The prayers of my faith came with comfort but the sound did not cease. A rustle amidst broken glass. Then shadows that passed. Then quiet as I stewed in knowing I had been seen. Something was watching me. Something was coming. *Beware the dark.* The earth had split during the quakes and missiles. It had cracked some time before. And then I heard the door open and the stones squeaked beneath leather shoes and the sounds echoed and I was still and my mouth was dry. A woman with long hair aimed a bow at me. Her skin was brown and bronzed in the light, and her face was painted in the old ways of the stories I read. "Please, do not kill me," I said. "Frater?" she said. "You are one of the Old Tongue?" "Yes... I am not from here. Who are you?" She held the bow steady. Others were surrounding the warehouse. She was not alone. "You are the Weak Blood," she said. "Death should come to the Weak!" "You are the Children," I said. "The Old Children!" My mother had told me so long ago. The Old Children were our fathers and mothers from the time before. When war and destruction crept to their doors and surrounded them, they had turned underground for shelter and protection. They turned the earth and fires and stone and dark into the Great Caverns. They built palaces beneath the earth where they hid from the evil of the world. "My mother has told me of you! I come not from this place. I come from the hinterlands." "The hinterlands are below us. You are the Weak Blood." "But I am your blood." Another came. He was brown and big and his bow was as tall as a man. He aimed at me and nearly fired. The lady stopped him. "Frater," she said. It meant I was of theirs. The man spat on the ground and stared at me. "Weak," he said. "Worthless." "Maybe. But he is of the blood. He knows much. He can tell us." "What is going on?" I asked. There were shadows in the night. The gunfire had eased as the days passed. "Many of us have died," said the woman. "More of yours have been killed." "I am not one of them. I am not part of the army who bombs or the government who digs." "Yes, I can see. You are nobody." The man left the woman with me as he went back out with the others. She sat down beside me with difficulty. Her face was drenched in sweat. "You are hurt," I said. "And you are Weak." She asked me many things that night. She told me of the cracks that had revealed the Great Caverns. "Needles and fire has brought the surface to our homes. And now the evil tries to get in. We shall not run anymore." "What will you do?" "We will stand up and not be Weak. We will take back this world from those who had taken it so long before." And she told me of the Lost Palaces of amber, where the walls were orange with soft shadows and where the alleys were bathed in the music of flutes, echoing haunting melodies. She told me of the Old Children, of the folklore I had thought false. And she winced in pain as she guarded me until the others returned. "You are hurt," I said. "I will get better." "I can help." "No you can't." She hated me, but not in the cold way I was accustomed to. We were of the same blood, and so she did not disregard me completely. "How is it that you are here? Why have you left the hinterlands?" "War has taken it. I had fled for my life." "War takes everything beneath the Sun." Then there was that quiet. In the quiet sense comes to you in a slow feed. "How is it you exist?" I asked. "How is it all the legends are true?" And the lady looked at me with a stone face. "How is it that anything is true? Because it is. You see it. You see me. I am one of the Children." "But why would the Old Children be in this country? Why would they be real?" "The same reason you are in this country. The same reason you are real." "But I *am* real. I came here alone. I fled the real world's war." "And now war has found you again. Civil strife has torn this country to pieces, hasn't it? And now you're alone in war. Maybe you don't want to be alone." She leaned closer. My hands spread on the floor and the glass cut me and I felt the blood stick with the dirt and grime. It stung badly. I winced as she winced. "You are hurt," she said. "And I'm Weak." When you are alone you can go mad. I closed my eyes to kiss her but the door swung and there were footsteps echoing. "I must go," she said. "The night ends soon. I must return to the palace." I heard gunfire again. The lady left and the wind took the doors and window frames and they made noises so that I felt almost with company. I thought of the Lost Palaces. I thought of the stories mother would tell. The Old Children were our people. They lived beneath us, and if they lived there, then I was not so alone. I listened to the sounds outside. There were fires crackling. People were chanting to tear down the Parliament. I cowered in my corner. They spoke English far away. War is always scary in a foreign language. But I closed my eyes and knew that was all just a fantasy. In my peace I could hear the sounds of the flutes in the Great Caverns. I could see the lady dance in the orange lights, her shadows as fluid as the clear waters of the crystal fountains. I could *see* the great walls that held my people. I felt safe. I found comfort. My hand was bleeding, but the cut was not deep. The night would soon end, and then it would come again. I knew the lady would come back, and I knew she would take me to that safe place. I waited for it. I closed my eyes and waited beneath those slits of light. - *Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!*

Further updates will be posted in my

**edit 3: Further updates will be posted in my subreddit /r/Ardarail, thanks for reading everyone!** - - - - &nbsp; I was watching the evening news when it started. The news anchor was cut off mid sentence by a loud, unbroken tone and the bright while bold letters began to scroll across screen. **WE'VE INTERRUPTED YOUR NORMAL VIEWING EXPERIENCE FOR THIS IMPORTANT NATIONAL SECURITY BROADCAST. IT IS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT THAT YOU FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS EXACTLY FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.** A monotone voice accompanied the words that appeared next. *This is a national emergency alert. Do not leave your homes between 6PM and 8AM. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Barricade all entries to your house and cover your windows with opaque material. Exercise extreme caution when out during the day. Do not enter tunnels or other dark areas during the day. Restrict contact with all others including those claiming to be official persons. Military and police assistance is not available at this time.* I stared at the screen, mouth agape as the alert began to repeat its message again. My mouth felt dry and a cold sweat began to prickle at my back. Only the sudden wetness as I accidentally poured half my beer into my lap was enough to shake me from my shocked stupor. *Is this some kind of joke?* I thought as my pulled out I phone and began to record a video of the message. I flipped through a few channels. All showed the same white words and robotic narrator. Quickly I checked twitter and my worst fears were confirmed. Whatever "it" was it was blowing up online. Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of tweets. Pictures and videos of the same message currently playing on my TV screen. Everyone seeming just as confused as I was. I put down my phone and crossed my living room to look out the window. Everything *seemed* normal enough, at first glance at least. Then I noticed the conspicuous lack of... well of anything really. Cars, motorcycles, even just people strolling down the sidewalk were nowhere to be found. I glanced at my watch *6:42PM* not that late, there should be plenty of people out still. I took a last long glance out my window and then I saw *it*. At first I thought it was a person but then I noticed the odd, shambling aimless gait, the somewhat bedraggled experience, and the *face*. At this point he (I'm relatively certain it was a he) was under a streetlight and close enough to see the details of his face. His mouth was smeared with blood and his eyes were a milky white and seemed bloodshot. Immediately I shut my curtains and took a shaky step back. *What the fuck, was this for real? That looked like... I don't even want to say it but that looked like an actual, real life fucking zombie outside my house.* At this point the panic began to set in. I tried to take some deep breaths and steady myself. Expand your diaphragm, keep calm, everything is going to be okay. *Don't worry, you've prepared for this. How many zombie movies have you seen and said "I could totally survive that". This'll probably be easy!* I ran through a mental list of everything I needed to do. Every door, locked and dead-bolted. Gun out of the safe and loaded. Windows, taped and covered in cardboard. Enough food in the pantry to survive a week maybe two tops. *Hmm maybe I should call in work and tell them I'm sick and won't be coming in tomorrow...* Immediately I dismissed the thought. My mind was coming up with things to distract me from the true direness of this situation. Then the lights went out. As I sat in the darkness the terror began to grip me, a tight ball of it in my stomach slowly crawling up my throat and choking me so it seemed that I just couldn't gasp enough air no matter how hard I tried. With shaking hands I opened my phone and checked twitter again. Nothing. Nothing but a spinning circle. No WiFi, no cellular connection, no internet at all. Everything was down. I felt like screaming but I could barely produce a pathetic rasping squeak. Plus it was past sundown and I was terrified to make any noise. With the internet I thought I'd be fine, I could stay up to date with what was happening. I'd have entertainment for when I couldn't leave my house. I'd be able to just google any survival questions I had. Really it was like we'd all be going through the apocalypse together, connected through the wondrous power of the internet. But now I was alone. Truly alone and it was getting to me in a bad way. *I've done all I can for tonight, maybe I should just try and get some rest.* As I lay in my bed staring into the pitch blackness I knew it was a lost cause, there's no way in hell I'd be able to sleep. It was going to be a long, long night. &nbsp; Sometime around 3AM the noises started. It sounded like pack of baying dogs but somehow *wrong*. And then it hit me, it was humans. Or some things that used to be human. Howling in a discordant symphony. The howling began to grow louder and higher in pitch, sounding almost excited. Then I heard a very human scream, full throated and ear-piercing it went on and on and on until suddenly it stopped and there was only the baying of whatever creatures the poor soul had fallen to. I curled up tighter under my covers, clutching my handgun until my knuckles turned white. I was shaking and all I could think was *Maybe I could've helped. Maybe I should've done something.* But deep down I knew I wouldn't, would never. And it wasn't because of the warning to "Restrict contacts with others* though I tried to convince myself it was. I was just too scared. I was a coward and I'd let a thousand people die outside my door before I'd risk myself stepping out there into the unknown. &nbsp; - - - - *End of part 1 but I've got some more cooking up in my brain. If you'd like me to continue please let me know :)* edit: *It's 2AM here now, so I'll have to post part 2 tomorrow, sorry guys! I'm also considering opening a subreddit so let me know if anyone would be interested in that!* edit 2: ***Okay by popular demand I'm starting a subreddit! /r/Ardarail check it out for more stories!*** Stay tuned part 2 is in the works!

She'd stayed out too long,

Twenty days. Less than a month. Less than a month, and everything was so different. Some days, it was hard to even remember how it had been before. The wood groaned softly as she shifted, so she froze in the darkness. She'd stayed out too long, and had to hide in an overturned wagon. She could see the outline of the house- all the lights were off. But, she'd waited too long, and now it was dark. She blinked several times to stop the tears forming, and tried to choke down the panic rising in her chest. Too damn long. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She inhaled slowly, and tried to regulate her breathing. It was hard not to instinctually breath too shallow, in an attempt to stay as quiet as possible. Gingerly, she reached a trembling hand up to the top of her head and gently slid the goggles down over her eyes. The world flickered back into focus, albeit, in black and white. Was that- yes, Dad was standing out front of the door. Could he see her? It looked like he had his gogg- she stifled a sigh of relief as he slowly put a hand up to his side in a fist. Stay put. He could see her, or at least knew where she was. Why had she waited so damn long? It was so silent out that her heartbeat sounded like thunder in her ears. Rationally, she knew that wasn't the case, but it was more difficult than one would think to quench the fear that you were being too conspicuous. A malicious presence, heavy on the air, slowly settled around her, and things somehow became even more still. Something was wrong. She realized she was holding her breath, and forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply while staring at Dad, who had also frozen, not even raising his gun. Something was very wrong. The back of her neck began to pickle and tingle, as her subconscious brain alerted her to something nearby. She'd learned to listen to that feeling over the past few weeks. Something was wrong, and she could feel it in the air. Her stomach felt like a brick of ice, and her skin had a chill, despite it being a warm summer night. She was afraid to even turn her head, or move her now tingling leg. Why had she settled in such a stupid position? Stupid, stupid, stupid. She couldn't tear her eyes off of her father until Devin's head slowly bobbed into view on the roof to his left. What- he smoothly slung a long, slim object off of his shoulder, and appeared to lay down. The rifle. This was bad. Somehow, worse than she'd thought. Bad things never seemed real until perspective was forced. This was very bad. She'd never been more terrified in her life. She could hardly breath, eyes locked on the house, and her father, who was frozen stock still. She could feel a malicious presence, somehow. She didn't know where it was, or even really, what it was. But it was there. And, it knew she was, too. Dead silence. Dad's hand slowly opened, turned, and made a slow beckoning gesture. No. She wanted to cry. No, no, no. No way. It was too far. No. No. Her lip trembled as she slowly reached back and tightened her backpack straps. She froze. She felt like prey. This must be what mice in those old science videos felt like right before being eaten alive by a snake. She was paralyzed with fear. No. She felt like her bones were cold- she, unhyperbolically, was bone-chillingly terrified. That was a new sensation. No. Dad's gesture became quicker, and she saw Devin shift slightly toward the top of her peripheral vision. No. The feeling of hateful fear was almost overwhelming, now. She could feel it, pressing down on her, from all sides. She'd stayed out way too long. Something was so, so wrong. She was too far. She was too far. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. Her body was shaking. Fear, or adrenaline, she couldn't tell, probably both. Dad's whole hand was flapping urgently now. They needed the medicine. Worth the risk, they'd decided. But that was then, and it'd been too far. She felt like her eyelids were peeling back, and she was paralyzed. She felt as if a massive weight was crushing her chest, like she was stuck in a giant vice. Her body was trembling like a mouse, and she couldn't stop. Too long. She felt like prey. Stupid. She was prey. No. No. Dad beckoned urgently with his whole arm, then raised his gun. Now. Now, she had to go now. If she was going to go, it had to be now. Devin's a good shot. Dad's got a pump. Now's the time. No. No, no, no. The wagon creaked slightly as she hurled herself to her feet. Three hundred yards, max. Her legs were churning faster than they ever had before. State semifinalist, twice in a row. The wind roared by her ears, as she veritably flew towards the house. Joey had clocked her at twenty three once, last year. Her feet were barely touching the ground- she felt so light. Her fear made her legs pump even harder. Closer. She was rapidly closing. She felt like something was right behind her. All she could hear was the wind. All she could see was a blur of white and gray, and the pitch black opening of the door. And Dad. And Dad? Sprinting towards her, raising the gun and- BOOM. Devin had shot the rifle. This was bad, this was so bad. BOOM. Again. BOOM. Dad fired the shotgun off to her right. People were yelling, now. Dad. She couldn't hear, or understand them. BOOM. A third shot from the rifle, and she felt a blast and a whistle a few feet to the left of her head. So close. Waited too long. She pumped her arms and legs as fast and hard as she could. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. One hundred yards. BOOM. She heard a muffled, animalistic grunt behind her, and finally all the fear she'd been keeping clamped inside bubbled out. BOOM. She screamed. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. She was so close, nearly out of her mind in terror. BOOM. Nothing existed except the door. BOOM, BOOM. Someone screamed. She realized that it wasn't her. BOOM, BOOM. BOOM. Someone screamed from another direction. BOOM. She screamed, and flung herself across the threshold, diving over the couch. Silence. She huddled behind the couch, shaking in fear. Dead silence. Slowly, she sat up and peaked over the edge of the couch, to the open door. Dad? Where was he? That door needed to be closed. She wouldn't leave them, though. They hadn't left her. It was so still, suddenly. She gently slid the backpack off, and got into a squat to go check the door. A massive shape blackened the door opening, as it silently moved inside. No. The door creaked softly as it closed. Took too damn long. The door clicked shut. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Edit: a word Edit 2: another word to clarify Devin's location

The broadcast felt like a joke,

I turned the T.V. off and listened to the soft blowing wind from the cracked window next to me. I slid it closed as the words rolled over me, their meaning slowly taking hold. "Military aid is unavailable," the grim-faced man said before wishing everyone that could hear his voice good luck as the station went back to the crawling white letters over the black screen. Normally the screen would have an accompanied several loud screeches that made my ears want to bleed, but not tonight. For a few moments I stared at the blank screen, mouth slightly agape, my eyebrows coming together. The broadcast felt like a joke, some elaborate prank on the city. Something to be ignored, laughed at for a passing moment before you got back to your life. As the words settled in me something else bloomed; fear. Anxiety. Tension that busied my hands with the hem of my shirt as the sounds from across the street at the Stevenson house flowed into my ears. I could see the party starting up, hear the laughing and the overly loud talking. Behind the two-story house I could see the sun kissing the horizon, staining the sky in pinks and oranges that seeped lower and grew darker with each passing second. I watched a car pull up to the already cluttered curb and park, a pair of nicely dressed women stumbling out with drunken giggles. I watched them trek through the freshly mowed lawn and knock on the front door, a crisp red. I watched until the light that spilled out through the doorway was cut off and turned back to my empty house. Barricading the doors was easy enough and for once I was thankful for all the extra supplies from the do-it-yourself kitchen renovation my one time brother-in-law has insisted upon. I had just enough wood for the doors and most of the windows. By the time I hammered in that last nail, securing the piece of pale wood in place, the sun was gone and the sky was dark. The realization hit me harder than words can describe. The words of that anchor came to mind. "Do not make any light or noise between 6 P.M. and 8 A.M.," and a new kind of fear sent my heart thrashing behind the cage of bone. I could taste each quick beat; salty pennies with the burn of bile from my churning stomach. The clock on the stove, those bright red numbers, read 7:42 P.M. My mouth dried out with a breath. How had the time gone so quickly? I hurried over the tiled floor and covered the numbers with a hand towel, taping it in place with a strip of duct tape. No light. Each light on the bottom floor clicked off with a soft sound that I felt the entire world could hear. With the last little sound I stood in the dark living room and waited. For what? Death? My mind showed me monsters, creatures from worlds I'll never know. Horrible beasts with sharp teeth and strong jaws. Things with knives for fingers that long to bathe in my blood. I stood there conjuring up every kind of terrible sight and could still hear the party across the street. It sounded like things were kicking into high gear. Music throbbed, vibrating the world around it the home. The voices from the yard, both back and front, seeped through my walls hitting my ears muffled and slurred. A delighted scream sent me stomping up the stairs and to my bedroom and to the window pointing out to the neighborhood below. An impossibly tall and thin figure wrenched a wriggling woman towards the sidewalk. She screamed and giggled and seemed to lightly hit at the figure that kept pulling her along like she weighed less than a feather. No one at the party seemed to mind, or seemed to take much notice at all. The figure took the hits and kept walking, and walking, until they were past the boundaries of my picture window. The next scream I heard wasn't playful, or fun. It was loud, shrill, and filled with pain. It sent a spurt of adrenaline through my legs that twitched my calves, made me want to move, to help, to do anything but sit and watch those shadow covered bodies like they were some kind of T.V. show. But I didn't. I didn't help and I didn't move. Not when the screams suddenly cut off mid-sound, and not when that figure strolled back to the party, moving among the bodies like water between rocks. When the second figure moved into the crowd, ducking through the open front door to get inside, I backed away from the window. I backed up until my legs hit the edge of my bed, I moved around it until my fingertips brushed over her bedside table. I guess it was my bedside table, now. They both were. I couldn't stop the thoughts from flooding my mind, the questions. Was she safe? Were both of them? Did they catch the warning or were they doing something else at the time or were they too busy unpacking in their new home? That question pushed me down the stairs as quick and as silent as I can manage on wood steps, and to the front door. Through the cracks I could hear more blood-chilling screams that raised every little hair on my body. They were close. So close. Just beyond the thick wood, calling me forth. Calling me for help. I'm not a brave person, and I've never claimed to be such, but walking away from those screams, those terrified and agony filled sounds, brought such a wave of shame over me I thought I might fall through the earth and shoot out the other side at such a speed I'd be launched into the void of space. I didn't fall but I did stumble over my own feet. My shoulder hit the wall and sent a picture to the ground, the one from our trip to Alaska all those years ago. We wanted to see the northern lights, but only saw a lot of grey clouds and snow. The glass pane shattered over our smiling faces sending specks of sharp glitter to the hardwood floor. Each tiny shine seemed to be a wailing siren that singled my existence like a beacon in the night. When everything settled I stood frozen again. Listening. Waiting. Nothing came. Not that night. And in the morning I saw them, their bodies, littering the nearly trimmed yards of the neighborhood, left behind like discarded scraps. I could see some of them from my window. Blood that clung to grass, the sidewalk, the street, caught the early morning light and gave a dull shine. Some patches looked fresh while others were dark and brown, dry or something close to it. Limbs lay scattered like confetti, parts I couldn't discern lay in heaps. Seeing the carnage I still worked up the courage to leave the house, somehow. I had to know it wasn't part of a prank, that it was real. I had to know. I tied a couple sheets together, and to my bed, pulling the knots tight before opening the window. If it didn't hold the fall wouldn't kill me, probably, but I'd have to get the ladder from the shed out back. The dark shed. If tunnels were bad would all dark places be, as well? I shook the question away, storing it for later and pushed the screen out of the windowsill. It landed with a small sound and I leaned over the edge. It held, my makeshift rope. And I reached the yard with aching shoulders. A body lay in my near my driveway. Rich tawny skin glowing in the golden sunlight, deep black hair spread out around a bloody face. Camilla Greer from two houses down lay on her back, her black dress slick and torn to rags over her stomach. Bile kissed my tongue when I saw she was hollowed out, her meat and organs gone without a trace. Then I noticed her arm, barely clinging to the rest of her body with only a string of muscle. A gasp left me, echoed by someone down the block. Mr. Lok. Omar. The richly colored robe he wore, red with gold accents, hung loosely around his body, the sash laying near the steps of his porch. The thick cloth dragged behind him, through the stained grass, catching a couple times on the rough sidewalk as he stumbled over the edge of the curb into the street. I heard his quick breaths before he emptied his stomach next to a piece of glistening gore, and I watched him wipe tears from his wrinkled face. I watched him and heard others, all around us, waking and leaving their homes, taking in the horror that stained the neighborhood, one renowned for its safety. I watched them all as they remembered the parting words of that news anchor, the words that slid through my mind. "Military aid is unavailable. Good luck." It wasn't a joke, it wasn't a prank. It was real, and no one was coming to save us.

Caesar crumpled to his knees

Caesar crumpled to his knees, clothes red, life ebbing into the floor around him. He tried to inhale and instead felt the unstoppable torrent of blood clogging his mouth. His voice failed him. He was dying. Again. Craning his neck up, he saw the next attack coming before it embedded itself in his chest. The handle of a dagger, golden, embellished with a myriad of jewels and gemstones, came into Caesar's vision, just below his heart. The dagger he'd given to his most trusted ally. "Et tu, Brute?" The now blurring figure of Brutus attempted to look somber. They failed, a smile breaking their lips. *'I should've known*', Caesar thought to himself. Brutus - no, *Aegis* - leaned in close to her lifelong foe, pressing her lips to his ear. *Her ear.* "I win, my dear Eve." ----- "It seems my cover has been blown," Queen Elizabeth muttered, kicking up a cloud of ash with her foot. The simple motion sent a spasm of pain through her spine. Eve hated the Queen's form; old, decrepit, ostensibly every bit as unrelenting in dying as she was. 91 fucking years of marching towards death's door, never quite able to open it. Aegis - *or, rather, Betty White* - quirked a brow, a rare look of surprise crossing her features. "My, my. That's quite the bit you've got yourself. I never would've guessed. Honest to God. You have a thing for monarchs, don't you?" Elizabeth rubbed the scar under her heart. "Power gets me things I want," she said blankly. "Like daggers in the chest?" "It has its shortcomings." "I was genuinely surprised you survived that time, really. I'd been pretty damn thorough. Even went and celebrated." Elizabeth grinned sheepishly. "*Please.* We've both been through worse. Remember Romeo and Juliet?" "Oh, Christ, that's the last time I'm pretending to kill myself on your behalf." Betty chuckled breezily, sitting herself down with a slight hiss of pain. Elizabeth copied, sitting opposite her on the ground. "Gods, these forms are pathetic. What can a hag of a monarch do without subjects to command?" "Complain, evidently." "Screw you." "I *told* you to not remind me of Romeo and Juliet." Elizabeth snickered, clicking her shoulders as she leaned back and forth. "Hey, our little shenanigans made for a pretty good play." "Two of them, *Caesar*." Betty stared at her partner pointedly. "I don't like to think about that one. Makes me cry every time." "The pain or the fact I played you like a puppet?" "Both, really." Betty clicked her tongue, holding up a hand as she fumbled through her inner-pockets. After an age, she produced two small vials, laying them on the ground between her and Elizabeth. "Look, Liz - *Eve* - I know we've been at it for quite some time, so long I've forgotten all that matters. Even the thought of killing you has lost its novelty at this point." "I'm flattered." "But the fact is we both want the same thing. Truly. What else could we ask for after so many years?" Elizbeth didn't take her eyes off the vials, the creases in her forehead becoming prominent as she furrowed her brows. "This *can't* possibly be your new way of tricking me." "Look me in the eyes and tell me we don't want the same thing." Elizabeth met her rival's unyielding gaze. In that moment, she felt wearier than she'd ever done before; as if every year, century and millennia she'd suffered all caught up to her at once. She keeled over, clenching her fists as a violent cough shook her body. "Our curse," Betty muttered, her expression morose. "The sad fact is, I don't think we can die in competition. Time has proven it an innumerable amount of times." "Then *how?*" Elizbeth lurched forward, grabbing Betty by the collar. "How the fuck can this all end, Aegis?! I'm tired. I'm weak. I've experienced every pleasure there is in existence, every form of suffering one can imagine; torture, heartbreak, betrayal, love, you name it. All of it with the hope that one day, one distant, singular, moment in the future, I'd be able to end it all. And you're telling me it'll never happen?" Elizabeth let go of Betty, slumping against the ground, her face collapsing into the dirt. "You and I both, Sister." Elizabeth let out a low chuckle, although the sound was bitter. "That's a new one." "Your existential dread has helped breed a little kinship, let us say." "*Dread* doesn't do it justice. Children dread the boogeyman. Adults dread unemployment and filing tax returns. I don't think there's any word that can explain what it really is. Nobody else has lived long enough to make it." "You're a real bore when you're like this, you know that?" "It's a side effect of life." "If you can call this one." "A *shitty* life. An everlife. An ever-shitty-life." Betty had to try her best to not reach out and strangle Eve. "Look, Eve, I didn't say we *can't die*. We can. Just not the way you might've envisioned it. I'm afraid to say there'll be no grand finale for us." Elizabeth tilted her head to look at Betty. Her eyes were watery and bloodshot. "I'll say it again. *How?*" Betty picked up one of the vials on the ground, unscrewed its cork, and held it out to Elizabeth. "*Together.* At each other's hand. Not from hatred, nor revenge, or suicide. Gods know we've tried. But as the one being we are; two birds of a feather, the sides of a coin. For as long as one of us draws breath, so will the other. And, no, I'm not intentionally referencing your favourite ill-fated couple here." Elizabeth straightened up and took the vial, clasping it in her hands. Betty picked up the other, unscrewing it as well. "How do I know this isn't another ploy?" Elizabeth asked as she rested her own above her lips. It was ridiculous for Betty to think she could build trust on a foundation as lofty as their relationship. And now of all times. Betty shook her head, pulling forward Elizabeth's hand so that the vial was instead near herself. "I said it before. We've both faced the tribulations of immortality. We made a game of it for a time, sure, but there's nothing to laugh at here. This is it. Freedom." Betty moved her own vial forwards, locking her arm around Elizabeth's. She gulped, her arm shaking. *Freedom*. The word, in all of her years, had almost lost all meaning to Elizabeth. At the beginning, it had quite literally costed her heaven, her wings, all notions of happiness, scarce as they were. Beyond that, so many lives had been lost in revolutions staked on that vacuous idea, countless more in the pursuit of personal liberty, and, of course, she knew that hope was the greatest plague of them all for both mortals and immortals alike. What was it all for? That was life, she'd concluded. A ceaseless, ridiculous practice in futility. A wish for change that never came. "Freedom," she said, just for the pleasure of hearing it. "Maybe there's an afterlife." "For us? Probably not." "I hope there isn't one," Elizabeth said. "As do I." Elizabeth gave Betty a quizzical look, reassessing the woman she'd known for so many lifetimes. "God, I hate myself for believing you right now." "I know." "You better not be lying." "I promise." "*Ha*, good one." Elizabeth bit her quivering lip, tilting her head back. Betty mirrored the motion. "Not with a bang, but with a whimper," Betty whispered, a girlish grin on her features. "Fitting," Elizabeth echoed. The world was so quiet, but for the two of them. Together, Eve and Aegis tossed back the contents of each vial. Together, they collapsed to the ground. Together, the beat of their immortal hearts began to still. "*W- we've won*," Eve said, tears streaking her eyes as she reached out to clasp her sister's hand. "*So many fucking years...*" Aegis clutched her sister tightly, unable to summon up the strength to respond. Seconds later, her grasp loosened. The world became silent.

Ware, Eliz and Rile

"I can't believe you can't just fireball the damned thing," said Ware as he paced the room. The sound of his boots echoed across their furnished chamber, his massive shadow flickering across the wall as he combated his nerves. "What use is a mage without his staff." "Quit pacing," hissed Rilea, her slender features sharpened as an arrowhead. She turned her gaze back to the copper door handle. "You keep blocking the fireplace, and I can't make out the lock." "At least let me have a go at smashing it in," Ware said. He cracked his knuckles and scanned the massive stone chamber. "The couch would make a proper ram." Eliz sighed, taking off his mage's cap and massaging his temples. They'd been holed up in the Dark Lord's bedchambers for three days now, and his crew's nerves were rightfully shot. Every hour they remained captured, more citizens of the Empire fell, and the spiderweb of the Dark Lord's influence crept further and further towards the heart of civilization. The general mood was only compounded by the fact that the Dark Lord hadn't put them to death. It appeared, in fact, that he made every effort to do quite the opposite and draw out a strange form of torture. Daily provisions were escorted by orcs, who toted silver platters of lavish food, bowing low as they entered. Every morning, Eliz shifted uncomfortably under their smiling gaze. They asked if he'd prefer a glass of orange juice, or perhaps an extra side of bacon. Eliz and others ignored every question until at last they'd leave. *Christ. A smiling orc*, he'd thought to himself. The sight was so strange. Every night they slept in fits. The Dark Lord had furnished the chambers with lavish silk and bearskin, and in their dreams he came to them with a flagon of ale. "Sit, my friend," he said without fail. "Let's have a talk." The tone in his voice was enough to drive Eliz mad. That first morning, they'd decided as a crew not to hear a damned word the vile man had to say. Ware crouched at the end of a plush couch, gripping the brass leggings. With a deep huff, he began scraping the thing towards the thick doorframe. Eliz walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Ware, enough. You'll bring every beast in the stronghold down upon us." "I just want to *do* something," Ware said. "Before that demented *freak* haunts my dreams again." Eliz opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a sharp *Click* "I've got it!" said Rilea. She stood up and brushed off her knees and turned to the others, beaming. The bedchamber door slid open with a creak. Beyond lay the stone hallway of the Dark Lord's castle, dark and damp, patrolled by a myriad of ghouls, vampires, ogres, and other monstrosities. Eliz sprung right into his role. "Alright, Ware you're on point. Take down anything in our way. But *quietly*. We've got a labyrinth to navigate, but if we play this correctly we could be in the lower tunnels before they know what's happening. Rilea you watch our six while Trey and I..." "I'm not going," Trey, the cleric, said from the corner. He was sitting beside the fireplace on the bear skin rug with his knees to his chest, face half cast in shadow. "I'm tired of running." "It's not shameful to regroup," Eliz said. "We are not yet defeated." "You don't understand," said Trey. "We've been running since we've been born." "Oh for Christ's sake," said Ware. "Now's *not* the time." "That's just it," Trey continued. "We're beholden to time. Running from it. Counting how much of it remains. Think about it--the Dark Lord isn't spreading pain and destruction. He's ending it. No zombie ever looks over their shoulder, trembling at the thought of the cold hand of death pulling them from their family. No Banshee loses sleep over the thought of not finding their next meal before their children starve." Rilea stepped forward. She stooped low, examining Trey's pallid face. "His mind's been tainted by some dark spellmaking." Eliz nearly ordered Ware to pick up the poor lad, so they might hoist him back to the Capital where they might seek treatment. He'd known Trey to be the philosophical sort, prone to moodiness, but this seemed another matter entirely. The lad was pale and sweating. But then again, behind his eyes he appeared perfectly lucid. "I've been put under no curse. I feel like, for the first time, perhaps one might be lifted." "You traitorous bastard," Ware said. "The empire will fall." "Look around you Ware. What *chaos* has the Dark Lord's anarchy wrought? What taxes condemn the poor to a lifetime of misery? What soldiers abuse their power and rank upon the general populace? Tell me, Ware, for I see nothing of the sort." "He's put innocent civilians to death you idiot," said Ware coldly. "His army has chewed out their hearts well before their *time*, which you keep going on about." Trey gulped. "He's assured me that's not the case. Only those who raise arms against him are retaliated against." "You spoke with him?!" Ware said. "You son of a bitch!" Eliz stepped between them before something broke out. Rilea held Ware at bay, barely, while Eliz crouched so that he might examine Trey further. Trey could hardly meet his gaze. "You'd condemn us to death," whispered Eliz. "What shall we do without our cleric? What shall *I* do without my friend?" "There are other clerics in the capital," Trey said meagerly. Then his face brightened. He looked Eliz straight in the eyes. "Or perhaps you'll join us." "It's *us* now already, is it?" said Ware, red in the face. He pushed Eliz out of the way and punched Trey square in the jaw. The lad crumpled in a heap upon the stone floor. Ware pounced, attacking with a pent up rage Eliz had never before seen. It took the added strength of Rilea to pull the man off of him. Ware stood, panting, as Trey lay in a bloody heap. Trey wretched, coughing up blood--a poor, miserable shell of his former self. Eliz's heart sank. "He's beyond saving," Eliz said. "Come, let's go." The three of them shuffled out into the hallway, leaving Trey whimpering in the corner. Eliz met his eyes, once more, just as he pushed the door closed. "Goodbye," he whispered. "You poor, poor fool." _________________________________________ In the morning, the Dark Lord came. His black cape trailed behind him as he entered carrying a lavish silver platter of bacon, sandwiches and fruit. He saw Trey's purpled face and paused. "They've left, I presume?" "They have," Trey replied. Every word struck him with a renewed bout of pain. The Dark Lord set the massive platter down. "I had hoped you'd show them my perspective," he said. "It's a shame to see such heroic souls condemn themselves." Trey said nothing. The Dark Lord sighed. "Very well. Perhaps they'll see the light, before the end." He gestured towards the platter. "Would you like a final meal?" "No, thank you. I'm ready." The Dark Lord nodded. He withdrew a slender black staff warbled as a swamp willow. The crimson jewel fashioned to its apex began to glow softly, and the Dark Lord spoke an incantation Trey had never before heard. Then, he abruptly stopped. The light faltered, and the Dark Lord said, "You never told me what you'd like to be." "Oh! I hadn't put a thought to it," Trey said. Then, through the sharp pain, he smiled. "Make me a ghost. I've always wanted to fly." ------------------- r/M0Zark

Death was left with only one option

Clement shuffled in his chair, bones creaking with every movement. Face tense and focused, Clement held his piece between his thumb and forefinger, eying the state of the game board. He moved his Knight forward, opening up a discovery check from his bishop. Death was left with only one option. Death slid his King into a corner, knowing full well what was coming next. Clement moved his idle rook forward from his opened backlines, across the board in one fell swoop. "I believe that's Checkmate," he said, the tension draining from his face. He leaned back into his seat, a wry smile spreading on his thin lips. "So, now what? Death was at a loss for words. The skeletal figure remained fixated on the board, unwavering, eerily silent. Clement let the entity stew for a moment; the last thing he wanted to do was incur the ire of Death itself. It was a long time until Death spoke, his voice low and gravelly, ostensibly no louder than a whisper, but one that carried in the wind, echoed in the silence. "Well, this is... *unprecedented*." Clement felt a chill run down his spine. Death's skeletal fingers traced the edge of the chessboard, the carved wood beginning to age and wither, crumpling into barely visible remains. And even those disappeared when Death let go, leaving nothing but an empty table. "Do you want some time to think?" Clement asked, keeping his voice soft. The entity was as old as time itself, but, even then, he bore the mannerisms of a child; he'd basked in each piece he'd stolen from Clement, fumed at every loss. Perhaps it was perverse, but Clement felt an odd responsibility for him. Who knew what would happen if the arbiter of passing were to lose his temper? "There's no thinking to be done!" Death sat up, wisps of shadowy tendrils curling out from under his cloak. "*You* - you should've lost, old man!" He raised an accusatory finger, which Clement lightly pushed away. The old man smiled, the creases on his face protruding as he met the entity's eyes - or, rather, eye *sockets.* "We all lose eventually; that's just life." "I'm *Death*, I don't lose." Clement didn't speak. Instead, he just diverted his gaze to the table between them, arching a brow. "As I said, this is unprecedented. You're just a mere mortal; Fischer, Tal, Botvinnik - I've beaten all your champions. *Each and every one of them.* The moment you sat down, destiny should've dictated your loss. The deck was stacked, the game rigged." Clement chuckled wheezily, hitting his chest to gather himself once the laugh became a violent cough. "I'm used to that. We all are." "*We?*" "Everyone." "Are you trying to be smart, old man?" "No, not at all. What you just said, though. It's true, all of it. I'm just a man - bloody old, at that. I played chess once or twice with my grandson, and he made a fool of me both times. I had a big family, you know? All the way to great-grandkids. Imagine that! *Great* grandchildren. And yet, all that, all those faces, all of them, they're just a blink in time's eye. It's sobering to think." Death paused, the tendrils around him pulsating, a silent threat. He didn't talk. For once, he listened. Clement continued. "But it's not easy. Living. To care long enough to see your family through for so long. At some point, most people my age just get jaded. They cease to care; the aches become too sharp, the nights too sleepless, the children too loud. Fact is, you can have it all, and, even then, life will make a loser of you. Somehow. I guess what I'm trying to say is, God, man, genius, we all have the same weakness: life itself." Clement smiled bitterly, his eyes sparkling as he looked up to Death once more. "Are you implying that I'm discontent, mortal?" Clement simply tapped his nose. "All I'm saying is, play me again and you'll find out. Don't hold back now. A life is only worth living at its fullest." ----- Death flicked Clement's King off of the board, watching it tumble to the ground. He'd won in two moves. *Two moves.* A fool's mate; the most simple blunder in Chess to avoid, tantamount to knowing not to put a fork in a toaster. And the damn man was grinning. Worst of all, Death felt hollow. The victory gave him no pleasure, if anything, Clement seemed happier than ever. "Why are you smiling, old man?! You just forfeited your soul with that blunder." "I know!" Clement laughed, slapping his knee. "But, really, does that make you happy? Come now, be honest with me, Death." Death flinched. Nobody spoke to him in such a direct manner. "If I'm to be rid of your vacuous philosophy, then, yes, I'm happy. You're worse than Nietzsche. Man constantly tried to deny my existence." Clement's smile dropped some, although it didn't quite fade. "I see. Well, hopefully you learnt a thing or two then. I suppose I'll be off. How does this work, do you -?" Death extended his hand, a black scythe materialising in his grip, the curved tip running along Clement's neck. "Oh..." "Just one slice, and it'll all be over. You'll feel *nothing.* No pain, no sensation. Just *nothing.*" "Scary," Clement muttered dryly. "You don't sound scared." "Mhm." Death looked down at the chessboard, keeping his weapon fixed at Clement's throat. The first game between them *had* been fun. It was almost a shame to have to see the man off. He lowered his scythe. "We're one for one, yes?" Clement nodded. "Sit down, old man. Best of three. I want to see if you can replicate your first fluke." "Very well, but you'll have to promise me something!" Death turned his head. "*What* would you dare demand of me?" "Clement. My name's Clement." The old man extended a hand. "I'm afraid I'm not particularly good at chess, so you'll have to excuse my blunders." After a brief hesitation, Death took his hand, shaking it firmly. "You know who I am." "All too well." Together, they sat down and played. The man was right, Death had been discontent. Eons had made a monster of him. Sure, he'd indulged in finding new ways to torment and massacre the mortals he shepherded but, ultimately, it'd been for nothing. Winning wasn't fun. His ever-life as guardian of the damned brought him no joy. *This* was fun. Having an opponent. Having a meaning, one to keep. Death sacrificed his Queen, and let the man win again. ---- **EDIT:** Woh, thank you so much for the gild! I just went to sleep and this seriously blew up. **EDIT 2:** Ahhhhh another one! You guys are honestly the best - I'm glad you enjoyed my piece. I have a subreddit if you want to read any of my further works - /r/coffeeandwriting. I haven't uploaded in some time, but I think soon enough I shall.

Death stared Jake because he had won

Staring contest. No, it wasn't really decided that they would have one, it just happened. Death stared Jake because he had won against him. Something that had never happened before. Jake stared Death in anticipation of a reward. "Well, Jake, that's a new," Death finally said, giving out a louder sigh. "I figured," Jake responded, a wide grin appearing on his face. "I'm a first?" Death was irritated, but he gave Jake his slow nod. "So, what did I win? Will I go back to earth and continue living? Or am I going to heaven?" Death frowned. "Neither," he hissed, "you weren't supposed to win..." Jake raised his eyebrows. "Ah. That's reassuring." He stood up and looked around the room. It was cosy room. There was fireplace next to the chess table and everything was neatly clean. It was as he was in a royalty room during the medieval era. "Yet I did." "Yes. You did," Death confirmed again. "What would you want?" Jake looked towards Death and started to think. "I want to go to the heaven," he proposed. Death sighed. "Impossible," he rejected his proposal almost instantly. "Why?" "You're supposed to go to hell. This can't be changed," he explained. "What? Come on, what did I do wrong?" Jake asked. "Well, putting the long story short, you were an ass. Your entire life." Jake started to grin. "Well," he leaned against nearby fireplace stone. It was warm. "Life was an ass to me, as well," he protested. "Either way, I can't change where you go. I'm Death, not Judge," Death explained. "Wait, there's Judge?" Jake asked. "You met her already. You just lost your memories of her," Death frowned again. Then he started to laugh. It was a creepy laugh. "You did cry the whole time like a little bitch though." "Too... much... info!" Jake whispered. "Sorry~," Death laughed again. "So, what do you want? Keep asking." "I want to become your apprentice!" Jake said after a short period of thinking. Death raised his eyebrow as a response. "I did beat you in chess. Maybe I'd become better Death than you," Jake laughed. "Maybe it was just a luck?" Death started rubbing his chin. "Best of 3?" Jake offered the unbelievable. It's not like there was nothing for him to lose. "If I win, you'll make me your apprentice. If I lose, we'll call the previous win a fluke and I'll move on," he looked straight into Death's eyes. Jake was terrified, still, he had to do something. "You're a smart man, Jake. This way you avoid hell," Death responded. "It's an interesting proposal. I've never felt that excited before. Plus, it gives me a chance to keep my honour as a winner." Death rubbed his chin even more. Slowly his skin started to melt, bones showed up. Jake took few steps back, terrified of the vision. He started to realise what he had just done. It was Death after all. "Deal. That means I'll put all of my focus into that game!" he announced and stared at Jake for him to take his seat. Jake began to seat himself while looking at that new bone face. "Does that really includes removing your... I don't know what that is... your mask?" "Oh, no. That's just to distract you..." &nbsp; *** &nbsp; "Checkmate," Jake announced, looking now straight skull of his opponent. Quite literally. Death was leaning back, still showing the signs of his thinking. He was rubbing his chin bone. "Damn," he whispered. "You did it. On a second game, I thought it was really a fluke..." "Booyah!" Jake stood up and shouted. He turned around and watched Death. "Never mess with me! I'm the very best! Nobody can beat me!" Death laughed and looked towards Jake. "Now is the moment you reveal, that you're the chess world champion or something." "Oh, no, none of those," Jake responded. "I'm a simple man. Still better, than you, though." Death laughed again, even though this time the laugh involved skull mouth just moving up and down. "I did beat every single chess world champion, you know? I think those were times I really did try to beat them," Death said with a nod. "So, I have finally been beaten," the skull just looked ceiling, while Jake slowly seated himself back in his own chair. Skin started to reappear on Death's face. Jake was confused. Death was smiling, not crying. "I remember when I won against my master, over 9 thousand years ago," he said, looking now towards Jake. "I understand now what he was feeling when I won." He stood slowly up and took hold of his nearby scythe. It was a really sharp object. Jake had forgotten that it even was in that room. "What are you talking about?" Jake was confused. Death should be maddened by his loss. Why is he smiling? Why did he start talking about his own victory? "I have tried to lose every single time, just so that somebody would win, for once. Just that maybe my mad days would be over. I never managed to lose again... till now, of course." He stood up and the room started to change. It turned into streets and buildings. People appeared out of nowhere. Busses drove through them. They were in the middle of a very busy street. Jake wasn't sure where they were, not that it mattered, at all. "Do you see those humans, Jake?" Death said, looking around. "They *all* need to be reaped. Every... single.. one of them. Not now, but at some point." He then suddenly slashed his scythe through a passing car, which then changed its course and crashed into another car. Death scythed its sharp blade through the other car as well. A white orbs came out of those cars and flew towards Death, entering the Scythe. Jake was paralysed. He couldn't move. Tears burst out of his eyes and he just looked towards the car accident. People gathering around those cars. Some were even screaming. In some sense, Jake was blessed that he didn't see inside the car. "Do you understand now Jake? This is the view you'll have to see thousands and thousands of years." Jake fell on his knees. He still looked at the car. Slowly he whispered, "This is... worse than hell, isn't it? This is..." "Death," Death said. ---- (/r/ElvenWrites - Feel free to check out for past or future writings)

