This is a super cute take on what otherwise could take a dark, eldritch turn. It made me smile like a dummy, and I thank you for that

Cracks ran deep into the pavement, a microcosmic representation of our shattered world. The children didn't seem to mind, running to and fro among the twisted metal of rusted cars, gleefully playing as I gently steered them away from potential harm. I often thought that they would never know what the world of my youth was like, know what comforts we had and neglected to be grateful for. They had never turned on a light, played a Playstation, or scrolled a phone, and for as long as this endless war continued, they never would. My hope, my final hope, was that one day I could convince their parents that they were fighting for nothing.

The dilapidated remains of the city were in the distance, the lair of the enemy that rained bombs down on our hills. There were no sirens to let us know when they might strike, our only protection was to know what they would target. It was never the road. Here, among the remains of the cars, we were safe. This is where I met with the children each day, to give them whatever lessons I could impart, doing so without books or pens, and oftentimes under the weather. Some days, we were forced to learn in the remains of a charter bus. The children didn't mind. Again, they never knew what luxury was.

Comfort wasn't the priority of our leaders, as adamant about taking the city now as they had been decades ago when the civil war began. Whatever precious resources we had were funneled into the war effort, including many of the lives I had looked after in my years. Many of them I never saw again after the day I bid them a tearful goodbye. I often wondered how our leaders could be so stupid to lose their own children to the conflict, but then I was reminded that they hardly did anything smart. A body was a body in their eyes, whether it was their own or someone else's. It seemed that nothing I said or did could put a drop of heart into them, to tear them from their wretched greed. Sometimes I would tell them that we could run, go far away, and build a society based upon our own values under our own banner. Then they would tell me that the city was theirs and that they had to have it back.

Such was war.

The skies turned a deep gray, promising a thunderstorm. I huddled the children together and directed them toward the bus. We were almost to the sunken vehicle with its tires long gone when I noticed some kind of commotion down in the valley. Wishing I had binoculars I squinted to try to make out what was happening, seeing what looked to be a mob of people in body armor. They were coming towards us, faster than I would have liked. I turned back and told the children to run to their homes.

As the mob got closer my heart sank, as they were beyond a shadow of a doubt the enemy. I debated running but thought of the children. If just one of them were to perish I could never forgive myself. No, I needed to stay and try to buy time for them to get to safety. I gulped as I started to feel terror. Death was perhaps the best outcome of this encounter.

I stood in plain sight so that the enemy would see me when they reached the road. Rifles were drawn and pointed at me right away, and they told me to get down on my knees. A man with thick tanned skin and a motley head of blonde hair came forward and introduced himself as Lieutenant Seargeant Abrahms. He asked me if I was one of the usurpers, to which I replied I was. No sense in lying about what was already obvious from where I was and how I was dressed. He asked me what I was doing and I told him I was foraging, to which he laughed.

"We know you're looking after kids up here. We've been watching you for a while. Now, we're not interested in killing kids, but you gotta tell me where your leaders are. 'Cause it's about time we put this thing to bed. Ya know?"

It occurred to me that something bad must have happened because these soldiers should have never been able to get here. I wondered if our front line had somehow fallen through or if we had been compromised in some way. Perhaps, we had finally lost the war. I said nothing, loyal to my cause and my banner, unwilling to give the enemy even a shred of information, knowing that every moment I stood there was another moment the kids had to get home to their parents, and hopefully get them to send some help.

"So it's gonna be like that, huh?" Abrahms said as he gave me a hard slap to the face. Tears came to my eyes as I struggled to recoil from the blow.

At once I understood why the leaders were so unwilling to give this conflict up. I had been shaded from the worst of the war, having had nobody to lose. They had been hurt in a multitude of ways and had the lives of loved ones taken from them. Many had died themselves.

