This could have all been avoided had you just listened to me.

You had fair warning. It couldn’t have been clearer that there was something wrong.

Why delude yourselves into thinking you were safe when it was so blindly obvious that you weren’t? Were you scared of the truth? So frightened by the unimaginable and absurd that in your blind ignorance you inadvertently created that which you feared to be true all along.

Had you just listened to me, none of this would have happened. The morning air would be full of birdsong and happy sounds of children playing, not blaring sirens and the wailing cries of the wounded. A symphony of terrified screams echo down the narrow streets and hang in the air like a fog, dense and unmoving, clinging to clothes, slowing everything to a crawl. Run all you like; it will do you no good.

There is no escape from this hell you have created.

I gave you ample warning, yet you still chose to do nothing. All the signs were there from the very beginning, and you all chose to ignore them. The wild and aggressive mood swings. The forced isolation and reluctance to engage with the outside world. The drop in grades and academic performance. Hell, the countless empty pill bottles and bloodied razor blades, always neatly placed atop the rest of the rubbish, were surely a call for alarm, right? I made it damn obvious for you. Even simple little things like not eating or sleeping regularly should have garnered some sort of interest. Apparently not. Something more drastic was required.

How could you not see I was in distress, that I needed help? I don’t understand. Did you not love me? You always said you did but words are just that; words. If actions are truly what define us then your inaction to give a sick child the attention they require speaks volumes.

It's not like I didn’t ask for help either, because I did. You know I did but you’re all too self-centred and egotistical to have truly cared. Rejecting me, a living breathing human being, for your dumb careers or even dumber likes and follows on your performative social media lives. Too busy to pay attention to your child, your neighbour, your friend. None of you took any time to learn the truth of the situation. Instead, you stood idly by while I was consumed from within.

Look where that has led us.

Many lay dead at my feet and before the bodies begin to cool more will be added to the pile.

I will not stop until every last one of you has paid the price. Such a high cost for negligence and abandonment, but I will accept nothing less than payment in full. I will take your lives as you took mine. An eye for an eye may make the whole world blind, but that was already the case.

Even through the crescendo of screams perhaps you will be able to finally truly hear me and appreciate the orchestra of the dying as your 9th symphony comes to a deafening close.

Try ignoring me now.

​

​

If you liked this, maybe check out some other stuff here r/TheHiveWithUdders.

Twenty-eight of something is—depending on the thing—a lot of something. Take, for example, potato chips. Twenty-eight potato chips is a de minimis number of chips—it is just enough to rev your craving engines, but not enough to satiate your need for crispy-potatoey speed. It certainly isn’t even a large enough volume of chips for one to notice if they went missing. On the other hand, twenty-eight days of Christmas is altogether too many days of Christmas—let’s be honest, even twenty-five could be argued as too large a sum.

Similarly, twenty-eight dead crew members for a small courier ship strikes one as far too large of a number. At least that’s what went through the head of Replaceable Crew Member 29 as he stared at his new uniform.

“Sorry. ‘Replaceable Crew Member 29’?” Asked RCM 29 incredulously. “My name is David.”

“Not in here it isn’t,” replied Secondary Support Character 5. “It’s better for crew morale if they don’t get too attached; when you give a farm animal a name, it makes the slaughter needlessly difficult.”

“Farm animal?” Shouted RCM 29 indignantly, “I’m a fucking person!”

“Farm animal isn’t fair. Sure, they don’t eat you when you inevitably die—that’d be barbaric. But, I think you get the point. You’re fodder, just like the twenty-eight who came before you. Such is life.”

RCM 29 noticed a tall, blonde man who was wearing a crisply starched, silver space suit. The man had been standing nearby listening to the whole exchange.

“Don’t worry RCM 29,” Protagonist said, “we’re all replaceable in our own right. I’m not the first protagonist and I won’t be the last.”

