“I need him back, please! I have to have him back! I have to! I’m begging you, I’ll do anything, pay anything, please!” the woman’s tone was beginning to border on hysteria, rising in pitch and volume with every tearful exhortation. I rubbed my temples, desperately trying to stave off the migraine that was knocking insistently at the sides of my skull. Beelzebub, I just wanted silence and my bed. I sighed, resigning myself to one more resurrection before I could turn in for the evening.

Raising the woman’s very recently-deceased husband for a last goodbye shouldn’t be too terribly taxing. It wasn’t as if she was requesting afternoon tea with Jane Austen, or worse, an evening of romance with Casanova. The longer the deceased had been off this mortal coil, the more complex and demanding the raising, and the more it took out of me. The freshly dead were the simplest to call back from behind the veil, but even those simple spells left me jelly-limbed and exhausted.

“Fine. Fine!” I interrupted her latest strident plea with a wave of my hand. “I’ll raise your beloved husband…” I glanced down at the application on my desk, filled with the woman’s spidery scrawl. “Your beloved Harold. I see that he suffered a heart attack last night. I’m very sorry, that must have been difficult for you.” I tried to sound sympathetic, but I’m afraid my irritation broke through, and the woman looked at me sharply for a moment. What was her name? Ah, yes. Grace. Grace Hudson, newly-minted widow of the late Harold.

“I gather you have read through the contract, and are familiar with the process, Mrs. Hudson?” She nodded eagerly, peering at me intently through her old-fashioned spectacles. Hades, but she looked a shrew. All bony angles and buttoned-up propriety. I wondered for a moment whether Harold mightn’t be a bit displeased to have his newly-found freedom so rudely I interrupted. I suppressed a snort and pushed the contract across my desk to Mrs. Hudson. “Sign here, initial here, here, and here, please. Payment can be made with my secretary, Jim, in the front office. Once that is complete, Jim will show you to the resurrection room. I will see you there.” I watched as Mrs. Hudson nodded curtly, and stepped through the door into the front office.

I indulged in one final massage of my now-throbbing temples, and then made my way to the darkened resurrection room. I lit the candles and incense, and checked the pentagram chalked onto the floor. The lines were still solid, the runes still legible. At least I wouldn’t have to redo the markings, that would save some time. I pulled my hooded red velvet robe over my shoulders, checked the pockets for the two silver dollars, and sat down in the center of the pentagram to await the not-so-merry widow.

Soon the gloom was broken by Jim ushering Mrs. Hudson through the door. I directed her to sit opposite me on the floor, and warned her not to put so much as a pinky outside of the chalk lines until the ritual was concluded. She nodded eagerly, and I noticed a flush in her cheeks, illuminated by the glow of the many candles. “Close your eyes,” I instructed, and she obeyed, licking her thin lips in a way that brought to mind a lizard snapping a fly out of the air. I repressed a shudder at the thought, and began the ritual.

I won’t bore you with the minutiae of resurrection, it’s all common enough knowledge these days. Suffice to say, after a seemingly interminable stretch of time, the faint odor of sulfur bloomed in the close air of the room, and an outline began to take shape. At first insubstantial, the form solidified as I kept my chant steady and unwavering.

“Open your eyes, Mrs. Hudson,” I whispered at last. There he was, as solid and corporeal as myself or the widow. Mr. Hudson. I steeled myself for the sappy protestations of love that were soon to come, I was sure. It was always the same. They would fawn over each other, each tearfully proclaiming their inability to exist without the other, blah blah blah. Instead I was met with silence. I focused on Mr. Hudson, on his face. He didn’t look happy, or sorrowful, or even surprised. He looked, if anything, a cross between angry and fearful. I swiftly turned to Mrs. Hudson. She was staring, almost hungrily, at her late husband. A cold smile barely tugged at the corners of her thin mouth.

“Hello, dear”, she hissed. “Miss me yet? I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there when you died the first time. I simply wasn’t invited, you see!” She laughed, too loudly. “You just didn’t want your faithful wife to witness your pleasure-fueled coronary, did you? How ridiculous. A 59 year-old man cavorting with a hooker a third of his age. Only you would manage to end your life on such a pathetic note. God, I was so glad to be rid of you. But you see, I really felt it was my wifely duty to be there to see you to the other side! So here we are. And there you go!”

Two loud popping sounds ripped through the stillness of the room. I looked down at Mrs. Hudson’s hands in horror, just in time to see her slipping a revolver into her prim little handbag. Almost simultaneously, a thud! echoed against the walls as the body of Mr. Hudson slammed into the floorboards.

