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

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

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But wouldn't they know he made the call? Police phone calls get recorded, plus the phone operator clearly heard him and his accusation, so I don't know why they wouldn't have the call he made. Unless that gets explained later on.

Well, Restser, you reviewed my story; let me return the favor.

One of the more interesting aspects of this piece is how in my mind it plays with the knowledge of the theme. We know that, eventually, there will be something regarding "jubilant" -- saving it for the climax of the story makes the tension build better. But that's selling it short -- this piece stands on its own.

I will admit to not being familiar enough with equine mannerisms; do horses generally sleep lying on their side? I was under the impression they slept while kneeling like cows did. Granted, this could be an oversight or extra characterization of how horrible Horace senses the storm is, in that even he knows to buckle down.

Two pieces of unusual phrasing stood out: one good, one bad. The good was "Been through a few of these I have". I adore when authors go out of their way to give the narrator a character and imbue the narrative with it. It brings the story more to life. The bad, though, is "Locking the barn doors open is hard". Does he mean locking them when they're being forced open? Because I highly doubt he wants to keep them open.

Overall, a very visually intensive piece of writing that gave character to the narrator, which is right up my alley! Kudos!

Do you happen to have a link to it?

Wow, uh... thanks! Caught off-guard by how well you received it, but it is nice to get praise.

It's not often you get a micro that hits all the notes, but this one does. Also a good subversive take on the theme. Although I appreciate the challenge you gave yourself to make it a micro, I think something like this almost demands more -- this feels like a preview of a longer story. Perhaps you could expand the idea into a WP if one comes up in the future... or, if necessary, I'll tee one up so you can put it there.

With shorter stories, you're always going to leave something on the table, but the key you figure out here is to make it something the audience wants. I want to know other shops you'd visited. I want to hear more of the author's internal struggle to get back into life. The "And still" mechanic makes me wonder what other reminders the author sees. And most of all: does the author succeed in "out-running" their pain?

Good stuff here!

As attorney for Jack, I'm glad you feel that way. It proves you haven't thought the case through, and your attempt to slander my client in the public eye is both vile and actionable.

There is nothing illegal about purchase or possession of magic beans or beanstalks, so any such claims are merely an attempt to prejudice the jury pool, who have experienced recent predations by cannibal witches. You have managed to distract the public from your abject failure to enforce building code, despite the obvious nature of the attractive hazard presented by a gingerbread house, and the child endangerment that you were therefore party to. And you had the gall to charge Gretel despite her self defense. I prevailed representing her in that travesty of a case, and this case shall fare no different.

There is no trespass, since the place Jack arrived was unposted in all ways, and is not recognized or recognizable as a dwelling under your own local laws. If the giant's house, as it is referenced, were in THIS jurisdiction, then it would violate code egregiously, being especially hazardous and not accessible to healthy persons, let alone the handicapped.

Similarly, the alleged theft is not in your jurisdiction, and those charges will be naturally dismissed via a preremptory appeal, and all references to them will be held from the jury as prejudicial. Any items in Jack's possession on Jacks property are salvage, belonging to Jack.

Which leaves you with a charge of, what, self defense from a crazed giant? Is that illegal in this town?

You've already mentioned trespass. The beanstalk in question was on whose property? It belonged to whom? So who was trespassing, with intent to murder? You are attacking another child, for defending themself against another cannibal, who yelled in front of witnesses that he would "grind Jacks bones to make my bread".

Wonderful case you have there. Yes, please, feel sorry for me. But remember how attacking another child for defending himself against cannibals will look.

When you lose.

Jack destroyed Jack's property, the beanstalk, to defend himself from a cannibal trespasser. The giant was in no danger if he had merely stayed home, and fixed his house to match the building code, instead of attempting to kill and eat my client.

So... good luck with your prosecution.

You will lose, without a doubt.

However, to simplify everyone's lives, we are willing to make a deal.

What do you say about a charge of.... littering?

Yours

R Stiltskin, Esq.

"Your writing skill's getting better! We could move on to future tense after this." Aaron said, handing the marked paper towards the brown haired girl in front of him. Anne's blue eyes shone with glee, very much pleased with herself.

"Thank you, Mr. Aaron." She took the paper and swiftly put it inside the purple binder filled with papers, marked 'English' on the outside.

Anne have been struggling a lot with English especially since she was an exchange, to see that she could write tangible sentences is a great achievement in Aaron's eyes.

"Are your parents here yet? It's getting kinda late." Aaron asked, as they both started walking out of the classroom, Aaron locking the classroom, while his head still turned towards the shorter girl.

"Should be, but I'm fine walking." She answered, scrolling through her phone. Aaron only nodded as he looked out the window, to see a car parked right outside the gate.

"Oh, they're here!" Anne exclaimed, swiftly walking towards the gate. Aaron followed close behind. As a teacher, it is his responsibility to make sure his students go home safe.

"Uncle Shamil!" Wait.

No way.

Aaron's amber eyes widen, yet he tried to remain calm and put on a friendly expression. The same expression he always put on when meeting with Billy's very demanding mother.

Out of all the meeting the parents experiences he had, this one definitely takes the cake.

