The Sun has been eclipsed, all that is visible is a dim red glow...no matter where on Earth you are at...also a large amount of people are reporting hearing what sounds like radio transmissions in thire heads...demanding human sacrifice....in order for the light to return.

Bro I'm dumb, what does the ending mean???

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/1983_Soviet_nuclear_false_alarm_incident

What if it actually lead to nuclear war?

Assume there are bunkers scattered throughout the US that would be capable of holding some small portion of the population until the surface is safe to inhabit again.

Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it. :)

Winter never ended. It didn’t get particularly colder than usual. There wasn’t more snow (at least not all at once), but summer never came.

Wonderful! This was the perfect bedtime story!

Two city-states, one dedicated to the study and practice of arcane magic and the other dedicated to the practice of divine magic, have fought in a continuous war for centuries; Until they took it too far.

The ground flew up, there's nothing below. We live now among the clouds.

The line to the cave was Loooong. There were people outside the cave of wonders with books like "How to phrase your wish" and "1001 Rephrasing Rights", the whole thing was kind of sad. All the good wishes were taken, immortality, ruling the world, perfect true love, big ol' dick. There were databases of known granted wishes, you could search it.

Al had been up all night doing just that. And it was shockingly exhaustive. Even the selfless stuff was taken, the condors saved, world peace and all that jazz. People would rather get a wish that did nothing for them than go home empty handed.

Al had a plan, everyone in line had a plan. But Al's plan was solid, no more ocean plastic, that shit had to go. It was killing turtles or something. And it was definitely still there. Sure soon after mankind would probably dump even more plastic in the ocean, but the island of garbage seemed like a problem worth fixing.

As Al got to the front of the line he saw a vendor selling Arayes, Al could eat. While his food was being cooked he struck up conversation, and since 18 year olds are idiots he meantioned in passing his wish. "Ah, it's been done" the vendor said casually "What!?" Al was shocked "Yes, the gentleman was very happy to have gotten his wish, I remember it clearly. Shame it didn't last." Sighed the vendor "I suppose the problems we make for ourselves cannot be undone by even a genie". Al was heartbroken, but that Arayes was fantastic, it made Al wish tipping was a thing in this country, but when he offerd more money he just got more food.

The line grew shorter and shorter. Al couldn't think of anything. Then the line was gone, and Al enterd the cave. An inmost cavern flled with glittering silver treasure, the twilight blue walls studded with white starlight gems. In the middle of it all, in golden manacles chained to the floor was her. The Genie looked at him, her eyes an oasis of light in the dark cave. She moved, and her blue skin swam with patterns of the cosmos. She was almost seven feet tall but looked small while bound to the stone. She was wonder itself, desire and majesty forever trapped. "What is your wish" she whisperd, but Al knew he would be able to hear it even if he had no ears.

"Do you want a Arayes?" Al asked. "They're good, and I got way too many" he said, sheepishly. The creature of fable and firelight nodded, Al walked closer than anyone should dare to hand her the food. She ate like an animal, ravenious and savage, but there was no mess, no crumbs, no smear across her cheek or grease on her hands.

"Wow, I can go get more if you're that hungry" Al said. "Make your wish" the feral goddess hissed. Al realized how close he was, and what a bad idea that was. His mind was totally free of all thought. "I wish..." and he cut iff, he had hoped to say something, anything, just for an excuse to leave.

The Genie looked at him, expectantly. Her eyes could wait forever, and she might because Al was still drawing a blank. "I don't know" he said. "I don't know what to wish for. It seems like everything good I could wish for would be rolled back by the same people who did it to beguin with, and the selfish wishes are pointless." he shruged.

The Genie crossed her legs and looked at him flatly "Why dod you journy to my cave then?" she ponderd. Al shrugged "It's just something to do, there's a shuttle right from the airport. The whole thing only costs $500, hotel included. Seems like a good thing to do for your birthday. See the last magical thing there is, try for a wish" he said meekly.

"A wish is not something you try. It's a hope, something you desire in your heart of hearts. It is a burning question only you can answer and only I can grant" she said. Al looked right at her "Geez no pressure or anything. So it's supposed to be totally unique but also an expression of myself? How can I do that. I'm Al, I'm the plain white toast of people!" he shouted at a cosmic goddess.

"Mortals usually wait until after I deny them to get this upset" she said. "Fine" Al said "I wish... I wish that... Why are you chained up?" he asked. The genie looked back at him "To keep me here, for the rest of time. All my kind left this world, starved of winder and magic, this poisoned world was abandoned. Now there is only me, alone, and serving the whims of creatures who hardly know what wishing is" she sighed.