“What have you done!” I yelled, panic swiftly setting in. Black smoke had started to swirl through the room, and the faint smell of sulfur had begun to steadily intensify into a putrid odor. “You have no idea what you’ve just done, you stupid, stupid woman!” I scrambled to my feet. The coins jingled mockingly in my pocket. I hadn’t paid. I hadn’t had the chance. I hadn’t paid. I hadn’t paid him.

Mrs. Hudson’s bravado began to falter as she beheld the intensity of my fear. She spun around and grabbed the handle of the exit door, turning in in a futile attempt to leave the room.

“It’s too late, you harpy! Too late!” I collapsed in a heap on the floor, gripping the silver dollars in my sweaty fist like a drowning man holding the last life preserver. He was coming. The best I could hope for was to grovel, offer belated payment, and hopefully sweeten the deal with a sacrifice - albeit a dried-up and rather unappealing one. One thing was certain: if I managed to get out of this, I was going back into dragon-wrangling. This necro stuff was far too exhausting.

The cloaked figure stares at the tired old man that lies before him. Halfway senile, the old man is lost in his delusions, not noticing the figure towering in his doorway. They’re in a humid, suffocating shack, out of the way, and overgrown with weeds. The sun that beat down hot overhead was the last star burning bright in the universe. The man is thin and frail, gross with age with sores and scabs all over his body. He's bare naked. It was hard to believe that this example of how pitiful a sentient creature could be was the last living thing in the universe. The tall figure stares at him, his horse whines impatiently outside, not wanting to stand in the humid heat much longer, especially with a cart full of bodies to haul. The whine of the horse pulls the old man back to reality, he recoils as he meets the eye of the cloaked figure.

The figure’s head is bone and his eyes are deep abysses. He had a long collared cloak and a wide-brimmed black hat that concealed his face until you were close enough. He looked old and tired, with his bones were rotting and fungi were growing out of his openings. He leaned on his scythe, old and rusted, for support.

“w-Who are you?” the man demanded, shocked at the monster standing before him. 

“They call me Death.” His voice was hoarse and scratchy, not very pleasant to listen to. He wasn’t what he used to be. His whole monologue has been cut down to the last sentence.

“Took ya long enough” the man quipped. He was prepared for those to be his last words, but Death didn’t make a move.

He was scared, both of them were. It was the end, their only option was to go forward into the great unknown.

The man noticed Death leaning on his scythe.

“You must be tired,” he said coarsely, he was looking for any way to prolong the inevitable, “Why not rest for a minute.”

Death weakly grunted. The man hoisted himself up and pulled out two small wooden chairs from the other side of the room. He sat the two chairs facing each other and sat on the one opposite to Death.

He motioned Death to sit, which he did after some hesitation. He set his scythe on the ground and removed his hat and put his rotting skull on full display.

“How much time is there?” the man asked, “Before the next person dies?”

Death looked at the ground, debating on weather he should say it. He never was one to talk with the souls he was about to reap, especially as of recent, but this is the last one he would ever encounter. “You’re last one” he finally choked out.

“Sorry?” the man said, not sure if he heard him right.

“You’re the last one.” Death said with more effort.

“Oh,” the man said softly. His stomach twisted with regret.

“Like, the last one ever?” he asked.

“In the whole universe.” Death responded.

They sat in silence for a while. The man tried to collect his thoughts. He debated with himself on weather Death was lying, or if he was even real. He closed his eyes and counted to 10, and when he opened them again, Death was still there. He looked around the shack, Death's words repeating in his head.

“What a shitty note to end on.” He whispered. He lived in an old one room shack near a river foaming with industrial pollution, completely desolate of any life. This is where he has spent the last 10 years, maybe more.

He thought about his life, what actions led him here. All he could think about was how much he wasted it. He started getting choked up, he could feel the onset of tears in his eyes.

“What will happen to you?” He asked.

“Don’t know.” Death replied.

“You look tired,” the man said, “I’d be excited to take a while off.” 

Death started to say something, but hesitated, examining his hands, the tips of his phalanges were gone and his right pinky was missing entirely. The bones were rotten and a dark green, with dark clumps growing on them.

The man jumped in, seeing that Death couldn’t find the words, “I wish I knew I would be the last life in the universe. Maybe then I wouldn’t have wasted so much of it.” Death looked up at him.

“I’ve been in this shack 10 years.” The man said softly tears starting to run down his cheeks. “I don’t know how I did it. You would think that you would be able to see yourself in a loop, stuck in a prison with no walls.” He pauses. “All I cared about was getting high.

“There’s a chemical. In that lake down there, some sort of waste product from whatever the factory on the hill was making. It’s the best damn thing I ever felt. With it, the pain of living would fade away, I would be in a dream while I was awake. One where I could go on any adventure I wanted. In my head.”