I didn't have much longer to think, as I heard a bang before Abrahms fell forward. I looked back for a moment and briefly saw the face of one of my children looking down before he hid behind a rock.

r/StoriesToThinkAbout

Im not that old I just got tired of constantly winning…

Time after time after time, I would set out my desires and hopes of a new and improved world. But society and each persons role has its effect on how the world views a person no matter the good done instead of bad done. So instead of fighting for what I believed what a ”free” world looked like, I retired. I finally just quit. Realizing how nieve I was, trying to “save the people from themselves“ I left.

Hero’s knew they couldn’t keep me locked up. The finest and most overpowered prisons couldn’t keep me hidden away like a lonely bird in a cage. So I made a deal with the US government, give me a small peice of land on top of a mountain, free from laws and society’s formed beliefs of what “hero’s“ were. All of this in exchange for them never hav8ng to worry about me again.

That was 30 years ago. Many have forgotten my name and what I stood for. On top of this Mountain im not alone. A kitten lay on my doorstep on day. I waited, but the mother did not return. I knew if I had not bring the poor thing inside either the beasts of the woods would kill it or the cold would.

I told myself “just one day”. Well that day turned into a week, and then a month. And by that point it was too late. I couldn’t let anything know where I made my home, otherwise I might face trouble again. Or atleast that’s what I told myself. I’m just kidding. Mabey just Mabey I had taken a liking to the cat. Mike, that’s what I named him. A normal name for a not so normal cat. The cat was always trying to steal a little more food. Weather it was from my plate or if I accidentally left the fridge open.

He liked to explore. He got out so many times that I didn’t even try to stop him anymore. It didn’t matter what time he left, but he was always back a 4pm. Thats exactly why I got concerned for my little friend when the clock read 6:30pm and he still wasn’t back. Thats when I realized the old answering machine had a new message.

“Revolutionary“ (my old Villan name) “We know your up their and recently we have been hearing screams coming from up there, we’ve took your cat and we’re willing to give him back if you give yourself up.” Screams? Were they talking about the screaming goats up here? Are they really that dumb. Guess I really wasn’t done in the villain world.

(I have school to get to so I will update if anyone wants me to. Sorry for any mistakes in the writing I’m typing this on an iPad.😭.)

Update: (I didn’t expect it to get as much love as it did so I will keep writing but it might be slightly rushed)

I groaned in annoyance as I realized I had to break out the old costume that lay in the back of my closet as well as the back of my mind. I thought I would never have to look again but something prevented me from throwing it away. Maybe it was because of the great memories that lay with it, or maybe it was because I knew a day would come when I would have to pick it back up.

I did a brief stretch and took a deep breath before I used my powers of ”life and death”.

”Life and Death” was a power of being able to make any plant grow and help me fight. Essentially I could make a whole army just out of plants. The only downside was if they got to big or if made too much in a short amount of time, the plants would release a toxic gas that first, disabled powers, two is extremely flammable, and three that only I was immune to.

Thats how I lost my parents. The most known super hero‘s, Mr and Mrs Time. They could reverse time or speed it up. When I accidentally killed them with this power during training, I was tourtured and experimented on bye so called hero’s to see if they could fine a cure for whatever the toxin was that I produced.

Why is this important? Because I figured out it was these hero’s offspring that took my cat. I know it…

With the help of my creations I traveled at impossible speeds. I knew exactly where their base was because of course I had a chip in my cat. What good owner wouldn’t?

And their base was under only the most popular tourist spot in the great city of hero’s. Using my plants it wasn’t that hard to get past the guards and quickly find the men responsible. I wasnt just going to kill them. That would be to easy, and too nice. No no no, these men deserved humiliation, pain, and popularity. “Why the last one? Why popularity?” Ohhhh I want the people to remember. I want them to remember why they feared me.

I wrapped the building in the plants. I could already hear the commotion and fear. But I wasn’t done. I broke through the building and hovered above allthat passed by. Quickly grabbing the police cars and the people inside as they approached. It wasn’t hard but I made sure people knew that I was more then they could handle.

