“Hey Nerd! I bet you’re helpless to spoke without saying the first letter!” The Jock spoke.

[removed]

Argh true

Ypu missed the opportunity to say

No! Not the bees!

Down with Elesh Norn!

I was sort of hoping you accidentally cut yourself and only find cake within.

I love this so much!

There was nothing but weeping behind the walls. The food stores were empty. The well had been poisoned last night by an underground tunnel. A plague had caught in the weak, huddled masses and begun to spread to the few strong folk remaining. Soldiers on the walls had learnt to sleep standing—there were too many wounded for there to be a rotation anymore.

Yet, the Colonel would not allow surrender. The last man to ask was hung from the walls. In the following days assault, the enemy had used the rope to help themselves climb up. “Chin up, Lieutenant,” the Colonel had said afterwards, clapping a hand onto my shoulder. “If we just hold for a few more days a relief force shall arrive, and then we’ll rout the bastards. Just do your best to keep morale up amongst the men, eh?” He chuckled, turned back to the window that looked out across the city. His eyes shone like medals and parade armour.

But relief had not come. Only a stranger, dressed in black and standing before starving soldiery and a coughing crowd. They had slipped in somehow, standing stock still in the centre of town since at least just before sunrise when a watchman had spotted them. They leant on a wooden staff covered in coruscating, convoluted rune work so dense it obscured whatever the staffs original shape had been. The sergeant of our regiment’s small Arcanist company said they had never seen rune work so detailed, and I had to agree. The few Arcanists I had seen in battle often had far simpler runes, enchanted to make their blades denser when striking or to shoot a bolt of fire as a trick. But this man… just his cloak seemed to make those warriors look like children playing with toys. Its dark-red stitching whirled and curved in ways that gave me a headache when I tried to follow it.

“I am the Mendicant,” he said. “You shall help me scribe a rune to this city. Then I shall take a year of life from all of you and destroy your enemies. Your Colonel has agreed.” The crowd murmured intensely, firstly at the Mendicant’s name—which had the sergeant turning white—and then at his decree. One stepped forwards and shouted an insult. His head exploded. The Mendicant didn’t even move. Then, as the crowd screamed and fled the square, he turned to me. His words were clear as if we were in an empty room together. “Lieutenant. Your men shall follow these blueprints, and shall be done by morning.” He pulled a wreath of papers out from his cloak, then walked off towards the keep. I looked to the sergeant, then began to walk towards the papers. What choice did we have?

​

That evening, I begged the Colonel to reconsider. I bargained, cajoled, pleaded, threatened, and implored. I told him we could still surrender. That working with a monster like that would have consequences far beyond this one battle. The Colonel simply smiled. “Yes, I know they are a monster. But it’s better to have a fellow like that on our side than the enemies, eh? Letting him kill them is hardly any different than using a sword to do the same. Well, only difference being, this time we’ll win the battle. We’ll be able to end the war—and, we’ll be heroes. Sounds a fair bit better to me than starving to death, don’t you agree, Lieutenant?” He turned towards me, and in his eyes I saw conviction tempered with sadness. He brought his hands around from behind his back and clasped them over mine. “But, let it never be said I do not listen to my subordinates advice. Just say the word and I shall tell him the deal is off. Simple as that.”

I opened my mouth to speak the words, to scream that we should not, could not work with a monster. That I was sure that even if we worked with him now, he was certain to show up on the other side of the battlefield eventually. That there were countless numbers of rouge, powerful Arcanists out there in the world, and dealing with this one now would only result in more deaths, too many to count. But I said nothing. Because gods help me, in his own sick and twisted way he was right. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want my comrades, my men who I was responsible for, to die. Nobody had to die, except for the ones who had put us in this position. Who had forced us into a corner and poked and prodded us and laughed like we were already dead. So I said instead, “The rune will be completed on schedule,” and the Colonel just nodded, without a smile.

​

The Mendicant gathered us all in the town square once more, now covered in a rune that spanned its entirety, as well as several of the surrounding neighbourhoods. When everyone in town had been found and brought, peacefully or not, the lines carved into the cobblestone pulsed once with bright blue light and then fell dark. He told us that would be all, and that we were welcome to the walls if we wished to watch. I went, of course.

They did not die slowly. The air around their whole camp seemed to change in texture—in my distant view, they seemed to shimmer and distort as though they were underwater. I saw men struggle to move, running slowly as though forced to wade through the very air. Arms attempted to move to throats and stopped halfway there as they collapsed. Nobody on the walls cheered as the last of our attackers collapsed. Instead, we just looked to the Mendicant who had joined us on the walls. And beneath his hood, I caught a glimpse of a smile.

I would guess that the subject is meant to be open to interpretation since it is creative people that they want submissions from.

The day passed in an unusually mundane way, for once. Aaron and I sat on the edge of an overpass, watching cars pass beneath us. In the back of my mind, I registered that I had memorized the pattern of every vehicle approaching: red sedan, white minivan, blue pickup. We sat in silence, crinkled taco wrappers discarded beside us, as my brain turned things over for the trillionth time, looking for an answer that worked.

