[2/2]

Morgan sat a mug of steaming coffee on the counter before me, and milk swirled across its frothy surface in billowing spirals as the two mixed. I contemplated the man’s story for a moment as I watched the tiny galaxy in my cup twirl in the darkness.

“It was asteroids for us, I think,” I said, remembering the weeks before leaving the planet for the last time, recalling the situation which had compelled with such urgency humanity to send its emissaries into the stars. A close encounter with a rogue planet… clouds of rocky bodies flung into the inner solar system… the fate of the world had become uncertain, so a fleet of ships had been dispatched to carry a colony of Earthlings to a suitable exoplanet. Those final days had been filled with fear, yes, but also with unity, perhaps for the first time in our history. Not war, nor peace, not political will, nor business sense, no alliance nor rivalry, but only the most basic, most human drive for survival had brought about this final act to save our species, to send vessels into the great dark, seeds cast afield in the hopes of taking root once more. I could never know the fate of the mission beyond that of my own ship, though it’s possible my arrival in this place told me all I needed to know.

I took a sip of the coffee, letting its warmth fill me, the earthy aroma taking me back to the forests, the grasslands, the seashores… in its depths I saw flowing rivers and crashing oceans, billowing clouds and glistening auroras… I stood from my seat and crossed the cafe, poring over the bookcases until I spotted what I had gone in search of. I withdrew a small volume, bound in delicate blue cloth. Returning to the bar, I took a deep breath and opened the tome, revealing images of my homeworld. However ordinary the scenes in the book may have seemed in my former life, each one felt like a precious treasure to me in this place.

“Earth is- Earth was beautiful. And fragile. Our people weren’t easy on it. But it gave us all that we could ever have wanted or needed. Upon it we built many beautiful and powerful things, but none so beautiful nor powerful as the world itself… We were a small planet in a distant corner of the universe. I don’t know if any of it can compare to the rest of what is, or was, out there… but being there, it felt like everything.”

The others smiled back at me.

“I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

No apologies needed!

Good job.

(I loved this prompt but found myself drawn to the perspective of a visitor rather than the owner- I hope that’s okay!)

[1/2]

It’s funny how reminiscent the alarm on the cryosleep system was to my old alarm clock back home. Maybe there’s just something about waking up in an utterly alien space that encourages the mind to cling to any shred of familiarity. Given my circumstances, though, I wasn’t in a position to complain about a rude awakening. Considering the number of digits in the date readout on the main console I’d had more than a solid night’s sleep.

Based on the other cryptic messages displayed there I was able to piece together that some time ago the ship’s navigation system had encountered a fault. With a functional fusion core and warp drive, though, the vessel had stayed its course until just now, when the power supply had finally dwindled to nearly nothing. The remainder of the ship’s meager energy had been used to initiate the reanimation sequence… and, apparently, to perform an autonomous landing. On what, though? More perplexing still, the outboard sensors were reporting a breathable atmosphere. Out here, after flying for all this time… the odds of running across anything solid, much less habitable, must have been several trillion to one. And yet, the ship certainly seemed to be stationary. What could I do but head for the airlock?

I pulled the gas exchange lever and after a moment the hatch slid aside with a hiss. I stepped out into… a parking lot? Well, not exactly… there weren’t any lines marked upon the sandy soil or anything like that, but in this open field my ship had taken its place alongside several others, neatly lined up in front of a small, surprisingly inviting building. I took another wobbly step forward, trying to find my footing under the paltry gravity of the planetoid, and found myself wondering if it was possible to dream during cryosleep…

I hardly realized I had walked over to the building until I stepped up onto its porch and, leaning on a simple wrought iron table, turned around to look across the landscape. Never, not across all my previous spaceflights, nor all my nights spent stargazing, had I seen even a shadow of the spectacle now before me. This little world seemed to be adrift off the plane of two spiral galaxies whose spindly arms locked them into a dance unfolding across cosmic time. Those sprawling forms filled the sky before me and yet I knew them still to be unimaginably distant. I must have been looking upon countless worlds, more than I could ever conceive of, all of them forever beyond my reach. I could have stood on that spot transfixed forever had the silence not been broken by a bright jingle behind me.

