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Caroline Smith was all I could think

Caroline. I learned her name through the phonebook, my shaking fingers carefully caressing its pages as I searched for the address I'd seen her at so many times. 43 Mako Drive, the small, brick house on the corner of Braxton and Mako. I'd memorized the shape of her home weeks before, my bare feet sliding across its wet grass every time I closed my eyes. Letters from her mailbox, addressed to Caroline Smith, confirmed what the book claimed. She was perfect, absolutely flawless in every way. I'd watched her for seven months--almost every single day and night--silently following her as she strolled to and from her classes. Sometimes I stayed outside her bedroom window as we slept, my heart racing as I matched my breathing to hers. She never knew I was there, never acknowledged me as more than the distant shadow of a faceless tree, but I knew she needed me. She was all I could think about, all I wanted to be with. Beautiful, flawless, ideal. If anything could convince me that angels truly visited this greasy, obscene, vile planet, then it would have been to see her. She was an artist, a creator; she built perfect worlds that only she and I could appreciate, universes fit for the two of us. She taught her art at the community center next to the unsightly yellow pizza restaurant. I didn't understand why she bothered showing up. The students didn't respect her; the other teachers didn't understand her; no one truly valued her. They couldn't see her perfection, her talent, the unearthly skill she possessed. No one knew what she was worth--except me. It was clear to me, everything she was capable of. The world wasn't able to comprehend what she could do; only I, and the God above, could fathom such beauty. I knew I had to free her, to save her from the life of dismay and disrespect she endured. Her perfection had to be known. She always walked alone, always spent her days and nights with a just paintbrush and canvas. The mail at 43 Mako Drive was never addressed to anyone but Caroline, my fingers becoming accustomed to the rub of the ink-stained C of her name pressed into her envelopes. She had no one but her art, nothing but the worlds she created in the comfort of her home as I silently watched under the shroud of the long-set sun. She had me, had my support and devotion, my undying love and admiration, yet I knew that wasn't enough for her. She needed more, needed the embrace of the planet as they all screamed her name in singularity, hung her portraits in galleries and travelled halfway around the world to admire her brush strokes. She needed fame and fortune, acclaim and respect, followers and immorality. I knew I could give that to her, make her name a commodity and brand us as a single entity in the history of humanity. I wanted to be the one to launch her fame, the name that always followed her around. I wanted to be the reason she went missing, the person to force her into the world. I needed to free her from this filthy planet, be the one to release her soul to the millions scattered throughout the corners of the uncivilized, obscene Earth. I knew she could inspire the masses and provoke the future. I left her alone one night, let her sleep without the comfort of my warm carcass nestled just feet away. I had to, I needed to prepare. It was soon to be our time, the moment we'd forever become names tied together in the media, in the voices of the people, in the pages of history and the world alike. I wanted to perfect where I'd take her, where I'd free her soul into immortality. I needed it to be flawless enough to display her art to the world. I prepped and painted, cleaned and set forth the tools to extract her; my memory became blurred and uncertain as I toiled endlessly. It needed to be just as perfect as she. By the time I was content, my eyes had become bloody through lack of sleep, and the sun had long-since risen. She was not in her room as my bare feet touched the familiar grass outside her window. I pulled open the unlocked back door, silently dragging my heels across the hardwood floor I'd felt so many times before. I'd once danced in that very spot, my feet softly tapping the ground not inches from where she slept; I could hear her breathing in perfect synchronization as I spun. Now her bed was empty, the window above it shattered and shimmering atop her sheets. Her bureau lay sideways, its contents spilled out on the floor. I picked up the ruby shirt she wore to bed almost every night and held it to my face, the familiar scent of her perfume washing over me. I continued through her house. She valued her cleanliness, as did I. I'd watch as she spent hours, sometimes entire days, washing and organizing each and every inch of her home, always to perfection. Now it was a mess, a chaotic wreck of turmoil and struggle. She'd never done this to me before, never forced me to see her in such a shape of sheer humanity. Her walls, once rife with the beauty and life she painted, now lay bare, the art scattered and broken upon the floor. I clenched my teeth as I righted them, muscles tensing as I tried to hang them back in their correct places, but they were simply not the same. She had let someone else touch them; they had lost their perfection. I allowed them fall back to the floor as I continued up her stairs. The creme carpet outside her studio door was stained a ruby red, still moist under the weight of my bare feet. I could hear her breathing heavily behind it, her gasps raspy and strained as if under a tremendous weight. I wrapped my hand around the doorknob, twisting the cold brass knob and silently pushing it open. I had to blink as I peered in, the vulgarity she exposed me to almost unbearable. The room was in disarray: paintings torn apart, brushes scattered across the floor, shelves toppled over sideways. The worlds she'd created for just the two of us, the universes that were supposed to inspire the future, were now stained, covered in blood and paint and split by knife. The hope she'd given the planet lay destroyed in the middle of the room by her broken body. She couldn't even save her own self. She glanced up at me, her eyes studying me with a faint hint of recognition and dread, her mouth gagged and broken. I could hear her whimper softly, just as she occasionally did in her sleep as I stood watch. Spilled paints surrounded her and mixed into a single, grotesque shade--red, blues, yellows, whites, and every other color she'd previously had organized on the shelves beside the door. I stared at her for a moment, waiting for an apology as my eyes searched for the perfection and hope I'd seen for so long. She had been flawless, the only thing that could save the world from the pornographic, filthy wreck it had become. Now, as she lay on the ground, her eyes screaming for *my* help, all I could see was failure and dependence. A mirrored figure shifted in the far corner of the room, its back to me. I glanced up at it and slowly shook my head. She was no more perfect than the rest. I turned around and quietly shut the door, then began back down the path I'd become so familiar traveling. _____________ **ALTERNATE ENDINGS:** Violent, exciting one: "Less ambiguous" ending: ____________________ ^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories ^or

An old lady approached him after he

I was fourteen when it all started. I'd been out one day, waiting for some friends at the park, as you do. I was eating a chocolate bar and apathetically tossed the wrapper aside. An old lady approached me. "Don't you have any respect? Pick that up." Naturally I ignored her, being the lovely young man that I was until she screamed. "Fine! Have it your way! If you shall litter the Earth, then I shall litter your mind." She promptly left and I was confused, I assumed she was just a bit of an old bat. The wrapper blew away, and my friends turned up. We played some football, I was always fairly horrendous at that. The next day, I woke up. For some reason the first thing I thought of was the old lady. I realised that it was fairly obnoxious for me to act that way to someone. Ah well, I'll probably never see her again anyway. I went downstairs and greeted my mother who has been a bit of a struggling single for a while now (I guess having an obnoxious teenage brat doesn't help much). There was a two, hovering above her head; cyan in colour. I wasn't really sure what it meant at the time. I knew that, objectively, this was strange. Intuitively, however, it felt oddly natural. So I went about my day. As I went through school that day, I noticed everybody had the numbers. Notably my friend Tim who was a brown belt in karate had a blue four, our loud ex-military teacher who enjoyed startling sleeping students was a yellow six. The school bully was a turquoise three. Most students were a one or a two; shades of green. I could never see a number above my own head in reflections or anything like that, much to my frustration. When I watched TV I noticed that powerful people tended to have quite high numbers. The anchor had a five, the prime minister had a nine, some footage of an army doing a parade seemed to show a range from six to eight (a vibrant red). Eventually, after having thought about this for a few weeks, I concluded that the number corresponded to danger. Being dangerous can mean many things. It can mean you're potent in a fight, or it can mean you have a lot of say socially. One day, I was sitting in the park with my mother and some of her friends on a day out. She introduced me to someone new. Short, goatee, slicked back hair and an eight. He sat there, casually sipping on a can of lager. My mum introduced him as Sean, "my new boyfriend." "WHAT?!" So I couldn't control that little outburst, I must admit I panicked a bit. An eight is a member of the cabinet, a soldier, a serial murderer (What? The numbers come up on Crimewatch as well, you know). He interjected, "Haha! Relax kid. I'm going to be around for a while" At which point he leaned in and kissed my mum. This was not affection; this was dominance. In the following days, I took my mum aside repeatedly to try to convince her to get out of this. She was, how can I put it? Thoroughly unwilling. So now I was anxious, I was frustrated. We were around Sean's house at the time. He came in later that day, bringing home some shopping, he bought me a chocolate bar. Well, that was nice? Thanks. So it started out nicely enough. He could tell that I was anxious, and so he'd buy me little things to try to win my affections. To be honest, it started to work. My mum was in love with him and despite the red flags, I was honestly settling to the arrangement. What I hadn't noticed were the little things. At first it began as complaints; "the jam isn't in the cupboard I said to put it in", "clean up that fucking cat shit". Benign, but said with a sharp tongue. Eventually he offered to fully support my mother. I'm not really sure how he was able to do this as he didn't have a job of which to speak, but it seemed to work out. My mum quit her job at the supermarket and now had much more free time to... "do those fucking dishes," to "make a doctor's appointment for me". He spoke repeatedly of their sex life to me. Thanks for telling me. Over time his demands were shouting. Mum's number dropped from a two to a one. Something was wrong. This kind of behaviour carried on for a year. I was the frog in the pot. Eventually he started doing things; hitting her when I wasn't around. I didn't notice of course, although I started to pick up the signs. Then one day I did. They had a huge argument. They were shouting, things were thrown. They wouldn't stop. The walls closed in. I had nowhere to go. In my right conscience, I had nowhere I could go. I was just as frightened as she was until that is I heard a crack; he headbutted her. Blood poured forth. I freaked the fuck out. I started screaming. I started crying. I had no idea what way was up. I briefly ran into the bathroom to try to collect myself and figure out what the fuck I was supposed to do. I was scared. I was shaking. I was angry. I was livid. I was FURIOUS. And through the tears I saw the stained bathroom mirror. Everything was blurry but I saw it right there. Black as night, floating right above my own head. I could finally see it: Ten. "Fuck them, fuck him, fuck everyone. Fuck this abusive piece of shit. I am taking control of this situation." In that very briefly lucid state, I called an ambulance. I then broke the mirror, threw it at the ground. I picked the the largest shard of glass and looked at myself again. Ten. Definitely ten. I called down. "Sean! Let's fucking talk!" --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Edit: Thanks so much for the comments, upvotes and especially those kind folk who gave me gold! I couldn't have hoped for a nicer reception to this. You should also listen to this audio version: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmhw3df

Mr. Brock: "If you

"Mr. Brock..." "No Mr. Brock. I'm sorry Jason, but if you cannot commit to your schedule, you don't have what it takes to work in this company." I lower my head. I feel my eyes water. I mean, it's one thing to yell at me because I left five minutes early yesterday -- after being the only one doing unpaid extra hours until midnight for the fifth week in row now. But to fire me because of it? And in front of everybody? I feel like that's kind of mean of Mr. Brock's part. People are looking. I hate this. "Are you going to cry, Jason? Really? You are a grown man. Get yourself together." Lisa from accounting passes by and stops to watch. Everyone in their cubicle has their heads raised to watch the scene, as well. I hate being in the spotlight. I'm not good at confrontation. "Mr. Brock, please. I can put in more hours, if you want. I can --" "Sorry, Jason. I need a person who can commit. I need someone responsible." Come on. You are right, man. Stand up for yourself. Say something. Brock never did extra hours. Neither did Lisa, or Tobias. You are always the last one in the office, and you are also the one paid less. Say something. Everybody is watching. Say something. Say something. I hate this. Stop crying. "Mr. Brock, c-can we talk in your office? I really need this job. I can --" Mr. Brock throws a cardboard box my way. "We have nothing more to talk about, Jason." He turns around and steps away, heading for his big office with his big window and his big trophies. Little by little, the heads start lowering back to their computers. I start putting my stuff in the little box, feeling five different kinds of shitty. I'm done in like five minutes. It's pretty easy, what with no pictures of family or kids. No pictures of the wife. No macaroni pen holder. I don't have a lot of stuff to show for, in this life. I put the last of my action figures (John Constantine, from Hellblazer) on the box and I get up, sniffing. "Well... See you guys. I -- goodbye." No one answers. People type away and drink their coffee away, distracted. I start walking. I'm almost by the door when I hear it. "MOTHERFUCKER!" And a loud bang. Like really really loud. I stop and turn around, and everyone else does the same. Black smoke is coming out from under Mr. Brock's door. Little by little, slow motion step by slow motion step, I approach, because no one else seems to be willing to move. There's silence on the other end of the door. Before I can reach the knob the door opens on its own, and everyone goes "Oh!" (except for Mr. Trigger from HR, who just says 'oh fuck this shit', gets up and leaves. We never saw him again.) These reactions were prompted by the fact that, on the other side of the door, Mr. Brock was now seven different, completely separate objects, spread around his office. His head and torso is lying on top of his desk, in the middle of a pool of blood. His legs are on opposite sides of the room. So are his arms. His penis and left ball are dangling from the roof fan, casually. His right ball is on the floor by the door, right next to a squirrel holding a bazooka. I'm gonna repeat that: His right ball is on the floor by the door, right next to a squirrel holding a bazooka. Lisa from accounting faints. "Took care of this piece of flying, stinky shit, master", the squirrel says, smiling at me. His voice is high pitched and scratchy, like the voice of an old lady on 3 packs of Camels a day for the past 70 years. I look at the squirrel for seventeen seconds, in complete silence. Jenny from marketing faints, too. Jack from HR whispers "holy shit", and has a heart attack. (He died a week later, I heard.) "What?" I ask, suddenly realizing I hadn't blinked in a very long time. I blink. "The Abomination, they call me", the squirrel says, with a smirk. "Paid assassin. You saved my life on January 13th, down Berry Road, remember? Squirrel law determines I am now at your service. I took the liberty of doing a background check on your life. You got a lot of people being assholes to you and dragging you down. I'm here to take care of that for you." "I-- Mr. Brock was not disturbing me. I -- he was an asshole, sure, but I didn't -- I mean..." I take a deep breath. What little people on the office that have not yet fainted or had heart attacks (or walked away saying 'fuck this shit') are frozen watching the scene in a catatonic state. The squirrel grabs Mr. Brock's right ball, throwing it over his left shoulder like a sports bag. "Now come on, let's get even with the world. Like I said, a lot of people have been fucking you over, Jason. It's time to grow up and be a man. Time to set the record straight." "I.... Wh-what do you mean?" The squirrel grabs me by the hand. He drags me towards the door. People are watching still, frozen. "Do you know a Ed Williams, Jason?" the squirrel asks, almost by the door. "Yeah, he's my neighbor", I say, worrying about what's coming next. "Could you grab the doorknob, please?" The Abomination looks up at the doorknob, out of his reach. I turn it and open the door. People are still frozen, staring at me. Mike from research and development faints. Then he wakes up. Then he faints again. "What about Ed Williams?" I ask, as the squirrel drags me out into the hallway. "He's stealing your TV Guides", The Abomination, says, shutting the door behind us with his feet. "Let's go shove a cactus up his ass." And he drags me to the elevator. _______________________ EDIT: EDIT: EDIT: EDIT: _________________________ *Thanks for reading! And kudos for an amazing prompt, OP! This was a fun write. For more stories, check out my subreddit: /r/psycho_alpaca =)*

Noah wasn't my first apprentice nor

"Have you been down to the valley before, Noah?" I asked my newest apprentice as we turned a corner on the jagged path down the side of the sacred mountain. "No, mother never let us go this far down the mountain. I've heard the stories, though," Noah responded with a certain eagerness to his voice. I had known his mother for a long time, and giving her third and smallest son a chance to be something other than a warrior was the least I could offer her. "Your mother is a wise woman, Noah. There is little but death this deep in the mountains. A plague that must be kept from ever reaching us." I kept my voice stern. Noah wasn't my first apprentice nor would he be my last. Many of the others never understood my craft. The ones that did never respected it. Their thoughts were too shallow to see the good I brought to our people. But the world seldom works in ways we want it too. It's the ones that understand its true ways and adapt that become the most powerful. That is what I did, and what I shall continue doing. "Well, there's people down there, isn't there?" he asked innocently. I smirked at the thought and halted our hike down the mountain side and turned to face him. The black hood adorning my weathered skull blocked most of my view in front of and around me, but Noah's young, suddenly frightened face was in a clear line of sight. "That will be for you to decide, my boy," I chuckled to myself before returning onto the jagged path. I listened intently as the boy took several moments before hearing his heavy footsteps run after me, kicking rocks and dust down the mountainside around him. The shadow of the mountain had all but blocked the setting sun in the west and left the valley under a hazy yellow glow. Fog creeped its way from the Earth before dissipating some ten feet above us as we found flat ground for the first time since beginning our journey. I could feel the waters of the swamp begin flooding my boots and I could hear the young boy plopping around trying to stay dry. "The smell," Noah gagged, "What on Earth is that smell?" he asked, his voice was muffled as he tried covering his nose with his palm. "The village," I answered solemnly as the shadows of the village's tallest buildings broke the yellow glow of the setting sun and leaving the land behind them dark and desolate. "Who could live in such a place?" Noah asked horrifyingly as we entered the outer gate of the village's meager wooden walls. "Those who have been trapped," I answered as I continued our steady pace through the village. The swamp had given way but the village streets were filled with mud and excrement; hardly an improvement. Sickly families sat at the edges of the path weakly extending bowls outward with frail arms. They shuddered and turned away, however, when they saw that it was I who was walking past them. They mumbled prayers under their rasping breaths. "Trapped? Trapped by who?" Noah asked. I turned to him and placed my hand on one of his bony shoulders. "All will be answered in due time, my boy. For now, you must watch." The boy nodded quickly before looking nervously at the beggars beside the road. "Don't worry, my boy. You cannot catch what they have." Noah looked up questioningly but I turned back to the path before he could ask more questions. He would have to observe and decide for himself if he would remain by my side for the years to come. With war on the horizon, I'd need all the help I could get. Soon we stood before the largest building in the village. Though it would have been meager in size compared to our own village and those of the north, it stood out in contrast to the pathetically built huts surrounding it. I did build it after all. The doors of the temple creaked open painfully as we made our way up the steps. Two young boys held the doors open as we passed. They glared down at the ground, holding back tears as I passed. A low rumble of distant thunder rolled over the mountains and echoed around the valley. It was time. The temple consisted of one large main room with two stone tables placed in the center. Fire from candles along the walls lit the room with a faint red hue and several dozen villagers huddled as close to the walls as possible. One stepped up to me, an older man who, like the others, kept his gaze to the floor. "All is ready, my lord. Forgive me but I must ask, will we receive the food as promised?" he whimpered. I slowly turned to the old man standing beside me and grabbed his weak jawline and stared directly into his hazy blue eyes. He tried to struggle away but was too weak. He muttered the same prayers as those on the streets earlier before I dropped him to the ground. "The food shall arrive when the storm subsides," I told the man as I returned my sights to the tables in the middle of the room. The old man scrambled to the side of the room like a wounded animal and rejoined the huddled mass in the corner. Around now is usually when the apprentices I previously had either yelled in protest to these grotesque sights or tried running out the temple doors. Noah, however, now seemed intrigued as I looked over to the young boy. Perhaps he could be the one I have been searching for. The two tables in the center of the room each had a body laying upon them. To the left was a young man. He was desperately thin and shivering in the cold of the temple. Despite his weight, however, he appeared mostly healthy. His eyes were closed and he muttered a prayer over and over through his chattering, worn down teeth. I gently placed a palm on the man's chest and leaned in close to the side of his head. He flinched when I touched him but I held him down firmly. "Relax, my friend. All your suffering will soon be over. Your sacrifice will save your people," I whispered into his ear. He began weeping and I motioned to Noah to tie him to the table before he tried to run off. On the other table was another young man with a black bag around his head. He had strong shoulders and a bouldering chest. A great warrior from my village who showed great potential to serve his people. He had been mauled by a mountain lion two days before. Large, red gashes ran along the side of arms and back. One arm was broken in several spots after he had fallen upon some rocks in a desperate attempt to escape his attacker. He eventually killed the lion and dragged its lifeless body back to our village before collapsing in exhaustion. The man had clearly earned my favor and today he would receive it. His gashes were festering and he smelled much like this village and its people. I turned to Noah. "Watch. And decide." He nodded and stepped back into the shadows of the temple. All of the candles suddenly dimmed as I raised my palms and a calm yet chilling breeze swept around the room. I began muttering the old words and watched as the once lifeless body of the warrior twitched for the first time. The other man was weeping louder now and struggled to break away from the chains restraining him. The skin around his shoulder suddenly began to break apart and he howled in pain and begged for mercy but the process had already begun. Blood poured from the newly forming gashes. The warriors broken arm, crooked and purple, jumped to life and straightened before my eyes. Simultaneously, the other man's arm split in two. He cried louder and louder but I was too focused on the warrior's body turning from a pale blue to a bright tan. The bag around his head began to puff gently above his mouth. Suddenly he jumped up from the table and roared with life. He breathed desperately and his hands patted around his body. He couldn't find any words to speak over his rampant breathing. I lowered my arms and light refilled the room. I rushed to the warrior's side and held the man. "It is okay, my friend. You have been healed. You are alive once again." His breathing suddenly calmed as he recognized my voice and turned his bagged head in my direction. He still could not speak but I knew what he was thinking. In reality, I did little myself to save this man, but he and all the others before him view me the same; a god among men. A giver of life. They never know the price paid, but they also rarely ask. I looked over the mangled body of the young boy who now lay lifeless on the other table. Two villagers rushed over and carried his limp body from the table and out of the temple. Another two helped the warrior to his feet and led him away to clean him and return him to our village. I looked over to Noah, who stood dumbfounded in the back of the temple. He was staring at the blood that dripped slowly from the edge of the stone table. I walked over to him and stood before him, waiting for his answer. He eventually looked up to me slowly and the innocence of his eyes from earlier today was all but gone. I could feel new emotions coursing through the boy's body. "Teach me," he whispered. I smiled and put both hands on the boy's shoulders. Finally, I had found the one.