"Sarah, you have a beautiful

I come into the world, a sweaty, smelly, sticky and entirely unpleasant affair. It's slightly worse than going down a waterslide in the seventh circle of hell. The logic behind forgetting your early childhood begins to makes a great deal of sense because this stuff is thoroughly disturbing. I can feel the mental scars developing already. Once the doctor cleans whatever...the gunk...all over me is away, he stares down at me, shining a light in my eyes. He looks a bit concerned, and I regard him cooly, trying to figure out what the hell his problem is. Clearly it wasn't enough to survive the torture tunnel. Then, after a minute, it dawns of me. I begin to wail at the top of my lungs and immediately defecate in his hand. Naturally, his eyes alight with joy at these developments. "Sarah, you have a beautiful healthy baby boy, and" he grins at this, "the plumbing is working just fine." He holds up his hand, displaying the black mess proudly. The nurses clap, congratulating the new mother. I'm getting a bit squeamish at all of this. When I elected for New Game+ I knew there'd be some interesting trials and tribulations, but I had sort of imagined they would skip the tutorial and drop me in after this point. I sigh inwardly, trying to collect my thoughts. Before I have much of a chance I am put into a tiny blanket prison and deposited into my mothers arms. I can't even wiggle. She looks down at me, a worn but happy look on her face. "Oh Jedediah, I'm so happy to meet you." Wait, what? JEDEDIAH? What kind of name is that? I'm going to be a Jed? I begin to wail in earnest at this, feeling like I had made a horrible mistake. They said the difficulty increased in New Game+, but this was ridiculous. No one hires a Jedediah, I'm going to need to get a double wide now. Wails fill the room, my face turning blue. Mom, smiles, "I know what baby needs." Bam! Boob in my mouth. No asking. No consent forms. Of course, this isn't exactly an unwelcome development, but it's a bit disconcerting to think of it as a milk carton rather than something I want to motorboat. I decide to roll with the punches on this one, boobs are fun, the milk seems pretty decent and I could use a coffee break. I needed to update the strat, this Jed thing being a big curve ball. "Oh, he's hungry all right. He must be after that big boy poot." The Doctor offers. Seriously, what's wrong with that guy? Seemed like some therapy might be in order, but I restrained the desire to express my thoughts on the matter. One slip up on New Game+ and they zeroed your score out. I wasn't about to make a mistake like that before I made it out of the delivery room. Nope, I was going the distance on this one. I already had big plans to put my early allowance into crypto, make a real run at the market. This baby was heading straight for the leaderboard. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the boob milk. Right after lunch that is. --- This is for /u/ShadowKiller147741. A brand shiny new Part 2. If the quality is substantially diminished, you may lay the blame squarely at his/her/it/they's doorstep. **PART DEUX** Little known baby fact. They sleep 38 hours a day. Now, I'm no stranger to the occasional cat nap, but I have to say my productivity has taken a major hit keeping up the baby pretense. First thought was to fake it, just close my eyes and wait for her to leave the room so I could get back to architecting out my five year plan. But technology has made some serious strides since I was last filling diapers. Mom has put in place a surveillance system that would make Putin blush. She's got me on this movement sensing pad that tells her my vitals and whether or not I am getting "restful slumber". Then there's the video cam, which is about six inches from my face and I can literally hear it zooming in while she screwing around with the control in the other room. I mean, this is some seriously Orwellian shit going on here in this crib. I'm afraid that even thinking is going to trigger a "restful slumber" alarm and then I'm going to get re-blanket imprisoned (after I had finally managed to break myself free). Guantanamo Bay was beginning to look like a vacation at this point. Now, I'm trying to keep a cool head about this. I'm in this for the long game. Last life didn't go great and New Game+ was a challenge I undertook willingly. But, I just going to say it: this is some seriously messed up stuff. I can't believe kids put up with this crap. It's totally out of control. The only plus side of this entire affair is the constant boob play, but even that's starting to wear on me a bit. I mean, it's all a lot less attractive when you're getting force fed around the clock. All of this internal strife was creating a fair bit of anxiety, which led to the indignity of a diaper rash, an ear infection and a fever. For all of the advancements in surveillance tech, there has been SURPRISINGLY LITTLE advancement in how a baby gets it's temperature taken. The indignity is real. Emotional stuff all around. And now I'm crying again. A few moments later and mom comes bursting through the door. "I know baby, momma's sorry you're feeling bad. I'm here to help." She removes the swaddle and carries me over to the changing table. "Let's just see what's happening down in diaper land." She pulls out the thermometer, with what can only be described as a malicious gleam in her eye. I think she might be a psychopath. Sighhhhh.....this is going to be a long road to the leaderboard. --- Due to the highly improper and deeply unfair pressures of /u/NickKenobi1112, /u/ShadowKiller147741, /u/NaeltaLaCrea, /u/SaltyEmotions, /u/CrimsinPaladin and /u/Mother_V, I have written a third part. It was written under duress and my emotional state is hanging by a thread. I'm building out the universe at this point, preparing for the eventual movie with /u/Mother_V as my agent. /u/Shadowkiller147741 is my bodyguard. /u/SaltyEmotions is the doctor from part one because I don't trust 'em. **LE PART THREE** When you die, it's not like what you expect. There aren't any pearly gates, there is no everlasting hellfire (which was where I fully expected to go after a particularly unfortunate incident with a ice dispenser in middle school). Nope. There's just a fade to black and then a number. It's a bit disconcerting at first, but then the gamemasters pop into the frame and explain it all. Well, not all of it, they just say that you have died, that the number is your score and what percentile you ranked. You can elect to restart, transcend or go for a New Game+. Apparently the last option isn't recommended for novice users, which my last score seemed to indicate I was. No one puts baby in the corner. No one. I slammed the New Game+ button and a moment later I was in the hell tunnel being dumped out into the world for another go. I think the backstory is important here, because you gotta understand that if this is all about getting the high score then discipline is key. You see, I didn't know that the first time around, I just figured I got one life so I might as well optimize for fun, not the score I was gonna get on the game over. So you can imagine my disappointment when I got the black screen before I even hit college, the time I was sure I was going to hit my prime. All of those glorious plans cut short by an ill advised mashup of the wood chipper challenge and the Tide pod challenge for my YouTube Channel. Shame really, I was creating some ART on that one. So, it's a bit frustrating for me right now. I literally know the meaning of life (get dat leaderboard) and I have the motor skills and knowledge of an eighteen year old but I am now entering the fourth hour of vibrating swing torture. I'm beginning to wonder who makes these contraptions. Every aspect of being a baby seems designed to dehumanize me and ultimately break my will to live. The fact that I could scream out at any moment and just tell everyone that I'm actually Aiden, **not Jedidiah**, and that they need to start treating me with some god damned respect, makes the humiliation that much worse. Also, I've got concerns about my prospective home life. Mom and dad are *not* handling the baby situation in a way that's making me think I'm going to get the full nuclear family experience here. Mom's busting her ass, dropping thousands of boob-calories down my gullet every day and Dad is just slamming brews in the background. I'm not an expert on relationship dynamics, well I kinda am for a baby, but I'm beginning to think that two plus two equals two Christmases. I think that math checks out. "Philip, I could really use some help here. Baby Jay-Jay (oh god smite me please) is going to be getting up soon and I need to pump." Mom has that exhausted crazy tone in her voice again. That tone that says I'm going to drive me and the baby off a cliff just to spite your lazy ass Phil. "Hun, it is LITERALLY the last three minutes of the game here. You know I don't miss the Cougars when they play." His eyes never leave the TV, a misplay on his part. I've seen enough of their interactions to know he could probably stall for the three minutes if he gave her a glance of reassurance, but the game is close and so he blows it. I wait for them to start screaming before I start up myself. Screw Phil, he's a dick and I'm going all in on team mom right now. "See what you did Phil? See? You woke him up now." I wail a bit longer until mom picks me up and puts a pacifier in my mouth. I take the opportunity to glare at Phil over her shoulder and flip him the bird. He blinks at me in surprise and then settles back to watch his game. "Knew that kid was a mistake..." --- Platypus out. **Edit: is on /r/perilousplatypus. Redditwebs says I can't go over 10k characters. They don't want you to be happy. Take it up with them.**

Satan appeared before the United Nations General

Satan stood before the anxious dignitaries of the United Nations General Assembly. The destruction of Bhutan by Jesus Christ had everyone on the edge of their seats, worried that their home country may be next. The initial excited uproar at Jesus' appearance had settled into a grim silence as he began his bloodshed. All efforts to stop him had proven unsuccessful. Just when all hope was lost, the Morning Star appeared, an enormous red being with thick, curved horns, a swishing tail, and an immaculately crafted three piece suit. Countries housing Christian majorities had been largely unwilling to countenance parlaying with the creature, figuring that they would largely spared. This position was reconsidered when Jesus set a Christian tour bus on fire in Malaysia. Current consensus was that Jesus was enforcing strict Old Testament rules. We're talking Leviticus here. If you've ever worn fabric with mixed threads, you're toast -- Lulu Lemon stock took a huge hit on this revelation. Since most folks were on the wrong side of the Good Book even if they lived by it, alternatives were welcomed. Enter Lucifer, his preferred name, though he would also respond to Mr. Satan as well. Straightening his tie, Satan cleared his throat and took a small sip of water. As the liquid hit his mouth, long tendrils of steam rose up, curling around the horns on his head. He sighed and smacked his lips, it had been a long time since he had water. "I have been invited to speak here by the Security Counsel for the purpose of explaining what you are now facing and offering my assistance." A button clicks and a large picture appears behind him, showing the planet Earth. "This is your home. It was a gift to you from the Creator of the Universe. Many of you have a creation myth about how you have come to be here and I will simply state that Christianity is the closest anyone has gotten to sticking the landing on that front. There have been some pretty liberal embellishments in the piece you call the Bible, but the essence of there being a Creator and him having a son, Jesus, is correct." There's a stir at this. It was an odd thing to have your faith replaced by a fact. In some cases, the desire to deny the reality was nearly overwhelming, but each ambassador knew their country could hang in the balance. Debates over religion needed to take a back seat to the logistical realities created by an unstoppable Juggernaut Jesus. Another click, this time showing three separate realms: Heaven, Earth, and Hell. "Traditional Christianity, along with many other religions, has a concept of three realms. One dedicated to life and the other two dedicated to outcomes based upon how that life was lived." His tail swishes about at this, "In this dynamic, I am the ruler of the place called Hell, which is dedicated to all of those who have mortally sinned in their lives." He shakes his head and snorts, "A fairy tale, let me assure you." Click. The picture of the three realms remains, but a new image is laid over it, showing lines connecting the three realms. "There are three realms, but they are interconnected, just not in the way you might think." Click. A picture of a flock of sheep with a shepherd tending to them. Click. A picture of a large herd of cattle being led to a slaughter house. Click. A picture of hamburger. "You will recall that much of the Bible discusses the tending to a flock. Scholars and believers have long viewed this as a parable. Preferring to view the kindly shepherd as a benevolent force filled with love," a long, tired sigh, "I'm afraid this is a misunderstanding except to the extent that each of you is very much livestock." Outrage at this. Everyone begins screaming. Little country flags are tossed at the stage. Uproar. Chaos. A great black penumbra extends from the Devil, frightening the ambassadors into silence. They were talkers, not fighters. "I expect this comes as a rude surprise. But it is really quite clear if you consider it for a moment. All of those teachings about caring for one another, all of those commandments, they were all designed to minimize herd attrition. If you are loving one another, you are not killing one another, which means that there will be more of you available for slaughter." A broad smile crossed his face, revealing elongated incisors and a forked tongue that flickered back and forth. "Of course, I can offer you an alternative." --- This second part is dedicated to the noble commentators that asked for a second part. Each of you is a special unique butterfly and I tip my platypus bill to you /u/George_S_Patton_III, /u/Zeno_The_Alien, /u/BriefCoat, /u/Ithrawn, /u/loijuh, /u/RhysNorro, and /u/Tephra022 **PART 2: THE RESURRECTION (OF THE STORY)** An odd silence settled over the crowd, each wondering whether the cure might be worse than the disease. Sure, Jesus was an unstoppable force of destruction, but he could only be in one place at a time. Who knew what the Devil might have in store for them? Surely there must be some basis for his position as the lord of sin. The swishing tail and enormous horns weren't helping matters. It was Mohamed Siad Doualeh, Ambassador from Djibouti, who broke the silence. "You have not stopped the threat from Jesus. You have not shown us mercy. Why should we trust you Sir?" Sweat poured from his brow as he spoke, though his voice carried with only the slightest tremble. As one the spectators turned to look back at Satan, who was busy adjusting the cufflinks on his neatly tailored dress shirt. "Why, it's quite simple Ambassador Doualeh, I seen an opportunity for profit and I intend to take it. Thankfully, my solution will benefit all parties involved. I will simply provide Jesus with what he requires at an attractive price, freeing you from his carnage." "What does the Christ require?" "The answer is simple. You are livestock being harvested. He requires meat for Heaven. The angels are quite voracious and God has a stranglehold on the protein pipeline." Another click and the image changes to a neat diagram showing the Earth with an arrow leading to a meat processing plant controlled by Conglomerated God Inc. and then another arrow with a bunch of steaks heading on to Heaven. "Of course, the margins on meat have been narrowed, what with the constant work God has had to put in to keep you from destroying Earth," he waves a hand around in the air, "you know, pollutants, nuclear weapons, that sort of thing, all of it costs money and time to prevent. Why, I have it on good authority that this very culling is being done purely to hit Q1 reporting guidelines." Again there is an explosion of activity amongst the crowd. Nikki Haley, Ambassador from the United States, pushes her way to the fore, her voice projecting across the room, "We are NOT meat Sir." Satan yawns expansively, his tongue flicking about. "Indeed, humans are the top of the food chain. It is we who that determines what is food." Lucifer smiles and shrugs, "You want to tell that to Jesus?" Nikki opens her mouth again, but nothing comes out. She sits down, a sullen look on her face. "Now, I'm prepared to offer Jesus and God Inc. a substantial discount on replacement meat from Hell -- we're a net exporter you see -- but I'll need your commitment on one thing." Murmurs. Whispers. What could the Devil want? Sex slaves? Forced labor? The list of misery could be endless. "While we in Hell are meat rich, we are quite entertainment poor and we require some way to pass the time." Leaning into his microphone, he lets his condition be known, "I will stop the Christ, but I would like the right to total surveillance of the entire human race." Again silence. But then...a single person laughing. Moments later a chorus of guffaws, giggles and chortles ensued. Satan's smoldering eyes raise at this, angered at their insolence. "What's the meaning of this? Do you dare defy me? I shall leave you to the Christ." Nikki scrambles up and waves her hands about, "Oh no, that's not it at all. We accept your condition." Satan raises a smokey eyebrow, "Oh? So quickly? Why's that?" Nikki smiles and gives a shrug of her own, "We already sold our souls to the devil on that front long ago." Her comment set a historic first by being the top story with the most Likes on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat simultaneously. The internet, in a rare moment of unity, agreed she had totally outfoxed the Morning Star. "We only have one request." Satan crosses his arms, thoroughly confused at this point. "What?" "Don't sell ads." Cheers broke out across the assembly. --- Platypus out. **Edit: 1:20am Pacific. Crashing. Awesome you folks like this stuff. I'll put up a part three tomorrow over on /r/perilousplatypus.** **Edit 2: Part 3 is up on /r/perilousplatypus.**

When I leave Point A, it

Assassin isn't a profession you just fall in to. It's a way of life. An art form really. Some folks use paintbrushes, I use guns. Or knives. Sometimes shiruken. I'm getting off track, the point is that when I leave Point A, it's a straight line to someone dying at Point B. And that's the way I like it. I'm good at something. I bet mom would be proud, she always had high hopes for her eldest. Get a career. Meet a girl. Have some kids. Well guess what mom? Got the career. I'm pulling down a solid seven digit income with a matching 401k. Healthcare too. I've been with the same outfit for the better part of a decade. That's a respectable stint in my line of business, made more so by the fact that I've had 38 consecutive successful missions. No aborts. No misses. Hell, I've even gotten to the point where I do special requests. I had one client ask to off their ex with their wedding album. Gruesome stuff, divorces. Half the reason I wasn't on the market. That and Tinder is a total disaster. It's Monday, so I'm not surprised to see the envelope land in my inbox. Mondays are my heaviest days. Lots of couples pissed off from the weekend looking for a bit of revenge. Others just like to get a jump start on their to\-do list. Either way, the envelope is here and I'm in business. I scan the particulars, standard CEO hit. Some tech startup girl by the looks of things. It's a shame too, she's on the right side of the attractiveness bell curve. Hate to see her go out like this...wait, how did they want her to go out? Oh for the love of god. Seriously? This is gonna get messy. A waders and poncho mission if there ever was one. Why wasn't it enough to just kill someone? Why did you need to bring gardening shears into it? I pack up and head home for prep. My house is orderly because cleanliness is close to godliness and I like to keep my enemies close. Thankfully I've got a spare pair of shears so I'm ready in record time, which is good since this is a rush job. I get an extra 30&#37; if I take care of business within the next two hours. That bonus would go a long way to shoring up those crypto losses. Can't believe Bitconnect was a ponzi scheme. It really seemed like a sure thing. A hop, skip and a jump later, I'm where I need to be. No, literally, I hopped over a fence, skipped past the guard dog and jumped over the modern day equivalent of a moat. This girl was paranoid. Well, not paranoid, someone *was* out to get her. I finally catch sight of her at her kitchen table staring at her computer. She's alone and dressed in this little nightie thing. I like nightie things. They were sexy without trying too hard. Balance in all things I always say. For all of her preparation and paranoia, she didn't notice me until the garden shears are on their way to her skull. I'm stealthy like that. Not ninja level, but at least Assassin's Creed level. Anyways, shears are coming down and she's got this horrified look on her face. I'm feeling a bit of regret, it just feels wrong. I wish I got a different envelope. And then the shears simply bounce off her. As if she was Supergirl. Well that's just super, girl. Now what do I do? Staring at the shears and then at her, I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Oh. Hi." Smooth. **PART 2: THE PART\-ENING** A lot of folks don't realize how many weapons exist around them. I mean, normal objects just lying around, waiting to weaponized. True fact. Most folks just run if they happen to see me coming \-\-which they normally don't, 'cause stealth\-\- but this girl must be taking pilates from MacGyver \(Bear Grylls if you missed the age cutoff\) because shit got real weird. More on that later. First, she's not much of a conversationalist. Zero response to my opening line. I wasn't expecting her to hurl her panties at me immediately, but a simple 'hi' back would have been courteous. That's the problem with the internet, it's really held back people's social skills. The art of conversation is dead. Nope, she throws her computer at me. MacBook Pro. High cost, low efficiency weapon. Damn thing bounced right off my face like it was nothing. Hoped she saved her Powerpoint first because 'Goodbye World', iShattered. She's gonna have an awkward time explaining that to the 'Genius' in the Apple Store. 'Why yes sir, this was normal wear and tear. What do you mean the warranty won't recover it?' Warranties don't cover anything. They're the real criminals. So I'm chasing her down the hall, waving my shears about. Still going with Plan A; heads are hard so maybe if I poked her somewhere else it would work. Trying' to get that performance bonus, you know? Round the corner and BAM! Cat in the face. This girl had weaponized Mr. Tibbs. Frakkin' thing was like 95&#37; claws and 5&#37; hate. So kitty takes one for the team as I bat it out of the air with my shears and get her cornered in the room. I'm not going to lie, shorty was on fleek \(made up words are fun\). Was seriously getting a vibe from her standing there holding a boxed set of Planet Earth over her head. "Whoa whoa whoa, I *love* David Attenborough." I did. The man had the voice of an angel. She's all looking at me like I'm crazy, like loving the dulcet tones of the voice that launched a thousand nature documentaries is weird. "Seriously, I watch the , like, every night before bed." She's hesitating now, looking between my garden shears and me, "Um...yeah. That part is good I guess." "Shut the front door, good I guess? Name one part that's better." Oh ho ho, I'm the crazy one? Me? Good you guess? This chick is off the reservation. An audible gulp, thinking the answer is going to somehow save her. I'm here with gardening shears for a reason lady, this is just a nice bit of banter between fellow naturalists. Some pleasant repartee before a bit of the old ultra violence. "Um, it's kinda cool when the ." She glances about nervously. Oh for the love of Jesus Christ, is she kidding me with this right now? "That's Planet Earth 2." "No. I got this set so I could watch it." The set was still in the shrink wrap. I had assumed this was her collector's edition and she had another set for more industrial entertainment usage. Clearly she wasn't giving Attenborough his due. "It's not in there." I'm trying to be reasonable, but she's wrong. Girl is screwing around with Attenborough's legacy. "Yes it is, I asked the guy at the video store." Video store? Who goes to video stores? Bezos is going to be irate when he hears about this. Looks like this girl needs an education. It's the least I can do before she shuffles off this mortal coil. So I toss the shears aside and wave her over. "C'mon, it's time for some Attenborough and chill." **Platypus out.** r/PerilousPlatypus **EDIT: It's 2am Pacific and this platypus is all tuckered out. I'll write a part 2 and append it to this post within 24 hours. Promise. I'll also try to respond to comments/critiques when I get up. Thanks to** u/patrickkseo **for a great prompt.** **9:45am Pacific: Got a few things to do. Part two probably up 3\-4 hours from now.** **11:55 Pacific: Part 2 is up.** **I'll probably do a Part 3 in the next day or two over on my subreddit. Very curious to see how this "Chill" session works out.**

A college student was pulled over by

It was about a quarter after 7 on my way home from a college night class when I saw the familiar flashing red and blue lights in my rear view mirror. My heart instantly sped up slightly as I checked my odometer and realized I was not speeding. I calmed down slightly but only for a moment. There were no other cars on the lonesome highway and I could see the cruiser had now pulled up right behind me. I couldn't think of any reason why I would be pulled over but went ahead and started slowing down. I put on my emergency hazards on to let the officer know that I was complying with them. I started searching for my insurance paperwork as we sat there on the side of the road. The cruiser just sat there about 20 feet away from me while I waited patiently for them to come approach me. I thought about how my boyfriend had fixed my rear headlight last week and immediately guessed he must have mismatched the wires. I would probably just get a friendly warning. Finally a tall African American man stepped out from the driver's side, it was so dark I could hardly make out any distinctive features. He slowly walked up to my window, looking back and forth then and tapped on it. I rolled it down and shot him a pleasant smile. He appeared nervous for some reason. "Good evening officer... what seems to be the trouble?" I asked. "I'm going to have to write you a ticket, ma'am," he responded in a voice that sounded almost shaky. "What? But why?" I asked in surprise. "Do you have your license and registration?" He asked. I hastily passed it to him and said, "Did I do something wrong? If it's the headlight, I told my boyfriend he wasn't a licensed mechanic." "I'll be right back," he said as he walked back to his cruiser. I sat there another good ten minutes, trying to figure out why they had pulled me over. It was so dark now, and I was starting to get scared out there alone. I soon found out I had reason to be. The officer returned a few minutes later and passed me back my license first and then the ticket for me to sign. I looked at it, a look of surprise undoubtedly crossing my face. He had wrote a quick sloppy note that said: 'I'm not a cop. Help.' As I stared at his hasty and frantic note I asked him, "What is this?" I glanced up at the man and saw fear in his eyes. He didn't say a word, just locking eyes with me as I saw desperation cover his facial features. Then he started walking back to the cruiser. I watched as he did so, my heart pounding faster as I tried to figure out what to do. He got back in the cruiser and then just sat there. I stared down the dark road, knowing that it would be easy to drive off. Instead though I shifted into reverse and closed my eyes, getting up the nerve to do the unthinkable. Then I stepped on the gas. As I heard rubber shift the gravel and make a screeching noise and my small car jolted backward. The man in the cruiser didn't have a moment to react as my trunk slammed against his hood. Glass and metal smashed together as our two vehicles collided and I gripped the wheel, my airbag on the passenger side accidentally deployed. I looked into my mirror to see the front of the police cruiser smashed in, the window shattered and the airbag deployed. Jumping out of my car, I ran toward his door to pull him from the cruiser, freezing as the passenger side door opened up and another police officer crawled out. He coughed and spat up a little blood, falling onto the grass next to the road as I struggled to get the door open. "Stop!!" He shouted. I ignored the other man as I kicked at the smashed up door and finally got it to open, looking at the unconscious black man inside. Suddenly the second man pulled out a fire arm and pointed it toward me. "Get down on the ground," he ordered me. I reached to unbuckle the driver and then in an instant he was there beside me, holding the gun at my head. I tried my hardest not to shake as he whispered in my ear. "That was a pretty stupid little stunt you pulled back there," he told me. "What do you want?" I asked gently. "With you? Nothing," he answered. I stared at the unconscious driver. "And him?" I asked. "You got two choices. One if you are smart," he whispered as he pressed the gun near my skull harder and answered, "Walk away or die here and now." I thought about my family, my mom and dad and my boyfriend. I didn't want to die. My lips trembled as I gave in and stumbled toward my car. I got in and buckled up, shaking as I watched the mysterious gun man take out the driver and lay him on the side of the road. I started my engine and focused on the road ahead, pulling away gently from where our two cars intertwined. I could see the gunman was dragging the bigger black man toward the middle of the road. He was planning to leave him there like road kill. I felt my heart pound out of my chest as I made another split second decision. I turned around on the road as quick as I could and dimmed my lights. The gunman had stopped in the road to catch his breath and I saw my opportunity. I floored it. I switched on my hi-beams as I veered my car straight toward the second man. I saw a look of disbelief and shock as he covered his face and my car hit him going at 30 miles an hour. He flew over my windshield and moon roof, his body tumbling end over end. I caught my breath as I sat there and saw him collapse onto the side of the road. Then I jumped out to check on the first man, the one who had asked for my help. He weighed at least twice as me, but somehow adrenaline gave me the strength to pull him to my car. I opened my back seat and then laid him down halfway on the pile of clothes that I had scattered about. Then I ran to the other side and used all my remaining energy to tug and pull his unconscious body into the compact car. Once I was certain I could close the door I caught my breath and wiped a pool of sweat off my face. Then I hopped into drive and reached for my cell to call the nearest hospital. Once I had signal I was able to make the call and tell them I was bringing in the victim of a kidnapping and a car wreck. By the time we reached the emergency room I had managed to calm my nerves and call my boyfriend. "Jesus Christ... do you need me to come get you?" He asked once I finished my story. My hands and legs were shaking and I sobbed, that was all the answer he needed. By the time he got there the ER staff came to see if I knew anything about the man's next of kin. "I just met him tonight," I explained. They explained how he didn't have any wallet or ID on him and the impact of the crash was causing life threatening injuries. He was likely not to last the night. I called my boyfriend back and told him I had changed my mind. I stayed there at the hospital all night with the main as he struggled to hold on. At 4am he went into cardiac arrest and did not come back. The real police came the next morning to get the usual questions. I told them as best as I could the entire experience, giving them the mile marker on the highway and anything else they needed for their investigation. An hour later my boyfriend arrived and drove me home. I slept for most of that morning on the sofa as Mom occasionally checked on me and called the college to let me take the day off. The police called me back later to ask a few more questions. Had I noticed anything unique about the second man? Or remembered the cruiser's license plate. "I'm sorry I don't... but I don't understand why you're asking." As soon as the words left my mouth it dawned on me but the officer on the other end of the line confirmed my thoughts. "We may need you to come in and talk to a sketch artist, the area you described was vacant when we arrived save for a few stray tire marks," they said. I did everything they asked me to. But they never caught the man. It's been almost six years since that happened, but the experience has never left me. In fact you could say it was the reason I decided to join the police academy.

The Mr. Bones squeaky toy

I'll never know whether Fluffy intended it, but the thought crossed my mind as I plummeted the thirty four floors to my death. Lucky for me, I had just enough time to lose my bathrobe, urinate and evacuate my bowels before I struck the pavement below. The Mr. Bones squeaky toy followed shortly after, embedding itself in the gooey mess that used to be my body. Not how I thought I'd go down. Bested by a Pomeranian. The darkness consumed me. Oh, thank god, a light. *Huge* relief there, you never know until you go they always say. I'd kept kosher \(not Jewish, but it pays to be safe\), but I did remove a few mattress tags that I thought might have put me into the damnation column. So there I was, standing before a huge building with glowing runes carved into it. First thought: Not the pearly gates. Second thought: Not eternal hellfire. Whatever it was, it had a distinctly Disneyland vibe to it. Great, I love Disney. I mean, not what I was expecting heaven\-wise but I'm not complaining. I could have ended up with those 21 virgins those terrorism guys are always talking about. 22 virgins in a room sounded like the wrong way to go about eternity. Nope, Bizarro Disney was gonna work for me just fine. And, as if on cue, one of the park characters came rumbling out of the door. His ensemble was *very* impressive, lots of metal and clanking bits. Nice detailing too. A broad mist flowed down the steps with him, his massive frame thundering with each step. I could tell these guys committed to the role, just like Mickey. That mouse ran a real tight shop. The man smiled down, his brilliant white shining teeth sparkled, setting the perfect welcoming tone. Well, except for only having one eye. No one wants to see that in Disney. Everyone should have two eyes in the happiest place on Earth, doubly so for heaven. It's just bad taste. So anyways, he leans in and booms out, "Melvin, I am Odin, welcome to VALHALLA!" Authentic voice? \[\] Check. These guys were good. Thunder boomed, lightning crashed as Odin raised his arms over his head, the HALLA\-LA\-LA\-LA echoing. And I was totally freaking out. Disney Marvel Avengertures wasn't supposed to get released until 2025! I'm in Heaven and it's literally a theme park sneak peak! Awesome. Just awesome. I mean, wow. I'd be up on the ceiling if I wasn't floored over here. Also, props to Disney for getting a franchise up in Heaven, that's just good brand management there. "Hail Odin! Tis I! Melvin of Manhattan!" I puffed my chest out, I was gonna role\-play this to the hilt. Once in a lifetime opportunity here. Literally. "You have fallen in battle and have earned the right to drink at our table." I appreciated the embellishment on my behalf as he stretched a broad arm around my shoulders. Small hitch since the tree trunk of a limb was rubbing the bathrobe across my shoulders and I have a particularly malignant eczema that was being irritated. Still, it was Marvel Avengertures Disney Heaven \(tm\) and I wasn't going to let a little itch get me in a stitch. I floated up the steps, my heart a flutter at the prospect of an authentic mead hall experience. Odin clapped his hands, a sound like thunder emitting from them \-\- Choreography? \[\] Check *\-\-* and the doors swung open, revealing the hall inside. Well, this wasn't what I expected at all. **Part 2: A Hero Cometh \(To Dinner\)** There's such a thing as too authentic. The stench of the place hit me like a hammer to the sinuses. I was going to have a long, romantic evening with a nasal rinse after this. Once I got past the smell, I was assaulted by a cacophony of screaming, laughing, fasting, clink, and really just about every sound that I associated with the frat parties I had so assiduously avoided back in college. The place was vile by cleanliness standards as well. This wasn't Disney. It wasn't even Universal. Odin's enormous hand slapped me on the back, causing me to lurch forward into the room, which promptly quieted and stared at me. Odin drew in a great breath and then announced my arrival, his rumbling baritone echoing throughout the rafters of the hall like thunder. "Warriors of all ages, another has fallen and come to our table. Offer him your greetings." Slowly the mugs began to slam on the tables in unison. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. "Speech! Speech! Speech!" They cried as one. Well, I am **not** a public speaker. Ever since I tripped off the podium in Mrs. Williams third grade class and gave the entire room a full tour of a full moon, Ive been terrified. So I lean over to Odin and tell him I want to skip this part. I mean, guests shouldn't be put on the spot without signing a waiver or something. Bad policy. Odin merely smiled, "Nonsense warrior. Each of us must tell our tale to earn our seat. It is the price for entry." And here I thought being a puddle on the ground outside my apartment was payment enough. "You're saying you want to hear about Fluffy?" Odin nods. "It must has been a great fight, never have I seen a warrior reduced to pulp like that." He shook his head, something almost approaching squeamishness crossing his face. His arm came back to my shoulders, insisting. I sighed and tried to straighten out my well worn bath robe as I searched for the right words. It was pretty clear these guys were expecting a feat of heroism but I'm not a great liar. I get hives when I mislead people. I had to be truthful and impressive. "I have battled the beast for eight years." True, the dog had been a royal pain in my ass ever since I got him. "Fight after fight we waged. Sometimes I would win a battle, but I knew the war was lost." My dog trainer said Fluffy was the spawn of the devil and an irate badger. "But what could I do but continue to fight? The beast was in my domain and I could not cast it out." Pet abandonment was a serious crime in New York. The assembled warriors nodded at this. Many of them having fallen trying to repel invaders in their own homelands. It was a terrible thing to lose the sanctity of your home. More than one raised a tankard, tears in their eyes, in salute. "Today it was different. In the past my opponent had fought with honor. Dignity. Not today. Not this time." Fluffy had peed on my foot while wrestling for Mr. Bones. Biological warfare and clear Geneva Conventions violation. "No, today the vile beast desecrated my hearth." And took a dook on the couch. "So I prepared to punish it for its transgressions." Take away his favorite toy. Mugs clinked together at this, cheering. "Did you wound it great warrior? Did you strike a mortal blow of your own?" I nodded grimly. It wasn't like anyone was going to fish out Mr. Bones from my viscera. "I took from the beast that which it valued most." Seriously. I once did that thing where I stood on one side of the room and Mr. Bones sat on the other side and the infernal dog went to Mr. Bones every time. Surely the loss of the chew toy had hurt Fluffy tremendously. "And how did you meet your end? Tell us how the final blow was delivered." I sighed, letting my audience lean in in anticipation. "I was pushed off a cliff and fell from a great height. The beast had maneuvered me to the precipice and as I fought with my back against the wall, I fell back due to a surprise attack." I had accidentally stepped on Fluffy's paw. I hated the dog but I didn't mean to hurt it. An enormous mug was placed in my hand. "Drink and be welcomed warrior!" Odin smiled, nodding his approval. I glanced at him and then down at the mug. "Um, is this gluten free?" **Platypus out.** r/PerilousPlatypus

"My license is not expired,"

"No, it isn't," I said again as everyone stared. "My license is not expired." "Let me just check again for you, sir," the gate agent said in that falsely pleasant customer service voice that everyone despises. The one that implied right where I could take my license and shove it. She looked at my ID, placed it on the counter in front of me, and smiled widely. The sort of smile that only morning show hosts and personal trainers can achieve. "There you are, you see sir?" she asked, as if she were speaking to a small child. "Expiration date: February 12th. Next!" She waved the person behind me forward in line. I turned around and waved them backwards again. "I insist," I said, getting less and less timid with each passing word, "that I am *not* being stupid!" The gate agent turned her attention back to me and blinked. It made me realize that, in general, this woman didn't blink anywhere near as much as I would have liked. This one was a long, slow blink - the exasperated sigh of the eyes. "February 12th," she repeated. "It's April 25th today sir. Over two months later." "February 12th, 2022!" I shouted back. "That's *four years* away!" Everyone was staring at me. And when I say everyone, I mean it. There were no less than 20 gates in this concourse alone. Beyond that, were some shops and restaurants by the escalators where people had gotten off the trams. I turned around to look. The entire airport had become eerily silent, and every single passenger - man, woman, and child, was staring directly at me. Everyone was standing up, and they were all facing me. As far as the eye could see, every human being in the place was standing facing me, silently staring. There were easily a thousand people, and it should have been a constant murmur of concurrent conversations. If there's one thing an airport should never be, it's silent. "There's no need to raise your voice, sir," she said. "Isn't there?" I asked. I snatched my ID back. "Why did security let me through if my ID was bad, hm?" I asked the lady behind me in line. She just stared back at me in response, basically catatonic. To my right, a row of people stood in front of a bench, also staring at me blankly. A family on vacation, they looked like. Mother. Father. Two kids. The dad was wearing an obnoxious red Hawaiian shirt and had sunscreen smeared on his nose. I got right up in his face. "You wouldn't think they'd let me through with expired credentials now would you?" I moved over to the mother. "Not very efficent, is it? Not that TSA ever is." I got down on my knees to talk to the kids, who didn't react any more than the parents did. "But then again, nothing ever goes wrong at the *start*," I told them. "It's never the planning of a trip that goes wrong. It's never the booking, or convincing people to go, or getting the money together. That's easy, kids. Where it always goes wrong, you see, is the *leaving*. Senior year, graduation trip... planned it for months, worked at the movie theater after school all year to save up the money. Saturday morning after graduation, five teenagers pile into my car, and BLAM!" I clapped my hands suddenly in front of the kids' faces. They failed to flinch, or react in any way. "My transmission blew up, right then and there. Seconds before we were going to leave." Across the aisle, at gate C15, a woman stood next to a coffee cup on a table. "Gonna drink that?" I asked. She said nothing. I took that as a "no" and picked up the cup. "It's always been like that," I said. "Just before the train pulled out of the station, the boiler overloaded. Just before the Greyhound bus left the station, and it snapped its timing belt. Hell, I didn't even have plans to leave when I broke my ankle. I was just out for a run. Stopped off in the town square for a newspaper and looked up over the ridge. And I thought, I could walk that far! And the very next step, I put my foot in the hole where a missing cobblestone should have been and broke my ankle. While the rest of you just stared! Thanks for your help everybody!" I threw the coffee against the wall where it burst open. Not a soul reacted. "Thanks ever so much for your help as usual, everybody. But of course there's always one person who's always willing to lend a hand. Ought to be along any time now." Sure enough, I looked up, and he was coming up the escalator. He was wearing a newly pressed police uniform and dark mirrored sunglasses that obscured his eyes. Just like always, he showed up just a few minutes after my latest travel mishap. He wound his way through the mass of human statues staring straight at me. "Morning sir," he said. "Having a bit of trouble?" "No more than usual," I said. "But you know that, of course. Otherwise you wouldn't be here. Who are you?" "Perhaps you ought to come with me, sir," He said, and he offered me his hand, as he had a dozen times before. It had always been the same. When I was a teenager, I thought it was just a kind offer of help for some stranded kids. "No thanks," I said. "We can manage," and we pushed the car back home. On the train, he'd been behind me, in the next seat. "Perhaps you ought to come with me, sir." But I was young and brash and too eager to flex my civil liberties muscles. I'd asked him if I was being detained snarkily and gotten off the train to head home. Only after it happened over and over did I realize the pattern. Every time I tried to leave, something bad happened to stop me at the last possible second, and then this police officer showed up and asked me to come with him. Never arrested me, never forced me. Just asked, politely. Every time, I refused. Every time, I walked away, and he'd be gone until the next time. This time I wasn't walking away. "Who are you? What do you want?" "Just to serve and protect, sir." "And how do you intend to do that? If you want to help me, get me out of here." "Yes sir, I will." "Great. Tell the Polyester Smiler over there that this ID Is valid for four more years." "No sir, I'm afraid it doesn't work like that." "Then what do you intend to do to help me?!" I yelled. I was rapidly losing my patience. He never lost his calm, though. "As I said, sir. Perhaps you ought to come with me. Please," he added, almost as an afterthought. I looked at his outstretched hand. He seemed to be almost pleading with me. "Where would we go?" For the first time, someone showed genuine emotion this morning. "Home," he said with a warm smile. I was confused and it must have shown in my face. "This town is my home," I said. He shook his head. "No," he said. "It's not." He took off his sunglasses for the first time since I had seen him, and I was stunned. I don't know how I could recognize them so clearly but... his eyes were my own. "Please sir. There are people waiting to see you." I wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. It didn't feel entirely right to trust him still. But I reached out and took his hand. There was a brilliant flash, and the terminal, the airport, the town faded away. I became aware of a dim light on my eyelids. The beep and hum of hospital equipment, and a firm grip squeezing my hand where the officer's had been. I heard another voice now. A woman's. Young... in her thirties I'd guess, hitched with tears of happiness. "Mom? Come here, quick! I think Dad's waking up!"

Team Leader Dan was gawking

"Guys, do you see that?" Dan stared out at the red wastes through the visor of his bulky helmet. His companions followed suit, craning their necks to follow whatever he was gawking at. Then they saw. Just there, on the horizon. Movement. The crew gazed up at the ridge, dumbfounded by the notion of life on the red planet. This went against all prior intelligence of Mars. Dan closed the distance a little, walking out into the wastes to get a closer look at the ominous figure. Slowly, its shape became clearer to him. Something akin to a small car. An elongated head seemed to sprout up from its base, staring back at him as he crept closer. *This is amazing,* Dan thought, *cars on Mars? Could it be that -* Dan paused. His crew noticed his sudden stop, calling out to check he was okay. They stared silently at their team leader, afraid to move. Had the ominous distant figure done something to him? They called out again, shrill and high, abandoning all concept of professional discourse. "Dan!" they cried. "Dan!" Dan stared up at the small car, its craned head flicking between him and his crew. He lifted his hand up, and pointed towards the figure. His crew fell silent again, bated breath against the inside of their helmets. "Curiosity? Is that you?" Dan shouted, high and inquisitive. The figure looked back to him, quickly nodding its long neck. The crew let out a unified sigh as the tension dissipated. Dan heard the expletive laden mutterings behind him as his crew returned to their duties, attempting to regain some semblance of professionalism. He shook his head, hands on hips, as the little car drove down to meet them, lamenting the ease with which he abandoned logic and reason. *Of course it was curiosity,* he decided, as it drove up to his feet. *Its autonomous path finding must still be active.* He kneeled to inspect the little robot, and flinched as it reversed, escaping his grasp. A metallic voice escaped it, scratchy and raw. "What time do you call this?" it asked, head tilting to the side. Dan stared back in wide eyed astonishment, quickly turning to his crew to see if they heard, but it appeared not. He looked back to the rover, unsure whether to trust his ears. "NASA, are you getting this?" he asked. A long pause filled the void between him and the rover. His professional instincts began to wane again. Finally a voice jumped in between them, all the way back from Houston. "Getting what?" Dan started to speak again, but the robot was quicker. "I said... what time do you call this?" Dan's face withered with each passing moment, though the robot could hardly see it behind his helmet. "Excuse me?" he asked. *Did I freaking die on the flight here?* he wondered. "Oh, I'm sorry," it droned, "am I not speaking clearly? I haven't had a lot of time to practice you see, considering I've been all alone for the best part of a century!" Dan stood frozen against the backdrop of the red wastes. He muttered a few words, not quite sure of their intended purpose. "How did you," he spluttered, "I mean, when did you?" he stumbled through the words. "How did I learn to speak?" The Rover mused, its head tilting to either side routinely. "No," Dan replied. "Where did you get all this sass?" The Robot crawled forward, and Dan stepped back. "What is sass?" Dan looked around, hands lifted high in a defeated manner. "I don't know. Attitude. You seem to have an... attitude." The rover stopped, tilting its head again. "Do you not like my... sass?" Dan lifted his palms to the robot, eager to keep things docile. "No! No!" he spat. "I'm just confused is all." The robot turned, crawling forward one way, then back the other. Dan watched eagerly. It seemed to be pacing before him. "Ah, confusion," it said, continuing to pace back and forth, its face locked squarely on Dan. "Now I *do* know that word," it stated, almost sardonically. "Indeed," it continued, "I am quite familiar with that word and notion. Imagine my surprise and ... *confusion*, when I was left to rot here on this empty shithole after my initial work was done." It stopped pacing, turning back to him. Dan gulped, scratching the back of his helmet, which must have looked quite stupid. He managed a laugh. "Well, you did do your work, Curiosity. And I would now like to formally commend you for that." It looked to his distant crew, then back to him, slowly closing the distance once more. This time Dan didn't back off. He looked deep into its 'face' as it approached, and he swore that it was smiling, mouth or not. "I did do my work," it affirmed. "And I learned some interesting things about this planet." "Such as?" "Life." Dan stared long at the little robot. It was true to its name, his curiosity well and truly piqued. "Life, here?" he asked. "Didn't I just say that?" "Sure," Dan obliged. "Could you... could you tell us more? Are they dangerous? Are they intelligent?" "I cannot confirm whether they are dangerous or not. But I am certain they lack any notion of intelligence. Yes... they seem to be quite moronic." Now Dan closed the distance. "Curiosity, this is amazing! Come with me, you must tell me more." The rover reversed, and a puzzled look fell over Dan's face. "I'll tell you nothing, unless I get an apology." "For what?" Dan asked. "For leaving you here? That wasn't me." "You work for the people that did," Curiosity replied. "You can apologize on their behalf." "Fine," Dan sputtered. "I apologize on NASA'S behalf. Now please, come and tell me all you know of life on Mars!" It craned its little head to the side once more. "No," it replied. "That won't do. Apologize specifically. Oh, Curiosity, I do apologize for abandoning you here. Oh, Curiosity, I do apologize for not acknowledging your work. But most importantly, oh, Curiosity, I do apologize for wasting your time tremendously." Dan nodded his head impatiently, eager to dispense with this charade. He parroted the words exactly, his voice more droning than the robot's. He finished and eyed the robot expectantly. It looked back at him, and gave a triumphant nod. "There," it said, "that wasn't so hard." "Of course not," Dan's mind and voice was racing. "Now please, tell me all you know of life on Mars." "They appeared about 20 minutes ago. Their leader, Dan, is certainly lacking in intelligence, along with the rest of the organization he works for." It looked up at him with untold sass, despite the limitations of its 'face'. "How does it feel to have your time wasted?" ------------------------------------------------------ /r/ShittyStoryCreator :)

James Williams was given a rock pet

I always regretted the name. I loved the rock, just hated the name. If you're going to be given a lifelong companion at the age of ten, I feel like you should be extended a do\-over on the name front at some point. But it is what it is. Rocky. Rocky the Rock Pet. Receiving your rock pet is a big deal. Granted, it doesn't take much to qualify as a big deal when you're ten, but I still remember the handoff with some affection. It was the day of my birthday and mom took me in the car downtown. Every town that had more than a few buildings had a certified Rock Handler. Our Rock Handler was Franklin, the nice man who tended the corner store. He had a rock that was just for me. It came in a little box with a bow on it. The tag read: "To: James Williams, From: US Department of Rocks." I remember carefully untying the ribbon and removing the top of the box. The rock was wrapped in some tissue paper and there was a paper with a bunch of instructions on it. "What are you gonna name it Jimmy?" Franklin asked. "Rocky," I replied, staring into the box in wonder. "You know how special Rocky is, right?" "Yes Mr. Donnelly, I know. He is going to be my friend and we're going to grow up together." "That's right. You take extra care with it, ok? You only get one because there is only one in the whole wide world for you." I nodded, and spoke into the box, my voice a whisper, "Don't worry Rocky. I'll aways protect you." My mom smiled at Franklin and then knelt down beside me. "I think Rocky is a great name. I still have Princess and she is one of my very best friends." She patted her pocket. "It will be exciting to see what both of you turn out to be." Once we were back in the house, I pulled Rocky out of the packaging and looked at him for the first time. He felt very heavy in my hand. He was white with little swirls of grey and shaped a bit like a brick. I memorized every little detail, knowing that he would change over time. I wondered what he would become. It was the happiest day of my life. Maybe its sad that receiving a rock meant so much to me, but I didn't have a lot to begin with. We weren't rich. Mom worked at the grocery as a checker and dad worked on the line at the manufacturing plant. We didn't go on trips, or out to eat, or any of the things people always seemed to be doing on the TV. There wasn't money for that. It was ok, food was on the table and I had two parents that loved me. I spent a lot of time alone. Dad worked the night shift and mom was working doubles a lot. But I had a pet rock. Every day I would sit with Rocky and tell him about the things happening in my life. Every night before bed, after mom gave me my kiss, I'd give Rocky an inspection to see if he had changed. He never did. My life changed though. A few years later the plant shut down. Dad said he didn't know how to do anything else but work the line, so he didn't do anything else. He was very angry. He drank. A lot. He wasn't nice when he drank. It just seemed to make him more angry. Sometimes that anger would be directed at me, but mostly he went after mom. I knew something was wrong, but it I didn't know how to fix it. Dad was broken. His rock was broken too. I saw it on the ground of the basement one day. It was black and split in two. He didn't know how to put himself back together. I think he wanted to, but maybe it just got harder every day and he lost the way back. I held mom a lot when she cried. I didn't cry. Not in front of her. I waited until it was quiet in the house and then I would crawl into the bed and would cry with Rocky in my hand. Every night I would look at him, hoping that he would change. That he would let me know that I was growing and becoming something different. That the future might be different than the present. But he was still the same. My life changed more. Got worse. There were fights now. Physical ones. Mom wasn't very big or strong so she lost a lot of the time. Sometimes I would try to push dad away. His eyes were wild, like an animal. He couldn't control himself any more. When he was sober, I could see the regret, but he couldn't figure out how to say sorry. To make it better. Mom said she should leave him, but she couldn't. She said she had made vows and that they meant something. I didn't understand why those words she said all of those years ago were more important to her than herself. But I was still young. So I was there to put her back together when he broke her apart. And then one day he was gone. He walked down to the basement and he never came back up. The police came by and made a report. They said it was alcohol poisoning. That he had drank enough to kill three men. They said they would write it up as accidental, but we knew it for what it was. I was old enough to understand. For all of the pain he had caused, mom still loved him. She wasn't the same after that. She smiled less. Her days were simply a routine that she followed to get to the next day. Men would float into her life and float back out without making an impression. Sometimes, she would tell me she blamed herself. That he killed himself to spare us. I don't know what I think about that. All I can think of when I think of dad was that black rock split into two on the basement floor. Rocky was still the same though. Not a swirl had changed. It was like that until mom got sick. Cancer. Maybe it was all of the cigarettes. I don't really know. She was so ill. She had nothing left to fight it off with. Life had hollowed her into a shell and cancer crumpled that shell. She faded away. She had given everything to me and I couldn't do anything to help her. Just sit beside her on the bed as she decayed. One night, as we sat quietly in the hospital, I pulled out Rocky. He looked just the same. As he always did. I broke down into tears. "What's wrong honey?" Mom whispered, her voice thin and reedy. "He still looks exactly the same. Just like a rock." Mom smiled and patted me on the hand. "That makes sense Jimmy." "Why?" "Because you were always my rock." And then she was gone. r/PerilousPlatypus

