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The issue is even languages themselves evolve. New words created, usage changes, etc. Different languages also have different expressions, some does not neatly translate to another. Names throw another wrench in the work too.

So what defines a language as a whole? Then from a mathematical perspective, what to say you can't combine the list of expression a language has to portray a more complex concept? The whole computer is built based on basic computations, for example. A letter is a number/binary sequence, combined with encoded information/computation (the machine code to process the data and the context of the information), also under the guise of binary sequences, is capable of being rendered on the screen as pixels, or even plugged as a whole into a ML model.

Humans also have a built in process to learn how to communicate as babies. We just absorb the stuff as babies too. How would this process play in terms of a universal language?

How would you even define communicate in general too, and why the alien mentioned having three languages. What's the differences and why were they created if universal communication is already a trait?

On top of that, what's unique about a species ability to communicate via one common language? How does this communication even "work"? Vocal/sound? Visual/light? Radio waves? And not being learnt meant the information was encoded genetically as well. Having a predefined genetic information to facilitate a species wide base encoding of information doesn't seem... Natural, to say the least, when you move to non basic natural instincts information. Learning vs instinct is a fascinating concept as well (I took a somewhat philosophical ML course that touched on this, it's awesome!)

It's an interesting idea, hence why there's so many things to explore! But there's also a lot of hard questions you'd need to work out too, to make the concept work with more depth I feel.

A tear fell from Brian's eye as he saw the light come on. Everything went quiet for a moment before the herd of humans started wailing out in fear. They knew what was coming. Brian watched helplessly as they were rounded up and pushed out of their cages and into lines.

"You can't do this to us! It's wrong!" Brian screamed from his cage. It wasn't yet his time, but he knew what the light meant for the others. He tried to look the alien species in the eye. He still didn't know who they were, where they came from, what they were called. All he knew was one day, they had enslaved humanity. One day they had put them in cages where they could barely move. And that one day they would make the walk... one day the light would be for them.

"Why are you doing this?" Brian screamed again. The anger pulsating from his voice, so coarse from his shouts and his demands and his cries. From his tears. There was a glance from one of the aliens and almost a smirk back. They hit the cage a few times to shut him up. So Brian screamed again.

Zzzzzaaaaapp

It wasn't the first time Brian had been prodded, like cattle. Brian had even worked on a farm before, but that was a long time ago. Brian convulsed and when he finally went limp and quiet, the aliens stopped poking him. It wasn't clear what language the aliens spoke. It wasn't clear how much they knew of humanity. It seemed to Brian, though, that they could communicate telepathically. They didn't look so different, but it was certain they were smarter, faster, stronger than humans. They spoke in several languages, and sometimes none at all. They coordinated almost like a hive, with a singular goal, but also at times with such incredible individuality.

It had all happened so suddenly.

Brian didn't remember much before the cages. The sight, the smell, the horrors of seeing the aliens enslave humanity had wiped out most of what came before. The smell of the metal, of the excrement, of the blood and shit that filled the air. And every so often the screams of another batch of humans filled it too. They were prodded and coaxed and forced through the door. They all had to make the walk in the end.

As far as the eye could see, everything now was cages. Human after human curled up, cramped, stuffed into the cages. The bars were close enough together that you couldn't get out. Others had tried, and dislocated their arms or their legs trying to squeeze their bodies through. It seems the cages were specifically designed for their size and shape. Screaming in agony on the floor, everyone else had to watch as the aliens came through to inspect. And that only meant one thing for the person who had tried to escape... the hammers were brought down on their heads until their lifeless bodies were dragged out.

The bars were also far enough apart that you could see everything around you. You could see everyone around you. Their pain was so close it almost felt like your pain. And at the end of the rows and rows of cages stacked upon each other were the doors. No-one was told what happened beyond them, but everyone knew. They heard the screams, the shouts, and worst of all eventually they heard the silence. It was deafening.

One time Brian saw a glimpse through the doors. He had seen bodies, so many bodies, limp and lifeless, thrown into giant dumpsters. Further down he saw metal contraptions that shredded more and more of the people. But it made no sense. Why would they do this?

"Why are you doing this to us? Why won't you stop this?" Brian pleaded. "What can we do?" But again the aliens didn't say anything and Brian once again collapsed, exhausted, to sleep for the night.