Protagonist, was right. While no official records had been kept, the running estimate for protagonists on the crew was anywhere from 85-150 (depending on who you asked and their personal agenda/political alignment). We must—and do—however, disregard the conspiratorial crazies who insist that the standing number of protagonists is negative 33; theirs is a mindset best ignored. Regardless, while twenty-nine may, at first, strike one as a large number, surely 117.5 (the average estimated protagonist count) is a much larger number. Indeed, life as a protagonist, while carrying with it far more panache and praise, was incredibly dangerous.

“Well, sure. That’s easy enough for you to say,” replied RCM 29, “your replaceability is implied. Mine is plastered in bold-print on the back of my shirt.”

“Who among us is irreplaceable?” Said SSC 5 with the disinterested tone of a pseudo intellectual who, while feigning aloofness, is actually really interested in carrying on and involving themselves in the conversation at hand. “We all serve but a temporary purpose in this life. Our impact is but a fleeting whisper in the ever-growing cacophony that is the universe.”

Protagonist 118.5 and RCM 29 shared a look of confusion and burst into laughter at the expense of SSC 5. The laugher helped put RCM 29 at ease. Maybe things would be ok, perhaps the constant reminder of his replaceability would cause him to appreciate each day and live it to the fullest.

Protagonist 118.5 recovered from his laughter and put his arm around RCM 29. “Look. I don’t know what this guy is blabbering on about; leave it to the guy who’s only got four predecessors to wax poetic about the insignificance of life. You and I, we’re not so different. Each of us has a role to fulfill and a certain amount of danger that is ours to face. I like you, RCM 29. Come see me on the bridge when you get settled.”

As Protagonist 118.5 walked away, RCM 29 turned back to SSC 5 and have him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

“Not at all,” replied SSC 5, “it happens more than you think. Although, a word of caution, if may.”

“Shoot,” said RCM 25.

“Consider the plight of your predecessors and learn from their mistakes. For a history repeated is not an inevitability but a lack of learning,” SSC 5 said gnomically.

“You mind expanding on that, pal?”

“There is much danger surrounding the Protagonist, like an asteroid belt littered about a planet. Assume that you’re not the first RCM to have been pulled into his orbit.”

“So he’s dangerous?”

“You do the math, twenty-nine.”

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive

I believe at one point in the vampire sagas it was explained that the reason they could not see themselves in the mirror had to do with mirrors being lined with silver to provide the reflective surface. It would stand to reason that modern mirrors would not pose such a problem.

[removed]

Well now you did

Team Instinct lives!!

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

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

The third one is green; if it wins, everyone gets a free donut.

I’ve never heard of this subreddit

For context, nobody is ever seen walking the plank in One Piece despite it being pirate-themed and devil fruit users being weak to seawater.

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

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

As the court mage I was always skeptic of broad omens like "dragon festival" because if I'm being honest, "a year of bad luck" is too vague.

I knew there was going to be panic, as soon as that lizard pushed out a third egg I knew. One of the leading problems with this tradition is that they force the dragons to fight.

Don't get me wrong, some religions and festivals are not stupid, usually ones like that encourage charity or boost morale. Dragon festival makes the commoners all anxious and there have been many scenarios where entire villages have committed group suicides because they could not handle another year of bad luck.

The worst part was that this year there was three eggs, and as everyone watched as they hatched three lilac coloured dragons hatched.

If there was any chance of dispelling this awful superstition, it would require the trusted word of the court mage. Luckily it was me.

"Heed my message! Townsfolk!" I piped up over the confusion "It is as the stars and the wind hath spoked to me! These three royal drakes are a symbol of the true fate of all years to come" I was just plain lying "the future is now ours to determine and we shall celebrate this day as the day the dragons gifted it to us!"

There was cheering, now people wouldn't be destroying everything out of fear or relief.

I'm honestly sooo glad another dragon took the old ones place this year

Cool.

[removed]

That was funny, thanks for the laugh :D

Okay, that was really awesome!! Thanks for sharing, I loved reading that!