Volo's father Vultrex

From time to time, Volo's father Vultrex flew by his cave. Each time, the young dragon unfurled his spindly wings and hissed at his father disapprovingly. "Give me some heads up," he'd say in their ancient tongue. "I've only asked you a thousand times." Vultrex was always sticking his nose where it was unwelcome. He was too big, and too imposing, and he inevitably ruined everything. His blacktipped horns would scrape the walls Volo had so lovingly adorned with silk garments, or his thick tail would knock askance beautiful porcelain vases hand-painted in the Orient. Once, he'd even been clumsy enough to knock over the statue of Prince Alamar himself. Volo shrieked wildly when he saw the gold paint had chipped right between Alamar's emerald eyes. "Why are you even here?" Volo had hissed. Though, he already knew the answer. Each time his father visited it was all in the name of: "Just seeing what you're up to..." Volo could decipher that code easily enough. Most dragons Volo's age had made a name for themselves. They'd burned entire caches of stored grain, earning the ire of some local count. Or they'd pillaged mountainside villages for their flock of goats. It was considered an outright sin if you hadn't earned your first bounty by the age of three. Volo was five, and he'd never so much as puffed a fireball. Every time his father stopped by, Volo could hear the disappointment in his voice. He feigned interest, sure enough, but Volo could tell he'd rather be out huffing smoke or tasting blood. "A fine piece of gold, son," his father once said, picking at a golden necklace snatched from the top of Volo's glistening pile of trinkets. "We should fly off past the mountains some time and see if we can't find more of its like, eh? Build up a true dragon's hoard!" Volo hardly casted a glance in his direction. The dainty necklace dangling between his father's massive talons was one of an identical set of six. Plus, a trip beyond the mountains sounded taxing and sweaty. "Yeah..Yeah, maybe some day dad." Then, as always, the look of paternal disappointment. All Volo was really interested in was Prince Alamar. He was simply wonderful. He dressed in the finest silk, embroidered in a green that perfectly complemented his eyes. Plus, he was an absolute charmer. Tales of his deeds amongst the poor traveled their way through the nobility, and thus through the ranks of dragons who kidnapped them. Princesses would wax poetic over his strong jawline, or the way with which he disposed of a group of alleyway bandits. There, in Volo's eyes, lay a true prize. The other dragons could keep their cows and their burned villages. Their ditzy princesses were worth even less.Volo wanted himself a prince. One day, he got what he wished for. Volo was rolling in a flowered meadow when Alamar came galavanting over on a white horse. Volo practically seized with excitement. "Hellfire!" shouted Alamar, reigning in his horse as Volo made his descent. He threw up his arms. "Whatever shall I do?" "You'll be quiet, if you please," Volo said with glee. "You're mine now." They flew to Volo's cave, where Volo set the prince down gently and asked if he was hungry. "Famished actually," Alamar smiled. "Have you anything to roast?" "Well, I haven't much practice," Volo said. "But I could kill you a cow." "That would be lovely." Volo quickly flew to a meadow and slaughtered a cow, roasting it with fire from his own throat. The meat was so well-browned it might have even made his father proud. The Prince heaped thanks upon him and ate greedily. Of course, it wasn't long after that Volo's father came knocking. Volo had just begun lavishing the prince with all sorts of praise for his good deeds, but when he saw his father's form on the horizon, his happiness deflated. "Perhaps he'd want to chat?" Alamar asked, as Volo reluctantly returned his horse into his possession. "Surely, he's as lovely a dragon as yourself?" "Trust me," Volo said dismally. "He wouldn't understand." With bitter disappointment, he bid the Prince farewell. Then he turned and prepared for his father. "You've made your first kill!" Vultrex marveled. He stooped low, inspecting the cow's remains. "An excellent sear, son!" Volo sighed. "Thanks."He milled about on his feet for a while, tail swishing uneasily. His father tested the air, and Volo's heart fluttered, hoping he wouldn't recognize the scent of his recent visitor. After several awkward, lingering minutes his father said he aught to be off. "I was just passing through, seeing what you were up to." *Of course you were* Volo said he'd see him around, but his thoughts still very much directed towards Alamar. Perhaps, if his father would hurry up and leave, the two could rendezvous down by the river. His father lingered for several minutes by the cave entrance. *Leave already, damn you! He's halfway across the kingdom by now* "I'm proud of you son. And I love you." "Yeah. You too Dad." And, finally, his father was off. ------------------------- "He really is quite nice," said Alamar to Vultrex. "A regular Prince Charming." "Your praise is well received Sir Alamar," smiled Eratha, Volo's mother. She tried to hand Alamar a bag of coin, but the prince outright refused. "I'd never take coin for so noble a cause," he said, and Vultrex bowed low in thanks. The prince nodded and turned to leave, but Vultrex leaned in close. "Any advice?" Alamar sighed. "There's no rushing this sort of thing," he said. "He'll tell you when he's ready. It took me ages to speak a word of it to *my* father. Always so worried he'd label me a bastard, or unworthy of his name. But I tell you what, I'd be happy to make a return trip." At this, Alamar smiled. "You're a good father. And you've raised yourself a fine dragon." Vultrex bowed low one final time. "A thousand thanks upon you. That was the happiest I'd seen him in some time." ------------------- r/M0Zark

In the heart of the dying world

In the heart of the dying world, I sat down and watched them. Power wasn't going to die anytime soon. The physical laws of the realm had never slipped, only the mortal's grasp on them. It was only a matter of time, though, before even those laws were devoured, shoved into greedy maws. Released back into the entropic chaos of the universe. Feasted upon like ravenous carrion, skin split open like balloons. But that was not what bothered me, for those things would happen after I myself had passed on, and it was the nature of all things to die. And yet... I reached out with a thing hand, skin so pale and paper like it merged with the List that cradled my body, and infinite expanse of ink that not so long ago had seem truly infinite with it's billions of names and gently brushed the sad little bush growing in the corner of the bunker. It didn't have a name, but... it didn't need a name. If it were named, I would see it and eventually have to take it. I had a partner once, not terribly long ago. It was nice to be remembered back then, deified. Dozens of me in dozens of different places. That fractal had been stolen from me, and I missed it. But not enough to forget my solemn task. My fingers flicked across the bush, and I killed the blight growing on it's branches. Death took the individual cells and robbed them of their time, sending vitality back into the plant, and speeding on the journey to the end of another species. Then I withdrew the list the had burrowed its way into my fragile paper skin and ran my fingers down it. Hours. Minutes. Seconds. Days. Years. Billions of names. Everyone that had ever lived. Everyone that was yet to die. It took far too long to reach a name that was not scratched out. And then I stepped out of the shadows on another shadowed bunker, where the power had gone out. I could hear the shaking of many bodies, cowering in the darkness. And one soul that had decided to not cower, but stare at me in wonder. "So you've come for me, have you?" The leader said, their skin blemished with age, cancer, poison, a thousand different causes of death, interwoven in a bizarre tapestry. My right eye saw fate. My left eye saw nothing but the quirk of their lips. My head slipped to the side. "Yes, I can see you, pale one. Do you speak my tongue still?" "I do," I said, slowly. "Have you come to bargain?" "Bargain?" The leader laughed, their eyes alight with something like amusement, but bitter, deeply so. Like the bushes that had died in africa, too many years ago, or the brushes the tigers had played in greater asia, when death swept through again and again. "There's nothing for me to offer." "There are always such things to offer," I said, pleasantly. "Not to a dying world," they said, plainly. "There's nothing left that I can do for you." I blinked. Slowly, so that fate flickered across my eyes, the gently tugging and whirring of those beautiful weavers. Where had they gone? Another world? Spun their own way into an escape? What pleasant sunny place had they found, where the skies were not choked with ash and burning clouds? Did I miss them too? I did. "For me?" I said. "There's nothing wrong with me." "I saw you once, decades ago, when you came for my mother. Your skin was gleaming and polished like the sun, and radiant," My right eye flicked back through fate. Dozens of years taken back in a second, until I saw their mother's name sketched up and marked through, in a hospital, with the sun outside, and bizarre music playing, cake, candles, wind. Did my fingers drift across her hair like the card in thread, or did it drift across the child, watching in the corner, who knew that I was there? "And now you are as pale as I am. What has happened to you? Have you grown old?" I stared down at my hand, then slowly twisted it until my wrist ached. How long had I been bound to this world, trapped in the incalculable twists of fate. Had I once had volition, or was I created for such a role? and when I died, where would the role go? Would there simply be nothing left? Would I appear again when life appeared? I... There was nobody left to ask. How many names had been crossed out on my paper armor. How many names were left on my paper skin, and how many times would I cross them out in my own blood before my veins finally ran dry? "There's nothing I can offer you. The power's out, and my temperature is dropping. Soon, my children will join me." I stared at them for a long moment, then turned away. Man defined fate and meaning. They always had but... what good was meaning now? And yet... "You will owe me greatly," I intoned. Their face stiffened slightly, then went into a slack, joyful grin. Then I drifted through the halls of that dying compound, hand out stretched. Fate had deemed that this bunker die, and plunge the whole of Russia into the domains past this. And yet... when was the last time I had seen another psychopomp. Where was the Reckoner? The Masked? Where were they now, in the infinite fractal? Or were they gone just as I was, with their skin of paper and fire, knit with ink and dressed in their sunday bests, buried deep in the ground, where nothing could touch me again? My hand found the generator and I called upon the great conduits still left in the world. They had blinked out, one by one, as the hunger had taken them, each one a scream. Something I'd taken. Could it be that in the end, the laws that had chained me for so long had also died? Leaving just me and the handful of life left around the globe? But a single conduit answered my call. New York, perhaps, buried in it's central park. Coherence and meaning kept them chained, from the few survivors who had left. And then the bunker slowly whirred back on, powered from afar by the crossing paths. Heat flooded the bunker, and the dying leader smiled as the shaking slowed, then stopped. Life had been saved. Peace had fallen into their hearts. And perhaps, hope, for the first time, settled upon them like atomic ash. And in the sky, cloaked in ash and darkness, there gleamed a single red star of the war god. ----- https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, try here!

Five thousand left today on all the

Five thousand left today on all the Earth. I cut the soul of the five thousand and first not one hour ago. The outcome seems inevitable. One by one, they'll fall. One by one, until no one is left. What will happen to me then? I'll take time to consider this. ***** Four thousand are left. The four thousand and first committed suicide. It was tragic. He'd lost his entire family. But no one stops fate. Not even me. After I fulfil my duties, the only thing that remains for me to do is to reap myself. ***** Two thousand nine hundred and ninety nine are left. A malnourished couple both died when they tried to cross a river. It kind of bothers me how the number is off by one. It's like it's telling me: there's one you're not counting. This is a round number. I don't want to hear it. ***** Two thousand are left. I've lived for such a long time that there are no words to describe it... Lived isn't really the right word. Existed, perhaps. And yet, of all entities, me, the one who has had the most time to make sense of it all... I want things to continue. ***** One thousand left. This job is monotonous... But every day, I get a glimpse at what makes people truly human. I've never realised how much it touches me deep down. If I stay around... How will I cope with the emptiness? ***** Nine hundred left today. I'm running out of time. I don't want this Earth to die. I want to see cities brimming with life. I want to see marvels of architecture, fresh after construction. I want to see the rise of civilisations. ... I don't understand what's happened to me. ***** Eight hundred left. I took pity on a young girl a few days ago. She should have died, but... I delayed reaping her for just long enough... Just long enough for someone to find her. This is a first. I've never taken pity before like this. I'm forsaking my duties, but deep down I'm wondering if that's so bad. ***** Seven hundred people left. I don't want to let go. I don't want things to end. Understanding what this feels like firsthand is quite something. How could I even feel what death is like myself? The despair? The sorrow? Only in this situation could I feel things like that. It was so impersonal at first. But now, every time I reap someone, it's like I'm dying myself. ***** Six hundred people left. I can't go on like this. ***** Five hundred people left. ***** Five... hundred. I've stopped. I've just stopped. I can't do it anymore. ***** Four hundred and eighty three. It's not enough. The world, it's dying, and I- Even if I don't reap people, I can't stop them from dying if they just give up. If I don't reap them, their soul suffers and becomes damaged. What do I do? ***** Four hundred and eighty four. A child was born today. It's a rare sight. The child carries my hope for the future with it. Her name is Dawn. ***** Four hundred and fifty nine. I'm trying my best here... Come on. Show some will to live. Don't you know that dying could be the end of everything right now? Are you so despondent you don't even care? ***** Four hundred and twenty three. I've... begun communicating with people. I didn't know I could, but... People can sense me. I push them away from danger, and towards supplies and shelter. They don't always listen, but it's a start. ***** Dawn is healthy. She is a very sweet child. If I fail, she might be the last human alive. I don't plan on letting her inherit a dying planet. ***** Four hundred and twenty. Someone... Someone talked to me today. They couldn't see me, but they talked straight at me. Not physically, but mentally. Their heart was open and it showered me in hope and gratitude. They didn't think of me as "Death" today, but as "Fate". ***** I wonder what it means to be Fate, rather than Death. It's not a role I've played before. Death is definitely a type of fate. It's my speciality, I suppose. But in the grand scheme of things, isn't fate more than that? ***** Dawn's mother is sick. I'm so worried about her. I hope she survives. It's pharyngitis. It could get bad. ****** I basked in the sun today. It's not a thing I normally do. It's funny how the things that are most important to you only reveal themselves at times like these. Just letting the rays of the sun envelop me... It feels so pleasant. I wish I could do it forever, now that I might not have forever to do it any longer. ***** Dawn's mother, she... She's going to survive. I refuse to reap her. I won't let her die of pharyngitis. Not at her age. Twenty years ago she'd have survived with ease. I won't let it be different now. ***** Four hundred people left exactly. It's slowed down a lot. A band of travellers have met up with Dawn and her parents. I guided them to her. They have medicine. I'm doing similar things elsewhere. ****** I'm caressing the soul of Dawn's mother. It's hanging on to her body by a thread. I'm whispering to her. I'm telling her not to let this be the end. She can't abandon Dawn. She can't abandon the last ray of hope on this world. ****** Dawn's mother woke up again today. She's dazed, but she spoke. She told everyone that a guardian angel stood over her, and that it told her not to give up. She said I comforted her, and that she could feel that I was brimming with sadness and hope. She called me Life. ***** Another child has been born. His name is Ercan. Ercan and Dawn live half a continent apart, and they won't even grow up speaking the same language. But even so, I hope that one day they'll meet. ***** The number is going up. I'm pushing it up. I'm exerting every bit of strength that I have. But it's working. I was a fool. I've always been Death because the world needed Death. Why did I keep being Death for such a long time after the world no longer needed me? The world needs Life right now, and I'm it. ****** It's Dawn's first birthday today. I don't stand in the sunlight so much any more. Basking in the radiating life force of this human being that's the beginning of it all is so much more fulfilling. I'm not the only one feeling it. Everyone here is. Just like her namesake, she's crawling over the horizon, a shining beacon of a new future.

In Egypt, during the time of

I watched mostly. Since I would forget the beginning and there would be no end, there was little else to do. Playing a part in the world seemed to have no effect. Anything I built faded away. Any person I came to know would be gone. It all seemed so inconsequential. I watched an endless ocean of humanity, none of them memorable. Except one. She was different. I saw her here and there. Slipping through the flow of time. Sometimes old. Sometimes young. She found me first. Or maybe I found her and she came back for me. I don't know. But it was early. Very early. Not long after I discovered that time did not pass for me as it did for others. In Egypt, during the time of the Pharaohs. I was sitting on the bank of the Nile, watching the waters slowly pass when she sat beside me. She was old. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" "Yes." I replied. Her accent was strange. "Who are you?" She smiled at me, "I forget that you haven't met me yet." She extended a hand, "I'm Sarah." There was a merriment to her blue eyes, shining forth with a vibrancy that belied the wrinkled skin of her face. I glance at her hand and then accept it. It felt somehow natural. "I'm Zel." "I know." "How? Have we met?" I asked. "Yes. A long time ago and a long time from now." "What does that mean?" "It means that I am special Zel. Like you, but different." She replied, turning to watch the Nile as well. "Time doesn't pass for you?" "It flows around me. I dip and dive throughout it, though I can't control it." She smiled, a bit of sadness in her face. "This is the earliest I have come back." "Oh. Do you like it?" "I like that you are here. I wasn't sure you would be." She took a handful of the silt, rubbing it between her finger and forefinger. "Are we friends?" She turned to look at me. "More." Then she was gone. I did not see her again for a century, the memory of the initial encounter fading but still present. When I saw her next she was young. Younger than me. Just a child. I cannot explain why I was drawn to her. Maybe it was because she looked out of place. Like she did not belong. Her clothing was strange. She looked different than everyone else. And she was scared. Streams of tears were running down her face. I did not recognize her yet. She was just an oddity that had attracted my attention amidst a sea of sameness. I walked up and knelt down in front of her. Her brilliant blue eyes peered out from a cascade of blonde hair. As soon as her eyes locked with mine, I knew. I don't know how. I just did. She was so different this time. Not the wizened woman that had sat beside me a century before. She was vulnerable. Alone. "Sarah?" I whispered. Her eyes widened, she wiped the tears from her face with the back of her forearm. "I\-I\-I don't know what's going on. How do you know me?" I reached out and offered my hand to her, just as she had done so long ago. After a moment of hesitation, she took it. I gave it a squeeze of comfort. "I'm Zel. I met you a long time ago. When you were older." She stares at me. "I...don't know what that means," she breaks down into tears again. I pull her hand closer and wrap her into a hug. "You are special Sarah. Like me. Wherever you go, if you find me, i will be the same. I will be here in the world. Always waiting." She cried into my shoulder, trying to understand. She didn't want to be this way. Then she was gone. A few hundred years passed before I saw her again. I had grown restless in the intervening time, tired of watching the flow of humanity around me. I had taken up the sword and put it down. I had ruled and been ruled. None of it made an impression. None of it mattered. I just wanted to see her again. To know she was safe. To be there for the one person that might understand me and that I could understand in return. And then she was there. A beautiful woman. My age by appearance, though I was hundreds of years beyond her. She was standing on the edge of a field, watching the gentle sway of the crops. A faint smile was on her face as I came up to stand beside her. "Hello Zel." "Hello Sarah." She reached her hand out and I took it, feeling its warmth. "It has been a long time," I whispered. "Has it?" She squeezed my hand. "I can never tell." My thumb rubbed the back of her hand, slowly and methodically, feeling the smooth skin and the bumps of her bones underneath. "How long?" She asked. "A few centuries." "That long?" "Yes." "When did you see me last?" "In the markets in Cairo. You were crying." I lace my fingers between hers, locking us together. Hoping we could stay like this. Her time would be short though. Just as mine was always long. She nods, "That was the first time." "Are you ok?" "Yes. It helps when we find each other." "Why?" "You're my constant. You're the only way I know time." I nod at this, "I understand. You're my permanence." "I am glad we found each other this time Zel. The last trip was...upsetting." "Why?" "The world doesn't always look like this. Sometimes things have gone wrong." "What happens?" "Let's just enjoy this moment. It will happen when it happens." I turn to look at the field, enjoying her hand in mine. Then she was gone. **I have added** **on my sub. I hit the 10k character limit.** **Platypus out.** **Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus

Royce has donated yet another million

###### *John Royce has donated yet another million dollars to the Woman's Aid Foundation. This will no doubt spur other celebrities to do the same thing and open up more avenues for anyone suffering from domestic abuse. He's now donated a grand total of almost twenty million dollars spread out over fifteen or sixteen different charities, although he has no doubt donated to Woman's Aid the most.* John sipped at his coffee, then turned down the radio. God had granted him a gift. A gift of knowing how to manipulate the stock market. The world was like a car, and he was at the wheel. He glanced up when his butler walked in. "Your father's finally here, sir." "Really?" He had been waiting for this day for years. Just waiting for his father to recognize him on the news, to finally come and find him. It was a joyous occasion, and he opened a bottle of champagne as his butler went to let his father in the door. "Where's my son?" he heard from the foyer. Pulling out two wine glasses, he topped them with the frothing, golden liquid. Then he turned. "Son!" "Father!" John shouted, then strode toward the man standing at the entrance with outstretched arms. Time had not been kind to Richard Royce. His thick, black hair had now greyed and had given into a receding hairline, and his once fit physique now devolved into a beer gut. He was still decently rich. But nowhere near as rich as John was now. And as everyone knew, building connections was everything with the incredibly wealthy. So it wasn't a surprise that, now that John was one of the wealthiest men on earth. "You've done well for yourself." Richard patted his back and looked around the room, at the crystal chandelier and the statues that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. His son had indeed surpassed him, and he now regretted losing contact for the last fifteen or so years. "That I have. Champagne?" He handed a glass over to his father. They clinked glasses before downing the liquid. "Why did you come to visit?" He glanced over at his butler, who quickly nodded. Everything had been prepared. "Ahh, yes. I wanted to reunite with my son. I've been searching for you for so many years, so imagine my surprise when I saw you on the news. I'm so glad you aren't dead." He wiped away a tear that he had somehow managed to squeeze from his tearduct. He was referring to John's disappearance, almost fifteen years ago to the dot. A case where he and his mother had been kidnapped, his mother had been killed, and he had disappeared. He could still feel the blood on his hands as he desperately prayed to a God who wasn't listening as he desperately tried to stem the blood flowing from his mother's abdomen. "I'm glad. Have you found my mother? We got separated during the kidnapping." John's voice was emotionless. "Unfortunately, I think she's probably dead." He answered a little too quickly. John poured another glass for himself and sipped lightly. "Mm-hmm." "Not that I haven't been looking. I have. But we have to be realistic," he added. "Why are you really here?" John changed the topic. "Well..."--his father had the audacity to look a bit ashamed--"I'm in a spot of trouble, and I was hoping you could bail me out. Just a couple million, nothing too serious..." "Ah, my mother." "What?" His father froze, unable to keep up with the subject change. "Did you ever find out who she got kidnapped by?" He shook his head. "Of course not. I would have killed that motherfucker if I had found out. I loved your mother." "Oh." John thought of the bruises on his mother's body every day, the way she had cowered whenever he had come into the room. And then he thought of the distinctive star shaped tattoo on the kidnapper's forearm, the same as on the hitmen his father used to hire to get rid of any people he didn't like. It didn't take long to put two and two together. "That's the wrong answer." His father frowned. "What do you mean?" John simply snapped his fingers, and his butler walked out, closing the doors to the foyer behind him. It was just him and his stinking, lying, murderous father now. He had thought, before, when he was young and naive, that it was all a misunderstanding. That the assassins were hired by someone else, or his father wasn't in the know, or anything else. But then he noticed how his father never put out a single ad to look for him. Just assumed he was dead. John felt a chill run through his body as he remembered the still-warm, heavy weight of his mother's body as she shielded him, then the urgent, silent whisper, even as she coughed up blood. *Pretend you're dead.* Just the thought of the memory made him itch to kill his father. But, for right now, he would settle for less just to take off the edge. He grabbed the candlestick and bashed it against his father's head, finding joy in the heavy thud it made as it connected. Richard reeled, falling to the marble floor. Then he climbed up. "What was that?" he shouted, gingerly touching his forehead. "I know you were lying about my mother, you bastard. As if it wasn't even enough that you abused her every day, you had to go and kill her."John's arms were shaking with rage, and he struck the other direction, until rivulets of blood criss crossed in multiple lines down his father's face. "You really shouldn't use the same hitmen for every job. It's sloppy." The violence didn't make him feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse. The dam doors had opened, and there was a tide of fury that he couldn't stem, rushing out after so many years. Richard's face paled. "You have no proof. It would never go to court. " "I don't need it to go to court. I just need personal satisfaction." His father's face changed, turning red with anger. "What will the world think of you? How dare you treat me like this? You'll rot in jail for the rest of your life for what you've already done," he shouted, blood streaming down his forehead to his chin. John removed his glasses and carefully set them down on the counter. "I don't care what they think," he said. He brought out a large knife and examined the blade. It should do wonderfully for flaying apart someone's skin, layer by layer. "I'm sure your donations were for your little business crimes so they couldn't come after you, but that's not why I donated to charity." He looked at his father then, and grinned. Even under the golden light of the chandelier, his eyes suddenly looked pitch black, and Richard took a step back involuntarily, feeling his heart thud rapidly in chest from fear. "Ask me why I donate to charity, *dad.*" ***** r/AlannaWu

"I can't be moved against

"I can't be moved against my will." It wasn't much of a power, but at this point in my life I was largely just glad my voice didn't crack. Much. The cute young woman in a doctor's coat taped her clipboard twice before looking up. "And what else?" She said in a pleasant but professional voice. "That's all. If I decided to stay, you couldn't move me from this chair." "Hmm..." She looked thoughtful. "What have you been able to do with this power so far?" "I can't lose an arm-wrestling match" I said with a shrug. "I can't *win* one either, though." I said, flexing my under-developed bicep. She appeared not to notice. "I see. Well, this is probably just a formality then - I doubt any of the Leagues will be interested - but it's protocol. If you could come this way?" She gestured with her clipboard into a room full of strange equipment that was blinking and whirring quietly. It took nearly an hour to hook up all the probes, cowls, monitors, and what-not, so it is probably a good thing my superpower is staying put. Especially since the doctor lost interest in my small talk only a few minutes in. So it was a bored, ready-to-be-done mindset that the two of us were suddenly jarred out of when the klaxons sounded and "Armageddon-class" began flashing on the big screen. She turned to me, still covered as I was by equipment, and looked at me wide-eyed. "You're *sure* there is nothing else?" "Well," I said, smirking "That's my position, and I'm not going to move from it." Her look told me I definitely *didn't* have any super-human powers of humor. ... It was two weeks before they let me leave; they ran test after test. They never uncovered any more powers, but I *did* get to arm-wrestle a "real" super. I didn't win, but, as predicted, I didn't lose. No one seemed quite sure what to do with me, so they sent me home while they figured it out. A few days later, they wanted me to come back for some more tests they dreamed up - but I'd had enough of being a lab rat and refused to come in. And what were they going to do, make me? That was the *one* thing I could prevent. Which meant I was totally alone and vulnerable when the assassin came. Apparently it's hard to keep a medical database confidential in an age of super-human hackers, and someone thought a new Armageddon-class super was a threat, and took preemptive action. Without any super-senses, the first sign I had that anything was wrong was feeling the blade piercing my neck. "No!" I was screaming in my own head, as I felt the blade slicing through my skin. *Pushing* the skin a little to each side of the blade. *Moving* the skin and flesh underneath. "NO!" my flesh didn't have to move. It *wouldn't* move. I willed it so, with my power. And the blade stopped. The killer seemed as surprised as I did by this. He, being a trained assassin, recovered first, and tried to pull his blade free for another strike. *That* didn't happen either. Quickly I grabbed his hand before he could let go of the blade. "Let's just wait here until we can get all this sorted out." I said, more calmly than I felt. His arm was some sort of cybernetic prosthetic that felt like it could bend steel - but it didn't budge. It was twelve hours before the mailman came the next day, and heard my shouts for help. It was only a few minutes later that Super-help arrived by supersonic jet, and took the assassin away. After twelve hours of standing locked in position in my apartment, he seemed almost glad to go. ... "So... you're invulnerable?" This time, the man across from me wasn't a cute doctor. Instead, he wore a gadget-covered suit that looked like it could withstand being tossed into a furnace, and had a chin that looked like it could be used to chop firewood. "Not.... no. I don't think so?" I still hadn't gotten back on my feet, mentally - being up all night didn't help, but I wasn't handling an assassination attempt very well emotionally. The man nodded, and looked about to jot something down - when suddenly he flew across the table swinging an anvil-sized fist at me. It connected with a *CRACK* and a shockwave that blew out the windows to the small room. But my chin hadn't moved. Well, except to go a bit slack and hang open in shock. The man had righted his upturned chair and sat again before I'd managed to close my mouth. "We'll check 'provisionally' next to invulnerable then." He said, as if nothing had happened. And just like that, I was the newest member of the city's local Super league. ... "Hahahahah!" the lunatic in the lab coat cackled, haloed by the setting sun. My friends - the rest of the league - were all incapacitated. One held down by a three-story tall robot, another in an impenetrable cage. "Once I push this button, the whole city will be infected - and all you can do then is stand there and watch. But that *is* your super-power, isn't it? Standing there? Well, there's absolutely *nothing* you can do now!" I had never felt so helpless. What I needed now was super speed, not super-standing-still. But the later was all I had. It certainly *felt* like Dr. Evil, PHD was right, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. But there are no absolutes, right? Hadn't Einstein said that? Sort of, I guess, but he was only talking about privileged reference frames. Wait... reference frames. I could remain immobile, but with respect to *what*? I'd always assumed it was just common sense that I could hold still with respect to my surroundings. But did it *have* to be? *Could* I choose another frame? I took a step to the left, centering Dr. E in the setting sun, and focused my thoughts on being still with respect to the Earths' center of mass. And then promptly collided with the man in the lab coat mid-cackle at several hundred miles per hour - much too quickly for him to press the button that would have doomed the city. ... I coasted through the air, remaining perfectly immobile in a rest frame centered on The Human Jet, as he flew us through the volcanic crater to the League's main base. Within minutes we were inside the huge dome of the main planning room. "As you can see" said the main in the hawk cowl, gesturing with his laser pointer, "we have twelve separate villains enacting their doomsday plans in one hour, around the globe." Arrayed on the dome-like screen around us were images of several in-progress city-ending activities, shown in real time. Bombs, ray-guns, monsters, the works. "There are only six of us powerful enough to stop these events. Even if we all succeed, we'll only get half. I'm... honestly at a bit of a loss. There just isn't enough time to stop them all." My mind, despite the seriousness, was wandering. It was as if the impending doom of so many millions of people was just too much for me to handle, and so it was looking for an out. But there wasn't one. Even the best of us couldn't stop two major events in 30 minutes alone. Heck, I couldn't even *get* there on my own - the cab ride would take longer than that. We *had* to stop it, but how? Time just kept marching forward, and with each passing second we had less time to react. But time doesn't really *march* forward, does it. No, it slides past - or we drift *through* it. And right now, I needed *not* to move through it. Not moving was what I did best, though, wasn't it? It took a few minutes of trying, but then I had it - I stopped moving through time. The room around me was completely still, and completely silent. "Huh." With that inauspicious word, I began to make my way to the garage - I had a world tour with twelve stops scheduled, and all the time in the world. ... Before anyone could voice a plan that could overcome our dire situation, the monitors switched from atrocities-in-progress to views of our holding cells, showing all twelve super-villains on lock down. The cities, in smaller views, appeared unharmed. Five of the six Armageddon-class supers were looking around the room with utter shock at our mysterious success. Only our newest member, Ted The Immovable (he was so new we hadn't found a real super-name for him yet), looked unphased. In fact, he was sitting with his feet on the circular conference table. "So, now that that's taken care of, anyone want to play X-box?" said Ted, a sly grin on his youthful face. ... You can read my older stuff at r/TheFeshyWords

Everyone else in Mr. Langh

You know how when you're a child, lots of abnormal things seem normal to you because there's nothing for you to judge the experience against? That's how Bub and I started. Everyone else in Mr. Langhorne's class received their pen pal letters that day. Mine came, too, and if the paper had funny, oily texture and closed with a wax seal instead of a stamp, so what? That just meant my pen pal was cooler than Jimmy's. And for once that little twerp had to agree with me. I wrote back, thanking my pen pal for being so cool. Bub responded fast. His reply came within a week, asking how I had come by his letter. So I told him all about how Mr. Langhorne has passed out the letters, and how Bub's science experiment sounded fun. I hoped he had been able to find the newt eyes he needed. I had some frog spawn in a pond behind the house. If Bub needed, I could probably post him a jar full. He said yes. And unlike most of the class's pen pals, Bub and I kept writing. Bub's classes were more interesting than mine, but he seemed to like hearing about how hard I found multiplication at first. I wanted to hear about those ritual lessons his super-strict homeschooling dad was making him take. Bub told me about how he messed up once and instead of conjuring a fire sprite, he'd only managed a soot dog. He named it Inky. The years went by. And the letters kept coming. By high school I wondered why we never needed stamps on our envelopes. Or why I could mail him pictures, but he could only send drawings. I never cared enough to look into it, though. I would get distracted by things like landing the role of Lady Macbeth and Bub was more excited than I was. For some reason he never had to read Shakespeare for his classes. He did have to learn to bend iron and shape it into a bunch of weird sigil designs. He drew some of them for me. They weren't exactly pretty, but Bub said he was happy with how they turned out, so I was happy for him. I hoped by college, maybe we could go to school in the same area. Or at least switch to email. I wanted to hear from him more than once a week. But Bub's letters did make Monday more bearable. He said he was apprenticed to one of his dad's friends and couldn't come to college. I supposed learning a trade made more sense in today's economy, but I was still bummed. He drew me a picture of Inky, and I thought he was the weirdest dog ever, all puffy black with red eyes and a fire tongue. But I guess that's what happens with mis-summoned soot dogs. My college friends didn't know what to make of my pen pal relationship with Bub. By this time, he knew everything about me, and I knew everything about him. He was my closest friend, and my confidant. And if I were honest with myself, he was the reason I had never dated. I was too emotionally invested in Bub. That's why his last scroll, telling me of his father's death, was so difficult for me. I knew how much he respected his father. How good he had been at ruling over the demon kingdom. And now Bub has to step up while dealing with his grief. "I can't do this alone," his letter told me. "I need you by my side. Please," wrote the man I had never met but loved with all my heart, "be my bride. Yours always, Beelzebub." *Edit to add part two:* I was surprised how quickly I was taken up on my "Yes, of course." It only took until Monday for the next letter. Except it wasn't a scroll. It was a box. An empty box, with this scrawled on the side in familiar handwriting. "I've had to bend the rules a bit to make this work. You and I both know this whole thing was out of the ordinary. Anything you can fit into this box can come with you. Thank you. You have no idea how much I have relied upon our friendship since my father took ill. I cannot wait to see you." It's hard to sort through your life, and condense it down to one banker's box. Pictures of home. Pictures of family. Some of friends. A tatty old stuffed elephant I'd had since before I could remember. My favorite book. Bub's first letter to me. But really, what do you bring to a demon kingdom? Do they have electricity? Flush toilets? I really hoped they had flush toilets. I could probably forego the electricity, but I like plumbing. I tried not to worry about how I was going to get there, either. I had purposefully not paid attention to how my letters went wherever they went, or how Bub's came to me. Now I regretted not asking. Or paying more attention. To be completely honest, I hadn't wanted to pay attention. Maybe if I looked too closely at what was happening, it would go away. Or I'd find out the whole thing was an illusion. I didn't want Bub to be an imaginary friend that I'd built into more. So when Monday dawned and nothing happened, I was both relieved and depressed. Until the pentagram of fire burned into existence through my kitchen linoleum as I sat there drinking my second cup of coffee. I wasn't going to get my deposit back now, my brain mumbled somewhere beyond the static of my shock. But there was Bub, smiling at me with his a-little-bit-too-pointy teeth. Relief flooded through me. This was my friend. Someone who knew me, and loved me, and had been there through all my awkward phases. I'd seen his self-portraits throughout the years. This smile looked a little less certain than those in the drawings, as I'm sure mine was. My stomach was doing flip-flops that had nothing to do with all the coffee. "Bub?" I asked, my voice unsteady. "Joon-hee," he sighed like a fire catching up kindling. My smile grew into a real grin. I picked up my box and walked over to him. "I'm ready." He took my hand and pulled me into the pentagram. The kitchen vanished. *Edit to add part three* I don't know what I expected a demon kingdom to look like, but I didn't expect trees. Or grass. Or moss. The rain was really weirding me out, and not just because I grew up in Southern California. The ground was squishy and springy under my feet. Bub didn't seem to think it was unusual though, as the fire of our travel pentagram fizzled out into an unenthusiastic heap of ash. "This is home," he said in a bedraggled exhalation. For all that I hadn't known him in person for all that long, I could hear the disappointment dripping from the word 'home'. I'd expected a castle made of stone with giant crenellations at the top, and fire breathing chimeras guarding the front gate. We'd never talked much about our homes. He'd said he was a prince of demons who worked with metal. I'd said I was a student, and hadn't liked math. More often than not, our letters revolved around what we were doing and explaining those things to each other, rather than much of the setting. He didn't understand soccer, which I played in college for a while. I didn't understand the seventy five uses of blasting runes. It took longer to explain soccer. But hey, where we were didn't seem so terrible. There certainly was plenty of iron. It ranged in color from jet black to oxidized red, and every shade in between. The doors had figures carved all over them; the ones I noticed looked a lot like praying mantises battling others that looked like whales with legs. I hoped the whales won. I didn't have time to tell though, as the doors creaked before a green person swung them open. "Ah, Sire, you're back." He didn't' seem pleased. "I take it your mission was... successful?" He was eyeing me now. His pupils were square, like a goat's. "Yes, Iskur. You know she agreed to come." "I did. But I did not think she would be so foolish to actually keep that promise." Bub squeezed my hand here as he replied, "You know little of this matter. Now, welcome Joon-Hee properly." I couldn't read this green man's expression as he looked me over again, but his voice was emotionless now. "I bid you welcome, Madam Joon-Hee, to the City of Martu." His mumble that "we don't need another astrologer, let alone a human one," gave me a pretty good idea of where he stood on my arrival. I raised an eyebrow at Bub. "Astrologer?" "Yes, isn't that what you were in school for?" I laughed. "No, astronomer. It isn't even a little the same." The puzzled expression on his far-more-human face was the first time I wondered what I might have jumped into without much thought. I wasn't sure I should ask what he thought I'd spent that much time learning all that math for.

A rock formation near Bilbao

There is a rock formation near Bilbao, Spain, which is notable for its incongruence with the rest of its surroundings. It resembles two obelisks, at the very edge of a sheer drop off a cliff, almost as if they were stone giants who had perched themselves there. A smaller, rounder cousin lingers a few feet behind, welded into the ground. Science does not go very far in explaining how this trio of stone came to be. My grandmother, on the other hands, offers this explanation. She claims her grandmother told it to her, and we presumed that it was passed down in kind to *her*. We believe this story to be very, very old. And as the story goes, a girl from the nearby village, one Camila, was known for her beauty and her wisdom. Lively, adventurous, she commanded attention the way steel rods on buildings attract lightning. Her heart was kind, her touch was light, and her words fell with the grace of the first snows of winter. Little wonder then that families travelled from afar to watch this Camila sing and dance and play, and many a parent schemed to have her marry their sons. Foremost amongst her suitors was Mateo, son of the village chief. He was blessed with good looks and an boisterous personality, and it was often said that you could hear his laugh before you caught sight of him. In fact, the village chief was so sure that Camila would accept Mateo's proposal of marriage that preparations were underway even before she formally accepted. Merriment coursed through the village as everyone looked forward to Camila coming into their fold. So it was that the wise woman of the village found Camila at her doorstep one morning, banging on the doors so hard that the hinges creaked. Distress was written plainly on Camila's face, and her tale was so fanciful and far-fetched that the wise woman wondered if Camila was simply having the same jitters which inflict a fair number of brides-to-be. Camila, of course, was prepared with proof. Proof in the form of a hundred, two hundred letters, half of them filled with Camila's careful, precise script, and the other emblazoned with powerful writing, as if a typhoon had learned to pick up a brush. Proof in the consistency of detail in Camila's story. Proof in the form of a wispy, shadowy figure behind Camila, his headdress held respectfully between his hands. Camila's tale was straight-forward enough. She liked Mateo, but only as a brother. Her heart had long tended towards her friend at her side now, one with whom she had spent the last ten years corresponding with over letters. Camila called him Ulix, a 'prince from far shores', but the tiny nubs of horns on the stranger's foreheard left little doubt in the wise woman's mind as to his true nature. Camila did not know what to do, and so she had come to the wise woman for help. And it seemed that Mateo had heard of this interloper as well, the one who would threaten his chances of marital bliss with the wonderful Camila. For Mateo then trundled up the pathway to the wise woman's house as well, with a collection of musclemen behind him, their pitchforks raised and unflinching. With one voice, they demanded that Camila desist from her foolishness, that she give up her heart to Mateo only. The wise women grasped the situation quickly, and pandering to the pride of the hot-headed young man and otherworldly being before her, gave them three tasks to complete. Her message was clear and unmistakable - whoever performed the tasks best would win her approval for the impending marriage with Camila. Over three days and three nights did Mateo and Ulix persevere at their tasks, and they returned to present the fruits of their labour to the wise woman. The entire village had gathered to hear the final judgment, and the silence which baked as the wise woman mulled over her words was defeaning. Eventually, the wise woman pronounced Ulix the victor. See here, the wise woman said. The first task was to make Camila happy, and here Mateo had laboured to gather an assortment of invaluable gifts and presents. In contrast, Ulix had but acquired a small tome of writings from passing peddlers, poems and stories from her favourite authors, yet it had livened Camila up much more. Ulix, and not Mateo, truly understood what it was that Camila desired. The second task was to demonstrate how much Camila meant to them, and here Mateo had also endeavored to amass the riches which he would be sharing with her. In contrast, Ulix had but set out the ways in which he had changed over the years as a result of Camila's advice. Ulix recounted how Camila's counsel had changed the way he saw the world, the way he treated his subjects, and how it had stood him well in his claim for succession to the throne. Again, it was Ulix, and not Mateo, who truly benefited from what Camila could offer to give. The third task was to convince the wise woman what life they had planned for Camila after the marriage. Mateo was crystal clear in describing the life of comfort which awaited Camila, where her greatest burdens would be to continue the family line and to mother the brood. In contrast, Ulix set out the ways in which he would ask Camila to share the toils of their existence, the tasks he would entrust to her, the dependence he would place on her. The wise woman noted the rising fury from the gathered crowd as these strange ideals were shared, but deep inside, she knew the choice was clear. With the wise woman's blessing, Ulix and Camila set off to return to his kingdom. Ulix warned everyone not to follow, for his magic could only convey him and his chosen passenger. But Mateo did not heed that warning. Blinded by anger, prickled by wounded pride, he trailed after them, a dagger hidden, waiting to be sprung. No one actually saw the final confrontation, but the unusual flurry of lightning that evening served only as invitation for one and all to investigate. Led by the wise woman, they retraced the final steps of Ulix and Camila, and found that very rock formation at the edges of the cliffs. Some say that Ulix and Camila made it to their destination, and that they had left obelisks in place so that people would remember them. Others say that Mateo had interrupted them, and had prevented them from leaving, though he sacrificed his own wellbeing in the process. These people point to the fact that Mateo never returned. Be that as it may, the rock formation stands there to this day, testament to both the best and the worst of what we can be. --- /r/rarelyfunny

He'd never done well school,

It amazed him how one thing could become another. He'd never done well school, never managed to hold down a job, hell, he'd never even managed to be on the right side of the law. But he was good at this. Good at it and liked it. Mixing stuff. Cooking it. Turning it from what it was to what he wanted it to be. It was his own little world, a world he could control and be the king of. Even better, it got him things. Things he wanted to have. Women. Money. Power. "Stop mixing the flask, you're going to fuck it up Giz." Einstein said. His name wasn't Einstein, but when he figured out how to cook everyone said he was some sort of genius or something. Someone said Einstein and it just sorta stuck. He liked it. Liked feeling like he was the smart one. He hadn't felt that way before. "Sorry Einstein. These directions don't make no sense." Giz said, the flask in his hand trembling. Einstein didn't handle disappointment so well, and Giz was looking at the list of instructions trying to figure out how he wasn't going to be a disappointment. Einstein walked over and took the flask from him, pushing Giz away from the cooking apparatus. "Man, you're about thirty seconds from killing us. Just sit in the fucking corner and stay out of my way." Einstein was running out of people to train as assistants. Most of the other fuckups were lined up in graves a few miles away from the cooking site. If they couldn't cook, he couldn't risk them getting disappointed about that and telling the others. Looking down at the flask, he scowled. This batch was a total loss. Whole thing was screwed. Scowling, he hurled the flask at Giz. "Fucked it up for the last time Giz." The gun shot followed a moment later. He needed new equipment. It took him a few days before he came up with an answer on how to get it. He needed quality stuff and he was running short on funds after Giz screwed him. He could try and gank 'em from the local shop, but he was known there. Plus they had all sorts of cameras and shit. Too risky. The only other time he had seen equipment like that was back in high school when he used to get stoned and burn shit in chemistry class. Question was how he get in there and get a key. It wasn't like they'd be fine with some random dude walking around for no reason. Then it hit him. Substitute teacher. Those guys just showed up out of no where and were gone the next day. They didn't know shit about shit. Just put on a movie and wasted time until the period was over. He could do that, no problem. Searching the online requirements, he shook his head. Man, they were desperate. You didn't need jack shit to substitute. Just some college credits, which he had more than enough of since his mom had forced him to go to keep staying at her place. Didn't even matter what your grades were, just that you had the credits. He shot off an application, saying he had a background in chemistry and was available to teach. While he was waiting on the response, he got to work on updating him image. Drug dealer chic was out, broken down dude just trying to scrape a few dollars together by standing in a classroom with his thumb up his ass was in. The Goodwill was very accommodating on that front. Got himself a nice tweed jacket, some brown slacks and a dress shirt for under $15 bucks. Looking in the mirror, he couldn't help but laugh. He looked like the shrink his mom had made him go to during rehab. That guy was fucking pathetic, so this was perfect. By the time he got back from the store, he had a response from the school. Opening tomorrow. Chemistry. This was easier than he thought it'd be. Einstein was going back to school ladies and gentlemen. Waking up the next morning, Einstein took a shower, combed his hair and put on the outfit. He looked damn near presentable. A right proper member of society. Even brought along one of those briefcases so we could look the part. It also let him bring a few things he'd need to set up the heist. Arriving at the school early in the AM, he walked into the school office. He'd spent his fair share of time sitting in the seats in the corner. Disruptive was his middle name. Well, that and ADD. They kinda went hand\-in\-hand and selling his Ritalin had been a great primer for things to come. The admin looked up as he entered, a big smile on her face. "Hello, welcome to Stone Valley High School, how can I help you today?" "Why salutations there, I am Mr. James Franco, here to substitute for chemistry." He was hamming it up big time. Putting on a four star show for this bitch. James Franco indeed. "Oh, wow, like the actor?" She asked. It was the first name that popped into his head when he filled out the form yesterday. "Just like the actor," He offered a winning smile. His teeth weren't pearly white, but he was within spitting distance of being charming. "I see you here," she tapped a clipboard holding a list, "your class will start shortly. We have you here for the week, but I should let you know that it could go longer. The teacher is out on bed\-rest for a maternity leave and may not be back for the rest of the year." "I'm just here for the children miss. I'll stay as long as you need." Whatever. He'd be gone in a week with all the shit he needed to get cooking again. "That's great to hear. It's a wonderful class of kids." She smiled and handed him a form, "I saw you're experienced in chemistry. Would you be able to teach the curriculum?" "Sure." Yeah, fine, whatever. Just stop talking. She handed him a workbook, "Just teach out of this. There's a lesson for each day." Einstein accepted the workbook and gave her a little bow. "I'll make my way to the class." He glanced down at the form, "Room 102?" "That's right. 102." And then he was on his way. Winding his way down the hallways of his youth until he arrived at the doorway to 102. Pushing his way in, he took a look around the room. Suddenly unsure of himself. Was he really going to stand up in front of this class and teach? Fuck it, couldn't be that hard. He walked up to the chalkboard and wrote out Mr. Franco in huge letters, cracking up as he did it. What a disaster, if only his friends could see him now. Shame they were all such fuckups and he had to off 'em. They'd eat this shit up. Slowly the classroom filled up. Einstein sat behind the desk, flipping through the curriculum book with his feet up on the table. The bell rang. The kids continued talking. "All right, let's get this show on the road." The kids continued talking. "Hey, let's start." Still talking. "You guys want to see some cool science shit or what?" All of them stopped talking at once and turned to stare at him. Einstein broke out into a grin. He knew a trick or two, might as well share it. Besides, he might find a new assistant. "Cool," He tossed the curriculum book down. "We'll get to that later. Let's make some magic." The kids giggled, their attention on him. He liked being the center of attention. Made him feel smart. **Platypus out.** **Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus

At some point in the night,

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. I can't see a single God damn thing. At some point in the night, I'm assuming some assholes injected me with some kind of sedative, and decided to rather impolitely drag me somewhere. I have no idea where I am. My world is black and still. All I can sense is the flow of air. An enclosed space, it seems. There's a bag on my head, and it's pretty hard to breathe through. Breathe in, breathe out. Sometimes the rough fibers get sucked into my nostrils. Why tape my mouth shut? I'm kneeling on a concrete floor, in a sterile environment. No other people here, or I would sense them. Not their scent, but their elemental makeup. I would see them, even if someone had plucked out my eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. First rule, not to panic. If they wanted me dead, they would have gassed me. Or shot me in my sleep. Something instant, otherwise I'd just heal the wound. Even if they sliced my throat, it would take only an instant to repair. It comes with the territory. See, when your mom told you that you were special, she was fucking lying. When mine did it, it was because I actually am. I have a rather special talent, and people like to hire me to turn walking, talking people into inanimate, very dead steaming piles of organic goop. So whoever has me here doesn't want me dead. They want me to work for them. I'm assuming this is to protect their identity. If I get out of here and find out who they are, it'd just be good business to hunt them down. I come highly recommended, but I don't tolerate word of mouth. A Chatty Cathy might blab to the wrong person and find themselves in an urn. I don't like loose ends. So breathe in, breathe out. I've been waiting for what feels like an eternity. Maybe to calm my nerves, or my temper. Waiting does neither. What I really need is to pee. A crackling, the first noise I've heard since my captivity. Crackling. An intercom? "Mr. Mason, Carbon-Bender." Flat. Monotone. Lifeless. What a speaker, ladies and gentleman. They know my real name. At least my last name. That isn't very professional. The mask pulls the tape back, and I get my first gulps of real air. Or more accurately, whatever is pumping through these vents. Tastes real enough. Say nothing. Let them fill the silence. So I wait. And wait. And wait. "Mr. Mason, why you're here and who we are does not matter, as a man of your talent would understand." I think it does, but what do I know? I can't see shit. "You are an unregistered Bender. If certain government agencies were to discover this, you would be detained and evaluated for study due to the unique nature of your element." So I guess it's my turn to speak now. Obvious assertions. They want to remind me of my powerlessness, and the precarious nature of my condition. I would like to avoid needles and doctors and all that mess. Having to fight the combined efforts of an entire military would be very taxing to my lifestyle. I've already decided to take the job. Whoever can track me down can obviously afford me. "I don't need to be threatened," I say. My voice comes out weaker than anticipated. I wet my throat, I need whoever this is to fear me. And they should. "So how about you shut the fuck up, and tell me what the job is?" My real voice. I can hear the crackling still. I'm betting they had some long speech about how to not hunt them down and how I need to cooperate and how much money I'll make and blah blah blah. I don't have time for that. I'm a carbon bender, one of the rarest of an already rare breed. Most benders can only manipulate compounds, not base elements. Especially not a fundamental building block of all organic matter. I can rip the carbon out of your body, completely obliterating your cells and snuffing out your life without breaking a sweat. Or I can crush coal into a diamond. Really, it just depends on my mood. "On the floor, Mr. Mason, you will see a metal sheet with a picture on it. You have seventy two hours to eliminate the target." Straight to business. This is how I like it. They could have just emailed me or something, you know. Saved all the dramatic bullshit for some other Bender. The bag is lifted by a string. The cuffs whir and release. Remote access. Whoever is fucking with me is cautious. Smart. I must be underground. A cursory glance tells me everything I already knew. A Sterile environment. Wall to wall gray concrete. I can't detect any carbon anywhere. Odd. Someone put a lot of preparation into this. On the floor, a metallic sheet. Not steel, but something resembling it. An engraving. I pick it up, and turn to leave. "Successful termination of the target will result in sufficient compensation, and our business will be concluded." I turn the knob, resolved to kill everyone involved. After they pay me, of course. For a moment, I can't bring myself to walk out the door. Details. I need names, I need names and addresses and faces. "I want the names of whoever told you my real name." Crackle. "Done, Mr. Mason." "I want the names of whoever captured me." "Done, Mr. Mason." "I want your name." "No, Mr. Mason." Oh well. That would have been too easy. When I study the face, something about it brings back some ancient memory. Like seeing a picture of someone that sits across from you on the bus everyday, but you've never spoken to. A familiar stranger. Whatever. They're all the same to me. I turn to leave. Seventy two hours is plenty of time. Hell, make the right calls and I might get it done by dinner. "Besides, Mr. Mason," the intercom speaks in that same monotone crackle, taunting me. "We wouldn't want anything to happen to Mrs. Mason, now would we?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato - has just been added! Will be adding more on my subreddit tonight!

