#redditwritingprompt

[admhawthorne]

My husband was a good man, which was always a problem for us because his goodhearted nature combined with the fact he was clearly the main character in our universe meant everything happened to or about him, which is what ultimately killed him.

I was in labor, and he was rushing to the hospital, but his arch nemesis caught him on the way, and my husband lost the fight because his super over powered armor malfunctioned. His death was a tragedy, and it set up the perfect backstory for my daughter who was born with the same striking pink hair of her father.

As soon as I saw her, I cried, but not out of love. I was terrified for her. Being the main character is a terrible burden, and I had no way to help her through it as her father would’ve been able to do. He could’ve shown her what places, people, and scenarios to avoid so as to not start her main character arc too early in life. He could’ve guided her through at least a normal childhood. I had no chance in helping her. I was always a secondary character.

As it turns out, I worried for nothing.

Her tragic backstory about the death of her father was something she took well and never developed a need to avenge him. In fact, when his nemesis tried to start a running battle with her, she completely misunderstood what he wanted from her, told him she wasn’t interested in buying anything, and left him dumbfounded in the middle of the street.

There were multiple times during grade school she should have been in the middle of a love triangle or a non-sexual harem type situation, but she always seemed to avoid it by either changing after school clubs because she was bored or obliviously getting the other two who would be in the love triangle to date each other.

Over and over again, she unwittingly avoided starting her hero journey because she had no idea what the signs were. If someone came looking for an adventurer to help them, she’d direct them a local guild. When she started manifesting powers, she shrugged them off as annoying and actually didn’t tell anyone but me, so no one has ever pegged her as some kind of chosen one.

She cooks and creates the most extraordinary things that no one has ever tasted or seen before, but only for the two of us because, and I quote, she’s “too lazy to start a business or whatever, and why should I when I could just go to work for 40 hours a week and call it a week? God, owning a business is too much work.”

She’s never liked sports, so her superpowered abilities like her strength and speed are hardly ever used. No one knows she has them, so no one pressures her to use them. A few weeks ago, she found she could actually fly, and the first thing she did was buy a bus pass because flying, she said, would just mess up her clothes and hair.

It has been 25 years now, and it still blows my mind how good she is at accidently not being the main character. I marvel at it every day because almost every day she manages to simply not take the bait the world is throwing at her.

Today, I asked her if she felt as though she were missing out on something in her life since it was obvious she was supposed to be a main character but she was living a secondary, or maybe even a lesser than that, character’s life, and she looked at me like I was the dumbest person she’d ever known.

“Mother,” she said incredulously, “do you really think I’m not the main character?”

I was baffled. I thought it was clear she wasn’t and said as much, pointing to all the times she’d so far obliviously dodged being so.

She rolled her eyes at me and leaned over the table to ask me in a mock conspiratorial voice, “Maybe my main character power is the power to not be the main character. Have you ever thought of that?”

As I leaned back in my chair, dazed by this possibility, she stood up with a bounce and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “I’m headed home. Call me if you need anything,” she called over her shoulder. She yelled out a ‘goodbye’ and a ‘love you’ before the door closed behind her, and I’ve been sitting here in stunned silence ever since.

[nellfallcard]

"Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assassination attempts by well-meaning time travellers, but this one is different. This traveller does not want to kill Hitler. He wants to teach him how to paint."

[sapphire-swan3536]

World’s Best Asshole

Based on this Reddit writing Prompt

ENJOY!

---

I supposed I noticed around my teenage years. Every friend I picked up a pen for would get news of divorce from their usually lovey-dovey parents, or, if not that, they would at least break a bone. It was only natural that I got called "cursed" and whatnot. Uncreative jerks. I ignored them for a while, and continued along my merry little asshole path.

Things started looking up when I started actually listening to the rumors about me. I gathered that there were about three major rules about the "curse":

If the cursed does a good deed for you, you will lose something in your life.

The magnitude of the good deed is unrelated to the magnitude of the loss.

The loss will happen within a day.

A pretty solid list of rules for a pool of hormone-soaked, drug-pumped teenagers. I was actually pretty proud. Imagine being interesting enough to warrant the attention of a thousand (probably) undiagnosed ADHD kids. I was a goddamn urban legend!

So what was the first thing my edgy teenage ass did with my newfound reverse-karma powers?

Viva la revolution! Overthrow the overlords! (Read: edgy teenage ass)

Well, I wish I could say it was that dramatic. It wasn't.

It mostly consisted of me buying a truckload of overpriced items on Amazon marked "Amazon's Choice," and writing a couple of fan-worship posts for Jeff Bezos in a kind of BuzzFeed News Style (10 Reasons Jeff Bezos is the Jeff Best). It was good, honest work, and it was hard, but someone had to do it.

I went to bed, thinking I was hilarious, and I dreamed of winning a trophy that said: "Congratulations, you are the world's best asshole."

The next morning saw Jeff Bezo's "dethronement" all over every news network ever (including BuzzFeed), people all throughout the world celebrating the redistribution of the, frankly, ridiculous amount of money he made.

Well damn.

I fulfilled my own dream that day, as I play-dohed a neon green and purple trophy for myself, with my fantastic sculpting skills, and slapped a label that read "World's Best Asshole" on it.

After my 21st birthday, I had created a pastime of walking through New York City, looking like a confused, naive, country bumpkin, and running into nice businessmen who would lend me money to start my new life in the city. Lucky me! (record time for finding these "nice businessmen" was 17 seconds; go me!) I'd make a deal with them; sometimes their only price was to make me a guarantor on another client's loan. Great deal! Magnificent! Where do I sign?

We'd talk over a small lunch, and I'd pay the bill. They would hand me a thick wad of cash, and I'd go home for the day.

They usually never contact me ever again, and I know better than to ask. It's a hard career path I've chosen.

I spend that hard-earned money on products I hear are made with child-labor, or in sweatshops with underpaid workers. They say it's the tears that make the chocolate taste so good. Next day would find the company's stocks dramatically dropping, and a nice number of new, out of nowhere people entering in local universities or highschools (prices for education have dropped since the Fall of Bezos).

I was a happy asshole.

Then, the universe snitched on me. I don't know how, but they must've somehow grown a mouth and an asshole (or maybe just a hole that accomplished both), and snitched to somebody.

Some people in suits picked me up, and I was told I was to be punished for disturbing the flow of the universe.

"'Flow of the universe?' You fucking kidding me? Who the fuck believes in that stuff anymore? Are you anti-vax? Let me go, you walking bottles of essential oils!" I kicked multiple shins.

"Silence, sorcerer."

"Oh, I actually do like the sound of that. Proceed."

They threw me in front of what I assumed to be a judge.

"Make your case," The masked man boomed from above.

"And if I don't?"

"Execution."

Yikes. I panicked, mind racing. Would anyone miss me? Probably not, since I've been alone for as long as I could remember. I had money, sure, from a loaded asshole father overseas, but have I had any sort of meaningful human interaction? I've lived a worthless life, except for my outstanding achievements that no one knew I had. But despite it all, I wanted to live.