The man with black hair and grey eyes was leaning on the car, scrolling through his phone. His appearance isn't one that would scream 'single dad waiting for daughter', instead looks more like 'just escaped prison brother' with the leather jacket and dark grey t-shirt.

"Uncle Shamil!" Anne practically leaped towards the man, Shamil, apparently, lifted up his head and gifted Maria a warm smile and returned her hug. He looked up to see Aaron, and Aaron wanted to die. Shamil's eyes narrowed, his smile's wider.

He knows.

"This is my English teacher, Mr. Aaron. He's been teaching me a lot of things! He's the best!"

"I'm really not..." Aaron's cheeks flushed at the statement.

"So, I've heard. Say, Annie, why don't you go wait in the car? Blast out that Avril Lavigne album you like. I need to talk to Mr. Aaron for a bit." His silky smooth yet deep voice made Aaron more nervous than he was. That same voice that taunted him with a bomb planted under the bank last week.

Anne nodded excitedly and skipped into the car, shutting the door and turned to the radio. Aaron only smiled at her, before turning sour as he turned towards the other man.

"So-"

"Phantom."

"Solar. Fancy seeing you here."

"Didn't take you as a single dad."

"Bold of you to assume I'm single."

"Oh, so you kidnapped her mother too?" Aaron crossed his arms. Shamil pursued his lips, feigning a sad expression, clutching his chest dramatically. Aaron rolled his eyes.

"You really think I'd stoop that low? I'm wounded, Lightball."

"Don't call me that." The blonde hero greeted his teeth. Phantom had a habit of nicknaming people around him, apparently it 'strengthen their bonds as enemies' or whatever it is he said.

"Well, if you want to be even, didn't think you'd be a teacher. An elementary teacher at that." Shamil jabbed at the blonde, putting his arm around Aaron's shoulder.

"It's none of your business." Aaron pushed away Shamil's arm. If Shamil flinched, he didn't see it. He half expected to see the man gives him the sad frown paired with puppy dog eyes, but surprisingly he seemed to smile wider.

Aaron does not like that smile.

"Does she know?" Aaron glared at him, Anne is a smart and kind girl, her "uncle's" shenanigans shouldn't be something she worries about.

"No. I would never, Sol." There he is with the nickname, Aaron thought. But he kept quiet, letting the usually mysterious shadow wielder talk about himself.

"She's my light in the darkness. My heart and my soul. You can prosecute me all you want, but leave my Annie out of it."

"You took a lot of lives, Phantom. I'm not sure you having a daughter justifies anything."

"No, it does not. I'm not justifying it, those people deserved it. But, I trust that you, our face of the justice, bringer of light, Solar would be sensible and righteous enough to not use her in our rivalry."

Aaron was speechless.

He always had jab to fire back at the black-haired villain usually dressed in some formal attire with the Phantom of the Opera mask covering his face. Yet, nothing comes out. Maybe it's because it's the first he'd heard Phantom talk about himself and how he feels. Maybe because it's the first time Phantom confessed his feelings about anything. Maybe because it's the first time he sees Phantom as a human.

A person going through their lives, trying their best with the twists and turns, holding on to anything they have.

As for Shamil, it's Anne, apparently. His anchor and moral compass.

"Tongue-tied now are you, Lightball?" Aaron snapped out of his trance.

"Annie is a good kid. You're lucky, Mr. Shamil."

"I hope she doesn't give you too much trouble."

Aaron only nodded.

Shamil turned back towards his car.

"Shamil." Aaron called out. Shamil turned.

" You have my word." He smiled.

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

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts 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.

Thank you, it's my pleasure.

"Excuse me....but aren't you the Lunch Lady? The one that works in the Hall of Super Justice!?"

"Yes, that's right. I'm Beatrix McGonagall, Chef de Cuisine of the Hall of Super Justice cafeteria."

"Er...ma'am what are you doing aboard the Justice Rocket?"

"I was called up by Director Hardcastle to take point in the Anti-Meteor Squad with the hero known as Mega Muscles. You should have received a copy of our orders.'

"I received notice that I'd be joined by a retired underground hero called Simmer with a unique skill set."

"Yes, that would be me. You can just call me Ms McGonagall."

"Wait, you actually have superpowers? What the hell are you doing working in the kitchen?"

"What am I doing in the kitchen? I'm a Sous Chef. Cooking, obviously!"

"Wait...are you saying you use your powers to cook instead of heroism!?"

"Some people would say that making sure people don't starve to death is a public service but you are essentially correct that I don't perform the traditional duties of a spandexed superhero."

"What the hell actually is your power set?"

"You'll find out when we land the ship on the meteor."

"So, what are you going to do? Boil the meteor into compliance?"

"Not...exactly. You'll see when we get there."

"Fan-fucking-tastic! We're being sent on a suicide mission with Lunch Lady Melba-"

"Ms McGonagall."

"-and we're all going to die and the world will end and nobody will be left alive to curse the fact they sent they sent a Lunch Lady to save the world."

"This isn't a suicide mission and the world isn't going to end so long as you follow the plan to the letter and pilot."

"Fucking fine!"

***** 4 hours later ****

"Okay but what the hell happened!? Because I think I've gone insane...I could swear you just turned a meteor into soup!"