'I think I would rather just

Bobby's eyes widened in a mixture of shock and amusement, 'Sorry, can you repeat that?' Sally, his date, didn't seem in the least bit fazed. She looked up from her food and stared directly at him, her dark eyes devoid of humour, and repeated. 'It's odd.' Bobby sucked his teeth slightly annoyed at having to clarify himself. 'Not that bit,' he explained through gritted teeth, 'the bit before.' Sally, who had continued eating, looked up again, then her face broke into a smile as she understood. Bobby felt a tinge of lust as her dark curls bounced around her face when she began to laugh girlishly. 'Sorry, yes of course.' Her lips seemed pinker than usual. 'I think I would rather just stay in with him than go on a date. It's odd.' She blushed, realising what she'd said. 'Most dates...' she stammered, 'minus the ones with you, obviously.' Bobby could feel all the lust he felt for her fall away. They'd only been on a few dates, but this was still a little hard to hear. He coughed uncomfortably, trying to find the words to carry on the conversation. 'Why odd...' He finally prompted. She looked up at him thoughtfully. 'Well, I guess, really, it's odd that I just want to hang out with my completely platonic male flatmate all the time. But, as I said, I guess my favourite thing to do is to sit on my couch, watch a movie, eat some pizza and drink a beer or two...' she stopped herself, but Bobby knew the words she wanted to add; 'with Damien'. Bobby nodded slowly, now slightly bemused at the conversation. 'Do you not think that, considering everything you've just said, you might consider him as more than just a platonic male flatmate?' Sally stared back at him blankly. He could almost hear her brain working, the neurons madly firing trying to comprehend what he was insinuating. He sat up straight in his chair, composing himself, highly aware that he was essentially about to 'cockblock' himself. He spoke slightly slowly, trying to make sure she was keeping up. 'Bearing in mind you are sat on a date, with let's face it a very attractive and eligible man who fancies you, and you're talking about him, I have a slight suspicion you might in fact be in love with him?' Up until this point he'd assumed she was just hiding her feelings, but now, as he watched it dawn on her, he realised she'd just been oblivious to the whole thing. Her mouth fell open, somewhat comically, and she stared off into the distance, her eyes wide. He couldn't help but laugh. She immediately came back into the room, and her face flushed red in embarrassment. 'I'd... I just...' she stuttered, her face bright pink. 'I guess I should have realised. I think it just crept up on me.' Bobby nodded in a compassionate sort of way. The damage was done, the date was over. He sighed wistfully and took up his fork to continue eating, 'at least the food's good' he thought apathetically. 'Everything ok here?' Both Bobby and Sally's heads shot up in shock to look at the waiter who had creeped up to the table unnoticed to them. Bobby smiled and nodded. 'I'm in love with my best friend.' Sally blurted out, a look of surprised horror on her face. The waiter raised his eyebrows in a comical look of shock which quickly gave way to an odd sympathetic and yet encouraging smile. Awkwardly he gently patted her arm and said 'good for you.' He then walked away leaving Sally to process the information and Bobby to eat. After some time, in fact just as Bobby finished his food and put down his fork, Sally seemed to wake up from her thoughts and stood up out of her chair. 'I... I should tell him.' Bobby nodded, now only half listening as he started to survey the dessert menu. 'He deserves to know.' Bobby nodded again, not looking up from the menu until he became aware of the silence than had fallen between them. When he did he saw she was sat back down and staring at him sympathetically. He felt a jolt of irritation, and he put his menu down to stare a little harshly back at her. 'I must be the worst date you've ever had. I'm so sorry.' He could hear the emotion in her voice, he sighed irritably but his expression softened slightly. 'Do I like you? Yes. Did I think we may have a future? Maybe. Do I want to be in love with someone who's in love with someone else entirely? No way. It wouldn't have been very good if I'd gone on to fall in love with you and then you'd realised, would it? I'd rather hear it now than when we were just about to board a plane to a new home. Or on our wedding day. Or at the birth of our first child...' She raised her eyebrow. 'Ok, too far, but you catch my drift. I'd much rather get it all out in the open, and just let you run off into the sunset with him now, rather than be 'that guy' who gets in the way and ends up cast as the jerk despite the fact I'm actually just the guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time on a date with a woman who isn't emotionally intelligent enough to work out when she's in love with someone despite the fact, from what you've told me, she spends pretty much every waking second of every day either with him or, at the very least, thinking about him...' He took a deep breath, it was a sore subject, this wasn't the first time he'd had to point out to a date that things weren't exactly 'on track' towards a healthy emotional entanglement. She continued to stare at him blankly. He rolled his eyes. 'So no, it's not the worst date I've ever been on.' She looked a little relieved, and nodded. They sat awkwardly for a moment before Bobby pointed towards the door and said the most whimsical thing he could think 'go to him...' She mumbled something about paying half of the bill, put some crumpled notes on the table beside her half eaten meal, and left. Bobby rolled his eyes, and picked up the menu once more. Just as he'd decided he would stick to coffee, he heard a gentle, lady-like cough. He put down his menu to see an attractive female sat opposite him. Like Sally, her eyes were dark, but these had a sultriness to them that replaced Sally's innocent, almost girlish, look. 'I'm sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing...' Bobby gestured that he didn't mind. 'Are you here alone?' 'I wasn't, but I am now.' She smiled again, this time a little mischievously. 'My date had an unhealthy fixation with his work friend that I felt he should explore before we pursued anything.' Bobby laughed knowingly. 'So he's gone to find her to confess his love?' She laughed again, 'him... and no, I think he's gone to be alone and process his newly realised sexuality.' She smiled broadly and extended a slender hand. 'I'm Olivia Johnson. I'm not in love with any of my friends, have no irregular feelings towards my dad and have no exes in the closet other than one who 'ghosted' me a few years ago who I would probably still punch if I saw him now. I am emotionally available and find you, upon first impressions, incredibly attractive.' Bobby obligingly took her hand and gave it a firm shake. 'I'm Bobby Holden. I have no sexual urges for men, my mother was a perfectly lovely human but I don't want my girlfriend to be anything like her and I would, one day, like a wife and a couple of kids to keep me out of trouble. I am emotionally available and I find you very attractive indeed.' They sat staring lustfully at each other, until they noticed the waiter stood between them. He looked from one to the other and he blurted out, 'You're both completely insane.'

The people burst through the gates of

The people burst through the gates of the mansion. The guards tried to stop them, but they had been armed with electric guitars, a shockingly effective crowd control weapon, but I had taken out their generators. A single riff had been enough. The guards stood helpless as the people marched in to the mansion with beautiful roses and well kept grass while out there they suffered under this sorry excuse of a musician. I had barely needed to do anything in this city. The embers of the anger were already there, all I had to do was fan them The people marching to a beat. It was the familiar THUMP THUMP CLAP. THUMP THUMP CLAP that everyone knew. Individually they would stand no chance against their ruler. She was a powerful musician to have controlled the entire city. But there were hundreds here. Even a simple beat like this, made by relatively unskilled users could pack quite the punch. As if in response, the mansion began to shake, reverberating with the power of the beat of hundreds. They began to sing the song of the prophets Queen. The musicians, when they had first risen after music became powerful, had tried to wipe out all instruction and memory of music to prevent the common people from learning music and challenging their master. But some tunes do not fade. And while instruments could be taken away, hands and tongues could not. In response to the music the house literally began to rock back and forth. It would soon crumble. Perhaps I had overestimated this musician, if she could not withstand such a plain assault, it was a wonder she came into control at all. A single chord reverberated throughout the mansion. The mass stopped as if struck, their beat broken, their voices cut off in shock. And then another chord was hit, and another, and as I watched, the woman came out on the balcony with a portable battery and a guitar and began to play. The people swayed, entranced. The musician dared not use any physical magic on her own property and people, and so she influenced their minds. I, hidden within the crowd, felt only an intense rage. Rock musicians were the worst. They were merely an imitation of the true art form, the true expression of emotion. Passion, rage, regret it was all there in metal. To deliberately dampen these powers...it was sick. Well, I knew it would come down to this. I took out the guitar I had hidden on my back with a coat. It too had a portable source of power. I struck a chord and the air hummed with power. I took in the vibrations, felt the familiar feeling vibrate in my chest. This. This was power. The spell their musician had lain shattered like glass. I let out a scream of passion and power and began to literally rise above the crowd, my guitar in hand. As I rose I could make out the musician better. She wore jeans and denim jacket over a black shirt. Her red hair stood on its end, as if a halo, no doubt responding to her power. Her mouth was curved into a sneer, and her emerald eyes flashed dangerously. We stood, facing eye to eye, and the crowd below us fell silent, in respect and awe. They were about to witness a duel. These were things of legend, of the past when musicians fought for control over areas. These were stable times, musicians dared not fight each other. They had learned that lesson in the First Wars when we had almost wiped each other out. "You fool! What are you doing! You dare intrude on *my* domain?" She struck a note that vibrated, and I literally felt her anger wash over me. Weakling. I roared and responded with my own weapon. And a pillar of white hot flame rushed towards her. Her eyes widened, but she dissipated the fire with another note. So not completely incompetent. "You wiped out our people! You mainstream musicians, you pretend to rule over these...*commoners*," I spat out the word, "but you play what they want to listen, you are subject to their whims, their tastes. My people were wiped out, because we played music that was good, not what people perceived as good!" Her eyes widened in recognition. "No...there are no metal artists left. They were all killed!" I let forth a fork of lightning in response and laughed. "You did not realize yet?! You thought my magic was your puny *rock*? No. This far greater. Pure energy." She reflected the lightning away, and fired her own spell, this time with her own music and voice combined. Looks like play time was over. Still floating I launched into a song. Each note firing a wealth of both physical and mental assaults with it, but she responded in kind with her own song. This was a duel. Before we had simply been trading blows, shit talking so to say. This was true battle. We both knew the idea of our song, what it was supposed to be like, but we had to adapt. Most of our magic collided in the center in sparks or steam, but some got through to both of us. When you see a gout of flame come at you, you change pitch, alter your chord slightly. You sense a weakness in the other's resonance so you capitalize with a hammer-on. You improvise when needed. As death came within inches of me I reveled it, and with a shock, I realized she did too. The anger was gone from her eyes now, just pure joy. This was what we did. The crowd stood, transfixed. With the wild energy lashing around they should have scrambled, ran away as far as possible. But with the spells of our voices intertwining they could not move. They did not *want* to move. They lay helpless, watching gods battle. I was almost sad when it was over. She was good, far greater than I had thought possible for a rock artist, but she was limited by her genre. After what seemed like an eternity, she messed up her chord, and her voice faltered in shock. I capitalized. I fired shot after shot of powerful bursts. Her rhythm disrupted, she fell on the defense, try desperately to block my relentless strikes. As she did I moved closer and closer to her, making the strikes come more rapidly. Now she began to tremble, her face contorted in focus and exhaustion, it was inevitable that she mess up. *There!* She missed an arc of green energy and it slammed into her, freeing the guitar from her grasp, and it crashed with a final note, while the musician herself landed flat on the ground. She sat up as I approached, guitar still held loosely in my hands. Her hair had settled down now, but was still disheveled. She looked me in the eyes, her green eyes flashing with indigence and defiance. She held up her chin, not looking away. "You have bested me. Finish it." I played a single chord and flash of flame burst out, but she didn't flinch. She would do. The flame died an inch from her. She looked at me in shock, her mouth slightly open. "Kill you? Don't be ridiculous," I said. "I'm not like your ancestors, I do not waste musical talent. I offer you power, true music, music unlike you have ever wielded." I held out my hand. "The question is, will you accept?" "And if I don't?," she asked, her voice perfect, light but rich. I smiled savagely. "You want it. I could see it in your eyes. You play music for its power, for its own sake, not for these," I gestured to the crowd under me which had finally begun to snap out of its daze, "commoners. You understand the power you just saw from me and you want it. Your talent is wasted on rock." She still looked intensely at me, but gave me the slightest nod. She took my hand. (minor edits) EDIT: Whoa! I appreciate all the feedback and kind words, truly, they mean a lot. Also thank you specifically to the stranger who gave me gold!

We boarded ships in secret, as

We boarded ships in secret, as soon as the preliminary readings were confirmed. Boarded ships and fled, those of us with enough brains, money, or talent to be deemed "worthy" of survival. Generals, world leaders, captains of industry, and even some that might have deserved to live even while we abandoned our brothers and sisters. 250 years later, we boarded ships in a grand ceremony, as soon as the preliminary readings were confirmed. Earth was still habitable, and we immediately began plans to reclaim our homeworld. Politicians promised reclamation and reunification, while the descendants of the wealthy saw an opportunity for a new world's work of markets. We bickered and debated about the strategy, but there was never any doubt as to the goal. The Navy arrived in orbit on the dark side of the moon, a clever maneuver conceived of and executed to perfection by the great great grandson of the man who had lead the Righteous Flight, as it came to be called. Outposts and bases were established, and long-range monitoring equipment scanned for millions of miles around us, searching for the alien occupiers that were waiting for us. When the first scans returned negative, the Admiral was incredulous, and the first assumption was that the aliens had developed some new cloaking technology. Paranoia ran rampant when word of this theory leaked, but after a week, nothing happened. We established ground to space defenses on the surface of the moon, and more than a few of us held the gaze of the blue ball that was simultaneously unrecognizable and intimately known to us. The Admiral decided that we had to lure our enemy out before we could fight them. The fleet was divided into five portions and deployed in a star around the Earth, so that every portion of the fleet would be able to direct fire and cover another portion if and when the aliens took the bait. The Admiral's gambit worked, and the alien ships revealed themselves as soon as the first group came within two hundred thousand miles of the moon. We did not delay in our mission, and there was no hesitation as three groups converged and destroyed the aliens in a hail of superheated slag and light. Accounts of the size of the original invasion fleet were sketchy and incomplete, but the small size of the fleet left some of us with hope that a few survivors might have lived on through the invasion. I had no such illusions. The greatest minds on the Earth had no answers for the alien menace. What hope did the criminals, the ordinary, and the poverty-stricken have? I volunteered my battalion for the first wave, which targeted the largest concentration of signal activity on the surface of the planet. The ruins of New York seemed to be the epicenter of the alien occupiers. The Admiral debated with his commanders whether to precede the invasion with a bombardment, but decided against it. I was the first human to touch the surface of the Earth in over 200 years, but no sooner could I enjoy the moment of history than we came under fire from the ruins, miles away. Artillery crashed around us, exploding in purple and blue hazes that shattered masks and shredded our armor. Hundreds of humanity's finest were cut down in the first minute. Hulking figures in suits that resembled shadows as much as warriors followed the first artillery wave, slamming into us with weapons that outstripped our own. Decades of weapons research, and billions of dollars of material proved to be as useful as tissue paper against their superior weapons. Even when they fell, they killed yet more of us, as their suits turned into bombs that wiped out entire platoons, as well as killing the operators, if the suits even had any. But we had one advantage: the Fleet. The Admiral personally ordered fighter squadrons eighteen through forty nine to deploy and descend to the surface to provide support. On the ground, we made up for what we lacked in technology with determination and sacrifice. It took eighteen soldiers to kill just one of the hulking monstrosities that opposed us, but every man and woman of our team knew it was better to die on Earth than retreat home and live in shame. The second wave of artillery targeted the dropships, and hundreds were slaughtered before they could even feel Earth beneath their feet. Then the fighters arrived, and met the artillery with screaming explosives and sub-atomic weaponry. We underestimated the anti-air defenses, however, and no sooner could the first squadron drop their payload than the first streaks of red light shot into the sky, slicing through steel and plastic plates that had proved invulnerable to conventional defenses. The second wave suffered casualty rates of 60%. The third wave, 80%. Then the fourth wave was shattered against a veritable wall of light, with only two bombers able to drop their payload before they were cut down. The artillery stopped at least, thank God. But just as the battalion started moving toward the city, a piercing horn cut through the cries of the wounded and the moans of the dying. A building, which towered over the city center, lit up in a blue haze. Someone screamed for us to scatter, but it wasn't aimed at us. The HMS Reclamation was destroyed six seconds later. Her crew, which number 14,231, were all wiped out in an instant, their remains vaporized and any hope for survivors removed from reality. The port side barracks of the Admiral's flagship, the USS Homeland, avoided the beam by eight inches. There was no question of bombardment then. Every group on this side of the Earth turned their Slug guns towards the surface and calibrated the city ahead of us. Like shooting stars, superheated slag traveled across the sky and descended toward the city at what looked like a leisurely pace. The tower began to glow again just as the first shots collided. I had seen explosions, to be sure. I had watched tapes of Hiroshima, of weapons more powerful than that, and I had been present for the demonstration of the first slag cannons. But nothing compared to the blue circle that washed over the city when the tower exploded, wiping out buildings and life alike in its path. It was so bright, the 24 soldiers nearest to the city limits went blind on the spot, and required extensive eye surgery just to make out shapes again. "Colonel," The Admiral spoke up. "Confirm status." I put a hand to my throat, preparing to activate the transmitter. Then I heard groaning that froze my hand, and my heart. A moan from a nearby suit. One of theirs. "Standby, sir," I said. The suit sat in the bottom of a crater, with dirty water covering one of the legs. I slid down and listened, to be sure that I wasn't hallucinating. "Uugh," the suit said. I reached down and pulled at the helmet, but it didn't come loose. I was afraid of what I might find, terrified even, but I had to be certain. I grabbed a rock from nearby, and smashed at the faceplate like a caveman. Finally, I heard something break, and the helm felt moveable in my hands. "Colonel," the Admiral demanded. "Status report." I strained and pulled at the helmet, and finally yanked it off, sending it into a puddle on the other side of the crater. It was a boy. Dirty hair and brown eyes, with freckles on his nose. "Oh God," I said. "Colonel?" the Admiral responded. "What did you find?" I pulled my own helmet off, and the boy's eyes went wide. "Oh no," he said. "No, no, no." "Colonel!" "You're human," I said to the boy. Then I turned to the sky, and I yelled it through tears, choking on the words and struggling to force them out. "They're human!"

