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"For the last time, at day I'm a centaur, at night I'm a vampire, at the full moon I'm a werewolf, when I'm in water I'm a merman, during the hottest day I'm a dragon and at the coldest night I'm a yeti."

I know, my giddy questioning must be infuriating for Peter to hear, but I've never met someone who's worked at Disneyland before. I had a friend of a friend who worked maintenance in Mainstreet, and I met someone who was a coordinator for some swanky Disney vacation packaging thing, but not one who actually played a roll as an entertainer inside the parks.

I never drink coffee! But there I was ordering an espresso.

While the barista made my drink I looked at my other shadow. Still there staring at me with a silly grin on its face. I gave up trying to describe it years ago. Because no matter how many times I told someone about it they always forgot about it. I’ve never seen it do anything: it just sits there. I touched it once; I’m not doing that again.

After I made sure the world hadn’t come to an end, frightening the thing away, I started looking around the room. A tall fellow is arguing with someone who seems to be his sister. Someone who could stand to lose a few pounds has three empty cups in front of him, I’ll bet he’s in between jobs right now. Over there on the opposite side of the room is is a young lady about my age, she’s nice looking, probably not the most beautiful person but I wouldn’t mind seeing her first thing in the morning. There’s a couple with a—

Wait! Did I see another unsharable familiar behind her? I did. She’s looking at it now. It’s a little different from mine: it has a pair of horns instead of antlers; it’s front legs have three elbows each instead of two; but the big difference is its fur, mine has the fir going backwards while its fur goes forwards.

I wonder if she can see my… creature. Now that I think about it her face looks more attractive than I thought. I like how she has her hair flowing down her back. I like how she doesn’t cover the scar on her cheek with a ton of makeup. I like the way she looks deep into my eyes. I—

Imma go talk to her. After a connection like that I’d be a fool not to.

“Hello!”

“Sit!”

“My name’s Henry.”

“Maria.”

“Are you single?” Why did I ask that? That’s too soon.

“Yes…”

“Do you see this thing following me?” That’s better.

“Uhhuh.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Sure!” She smiled, then said “if you were to die tonight, where do you think your soul would go?”

Well… I’ve met my soulmate!

Come check out my other stories that can be found on Reddit.

People discovered a way to live forever. They clone a new body and copy their consciousness into it. The old body is killed in the process, but the only reason for that is to not deal with complicated real estate ownership laws and also overpopulation. No one knew about this until your machine malfunctioned and there is now a 60 year old you and a 20 year old you alive at the same time.

So it is! That’s what I get for reading while half asleep.

She walks over and takes the lounger next to mine. We both smile. Our hands reach out instinctively. Fingertips brush. There's electricity. We settle in and enjoy the sun without fear. We drink what we like, not what we must. Hers looked like a wine cooler, which immediately struck me as odd. I didn't think they made them anymore.

I'm hardly one to talk, though. Mine's ginger ale - the real stuff, as strong as they'll make it. When I eat or drink something gingery, I want it to blow my brains out.

"Hey," I say. I'm a world-class lothario like that.

"Hey," she replies. She's just as gifted, clearly.

"Four and change," I tell her.

"Ah, you got me beat," she says. "Two-fifty."

That's young. She's taking to it well. Most her age - especially the women, and especially if they partake of men - are still skittish. They don't want to encroach or offend. They fear all the usual mortal consequences - save one - writ large: obsession, first and foremost. They also haven't mastered the instinct. I'll spare you the cheesy line, but there's a deep truth to it: we're instinctively uncomfortable in each other's spaces. We intuit the exponential burden on the environment - on the credulity and tolerance of the mortals. We know that deep within ourselves, we're still in the process of becoming something else. We get flashes of centuries together, unaging, largely unchanging, and it terrifies the lingering echoes inside of us. "'Til death do us part" is quite the safety valve. With mortals, we can fake our own deaths. With each other, not so much.

"I didn't know," she says. Ah well. She's still doing better than most.

"Neither did I," I joke.

"I had a good time," she says.

"Me too."

She doesn't withdraw her hand. She makes it twitch a few times on purpose. She tickles me, and the electricity hits me hard. I barely suppress a shiver.

"Yours or mine?" I ask.

"Yours," she says.

We take our time. We hurry up. It's all relative.