"I turned the meteor into vegan Split Pea instead of traditional Split Pea and Ham. The ham chunks would probably burn up entering the atmosphere but I didn't want to risk being wrong."

"Okay, okay, so you actually just turned a whole-ass meteor into soup, right? I didn't hallucinate that, right?"

"Indeed. I turned it into piping hot soup. The soup rapidly began cooling and solidifying in the cold void of space and then you, Muscles Mc Punchy, punched the soup ice cream hard enough to shatter it into smaller chunks in the ionosphere which were torn apart by the Earth and Moon's gravity to become an annular disc much like the rings of Saturn."

"Okay, but but...SOUP!?"

"Yes, now you can understand why I do most of my work in the kitchen.

"How the heck did you fight villains with Soup Powers?"

"Sweetie....I've worked in the cafeteria for nearly twenty years. In that time how many break-outs of Super Prison have we had? How many Villains have been added to the Rogues Gallery?"

"Er, I've only been a hero for a few years but my parents said that there used to be jail breaks almost every month and the rogues gallery was as thick as a New York phone book. We don't seem to have any these days."

"Yes, these days we don't have a Rogues Gallery and the Super Prison has been remodeled into office space. Do you know why?"

"Er...no? Why?"

"Because I can turn anything into soup. Anything would include mass murders and terrorists and rapists into soup. And not just any soup. Perfect soup. The most delicious soup in the world."

"Wait...wait, you've been killing and eating Super Villains?"

"If you want to be technical I've been executing them and you Heros have been eating them, but yes. I was given special dispensation by Director Hardcastle 20 years ago on the Night Of Carnage to do what I do best."

"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS ABOUT SOYLENT GREEN BEING PEOPLE!?"

"Waste not, want not."

"PEOPLE! YOU'RE FEEDING US PEOPLE! WE'VE BEEN TURNED INTO GODDAMNED CANNIBALS!!"

"Please keep it to yourself, Mega Muscles. That's classified."

"OH, MY FUCKING GOD I AM NEVER EATING YOUR FOOD AGAIN!"

"It's only the soup."

"I AM BROWN BAGGING IT FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!!!"

"Don't be so melodramatic."

-Seventy Years Later-

I lived my life alone from there on. My home was isolated, out in the wilderness and far from anyone Damien could hurt. At first I kept in contact via falcon letters, but after all I received was tragic news I stopped sending them. I buried Eileen's remains in the backyard, but they grave was dug up in the night and her body dragged off into the forest. I didn't bother trying to get it back; Damien was getting creative in his torments, and I didn't want to see what he would do with my beloved's corpse.
Nightmares occurred every night, illusion and shadows tormenting me with the faces of people I had failed.

Damien would appear now and again. The question was always the same. So was the answer.

Now I lay there on my deathbed, just as alone as always. Seventy years of torment and restlessness had taken their toll, even on my divinely enhanced body.

I let out a slow breath. Damien was already there.

"Please," He growled. "Kill me already. One last act of kindness, please Alione."

I didn't dignify him with a response.

"Alione." His voice was now warning. "Don't do this."

I looked him dead in the eye, those hollow pits. I closed my eyes, ignoring his howling roar of fury, and breathed my last.

-Damien-

I watched my last chance at freedom die.

I watched as his very soul drifted from his carcass, pulled upward to the heavens to join his friends.

The feeling welling within me transcended simple anger. It was beyond emotion and words.

Alione thought he could die before doing what he owed me? Not a chance.

My form broke apart, and a single beak of shadowy wings sent me beyond the sky and into the beyond. Around me, the eddies and whorls of the River of Souls spun around me. I gazed without eyes, searching for that spark of primal light.
There.

Like a shadow across the wall, I swept over Alione's soul, snatching it from the River and realigned with the mortal world.

The Primordial Light burned, but I ignored it. He thought I would let him leave, let him trap me like this until the end of time? No.

I sailed across the sky, looking for my target. Finally, one caught my eye. A small farming community, humble and pedestrian, just like Alione's own home. It would do now, and every incarnation hence. A farmer's wife was giving birth, a new soul being brought into the world.

With a hawk's swiftness, I passed through the delivery room, releasing Alione's spirit into the body of the babe. He wouldn't remember a thing, but the Light would return, the Hero reincarnated. My final words to him were simple.

A Curse.

"Never will you know release, until I do. Again and Again, you may slay me, again and again you may die, but eternal shall we struggle. Only in my true death, the Death of my Dark, will this cycle of misery and ruin end. This is my curse, Hero, my Spite. So long as I am allowed to live, I shall bring about pain and horror upon this world, and you will always return to stop me. Until I have my peace, you will never know yours."

I fled just as swiftly, without anyone the wiser.

I returned to that accursed place. The Well of Sorrows beckoned, having run dry so long ago.

It needed me, and I would need it moving forward.

Down there, monsters anew would be born, and raise havoc and death to the world.

The Hero would rise to this challenge, naturally. They would grow strong, empowered by the Light. Maybe strong enough to truly kill me, probably not. But they would always have to try, and I pray one will succeed.

My sacrifice brought an age of peace, however brief. Now, my life shall bring about an age of war.

I breathed in deep the brackish fumes of the Well, even as new monstrous life stirred in the silt underfoot. So is my decree, not as Damien, but as the Daemon Lord.