Mistress Gentle led the way down the

Mistress Gentle led the way down the hall. Our footsteps pattered on the linoleum; I was shocked at how *quiet* it was in here. I would have expected an orphanage to be full of the usual noises of children: laughing, crying, screaming, etc. "And you're sure you want to adopt, Mr..." Mistress Gentle gulped before saying my name; people often did. "Mr... uh... Stabs People?" Her eyes darted back down to the background check that I'd had to pass before being allowed to adopt a child. How many times was this that she'd read it over just to make sure? It of course mentioned all the trouble I'd been in as a youngster, and how many people I'd stabbed. But that was all in the past, and according to the form I was now an upright citizen. Not that anyone believed that, with my name. "It's not for everyone, you know." "I'm quite sure," I told her as we walked. "I've always wanted kids." Unfortunately it turns out that finding a stable life partner is a bit of a challenge when you're named 'Stabs People.' "I see." Mistress Gentle tried to smile at me, but it just looked like she was seasick. The idea of letting Mr. Stabs People walk away with a child from her orphanage would keep her up at night for weeks despite the reassurances from the state that I am completely rehabilitated. Some people have this idea that you can *never* change your name trait. I don't believe that at all, but Mistress Gentle clearly did. We arrived at a door marked "Dormitory C" at the end of the hall. "I'm sure we'll be able to find a suitable match for you here," she said. The door clicked open, revealing a few rows of bunk beds. Inside, children were reading, playing games quietly, etc. They all looked up like exhibits at the zoo as Ms. Gentle and I strolled through the room. "This here is Stubborn," she said, introducing a boy with curly brown hair. "And this here is Trust Issues," she waved at a young girl with dark skin and green eyes. That one was certainly a self-fulfilling prophecy. She continued around the room, introducing children with various inconvenient name traits. Adoptive parents only wanted Ms. Smells Like A Rose; it was no wonder that these poor kids had all been left behind. In the corner, I noticed a huddled mass under a zebra-striped blanket. "And who is this?" I asked as I gently lifted the blanket. "Oh, careful!" Mistress Gentle shouted just as a pair of teeth lunged for my hand from under the blanket. I was just barely able to avoid being bitten by the little girl hiding underneath. She promptly pulled the blankets back over her face and continued hiding in her corner. "That," Mistress Gentle said, "Is Bites People. She... well..." The name made it pretty clear. I also noticed that Bites People's bunk mate had a circular bruise on her forearm. I remained crouched near the little girl, no older than three or possibly four. "Bites People," I said, gently pulling the blanket away. "I'm Stabs People." She didn't recoil in fear like every other person I've ever met. I can't even tell you how much that meant to me. Instead, she just bared her teeth. So I offered her my arm. "Go ahead," I told her. "You can bite me if you really want to." She glanced at my arm, then back at me. Her lips quivered a bit and then fell back into place over her teeth and formed a fearful frown. "Good job, Bites People!" Mistress Gentle enthused. "Your training is really working!" *Training*, I thought. *Like a dog.* "Bites People, would you like to come stay with me for a while?" I asked. "It would just be temporary to see if things would work out between us." Mistress Gentle took a step back. "This one?" She didn't even bother hiding the incredulity in her voice. *Should have been Mistress Judgmental,* I thought to myself. I picked up Bites People in my arms. Poor thing was shaking. But she didn't try to bite me; she just hugged my shoulder close and whimpered softly. "Yes, this one," I told her. ----- "RRRROOOOOWWWRRRRR!!!!" I formed my hands into claws, held my elbows close to my chest, and became a T-Rex. Bites People squealed with fear and delight and went running off through the house as I stomped after her. She pattered through the kitchen and around the dining table; I followed with loud, heavy steps that echoed down the hall. Finally I caught up to her and scooped her up in my arms, vowing to eat her for dinner. She giggled, and just for a moment I reflected on how completely different she was after only 2 months at home. "Dino Movie?" I asked her. She nodded and squirmed in my arms as I carried her to the couch. I flicked on the TV and once again pulled up her favorite movie: the Land Before Time II. We'd already watched it a few dozen times in the two months since her adoption, and she already had all the lines memorized. But I didn't mind; after all that time in the orphanage, she deserved to have her choice for a while. The movie came on, and Bites People watched with rapt attention, particularly any time Chomper was on screen. He was her favorite character: a 'Sharptooth' who had overcome his predatory instincts and made friends with all the herbivores. She cuddled up close to me on the couch as theme music played. She was so engrossed in the film that she didn't even notice her little tic: she was softly biting on my arm. Kind of in the absent-minded way that other kids would suck on their own thumb. And gently, of course: the way that a cat will nibble at a blanket while it kneads. Just a little love bite. ---- I just published a novel!

"Dodger! Sapphire!"

"Come!" The paw on the back of my head scratches through my fur. I snap at Dodger. He still treats me like a pup, and he is old. Old or not, he manages to catch me and roll me over. I bat at his chest and he snaps and growls near my ears until I surrender. "Insolent pup," he growls again as he lets me up. "I'm not a pup!" I stand up and shake. "I have earned my name. The Lady gave me a name!" "Dodger! Sapphire!" The girl's voice from inside makes me perk up my ears. "The Lady calls again. Come!" He turns back toward the house and trots over. I follow, and playfully snap at his golden tail. He ignores me because I am obeying. The Lady opens the door. The youngest. Not quite 100 years yet. She just came of age last week, and there was a big celebration. I was quite popular that night, as her friends gave me many treats. There was talk among the adults about her going away. She said I would go with her, and that made me happy. I wag my tail at her. The Lady pats my head, but then she kneels down and hugs Dodger. The Lady is crying. "What's wrong?" I ask her. She only reaches out and pats my head again. She doesn't understand me yet. Not like the Master. The Master knows what we say. He understands Dodger more easily. And then I notice that Dodger is not wagging his tail. He is also sad. "Dodger?" I demand. I muscle my way into the hug and lick the Lady's face. She laughs a little. "Dodger, what's wrong?" "I have to go see the Master," he says. He breaks away from the hug and leaves me with the Lady, who hugs me now instead. I sniff her. She smells of the chemicals that Master smells like all the time now. I listen. I can hear the Mistress talking, talking to the Peddler of the chemicals. I nudge out of the hug to follow Dodger, up the stairs, up to Master's room. "Hey Sapphire," says the Mistress when I enter. She rubs me behind the ears the way I like. I tell her thank you. "Beautiful Husky," says the Peddler. I greet him and he pets me. He seems all right, but for the odd smell. "She belongs to my granddaughter." The Mistress's voice sounds odd, like she is in distress, but I smell no danger. "Ah." The Peddler is packing up. "If you need anything else..." "Thank you." The Mistress walks out with him. Dodger is on the bed. He lays his head on Master's chest, who looks asleep. The chemicals make me want to sneeze, but Dodger had told me that is disrespectful. There's another smell too: it's been present for a long time, but today it is stronger than before. I walk up to the side of the bed. "Dodger!" I speak loudly to get his attention. He opens his big brown eyes. "Quiet, pup," he says. "And go away." "No! Tell me what is going on. Why does the Master smell like this? Why is my Lady crying?" I put my paws on the bed to look at Master. His skin is very sallow and thin. The veins stand out. "I am the Seventh," says Dodger. He lifts his head from Master's chest. "My family was made part of the Master's family generations ago, when he was just a pup." Dodger looks at his Master's face. "The First was named Dodger as well. He named me, knowing I would be the last." "The last?" I whine. "Dodger, what are you talking about?" Dodger sighs. "You're too young to understand." "I am not a puppy!" I say it loudly. "I am not!" The Master opens his eyes, and I wonder if I have made a mistake. But he laughs and reaches out to scratch my ears. Like the Mistress, he knows how to scratch properly. "Hullo, Sapphire," he says. I wag my tail. "Be a good dog for Jenny, mm?" "I will," I tell him. I feel Dodger looking at me, all solemn. "Good girl," says Master. "I don't have long before I go. Dodger will take care of me." I hear a car pull up the driveway outside. It's a large one. I run to the window and look out: it's big and white, and strange humans in uniform get out. The Mistress begins to talk with them. I run back to the bed. I look at Dodger. "He can't leave. You can't leave!" I whine. "Hey, hey," says Master. He catches me near the ears again, gently. "I told you, Dodger will take care of me." I whine at them both. "You can't leave!" The men come upstairs with a bed on wheels. The Lady comes with them and takes me aside. "Gotta move the dog." "I'll move him," says the Mistress. She lifts Dodger off the bed. He seems older than he did a little while ago. I whine at the Lady, but she just holds me and cries. "He can't leave!" I tell her, but she doesn't understand yet. "They won't bring him back!" But he does leave. The Lady just holds me and weeps while the vehicles drive away. We go downstairs and outside. Dodger walks down the driveway, following the vehicles. "Dodger, wait!" I strain against the Lady's hands. She calls for Dodger, and he waits a moment. I get free. "Dodger, we have to bring the Master back!" I tell him. I could still hear the vehicles on the road. The Lady was running up behind me. He wags his tail at me. "He told you to be a good dog and take care of the Lady. Be good, Sapphire." He licks my face and runs off, golden fur shining in the sunlight. Lady holds onto me and calls for Dodger, but he disobeys. I had never seen him disobey before. He had never called me by my name before. I only saw Dodger one more time: we found him at the meadow where the Master's body was laid, curled against the crossed stone that marked it. He was the Seventh of his family. I am the First of mine. --- *Wow, I'm overwhelmed by all the feedback and the comments. I'm so glad so many people enjoyed this!*

Lars grunted, taking a sw

"He's been talking to that bard again," Sarah said, peeking through the slats of the window, down the path that led to their cottage. Her apron tails bobbed anxiously. "You know the one. Merriwyn." "Bard," her husband Lars grunted, taking a swig of his ale. He drew his arm across his mouth. "Drunkard, that's what he is. Passed out drunk half the time." His bushy brows knitted together. "So he can play the lute. So he sings like an angel. So what?" "Lars!" his wife said, and bobbed up to the table in an anxious fit. "You know what that means! Carries the lore of days gone by, drinks because he's trying to forget. Suddenly taken an interest in Brian, he has." She stuck her lip out at him. "Hm? Hmmm?" "Lots of veterans," Lars grunted, avoiding his wife's eye. "We all fought." He studied the scars on his knuckles. "We all lost. Nothing special about that." "Lars!" Sarah said, bringing her palms down on the table. "You can't deny it! Brian's special! When we agreed to raise him -" "Lots of orphans!" Lars said loudly. The ale sloshed in his mug. "Doesn't mean anything!" "Lars," she said, and put her hands over his. "He's our son. You know it's going to happen, whether you want it to or not." Lars closed his eyes, his whole body curling in as if fixed on a single knot of wood on the table, going rigid. Sarah hovered over him. The door swung open, and they both jumped. "Mom?" said Brian, blinking uncertainly at them. "Dad?" His green eyes peeked out from under his shaggy hair, and he stood in the doorway, a set of gangly limbs propped up on themselves. Both of them noticed there was a distinct bulge in his satchel that hadn't been there when he'd left. "Are you okay?" he said, shuffling. "I - I was just talking with Merriwyn, he, uh, he needed some help fixing the roof of his shack, and -" He cut himself off and swallowed. "Did - did I interrupt something?" he said. "No," Lars said abruptly. "Not at all, not at all." He got to his feet and strode to the door, his son dancing out of his. "Got to - got to see a man about some turnips, in fact," he said, and roughly patted Brian on the shoulder as he passed. "Be -" He frowned. "Be good to your mother." "I - I will," Brian said, glancing between them. "Good," Lars said, and slammed the door behind him and was gone. Brian looked to his mother in bewilderment. "Come on, come on now," Sarah said, bustling him towards the table. "Have you eaten yet? That man didn't give you anything, did he? Goodness, you're lucky I've had some buns in the oven for you..." Lars rushed down the dirt path, around the bend, huffing and snorting as the motley figure of Merriwyn came into sight. "You!" he bellowed, and Merriwyn turned around, his white eyebrows raised. "You!" Lars said. "You damn well stay away from my boy!" "My goodness," Merriwyn said, doing a little curtsy in his patched robes. "I don't know what this is about, my dear Goodman Strider, but I assure you your son's been an absolute blessing -" "Don't play dumb!" Lars grunted, going on tiptoe and riling himself up as high as he could. He wished the man wasn't quite so tall. "You know what you are, and I know what you are, and we both know what you've got planned for my boy!" He struggled with his tunic, pulling it down, to reveal an ash-grey scar over his heart, the size of a fingertip. He jabbed a thick finger of his own in Merriwyn's face. "He's a child! You're not having him fight your battles for you!" The tipsy glaze in Merriwyn's eyes faded away, and the corner of his lip turned up. "If you know what I plan," he said, his voice going low, "then you know it's for the best." He put a hand on Lars' shoulder. "How much longer do you plan to slave away under the rule of the King of Ash? You think you can keep Brian safe here? How long until they come for him? How long until they burn out his spirit?" Merrwyn's fingers tightened. "Like they did yours? Like they did mine?" Lars felt the blood rushing in his ears, and before he knew it Merriwyn was sprawled out on the ground, bleeding from his lip, his long legs like broken stilts. "He's eleven!" Lars roared. "He's a child! You - You -" Hot tears blurred his vision. "You bastards! All of you! Relying on a child to do your work!" Merriwyn lay there, unmoved, his tongue coming out to taste the blood. "Lars," he croaked. "It's always the children. It's always been the children." He laid his head down and stared up at the sky. "What other hope is there?" "A child!" gasped Lars, and kicked Merriwyn in the side. Merriwyn closed his eyes and barely flinched. "You - I -" "We failed," Merriwyn intoned, eyes closed, lying like a corpse. He folded his fingers together over his chest. "You see the sky, Lars. That's what we left them. Brian's bright, he's good-hearted." Merriwyn shook his head slowly, smiling. "You raised him good, Lars, you raised the best boy I ever saw. Even without me telling him what needed to be done, you think he wouldn't figure it out on his own? You think he wouldn't dream of something better?" Merriwyn opened his eyes, and looked up at Lars, grey. "No matter what you do to me here, you think you'll be able to keep him forever?" "You-" said Lars, and dropped to his knees beside Merriwyn, and grabbed the man's collar in one fist. Merriwyn made no resistance. "You bastard," whispered Lars. "You utter bastard," he said, and drove his fist into the ground and clutched at the dirt. A tear darkened the soil. "He's only a child," Lars said. "I know," Merriwyn whispered back. Above them, from the ash grey sky, the soot swirled and spun and the first fat flakes began to fall.

South Korean agent Gwang Eui

The helicopter's skids skimmed the tops of the waves in the Yellow Sea. The stealth paneling should hide it from all radar, but just to be sure it was standard protocol to fly as low as possible. And the pilot, Lieutenant Owczarski, took that as a challenge to turn his bird into a boat. In the back, eight Navy Seals waited in full gear. In their hands, each of them held a copy of the short transmission received only minutes ago from South Korean agent Gwang Eui-Tae: > Underground since last contact. Rockets almost ready to launch. Intervene immediately. She'd gone quiet five years ago, just like every other spy and agent in the country. At first, intelligent sources thought there was just a purge, and a surprisingly effective one for the normally incompetent Kim government. The message largely confirmed that: something had happened to drive her underground. But it didn't explain why she hadn't been able to make it back to one of the safehouses right over the Chinese border, or why she hadn't been able to make any contact in any other way. North Korea may be tightly controlled, but the point of satellite phones is that they work anywhere. The second part of the message was far more chilling: Rocket almost ready to launch. When communication was first cut off, world leaders braced for nuclear attack. It was the only thing that could explain withdrawing troops from the DMZ and the Chinese border. But after almost six months of evacuations in the South and the hurried installation of an anti-missile shield, it became apparent that there was no imminent attack. That didn't mean the threat was gone for good, though: the only thing still coming out of North Korea was seismic data that showed repeated nuclear tests, growing in size every few months. They were certainly up to something but no one knew exactly what. Or, more importantly, *when* that something would be revealed and used against North Korea's neighbors. And now, the message from Agent Gwang made it clear that the time had come. "All right," Captain Morrow addressed the men, "Standard retrieval. The fact that this is North Korea doesn't change anything." Out the windows of the helicopter, shore was just becoming visible. There wasn't even a single pinpoint of light across the entire horizon; no one had seen a light on in North Korea in years. "We need to get Gwang out and debrief her as soon as possible to find out how soon the attack will come. And if need be, we need to stay in and thwart the attack." The men in the back of the helicopter nodded without question. They'd known what they were getting into when they joined the Navy Seals, and stopping an entire country from destroying half of Asia was just another Tuesday. Out the windows, the sea disappeared and was replaced by tree tops so close that they could have reached out and grabbed a branch if not for the doors of the helicopters. Owczarski certainly did enjoy taking risks. The silent skyline of Pyongyang came into view as the helicopter settled in for a landing in a park by the waterfront. They deployed out the back of the helicopter, guns swinging in all directions. But no one was there to greet them. The river that had once teemed with fishing boats and even a few freighters was now still. Even the buildings along the riverbank were overgrown, no longer kept up. That confirmed what satellite imagery and fly-overs had already guessed from seeing a few buildings crumbling and collapsed. "This is just unsettling," Andrews growled into the microphone as they activated the night vision setting for their HUDs and advanced into the city. Cars rusted in the streets, not used for years now. At one intersection, they came upon a herd of deer peacefully grazing at the grass growing between cracks in the asphalt. "Where the hell is everyone?" No one else had a response, but they all felt the same way. A firefight would be preferable to this gnawing, empty silence. How could *millions* of people just *vanish* like this? "Keep it together," Captain Morrow told them. "We're getting near the transmission point." In the street ahead of them, the triangular shape of the Ryugyong Hotel loomed over the rest of the city. The hotel was supposed to be North Korea's crowning jewel, but as far as anyone in the intelligence community could guess, it had never seen a single occupant. Instead, it had been abandoned as a monument to the failure of the state. And according to the trace of Agent Gwang's signal, that had been the one place she'd been able to transmit from. The team of seals snaked their way down the streets toward it with guns still at the ready, though it looked more and more like that wouldn't be necessary. Finally they reached the edge of the hotel's walls. "Sir?" Petty Officer Llewelyn had his hand against the concrete wall. "It's... vibrating." The rest of the team joined him, placed their hands alongside his, and then exchanged looks that all said one thing: what the fuck is going on in this place? "Let's get inside," Captain Morrow ordered. They weren't here to investigate shaking walls, they were here to extract the South Korean informant. They made their way around the edge of the hotel. Lawns that had once been manicured were now overgrown, and ivy was beginning to creep up the side of the hotel. Satellite maps led the team straight to the doors of the hotel, which had once been made of glass but were now just gaping holes with a few remaining shards. "Some kind of insurrection, you think?" Petty Officer Graeber wondered aloud. "There's no bodies," Llewelyn answered. "If they'd turned on each other, there'd be bodies. And plenty more destruction." "Stow it," Morrow barked as they entered the lobby. Despite having not seen a soul, they still didn't want to give away their position should someone be in the hotel. Agent Gwang was still the objective. He led the way past the termite-eaten front desk of the hotel and down the hall, deeper into the interior. The vibrating grew worse and worse, making it hard to even walk. They arrived at a set of double doors marked with Korean that the auto-translating HUD in their helmets informed them said "Main stairway." Morrow placed a charge on the door, urged them all back, and then detonated it. After waiting a moment to see if there was any reaction, the Captain charged in first and was nearly blinded as bright light overwhelmed his night vision. The interior was gleaming white and lit with enormous spotlights. The team changed their HUDs back to normal vision and entered what looked like a huge laboratory. Forgetting their discipline, they rushed over to the railing across from the door and looked down into the depths under the hotel. Below them was a hole that seemed to stretch *miles* into the earth, with row after row of balconies teeming with people. And filling that hole was an enormous rocket ship probably a hundred times larger than anything NASA had ever built. The HUD picked up the writing along the side of the rocket and automatically translated it for the seals: The People's Ark. ---- If you liked this, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for hundreds of other stories! !