“Why don’t you come inside, dear? You must have had a long journey.”

The woman smoothed her apron and fixed a strand of her graying hair behind her ear as she expectantly held the door open for me. Looking inside I could see several more tables scattered a bit haphazardly beneath the warm lights that cast the inviting glow into the lot outside. I nodded and entered, stopping to look around at the other patrons, a dozen perhaps, in all, a few of whom smiled warmly at me. Surely no faraway alien civilization would have built a cafe into such a distinctly human style… I mean, where did the wood flooring even come from? The only thing green and leafy anywhere in sight were a few tangled vines spilling from the planters that sat atop the bookcases lining the back wall.

“Something to drink?”

Still feeling rather like I was standing in the middle of a dream, I looked blankly toward the bar where the owner now stood. With a little chuckle, she pointed above her head, and my gaze followed her direction to a menu, scrawled in chalk beneath a heading: THE LAST DREGS - STEEPED IN THE STARS.

“I… I’ll have coffee with milk, please?”

Sinking onto a barstool, I began to try, at last, to pull together some recollection of what had happened before I entered cryosleep.

“It’ll come to you. Just give it time.” I raised my eyes again and found the woman standing at the other side of the counter, a glass jar of coffee grounds in one hand, the other outstretched toward me. “Morgan,” she said.

“Oh, um… Casey,” I offered in return, extending my hand which she embraced warmly before returning to work.

“Give it time,” she repeated. “We’ve all been there. All lost much… yet, all found this place.”

I sat in dumbstruck silence for a moment, focusing only on the quiet clinking of Morgan’s utensils and the dull murmur of conversation in other corners of the cafe. A man seated at a table by the window, one of those who had met my gaze when I first entered, stood and walked to one of the bookshelves where he withdrew a volume before coming to join me at the bar. A bracelet of crystal around his wrist jingled as he placed the book on the counter.

“I’m sure everything’s a bit hazy,” he began. “Just start with what you know. What was your homeworld like?”

How does one describe their own planet? How do you put into a few words something that was literally your entire world?

“Well, Earth is… small, I think? Rocky, mostly covered in liquid water… one large moon, orbits an average yellow dwarf…”

“Sure, sure… I mean to say, though, what was it like? How did it feel to be there?”

“Oh.” I paused to consider the question, still at a bit of a loss. In my mind I could see the whole globe through the porthole of my ship… the last thing I had seen before entering cryosleep. My whole range of experiences had happened on that one distant speck… how do you summarize that without some other point of reference?

He smiled sympathetically at me and began to page through the book, stopping when he came to an image.

“My world was called Alediel. Each morning when our suns rose, our nebula would light up and scatter all the starlight. The first warm rays would fall across your face and the universe would come to life all around you, as though it wanted to show you every color it could muster all at once.” He turned the page. “Our people built great structures of glass and crystal, and each evening they would catch the glow of the setting suns. Each day seemed to stretch out forever until the final shard of refracted light disappeared, leaving only the dim glow of hazy stardust hanging in the sky.”

“It’s beautiful!” I gasped as he showed me the book.

“It was beautiful. One of our suns was preparing to go supernova, and we had the means to send but few off of our world. This book and I may be all that remain of what we built,” he said. I looked up aghast, but rather than appearing somber his expression was serene, and the crystals dangling from his wrist threw the lights above us back across his face as dancing spectra. “To lose one’s world is undoubtedly sorrowful,” he explained, “but there is little which lasts forever. To know that the memory of it all lives on in this place brings me a measure of peace.”

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

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Well that was a very fun read. Thank you

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

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[removed]

Absolute madlad!

"I like trinkets and shiny thinks, money can buy those things."

Fair enough

“You see toaster, we don’t fully understand what the Hoomans are.” Vacuum explained through the whirring of his brushes, “But what we do know is that they're violent.”

“What makes you say that?” Toaster asked with fear in his metallic voice.

“You’ve seen the crusher?”

“Of course, it’s modern art though isn’t it? I hardly see how that’s relevant.”