That evening a familiar stench of flesh filled the air. Brian's batch were herded into the empty cages left by the previous group. They could still smell the previous occupants in those cages, they could still hear them in their thoughts. And their dreams were filled with the faces of those who came before them.

...

The next day Brian woke up to a bright light. It was warm on his face, almost comforting. He suddenly remembered things that had happened before the cages. He remembered being with his family, his parents, running around and playing somewhere. He couldn't quite make out where it was, but he felt happy. He felt safe. The warm light reminded him of home. And then his stomach dropped to the worst feeling he had ever felt in his life.

His eyes slowly opened and the truth smacked him in the face and he froze in terror. The light was shining on him. It was shining on him and his batch.

Some others in the nearby cages began to scream. Some of them shouted in terror. Others tried to plead with the aliens, but they never responded. While others seemed to accept their fate. Each individual was quickly prodded out of their cage onto a conveyor belt of sorts. It was elaborate, a maze of wires and belts, but it all led through the same doors at the end of the hall. They were so cramped Brian was pushed up against other bodies, other humans he had to remind himself, on all sides. They were humans after all, Brian thought. They were brought to their lowest form, their base instincts. ""Is this what they wanted?" Brian thought. "To show us who we are at our base?" Brian had asked himself so often what the aliens could want. But it never seemed to make a difference. And the cold, harsh reality began to settle in.

Brian felt nauseous. He trudged silently along with the rest as the belt sped up their walk, hastening their march to the inevitable.

Zzzzaaaaapppp

A sharp pain filled Brian's body from the side, an alien had prodded him and was shouting at him to hurry up. What exactly was said he didn't know but it was clear what was meant. "Hurry up to your doom, hurry up to your death". They had no compassion, these aliens. They had no empathy. They treated us like animals just because we aren't at their level. "Don't they know we're alive?" Brian thought. "Don't they know we can feel, we can think, we can experience this?". Those thoughts had swirled through his head for what felt like years, but was in reality just weeks.

Brian watched as the line along the belt started to become less and less crowded and more and more orderly. He stood in horror as giant hooks claimed each person on the belt. They dug into the back and neck and hoisted each person off the ground. They swung round to a line where in the distance, yes, not so far in the distance Brian saw what was happening. It felt like a lifetime but it also went by so fast and Brian rounded the corner to see it all in front of him.

The hooks dug into his flesh, driving further and further into his shoulder blades. Brain winced from the pain, but gave up struggling because it hurt more every time he did. Instead, he saw in front of him lines and lines of people hung on the hooks, turned upside down and in the distance, in the far distance, the aliens were stood in front of them.... slitting their throats.

Everything flashed through Brian in that moment again as the panic set in. "This can't be happening! This is a dream!" He thought. The anger, the rage, the pleading raced through his system as his eyes darted around the room for an answer. "Don't do this" he squealed out, too meek for anyone to actually hear.

Brian was carried along the belt. Frozen in fear... terrorised, until finally the chain stopped, abruptly. The pain shocked him back to his senses and Brian was face to face, if you could call it that, with one of them. Brian stared him, her, it in the eye. One large eye that seemed to take in everything around it. "You really are doing this, aren't you? At least tell me why..."

Finally the alien spoke.

"For all your life you did this to others. For all your life you paid for others to herd up those you considered inferior and round them up in cages. This is the life you paid for... and for what exactly?" The alien reached out a hand, if you could call it that, and pointed to a sign. "Processing" it read.

In shock, Brian could only stare forward remembering what had happened to all those before him, knowing what was about to happen to him, and now sure that these aliens understood what they were doing. The alien's hand, if it was a hand, picked up the knife. He was calm, almost seemed to be enjoying himself as he looked at Brian in the eye.

"You still don't understand that what you do, what you believe, who you are applies to more than just humans. This is why we treat you as you treated others. Those others who you called your inferiors. So we do the same. Just as they were dinner for you, you will be our dinner for today".

It finally sank in for Brian. The cages, the hooks, the door, even the light. "But they were just animals!" Brian screamed. Though in truth it only came out like a whimper. "They weren't like us. They weren't as smart, they weren't as alive, they weren't as sentient as us", Brian said.

But he was met with silence. Brian looked around him at the line, slowed down now for him. He knew what was next and it felt like an age before it happened, though in reality it was only a few seconds.