(TW this paragraph gets graphic)”REVOLUTIONARY unhand the people!!” The young hero shouted. “Oh so you know my name?” Nerds from the crown warned all of my past. I could hear the whispers but I dismissed them. None of that was important compared to my little friend. “None of that’s important now” I cut him off before he could answer “Now” , I growled “WHERE IS HE?” People screamed, children cried into their mothers arms, and he wouldn’t answer. I game him a good squeeze. Bones cracked loudly and he screamed. His peers looked in horror at the scene. He started speaking before stopping to puke blood,”He was in the building but now,” he paused “now he’s probably been crushed”. The hero smirked. I felt anger like no other. It was almost inhuman. A kind of roar that could burst eardrums. I first felt like I had been shot in the chest, I didn’t care now I was thirsty for blood… I squeezed Him like a balloon untill he popped. It looked like the town was orgianally painted red as his peers popped along with him. At that point I realized I had gone too far and my plant gas’s had started roaming. People were dropping like flys as I realized how far I had gone.

Back to my home I retreated, but only after useing whatever strength I had to cover the entire town in plants. Yet another civilization‘s destruction returned to natures grasp. Back to my home I went. Ready to lay down for external sleep.

(Ok that’s the end)(I hope everyone liked it again apologies for any grammar or spelling mistakes) (Merry Christmas!) (Or happy holidays depending on where you are in the world).

I couldn’t believe it, someone answered, what do I do, I haven’t talked to someone in so long, I mean, when the world ended I was an awkward ten year old with one friend who moved a year before the end, I don’t know how to talk to people, “Uh, hi, I’m Wren, Wren James, what is your name” I said Silence “Wren, oh my gods Wren!” Gods? I only know one person who said that, “it’s me, Quinn Evans, from 4th grade” “Quinn, where are you?” I asked, urgent to have contact with a human again, “I’m, right behind you” her voice turned malicious, I slowly turned behind me, where I saw a bloody blonde, knife in hand, with a murderous look in her her eyes, “Um, Quinn, what are you doing“ I cautiously asked her, I was terrified, “Oh Quinn isn’t it obvious, I’m here for new meat,” with that she threw the knife at my chest, I never woke up from that.

I believe I can say with some confidence that I am among the very last of my kind. Over the years my kin have dwindled and diminished. Some were hunted and killed by your kind. Out of fear, or fun, or to take our power. Others seemed simply to grow weary, lost their passion for the world and its ever decreasing wonders, and in time faded away. A few of us still remain of course, the world is after all a bigger and stranger place than your kind give it credit.

We each of us have, or had, our role or duty. Some of us hung the dewy cobwebs on a fresh spring morn. Others conducted the sonorous rumble of a thunder clap. Or dusted the delicate patterns of a winter’s frost upon your window pane. Gave every star in the sky its twinkle.

All these things still go on of course. But no hand guides them, no mind directs what arrangement or composition should look most pleasing. Now it is nothing more than brute nature at play, without intent or artistry. If your elders tell you that the world used to be a more vibrant, beautiful place they are correct. The world also used to be a far more dangerous and capricious place, so make of that what you will

I don’t know if the need for us has diminished, but it certainly seems that the desire for us has. The world that your kind has built no longer seems to want us in it. Day by day we find a little less space for us, a little less welcome for us. Nevertheless I still go about my appointed duty, humble as it may be.

My purpose, if you wish to consider it that, is to set the course of the glittering motes which dance and twirl in a sunbeam. It is graceful work, perhaps not as showy or bombastic as others. It has never attracted much attention, and I have not the notoriety of some of my fellowes such as Jack Frost or Jack o' the Green. I was never well known at the best of times, my name long since lost to history. No, I shall not divulge it here.

I believe I have an entry in Munroe's Glossary of the Occult, though he does include one or two inaccuracies. Even so, I doubt any copies remain. It is for the best, there is a power in names. To know a thing's name is to single it out amongst all of the wide world, to rip it free from it and hold it in isolation. It is no mere thing.

Which is why it was an immensely distressing feeling to hear my name spoken without warning or preamble, for the first time in nearly a thousand years. I felt myself being summoned. It was an irresistible pull. Every piece of my being, grasped at and dragged screeching across the world. My very nature contained and held upon the tip of someone’s tongue. I had only a moment to divest myself of the quotidian attire I wore and robe myself in my formal raiment. In the blink of an eye I was there.