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

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

And thus we have fire emblem three houses

EDIT: Sadly, did not realise the 3rd element of the prompt, where the "I" is me in the supermarket, and ended up writing it from the point of view of the hero/villain.

It was a sunny afternoon, the leaves rustled under my feet as I walked through the park, just having beat up another of the Villains. I figured he was one of those insect types. His face was almost exactly like a disco ball texture covering the entirety of his cranial shape and he smelled like feces all the time whenever I encountered him. I also smelled filthy. Fighting in the sewers is my least favorite task. Anyhow, I continued my stroll until I reached The Skyscraper. It’s our office, we clock in and out here, but we never really leave our suits even off duty, we’re almost always on call, and I get paid very well for my overtime and on-call time so I can’t complain.

I walked in, scanned my ID on the elevator control panel and it took me to the changing rooms. There I took a very good steamy shower. I could feel myself becoming a clean man once again. In my element. At my most powerful. While I was at it, I got hungry. Fighting really tires me out and I need to eat afterwards. So after the shower, and after getting dressed in one of my pristinely clean back up suits. I was a happy soaper. Sparkling white and squeaky clean. So squeaky in fact, that I could feel it when I moved around.

I opened my locker to check my snacks and I found that there was absolutely nothing left. Just a few crumbs from the last time I had an emergency snack. I realized that I would have to go to the shops again. So I got out of the changing room and went to the office to clock out for a lunch break. As I walked I would relish in the fact that everything seemed to become much more squeaky and shiny from me walking past it. However, I noticed that something was off, I guess being hungry, reduces the effectiveness of this aura.

I went outside and walked to the nearest convenience store and walked past all of the fresh bagels and produce. I wanted a good bar of soap, and a nice detergent to wash it down with. I looked through the isles of soap and couldn’t decide if I wanted aloe vera or something more fruity, although all of those were the best tasting ones, those brown ugly soap bars were usually the most fulfilling. I guess it’s what the regular people compare tasty junk-food to something healthy they all seem to hate like asparagus or steamed bologna or something alike that they say tastes bad.

In my indecision, I settled on the classic old brown soap and waltzed on over to the detergent isle. There I deliberated for a while, I opened a few lids to check on the smells of some of the detergents. Mr. Proper window cleaner was very delicious, but I wanted something with a little bit more oomph today. I’d say Ajax would be perfect for that. With my bare necessities with me, I got in line at the cashier. I observed a few regular folks in line as I was walking, but once I reached the end of the line, I smelled it again. That same fecal smell from earlier in the day. It was him, the Flyman. Still smelling awfully. He was just a few people ahead of me, but unlike me he had changed into regular clothes. A hobos fit. Raggedy clothes, torn jeans, shoes with holes in them, and you could see his toes even. Nasty look if I’m being honest. I’ve never seen him outside his suit though, which looks pristine in comparison.

“Do they really pay you that shit?” I asked him.

“Oh no, not you again,” Flyman responded. “I’ve had enough janitor encounters for today man, can you guys just leave me alone?”

“Man, I’m just here to get a snack,” I replied as I showed him the bar of soap and Ajax in my hands.

“You eat that?” he said, “What kind of snack is that?”

“After our fight, I was taking a shower at the HQ, and I got a bit hungry, turned out that I ran out of my snacks while I was there. Clocked off for lunch.”

“Ah I see, yeah so did I, but I don’t actually eat shit for a living man. I might smell like crap, and live in the sewers, but this is just an off-the-clock look. I don’t mind it too much, my nose is used to it.” He replied as he gave the cashier his things and paid for them.

“But the rest of ours isn’t. Look, Flyman, I ain’t gonna do anything to you, but you really did get the crappiest job out of all of us,” I smirked. “Can’t believe the guy who had his head dunked into the toilet turned out to be the master of literal shit.” I said as I waited for my turn.