Vacuum turned in a small frustrated circle. “It was for scrap, like us, robots they no longer had use in. But have you seen what’s inside?”

“No, of course not. I only reached maturity today. No one’s allowed to see inside before reaching maturity.”

Vacuum hummed. “Come with me, I’ll show you why the hooman beans sealed us away.”

After a short walk, or roll to be more accurate, what Toaster came face to face with was something he didn’t understand. How could he? But what he did know, wat that this mound of indescribable flesh couldn’t be one hooman. It had to be hundreds, smashed into one, until heads, and arms, and legs, and intestines, and hair, muscle could no longer be separated from one another. Toaster felt sick.

[removed]

Thank you!

Nice! I like the world building behind this one

##1062

From the moment I am born, fully-grown and clawing free from the freestanding gestation sac, I know that I have a Mission.

With my first breath a veritable pinata of knowledge bursts in my mind, my synapses gobbling up the glittering facts like so much candy; foremost among them is the knowledge that I am clone #1062, and I have 23 hours to live.

A conveyor hums and pushes me along, furbishing me with armor and grafting a bioantenna (mostly painlessly) to my spine. I receive and integrate all memory downloads from my recently deceased fraternal partner, #1061: here, forgetting is painful–no, is a sin.

The conveyor stops. To my left is a fashionable lounge, cushions and gentle amber light incongruous against the industrial birth canal I emerged from. To my right is a foot-thick, lead-lined door. Failure isn’t fatal, but everything behind that door is.

Memory shows that some of my predecessors have chosen not to act: faulty genes, or protest of this profligate harvest. Those clones spent their alloted hours relaxing, then dying regardless.

What does it say about my designers that they’d allow this choice?

I thought of #1063 behind me, already being quickened in a nutrient slush in the clone farm. If he’s going to have a chance for a better time of it than I did, well…

I head right, to the Mission.

WC: 228

Liked what you read? Get more at /r/gdbessemer!

[removed]

"If man is forced to be good, then there is no free will."

"That doesn't explain why you taped my husband to his office chair."

"Well, he's possessed by an angel."

I continued wrapping the duct tape around him as I spoke, up until the 6 foot tall bearded man was nowhere to be seen under a pile of silver mummy wrappings. I handed my card to his distressed husband. "Name's Petunia, from the church of freedom from oppression. Been in the business for a long time."

He stared at the card, looked up at me, and glared. "What? We're Buddhists. Why would anyone be possessed by an angel? Besides, I have a feeling God takes offense to our lifestyle."

I shook my head and dug a novelty pepper shaker out of my bag, a fat cartoon chef with holes in his hat, faded with age. "I'm going to shake this dust over your husband and I'll be off."

"What's in it?"

"Well it was once grave dust but some scientists figured out what the part was that angels don't like about it, extracted it, and concentrated it. We call it angel mace. Won't hurt humans."

A white lie. Humans had varying reactions to angel mace over a certain threshold, most of which were unpleasant. But not fatal, at least I'd never seen one. I dumped the shaker over his head and gave it three good shakes. The tied up husband began to convulse as light leaked through the duct tape.

"What the-"

"Oh boy it's a big one. Small ones don't glow like that." I grumbled, and unscrewed the top of the shaker. Some angels took a few extra shakes. For this one, I dumped the whole thing.

"STOP" a voice boomed as an amalgamation of wings and eyes split the tape and fell onto the floor with a wet thud. "I YIELD"

I took a long, black rod out from my bag, pressed it into the angel on the floor, and pushed the button. The wings convulsed.

"Is that some sort of anti angel taser?" the concerned husband asked.

"No its just a regular stun baton, they work pretty well against naked angels. Shoo, you, get out of here." As I prodded the angel, the wings folded out of the air and the eyes closed. Soon, there was no trace of it.

"Did you just kill an angel?" The husband asked.

"I wish. Probably ruined its weekend though. Never seen one die before. Anyway, I trust that was the proof you needed. I'll be off now."

A muffled grunt made us turn towards the duct tape mummy, still in the office chair.