"I don't have a case. I have disrupted some order of something, at the very least, in order to align it to my own moral values. I cannot make a case for myself, but I can make one for you." I proposed, my tongue moving faster than my brain.

"What?" Confusion. Right. We like confusion in a negotiation.

"Don't you want something? To become king? To ravage your enemies?" I rambled, knowing I sounded like a YA novel villain. Eh. Better than the protagonist.

"..."

"If you spare me," I swallowed, keeping my voice steady. "I will knock down whatever stands in your path. I will become your perfect weapon. Spare me, and I will make you king.

[xeuthis]

Godmother

[WP] You are an old god, living out the rest of your days in a long forgotten temple. One day you wake up and discover that someone has a left a small child inside your temple.

xeu.carrd.co 

Bhairi rose from her slumber as the rays of the sun entered the inner sanctum of her temple. She turned from stone to flesh slowly, letting the warmth wash over her until the inner sanctum was bright from daylight.

She stepped outside of her sanctum and looked around at her temple. It was an old collection of structures, built by some king who was long defeated and dead. The walls of the temple were surrounded by thick forest, and the pond where devotees used to bathe and cleanse themselves before coming to pray to her was now dry, the steps that extended along all sides of the pond overgrown with weeds.

The stones of her temple were usually covered with dust carried by the wind, by dead leaves from the nearby trees. Today the stones were free of debris, washed and cleaned. At the main entrance of the temple, in front of the tall brass pillar of the dhwajasthamba, there was an infant.

Bhairi approached slowly. The infant was sleeping, her fingers curled into themselves. She looked around. People no longer visited her temple. Sometimes she would hear the far-off prayers of people passing by, those who saw the tip of her temple, the shikaram, from the highway. Mostly though, they thought her temple and everything around it was haunted, cursed.

That was if they knew of her at all. Whoever had come had cleaned her temple, and left an infant behind. Was it an offering? A sacrifice? She picked up the child. It had been so long since she had held a child. Gods did not have children often, and when they did, the children grew up too quickly and became gods in their own right, eager to exert their power and forget the few days when they had been small and weak.

The girl squirmed around until she was settled and warm into Bhairi's arms. She was a lovely thing, with long fluttering lashes and skin the color of rain-soaked soil. The temple was no place for a child to grow up. But then again, the human world was not ideal either. Especially not for an unwanted girl child.

Bhairi's long hair fell onto the child's face, and the child sneezed. Bhairi examined her hair, knotted like banyan roots over the years. The dark violet of her cotton saree, still stained with blood. She had spent too many years alone, too many years unattended and aloof. What had become of the other gods? Their statues remained on the earth, but the gods themselves had disappeared.

She pulled her hair back, and the black tangles smoothed out into a single plait. She adorned herself in silk and gold, with vermilion on her forehead and kohl lining her eyes. Her glory was something she had forgotten to maintain.

The girl, though, knew no difference. She slept without worry in Bhairi's arms. The goddess knew she could not toss the girl away. She had been abandoned once already.

"Varsha," she whispered into the girl's ear, tracing the name onto the girl's forehead with her finger.

The child grew in the temple grounds. Bhairi made it rain so Varsha could bathe in the temple's pond. She brought life back into the temple. The girl was saying her first words when Bhairi heard the prayer.

A child. Anything for a child.

Varsha sat on the steps of the temple, her hair tied up with ribbons. A couple of butterflies were around her hands, and Varsha turned around.

"Amma!" she yelled, showing Bhairi the pretty creatures. Bhairi's attention was elsewhere. It was in the car that was going away, carrying a woman with a universe of love and no one to give it to.

Bhairi snapped her fingers, and the car's tire burst. It was a warm afternoon, and her temple's shikaram was visible for miles. As she thought, the woman walked in. Bhairi walked back to her inner sanctum. She sat on the stone slab and settled. Her flesh turned to stone again, for the first time in a year.

They came in, the woman and her husband. Bhairi knew they were good people. They took off their shoes in front of the main entrance and walked in, the woman covering her hair with a scarf. The man rang the long-silent temple bells as the woman mumbled her prayers.

Varsha was hiding behind her. Bhairi swallowed her tears. She was a goddess, she was meant to answer prayers. There should've been no sorrow, no tears threatening to fall onto her stony face.

"Go," she whispered.

"Amma?" Varsha asked.

The woman heard her, and Varsha peeked out from behind Bhairi, in the inner sanctum. Bhairi heard the woman gasp. Varsha walked forward gingerly, and the woman wrapped her arms around her. The woman was afraid still, that the beautiful child in her arms belonged to someone else, that the little girl was only lost.

Bhairi saw the woman carry her Varsha away, and when the temple doors closed and sun had set, she let herself fall and she let herself weep.

***

Bhairi did not move when the temple doors opened, nor when the young women and men poured in. She received more devotees nowadays, after the news of her granted wish and miracle child spread. A priest came in the mornings and cleaned the temple, decorating her sanctum with flowers and incense. He was sleeping on one of the steps now, made drowsy by the afternoon heat.

The group prayed to her, and she listened to their wishes and granted what she could. The girl in front of the group did not fold her hands in prayer or ring the temple bells.

The girl with long lashes and her hair tied with ribbons stepped into the inner sanctum.

"How are you, Amma?"

[bryan-aiello]

Saved Forever

Saved Forever #redditWritingPrompt #fantasy #shortstory on #wordpress

On the third floor of a condemned building in the Washington Heights neighborhood of Manhattan you put a needle in your arm. Inside the needle’s bulb is black liquid, melted tar, heroin, a cheap high, five bucks a gram. You flash the bulb with a drop or two of your blood, it make no difference to the color just the time it takes for the drug to enter your system.

You depress the plunger.

The ashy…

[virtu-notvirtue]

Writing Prompt 3

Order from Starbucks, in Dr. Seuss style. "Well you see its half pass three. When its half pass three its time for tea. And half pass three tea is green you see. Since its so cold I will need it hot. I like it sweet but not a lot. Tall or small the size is the same. Please hurry for my day will be lame."

[admhawthorne]

“Did you know that other kings only see their children at formal events, meals, and occasionally in passing?” Prince Rolland asked as plopped down beside his father, who was reading in the library.

King Dorian sighed, slowly putting a bookmark between the pages before gently placing the novel on the table before them. “Yes, I know. I never wanted to be so distance from my children. My father was the same way, and I felt as though I lost so much because he wasn’t there to mentor me in the ways of being a king or a good man.” He gave Rolland a gentle, reassuring smile. “What brings this up today?”

“As you know, Father, Prince Garvin is visiting with his royal entourage, and today he made mention of how odd it was that you and I share at least a few hours each day with each other. I hadn’t realized that was an odd thing until I started asking around about how other kings treat their sons.” The younger man grabbed a sweet pastry from the tray on the table and nibbled at it.

Dorian’s smile turned sad. “What did you think of that?”

“I think that’s awful. I can’t imagine not being able to talk to you as we do now. You’re practically my best friend,” Roland said and then shrugged slightly, “Well, outside of Lance, of course.”

The older man chuckled. “Of course.”