Aaron broke the silence first. "I promised no arguments, and I'm sticking to that, but I want to ask you something." He waited for me to give permission, which he rarely did; it felt nice to be surprised by something. So I nodded, wondering what would come next. "Is there... is there any way I can make all this easier on you?"

I blinked in surprise. "What? Are you fucking... you could just stop this. Just end the fucking loop. Was that a serious question?" I could feel my anger building, and the taco wrappers began to vibrate. "You've kept me locked away in a day, pushing me to become a one-man war crime, and now you're asking how to make that easier on me?"

Aaron didn't seem scared of me, even when I got like this. Either of us dying just reset the loop, so he'd come to terms with the pain associated with that a long time ago. If anything, he just seemed sad, and tired. "I know... I know you don't believe me, when I say that I'm doing this for the right reasons. But I hate this as much as you do. I just also believe it's necessary, for you to leave all this behind." He gestured weakly at everything around us, cars passing in the dark. "I know that you think I'm torturing you, and I fucking hate it. I don't want it to always be like this."

It took a few minutes of me staring violently at him, but my anger began to subside. The wrappers (and the overpass itself) stopped shaking, and I could feel the tension in my shoulders drop. We sat in silence as I turned his words around in my head... and felt something click into place.

"...move the loop forward."

Aaron looked over at me, confused. "What? What do you mean?"

"Move the time loop forward. Twenty four hours, same as it's always been, but start it right now. With you and me, sitting here on this bridge. Not waking up in my normal bed, expecting to walk into my normal life. Let me start it here, with you. I won't... I won't change immediately. You know that, I know that. But it'll be a start. And god knows that we both could use some freshness in our lives."

Aaron quietly considered my request. "I guess it doesn't matter what day we repeat. And... I guess I like the idea of starting the day side by side. Phone calls in the morning don't have the same vibe."

"Plus, if I blow up your head again, I'd have to clean myself off. Definitely a deterrent." I grinned. Somewhere along the line, my humour had become much darker.

But Aaron laughed with me. "I doubt that would stop you, but I respect the sentiment. Okay, done." And without hesitation, I felt the telltale ripple of the 'checkpoint' being reset.

I didn't give him even a moment. A second later, I had flung both of us high into the sky, holding us far above and out of sight. The cars were insects scurrying below as we dangled in midair. Aaron screamed, flailing to grab onto anything and finding nothing.

Floating myself closer, but just out of reach, I spoke calmly. "Now that we're starting side by side, let me tell you what every day will be from now on. Every day, I will pull us up and out of sight. And then, I will harm you in new and inventive ways for every waking minute, but without actually killing you. And then the day will reset, and I will start again. And again. And again."

Fear covered Aaron's face, but I felt nothing. He'd smothered that out of me years ago. "You wanted to teach me to cross the lines of human morality? Congratulations, you did it. So now let's see how long it takes until you turn around and start trying to teach me 'mercy'."

A muffled crack signalled that the pressure I was exerting on him had cracked a rib already; I would have to squeeze slower tomorrow. I grabbed Aaron's face, ignoring his obvious signs of pain.

"And when you've finally decided you've had enough, and you want the suffering to end... I strongly suggest you give up at the start of a loop. Because you're going to be in very, very bad shape by the end of the day."

An end was in sight now, finally. This couldn't last forever, Aaron couldn't last forever. I still had to cut away my own heart to make it happen, but I could live with this if I had to.

And if I'm being honest... knowing I'd never have to hear the Indiana Jones theme again would give me the strength to persevere.

My phone goes off, the Indiana Jones theme blaring as my alarm. A bird chirps outside my window as a car honks far in the distance. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, until I could hear the city bus pass by for the fifth time; it had a bad muffler, and I could always tell it apart by the rattling noise.

Robotically, I pulled myself out of bed. Moved into the kitchen to make food that I wasn't particularly hungry for, brewing coffee that I didn't really want. I heard the door open behind me; by virtue of the fact that it didn't always open at this time, I knew exactly who it was. "Get fucked forever. Leave me alone."

He acted as if he hadn't even heard me, strolling in as if he owned the place; he began fishing through my cupboards for his favorite of my mugs. Frowning, he noticed the blue shards in my sink; I had smashed it before he arrived, just in case he chose to visit. Scowling slightly, he settled for a plain white mug before helping himself to my coffee. "You're up late today. Rough night last night?" He grinned at his own joke.

I focused for a moment, and the coffee pot in his hands exploded. He yelped as scalding hot coffee sprayed all over him, but still managed to smile despite the obvious pain. "Now there's my good old friend. It's been... what, a month, since the last time you used your powers?"

I slumped into my kitchen chair, feeling utterly defeated. "Two months. Fuck you, Aaron, seriously." My breakfast caught fire on the stove, but it didn't really matter, so I let it burn.

Aaron moved to the sink, pouring cold water onto his burns. He'd surely need medical attention, if not for the fact that his wounds would be gone tomorrow. Or next today, however you wanted to look at it.