Death finally was able to put the words together. “I didn’t know the end would be here so soon,” he paused, “They faded together. I can’t remember the last 3 I've reaped." He paused again, "I stopped paying attention. I found out you were last when I got here.”

The man wanted to try to consolidate him. He empathized with him, "Maybe this is what the souls you collected felt. I know it's how I feel. Most people don't plan to die, they almost always were going to do something afterwards."

That sounded stupid, even as he said it.

"Or something like that." He added like it would help.

Death seemed to feel a little better after that.

"This is a new beginning for both of us." The man said, "When's the last time you've laid down and relaxed?"

"I haven't." Death said.

"That's the spirit" the man said.

"When you're done with me, lay down for a while. Take some time to reflect on everything you've seen. I know you'll figure it out sooner or later. After all, you got nothing but time."

"I guess some rest would be good for me," Death said.

With that the conversation well ran up dry. The man had so much more he wanted to know, but he knew he would find out sooner or later. After talking with Death, the prospect of dying didn't seem so scary to him.

Death stood up. "Thank you." he said warmly.

"Any time," the man said.

Death grabbed his scythe and pointed it at the mans neck. The man knew that his memory would live through death. Maybe this was what it meant to live, improving the life of others. He felt a since of accomplishment that he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Any last words?" Death asked.

"This one is for new beginnings." The man said.

Death pulled the scythe back and plunged it through the side of the man's neck, decapitating him. Death loaded the man's soul into the cart and got up on his horse. As his horse started down the road, Death's body fell apart, landing in the cart his horse pulled. His purpose fulfilled, Death faded away; having no soul to move on to the afterlife, he simply ceased to exist.

A year ago, over 90% of all the water in the world up and vanished. Today, the first rain starts.

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Victor had struggled to get to the top of the mountain. It wasn’t like he wanted to be here, but hey peer pressure was a hell of a thing. The worst thing was wishes weren’t kept secret. Specifically for the reason of keeping record of all wishes used.

Of course Victor did not make the journey alone. He came with a group of his peers. That group included, Misty, R.J, Bailey and Simon. All of them having recently turned 18. Though they had decided to wait to go so they could all make wishes together.

Misty was going first.

“I wish to be given just enough money from all the billionaires in the world that they won’t notice it’s missing.”

“Your wish is my command!” The genie replied, no one had asked that before.

Misty stepped aside as she checked her mobile banking app.

R.J was second.

“I wish to marry someone famous.”

“That wish cannot be granted at this time.”

“Damn it.” R.J muttered as he sulked away.

Bailey was third.

“I wish for my cat, Tumbleweed to be immortal.”

“Your wish is my command!”

“I knew being specific would work!” Bailey fist pumped with excitement as they bounced out of the way.

Simon was fourth.

“I wish my friendships will never end.”

“Your wish can not be granted at this time.” The genie replied. “I have only had one other person ask for never ending friendships. You must really love your friends. I am sorry i couldn’t grant your wish.”

“I do love my friends. It’s okay” Simon mumbled before sliding out of the way.

And finally, Victor was last.

Victor took a deep breath, before he opened his mouth only to close it.

“What is your wish, boy?” The genie asked.

“I don’t think it matters.”

“Why don’t you think it matters?”

“I’m sure a million people have asked for it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just feel like there are a lot of in my situation.”

“Ask your wish.”

Victor sighed.

“Please, if you do not ask, I can not grant it.”

“I wish my soulmate gets switched so I don’t have one.”

The genie looked at Victor. Seemingly speechless.

“What?”

“Are… you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Your wish is my-“ The genie couldn’t finish its sentence.

“Genie?”

“I can not grant you that wish.”

“You almost said my wish is your command though?”

“I can not leave you soulmateless.”

“Why?”

“It’s a rule. Everyone on earth has a designated soulmate, platonic for aromantic or romantic for those who want romance.”

“What happens if someone dies, are they given a new soulmate?”

“Yes, as soon as one is available, usually it’s a quick turn around.”

“So why can’t my wish be granted?”

“You can not roam this earth without a soulmate.”

“I am not roaming for long.”

“You are wrong about that.”

“I am dying.” Victor muttered to himself mostly.

“No you are not. You are ill. Not dying. Death does not beckon you.”

Victor blinked. “How do you know?”

“I know a lot of things. NEXT!”

Victor frowned as he was made to walk away. He would have to contact a lawyer since there are a few who specialize in genie wishes.

We in the business call this a branding problem. Since my biggest serial release, a certain company released an app with the same name. The app did pretty well.