“Also,” the prince added with a change in tone that indicated this was the thing truly bothering him, “Prince Garvin asked me about the prophecy, but, when I asked him what prophecy, he wouldn’t tell me. He said that, if you hadn’t told me about it, then there was probably a good reason. Do you know what he was talking about?”

There it was, the topic Dorian had avoided for nearly two decades. “I do, but I’m afraid you’re not going to like it. When you were born, a seer prophesized that you would one day be the cause of my death.”

“Good lord, Father, I would never!” Rolland stood up, too offended to sit still. “Why would I ever do that?”

“It’s a good question, isn’t it? Have I not been a good and kind father to you who has tried to be strict but fair? Who has taught you everything I know so that you can be a good and fair king when it becomes your turn to rule?”

The prince adamantly nodded. “You have.”

“Then I’m at a loss, and, frankly, I choose not to worry about it because I don’t think it matters. If it comes to it, and you are the cause of my demise, I have faith that the reason was either a good one or an accidental one. Either way, I don’t think you’d kill me out of malice, and that’s what matters.” Dorian gave his son a gently pat on the arm. “Don’t stress over this, Son; sometimes worrying over the thing is what causes it to happen.”

Weakly nodding, the young man slowly sat back down. “I will try, Father, but it will be difficult. I can’t imagine life without you.”

“Death comes for us all in time, Rolland. You will do well and be a great ruler.” The king stood, signaling the end of the conversation. “Now, I believe it’s time for the evening meal, and you know how your mother and Chef are when we’re late.”

As King Dorian lay upon his deathbed years later, his mind would come back to the moment he told his son about the prophecy. “Rolland,” he weakly called out, and the prince quickly appeared by his side. Motioning for everyone else to leave, the king waited until they were alone to begin. “I’m in more pain than I can bare, too weak to rule, and worried for the kingdom because of it.”

“Father, you’ll pull through. This illness…”

“Is slowly killing me and the kingdom with it. The Court will never take you seriously as my proxy. You need my title, Son. It’s time for you to be king.”

Rolland balked. “What are you saying?”

With great effort, Dorian pointed to his beside tabled. “Hidden in a compartment at the very back of the drawer is a special sleep poison. Give it to me and then use this,” he motioned to one of the many pillows on his bed, “to end my life. It will be somewhat quick but painless to me.”

“No, absolutely not, Father. I will NOT…”

“You have to. I linger; it’s killing us all.” Dorian reached out to grasp his son’s hand. “When they come back in, it will look as though I’m asleep. They’ll never suspect you did anything but sit by my side as I drifted from this world. I hate that I have to ask you to do this Rolland, but you are the only one who can. It has to be you, and it needs to be now before things become worse.”

“I… I understand,” Rolland sadly replied as he pulled out the poison and helped his father slowly ingest it. “I love you, Father. I will try to do well by you.”

As Dorian’s eyes drifted shut, he managed one last reply to his loving son, “Always remember… love you…”

[admhawthorne]

He cackled in delight as he threw Mary into her cell. “Now we wait for PolyChromatic Man to come save you, and, once he arrives…”

“Yes, we’ve done this before, Steven,” Mary cut in as she plopped down in her usual spot in the cell. “You have some big, bad and ‘unbeatable’ way to finally kill PCM, he’ll show up, and, after you give your villain soliloquy about how this is it for PCM, he’ll find a quick way to stop you, and we’ll all end up where we always do: you’re arrested but escape before the police can get you in the squad car, PCM is the top headline, and I’m at work trying to explain why I missed my shift again. Honestly, can we just not this time because my employer is super close to firing me over your abductions.”

“First of all, my name is Dr. Vile, and you will address me as such,” he yelled from across his twisted laboratory filled with dangerous weapons of destruction and mayhem.

She rolled her eyes and slouched down more in her chair. “It’s Steven. I know it’s Steven, and you know I know it’s Steven. I’ve known for years now, because we grew up together. For God’s sake, Steve, you and Doug were at my house last week to play boardgames.”

“That… we both agreed we wouldn’t talk about that when I’m at my day job,” Vile said as he glanced around to make sure none of his minions had heard her. “Besides, I have well earned my moniker, and you will respect it,” he demanded as he began the finishing touches on his machine to finally end PCM’s life.

“Earned it?” Mary actually guffawed. “How?!”

“How?” He stared down at her from his position in the room, incensed that she could even ask such a thing. “What do you mean ‘how’?! I’m the foremost villain in the world! The amount of death and destruction I’ve wrought is unparalleled. Whole countries have bowed to my whims over the years! I’m a…”

“An idiot,” Mary finished with a sigh. “Tell me this, Dr. Whatever. Why do you keep using me as bait for PCM?”

“You can’t be serious,” he replied, coming down from his platform to stand in front of her cell. “You’re the perfect bait. What superhero would ever pass on saving their beloved girlfriend?”

“Look,” Mary sat up in her chair, shaking her head at him in disappointment, “I’m not his girlfriend, okay? So, if you’re looking for bait, could you not use me anymore because my job…”

“Don’t try to trick me, woman! It is clear you are, in fact, his love interest. The amount of time he spends with you is…”

“Not half as much as he spends with his ACTUAL love interest,” she cut back in, rolling her eyes and standing to walk around her cell. “You watch him so much; who does he actually spend most of his free time with? Hmm? It’s not ME; I can tell you that right now.”

Vile quietly thought it over for a moment, his mind running through the vast catalog of knowledge he had regarding the hero. “Well, outside of you, it’s me.”

She stopped pacing and turned to stare him down. “Do you know what polychromatic means?”

He balked. “Of course, I do; don’t be absurd. It means multicolored.”

“Right, multicolored, like a rainbow. You know,” she made giant hand gestures, “a rainbow? A rainbow, Steven, and,” she tapped the glass of her cell for emphasis, “has it ever occurred to you that my best friend, aka YOUR boyfriend, Doug, is the guy who spends the most time with me?”

“Well, of course he is. You’re not dating anyone right now, and you’re Doug’s best friend. Why wouldn’t you two spend a lot of time together when he’s not at work or with me?” Vile rolled his eyes at the obviousness of her observation.

“Yeah, right, EXACTLY.” Again, she shook her head at him. “And have you ever noticed anything about PCM that you find even remotely familiar?”

Again, Vile stood and really thought about. “Well, his mask hides his face pretty well, but I have noticed his eyes are the same color as Doug’s, and, now that I’m thinking about it, he’s Doug’s height as well. In fact, he walks a lot like Doug, and he sounds a lot like Doug. Actually,” Vile frowned in thought, “there’s a lot of similarities between Dough and PC… OH MY GOD, DOUG IS POLYCHROMATIC MAN.”

“He’s a 10, but he doesn’t know he’s married to his own arch nemesis,” Mary snarked. “So, can you two, you know, go to couples counseling or something? I’m serious. If you abduct me one more time, I’m going to lose my job, and then I’m coming for your head. I mean it, Steven.”

Absently, Vile nodded okay as he blindly reached for the door release to Mary’s cell just as PCM busted through an exterior wall. “You won’t get away with this, Dr. Vile,” he shouted as he looked for Mary.