"One day," Aaron mused, over the sound of running water, "you'll thank me for this. After what happened to us, normal human morality doesn't apply anymore. I wish you didn't need this 'training', but it's for the best. For both of us."

I sighed. We'd had this argument a million times, and every time we both spoke our parts from the heart. "Some strange powers don't make us gods, Aaron. We weren't 'chosen', we didn't 'ascend'... it was an accident."

We had stumbled onto a strange glowing rock out in the forest, after a vicious storm. I'd been afraid we were going to get cancer, but turned out to be way off the mark: over time, I began to realize that I could move things with my mind. And what started with pencils and cups grew rapidly, in both power and scale.

Aaron, on the other hand, seemed unaffected... at first. Looking back, he likely wasn't powerful enough to produce effects at first, given the scale of his abilities. Once he started to show signs, I was the only other person to ever notice that he'd played around with time. Sometimes everyone would simply freeze, or things would suddenly skip back an hour or two.

But that childish experimentation was decades ago... or only a few weeks ago, depending on which timescale you used.

"Accident, divine intervention, witch's curse... does it matter?" Aaron slid into the chair beside me, glancing over as my failed breakfast began to light the cupboards on fire. "What matters is what we can do. I learned that a long time ago, but I'm not doing this alone. You and I, we're going to change things. Together."

Except, what Aaron meant by 'change things' was something I wanted no part in. The first today had been years and years ago; the loop had started as I slept, so I hadn't noticed it had begun. Once I woke the next day, and realized it was still the same day, I'd realized it and confronted him. And he made his terms very clear: he would not let time move forward until I made my powers widely and irrevocably known, to keep me from trying to live a mild mannered life. To keep me from 'wasting my potential'.

And so we'd danced this dance, today after today, him pushing me to snap and show the world what I could do, me living the same mundane day over and over to spite him.

This particular today, however, my patience was running unusually low. And so, as Aaron droned on with today's pitch about how we were destined to rule the world as gods, I flicked him with my mind. Mid-sentence, he flew backwards into the growing fire building atop my stove with a surprised yelp. But I had flicked him too hard, apparently, and the impact killed him before the fire had a chance to–

My phone goes off, the Indiana Jones theme blaring as my alarm. A bird chirps outside my window as a car honks far in the distance. Shortly after, my phone begins vibrating; I have a call. Sighing deeply, I reach over and bring the phone to my ear.

"So, as I was saying, if you'd just channel that sort of energy out into the world, you and I could get to work at shaping the destiny of humankind to..."

I grinned a little as Aaron's irritable tone faded out, replaced by some gurgling. Soon, a wet pop sounded on the other end of the phone–

My phone goes off, the Indiana Jones theme blaring as my alarm. A bird chirps outside my window as a car honks far in the distance. Shortly after, my phone begins vibrating; I have a call. This time, I simply turn it on speakerphone.

"Are you done?" Aaron sounds notably annoyed this time. Somehow, his annoyance soothes me.

"Yeah, I'm done. I just needed to get that out of my system." I get out of bed, and start pulling out some clothes.

I hear him sigh on the other end. "Fine. I can't begrudge you that much. Hey, you want to take the day off, maybe drive out of town for a bit?"

There's something unusual about spending a decade in a loop with only one other person experiencing it with you. On one hand, Aaron was essentially my captor. But on the other hand, he really was still my closest friend. I sighed in return. "There's nowhere within a day's travel that we haven't been."

"Yeah, but it's been years since we hit up that taco truck off the highway. No arguments today, just tacos. Deal?"

"Fuck it, deal. But no weird shit this time, okay?" Last time, Aaron shot the truck owner rather than paying for the meal. 'What does it matter?'

Aaron groaned exaggeratedly. "Uhhhhhhh fiiiiine. But that means you're paying."

(Continued below)

[removed]

[removed]

Two figures trudged across the windswept heath, approaching the solitary remnant of an archaic forest.

“Hello, old friend,” Ginger’s mom said kneeling at the base of the battered trunk, stroking it lightly.

“Why’d you leave?” Ginger asked as she dropped her backpack beneath its looming shadow.

Closing her eyes in reflection, she spoke softly, her words almost kidnapped by the wind. “Why does any child run away from home, barring a bad situation? Anger, naivety, curiosity, a feeling of mental superiority of youth over age. Maybe a little of all of it.”

She traced a sign on the bark with her fingertip, whispering softly. “It is me, Holly Seiliewight of the Fae, born in the year Edwin fell in battle against Cadwallion and Penda. I see the centuries haven’t been kind to you or your descendants.” A tear rolled down her cheek, until she wiped it from her cheek onto the gnarled bark. “I hope my leaving didn’t misqueme; you were my best friend.”

Ginger watched her mom. “What happened?”

“You have to understand, we are a very long-lived people; births are rare among us.” She looked up at her daughter. “At one time the Fates had been kind to us; their smile shown brightly. But as with all things the time of our people--it had come to an end. There had been no growth in us; in fourteen centuries, you and I were the last to be born among us.”