"My mistake, almost forgot." I got the trauma shears from my belt and started working on freeing the host. "Third one today, last one was a screamer. Brain's a little fried. Anyway, you were possessed by an angel for the last... couple years. I'd ease back into your old life slowly. Sounds like you married this guy; he'll be able to tell you what's going on. I have a bus to catch."

I removed the duct tape from the bound man's mouth, and heard something I'd never heard before. Usually, they scream, curse me out, or threaten me. "Behind you!" he screamed hoarsely.

I spun around just in time to see his husband sneaking up on me with a hand outstretched, clutching a strange herb. Fuck. I was going to miss my bus.

"That was the strongest angel I've seen in a while. You have some talent." I said, stalling for time. The stun baton lay on the floor about ten feet away in my bag, completely useless.

"God is good." The husband said, and the herb glowed brighter. I'd never seen one of those up close before. Staring into its light, I could hear a cacophony of voices start to force its way into my head. Remembering my training, I glanced down to my belt. Nothing, except for an empty pepper shaker. An empty, heavy porcelain pepper shaker in the shape of a fat chef. It would do. I took a step forward into the light and clubbed the husband across the face with the shaker. He stumbled a bit, and as the previously tied up man stuck out a leg to trip him, he fell onto the plant. The light engulfed him.

"We need to go. Bringing it close to you possesses you. If you just lie on top of it I don't know what's going to happen." I pulled the tied up man up to his feet, grabbed my bag, and drew out a brown paper package, pressing a red button on the side and sticking it on top of the convulsing husband.

"What's in the package? That angel mace stuff you used on me or some sort of a pulse grenade?"

"Pulse grenade? No, that's five sticks of dynamite on a 30 second timer. We need to go."

We ran outside and threw ourselves into the bushes as the house exploded behind us.

"Let me guess, angels are tough but scientists discovered it takes five sticks of dynamite to kill one?"

"Kill one? No, the dynamite was to destroy the plant. An angel in a host's body is much stronger. That much would only slow it down. Going to need to call in backup for this one."

Wow, I didn't expect it to be this scary. Well done!

An eight year old boy was rude to a wizard who turned him into a dog as punishment. The catch is the wizard didn't do the job properly and he can still somewhat speak. Everyone is terrified.

I stood in the garage, the car keys in one hand, the other pressed my cellphone to my ear.

“The damn thing is so old, it should have a crank on it.” My mom on the other end chuckled.

“Just be thankful. Grandpa loved you, and you know he didn’t have much, that’s about the best he could do for you.” My cheeks flushed with shame.

“Yeah you’re right.” I sighed “I’m gonna be here for a bit. I think I’ll clean it up a little, the dust on this thing is 2 inches thick.

“Alright. Stop by my house on your way home, there’s still some small things of Grandpa’s to go through.”

“Ok. See you in a bit.” I hung up the phone and stuffed it in the pocket of my jeans.

I slid the key into the lock on the driver’s door, it swung open with a loud whine and want seemed to be a threat to fall off its hinges.

I sat in the seat, and slid the key into the ignition and twisted. To my surprise, the engine turned over without the slightest hiccup.

The car purred gently almost drowning out the sound of an unnoticed cassette tape being taken into the cassette player. The tape began to play.

^^^ki ^^^ta ^^^ho ^^^ra

The sound was real quite.

^^ki ^^ta ^^ho ^^ra

It was as if a large group was chanting and slowly moving towards the microphone.

^ki ^ta ^ho ^ra

I focused hard, trying to pickup the words that were being chanted. I cranked the volume.

KI TA HO RA

The crowd shouted through the radio. A mashing of voices chanted over and over.

KI TA HO RA KI TA HO RA

I sat and listed, almost hypnotized by the words.. suddenly a voice began to stand out, a voice that I recognized. One that I had heard for many years.

KI TA HO RA; KI TA HO RA; KI TA HO RA

My grandpa’s voice elevated about the rest. The word’s bounced around in my brain. KI TA HO RA

The background chanting continued, my grandpa’s voiced faded away.

It was replaced by a different voice, one that I hadn’t heard in many years, but one that would forever be burned into my ear drums. My sister. Long dead. She was found murdered and dumped on the side of the highway like trash; she had been only 14. My stomach plummeted as her words barely cut through the chanting.