I stood before a young girl, no older than five or six.

She paid me no heed. She sat on the floor, her attention focused on some crude rag doll held in her hands. I allowed myself a moment to gather my thoughts and take stock of my new surroundings. A simple garden, grass neatly trimmed, a wooden fence, its paint well faded. Ahead of me, a rather ugly looking box of a house.

“Ahem…” I politely coughed, hoping to attract the attention of my summoner. Startled by the noise she looked up and saw me before her. The mild look of apprehension on her face dissolved in an instant, her eyes grew wide and a joyous smile lit up her face.

She repeated my name, which I shall not record here, in an excited cry and awkwardly clambered to her feet. I bowed low as etiquette and custom dictated.

“You have summoned me. Though I know not how you have come across my name. By the roots of the rivers and the bones of the earth, I am bound to heed your command.”

She merely giggled. Undaunted I continued:

“Where did you learn my name? From which ancient tome or loose lipped spirit was the information pried?”

“It’s your name silly, nobody had to tell me it.” the girl replied. She thrust forward her hand, in which was gripped the dirty rag doll. Peering closer at the repugnant trinket I did begrudgingly notice a crude similarity in garb and mien between it and myself. I began to form an awful suspicion in my head.

“You named this doll yourself I suppose?”

“Yes! It’s a funny name. Do you like it?”

“Quite so.” My pride well and truly picked, I made ready to put this embarrassing situation far behind me. “Well if you would excuse me I would depart” So spoken I drew myself up to my full height and tried to maintain as dignified an air as was possible given the circumstances.

“No I want to play” she exclaimed, as I felt myself sag in response.

The old rules dictated that I was unable to disappear without her leave. I was for all intents her prisoner though she didn’t know it. I would obey her commands until she was satisfied with my service and let me go.

“Very well child, if that is what you require of me, then we shall… play.”

With that, she skipped off towards the bottom of her garden where a small hawthorn copse lay. She paused and beckoned for me to follow. Reluctantly, though unavoidably, I accompanied her.

It has been two years since that day and she still refuses to dismiss me. In that time I have discovered that I am quite proficient at ‘Hide & Seek’ and though I am loathe to admit it, I do pride myself on the quality of my flower crowns.

Now I‘m afraid I must leave you. I have a tea party to attend and it is rude to keep one’s host waiting.

No biggy I was just telling you why since ya said what. Keep your dick hard.

So, I normally don't anyway, but I wonder if you, or any of the other downvoters, ever tell anybody to "just scroll past" or "ignore it" etc., any time they don't like something. If you do, you're a hypocrite, and I hope you hit your thumb with a hammer. If you don't, I apologize for irritating you.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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This makes me wanna be a writer again! And yes it's right up street.

Wow..this was surreal!

This sounds like a recipe for child abuse in case my response doesn't make sense.

Angel died yesterday, probably. His lifeless frame was found crumpled, his skin long gray, gross-smelling fluids oozing from his eyes and mouth. But it could have been earlier, I suppose than yesterday that he perished.

I mostly kept busy with the day's sudoku while the others dealt with him, as they're want to do.

The puzzle had a quite beautiful X-wing that took me a handful of minutes to find. By the time the ink had dried, they stood outside around the little mound of dirt, singing.

One of the young ones beckoned for me, pointing to a crying welp. The stench of Angel's liquids, still soaked into the floorboards pounded my temples, though. I snapped at an older girl, pointed at the baby with her full diaper, and went to lie down.

Sometime later, I woke up in a sweat. One of the damn children had opened the curtain, letting the blazing sun bare down on us.

Entering the kitchen, I took a portion of beans cooked by the older girls of the house before the scent of Angel's rot filled my nostrils.

Thankfully, one of the little ones noticed my revulsion. She jumped to her feet, abandoning her plate. Returning with incense sticks and candles, she lit them before rejoining the table. I gave her head a little pat, her cheek a little squeeze.