Holly turned, leaning against the ancient sentinel. “As man spread we retreated into the wild, untamed places they were not. They became as much legends among us as we to them; so much so I doubted their existence when I heard the stories.

“I was a mere child, barely a century a score and one when I encountered my first--a scraggly, emaciated thing, exhausted and on the run. He scampered from behind a tree, collapsing at my feet. When I carried him home my parents were furious. ‘You should’ve left it.’ ‘You don’t know where that’s been.’ ‘It can’t let others know about us.’ I was in shock--I’d never heard anyone talk that way about a living thing, much less a semi-intelligent one.

“I hid him in a delve beside the river and tried to nurse him to health. Alas, he was too sick and never regained his senses; I buried him at the base of the tree where I found him. But it made me curious about these humans who were spreading like locusts across our wildlands.

“For the next two centuries I secretly collected every scrap from humanity that I could--my collection grew to fill the delve where I had hid him. That was, until the afternoon my father found me returning with my latest find.

“He was wroth with me, said my collecting was dangerous and would be the downfall of the fae.

“I remember yelling back that ignorance and mistrust would be the downfall, that we needed to know more about them.

“He roared on that humans were evil, that they couldn’t be trusted, that they would break... everything they touched. Including my heart, if I let one that close.

“The longer we went at it, the hotter it got. That afternoon words were said on both sides, words that cut deeply and made wounds that took decades for me to get past,” Holly said sadly. “When I ran past him and out the delve, I didn’t expect that to be the last time I would see him.”

“You didn’t go back?” Ginger asked.

“Eyes bleary I ran until my lungs and legs burned; I don’t know how far I ran--I curled in a hollow as the wind howled and storm clouds crashed together through the night. In the morning I struck out in the direction I thought was home, but instead encountered a human hamlet.

“Their languages were easy enough to pick up, and my knowledge of the wood allowed me to find work as a healer. I moved from town to town, learned to be quiet but useful. If I admit it he was right, so I kept enough distance. Across the isles, the continent, and eventually to the Americas, I observed, I learned, I grew. It wasn’t until I turned a corner--smacking into your dad--that I lost my heart. But... if that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have you,” she said, smiling at Ginger.

Ginger smiled, focused on the stump. She traced again the sign as she had seen her mother make, exhaled, and stated firmly, “I am Ginger Seiliewight, daughter of Holly, born in the year of the swine flu.”

The sign began to glow, the ashen gray around the stump turning earthen and the sky brightening. A deep, sleepy voice boomed around them, “Holly?”

“Father?” Holly replied, startled.

(Word count: 797. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the post. Thank you in advance for your time and attention. Other works can also be found linked in r/atcroft_wordcraft.)

Part 1: Smash ‘Em Up Sunday: Urban Fantasy

Part 2: Smash ‘Em Up Sunday: Temporal Fiction

Sylva sat at the wireframe table out in the garden. She barely noticed as Brigette sat down across from her. "So, is this it then? Are you here to kill me, Eighth Death?" Brigette smiled and laughed. "No, I could never. This isn't true death, it's death of race. Once I turn you, you'll be one of ours, a Deathkin. My apprentice." Sylva sighed and Brigette nodded. "I know how you feel, I felt the same way when Apophis chose me." Sylva looked at Brigette, puzzled and Brigette nodded. "You'll be allowed to meet him." Sylva nodded and stood as Brigette did too. "I'm ready to begin." Brigette nodded and spoke. "Choose your name then." Sylva spoke anew. "I am Saint Azrael." Maman Brigette spoke in her deathtongue taking Saint Azrael's hand. "A pact. For The Masked Killer, The Hooded Hunter, The Saint. Take my hand, and be reborn, as a reminder that Death is merciless. Be the dark in the last moments of the light. Remind them of where they go. Remind them of what they’ve done. For I am Death, and I name you my blade. Saint Azrael, The Reaper." Sylva was dead and Saint Azrael stood in her place.

Thank you!

Cannot Be Put Down

Gladys Wells had a mortal enemy.

In whirlwind teenage style it all started over practically nothing. She said hello to the new student in class, they looked at each other and-- as her mother liked to say-- something went widdershins. Which naturally meant the universe started pairing them up at every turn. Lab assignments, seating charts, essay partners, everything. Loathing had a name, and it was Rebecca Johnson.

Everything blew up at lunch.

"Why do you talk like that?" Rebecca demanded. She gestured with a carrot stick. "All heh-oh instead of hell-lo and stuff? It's weird. Do you hate the letter 'L'?"

"My mam's Welsh." Gladys fired back, cheeks flaming and very aware of her accent. "Why does your face look like that?"

Then it was war.

By the time she got home Gladys was seething in angry reflection. The landscape caught her mood immediately: Bees steered clear. Grass flattened and flowers turned away. New growth reconsidered. Even Hickory Tom lifted his branches like he wanted nothing to do with whatever-this-is, thank you so much.

Her mother waited in the kitchen, teacup and cookie plate in hand. Witches always have good instincts. "Bad day, dear?"