Both of us avoid The Talking. That's what I call it; I'm not just a lothario, but a poet and a scholar to boot. It's what mortals do when they feel a real connection. For some, it happens before the sex. For others, it happens after. We made it through the "before" just fine, and the "during" was, quite frankly, incredible. We're resilient; it's not quite Superman finding Wonder Woman and finally being able to go all out, but it's the same idea. There's also the matter of experience and education. As it turns out, no bullshit, we're both a particular type of scholar.

We don't speak. We cuddle, caress, and occasionally kiss. We drink for pleasure. We'll eat for the same soon.

She's beautiful for one so young. There are common stages, roughly; it's hard to know what the progress of mortal culture has done to them. She's old enough; she's not post-franchise or post-feminism. Hell, post-fem, she'd still be in the delusion phase. Her body would be screaming at her that all of her aches and pains were psychosomatic, and she'd be mistaking it for a terrible crisis. Without chancing upon another of our kind, she'd be in for a rough ride - maybe all the way to the morgue if she was unlucky.

As it stands, she got to watch all that stuff happen from a distance - and yet, here she is, not an ounce of defiance or resentment visible. She's soft, smooth, flush, secretly strong, and crackling with sensual energy from head to toe. She's twenty, or thereabouts, to any mortal who'd guess. That's bold. I'm twenty-five - but then, I'm a man.

I hope there's another "during." The second and third times get wild.

"Do you rotate?" she asks.

"I do," I answer. "You?"

"Wander," she says.

I believe her. That means a lot; it means she's not stubborn. She goes where the mood strikes, or where the moment leads. She doesn't have a list with places crossed off. She came back here without a worry. I like that. I like her.

"Let's say, a week," she says. Our kind answer a lot of unasked questions. It comes with the territory.

I kiss her again. We lock eyes, and I let her know that that works great for me.

We drink, we eat, and there's another "during," and then another. I play the good host and show her a great spot for dinner, and another for music. We go back to mine again. There's even more "during." I wake up, and she's still there. I hate to repeat myself, so I'll skip past breakfast. We spend the afternoon and evening apart. It feels right.

I'm not sick of her. She's not sick of me. We both accept the end of our week together graciously, but there's still a hint of tension in the air.

She bites her lip. It's adorable.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm just not there yet, but..."

I smile. I'm not offended at all. Maybe in another few centuries things will be different. I doubt it, but there's always hope. I'm a man. She's a woman.

I give her a direct line. I don't ask for one in return.

She embraces me. "Thank you for understanding," she says. "You seem like a really great guy."

I kiss the top of her head and think of all the things I could say to undercut the moment.

"Thank you," I say instead. "That means a lot."

There's one more ritual before we part. It means nothing, and everything. After all, what's in a name?

Since I gave her the number, she goes first.

"Kellina," she says. She lets the accent slip out.

Scotland - or perhaps the New World - roundabouts 1750.

"Valentin," I tell her, and I give her the same flavor. Westphalia - yes, just like the treaty - 1587.

Her green eyes light up. My brown ones melt, I'm sure. For her, it's the intimacy. For me, it's the beauty.

"Have a safe flight," I say.

"Thanks," she says. "Enjoy your summer."

I will. I've got at least a year or two left of it.

I need a winter occasionally. Montreal is perfect. The girls are perfect. I know what I am.

When I get my back to my building - my building, for the next six months at least - with Jeannette in tow, I don't bother checking my lines. It's not until the "after" of several "during"s the next morning when I do. Jeannette leaves very happy; she's headed back to her apartment to do more work on her thesis, or maybe to gush to a friend about the night she just had.

I sit down at my lavish hardwood desk. I quickly cycle through the accounts. My breath catches. My heart skips a beat.

It's only been two years, three months, and five days. Kellina's called.

I'm terrified by how good it makes me feel.

Younger would be runner, like many too poor for cybernetics. But worse, even if you had the creds you have a biological rejection of cybernetics. You make do with old fashioned parkour and lots of practice.

Huh, this kinda reminds me of my prompt I made yesterday or so.

loads a machine gun with the stuff

You see, he does, but his remarkable regenerative abilities...

There's a word for that then. Sadomasochist.