The repulsive thing, still passed

"We have it, sir." "Excellent," I said, "now hurry up and put her in the interrogation chamber." "Sir!" The soldier rushed to comply and hoisted the repulsive thing, still passed out, and tied her to a chair. "Make sure its binds are secured," I told him, "we don't want her getting free." I sat across from the captive, I wanted her to see me when she first regained consciousness, to know that her life was over. I didn't have to wait long. Soon the thing stirred, and reflexively strained against her bonds. I stiffened for a second, but the creature gave up, unable to break free. I let out a shaky breath that I didn't even realize I had been holding. Soon it opened its sharp blue eyes suddenly and looked right at me. To its credit, it didn't flinch. I gave it a smile. "So Madame Chair, is it?" I said, savoring the moment, "welcome to hell." Her eyes flickered about, taking in the sights, my red skin, pointy tail, my horns. The temperature, which humans find uncomfortable apparently, and the sharp odor of brimstone. And just for a moment her cool facade slipped, a crack in her mask, and her eyes widened slightly, her lips parted. And then it was gone as swiftly as it had come. But I saw it, I saw the thing's fear. It felt good to know that their leader could feel it. She looked at me again, with that same intense gaze that commanded authority, it was no wonder she became the leader of the Earth Congress. "It's a little warm," she said, actually managing to smile, "and these bonds are a bit too tight, do you mind loosening them?" I laughed mirthlessly, the laughter not reaching my eyes. Laughed at the courage of this woman, her ability to make jokes, to retain some semblance of control despite her situation. Laughed at our final victory. "I see through your facade, Madame, talk all you want, you'll be doing a lot of that whether you want it or not soon enough. You know this not a welcoming party." "So," she said, leaning back and managing to look as comfortable as possible in her bonds, "let's skip the part where I refuse to tell you my plans, and you scare and intimidate me, and then you torture me so much that I eventually give in and tell you everything anyways, just that time without my fingers." "Let's start simply then," I said, slightly uncomfortable by her forthright manner, "how did you invade hell?" We already knew the answer to this, and we suspected the humans did not know that we knew. I wanted to test her honesty. She shrugged. "It was simple really, we managed to reverse engineer-" I held up my hand. "I'm sorry, reverse engineer?" I asked, not knowing the phrase. "To build something by looking at a complete version," she explained. I motioned for her to continue. She nodded, "Yes...reverse engineer one of your imp nests that spawned imps from hell directly to Earth, and managed to make a device that does the opposite. This also gave us the space-time co-ordinates of hell, so we knew where and when to go." I pretended to frown, as if thinking if this would work, but my mind was racing. She was telling the truth, we had lost an imp nest and we had figured that's how the humans had made their way back in. "Alright, let's continue. Where will the human forces be retreating?" She pretended to look confused, "I'm sorry, what do you mean retreat?" I smiled savagely. "Do you take us for fools, Madame Chair? You think we would infiltrate the very heart of your planet and capture you just to ask questions? No, you know as well as we do that we have cut off the head of the snake, without you the humans will halt their offensive." And what an offensive it had been. In the first months of 2021 we had pushed the humans back, taking their cities and killing their people. But after the surprise had faded the humans had pushed back. *Hard*. Their...technology let them perform wonders that we thought they were incapable of. We could launch fireballs but they could shoot iron balls from some sort of hand held device. We had demons with wings, but they flew in metal birds. We had leviathans in the oceans but they had steel titans that sailed *on* the oceans. We were pushed back, and had retreated to hell after extensive casualties. We thought we would lick our wounds, bide our time, strike when the humans were weak, when we became a myth once again. We had the patience for millennia after all. But then they came to us. They tore into us, like insects they marched across the planes of oblivion, destroying our structures, freeing our prisoners. They recruited long dead humans, the most vicious of them, and turned them against us. They had marched to the palace of hell itself, seeking to capture our leader, the Devil himself. Without him we would fall apart, the different species of demons would turn on each other, and the war would be over. But that had not happened. And I turned back to the woman gloating, "Just as we cannot fight without our leader, your humans will crumble without you. They are finished." Her face had paled, and I bore on, "don't worry though, we will not kill you, we will keep you alive for a *long* time, before your release comes and you go to heaven, longer that you would have lived on Earth." I paused dramatically, savoring the look of utter fear on her face, "Of course you might not find it as...comfortable as Earth." I had expected her to cower, to cry, perhaps even revert back to her stoic mask, not showing emotions. I did not expect her to laugh. "You fools, you sorry, poor fools!" She said, gasping for breath. "I..I just couldn't keep up the act anymore, my God." I flinched as she said the last word, but remained confused. "I was told you didn't understand human psychology, but delusion of this scale I had not even imagined." She was actually crying from laughter, and now *she* smiled smugly at me. "I have a second, you idiot, I will be replaced and the humans will continue attacking. This is not some sort of movie where if you kill the leader, all the underlings fall apart. Killing me does nothing." I sat back, stunned. She had been acting, pretending to be afraid, pretending to show her 'true' emotions. And the human assault would not stop. "You lie!" I screamed at her, "all species' fall without their leader. You kill a pack leader and you become leader, you kill the Devil and the demons fall apart. This is the nature of the world!" She just continued laughing. The Devil needed to be evacuated! The humans may not need their leader but we did. I turned to shout orders to the soldiers outside, and they hurried away, reporting to the Devil. I turned back to the woman. "Your humans may advance, but you will not, we captured you, and rest assured you will not see the light of day again." She stopped laughing and smiled at me. A smile that chilled me to the bone. "What the hell makes you think you were capable enough to capture me...if we didn't let you." The soldier I had commanded to report to the devil returned, one of the human hand devices in his hand, and pointed it at me. "Betrayal," I whispered. Then, fiercely, I turned to the soldier, "Traitor!" He shrugged, untying the human's bonds. "I like to be on the winning side." The woman, now free from her bonds turned to me. "Thank you for bringing me to the most secure location in hell. The tracker I have swallowed has alerted my forces where this is. We will release the most fearsome humans in history from this facility." She turned to walk away. "Kill it," she said in a dismissive gesture, "we have work to do." "Sorry boss," the soldier said with a casual shrug, and shot me. Blackness ensued. *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit **Due to popular demand, I present to you, ** EDIT: /u/YouWriteITalk was kind enough to narrate this story. You can find this

Cassie was supposed to be as

Her face stood out from the crowds, as it always did. She wore black like the rest of them, but there was no mistaking that glint of copper hair. He moved swiftly towards her - Cassie was supposed to be as buried as the man they thought was him. He stepped around those who were quietly sobbing or discussing his brutal death in whispers. They didn't so much as glance at the man brushing past their shoulders. It never failed to amaze him how a little plastic surgery could blind even the men and women in the crowds who had shared his work, who were supposed to be as skilled as he was at spying out deceptions. Perhaps they just wanted to believe he was dead. There were a lot of them. He waited until after the preacher had finished his long, mumbling speech. After his wife in his previous life - the woman who had never known him at all - gave a speech that reduced her to hoarse sobs and sent her running from the service before its end. After the people who had loved that version of him stepped forward and said their private goodbyes. He was surprised to see some of his colleagues also step out from the shadows to touch his casket. Sloppy of them. He waited until they lowered the casket into the ground, and the crowd dispersed. It took a while: more people had come to see him be buried than he'd thought. It was almost touching. But finally only she was left, running a hand over the gravestone they'd chosen for him. He pressed a hand over her mouth when there were no other eyes to watch them, and brushed his lips against her ear. "I've missed you," he said. She shuddered at his voice, and gripped his arm, tracing her way up to try and touch his face. He dragged her into the small mausoleum nearby, and finally turned her to face him, removing his hand. "Jack," she said. Her deep blue eyes traced his face greedily, seeing past the modified nose, the contacts, the beard he'd grown. Seeing *him*. "I knew it," she said, her voice cracking as she wrapped her arms around him and began to sob. The spice of her enveloped him: apples and honey. He breathed deeply, etching it into memory. She had always smelled good. He was going to miss that. He gripped her shoulders and pushed her away slightly, looking down at her and allowing *that* smile to return. The one she associated with Jack Morgan. "What happened?" he asked. "You were supposed to meet me on the pier..." She hadn't been there. He'd thought she'd finally wised up, until he saw her here. "I got an assignment. Urgent," she said. "I tried to contact you, but by that time you'd disappeared. What happened? You ask *me* that? Why did you do this, Jack? You loved the work." There were a hundred ways to answer that. "I still do," he said, opting for the truth. Perhaps she deserved a bit of it right now. "Maybe I made the wrong decision." He drew his handgun at the same moment she did. The silence of the mausoleum pressed around him as she grinned widely. A part of him had always known - she had put on a good show, he had to give her that. As good as his own. Perhaps better. He'd been convinced she loved him. He answered her grin as he saw her in a new light. Her eyes sparkled, alive with the game - she really was beautiful. He'd known that all along, of course, but today he really appreciated it. "Well, this changes things," she said. "I had to come back, to try and find out. I always thought it was too easy, you falling in love like a amateur. It was killing me, not knowing." "Same here," he said with a grin. "I came to the funeral, hoping you'd be here. I had to know. Funny, isn't it, that we decided on the same strategy?" Usually, you stalked a mark for months before the kill. Unseen and silent. But usually, your mark didn't share the work. Normally, your mark wasn't so hard to kill. He'd thought it would be easy to rely on that shared connection, to exploit it to reach her. That had been the plan, at first. She must have thought the same. "We've always had a lot in common," she agreed. Her gun was still pointed at his forehead. It felt good to have caught up with her. Yes, maybe he'd been wrong. He did miss this. She'd always been the one that got away. "Well, we both know now," he said, watching her. "Going to lower that gun?" "We'll do it together," she said, still smiling. "How about that?" He matched her smile. She'd always loved the game. He wanted to keep it going for as long as possible. "Or perhaps you could fake your death as well, and we can be together again?" he suggested. "We were a couple, after all, everyone knew that. You could have been suicidal with grief...no-one would suspect. We could make it convincing. It's fun being dead, you know. There's no more obligations. What do you say - one last shot at it?" They stared at each other, and both burst into laughter. ------- The cemetery gardener almost clipped off his own fingers as a single gunshot sounded from the mausoleum. A moment back he'd thought his ears were playing tricks on him when he heard laughter. He eyed the old building as he dropped the clippers and stumbled away to call the police. No way was he going in there to see what was going on. It was past time he found a new job. This place was haunted, he just knew it. ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. **edit:** Thanks so much to whoever gave me gold!

Agatha knocked on the door of

Agatha knocked on the door of a small, dilapidated cabin in the woods. It was a dreary day, with clouds that blanketed the sky and hung low to the Earth. She saw someone part the curtains in the window of the little shack as a breeze whipped up and blew her silver hair around her face. The door opened a few inches. "Have you got the silver?" a man growled from inside. Agatha extended a small leather pouch toward the door. From the inside she could hear several children crying. "Get back!" he snarled to someone inside, "This doesn't concern you!" The man snatched the purse from Agatha's hand and opened the door fully. The man pointed to a girl, dressed in rags and clutching a younger sister. Even caked with mire and soot, Agatha could tell she was a beautiful creature. She started to smile a toothy grin, wrinkles hoisted up around her eyes. Agatha was 12 thousand years old, and while she could change her appearance at will, she chose to walk the earth in her true form: hobbled, hunched, wrinkled and warted. The girl let out a piercing scream, as they often did. Her father yelled louder, "QUIET". The girl stopped screaming, but her mouth still hung open. Agatha looked around the room. "First I'll need permission from both the mother and the father to enter. Then I can take her by the hand and we'll be on our way." "Mother's dead," the man said flatly. "Why else do you think you're here? I can hardly take care of any of them." Three other children sat clutching one another on a bed, faces all ruddy with dirt. "Ah. I see. I'll just need yours then," replied Agatha. "Come on then. Get it over with." The girl looked at her father in horror and began to sob, throwing herself on the floor. Agatha stepped into the room and past the other children. She knelt down beside the girl, put a hand on her back and looked up at her father. "What's her name?" she asked. "Lilith," he said, staring at the door. "Lilith," Agatha whispered to the girl. The girl buried her face in the crook of her arm, still crying on the floor. "Lilith, can I show you something? I think you'll like it." The girl peeked one eye above her arm. "Good," Agatha said warmly. She then sat all the way on the floor, next to Lilith and produced from inside the sleeve of her robe, something small that fluttered about in her hand. Lilith looked up from her arm completely now. It was the most beautiful golden house sparrow. It sat in Agatha's palm and radiated light and warmth. The girl sat up now and looked on at the bird at eye level. It hopped about in Agatha's hand and began to sing." "Is that, real?" Lilith asked timidly. "Oh, everything is real, dear. Everything you can think of." Agatha said. Would you like to see something else? "Okay," Lilith mumbled. Agatha laid one finger on the top of the bird's head and immediately it was turned to solid gold. A golden chain slithered through the air, appearing one link at a time, and joined with the sparrow. Agatha held up a radiant gold necklace. Lilith gasped, "Did you kill it? Is it dead?" Agatha laughed, "Oh no. I can turn it back anytime I like." She paused, "And so can you. Would you like to try?" Lilith outstretched her hand and grasped the necklace. It was warm to the touch, she thought she could almost feel it pulsing. "Just tap it with your index finger on the top of its head, and imagine it's a bird again. It's that simple. Go on." All of the other children and even the girl's father were watching on with mouths agape. Lilith held the golden sparrow in her hand and tapped it gently on the head. It immediately sprung to life and flitted around the room. The girl shrieked with delight, her former sorrow nowhere to be found. Agatha laughed and clapped her hands, "I knew it! I've felt it for a long while now, in these woods, and it was you." Lilith looked puzzled, "What do you mean?" "Ah, nevermind for now. There's plenty of time for that later," Agatha said. "Your sparrow's name is Oscen. She is yours and will come whenever you breathe her name." "Oscen!" Lilith called. A streak of gold flashed across the ceiling and landed on the girl's head. Oscen chittered happily and played with pieces of her hair. "Ha! You see! That's perfect." Agatha reached to put a finger under the bird's belly. It hopped onto her hand and she placed it on the girl's shoulder." Lilith beamed and tried to look at the bird. "Now Lilith," Agatha said quietly. "I have a great many things to tell you, but you'll have to come with me." The girl looked around the room. Everyone looked on completely bewildered. "I want to go," a voice squeaked from the bed. One of the other children hit the girl that spoke up. "Shut up!" she hissed. "Can Sarah come with me?" Lilith asked Agatha quietly. "No," her father answered. "I'm afraid your father is right. You see, Lilith. You're special. I could bring Sarah, but she would not be able to learn and do the things that you could. It would be cruel," replied Agatha. Lilith was quiet for a moment and held the sparrow in her palm. "Will I do more of this?" "It doesn't matter what you do, girl. You've been paid for. You have to leave!" her father bellowed. Agatha sprang up from the floor with a peculiar spryness for a woman her age and shouted, "That is quite enough!" and pinched her fingers together. The man yelled back but no sound came out. He stopped and looked wide eyed at Agatha. Suddenly the man bolted toward the woman and reached his arms out in an effort to throttle her neck. Agatha threw her hands up in front of her face to protect herself. She was caught off guard and braced for contact, but it never came. She looked up at the man and he had simply frozen in place. His entire body, save for his eyes racing around the room, was completely still. The children, while not paralyzed, were completely quiet, stricken with fear. Agatha looked over at Lilith. She was standing feet apart, staring at her father with clutched fists, Oscen still on her shoulder. Agatha slowly walked up to the girl and lay a hand on her arm. She was shaking and a tear streamed down her cheek. "Lilith," she said softly. "Lilith take my hand and let's go. I think you know now, and probably have always known that you weren't meant to be here. Come with me." Lilith softened and looked at Agatha. After a moment she placed her small hand in the old woman's. They walked toward the door. "Hey!" Sarah yelled, "You can't leave him like that! You have to fix him! LILITH!" "He'll be fine." Agatha said coldly and opened the door, still clasping the girl's hand. The two walked outside and let the door close behind them. Remarkably, the sky had completely cleared, revealing the most beautiful shade of azure the two had ever seen. *Edit: There are two more sections floating around here somewhere. Thank you everyone for your kind words. For fans of Sarah, take heart. We'll get there. *Double Edit: If you would like to keep going on this adventure, I started a Tumblr (lol) . You guys are seriously awesome. I posted the last part that I'll post on this thread somewhere below. If you want to keep up with the stories, I would love to keep hearing your thoughts! Thanks everyone!