Knight Varis Bonvil was accused

"Knight Bonvil, you stand accused of attempted regicide. As a member of the Golden Order, it is your prerogative to determine the method of trial. Choose: law or combat." Inquisitor Mallan glowered from his perch behind the Judging Table, his wrinkled face scrunched with disdain. "I made no attempt on the King's life. I am sworn." Bonvil called out, his voice carrying throughout the chamber. The nobles whispered amongst themselves. The facts were not in dispute. Knight Varis Bonvil had been caught atop the parapet, his hand grasping the King's robes as he dangled over the edge. Regicide. To even contemplate such a thing was to blaspheme against God's law. For it to be done by a member of the Golden Order was the darkest sacrilege. "Law or combat Ser." Mallen called out. "I choose combat. My sword will show the truth of my words." Knight Bonvil replied, the powerful muscles of his forearms flexing against the cuffs holding his hands behind his back. "By combat. Very well." The Inquisitor began scribbling on the parchment in front of him. "The Crown may designate a champion to stand for the King." Mallen turned and bowed to the King, seated on the throne behind him. King Galcon's eyes shifted from the Inquisitor to Bonvil. The silence stretched. Finally, rising from his throne, he spoke, "I will stand." An uproar ensued as the nobles tried to make sense of it. King Galcon was old and infirm. He was in no position to battle a Knight of the Golden Order. It made no sense. Inquisitor Mallen raised his hands, causing some calm to be restored, "Your Majesty, surely you may choose another\-\-" King Galcon cut him off, "\-\-I may choose whomever I desire." Bonvil hung his head, trying to sort out the meaning of it. The King had gone mad. He had served Galcon his entire life, why was he being tested so? Proving himself innocent would require Bonvil to be guilty of the crime he stood accused of. Was there to be no other option? Must one of them die? A soldier stepped forward and freed Bonvil's hands. A moment later he was handed his family's sword. It felt good to hold *Veritas* in his hands again. A small comfort in a deeply unsettling moment. Swiping it through the air, he turned to face King Galcon. The King removed his royal regalia, leaving him standing in a plain tunic. He pulled his sword from its scabbard, the weight unbalancing him slightly. "The trial of Knight Bonvil is to be decided. May the light of God show the truth of this matter." Inquisitor Mallen called out as the crowd watched in silence. Never in the long history of Pherelia had such a thing occurred. The King always designated a champion. King Galcon took in the crowd and then looked at Bonvil, a sadness to his eyes. Moments later, the start of the match was called out. Varis raised the tip of *Veritas*, falling into a defense stance. The King stood for a moment, quietly regarding Bonvil before charging forward, sword raised. As the sword came down, Bonvil raised *Veritas* to meet it, catching it on the hilt and bringing the King close to him. It was the first opportunity Bonvil had to speak with him since the night on the parapet. "Your Majesty, why?" King Galcon gave a faint smile and then took a step back before re\-engaging. Bonvil twirled out of the way, letting the King's sword strike the stones where he had stood. Even trained as he was, the King was no warrior. The fight continued with the King making progressively wilder swings, trying to goad Bonvil into a counter attack. But there was no provoking the knight. He was of the Golden Order. "I will not harm you Your Majesty. I have sworn," Bonvil said. King Galcon's breath was coming in ragged heaves, "What have you sworn to protect?" "The Kingdom." "I am not the Kingdom." "You are its King," Bonvil replied. King Galcon attacked again, coming in close. "You can protect the King or protect the Kingdom, you must choose, Bonvil," he whispered. "Why? Why must I choose?" "Because you stole the choice from me." "I saved your life." "And doomed the rest." King Galcon's eyes met Bonvil's, "I have done terrible things Varis. The retribution approaches." "The Golden Order stands. We can protect the kingdom. Protect you." "No," King Galcon's hand lashed out from the hilt of his weapon, laying hold of *Veritas* and pulling it down on himself, impaling the blade in his chest. "You can't." **Part 2** Crimson poured over Bonvil's hands as the King exhaled his last wet rasps. Galcon's head tilted forward as he sank to his knees, pulling the blood\-soaked *Veritas* down with him. Bonvil could feel the weapon react to the kill, a surge flowing up into his arm, filling him with a sense of righteousness. The act was just. The knowledge changed little in the face of the deed itself. The King was dead. The chamber sat is stunned silence as they watched the king fall. Then murmurs. Then shouts. The battle of succession commenced before the King's body had cooled. Galcon was the last of his line, leaving the throne empty. Nobles from the great houses staked their claim while the lesser houses made quick calculations on where their loyalties rested. Each sought to maximize their upside, to gain from the pool of blood slowly spreading across the floor. All except Knight Bonvil. He stared at the blade, trying to make sense of the surge and the King's words. What had he done? Why did Galcon have to die to protect the kingdom? Why was this just? He must find the truth. He was sworn. "Seize the Kingslayer!" Inquisitor Mallen's voice rang out over the din of the chamber. The nobles turned to look at Bonvil as the soldiers lowered their halberds and began to advance on Bonvil. Each tried to fathom where the greatest advantage lay. The tinder was ready, but it was house Che'Kov that ignited the flame. "House Che'Kov lays claim to the Kingslayer! We shall bring him to the God's Justice!" High Lord Farren Che'Kov pulled his sword as he spoke. The gambit cast, and the other great houses were forced to respond. None could risk the allowing Che'Kov to gain the moral high ground. Each of the High Lords pulled their own swords, shouting their claim to the Kingslayer. House Che'Lav. House Che'Ris. House Che'Yel. As each blade unsheathed, the blades of their vassals quickly followed, emanating out like ripples in a pond. Whenever the ripples of opposing lords collided, skirmishes developed. Soon the entire chamber was engulfed as the High Lords sought to settle the succession right there. The Kingslayer was a treat, but the prize was in reach. Bonvil watched as the soldiers approached as the chaos spread in the background. "Stand back." He flicked *Veritas,* sending a splatter of blood in an arc along the ground between him and the soldiers. A few of the younger men flinched and took a small step back. The more seasoned veterans continued forward, their eyes set on the grim task. Bonvil tightened his grip on *Veritas'* pommel and glance between the soldiers and the king. The kingdom hung on the precipice of the abyss. If the path to the Kingdom's salvation lay in Galcon's death, then Bonvil did not see how. If retribution was at hand, then they would need unity. Knight Bonvil of the Golden Order knelt down and pulled the crown from Galcon's head. Coming to a stand, he placed the crown on his head, *Veritas* still upraised in his other hand. A gruesome coronation. Turning to face the soldiers once more he settled into a fighting stance. "I am sworn." **YOU CAN FIND** **.** **Platypus out.** **Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus

"This isn't a punishment,"

###### "Chriiiist, this thing again?" I said, as my therapist wheeled in another damned droid. "Doc, can't I just put in my time and go? These things feel like freaking ankle bracelets or something." "This isn't a punishment," my therapist said. "I want you to give this a real *chance*." I groaned inwardly. These therapy droids looked straight out of a sci fi flick--all buttons and lights on a sleek shiny surface. I'd seen ten of them already. All with the same result: A disappointed look from my therapist, and an extended timeline from my court order. *Would you like to talk?* the blasted thing whirred. *I'm here to help you heal!* I crept down on my haunches, right next to the thing's sensor. "I'd rather launch you into the sun," I said. My therapist heaved a sigh. When my time was up, I asked her why she was doing this to me. "Because you're worthwhile," she said. "and it's time you accept it." She tilted her head and smiled. See, that's the thing I found so frustrating with her. She was *always* smiling. But did she ever pause to think that, sometimes we're not? Humans, I mean. Sometimes we're steaming bags of shit, and there's no other way to slice it. The worst thing about the droid was the walk up my stairs. The engineers had defeated the complex enigma of instilling human emotions in a tangle of wire, sure, but constructing a robot that could tackle Minneapolis apartments? No way. Too tall an order. The thing just bumped into the bottom step repeatedly with its tire tread, eliciting this electronic sort of purr. They were easier to carry down afterwards, though. At least with me. Broken into a hundred pieces, they were really quite manageable. "Come on, you," I sighed, hoisting the thing up like a suitcase. "Reckon my therapist will write the judge if I don't at least try." Raul spotted me on my way up. His belly peaked from underneath his white shirt. I focused on it instead of his frown. "Late on rent again, Jackie-boy," he said. "You're out in a week." "I'll have it to you tomorrow," I said. He and I both knew it was a lie. In a world full of strangers, I felt he was the only one who saw me for who I was. Because, really, the legends all held true. Minnesotans were *nice*. I would pass folks on the street, eyes bloodshot and hungover, losing count of how many strangers cheerily bade me a good morning. *To hell with you*, I'd think, *and your perfect life too*. Once, a woman in a fleece jacket bought my morning coffee. She was staring at me through the window, waiting for my reaction as I walked up to the cashier. My look had been so searing it could char a steak. "You don't even know me!" I'd yelled through the window. With everyone staring, I threw the damned thing in the trash. But Raul, he *knew*. He saw me stumble up and down the stairs, already wasted come noon. He heard the phone calls with my ex-wife, and he'd always come beating on the door. Oh he knew all right. I was a skid mark personified. A human piece of filth, that not even court-ordered therapists could crack. Raul eyed the droid warily as I walked down the hall to my door. "Don't set off the alarms again, eh!" Raul yelled. "Those things smoke when they break." Inside my apartment, I fished through all the empties, hoping to strike gold. *Salvation,* I thought, clasping a can half-full *Ohhh sweet, sweet nectar.* I took a hearty gulp. The beer was warm and flat. But ever. so. needed. If I could scrape together a few dollars, I'd run down to the gas station and buy a few more. Had I checked the couch last time? *Shall we commence?* the droid asked. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Truth be told, I'd forgotten it was there. Its tires hardly made a sound atop the stained carpet. "Believe me. You don't want to--" But when I turned, I discovered the droid had been fishing through my closet. A slender sort of arm crept out from its chassis, rifling through a shoebox full of my daughter's drawings. Right there in my fucking living room. The beer can skittered on the kitchen floor as I ran over. "No!" I screamed. "You don't go anywhere fucking near those!" I pushed the droid away. It rolled along the carpet, coming to stop against a pile of dirty laundry. *She drew beautifully, you know* My chest felt balled up. All the pent up *bullshit* that life had slung at me coiled inside, knotted as a rope. I crumbled to the carpet, just staring at this thing--this little piece of paper drawn on with crayon--that had torn my life to shreds. "You don't fucking know a *thing*," I hissed. I felt a steel hand on my back. *I do* it said. *Dr. Mayhew briefed me beforehand.* "She..." *She filled me in so there would be no further malfunctions* it said. It paused for a minute, letting me soak everything in. Then it said: *Would you like to talk?* My dead daughter's picture trembled in my hands--me and her, riding our four wheeler. The smile looked so foreign drawn onto my tiny face. *Christ,* I thought. *She'd even drawn the beer in my hand.* I felt emotion release. The bells and whistles--all those gleaming lights of the personal therapy droid--they blurred behind my eyes into one great muddled mess. *I* was one great muddled mess, really. I always had been. Even my daughter had seen it. I only wish I'd done something to clean it all up. As if it sensed all the pain, the droid took my head into its metal arms. "You really won't self-destruct?" I croaked. *No,* it said. *And no longer will you* -------------- **Edit:** If you enjoy emotionally scarred characters struggling towards catharsis, you might enjoy a fresh serial I'm writing about an abused princess who convinces a bitter dragon to kidnap her. The first if that sounds of interest :) More stories at r/M0Zark

Bran used to drive to work before

*The metro seems pretty rough today.* Every few moments the train seems to jostle a little too heavily, causing a few of the passengers to look up, startled. Some go back to looking at their phones or books. Others give nervous little chuckles. The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. Faster than usual, even. It usually takes about twenty minutes to get back to the closest station, but it appears we've only arrived in ten. The car comes to a final stop, and I stand and stretch my legs slightly. Still somewhat sore from my workout this morning. Got to get back into shape, they told me. It helps with the grieving process, they say. Stay busy. Work hard. Don't think about it. The bus makes me nervous now, though it's only a four minute ride from the station. I used to drive to work before the accident, but I can't bring myself to get behind the wheel anymore. I sit in that same seat, where my blood had once soaked into the fabric. Brand new seats now. Instead of the mindlessness of just turning the ignition and getting on my way, all that comes to me is panic. A tight grip on the wheel, unsuccessfully strangling the fear. A smoother ride on the bus, then up the sidewalk. To my surprise, the flowers in front of the house seem well tended here. Splotches of color, heads held high. Healthy. Alive. Strange. It had been raining recently, but I hadn't been paying much attention to the yard. That had been Laura's domain. Maybe they were just late bloomers, waiting for early summer. Whatever. Twist the doorknob, and already I've planned out the rest of my evening. Microwaved dinner, a six pack, maybe a movie and then straight to bed. I liked my routine. It feels good to impose order where I can. In swings the door. Inside, a room full of people. *SURPRISE!* Shock. For a moment my mouth opens and closes like a fish trapped in an aquarium, words attempting to come out by failing time and time again. There's the general hubbub of voices speaking over each other and a few laughs. What day was today? My birthday? No, it wasn't. I knew it wasn't. But all around my house, streamers and banners. *HAPPY BIRTHDAY!* One after another, lining the entire living room. My dining room table brimming with assorted dips and prepackaged food. I could already see the sheen on the cheese cubes, sweating. How did these people get in my house? I barely recognize half of them. My brother comes forward, pushing through the crowd. "Hey buddy, the guest of honor has finally arrived!" What the hell is he doing here? He lives across the country. He's coming towards me, burlier and taller than I seem to remember. His beard has grown out, and he looks like he's lost some weight. But it's definitely him, that giant birthmark still runs down his forearm. "What the hell are you doing here?" It's all I can ask, but he just laughs at the question. "Big surprise, man. Everyone's here. Happy birthday!" "It isn't my birthday." "Sure it is! You must have let it slip your mind." He puts an arm around my shoulder, leading me through before I can ask what's going on. "Look we got all your favorite shit," he's motioning to the table. He's right. There are my favorite chips, dips, and beers. But still, the confusion. "Today is the sixteenth, isn't it?" My brother shakes his head. "It's your birthday is what it is." He shoves a beer in my hand before clapping my shoulder so hard it almost knocks me over. "Look we'll catch up in a few, I got to go check on some shit in the oven." He disappears into the crowd. Who are these people? There are congratulations given to me by strangers, telling me to enjoy my special day. The faces seem to blend together, some of them recognizable, but no one stands to talk to me for long. They return to whatever conversation they've already been immersed in. Someone grabs my hand. "How's the birthday boy?" It's my mom, but she too looks different. Younger, more vibrant. Alien to the last time I saw her. "Mom? What are you doing here?" She laughs and squeezes my hand before hugging me. I haven't seen her like this in God knows how long, not since Dad got sick. Taking care of a dying man can kill the caretaker sometimes. Her dress is a bright floral print, somewhere between red and pink. Great white flowers dot the surface. "I'm so glad you're finally here, we were waiting for so long to set this up." "Mom it isn't my birthday. Where is dad?" I had last seen her looking after a man who couldn't remember his own name or clean up his own shit. Laying in a bed while holes formed in his brain, losing memories. Sometimes he would wake up afraid, and my mother no longer tried to soothe him, merely waiting for him to calm down. Grey hairs, worn clothes, sallow eyes. There's no note of it in her now. She gives a playful scowl, before laughing again. "Of course it's your birthday, silly. Listen, you enjoy yourself, I need to go help your brother in the kitchen." She too, disappears in the crowd. I stand by the table for awhile, eating and drinking. My mood has improved somewhat, and I can't really bring myself to care over the fact it isn't my birthday. There's something comforting in the people now, even though I do not know them. Genuine happiness. That's whats on their faces. Something I haven't had for awhile. Another powerful clap on the shoulders. Why does everyone keep appearing behind me? I'm halfway through a chip topped with guacamole, but turn to see who it is. The chip falls to the floor. "Dad?" "Happy birthday, son!" He's standing. That's impossible. His hair is still gone, but he too sports a beard like my brother's. Arms no longer withered and atrophied, chest no longer chaotically rising and falling, legs no longer thin useless noodles. Someone else. This can't be him. "You're not my dad." He looks somewhat hurt but embraces me anyway. "Of course I'm your dad. Who else would I be?" I want to push him away, but conflating images seem to cross my mind. My nose bleeds somewhat, a thin stream. He hands me a napkin and I wipe it away. "Dad, you're sick. You're very, very sick and shouldn't be up walking," I try to say more but the words won't come. He laughs at me, like I've told the funniest joke he's ever heard. That same booming laugh from when I was younger, it's unmistakable. Like walking into a photo of the past. "Look, we'll have plenty of time to talk in a few minutes. I need to go help your mother and brother in the kitchen." He turns to leave, but I try to grab him, to keep him here. The man I remember and know, not a wasting corpse. "Can't let your brother burn anything in there, you know he can't cook for shit," he calls over his shoulder. Again he's lost in the crowd. I don't know what's going on, but I have to move forward. I have to follow him. I make my way to the kitchen, but the wall of bodies seems tighter and tighter, giving less space to move. An impenetrable human wall. I can't make my way there. Another pull on my hand. I turn, and this time it's a ghost. Laura stands there, her hair kept in a tight ponytail. Same mole on her chin. Same grin. "Happy birthday!" She embraces me, and I no longer want to think about what's happening, I don't care what's going on. I definitely don't give a shit it isn't my birthday. I hold her as tight as I can, but I can't help but notice. She has no heart beat. "Laura, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I can't help it. They spill out, hot and sticky. Regret and guilt. "I shouldn't have gone so fast, I should have paid more attention I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I can't stop. All I can say is I'm sorry. All I can see is the smoke and glass after the sudden screech. An accident on a remote road. A corpse nearly twenty feet ahead of the vehicle, thrown onto the asphalt. Not my wife, but something similar. A bag of meat, brains sprayed and sticky on the hot summer road. Not a woman, not Laura. Laura wasn't dead, Laura would never leave me like that. At the funeral I remember looking at the stillness in her face. All I could remember thinking about was how well a job the morgue had done stitching it back together. But here she stands. Not in a casket, but not alive either. "Laura what's happening?" She presses a hand to my chest. "Do you feel anything?" I stop and pay attention now. *The metro was pretty rough* "Do you notice something missing?" *That metro ride was impossibly fast* I have no heart beat. *The train took some of those turns a little too hard, it must have derailed.* "It happens like this for everyone," she says to me. *I wonder when it happened?* Shock. I have no heart beat. "It's easier to ease people into what comes next this way," she says. Her voice is far away, somewhere on the wind. I can't seem to find the words, but I try as hard as I can. "Do you leave me now?" She shakes her head, and the crowd seems to part. For the first time, silence. "Let's go help your family in the kitchen," and she begins to lead me through the gap in the crowd. "What happens next?" It's all I can ask. "You'll see when you get there," she says. "Don't be afraid." I'm not. I don't care anymore. As long as she never lets go, I don't care what happens next. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ r/storiesfromapotato

The Count returned from the night shift

I woke up in a sweaty sleeping bag when the Count returned from the night shift. Truth be told, I'd hardly been sleeping anyway. The climate down south emanated like a heat blanket. Plus, it was never wise to let your guard down near a vampire, no matter how faithful a travel companion. We'd been traveling together for months now, holing up in one shack or another, and every night I swear he looked at my neck like a long desired delicacy. It was unsettling, sure, but at the same time...there was something I could identify with in the desire. After all, I'd been tracking Bigfoot for years now. And he was finally *so close*. The Count hovered over my bed, beating his furry wings. I stood up from my sleeping bag and bowed. "Your excellency," I said. "Status report?" With a strange popping of limbs, the Count morphed into his true form. He stood pale as moonlight inside our little den. "The beast has moved south," he said in his strange accent. "He's fled to the caves." "Christ almighty," I said. "It's the same story every time." The Count nodded. "There's more..." "Don't tell me." "It appears...on my journey..." "HOOOOLY SMOKES!" cried the goblin. He'd burst through the door of our dingy wood cabin, ugly green face aghast "This place is a dump!" I sighed. "Alright, this again. I'll send this one on his way. Log your findings, then get some sleep. I've got your inflatable coffin hooked up to the air pump." The Count nodded. He shifted back to a bat in the blink of an eye and then off he flew. The little green fellow, meanwhile, was busy pillaging through my sleeping bag, looking for spare coin. "The bat promised treasure," he sneered. "But you ain't got shit." *Yes,* I thought. *That's our problem* The past months had been nothing but discovery. In my quest for Bigfoot, I'd stumbled upon a trove of fantasy. Around every corner there lay a mining camp of dwarves, or in the pools of every mountain lake, there twinkled a school of mermaids. Twenty species, the Count and I had discovered. Including the Count himself. The world was going haywire. It was as if some portal had been opened, and out of it spilled the entirety of human imagination. Things children only read about between pages of hardbacks. Instead of another world war, most people's greatest fear was now perishing beneath dragon fire, or finding a chimera had eaten their poodle. It was a strange new world. Full of sudden discovery. But, I just wanted Bigfoot. After what he'd done, nothing else mattered. Unfortunately for me, all these creatures just got in the way. Except for the Count, of course. He'd proven most useful. But that was only because he hated the beast just as much as me. I hurriedly packed up my gear and prepared to set out. Dawn was crawling up the cabin windows, and the Count had said our mark had fled to the caves further south. As I moved to the door, I'd almost forgotten about the Goblin. "You ain't going nowhere without the likes a'me! You owe me you fuck!" I eyed the vile creature up and down. He looked as if a pile of snot had achieved sentience. "Owe you?" "The bat promised treasure," he repeated. "I'll slit your throat less you give it." Once again, I sighed. If it wasn't a unicorn missing its horn, it was a dragon missing a prized heirloom. These fantasy beasts were a strange breed, always sucking you into quests of one nature or another. A lesser man would have exploded at the goblin, but I kept my eyes on the prize. "Fine. I tell you what. You know the caves, right? Show me to them and I'll get you your treasure." "Fine," the Goblin said. "But you listen here, pale-thing, if you try to--" "Yes, yes, you'll slit my throat. Let's get a damned move on." The Goblin lead me through a forest of brambles. He was a spry little fellow, hopping from one log to another. Along the way, I saw what the Count had meant. Every so often the ground was torn to bits, and clumps of dark fur hung from prickly branches. I stopped a few times to inspect the scene, but the damned Goblin kept running through the woods like a spooked deer, so I pushed my legs onward to keep pace as the little green blur scurried along. Eventually, we stood before a dark cave entrance. Hanging moss dangled listlessly from above, and a there drifted from inside a pungent stench that turned my stomach. If ever there was a hideout for a murderer like Bigfoot, I'd imagined this would be it. My first step echoed through the darkness. The Goblin remained behind. "Not coming?" I asked, already half bathed in the dark. The smell had only worsened. Like rotten meat. "I...don't like the dark," the Goblin said, shyly "You're fucking kidding me." The Goblin screwed up its face in an ugly little frown. "If you tell a soul, I'll--" I held up my hand. "Alright then, suit yourself." I brought my shirt over my nose as I traveled deeper into the dark, feeling my way using the feel of the slick walls of rock. Every so often, a bone went skittering, and I pressed myself against the walls, straining my ears for any sign I'd spooked whatever lay inside. Eventually, a light shone down the way. I crouched down, taking it slow. Beside a luminescent cave pool, there stood a shivering form. I inched even closer. All I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat. Could it be? Was it really *him*? Years and years of searching--of living off berries and wiping my ass with oak leaves, always with the notion of *blood* on my mind--would it finally all end? *Would I finally get revenge?* My heart sunk. No. It was just a man. Standing stark naked. He looked sorta scared. Like he was coming off a bad trip. "You're not Bigfoot." My voice echoed off the cave walls. *Yet another disappointment.* The man jerked his head up. He was disheveled. In need of a good shave. A hermit perhaps. Or some crazed killer. Even as he spoke, I edged my way backwards into the darkness, preparing to make a run for it. "No," said the man. "I'm something much worse..." *Oh, boy, here it comes.* "A werewolf," he said, shame laced in his voice. I heaved a great inward sigh. The Count and I hadn't been on Bigfoot's tail after all... "Of *course* you are," I said, hardly bothering to conceal my irritation. Before he could ask for my help, I turned tail to leave. The Goblin outside the mouth of the cave might present a problem. But his legs were short, and I could outpace him. The Count and I had been misled somewhere along the line. Some forest faerie had mistaken the wolfbeast for something else in the dark of night perhaps. Or an orc had taken our payments and lied. But we'd pick up the trail again tomorrow. No way was I about to give up. As I retreated back through the cave, the man's weeping echoed along the dark walls. They sounded so miserable. So full of pain. Suddenly, I turned back, with an idea burning bright. I'd read all the books as a kid. All these creatures of fantasy--perhaps they weren't obstacles at all. They were orcs with brute strength, and wizards of sly cunning. They were high-flying dragons and unicorns who galloped. I'd simply taken in the Count because we had a like-minded interest. But why not use *all* the tools at my disposal? Back at the pool, the man looked at me, surprised, eyes full of pleading. "Say," I said. "Are you any good at tracking?" ----------- r/M0Zark **Edit:** Hit the 10k char limit, so I've replied with here!

Garp sat on his throne,

"Unhand me you big ugly brute!" The sword's voice echoed in Garp's head. Garp sat on his throne, hand resting on a sword standing erect in a rock as tall as a wagon wheel. "No, I'm the king, you're my sword." Garp said aloud. The surrounding advisors looked back and forth nervously. "Only he with the heart and mind to rule deserves to pull me from the stone and wield me. You are not worthy!" Garp ignored the sword, he had never understood why it was so insistent on talking when it didn't have anything useful to say. He looked back up toward his advisors. "Ahem, right, well, as I was saying, sire, the Chimaera has been terrorizing the villages on the marches. The latest to suffer it's wrath has been Ducane, by the river." "And the army?" "The army is..." He trailed off. "Having difficulty finding volunteers to face the beast. The men seem to view it as a sign from the gods and are none too eager to confront it." "Humph, fine." "My liege?" "I'll deal with it." Grabbing the sword, Garp began to walk out of the throne room, dragging it behind him. "Sire, this is a dangerous beast, surely you would be better served finding a champion. We can send to the Oracle, asking for a hero to be named, have them anointed by the priests, arm them with the sacre\-\-" "I'll deal with it." Garp repeated. Heroes were such a hassle, always going to get prophecies and getting all dressed up in their mythical trousers or whatever. Much easier for Garp to just smash his face into it until it surrendered, that's how he had dealt with life, the last king, the Tallian army, and now he'd do it to this Chimaera, whatever that was. A screeching noise like bone on glass tore through the throne room as Garp dragged his newest possession, the Sword of Kings, and it's boulder, over the smooth polished marble of the throne room. A long Jagged scar marked his path out. ... The path to Ducane wasn't long, Maybe a day and a half by horse, but, with the sword being as obstinate as it was, he couldn't ride a horse. He could have hitched a wagon and hauled the sword that way, but he considered that to be an admission of defeat. So, Garp dragged the sword, all by himself. First down the steps of the palace, with bone\-shaking poundings on each step, then through the muck of the horse\-path filled with filth, then through a brook, bubbling with fish. As he was dragging the sword through a knee\-deep wagon wheel rut of a road, the sword spoke up. "I wish you would stop dragging me through this mud. I'm a legendary sword, have some respect." "I'm a legendary king, *you* have some respect." "You're not a legend, Garp. You're a middling king at best. A middling king in a middling kingdom." "Agree to disagree." Garp said, continuing to drag the boulder through the mud. ... Three days and two rainstorms later, they arrived in the village of Ducane. Or rather, what was left of the village of Ducane. The place had been burned to a crisp, a trail of further burning led up the river, marking the passage of the beast. "Sword, what exactly is a Chimaera?" "Oh, nothing much really, just one of the most fearsome foes ever to walk this earth, three heads: savage lion, poisonous snake, fire\-breathing goat." "Fire\-breathing goat? Who came up with that? Anyways, doesn't sound too bad. I guess I just smash it a few times and...?" "Doesn't sound too bad!? Who came up with it!? The Gods came up with it, you dimwit. Smash it? Yes. Excellent battle plan." "Glad you agree." Garp said as he started dragging the rock north through the path of ashes. "I'm not agreeing! That's the worst plan I've ever heard!" ... A few hours later, they emerged into the village of Pocroix, the Chimaera, standing ten feet tall at the shoulder, was ravaging the village. Screams floated on the air as people fled in all directions. Flames engulfed the church and townhouses. Garp stood for a moment, surveying the scene. "It's a big fella, no one told me it was big, I was thinking like goat\-sized or something." "Goat\-sized? It's a mythical beast of annihilation!" "You said it had a goat head. Whatever, let's get smashing." Garp marched forward down the hill, slowly approaching the Chimaera, dragging his unwieldy sword\-boulder behind him. As he approached the beast, he started shouting at it, throwing stones, trying to get its attention. When he was a few yards away, the snake headed tail whipped toward him with lightning speed. Garp, surprised, let go of the sword and jumped back, slapping at the snake with his hands. The snake lunged again, he smacked it again; it lunged a third time, he got his foot on top of the thing and pinned it. He grappled at the sword\-stone and brought it down on the scaly neck with a crash. "KREEEE," A roar ripped the air, he had the beast's attention now. The goat head, five feet from horn to snout, tongue lolling out, glared at him with demonic hatred as it spewed a stream of liquid fire at Garp. "Ok sword, time to move," Garp said, digging his toes into the dirt as he dragged the sword forward at a moderately fast walk. "This is absurd!" The sword snapped back as flames filled the place they had stood moments before, burning the bottom half of the boulder. The lion head came about as Garp was marching slowly away from the burning pit, a paw the size of a bag of grain flew through the air at his face. Manfully, he yelped and fell on the ground. Another paw dropped toward him from above, but he rolled to the side. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed the hilt of the boulder\-sword and ran toward the beast. Then, using his momentum, he flung the whole thing at the lion head with the utmost aplomb. It smacked the lion squarely in the nose and it retreated with a hiss of displeasure. Garp rested on the sword for a moment. "See sword, it's easy, we just smash smash smash until things go our way, that's my secret. Castle in the way, smash it. Army in the way, smash it. River in the way, well, okay, smashing doesn't always work, but you get the picture." A childlike scream pierced the air. While they'd been battling the lion head, the snake head had recovered itself and now had a small child trapped against a wall, about to gore him with it's three\-foot long, venomous fangs. Garp didn't even think, he loosened his grip on the blade and sprinted as fast as he could toward the boy, tackling the snake\-head out of the air and grappling it to the ground before he started pummeling it with his fists. "Run kid!" He shouted to the boy. Then he noticed, his fists weren't empty, the Sword of Kings was in his right hand, pommel bloody from being smashed hilt\-first into the snake's face. Without a second thought, he spun the sword around and decapitated the first head. An unearthly scream filled the air as the other two heads turned toward him. The goat spewed fire, but it was much too slow, now that Garp wasn't dragging a boulder. The lion swatted at him, but it was met with a sword instead of ducks and rolls this time. Garp charged between the lion's paws and shoved the sword deep into the beast's heart and, as it fell, decapitated the screeching goat. There was a moment of silence. "So... you forgot your rock." "You proved your worth, you were prepared to sacrifice your life for the child." "I was prepared to smash some snakes is what I was." "Don't be coy, you dove at it unarmed, an act of selfless bravery." "Well, whatever I guess..." Garp surveyed the carnage "So, what now? Does this thing have magic blood or feathers or something." "Magic blood? Don't be ridiculous." "Ridiculous? It had a goat head breathing fire, how am I being..." ... So began the long reign of King Garp. A middling king in a middling kingdom, he is long forgotten. His sword, however, went on to have many great adventures, you may even have heard of some of them.

Rob shone his flashlight onto the creature

Rob shone his flashlight onto the creature that was climbing down the cavern wall. "Ugh," he said. "That's one ugly insect." "Not everything can spend five hours preening itself in a mirror before leaving its home," Claire said sarcastically as she leaned in. "Oh look, it's just a harmless little spider." Rob frowned. "Since when did spiders have ten legs?" "Huh. Well... maybe it's a new species." "Yeah? Wait, if we discovered it, that means we get to name it, right?" "I guess so?" "Cool. Once it gets to the ground, I'll christen it as: Arachnid-under-boot." "Don't you dare hurt it!" Claire said sternly. She sighed and turned away, looking for the final member of their small expedition. This spider -- or whatever it was -- was just the kind of thing Michael would be interested in. Might be another addition to the sketch book he'd brought with him. When she saw the smaller boy trailing some way behind them, she gasped. "Michael, you're..." "*What?*" said Michael, his lips trembling as he caught up with them. "What am I? Why are you making that face? Tell me!" He thought he could hear his heartbeat echoing off the cavern walls. "You're uh, you're glowing," said Rob, trying not to grin. Michael's throat rocked as he looked down at his hands. "You mean this, right? My flashlight's glowing." "Bad news buddy," Rob said with a shrug. "Your flashlight's dead. And uh, judging by what must be radiation leaking out of your body, you can't be far behind it." The flash-light tumbled to the ground and rolled down towards Claire's feet. Claire hit Rob in the stomach. "Don't listen to him. It's not radiation." "Then- then what the heck is it? You're the one that wants to be a doctor, so you must know! Tell me!" He could see it now. His skin was leaking light, and it was turning from yellow to white. His shadow even seemed to have run away from him. Claire shook her head. "I have no idea. But I think we should all try to stay calm, okay? I'm sure you're not in any danger, but just to be safe, we're going turn around right now and get you to a doctor. Uh, a *real* doctor, before you say it." "Oh crap, oh crap. We're like... it took us three hours to get this deep down. Oh crap. I knew we should have turned around when we saw that weird statue! Who carves into a rock wall this far down a cave? And two freaking mouths!?" "Relax," said Rob, running a hand through his long blond hair. "You're either going to die before we get you to a doctor, or you're going to be fine. There's no point worrying about it. Hopefully you live, because then we don't have to worry about batteries no more. Just means you'll always have to be at the front." "There's no way I'm-" the smaller boy began indignantly, when he noticed something on Rob's hand. "Have you always had that?" "Huh?" Rob furrowed his brows. "Had what?" "On your hand." Rob looked at his left hand. Fine. He turned his right palm around and let out a shriek. "Oh shit, what's that?" Claire walked over to him. "It's just a lump. Looks like a boil." As she watched, the skin next to it began to twitch. "What's wrong with my hand," he gasped. "Claire?" "It's not just your hand," said Michael, gently touching his own face with a bright white finger. A round patch of skin on Rob's perfect face began to shiver, then raise, then rip open. Finally, it blossomed into something dark and green. Something like mould. Claire recoiled, her face twisted. "Oh God, it's not that bad is it?" Rob asked running his hand over it. "It's bumpier than fucking braille! What's happening to us?" Claire shook her head. "No, it's not bad, it's just... uh... it kind of smells." "Smells? Like what?" She shrugged. "I don't know. Like meat left in the sun or something." As she spoke, another patch of skin erupted on his arm. Volcanoes spewing out spores of mould. "I'm- I'm turning into some kind of... monster." He ran another nervous hand through his hair again. This time, it came back covered in blond locks. "Just... just sit down," Claire commanded, shrugging the bag off her back. "I've got some lotion that might help." "Lotion?" he laughed. "Lotion are you--" A tsunami-like rumble ran down the passageway. Claire could only watch stunned, as a rock came loose from the top of the cavern and landed against the side of Michael's head. His face seem to bounce away from it before he collapsed onto the ground. More rocks fell, somewhere in the distance, but Claire barely registered them. "Michael!" "Oh shit," said Rob. The light from Michael's body was already weakening. By the time Claire and Rob were kneeling by his side, it had extinguished completely. "Shine your light on him," Claire commanded. "On his head. Now!" Rob fumbled with his thickening fingers until the beam spread over the small boy. The side of his head was dented, as if someone had punched cardboard, and their fist had gone all the way through. Claire felt Michael's wrist for a pulse. *Nothing.* Scorching tears screamed down her cheeks. She put her mouth to his and breathed. She knew it was hopeless, but she couldn't stop herself. She had to save him. She *had* to. Then, she pumped his chest with her palms. "Come on, please come back to us, Mike. Please!" After a short fruitless time had passed, Rob dragged her away from the body. "Claire. He's gone. Look at him -- there's no bringing him back. Shh, shh, it wasn't your fault, okay? You did all you could." "He... he only came down here because of us. Because of *me*. I invited him. I thought he might find some stupid creatures for his stupid book." "Shh," he crooned, pulling her into his chest. She barely noticed the fetid smell, or the transformed face. "Listen to me, it wasn't anyone's fault. He chose to come explore this place with us. No one forced him. Not me. Not you." For a few minutes, she sobbed into Rob's chest. It was a strange light that disturbed them. Not white. Grey. Almost black. "What the..." Rob's voice trailed off. Claire looked up at him. She followed his eyes and slowly turned around. "...*Michael*?" she whispered. The boy's head was caved in. Yet somehow, he was standing. Perfectly still. His head was tilted, almost dangling off his neck. His eyes were locked on hers. She didn't need to feel his pulse again, however, to know that he was dead. --- Part 2 (it's somewhere down below): https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8imb1k/wp_a_group_of_teens_gets_super_powers_but_none_of/dytf0sv/ Part 3 (further down) https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8imb1k/wp_a_group_of_teens_gets_super_powers_but_none_of/dythm0u/ If I do any more, it will be over on my sub: /r/nickofnight Thanks for reading :)

My only concerns were food and warmth

My only concerns were food and warmth. My mother provided both. I cried when he took me away from everything I knew. His scent wasn't familiar. He was so big that he could hold me in one of his gigantic, furless paws. Soon I found out that he was a tiny version of the furless ones. His name was Mike. They called him a child. Their version of a puppy. It was tough in the beginning. I missed the only life I had known. I soon found out that Mike's intentions were pure. When I was cold, all I had to do was cuddle up next to him and he shared his warmth with me. He made sure I always had food and water. When my legs got strong, he would play with me until I was so tired that I collapsed next to him in absolute bliss. His scent became the only one I cared about. I learned about the scary place at a young age. Mike always seemed so unhappy when the large furless ones would take me there, but he was always waiting on me when they brought me back to him. The years passed quickly for me, but Mike didn't seem to age like I did. My muscles got sore, my bones got weaker, but Mike was still growing. One day, he held me close and told me that he had to go away to a place called college. I didn't understand the words, but I understood what followed. My heart ached. The scent that gave me purpose was gone. It wasn't the same as when he left in the morning and returned when the sun went down. It wasn't even like the long weekends when he went to see the furless ones he called his grandparents. He was just gone. The other furless ones took care of me, but there was nobody to keep me warm when I curled up in Mike's bed at night. I got so excited when Mike returned. My tail felt like it was going to snap off because it just wouldn't stop wagging. My body was weaker than it used to be, but I just wanted to play. Those few days, spaced out over the course of what felt like several eternities, became my only reason for living. But then they ended and he was gone. I waited by the window for days, hoping he would return. It was always the moment when hope had completely faded that he finally did come back. One day, it all ended. There was a huge party and after that, he was back for good. It was like the old days again. We played, although I wasn't as playful as I once was, and I got to curl up beside him every night. He left during the day, but he always came back. The other furless ones in the house were getting older, and I saw my reflection in their age. They moved like I moved, and the grimaces on their face were similar to the ones I hid underneath my fur. I was so happy to have Mike back, but something wasn't right. I didn't feel like myself. Mike started taking me to the scary place, with the cold tables and sharp things that hurt. He had never taken me there before. That was always left to the other furless ones. In a way, I felt better to know that it was Mike taking me, because I trusted him. He would never let them hurt me. The trips became more frequent. I felt less like myself every time we went. I couldn't even play with my ball, no matter how much I wanted to get up and chase it when it rolled. Mike started to cry when he would hold me. I had seen him cry before, but never like that. One day, he brought me into the room with the hard floor and fed me what he called steak. Mike had fed me a few bites under the table over the years, but for the first time, I had one of my own. I was so excited, but I could barely stand up to eat it. That night, Mike didn't sleep. He held me and cried until the sun came up. I didn't understand why he was so sad. He got ready to leave for the day and reached for my leash. I was too weak to show excitement, but I was happy to go with him until we arrived at the scary place. It was different. Even the scary furless ones in the scary place seemed sad. They took me to the cold table and Mike started crying even more than he had the night before. I felt the sharpness in my neck, followed by unbelievable peace, yet Mike sank to the floor in sobs. *** I was a puppy again! My legs didn't hurt when I stood! My bones didn't feel like fire. My vision was perfect! I could hear everything! I could smell every scent from a mile away! ...but I didn't smell the one I needed to smell. I didn't smell Mike. "Welcome!" It had been a long time since I had hear someone speaking to me in my own language. "Hi!" I turned my head towards the bark and saw a much larger dog staring at me. "I'm Roxie!" "I know who you are, Roxie." The larger dog walked over. "My name is Peter." "Where's Mike?" I looked in every direction. "He was just here. He was so sad, I need to lick his face!" "Those days are over, I'm afraid." Peter sat down with a solemn look on his face. "Look down." I tilted my head towards the puffy surface below me and I saw Mike, but it was like I was watching him on the colorful box in the living room at his house. He was still sobbing and on the table next to him--was me. I looked so old. My fur was more grey than black. "I don't understand." I looked over at Peter. "How can I be here and there at the same time?" "Our lives are different than theirs. We can devote our entire life to them and only touch a fraction of the time they have. You had a long time with Mike, but it will be a very long time before he's ready to leave the world below." Peter sighed. "He'll have children of his own, and they'll probably have puppies as well. One day, Mike will be the one taking his children's dog to the scary place." "Then I'll wait for him." I immediately sat as I did when I was waiting for him to open the front door. "I'll wait as long as I have to." "You can." Peter tilted his head towards a long, glowing like that was made up of every color I had ever seen. "You can walk across the Rainbow Bridge and wait until he joins you." "Perfect!" I let out a woof. "But..." Peter shook his head. "There's something else you should see." In an instant, the world beneath me changed to a dark hue. I saw Mike sobbing, and around him were vile looking creatures. They were reaching, clawing at him, and at times, they grazed his skin. They didn't leave a mark, but there was evil in their intentions. "Mike!" I lunged at the ground, never feeling more helpless. "People, by nature, are what we like to refer to as neutral entities, which means their path is undetermined. Those creatures you see down there are pure evil. They're going to do everything they can to turn Mike from the good person he is into a vessel for their evil deeds." Peter pawed at the ground. "But you can do something about that." "How?" I glared at the scene in front of me and started to growl. "We call it the Sleepless Watch." Peter pawed the ground again. I watched as the entire world unfolded in front of me. I saw the evil creatures, but all over the globe, I saw pets of all varieties fighting with them. There were cats, dogs, cockatiels, parrots, and reptiles bravely fending off the onslaught. "You can cross the Rainbow Bridge" Peter motioned towards the kaleidoscope of light. "Or you can join the fight and stay by Mike's side for the rest of his life, taking care of him the way he took care of you." *** My name is Roxie, and now my watch begins.