-Three Months Later-

I bowled right through the grand doors to the King's Hall. "BARBAS!" I roared, blade drawn already and flanked by Eileen, Raven and a contingent of Elite Knights.

At the far end of the hall, Barbas lounged across the royal throne, chugging from an immense mug. Ale sloshed past his mouth and ran down his bare chest, mingling with the blood splatters across his body. As the foot of the throne, his immense hammer was embedded in the pulverized remains of King Iraine.

"What madness has taken you, Barbas?!" I snapped. "To murder the king, proclaim yourself tyrant, have you forgot what we stand for?"

Barbas lowered his cup, belching loudly. "You stood for, not me." He waved me off. "I was only in it for the money and fights. But, since I am the strongest, why shouldn't I be in charge, eh?" He dropped the tankard and sat up. "I put in all the hard work, I did the fighting, why should this little chickenshit be in charge and not me?" Barbas smiled, crooked, yellow teeth contrasting with his bloodshot eyes.

"You've finally lost it, haven't you." Eileen shook her head as she readied her staff. "Please surrender, Barbas, we won't hesitate to put you down."

"HA!" Barbas stood, wrenching his sledgehammer from the pulped corpses of the king with a wet squelch. "You're free to try, lass. But don't ever forget; I am the strongest, no-one else!"

Barbas leapt at us, hammer gleaming as red as his eyes, spittle and froth flying from his lips. Seven knights died in the ensuing battle before Raven could slit his arm and force him to drop his hammer. Eileen paralyzed him, and I took off my once-friends head off with a single stroke.

It would take three hours before I was informed that the Darkcell was empty.

-One Month Later-

I looked down at the new grave. Another victim.

Maurice had once been my mentor, teaching me the way of the sword in my earlier days. I treasured him like a father. They found his corpse half-eaten by Dire-wolves in the forest three days after his disappearance. They said, judging by the bloodstains and the cuts on his wrists and heels, he had been forced to crawl like a dog through the forest for hours before he died.

My gaze turned to the other graves; a blacksmith here, burned to death after a collapsed awning pushed and trapped him in the hot coals of his outdoor forge. A tavern-keep, beaten to death in a bar brawl gone too far. A questing knight, trampled to death by his own horse. A priest, stabbed in the lung during a break-in at his own chapel.

All of them, connected to me and my party.

"Does it hurt enough yet." I turned calmly to the new voice.

Damien didn't look like Damien anymore. His fangs overgrew his mouth, giving him a permanent grin. His horns had grown into an immense crested crown, and a pair of wings made of pure smoke hung from his back. His squatted on Maurice's grave, staring at me intently.

"Damien..."

"Does it hurt enough for you to kill me yet?" He snapped again.

"Damien," Tears pricked my eyes. "I can't. No one can, I-." Damien lurched upright without warning.

"It's not going to stop, Alione." He said slowly. "I won't hurt you, but your friends, family, every companion and cohort. Until my pain is gone, yours will never end."

"They're your friends too!" I roared, tears rolling down my face now.

Damien began to fade, smoky wings draping across his body as his form broke apart.
"Not anymore, Alione."

-Two weeks Later-

One final slam, and the barricaded door shattered, sending me staggering inside.

"Raven!" I screamed, voice hoarse from the hours shouting before. I couldn't conceal my panic anymore. "Raven, please talk to me! It doesn't have to-!"
My voice died as I saw her.

Her breathing was shallow, but her eyes were dead. In one limp hand, an empty phial and needle. A dozen similar syringes were strewn about, a few still-smoldering smoking pipes and countless booze bottles.

She was a mess, a living corpse with her deathly pale skin and sunken eyes. I shook her and cried, desperately trying to elicit some kind of reaction, but were only met with unfocused eyes and no response.

I barely noticed the small charm clutched in her fist, a gift from years past given to her by Damien, nor the shadow on the wall behind her, twirling a syringe between its fingers.

-One Month Later-

I woke with a start to the sound of cutlery clattering from the dining room.

"Eileen?" I called to my new wife, worry beginning to flare in my breast. Sitting up, I stepped into the dining room and froze at the sight of it. Damien, just as malformed and horrific as always, sat at my dinner table, leisurely eating a steak like some civilized person. His massive black wings took up half the room easily, cutting off my vision of the rest of the room.

He noticed me, jabbing his fork at the other end of the table. "Sit, we need to talk."

I sat without argument, watching him intently. I was already dreading his visit. "Where's Eileen." I bit out, knuckled going white as I clenched my fists.

"Oh please," Damien waved me off with his knife. "I have no care nor need for her. She's useless to me. You, however..."

"Damien, I..." I felt bile rise back up in my throat. The same old argument, the same old response. "I can't. I couldn't kill The Dark before, I can't kill you now."

"Alione," His voice, that jagged, malicious voice quieted to a familiar, supporting tone. Just like before. "I believe in you."

He leaned forward, jabbing me in the chest with his fork and the small cut of meat on its end. beneath it, I felt the Mark of Light, the tattoo that marked me as the Hero, burned ever so slightly. "You're the Hero, Light embodied on the earth. If there's anyone who can, it has to be you."