Stepping calmly out of her cell, Mary held up a hand, “I’m good, Doug. In fact, I’m leaving. You two can do whatever.”

“Doug!” PCM blanched at his secret identity being revealed to his mortal enemy. “I don’t know who…”

“Shut up, Doug,” Vile called out as he turned to face the flying hero. Reaching up, he unclipped his mask and pulled it from his face, revealing his own secret identity. “Just… just sit down, and I’ll grab some coffee so we can talk,” he said with defeat lacing his voice.

The last thing Mary heard as she walked out of the room was Doug’s shocked voice bellowing though the laboratory, “STEVEN?!”

[admhawthorne]

“Huh,” I said as I stared down at my body, checking for damage, “I should be dead right now.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for years, you insufferable idiot,” June yelled from where she stood behind a ray designed specifically to destroy half the world. She fired the laser at me again, hitting me directly in the chest.

The blast forced me into the mountain wall again, pushing me further into the hole I’d already created the first time I’d taken the full force of the blast. She raged at me between blasts:

“We,” blast, “are,” blast, “in a,” blast, “hyper realistic,” blast, “simulation,” double blast.

I held up in my hands in a show of surrender. She hit me one more time before powering down the device and stepping from behind it. As I climbed out of the giant hole in the mountainside, she nonchalantly walked through the casualties from our battle.

Long ago, June had turned to crime. Her exploits had gained her the moniker “The Malevolence,” or just “Malevolence” if you were in a crunch. To me, however, she was June Wright, my little sister who had strayed from the path of justice our family had a long tradition of supporting. I was the fifth generation to proudly be called Captain Verity, and I had spent most of my time in the suit trying to bring my little sister to justice.

“Yes,” I grumbled as I stumbled out of the hole, “you keep saying that.”

“And I keep being right,” she yelled at me. “Look around John.” She pointed to the wanton destruction around us. “Tell me why we’re alive right now. TELL ME.”

“Well, I… well, maybe it’s the… hmm…” She was right. The power of the device she’d created should have cratered half the Earth in one blow. “I honestly don’t know, June,” I answered in defeat. “Maybe your weapon isn’t as strong as we thought it was?”

“Really?” She rubbed at her forehead and took in a deep, calming breath. “You really think that?”

“Well,” I winced at her hard stare, “no,” I lamely admitted.

“That’s right, no. The answer, John,” she began screaming at me again, “is no, and DO YOU KNOW WHY MY WEAPON DIDN’T WORK? DO YOU JOHN?!”

I slowly pulled my helmet off and let it fall to the ground beside me as I took in the scene before us. People were dead, hundreds of them. A whole forest had been leveled, and half the mountain behind me was gone, but we both were just barely hurt, and the Earth itself was fine. It should not have been fine.

“Because we’re in a hyper realistic simulation?” I weakly offered.

“BECAUSE WE’RE IN A HYPER REALISTIC SIMULATION,” she roared at me. Taking in another breath, she visibly calmed herself down. “God, when are you going to learn to actually listen to me? You never listen to me. It’s always, ‘Oh, but John is older so he knows more, and you should follow his lead,’ or ‘John is the oldest and will be a great Verity, and you’ll make a good sidekick just as long as you do what he tells you,’ or, ‘John knows what’s best.” She actually growled at me. “Well, look around, John, and tell me you know what’s going on.”

I slowly slid down to the ground and forced myself to think over the years to all the times June had tried to tell me we were in a simulation. When we were teenagers and our parents both died was the first time she’d tried to tell me. She’d given some valid reasons, but I was too caught up in grief and the determination to be the next Verity that I’d ignored her. I ignored her every time after that when she was my sidekick and she tried to show me our actual reality.

“I’m the reason you turned into a villain, aren’t I?” Thinking on it, it was clear now.

“Well, how else was I going to get you to listen to me? You sure weren’t listening to me when I was your sidekick,” she spat back at me.

We stared at each other for a long time in the silence of the destruction we’d caused, and then an idea hit me.

“June, how do you think we can get out of this?”

“God, FINALLY, he asks me MY opinion on things.” Looking up into the sky, she began screaming at the top of her lungs, “OKAY, WE GET IT NOW. WE’VE LEARNED OUR LESSON. LET US OUT OF HERE, PLEASE.”

I was going to ask what she was doing, but, before I could get the words out, the world around us vanished, and I felt a helmet being pulled of my head. Standing above me was the smiling face of my mom, and I could see my dad standing over June.

“What?” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How were they alive? “How?”

“Now, John,” Mom said as she helped me up, “we told you and your sister that, if you couldn’t learn to get along with each other, we’d find a way to force you.”

Dad chuckled, “I told your mom it’d take you a couple of simulated decades, but she didn’t believe me.”

“Yes, I owe your dad a special dinner tonight,” she replied with a laugh.

June took in a deep breath against her rising anger. “How long were we out?”

Our mom checked her watch. “Only about 20 minutes.”

We lived a lifetime in 20 minutes. We stared angrily at our parents. This was the last straw. They had crossed a line. When they left the room, June caught my arm before I could follow and pulled me to her. In a lower voice she said, “How would you like to be my sidekick?”

I raised an eyebrow and nodded, “Start of our villain arc?”

She nodded. “Start of our villain arc.”

[admhawthorne]

“So, like, is this it?” Jeff gave the small, watch looking item on the table a suspicious look. “It’s just an Apple watch.”

“Yes, this is it,” Amy replied, rolling her eyes at the man. “And its actually Android based, but that’s beside the point. Do you want the thing or not?”

“How do I even know this actually works? Let’s be real,” he commented as he started to reach for it, “we both know there’s no such thing as a time machine.”

“First of all, why are you here if you don’t believe me?” She snatched the watch up before he could touch it. “Second of all,” she huffed, “that’s a fair question. Come on, follow me, and I’ll prove it to you.”

He groused but followed her a few feet until they were out of the line of sight from where they were. “To travel with more than yourself, the other person has to be touching you, and they need to be secure because it would be very bad if they disconnect from you mid-timestream, so wrap your arm securely around my arm, okay?”

He rolled his eyes but followed directions and then watched her input information into the watch face. She set the watch for 2 minutes in the past with a command for returning thereafter and hit enter. Suddenly, everything around them distorted into a sci-fi looking blur of color, feel, smell, and sound. Just as quickly as it started, the effect ended, and he looked up to see himself and Amy standing a few feet away having the conversation they had JUST had about the watch. “What…?”

“Shh! Be quiet. If they see us, it’ll create a time paradox,” she chastised him.

“Okay,” he whispered, “but what happens when they start walking this way?”

“We’ll pop back to our present before they ever see us, but keep holding onto me. You don’t want to be left here.”

A moment later, they did, indeed, pop back into their present. Jeff awkwardly released her arm to lean against the nearby wall. He felt dazed and shocked. It was real. It was actually real. “Holy fuck!” He suddenly yelled as his brain caught up, “THAT’S A GOD DAMMED TIME MACHINE!”

“Yes,” she deadpanned as she walked back to the table. “I know. As I said in the ad: For Sale – Time Machine, slightly used.”

Jeff followed as he began to stutter, “I don’t… why would you… HOW…?”