A searing pain ran through his neck and his head and Brian knew in that moment the knife had done it's work. All he could do was helplessly accept his fate. His body thrashed around, completely out of control. It no longer felt like his body as he watched blood pour out from the gaping wound in his throat and drip onto the cold, hard, steel floor with the rest of the blood. "This is it..." he thought as he felt sleepier and sleepier and everything faded to black...

"Exactly" the alien said. "Exactly".

Ending gave me a laugh thank you 😂.

It was a normal day in this strange Massachusetts city, quite strange indeed. Putting the unfamiliarity of this city from New York and LA, it is normal here, quiet and peaceful.

As of now, I am here walking along the streets of the city, minding only my own mind—or, just minding my own business. Birds chirping across the trees, albeit dull and red; as it was in the autumn. It was quite cold when I exited my house, but right now the heat seemed to rise—only a little, albeit—but it rose none-the-less, so I have took off my overcoat somewhere along that what's-her-name Carter along the road. As was yesterday, the mime I had seen was still there. Yesterday, he seemed to be holding an invisible object back, and I must say his acting was splendid. If he was in a play he'd be a star! Back to the present, the mime seemed to be deep in concentration, until, he had arisen from his sit, looking at me, and then behind. It was bleak in the night, the lights being a major and key factor in me seeing the mime. Now that I have mentioned it, a mime acting in the middle of the night, quite strange.

More strange however, was that the mime was now behind me, recreating his famous invisible box, appearing to be shouting something at me as I move my eyes over to his position. I look on in confusion, and right about now, citizens pour from their apartments and restaurants—waiting for something. The mime, as I look back, struggles. As I've said, a famous actor he'd be if only he'd taken up the path—he is even dropping beads of sweat! I've never seen such a performance!

​

. . .

​

Oh, dear.

​

It seems that I have remembered the cause for this, I distinctly remember hearing from a friend what'd happen on this day. Soon enough, what I've remembered is true, as the mime's glass breaks, and out pours the messenger—the envoy—the carrier. "I'll hold it back! Run!" the mime says, fruitlessly though, as I appear to be the only one who hears it, he seems to be speaking some more. I could not tell his words from his mouth as I splendor in his presence. As I take in his beauty? Horror? whatever he is, the electronic lampposts turn off, breaking. Only the luminous moonlight guided us—if there were even more people with me—and even then it only pointed in his direction. All of a sudden, the city shifts, yellow faces in hoods stand atop pillars, behind me now were stairs endless—people appearing from the stairs as though they had started climbing it before it manifested behind me, and finally, I see him in a shade of his form. All this I am experiencing now, I do not know what shall become of me, and I only hope that oblivion awaits me. Finally, I know it, my destination, dare I even speak it. I walk along pavements I've never seen yet memorize into a weed-choked subway, along with a huge group of people.

If a divine power reads these thoughts of mine, I only pray for a peaceful oblivion. If I am to witness this coming, I wish for it to be uneventful. For all this to be a case of mass hysteria, just something, anything other than the truth I shall face. I pray to see my family again, I pray that my life shall live longer than this, I pray that—even if for a moment—I wake up from this nightmare. If only that were my fate. I shall say to you, reader of my words, god of thought and speech, that this shall be my final counting, I have told you all that I have proceeded. As I walk down the steps. . . I pray for salvation. . .

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. . .

If you asked a mime why they always had to be silent while performing, they'd say something about how it drew attention to the motions, or helped them to focus. That was bullshit.

The reason that silence was decreed by the académie pour l'obscurcissement des arts occultes et de la magie, was to make the real effect of the magic invisible to the average person. One interacted with the world with the hands first, the eyes second, and the mouth third. Not talking meant obfuscating a little bit of the magic from view.

Which is why, as the mime's yell snapped me out of my happy little stroll through the back alleys of Bordeaux, I watched as a pane of glass appeared before his hands, his palms flattened against it to brace against the coming impact. Through the glass, through the veil between realities, I caught the murkiest glimpse of something, a writhing mass of hands and arms and teeth, and then the sound of shattering glass.

The mime grit his teeth, shards of glass flying across his face and drawing red pinpricks of blood onto his white makeup.

"Merde... Run!" the mime repeated, forming yet another invisible box. He had a little more time now, wiping his hand across the glass as if to polish its surface. The horrific... thing on the other side slammed into the glass again, sending a loud hollow thud through the street. The mime skidded backwards, his shoes scraping along the pavement. That sent me running, scampering as best I could through the unfamiliar streets.