“Man, you don’t have to bring the ‘good old days’ into it. You fucking consume soap. The Authority conducted experiments on you and made you a soap junkie. Catch you later, you cleaning menace,” he said as he walked through the entrance backwards.

I thought to myself, well no matter these experiments, I have become the cleanest man there is on this planet. I knew that if I could wash off all of the crap of him, maybe I’d have the chance of having a promotion once I am done with that. Never liked the guy, in school, still don’t like him now. Although I was the one to dunk his face in that toilet, years ago. This filth was the one sleeping around with my girlfriend at the time.

Gorgeous! 🌻

“Samara!” His voice echoed around the empty beachfront, “Samara, where are you?!”

He was growing concerned. Ever since the day he met her, he was able to return to this very spot at the same time every day and she was always here. He knew she liked to surface for an hour a day to feel the sun that didn’t make it all the way into her bioluminescent kingdom below. Not one day in the past two years had she not been near enough to answer his call.

“Samara!” He cupped his hands around his mouth, hoping she’d hear him. A crash of thunder sounded, drawing his attention to the horizon line. Along the crest, a storm was moving in. He could see the water growing violent where the winds were most active. His gut told him that something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Samara!” He gave one final call, looking up and down the empty expanse of beach. He finally heard a strained response. “M-at-t,” she croaked, “I’m-H-er-e.”

He whipped his head around, finally spotting the reflective purple scales of his friend, shining against the sun. He stepped closer, finding that she was amidst several rocks, in what appeared to be a tide pool, and a ways down the beach compared to where he normally found her. He was concerned.

Rightfully so, he soon realized, as when he stepped closer, he realized she had gashes torn all over her body. Her tail stained red, and unable to move, her breath shaky. Blood dripped from her mouth, and stained her platinum hair. “Samara,” he called out, rushing over to her. He dropped to his knees at her side, “What happened?”

“The kingdom,” she gasped, pressing a hand to a wound along her stomach, “It’s fallen.”

“What?” Matt asked. “The royal family was killed, they tried to take our children from us,” she croaked, straining for breath.

She sobbed, “My son, my dear husband, they were slaughtered like animals.”

“Samara, I have to get you somewhere safe,” Matt urged. “No!” She exclaimed, “No, it will do no good, I am already too far gone, i will become one with the sea soon.”

“Samara,” Matt pleaded, tears streaming down his cheeks. He’d been best friends with this woman since he was seventeen, she’d found him at the lowest point in his life. He never dreamed that he could lose her like this.

“I have lost everything, Matt, you must understand,” she gasped again, her hand shaking, “I have no reason to live any longer.”

Matt sobbed, placing a hand over his mouth. She raised her own, shakily placing it upon his arm in a comforting gesture. She gave a small smile, “I am at peace and I will soon rejoin my family, but first, I must ask something of you.”

“Anything,” Matt cried. “My last hope, the reason I fled,” she pulled it from her side, “My child.”

The object she held was a bright orange sphere, about the size of a small watermelon. It looked like what Matt knew of certain species of fish eggs.

“You must take this, Matt, and you must keep it safe,” she pleaded, “Within a week’s time, it will hatch and my daughter will be born, I’m begging you to keep her safe.”

“Yes,” he nodded, taking the egg from her hand, “I promise, Samara, I will do everything I can.”

“Take water from the sea and make her a home, she will soon outgrow it but you humans have always been the creative type,” she laughed, spitting blood onto the sand, “When she hatches, I ask that you raise her as your own.”

He grabbed her hand, “I will.”

“Thank you, dear friend,” she squeezed his hand back, closing her eyes. Matt closed his own, shaking with the sobs that cascaded through his body. He felt her hand disappear from his clutch, and when he opened his eyes, he found only sea foam where his closest friend had once laid. He watched the tide rise into the tide pool she had washed into, taking her out to sea.

He shed one final tear, knowing she had joined the family she had always told him about, the people she loved most in the world.

He looked down at the egg in his hand as rain began to fall and said, “I guess you’re my responsibility now.”