"The worst." Gladys laid into every petty thing that made Rebecca evil. It took quite a while. Her mother listened politely, occasionally scooping at the air and neatly depositing the collected animosity into a pot. It looked like red-tinted pea soup, roiling and bitter.

"...and she's taking my friends," Gladys finished. Then slumped over, exhausted. Grudges drained a lot of energy.

"No one takes a friend, fy annwyl un," her mam chided.

"Sure felt like it." Gladys groused. She hate-chewed a cookie and thought. "How d'ya cast a spell for pleasant dreams?"

The elder Wells took on a distant expression. "An' be Middle English, most likely. Old country. Try au queme, or foreshortened queme. Queme nic breuddwyd." She chopped syllables until it sounded like bride-vood.

"So the opposite would be... misqueme? Aye?"

"Gladys Wells." Mother and daughter shared a lot: Round cheeks, thin lips, a calamity of freckles. But her mam's disapproving stare was an age beyond anything the teen could pull off. "Don't you think of it."

"I'm not," she muttered.

Oh, but she was.

And later that night, just before dawn, Gladys did. She sang misqueme nic brueddwyd into the night. What answered was small and weak, barely a palmful of shadow looking for purpose. She took it in hand, pouring in annoyance and mischief. Then she gave it a strand of Rebecca's hair and went to bed, grinning.

The next week began the same with angry stares and frosty silence. But as days passed Rebecca seemed to fade, losing energy. First she looked tired, then exhausted, and by Thursday practically zombified. Gladys' smile shone brightly through it all. Especially when her rival fell asleep and immediately yelled herself awake from a nightmare. In public!

But by Saturday the guilt crept in. Fun was fun, but nobody should have bad dreams forever. So when the moon rose Gladys spoke misqueme once again, calling it back for banishment. She expected a palmful of shadow. Weak. Easily handled.

What landed in her attic room was a bombshell of choking darkness.

Gladys yelped, then called green balefire into both hands to force the night away. "Ease off! What are ya?"

It seemed offended. What you made me, the dark whispered. A terror of the night.

Her room felt like it was going to explode with raw malice. "Well. Uh. Stop, now. Yer done, give back that hair. Leave off Rebecca an' all that nonsense. Go away."

No. This is my purpose, to consume her dreams until death.

For a long minute a stunned Gladys stood there, fire in both palms, really considering the idea of unintended consequences and personal responsibility. "How about... not doing that? And talk normally!"

"I cannot stop," the shadow hissed. It sounded the way running in nightmares felt: Hopelessly inescapable. "What we are, is. What you made me, I am. Could you stop being yourself?"

She thought that over. "Well, no. But I can change. Can you?"

It was the shadow's turn to consider. "A trade, then. Give me a purpose and a place to be."

"Okay, I guess-"

"And a name," it interrupted in a greedy tone. "So I will always know myself."

A wiser, more experienced witch might have balked. But Gladys was overwhelmed and it had to come to an end. So she offered up the fire. "Alright. Here, trade. Balefire for hair. I've got a handbag somewhere around here you can live in."

"And my name?" His eyes took light, blazing green in an ocean of night.

She thought, then shrugged. Why not name him what he was? Misqueme nic brueddwyd, the offender of dreams. "Nic."

WC: 798

r/Susceptible

« Back | 3 | Forward »

[removed]

Of our class only a few remained. Early on we felt a certain type of pride, as if we were the most "human" of the bunch, not being willing to bash each other in or do the ol' in-out on their fellow man or woman.

However, that could not be further from the truth.

"Hey, guys." Helen beckoned to us. "I got lunch ready."

This loop, she decided to make turkey and cheese sandwiches with bags of Funyuns and Caprisun pouches.

"Thanks, Hel." I said, digging in.

"It'd be February thirteenth if the days had kept going." Janice said, her eyes fixed firmly on her paper plate.

"Really?" Tim asked. "You've kept track?"

"You haven't?" Janice retorted.

Several of us clearly hadn't. An awkward silence fell.

Helen broke the silence.

"Hey, uh, guys." She cleared her throat. "Today, this loop, can we just promise each other that we're gonna be calm? This cycle, let's all just relax, keep our cool, and be nice to each other, okay? Just... after Clyde, Justin, and Kyle's riot..." Helen cried, ending her speech.

"Yeah, sure." I said along with most of the others.

My brothers, at that time, I truly believed that. I'm sure all of us did. It was supposed to be just a nice, mellow day.

But, my brothers, what you must understand is that the most important thing in a man's life is the present. The current moment triumphs all.

That is how I will try to justify myself, anyway, for really at the end of the day, who cares? There is only my own mind to satiate. I am not standing before a gate with angels, not yet anyway.

Regardless, as if at this time feeling guilt or feeling sorry for myself will help.

Anyway, in that present moment I promised to be good. I promised to do what I needed to do, which effectively was just relax for like twenty for hours.

I don't know what happened, my friends.

It felt as though a primal force, like an instinct of sorts, was pushing me in a particular direction, like an incredibly strong gust of wind.