"Why the hell did I let

"Why the hell did I let you drag me here?" I shouted in Paul's ear. I had to shout, because there were a million damn people packed into Times Square just to see the ball drop for New Year's Eve. And of course we'd gotten jammed into some little offshoot alley where we couldn't see anything but were still pressed by people on all sides. I was just on the edge of the 'current' within the crowd, where a steady stream of onlookers were managing to press their way through to Times Square. And when they brushed past me, I got a little glimpse of when we might interact again. For most, there was nothing. New York is a big place. But every once and a while I did get a little flash of seeing them in a store somewhere, or other chance encounters. "Because you need to get out!" Paul answered. "You would have just stayed at home and watched a *re-run* of the ball drop on your TV and then fallen asleep at 10 PM." He knew me so well. One of the benefits to my power is that I'm easily able to choose my friends; with just a handshake, I know our whole future together. Paul and I would lose touch about 15 years from now, after he and his future wife move up to Connecticut and have a set of twins. But we'd still send each other Christmas cards and visit occasionally. He'd be very happy then. "You never go out any more," he continued. "You need to put yourself out there and meet someone new!" I knew exactly what he meant: I hadn't been on an actual real date in a while. See, knowing when things will work out (like with Paul) was an upside, but with a very real downside: I know when things *won't* work out. Every date that I go on, I know just how it will end. I know that he'll stop calling me and move on to some other piece of ass if we sleep together. Or that we can have two relatively happy years together before he starts cheating with his coworker. The potential record so far was a grand five-year relationship that ended with a fight over how he would never make a real commitment. Quite underwhelming. So now, I don't even bother dating with the guy unless I know in advance that it will be a fun little fling with no real strings attached. "I'm just not looking for someone," I answered Paul. He didn't exactly know about my abilities; I just told him that I'm good at reading people. "Exactly!" he said. "You're *not* looking. You're *hiding*. That's why I brought you out." As I was preparing my retort, someone in the surging crowd brushed past me. A man, with soft brown eyes and a close-cropped beard. For our first date, he took me to learn trapeze swinging! For our fifth date, we went to the Statue of Liberty, which I'd never been to even after years of living in New York. For our one year anniversary, we rented a little house on the beach in Long Island. And when he proposed to me, he did it right here in Times Square; I acted so surprised for him. In the vision, I could see myself gleefully shouting *yes!* It went on like that through our lives: buying a home, raising our children, and retiring together. And the *flash* ended with him by my bedside in a hospital. I don't know how long it lasted. But by the time I recovered from that intense journey through my future life... the crowd had moved on. I stood on my tiptoes and waded in headfirst, but there it was too dark, and the light kept changing. All I could see were winter hats and thick coats. *Damn, I hate being short!* "Whoa!" Paul suddenly realized that I'd left and jumped in after me. "Where are you going?" "There was a guy!" I told him, still scanning the crowd. I must have looked like a loon, hopping as high as I could to try to get a glimpse of him. "I saw a guy! I need to find him." Paul laughed. "Must have been one hell of a looker to set you off like this." "Help me find him!" The lights from all of the billboards and everything kept changing, making it hard to keep my eyes focused on anything. The whole place was a whirlwind of activity and sound. This was far worse than finding a needle in a haystack. "All right, all right," Paul said, putting a hand on my shoulder to calm me down. "What does he look like?" "He's.... he's got brown hair... and..." It was all so clear in my mind, but that was because I could see him in the future. I had no idea what he was wearing tonight. And all of these stupid people in the crowd weren't helping. "And brown eyes... medium height..." "So he could be pretty much anyone," Paul said. "I've got to find him!" I repeated. "Do you know him or something?" Paul asked. "Why is this guy so special?" I sighed. I couldn't tell Paul about the life I'd seen. Not unless I wanted to be involuntarily committed, that is. "Never mind," I whispered. Tears were welling up in my eyes as the realization began to set in. I stood on a fire hydrant and surveyed the crowd. Everyone looked the same in their winter clothes. With only about half an hour left until 12:00, it would take a miracle to find him. And I just wasn't that lucky. *Goodbye, mystery soul mate,* I thought. "Don't worry about it," Paul said, trying to cheer me up. "There's plenty of other guys out here! We'll find you a good one." "Yeah... sure," I said, knowing that no other guy would do. I'd missed my chance. ----------- The next few weeks were all a dreary blur. I'd found my one, and probably *only*, chance at true happiness... and I had let it slip away. And the worst part was the utter helplessness of knowing that there was absolutely no way to find him. I'd spent days searching through facebook photos of friends, New Years Eve parties... hell, I even hired a sketch artist! No luck though. By this point, I was just sleepwalking through life. And then on my way down to work one morning, the elevator chimed at the fifth floor... and he walked in. Those same soft eyes, that beard... it was the man that I'd seen. My eyes must have gone wide, because he did a double-take and gave a confused grin. "Do we... know each other?" He asked. I never heard voices in my visions, but it just seemed to fit him so well. He sounded exactly as I'd imagined him. I managed to compose myself and gave a weak laugh. "No, I don't think we do." He continued to look at me, still a little confused. "Well, how about we get to know each other? Over coffee maybe?" The elevator chimed again and we arrived at the lobby. "How about we go learn how to do trapeze swinging instead?" I asked. "A little unusual for a first date..." he answered with a grin that assured me he was interested. I shrugged, trying to look casual even as I was practically screaming with joy internally. *I'd found him!* Well, somehow he had found me, but I didn't really care about the distinction right now. "I guess I'm just a girl who knows what I want," I answered. ---- If you liked this story, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more!

Hitler was having a piece of banana

Hitler was having a piece of banana cake when Bob Ross walked in. "And I just feel like no one *gets* me, you know?" The future Fuhrer was saying to one of his servants, as he sprayed whipped cream over the cake, distracted. "I mean, I know most artists are destined to be posthumous, but... I don't know, I guess I want the fame and the fortune too, you know?" "*Ja*, It is very hard, my master," the man said, in a German accent but in English for no reason at all, just like foreign characters in the movies. "Hey, Hitler," Bob said, stepping in, confident. "May I?" he pulled a chair sat down without waiting for an answer. "What is this!?" "Listen, I'm Bob Ross and I'm from the future and I paint stuff." "Bob Ross?" "Yes. Here's the thing - I'm supposed to come here and teach you how to paint so you'll be a good painter and not invade Poland and then the rest of Europe and cause the death of millions of people." "Holy shit, I do that!?" Hitler widened his eyes. "Oh, yes. It's awful. People still use your name as a reference to evil. There's even an internet law based on how long it takes until someone compares a certain situation to Nazi Germany during an argument." "What's the internet?" "Never mind," Bob leaned forward. "This is what we're going to do - I'm going to teach you how to -" "Excuse me," Hitler's servant said, in that same fake accent. "I'm afraid I must intervene here." "What's wrong?" "Well, Mr. Ross, have you considered the twist?" "The twist?" "Yes. The fact that you'll teach this man how to paint, he'll grow to be a famous painter, not invade anything, and when you return to your home time you'll find out that another man named, I don't know, Hans, has taken over Germany and did worse things than Adolf here could ever do." Ross frowned. "I don't follow." "You don't watch much Twilight Zone, do you?" The servant asked. "How do you know about the Twilight Zone? This is 1910." "Never mind about that." The servant leaned back. "My name is Hans, Ross. And I will take over Germany if you teach Adolf how to paint." "Why!? Why would you do that?" "Why else would I be in the scene? Why would Hitler not be alone when you walked in? I have to serve some purpose for the plot, right? And let's face it - go back in time and kill/talk/convince/teach Hitler is a trope we've seen before, and it always ends like this. In fact, most time traveling tropes tend to end with a silly variation of the butterfly effect we-made-things-even-worse twist. Let's not make this prompt another example." Bob Ross scratched his head and thought about this. "Shit. Okay. I guess. But what do we do now?" "Now we find a way to subvert time traveling tropes and present something fresh for the readers. And fast, because they're getting impatient." "Why are they getting impatient? We're still at 500 words!" "Yes, but we've gone post-modern self-referential, characters-acknowledging-their-own-stories. That annoys some people." "It's not really my fault, look at the prompt. Where do you go with time traveling Bob Ross and Hitler that's not self-referential parody?" "Now you're blaming the OP for your shortcomings as a storyteller. Classy." "Not *my* shortcomings. I'm not the author." They both turn and stare at me for a second. I shrug. "Anyway," Hans said, resuming the conversation. "Do something different. Fast." "But what?" "Huuuuuuh.... Fuck, I don't know. Kiss Hitler!" "Erotic Nazi Fanfic? No thanks." "Okay, then... you have cancer, and Hitler nurses you to health, but in the end we find out *Hitler* has cancer too, and -" "I'm not taking part in The Fault in our Stars Feat. Adolf Hitler. It ain't gonna happen." "Well, you gotta do something, and fast, because time is running out." "Hitler? Any suggestions?" Adolf looked around. He got up and paced. "I don't know. Can you just return to your present time and call it a day?" "And then everything happens as it's supposed to? That's boring." "Yeah..." Hitler stopped. "I don't know then. I really don't know." Hans shook his head. "Okay, I got this." He grabbed a little radio device from his pocket and spoke into it. "Send them in." Ross frowned. "Send who in?" Static emerged from the radio for a second, then a voice answered: "Copy that." "Send who in?" Adolf repeated. "What's happening?" "Well," Hans said, getting up. "If we're in a Hitler and Bob Ross time traveling prompt and we can't figure out a way to turn it into something fresh, we might as well embrace irony and self-mockery to the full extent of Writing Prompt's classic tropes." "What do you mean?" The door came open behind Ross. He turned back and watched as two teenagers walked in - a boy in round glasses and a scar on his forehead and a girl that looked a lot like Emma Watson. "Hey Harry, hey Hermione. Sorry to drag you into yet another prompt. You got the time turner?" "Yup," Harry said, in a bored tone. "Harry Potter fanfic? Really?" Ross shook his head. "For fuck's sake." "If we're gonna go down the rabbit's hole, let's do it proudly." Hermione started setting the time turner. Harry looked around, curious. Ross sighed. "Fuck that, I'm out," Hitler said, and then he jumped out the window, and then WW II didn't happen, but the Statute of Secrecy *was* violated on account of the whole thing and muggles learned about magic and when Ross returned to his present day no one gave a shit about static paintings anymore, so he died a poor man, which I guess is irony or whatever, I don't even care. _____ *For more information on why the fourth wall is damaging your health and you should get rid of it, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*

"Close your eyes babe," Malcolm

*** Malcolm squeezed my hand. We were standing in front of the bathtub, feeling a bit foolish. Well, I was at least. I knew this was all a joke, but for some reason my heart was was hammering like a drum. "Close your eyes babe," he said. "Why?" I asked. "I don't want to miss anything. This whole dimension jumping is not exactly something one does every day, after all." I could see a spider crawling it's way across the bottom of the tub, a dark speck in a sea of cream, zig-zagging its way towards the drain. "Do you trust me?" I looked at my husband. "Would I be standing in a bathroom like this if I didn't?" "You're humoring me. I get it. But I'm not lying." One lock of my hair fell out of my tight bun of hair and hung loosely in front of my face. Malcolm reached out and brushed it out of the way so that he could stare me in the face. "Hey, I love you. Now close your eyes." I took a deep breath. "Okay." He clasped my hand again, and I squeezed it until the knuckles turned white. I felt him slip a small piece of paper into my palm. I looked up at him quizzically, but he was already facing forward at the wall. "On the count of three, then we'll do it." "Do what?" He ignored me. "One. Two. *Three!*" I shut my eyes and felt a sharp jerk on my hand, and then my navel, and then suddenly the floor was gone and I was flying. I could feel wind and particles whipping by my face. I wanted to scream, but was afraid if I opened my mouth then something might fly in it. There was a second sharp pull at my arm wrenching my sharply in a new angle, and I was thrust away from my husband. I lost all reservations and opened my mouth to scream his name, but nothing came out, the sound of my voice consumed by the void of another dimension. Then I was alone. My body connected with something hard, and I lost consciousness. *** Seagulls. I could hear them calling to each other. It had been ages since Malcolm and I had taken a proper vacation to the ocean. It was good to finally be back, except why was I at the ocean again? "You alright, miss?" I opened my eyes, and only saw blurry shapes. The world was fuzzy as if I needed a pair of glasses, but I could make out three distinct colors: the dark navy water of the ocean, the bright cerulean of the sky and the beige expanse of sand stretching for miles in two directions before me. The sun was hot on my skin and sand was sticking in bunches to my elbows. I waited patiently for my mind to unscramble and my bearings to return to me. It came in pieces: Followed Malcolm into bathroom. Different dimension. New life. Flying. Got separated. Hit a thing. Here now. "Hello? Miss? You a mute or somethin'?" I looked up. A girl no older then twelve or thirteen was looking down at me. She had tanned skin and short sandy hair fashioned in a pixie cut. She was offering a hand to me, and it was at that moment that I realized that I was sprawled out on my back. "I'm okay...I think. Thanks." I accepted her hand and let her pull me to my feet. My entire body ached, as if I had done a work out at the gym for the first time in months. The girl was strong for her size, and did all the work to get me standing again. I began to dust sand out of my plaid pajama bottoms. I noticed the girl was staring at me with a funny look. "What?" I asked, still groggy. "That's a funny thing you wearin'. You're from the Outside, yeah?" *If the Outside is a different dimension, then yeah,* I thought. "Something like that." I looked around. Out past a horizon of dunes, I could see a row of thatched, red roofs, a patchwork plain of mismatched and uneven tiles. It appeared to be some type of shanty fishing town. There were fishing lines dotting the shoreline, propped up in the sand, all facing the sea. "You must have come for the funeral then. Lot's of Outsiders will be sailing in the next few days. Guess you must have shipwrecked huh?" My head was still pounding and I only understood half of what the girl was saying. "Funeral? No. I'm looking for a man. Name is Malcolm Reynolds. Apparently he's lived...uh...here for about 1000 years. You heard of him?" The girl shook her head and kicked at the sand. "Don't know anyone by that name. It's a big world miss." She took a step closer and peered a bit closer in to my hears. "We should get you to a doctor. We only got herbalists in the fishing village, so if you want a real one you have to head into the city." I shook my head. "I can do that later, after I find my husband." She shrugged. "Suit yourself. You said he lived here a thousand years, yeah? Well anyone that lives that long would have to have a record in the city library." She began to walk over to the fishing lines by the sea to check them. "I'm heading up that way for the funeral, you can join me if you like." It wasn't like I had any better ideas. I looked in both directions as far as I could, craning my neck as I did so. No sign of Malcolm anywhere. "Okay," I said. I held out my hand again. "I'm Jill, by the way." She clasped in with bony fingers. "Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jill the Outsider. I'm Ko'sa." She pointed back towards the village. "Let's head back to my cottage. We can stop and get provisions before we head into the capital. If we leave now we can get in before the lines at the city gates get too long." I nodded. "Must be quite a funeral." "You could say that." Ko'sa grinned. "It's a funeral for the queen, after all." *The queen? Guess even alternate dimensions are ruled by royalty,* I thought. "She was a good queen then?" Ko'sa bowed her head. "Yeah. She'll be missed, at least by most of us. Some of us... wonder about her death. Whether it was really natural or not. The Queen and the King were an arranged marriage you see, didn't exactly fancy each other. Some say he had it in for her, loved another." As Ko'sa prattled on about the royal family, I realized there was something pressed against my left palm, now slick with sweat. I opened my hand to reveal a note. The same note that Malcolm had thrust into my hand back in the bathroom. It was tiny and rolled up neatly, like a scroll. With fingers that were slightly trembling, I unrolled the tiny piece of parchment and read the words in my husband's hand writing. > If you ever need to find me, just ask for the King ;) *** * * * /r/ghost_write_the_whip

Rammack led Julian through the

Julian followed Rammack as he led him through the bio-dome. "You seem distracted, Captain," said Rammack, "but you needn't worry. Your crew are being well looked after. Our medical teams are simply examining them to make sure they are healthy. It was a long journey, after all." Julian nodded and gave a curt smile. "This, Captain Pousa," announced Rammack proudly as he stretched his arms out wide, "is the very heart of the colony. It is our home, if you will. We have divided it into three sections: habitation, research and medical." "It seems... kind of small," Julian mused out loud, "at least, for a growing colony." "Unfortunately the terraformation has not been fully completed yet. We have beauty out there -yes - and even certain plant life. But it is not yet safe for us. Not for perhaps... two hundred years, maybe a little more. Then, once the air is breathable, we may leave the dome and our population may grow." "So, it's static growth right now? A one in, one out kind of deal." Julian's cheeks quickly turned to the same stewed-red as the sky far above the dome. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be callous about it; I can't imagine how close you all are." His first diplomatic mission and he'd already put his foot in it. He cursed himself and blamed it on the long-sleep. "Yes, we have grown very close. But please, there is no need to apologise. In a way it *is* one in, one out." *There's no room for us in this dome*, Julian thought. *Not to live, at any rate. We'd have to start a separate colony*. He smiled at the idea. The disappointment he'd felt at being unfairly pipped to the post, faded ever so slightly. Faster than light technology - he still couldn't believe it. But Rammack's FTL drive had become unstable upon reaching Calma. Even for them it had been relatively new technology. Now, both crews were stuck here. Julian gathered his thoughts as Rammack led him into the medi-center. "You said: *in a way it's one in one out*? I don't think I understand what you mean." Rammack turned to him, his grey hair contrasting his youthful blue eyes. "Our mission was different to yours. We were not meant to populate this world; we were simply scientists sent to transform the planet for possible future human habitation. We were not meant to be stuck here. And we won't be." Julian thought he heard a distant noise, like a short sharp scream, but Rammack hadn't flinched so he ignored it. "Well we're out of fuel and your FTL drive's kaput, so I don'-" Rammack held a hand up to silence him. "**We will not die here!**" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I am sorry Captain, but the mere thought of dying in this nano sphered sepulchre..." "That's... understandable." "Yes, I believe it is. So, we will not die here. Earth will come for us, once the planet is habitable." "But you said that's... two hundred years from now?" "It is. And we must live until then. Yes, one in one out, but it is never one of the original that leaves." "What do you-" He heard the scream again. Louder, clearer. "Where's that coming from?" Julian demanded. Rammack nodded towards a metal door down the corridor. Julian ran to it and twisted the handle. He walked into a small, white room. Two beds sat in the centre: one cream, one mostly red. His chief engineering officer lay on the crimson bed. "Andy, God, what have they done to you?" Julian yelled as he ran over to his friend. Andy didn't respond. Julian saw two gaping holes where Andy's eyes should have been; his stomach had been carved open, and although Julian was no biologist, it was clear to him that organs were missing. "We have children, Captain. And they live a good life, for a while. Then, we harvest what we need - but *only* to keep ourselves alive, until we are rescued. Organs need replacing, from time to time. **Do not dare look at me like that, Captain - we're not monsters!**" "No. You're worse than that," said Julian, his arm trembling as he lowered it down towards his gun. "We use the children because we must. We don't *want* to harm them. And now, we don't *have* to. Your crew of eighty-three... yes, you will sustain us for a long, long time," said Rammack, his lips smacking together as he spoke. Julian drew the gun and pointed it at Rammack. "Lasers will not work in here," said Rammack with a grin. "We're not naive." "It's not a laser," replied Julian, his voice dark and rough. Rammack's face changed, his eyes growing wide and his smile drooping. "That is old... even for your day, is it not? But if you shoot me, you will soon be killed by my colleagues. Then, your crew die anyway." Julian moved the gun away from Rammack and aimed it at the dome's nano-glass wall. "You'll kill us all. Your crew included. You're not a fool," said Rammack with a faux-calmness. "I've been a fool since I got here - why stop now?" His finger began to squeeze the trigger. "Wait!-Wait. I took you on this tour for a reason. We recently experienced a... fatality; sad for us, but most fortuitous for you. We have room for one more permanent in the complex. You could be like us, and live to see the planet transform and thrive!" "You'd have me live like you wretches? Kill my own crew? Go to Hell!" "We will only take your crew as we need them. They will have good lives, until then. Fed and cleaned, they will want for little. Is that not how you treated animals when you were on Earth?" "They're not animals, and I'm not a butcher," said Julian, his voice trembling. "They're *humans*, and they deserve to *die* as humans." He slowly squeezed the trigger. --- For more of my stories: /r/nickofnight