Just like before. Before the ritual, before the Well, before the decision. Kind words, earnest support, given to raise spirits in the face of evil. I felt some fundamental terror fall into my gut.

"Damien, what did you do, where is Eileen?"

"Oh, old friend, I told you, I have no need for her." His wings shifted, folding back and letting me see beyond him. "A farmer does not set a cow loose just because they produce no milk."

Through the open doorway tp the kitchen, I saw the limp arm of Eileen, splattered red, dangling from the kitchen counter.

"All it means is that the farmer shall be eating beef." Damien sneered, biting into another piece of his steak.

Part 2/3

“Yer gonna need a bigger bowl…”

Never let them know your next move. His enemy had taken that closer to heart than he ever could've. Nothing in his life could've ever let him predict this. His body went slack with fear as he heard the ground rumble, flashes of the hospital bed clouding his vision.

-----

Every single time Mathias Mark came close to Serendipity, he was toyed with and cut down with such ease that the slashes still remain imprinted on his brain. As childish and lighthearted as the name 'Serendipity' was, this villain was formidable, powerful, and above all, lucky. Containing the power of Good Fortune, bordering on mind-crushingly infuriating, Mark had never been able to lay a finger on him.

Every time they fought, Mark needed to plan countermeasures and an AI that could calculate far more possibilities in a single second than Mark could in a year. Only once, a fateful Christmas day 4 years ago, atop the Empire State Building, did he ever win. He built a device that negated Serendipity's powers. Only after Mark's grandparents were evicted from their home and his closest cousin was placed in a coma. The villain had run off, and was never seen again. Mark was left bleeding and clutching a young child's teddy bear that was left at the scene.

Occasionally Mark wondered what happened to him. He also had no clue if the device he created was permanent or not, so many a night had kept him awake with false alarms and frightening memories as he feared his archenemy's return.

----

"-and as you can see, 5 groups of 4 make 20, so..." He let the answer dangle in front of her.

"20 divided by 4 is 5!" She shouted with glee.

He smiled at such childish energy. Maybe it was a reminder that he was getting old, but it still brought with him a sense of happiness for the next generation. "Correct! And would you look at that! You successfully completed all 20 questions!"

She giggled with excitement and did a little dance. He shuffled a little as well before a voice in his head - the voice of reason - decided to ruin the fun.

"<>Heart rate, 110. Recommended: Cease.<>"

His eyes widened in merry concern. The AI did not account that a child's heart rate is naturally higher, but ultimately it was in the right. "Woah, okay then. Destiny, maybe we should go check if your father's here yet! It's almost 5, and don't you want to show him your worksheet?"

She shifted gears instantly. "Yeah!"

Snatching the piece of paper with movements faster than Reflex, she grabbed his hand and yanked him outside. He banished the thought from his head. His fighting days were behind him, his mind and telekinetic powers covered in cobwebs at this point. True he dons the spandex when his AI - after sifting through crime reports - believes him to be required, but after the fall of Serendipity, villains started disappearing overnight.

--

The flap of the paper in that beautiful Autumn breeze brought me back. Apart from the cars of teachers who stayed late - either to review assignments or sic on their naughty ones - the parking lot was empty except for one car near the entrance, and one man leaning against it.

He looked to be in his late thirties, but most likely it was just stress. I briefly found that combination with such an energetic daughter weird, but then it occurred to me that if my child is curious and an energetic wanderer, I would probably be taxed as well.

I usually disliked parents because of how uncompromising and accusatory they usually were. But - when her dad saw them, his face melted away into such a loving smile that I could not help but put him in the 'Good' list. He waved us over and eyed me with minor skepticism, but I gladly conceded my threat status.

"Dad!" She ran up to him and waved the paper in his face. "Look at what I got! Look!- Ah!"

She tripped the second she got close, and our reaction times were surprisingly comparable. I silently shot a wave bubble to soften her fall, but before I could do that he had jumped, caught her, and rolled for a second before gracefully standing up as if nothing had happened, and he had simply been giving her an embrace. The sheer speed at which he did that threw me off, and I didn't have time to cut the bubble before it hit him below the knees and he fell as well. There was a brief flash of a quizzical look on his face before he braced for impact.

"Oh goodness! I'm so sorry!" I ran up and genuinely felt bad. I really am getting too old for this. "Would you like me to help you up?" I follow through and ask.

He simply chuckled and unfolded his arms, letting his daughter emerge from his cocoon.

"Oh don't worry about it. That's just my rotten luck." He lifted up and dusted himself off, shifting his attention. "Are you okay, angel?" He softly asked.

"<>Voice sample, needed. Get closer.<>" The AI popped in my head at such a random time. Maybe it's gotten too used to villains in every corner. I shrug it off and reply.

"I'm fi-" I almost said before 'He's not talking to me!!!' shot into my head and caused me to shut the hell up. Stupid AI! Messing me up like that!

"<>I'm not stupid, you're stupid.<>" Shut up! I missed the first part of her reply.

"-Every time this happens you always save me, dad. But why aren't you talking about all my hard work!!" She shook the crumpled assignment in her fist, and he immediately laughed.

"Oh, let me see here..." After inspecting it for a moment, he picked her up and spun her around. "All correct! Of course. Oh, and you must be her favourite teacher!"