Leaving the filth of the grubby ones behind was a necessity. I spent some time tidying my one refuge, my bedroom, before opening a warm can of premixed jack and coke.

Finally, I felt a lightness in my chest. The drink went down easy, and I was shortly on my second, sitting jovially in my rocking chair. I flitted from book to book, from game to game, from thought to thought, playing music loud enough to escape the irritations of the other room.

Yet, in a moment of utmost joy, I smelled it again. I whipped my head about, looking for the source.

Instead, my eyes landed on the vent, and I erupted from my haven, knocking down a few oafs who had been waiting by my door.

I launched into the baby room and retched. Diapers piled high, in long decayed garbage bags. The thin reedy cry of a baby much in need of water filled my ears, and intense anger accompanied me.

The feelings mounted. The whine escalated, permeating through my spine. The smell of shit and decay flowed rapidly from my nostril to invade my brain, clouding my vision and thoughts. The needs and the wide-eyed stare of children clutching soft, dirty blankets disgusted me.

The need for alone time, for a place of my own, for a refuge piled.

I rushed to my bedroom, locking the door and even propping a chair under the handle. Towels and insulation were stuffed in the vents and cracks, and nose plugs were followed by ear plugs.

I couldn't hear the heavenly sound that accompanied the jack and coke cracking open, but I could taste the sweet bitters.

> There must be some thing else in play to keep them….

Like drinking blood. Maybe if they don't drink blood, then eventually they will fall apart. And drinking blood reverses the process of rotting. Then by this logic, our hunter must hunt only vampires that recently fed on humans.

If it was rotting then eventually a vampire would just… fall apart. There must be some thing else in play to keep them…. ‘Together’. I could see a revenant or a animated skeleton or a zombie or something like that to always be rotting. But a vampire is a bit different.

>You could eat an undead

Yes, but you would be eating rotting meat. Which is hardly pleasant.

You could eat an undead, but I makes me wonder if there would be a bit of the “you are what you eat” kicking into effect…. Making the Hunter slowly turn into something new… something dark. Hungers for the meat of the undead, hates the light but still has a heart beat and a soul…. I think there is room for a fun take on this.

[deleted]

It had been a long time since I was able to look at something an experience something akin to pity. Though this one was gravebound, I had decided to take the lost child under my wing, guiding him to the nearest patch of water with naught but a breeze. Though he never saw me, he always felt my prescense.

When was the last time i had the opportunity to thoroughly watch a human grow and suffer? To that end, I do not recall, but I always enjoyed seeing its triumphs, no matter how small they may have been at first. A kinder god would have revealed itself and taught the child. However, that is not the way i work. For every passed test, his food got easier to hunt the next day. A hapless deer here, a half blind rabbit there. He needed to keep his strength up. But woth every gift comes a test. To the child's credit, it learned rather quick.

He felt the seasons change, and moved with those that migrated. It learned to feel my prescense and began trying to communicate via offerings like the old way of worship.

But what could a child offer a God that had everything?

Adaption is king when it comes to surviving out here, and over the last few years, the child has grown considerably. One might even call it an adult. Lanky, fast, with a keen sight and very sensitive hearing. It's sense of smell has grown immensely and it's ability to run long distances to run its prey down was borderline astonishing for a human. No bear, wolf or jaguar I sent it's way could best it. It learned quickly how to survive in almost every single circumstance.

There is a part of me that is proud of the little hunter, but the other part of me knows that one day, that human will need to part this earth. Would it be fitting for it to die in a gruesome way? A part of me dwelled on this for quite some time. Being torn apart by jaguars and bears is... painful. Is this what sympathy is? Maybe.

It was time. The human has been wandering my lands for too long. It is turning out a lot like the others of his kind. Greedy. He is now leaving bits of the animal unused and hunting way more than it needs to. It is not replanting what it reaps. Most of this forest has been cut in an attempt to settle and farm. This is not what I taught it. This is not why I kept it around. I tried warning it by making its farm fallow. It kept trying to replant and drained the soil of its precious nutrients.