"I can't hack it anymore

"I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now." As I sit at the interrogation table, those 2 sentences are all my mind can recall. Nothing else. I wince as the handcuffs bite into my skin, as if they're trying to punish me for all the reckless deaths I'd caused. Another sentence worms its way into my mind. The one spoken by the police officer when he had arrested me, making me realise what was real, and what wasn't. "Twenty-seven. You killed twenty-seven, you deranged bastard!" *** Paul glanced at the now empty wineglass in front of him. He stared harder at it, as if wishing it would magically refill itself somehow, but as all Sunday evenings went, it never did. The loud ringing of the doorbell startled him out of his reverie. Plodding slowly towards the front door, he cursed silently at the interruption to his schedule. He felt a slight chill, as if winter had come early all of a sudden. "I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now," the hooded man standing outside his door said, thrusting a scythe into Paul's hands. His voice sounded hoarse and laboured, as if he had been running a marathon prior to arriving here. Paul stood there, stunned. "W-what?" He stammered, holding the scythe out at arms length, as if the weapon would spring up and attack him. But the man was shuffling down the driveway in slow, steady steps. Paul blinked a few times, still staring at the deadly weapon, but even in his intoxicated mind, he knew that this wasn't a dream. For some reason, the Grim Reaper had given up his job. And now, it was his. Summoning all his strength, he staggered back to his room, the alcohol kicking in. He sat down heavily on his bed, tossing the scythe aside as if it were an ordinary weed wacker. Placing his hands in his head, he began to think out loud. "I'm the Reaper now... so that must mean I... but I can't possibly kill people now, can I?" Another loud ring from the front door. Paul cursed and picked up his scythe. This was turning out to be a dreadful night for him. The front door swung open, revealing a portly, middle aged man standing in front of him, sweaty and dressed in a tracksuit. Suddenly, Paul's vision blurred. In that instant, he could have sworn he saw the number 0 above the man's head. This man's time was up. "Hey, Paul. I was in the neighborhood running, and I thought-" The scythe went up. The scythe fell. And with it, the balding head of the man. Blood spurted onto Paul's shirt, and a heavy stench filled the air as the man's digestive tract gave way. Grinning slightly now, Paul stepped over the man's body. The job had- invigorated him somehow. He felt a surge of strength and adrenaline course through his body, as if he was gaining power every moment. The power of the Grim Reaper, he thought. His initial thoughts had been suspicious, wary of a juvenille prank. But now, he wasn't so sure it was a prank after all. He would have to find more zeroes to remove. It was his job, after all. And by hook or by crook, he was going to be one hell of a Reaper by the next night. The next morning saw Paul fast asleep on the bed, his bloodied scythe in one hand, and a hastily made hood and cloak draped over his nightstand. Besides his first subject, whose body was now buried in the back garden, he had taken care of six other people with that magical number above their heads. It was close to dusk when Paul awoke, his head pounding with energy and his eyes alert to that number he now knew was his life's work. Staring at himself in the mirror, he noticed his pale, gaunt face peering back at him. Besides the bloodstains all over him, he decided that it was a good look. That night was an even more frenzied version of the second. Paul had managed to complete his eighteenth job for the night with minimal noise. He was getting good at this job, his tasks taking no more than a few moments now. That was until the police cruisers pulled up next to him. Surrounding him in a semicircle, with guns aimed at him, shouting for him to "get on the ground and release your weapon". He ignored them, of course. What chance did mortals stand against the Reaper? He left 2 officers slumped dead against a cruiser before he put his scythe down. Somehow, he had managed to evade all the deadly bullets, but that did not surprise him in the least. The 2 policemen with zeroes over their heads were finally dead. Paul didn't hear the screams of the policemen yelling for him to drop his scythe. He didn't hear the cries of the wounded officers, injured by his scythe. He only heard the yell of the policeman in his ear, shouting a non-zero number. "Twenty-seven. You killed twenty-seven, you deranged bastard!" That was when he looked down and saw nothing but a weed wacker in his hands. No scythe. His cloak and hood were just an ordinary, torn-up hoodie. And the original Grim Reaper? He now recognized the weary face of his gardener. *** I watch as the sergeant walks into the room. Tall, imposing, and a grim smile on his face. The weed wacker that claimed so many lives is in his hands. Bent and bloodstained, no longer the majestic scythe I once wielded. "May I-" my request for a drink is cut off. The sergeant slams the weed wacker down hard on the interrogation table. "Fool. You nearly exposed us." I can only stare in horror as the sergeant changes form, morphing into the hooded man from 2 days past. The weed wacker also transforms, turning into a pitch-black scythe. "You had one job, Paul. Now I'm here to take it back."

It was easy to plan for it

I waited. I looked out from my window to the sparkling city that I had once terrorized and nearly destroyed more times than I could remember. It was easy to plan for it's destruction, causing chaos and pandemonium with every attempt, But that was nothing compared to the **Challenge** of uplifting it. Changing my image was the first difficulty, for good reason I was regarded as a menace and a danger to everyone, with years of maneuvering (some subtle and some not so subtle) I was considered reformed by the justice system and seen by everyone as a man seeking to atone for past wrongs. Everyone but one man. My greatest rival, the Hero who bested me in every confrontation, every test of strength, wit and skill. The final piece I needed for my grand scheme to be complete. And so I waited. With a crash he entered the scene, my poor door no match for his foot. "It was unlocked you know", I call out over my shoulder in the calmest voice it could manage, hoping to keep my excitement from reaching him. "Although I **am** glad you came through the door instead of the wall or window", With a sigh I turn and walk to my desk, catching a glimpse of him standing in my door as I walk. Gold stripes with a blue base with matching cape and red boots. I always loved his costumes and today's choice especially brought out the pure rage in his eyes. "So what can this lowly public servant help you with today?" I cheerfully said as I sat down. Or I would have said that had he not slammed his hand nearly through my desk when the word servant left my mouth. "You never served anyone other than yourself you sick psychopath." The words left his mouth with more spittle than I would appreciate but they also contained more rage than I had planned for. "I knew all of this was a lead up to some ungodly theatrical reveal but I had never thought that you would do something so downright evil." He composed himself as best he could while hissing those words between his lips. "Ahhhh, you found the genetic markers for the immortality program then? I was wondering how long it was going to take you to find those and come storming in here." I steepled my fingers together, "so how did you think this would play out? You come charging in demanding to know what the grand plan is and bait me into monologuing? I'm sorry to disappoint you but it wont be that easy you know." With a sudden motion he rips me from behind my desk and pins me to the wall, "No games." He snarls at me, "I've seen the research papers, I KNOW that you intend to sacrifice ten thousand people to give yourself a longer lifespan, I KNOW EVERYTHING." "Well what did you expect me to do when you don't return my calls and refuse to follow the breadcrumbs of lesser crimes back to me? Honestly you were being so stubborn that I had to do something drastic to get you here." I played the part of a scared super villain perfectly, suddenly realizing that I was two seconds from being paste on the wall had nothing to do with how scared I sounded I'm sure. As easily as most people swung around a pillow he lifted me up and smashed me back into the wall, only using one hand to hold me now while the other gathered light or honour or whatever his power worked on. **"I SAID NO MORE GAMES!"** He roared, the light gathering around his whole body now. **"UNDO IT! GET RID OF WHATEVER CHEMICALS THAT YOU PUT IN THEIR SYSTEM NOW!!" "Already done." I hear him grit his teeth at my now smug demeanor and feel him push me a bit higher up the wall "The markers will fade in a week and the chemicals in the water are false positives I had the labs make up." I quickly add as I feel his urge to kill me rising, "The Immortality project is nothing more than smoke and mirrors." His eyes narrow as they bore holes into my now-not-so-smug-demeanor for what feels like an eternity before he finally lets me down and lets go of his blinding radiance. "Explain. Now." He commanded in something dangerously close to a growl. Quickly fixing my suit so that I could breath I move back towards fist indented desk, "Like I said you weren't returning my calls so I had the entire thing made up to hopefully get you here to talk to me." "You planned the most heinous crime in two centuries just to get me to talk to you be cause you were bored?" his fists clench again as he leaks rage once more. "Not boredom," I assure him, "I need you for something." I almost whisper as I pull out the key from my favorite paperweight while I take out the fist sized box from my desk. "You've gone insane if you think I'll help you with anything." slashing his hand in the air in front of him. The embers of rage are still in him, not quite out but nothing compared to the fire it was before. "is that so?" I say with a dry smile, "is there anything I could say to convince you otherwise?" "Nothing." I stood there considering him in the silence, while he glared at me. And in that silence he turned to leave. "I'm dying." I called out as he reached the doorway. He froze one foot on the door. "The senate knows already and are plotting and backstabbing to try to be next in line. It wont be too long before the news leaks and starts a power struggle." I flop into my chair in a rare break of character. "After plotting and planning for so long I finally create a utopia for all to live in, and the moment I show weakness it threatens to crumble." The silence returned for several minutes this time before he spoke. "A man in his prime tells me he's dying and that his empire is cracking. Normally I would offer to help but pardon me for not believing you." The skepticism in his voice betrayed by a speck of glee. "Temporal freezing," I answer while looking at my hand, "I look and feel 27 right up until I drop dead of old age at the ripe age of 140." I grinned at the look of shock on his face. "I told you that the time prison you tossed me in worked too well" "Alright so you're about to die," he said with skepticism to match his earlier rage. "I refuse to believe that you don't have twelve different plans already set up and in motion." I raise my hands in the air. "Alright, you got me. I have two-hundred and four plans set up and only nine will destroy the world if go through." His eyes harden at that and he starts to circle the room. I raise a finger at him. "But not to worry they'll only go off in about twenty to thirty years if left unchecked." I plant both hands on either side of the dent. "This is my last challenge to you my old foe." Using the key I unlock the box and toss it to him. "This has the clue to get you started." He snatches the box out of the air and holds it like it's a live serpent. "I truly hate you." he seethed before he walked out. "oh I'm counting on it." I dreamily murmured to the now empty room. Because who else could I get to police my utopia and check every corner for wrong being done. And who knows he might even find all eight of world ending plots I left for him. ________________________________________________________________ Alright I'm kinda new to this so be gentle.

"You gotta tell me how you

"Okay, sit down," God said, lighting a cigarette and crossing his legs. "You gotta tell me how you did it. I mean the whole thing was a mess and now it's just... just..." "The word you're looking for is perfect," I said. "The universe is perfect." "Yes. Perfect." "Divine. Wonderful. Flawless." "You've made your point. Now tell me how you did it." "Well... okay," I took one of his cigarettes and loaded it between my lips. "First of all, I did away with the whole determinism bullshit. I mean, what was that about!?" "You're kidding! That was like the first rule!" "It was crap. I mean you put all of us in the universe and gave us the illusion of free will when really our mind is controlled by the brain which is made of matter which follows the fundamental rules of the universe like every other matter. What kind of crap is that? Talk about deceptive." "What did you do then!? How did you replace determinism!?" "I gave people actual free will. Turns out if we are free to do what we actually want instead of being tricked by the rules of nature to act the way you see fit while only thinking we're free, we're actually quite skillful at living." "But... but... but then it's chaos!" God shook his head. "If the rules of the universe don't control the behavior of animals, even sapient ones like humans, what does!?" "Just... us." God seemed confused. "But then that just means that... that... that..." "That there's gotta be some other set of pre-established rules that govern how mind works, right? I mean, if it's not cause and reaction, what is it? Yeah, I considered that." "Exactly! What did you do instead? What controls mind then?" "Nothing. Just fucking chaos, dude." God looked at me behind disbelief. "That makes *no* sense!" "Well, it worked." He shook his head again. He ashed his cigarette on a passing cloud. "Okay. Okay. What about the metaphysical problem of existence out of nothingness? Where did everything come from, why is there something instead of nothing, all that. What about that, huh? How did you fix that?" "What are you talking about? *You* fixed that by existing. You're God. You created the universe. There. Solved." "But that just pushes the question to what created *me*" God said. "You don't think I thought about that? I'm a walking contradiction. I explain the universe, but what explains me!? At some point, something must have come from nowhere." "Ah. True. Very smart." God smiled. "See? You didn't fix everything. There's still existential despair in the universe because people don't know where God came from, and God explains the universe but nothing explains God, so nothing explains the universe." "Well, I just told them." "Told them?" "Where everything comes from. Including God." "HOW!? HOW DID YOU EVEN KNOW THAT!? I DON'T KNOW THAT!" "I lied." He paused. "You... lied." "I said you came from your mother." "AND WHERE DID MY MOTHER COME FROM!?" "Oh, God, it's just turtles all the way down, get over it. They ate it up, that's what matters." He looked down beneath the clouds at the perfect Earth and the people living in harmony and the unpolluted environment and the warless, unified nation that was the planet now. "I can't believe this. So you just gave people free will, told them that there's no satisfactory explanation as to where everything came to being and they just... accepted it?" "Well, I was a bit more eloquent than that," I said. "But yeah. That's pretty much the gist of it." "What about death? What happens after you die? Surely that still anguishes people. The source of all human despair is deeply rooted in a fear of death. You didn't fix death." "First of all, let's not get arrogant, God. You don't die, so don't pretend to know what being mortal feels like." He stared at me rather foolishly, but didn't speak. "But you're right, it's awful." I smiled. "So you know, I just stopped it." "You... stopped it." "No more death. I mean, frankly, what were you thinking, dude? Putting people in the universe, giving them self-awareness and then death-awareness? That's like telling your wife you're mathematically guaranteed to break up with her in a few years the day after the wedding and expecting her to be faithful. Of course it's not gonna work." "So nobody dies anymore." "Nobody dies anymore." "And everyone has real, true free will." "Free as non-deterministic birds." "And they all know that the universe is a logical impossibility that birthed itself out of nowhere like a will o' the wisp in a desolate marsh extending unto lands unknown?" "Very poetic. You just wanted to use that line, didn't you, author?" Yes, I did. Go back to talking to God. "Very poetic, God. And yes, they know the whole truth and they are fine with it and they don't die and they have true freedom." "And that fixed everything?" "Well. Almost. I had to get rid of Bon Jovi's last album, cause it *really* sucked compared to his early 90s stuff." God thought about this. Then he shook his head. "No. I don't accept it." He got up. "Immortality doesn't fix existential despair. They're going to get tired of living eventually. Eventually every human being will experience everything there is to experience, meet and befriend and love every other human being, visit every corner of the universe, discover every piece of unknown land, do everything there is to do... and then... what?" I didn't answer. "Then they'll turn their heads to the unanswered questions once more! Where did I come from? What is the meaning of it all? If free will is true, what are the rules that govern it? And if there are no rules that govern it, how can something purely chaotic even exist and make sense to our non-chaotic brains? And, and, and if there ARE rules that govern free will those rules must be absolute or not be rules at all, and if they ARE absolute then, then, then there is no free will by definition!" God flicked his cigarette, very intense now. "Those questions need addressing! They need addressing so much that humanity built a whole society around shielding itself from facing these fundamental paradoxes and inconsistencies! They need addressing so much that the only reason humanity has developed culture and all the social fabric that now is put in place is because humans cannot satisfactory address these fucking issues and they'd go insane without distractions and false idols! All you did was push the whole thing with your belly! Sweep it under the rug! People live forever and think they are free in some higher form than they previously thought with my definition of free will, which, okay, was kind of shitty but still, and also you told them that the universe was created by God and that God was created by his mother and his mother by another mother and so on forever but that's not answering at all, it's pushing it under the rug again! What will you do when they figure that out!? What!? WHAT WILL YOU DO, ALPACA!?" "They won't figure it out. I'm keeping them busy." "HOW!? FOR THE LOVE OF ME, HOW!?" I smiled. "I built a new continent and put a water park there. Free admission, no lines, open bar." God stared down at me, panting, desperate, angry. Then he paused. Then he said, "Fuck, that's smart." ____ /r/psycho_alpaca

Earth's representatives have refused to defend

"I think we all know why we are here," the Zilem Planet Representative said. "Earth," the group said in unison, exasperation edging into the lone syllable. "Yes, indeed," he said softly. "It is my understanding that the Ceamnese have called this meeting. This is, as you all know, the ninth meeting about the behavior of Earth... this week. Just as with the other meetings, Earth's representatives have refused to defend the actions of the human race in this meeting. I believe they said they would, 'Rather stay home and watch TV.'" The Zilem Representative sighed audibly, but after seeing the very concerned expressions around the table, quickly continued, "We have, of course, conducted a thorough sweep for bombs, poisons, and elaborate... 'booby traps,' I believe they called them," he said, and then cleared his throat pointedly. "Have they ever sent anyone to these meetings?" a large, muscular creature in the corner asked. "I think they sent someone once..." "Nope," the Zilem Representative stated bluntly. "Yes. Yes, they sent that rather hairy human one time." "Wasn't a human," he replied with a sigh, "It was a... chimp? I believe they call them chimps." "Yes, yes! Rather despondent individual, he was." "Seemed appropriately repentant to me," the Qealph Representative said, flipping her hair gently over her shoulder. "Really cheered when those strange oblong, yellow Earth snacks were served afterward, though," said Ef' Representative in a bright tone. The Zilem representative cleared his throat and said, "Would the representative from Ceamn please stand and explain?" "Certainly," the creature said politely as he stood. "Well, we asked the Earthlings some two zokils past to please refrain from dumping their trash into our oceans." Everyone at the table breathed in sharply. "Representative Ceamn, you would provoke them in this way?" the Qealph Representative asked in hushed tones. "Yes, well... yes. I will admit that it was a bold request, but we had simply had enough. They replied that... well... they said that their trash was in our waters, which meant it was now their property... so they now had a right to retrieve their property that was unlawfully taken." The room fell into a confused silence until one of the representatives leaned to the right and whispered, "What?" "That's... what they said. I'm not sure how they came to the conclusion, they provided no reasoning, but the long and short of it is that they are now pumping our water supply into their water tower ships and leaving with it." The room fell into a confused silence until one of the representatives leaned to the right and whispered louder, "What?" "I..." the Ceamn Representative trailed off and shrugged instead, so as to express something along the lines of, "I have no idea." "They're probably trying to replace all of the water they wasted from that time they tried to extinguish the Aeron System's sun?" "Or when they did that... the game... what did they call it again?" "Slip and Slide." "Yes! The Slip and Slide... Space Edition, I believe they called it." "Yes... many of their top leaders perished," the Qealph Representative said sadly. "Well, not after they sloped it so that it went quick enough to justify no oxygen tanks." "No, you're getting mixed up, Representative Zilem. They were still perishing rapidly even after the slope. No one died after they remembered to put in a landing platform." There was another silence. "They really tried to extinguish a sun by spraying water at it?" the Zilem Representative said abruptly. "Yeah... but I mean, it didn't work." "Well, what if it had though?!" "Why'd they do that again?" "Because the Aeronians were slightly late for a dinner meeting and Earth felt they 'needed a gentle reminder about politeness.'" "Reminds me of that time they threatened to throw their sun at us." "That is just egregious!" "I agree. I tried to call them on it in the meeting. I said it was a ridiculous threat. I have to give it to them though, they doubled down on it. They kept insisting they had a lasso big enough to... what word did they use... 'wrangle' their sun. They said after that, throwing it at us was no problem." "Wouldn't their own world grow cold and die?" "I asked about that. I pointed it out rather quickly after the plan came to light. They said they already had the lasso and that retrieving another would be 'no damn problem at all.' I left it at that and backed down." Another brief silence ensued. "Well, I mean, you couldn't risk the lives of your people like that," the Qealph Representative said in a gentle way. The Zilem Representative cleared his throat again. "Has the Ceamn Representative reached out to try and come up with a more, eh, diplomatic solution?" The Ceamn Representative stood again. "Yes, sir. We mentioned that we could simply recycle the waste for them." "And?" "They responded that it, 'sounded like something little girls would do,' and then afterward only responded with 'little girls' to each of our inquiries." "What is this word, 'girls?'" the Ef' Representative asked. "I am not sure. We thought it might be a translation error given the sheer number of times they sent us the message, but it didn't take long to gather that it was actually meant as an insult." The conference room's large doors slid open and a messenger arrived. "Sir, a representative from Earth has arrived." "Finally!" "Maybe now we can--" "It is the chimp again." "This is absurd!" The chimp waddled over to the empty seat at the table and climbed up into it, and then climbed up onto the table itself. It wore a crisp white t-shirt, emblazoned with neon pink letters that spelled out, "CEAMN SUXX." In one of its giant black hands, it held a small pink piece of paper. The chimp walk-crawled across the table and handed it to the Zilem Representative. He read it slowly then crumpled it up. "What did it say, sir?" the Ef' Representative asked. "It said, 'Pink letters, for the little girls present." A quiet filled the room as they all looked at the chimp. "Someone please bring those snacks back out for the... Representative," the Zilem asked. "All in favor of a strongly worded letter asking the humans to cease the thieving of water from Ceamn?" Everyone save for the Ceamn Representative raised a hand. "Okay then, that's settled," said the Zilem Representative. "I'm not sure that will be enough." "Maybe not," the Zilem answered. "But I suspect it will be a lot like the time they challenged the ownership of our home planet. They insisted our leadership compete in a staring contest. After a few minutes, they simply got bored and wandered off." -------- Edit: Thank you so much for the gold, mysterious benefactor, and thank you to everyone for all of the comments and upvotes. I'm inexpressibly flattered that you thought this story was worth it. :)