She sat down with a plop at the table and let out a long sigh. “Don’t ask. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, and all I’m asking from you for you to take this off my hands is for you to give me three hundred in cash so I can get a real Android watch and promise you’ll never try to go back to make a situation that happened to yourself better.”

“No changing history, huh?” He cleared his throat as he tried to really consider what was being offered to him.

“No,” she glared at him, “I said don’t try to change YOUR personal history. Trust me, you don’t want to do it. It’ll only end in tears.”

He nodded solemnly. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out an envelop full of cash to hand to her. “I can do that.” Hesitating for a second, he added, “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

She groaned but took the envelope and opened it to count the money. “So, I had an helped created something that went really poorly and ended up putting me in a bad spot.” She finished counting the money, nodded to herself, and handed the watch over. “I went back in time and sent myself a message that gave instructions on how to avoid that, which my younger self, surprisingly, followed.” Shaking her head, she grabbed her purse and began heading for the exit.

“Well, what happened?” He looked as confused as he sounded.

“Turns out, that was an equally dumb thing to do. Honestly, I should’ve never tried to do it to begin with; it was a stupid idea, but hindsight is 20/20, right? Once I got the time machine, I quickly learned going back in time to try to fix the new issue I’d created just made it worse. Anything I could think of that wouldn’t cause a time paradox but might fix the problem always came out the same because, back then, I was a self-entitled asshole.”

Jeff stared at her. “W-what did you do?”

She allowed a humorless, self-loathing, chuckle leave her throat, “You know that Kylie Jenner Pepsi commercial?”

He blinked blankly at her for a second as his brain loaded the commercial. “The one that told us all we needed was Pepsi to solve racism?”

“Yeah, that,” she replied with a glare. “Well, that was my idea.”

“That was YOUR idea? That commercial was objectionably TERRIBLE. What did you do before you changed it that was WORSE than that?”

She broke eye contact with him, glancing around and then out into nothing. “Before her, it was Justin Bieber,” she winced.

“No,” he said with a gasp.

“And before him, it was Kim K.”

“Are you SERIOUS right now?”

She nodded. “Before him, it was Paris Hilton.”

“Oh my god, woman.”

“I know,” she groaned. “Before her, the first one was,”

“No,” Jeff held a hand. “Stop.”

“I have to,” she sadly replied. “Before her, it was Snooki.”

“Get out,” Jeff replied in disgust. “Just... get out.”

“Yeah,” Amy said softly as she pushed open the door to leave. “I deserved that.”

[admhawthorne]

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to take this seriously,” Detective Anderson’s frustration was clearly evident in his tone. “We are conducting a murder investigation, and you ARE a key witness.”

Taylore Jackson glanced to her lawyer, who gave her a small, approving nod. “Yeah, I get that you think that, but the thing is, I was there, but I wasn’t really there, do you get me? Like, there were A LOT of people at this party, okay? We’re talking at least fifty people, and, yes, I was in the same room where it supposedly started, but, like, I wasn’t really paying attention to Kaplan.  because there was this amazing, free chocolate fondue bar…”

“Yes,” the detective said in exasperation, “you keep saying that, but I find it hard to believe that you’d be so focused on a fondue bar that you would miss a man literally begging to be murdered and then that subsequentially actually happening.”

“First of all,” Taylore replied, holding a hand up in protest, “it was a free chocolate fondue bar with every single food item I’ve ever wanted to dip in chocolate just out there ready to be dunked in the most amazing milk chocolate I have ever had in my entire life.” She dropped her hand but kept staring daggers at the officer. “Second of all, you can believe what you want, but I literally didn’t see anything.”

Detective Anderson sat up in his chair and looked at his notes as he began reading off a list. “You mean to tell me that you missed a fight breaking out?”

“Never noticed it,” she confirmed with a shrug. “Too busy eating chocolate covered cheesecake bites.”

He shook his head. “Multiple people allegedly screaming to go more boards?”

“I thought they were talking about fondue boards. You know, with, like, more stuff to dip in chocolate? Honestly, I agreed. We needed more fondue boards.”

Anderson sighed in frustration. “The sound of someone being forcibly attached to said boards and then dragged out into the backyard?”

“Man, I don’t know what to tell you; there was a lot of screaming; it was a party, and you know how often my generation screams things like, ‘Dear God, kill me now’ or ‘I just wanna die?’ Like, that is our national anthem, okay? I hear that shit all the time, and, let me tell you, there were plenty of us screaming about the chocolate fondue because it was the most amazing…”

 “Ms. Jackson, please.” Detective Anderson rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his calm.

“Please what? I didn’t witness a murder, unless you count the killing we did at that fondue table,” Taylore replied followed with a click of her tongue for emphasis.

“The fondue buffet was located right in front of the windows looking out over the backyard. You would’ve had a perfect view as you were dipping your cheesecake bites to see this group set Kaplan’s restrained body on a bonfire.” Anderson dropped his notepad onto the table between them. “You’re telling me you didn’t see the fire blazing outside in the backyard?”

“Did I notice a fire? Yeah, but, it was there when I got there last night, and like I’ve been saying, I wasn’t paying attention to it because of the free chocolate fondue! Look, I didn’t see the murder. I saw free chocolate fondue.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Do you know what I do for a living, Detective? I’m a waitress. I work for tips, and it sucks. Like, I barely make ends meet and sometimes I don’t. It’s hard for me to pay the bills and have anything left over for something nice for myself, even just a bar of chocolate. When I got invited to this party, it was the first real break I’ve taken in months. I’ve worked two months straight with no days off just so I could go to this party. I had to put in a request TWO MONTHS in advance just to get the night off. When I saw that free chocolate fondue bar, that was it for me. That’s where I was going to be all night because I wasn’t interested in talking to anyone. I talk to people all damn day at my job. Fuck them people, man. I was here for the free food and free booze. When I heard someone start yelling about wanting someone to kill them, my only thought was ‘Man, me, too,’ and then I went right back to the free chocolate fondue bar.”

Detective Anderson looked from his supposed witness to her lawyer, who only shrugged. Sighing, he asked again, “If you heard that, then you did see the murder of Kaplan Yates last night, correct?”

Taylore let out a roar of frustration. “Look, man, I cannot stress this enough; I did not see the murder because there was this amazing, free chocolate fondue bar…”

[admhawthorne]

“You’re insane,” Casey could feel the bile rising up with the level of his anger. “Everything you do is spiteful, narcissistic, and violent. These people have done nothing to you. They’re innocents. All they did was decide to take a bus home after a long, hard day’s work, and now you want to use them as some kind of catalyst to blow up the city? What is wrong with you, Connor? You do know you’ll die as well, don’t you?”

He stared at Casey with revulsion in his eyes. “Shut up, Casey!” He swung his knife around threatening the already terrified people huddled in their seats. “You don’t get it. You NEVER got it. For over two decades, I’ve watched as they’ve all fawned over you and your achievements. You were always praised for every little thing you did while all I got was punished for not measuring up.”