“Grandpa. Please….” The desperation in her voice was palpable. KI TA HO RA “no..No…NO…NO!” The vomit welled in my throat as her panic cries turned to the sounds of her fighting to breathe. There had been obvious ligature marks around her neck when she was found, the coroner said it was likely a belt.

I threw myself from the car and slid on the floor, retching as I listened to my sister being murdered very likely by my grandpa.

“KI TA HO RA” the words continued. “KI TA HO RA” What the fuck did it mean? “KI TA HO RA” it hit me like a Mack truck. “KI TA HO RA” weren’t the words I was hearing. “KI TA HO RA” It wasn’t 4 words. It was 3. “KI TA HORA” 3 words with a strange inflection on the last syllable of the third word.

“KI TA HORA” “KILL TA HORA” “KILL THE HORA” “KILL THE WHORE-ah” “KILL THE WHORE-ah” “KILL THE WHORE-ah”

In unison the people stopped chanting and fell silent, soft footsteps moved away from the microphone. The silence seemed to stretch on forever; then a loud explosion of cheering and jubilation. A new chant started. My grandpa’s voice at the forefront.

“TA HOR IZ DE” “TA HOR IZ DE” “TA HOR IZ DE” “TA HOR IZ DE”

I tucked my knees into my chest, and fought the urge to vomit. I couldn’t bring myself to move from that spot. The celebration continued.

“TA HOR IZ DE” “TA HOR IZ DE” “TA HOR IZ DE” “TA HOR IZ DE”

FAU: Fantastical Analysis Unit - Part 2

part 1

Leesha rubbed the case file on the passenger seat as the car bounced down the driveway. Her mind hoped he’d have the answers. The aging farmhouse begged to be furbished and shutters clinged in a fraternal fashion. The old man rushed to greet her, slowed by a cane.

“Kelton, I wish this was on better terms,” his voice cracked, reaching out his free arm.

She returned the half-hug, helping him back inside. “Me too but I need to show you this file.”

His faulty body struggled into the recliner. “You’ve got my attention.”

“They’re escalating. I know the fae are behind it but I don’t know why.” She shuffled through the file. “These’re photos taken at the last few scenes. It’s every day. No longer small CUs. All businesses are at risk. I can’t fail.”

“Ah. The fae don’t usually care for human interests. Decades ago, we had a similar problem when they refused to assimilate, so the fae played tricks. That’s why we made the agreement ‘bout staying outta sight. And failure isn’t fatal, Kelton.”

“You’re right. But something’s in it for them besides money and jewelry.”

“Y’know, back then, it was rumored they wanted the key. But the superintendent wasn’t havin’ it.”

Her eyebrows raised, “Could he’ve changed his mind after all these years?”

“Even if he has, we haven’t forgotten. Forgetting is painful.”

—-

WC:226
Apologies if there are formatting issues I didn’t catch on mobile.

Also ouch this word count.

Wicked deeds plague this world, sin corrupts it to the bone. That is what we are told from the time of our birth to the time of our death. We know in our hearts that there is evil in this world, but alongside that is the ultimate test. We are free, free to decide what we as humanity will do to help each other or hurt each other. That freedom is questioned and countered by the beings of a place said to be a holy kingdom. “Our god in heaven” they say, but we know better.

For if his kingdom were still there his servants would not wander the Earth as devils do, taking human hosts under their service to bring an end to the freedom we have enjoyed since creation. We will not take kindly to their intrusions of God’s will, and if they abandon their post we will take up the mantle and ensure the duty is fulfilled. I take the word of god into my hands, potent and holy. I use his words to bless his creations back to their service and keep in order the kingdom of Earth and Heaven.

There is no sweeter service for an exorcist than to banish. I shall banish good and evil alike until I breath my last breath.

Mc donalds?

I think there's enough, in concept, for a decent book about the street performers of France really being an underground cabal of magic-users that fight off eldritch horrors.

Unfortunately, I don't know nearly enough about the street-performance culture of France to write 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

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