But the alleys I was running through now were not the same as the ones I left. The veil of reality that nice, normal people believed in had been torn from my eyes. In each window, I caught glimpses of that thing from the abyss, watching me with one of a thousand eyes. Arms and feet reached out from mailboxes and gutters, trying to grab me or trip me over. The sky had turned a deep wine-red, the sun a watchful eyeball.

And as I rounded yet a other corner, there stood the worst sight of all. It was a horrid mess of flesh and bone, taking up the entire alleyway as it languidly crawled towards me - this wasn't even a fraction of its true size. It whispered in a hundred different tongues as I stood there, frozen. And just in front of the monstrosity? A couple enjoying a morning stroll, none the wiser to the thing behind them.

"You alright, buddy?" the man asked. His words were gentle and caring, but he stepped between me and the woman, as one does between crackheads and the people you love.

I couldn't force a word out. What words would even befit the situation at hand? I motioned wildly at the thing behind them, trying to express with my hands what words couldn't do. The man put an arm across the woman's torso, forming a shield between her and me. Of course they didn't get it. They hurried quickly past me, the man muttering something about a drug epidemic.

And the thing was getting closer. But the way the man had put out his arm had put an idea into my head. If only I could do something! I reached out with my hands, as the thing drew ever closer, and brought up an imaginary sniper rifle to my eye. Just the way my brother and I had when we were kids. And I fired.

The thing screeched in pain, a sound that shook the earth and cracked the heavens. I had fired at the most vital-looking thing I could find, a mass of eyes and teeth and a large, bulbous vein. It recoiled, tumbling over itself back down the alleyway. Behind me, I heard the screech of tires.

There was a man, his suit and his skin painted a pure gold. He hovered in mid-air in a sitting position, with only the cane in his hand anchoring him to the ground.

"Get in," he yelled, though I saw no vehicle. "Your brother is waiting."

"Get in? What are you talking about?" I yelled back. The thing was beginning to advance once more.

"Come on, get in!" he yelled again, as it began to thunder down the alleyway.

I pointed my sniper rifle again, and fires, but nothing came out.

"Hurry!" he screamed, as arms and legs dragged the thing forward, grabbing at the windowsills and doorways of people who knew nothing of this world.

I ran towards the man and lifted one leg high up into the air, trying to find purchase on something. I merely stomped the ground. Once, twice, and then finally I felt my foot brush against something. I hurled myself forwards, a maneuver that would have cracked my head against the pavement if I hadn't instead felt soft leather against my cheek. And then suddenly the cobblestones underneath me were whizzing by, as the golden man and I sped away from whatever that thing was.

"What. The hell. Was that?" I gasped. I wanted to sit up to catch my breath, but I was worried that if I moved the spell would break and I would hit the ground at speed.

"The Mimic," the golden man said.

And whatever else I asked, he said nothing, the picture of the stoic performance artist. Only the slightest tilt of his cane changed our direction as we moved smoothly through the city streets.

Aww!

Cute!

Wren liked working the afternoon and evening shift in the tavern. Sure, it could get awful rowdy some nights, more than once the city guard had to break up fist, knife and even magical brawls; one mage scrap had ended with a table and chairs being transfigured into a wooden dragon golem! The beast was now out front on the roof, and the namesake of the establishment.

Still, the troublesome crowd weren't his cup of tea. It was old knights, the wizened sorcerers, the rogues missing an eye that he liked. They told all the best stories. There was one, however, that would always stand above in his memory. It had been many years ago, three months into his employment, when the young warrior had sat at the bar, ordering the cheap but filling stew and a watered down beer. The latter was more a legacy since magic water purification was so widespread, but the flavour went well with many a meal The Wooden Dragon served, so it remained a staple.

The man was dressed simply, his equipment older than he was by the look of it, but clearly well maintained, the leather oiled, the metal plates marked with signs of repair and battle damage. The short bow was of odd make, twisted forwards and backwards like a snake, unlike the local style of longbow. His sword was finely made, but like the dark haired man's attire, older yet well kept.

It was all quiet until the nearby table of newly anointed knights, all full of mead and self-importance, started getting boisterous. The latter was usually knocked out of them after they saw actual combat, and realising that knighthood more often than not meant killing their King's enemies rather than rescuing damsels or slaying monsters. One of their number, a lanky, handsome ginger fellow with the slightly pointed ears, human with Elven ancestry, strutted up to the bar and tried to force conversation upon the stranger. It was when he questioned what the warrior fought for that it happened.