"I'm sorry, that sounds horrible" he said. "I wis-" she put a finger over his lips "Don't. It's okay. I do not regret this. I have been here long, but I see that I have purpose, meaning here. Even if it is a small hope of a genuine wish" she said. "I can't make any other wish" said Al, "It's the only one I want. I understand now, what you mean about the heart". The genie shook her head "You cannot, others have tried, and failed, it is not a new wish" she said.

"I wish to meet you again, somewhere far far away, so I can show you the whole world outside this cave" he wished. And the genie looked at him a long time "This is truely your wish, I am forced to obey. It is granted." she said, and the wind whisperd through the cavern.

Silence. The rain was still hammering, with its rhythm outpaced only by my wildly beating heart. "What are you doing out so late? And in the rain and cold, no less? Don't you know you might get sick? Where are your parents?"

Beth looked at me startled, and I knew that she was thinking of a way out.

"Don't lie to me, Beth," I said, "I will know."

"Well," Beth began, "you see, sir-um, William, by Gran is in the hospital, and-"

"Is she–" I began to ask, fearing the worst.

"Oh no, she's okay. Well, she got dizzy the other day, and they brought her here. But my mom told me she was gonna be okay."

"Well that's good," I replied, thankful that I would not have to know Beth in my other form.

"But, well... I just kept thinking and thinking, and I thought that it must be real lonely, being there all by herself," Beth continued.

"No doubt."

"And I thought my doggie could make her happy!"

I finally remembered the dog. "But Beth," I began, "dogs aren't allowed in. You mom should know that."

Beth was silent.

"Your mother doesn't know you came, does she?"

Beth looked more fearful than she had when she first saw me from the shadows. "Please, please don't tell my mom!" she cried.

I considered her for a moment. Minutes prior, she saw me as a necromancer. And now, after only a short conversation, she viewed me like so many other adults in her life. Relatives. Teachers. Someone who cared enough for her wellbeing to report her transgressions to her mother. Childhood innocence was a truly beautiful thing.

After some thought, I decided on a compromise. "I'll make a deal with you, Beth. I won't tell your mother, but I can't promise you that your Gran won't. But you had to expect her to scold you anyway, right?"

Beth's eyes beamed with excitement. "You mean I can bring Whisper in to my Gran?"

"It isn't allowed, but I would expect them to make an exception for their resident necromancer," I said as I turned back towards the entrance to the hospital. "Do you know what floor your Gran is on?"

I had taken several steps before I realized that Beth was not following me. I stopped and turned around, and could tell that she was deep in thought about something. "Is everything okay?" I asked.

"William, you're very nice," Beth said.

Whatever I might have anticipated for this child to say, I did not expect this. "Thank you," I said, fighting to hold back tears.

"But why are you a necromancer?" she asked.

"I've often wondered the same thing," I replied after gathering myself. But this was unsatisfactory, and Beth still didn't budge. I continued, "I always wanted to do something that would make me feel special. And having power to bring people back–well, I thought that would make me special. But it wasn't just that. I help people. People have an easier time, uh, well, dying, if they think they can come back."

I could tell that she didn't understand. And how could she? She was too young for such horrible things like death and loss and grief. And she had yet to feel an urge to rise up and to be someone "important." She was already in the most tranquil stage of her life, and she wouldn't realize it until it was too late.

Beth eventually found her words. "You're a person though, right William?"

I wanted to tell her that I often questioned this myself, but instead I told the truth as I understood it by nodding affirmatively.

"Is someone dying now?" Beth inquired.

I didn't know how to respond. I didn't want to scare her. But I also wanted to treat her with respect, as she had with me. I decided to tell her the truth, with the hope that the truth would not bring about a substantial disruption of her blissful ignorance.

"Yes, someone is dying now. But he's an old man, who has lived for a very long time."

I hoped her questions would end there, but I was prepared to give her more if she requested it.

"And you're going to bring him back?"

"No."

A look of shock spread across this child's face. "I don't get it."

"I can only bring people back if they give me something in return. But I don't always get something. The person who is going to die tonight, well... he doesn't have anything to give me in exchange. And it would only be fair for me to bring him back if he could play his part and give me something in return. Does that make sense?"

I couldn't look her in the face as I divulged this. She would hate me for this. I knew she would. And I wouldn't be able to blame her–I hated myself, too. Only a monster tries to profit off of sorrow and mortality, and to deny people a last chance to be with their loved ones due to a lack of funds was something far more repulsive than a mere monster.

"I don't make the rules, Beth," I said, still not daring to see her reaction, "I am forced to behave in a certain manner. The Order of Necromancy is.. well, it's like school. You have to follow the rules. If you don't, you get in trouble."

I finally dared to look down into Beth's face. What I saw wasn't loathing, or disgust, but mere childish curiosity. "But if you aren't going to bring him back, then why are you here?" she finally asked after what seemed like an eternity.