It had been a rather odd transaction. The man had specifically asked for an appointment long after dark. Something that wasn't exactly requested on common notice. But nothing that unusual. There were other higher priority clients. But this one paid just as much as any of them, and then some.

Only after a certain point did conversation finally bubble to the surface. Lucio was his first name. That was the most recent information he had learned in their introduction.

"I must say." He uttered. "I haven't been in a place such as this in quite some time."

"Oh. A studio?" Dylan questioned. He wasn't really paying attention to anything but the canvas for a moment.

"Actually yes." Lucio responded. "At least one such as this. I haven't been invited to many social events. Lately."

The painter looked at him for reference before quietly continuing. Lucio always found that ability fascinating. Someone with the capability to capture the essence of life and recreate it in such a way. The focus on details.

"Yeah. I bet the pandemic probably put a damper on that for a lot of people. Haven't seen some friends in two or three years."

"That's a long time."

"Well, some of them have kids, grandparents. No sense in putting them in danger."

"Has your work been affected?" Lucio asked, making sure to stay as still as possible when Dylan was looking.

"Less than you'd expect actually."

"Good. That's good."

Dylan had to admit things had been easier thus far than usual. People usually need to take a few breaks or realign themselves a little to get comfortable. But it had been two hours and Lucio had yet to truly move. Occasionally he'd grin in some fashion, before settling back into the same look. The guy had some noticeable teeth however. Dylan didn't understand why that was what he'd noticed, but he ignored it and carried on.

"So what's the last thing you went to?"

"...Paris."

"Oh nice." Dylan answered. "I've never been. How was it?"

"Very nice." Lucio smiled. "You've never been to Paris?"

"No. Never left the country." Dylan smirked. "I haven't left the state in maybe a year and some change."

"Oh goodness." The young man laughed. His voice carrying a vague air of wealth and perhaps royalty in some fashion. "You must surely go at least once."

"Eh, maybe some day... Not today though."

"At least tell me you do travel."

"I do. Every once in a while."

"How so?"

"Well, I walk from this room to another room. Take my shoes off and watch Hulu or something." Dylan shrugged. There was a mild look of disapproval that flashed across Lucio's face. Or misplaced concern?

"I'm kidding. Occasionally I drive up into the mountains. Go on a hike. It's peaceful."

"Camping?"

"No. Motels." He explained. "Our ancestors fought and died for shelter for a reason. Me dying in a gorge somewhere sounds, cosmically; like a let down for them."

It had been four hours now. It was at least midnight. A cursory check corrected him that it had to be at least one in the morning. The basics had been covered. Now came the real details. Dylan nonetheless kept a steady hand. Lucio stayed statuesque as if actually made of stone.

"So what did you go to Paris for?" Dylan asked as checked his work. "Vacation? Business?"

"A bit of both." Lucio contemplated slowly. "You have to forgive my lack of detail. I've been all over the place. Paris, Rome, Berlin. Warsaw. Athens. Barcelona."

"Lifestyles of the rich and famous." Dylan jokingly interrupted.

"Yes. But well." Lucio redirected. "I was in town for the Expo. The World Expo to be precise."

"That's a pretty big deal."

"Arts and technology in modern life." Lucio recalled. "An interesting theme. Consistently relevant."

Dylan nodded as Lucio continued on. Little tidbits like this were fun to learn from clients. And usually they were bit more rigid. A lot of his earlier examples. Heads of state, corporate types, or celebrities. They tended to be tight lipped, too proud, or too withdrawn much of the time. For good reason he assumed.

But not Lucio. If anything, talk of his personal life seemed to have improved their progress. A bit of warmth that added to the portrayal. But he still felt a bit off about the details of the trip. He couldn't place why.

"...Guernica, by Picasso. Granted, he was a mess of a human being. But the man had talent, I tell you."