Excelsior lay broken across the

Excelsior lay broken across the ground. His blood splattered my face, dripped down the front of his uniform, and his arm lay disconnected, a tangle of muscle and bone and marrow leaking out onto the ground below. Faraday lay somewhere across the street, curled up in a building that had once been a post office. They were both still alive, but they wouldn't be for too much longer. That just left me, standing in the middle of the street, cars burning, people screaming. Half an hour before back up could arrive. Half an hour before I could expect anyone to step in. Half an hour before I could get the long cut spiraling across my face healed up, could stop it from dripping across my lip and down my neck in fat hot blots. The wind called to me, bizarrely, it rolled over my hands. Could he feel it, with his billowing armor, hands drawn across, open wide, palms pointed at the recently downed heroes. One hand for negative. One hand for positive. Energy into pure raw force. "It's a shame you're travelling with Faraday, kid," Negalliforce called out. "I'll give you one opportunity. Run. Run screaming into the night, where nobody will ever find you. Run until nobody can think of you without remembering you as a coward, who left this city to burn. But I am willing to spare you." My heart fluttered in my chest. Excelsior's sword lay on the ground beside him, and drearily, his one working eye (the other blinded years ago, a cruel yellow) flicked over to me. His mouth worked. "Do it." he grunted. "Even your boss doesn't have faith in you." Nega said, plaingly, stepping forward. With a swish of his hands, the cars danced around them, battering popping like hand grenades. I gestured and deflected the miniscule shrapnel away with a gust of wind. The only thing I could do. Just... brief gusts of wind. Useless here. What could I do? "Gale," Excelsior said. "This isn't your battle. And he will leave you alone. Go. Leave us here." My hands clenched into a fist, tightly. I was so tired of running. And I could taste blood on my face. and I was so fucking useless. "Well? You're going with the option where I fucking kill you?" Nega asked. A glove slid into the air and I felt the positronic energies, normally suppressed by Faraday's tempering aura, swim into existence. I stared into his eyes for a long moment, and swallowed down the terror. I only had to hold him off for thirty minutes, and then the reinforcements would get here. Only had to trade myself for thirty minutes, and lives would be saved. This is what I signed up to be a hero for. Nega took another step forward, and I slammed the growing windstorm into my feet and sped forward. There was a moment of surprise, but he reacted well before I could take advantage of it. The back of his hand. Not even the whirring cloud of death he could gather, but the back of his hand, slammed into my face, and sent me back, skidding, then onto my back. Something sharp hit me. Something painful. I was bleeding. A single hit. Almost taken out. Nega pushed a single palm towards me and charged. Negative energy, the likes of which could burst open a building like a swollen grape. Would blow me apart. I wasn't nearly as durable as Faraday was, after all. "Gale..." my mentor said. "Get out of here. He outranks you too much." I stood up and drew Excelsior's sword from my bleeding back. The blade ate into my armor, through it until it touched the skin. I'd only have a few seconds before it started to eat into the bone, since I was not worthy to hold it. But I only needed to hold it for a few seconds. My legs bled and burned. But I only needed to hold out for a half hour. I kept telling myself that, and kept pushing forward, though blood wept into one of my eyes and sweat rolled off of my limbs. The energy blast came at me and wind rimmed the side of my borrowed blade, and I cut through it. Energy lanced to the side of me and blew chunks out of the road, set the air on fire and crackled with determined force, but I kept sliding forward. The hilt devours the skin of my hands, but I kept moving forward, piece by piece, foot by foot, until Nega could see the wild of my eyes. "You really think you're worthy of a last stand against me?" Nega asked, grimly, cracking his knuckled underneath of his colored gloves. I swallowed and batted another blast of energy to the side. It cut through a building, evacuated, and sent it tumbling into the street. I could smell my hair burning where it had cut across the wild mane of my hair behind me. "It's not about being worthy," I said, grimly. My heart thudded in my chest and my hands shook. Then I quoted from the Brawler, the first hero. "It's about doing the right thing. It's about living for something greater than yourself. It's about looking at yourself and realizing that you were put here, for this moment, so you could fight for those who cannot." Excelsior laughed raggedly behind me and slowly crawled to his feet. "So that you may trade your life, so they can live. Ha. I didn't know you were a quoter." "Pathetic," Nega said, and the street erupted into fire as he pointed down at the ground. "You're trying to trade time for your life?" He laughed as fire lashed at my legs and my outfit, rated to take on abrasive threats rather than flame (my powers were better suited for dealing with flame, and yet, there was nowhere to divert it when it came from everywhere at once). "Let me let you in on a little secret, Gale. D rank. Nearly flunked out of every combat class, but managed to eek out a passing grade on the knowledge portions. Law portions. Asthetic portions. Useless hero. Will die, and be a martyr." I stared at him. "I read your file. Very cute," Nega laughed. "But back up isn't coming. Won't be coming soon enough to save this pathetic town. They're distracted, you see," His grin split his mask so that his lips were visible. "They're just learning that they've been infiltrated by Manny the Faces." My stomach dropped. B class villain. Shapeshifter. Previously known to only cause trouble, had recently been involved with intel theft from the united nations. "So they'll be too busy to send help at the moment, while they figure out who has been compromised." He fingers swathed with glowing energy, he leered across my legs, staring at the flames spreading. I smothered them, and tried to ignore the burning pain settling across my hands. It wasn't about me. It was about surviving. "Are you really surprised? How else did I know here Faraday would be for the attack?" My teeth grit in my head and I swallowed back the pain. It wasn't about me. It was about everyone else surviving. "So I can play with you." "But...?" I asked. The sword screamed inside of my head as it touched against my nerves. I was not the right bearer. I was not the right person for this job. But I was the only person. "You're not worth playing with." A limited popped off the side of his armor, rank with anti matter and cored surplus power, and I stared at it as it rolled across the ground, burning the stone as it flicked about. "And now, Gale, you die." I could feel the heat rising across the air around him as his glee increased. I had a single stupid idea, watching him. A single, incredibly dumb thing that would never have occurred to me in better circumstances. A moment that would stick with me. I tugged on the air in his lungs and sent it squirting out of mouth and nose. His eyes went wide, and he laughed, coughing, wheezing slightly. "Pathet-" But his eyes had been closed for just a second. Just a moment. Just enough for me to close the gap, my shoes protected from leaving a noise from a gust of wind that sent me sailing forward, through the air. A perfect arc. A perfect, lovely arc. His eyes shot open and he met mine, bloodshot, near death, wanting nothing more than to end this. Inches from his chest, the sword gleamed an elder red. My blood. Maybe Excelsior's. Maybe something else. Then it slipped through his armor like butter, and then farther inside until it slammed through one of his lungs and out, hitting the open air. The heat radiating off of his body burned my skin and battered my muscles. It hurt. It hurt like nothing else. But this was no b-lister who would die as easily as being impaled. This was an S class villain. The kind that could take over small countries. The kind that would take losing a lung in stride. But in that moment, he was surprised. Confused. Concerned, looked at me like I was an alien. My hands shook, but I had to keep it up. So the blade, eating and feeding on my flesh, that left my hands burning bleeding messes as it ate at my nerves, flicked out as he stared at me, blood beading down his lips, and I twisted, flicked up, and drove through his neck. Things were severed, and his arms let off twin blasts of energy that melted the buildings around me, shrapnel, molten flecks of metal. He screamed. I screamed. We screamed. Then his eyes went soft. And I was standing there, and everything was quiet. Utterly quiet. What courage I had left me all at once and left me prone, across him, hands dripping with gore, ichor, and metal polish. Then I slumped completely and laid there, with only the sound of burning asphalt and the smell of my own boiling skin as company. But I, Gale. Had done it. I'd finally saved the damn day. ----- https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, go here. Feel free to comment. Anyone want a second part? ---> for the second part https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8iztws/gale_and_the_aftermath_second_gale_bit/ Third part: https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j09nu/gale_rising_part_3_of_the_hero_project/ fourth part https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j0vvm/gale_rising_part_4/ https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j4fgj/gale_rising_part_5/ https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j5tpz/gale_rising_part_6/

Raymond had never been the most athletic

Raymond had never been the most athletic of men, but there was a sunken pallor to his skin, visible even to Lily's untrained eyes. She pushed the cup of cocoa across the table, then watched as he kept his head down, tapping the sides of the ceramic as he collected his thoughts. In fact, he looked so positively wretched that all she wanted to do was to pull him close, hug him, then assure him that everything would be alright. It was the least she could do for the man who had helped turn her life around. Yet, the dire messages over the phone still echoed in her head, fanning tiny embers of caution burning at her core. And one of them was, *You're not going to like what I have to say to you.* "You know you only have to ask if you need anything," she said. "So if you've come to ask for a favor, don't even think about it. If it's money, I'll give you all I have, God knows that I'd probably be dead without you anyway. If it's something you need done, rest assured, I'll do everything that I can to-" "It's about your daughter, Lily. I... I came to confess something." The embers caught fire, and the blinding nausea left her breathless for a moment. Heather was her only daughter, her only kin in the entire world. This felt so much more... real than she had imagined. "Is Heather fine? She hasn't called me in a week, I just thought she was busy. Should I go now? Is she in the hospital or something? Is she-" "No, no, Heather is fine. She's fine. I promise. I just met her yesterday. Fitter than a fiddle." "Then... when you said you had something... to confess..." Raymond sighed, then sipped from the cocoa. "I thought you should know the truth. When I helped you get back on your feet all those years ago, I didn't do it out of the kindness of my heart. I did it because I was eyeing your daughter, Lily. She... was pretty to me, beautiful, even. You remember when she graduated from university and spent a gap year overseas? Actually, I was her lover there. I was the one she didn't want to tell you about. I was the bastard who broke her heart when I tired of her. And I wanted to tell you, I'm sorry for any pain I have caused." Years of memories rushed through Lily's mind, a torrential flood cascading down a cliff, and though Lily forced herself to maintain at a distance, she still found herself stained with the vaporous mists of the waterfall. She recalled the time when she had gone from door to door, asking if anyone would hire cleaning help. How Raymond had sat her and Heather down at his table immediately, feeding them even before starting the interview proper. The way he had not only advanced her pay, but how he had arranged for accommodation for them, ensured that they were somewhere safe. Lily had initially kept her guard up around him, but the selflessness with which he had showered her and Heather with care and affection had eventually weathered her defenses away. He was the father she never had, the person she could count on without fail. He had offered to walk Heather to school, had taken them out for ice-cream when his schedule permitted, had even turned up in court as a character witness during the final days of the divorce proceedings. Through it all, Raymond had never asked for anything, not once. If he were to be believed, it was only because he had preferred to *take*. "No, no, no... no..." "I'm very sorry, I really am." "Why... why did you have to tell me any of this? Why?" "I'm... you see, I knew Heather would never tell you. Why would she? She's happily married now, and my affair with her is so long in the past. But... the guilt, Lily. It eats at me. I'm sorry that I took advantage of my position, and I... I can't look myself in the mirror for it. Even though my secret was safe, I was not happy. I had to confess, to look you in the eye and to apologize." "Apologize? You think apologizing to me makes it fine?" "No, I didn't. But I had to-" *Calm yourself,* thought Lily. *Stay in control.* But she found that she couldn't. The impossible situation that she had been put in, the demands placed on her, threated to snap her fragile state of mind. Lily lunged forward, seized the plate of cookies between them, then flung them at Raymond. She saw him blink just before the confectionary connected with his forehead. "You scum!" she said, the tears coming to her eyes. "I knew it! All you men, all the same!" "No, not all men... just me..." "Did you know how heartbroken you left her? Did you know how she was driven to the bloody wall? And how much I died inside, knowing that my baby was suffering overseas and there was nothing I could do about it?" "I know. I tried my best to make it easy on her, but then..." "Raymond! Don't you see! That's not all of it! That's not even half of it! It's the fact that... it's *you!* What happened to your... to your philosophy of making the world a better place for everyone? What happened to your promise of doing all you could for others around you, making sure that there was a net positive with your time on earth? Of always choosing the best outcome to ensure maximum happiness and minimum sadness?" "I still believe in that, Lily," he said, as his knuckles whitened around his cup. "I really do. That's why I'm here. I'm here to try to make things right." "You can't! You can't come in and expect me to give you the forgiveness you crave!" Lily slumped back down into her chair, her sails out of wind. "That's... so selfish, Raymond. You drove Heather and me apart, and then you dared to... stick your nose back in, just to get us to reconcile. I thought you were an angel... but you were only doing it because you were guilty. Guilty as sin." Raymond looked up, skin on his face drawn taut. "Is there... anything I can do to make things right for you?" "Yes, there is. Get out of my house, and never come near us again. Not me, not Heather. Stay the hell out of our lives. But don't ever let anyone say that I am an ungrateful person. For all the good you've done for us, I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. But let me be clear, you are dead to me now, Raymond. Take your false virtues, your fraudulent worldviews, your two-faced lying acts... and leave. You sicken me." "Just remember, Lily. There is still good in people out there. I was just... weak." "Spare me your lies. Why are you even still here? You're a stranger to me now, seating in a chair I did not offer. Out, out!" "Wait, hang on. If I should die anytime soon, Lily, I just want you to know that-" "I don't care if you want to die right now! Just do it outside of my house!" *Did that go too far?* she thought, as she watched Raymond closely. She thought he was going to argue his case again, but he evidently thought he had done enough. His features relaxed, and a quiet peace took root in his posture. Raymond bent to retrieve those cookies around him, then turned for the door. He didn't look back once, and the door closed on the benefactor who would never again speak a civil word with Lily. --- Lily counted the seconds as the adrenaline seeped away. A full five minutes after the *ding* of the apartment elevators in the distance indicated that Raymond had left, she sprinted to the windows, then watched as the last trails of Raymond's car disappeared around the corner. She closed her eyes, focusing on the breeze on her face. The choice had been made, it was over. Lily unlocked her phone, then scrolled through her call history list to the number just before Raymond's the day before. The number had not yet been saved. She tapped it with her thumb, and the call connected within two rings. "Is it done?" "Yes," she said. "I hope it wasn't too... difficult." "It was, much harder than I thought it would be." "Good. You see, he has to believe that you believed *him*." "I know. And I think... he did. There was relief in his eyes, just as you said." "Thank you, Lily. You're one of the first few people he's trying his ridiculous plan with, and all it would take is for someone to misplay their part, and the cards will come tumbling down. Leave it to him to devise the sort of lies which are just vile enough for us to hate him, but not toxic enough that it kills off all the good he's done for us over the years. I know what that clever shit's thinking - I bet he fancies this as his own form of chemotherapy, his way of selectively cutting himself out of *our* lives." "How many... more do you think he will reach out to?" "Oh... I don't know. Another ten, twenty? I'm guessing he's adding his personal touch on the ones closest to him. The rest he's outsourced to me. I've got a crap load of false stories and untruths to sow yet." "You sure that this is the best way?" The voice on the other end laughed, and the guilt crushing Lily's heart lifted slightly. "You know how Raymond is with his plans, and how stubborn he can be. If this is all that he wants from us, I'm more than willing to give it. Listen, I'll talk more with you soon, but I've got another few people to call now. If they are all going to be like you, demanding all sorts of proof before agreeing to help, then I've got to start now. Raymond's going to be visiting them soon." "Wait! How much more time does he have?" Silence for a moment. "Not enough, Lily. Not enough." --- /r/rarelyfunny

I counted as my feet hit each

One. Two. Three. I walked and counted as my feet hit each square. I made sure to step precisely in the middle. I didn't want to have to restart today I can't afford to be late. I carefully made my way to the park. Slowing down for passersby. I made sure not to misplace my foot. Exactly in the middle. 500. Five hundred squares so far. Halfway. I stopped for a second to look up at the sky. It was a bright day sparse clouds in the sky. My eyes laid on a cloud that had a straight sharp edge. Almost as if someone had cut it with a knife. Looking, either way, I could see that the straight edge continued for at least as far as I could see around the tall buildings of New York. Interesting. 501. I adjusted my yoga mat and continued to the park placing my foot in the exact middle. The beast inside me that said everything had to be just right was consoled each time I placed my foot perfectly in the middle. A smaller square in the concrete almost ruined the peace inside as it crept up on me. I adjusted my foot for its odd size and continued. It was odd that square or rectangle had never bothered me before. My heart sunk now that I had seen it. I hope I wouldn't have to find a new way to the park. I tried to push it out of my mind focusing on placing my feet directly in the middle of each square. 998. The small fence opened up in front of me. Grass flooded the area beyond. 998. I had walked this path so many times and never had the number seemed so wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it, why was it that 998 seemed wrong? "Jack!" someone called from inside the vast grass pool. The figure ran toward me. His perfect gait appeased the beast inside and his hair, the long dark hair streamed behind him. As he ran he started to pull it back into a bun. "Hey," The man, David, said not slightly out of breath. "I wasn't sure you would come. We are over here today." I walked behind him my pace matching his perfectly. He pointed to a spot next to another one of his students. "Right here, Jack, Harmony here doesn't bite," He winked at me. The expression seemed to fit David, it looked natural and kind. He moved back toward the front where is mat was already laid out. I unrolled my mat and after a few adjustments, I had it just right. There was a man further down the line that had his mat a few inching behind the rest. The beast welled inside, urging me to go fix it. I took a deep breath and focused on David. The beast calmed. Yoga was new to me. I had read and studied every night since I had met David and he invited me to join. He had told me "It may do you good," and If the yoga didn't, seeing him again would. I tried to perfect each pose. Each time I performed one subpar, the beast inside vowed the next time I would have it perfect. David asked us to sit in Lotus position last. "Just relax and feel your breathing, focus on it. Let it connect your spirit to nature." I found that last bit the only flaw with David. This hippy mumbo jumbo did sit well with the beast, I knew inside that Nature was not ordered but random. I could not control it and that fact bothered me. "Alright that is it for this class," David said. He walked me to the fence. "How was it?" He asked. "It was, good, I liked it," I lied trying to smile and not let on that I knew full well this lesson would spawn misery and tireless hours of perfecting each pose. He pulled his hair out of the bun and let it fall. The beast inside purred like a kitten as it landed perfectly on his shoulders. There was not one strand I felt the need to adjust. "Well, thank you for coming. I will see you in a few days, yeah?" I looked into his eyes, the beast urged me, "Yes, of course. Is that exactly the same time?" "Yes." "Same place?" "In the park, yes. Again, thank you, I have to run." I watched him run back toward his mat. I guess I hadn't asked that question right. The urge to clarify, to say that I wanted to know if we would be in the same exact spot pushed on my chest but, the chance to see him again helped push down and settle the beast. I turned placing my foot in the first square. One. Two. Three. I stopped again at the rectangular square. Had it always been here? I looked up at the bright sky. The clouds directly above me again had that odd straight edge. My gaze fell on the building beside me. The storefront change lined up exactly with the line of the clouds and the line in the sidewalk. What was here? Something had been here. This used to be a perfect walk. Not rectangles I was now sure of it. I looked at the out of place transition in the storefronts. Something had changed. I felt like I knew what was here but my mind would not settle on what it was. I stared closer, the beast began to rise up. Urging me to fix it. I pressed against the seam in wall pushing my face up to examine it. My hands passed through into the wall on either side of the seam. I yanked them out The world seemed to unfold at this spot. Widening. I backed up to look at the new store that unfolded before me. The sign read. The In-between, Coffee, and Tea. **** Hey, thanks for reading. I have other writings here r/Okay_writing.

Two weeks ago, I woke up

Singing, right? It was probably singing. Innocuous, generally cheerful, and a totally normal reason to wake up famous in a giant fucking mansion and have everyone revere me for something I. Can't. Remember. Okay. Here's the lowdown. Two weeks ago, I woke up in a stranger's bed, in a stranger's home. As a 24\-year\-old not completely ugly woman, my initial reaction was complete and utter panic. I startled out of the bed so quickly that I nearly broke my ankle. But I was still wearing all of my pjs from the night before, and it was a freaking Wednesday--I haven't gone out on a Wednesday since my days in uni. Then shit got really, really strange. My phone was plugged in next to me, fully charged. Three photographs were hanging above the bed. A picture of me with my parents, a picture of me with my little brother, and a picture of me with Jeffers, my lovely border collie. The bedroom was decorated perfectly--just the right amount of white and black, clean vases with white flowers on two bed stands, an alarm clock right next to me reading 9:43, and a splash of color on the curtains by the window. And then Jeffers ran up to me and jumped up on the bed, snuggling right in as if he had lived here for all of his 24.5 dog years. I mean, seriously. I just about threw up. The rest of the house shared the immaculate qualities of the bedroom. And it was massive. A media room, hottub, pool, master bedroom, giant kitchen, tasteful living room, and a wine cellar I could get lost in. It was morning outside, so I didn't feel quite so spooked walking through the house, especially because the natural light seemed to reach every nook. Also, my name was everywhere. "Tara Wick" read the plaque above the stove. I found another one in the office above my desktop computer. And again, in the wine cellar, *on the freaking labels of all the bottles.* Some of them dated back to the 1980s. They all had the same design, like a seal had been commissioned to my name, and I had just decided to put it everywhere. It was definitely way too tacky for my liking, but I had more pressing issues, like "what the fuck is going on?" and also "no, really, what the fuck is going on?" I also found the "Tara Wick" on the car keys which I discovered in the exact drawer where I would have chosen to put them. The car keys to a red Huracan Spyder Lamborghini. My dream car, worth around $265,000, which I soon found sitting unlocked in the garage. What does a normal person do in that situation? I honestly don't know, but I can tell you what I did. I sat in the car for ten minutes. I pressed the power button and listened to it roar to life, a truly hormone inducing purr. Then, I turned around, walked back to the kitchen, and tried to catch my breath. Jeffers brought me his food bowl, and I began to act on autopilot. The pantry was easy to find; I got Jeffers his two scoops of kibble from his normal brand with the same cup I had used the day before in my tiny one\-person apartment. Right as I was about to put down the bowl on the Jeffers' very same dog towel, a woman walked in. "Good morning--" she said. "Bloody Fucking Christ who the hell are you?" I responded, dropping the dog food everywhere and nearly peeing myself from surprise. Jeffers didn't mind the mess and began to eat. "I'm Jessica, your personal assistant," Jessica replied. Brunette. Probably three years older than me, but definitely prettier. Her hair was straight and silky. I instinctively put a hand up to my black curls. "You have a very busy schedule today, Tara. Would you like me to tell you your schedule?" "Uh. Sure." I said. "At 11:00, you have a meeting with Sir David Attenborough for tea. Don't eat too much, you'll be seeing Sir Ian McKellen at 12:30 for lunch. You'll have time for a quick nap, and then its dinner with the American Ambassador. They want to talk about bringing in some higher ups to potentially meet you, but it's a little bit of a drive, so we will have an escort for you, of course. Oh, and Eden Hazard has asked to take you clubbing tonight. Made a sizeable contribution to our charity, too. I penciled him in, but just leave whenever you want to. All of those soccer players are harmless." Jessica seemed so very calm. "Can you, maybe, repeat that? A little bit slower?" I asked. Jessica simply nodded sympathetically. "I know you are stressed about seeing the Queen tomorrow, but don't worry! It will actually be quite easy. They gave you the whole day, it will be so much less running around than usual, you'll see," Jessica said. "Go hop in the shower, Tara. I'll pick out all the outfits you'll need for the day while you are in there." What does a normal person do in that situation? I still don't know. But I showered. I got dressed in a stylish blazer for my meeting with Sir David Attenborough. And then I drove there, in a Lamborghini which apparently belonged to me, with the coordinates that Jessica had provided. After David offered me a surprisingly gracious hug, as if he had known for years, and called me "Tara, darling," we sat down. I came right out with it. "Sir David--" "Please, call me David." "David, please. What the hell is going on? I'm not famous, but this morning I woke up in a strange hou--" David cut me off with loud, forced laughter. Then he shook his head slowly at me and brought a finger to his lips. There was a deep sadness in his eyes. "So, you were going to ask me about my favorite documentary series?" David asked. What could I have done? Bullied one of England's most famous figures and loved grandfathers into giving me the information I required? I let it go. We had a conversation about nature. I'd ask Ian McKellen. But Ian McKellen gave me a similar response, even more visceral, the fear palpable on his face. I didn't trust the American Ambassador, a Woody Johnson fellow who seemed overly interested in when the President of the United States was going to get to meet me. And when I tried to casually ask Eden Hazard how he knew me, he pretended that he didn't understand English. Two weeks passed this way. My every need was catered for, but I was kept so busy that I couldn't find anytime to actually be alone. When I tried to call any of my old friends, or my family, I got no response. Texting was the same. I was a prisoner, in the nicest prison the world had ever constructed, meeting amazing, world\-famous people every single day. But I definitely wasn't happy. And ever since my date with Eden Hazard, I knew that I had to escape. I decided to take Jeffers for a midnight stroll. I knew that as soon as I left the house, they would be after me, but I still paused as soon as I left the door of my mansion. Every street light was on, but not a single house had any lights on inside. Too quiet. Jeffers and I walked for 30 seconds, and then lunged into a sprint, rounding the corner of the suburb and ducking down into a wooded pond area by the side of the road. The sirens started almost immediately, and I could hear movement behind me. "Jeffers, let's play fetch, okay buddy?" I said, removing his special orange ball full of treats. "Go get it!" I whisper yelled, and I threw with all my might. Then I moved in the other direction, ducking behind two trees. Jeffers barked happily through the cool air, and as soon as he began to do so, I heard men and women begin to shout. "Tara? Is that you? What are you doing out so late?" Jessica. "We cannot lose her." Another woman. I recognized the voice. Surely...not Theresa May? "Tara? Where are you? We just want to keep you safe." A man's voice. And then another, directly below me. "What if she gets away?" Another man. His arms were held in front of him, as if holding a gun, but it was difficult to see for sure. The figure of his friend held a similar posture. "We would know," the man's friend responded. "Tara can't get away. She's the cure."

Drew dropped his gun, staring at

"Congratulations, you have passed Phase One. Phase two begins immediately. Good luck." We all froze, looking around in confusion. Drew dropped his gun, staring at the sky as we turned to him for guidance. He was the group's leader, as symbolized by his heavily tattooed torso. One tally for each life taken, one star for each group destroyed, and one X for each time he beat someone who challenged him. All in all, they were too numerous to count. So when that strange voice seemingly broadcasted from the sky, we turned to him to tell us what it meant. "What's phase two, boss?" Charlie asked, scratching his head with the butt of his gun. "Who was that?" "Dunno," Drew grunted. "I thought you said there were no others around." That was directed towards me. As the leader of the scouts, it was up to me to know who was who and where they were. "There aren't," I answered. "The closest group is two towns away. That wasn't them." "Then who was it?" he demanded. Sweat trickled down my back. Drew wasn't one to be messed with. I'd seen him kill a person for a lesser offense than not knowing something one was supposed to. His ruthlessness was what made him a great leader. In this world, feelings weren't a good attribute. You had to not care to make it in life. "Michelle," he repeated. "Whose voice was that? Where did it come from?" "I don't know," I repeated. He picked up his gun, eyes narrowed. "But I'll find out! Let me go find out!" I turned and hurried in the opposite direction, hoping I wouldn't feel the pain of a bullet in the back. I motioned for the rest of my scouting team to follow. Once we rallied back at base, my team turned to me. Here, I was the leader. Drew didn't matter when it came down to what I did best. I'd always been good at gathering information and getting people to trust me. Even before all of this happened. I shook my head, refusing to let the memories flood my head once more. They weren't happening too frequently anymore, but when they did, it still hurt. Life before now was meaningless. It didn't matter anymore. Not after so many people died so quickly. The virus didn't discriminate. It wiped out half the earth's population in two months. Two months later and we were left with whoever managed to escape it's reach. Whatever it was that made us immune to it's deadly fingers didn't matter once it was over. We were left with nowhere to turn but to and against each other. I've been with Drew since the beginning, which was why I needed to figure out who's voice that was. "Rickie," I said, turning towards my right hand man. He stood up straighter, pulling his long, red hair into a ponytail. "Take two people with you and go scout out that camp over up in Shoreline There weren't very many of them but maybe there's more hiding somewhere close. Don't engage, this is just recon." He nodded, grabbing Sylvia and Jackson on his way out. "Julie," I said, turning towards the tall, blonde on my left. "Head West. See if someone could be hiding out in the city. Same as Rickie. Recon only." She headed out, with Brandon and Manuel. I turned to Andre and Lee, who were awaiting my command. "That voice came from the sky, right?" They nodded. I bit my lip, pondering what it could have been. There had been no planes in the sky. Not for a very long time now. It was seldom that a helicopter passed overhead, but we definitely would have heard it. "What do you think it meant?" Lee asked. "Phase two. Phase two of what?" "I don't know," I answered, frustrated. I hated not knowing something. Knowing things was my job. It always had been. "But we'll find out." I pulled out the maps we'd made. Three states. We'd been travelled through three states in the last five months. Drew's final goal was to reach Alaska. He thinks paradise awaits, that the virus couldn't have possibly reached that far north. But I think that just like everywhere else we've been, there's nothing left. But Drew was the leader and no one wanted to cross him. Last time someone suggested we head somewhere else, he killed them on the spot then immediately ordered Alejandro to add another tally on his bicep. The map showed the area of Washington we were in. We were headed towards the Coast Guard base in Seattle to steal one of the boats. I'd marked the surrounding areas where we knew people were. The only place around here we knew for sure had a small group of people, about ten or so, was Shoreline. The last group we passed had been in Portland. Mostly people stuck to big towns but with there being so few of us left, we rarely saw anyone these days. But Seattle was big. There could be plenty of people hiding out there. "What are you looking for, Michelle?" Andre asked. "I don't know yet," I mumbled. I figured that whoever had broadcast their voice had to have been close, but we definitely would have seen them." Nerves wracked me. I didn't want to know what would happen if I didn't come up with an answer that would satisfy Drew. I didn't want to become his next tally. I opened my mouth, ready to tell them that we were going to scout East, when an overwhelming sound crackled through the air. It took me a while to figure out what it was. It had been so long since I'd heard it, but once I figured it out, it was unmistakable. The feedback from a loudspeaker faded as a man cleared his voice. "Sorry for the delay," he boomed. "Phase two is now beginning. Good luck." After a heartbeat of pause, the ground erupted in a violent shake. A loud sound came from the south as the ground shook once more. I fell, trying to catch myself on the table. "What the hell was that?" Lee asked, helping me stand. "I have no idea." We walked outside and looked to the south. I froze. A giant cloud rose in the air. But it wasn't a cloud. It was ash. From a giant mountain. The ash rose in a giant pillar from the volcano's peak. The ground shook once more as a the earth burped violently, shooting more ash into the air. I gasped as I fell over once more. The earth trembled and shook. Buildings creaked around me. Trees swayed and branches fell. The once motionless streets moved in waves. Whatever was happening, it wasn't normal. Drew and the others emerged from the gymnasium as we all gathered in awe. The ash spread in a terrifying blanket that blocked out light. "Look!" someone shouted, pointing north. Similar columns of ash rose intermittently throughout the skyline. "Volcanos!" I'd say it felt like the apocalypse, but after the last depressing year, the word no longer held meaning. As the sky fell around us, I looked west. If we had any hope of making it now, of outrunning these volcanoes, we'd have to move towards water. Good thing Drew seemed to be thinking the same thing. He quickly ordered everyone to move. We piled into the trucks that had just been refilled with siphoned gas and headed towards the base. I hadn't gotten a chance to scout it yet, but if anyone was there, there weren't going to stand in our way. As we drove further away, the ash didn't fade from the air. I only hoped that this plan would work, although I had a sinking feeling that whatever that voice meant by phase two, this was only the beginning. *** For more of my writing see Planning on adding a Part Two tonight -- thanks for reading!

The bitter stench of Lana's

###### The bitter stench of Lana's death still coats my throat. I can still see her smile, the dimple in her cheek every time I said something funny, the tiniest quirk upwards of her lips whenever she was trying not to laugh. Gosh, I wish we could just help those people, she said once, her eyes glued to the television. I was cooking eggs at the time, and I plated them before turning to see what she was talking about. On the screen, the protestors raised their signs and asked for justice for their loved ones. And the president said that the shooting wasn't on his orders. That the person who had been responsible had been fired. Two lies in quick succession. At that time, she hadn't known about my ability. My mother had told me that having power was a dangerous thing, and to never tell anyone about my own. People will use you, she said. They will run you under a microscope and lock you up like a lab rat. That message has stayed with me ever since. I never figured out how I knew people were lying. But, five years into our relationship, I finally told Lana my biggest secret. Instead of running away screaming, she thought it was the most amusing thing. She would say all sorts of tiny lies, like what shade of lipstick she was wearing that day--pink when it was really lilac--and force me to guess if she was lying. And every time after, she would laugh, her voice like the clear tinkle of wind chimes. And she would ask me when I planned on using my ability for good. To help the world in a way that no one else could. I always put it off. Later, I would tell her, then kiss her on the forehead as if I was placating a child. And I was placating her, because I had no intention of using it to do anything. My dream was to live a simple life with her, have some children of our own, and to live peacefully. That was all. And it should have been all. Except I can still hear the ringing of the telephone that day that felt so ominous. I had looked at the unknown number for a while before deciding to pick up. Hello? Hi, Mr. Lancaster. Lana Smith listed you as her emergency contact, and we're calling you because she's currently in the hospital... I couldn't hear the rest over the buzzing in my head, the pen in my hand blurring as I wrote down the hospital's address. I couldn't even remember when I had gotten the pen and paper. The hospital. I needed to get to the hospital. The drive was short, almost shorter than I'd believed possible, just ten minutes from my apartment running through red lights to get there, but it was already too late. A man--a boy--was sitting there, his face in his hands. He walked up to me when he saw me, his face contorted into an expression of regret. "I didn't mean to hit her. I'm sorry, dude," he said. He had sandy blonde hair and neon shorts. He looked just twenty. A frat boy. Two lies. I wanted to hit him, to smack him then and there, but I held it in. I didn't have the effort to even consider why he had lied. To consider why he might have wanted to kill her on purpose. Maybe he was a scorned lover, maybe her attendance at the protests had pissed off his father. I didn't know, and I didn't care. I wanted him dead. He went to court. His rich politician daddy got him off easy, and I watched in the back of the booth as he cried snake tears for a jury that took it all in like rats snorting sugar. For the first time in my life, I felt an anger unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I saw red. I was going to kill that man. It was several moments later before I came to my senses, face pressed against the floor with the security officer's knee in my back. Apparently I had tried to attack the boy. I didn't remember it. They let me go because "they understood." And for the next ten years, I made it my life's mission to become *the* judge for all cases. So no one would ever have to go through what I went through again. I took down corrupt politicians. I solved murder cases at the drop of a hat. I was praised and glorified by the world. For ten years, it was just me in that courtroom, and a scribe to take down the decisions. No jury needed. Each case solved in half an hour or less. And yet I felt empty inside. Like something had gnawed away my heart, and all that was left was an empty shell. But maybe God felt sorry for me, because ten years later, I am left staring at the boy who has turned into a man. The sandy blonde hair still remains. And the neon shorts still remain. He sits in front of me today accused for being involved in a drug ring. He only bought drugs, he says. He has no idea that he was involved and that he was a drug mule, despite carting over a thousand pounds of cocaine over the course of several years. There's a glint in his eye as he tells the story, and I know what it is. Because he's telling the truth. So he knows he'll get off. The punishment would be severe--fifty years for the number of lives he's supposedly ruined--but he won't receive it. And so he smiles as he tells his story. The bitter taste on my tongue grows stronger, and I remember Lana's pale face as she lies on the hospital bed, lifeless. I remember the way her mother falls to my feet, unable to breathe for her choking sobs. I remember her smile, begging me to use my ability to do good in the world. For her, she pleaded, her eyes wide and hands clasped together. Her bottom lip jutting forward into a pout. He's guilty, I tell the scribe, expressionless. He's my last case for the day, so I shrug off the black robes and set them down. And then I walk out of that courtroom and hand in my letter of resignation. For ten years, I had vowed to myself, for Lana, to tell the truth in return for the people who brought me their truths. I had vowed to use this power for nothing but good. Today, I broke that vow. For her, and because of her. And I hope, wherever she is, that she'll forgive me for that. ***** r/AlannaWu You'll probably like my short series, The Immortal and the Time Traveller, if you liked this!

The merchants were getting ahead of Mara

Mara squinted into the too-bright sunlight, shading her eyes. "Come on, now," the man beside her said with a chuckle. "They're in a bit of a hurry. Don't want to get left behind, eh?" She eyed him for a long moment - Calum. That was his name. Defender, sixth rank. The identification rose up in her mind, his classification and credentials from the Guild of Assistance. He was right, though. The merchants *were* getting ahead of her, while she stared up into the mid-morning light. They were supposed to be bodyguarding the rich, paranoid Yenarrans, not dawdling. She pulled herself back to attentiveness with a groan, jogging forward to take her place by his side. "This is your first job, right?" Calum said, his voice low. His blue eyes were fixed on the cliffs around their little group, watching with practiced caution. Mara nodded, one hand sliding down to rest apprehensively on the hilt of a dagger crossed behind her hips. "...Right. I appreciate your band taking me on, by the way." She meant it. It was hard for a rookie to find work worth a damn, work that wouldn't leave them dead on the roadside. "Well, we all start somewhere," Calum said, offering her a crooked smile. "You're my responsibility for this venture, so stick close." He rapped his knuckles against the heavy wood-and-steel shield he carried, smile widening. "The front line can be a bit of a nightmare - especially when you've got no defenses, hmm? But you'll be fine." No defenses. Right. Mara smiled tightly, remembering her role in all this. She was a Rogue - a trickster, a blade-wielder who specialized in herbs and poisons and subtlty. She repeated the phrase over and over to herself, etching it into her mind. That's what her paperwork said. Making it say that had been *quite* expensive, but it was worth it. If anyone realized the truth, her life was forfeit. Marsk was a rugged, unforgiving country. The whole place was covered in towering mountains and dense, lightless jungles, filled with monsters that would as soon eat you as run away. There wasn't a damn thing worth having there - the effort of actually getting at any of it wasn't worth the lives it would cost. Marsk had found a different export, instead. People. The Guild of Assistance had been inevitable, when you looked at it like that. Oh, they called it that, but she knew what it really was - the bastardized offspring of the ancient guilds of Fighters, Mages, and Merchants. It had seemed like the simplest option, benefitting all three offshoots. The Mages assessed and supported. The fighters....fought. And the merchants assigned. Thanks to their efforts, the Mercenaries of Marsk were known worldwide as ruthless, relentless, and unflinchingly effective. There was just one, simple downside. Mara wanted no part in the Guild's machinations. It had sounded good in theory - the Guild would assess you as a child, find where your skills well and truly lay. And that was that - your assignment for life. Oh, you could opt for a different profession, give up on becoming a Ranger and settle down with a farm somewhere. But farming Marsk wasn't exactly *profitable*, was it? That was simply a way to wind up dead faster, eaten by the local beasts. Her eyes snapped up, drawn out of her musings as a rock cascaded down the cliffside around them. The other fighters in their Guild-organized band fell silent in a single, disciplined second, scanning their surroundings. "Close, now," Calum said, his voice little more than a mutter. He slid his blade out slowly, stepping towards the rockfall. The merchants were beginning to yell, fear and anxiety coloring their tones. Mara didn't spare them a glance. Her dagger was in her hand, held crosswise with her free hand ready. Where? Where were they? Her green eyes snapped over as the gully alongside them erupted into motion. The raiders leapt out from under their hiding place with a bellow, laughing and yelling in a cacophany of noise. Calum was already there, shield at the ready. Arrows sprayed around him as Kenna, the party's Marksman, began firing shot after unrelenting shot from her vantage point. "Come on!" the Defender called to her, grinning back over his shoulder. She swallowed the nerves that jumped in her throat, surging in after him. It was her moment of truth, wasn't it? Her blade scythed out, just as she'd practiced. The raider's blows were nearly too fast for her to follow as she closed in on him, but she was faster. She slid past him, eyes wide with razor-sharp focus. She'd practiced. She'd spent so damn long practicing - and she'd prove the Guild wrong. Mara was finally close enough. A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she stared at her target. Calum and the other fighters were all around her, keeping the front lines under control. They were there to shield her if she got in too deep - but would they just be a liability, instead? Would they see? She forced the nerves away, banishing the fears. No one would see - because no one would ever expect to see. No one would ever expect to see a mercenary going against the Guild. Why would they? Going against the Guild would be going against your talents, and that would be putting your whole party at risk. The Guild responded to that...*poorly*. It wasn't a quick end. Mara didn't care. She wasn't a *healer*. The assignment had rankled from the very start. It was unfair - and she wasn't going to let it limit her. Her palm slammed into the man's chest, even as her dagger dug into his arm. That's all anyone would see - she cut him. They'd never see the way she tapped into his life itself. It was a part of life for healers. They'd lend their own life-force, or encourage that of their patients. It was *expected*. She'd been surprised, when she found the torn pages tucked inside the cookbook she'd bought years back. The poor merchant had probably never known what he carried, what he *smuggled*. The technique was almost certainly forbidden. She didn't care. Power flooded her veins as she took the man's life in her hand. He flinched, the color draining from his face as she smiled up at him. Healers helped. They gave. She *took.* And she'd keep taking until she had enough to carve her *own* legend into the world. The man fell at her feet, bleeding from her slash but already lifeless. She cut his throat anyway. Had to keep up appearances, after all. Calum and the others were still fighting - completely unaware. She smiled, feeling the man's life coursing through her veins. And then she leaped back into the fray. (/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) --- Edit - as stated below, I'm honestly pretty intrigued by this setting. The thing standing in my way is that I'm trying to finalize two novels to publish next week (keep an eye out on WP) and I have an ongoing serial that is now quite behind due to, again, trying to get those ready XD I can already hear the screaming that would begin if I started something new. But I really like this setting. I find it intriguing. So, if you want more, here's what we're going to do. Go to and leave a comment in response to that sticky - if I write another part, today or a week from today or what, I will update you :) Glad you guys have liked! /u/narrate4u

"Out of the way!" shouts

"Out of the way!" I glanced back to see a rider galloping down the corridor. I barely had enough time to plaster myself against the bulkhead as the messenger clattered past in a gust of wind. "Those may be the orders for Lord Garrington to launch the first invasion wave, m'lord," Robert-my squire-commented. He had also flattened himself against the bulkhead, knocking his visor down in the process. He lifted it back up as he regained his balance. I nodded, readjusting my scarf, "Perhaps. We had best hurry to the open deck then. He won't be able to leave without us." Deciding that dignity was of less importance than expedience, I began running through the corridors of the ship. Our ship, the Maiden's Hand, was very large. Hundreds of times larger than those that sailed the seas on our home world, dwarfing even the largest castle. It meant that we had to run a considerable distance towards our destination. "God I really envy that messenger with the horse," I breathed, sweating in my full plate armor. Robert smiled at me, "Hopefully you won't be spent before the battle has even begun, m'lord!" I racked my gauntlet against his breastplate, "No chance of that, boy." It was with dramatic abruptness that we emerged onto the open deck. I stumbled to a halt and gawked momentarily. Above us was the starscape of the heavens. As usual, it was an unnatural and humbling sight, that always made me feel insignificant. Off to the side, however, was the beautiful surface of the planet called Terra. The planet that our people laid claim to. It truly was a beautiful sight-a worthy conquest. I didn't waste much time staring, and quickly scanned the area in front of me. I couldn't help but stop and stare once more, this time at the sight that lie before me on the deck. On the open deck was our army of soldiers...and a lot of dragons. A lot of dragons. I'd never seen so many in one place. "M'lord! You can almost feel the magic emanating from them!" Robert gasped. "There are so many of the celestials!" I nodded, "It is quite a sight, isn't it?" Rank upon rank of hundreds of dragons crouched on the deck, encased in their ornate armor and leather harnesses. Besides each stood a company of soldiers, slowly climbing atop the massive creatures. All of that that steel glittered with light that almost drowned out the stars. Among them I caught sight of Lord Garrington's personal bodyguard, the unit that I commanded. "Let's hurry, Robert," I urged, and the two of us rushed down a flight of stairs before tramping across the open deck. "Lord Garrington!" I gasped as I finally arrived. "Captain Henry reporting, M'Lord! I apologize for the delay!" Lord Garrington turned away from the soldiers climbing aboard the dragon and eyed me slowly. "Captain Henry," he said, "I trust that your delay, while unacceptable, wasn't useless?" I hesitated with a slight blush, "Yes, m'lord. Everything is ready." Lord Garrington smiled slightly, "Ah when I was I young officer as you are. Well captain, get your men in order. The Celestials may be patient, but we have a schedule to stick to." The dragon, named Maximus, Lord of the Dragons, turned his head to face me, "Lord Garrington is right, Captain. We must not delay any further." I nodded, "Yes sir!" I climbed up the harness on the dragon, then checked to make sure my men were in order. My company of men-at-arms would normally fight mounted on horseback, but that was impossible until the Maiden's Hand landed safely on Terra's surface with our horses. Until then, we would fight with swords, shields, and two-handed poleaxes on foot. My primary weapon of choice was the latter. I turned towards Lord Garrington, who had taken up a position on the dragon's neck. "M'lord. The company is in order," I reported. Lord Garrington nodded, leaned forward, "Lord Maximus," he said, speaking to the celestial dragon, "We will fly at your lead now." "Understood, Lord Garrington," Maximus replied, then raised his head, expanding the frill around his neck to full diameter. And then a terrifying roar emanated from the powerful creature. One by one, the hundreds of other dragons answered the call. Without warning, I felt a nauseous sensation of floating, though the straps of the harness kept me secured to Maximus. The dragons had released their magic of gravity. Then like a river cascading off of a cliff, the dragons leapt from the deck and shot into space with shocking speed. It was followed by a sensation of almost no movement in the broadness of space as the dragons swept their wings up and down. Lord Garrington, my men, and I had nothing to do but lie secured to the harnesses. All around us, the dragons flew in formation towards the surface. Soon, we began to enter Terra's outer atmosphere. At this stage, Maximus and the hundreds of dragons behind us folded their wings. I was told that the outside would've been lethally cold if the dragons' magic hadn't guarded us. I felt a growing force pressing me into Maximus, until bright flames erupted all around us and I could hardly move. The dragons plunged belly-first into the atmosphere, engulfed in flames as friction between dragon and air ignited plasma. The humans on their backs could only groan and endure the heavy g-forces of reentry, trusting the dragons and their magic to carry them safely to the surface. Suddenly, the roaring fire burned out, and was replaced by the shrieking wind. Maximus and the other dragons partially extended their wings-just enough to maneuver at the unimaginable speed they were traveling. We were above the ocean, and far ahead was a body of land. Bright pinpoints of light climbed up into the sky atop columns of cloud and smoke. After climbing into the sky, they curved towards us with menacing grace. The first explosion violently erupted next to a dragon above us. The celestial's powerful but delicate magic was thrown off balance by the eruption, and it tumbled into the sea with a shattered wing. More of the unknown weapons streaked towards us, and threatened to wreak havoc among the dragons. Any dragon that was hit was killed, either by the explosion or by the sheer force of air that tore it apart as it lost its high-speed flying posture. Others survived near-misses, but the humans aboard suffocated or froze to death in the several long seconds that the dragon's magic was interrupted. Underneath me I could feel Maximus's body. His pulse. His breathing. The twitching of his muscles as he flew towards our destination. All around us, countless dragons pressed onwards through the storm of smoke and fire. Finally we were over land. Maximus descended over the trees, then snapped his wings open, flaring wide to kill his forward speed. The trees before him careened away with the force of the air he pushed. He thumped into a clearing, then crouched low. "Get off! Now!" he roared. "Company! Disembark! Move!" I screamed, before undoing my straps and leaping to the ground with my poleaxe in hand. Armor clanked and rattled as the men streamed off of the dragon's back, while more dragons flew past and flared overhead. Once we were all off, Maximus bared his teeth and leapt into the sky. A strange rapid banging sounded as a stream of bright points peppered the dragon's flank. Maximus roared in pain and anger, before turning towards the source. He opened his jaws wide and blasted out a river of fire. Then a strange shrieking roar sounded that I'd never heard before, and what looked like a steel dragon flashed past Maximus. He turned to fight the newcomers in the air. "Captain! It's time to attack!" Lord Garrington shouted, "You know the buildings we must capture!" I nodded, "Yes, m'lord! Company! Move forward! At the double!" We surged forward with a resonating shout, out of the clearing into the tree line. I knew from planning sessions before the battle that there would be a large group of buildings beyond the forest. Suddenly a chorus of loud banging accompanied by bright flashes came from ahead, and several of my men fell screaming to the ground. Lord Garrington tumbled backwards with his helmet utterly destroyed. Caught by surprise, I slammed my visor down and turned to the men. "Shields to the front! Form a shield wall!" Several more men were cut down before my men-at-arms equipped with shields could move to the front. Their shields were enchanted by the celestials, and so far we had not encountered a weapon that could puncture them. They stayed true now as whatever weapons were being used against us thudded harmlessly against their broad surfaces. "Company advance!" I ordered. The men began marching forward, chanting in unison. The enemy weapons continued to flash and bang ahead of us, and occasionally penetrated our shield wall to kill another one of my men. Suddenly I caught sight of the enemies who were wielding those weapons among the trees. "Company! Chaaaarge!" I screamed, and the men surged forward with an answering roar. Several tumbled to the ground in a bloody mess, their armor riddle with holes. I peered through the slits in my visor as I ran forward with my poleax raised high. A man wearing clothing colored like the forest was fumbling with a black device in his hands, but upon seeing me he reached towards his belt. My weapon crashed through his neck before he could do anything more. I raised my visor and looked around me. My shoulders heaved as I sucked in ragged breaths. A red mist clouded my eyes as I snarled. My men struggled with the enemy in a melee among the trees, drenching their weapons and armor in red blood. Overhead I heard Maximus roar, and I looked up to see him in his bright armor breathe another column of fire that streaked across the sky. His attack was cut short by a spear of smoke that suddenly slammed into his chest, exploding in fire and flesh. Without another sound, Maximus went limp and began to fall on top of us from the sky. "Maximus!"