"I'm only in it for the money" didn't exactly go down well. But, against the expectations of every patron in the bar, when the table of greenhorn knights stood and made to "teach the man honour", which was beyond ironic, it was the five shiny-armoured graduates that were left scattered, unconscious and mildly bleeding upon the ground.

With so many witnesses, including a merchant of some importance who had been a patron of the tavern since he was a simple market trader, the city guard could neither sweep the matter under the rug, not blame the young warrior. The knights would only spend a night or two in the gaol, but the experience was enough to knock them off their high horses.

Wren had approached the stranger when he returned the next night, a touch nervous but filled with curiosity. "If you pardon my asking..."

"Why am I only in it for the money?" The voice was different than Wren had expected. Tired, but understanding, like the older patrons Wren liked so much. "I was like those knights once, full of untested ideals and grand heroic plans."

A hardness took over the warrior's face, the steel mug that could take Orcish strength groaning and bending as the barkeep would swear his eyes turned slitted and ringed in electric blue.

"Do you recall the attack on Stormhold, winter before last? There was an adolescent dragon amongst their number. I slew it...but at a terrible cost. It's progenitor was there, watching, likely using the fight to blood their spawn, not thinking anyone could harm their youngling. I thought it would kill me, but it did worse. It took my family, keeping them as slaves, and gave me an ultimatum. Bring it the horde it's child would have gathered by the time it reached adulthood, or they would die in ways I could never imagine or forget. So, yes, when people ask me what I fight for, I tell them truthfully. They never ask who I fight for."

Literally just use them

This kind of broke my head but I love it. :)

#A Taste of Home

Claye paused, struggling to catch his breath in the thick, humid air. It had taken him months to fully furbish the greenhouse module with planters fashioned from their dismantled ship—sowing seeds, discarding the faulty, nurturing the needy. His work was finally coming to fruition.

Wiping his brow, Claye returned to his prize plant. Luscious leaves spilt over the soil, sagging under the weight of bright red berries. The sight made his mouth water. Subsisting only on freeze-dried, vacuum-packed rubbish, he'd almost forgotten what real food tasted like, and forgetting was painful. But Arjun would kill him if he didn't wait.

He activated his comms. "It's time."

The young man appeared round the door, panting.

"Did you run here?" Claye asked.

Arjun grinned. "I wasn't sure I could count on fraternal loyalty to hold you back from the feast."

"Feast!" he scoffed, picking the two ripest, reddest strawberries. "We're only having one each! We've got to ensure failure isn't fatal."

"Fine," the young man sighed. "On three? One..."

They lifted the fruit to their mouths.

"Two..."

Claye's lips brushed its skin.

"Three!"

He bit down, sweet, tart juice flooding his mouth. Savouring every second, he chewed until the last drop of flavour faded before glancing at his friend. "So," he said, "what do you think?"

Arjun started out of his reverie, meeting Claye's gaze with a grin. "Tastes like home."

WC: 230

I really appreciate any and all feedback

See more I've written at /r/RainbowWrites

"It has been two years since first contact, and this stupid word had haunted my dreams," I heard her say before slamming her head into the desk she was sitting at. "Like, what the hell does it mean? It has no structure. It is like saying you have no Bubblples, they left us a word without meaning!"

She was Penny, a brilliant girl who had been grinding her gears since the Greybal ship had appeared and taken 'volunteers' out into the Galaxy. Of course when they returned they took more and our translators had learned that the word they were using didn't mean space or a council. It was a zoo. They were taking people to be exhibits in a zoo.

Outrage followed, and then this idea 'keeneetaa' came about. Penny and I were among dozens of students that were deemed gifted and but into this accelerated course to deal with this. Of course there were hundred of programs focused on it, we weren't 'that' special.

"Penny, have you considered...they were fucking with you? With all of us? Leaving a riddle behind so that we focus on that instead of something else?"

Penny blinked forehead still firmly planted on her desk.

She slowly sat up, and looked me dead in the eye.

It was a long moment, before she suddenly swore as well.

I was sure that they had been monitoring our communications, and laughing as we continued to focus on their 'sentience' requirement, forgetting our outrage about the abductions and instead the insult of being considered animals.