I was so relieved that Beth didn't seem to hate me that I found myself crying for the first time in many years. I knew that the darkness, alongside the damp air, would make it difficult for Beth to tell, and I hoped that she couldn't. After calming myself down enough to steady my voice, I said, "It's because the family wants me to be there. You see, when a necromancer is there, it gives dying people a feeling of security. They expect to be brought back, and they have an easier time dying."

"Why?"

"Because they don't think it's actually the end for them."

"But it is?"

"Yes. You see, sometimes a family doesn't have enough to give me for me to bring someone back to life, but they want the person who is dying to think that I am going to bring them back. So they give me a little bit, and in exchange I will stand in the room while the person dies. Deaths like this are usually fairly smooth, because they do not tell the person who is dying that they will not be coming back to life, but because they think that they will be they are more at ease with the idea of passing on."

Beth seemed to be deep in thought. She seemed to be a very clever little girl, and I was unsure of what I could expect from her. I hadn't told her that the practice of deathbed comfort was most commonly used for children belonging to indigent families, and I hoped that the subject would be be breached by this very smart young person. Finally, she said, "So you are there so that people are not afraid when they die?"

I pondered this for a moment. "Well, I guess you could think about it that way."

To my surprise, Beth's smile had returned. "That's a very nice thing to do! You ARE a nice person!"

She took my hand and led me inside, and moments later I was back at the side of Mr. Brent Felix's deathbed. Once again gazing into oblivion. He wouldn't die for some time yet. But he soon would. And eventually his son would join him. And eventually I would, too. And so would Beth. While we are living, we are dying. Adults build the world, but children arguably got the most out of it. For what was a good life, if not a pure one? What was the sense of resurrection, if someone lived a life with no regret? Perhaps childlike ignorance of the world and its evils was the happiest sort of existence. Maybe I could still find a childlike joy for life somewhere within myself–a glowing aura within the oblivion.

A gasp came from the shadows, and a young girl and her dog slowly moved into the light. I would have preferred solitude, but if I had to see another person, at least this was someone who lacked an understanding of death.

"What are you doing out so late?" I asked her.

She continued to stare at me in bewilderment, stunned to silence. No doubt she was afraid of me. I would normally ignore the gawkers, but on this night I was especially starved for human interaction, so I pressed on.

"You're soaked. Come under the awning."

I put out my cigarette, and forced a smile, as I tried once again to have this human interaction. "My name is William," I said in the friendliest tone I could muster, "what's your name? Please share the awning with me. I promise it's okay."

To my surprise, the girl slowly made her way under the awning's protection. She hadn't ceased her stares, but I was used to this from children. I was also used to ignoring their stares, and leaving them at the mercy of their imaginations. But I surprised myself when I found myself saying, "You need not fear me, child. I am only a person."

I have since wondered if there was something different about this encounter that made me reach out. Was it my desperation for a genuine connection? Was it boredom? Was it the effect of the small amount of adrenaline I felt every time I ran into Brenda? I may never know for certain. But in the twenty years of being a necromancer, I had never stooped so low as to attempt to win the approval anybody, let alone a child. But I could not resist myself on this occasion.

"Are you–you're a necromancer?" the girl finally mumbled after several more seconds.

"Yes! But I am also a human! I'd just like you."

I knew that I was breaking a sacred vow of necromancy. We are supposed to be something above mortality. This was a lie; we have always been mortals–human beings who have studied the art of resurrection just as others study the art of carpentry–but it was always tantamount that the illusion always exist. I don't know if we present ourselves as something inhuman because our craft is so repugnant to what being a human means that the disassociation is necessary, or because other humans do not want to associate themselves with us and our craft. Regardless, I knew that I had risked everything by saying these things to this girl, and yet in that moment I did not care.

I could tell the girl did not agree that I, too, was a human. But I was determined to convince her. "Look," I said as I removed by black gauntlets to reveal sweaty, slender hands, "I'm like you, see? Hold up your hand."

She did, and our palms came together; in that moment, I felt as if a ball of light had formed within the darkness that was my inner self, much as our surroundings appeared under that awning.

The girl wore a smirk, but I could see that she was not fully convinced. "But you..." she began.

"Do you like cartoons?"

She grinned a bit wider and nodded.

"So do I! I loved cartoons growing up, and I still do. And I like to play soccer, and skate, and hang out with my friends!"

Those were lies. Those were things I used to enjoy, before my pride and ambition led me to the arts of resurrection. I had exchanged one life for another; a life of living for a life of dying. I did enjoy cartoons; those, at least, could be enjoyed in isolation.

"Do you like Pony Maids?" the little girl asked.

"What is that?" I replied.

"A cartoon!" she exclaimed. She now wore a wide smile, probably because she realized that she was in the presence of a necromancer who was nice and relatable–a limitless canvas for the imagination.