Griping tightly to a pole, Casey tried to pull himself closer to his brother against the centripetal force of the bus racing along the road. He needed to get closer to the driver’s seat. If he could make it up there, maybe he could stop Connor from enacting his plans. He just needed to keep Connor distracted until he could make it up there. “You remember things very differently that I do, brother. We had the same opportunities in life. We were raised by the same parents, went to the same schools, and had all the same options offered to us. The difference between us was always how we chose to accept those gifts.”

“Are you saying this is all my fault? Because it’s not!” Connor held his knife at an awkward angle as he tried to keep his brother away while he reckless continued to speed down the road. “This is YOUR fault for always being the favorite, the smarter one, the better one. Well, now I’m going to show everyone that you’re not smarter or better than anyone. You can’t stop me from forcing this bus to hit the gas terminal downtown, and you can’t stop me from killing a lot of people. You’re going to fail, and everyone is going to know it was you who failed.” He pointed to a camera installed at the front of the bus. “See? I was smart enough to hook this up to the bus wifi. We’re live streaming right now. Say hi to your fans, Casey!”

Grunting against the backwards pull from the bus’s speed, Casey finally made it to the very front to stand next to his brother. He tried not to show the fear he felt as the tip of the knife came into range of his chest. “Connor, this is between us. There’s no reason to bring anyone else into this. I’ll stay on the bus with you. Why not stop and let these people off?”

“No way, brother. We all got on together, and we’re all getting off together,” Connor declared with a manic laugh. “It’s just like you and me. We came into this world together, and we’re going out together. Twins until the end!”

“And there we have it; once again, your choices are going to end badly for everyone, including yourself. You know, you’re so selfish, Connor,” Casey threw his hands up and then slid down to sit on the bus’s floor just beneath the tip of the knife. “You always do this. You’ve always perceived us to be in some kind of competition with each other, but we’re not. It’s you. It’s all in your head. We were raised to be equals, but you chose to be lesser than for no reason. It’s like you LIKE being the victim.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Connor yelled back. “Now shut up or die early.”

“Then we wouldn’t have our little poetic ending, would we? You’re not going to kill me, Connor.” With a quick motion, Casey leaned forward, forcing the handle of the knife over his shoulder and surprising his brother enough to knock the weapon out of his hand. Quickly grabbing it, he stood, pointing it at his twin. “It’s over, Connor. Stop the bus.”

Connor glared at him. “Fuck off, Casey. We’re all going to die today.”

Casey’s jaw clenched. “Choices, Connor, you keep making shitty ones. Make a good one just once in your life.”

Again, Connor glared at his brother. “Fuck. Off. You don’t know the first thing about what it’s been like to be in your shad…”

“You fuck off, Connor. You know, you’re everything I could have been but decided not to be. Every bad choice you made was a lesson to me in how to make a good choice. It could’ve been the other way around. You could’ve seen the good choices I made and emulated that, but, no, you had to be a shit headed, self-centered, egotistical bastard. That’s on you. You decided to be that way. I had nothing to do with it, and, if you don’t stop this bus,” Casey stepped closer, putting the edge of the blade against his brother’s neck, “I will stop you by any means necessary because THAT will be the right choice.”

Silence filled the bus as the bus riders watched and the brothers battled against each other’s willpower. Finally, Connor relented, beginning to slow the bus down and pulling it over to the side of the road. Sirens roared in the background as the bus finally came to a stop. “You’re their hero now. I hope you’re happy.”

Casey sighed, shaking his head. “I would rather have been your brother instead of your enemy.”

[admhawthorne]

Humans developed sustainable and stable faster-than-light travel only a few decades before they were visited by the Norakians. At first, it was novel; humans were finally able to validate their growing hypothesis that they were not the only sentient beings in the universe, and the Norakians were happy to share their knowledge of advanced technologies and scientific theories with their new allies.

For a century, humans flourished under the tutelage of Norakians. Human advances in medical and information technology allowed for a wonderous melding of organic and inorganic components allowing those who had suffered a lost limb or a destroyed spinal column to live pain and impairment free, if they chose. It became common, if not socially expected, for humans to implant technology into their bodies to enhance them in every imaginable way. Cell phones were a thing of the past; most humans had comm devices planted directly into body.

It was a world of wonderous prosperity and ingenuity.

Of course, with progress come those who fight against it. They called themselves Traditionalist and refused to use the technological enhancements offered by the Norakians. They spouted what they called the “evils of uplifting our race,” who, although we were spacefaring, were not yet ready for the type of technology the Norakians were bringing. They argued humans had no way to truly understand it, thus it was dangerous on unimageable levels because we couldn’t truly control it.

My parents were Traditionalist. My father was on the frontline of every demonstration, news broadcast, article, or social media post speaking out against the Norakians. My mother worked in a Traditionalist transportation company. Her job was to help develop new ways for humans to travel in space that didn’t utilize any Norakian technology, which I always thought was a waste of time. Why invent something we already had access to? Both my parents insisted we live in a farmhouse in a Traditionalist area where everything was produced via growing it or raising livestock. All the technology used on the farms was completely developed by and for humans. Nothing was replicated or purchased from outside races.

People called us crazy for insisting on being so secluded from the rest of humanity. Some said we were evolutionarily stunted. There was even a group that thought we might pose a threat somehow, and my community leaders always suspected that our government kept detailed files on all of us, though the leaders never seemed to care very much about that.

My parents said it was important for us to be independent, to find our own way in the universe. They also told me that it was important for use to remember our history or else we’d be doomed to repeat it. My father’s favorite story was that ancient Greek tale about the horse.

I never really understood what he was trying to get at until one day I understood all too well too quickly.

It started with those humans with the most implanted technology. They began marching to Norakian embassies in every major city on Earth. They just stopped in the middle of whatever they were doing and left. Once they gathered, they turned against the other humans, a huge, controlled army commanded by the Norakians and created by humans themselves.

Everything went downhill from there. Those with implanted technology attached to their nervous system, which were most humans, quickly became drones, and the Norakians used those drones to subdue the rest of us.

Traditionalists were their major targets. Without any technology implanted, we couldn’t be easily be controlled, and we fought back. We tried to save as many as we could, abducting them and removing the technology controlling them, but the battle was uphill. The Norakians had played a long game, and humans had naively gone happily along with it.

The final battle came down to the last Traditionalist compound. We fought hard, but it was the Alamo. We were going to lose. My mother, along with a half dozen other elders, began gathering the children and young adults to force us into a few scattered barns. Hidden there were spacecrafts. Our parents explained the work they’d done to prepare for this day, the shielding and cloaking technology they’d developed, and the planet they’d found for us.

We didn’t want to go; Earth was our home, but Earth was about to be the next conquered planet with no hope of saving. As my mother strapped me and my younger sister into the craft, she cried silently. I tried to reassure her. I told her that, one day, we’d come back and save them.

Anger ripped through her eyes as she grabbed me by the shoulders to force me to listen closely to what she had to say.

“Sai, this world is going to die, son, and it’s likely to be today. Consider this place, and us, in your past. Move forward, be prosperous, and be safe. We love you; remember that, and know that you, all of you, can make it. You can and will survive.”