"I thought Greybalans couldn't lie due to their telepathic communication?"

"Yeah, but who told us that?"

She swore again, and began to lament how long it had taken her. I lightly patted her head. I had figured it out a while ago, but I wasn't the first.

No, the first was Jacob and now he is gone. The next day everyone else seemed to forget and move on, but I didn't. So I watched, observed and realized.

My gaze flicked over to just behind the desk of our teacher, a desk that had never been filled. There one of many lenses could be seen if you looked for it. We were in the zoo, we were an exhibit for these aliens.

I didn't know what would happen to us now, but I couldn't wait anymore. Penny and I were the last...and I wasn't going to watch her go too. I had once thought of telling her about how i felt, but wanted to wait until we graduated. Two years had passed here, and we would have graduated months ago.

We were trapped, and only the next step brought us any hope for change...

I listened as Penny continued to build on my theory, and I merely listened.

If anything...

...it was just nice to hear her voice one more time.

-what is keeneetaa?

-keene etaa my balls!

[removed]

The whole freaking point was just to imagine how Pratchett would’ve written the books.

And to imagine a world where a major book series wasn’t written by a spiteful TERF.

[removed]

Thank you for the compliment! Most of my stories are posted on /r/Pyronar since I don't really use new-reddit's profile features. Unfortunately, due to recent events and general prolonged writer's block I haven't posted much there in a long while, but there is still a fairly large backlog of stories if you wish to read them.

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Another one.

Damn I was thinking of an idea like this prompt a few days ago too

It had only been five days since the aliens had made contact with humans, and already the world was in turmoil. The aliens, with their translucent hue and hive-like appearance, were unlike anything humans had ever seen before. But what was even more shocking was their assertion that humans were not sentient because they could not "keeneetaa".

The governments of the world had scrambled to try to understand what "keeneetaa" meant. Teams of linguists and scientists worked around the clock to analyze every scrap of data they had gathered from the aliens, as well as scouring through historical records of earth. But so far, they had come up empty.

The public reaction to the aliens' assertion had been a mix of anger and disbelief. How could these aliens claim that humans were not sentient? Surely, the ability to reason and feel emotions was enough to qualify as sentient.

Despite the confusion and fear, there were some who believed they had figured out the meaning of "keeneetaa" or had come close to understanding it. A group of scientists theorized that "keeneetaa" referred to a kind of psychic ability that the aliens possessed, which allowed them to communicate with each other telepathically. This theory gained traction among some members of the public, who began to speculate about how humans might develop such an ability.

The presence of the aliens had already started to have an impact on human society. Budget allocations had changed to fund more space exploration and research into developing faster methods of space travel. People all around the world were captivated by the news of the aliens, and many were eager to learn more about them.

Some individuals and groups had attempted to communicate with the aliens using methods other than language, such as music or art. But so far, the aliens had not responded to any of these efforts.

Despite the tension and uncertainty, both humans and aliens had made sure to be careful, cautious, and polite. There had been no incidents or conflicts between the two species since their initial contact. However, it was clear that the aliens possessed a greater understanding and knowledge of the universe than humans did. This fact left many wondering what other secrets the aliens held, and what the implications of those secrets might be for the future of humanity.

The door opened to an unexpected sight. Instead of a beautiful damsel running into my arms I am met with an almost empty circular room. With the exception of one thing, a stone pedestal with a small trinket on top of it. My footsteps each through the room as I approach it’s center, the smell of old wood and hard stone permeating the room. I run my fingers along the dusty, hideous faces chiselled into the trinket, it was barely the size of my hand, yet as soon as I touched it, all I could feel was dread, pure, unbridled, Lovecraftian dread. I fall back, the trinket clanging against the floor with a metallic ring, just the idea of touching the object is enough to make me sweat. I had already beaten the dragon, this thing wasn’t worth my time. As soon as I turned around, I saw the door swing shut and the trinket starting to emit a strange whirring sound.

Thank you! I went back and forth with two endings. Either

1. Your life is a dream all along and what you thought was a dream is reality (one I chose obviously)

2. When you look into a mirror you are connected to someone else far away. The character was supposed to feel guilt for how great her life is and how bad the child's life is and learns the mirror can give that child her life. (Way too much I would of had to add and it was already long enough)

Which is unfortunate for many neurodivergent folks that have trouble with it.