There were these physical hands on my body gripping my legs and arms and fingers, even gripping the hairs on my head to make me look particularly badass during the action.

The ghostly fingers stretched my eyelids wide opened as they helped me bludgeon Janice. By the time her head was unrecognizable mush the fingers push had much lessened. I threw plenty more blows, my brothers, before stopping due to swallowing down the wrong pipe.

So there I was, doubled over because I swallowed wrong, drenched in blood. I was really belly-coughing, cause it felt like the saliva had gotten far into my lungs.

"Hey, Steve, you okay?" My colleague, Harper asked from outside of my stall.

"Jus- doi- fine." I spurted, finally getting some of the fluid out of my system.

"Yeah, ya sound peachy." Harper said dryly. "See you at the conference, brother, it starts at four."

[deleted]

Criminals, you are on notice! Death is no longer an escape from the law, and you sentence shall longer ends with one life alone --Senator Hariett Miller-Forsythe

EXCERPT FROM THE HOUSE COMMITTEE ON THE INVESTIGATION OF POST-MORTEM JUSTICE TECHNOLOGIES (p.23)

Sen. Miller-Forsythe (Senator): And what position did you hold, Mr. Kumish?

Anil Kumish: I was employed as a Senior Reincarnation Engineer

Senator: In what way can you be considered 'senior'? My understanding is that Reincarnation is quite new.

Kumish: [pause] As a person of Indian descent, it was felt that I had a deeper experience with reincarnation than most of my colleagues.

Senator: And is that true?

Kumish: [pause] I felt that my qualifications were adequate for the position and title

Senator: And, I'm sure, the salary.

Kumish: [laugh] I would not put it so forwardly but...one may say that.

Senator: So then, Senior Reincarnation Engineer, I suppose you would be the person to ask: what happened at my jail?

Kumish: Well, let me begin by saying that the Corrective Reincarnation Facility was not a jail, as we understand it. It is better to think of it more like an enormous water tank, filling up balloons of water.

Now imagine--"

Senator: I don't want to imagine, Mr. Kumish. I want to know why 17,000 prisoners have escaped from a secure federal facility.

Kumish: ...Senator, I cannot explain why if you do not allow me to explain. I understand that this is an important part of your policy.

Senator: This is justice, Mr. Kumish.

Kumish: There we must agree to disagree.

Senator: Noted. Now, I'd like to know more about this process--you said it's like filling a water balloon?

Kumish: That is correct. Imagine that consciousness--or the soul if you prefer--is the accumulated experiences of a living creature. The more experience that the individual has the capacity to be aware of, the more "sapient" the creature. However these awarenesses must bind together. We have found that there are distinct collection of elementary particles which make up a "key", which upon death, pops out of existence via quantum tunneling. That collection, however, invariably pops back in again. This, in essence, is "reincarnation".

However without those previous experiences and neural connections, the "key" lacks any context of its previous life. It is wiped clean.

Senator: Nothing is "clean" until they have served their sentence and paid their debt to society.

Kumish: That...it goes against what we have shown in our labs.

Senator: I don't care about your labs. I want to know what happened in my jail!

Kumish: [pause] What happened is it became alive, Senator.

Senator: Impossible.

Kumish: As I said, a soul is simply a binding agent for accrued experience. Now it takes a tremendous amount of computing power to store and manage these souls, and in an absence of experience, they bind to...each other.

Senator: ...I don't believe it.

Kumish: But you must. Because it is true. The building itself is alive. Every water pipes is an artery, every cell is another set of tissues, every computer an extension of its brain. Your prisoners are reborn, together, and have brought life to the place that was supposed to deny it.

In a way, Senator, you gave birth to this thing. You are its mother, and it cries for you. It cries for you all day and all night. I have here a recording--

Senator: What are you. Put that down this instant.

Kumish: This is evidence. Do you not want to hear the evidence.

Senator: I will--someone remove that thing from Mr. Kumish, please.

Kumish: But you must listen! You must! You don't understand--you must listen!

Senator: Get that thing--Bailliff! Get that--stop recording this instant. Stop--I will NOT listen! Stop!

-TRANSCRIPT ENDS-

"Time Traveler's Dilemma"

​

In a world of endless space and time,

A patient came to me, a troubled mind.

He claimed to be a traveler from the past,

Sent to destroy the cause of humanity's last.

​

But every test I gave, it all came back clear,

His mind was sound, without a trace of fear.

And yet he swore, with utmost conviction,

That he had lived through history's collision.

​

I listened with a curious ear,

To tales of war and pain and fear.

He spoke of futures dark and grim,

And how he worked to change the paradigm.

​

But what is real, and what is not,

In this mind that's caught in thought?

Is he a savior, or just insane,

Lost in a world of grief and pain?

​

I can't say for sure, but one thing's true,

His story's captured my imagination too.

And in the end, that's all that matters,

The tales we tell, and how they scatter.

​

In the mind of this patient, lost in time,

A tale unfolds, both true and sublime.