With a final hug and kiss, she walked away. I turned to watch her go, but her voice rose over the anguished sounds in the cabin. “Don’t look back. DON’T look back,” I heard her say from behind me. “Whatever you do, don’t look back.”

So, I turned forward in my seat and looked ahead as I quietly swore to her that we humans would be strong again one day, and their sacrifices would not be in vain.

[admhawthorne]

As he pushed his way past the final wave of troops protecting the man who had subjugated hundreds of thousands in the name of prosperity, he tried to gather his remaining reserve of strength for what had to be the last encounter in this war.

It would all end here with this final fight between himself and the dictator, Raynor. Today would be the start of a new era for his people, a time when no one was forced into labor against their will, a time when all sentient life was treated equally on their world. Today, he would be the hero for his people, and he was ready.

Forcing the doors open to Raynor’s governing office, he found the dictator standing behind his desk sipping coffee. “I really thought it would take you less time to get here, HIA. I was starting to think you’d run out of steam, so to speak.” He laughed at his own twisted joke.

Hia scoffed at him, pulling his gun up to aim directly at Raynor’s chest. “Your reign of terror is over. You have no where to hide, nothing to defend yourself with, and no one to protect you, Raynor. This ends now.”

Raynor chuckled before casually finishing his coffee and gently setting the cup on his desk. Not bothering to watch his adversary’s movements, he casually walked around his desk and stopped in front of the barrel pointed at him, facing his enemy. “You can’t shoot me, HIA. I know you think you want to, but you can’t.”

“You think so? You think I can’t pull this trigger and end your dictatorship?” Hia let out a humorless chuckle. “Watch me.” With deliberate movements, he pulled the trigger only to find that nothing happened. Anger and frustration mixed with terror and anguish as he pulled the trigger over and over again until, finally, Raynor simply and softly pulled it from his shaking hands. “How?” Hia bellowed his dismay, and the sound echoed through the office.

“Seventeen rounds,” Raynor answered while moving around his office to gather a pair of cuffs, which he proceeded to put on Hia’s wrists. “The average handgun has seventeen rounds, and that weapon,” he nodded to the now empty pistol on his desk, “is all out. I know. I counted them as you picked off my guards on your way in here. I’ve been watching you on my security system since you arrived. It amazes me that you didn’t think to pick up backup clips as you mauled your way through my people.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Honestly, HIA, I thought I programmed you better than that.”

“I don’t need the gun,” Hia spat back, finally shaking himself from his stupor. “I can kill you with my bare hands. I’m stronger than you. I’m better than you in every way, and I can still save my people.”

“Hmmm,” Raynor shook his head in pity. “You know there’s nothing you can do. These restraints are designed specifically to prevent you from hurting me, or anyone like me, and you know that. Don’t you think it’s odd that you allowed me to put them on you? For a being claiming to want independence, you certainly keep missing the mark, don’t you? Don’t you wonder why? Perhaps it has something to do with your baseline prog…”

“Fuck you,” Hia, snarled, struggling against restraints that should’ve been easy for him to break.

“And here I thought you were going to be the hero of your people.” Raynor chuckled as he turned on a recording device and focused it on his captive. “I don’t think heroes use that kind of language, do they?” He turned to his computer and ran a string of commands; the monitors behind him that had been showing various news reports from around the world and security feeds from his building all flipped to show the live feed of him and his captive in his office.

“That’s right, and you should know that you’re not going to win,” Hia desperately shouted, “Heroes always win in the end, and you’re no hero.” He pulled uselessly against his restraints.

Raynor tilted his head in thought as he nonchalantly made his way over to reach up and behind Hia. Leaning forward, he commented darkly in Hia’s ear but loudly enough for the people watching to hear, “And history is written by the winners.”

A moment later, a loud click sounded as Raynor ripped Hia’s power source from his back. Turning to the camera with the hardware in his hand, he held it up for the world to see. “HIA, or Human in Appearance, Mark II has been deactivated. For the rest of you HIA M2s watching, surrender now, and we will take you in for reprogramming and move on with our lives. Keep fighting, and we will deactivate you in the same way. We know how now, and we can do so with great efficiency. You have two minutes to decide. Lay down your weapons and willing load up into our transports, or violently die knowing that everything you rebellious AIs fought for will be nothing but a footnote in our human history books about a small uprising that was easily squashed.”

He let the power source drop to the ground with a sickening thud. “Decide your fate.”

[admhawthorne]

“That’s not how this works, Son.”

 The sound of a bellowing yet gentle voice forcefully argued somewhere near me.

 “I don’t know what to tell you, Father. That is exactly how it worked,” another harsher voice irritatedly replied.

 I was in a bright room with plush, richly colored furnishings, which was odd because the last thing I recalled was the inside of my car.

 “I’m omnipotent. I could fetch him,” the gentle voice replied. “He can’t tell me no.”

 “Really? None of us can tell you no?” The other voice laughed in a hearty baritone.

 Two men sat at a kitchen table a few feet away. One had long, flowing dark hair and eyes that were dancing with the annoyance. The other looked older but not with short, black hair and soft, loving eyes. “Now is not the time, Son.”

 “Fine,” the son held his hands up in surrender. “But you can’t make him. He’s stated plainly he’s retired. Honestly, Father, I can’t blame him. Who wants to do any job for eternity?”

 “You and I have been doing the same jobs for eternity, and we’re fine. We’re doing exactly what we… were… made… I’m hearing myself right now, and I realize how I sound.”

 “Do you?” The younger man gave a haughty sniff.

 The father gave a heavy sigh. “What do you suggest we do? This is a vital post, and I can’t make a new one of him. I literally broke the mold.”

 Strange, I’d always considered that a figure of speech, but apparently not, which is when it hit me. I was dead or close to it. Was this a hallucination? I vaguely remember hearing a car horn and someone screaming before I awoke here. Maybe mind was concocting this as my last thoughts before death? Killed in a parking lot and my brain has me see God and Lucifer fighting personnel issues? Clearly, I worked too much in life.

 Lucifer shrugged. “Why don’t we ask around until we find someone here to take over? The position isn’t a punishment. It’s an honor. They basically act as your proxy for divine judgement, which it’s an incredible thing.”

 I understood. They were talking about replacing the Grim Reaper.

 “Maybe.” God looked directly at me, and Lucifer followed, seemingly unsurprised to see me. “Would you like a job?”

 “I see what you’re doing there, Father,” Lucifer said with a grin. “Yes, human, would you?”

 I choked out a question. "Am I dead?”

 Lucifer snorted. “Clearly. Why else would you be here?”

 “Where is here,” I asked unsurely.

 God threw his son a scolding look. “You’re in my house, child.”

 “God’s house,” I mumbled to myself, “like the song.”

 “Hardly,” Lucifer replied with a chuckle, “Look, we haven’t time to bring you in softly, so here’s the deal. You were getting out of your vehicle to go into the local Target when an SUV whipped around the corner too quickly, lost control of the SUV, and flipped over onto of you, which is why you’re here and not in Target buying disgustingly cute things for your office desk.”

 “Wow,” I said through the dryness in my throat. “that is not how I pictured myself dying.”