I don't have a tiktok. I have a Tik Tok, very different.

I don't get it :(

this reads like a paul jennings story!! brilliantly done

A generation was awakend, only a few perfected it. Now you will get your revenge for bullying.

Once again, I face the enemy alone. I sighed. Do I start healing, or do I take the enemy down first? Can’t spend time thinking. Enemy first. I drew out my trusty scalpel.

“You think you stand a chance with that tiny thing?” The dark armored knight asked, incredulous.

“This is a scalpel. It’s far mightier then that giant slab of metal you carry on a wooden handle.” I grinned, shifting my weight to the balls of my feet after kicking off my boots and shucking off my gloves and white coat. I’d dump the dress I was wearing too, but I didn’t want to be naked. My scrubs had yet to be cleaned.

“Are you even serious right now? Do you not see the giant sword I’m holding here?”

“I do.” I shot forward, and the knight found himself on the ground. He tried to stand, but one leg refused to support him. He frowned at the cut on the back of his ankle. How could a tiny cut be this damaging? Wait. Did the woman even move? He had turned to block her, but he was already on the ground. Just who was this strange woman? “By the way, I nicked your Achilles tendon. Stay off that leg for a week or two, and you’ll be fine.”

The knight watched as I easily chucked my party members back into the wagon. No one was bleeding, but there were a number of bruises, and one possible broken toe. I turned back to the knight.

“Let me guess. Me too.” The knight struggled to stand, and found himself in the back of the wagon. “Wait! My horse!”

“Already tied to the back of the wagon, unless you want me to stuff him in there with you.”

No need!”

I climbed onto the wagon seat, took the reins, and set off at a steady trot. The motion would wake them up before long.

“Oww… Hey wait a minute! Why’s he in here with us?”

I turned my head. “His horse would be in there with you too, but he agreed to me tying it up to the wagon instead, Lance.”

Several more pained grunts reached our ears.

“Geez, lady! How mu-“

“DON’T YOU DARE CONTINUE THAT THOUGHT!” Iris snapped.

“Get off me then!”

“WHY IS THE BLACK KNIGHT IN HERE WITH US?”

“Hello? Being crushed by your-“

“WANNA DIE?”

“I’m going to if you don’t move!”

“Iris, get off of Steven already.” Lance sighed.

“I WOULD IF WILL WOULD STOP TAKING ALL THE SPACE!” Iris snapped.

“You take up more space then he does.” Steven muttered as he managed to squeeze up front by Lance.

“Ugh… Did we add a new member to the party?” Will sat up gingerly. “Wait, the Black Knight? I know we’re desperate for a new member, but the black knight?”

“Yes, I took him down. He’s injured too and will receive treatment at the inn.” I said.

“Are you a faller or leaper?” The black knight asked a bit later. “My name by the way is Leon.”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t fall or leap.” I answered.

“Isakai?”

“I opened the door leading to the OR and I was here. I wasn’t run over or hit by anything to my knowledge.” I answered.

The knight reached up and removed his helm, letting his long dark locks flow free. He shook his head.

“I’m a leaper.” He replied. “I’m a member of the Quantum Squad. My duty is to find those who have fallen or were Isakai’d and bring them home to their rightful place and time. It seems you leaped instead of fell. This is highly unusual.”

“Um, could you run this by us using simple language?” Lance asked.

“We’re not from around here.” Leon explained. “She got lost and it’s my duty to find and bring her back.”

It means he wished to be liberated from his desire to keep trying to make a wish that would actually get granted - which, per the worldbuilding in the piece, is a huge chunk of what everybody in this world does all day, every day, because of the backlog.

Granted, the society has partially adapted to its purgatory-esque state. He's not literally the only guy doing anything besides waiting in line... but it's a pretty huge advantage.

The literal and quantifiable advantages aren't what makes it interesting, though, in my view. What's interesting is the trade he's made in terms of his psychology.

When Saudi Arabia declared war on Iran, the oil prices skyrocketed.

A group of kids crossing the country trying to avoid something that is sneaky, stealthy and hunts them when they sleep.

Now I want to know what his dad did to him.

That took a dark turn but it is nice to see even a necromancer understands there is always and exchange or price involved.

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This was good. You made me feel both happy and sad, and when I read I love it when someone pulls at the heartstrings

Oh what's your tiktok username

Hollow earth is real and it is falling into it's self

If my baby girl wasn’t asleep, I’d have to give her a hug. This one hit deep. Well done.

... oh lol

Think he just wished to not wait in lines anymore.

I really liked this one! The descriptions of the genie are really good.

Hey guys...so. I kinda fucked up...

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