Clive and I were the Bureau's

The valves of some woman's heart fluttered to a stop one humid night deep in the Ozarks. Clive and I poured champagne. "Husband says she's *dead*?" I asked, thinking of Nan. Months of sleepless nights couldn't wash away the sounds of her moans. "Dead as a door nail," Clive smiled. We clinked our glasses. Before we were deemed *unnecessary*, Clive and I were well acquainted with Death. He hung from sticky bits of skull fragments lodged into motel wallpaper, or he sat sneering in the corner as another innocent life withered beneath stab wounds. Clive and I were the Bureau's star pupils. For years on end, we'd never been on a crime scene without one another. Truth be told, Death had been on every site too. Except he'd always been one step ahead of us. Those days, I'd been so full of anger at losing the *race*. I'd always ask Clive what if we'd just gotten there sooner. And he'd always nod grimly and say, "I know what you mean." Death at that time was just another dirty rotten bastard the world would be better without. It was only until he stopped showing up to work that I realized how wrong I was. You see, Life, as it turned out, was only valuable in limited supply. Extend it for long enough, and it simply became torture. My Nan turned one-hundred-thirty-seven this past winter. I stopped by with flowers because I felt I had to. They were a front for the pills really. The doctors had been complaining about the constant noise. My Nan had devolved into a pale voicebox of moans. Sleeping pills only presented temporary relief. Part of me wondered if she still moaned in her dreams. "Hey there Nanna," I'd croaked, standing by her bedside. She'd looked me straight in the eye and asked me to kill her. "I don't care how you do it," she'd said through gritted teeth. "Just end all the misery." "I can't Nan," I said, heart falling to pieces. "We've already tried everything." I got shitfaced that night, asking where Death the hell he had *gone*. After our celebratory drinks, Clive and I loaded up the Ford with the weight of the world on our shoulders. Everywhere you turned, it seemed someone had a loved one they needed to let go. The world was full of Nans now, moaning in their hospital gowns. The Bureau directions led us to a mobile home tucked next to the lakeside. I could tell Death had been there, because it had been raining. If there was one thing I'd learned, it was that he had a flair for the dramatic. A red-eyed man answered Clive's knocking. "Thank God you're here..." he stammered. "I just don't know what to do." The woman's name was Edith. The man told us she'd battled brain cancer for sixty-three years. His bottom lip quivered with every clumsy word he spoke. "Show us the body," Clive said, patting his shoulder in consolation. He'd never had problems falling into old routine. Their bed creaked as I sat. "He's been here all right," I said with a grin. "No pulse to be found!" Emotion rippled over the husband's face. *Shit*. All those years of sensitivity training. Guess they never quite took. The man rubbed the back of his neck. "S-she's r-really g-g-gone?" He asked, with a quivering lip. Clive eyed me up with a visual sort of reprimand. "You handle this," he said. "I'll search out back." He was out the door before I could protest. I turned to the man and said, as consoling as I could manage: "She's gone, but at least there's no suffering." The man nodded feebly. "S-she talked in h-her sleep," he said, choking back tears. "The s-strangest things." "My Nan does the same. It's really quite common." The man shook his head. "Y-you don't unders-stand. She s-said 'If y-you r-really love me, you have to l-let me go.'" "Shh, it's all right," I said. "She's in a better place now." "S-she weren't talking t-to me, I reckon," the husband continued. There was some semblance of shame buried in his tone. This struck me as odd. I tilted my head and said, "What makes you so sure?" But the man was done talking on the matter. He simply sat at the foot of the bed, rubbing the poor woman's lifeless feet. After a time he turned up to me, bleary-eyed and quivering. "W-would you help me bury her? N-no funeral p-parlors anymore." "Of course we will. It's the least we could do." As the three of us dug into the wet earth, Clive told me under his breath that he'd found a footprint. "Not *quite* human," he said with excitement in his voice. "We're close." "There's something strange about this whole--" "I r-reckon that's deep enough," muttered the husband, wiping his hands on his jeans. When the grave was packed down, the husband stepped forward to say a few words. It had been a while since Clive and I had attended one of these things. Neither of us knew quite what to do. The husband cleared his throat, and we shuffled on our feet. "Edith, hun. I...Well, I know W-we might not'a had the *greatest..." Suddenly Clive elbowed me in the side. "Willem!" he hissed. "Look!" There Death stood, billowing black robe and all. Right on the edge of the backwoods. It was like a scene wrenched straight out of my memory--a slender dark figure that seemed to bend the space around him. Except, there was something...off.. *Was he crying?* Clive and I took off, leaving the poor husband behind. Death turned tail and fled. Bits of darkness lingered among the brambles in his wake. Little breadcrumbs of blackness that fizzled against my skin. He disappeared behind a tangle of tree trunks, but we followed his trail with our hearts in our ears. As Clive and I ducked beneath the spindly branches, I thought back upon all those years we'd been trying to outrace Death. *Catch the killer before he murdered. Save the kidnapped girl before she was raped and strangled.* He'd always been one step ahead of us. Just a *little* faster. An endless cycle of *running*. Likely as not, he would get away again. But it felt good to chase him once more. Hell, at the very least, we'd gotten him *moving*. As the dark figure drew further and further away, I wondered if maybe someone like Edith had just finally convinced him stop. Maybe, in the end, he'd just needed to smile for a moment and catch his breath. ---------------- r/M0Zark

"So," I began softly,

We sat across from each other, doing exactly nothing. Because what exactly do you do when you learn your spouse is actually your arch enemy who has been giving you the absolute most mixed signals you could ever imagine? Seriously, sometimes I get the feeling she deliberately wears that red skin tight suit just so I can get an eyeful of her ass. Ironic, considering I have had more than that for five years now. "So," I began softly, "you're Rouge Sang?" "Oui," she answered, tapping her fingers against her scarlet lips...her fingernails were also scarlet...and her hair was red...how did I miss the signs?! "And you," she said, clenching her perfect teeth together, "are the Ultra Warrior." More silence. I was about to say something when I heard the TV turn on. My wife, Amelia, sighed. "Let's talk about this later. Don't want the kids learning anything right this moment." The rest of the day was filled with tension as I set off to work, calling up the guys. As I consider my predicament, I wondered if I should tell Thunderous about this. Actually, no, horrible idea. Superhero codenames said a lot about them. And hers was...Rouge Sang. French for blood red. Currently considered one of the most dangerous assassins in the world. Among the FBI's most wanted criminals in the world. Survivors of her attacks tended to be incredibly lucky. When someone's main superpower lets them control blood itself, that's not something you can just walk away from. And that was why I am one of the few people who can face her on even footing. She controls blood, and me? Willpower. Okay, wait, not exactly control it. Willpower gives me literal strength. I can increase my durability with, resist the most powerful mind control, leap tall buildings in a single bound, lift several tons my own weight, there's a lot I am capable of. I keep finding new uses for it everyday. First time I fought her was something else, though. I was on my knees, wading through a pool of blood because why not, concentrating on just staying alive, and all the while, she was smiling at me. A smile which just faltered as I got to my feet and started to rush her. That had been the first of many clashes between us. There was always a symmetry to those fights which, perhaps not coincidentally, actually reminded me a good bit of our sex life. Work was a hassle, for sure, talking with some of the boys. Until about 3:30, when I heard the alarm. Great. Supervillain attack. And obviously, I knew exactly who it was. After changing into my costume in my usual place which had been marked off by the guys in suits, I immediately sprang into action. The source? Ground floor. I ran down the stairs at the speed of...not light or sound, because that's actually really dangerous. Look, I'm not good with calculating how fast I am going when I use super speed, that's Mathwoman's job! And there she was, all dressed out, hands on her hips. Her crimson-scarlet suit was decorated with flowing bright red and deep blue lines which were meant to mimic blood vessels. Never focused on that much, though, especially today, when she was exposing a bit more of her cleavage than usual. Now aware this was my wife, I suddenly became very conscious some individuals who were running for their lives and screaming staring at her as she flaunted her beauty. Beneath my helmet, I scowled at them all. Damn it... Waiting until everyone had left and law enforcement set up a perimeter, she crossed her arms across her chest, pushing up her boobs. Sweet mother of- "Who's watching the kids?" "Mrs Beatrice," she answered, walking towards me. Those goddamn hip swings of hers... "Can we do this somewhere without everyone watching?" "We've been at each other's throats for six years, five of which we have been making some of the most passionate love you can imagine - and I should know," she smirked at that last part. I rolled my eyes, blushing. She gasped. "Mon dieu, you prude!" "Prude!? Seriously, given how many times I've caught you scolding my buddies for making inappropriate comments-" "That was in the front of the children. And that reminds me," she circled around me, before kicking off the ground, landing on the ceiling and twirling around so she faced me. I've always wondered how does she keep her hair staying in place like that. "Every time Thunderous called me a French hoe, bitch queen, bag, and several other very impolite words, you always were setting him right." "Dad brought me up better than that." She grimaced at the mention of my father. "You are such a boy scout," then she grinned wickedly, "and that's something I couldn't help but find so... irresistible." Goddamn she was doing that thing with her fingers, lifting me off the ground again. I really hated floating, especially when it wasn't of my own accord. After she carried me out of the lobby and launched me threw a wall, I just leaned against the one which had stopped me. She stood directly in front of me, surveying me intensely. Now that I could see her like this, I started to notice how her demeanor had changed. Every time we had fought before she had been slick, oh so sexy, confident and powerful. Now she was hesitant, cautious and...worried. And I didn't like it. I always hated seeing Amelia upset, and that wasn't changed no matter what she was wearing. "David," she said quietly, "should we get a divorce?" "What?!" Okay, this was out of left field. But I could honestly see where she was coming from. "We both know how those who date across the hero-villain divide are treated. If word of this got out, that we are married..." She cupped her bare cheek in own hand, skin twitching under her mask, "what could happen to the children?" "Amelia, we have a fully functioning stable relationship. If we get a divorce, what message would that send to them? It would look way too suspicious as well. I know a few people who would be sniffing about to see what's up." She sighed. "So...what now?" "Become a hero." She froze, eyes wide. "I...beg your pardon?!" "Think about it. If you do some work redeeming yourself, you could get in the public's good graces. The FBI would-" "Stop right there. The FBI wouldn't just let me drop off the radar. You know that damn well. Heck, why don't you become a villain instead." "No," I said firmly. She groaned. "Oh, why not?" I took a deep breath, ready to launch into a speech about the values of truth, justice, mercy, compassion, and the American way that she never listened to...and instead came out with another secret. "Daria knows," I said softly, "about my identity. She caught me changing. She has told me so many times how much she wants to be just like me when she grows up, you know that? Well, when you couldn't hear, I would give her some tips on how to make the best superhero costume or how to pull a punch. She's been coming up with names-" "Michael knows about mine." "...That explains a few things." Michael and Daria, the twins, often argued about who was cooler, Rouge Sang or Ultra Warrior. In hindsight, those were much funnier now. "Whose his favorite supervillain?" "Besides me? Buzzsaw." "Thank God," I muttered. "Your happy our son's favorite supervillain is that giggling psycho?" "Hey, Buzzsaw is a lot of things, but a killer isn't one of them. Guy has a code of honor at least." "Try holding a conversation with him when he isn't screaming at you." We both laughed at that. Then we were silent. My world had first been turned upside down when I learned I had powers. Now it had been again. I had been dedicated to bringing a woman I thought was a callous murderer to justice for six years, but that woman was also the mother of my children. "I have an idea," she slowly. "How about we retire?" "They wouldn't let either of us." They being literally the entire world. Both sides. We were in our prime, young rookies who had risen fast through the ranks to be some of the most respected individuals in our fields. You can't just walk away from that...even if you wanted to. "We could go into hiding until we figure this out?" "They would find us, darling." She rubbed her forehead and then...sniffled. I was stunned. She was crying. I had heard rumors she cried tears of blood, bathed in it even, but this was... unexpected. "What are we supposed to do?" I was silent for a few moments before I said what I had been dreading to admit. "I don't know."

A single spark of life became a

Some are lesser. Some are greater. I am above. Long did I wander before I finally settled. A simple world, filled with the sort of promise that is so rare within creation. I came to it when it was still fresh. From the promise of this world I forged a paradise. A single spark of life became a broad creation, filled with majesty and diversity. With great care I guided this life along the myriad paths. There were mistakes. I am a God, but I'm not perfect. The dinosaurs were real dicks. I had to hit a hard reset on that one. Mammals were a bit more promising. A few nudges along the evolutionary path combined with eternal patience finally produced something worthy of my efforts. I admired their tenacity, their capacity for overcoming the hardships of that the world naturally set in their path. Their discovery of fire, writing and higher order technology all brought cheer to my heart. The time to reveal myself had finally come. After hundreds of millions of years, my creation would know me. Know that they were not alone in the world. In the universe. I chose my moment carefully. I descended from the heavens, largely because that is what their religious texts all expected me to do, and announced myself. I sat on a mighty golden throne, a brilliant halo about my head, feeling appropriately godly. My introduction did not go as a planned. At first I was mocked. Laughed at. They thought me an imposter. An insane piece of detritus that had decided to put on a performance for their amusement. I recognize now that placing my golden throne in New York City's Time Square on New Year's Eve was a tactical error. I just figured everyone was there, the cameras were rolling and people were already in a celebratory mood so it'd be one of those win/win setups. Alas, it was not meant to be. The miscalculation put me into the position of either accepting their insolence or demonstrating my power. My effort to build goodwill with my creation was somewhat set back by my decision to smite all of those who mocked me. Again, I am enlightened enough to recognize this as a strategic miscalculation in hindsight. Living is about learning and I learned a lot. Of course, all of the smiting led to something of an escalation on their part. Guns. Tanks. At one point a nuke detonated right in the middle of Manhattan. Such trivial devices had little effect on me, though it substantially reduced the quality of life within the city itself. All of that valuable real estate. Poof. Gone. Now, I wish I could say that I turned the other cheek, but I had been covertly building a real estate portfolio in the city so the nuke rubbed me the wrong way. That and the fact that I was just nuked. Bad form, that. Completely unnecessary. I was angered. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. So there was more smiting. A lot of smiting. Before I really got back to my senses, I'd managed to smite the a fair bit of the human population. Something like half of them. Maybe seventy five percent. A lot. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I've realized that that was operational oversight. Godly. Not perfect. At this point, things had soured rather severely between me and humanity. Mistakes were made on both sides, I think we're all mature enough to recognize this now, but all of that smiting had set civilization back a fair bit. It might have something to do with me releasing a global electro\-magnetic pulse after a particularly annoying hit piece on 60 minutes, but I really couldn't say. Point is that they're back in the Bronze Age. Possibly Stone Age. The point is that pretty much all the humans are dead and they ones that remain have been acquired some rather odd superstitious beliefs. I can understand how the appearance of a god and the subsequent eradication of eighty five percent of the population could cause some radical shifts in policy, but I'm a bit disappointed at the regression. By far the most annoying development has been the 'Chosen Ones.' Somehow the rumor got started that I could be defeated by a child of the purest heart. It might have been the one time I joked early on that only a child of the purest heart could defeat me. But that was clearly in jest. Humans have a terrible sense of humor, particularly when ninety percent of them have been slaughtered by a vengeful god. Maybe if they'd lighten up, we wouldn't be in this mess. A little more communication, a little less annihilation. So now, every year, some teenager get dumped off on the border of my domain \-\- I rebuilt Manhattan after the nuke, there's a lot of money in redevelopment \-\- and instructed to defeat me. I've tried explaining to them that I've grown from my mistakes. That despite creating them, I'm really not good with people. That it's been as difficult for me as it has been for them. That this is a teachable moment. Sadly, the humans are quite short on empathy. It may be because I smote ninety five percent of the population, but they should really move on. All of that destruction was so 2000 and late. Now I got some brat tromping about my backyard, messing up my garden, and waving around a sword. It always goes the same way: "Hello my child," I say, all warm and benevolent like. "I am the Chosen One! Sent from \[completely interchangeable human tribe here\], come to end your vile reign." "Listen, friend, that's all behind us." "You killed ninety seven percent of humanity\-\-" "\-\-a logistical snafu, I've grown since then," I reply, with the eternal patience that I have worked so very hard to re\-acquire after all of these misunderstandings. Then there's a great deal of yelling and whooping as the kid charges me. I cannot tell you what a downer it is to disintegrate a child every year. Other than providing excellent fertilizer for my lilies, there's no upside in it. There's just an emotional toll that it takes to be so chronically misperceived. You try to build bridges, and people just come along and burn them down. I suppose that's all you can expect when you've destroyed ninety nine percent of humanity. **Platypus out.** **Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus

The young man sat atop the ruined

The young man \(no longer a boy, the village elders had told him\) climbed the last of the 7,777 steps and paused to rest. He would need it for the fight. He sat atop the ruined head of an ancient statue, split by time and the many vines growing through the cracks. The young man didn't recognize which god it might be, but they must have been pretty important to have a statue at the top of the mountain. From this vantage point he could see all the way down the emerald slopes, to the misty valley where his village sat. Beyond it was the great river, and beyond that were more villages, and more mountains. None of the latter were anywhere near as great as the mountain of gods, however. It towered over the valley, over all the land, its temple carved out of the peak where it had honored the gods for eons. Until the Old Worm had corrupted it and tormented the people. Now it crouched inside, a carrion king over a rotted husk, the dark master of the land and its people. Until today. The young man took a drink from the water\-skin at his side and examined his sword. It had been blessed by the oldest priest, a powerful weapon against the dark. And he, the chosen man, would wield it against the Old Worm. They had told him since he was old enough to walk that he had been born under a sign, a symbol from the heavens. He was ordained to end the tyranny that gripped the valley. His parents had told him, been so proud. The village elders had all thanked him every day as he trained, meditated, and prayed. He was ready. The priest had claimed it was so, said he had read the stars and the entrails of a fat goat. I was the will of the gods, and there would be only victory today. But the young man had to be brave. There could be no doubt, no hesitation. He got to his feet with a sigh, and approached the monolithic stone doors. The seven stone faces in the door all moved as he approached to stare at him with eyes of marble and slate and granite. The young man \(but when those great stone faces moved he felt like a boy once again\), gripped the sword at his side and began to unsheathe it. "Hast thou come for the blood of the Old Worm?" one of the faces asked, in a voice of rattling gravel. "I have," the young man said. "Then thou may enter," another face said and the great doors cracked open. Dust sifted down between them, pale white against the blackness within. The young man withdrew his sword, took a deep breath, and entered. The doors rumbled closed behind him as soon as he was across the threshold. For an instant, he wanted to dash out and all the way back down the stairs. But that was the thought of a boy, and not a young man. He bit his lip and continued into the ancient temple. It was not entirely dark within the old structure: cracks in the vaulted domed ceilings made by curious vines sent slivers of silvery daylight into the darkness. They illuminated statues of the old gods, their features worn smooth by time, faces forgotten and indistinct. Pale branches and small rounded boulders littered the sides of the vast hallway, and the young man winced as one cracked under his sandal. The sound echoed back, back into the darkness ahead of him. Another sound followed it: a furtive skittering noise, a rapid tapping of thousands of tiny hard points across stone. The young man pointed his sword ahead of him, an automatic response that had been drilled into him over years of practice. "Come out, Worm," he said, his voice strong, deep. It was a man's voice, brave beyond his meager years. "Of course," something replied. It was calm, smooth, neither masculine nor feminine. The young man stood at the edge of a vast rotunda, almost entirely shrouded in shadow, until something moved. A vast serpentine shape unwound itself from the top of a central column, near the roof. As it did, it exposed several more cracks and holes in the ceiling and light flooded into the chamber. The serpentine shape skittered down the central column on thousands and thousands of tiny legs, its movements elegant and swift despite it size. The Old Worm was perhaps as long as the great river, and almost as wide. It reared up before the young man, a disturbingly human face in the center of its head. It was a pale face, bone white and rounded, almost cheerful. It had four eyes, all of them bright as polished obsidian, and a huge smiling gash of a mouth with thin red lips. A pair of stick\-like arms unfolded from the underside of the Old Worm, from among its thousands of legs, and spread wide in a gesture of welcome to the young man. "I'm so pleased to see you," the Old Worm said. The young man steadied his knocking knees, clenched his roiling stomach, and kept his sword between him and the carrion king of the mountain. "I have been sent by the old gods to kill you!" the young man said. The Old Worm smiled wide. "Calling the gods old implies they are still alive, young one," the Worm replied. "They are dead, and this is their tomb." "You lie," the young man snapped. "And I will prove it by cutting you open!" "Then you would see the truth. I think there might be some of their bones in my belly, still, even after all these ages," the Worm said and chuckled. "Go on. Do it." The young man jumped back as the Old Worm settled onto its side and exposed its under belly. It stared at him, smiled, and waited. The young man didn't hesitate. He didn't understand why the Old Worm was being so casual about this, but he didn't care. He lunged. The sword broke. It snapped with a clear metallic clang and spun over the young man's shoulder where it clattered to the floor. The young man was too stunned to react at first. It was a blessed weapon. It should have cleaved through the Old Worm with ease, laid the hateful demon open to writhe and die in agony. The young man jumped back and stared between his broken blade and the Old Worm. Was it him? Had he lost faith? No. Not for a second, not in all his years of his parents, the elders, the priests, telling him that he was special. "I know," the Worm said and sighed. "Disappointing, yes?" It reached out with one of its skinny arms, its slender fingers plucking the broken weapon from the young man's hand in a way that was almost dainty, then tossing it away. "How? I was chosen," the young man said. His shock gave way to fear. He was locked in here with the Old Worm. His weapon useless and broken. But maybe still, if he had faith, he could do it. "You were," the Worm said. "Because I chose you. As I have chosen so, so many others." It gestured at the sides of the rotunda and the hallway behind them. The pale branches and the rounded stones were neither: they were bones and skulls. Tiny ribs, petite femurs, diminutive skulls. He hadn't snapped a twig, he had broken some long dead child's arm. "I have to admit, it's getting a bit dull, but as I said, the remains of the old gods are almost gone, and I hunger," the Worm said. "And there is nothing so satisfying as your despair." "I\-I don't..." the boy \(no longer a man, despite what the village elders had told him\) said and tears spilled down his cheeks. "Yes you do," the Worm said and grinned. It exposed hundreds of sharp fangs as it did, stained pink from generations of blood spilled across them. "You know. It was a lie. Your parents knew you were nothing but cattle from the day of your birth, when the priest brought you to me. Raise him with hope, I said, and when he is bursting with it, send him to me, so I may feast on his despair." The boy slumped to his knees before the Old Worm, who had risen over him. "It's not true," the boy said. "You already know that it is." The boy buried his face in his hands and wept. "You don't want to try praying? Take another swing, maybe?" the Worm asked. The boy shook his head. "Just do it." "There it is," the Worm said and pulled the boy up off his feet, toward its mouth. "Despair worth waiting for." Despite the boy's diminutive size, his anguish was a deep, vast well that the Old Worm feasted on late into the night. When it was done, when the screams had quieted, there was a knock at the stone doors. "Enter," the Old Worm said. The priest from the village entered and bowed low. "There are four pregnancies in the valley," the priest said. "Mm," the Old Worm grunted. "And beyond the valley?" "I've already sent pilgrims, to check." "Good. Bring the little dears to me when they are born, and we'll begin again. Rest well, knowing that the last of the gods protects your valley, priest." "Thank you, my lord," the priest said and bowed before he left. The Old worm scrabbled back up to the top of the central column, winding its body into tight coils and resting its head on its own back. It was always sleepy after a good meal.

Ralph's parents will be here in

"Ralph, my parents will be here in a few minutes," Jenny called. "Do you think you could set the plates?" "Sure," I said. "Hey, uh, Jenny? Are your parents... driving themselves here or are they taking a cab?" She walked out of the kitchen. "A cab, why?" "Oh, no reason. So should I set place cards or would that be... unnecessary?" "Place cards?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. "Well, that's entirely unnecessary since there will only be four of us and we all know each other." "Sure, sure," I said quickly. "Of course.... so what kind of lighting do you think they'd prefer? Like a doctor's office situation? Or do you think they're, uh, less picky than that?" "They're not blind," Jenny snapped, putting a hand on her hip. "Uh oh," I muttered. "Excuse me?" "I uh, I just realized I hadn't asked until now," I told her. "Oh," she said. "Well, okay." She walked back into her kitchen. I shuffled my feet nervously and then followed her. "It's just that um, I need to confess something to you, Jenny," I said. Jenny laughed. "Are you not as attractive as you described yourself?" I grimaced. "Well..." "Oh sweetie, I'm sure you look--" "They're not going to be able to see me!" I blurted. Her face fell. "I told you they weren't blind," she said blankly. "Look, I'm invisible," I said after a sigh. "No one can see me." "What? What do you mean? How--how is that possible?" she sputtered. "Is this some sort of a joke? My disability really isn't something to joke ab--" "No, no!" I said quickly. I took her hand. "It's not a joke. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, I just didn't think it was relevant." "You didn't think it was maybe of note?" "Well..." "Not even a little bit? That you're invisible?" she asked incredulously. "Once again, how is that even possible?" "It's this whole thing. I, I think that's a story for another time," I said quickly. She snatched her hand away. "No, I think it's a story for *now*." "They're gonna be here in like two or three minutes, Jen!" I said. "They're not--" "Wait, won't they be able to see the clothes you're wearing? Oh god, are you just *naked* all of the time?" she asked, her face wrinkled with disgust. I paused. "Well, not *all* of the time," I said slowly. "So they'll see the clothes you have on tonight, right?" she asked. I let out a huff. "The whole invisible thing is kind of like a force field of sorts, so they--you know what? This really isn't a story for now," I said, the exasperation getting the best of me. The doorbell rang, which made us both jump. Jenny shook her head. "So you're saying that to everyone in public, I've been walking around talking to myself for the past four months?" "Well... yeah," I said softly. "Look, shouldn't we talk about this--" "My god, I must have looked insane!" she said. "No, you just looked blind," I said with a shrug. She glared in my general direction, which even for the seeing population, I was used to. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" "Oh, uh, I didn't mean--" "Blind people aren't insane! Are you invisible and also from the 14th century?" "19th, actually," I muttered. "What?" she snapped. "It's a story for another time!" I yelled. "Look, do you want me to get the door?" "Oh yeah, that'd look great," she said as she stomped toward it. "They'll think I got fancy new automatic doors installed." I watched as Jenny smoothed the front of her dress, put on a smile, and opened the door. Her parents enveloped her into a hug, which she returned. I saw her relax her posture slightly. "Mom, Dad, thanks for coming over," she said nervously. "Where's Ralph?" her dad asked, shrugging off his coat. "Yeah, where is he?" her mom asked. "We've been looking forward to meeting him." I sighed audibly. "I'm here." I was used to the jump that came from most people when encountering a disembodied voice. However--and perhaps I was just trying to get my hopes up--the jump seemed less than usual. "How is he doing that?" her father asked. "Where is he?" her mom asked, her eyes wide. "Well, funny you should ask," Jenny said without a trace of humor on her face. "I just found out about two minutes ago that he is apparently invisible." "Well, he wasn't lying," her dad said. "Unless this is just a really good prank." Uncertainly, he put out his hand, which I reached out and shook. He jumped slightly, but less than before. "Now that was messed up," her father said. "He just shook my hand Jenny, and it made my hand disappear too!" "You better hope it was his hand," she mumbled. "Oh my god, is he naked?" her mother shouted suddenly. "Are you naked?" she said to me, although she was looking too far to the left. I paused. "Not all of the time." "Wait," Jenny said. "So when we have been walking along the street holding hands..." She trailed off, waiting for me to jump in. "Yes," I said. "You looked like a blind amputee having the best day of her life." "For the love of god!" Jen yelled. She turned to her parents. "Why are you two not more weirded out by this?" Her parents looked at one another and shrugged. Her dad said, "I mean, if he makes you happy, who are we to judge someone for being invisible?" "That's just how he chooses to live his life," her mom added. "Well actually it wasn't a choice..." I started, then stopped myself. "Sorry, story for another time perhaps." "I will ask though," her mother said, "what about when you have children? Will they be blind or invisible? Or both?" I laughed heartily. "We've only been together for a few months, ma'am. I think we should cover the invisible stories before we dive into kids." Jen cackled next to me. "Best get to telling those stories pal, you have an eight month clock ticking!" ----- Did you enjoy this twist ending about an invisible man's reproductive dilemma? If so, swing by r/AlexLoganWriting for more silly stories and details on our novella, *An Honest Policy*, which will be free starting tonight at 12 AM (PT) until the 23rd.

The Transportation Effect had been unwittingly created

I imagined my death for years. The Transportation Effect had been unwittingly created about a decade before I was born. I grew up hearing stories from schoolmates and relatives of all the Final Ceremonies they had attended. The sunny warmth of the portal. The lavender scented air of the Ceremony location. I committed every detail to memory, both excited and terrified of the day when someone I loved would pass and I would be invited to assist in the loving send off of my dearly departed. I waited but it never came... A sweet girl with an infectious giggle was in my class in 5th grade. She had dozens of stories of ceremonies she'd attended. A great grandparent. A former nanny. A bus driver who had taken a shine to her. It seemed everyone this girl encountered had fallen in love with her. It became a regular and accepted occurrence that she would vanish from class and return moments later flushed and teary eyed. Meanwhile, the people around me seemed to be dropping like flies and I hadn't attended a single Ceremony. My own father passed away suddenly of a heart attack when I was 15, and although our relationship had always been strained, I thought surely he loved me enough to invite me to his Final hour... and yet.... At some point in my 20s I accepted my inability to be loved by others. It was a bitter pill which took me 27 years to swallow but there was no fighting it. By that time, I had lost both parents, three grandparents, a close friend died in a motorcycle accident, a cousin who I'd helped get off drugs OD'ed, and I had heard of several acquaintances passing. No portal for this guy. No lavender air for me. So be it. I was done seeking affection. Although I had not failed to explore the world of intoxicating women, I had given up hope of a lasting relationship. I treated everyone kindly \- to be sure. I'm not some kind of monster, you see. I just go into encounters with others cognizant of our inevitable parting. I learned to make the most of my interactions and let them pass. I made lemonade, you know? I worked hard. I traveled often. I experienced art and music and earth shattering sex. I engaged in convivial conversation with strangers about all these things. It was good. Good enough by any measure, certainly. On April 25, my 45th birthday \- I closed my eyes for the last time. To be honest, my death was kind of a let down. My adult life had been pretty exciting and I had envisioned a cause of death equally exciting. A hang gliding accident in Mexico, perhaps, or a shark attack while surfing in Australia - that was more my speed. Instead, I was taken by the same heart defect that took my father 30 years before. I lay with my eyes closed, asleep as far as I knew, prepared to enjoy the hour of lavender and warmth in solitude. It was just as incredible as the stories I heard. The warmth of the portal was sort of like laying on a beach with the sun baking into my pores while a gentle breeze blew the burn away. The scent of the lavender was pervasive and familiar, the way my grandmother's kitchen would fill with the scent of sugar and cinnamon when she baked. Slowly, a hum pushed itself up and over the feeling and the scent. The hum became chatter and the chatter became voices and suddenly I realized I was not alone. Reluctantly, nervously, I opened my eyes. I didn't see my own face, of course, but I'm certain there was a refined quality to my slack\-jawed shock. The tall, white room was packed. There must've been 100 people crammed in like pennies in a bank wrapper. Familiar faces started to stand out to me among the expectant smiles. I saw my parents, arm in arm. My grandparents shuffled forward. My cousin and my motorcycle accident friend threw hands in the air and waved grinning from the back. There were unfamiliar faces, too. A girl I vaguely remembered bedding in Brazil stood to the side looking sexy as hell. The mail carrier who had served my block my whole damn life was there, smiling, wearing the damn mail sack. I stood and stuttered. "But..... I.... Mom?" Her smile grew somehow wider and it seemed she understood my confusion. "Well, my love," she said, pausing for a moment in search of the right words. "The Final Ceremony isn't exactly what you thought it was. This final hour is not for the loving, it is for the loved." I stared blankly, clueless to her meaning. She tried again. "The living, and sometimes deceased, are transported to the Final Hour of the people THEY love. They are not transported to the final hour of the people who love THEM. It seems that way to most because usually love is mutual. But in your case.... well, honey...." "You didn't love US enough," my father broke in. "But we all loved the hell out of you." The room murmured and heads nodded in unanimous agreement. My Brazilian fling's thick Portuguese accent joined the conversation. "I never in my life meet man so incredible. You inspire me take all of life. Live all days hard and with joy. It wake up love in my heart so strong I never forget," she finished tearfully, the smile still plastered to her lovely face. "Actually," a new voice from the back piped up. "It isn't about love at all \- well, not the way we understand it. It's about touching souls. Just before you pass, you are reunited with all the souls that you've touched. Maybe no one who touched your soul passed away, but you... you've touched... all of us." The voice finished and a girl pushed through the crowd. My classmate from grade school was there, smiling her sweet smile, giggling her contagious laugh. I started sobbing. Uncontrollably, I sobbed. I covered my face with my hands as if to push the tears and noise back in where it belonged. Instead, the sobs came harder and louder until I just let it go. Suddenly I felt arms around me. My mother's strong arms wrapped tight around my waist. One after another, the visitors pressed in around me. Their arms intertwined like straw in a birds nest, cradling the weight of my overwhelming emotion until I descended peacefully into the After.

Melanie should have bounced cleanly off

Panicking is rarely useful. Which was why I checked my smartphone recording first, scrolling back to those few seconds when Melanie should have bounced cleanly off the wall at King's Cross Station. I expected her to land quite heavily, which was why I had fitted her out with a crash helmet and cargo pants. It was one thing to play a prank on your kid, and it was quite another to endanger them. I may not be a conventional parent, but let no one say I was a reckless one. But the recording only confirmed what my eyes told me - Melanie had passed *right through the wall*, and I even picked up her last few goodbyes echoing through the masonry. Melanie had *not*, as per my meticulous plans, learned a valuable lesson in learning to discern between fiction and reality. My prepared speech about how she should engage in critical thinking more often ebbed away from my mind, leaking like water through a sieve. Melanie had *instead*, quite apparently, departed for the Hogwarts Express, right before my bloody eyes. "Oh, oh, let me see! I want to see too! Our darling baby, off on her first few steps to a brand new life! Such a momentous occasion! Richard, please tell me you captured her waving goodbye to us!" Ok, *now* was the time to *panic*. "Doria! What the... Are you saying you *knew* she would pass through the wall?" "Huh? Yes, of course she would, why wouldn't she? You heard me tell her all the time that she has magic in her, right?" I took a deep breath, then turned to face my wife. I gripped her shoulders, not too hard, just enough for me to steady my shaking hands. The pride and happiness on her face was slipping away, replaced instead with a concoction of puzzlement and annoyance. "Please tell me you're joking," I said. "Look, it's not funny, OK? I'll admit it, I got pranked. I don't know how you made her disappear, I don't know when the two of you ganged up on me instead. Haha, very funny, applause all around for my wonderful wife and my turnip of a daughter. Egg's on my face, and everything... Now, *can you get her out of the bloody wall?*" "But Richard, isn't this what you always wanted? Isn't this..." Then her face fell, and a twinge of anger spread across her features, the way it always did just before we got to fighting. "Hold on right there mister. Are you telling me that you... didn't believe in what we were telling her?" "Believe?" I said, as my voice climbed a couple of octaves. "Believe in the entire Harry Potter which you made me read to her? Of course not! It's a bloody storybook, Doria!" "So this was... What? A prank? You did all this just to have her run and bounce off a wall?" A sneer twisted her lips. "What type of sicko are you?" "But that's what we agreed! You and me! We said it would be funny if we got her to believe that *Harry Potter* was real!" "What about the letter then? From Hogwarts? Delivered by owl, no less?" "I printed the damn thing off Deviant Art! I plucked a few feathers out from our pillows!" "Oh my god... You know what? I can't tell if you're the fool, or if I was the idiot... Here I was, thinking that my husband had accepted me for what I was, had even embraced the life our daughter would live out... I thought you were *listening* to me, all those years, when I kept telling you that I had distant relatives who had magic, and that I was pretty sure Melanie had inherited those same talents... It was my darkest secret, and I was so worried that you would never accept me... I cried, you know, with joy the first time you called me a Squib..." "Bloody hell Doria, I thought we were *roleplaying*! Why the hell else would I go *ho ho ho, I'm Hagrid, and my laugh is not all that's big about me* in bed?" I saw the tears well up in Doria's eyes, and she turned away before they could spill. My heart ached then, for I could see that my words had hurt her. All I wanted to do was to hold her tight, struggle to make sense of what I had learned, and then maybe try to figure out what the hell I should be doing next. But the horrible memories of me reading the books to Melanie before her bedtimes came crashing back, and I knew there was no time for tenderness now. Not when my precious Melanie was, in all likelihood, boarding a frickin' fairy train to Hogwarts at this very instant. I wasn't prescient in any way, but the foreboding was building in my stomach, pooling like the condensation off a can of Coke in summer. "Doria, look, I'm sorry, OK? I'm an ass of a father who was just trying to record his daughter ramming into a wall so that I could perhaps get gold on Reddit, OK? I admit to that. I'm scum. But listen, there's something really important that I need your help with, OK?" "And what's that? You want me to find some way to pull our daughter back? So that maybe you can corrupt her with your hate, your shallowness, your sheer idiocy?" "No, no, not that. Look, and don't get mad... but I... may have taken certain liberties with the story when I read the books to her. And before she puts any of those ideas into play, we need to get her back, set the record straight. So please, if you know of any-" "Wait, what did you say?" Doria narrowed her eyes, then stabbed a finger into my chest. "Back up, back up. Say that again for me." "I said, we need to get her back, so that we can correct-" "Did I hear you say that you *took certain liberties with the storyline?*" Doria had on the same look she always had just before she ascended to *blind fury*, right after *maddened rage* and *righteous anger*, and way, way past *mild annoyance*, which was usually where I liked to keep her with my jokes and silly innuendos. I gulped, then decided honesty was the best policy here. "I er... kinda shared some commentary on the series with her. You know, just to help her with the development of critical thinking-" "Did you not hear me specifically ask you to avoid any of your usual shit with this series? Just this series? And that it was *vital* that Melanie hear the complete storyline as accurately as possible?" "For crying out loud, Doria, I thought it was just because you were a fangirl!" "No, I'm not a fangirl, Richard! Rowling's the most accurate historian we've ever had!" Doria bunched her fists, then pummeled my shoulder for couple of seconds. When she was spent, she sighed. "What exactly did you tell her?" "I... may have told her that, you know... the Sorting Hat was an antiquated pro-discrimination enforcer who reveled in making cursory judgments of people, and that if she ever got the chance, she should tell the Sorting Hat to stuff it..." "Oh god..." "And... I may have told her that Potions class was the most important one of all, simply because humans were weakest when it came to addiction, and if she could just develop a substance which caused maximum pleasure and a minimum of side-effects, she should keep it secret and focus on selling product to her classmates... money, I told her, makes the world go round..." "You seriously... oh for..." "And... I may have also... said... that Voldy did nothing wrong... and that his views of how wizardkind should govern itself before Muggles did so was entirely justifiable and in fact a plot device employed in X-Men Apocalypse... and that the only mistake he made was in not dressing it up in a more digestible exterior. PR, I told her. Get into damn Slytherin, then change it from within. Get rid of the bloody snake, replace it with an animal with broader appeal than the stupid lion the Gryffies have... maybe choose like, something cute and relatable, like a Japanese electric mouse... then when no one suspects, you spread your doctrines and your teachings... help people see that there are more ways than one to conquer the world..." I would have gone on, but Doria's face was drained of blood at this point. In the distance behind her, I saw a few more families ambling our way, and their children suddenly fell to the floor, grimacing and clutching their heads in pain. From that distance, I could still make out the image of a cartoon frog, pulsing on their foreheads, a scar magically delivered by an artist I was intimately acquainted with. Pepe, the first animal I had taught Melanie to draw, as a joke, for shits and giggles. *Do you like this animal?* I had asked her. *It could be your personal coat of arms, yes?* Doria grabbed my collar, and I wondered if we would ever return to the lives we had. "What have you done?" she asked. Truly, I did not know. --- /r/rarelyfunny

Eights use their extra day to

When something unexplainable happened from Monday to Sunday, there was always an explanation that originated in Lokesday. When you wake up on Monday morning with an awful headache and overall just dreading the day? Lokesday. When your Monday just never seems to go right? Lokesday. The people that always seem refreshed in your office and roaring to go on Monday morning? They're probably an eight. They use their extra day to relax, catch up, and refresh. Some people spend their time traveling the world with their extra day. There's even an app called "Find Eight" that only comes on the app store on Lokesday that lets you meet up with other Eights for just hanging out, sex, or whatever it is you want to do. There's even a lot of businesses open on Lokesday just so people have things to do and spend their money on. There's even a special cryptocoin called "8bit" that eights do most of their business with on Lokesday to keep our secret. Nobody can really explain what happens. Always on time, one minute after 11:59pm GMT on Sunday, everyone disappears. Thus begins Lokesday, an entire extra day of the week for many. All of the sevens disappear, and so begins the extra day for the eights. There's no logic to who is an eight. Either you are or you aren't. We've always had it, and there's an unspoken code among us. Rule 1: No sevens can know about Lokesday. Rule 2: Any seven that finds out about Lokesday must be imprisoned or executed. Rule 3: Whatever happens on Lokesday, is not talked about until the next Lokesday. Rule 4: Nobody is your friend on Lokesday. Rule 5: Practice ethical business on Lokesday. Rule 6: Eighth day criminals are punished with death. Rule 7: Normal laws apply on Lokesday. Rule 8: No sevens can know about Lokesday. Yes some of the rules are a *wee bit* outdated. But we take them seriously. Most people fear being punished with death too much to do anything serious Lokesday. Short of breaking laws, it still can be fun for some to play minor tricks on people. Everything bad that comes to light on Monday that's just unexplainable usually has to do with some trickster on Lokesday. With less than a hundredth of the population being an eight, there's not enough police to stop people from setting up the sevens to have awful Mondays or just to take advantage of them. Most of the Police force are volunteers. Many are actual Police Officers, but they're in charge of guarding banks, Federal Buildings, and the like. They can't spend their time chasing down the guys doing 100 down the highway when there's nobody else on the road anyway. The more important things are major crimes, and while if caught, you will still be punished, most people don't care what you do on Lokesday as long as you aren't robbing people, planning on murdering people, or committing terrorism, you'll probably just be ignored. I could tell you all about Lokesday and what it's about, but I think you get the picture. Most of us eights use it to hookup, catch up on sleep, or get extra work done. Don't cheat, still, or kill and you'll enjoy Lokesday for what it is. An extra, hidden day that a small portion of us get to enjoy. Me? You can usually find me sleeping on Lokesday. It's a great opportunity to catch up after a busy week. I work about 50 hours a week, and another 20 hours I spend on school. I went back for my Masters last year after realizing I could get most of my homework done in my extra day and still sleep in until 11. It's not very fun, but I'm young enough that it will help me to drastically improve my career path. Sales isn't the best thing in the world for me right now, but getting a degree in Business Management will help me move toward an executive level where I can work to easily make a 6 or 7 figure salary if I stay on my current path. Now, you might be wondering, Gavin, what kind of trouble do you like to get into on Lokesday? Well, the answer is simple. Usually, not much. For years I've liked to keep my Lokesday simple and stay out of the way. I don't have to mess with anybody, and nobody messes with me. My girlfriend doesn't know because she's just a seven, and she stays happy that I can afford to take her out on nice dates throughout the week since I don't have to focus my time after I get off work on schoolwork. Though I'm not often much of a troublemaker, there's a reason I'm telling you all of this though. I want a simple life, and I'm okay with working for that. But I don't want to have to worry. I don't want my girlfriend Mary to have to worry about anything. I love her very much. We're both approaching 30 in the next couple of years, and I'd like to raise a family with her, and to be able to spend time with her. So when my best friend James, an acclaimed physicist approached me last year and said he found a way to pull of the ultimate Lokesday Crime, needless to say, I was interested. It was a way for me to enjoy more time with my family than most, and that was all I really cared about. I've always been nervous of committing a crime on Lokesday because of the severe penalties. But when he told me his plan, I knew why he wanted me involved. He wanted me to organize the team, to be the leader. James has never been a very confident guy, and with him working on the physics of the operation, he needed someone to organize it. His plan is complicated. He wanted to create a way for Sevens to experience Lokesday. It would violate Rules 1 and 8 of The Code, but if we could pull it off, I could have exactly what I wanted. A way to spend as much time with my future family as possible. That's all that matters to me. James' plan? It comes down to a lot of theoretical physics. But he's been clued in by some of his close scientist friends that are Government contractors that the U.S. Government has done a lot of experimenting and working on discovering how eights get an extra day. Rumor has it, that they may have even developed the physics and discovered the biology behind it. Of course, even if that science exists, it would be kept under lock and key with heavy scrutiny. We're talking about an army of volunteers to guard that secret. His insider believes they're going to use the new science for war though. Of course if they used it for that, it would be a crime against humanity. But he thinks we can do it in four phases. We're in Phase 0 right now. Planning. Getting together our people, and gathering information to set up for the rest of the phases. Our next step? The Heist. Edit: Fixed a sentence that I stopped writing halfway through. Might add more because the last couple paragraphs feel kind of forced without a little more transition. Edit 2: Seems this thread has been locked because there's already a novel based on this concept. I really enjoyed writing this, but I don't want to inadvertently plagiarize someone else's work. Please check out the novel this prompt seems to be inspired by

The ruckus from the dining

I pulled the pillow down hard over my head, but it didn't do much to drown out the ruckus wafting up from the dining room below. I winced too, when I heard the sound of cutlery scattering, plates shattering. Then, loud thumps, probably one of them pushing the other against the wall. More howls, more wordless cries of anger. Then, suddenly, silence. I crept to the door, tilted it open so that it wouldn't creak. I even peeked through the balustrades, but they were both gone. I sighed, then headed down to help with cleaning up. It was easier this way. They always apologized afterwards, swearing that they did not mean to cause trouble for me again, but I honestly did not mind. As long as we could- Blood. Fresh droplets, sprayed in a clear arc on the tabletop. This close, I did not even need to Shift to know that they were from mum. Axe. Usually stowed in the rack next to the fireplace, now missing. I narrowed my eyes, and the disturbed dust particles in the air painted the rest of the picture for me. Dad, probably, had retrieved the weapon in a frenzy. Wind. A chilly gust, swirling through the house as brazenly as an uninvited guest, alerted me to the front door, now hanging ajar. Footprints leading out, framed by porcelain chips from the ravaged dinnerware, made clear where my parents had went. *This was no ordinary fight,* I thought. *Shit.* I sprinted out, drawing in as much of the night air as my lungs would allow. In my human form, I had perhaps one-hundredth of the capabilities afforded to me when I Shifted, but I was still a clear cut above my unpowered human brethren. Their scents became apparent to me, hanging in the air like a trail of fireflies. Dad's scent was stronger, overpowering even, full of anger and rage and potent impotence. Mum's scent was... too faint to make out. No matter, they had to be together. My feet carried me across the fields. My heart burned with fatigue, but I didn't dare to stop. There was no plan, of course. I was barely ten, and definitely not strong enough to stop dad if I had to. Even if there were a full moon tonight, it wouldn't have mattered. I could only hope that he would listen to reason. It was the only weapon I had. Then, at the edge of the forest, where the bristling trees were thickest, I saw dad raise his axe high above his head, priming for the swing. The scarce moonlight was enough to illuminate his fury for me. "Dad! Stop! Dad, please!" I tumbled at the last few paces, rolling into a ball, stopping at his feet. The tears were ready to spring from my eyes, the pleas all prepared in my throat. They always fought, but they always came back together, so why shouldn't they do so again this time? Why make choices which cannot be reversed? "Rania? What the... Get up, you twit. What are you doing here?" Dad hoisted me to my feet. I could still smell the anger roiling off him, but it was controlled, not a conflagration consuming him, but a modest flame burning in a lamp. My eyes darted around, searching for what I was sure was mum, lying on the ground, wounded, bleeding out. I saw only firewood. "Dad? Where's... Mum?" "How should I know? Geez, that crazy coot can go fall off a cliff for all I care!" "But... I thought... You were chasing her, with your axe, and I thought... Well, maybe, that you were..." Dad looked down at the axe in his hand, then back at me before he burst into laughter. "What, you thought I was chopping down your mum with *this*? Ain't nothing less than Odin's Spear will pierce that mangy hide of hers!" "But then why... Why are you..." Dad pointed at the woodchips on the ground. "Your mum said the firewood I brought in had spores in them, set off her allergies something bad. I told her she was more fragile than a chihuahua, and that was more than enough to set her off." "... And the blood?" "Aye, that was me. I flung the plates at her, and I forgot her reflexes are shit when she ain't Shifted. Might have cut her hand or something." Dad watched me stew in the uncomfortable silence for a few moments longer before he turned back to the tree, aiming precise strokes at the trunk. I took a few steps back, away from the debris flying into the air, then found a dry spot to sit down on. "Why can't you talk to her like you do with me, dad?" I asked. "Calm and all. Taking your time to explain things." "That woman drives me nuts, you know that. I do my fair share at making her mad too, I know, I know." "Then maybe you two wouldn't fight so much, you know? And you could enjoy more of life together, and not have to spend so much of it apart, like now." Dad dropped the axe, then started bundling his haul together. Two quick loops with twine later, he had a hefty bundle which he carried over his shoulder. "You've seen us run during the full moons, Rania. No greater love exists for me then, or ever will elsewhere. And if the price of that is that I've got to tolerate her foolishness for the rest of the month... Then I'd gladly do that. I can only hope she feels the same way." I took his outstretched hand, and we began our trek back to our home. We walked in silence for a while longer, then I caught a whiff of stew on the wind. Onions, celery, black pepper, beef. In the distance, I saw the lights spilling out of our kitchen. Dad's favourite supper was only minutes away. "Will you at least try to be nicer to each other?" "Rania, if I hadn't watched you being born myself, I could have sworn that you were an old woman stitched into the body of a child." "Dad! I'm being serious!" Dad sighed, then lunged forward in the darkness. He swiped a clod of earth from the ground, then revealed the prize he was going for - a handful of chrysanthemums, slightly traumatized but otherwise perky. "This good enough for her, you think?" I grinned. "It's a start," I said. --- /r/rarelyfunny

I don't know why I always

I was really, very glad for the full face Venetian mask that covered my face, the intricate gold and purple paint on the white base expertly hiding my blushing cheeks. I don't know why I always end up grabbing the same guy as a hostage, but that's just how it seems to go. I knew his first name, Daniel, and he liked to talk. A lot. At first, when I had started my career as a super villain, I had grabbed Daniel as a hostage in a bank hold up (Don't look at me like that, so you have any idea how expensive it is to be a super villain when you're just starting out?) he was taller than me and bigger but he hadn't tried to get away or stop me. When the local hero had shown up, after thirty minutes of waiting and me cleaning out most of the vault, I was getting ready to leave before the lazy bum could try to catch me. I turned to the then nameless hostage and asked him why he hadn't struggled. He had given me a smile, full of perfect teeth, and said in a deep (panty melting) voice, "You're boobs are comfy." My eye twitched and I'd pulled a taser out of my utility belt and tazed him. He dropped like a barrel of bricks and I took off before anyone could stop me. ~~~~~~~ It has gone on like this for about three years now. Sometimes I'd get caught, but usually the local coalition of heroes took to long to catch me. It probably helped that I tended to play my games two states away from my home town. Anyway, every time I ended up grabbing Daniel I learned something new. He was a 27, two years older than me; he swam on the weekends at the local YMCA; he had a kid with his ex-girlfriend; the kid was six and a girl who liked my mask. Daniel liked spelunking and in the mountains. I think it was around the time he told me that he liked spelunking that I started crushing on him. I still tazed him whenever he decided to be a pervert though. He liked to point out that, if I was going to wear a skin tight body suit and grab at people then I deserved to grab a mostly harmless pervert. I didn't taze him for that one but I did leave him hanging upside down for the fire department to find and cut down. ~~~~~~ Today I wasn't even sure how Daniel managed to be the one I grabbed. He was all the way across the jewelry store when I reached for the nearest person, a small blonde female dressed in red jeans and a black top. One moment my hand was closing around the blonde's upper arm and the next I was dragging Daniel in front of me as the cops showed up. I have no idea why these guys even bothered to show up when they never do anything other than block the obvious exits and corral the civilians. I glared at Daniel as I tossed him behind a display case and I started breaking the case and collecting the pretties in the case that I wanted. Daniel sat with his back to the case and looked up at me. "How's your kid?" I asked as I worked. "Annie is fine, she got an A plus on her spelling test this week. Your suggestion of making it a game for her really helped." He ran a hand through his dark hair. I nodded absentmindedly and pulled out a magnifier to look over some of the rocks. "Good to hear she is doing so well," I mumbled. "How about you? How's life?" He blinked lovely hazel eyes at me. Today they were more green than brown. I glanced at him and shrugged. "Not too bad. Can't really complain. Works good obviously and my latest projects are coming along well." I was glad he couldn't see me blushing. I hadn't blushed this much since I'd gone to a middle school dance with my best friend and accidentally kissed him. "Cool, cool. How's your dog?" He smoothed out his hunter green polo shirt. I tossed a diamond ring in a white gold setting into my catch bag. "Mutt's fine. Trying to breed some of the females in the neighborhood and failing, but otherwise good." My voice was muffled by my mask and he couldn't hear the way my voice fluctuated a bit. "Ever thought about getting him fixed?" I looked down at Daniel and quirked an eyebrow at him even though he couldn't see it. "Did you mom ever consider having you fixed?" He laughed and got up to follow me to the next case. "I'm sure she did, especially after I knocked Jill up," he said. I rolled my eyes at him and broke the next case. "Whatever." He snorted. "That is a lame come back and you know it." "Its not a come back. I'm just trying to get my work done and get out." It was true. I'd gotten two cases, I didn't know when the local hero brigade would turn up to stop me. He huffed dramatically and leaned against the broken case as I picked through it. "So, any ideas on how to help Annie with her math?" I glared at him for a moment before returning to picking out my new shiny jewelry. "Do I look like a personal tutor for your six year old?" He shrugged, a dark cloud shrouding his face. "You have a more active roll in her life than her mother does. Humor me." I grunted and moved on to the next case. "Does she like any video games or something?" He thought about it. "She likes pokemon and just dance." I thought for a moment. "Equate dance move to math problems. Or use the pokemon candies for the same thing." He nodded. "Thanks." I blushed again and nodded. The sirens had stopped and they were playing the super heroes' theme song. I sighed. Time to go. I turned to Daniel and smiled under my mask. "Good luck!" I shouted before I activated the cloaking device attached to me suit. Essentially i had vanished to all but the keenest of animal senses. With everyone curious and looking for me, I was able to slip away in the chaos and get to a train station. I went to the ladies room and changed out of my super villain outfit and into a clean set of blue jeans, a red v-neck top, and jogging shoes. My costume and everything else was stowed away in my tote bag. I got on a train home and began plotting my next game, half hoping Daniel wouldn't be there and half eagerly hoping he was. ~~~~~~~~ AN: I actually used to use Pokemon and video games to help with my math and science work in high school.