Though it may not be fact, it's worth the retelling,

A hero's journey, a story worth dwelling.

"Fuck!" I yell as my eyes open again to the same goddamn song on the goddamn alarm radio in this goddamn hotel. I get up and pick up the alarm and just start smashing it against the nightstand. Fucking piece of shit. This trickster was something else. Just be a worse person he said. How much worse could I be!? I killed seventeen people yesterday. With a fucking fork. I don't think I can get much worse than that.

It was day three hundred and twelve. Three hundred and fucking twelve. And here I was again. Maybe I was going about this the wrong way. Maybe I was thinking too big. I needed to think small. Pushing old ladies off curbs? No, there's no way that was worse than murder. I had to think bigger. Much bigger.

What's bigger than stabbing seventeen people to death with a fork? Other than stabbing eighteen people to death with a fork. Sure, I knew how this day played out intimately, but that didn't give me a superpower. I didn't have the ability to drop a nuke on a city just because I'd lived the same day so many times. But maybe...

I got dressed and slipped my shoes on. I had given up on getting dressed somewhere in the hundreds, but it just made me more conspicuous. It made getting away with any misdeeds considerably harder. No, I had to get dressed in the same fucking outfit every day. Because why not. I wished I had brought more than one outfit here almost a year ago when I had first checked in. But I was only supposed to be here for a night. Why would I have brought a wardrobe? Same jeans and button-up I had worn every day since I got here.

I stepped out onto the sidewalk, and my phone went off. It was just the alarm for my business meeting. I wasn't going to that. I hadn't gone to that since the third day. I had hoped maybe that's what the trickster meant. I couldn't have been any further off. I didn't even remember what the meeting was about. Just that that's why I was in this fucking city. I stepped to the right as I avoided a falling air conditioning unit. It crashed to the ground. It had killed me the first day and somewhere in the two hundred range. I had forgotten to get out of the way. I wish the trickster had just let me die.

Instead, he gave me a new lease on life. Said all I had to do was be as bad as I possibly could. Whatever that meant. I had a line I wasn't willing to cross. That line was becoming noticeably fainter as the days ticked by. I had figured out where to get a bomb around day one hundred and fifty. I was going to go that route today. It wasn't a large bomb. It could take out a building. That was the mission today.

I turned down the right streets until I was in a seedy alley. The kind of place that just reeked of sexual assault and murder. It was also where a delivery man was waiting for someone to pick up a bomb. The bomb was originally intended to take out the football stadium during a game later today. Turns out, that wasn't evil enough. Even after I killed the original bomber and planted the bomb myself. Nothing. I walked up to the man standing outside of the white van.

"You the guy?" he asked as he looked behind me to ensure there was nobody else around.

"Yeah, I'm the fucking guy. Who else would I be? Get out of here. I'll take it from here. The rest of the payment will hit your account tonight."

I had staked out the meeting with him and the actual guy on an earlier day. I knew how it went. Though the actual bomber was going to show up in about ten minutes and be pissed. That wasn't my problem. I climbed into the van and turned the keys. In the back was a large contraption that I couldn't even hope to understand. All I knew was there was a button on it. When I pushed that button, I had about two minutes to get the fuck out.

I pulled my phone out and looked up two words. Children's Hospital. There was one hit downtown. It was the largest children's hospital in the country. I knew it well. My company donated millions to it a year. It had about a thousand beds in it and was usually filled to capacity. I drove down to the place. It wasn't very far away.

I drove around the building until I saw the delivery bay. It tucked up underneath the hospital a little. I turned in and pulled up as far as I could. I grabbed the gun that had been deposited in the glove box and got out. Hopefully, I wouldn't need it, but who gave a fuck at this point. I opened the back of the van and pressed the big yellow button, and the timer started. There wasn't an actual timer. I had just guesstimated it was about two minutes from the last time I'd used the bomb. For some reason, there was a red button on the bomb that turned it off. Couldn't have that. So, I sat down on the back of the open van and put the gun down beside me. Time to wait.

"Hey, you can't park there!" a voice came from around the van. "This is for deliveries only!" I swung my feet off the van and hit the ground. I grabbed the gun and stepped around. I tucked the gun behind my back. I wasn't a very good shot.

"What'd you say? I couldn't hear you from way over there." The man stepped closer and as he did, I pulled the gun out and shot him a few times in the chest. I looked up at the security camera, waved, and then walked back to the back of the van again. Should be any second now. Any second to sweet release. I heard the click from the mechanism in the bomb. There it was. I heard the explosion a second before it enveloped me.

The next thing I knew, that goddamn song was playing again. I opened my eyes. "Fuck!"

In the rules they say the assigned subject must be a major plot point. So weekly timing on a task or Weekly as a noun aka a newsletter, magazine, or newspaper.

The fact that he was lost was apparent to him, he probably took a wrong turn somewhere but at this point hes so far into the walk its best to just find a place to settle for the day. If Jack just had given him a better map he would've been there already, and chances are slim he'll find anyone, Bloodfog rolled through this area unexpectedly yesterday.