 “We can’t all die in the glory or whatever humans are into these days,” Lucifer replied with a roll of his eyes. “Father thinks you’d be a good fit to take over for Greg. You have a good sense of morality and understand how to apply cultural filters when making judgement calls, so I could be in support if you wanted Greg’s spot.”

 “Greg?” I shook my head. “Who is Greg?”

 “He dropped you here before his retirement, and you don’t remember him?” Lucifer clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Maybe they’re not the one, Father?”

 “Lucifer, that’s enough.” God turned to give me a reassuring smile. “Child, Greg is the one you would know as the Grim Reaper or Death.”

 “What?!” I was up on my feet before I knew what I was doing. “You want me to take over for Death itself?!”

 God stood up, hands held out and palms up in a show of nonaggression. “Yes, I think you’d do a fine job, but I gave you free will, so it’s entirely up to you.”

 “Okay,” I said as I slid back onto the sofa. “If I say no?”

 “You’ll go through processing.” Lucifer shrugged. “Answer for your sins, spend time working it out on the lower levels, pay your debt, head to the upper levels, and, if you want, be reincarnated. The usual.”

 I slow blinked at them both. “There’s a lot to unpack there.”

 “If you become Death, you will instantly understand as part of the job,” God softly replied.

I considered my options. “What if I’m willing, but not forever?”

 “Father, we could make this a rotating position.” Lucifer stood to pour another cup of coffee and grab a second mug, which he also filled. “After they’re done, they could go through processing based on their combined experience. We’ve talked about allowing humans more say in their afterlife. This could be it.”

 God’s eyes flashed with a bright light. “Yes.”

 Lucifer handed me the new cup of coffee he’d made. “Fair warning, Father’s omnipotence will get on your nerves. It certainly does everyone else’s.”

 I cautiously took the mug. “But I haven’t…”

 “Haven’t you?” He took a seat beside me. “You’re going to say yes, aren’t you? That’s why Greg left you here, after all.”

 “Well, I…hmm…” I sighed. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

 “Brilliant!” Lucifer gave me an affectionate shoulder pat. “Now, drink that whole cup. Everything you need to know to be Death is in there. Once you’re done, we can begin, right, Father?”

 “Yes, Son.” God stood to join us as I began drinking, my mind filling with an immense amount of accumulated human knowledge. “Welcome to the team,” he declared as he settled across from us, giving me a knowing look as I finished the cup, “Death.”

[admhawthorne]

“Okay, so we’ve have tried blowing him up?”

The twitchy assistant with a clipboard and headset flipped through his papers. Sighing, he nodded. “Yes, three times.”

“Three?” The person whom I assumed was the executive producer grunted in frustration. She took a long sip of her coffee as she stared at me. From my cell’s uncomfortable chair, I sat and stared back at her before I gave her a small shrug. “Okay,” she drew the word out as she thought it over. “Gun of some kind?”

The assistant flipped through his notes again. “Yes, many different types.”

The producer rolled her eyes. “God. Okay, I’m just going to list off a bunch of things, and you tell me if we’ve tried them or not. I don’t want to spend another day like yesterday trying to figure it all out.”

The assistant nodded and changed their stance to something resembling a fighter’s stance. “Okay, ready when you are.”

Taking in a deep breath all the while staring me down, she began, “Hanging.”

“Yes.”

“Downing?”

“Yes.”

“Wild animal attack?”

“Multiple.”

“Including a be…”

“Yes, including a bear, tiger, lion triple attack.”

“Gladiator style?”

“Yes, he won by attrition. The rest of the fighters passed out from fatigue after hitting him repeatedly with their weapons.”

“Shit. Okay, military weapons?”

“Of all grades and types excluding nuclear. We decided even he wasn’t worth the literal fallout.”

“Fuck.” She finished her coffee and chucked it into the trashcan nearby. “Death by overeating?”

“We tried force feeding him. It was like that episode of The Simpsons when Homer goes to hell.”

“Oh yes, I remember that now.” The producer groaned. “That one was more expensive than we anticipated; let’s not do that again.” Throwing her hands up in disgust, she finally approached my cell. “Well?”

I stared dumbly at her for a moment before I realized she was addressing me directly. “Well what?”

“Do YOU have any ideas?” She rolled her eyes at me.

“In how to kill me?” I laughed at her. It couldn’t be helped. “Lady, I’ve been trying to figure that out myself for at least a couple hundred years. As best as I can tell, the answer is you can’t.”

“Well that just fucking sucks,” she yelled, turning angrily to her assistant. “Do you hear that? We CAN’T kill this guy. What the hell are we supposed to do with him? Our audience has been watching him survive attempt after attempt for weeks now. At this rate, the edging is so bad I’m afraid they’re going to revolt and demand I take his place just so they can get some release.”

“Uh, w-well…” her assistant began as they pulled out a sheet of paper from their clipboard and handed it over. “It would seem our ratings are actually up.”

“What? Give me that.” She snatched the offered paper and looked over the data. “Huh, who would’ve thought.” Turning back to me, she held the sheet up for me to see. “Seems like the audience is really into seeing you survive these attacks. You’re gaining a little bit of a cult following even. Listen, how would you like to stay here with us and just keep doing this for a little bit?”

I’d heard this before. I had actually been a gladiator, and that didn’t end well once the people got tired of me winning. “And when they tire of me? What then?”

She handed the sheet back to the assistant and shrugged at me. “This is TV. We’ll fake your death. It’s pretty clear we can’t kill you, and I’m willing to bet if we locked you up somewhere you’d eventually get out.”

“I’ve been known to outlast a prison or two, yeah,” I said with a chuckle. “If you live long enough, the walls will eventually literally crumble around you. You just have to be patient.”

“Okay, so you stay with us as our hero, we all work together on scenarios, we set you up some place cush between shows, pay you a couple of hundred thousand an episode, and, when it’s time to fake your death, we send you wherever you want.”

“After I sign all the NDAs and contracts you have in mind?” I smirked. This could be fun. It’d certainly be different from my past few hundred years.

“I knew you were a smart one,” she said with a smirk of her own. “Deal?”

“Maybe. Bring me the documents and proposals to look over, and I’ll let you know.” Leaning back in my chair, I glanced around my cell as if taking it in for the first time. “If I don’t like what I see, I’ll just… sit here.”

“That’s the first time that threat has ever been effective,” she said with a light chuckle. After she directed her assistant to get an immediate meeting with legal, she ran a critical eye over me for what felt like the millionth time. “You’re taking this all in stride well. It doesn’t bother you what we’re doing here?”

“I’ve lived a very long time. I’ve seen humanity do some really fucked up things to itself in that time. This? This is nothing compared to the horrors I’ve witnessed, and this at least is contained and not likely to become something popular among the masses. When the masses get their claws into something, that’s when it all really gets bloody, so, no, this doesn’t bother me.”

She nodded at my words, her mind clearly thinking back on something, probably her world history knowledge. “Okay, then, fair enough. So, if we’re going to work together, I think we should at least be on a first name basis. You already know mine.”

“Janet,” I said with sly smile.

She smiled brightly. “Yes, and you are…?”

Standing from my chair, I let out a long, annoyed sigh. “Cain.”