"I haven't seen that one. It sounds like it's for girls!" Here, I broke another tenant. I was a male before I studied necromancy, but we are supposed to leave earthly things like our sex and gender behind.

"You're silly!" the girl said over her excited giggling.

"No, I am not silly. I'm William." I extended my hand once again for a friendly handshake.

She shook it after only a slight hesitation. "I am Elizabeth," she replied.

My heart expanding from the joy the handshake had awoken within me, I found myself motivated to continue the interaction. "It's nice to meet you, Elizabeth. That's a big name for such a little girl. You didn't get formal on me, did you? What do people call you? Lizzie?"

"Beth," she said warmly.

"Well, I'm glad I met you, Beth."

"Me too, sir."

"William!"

"William."

Some rich guy tried to harvest the planets core as a power source, but cracked the planet into multiple floating, but stable pieces.

"It's okay, son. It'll be like I never left."

"I know, Dad. I know. Just... know that I love you. I love you so much."

I checked my watch. Nearly midnight. I gazed through the curtains, but all I could see was darkness. There was a city just beyond the glass, but on this night it was an empty void; it was as if the rest of the world decided to follow Mr. Brent Felix into oblivion. Rain was pounding. It sounded like an only television had lost its signal. Those, too, had been swept away with the years. Tonight Felix would join them. Before long, I would, too. Tonight I am grateful for the rain, because it counteracted the grim silence that had descended upon this scene of death, just as it had so many times before.

These are the deaths I hate the most. The long ones. The all-nighters. The sort of death that one sees coming from afar, and thus has time to ponder and to plan. Loved ones are given time to come to terms with losing someone close, which typically makes the deathbed less emotional and more solemn. Families who have retained my services will often convert the moment of loss into a ritual of revival, with myself at center stage; guest starring the dearly departed. Such a mockery of mortality is only possible when people lack appreciation for their finite existences and all of the potential accompanying such miracles. I do not lack such an appreciation. If I did, then I would not have been there that night.

I leave for a smoke. Families will usually want me to stay in the room, so that I can perform their miracle for them right after death. The fools; as if the poor bastards are less dead then than they would be later. But my presence, or lack thereof, will not be as pressing of a need tonight, because there will be no ritual. There will be no miracle.

"Where are you going? You can't leave yet!"

"Hello, Brenda," I said to my addressee, "Rain seems to have set in."

Brenda was the Head Nurse for this floor of the hospital; although we operated under separate jurisdictions, she liked to think she was my supervisor, and I had no qualms protesting; I learned long ago that I preferred diplomacy to animosity.

"You can't leave now! What if he-"

"He isn't going to die; not for some time yet. I'm stepping out for a while."

Brenda was not satisfied with this explanation; unsurprising, since Brenda seemed to be the physical embodiment of dissatisfaction. If I could resurrect lost traits, instead of bodies, I thought I might reunite Brenda with her sense of inner peace and tranquility. But such power was too much even for a necromancer.

Brenda employed her favorite tactic–speaking quietly but intensely, hoping to intimidate me into compliance–when she said, "William, how can you leave when you don't know when Mr. Felix will pass?"

"Because I do know, Brenda. It's my job to know."

I ignored Brenda's remaining protestations and take an empty elevator to the ground floor. She was actually a good looking woman–even more so when she's worked up–and she's always worked up. Maybe, if I still had any semblance of my old humanity, I would make an effort to know her in more intimate ways. Maybe if I still had my humanity, but I knew she saw me as a monster. And maybe she was right.

Fresh air filled my lungs before the smoke had a chance. The freezing air was stabbing, but I didn't mind it, because it reminded me that I was still capable of feeling sensations like other people. A click, and a small flame. I had my cigarette. But only for a fleeting moment.

[removed]

[deleted]

[removed]

“Glub glub glub glub?”

“What the fuck are you saying, Jerry? Talk normally for Neptune’s sake”

Everyone becomes a random animal, but retains their personality and memories.

The ocean became an eldritch horror as a sea of blood that slowly warps peoples mind and body.

A new Maine law has a loophole that allows unrestricted lobster fishing. Lobster fishermen battle mad max style for the last remaining lobsters.

Awesome! Thanks for answering! If you decide to continue this more it would be great if they made a return

Children are suddenly turning partly into animals, and some (like the magic-wielding angels and fae and the fire-breathing, shockingly strong dragons) are notably more destructive than others. (Yes, even more than those becoming partly literal dinosaurs.)

Turns out human DNA has suddenly and universally mutated into a triple helix.

That's... clever...

I did not see the twist until I read it then looked back and it was obvious in hindsight... That's a REALLY GOOD twist

A father clutching his child who died in his sleep unexpectedly.

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