Something clawed at the back of his mind however, something just felt wrong about this place. He just couldnt put his finger on it however, just an overwhelming sense of dread.

Nothing like the normal level of paranoia one develops in this wasteland, but something different; so far beyond normal instincts, instead something deeper was clawing at him, telling him this area just wasn't right.It took him a while to realize it, "Wait." he says, stopping in his tracks and looking around the area.

"Bloodfog hit this area last night, but there's nothing out here. Not even rats,
normally i'd be having to kick them off my legs around now. What the
hell is up with this place?" He says paranoid, breaking into a jog.

Soon however he sees something. A town in the distance, buildings still in decent order and overall looking fairly nice. Walking over to the place, there's a sign next to the road leading in. "You are now entering Andell, Welcome!"

"Since when was there a town out this way?" He asks himself and walks into the town.

"Hey! Welcome to Andell, What's your name?" A voice comes from behind him, and
he spins around quickly brandishing his pipe in shock.

But upon turning around, all he sees is a normal person just standing there in a vintage
dress shirt and trousers.

Catching his breath from the shock of someone coming up behind him, he answers. "David, what is this place and why are you dressed like that?" David asks, looking at the clean and nearly spotless attire this man is wearing, vastly opposed to the more practical and defensive attire mostly designed to protect from threats of all kinds.

"Nice to meet you David, you can call me Richard. You seem new to town, do you have a place to stay tonight, its supposed to get awfully bad out tonight." Richard says, extending his hand for david to shake.

Shaking the man's hand David answers, "No, i was looking for a place, but didnt expect to find this place."

"Well, why don't you come stay the night at our place, my lovely wife mary is cooking a wonderful dinner of Salisbury steak; she'd be delighted to have someone for dinner. We also have a guest room you can stay in for the night, hows that sound?" Richard says, slapping a hand on Davids back.

Turning to look around the rest of the town, he sees dozens of people; all of them staring at them, having stopped their yardwork to watch. Each of them wearing similar garb to Richard, and each of them looking eeriely clean.

"ah, I'd love to. Thank you for the offer!" David says, thoroughly creeped out and just wanting out of the street.

Richard walks David to his home, which just like him, looks spotless. Inside the home is more of the same, the house is clean and perfect. "Mary, wehave a guest for dinner. Come and say hello to David," Richard calls out, and a woman wearing a slightly stained apron and dress comes walking to the both of them.

"Nice to meet ya David, Im Mary but you know that I'm sure. We're glad to have ya, come! sit at the table, dinner will be finished soon." She says, leading the two to a dinner table.

Sitting at the table, Richard sits down as well on the side of the table while David sits at the end.

a few minutes later, Mary comes with 3 plates of food and sets down a plate of Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes in front of each of them and sits down opposite Richard.

Mary and Richard begin eating, and Mary turns to him. "So what brought you to our lovely town?" she asks politely like nothing is wrong in the world.

"Just a job, gotta find something for someone. The map they gave me must've been
wrong, or I read it wrong because I got lost and ended up here." David says awkwardly but starts to eat the steak.

"Well out of all places to get lost in, our humble town is certainly the best!" Richard says, gesturing with his fork.

The passive conversation continues, and David slowly starts getting more comfortable. The unease never fully left, but maybe this is just his brain playing tricks on him. It's been so long since he's seen a nice town that wasn't full of mercs and drunks.

Something catches his mind however, a stray thought popping into his brain. "There was three chairs when i walked in, and why did they just 'have' a dinner for three cooking?" Panic starts to set in, something really doesn't feel right about this place, his vision starts to dull.

"David, isnt my wife just a fantastic cook? I bet you can barely taste the muscle relaxants and sleeping pills in your food." Richard says casually, a smile on his face.

The panic fully sets in and David shoots up and out of his chair and he starts to make a break for the door. But his legs feel like their in molasses, and eyes start to feel heavy. Before he realizes it he's out.

When David awakes, he's in a dark room and Richard and Mary are standing around him. "Ah, he's awake." Richard smiles, picking a meat cleaver up off the table and tossing it in the air and catching it with ease.

David wants to scream, to yell for someone but pain comes from his throat as he tries. "Sorry
dear, we had to cut your vocal cords out before you woke up. Didn't want you disturbing the peace and quiet in the neighborhood now did we?" Mary says innocently as if she didn't just admit to such a terrifying thing.

"Yknow, we just love having guests for dinner. Much better taste, better then those
things affected by the fog." Richard says, cleaning the cleaver with a rag.

"Bloodfog just gives the meat an off taste, but with you here." She doesnt finish her sentence but just chuckles to herself.

"Sorry about this David, but it cost alot to bribe Jack to give you that map and a mans gotta provide for his family. Im sure you understand." Richard says, walking towards Davids lower half and begins hacking away.

Slowly and efficiently they cut and hack at flesh and bone, Making sure each piece is a perfect size and placing each into wrappings to store. The Process is long and horrible, but soon enough the blood lost gets to David, and he goes into a deathly sleep.
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