He set her down to look at me. She nodded aggressively and looked at me with a beam.

"<>Voice Sample Required.<>" Seriously, shut up! I'm her favourite teacher? I knew it.

I nod and extend my hand. "If I remember my attendance sheet correctly, you'd be Chris Meton, correct?"

"Nice to see her teacher has quite the impressive memory!" He stated genially before shaking my hand with a firm grip, eyes on mine.

Eyes straying downwards to the strange texture in my hand, I make comment on his surprisingly bulky and loose fitting attire. "Are you a construction worker? Pardon my ignorance, I know of little jobs that require hard boots and worker's gloves."

"Something like that. I work in disaster recovery."

Hah! Quick Bit, the kleptomaniac with an obsession of screws would've loved that job.

Oh he's still talking. "-With my luck, it's useful to say 'the building collapsed before I got there'!" He laughed loudly, and it did tickle me to think of how many criminals might enjoy a job like that. I could still feel his firm hand underneath the glove, when my brain clicked and I flashed back to that night.

It was the laugh. The laughter that was not maleficence, no. It was psychotically carefree and to Mark's ears so selfish. He tried to force himself back, "It's not him! He's just a civilian!", but when he looked down he saw the blood of his cousin seeping through their clasped hands.

Stowing his high spirits the second he saw the marked shift in the teacher's inhalation, his face adopted concern. "Uh, are you-"

"<>Voice Recognised: Villain of Good Fortune, Serendipity. 100% match.<>"

The whole world shook.

----

To think that he had been teaching Destiny division just a few minutes prior. For her to willingly request his assistance - an act that rekindled his love for teaching - meant that somehow he had created someone that turned out all right.

Maybe he probably should've caught the 'Destiny' word-play earlier.

---- I might make Part 2 later. I wasted my time writing this instead of studying for my midterm. It's in 3 hours, so I have time...

Let's face it, that little colonizer white girl deserved what she had coming. 'Nuff said.

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Gonna be honest only one I noticed was the si many

Almost.

I felt there was no before, nor any after awaiting me.

The sky wasn't blue, as there was no sky. The ground wasn't sand nor dirt, the landscape littered with neither trees nor centuries of man-made architecture, as there was neither a ground nor a landscape to a behold. I would say I was enveloped by vast greyness, though it was near impossible to discern near from far, so it couldn't be vast... and was grey even a thing where I now floated?

Existed, I corrected myself. I can't be floating, because that's depended on physics, and I guarantee that's not a thing here eit- Wait, I? I'm still able to think!

I had only existed in that realm, as I like to call it in my memories, for a matter of seconds - if those too even existed there - when a voice boomed from... somewhere:

"You may reincarnate as: a rock, a sheet of paper, or a pair of scissors. Choose wisely."

For a moment, I thought. I say I thought, because I couldn't speak, as I had no mouth. What I thought about were the obvious questions that may be originating in your physical brain:

Who is saying that? Where is that voice coming from? Are those really my only options, and if so, why can't it be something living*?*

Understanding that wherever I was, I clearly had no control over the situation nor any power over the voice beckoning me to come to a decision, I replied. It was more of a thought, I must say, as again, I had no mouth.

"I choose scissors."

"Very well," the voice replied.

Before I knew it, I was teleported back to the realm whence I came, only not in the manner I had expected. You see, as a pair of scissors, you have no eyes. You have no nervous system, either, meaning you can't - or, shouldn't be able to - feel things. I mean that mentally and physically, by the way.

But the magic of the situation was... I could indeed!

Before I go further, let me explain my logic behind my choice. You see, as a rock, you are indefinitely immobile. The world will see wars, peace, advancement, decline, tragedy and the greatest of splendors mankind can conjure. Years will go by, buildings will be erected, species will evolve, but I, as a rock, would only see the small speck of ground on which I lay for eternity. I was also not informed of the size of the rock, so I didn't want to take any chances. I wanted to see the world, at least for a little bit longer.

As a piece of paper, you see, I can be easily blown away in the wind. I could also just as easily disintegrate if I were to be rained on, or someone were to spill some water or wine on me. Or, even worse, a poor soul would write some lovely story upon my canvas, only to decide he hates it, and throw me into the bin. From there I would go on to a waste plant to be disintegrated, torn apart, yes recycled, but my parts would be scattered. That, to me, sounds tragic.

As a scissor, though, I'm now an extraordinarily useful tooth for our youth. I'm a bright green color, and one of the First Graders in this class, Billy, always chooses me for his crafts. It's exciting! I get to cut up paper - sorry, paper - into glorious snowflakes, or snip the corners and edges of their sheet to give them a tattered look (like that one time they wrote journal entries as Native Americans and had to design the paper to look old - it's interesting!), I have a myriad of uses moving forward! While of course there are times where some of the kids - including Billy, to my chagrin - snip themselves by accident, it lets me feel the raw emotion of pain. This is sad, but it lets me still feel alive.

When this class ends and another enters, I will do the same for a new generation of people, for generations to come. I will teach lessons in safety, and help express creativity. I will, for as long as I can tell, be a part of some of the most important parts of human's lives - those of growth, learning, and adaptation.

Personally, I think I won my final round of rock-paper-scissors.