(Sorry if its not good. Pretty new to writing and it's like 1 am. Took over an hour to write so hope you like it)

I sharply turned back to my coffee, puzzled and a little freaked out. Could it be possible that it was actually real? The way she looked at me... It was like she saw it too. I thought it was just a hallucination, it couldnt be real. I turned back to look at the woman again and saw her quickly look back down at her coffee.

I shifted my gaze to the thing towering behind her, staring daggers at her, face wide with a grin that took the saying 'smiling ear to ear' a little literal. It seemed identical to mine.

I had to talk to her, see if these creatures were real or just my imagination. But I couldn't just walk up to her and say "Hey! Are you aware of the creepy monster following you around or do I just needa go to the hospital?"

After thinking for a little while I finnaly decided how to approach her. It probably wasn't the most practical way but what the hell.

I stood up and walked over to her table. When I spoke she seemed to startle a little. "Hey, I saw you looking at me over there and I..." "Oh yeah sorry bout that I just uh.. find you kinda attractive, couldn't take my eyes of you haha" Well wasn't the way I was planning but guess it's a way. I opened my mouth to speak but she cut me off again "you know what, here, here's my number, gimme a call " She forced a small slip of paper into my hand before standing up and hurridly rushing out of the shop, creature following. Confused I looked down at the slip in my hand. I guess I was hallucinating after all.

I tried to carry on my day like usual after then, go back to work once my lunch break was over, then finish up work at 5 and go back to my dark, lonely apartment, sitting on the couch watching tv with the creature next to me like usual.

"Greg could ya move? Your blocking the tv" I looked up at the creature standing Infront of me, just staring, grinning "ya know it wouldn't hurt ya to blink once in a while, maybe you'd seem a little more alive then and not just my personal horror movie"

I looked down at the "my name is" tag I had placed on the right side of it's chest a couple of weeks ago with 'Greg' written in scraggly writing. It was difficult writing on such a flesh like surface. I guess I really must be crazy to give a hallucination and name.

After a deep sigh I pulled the slip of paper with the woman from the coffee shops number on it. Better than spending the night alone, well mostly alone. I pulled out my phone and she answered surprisingly quickly. It didn't take long for her to invite me to a small restaurant not far from my place. I was mainly surprised how quickly she invited me for a same day date. Only had about 2 hours to get ready.

At 7:40 I was still waiting at the table, starting to wonder if I had been stood up. A few moments later the woman quickly ran in ,apologizing and complaining about the traffic. She sat down across from me, the monster rushing to be by her side.

As the date continued I quickly learned that she doesn't stop talking, like ever. It was difficult to get a word in. On the bright side I quickly learned quite a bit about her. Her name was Mary, she lived not too far from my place, her favorite food was lasagna, or ice cream, or fish and chips, she couldn't decide. I also quickly learnt that I would not be going on another date with her.

Eventually she said something that pulled me out of my boredem. "I'm guessing your not here to find out my favourite color though" "of course I am, I think your really pretty and a nice person" "are you kidding? Youve been looking at it all night"

I froze. Could it not be a hallucination, could it be real, I wasn't sure which one I'd prefer to be honest. "What do you mean it?" I asked, deciding to play it safe. "Oh come on, I know you know, you have one too. Like it's name by the way. How'd you get yours?" "How did I... Get mine?" I wasn't playing stupid anymore, I had no idea what she meant by 'get'. Wasn't like I walked into a pet store and said "I'd like the most terrifying thing you have please"

"Yeah get" she said like it was obvious. "Ya know how you get them right?" " No..." I replied, puzzled. "Oooh you must be a newbie. How long you had yours?" "Uuh about 5 or 6 weeks I think" my voice drifting off a bit, everything I knew seeming to become hazy. "Ohh you must've been the guy in the car accident" "how do you know about that?" I quickly snapped back, my anger beginning to boil.

"Calm down, I saw it in the news, shame that other guy didn't make it out. I know how it feels, to accidentally take a life" she seemed calmer and... sadder now, not as bubbly and talkative as before. "It's already a horrible feeling, being racked with guilt and pain, watching as their family crys and sobs, hearing them yell and threaten you. Already bad enough without these guys" she turned to look at her monster smiling next to her with pain in her eyes.

I looked up at Greg standing next to me, only now connecting the dots. It was only at the funeral when it appeared. Everybody thought I'd gone crazy when I started yelling and screaming. I thought I'd gone crazy too.