I needed to do something, if only to save what remains of the Forest. It started seeing me in the form of a large scarred bear. It was startled at first, but it noticed something off about me. I didn't smell like bear or sound like one.

"It is time for you to go, little one."

It didn't respond, as it had forgotten speech a long time ago. It's emotions, however where clear on display. Bared teeth, trying to make itself look bigger. I couldn't help but feel agitated. The wind began to blow, and I felt the other side of me begin to come out.

It wasn't time to run. It was time to hunt.

[removed]

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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Would like to hear more of this.

[deleted]

[deleted]

Thank you so much, really appreciated! I did enjoy writing this a lot more than I thought I would.

Also, I fully endorse a Caligula ‘War of the Worlds’

In this moment, I may be the most spoken about figure in all of Greece. In a day, I will be executed and buried in history. I wonder what Socrates would think.

My name is Aristofanes, general of the Spartan army. Born and bred to be the finest warrior, mind sharpened for tactics and strategy.

We rarely used these tactics.

Mostly it was about putting down the slaves. Quite the annoyance to have a dozen slave for every warrior, we have to cull them every now and then.

Often, actually.

But it's in the blood to want for a worthy opponent. I came to hope I would see it before a slave revolt would bring us low. Crazy thought for a spartan, but with only war at home to ponder the future, I came to think that having so few warriors may be our downfall. But then, going against our two kings and rewriting tradition was a surefire way to get me exiled.

Besides.

I had my wish.

They called themselves the Delian league. Smart move, Pericles, smart move. I can think of no other figure as hated as Pericles. Where we built strength, he encouraged philosophy. We culled, he nurtured. We trained, he promoted mathematics. We have kings, he proposed debates.

But the wise lion has sharp fangs.

The Delian league was a coalition of city states to stand against our encroaching presence. Soon the league was forgotten, absorbed by the city state of Athens, to face the city state of Sparta. He had planned it all, centralize power to be certain to stand a chance.

We longed for the fight, and they were rising up to meet our expectations. I am mighty, but I am smart. Athens had underhanded tactics, Sparta needed me to even the odds. And I had the gifts to catch up with accents fast.

So I was sent to spy on Athens. Oh, did I mock them, the bickering ducks on their plazas, disagreeing about the war, Athens, themselves. Weak men, leaves carried by the wind, to be crushed against our iron. I saw Him, at the Parthenon. Did I laugh.

Did I wonder.

Frictions, and the inevitable war broke out. Inevitable, because we wanted it, in our own way.

So I did what I was sent to do, get information, transmit information.

They ached for a great battle. Almost like gentlemen, they agreed on the sea. The first battle of the Peloponnesian war, maybe the last.

Get information, transmit information.

So I gave Athens our ways to fight at sea. I told our enemy how to face us, slaughter us.

We lost the battle because of me. Our fleet reduced to ashes.

Why?

Because I'm engraving this, something I wouldn't have done in Sparta. Because we don't write, we don't create, don't debate for long periods. Oh, the Athenians bicker, but it does something for the mind.

I came back home to await death by Athenian hands... And Athenians became careless, arrived in droves on our shores, our land, our territory. They could have won the war. Instead, they came like brutes, set themselves up to lose.

Captured survivors of the disastrous land battle told my brothers how they won at sea, and their eyes turned on me.

They kept me alive, to see.

The slow erosion of a civilization. Athens, bled dry. Philosophy dying, survivors too busy staying alive.

And me, in a cell, being told how the war went.

Athens, last stone turned to dust.

And yet...

I see it in my captors eyes, the infection spreading. Mathematics and philosophy gaining a solid foot. The stones are broken, but some tablets remain.

So I laugh, at the eve of my execution. In a hundred generations, we will be a footnote in history, with fantasy to fill in the blanks and myself forgotten. But Athens will have an echo, a word in the stone that will prevail, and spread

I laugh.

Tomorrow, I will be no more.

Just a leave carried by the wind.

I laugh.