I screamed until my voice gave as the metal spikes were hammered through my hands and ankles. I screamed until blood drooled out of my mouth when I felt to sigils sear themselves into my flesh. I screamed until my lungs collapsed as The Dark crawled into my body, driven by both Alione's radiant sword and Eileen's magic.

What I horrid fool I was. Every time I swore to leave, they reeled me back in, offering words of false sincerity and honeyed bait. "We still need you," they told me, "You're a vital part of this team!" I was so naïve. Every time I took the bait, taking their kindness to heart. I believed, wholeheartedly, that if I could not be the greatest mage, the strongest brawler or most awe-striking leader, I could at least be a candid friend. Why else would they keep me around?

Alas, a farmer does not set the cow lose just because it produces no milk. All it means is the farmer shall be eating beef.

We trekked down the chasm into the Well of Sorrows, intent on destroying the malicious Dark and freeing the world of the aberrant and monstrous. I couldn't even scratch the blackened things that lived down there, even as Alione and Barbas shattered carapace and metal with each blow, Eileen razed hordes with but a wave of her staff and Raven all but danced between talon and blade alike, blades shimmering as she sliced them apart with clinical precision. And me? Cheering from the sidelines like a good pet.

The bottom of the Well was no kinder a venture. The Dark itself was as vast as it was amorphous, and as violent as it was mindless. The battle itself could be compared to trying to beat a tidal wave; a task made seemingly possible by sheer power of the Hero and his allies, yet nevertheless a futile endeavor.

"Eileen! We're out of options! Grab Damien!" It was the Hero Alione that cried those words as Barbas was hurled nearly fifty feet straight up and slammed into the stone below with earthshaking force.

Next, I was forced onto my back by magical force and, before even a single protest could pass my lips, four enchanted nails were driven through my limbs. As Alione, Barbas and Raven did their part to distract The Dark, Eileen went to work on some for of binding incantation, conjuring runes of burning heat onto my skin in spite of my screams and begging for mercy. As the needle-flesh of The Dark was forced into me, I could feel my flesh die and calcify instantly. I could feel my soul shrivel as the umbral horror was bound to it. Before unconsciousness claimed me, I felt my humanity die in the face of such a vast Darkness.

--Alione--

Bile rose in the back of my throat as I looked down at what was left of Damien. The skin, still scarred with the lattice of binding sigils and enchanted runes, was now a corpse-like pallor, and his hair had all fallen out. His eyes were just... gone, black pits set into his head. Those eyes, so full of joy and life and-.

I sucked in a deep breath, closing my eyes to steady myself. I turned to move before I felt a hand clasp my breastplate. I looked down the stoic face of Raven. Expressionless as she was, I could feel her anger through the faint trembling of her fist on my chest.

"You said we wouldn't need to do it." Not an accusation. It didn't need to be.

"I said I hoped we wouldn't need to, but we both knew the odds of killing the Primordial Dark were slim. This was the only option for peace." I stressed, gently clasping her fist with my own. Raven's eyes darted back to the body of Damien, which still breathed, however shallow and slow. She wouldn't be okay, not for a long time after this, if my theories on her feelings were true.

"Aw, quit bellyaching." Barbas growled, stretching his back with an audible crack. "He was only here for this. We all knew that, whelp should be proud he was actually useful for once." The brute huffed as he shouldered his warhammer. I turned to him with a sharp glare, causing the giant of a man to snarl and turn, storming off.

As Raven let go and went to Damien's side, Eileen approached me. "What now? We can't just let him go; if The Dark somehow escapes, it will all be for nothing." She said gently, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"We had a cell prepared in secret. Damien should be secure, and well cared for.""And when he dies?" I could feel the palpable worry in her voice, and I noticed both Barbas and Raven stop and look at me. Regardless of our feelings toward Damien, none of us were fond of The Dark.

"He can't. Not by intent or by time." I said slowly. "The runes were designed to bind the two irrevocably; The Dark will feed into and sustain his body, and thus no measure known to man or god would be able to kill him. He is exactly as immortal as The Dark was, but with none of the power." It was a plan years in the making. Everything had been chosen accordingly; the runes, the day they would strike at the Well, the exact party that would accompany me, especially Damien as the sacrifice. I had thought of him nothing more than just a sacrifice, until I saw the unprepared boy brought to the chapel, so full of childish happiness and purity.Perhaps he needed to be like that, so that there was more humanity to burn for the ritual.

"Come on." I spoke low to Eileen. "Let's head home."

-One Year Later-

There were celebrations and mourning both across the realm. The official story spoke of the noble stand of the Hero and his companions, striking into the heart of evil itself. At the climax of the battle, the unassuming Damien would make a heroic leap of faith, critically wounding The Dark and allowing it to be banished from the world for good, at the cost of his life.The unofficial one was known only by a sparse few.

The cell was lavish and comfortable, made to accompany its occupant until the end of time itself. Or, it was once upon a time. Soft, silken cushions shredded to ribbons, tables and chairs smashed and scattered across the floor, crystal decanters and glasses reduced to powder.The two caretakers had fared no better, dangling partially flayed from the ceiling by nooses made of their own braided skin.

"Damien, please calm down!" I cried, one hand on the hilt of the Sword of Radiance.