I turned back to look at Mary. "Do you know what it is?" I asked hopefully. She looked at me and took a deep breath. "Sometimes when somebody has enough guilt, the can accidentally summon it" "yes but what IS it" I asked, starting to get impatient.

After a moment she told me "It's a demon"

We bought this storage, and selling some of the everyday items has already paid us back nicely—only the uncommon remain.

Catalog #274

The Editor

Appearance: A standard #2 pencil with an eraser. Body color red. Fine lines are engraved around the body and inlaid with gold and silver alternating.

Function: Use the pencil, without erasing, to write a story. When you have finished writing, you may begin editing. Erase everything you want to happen, leaving only the things you do not want to happen.

Notes: grammar is important. Punctuation is essential. Would-be authors must be able to compose an interlaced trio of stories, each grammatically correct. The desired story. The unwanted story. The combined story is made by interlacing the words of the two base stories.

All three stories must make sense when read aloud, although reading the stories is not essential to the process.

Safety Notes

• Do not attempt to use this in the heat of the moment. You will hurt yourself no matter what your intent is.

• Do not attempt to use this for personal profit. The universe likes well-crafted stories, not wish fulfillment.

• If you attempt to use the eraser, and the pencil twists in your hand, stop at once. This is a warning from the universe. Reconsider what you are attempting.

"For the last time, in the day I'm a centaur, at night I'm a vampire, at the full moon I'm a werewolf, when I'm in the water I'm a merman, during the hottest day I'm a dragon and in the coldest night, I'm a yeti. That good enough for you?" he rambled, before kicking back (or whatever is the horse equivalent of it) on the floor.

I nodded, before picking out a random vial. The cauldron before me simmered with magical fumes as vapors of different colors flew from its shadowy surface. Beneath the iron container, a blood-red flame worked tirelessly to heat the liquid.

"So how did this happen, anyway?" I asked, one eye guarded on the spell contained within the cauldron as I turned to my roommate. I stifled a growl, watching as his hooves sprawled across my pristine spell-books. The nerve!

He groaned annoyingly. "Accident. Magical Chemistry."

I nodded, still trying not to see red as I added a bit of gorgon's blood extracted from the right side. Turns out Percy Jackson, while being an interesting read, was not so accurate when it came to monstrous anatomy. Beginners' mistake, I guess.

"Almost done," I called sweetly, my hands still clenched tight on the ladle as he snored gently. I swear, people never appreciate you. Be it when you're making poison or soup, they'll always fall asleep just as you're done. How unappreciative.

I rolled my eyes.

"Soup's ready!"

Two minutes later, he was rolling around on the floor, clutching at his throat as he wolfed (sorry, horsed) down the remains of a meal meant for two. How predictable. I smiled as he foamed at the mouth.

"Sorry sweetheart. But the neighbors were asking questions, and I really don't feel like having another ghost in the house. One will be enough as it is."

He didn't reply. Oh well. I kicked back and relaxed as the self-cleaning spells did their job once more...

What kind of fucked up riddle is this?

" does that mean you have all their weakness combined?*

Loads a silver bullet with garlic powder made with dragonsteel at it's core,which is tainted with a powerful alcoholic agent, blessed by the desert god to cause dehydration and to bring unbearable heat

With malicious intent

I like this. Maybe more?

This is ridiculous. Literally. All my life I'd studied magic, transforming the mundane to the magical. Waking up at dawn and not sleeping till dusk, fashioning wands of the oldest, twisting trees in the forest. Painstakingly double-checking every line and angle in the sacred circles until I fainted from pure exhaustion.

And now, here I am, forced by the government to uproot everything I thought I knew. Magic...was REAL. Ridiculously Easy Alternative Learning. How am I supposed to deal with this? Magic is not something you could teach in a classroom. It has to be learned, as all the masters did, through trial and error. No matter how many limbs you lost or had to regrow. Because it is all worth it in the end.

And the concept of MANA? Mentally Advanced Natural Advancement...is just plain stupid. We do this for spiritual advancement, not natural...whatever! How dare they attempt to destroy our traditions? How dare they suggest that magic could be anything other than what I read out of dusty old books?

It is clear that humans have lost all respect.

That is all I will say on the subject.

Thank you.

Would love to be notified when this is up. I'm absolutely hooked

That was my thought too

And then they fucked.

This one is silly and fun!

I am gay guys

we have always know Paul