An army of small robots and some

Back then, I knew what vast wealth could buy. I knew it could buy isolated mansions with their own picturesque vistas, self-sustaining yachts to see each of the glistening oceans and their pocketed paradise islands, and every known luxury that era of mankind had to offer. Of course, as with all things, that wasn't enough for me. Wealth couldn't give me everything. As it was then, it couldn't save me from the follies of my race. My wealth couldn't buy me time. It couldn't buy me immortality. But it could buy me an education, means to enhance my own intelligence. Once I had those things, I managed to build myself a lab and I prised myself from the rest of the world searching for the key to immortality. Nearly twenty-three years had passed, and my hair had begun to grey and my bones ached at the end of a long day in the lab. But I persisted, and though my wealth had nearly irreversibly diminished, I found the grand panacea. Turns out an army of small robots and some careful, robust programming gave me what I wanted. After the injection, the ache began to leave my bones, and I knew it was working. I raced to the large mirror at the back of the lab washroom in time to witness the last of my transformation. Wrinkles absorbed back into my skin, disappearing, the hairs on my head softened, and as their color became more vibrant, so did the lively hue in my eyes return. Barely enough time to marvel in my hour of triumph, a voice sounded behind me, such that I yelped in a squeal with a voice that had also returned to its youthful tenor. "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you," the voice said. I was bewildered, as there was no one behind me in the mirror, and nor was there anyone to my left or right. "Ahem. Behind you." Turning around, there was the source of the disembodied voice, embodied. Clothed in a long, tattered black robe, it was sheathed in shadow and its face was further enveloped underneath a deep hood. Handing me a business card he said, "I can see that you were not expecting me." As I took the business card from a skeletal hand, it returned to gesture in a way that suggested it was scratching its chin. "I have to say, that is a first. Anyway, no time to dally -- two customers a second and all that." "W-wait! You said there have been more?" "Of course! You think you're the first to seek immortality and find it?" Death scoffed, "Happens every couple of centuries or so, though usually through less... scientific means, heh. Never understood the stuff myself." I was floored. My whole life had been devoted to science, and there before me was essentially a god from legend. Something make-believe, something from myth. But to my core I was a scientist, and with the truth beset in front of me, I accepted it. Gods and magic were real, and they were unfamiliar with science. I took a risk. Putting the card in my pocket, I said to Death, "Well if you'd like I can show you some of what I've been working on. I'm sure a few dying people could wait -- besides, two a second is only a statistical average anyway," I flashed him my best smile, which was pretty good now that my youth had returned, "Why not make it up later? It's the least I can do to show you whats in store for the future." As there was no face to remark upon, all I can say is that Death simply stared at me for what felt like an eternity. "Ah, what the hell. My colleagues treat with mortals occasionally, why shouldn't I have some fun with the living once in a while?" "Excellent choice! Come, follow me. There's a technology I happened across during my search that could allow for teleportation -- something the gods are familiar with, I'd imagine." Death followed behind me, looking as a cloud of ink through water. As he followed me, I walked over a square aluminum platform that was trailed by wires on all sides. Putting my hand inside one of the pockets of my lab coat, I gripped a remote switch that controlled all the equipment inside the lab. When Death's form passed into the threshold of the platform, I pressed the button and turned around facing Death. Looking to either side, Death tilted its hood to one side, "Why did you stop? Is this the device?" "Actually, the device is right over there," I pointed to a table covered with an assortment of devices on the other side of the room. "Please, help yourself, while I prepare the demonstration." My heart was pounding, but I kept my face neutral as I faced Death. Its form quivered, and the shadow around Death froze in motion. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, MORTAL" The voice no longer came from the hood, but from all around me. Its sound vibrated the air, and the ground beneath me shook as it spoke. "YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE FORCES FOR WHICH YOU MEDDLE" "Actually, that's exactly why I've imprisoned you. I never believed in gods before today, and I intend to find out what I can fr--" "YOU FOOL. RELEASE ME BEFO--," before he could finish, the black cloud erupted, its force shattering my body against the wall behind me. That was the last I remember of the hour I killed Death. It has been almost one hundred years, and still I've yet to restore the world to its natural order. Ghouls roam the earth now. Though people are unable to die, all of the roads to death remain paved and open. Gods openly roam the Earth, searching for the one that destroyed death, some seeking vengeance against me even as I try to bring Death back to life, others reveling in the chaos sewn by my mistake. My name is Elliot, and I am this worlds last hope of destroying immortality.

The Scientist sat alone in the null

The Scientist sat alone in the nullifier cell, staring at the wall across from him. He'd been so close. Ten minutes away from finishing his device, a device that would have wiped out The Protectors, catapulting him into the upper echelon of villains, only to be foiled by The Protectors. He fumed silently to himself. He'd known the risk involved, but now, facing the consequences of his crimes, he wished he hadn't been so hasty. His mistakes had all been small, and easy to forget about, but they had piled up, resulting in The Protectors bursting into his base to easily subdue him. And he didn't even know yet if they were the ones responsible. "One key, two key, three key, four" a voice drifted down the corridor to his cell. The Scientist stopped his contemplation, looking up to see a man slowly walking towards him. "How many keys, to open that door?" 'What the hell?' thought The Scientist to himself. It couldn't be true. He'd thought it had been just one of those urban legends that got thrown around the villain community. Everyone knew stories of The Keymaster. Supposedly he spent his time freeing villains who had been captured. Yet no one he talked to had actually met him, and the stories were always told by a villain who heard from a villain who heard from a villain. The idea that anyone would just spend all their time freeing villains as opposed to carrying out their own plans seemed ludicrous to him. The man stopped walking, standing in front of the cell, and grinned down at The Scientist. He looked normal, pedestrian. If The Scientist had passed him on the street, he'd have forgotten him immediately. His appearance was a far cry from the stories told about this man. Everyone claimed The Keymaster was terrifying. The Scientist almost laughed out loud. He wore baggy jeans, and a shirt with a picture of a monkey holding a surfboard on it. In his hand he carried a ping pong paddle, and he had a stuffed toy parrot perched on his shoulder. "Though I walk through the valley of the of the shadow of death, I will fear no keyhole!" The Keymaster said in a serious tone. Then he burst into giggles. Straightening up, he continued as before. "So, The Scientist sits in silence, salivating at some sentiment of seeing some other setting. Tick, tock, goes the clock, and in his mind the gear turns. When one door closes, so do the rest, despite opportunities vocal protests. And yet I step, into the realm of closed rooms, like the spark of an idea, to brighten the gloom." "What?" asked The Scientist. Was this man off his rocker? Remembering his position, he quickly pulled himself together. "You must be the legendary Keymaster sir. A pleasure to meet you. Have you come to negotiate the price of setting me free?" he asked, not quite able to keep the hope out of his voice. "A pleasure you say? Yes, always a pleasure, never a chore. But negotiate, most definitely not. You've already paid. The price is simple, and remains the same. A conversation, a name, and a cure for your pain." The Keymaster held up a hand, stopping the words about to leave The Scientist's mouth. "Sorry, that's silly, too much drama. A conversation will do." 'This guy must be an idiot,' The Scientist thought to himself. He could ask for anything, and he asks for a conversation? Easy enough. Someone this stupid was unlikely to have any meaningful conversation. Besides, he'd never promised to be truthful. "And what would you like to talk about?" asked The Scientist. "Well," said The Keymaster, as he took a seat crossed legged on the floor. "I've always wondered why a scientist as skilled as you should turn to villainy. I mean surely if you went legitimate, you could be rich, famous, respected. Yet instead you choose to run around in costume, causing trouble?" Huh. That was the first sign of a normal sentence from The Keymaster. Not the direction he'd expected. And not the sort he wanted to discuss. "Ah you know, having no powers always irritated me, so I wanted to get payback on those who thought themselves above everyone else. How about yourself?" "One lie, one truth, and one in the middle. What a lovely start." exclaimed The Keymaster gleefully. "What do you think Bob?" he asked the parrot on his shoulder. "Think we should tell him?" The Scientist remained silent, not entirely sure what on earth was going on. "Yes, I suppose we shall." he sighed, turning back to The Scientist. "All doors have keys, and I possess them all. No fun in taking anything, when the door is always open. Why steal the Mona Lisa, when it is as easy as stealing a snickers? Why chase after women or men, when you already hold the key to their heart? Why search for the forbidden, when to me nothing is hidden?" "So you're just bored? But then why set villains free?" asked The Scientist incredulously. The Keymaster looked up at him, a look of puzzlement on his face. "You know," clarified The Scientist, "captured villains that you let out." "Set them free?" muttered The Keymaster. "No,no. I don't set them free. I let them out. There's a key difference there." his face lit up suddenly, smiling. "Key difference!" he exclaimed. "What a wonderful pun." The Scientist groaned inside. Terrible. Pun. 'Anyways, time to move on with this,' he thought to himself. "Not to be rude Keymaster, but shouldn't you help me get out. I wouldn't want any heroes in the base to come down here while we are talking. Having keys to doors is very useful, but it won't help you in a fight against The Protectors." "Keys to doors?" asked The Keymaster. "Why would I use that?" "Well that's your power isn't it? You're a conjurer or something, you can make keys for any lock no?" The Keymasters fist slammed into the floor. "DOORS?" he roared. "THEY NEVER LISTEN! I ASK FOR ONE CONVERSATION AND THEY NEVER LISTEN!" he yelled, getting to his feet. Suddenly, as if he'd never yelled at all, he was calm. "Listen to me, Jason Baker, The Scientist" he whispered, "I am no conjurer. No petty magician. I see the keys to everything, everything in this world. The key to who you are, Jason Baker. The key to your soul." Jason stared at the man, terrified. No one knew his name. It wasn't possible. He'd scrubbed all traces of his life out of existence years ago. How on earth had this man found out? He met The Keymasters eyes and froze, held there by unknown force. This man, no, this monster, knew everything about him. He was gazing directly into his soul. How had he ever though of this monster as stupid? Or amusing? "One lie, one truth, one in the middle, that's what you gave me when you started this conversation. So I shall give you the same courtesy in return. You will thank me for it. The man who believes himself to be a hero, the man who killed your little sister when you were growing up, he is in this building. Your hunt for him can end today once I let you free. However, you will die in the process. It is the only way for your revenge to be complete." The killer was here, Jason thought to himself. Then he'd do what he must. Twelve years he'd spent, trying to find out which hero had killed his little sister. Hatred had fuelled those long years, and finally it was here. He looked up at The Keymaster, and begged. "Please" he sobbed, as tears filled his eyes, "Please let me out. Let me kill the bastard for what he's done. Let me destroy them all for keeping him here, safe from the consequences his actions, hiding the truth from the world." The Keymaster looked at Jason and smiled. "Ok. When I say now, start singing!" "Singing?" asked Jason, confusion shining through the tears on his face. "Yup, you have to hit the right key!" giggled The Keymaster. "But in all seriousness, you're pretty upset, so don't bother singing." The Keymaster held his hand against the energy barrier to the cell and it quickly powered down, and Jason ran down the hallway, anger all over his face. "Now have fun!" called out The Keymaster behind him. Later on, the battle that ensued would make headlines around the world. The Scientist had escaped from his cell and broken into the weapons lab, and taken on The Protectors. He'd managed to kill nine members before they'd put him down. Witnesses claimed to see a man walking out muttering to himself, before getting into a parked car and driving away. "I told him. One truth, you must die for your revenge to be complete. One in the middle. The man responsible, who thinks he's the hero, is in the building. And so he was, in the cell, talking to me. One lie. It is the only way. There were always other ways to kill the man responsible. Just as theres always other ways to kill yourself." The Keymaster giggled to himself. "You should have listened Jason. Nobody ever listens." Edit: Hey guys. So I didn't plan on writing anymore but since people seemed to enjoy it I have written some more in a reply to this comment. Hope you enjoy! Also, fixed a quick grammar error as well. Edit 2: Forgot to say thank you! Really appreciate all the comments, and I'm really glad you guys enjoyed it, so thank you very much! Edit 3: So there are now 3 parts in total. This one, the one replying to this, and the one replying to that one. Hope you guys enjoy! Edit 4: Link to Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5yw95w/wp_you_are_a_supervillain_named_the_keymaster/deu47gc/ Link to Part 3: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5yw95w/wp_you_are_a_supervillain_named_the_keymaster/deu8uwx/ Edit 5: Link to Part 4: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5yw95w/wp_you_are_a_supervillain_named_the_keymaster/deufa9o/ So the story so far is now over 5000 words. Most I've ever written that isn't for Uni. Hope you guys enjoy it! Edit 6: Ive created a subreddit at /r/feedmequickwriting for anyone who wishes to continue following the story as I will post new chapters there from now on. If you're interested, please feel free to subscribe or just visit. Thanks for everything

"Counterparts in four of the

"Counterparts in four of the NWS are ready to participate in the strike if need be, sir. Plus India. We're still trying to raise France." A grin split the Director's craggy face, incongruous amidst the blaring klaxons. "Tell me, Private. Do you really think France will make a difference?" "Every bit counts, sir?" The grin got wider. The Private's heart beat even faster. Was his superior cracking up? True, it was understandable given the circumstances, but the man was supposed to be the facility's rock. The two of them alone were still; all around them in the bunker officers flat-out ran to destinations unknown, expressions from panic to resignation etched on their faces. Given his uncertainty about the Director's mental state, he decided the safest path was just to recount what he knew. "We are at level 1, sir. A nuclear response has been deemed appropriate. Given the, uh, the severity of the threat, the largest muster of warheads available is considered optimal, which is why we... sir, I hope you don't consider it indecorous, but may I ask why you're laughing, sir?" "Have you looked outside, Private?" "I've been briefed..." "There is a different sky above us. You can see purple stars. Three miles from here there's a hole in the Earth that goes straight down into the goddamn mantle. The gatespur has devoured the Nevada national guard. In a bunker beneath our feet the flameminds have started *singing*, and we haven't seen the Leviathan since last Tuesday. And it just warms the cockles of my cold little heart to see a private so green he's worried about *France*, of all things, in the middle of this." The Private didn't know whether he wanted to scream or start crying. "We are at a level 1 emergency, sir. It is my job to worry about France," he said, voice wavering. "This stopped being a Level 1 the instant the gatespur inverted." "I'm... I'm sorry, sir? Are you saying it reverted to Level 2? That we'll be pursuing a nonnuclear resolution? If so I fail to see..." "I'm saying," the Director hissed, "that it has been upgraded to Level 0." Some detached part of the Private's brain conducted a quick search of the Groom Lake briefing books he'd absorbed so studiously not six months prior, and came up empty. "I'm afraid I have not been briefed on Level 0 emergencies, sir." "It's the level where you stop caring about fucking France." "I recall a prank played on me by some of the Privates First Class when I first arrived, sir," the Private said cautiously, "wherein they convinced me of the existence of an emergency level 0 before revealing, with great pomp and circumstance, that it consisted solely of calling the number on a Post-it Note." The Director stared down at him as automated warning e-mails continued to pile up in the corner of his computer screen. "Privates First Class are not supposed to know about that sticky note," he finally intoned. The Private goggled. "They were *serious*?" "We keep resources off-site!" "A Post-it Note?" "Sticky note. It's not name brand." "Whatever! I mean, uh, whatever, sir." The Private paused, rewinding the conversation. "What resources?" "A temperamental man. Got irradiated with... damned if I can remember what. Back in '84. Or maybe '85? Techie working on the Lateral Fourth, I'm almost certain. Perhaps the Axial Ninth. Since then he's been our secret weapon. Moves around a lot. Currently in Bora Bora, that much I know." "Technically France," the Private muttered, almost involuntarily. The Director's smile returned, wider than ever, glinting red in the intermittent darkness. "Do you recall the location of said sticky note, Private?" "It was on Private Irving's monitor, I believe," the Private said, tentatively pointing. The Director craned his neck and spotted the pink square of paper, attached to the side of a computer screen showing a grainy livestream of F-35s hovering over the desert, spinning like tops in place as spirals of smoke drizzled from their flanks and splattered upwards into the void. "Very good. You have a strong memory, Private. That may make things unpleasant for you, shortly." Before the Private could ask, the Director was darting across the room to retrieve the sticky note. He returned to the relative calm in the wake of the Private's desk and removed a red smartphone from a nonstandard pocket of his fatigues. "Don't you have it memorized, sir?" the Private asked as the Director entered the number into the touchpad. "Best not to. Best not to memorize much about this man. Liable to get corrupted." "What do you mea..." the Private quietened when his superior held up a finger for silence, not that his question would have added much to the general panicked din and the blaring of warning bells. "Lenny, I..." the Director beamed into the phone, before apparently getting cut off. "That bad, huh?" he winced. "I know we've already given you all the money you could ever want. All the secrets. All the... yes. Yes, Len. I know. So here's what I want to know. What else can we give you?" The Private strained to hear the other end of the line. "I want you to know," the tinny voice said. "That's all I want. I want you to know how much it hurts me and how many times it's happened this week alone. So that maybe, maybe, this'll be the last one." "You know it hurts all of us," the Director responded. "But you don't remember. Try to remember. And remember this number: thirty-nine." At this the Director cringed visibly. "Thirty-nine? Really?" he said incredulously - almost, the Private thought, shamefacedly. "This week. Get. It. Lidded." Lenny said. "Or I might just call it quits at forty. I've lived a good life." "I'll do my best, Len." "You've done your best thirty-nine times. Do better." "Yes, Len." "I'm starting it." "Thank you, Len." "Thirty-Nine." "Hope not to talk to you soon." "No - enh. No more than I am," the phone voice grunted, pained. The Director ended the call and looked down at the Private, his face unreadable. "The Lateral Fourth - that was the timeship, sir. Right?" "One of it, Private. One side of it." "And thirty-nine?" "Big ears on you, Private." "Sorry sir, I couldn't hel- ouch!" the Private slapped a hand to his cheek as a sharp, needling pain ran through it. He flinched as a similar pain struck his left foot, his kidney, his eye. "He's right, we don't remember this part," the Director grimaced. The Private looked up at him and nearly screamed. The man's face was a patchwork of flesh, blurred and pixellated like a digital television getting bad reception. The left side of his mouth seemed to run in reverse, making grotesque flapping noises. Then the pain struck the Private's left eardrum, and the noises resolved into a sound like speech played in reverse, and then the prickles happened deep inside his head, brain freeze with a thousand tiny claws, and the backward speech was forwards and his thoughts turned around and the klaxons retreated in great gushing waves of silence and the lights flickered on and off and a great buzzing sound filled his head, driving away all thought and all memory and all notions except the overwhelming drumbeat bedrock of *Tuesday, Tuesday, TUESDAY* and then... it was Tuesday. "Readings on the Leviathan are slightly outside normal ranges. Should we check it out?" Irving asked. "Thirty-nine," the Private blurted. His fellow private turned to look at him. "What's that?" "That's fine, I meant to say. We should look into it. Could mean something. That is, that's my opinion, sir," the Private said, suddenly noticing the presence of the Director looming behind him. He turned to face his superior and saw the man mouth the words *thirty-nine.* The Director shook his head slightly, as if clearing it, and fixed his dark eyes on Irving. "Yes, Private, check it out. Report back to me if you find anything the least bit out of order." "I'll requisition a sub straightaway, sir," Irving saluted, rising from his desk. "Oh, and Private? Remove that sticky note from your monitor. Something tells me it won't be useful anymore."