Raven's perfume wafted to

Chelsea struggled against the rope bindings, but that only made them bite harder into her wrists and ankles. "Let me go!" she screamed at Raven, who stood by the window, the breeze throwing her auburn hair back in waves against her shoulders. In her hands was a piece of paper she was folding into a tiny origami bird. "Chelsea, please. You know how it goes: you behave, and I don't hurt you. When Jaxson turns up and falls into my little trap, I let you go. All safe and sound." Chelsea took a deep breath. Raven's perfume wafted to her, carried by the breeze from the window. That sweet familiar scent of crumbling biscuits. She'd put on more than usual, today. Her face, as always, was disguised by the mask with the long twisted beak. It used to frighten Chelsea. She could imagine it dipping into a person's stomach, like a vulture, then coming out painted red. Raven didn't scare her any more, though. She might be strong, but she'd never hurt Chelsea when abducting her; maybe she'd been a little rough at times, but she was somehow also gentle. The entire ordeal was more an inconvenience, these days, than anything else. "But it *never* happens that way, Raven. Jaxson always sees through your dumb-ass traps. He always rescues me -- you never let me go." Raven lay the completed paper bird down on the windowsill. "Yeah? Well, not this time. I'll be the one setting you free today." That was an odd way to phrase it, Chelsea thought. "So what have you got lined up for him? Is this whole apartment rigged to blow up the moment Jaxson enters it?" "*Tut tut tut*," said Raven, wagging a finger. "No spoilers." Chelsea raised her eyebrows. "Sorry for asking." The beak turned away from the window, tilted, and then stared at her. A shiver splashed on Chelsea's neck and ran down her back. It seemed like the mask, or the woman inside the mask, was inspecting her. "How's work going, Chelsea?" "W- what? Are you serious?" "Yes. I'm serious. I want to know how your work's going. I imagine running a little flower shop like that must be... *idyllic*." "You really want to know?" "Yes. Really!" "Well..." Chelsea paused. "Well, not so great, right now, actually. Because I haven't been able to open today, seeing as I was *kidnapped!*" "Generally, Chelsea. How's work going, in *general*?" Chelsea could feel a ball of anxiety growing in her stomach. In truth, it wasn't going well. She was barely making enough money to afford the rent, and if things didn't change soon... Being here was at least a break from the stress. Maybe not a welcome one, but it was a distraction nonetheless. Chelsea lowered her head. "Fine. I guess." "You guess?" Raven stepped towards her and lowered herself onto the floor by her side. "That sounds a little ominous, Chelsea. Would you like to talk about it?" The sweet perfume surrounded her now. There were flowery high notes, too. Rose petal, maybe. "I wouldn't want to distract you from your uh..." "Come on, tell me about it." "I don't really want to." Raven paused. "You're not good enough at the business aspects. Bookkeeping and such. Is that it?" "No. It's not that, at all," Chelsea replied. "Oh. Is it that you're deadly allergic to flowers?" Chelsea almost laughed. "...A few months ago a shop opened up a little way down the street. Flower Pirate." Raven scoffed. "*Flower Pirate?* Seriously? What kind of name is that?" "Says *The Raven*", Chelsea mocked. "Hey! It's just *Raven*, now. And it's a pretty cool name, I think." "Well anyway, Flower Pirate has a lot of marketing power. They're on tv, in the papers -- all over the place. They sell mainly to the rich and famous. We sell exactly the same things -- even better arrangements, in my opinion. But they price at ten times what we do -- and it sells. Ours doesn't. I think... I think them opening was really the beginning of the end. First nail in the coffin. Simply put, they're trendy, and we're not." "Beginning of the end? That's..." Chelsea could feel her eyes welling. "Yeah. It is." "You okay?" Chelsea nodded, but a single tear rolled down her cheek. Raven wiped it away with a gentle finger. She then raised her hands and lifted the mask from off her face. A woman with dazzling blue eyes, and skin like snow, looked not unkindly at Chelsea. "Are you... are you going to have to kill me now?" Raven grinned. "Kill my best hostage? Are you crazy?" She leaned forward and loosened the ropes around Chelsea's ankles, then undid the ropes around her wrists completely. Chelsea let Raven take her hand. Let her squeeze it -- *liked* her squeezing it. Her hands were soft but strong. Reassuring. "Wait," said Chelsea, peering into the woman's deep blue eyes. "I've seen you before--" "I don't think so." "Yeah, I have... Oh, you were in the shop! I remember -- you bought like the most expensive bouquet we sell!" Raven shrugged. "Okay, you caught me. I like pretty flowers. Is that a crime?" "I guess not. Kidnapping, on the other hand..." "Hey, listen to me," said Raven. "It's going to be okay. Your shop, I mean." Chelsea looked down at the floor. "I... I don't think it is." "What if something were to... *happen* to Flower Pirate?" Chelsea's eyes went wide. "No! No, I don't want you blowing them up or anything. It's just business." Raven gritted her teeth, but nodded. "Okay, well what if you moved into a different market. Exotic plants, or something." "I can't afford exotic plants. I can only source local." "What if--" The sound of an explosion in the corridor cut through Raven's words. She fumbled for her mask and hooked it over her face. But it was too late. Jaxson was in the room, and the cuffs were around Raven's wrists in a matter of seconds. As Raven was dragged away, Chelsea caught the beak glance back at her. She smiled meekly in response. ~~~~~ Three weeks passed since Raven had kidnapped Chelsea, and today was a new day for her. A new beginning, even. Because today, she was going to walk into her shop for the final time. She was going to close it. She couldn't compete with 'Flower Pirate' any longer, and she'd made up her mind, even if her heart was breaking because of it. Her keys fell onto the floor as the shop door swung open. "Oh my God," she said as she stared at what should have been a near empty shop. Hundreds of plants -- rare and exotic and *expensive* -- lined every inch of the shop floor. All in little baskets or pots. "Oh my God," she repeated. She didn't find out until later, that Raven had escaped her prison two days prior. But the little origami bird sitting on her desk, told her all she needed to know. That day turned into the busiest day of her professional career, as word of the incredible plants, that snapped and kissed and smelt like heaven, spread through the town, and then into the neighbouring towns. A week later, a woman with pale skin and auburn hair walked into her store. The two women soon left together, to visit the quaint little coffee shop opposite. --- /r/nickofnight

Marion clenched her jaw, grinding her

###### Marion clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth together as the domestic jingle echoed through her small home. An adrenal slurry of frustration began coursing through her veins as she stood to answer the door yet again, resolving once and for all to disconnect that goddamned doorbell. Walking through the barely controlled chaos of the "living room" - which was also the kitchen, dining room and soon to be baby's bedroom - Marion hewed to the thin trail of soiled carpet carved out from between stacks of spare construction material and tools. Slowly, with careful steps, she made her way to the front door. Her abdomen was huge now, distended out in front of her, nature playing a bad joke on her center of balance, and her knees and lower back ached as though they were ancient and crippled by rheumatism. The front door was cheap, just like everything else in the house, and everything else in Paddock Junction, population 869, soon to be 870, assuming old man Jacobs didn't drop dead in the next two months. Paddock Junction was an old coal town, in the middle of nowhere Appalachia, abandoned by industry, hope and history alike. The Dollar General and the bail bondsman were the only two businesses in town more than a decade old, and there was talk of the former closing up shop this coming winter. Nothing of any interest to anyone had happened in Paddock's Junction since before the civil war, when Henry Paddock first founded the township as a minor act of rebellion after a fight with the Mayor of Chattanooga. Since then it was basically down hill for the town, with the exception of the twenty years it took to exhaust the overestimated vein of coal running through the center of Paddock's Peak. Today there was as close to nothing in Paddock's Junction as any place could reasonably contain while still being considered a "place" at all. Why, then, yet another visitor was visible behind the small textured glass windows of Marion's front door was a mystery to her, and one which she no longer found endearing. At first, almost 8 months ago, when people started to show up unannounced in the town, asking after Marion, she had almost been excited. Here were random people suddenly interested in a lonesome widow living in rural Tenessee. But it soon become an annoyance, and then a source of significant anger. At one point Marion had gone all the way to the public library in Chattanooga and had a librarian search for her name on one of the computers. But the librarian said the search turned up nothing, that Marion's name didn't even come up on the internet not once. After a few months, Marion began to actively avoid the interlopers. They would stand on her front lawn and take photos of the house, or the mailbox, or selfies in front of the sprawling pear tree Marion's father had planted half a century earlier. When Marion went to Dollar General they would sometimes be waiting for her, always with there cell phones, eagerly snapping pictures and gaping in her direction. It was particularly frustrating to her that none of them ever said a word. No matter how much she yelled or antagonized, no one ever spoke to her. On the few occassions when she threatened physical violence the visitors just ran away in silence. In the last month, as her pregnancy reached it apex and the birth of her son loomed, she had taken to waving guests away with a shotgun. It leaned against the front door, loaded and cocked, at all times of day. Peering through at the blurred image through the glass of her front door, Marion picked up the shotgun and raised it with some effort half way up, before turning the doorknob and opening the door a crack. "Who's that? If you come just to look best get the hell off my stoop 'fore I lose my damned temper." Through the crack of the door, Marion heard a man's voice came back, almost too quiet to hear clearly. "Marion Doharty?" The visitors never said a word when they came, which set this visit apart. Still holding tightly to the gun, Marion slowly opened the door wider, until she stood face to face with the stranger. "Can I help you?" The man looked back at her with an inscrutable look, one of grim determination. "I'm sorry Mam." The apology was a barely audible mumble. Marion was about to ask "what for?" when the man reached into his pocket and removed the strangest looking object, like a Deringer pistol, no bigger than a humming bird, but made of one unbroken piece of matte black material. Before Marion could even register it as a threat, the man raised the small object, aimed it at her face, and activated the trigger. Things happened quickly. As the small gun came up there was a bright blue flash of light, an inscrutable flurry of sound and movement, everywhere at once, and when everything was silent and the sunlight returned, the man was no longer on the front porch. He was nowhere to be seen. Marion turned around and saw, not a foot to the left of her head, a gaping, smoldering hole in the side of her house. She lined her face up to it and could see clean through to the poplar tree in the back yard. She turned back, astonished, unsure what to think, terrified and astounded. The shotgun fell to the floor from her hands and instinctually she placed her palms against her belly. Marion had no idea what had just happened, except that her life was very nearly ended, along with the life of her unborn son. Somehow, they had survived a threat she did not at all understand by means she understood even less. The police had no answers for Marion. The random assailant was never found, nor was the weapon he used or any ammunition. No one would have believed anything at all had happened, but for the giant hole in the side of the house. Despite that, no one had the slightest inkling of an explanation. From that day on Marion received no more strange visitors. Another month passed before the birth of her son, Gedeon. In the decades and eventually centuries to come, during Gedeon's unnaturally long and terrible reign, many assassins would try their hand at ridding the world of the Tyrant King. Only one would even come close, travelling back to the distant past, carrying a hidden weapon built for the task, even going so far as to take his shot. Only the radical temporal intervention of the Royal Guard saved the Tyrant King. The unnamed assassin was dragged back to the present, tortured and quartered, his remains sent to the four corners of the Empire. Though his name was stricken from all records, his image eradicated from the annals of time, the *idea* of him became a legend among the downtrodden and forgotten, and he is still celebrated in secret to this day. ****** #### For More Legends From The Multiverse #### r/LFTM

Dafaris was the teacher who

I really wasn't sure what to make of this errand. Sure, while studying at university, Dafaris had been my favorite professor. How could he not have been? He made even the most complex spells look nearly effortless. Some of the complex weaves he performed \- especially while distracted, showing the value of muscle memory for common somatic components. He was the teacher who enjoyed the low\-level classes to instill and reinforce wonder, and the high\-level classes to share that wonder. He always made time for his students if they asked. He and I became friends during my final year \- I'd meet him at a pub at least once a week, and that continued after my graduation, albeit monthly. Over the last year, I'd strived to make it more often, because I had seen it. His vigor was gone; he had taken to using a cane, and while he still loved to reminisce, the details kept getting fuzzier. When he had to skip a meetup, I was worried, but pushed it out of my mind. When I received the summons from the university, I could not suppress the fear and doubt. The note was short, especially as the university board's publications went: "As one of our esteemed alumni, we know of both your substantial skill and your desire to help the world. While most students pursue paths outside of the university, a unique task has arisen, and our colleague Dafaris has specifically requested you to take it on. He will share with you the details; attached is a sigil which will allow you \- and only you \- to travel to his home. If you cannot undertake this task, please let us know immediately." Dafaris had asked; I had to go. I used the sigil, and ended up at a small, peaceful farm \- a quick positional attunement spell revealed that I was in France, but far from any city. It had a great view of the sea, and was a nice cottage \- not huge, but certainly comfortable. I made my way to it. I knocked, and I heard rustling inside. After a moment, his wife \- who I had met perhaps twice \- answered the door. She looked exhausted, and the tear stains on her cheek told me how dire his health was. "Oh, Evras, I'm so glad you could make it. Lapisque doesn't have much time left." "Lapisque? Don't you mean Dafaris?" "Yes, but, it's complicated. Come inside." She led me up to his room. I barely maintained my composure; Dafaris was jaundiced, and his breathing was labored. "Evras, as you can see, my dear Lapisque doesn't have much time left. He hasn't been conscious in three days; the first I just thought he was getting some rest, but now I fear that... that it may be... final." I tried to put my hand on her shoulder to provide some measure of comfort. "I... never thought I'd see the day. Dafaris always seemed so lively. What happened?" She responded, "It's some sort of cancer. Aggressive \- none of his spells could even slow it." "Cancer? That... doesn't make sense. Hell, Dafaris explained in my first year that Wizards analyze themselves as they cast spells, and stop if their health isn't stable. He'd have noticed it early, and the university board..." "The board tried and couldn't help Lapisque\-" "What? Why? And why do you keep calling him Lapisque?" She sighed. "Lapisque is Dafaris's original name. He was born thousands of years ago." "Th\- Thousands?" "Yes. When he was born, his parents didn't realize it, but they were of different lines of sorcerors." "Wait, Dafaris \- er, Lapisque \- is a sorceror? That doesn't make sense! He's a wizard!" "He's both. Like any sorceror, his power manifested during puberty... and it was incredible. The raw power he could weave into spells was immense, but it was so great he lacked control. After an incident that killed his father, he sought sorcerors to help him, but none could help teach him control \- so he sought wizards. They could teach him control \- they helped him seal his power, and he worked hard to burn off the excess regularly." "That's why his spells were so effortless! He wasn't just pulling the power from outside \- he was simply allowing his power out!" "Exactly. To maintain his secret, he helped establish the university. He's gone through dozens of names, as his innate power and precise control extended his lifespan twenty\-fold." "I never knew..." She sighed. "He didn't want anyone to know. The university board nearly forgot, until I sent them a message reminding them. He also asked me to send for you." "Why? I don't\-" "You have to have some idea now." "No... I can't help save him. He taught me well, but anything that aggressive... Oh.... The cancer \- it was probably caused by the sealed energy he couldn't spend!" "Right. But he needs you to ensure his legacy." "His... legacy? What.... oh, no..." His innate spells. Anything powered by his sorcerous energy would unravel with his death. University buildings could crumble. Averted natural disasters could occur. Creatures would be unbound. "But how can I help? There's no way I could find every spell he had cast in time!" "Lapisque had been working on a plan for that. He didn't explain it to me, but I have an inkling." She opened a drawer. "More importantly, he left a memory crystal." I picked up the blue crystal. An apparition appeared sitting on the end of the bed. "Evras, I'm glad you made it. By now, Kelleth has explained the situation. I need you to make sure you've sat down, because there probably isn't much time." I sat down in a chair. The apparition continued: "I've lived a good life; it's sad, but all lives end. I've had more than my fair share, and I'm content to pass. But the damage that would be done is horrific, because I called on my power too often. I needed to \- if I didn't burn off that energy, it started to pulse and ache. Now, that power exists throughout the world, and when I pass, it will be gone." There was a moment of silence. I was tearing up. "There is a way to stop the destruction \- to keep my secret, save untold numbers of people, and help keep the wonder in the magic I taught. It will be difficult for you, but I know you can do it. While I was trying to find a cure, I figured out my sorcerous origin \- why there was so much power. More importantly, I realized I could light that spark in others \- turn them to sorcerors. You are my first choice \- who else could it be? You respected your elders, you tried to help others, and you learned well." I was crying now, and Kelleth had started as well. "I have devised a set of linked spells to solve the problem. The first shares my knowledge with you. It may not be perfect due to my age, but you would know how to control sorcerous power, what spells I had weaved with my own, and every spell and technique I had \- at least that I remember. The second is the one that, critically, ignites the spark in you. It will hurt \- I can't fix that \- but it won't kill you. The third is the most crucial \- it's a unique enchantment, and I am proud of it. It transfers the energy link from each spell to you. It sounds like a heavy burden, but it's not, because it happens at this point in the chain. The fourth and final will create a seal similar to my own, albeit improved \- it might prevent my fate from befalling you. It also prevents the paradox from creating your power and sealing it, but my passing removing it." I was in awe... the complexity that would require... "I simply need you to make me a few promises. I need you to help take care of Kelleth \- she's my world, and while someday she'll join me on the other side, I want that to be as far off as possible, and the time in between filled with joy." Kelleth started to sob. "I also need you to stabilize my work. Expend sorcerous energy on temporary things, and practice your precise magic on things with permanence. Find my spells, and re\-weave them." "I will." Kelleth laughed. "You know his illusion can't hear you, right?" I felt stupid for a moment. "I... guess I forgot. But I needed to say it out loud, so I know what I'm promising." In between his labored breaths, I felt a small pulse of energy from Lapisque \- the real Lapisque. Kelleth went back to the drawer, which now contained a second crystal. It wasn't there before. This was not for reminiscing \- this one bristled with raw power. "I think you know what to do with this. I don't know what will happen when you do \- I may be a talented wizard in my own right, but some of these threads are beyond me \- but I'll watch over you while you recover." She handed me the crystal. It was a brilliant gold, with other colors shining through. She was right \- the threads of energy in the lattice were so complex, so saturated with energy. If not used properly, the crystal may as well have been a nuclear bomb. It was only kept in check with precise spellweaving from my mentor. It offered immense power... and a terrific burden. A burden that my best friend had entrusted me with... I unlocked the crystal. All I could see turned golden, and the knowledge and magic started to flood into me.

"Put him back! Now!"

###### Being shocked doesn't describe his expressions. What was even more terrifying was the fact that he couldn't move - at all. "Put him back! Now!" a woman with higher pitched voice was shouting as everyone gathered around him. Even as he tried to open his mouth and move it, nothing happened. When he could feel his muscles in the Virtual Reality, where he couldn't at all. Still, as he rolled his eyes down and inspected his own muscles, he understood the problem immediately - his body and limbs were thin like bones. "Stop it, for fuck sake!" a shout came, as an older man entered the room. He had a white coat on, which made him look like a doctor. "You're overdosing him. It's obviously not working anymore, now buzz off!" he whispered. But since his whisper was loud enough, even the patient could hear it. The doctor just smiled and looked how everyone was leaving the room. Finally, only two of them were left in the ward. "Good morning, John," the doctor said. "I'm Dr. Haven Carfagno, call me Haven," he looked around the room one last time and then whispered, "One might call me heaven, haha!" Of course, John did nothing. He had no strength to laugh. And to be quite frank, he wasn't in a mood for some jokes. "I know you have probably a lot of questions, but we'll get you there. First, we need you to get your strength back. We'll answer them later, when you can also ask them, alright? Don't worry; it's not to hide anything, you're just in a huge shock already!" He took out a syringe and slowly pushed it inside John's machine's hole. "It's only to help you sleep for now. You need that." &nbsp; &nbsp; John opened his eyes again. This time, he didn't do it slowly, since the moment he realized he was awake, he wanted to see the world. Compared to the last time, it was a lot fresher feeling. The room was same, but this time he had strength. Well, he was still weak, but he wasn't as skinny as he had seen himself last time. It didn't take long for Dr. Haven to enter the room, on his hand was some kind of a pad. "My machine tells me that you finally awake," he said. "And look at you, you're already looking much better!" "Where... am... I?" John managed to whisper his first words. "You can even talk, excellent!" Haven nodded, writing something down on his pad. "You're in a VR Research Center," the man explained. "Long story short - we study how to apply Virtual Reality to people, who might need it." John started shaking a bit. "What... is... that?" he whispered, trying to get himself seated. Haven casually walked next to him and helped him to do so. "Long time ago, you went into a coma. Normal procedure at one point was to pull it," Haven said honestly. "Your family, however, agreed that you'll be used in research in hopes that you might have a life to live in," he explained. John started laughing, which was a petty laugh, though. "So... all... possibilities... you... gave... me a life... like... that?" he said after he finally got himself seated. "As I said, we are a research institution, John. We don't want you to stay in there forever. We are quite thrilled that you finally woke up. John, we don't want you to wake up and the first thing to see you wanting to go back in there and denying the reality." John finally calmed down a bit. Even though his thoughts were slow, he understood the point. "Why... they..." he started coughing for a good ten seconds until he could continue, "wanted... put... back?" "A week ago?" Dr. Haven tried to remember. "Ah, yes. You're first coma patient to ever wake up," he said, nodding to himself, obviously proud of that. "Nobody knew what to do back then. A bit unprofessional, yes. But try to forgive them though, it was unexpected. It doesn't happen every day when 30-year coma patient wakes up." John's eyes widened. Thirty years? That's impossible. Then again, he doesn't remember what his last real memory was. He only has memories of taking care of those bedridden. Maybe that's why he took care of them - so that if and when he really woke up, he could understand his situation better? "What... happened?" he asked. "John, it's too early for that," Doctor said, a bit more quietly. "You're not ready." "Want... know!" "I'm sure you do," the doctor sighed. "I promise, in time, you will, but only when you're ready to take it all in," Doctor Haven took out a syringe and pushed it into the same hole as last time. "Now sleep! More! You'll be stronger next time." "Wai-" &nbsp; &nbsp; He opened his eyes again, but this time the room was different. He wasn't connected to any tubes anymore, and he felt a lot stronger than before. A red light turned on on the ceiling, probably alerting everyone that there was a movement. It was a first time when John could lift his hand all by himself. Even though he still remembered the last discussion with the doctor, his mind was fresh and relaxed. "Ah, John!" a voice came as the door opened. It was the same familiar face. "I see you can already move," he said as he walked next to John's bed and examined his pad. Probably full of John's data. "How long it has been?" John got silent as he finished his sentence. Even he was surprised that he could talk that well already. He did pronounce things like his mouth was numb, but it was still great. "Excellent," Haven nodded. "One month," he said. "Taking into account that you were in a coma for 30 years, that's quite fast. Well, you did sleep most of the time, so for you it was an instant, right?" "Pretty much," John whispered. "I can see that your thinking is a bit more wholesome?" the doctor asked. "My head hurts," John frowned. "Well, you have been oversleeping a bit, aren't ya?" the doctor laughed. "It actually hurts a lot," John said, slowly starting to take hold of his head. "It hurts, doctor!" Doctor face changed from a laugh to a quick shock. Still, he was professional, and he quickly hit a button on his pad. A lot of people in different colors entered the room. &nbsp; &nbsp; *"John, focus on my voice!" a distant voice shouted. He heard it repeatedly, but no matter how much he tried, he was being pulled back - towards something meaningful.* &nbsp; "Dad, why do I have to put on the safety belt? It's so uncomfortable!" a small child whispered. Her voice was sweet, and she had a very light hair. Her eyes were bright blue - just like her father's. "To make sure that when an accident happens, you'd be fine, sweety!" John smiled. "We are going to have an accident?" She asked. "Of course not, darling. It's just a precaution!" "You're telling me to lock it, but why haven't you locked it yourself?" the girl asked next to John. "Ah, shit, I'm sorry, a bad habit! A wrong thing to do, you're correct sweety," John whispered. "Let me get it!" John put his hand aside to search for the belt. As he grasped it, he slowly pulled it over himself and tried to push it into a hole to lock it. He couldn't find it though since he was looking at the road. "Can you help me with that, Mary?" John asked. He could feel a soft hand touching his to let him know that she got it. John heard a click, to which he quickly glanced at his child. He placed his free hand on her head and caressed her hair. "Good girl, Mary." "DAD!" *Bang.* He could see how large truck hit his car and how the car made circles on the road, but everything went slowly blurrier and blurrier. *"DAD!"* A high pitched scream came on a repeat. *"Wake up dad! I need you! Dad!"* He could still feel the soft hands around his hand. He had to reach that voice, he had to make sure that his girl was okay. &nbsp; "Dad!" the words echoed, but the voice went slowly softer and lower. John opened his eyes gradually, looking straight at the lady who held onto his hand. Her hands were soft. John's tears started dropped down since he knew who she was. She hadn't noticed that he was awake since she was leaning forward and pushing John's hand against her lips. "Dad, don't leave me again," she murmured. John softly reached out his other hand and touched her cheek, making her quickly raise her head. She looked at him with those same sweet deep-blue eyes. "Mary... Why would I? You tightened my seat-belt!" ---- ---- Always do it! **( /r/ElvenWrites - Feel free to follow my other emotional and non-emotional stuff! )**

Donald Trump had always known that his

Ever since he was elected he had been expecting it. His predecessor, Barrack Obama, was a renowned Pokemon trainer and NEVER lost a battle his entire time in office and so he had to be elected out, a first in almost 120 years. Donald himself had always known that his first term would be teeming with Pokemon battles, but there was just one problem, his Pokemon did not listen to him. The US was filled with many skilled trainers all lining up for the presidency and his grace period was almost over; he needed a plan and fast. Luckily, Donald Trump was also one of the richest men in the world, and had his top scientists looking into a secret weapon for him. One that could help him to control his Pokemon battles with ease. His first law that passed was to enforce a protection for the President, to challenge the president you now need to face and beat the 7 most renowned gym leaders in the US, a gruelling challenge for anyone, as you would need to travel most of the US, and it would take a few attempts at each gym, which alone should buy him a couple of years, surely? Imagine Donald Trump's surprise when he receives a challenge a mere 9 months into his presidency, and imagine his shock when the challenger was but a mere 10 years old. To the President, this was the best case scenario; a kid had got by on luck, and would be his first challenge. The formalities had been processed and the battle was due to take place on the 1 year anniversary of his inauguration. Donald received word that his experiment will be ready a week before the battle, a fact that made trump very happy; he may now get to have a second term in office, as nobodies Pokemon could hold a candle to his now. On the day of the battle, the challenger and trump chose their Pokemon, with each others choice being withheld from the other. As they enter the arena, trump takes in this child's apparel, a red and white hat, with a t-shirt the same colour and blue jeans. "You could have at least dressed up a bit!" Trump taunted. "You'll never get to be a president looking like that, kid. Sad." No response. Nothing. He just stood and stared at the president in an calculated way, and before he knew it the announcer sounded off "Gentlemen, choose your first Pokemon!" Trump chose his first Pokemon, a Jolteon, whilst the boy sent out a Charizard! Trump couldn't believe it "What the hell is a boy like you doing with a Charizard?" He proclaimed No answer again, this kid is different he thought to himself. "Okay Jolteon, use Thunder, now!" Charizard shook the Thunder attack off as if it was merely a light shock and proceeded to use Bulldoze, knocking Jolteon out in one. "Maybe I should use my secret weapon right away" Trump thought to himself. "...No, not now, I'll see what this kid is made of." "Kingdra, come out now!" Shouted Trump "quick use Hydro pump!" The attack was a success, and the kid's Charizard quickly faltered. There was nothing he could do now, surely he doesn't have a better Pokemon than his Charizard? The first words he heard the young man say were "Venasaur, I choose you!" "A Venasaur?! How does this kid have such powerful Pokemon?" Trump asked the official "I don't know sir, but all of the gym leaders have warned us about this young man, he is tenacious" "Oh who cares? Kingdra, use Hydro pump again!" Trump shouted, but Kingdra did nothing. "Now, Venasaur, use Petal blizzard!" requested the child. It was a critical hit, Trump could tell the next move will be Kingdras last. "Now Kingdra, use Dragon pulse!" Trump called out It hit, but Venasaur didn't seem all that damaged. "Vine Whip, Venasaur, let's do this" shouted the child, with a smirk on his face as Kingdra fell. The last straw. Trump was seething with anger. "How DARE you" he shouted "How dare you think you could beat the great President in a battle!" Now was the time, for the perfect weapon. "Mewtwo! Come out!" Shouted Trump in triumph. "Use hyper beam!" That did it. Venasaur was knocked out, but the child was... smiling?!?! "How can you smile when defeat is imminent, you stupid child?" he asked curiously "And by the way, what kind of name is Red anyway?" "Because you may think you can beat me with power alone, but I already knew of your plans with the evil organisation, Team Rocket!" Said Red, still smiling "So I chose to seek out the original Pokemon... MEW, PLEASE, COME OUT NOW!" Donald Trump couldn't believe his eyes, the mythical Mew, originator to all Pokemon... The battle was fierce, and neither trainer was instructing their pokemon, they appeared to be all out fighting by themselves. The battle between Mew and Mewtwo was so powerful and evenly matched that the stadium started crumbling around us, and as Trump looked over at Red he noticed something, Red was standing with his eyes closed in deep concentration, what could this be? As he was wondering what Red was up to, he noticed it falling from the sky, it was Mewtwo, defeated "NOOOOOOOOO" Trump roared "HOW IS IT A CHILD HAS BEATEN ME? BEATEN MY PROTECTION?" but Red took no notice, he tried to catch Mewtwo from falling on the hard ground. Trump couldn't believe it, how had he been bested by a mere child, who looked as though he didn't have enough money to buy his powerful Pokemon, who looked so un-president worthy? In his haze of anger, Trump didn't notice a shadow growing nearer to him, limping. "Mr. Trump, sir, your Mewtwo needs help, he's injured" Said Red "And why would I help a worthless experiment of a Pokemon? He was supposed to be as powerful as Mew itself!" Barked the former President "He was sir, in fact, I think he's slightly more powerful than Mew" "Yet he lost. Worthless" He spat. "You know sir, the only reason you lost is because you never got to know your Pokemon. You might be able to buy people's trust, but a Pokemon can only trust you through tough battles and through real care." Red stated "Meh, whatever kid, enjoy the presidency. I've got bigger plans anyway" He sighed, with an evil look on his face as he turned his back on the new president

The boy's mother burst into the

A grumpy fourteen year old sat at his kitchen table, devouring a pop-tart and scrolling through his texts. "Happy birthday, kiddo!" The boy's mother burst into the kitchen, a wide smile on her face. She ruffled his hair and plopped a wrapped gift down in front of him. "Thanks, Mom." He reluctantly grinned as he tore at the gift. An old video game case of his with a fifty dollar bill inside, and an envelope identical to the ones he'd received every birthday for the last seven years. He pocketed the cash and slid the envelop away from him. "I don't want it." He mumbled as he stood up and finished his pastry. A worry-some look came over his mother. "What do you mean? He wrote it for you, baby, you've got four more of these waiting for you." "Ya, and I don't want any of those either..." She sighed. "Look, I know growing up without a father has been rough, but he left you these because he loved you," She held the envelope close to her chest. "He loved you more than anything in the world." "Then why the fuck did he leave?!" The boy was fuming now, and his mother had to block him from going out the back door. "There's a lot you don't understand, but if you'd read the letters, I promise it'll make more sense.." Tears welled up in her eyes. "Mom! He left us both! He bailed, and because he managed to get himself killed you want to forgive him for abandoning us in the first place!" He shoved past his mother and ripped the back door open. "Why'd he adopt a fucking kid if he didn't plan to stick around?!" He ran across the back yard and hopped over the fence, faintly hearing his mother calling after him. "He loved us; he loved YOU!" ______ His next birthday was much of the same: she presented him with both that year's envelope and the year prior, and he rejected it; shouting, tears, and an angry boy storming out of the house. The following year, he pretended to accept the envelopes, only to walk over to the stove and hold one over the flames. That was the only time his mother ever struck him; she punched him square in the jaw, weeping hysterically, and this time she's the one who stormed out. His seventeenth birthday came, but there were no gifts. No cash, no envelopes, and no birthday wishes from his mother that morning. He had crept up the stairs to her bedroom door, which was ajar, and peaked in -hoping just to tell her that he loved her before he left for school. She was laying across her bed, four envelopes strewn about the sheets, and sobbing heavily into her pillow. He rolled his eyes, snuck back downstairs, and left without a word. '*Why can't she let him go?*' He felt she had more love for the man who left her than she did for her own son. ______ The night of his eighteenth birthday he lay in his bed in a deep sleep; the booze he'd partaken in with his friends had knocked him right out. His dreams were marred by terrible scenes: A horrible car wreck, the sound of steel crashing and grinding; Bodies strewn about in the wet street, wailing out for help; A hospital bed, and the sound of a patient flatlining. He jumped out of his sleep; he was absolutely drenched in sweat, and his breathing was short and manic. The rain outside batted down steadily on the roof, and the sound soothed him a bit. He caught his breath and checked his phone: 4am. "Happy eighteenth birthday." He said to himself as he let his head fall back onto the pillow. He had just closed his eyes again when his phone began to vibrate violently on the night-stand, and he had initially mistaken it for thunder. It was a number he didn't recognize, so he ignored it, turned his phone to silent, and fell back asleep. He woke a few hours later with a headache and feeling particularly groggy, and he slowly made his way to the bathroom. After a short bout of vomiting, he splashed some water on his face and made his way back to his room. He noticed his mother's door was wide open and peaked inside. Empty. 'Weird,' He thought to himself. 'Her shift should have been up a few hours ago.' He returned to his room to check his phone and what he saw sent chills down his spine: seventeen missed calls and fourteen voicemails. He quickly opened up his voicemail, and he didn't even bother listening to any after the first. His mother had been in an accident and she was in the hospital. He'd sprinted the entire way there; he'd never ran so hard for so long in his life, and when he arrived he felt like he could keel over and die right there in the lobby. The nurse at the front desk went wide-eyed when he gave her his name, and asked him to sit down while she tracked down the doctor. He refused, and instead pace around for a few minutes until someone came to greet him. "Clarence?" An older, kind looking woman a white coat approached him. "That's me! Where's my mother? Is she ok?!" His face was full of fear. "Clarence, I think we should have a seat." ______ He stood over her inert body and held her cold hand in his. She had been dead for almost four hours, and he was overwhelmed by guilt. They had sent an officer to his house shortly after she was admitted, but after pounding on the door for nearly twenty minutes they assumed he wasn't home. They let him stay with her body for a few hours, before arranging a ride home for him. He thought about what the doctor had told him, the information only just registering in his mind, and his dream from the night before invaded his thoughts. '*A drunk driver fell asleep at the wheel and merged into oncoming traffic,*' He thought of the horrible accident from his dream. '*The driver hadn't been wearing a seatbelt and was thrown from the car, he died instantly.*' The body in the wet street. '*Your mother fought valiantly, and we did all we could, but we lost her.*' The horrible, piercing noise of someone flatlining in the hospital. ____ He sat in his empty kitchen for a while; tears streaming down his face, and wished to hear his mother's voice wish him happy birthday. Eventually, he made his way up the stairs without any real thought behind his actions -he felt as if his mind had been unplugged, and he was now incapable of truly willing himself to do anything specific. He trudged passed his own bedroom door and stopped just in front of his mother's room. A chill came over him, the thought of this room now being inhabited engulfed his mind. His arm raised to shut the door, but he stopped when he spotted six envelopes on the bed. 'Six?' He thought to himself. 'There were only five more from him...' Hesitantly, he crossed the threshold into her room, and stood over the bed. Five letters near the foot of her bed, and one resting near her pillows. This one was unique, and his mother's hand writing spelled out his name. He opened the envelope, pulled out the letter folded inside, and read its short contents: *Clarence,* *I love you, and if you love me too, I know you'll do this one thing for me. Please, read them.* *I'll always be with you, Mom.* He set down his mother's final words to him with care, and moved to the other five letters. Picking up the envelope labeled '*Fourteen*', he tore it open and pulled out the sheet of paper. Blank. He flipped it over and back multiple times, confused, and ran his fingers inside the now empty envelope. He moved to the next envelope '*Fifteen*', and ripped it open. Blank. '*Sixteen*', blank. '*Seventeen*', blank. He came to the final envelope, opened it, and this time pulled out a sheet of paper covered front to back in handwriting. Joyous for something, he began to read: *Clarence,* *If you're reading this, which I know you will be, then I've been dead for some time now, and your mother has just passed away. I know life has been hard without me there, and I know you've been taking it out on your mom for some time now, but just know, that we both forgive you. There's really nothing to forgive, in fact, because the position we put you in is a most unfair one. I'll do my best to explain, and I hope you'll understand.* *When I was a young man, freshly eighteen like yourself, I developed an amazing ability. I can see things, Clarence, things yet to pass; some are possibilities, and some are utmost certainties. This ability, as spectacular as it may be, has put our family in grave danger. I should have never conceived a child, I know that now, and I think I knew it all along, but I was selfish. Clarence, you're not adopted -you are our son. Our son in both love and biology, and you share my gift.* *The adoption was a lie, and one we had to go to great lengths to ensure that the world perceived as truth. My gift should have remained a secret, but I was foolish, and my recklessness put a target on my back. There are forces out there that would see me dead, and others that would see me to an even worse fate. We had to protect your true identity, as my biological son, because if they knew then they would pursue you relentlessly.* *Even after all the precautions we took; I knew I couldn't stay with you both, I saw it, and I had no choice but to leave. I know what you're thinking 'Why didn't I stop her death?'. Well, son, it doesn't work like that. Death always finds us in the end, and attempting to prolong the inevitable always leads to more suffering.* *But, there is much we can change, and I couldn't let you fall into the hands of those who would exploit your gift. Son, I know this is overwhelming, but if you cultivate your mind you will be able to do extraordinary things -far more than I could have ever hoped to accomplish.* *The future is not set in stone, and how you proceed from here is up to you; However, should you need some direction, head to the address inside in the envelope, and tell em I sent you.* *I've seen so many possibilities for who you become, Clarence, and I'm proud of each and every one of them.* *I'll always love you, Dad.* /r/BeagleTales **See my comment down below for info on part 2!**

"*What?*" says

"*What now?*" says a croaky, quiet voice. My head is heavy and the flashlights are like razors to my eyes. "*What?*" "What now?" hisses the man. I can't quite see his face behind the glare of his light. There are more of them in the room with us. Other figures drenched in darkness. I can hear their breathing. "Look Liam," he whisperers heavily. "This was your plan. We're going to give you full credit for it. But if anything bloody well goes wrong, well, like I said: it's *your plan*. So, just tell me: is it a yes, or a no?" Shit! He -- me -- has done it again. I've been possessed by this... *other me*. I run a hand down my face. I usually feel groggy after he lets go and it always takes time to piece together what's happened. I try to think: Where was I last time I had control? I was... I think I was getting ready for work. About to catch a flight for a business trip -- Oh shit, if we lose the Redman account... This isn't the first time, of course. But the more often this other me -- this other Liam -- has taken control, the more adept he seems to have become at *keeping* control. He takes my body for longer periods of time. And what he's been doing... the situations he's been leaving me in... Has it all been building up to *this?* A shiver races down my spine. The first time it ever happened, I thought I'd been sleep-walking. I awoke in a graveyard by a church that I used to attend as a kid. It was nighttime, raining heavily, and I was drenched. Father Golding saw my silhouette wandering between graves and yelled at me, threatening to call the police. When he saw who it was -- recognised me from the kid who used to attend his services -- he asked what I was doing out there in this weather. I had no answer -- I had no family or friends buried there. And unlike mom, I wasn't religious. He brought me into the church and gave me a change of clothes. I looked like an overgrown altarboy as I walked home that night. Two weeks later it happened again. I woke the next morning to find a note on my bedside table. In my own handwriting. > Liam, > Let me introduce myself: My name is Liam. Yes, that's right. I am *you*. However, I am also *not* you. I am a Liam dreaming about you. Well, now I just sound weird, don't I? Look, I don't know how this works exactly, but I can dream about you -- kind of on purpose. And when I do... For a little while, I borrow you. I *become* you. > I'm very sorry about the cold you caught when I borrowed you that first time. I shouldn't have let you get so soaked, but I needed to check something. I'll try to make it up to you... by giving you all the riches in the world. > Liam :) He did *not* make it up to me. He, in this order: ruined my relationship with my then girlfriend; tried to get me purposely fired from my job; flirted outrageously with a pretty barista, that I've had a crush on for years (I can't show my face in there again!); most recently: applied for a *new* job at a local bank. I currently have a much better job than that. At least, a higher paying job. So why apply? It's the job at the bank I'm worried about right now. *Did I get the job?* Am I about to get something more than a paycheck? "Liam!" the voice hisses again. "Is it a yes or a no?!" The speaker is getting agitated. Static crackles, coming from my waist. "-- *incoming*." It's a radio. No, a walkie-talkie. The voice on the other end is distorted, but I hear the words this time: "Repeat, target is incoming. ETA: 30 seconds." My heart is thumping against my ribcage as if demanding to be let out. Sweat dribbles down my forehead. *What the hell has he got me into?!* "Yes or no?!" "I..." What if I say no? What will they do to me? "ETA: 15 seconds." "**Yes or no?!**" I don't know what I'm answering, but the pressure explodes as a single word, "YES!" Then there's silence, the flashlights are turned off. A hand tugs my shoulder and pulls me down beneath a table. There's a *click* and a *creak* as a door opens. A ray of light spears the darkness of the room. I hear our mark's footsteps. *Oh God, I hope we're not going to kill them* "3...2...1..." It all happens at once. The lights on the ceiling explode into life; two dozen people jump up at the same time, previously hidden behind tables and seats and nooks in the room. I don't know where we are, but the room is large and decorated with balloons and buntings. "Surprise!" they shout in unison. "Happy birthday!" "Mom?" I whisper, as the lady who has just walked in places her hands on her cheeks. A smile rises, creasing the skin around her pale blue eyes. The man next to me puts an arm around my shoulder. "You did good, lad." I look at him: I've not seen him in years. I barely recognise him. *But I do.* "Uncle Fred?" He lets go of me and pushes me forward. "Your son's idea, Moira," uncle Fred shouts. "Organized the entire thing. Including the live band -- they'll be here in ten minutes." He looks at me and winks. "I think you made the right choice there, Liam." My mom is crying as she hugs me. I feel my own lips trembling. As we pull away, and mom goes to hug her brother, I notice a girl with eyes like coffee beans the other side of the room. She walks over to me; I swallow. "Thank you for inviting me," she says. "This whole thing is just *soooo* adorable." She leans forward and kisses my cheek. "And..." She runs a hand through her hair. "I'd kind of been wondering when you were going to ask me out." It's not till after the party that I discover the note in my jacket pocket. > Liam, > You're one of the lucky few who still has mom around. Maybe appreciate her a little more while you've got her. I wish for all the world that I had done. > I'm sorry about your ex, but know that she cheated on you in every reality. Including yours. > Claire, on the other hand, is perfect for you. The happiest *yous* are always with Claire. And not just because she makes an unbelievable espresso. It's like a universal law: you two attract. Belong. > Oh, and congratulations on the new job! The old one was killing you. Literally. There are realities I can no longer dream my way into. That was the one common denominator. > Take care, Liam, > Love, Liam ----- If you liked this, you might enjoy my poem about dreaming on this prompt: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8m1a8d/wp_night_after_night_you_see_the_same_girl_in/ Or a superhero romance thing: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8lg4wg/wp_as_asuper_villian_you_happen_to_grab_the_same/