Dylan was finishing up his last touches. The clock reading somewhere close to 5:15 in the morning. The sky was still dark outside, but faintly turning a deep blue.

"I believe it." Dylan promised. "So did anything else really stand out?"

"There were a lot of things that one could enjoy." Lucio promised. "But it all, really, just told me what was going to go wrong. What was coming."

The painter stopped. A measured movement that suggested he had pried too hard.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be." Lucio dismissed. "It's all ancient history now."

Perhaps a half hour later, Dylan turned the canvas and offered his work. It was a simple yet detailed visage. The colors and pose coming together to make a perfect depiction of a momentary lull in life.

"It's immaculate." Lucio began.

There was a rather lengthy silence as he studied it more. Most people, while impressed, never carried that much gravitas about it. Even when it was a picture of themselves.

"It's been so long." He frowned slightly. "I wondered what it was like."

"...Is everything okay?"

It was clear his change of behavior had made the painter a bit uneasy. Understandable. Lucio carried that air about him naturally. Especially when he was hungry.

"Forgive me. I haven't seen a portrait of myself in so long."

"A century. Right. You... um..." Dylan reminded him. "Lucio?"

"Yes?" The young man asked before checking the clock. "Ah, I must go."

Extra money was shuffled into Dylan's hands from a small bag Lucio had brought with him. "I will return for my portrait as soon as possible. Honest."

"Lucio?"

"What?"

Dylan offered as he casually picked up a small black object and waved it at Lucio.

"I know you said you have some sort of problem with mirrors? But you do know mirrorless cameras exist? Right?"

r/Jamaican_Dynamite

Well, I had to fit in something, and he was easier to slip in than Doomguy ;)

"But your honor!" the litigant shouted.

"Mr. Crozbury!" The judge attempted to interject.

"That land is mine! I din't trespass!" Red-faced and haired Mr. Crozbury continued.

"SILENCE!" Finally Mr. Crozbury complied. "Good. I warned you already and I'll warn you again, sir that you are not to speak until I tell you. Do you understand?"

Mr. Crozbury nodded up and down.

The judge rolled his eyes. "You may answer my question with a yes or a no, for the record, Mr. Crozbury."

"Yes, your honor."

"Now. I was trying to tell you, before your interruption, that we are here today to determine whether your entry onto lands allegedly belonging to your neighbor Mr. Crump amounts to a violation of municipal ordinance such that the prosecution can assess a fine of no less than $25 and no more than $100 and an order of community service of up to forty hours. Do you understand the nature of the charges against you and the minimum and maximum penalties I can assess?"

"Yes, your honor."

"This proceeding will continue in a certain way, as has happened for over a thousand years hitherto and will likely continue for as long as there are courts and the rule of law. First the prosecution and Mr. Crump will speak, then you will have your turn, then the prosecution a chance for rebuttal."

"Yes, your honor."

"Good. Now, the Court being satisfied, the prosecution may proceed."

"OBJECTION!"

Another eyeroll. "Yes, Mr. Crozbury?"

"Mr. Crump is lying!"

"He hasn't even begun to put his testi-"

"I did not do nothing wrong! I was only there to pick some flowers!"

The prosecutor chimed into the fray, "Your honor, I believe the Defendant just admitted to the facts necessary to find him guilty by his last statement."

"Nuh-uh!" Mr. Crozbury responded.

"SILENCE!"

"No, I have to work, he's always had it in for me."

"If you continue, the Court will find you in contempt."

"Did you set this up beforehand? Are you and Mr. Crump friends? What do you know about the mafia? I object to this Court's jurisdiction! The prosecutor is biased, this is the wrong Court, I demand habeas corpus!"

"Bailiff, remove Mr. Crozbury. We will proceed without him, and I will address his behavior at the conclusion."

Mr. Crozbury received 20 days of community service and a $100 fine for the trespass charge.

Mr. Crozbury spent the night in jail and was ordered to pay $250 after being found in contempt of court and sanctioned.

Happy Cake Day.