Mark, in his underwear, a

The first time was confusing. Mark, in fact, used the words "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON!?" but as an impartial, polite narrator, I'll use 'confusing'. It was a mugging. Lyla was coming home from her first date after the breakup and the dude pointed the knife and said, "Give me the purse, bitch." And Mark, in his underwear, a yellow lipstick of Cheetos around his mouth, materialized in front of them, straight from his living room couch. "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON!?" he uttered, as previously mentioned, which was not intended to, but had the effect of, stopping the mugging right away, as the mugger, upon watching a half-naked man materialize himself in front of him out of thin air like popcorn bursting into existence from corn except with a person and nothingness (Jesus, what a crappy narrator I am), proceeded to politely say "Oh, fuck," and go home (later, I heard, he checked into an institution and got into New Age music and Paulo Coelho, but that's a story for another day). Well, after much debate, Mark and Lyla decided that what had just happened was either collective hallucination or undeniable proof that the universe was fundamentally different than humanity had been assuming for thousands of years and all human knowledge had just been rendered obsolete and we'd have to start over from the pre-Socratics on. They figured it didn't really matter, because either way they both had lives to get to and shit to do, and decided to get on with their stuff. They parted ways. It was after the third time (the second being another, totally unrelated mugging), when Lyla got trapped in an elevator during a power outage and Mark materialized itself once more in front of her, that they figured out that the whole thing was a pattern, and that apparently Mark would show up whenever Lyla was, in his words, "in some deep shit or whatever." "So whenever I'm in trouble, you just... show up?" "Apparently." "Why!?" "Gee, Lyla, I don't know, let me check my International Guide to Unexplainable Phenomena." "You're being sarcastic, aren't you?" "No, I really have a guide for unexplainable phenomena." "Now you're being sarcastic about being sarcastic, aren't you?" "I'll add another layer if you keep bothering me." "God, you're annoying, no wonder I broke up with you." "I broke up with you." "No you didn't." "Internally I did." This continued for something like forty minutes, until the firemen came and rescued them (as, of course, though Mark had indeed materialized in front of Lyla to be there in her time of need, he lacked the tools to get them out of a stopped elevator.) It started getting suspicious, as far as Mark was concerned, the seventh time Lyla was caught in the middle of a disagreement with drug addicts in the town's worst neighborhood. That's when he started suspecting foul play on her part. All the same, he kept to himself, standing by her side as the crackheads robbed her... then him (because, it turns out, crackheads are not as easily spooked by people materializing out of thin air as muggers are... these guys just said "Woah, dude just popped into existence. Let's rob him too!") Then it was a cliff - literally, Lyla standing on the edge of a cliff, about to lose balance, and Mark popped up by her side to save her. Then it was a minor car accident. Then a fight with this bitchy girl she knew from high school. Mark decided to say something when he suddenly materialized in front of Lyla inside a warehouse filled to the ceiling with towers and towers of cocaine packs and surrounded by angry, machine-gun wielding Brazilian men somewhere deep in the rainforests of South America. "Okay, that's it," he said, as soon as he laid eyes on Lyla, tied to a chair in the back of the room, behind some drug stacks. "What the hell, Lyla!?" "I'm sorry," she said, "I got lost hiking." He got closer to her, untied her, careful not to alert the men patrolling the warehouse just behind the stack of cocaine they were pressed against. "No you didn't." "Excuse me!?" "Look, I'm sorry it didn't work out between us," Mark said, as she got up and rubbed her wrists. "But you gotta stop putting yourself into dangerous situations just because you want to try to hurt me." "What!?" "You don't think I've noticed!? Seven muggings! Random fights! Random cliffs! And now you show up at a drug warehouse in South America!? You hate hiking! Come on, Lyla, it's so obvious! You're trying to get me killed!" "Who's there!?" came a voice from behind the cocaine stack, because Brazilians speak English when it's convenient for the plot. "Is that what you think I'm doing!?" Lyla asked. "Well, isn't it!? Why else would you keep putting yourself into these dangerous situat -" "BECAUSE I MISS YOU, YOU IDIOT!" She pushed him. "I MISS YOU AND I DON'T HAVE THE GUTS TO CALL YOU AND THIS IS THE ONLY WAY I CAN THINK TO SEE YOU FROM TIME TO TIME." "Hey, there's a dude with the girl we caught over here!" One of the drug thugs showed up, pointing the gun. "You miss me?" Mark asked, quietly. "Yes, you idiot. What, you think I take trips to the rainforest and end up on coke farms by accident?" More men showed up, all wielding machine guns. They pointed. "Fuck, why didn't you just say so?" "Cause you never seem happy to see me." "THAT'S BECAUSE WE'RE ALWAYS ON THE VERGE OF DEATH WHEN I SEE YOU, NOT BECAUSE I STOPPED LOVING YOU!" "You still love me?" "OF COURSE I DO, YOU STUPID BITCH!" "Why are you yelling?" "BECAUSE WE'RE ABOUT TO DIE!" She looked at the men. Then at Mark. "It does look that way." "I'M GONNA KISS YOU NOW." "Okay." She smiled. And they did kiss. And then, of course, the Brazilian drug men opened fire and they died a very bloody, horrible death, but it was kind of romantic, really. I thought so, at least. _____ /r/psycho_alpaca

They built an station in orbit around

The Humans are a strange species. They found my people in ancient times, when the wheel and fire were still cutting edge technology. They built an station in orbit around our world, as was their way, and observed our development. They did not interfere with our development too much. When our home was threatened by an asteroid strike in ancient times, they destroyed it. When a supervolcano erupted and cast our world into volcanic winter, they descended from on high and cleaned our atmosphere. We praised them as Gods for a time... Gods that came when we were in true need and helped us escape extinction. That was the only time they approached us directly. Their great ships landed where we preached of their glory... and they set us right. They told us that they were not gods... but were flesh and blood like us. They had learned how the world worked... and through doing so they had learned to control the world. Through their hard work and study... they had elevated themselves to the point where they worked *miracles* through their technology. They told us not to worship them... but instead to follow in their footsteps. Our people... became very eager to join the Humans among the Stars. We wanted to be like them... powerful enough to bend the world towards our interests. As we grew more advanced... the Humans seemed to grow more distant. Disasters came without the Humans coming to fix them. We were confused by this, we were worried by this, and we were angry... until we figured out why the Humans did not intervene. It was because we were *able* to fix more of our problems ourselves. We came to understand, without being told, that the Humans did not want to rob us of the challenges that let us grow. Necessity is the mother of invention, and they did not want to take away the stress that we could deal with. We went through the growing pains of a Sentient Species. Agriculture, Industrialization, Hate, Power-Hunger, and more... until the most dangerous came upon us. We discovered the Power of the Atom. The Humans did not intervene when first we used the weapons that were born of the Atom. Atomic Hellfire wiped a city out, and a war was ended. Nuclear Peace began... one as uneasy as the Nuclear Peace of human history. But... that also drove us to The Stars. The Missiles we made to deliver death across the world were also the key to breaking free of Gravity's iron-grip. Our first mission was, of course, to reach the Human Research Station. We had a few failures along the way... a few people died... but we made it in the end. We docked with the station... and we met the Humans in person once more. They were so happy to see us having succeeded in getting past the first hurdle. They encouraged us to keep exploring, to keep *learning*... and to be careful with the weapons we had built. We were not. It's been a long time since the Day of Armageddon. The day that tensions finally broke... and the decision was made to end the world. Missiles launched. Sirens flared. Mothers lied to their children, telling them that everything would be okay. Old friends got together for one last drink, before the end. Several children were made. But the end didn't come. The Humans did what they always did: They saved us from extinction when we couldn't save ourselves. Great beams of light were sent out from the Research Satellites. They struck the missiles... and there were no missiles anymore when the beams ended. There wasn't even a blast. Then... they made a request to us. They took control of every signal. Every radio, every video screen... everything. They addressed our world, and they *asked us* to avoid going to war, even though the threat of Nuclear Annihilation had been lifted from our world by their intervention. They told us that, whatever our differences might be, they weren't great enough to justify destroying each-other. We... did as we were asked. We did our best not to go to war. It worked... on the whole. Countries stopped fighting each-other... although internal wars still flared up from time to time. We continued to struggle forward... until we eventually managed to join the humans. We discovered the secrets behind the Warp-Drives that Humans relied upon... and they celebrated out triumph as we ascended to join the galactic community. We learned that the Humans were not alone among the stars, and that we were not unique in how the Humans had treated us. There were dozens of species like ours, who the Humans had taken an interest in. They had protected them... and encouraged them. When they emerged from their home-worlds with FTL Capabilities... the humans had supported their growth. They'd helped us find worlds to colonize, and they'd sent Terraforming Ships out to create new garden worlds for us to inhabit. They never asked for anything in return. To them... helping intelligent species, like ours, reach the stars was simply the right thing to do. They believed that all intelligent life was valuable... and that it should be allowed, if not outright encouraged, to flourish. They wanted to see their Local Cluster *filled* with Life... and they'd been working on that for a very long time. The Grell eventually found the Humans. They were another of the Elder Species, as old as the humans were, but they were not as Ancient as the Remnants. They had come to the stars seeking to spread their Empire, to unite all life beneath their banner... and to make all a part of their "superior" culture. When they looked upon our Local Cluster... they thought they saw an easy conquest. They saw *dozens* of weak species and nations that could be easily conquered... and the only species of real relevance, the Humans, were pacifistic scientists that hadn't been at war for a very long time. They ignored us, and attacked the Humans first... seeking to destroy the only thing that remotely resembled a threat. They expected that we would not come to the Humans' aid... and they were wrong. The Humans were not always as peaceful as they were when we were uplifted to the stars. They had been Warriors once, and they had *always* been scientists. Their Ships of War awakened from long hibernation... with our people at their helms. While the Humans had forgotten war... we had all experienced it. It took us awhile to figure out how to do it in space... but we figured it out, and we taught the Humans what they had forgotten. The Humans turned their Economy away from terraforming and the spreading of Life... and towards the creation of a larger armada. We held the line together... defending the Local Cluster until the Armada was ready. Then... we pushed the Grell back. We destroyed their ships, and we stranded their people on dozens of planets. We freed those that they had conquered, but few of them were strong enough to join us. We destroyed their infrastructure to stop them from returning to the Stars... and set them back to their stone-age in the process. But... we did not drive them to extinction. Instead... we built space-stations around their worlds and we watched over them, hoping to guide them back to The Stars again once they had learned the Lesson of War. We returned to peace and exploration... and the Humans returned to spreading life and guiding new intelligence to The Stars.

Students will be monitored at all times

"Same rules as every year," droned Mr. Whisaw, who had a duffel bag under his desk stuffed with five Hawaiian shirts, six thongs, and a roundtrip ticket to Lagos. "You will be monitored at all times. You will be in no danger. You must simply spot the historical inaccuracy. Correcting it yourself will earn you bonus points, but is not a requirement. Simply give your answers to your spotter and they will set things right before closing the time loop and ending your exam. Any questions?" "Yes," said Pia Sadiq, gripping the edges of her desk. "Which...exactly *which* period will we be...y'know...where're we going?" "This is your final exam," said Mr. Whisaw coldly. "Any period that has been discussed in this class is a possibility." "Oh," said Pia. "We...we covered a lot this year, didn't we?" Mr. Whisaw smiled. "Nearly everything." Pia gulped. There was a Knowledge Pad balanced on her lap, hidden behind her desk. As Whisaw called students to the Time Swing, she swiped furiously through random articles, videos, and fact sheets. "Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod," she mumbled. "I don't know who Winston Churchill is. I don't even know if he's a real person. Genghis Khan! What the *hell* is a Genghis Khan? Ohcrap ohcrap ohcrap." "Ms. Sadiq?" said Whisaw. "Your turn." Pia dripped out of her chair, slowly shuffling her way to the front of the room. The Time Swing was a chair in a sort of gyroscope. It didn't look like much. It didn't even make much of a sound when it was activated. But it worked and worked well. Pia sat down and let Barney the Teacher's Aide secure the restraining bar. "Good luck," said Mr. Whisaw. "And remember, you don't need to *fix* anything. In fact, unless you're absolutely confident about the situation, you're really better off letting your spotter handle it. Understood?" Pia couldn't tell if Mr. Whisaw was being kind or cruel in that moment. It certainly felt like a bit of both. Before she could respond, however, the chair began to turn over, slowly at first, and then faster, and then so fast she wasn't in the chair at all anymore. Or in the classroom. Or in the same century, for that matter. When Pia opened her eyes she was on the floor in a small, poorly lit room. "Come on," said a voice in the darkness. "Time to get dressed." The voice belonged to a woman Pia had never seen before. She handed Pia heavy wool slacks and a large overcoat. "Here's a hat, too," said the woman, handing Pia a rumpled cap. "Wear it low over your face. You want to be inconspicuous. You don't look quite like the locals." "Where are we?" asked Pia. "You know I can't say that," said the woman. "Hurry up. I'll take you to the location." Pia threw on the clothes and followed the woman out the door and into the street. It was a warm, breezy day. Men and women pushed past, paying Pia no attention. They were dressed similar to her, though most wore thinner coats or long, formal dresses. It felt like summertime, after all. A trolley rolled by. Pia had absolutely no idea where they were. "Come on," whispered the woman, pulling Pia along up to an intersection. Pia bumped into a man who said something in a language that was not English. That narrowed things down at least a little. "Here," said the woman, pushing Pia up to the edge of the curb. "Your exam begins now." Pia was bewildered. It was the past, obviously, but how far back, she couldn't say. And *where*, she was equally lost. Moreover, there was nothing to see. Just people streaming past, some queuing up around her and on the other side of the street. *A parade, maybe*, thought Pia. But how many historically significant *parades* could she name? The people there on the street became excited. Some yelling. Some cheering. Some, a few, jeering. Still, Pia couldn't see the cause of their excitement. Imposing men bustled past. Police, maybe? Or soldiers? They looked very official and all of them were armed. Finally, Pia saw it. A car. A very old sort of car. The type with no roof and those big, narrow bicycle-looking tires. A man and a woman sat in the back of the car as it moved slowly down the street. Pia could tell they were important. Royalty, maybe? The President of wherever they were? The man wore a red and white sash and a strange many-tiered hat. The woman was dressed in white. Her enormous, wide-brimmed hat was covered in real flowers. There was a scuffle in the street. A man had run out towards the car. He held out a gun and took aim at the man in the car. He pulled the trigger - once, twice, three times. But the gun did nothing. The man was surrounded by police. The car tried to get away, though it was stymied by the swarming, hysterical crowd. "Your answer?" said the woman. Pia had momentarily forgotten all about her. "I..." There was nothing. She had nothing. "I don't know," said Pia softly. "I don't know what that was." "Not even a guess?" said the woman. "This counts for 30 percent of your grade." "Some...king." Pia shook her head. "I don't know." "That's Franz Ferdinand," said the woman, pointing at the man in the car. "Archduke of Austria. He's to be assassinated today. It's a major catalyst to the beginning of World War I." She patted Pia on the back. "Don't stress out about it. It's just a history class. It's not the end of the..." Pia saw the gun flash what seemed like hours before she heard the bang. She had not been watching the gunman and the police or even the Archduke and his wife. Instead her eyes had been on another man in the crowd, young and angry. Maybe he had been with the gunman. Maybe not. All the same, he drew his own gun and aimed it at the police. And one of the police saw this and acted just that little bit quicker, drawing and firing without hesitation. Had they been slower, though, or more cautious; had they taken the time to draw a better sight, or consider the wisdom in firing at all, surely things would have been much different. Because they missed. Badly. Pia's spotter was dead before she hit in the ground. The crowd - already terrified - began to push and scream and run in every direction. Already the woman's body was swallowed up in the stampede. What did that mean? Pia was dumbstruck. What did it mean that her spotter was dead? How did she get back? How did this get *fixed*? Did this mean there would be no World War I? Pia hated history. She hated it more than math and science and every single other subject combined. What was the point of knowing what had already happened? It never changed anything. No one ever acted differently because we knew what happened before. And no one ever told you if the things that happened - the complicated, horrible things - were good or bad. If they were necessary. So what good was history if it never helped anyone? All Pia knew was how things *were*. What her grandparents had gone through to start a new life in the United States. What her parents had sacrificed so Pia and her three brothers could have joyful, fulfilling lives. It seemed disrespectful to even consider a world where those things didn't happen, and all because Pia was too lazy to study for her history exam. One of the policeman collapsed at Pia's feet. She reached down and pulled the pistol out of his hand. The car hadn't gone very far. She could catch it if she ran.