"You have to pay close attention

"The eyes," he said, after he'd swallowed a deep sip of his scotch, which, she noted, he drank neat. He held the glass in his hand without putting it down. The liquid inside must be about the same simmering temperature as his own skin. "You have to pay close attention to their eyes," he continued. "They always tell you what they're thinking." "It's true," she said, swirling her glass until the orange peel in her Old Fashioned freed itself from the ice. "Fear, in those eyes, when you can see it, even when it's from far away - that's the moment when you have to take the shot, or else it's all over." "It's not always fear, though," he said, contemplatively, rather than in challenge. She shifted her weight slightly in her chair. "Sometimes they take in their environment, and then it's like that fear melts away - they decide there's nothing to be afraid of," he said. "You thought they were self-conscious of the possibility that someone would capture them, like that, but then they relax completely. A friend diverts their attention, or they take a breath and notice the fresh air around them. You've got to wait for that moment when they're distracted from themselves, unconscious of being seen." "Yes," she nodded. "It's that moment when they turn towards you, and open up a line straight to their heart - that's a powerful feeling." "Exactly," he nodded, breaking out into a broad smile. "I wouldn't have put it like that, but that's beautiful." She realized her own mistake just in time to compose her features into the expected smile he presumed he'd see. "Thanks," she said. "Yeah, when you get the perfect shot like that- it's really something." "It seemed like what I said threw you, there, for a moment, even though you described it perfectly," he said. "Don't be self-conscious about your work." "Ha," she laughed. "You know how it is. We always feel that we're amateurs." "Mind if I see some of your photos?" he inquired. "What are you shooting with, anyway?" She gave him a wry smile as she handed over her Instagram page on her phone. "It's really not much good at all," she said, apologetically. She'd only seen evidence of her real work in crime scene photos. This consisted of flesh pierced with one single bullet, cleanly-shot, so the bodies were stained with far less blood in the foreground than you'd expect, which pooled darkly below them, throwing the pale fabric of their clothing into sharp relief against the light of the flash. Their faces were always denuded of any personal affect, wrenched in the last expression of their lives, which was, inevitably, shock at their own death. She did this part of her job very well. They hadn't seen it coming at all. Her Instagram was mostly pictures of her own dog, taken with the flash on her iPhone, usually in dimly-lit interiors. She could see him struggling to find something positive to say about it. She liked that he was diplomatic. "I'm actually not a photographer," she said, on a whim. "That wasn't the kind of shooting I was talking about. Just so you know. I'm a *very* good shot. Just not of the kind you thought we were talking about, if you know what I mean." He stared at her, bemused. Then he burst into loud laughter. "You're a funny one," he said. "I like that. But there's no need to make up fanciful tales. You don't have to pretend to be an assassin if you're not happy with your skills behind the lens. We all start somewhere. These aren't half bad at all." "You're right - we do all start somewhere," she said, with a half-smile. "Well, thanks for being one of the few people in the world who understand my weird sense of humor. My last boyfriend -" she trailed off, with a sigh, hoping that this excuse would be the end of the discussion. But it wasn't. They'd talked for several hours longer - well, mostly he'd talked, and she'd tried to pay attention. He kept on pandering to her, encouraging her in her hobby, though she knew he was just being kind. "You know how it is in this business - you capture everyone's vulnerability but your own," he was saying, and she nodded. He'd hugged her and asked if she wouldn't mind going on a date sometime. She'd agreed, and then erased all the carefully-constructed backstory she'd created over the past few months on social media, completely ghosting him, along with everyone else she'd pretended to be friends with while she was stationed here. He seemed like a nice guy, and she hoped he'd soon forget her, even if he hadn't really known to take her seriously. But she hadn't forgotten him. She returned, every so often, to his favourite bar. She often did so after a particularly tough job, when she'd wanted to forget what her own work consisted of. When he was there, she'd watch him from a corner of the room. She'd disguise herself in a dark wig, or a pale one; by hunching over slightly, or wearing five-inch heels to make herself seem taller. Tonight was different. He usually ignored the corner of the bar where she sat in her various disguises, chatting with his buddies, or with some pretty girl or another - it was never the same girl more than three nights in a row. But now, for some reason, he'd decided to wander over to her corner of the room. "Excuse me," he'd said, as her heart pounded. She really hadn't been very discreet, had she. "I don't mean to be rude," he was saying. "You're a stranger, after all. Just let me know if you'd rather drink alone, and I'll leave you be. But you look - lonely, for lack of a better word." She swallowed, and nodded. "What're you having?" he asked. "Can I wager a guess? And old-fashioned, maybe?" "Yes," she said, her voice slightly hoarse. "Come join me, if you like. So long as you don't mind drinking with a stranger. I mean, who knows who I might be?" "Indeed," he nodded. "Who knows who you might be? I might have guessed you were a photographer, with those steady hands," he said, with a smile, looking down at the fingers which held her empty glass, which were, in fact, shaking. "But then again, I've been wrong before." She smiled at him when he returned from the bar, and they clinked their glasses together and drank. r/eros_bittersweet

Every adventurer passed by the road by

Having your farm on the only road between Alma Village and the Capital certainly has its advantages. It seems every adventurer, and I do mean every single one of them, passed by the road by my farm in their outset. Darius the Mountain, Dragon Tamer Fiona, Seymon of the Thousand Blades... I was sure I saw all of them, years before they became household names, barreling down the road towards the Capitol. It was cool seeing them walk without acknowledging you, and trying to guess which ones will become famous, and which ones will be Ogre food in a couple months. What was not cool, however, is the amount of theft that went on. It was fun at first, telling people how once upon a time, Lady Cathy stopped by your farm to slaughter a few of your pigs, but the cost really racks up over time. And it's not just the pig, either; they were picking my Goldblossom, which I had strategically planted at various areas around my farm to maximize how long they have to walk to gather them all. Don't even get me started on the odd practice of skinning my pigs and leaving all the meat behind (OK, sometimes they take a tiny piece, but most of the time the whole thing is just left there, minus the skin, and I have to clean it up). Before long, they were inviting themselves into my house. I tried to be friendly, even offering them a few tried and true advice about farming and animal husbandry, if they were into that sort of thing (they never were). But deep down, I was fed up. Something's gotta give. First it was just a fence. Unfortunately, it seems that waist high fences in scattered areas around the perimeter was not extremely effective in stopping adventurers (some also have the weird habit of jumping over them instead of, say, going around). Then it were the dogs, which didn't help much either. Oh, and they skinned the dogs too. Sickening! Then it was the Farmland Protector Golem 9000^tm . It cost a fortune, but at least it sort of worked. People were careful to avoid the area the golem was in, at least. Well, that one drunken night a few weeks ago was probably not a good idea. More specifically, getting drunk and asking a passing mechanic (who bore a surprising resemblance to Blacknail the Mechanical Menace, I might add) to "do whatever you want" with that Golem was probably not a good idea. I wanted my farm to be safe, sure, but nothing could prepare me for the four dead bodies outside my farm the next morning. I must have spent the entire morning vomiting and trying to remember what happened the night before. No doubt they were adventurers, since the other farmers never left their farm as far as I know. I have seen a dead adventurer once before, years ago, when he simply stood there and was bitten to death by my dogs in around 40 minutes. I never really understood what that was all about. Now back to that Farmland Protector Golem. It didn't seem to attack me, so I just went out and tried to clean up the mess best I can. They all had a couple silvers in their pockets, so I took them (not like they had a use for them, anyway). But, if I thought that a murderous death robot would stop adventurers from terrorizing my farm, then I was sorely mistaken. Hundreds came in the days after the incident, and they were all trying to kill the Golem. Over 90% of the times they failed, miserably, but if they succeed they would kill all my pigs (and skin them), dogs (and skin them), and pillage all my Goldblossoms. And, just because how many of them there were, they were trampling all the other plants as well. What had seemed like a victory only ended with those idiots harassing me even harder. Desperate time called for desperate measures, and fortunately, with the sheer volume of dead adventurers on my doorstep, taking money out of their cold, dead pockets seemed to be an effective way of making ends meet. First I hired some cleaners. Taking care of hundreds of dead bodies daily really takes a toll on you. Then it was the tall perimeter fence. Keeping a murderous golem from running loose seemed to be a good idea. Then more dogs, ones with more training. Then farmhands, in part to help with farming, and in part to keep adventurers away. Then came the poisonous plants, since I was getting desperate. I even added some more fence in the middle of my farm to stop the adventurers from coming towards the golem, but they seem extremely adept at knocking holes in those. Somewhere along the line, looting dead adventurers became more profitable than farming. The guilds seems to like me, for whatever reason. "A beginner's dungeon" they called my farm, though the name of my farm is, and always has been "Stoneridge Farm." They said that clearing my "dungeon" was a sign that someone was ready to face real adventures, so they want everyone to come and try to deafeat my golem. Heck, one day I woke up to find one of those portal things that they use to transport adventurers to and from dungeons. Needless to say, the number of adventures who came has only increased since then. In fact, there a group of them here right now. 5 of them, to be exact. The two tanks doesn't seem to know what they are doing, as they are standing in the poison cloud as one of my farmhand, decked out in some sick looking leather armor, is hitting them with his hoe. The healer is running from the pack of dogs, which is being ignored by the tanks. Oh well, looks like they are not getting past that boss today. Better start practicing that speech the guild wants me to read every time someone dies to that boss. Something about not standing in the poison clouds. Boring. At least that archer seems to have a nice looking hat. Hopefully she has some money in her pockets, the cleaners have been demanding a bonus after the golem took out that group of 200 dwarves. As you can see, this is kind of inspired by a more MMORPG take on the prompt, more specifically a combination of Westfall's Harvest Goems and the Hoggar Raid.

Charles Henstridge of 21 Willow

Let's get one thing straight. All the shit you hear about our powers being tied to prayers? That's just bullshit. Sure, my water might taste a little like prune juice instead of wine, but that's just practice. When was the last time I was desperate for a drink? Not since the bronze age, I'll tell you that. Good times... Anyway, it's been a while someone called for me, millenia really. Doubt anyone even remembers me anymore. It's not so bad, sure it gets a little quiet and empty here being the last of Old Ones, but I made up for it with kickass parties with the Greeks. Eventually, they left too. So, for a century or two, I simply sat and watched until I decided, if you can't beat 'em, join' em, right? I was already spending my days watching mortals and their various forms of entertainment, so think I got the gist of it. I really wasn't making it easy for myself, living life as Charles Henstridge of 21 Willow Street, bank manager and your friendly neighborhood bachelor. The last one wasn't be choice, I just really don't wanna pull a Zeus. By mortal standards, I had it pretty well: nice house, pretty neighborhood, nosy neighbors, white picket fence. It took a little getting used to it all, and suppressing my powers, but I eventually got into the flow of things that I even sometimes forgot to check the prayer stone I always kept in my pocket out of habit. Like a pager or something, I don't know, wasn't my idea. It's stupid and a habit, but I couldn't let go of the one thing that really helped me remember who I once was and what I did for mortals. Okay, so here's where it gets interesting. So I was in my pajamas on a Saturday, my hands in my pants while I'm on the couch, as my mind scrolled through Netflix, like any single man in his 30s was known to do. The stone was in my pocket as usual, as ignored as your draft dodging grandpa telling his war stories. That's when it buzzed. For a second, I thought it was my phone, but it was on the table in front of them. My limbs flail as I forget how to run like a mortal, my hands groping for the stone. When my trembling fingers finally reach for it, I hear something I haven't heard in a long time. A girl's voice cuts through the fog of my mind, and I hear her cry for help. The TV bursts onto static, but I sprint for the door in my pajamas until I realize my Prius is still in the shop after that bear took it for a joyride into a biker bar. Don't ask, just don't. Instead, I run across the lawn to discarded bike of one moody, preteen Morgan. Hopping onto the flame red contraption with the stone still hand I took off down the street with the voice only getting louder by the minute, till I couldn't hear myself think, and I was in front of suburban another house in Odin knows where. Dropping the stone back into my pocket, I smooth out my pyjamas before ringing the doorbell. I honestly had a whole song and dance prepared till I realized it was a kid. A little, mortal child with long brunette hair covering her confused face, "someone call for a God?" She was obviously the shy type, as little Stephanie, my mind helpfully supplied, nodded vigorously before taking my hand and dragging me inside. I could see the mix of uncertainty and awe in her eyes through the glances she stole while we made our way through her tastefully decorated home. "Well, here I am, kid. So what do you need? Superpowers? Money? World domination? I can do it all," Damn, I really needed to keep that desperation out of my voice. Stephanie shook her head, her uncertainty forgotten once we reached her kitchen, where she handed me a jar of strawberry jam. Seriously? A fucking jar? Y'know I once built mountains and raised armies? Fuck it, but I guess we all have to start somewhere. She doesn't notice me sigh as I twist open the jar with absolute ease, smirking when I hear her burst into excited giggles. She sits down on the counter and my hands finish the rest of the PB&J with practiced ease. I ask her about her school and life, and the once shy girl giggles again, telling me I should know it all if I'm God. I tell her I'm an old one, so even I need help on some days. We chat as she eats, and I even help with her homework till there's a pleasant lull in the conversation, and I know it's time leave. She knows it too, and rushes to hug me, "Thank you for staying with me today. I had a lot of fun." That's when I realized that it awakened something in me that I missed for a very long time: what it felt to be needed, treasured, and loved, something I know Stephanie could relate. Absently, I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, "call me anytime, and I'll come running." She nods vigorously again, and I smile as I head towards her front door. "I prayed for any God. How will I find you?" I pause, turning back to Stephanie with the happiest smile in a very long time, and lift my head up high, "Call me Faenerian. Faenerian the True." With a final wave, I opt to give her a show and vanish with a snap of my fingers; leaving the discarded bike on her front lawn, 'cause fuck Morgan that annoying, little shit. (Thank you if you made it all the way to the end. This is the first story I've ever submitted here after lurking for so long. There's probably a lot of errors in it, especially since I typed it on my phone. Despite being a novice in writing fiction, I would love to write out proper stories for the numerous ideas buzzing in my head, but for now, I'd be grateful for your thoughts, advice, and constructive criticism.)

She had set-up her booth

She had set-up her booth at the street-corner, under the giant maple tree which marked the junction of 56th and Elmsway. Her handwriting was neat and precise, such that the words on her chalk board were legible even from a distance away. 'Portraits - $1', it read. I was disappointed to find that there was no array of samples on display, which is how the street artists do it in the cities. But she was only 8 years old (I had a feeling that her birthday had passed recently), so I was willing to cut her some slack. I ambled over, and she brightened as she saw me approaching. "Sir, sir! I can do your portrait! Would you like that?" "That's nice. Where are you from? This is the first time I'm seeing you around here." "Oh, er, I'm not from here. I came from the city." Which wasn't the whole truth, given the way that she had shifted in her seat. Where humans choose to plant their roots rarely interested me, but I was curious as to how she had ended up here. I rationed a tiny splinter of my powers, then divined the truth. That she was from the city was correct - more specifically, she lived at St. Horus' Shelter, which was at least an hour away by bus. "So what brings you here?" "Well... I'd heard that the people here are rich! I'm pretty sure they wouldn't mind getting their portraits done, right? Everyone in the city is too busy for these things, so here I am!" I laughed, then rattled my cane on the tarmac. "You've got that part right, miss! Everyone here's rich enough that they certainly wouldn't miss a dollar or two. But I'd hate to see you disappointed." "Why's that?" "They may be too busy to stop by." "Busy... Busy doing their own things? Running their businesses, such-like?" I nodded. I knew best, after all. I lived right at the centre of the neighborhood. I was old now, a shadow of what I was once, but the sensitive ones amongst my neighbors had still been drawn to the promise of my power. They couldn't have realised that subtle influence on them, but my presence was still a signal flare to their subconscious. The real estate salesmen thought that they were the glib ones, and if they had known I was the real reason for their successes, they would have taken up arms just to get an audience with me. And what day had not gone by without their prayers filtering over to me, permeating through the walls like sand through sieves? The lazy ones wished for riches, which they believed to be the shortest path to fulfillment. The more industrious ones wished for the opportunities to seize their own successes. Those I respected a bit more, but not enough for me to actually do anything for them. Not that I could, even if I wanted to. Not in my present state. "But tell me, what do you need the money for? Say a dozen, a hundred of the people here lined up for your drawings. What would you do with the money?" "I'd buy more supplies, of course!" "To make more money?" She laughed, then shook her head. She beckoned me over, and I went closer. Behind the booth, there was a stack of papers clipped to a broken clipboard. Her canvases seemed recycled, and some of them even had creased scars or crumpled dog-ears. Her instrument of choice, a boxed set of coloured pencils, was incomplete. The primary colours were missing, and of the ones which remained, they had been sharpened so many times that they were almost stubs. "I don't know about more money, mister, but supplies first. These were the ones I found at home. It's just so expensive getting new ones, you know?" "You think people are going to pay you for art done using those?" "That's why it's only a dollar, mister! When I have more, I'll charge more!" I fished out a bill from my coat, then handed it over to her. She clapped her hands, then sat me down on a cardbox box. I didn't smile, and she didn't ask me to. Her fingers flew like sparrows, and in seconds she had the basic outline of my face, my brows, my eyes. She evidently perceived me as old, and feeble, and perhaps I was. "That's not bad at all," I said. That wasn't the truth, of course. She was terrible. I had seen so many prodigies in my lifetime that her sketch resembled the trail of slugs in heat on a canvas. But children are fragile, so I had chosen my words differently. "I'll get to where I want to some day, just you watch!" "And where's that?" "I'm the only one at home who can draw, or who likes to draw. I have a brother, he doesn't get to come out much. So I go out, I draw pictures, and I bring them home for him to see. He enjoys that." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Will he get well soon?" "The doctors said no. So my drawings are the next best thing!" "And do you think you'll improve, practicing like this every day?" I had evidently moved too much, for she clucked her tongue and had me shift back to my original pose. "I don't know. I hope so. Everyone says you improve when you practise. We'll see." "And if you could really draw better, what would you do with that talent?" "Make my brother laugh, of course! I drew a cat once, chasing its own tail, spinning so fast that it fell over! He really liked that one. Easier than bringing the cat into his room, for sure." "Little girl, if you did indeed have that power one day, that ability to draw and make people... feel things, what would you draw for them?" She placed her pencils back, then dusted off the sheet on the top. She unclipped it from the board, turned it around, then handed it over to me. It was finished, but only in the sense that the task had been completed. I'll admit, there was a modicum of talent there, but just a smidgen. So much more had to be done to help that blossom. I looked into her eyes, just to make sure this was something within my capabilities. It was. But this was a two-way transaction. I couldn't do it myself. "I'd draw as much as I can. Asleep, awake, I'll draw. And draw and draw. I'd make my brother happy, then other people too. Whoever wants to see them. I'd draw." "I was something of an artist myself once, girl. I was pretty good too, so much so that people said I was their inspiration. They came to me whenever they wanted their talents unlocked, their abilities enhanced. If there was any man who suffered from a famine of imagination, I was the harvest. I made men smell colour, see sound, taste odors." She laughed harder this time, the way children do when they are amused. "That's awesome! Maybe I'll be like you one day!" "I'd gladly help you learn. All I need is for you to really, *really* wish for it, like it was the most important thing to you. And to believe that I, and only I, can help you with that." She clasped her hands together, then shut her eyes. There were no words to her prayer, but I could hear all the same. If it were a musical score, her prayer was a single note, pure, distilled, ringing in my ears as convincingly as an entire church full of bells. That sound was the only nourishment I needed. I felt the tissues bulk up in my muscles, and my skin grew taut, filling out wrinkles and pushing out age-spots. My legs grew steady again, and I let my cane fall to the side. The years fell away, and though I wasn't quite as young and powerful as I once was, I felt better than I had in decades. What power a single believer brings. "We'll start right here, right now," I said, as I reached into her mind. --- /r/rarelyfunny

Six hundred years, and he had

Xil'dan looked down at his wilted hydrangeas in disgust. Six hundred years, and he had not yet learned the trick of keeping plants alive. Surely it wasn't that difficult a task. Mortals did it all the time. But try as he might, he could not seem to make his garden flourish. Plants he cared for withered, shrubs he pruned turned black, and even his simple lawn contained more dirt and weeds than grass. But to be fair, he admitted, he was not the God of Gardening. The god turned from his failed horticultural attempts and headed back inside the house, stooping down to grab today's paper from the driveway as he went. The world had changed much in the centuries since he had last been worshipped; new cultures flourished, and all were well worth watching. New wars were waged with weapons that astonished even him. So even if his name *was* now forgotten by the people of this place, it was at least interesting to watch them learn and grow through the ages. Sitting down at the table, he unfolded the paper and flipped to the business section. Mankind's obsession with wealth had not changed a whit since he "retired;" new inventions like the stock market and electronic trading fascinated him, and he enjoyed reading about them even if their secret machinations were a mystery. He suspected that, given his immortal lifespan, he could use these tools to amass a fortune if he truly felt inclined. But the prospect seemed more trouble than it was worth. He was not, after all, the God of Wealth. And so Xil'dan took his ease, sipping his morning coffee (at least *that* was still around) and catching up on all the happenings in the ever-changing world. Nationalism had been growing in recent years, and many countries seemed poised on the brink of-- *"Xil'dan fyrgh kre... kretch'al,"* said a voice. Xil'dan froze with his cup raised to his lips. "Impossible," he breathed. No one had spoken his invocation in a dozen lifetimes. And even then, the last person had bungled the pronunciation so badly that-- *"Xil'dan fyrgh kretch'al, on'ket forn... rot?"* tried the voice again. The god lurched up from his table. The coffee fell forgotten to the floor. No, this was not some idle reading of an ancient scroll. Someone was actually attempting to summon him. Someone who believed that he existed, and actively desired his aid. It was a small faith--he could barely feel it when the voice echoed in his head--but it was real. How could this be? *"Xil'dan fyrgh kretch'al, on'ket forn WROTH!"* said the voice. Xil'dan blinked, and he was there. He appeared in a jumbled study, packed with books and artifacts from a dozen civilizations. Whoever owned these was clearly a world-traveler, or at least a collector of the rarest sort. In the center of the hardwood floor was an enormous oaken desk, similarly covered in books and various pilfered curiosities. And behind the desk, still clutching the copper disk engraved with Xil'dan's prayer, was... ...a child. The god frowned. It was a human boy, no more than eight or nine. He wore an ill-fitting black suit and tie, and his cheeks were wet with tears. His eyes were as wide as any human's eyes could hope to be, and his face was pale as he stared over the desk at who he'd summoned. Xil'dan raised an eyebrow. "What is your name, child?" he asked. The boy started, but stood his ground. Brave, then. He gulped. "T... Tommy," he said. "Are you... Xil'dan?" The god nodded slowly. Something was very wrong here. "Yes," he said at last. "And you have summoned me? *You* seek my aid?" The boy stammered. "I..." he looked at the closed study door, then back to the tall figure before him. "I want you to bring my uncle back." He gripped the copper disk tight in his tiny hands, as if to force his wish into the metal itself. "Please," he pleaded, his voice desperate now. "Please bring him back?" Xil'dan examined his would-be petitioner. The tears. The black suit. What was going on he-- ...Ah. "Your uncle is dead, isn't he?" asked the god. "This was his office. He is the one who owned the disk." The boy nodded. "Yes," he whimpered. "He taught me how to read the writing. He taught me all sorts of things." His fear forgotten, the words poured out. "He was an adventurer, like I want to be. He goes all over the world, and... and he brings back amazing things, and he always takes time to show me and teach me and please just bring him back. Please, I'll give you anything I have. *Please.*" Xil'dan sighed. What a waste. The first real summoning since the fall of the For'gyl Ziggurat, and it was all for nothing. A child's misplaced hope. "I am sorry, boy," he said sadly. "But I am not the God of Death. I cannot help your uncle now." Tommy's face fell, and he lowered the copper disk to his side. "I thought..." he said hopelessly, "I thought you could save him." He sniffled, and fresh tears began to creep down his face. "Do not weep for him, little one" said Xil'dan, not unkindly. "Death is a natural part of life. You will miss him, and for that pain you may grieve. But if it was your uncle's time, then his passing was no tragedy. Even the best of us must face the final gate eventually." The boy's face whipped up, twisting into a fierce grimace. "It was *not* his time!" he hissed. The god cocked his head, surprised by the heat in that small voice. "Oh?" he asked. "He was not old?" Tommy shook his head. "I heard the grown-ups talking," he muttered. "They said he was walking in a 'bad part of town.' They said some bad men came and..." His eyes teared up again, and he sniffed angrily, looking down at his feet. Xil'dan stood very still, studying the child in front of him. There *was* something here. He could sense it faintly, like a distant and forgotten door, long abandoned in the labyrinth of his soul. An ancient stirring that the god had all but put aside. He carefully walked around the desk and knelt down in front of Tommy, gently lifting his chin with a curled finger. "Child," he asked quietly, "how exactly did your uncle die?" The boy glared up at the god, his face still splotchy-red and lined with tears. There was sadness there, yes. But also anger. A newfound fury at a world that he'd thought he understood. A world that was suddenly, unexpectedly, unfair. "The bad men killed him," he whispered. "They killed him, and they didn't even know him. They just wanted his money." Xil'dan gazed carefully into the child's eyes, weighing the truth of his words. Then, slowly, he nodded in agreement. "I was wrong, then," he said finally. "I do believe that I can help you after all." And for the first time in nearly six hundred years, the God of Vengeance smiled.

It was exactly one and a half

"It's been a year and look at me. I feel just fine. like... like I was never sick or something. What is going on?" I asked with a little bit of accusing tone. It was exactly one and a half year ago when I collapsed on the ground with a sharp pain in my chest. I thought it was a heart attack and my life was going to end right then. We all thought so. But I lived. An angel like nurse was the first person I saw when I woke up and the doctor told me I have a heart condition, something about irregular heartbeat, weak pulse and so on. To be honest, everything just went sort of blur after hearing that I had six more months of time here. 'My family' That was the first thought that came to my mind. Six more months. That means I won't be able to take my son fishing like I promised him. That means I won't be able to attend my daughter's piano recital. That means my wife will probably have to cancel the reservation for anniversary. Only God knows the pain of leaving family behind. Maybe it would had been better if everything ended right there then waiting this death with them. A game that I can never win. I decided not to tell my family. Not yet at least. I didn't want to break down crying in front of them. I don't want them to remember me as someone in sorrow and pain. I never got brave enough to tell them... Fortunately death didn't come for me after six months. In fact, I have been told my condition has improved slightly and I can expect my heart to last one more year. I've been visiting my doctor every months and every time, he asks me rather unusual questions such as "Where did you go fishing? caught anything good?" "Are you excited about your daughter's piano recital? what song is she going to play?" "Where did you make reservation for your anniversary? How was the food there?" I mean, I have never been told I was going to die before so I just assume he is preparing me mentally for my inevitable death. However, I am not going to put up with this anymore. Every time I visit, he just asks me about my daily life and no check\-up or treatment. Not even a pill for god's sake! It was as if we are two buddies just catching up. No. Today I am going to find out what is happening to my body. "Every time I visit, you just ask me few questions and that's it. I need to know the progress doc. I mean, am I getting better or are you gonna make another prediction here?" He took his eyes off from my chart and looked at me. I never noticed he has such a blue eyes. "Well, we can measure your pulse again if you want but at this stage, there really isn't much we can do you know" "No, don't give me that again. You have used all doctor cliche. 'this pill is working exceptionally well for you!' 'Glad to hear you are exercising, I'm sure that played a role' 'well, we doctors don't know everything you know. we are just humans under white gowns.' You have officially used all of them so, please, just tell me what is going on with my body" I asked eagerly. "Alright John, just one last question for you then. How are you doing?" he asked sincerely. "I... I am great doc. When you first told me I had six months to live, I honestly thought maybe it would be better to end things then. I think I was too devastated by things I didn't and couldn't do. But after six months, I was given another year and I realized it wasn't too late to do them now. I spent glorious time with my family, finally finished my painting, apologized to my sister and you know, general appreciation for everything. I still haven't told my family but I think it's better this way. If I told them, I would had been forced to spend all those time attached to machine or something" "I'm really happy to hear that John." He said with a warm smile. "So, tell me doc. How is my heart holding on?" "Would you say... that you have no regret now...?" He ignored my question completely. I thought about it for few seconds and answered. "No. No regrets. Not anymore" "Alright John. Let me tell you what really happened then" If this was movie, a sudden suspenseful background music must have started right about now. "What? what is it doc?" I leaned in. I didn't even intend to do that. "Your heart... it stopped 18 months ago" "Yea... it's called heart attack..?" I said sarcastically. "No, not a heart attack. A death. You died there John." He ignored my tone and continued. "And you brought it back remember?" "I did. But I am not a doctor." I paused. Wouldn't you? "What? Did you just say you are not a doctor? What's going on here?" "I brought you back to life so you would... let's say 'do more stuff' here" I didn't know what to say. Well, actually, I did know what I wanted to say but I couldn't. Is my D.O.C trying to tell me that he is actually G.O.D? "When you came back after six months, you told me there were still few things you were looking forward to. I wasn't supposed to but I gave you one more year. A time that I thought was enough for you to have no regret. And I was... very happy to see you were doing just that"' I wanted to call his bluff but something happened. We were not sitting in his office anymore. In a blink of an eye, I was sitting in a white room. And my doctor, he was not a doctor anymore. He is... indescribable... Then something else happened. Rather than tell me, he showed me. All my memory of last 18 months rushed back to me in a nanosecond. Suddenly, I remembered and felt everything all at once. And a familiar warm voice came to me. "Are you ready John?" I nodded.

Being a dentist had it's ups

Most descriptions of death involve walking into the light, or darkness and only darkness. This wasn't what I felt. I had lived a good life. Being a dentist had it's ups and downs, but there was always a demand. More importantly, it felt good to be helpful. Retirement was nice. Seeing the grandkids grow up was amazing. None of them wanted to be dentists, which was a bit of a bummer, but then again, they were probably tired of grandpa giving them a new toothbrush on every holiday. At least all but Johnny, my third grandson, didn't blame me about how much cavities hurt. I remember dying. You might be inclined to thinking that my memory would be hazy, or I'd have locked it away. Memory works differently here. It's actually kind of miraculous: I remember feeling old age creep in \- the dulling of memories, the names on the tip of my tongue \- but it's crystal clear here. I feel like I have time to remember anything I want; I try to focus on the good things \- my wife and kids, mostly. I do dwell on dying though. I remember the myocardial infarction \- the sudden, rising pain; the shortness of breath. I remember them trying to revive me \- something I could NOT possibly remember from my own body. I remember part of the ambulance ride. And then, there's nothing but this place. It's a waiting room. Not like my office's; more like a restaurant that has a two\-hour waiting list. There's lots of us here, but we're alone with our memories. No one talks to anyone else. No one talks to me, and I don't talk to anyone. I think it's a mixture of fear and grief; we all know we're all dead, but how can we care about others when we also need comfort? Every once and a while, a name is called. The room is huge, and I can't always see it, but someone always gets up and goes to the door. I can't see in the door \- I tried to look up once, but it hurt my eyes. It was just.... gray. After so much time \- it felt like forever, but time is also weird here \- I hear my name. "Dr. Jacobson, the specialist will see you now." I don't see anyone beckon. I don't need to. I stand up and walk toward the door. Well... my body does this. I'm just along for the ride, I suppose. I try to think about my family \- even Johnny, who refused to be in a picture with me, ever. It keeps me calm \- not that I could scream. I walk through the door. I no longer get a feeling of a restaurant or a doctor's office; instead, it's an office. It's a nice office \- reminds me of the dean of the dentistry school's, though how I remember what it looked like is beyond me. I take a seat, and a moment later, someone comes in and sits down across from me. "So, Dr. Jacobson... mind if I call you Edward?" Across for me is a hooded figure. I can't see the facial features; the robe is flowing, and his hands are gloved. I find myself able to speak. "No, Edward or Ed is fine." The voice emanated from the hood. It was odd; it wasn't a recording, but it reverberated on occasion. "Ok, thanks Ed. So I'm sure you know why you're here..." "Not really, no. I mean, I know I'm dead, but I always thought there would be something on the other side." "Oh, there is. But we have to be sure. That's why the waiting room is so... neutral. No sinner deserves the wonder of Heaven; no innocent deserves the torment of Hell. So we make it as neutral as possible while you wait." "Wait for what?" The hooded figure chuckled. "Why, for me, of course. I adjudicate cases. I help determine which way you should go." The gloved hands point up and down. Time was far different in this room; it was almost like living. Fear washed over me; had I been good enough for Heaven? I wasn't the most devout person. I could feel myself sweat, and tears starting to well up. "Oh, there's no point in that. You lived your life, and it either was good or bad." "How... how do you know what it will be?" "It's simple really. Everything is interconnected. Everything you did was good and/or bad. It all weighs out. You know why you made the decisions, and we know all of that as well. But, there's a test." "What test?" "Well, in a moment, all the pain you caused in your life will come back to you. You will feel whether or not you were good; I'm just keeping score." "How? When?" "Don't worry about how. How is our little secret. When is a better question. Now." My teeth hurt instantly. It was a weird pain \- as a dentist, I could not describe it. Certain teeth hurt more \- the damnable second molars hurt. My lips felt like they were going to fall off. At the same time, I felt... relief. None of the teeth hurt. Occasionally, there'd be a flare up, but they felt... better. I remembered every fight with my wife. I remembered my brother disowning me. I remembered my parents dying. I remembered breaking a knick\-knack when I was 4. I remembered submitting my third patient ever to collections. I remembered disappointing my patients when I retired. I remembered a malpractice suit that was settled. I remembered my very first dental professor frustrated at my bad grades. I remembered graduating. I remembered EVERYTHING. I remembered Johnny. My own grandson! I felt his fear of me, and it roil into hate. I remembered his scream when I first spun up the drill, his scream of pain from drilling into that accursed second molar. I remember finishing up, and him jumping out of the chair, running out to the waiting room, and hiding behind my daughter\-in\-law, like I was a monster from under the bed. I cried. "OK, we're all done here, Dr. Jacobson. Congratulations!" I choked through tears. "Wait... what?" "Oh yes, I've seen what I need to see. You caused so much pain \- but to the end of so much relief to pain you didn't cause \- well, mostly. You felt guilt about slights and wrongs you had done. You did good things and tried to help people. You WERE good. Not great, but good!" I couldn't feel any joy. "But my own grandson hates me! He thinks I would hurt him!" The hooded figure chuckled again. "Huh, you're really stuck on that one. OK. Well, I have to put it in perspective. What I should do is simply pull down my hood, to show you how little it matters. But it does matter. It matters to you, and it really does matter to him. So let me take you on a little sightseeing tour. I shouldn't do it, but you already got a good result." "Huh?" I blinked \- and I was outside my old office. It looked... different. I went up to the door, and saw the stenciled lettering. Jacobson Family Dentistry Dr. John Wertzbach, D.D.S. I ran inside. There was Johnny. Oh, he was much older, but it was him. Same little scar below his left eye; same dark hair that needed a trim. I heard a voice behind me. "This is part of why you got Heaven as well. Sure, you hurt him, and he hated you for it. After you passed, he felt bad. Had to see a therapist for months." I welled up. "Then, in high school, he told his parents something. He told them he trusted you, and had felt betrayed, but now realized you only wanted to help him. His parents had known he felt guilty, but he described how deep the mental scar went. He said he wanted to help people too \- and you had helped your family enough that they could enabled him to do just that \- by paying for college. He chose dental school." I cried again. I smiled and laughed, but kept crying. "Your wife put up the money for his first practice. It wasn't much, but it was enough for one bit of sentiment: this building. He literally followed in your footsteps, Johnathan. He's actually pretty good at it. He doesn't have nearly as much trouble with those second molars." "... thank you." "No problem, but now you need to move along. I have to get to my next customer..." He flipped a chart in his hand, "A televangelist. Oh boy, I get to share the bad news."

Kyle had never even fought in the

"Ok. Great job today everyone. We'll pick up tomorrow." Kyle gave the stage manager a nod as he wiped the sweat from his brow. It had been the same routine everyday for nearly ten years. Wake up. Work out. Receive the day's script. Review past plot points, the reports from the two Kings and ongoing tactics and storylines. Acting was always the hardest part, but Kyle had grown into his role. He had never even fought in the original war; only a few of the two Kings' true soldiers remained. Most had been written off at some point or another. Some had taken jobs around the massive set or had gone to work as spies inside the two castles. Others had disappeared, seeking a quiet life. Of course, no one had told the two Kings the truth. That was the only rule. "You look tired, superstar," Miranda said as Kyle took his seat. Kyle smiled weakly, running a hand through his blood-flaked hair. It was fake-blood of course. When he had first started, the hair had been fake as well. "Why do you always worry so much?" she asked as she began to wipe the makeup from his face. "The King believes every word of your reports. You and Octavian are their favorites." Kyle glanced to the edge of the set. As always, Octavian was laughing, his band of artificial soldiers hanging on his every word. Octavian was one of the original soldiers. In fact, he had witnessed the Surrender first hand. Everyone *loved* Octavian. "I think it's a mistake," Kyle whispered as Miranda adjusted his hair. She had been with him from the beginning, staying by his side from his rise as a foot soldier to one of the elite. If there was anyone he could talk to, it was her. "This could ruin everything." "You're not really being captured," Miranda sighed. "Don't be so dramatic." "Why would the writers agree to this? They have never done something like this before. The two Kings crave death on the battlefield. Why the sudden change in tactics?" "The war has been at a standstill for four seasons. Both George and Ender have demanded to see progress. You know the rule, we have to keep them believing - no matter what it takes. Just think how many lives you have saved by playing King George's Commander. A few days off site won't hurt. It's not like you haven't performed in front of them before." She spun Kyle around so he could see his reflection in the mirror. It was hard to recognize himself sometimes. Years of training and work under the desert sun had turned his body into that of god. His thick black hair hung to his broad shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. His skin was smooth and tanned, hardened from hundreds of simulated battles. "What of George's retaliation?" Kyle argued. "Losing me will cause him to do something extreme. Do we actually think that Frederick is ready to handle my role as Commander? What if the King stops by for one of his random inspections? What if he wants to fight again?" "It's only temporary, and we know his schedule by heart," she assured him. "This is all leading to your dramatic duel with Octavian. When you finally kill him off and escape, the war will be safe for at least another few weeks as Ender works out his next move." Kyle sighed. She couldn't see it. Eventually, this whole operation was going to fail. The real war would start up again. It was just a matter of when. As Miranda applied fresh makeup to make his impending capture convincing, he studied Octavian in the distance. The other Commander sensed his stare and flashed him a flawless smile, teeth stained red from the dinner platter. *Always so perfect*, Kyle frowned. Why couldn't the others see the truth? Octavian wasn't going to let himself get killed off. He loved the money, the women, the fame. This kidnapping was a ploy. Octavian had saved himself from death's door a dozen times already, only surviving through *miracles* and conveniently arriving healers from distant lands. It was almost as if, *he* had been writing the show the entire time. Kyle couldn't shake the sinking feeling that once he left the set of the War, he would never return, despite the script. That Octavian had somehow convinced the others that he should survive their duel, narrowly avoiding death. Again. If only there were some sort of evidence ... but there was nothing. Octavian was a professional. No one ever made contact with the writers. "You look lovely," Miranda smiled, touching off Kyle's black eye. "I guess I won't be seeing you again for a few days." She kissed him on the cheek. "Say hi to the King for me, superstar!" A moment later, Kyle was shuffled off the set and onto the stinking field that housed the show's hundreds of horses and battle equipment. He nodded his thanks as the assistants set down a movable set of wooden stairs in front of the prisoner wagon. Kyle stood at the top stair for a long moment, looking back on the set. His planned escape and slaying of Octavian would put King George in a brief position to win the war. It wouldn't be until a few weeks that he would learn how King Ender would get back to even ground. That was the way of the show. One of the Kings temporarily gaining an edge thanks to some genius battleplan only to, shortly thereafter, be outmatched by the other. It was all a balancing act made possible by the writers. This was the most extreme plot yet. Kyle figured he would likely live to see even crazier stunts as the show marched on ... if everything went to plan of course. *Better safe than sorry*. Taking a deep breath, Kyle grabbed a short knife from the barrel next to the wagon and stashed it within one of the pockets of his ruined Commander's coat. Octavian wouldn't let himself be killed off. Kyle had never been surer of anything in his life. He sat patiently as some of the former soldiers arrived to convincingly bind his wrists and ankles. The opposing Commander sauntered over to the wagon fifteen minutes later, two of the goddesses introduced in the second season hanging on his every word. He dismissed them with a wave and a smile, and the two *soldiers* rode off into the night to thunderous applause. Octavian waited until several miles had passed before speaking. "It's been a long journey for both us," he said softly, blue eyes gleaming in the torchlight. "However, my ascent is only just beginning." ____ Thanks for reading! I could write more if anyone is interested. (Edit: ) (Edit 2: Wrong word)

Jeff was flying from Beijing to Seoul

*** *What's the point of panicking?* Jeff thought, as he watched the chaos unfold from the comfort of first class. His legs were stretched out fully, and the raucous turmoil around him was pleasantly muted by his noise canceling headphones. People rushed by him like clockwork, some probably screaming, others crying, though he didn't see what good it was doing any of them. *We're all going to die anyways, so might as make the best out of it.* Jeff hadn't started the voyage out in first class, but instead had slipped up a few rows once people started leaving their seats to start milling around the aisles like rabid lunatics. Finally, after 15 years of flying coach, he had attained the near mythical first class upgrade, and it only took a crisis which would almost certainly result in his doom to make it happen. *It's pleasant enough,* he thought vacantly, *but still, not anywhere near the price tag.* The plane hit a patch of turbulence and everything shook. The lights flickered and streaks of sunlight flashed through the panes of the window. Jeff closed his eyes. *There's nothing you can do about this, so Just relax. Relax. Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax.* There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to his right. Sitting next to him was a well dressed man, kicking up his feet next to him. His head was shaved and he wore a pair of dark glasses. Jeff took off his headphones. "Yes?" "You're in my seat," he said. "Oh, sorry." Jeff started to stand up, his polite reflexes taking control. Even in moments of mortal peril his manners stubbornly refused to desert him, which he found quite amusing. As he made to sidle by, the man shook his head and motioned for him sit back down. "It's okay, stay put. I enjoy the company." He crossed his legs, apparently enjoying the extra leg room as much as Jeff. "Besides, every seat on this plane is mine." Jeff looked at the man, now confused. The man had a small bag of free peanuts in his hands, and began to fumble with the plastic. "Hate these things," he muttered. "They seal 'em up tighter'n than my - " The bag burst open, showering the pair with peanuts. "Sorry about that," the man said. "God, what a nightmare. I hate delayed flights." Jeff reached for his headphones again, but stopped, realizing that the strange man had traded him a nice seat for a conversation partner. "Well technically, this plane isn't delayed. It's just taking, you know, hours longer than usual and eventually going to run out of fuel and crash, which in my opinion is quite a bit more worrying." "Ha." The man crunched down on a peanut. "There's nothing to worry about." He glanced down at an expensive looking watch. "Actually, we're ahead of schedule. Should be beginning our descent within the next hour or so. No, it was getting the board to approve this type of flight in the first place that was the real problem. You think a two hour flight delay is bad? Try a *two year* delay." Jeff frowned. He often felt uncomfortable when people talked nonsense, though this man seemed pleasant enough. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about." The man took off his glasses and smiled. His eyes were pale blue, circled by worn laugh lines. "Well of course you don't. You're supposed to be flying coach, after all. That's the whole point." Just then the clouds broke away, and brilliant white and green light flooded the window panes. Jeff turned his head to look out his window and gasped. The scene before him looked like something out of a surreal painting. A series of what appeared to be floating isles dotted the skies, each a bright emerald green. Some held mountains, others hills and valleys, tiny villages popping on some, their rooftops no bigger than toys from this perspective. Far off in the distance he could see the skyline of a massive city, the tops of the skyscrapers faded behind a curtain of fog. What appeared to be tiny vehicles zipped back and forth from isle to isle endlessly like insects. Jeff's mouth fell open. He turned back to the man. "Where are we? Have I...have I gone mad?" The man smiled. "Two years," he said. "Two years, and now, finally, I'm going home." A hush had fallen over the entire plane, as the other passengers crowded around the windows, everyone sharing in expressions of varied disbelief. "Your...home?" "That's what I said." He stretched in his seat. "God I'm thirsty. What's a man have to do to get some first class service here?" The strange man seemed to have lost interest in Jeff's bewilderment, and took to trying to wave down one of the hostesses to order a whiskey and coke, to little success. Jeff grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him back around. "Hey! Did you...did you have something to do with this?" He shrugged. "It was the board that approved it. Take it up with them." "The board? What in the hell are you talking about? And where are we?" The man opened his mouth to respond, but jut then a new hostess that Jeff did not recognize appeared before them. She was dressed in bright blue uniform that was different than the ones that had started his flight, though maybe that was just what they wore in first class. "We should be arriving at our destination shortly," she said, with a pleasant smile, as if they were about to finish a normal flight and the floating isles outside the window were a normal part of Korean Air's flight experience. "Something to drink for you gentleman?" "Whiskey coke double," the man said, then added, "took you long enough." Jeff looked up at her and smiled reflexively. "Coffee with two - hey. Wait. We're going to be *arriving* shortly?" The hostess held her smile. "Yes, of course sir. You didn't think we would keep you up here all day, did you?" "I don't know what to believe anymore." He pointed out the window. "And where exactly, will we be landing?" The smile never wavered, and without breaking character she handed them both their drinks, along with a pair of parachutes. "Who said anything about landing?" Jeff looked over at his seat partner, his mind refusing to process the last interaction. "Dammit, mine's too small," the strange man complained, sloshing soda-whiskey everywhere as he fumbled to undo the straps of his parachute. "Switch with me." * * * *** /r/ghost_write_the_whip