"NO!" Damien's voice rattled the stonework beneath my feet, forcing me to take a step back.Damien paced back and forth, a twisted monster of his former self. His body had grown massive and knotted, long talons sprouted from his fingers, and a crown made of horns jutted from his brow. A tail swung back and forth behind him with each step.

"You did this to me, Alione, so now do you're part and FIX IT!" I ducked under a flying chair."I'm not going to kill you Damien, for fuck's sake!"

"Why not!?" He snapped, rounding on me with those black pits for eyes. His skin was taught, forcing him to bear his sharpened teeth with every word. "You had no compunctions making me like this, why not do me this kindness and kill me already!?"

"I can't, Damien!" I begged, hand still on the Sword yet I still didn't draw it. "I can't kill you any more than we could kill The Dark, I'm sorry!"

Damien howled like an ungodly horror, leaping at me with fangs and claws bared. Right before impact, a band of silver light burst into being around his neck and wrists, forcing him to stop. The bindings stopped him as I began to back out of the room, a quiet sadness filling my heart as the furious roars assaulted my ears.

Part 1/3

[removed]

As the students filed in, they saw their teacher behind her desk. The boys in particular noticed her: a younger teacher, likely no older than 30, with long blond hair like Rapunzel that she kept tied up in the back so it only reached her waist, bright blue eyes, and a slender body with no sign of blemish on what skin she had exposed. The girls were intrigued as well; someone that young who commanded such a presence was a relief from the way most teachers handled a class with sensitive material.

Once the bell rang, the teacher tapped her hand on a special desk bell shaped like a clam shell. "Good morning, students," she began, her voice in almost a sing-song pattern that disarmed even the most nervous among her class. "It's so wonderful to see such young and eager faces! I'm delighted to see you! Thank you for choosing this Adult Health seminar. Let me introduce myself."

She wrote her name on the board: Aphy Agape. "Now, to answer your first question, it's actually pronounced uh-GAH-pay. I will be teaching you about the importance of your physcial and mental well-being as you advance to college and being on your own next year. Are there any other questions?"

One student jumped in: "Didn't we go over all this freshmen year?"

"Yeah, I know we did that thing with the banana," added another.

"Now, class, I'm sure you found that... interesting and helpful," Ms. Agape interrupted. "And yes, we will have one unit dedicated to... re-assessing that segment. But there's so much more to what I wish to tell you than just what happens when the animal within takes over."

She sat down on her desk and faced the classroom, using her hands to captivate the students' attention. "There are many other things you need in your adult lives. Think about it: how do you know if it's love or friendship? When does a playful crush become a desire for commitment? All of you are going to feel the fire with another person, but what happens when the fire begins to die? And the most important thing you'll learn: how do you love yourself?"

"With Kleenex," the class jokester yelled from the back. Ms. Agape let the teenagers get the uncomfortable laughter out of their system before staring a hole into the offending student.

"I see some of you have one form of emotion on their mind more than others. That's fine, I guess... imbalances happen at your age. But you can't go through life thinking that way. What kind of a boyfriend would you be if that's your attitude? Yours will be the connection quickly severed. I'm here to help you understand that the forms of emotional attachment you will feel will guide your decisions in life, and that to understand them and to master them will make you a greater success than you could ever imagine."

"Um, Miss?" A timid girl conservatively dressed, with a cross charm on her necklace, raised her hand. "What about loving God? Does that count?"

The teacher smiled. "Oh, worship can be very helpful. We'll cover the relationship between deities and mortals in a later chapter, don't worry; also, it will explain how the types of love you feel can make you more godly, if that's your desire. But it's just one of the seven important positive feelings you will have. And if you use one to shut out another, you won't get anywhere."

A boy in the back raised his hand. "Do I need my parents' permission for this class?"

"There's nothing explicit, if that's what you're asking. I want to keep this practical. Yes, we'll be looking upon physical attraction and its consequences, but that's such a small part of the equation. Hopefully, when this class is over, you'll understand and appreciate everything that goes into being a kind and loving individual."

The class sat enraptured at her patience and her charisma.

"Is that all? Very well. Let me begin with an overview. To survive, you need to love. But love has become such a catch-all term that it leads to confusion. Confusion leads to pain. And as much as I sound like I've been out in the sun too long, I'm here to help minimize your pain through letting you understand your emotions of love. So... what entails love? The important thing is that in this class, we will break your love down into seven areas..."

The class flew by. Ms. Agape had their attention, and they found themselves wanting to learn more. When the bell rang, the students calmly left for their next class. Some of them were chatting about what was said. But one of them -- the jokester in the beginning -- approached her desk.

"Ma'am?"

"Oh, please, Miss."

"Right, yeah -- I'm sorry I said that joke earlier. I guess I just get nervous around pretty people like you."

"Well, I'm flattered. You know what you did was wrong, and you're correcting it. That's a good start! But I want you to think about this: I talked about playfulness; you mixed it with passion. That can be dangerous. And while I appreciate the thought, let's try to steer you more to deep friendship or love of the world. It will help you in the long run. See you tomorrow!"

What a lazy demon.

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

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

&#127381; New Here? &#9999; Writing Help? &#128226; News &#128172; Discord

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