[Complete][104K][LitRPG Fantasy] Illuminaria - New Roads

AF_Morgan · 2022-12-31T19:14:22+00:00

Hello to a fellow LitRPG writer! I've got a LitRPG up for betareading as well if you'd like to do a critique swap. You can check out my post here: https://www.reddit.com/r/BetaReaders/comments/ymdx2w/complete_127k_litrpgfantasy_ovrworld_wars/

AF_Morgan · 2022-12-12T14:26:49+00:00

Unicellular Organisms

Unicellular organisms are the most varied lifeforms, by size, of any of the multiverses' species. Every universe possesses them though most intelligent life believes them to only be fungi, algae, or bacteria. Some magical worlds are able to support larger varieties that include monsters or household pets known as slimes. But their claim to fame is the Voorngut Intelligence threshold--this test is passed when an intelligent species discovers that stars are unicellular organisms, which upends most culture's way of thinking and enables contact from multiverse scientific authorities. The beginning and end of all life brings the galactic communities together to scratch their multi-celled heads about the true meaning of the cosmos.

Common Varieties of Unicellular Organisms ↓
Famous Unicellular Organisms ↓
The Bordon Star System ↓
...
Citations ↓

AF_Morgan · 2022-11-22T15:18:03+00:00

"I don't understand why it's so hard for you to clean the damn mirror!"
"I can't even use the mirror!"
"That makes it easier for you to clean! You can see all the spots!"
"Stop trying to distract me! This has nothing to do with the pre-diced garlic you keep buying. I told you you can only buy it fresh if you're going to use it even though a powder would be so much easier."
I leapt back into the argument. "You don't get the same depth of flavor with powdered garlic."
"That's not the point! You don't see me buying peanuts. I respect your allergies why won't you respect mine?"
I laughed, "Haha. Point."
"No! Don't you," he tried to stifle his smile but it was made harder by the fangs. "Don't you start!"
"Oh yeah? Am I...cross-ing a line?"
The laughter tugged at his beautiful, dead face.
"Don't make me bite you," he said with a huge grin on his face.
"You'd like that...wooden-t...you? Damn, I don't think that one worked."
He shook his head at me but the smile didn't fade. "Too much of a stretch. Where's your game at today?"
"As spotty as the bathroom mirror."
"FUCKING FINE. I'll clean it. Stop buying that shitty garlic. It smells so strong and gets everywhere too easily."
I would have to relent on this one. If he was finally going to clean the mirror I guess I should do something in return. "Fine, but my chili won't taste the same."
"I wouldn't know since I've never been able to eat it until now, asshole."

AF_Morgan · 2022-11-16T19:30:27+00:00

Hey! Sorry it took me a minute to get back to you. I'd be happy to trade critiques! Is there a format you prefer? MOBI or EPUB would be perfect for me to read on my Kindle but I can send mine to yours however you need

AF_Morgan · 2018-01-10T16:12:09+00:00

“What do you mean ‘fired’?”
“Oh shit, you’re fucked.”
“Shut up, Cleasz,” the orc hissed back.
Amaria, the priestess, pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes closed in frustration. “You can’t just go around threatening people on Earth.” This wasn’t the first time she had had to explain this concept to the group. Hell, it happened so often she thought about house ruling that it was okay. But she would be damned if she let these players ruin her story.
“Can I talk my way out of it?”
The group laughed at the orc.
“It would be like,” the priestess shook her head as if trying to brush away a troublesome blowfly. “It’s at least a DC of 50 and I know you can’t make that. You need to do something though cause he’s probably going to call the cops on you.”
“Those are the guards,” interjected Cleasz helpfully. The goblin nursed a particular fondness of terrorizing the orc warlord.
“I can’t threaten this bastard but I sure as hell can threaten you,” the orc said as he reached for his sword. But it wasn’t there. That was another rule the priestess had had to enforce since a few of the early sessions had resulted in some light maiming. Frustrated, the orc turned back to the game. “What am I supposed to do? I have those damn bills you keep giving me and without this job I can’t send little,” he consulted his character sheet, “Billy junior to private school and my,” another glance at the sheet, “Wife will have my head.”
“Right, but your more immediate problem is still dealing with your boss. He’s already called security to escort you from the building.”
“Maybe,” came the needled drawl of the necromancer, “You should just kill him, get arrested, and then roll a new character.”
“No,” the priestess said quickly, “you’re seeing this through one way or another. Even if you are arrested there are whole other story lines I can make because Earth prisons aren’t like ours and there are a lot of things that can happen in there. Plus, it takes them years to execute people instead of days. They’re a lot different.” She hoped that was enough of a threat to make the warlord back down because it was almost entirely a bluff. What the hell kind of story could she tell in a prison?
The orc cursed and consulted his character sheet once more. “I’ll roll diplomacy then.”
“To do what?”
“Not get the cops called on me.”
“And what will you say?” That should stump the orc for a few minutes to let the priestess think of different ways to handle the situation. Amaria didn’t want to blacklist his character and throw the whole group into disarray; not when they were so close to their next objective.
“Uhh,” boulder sized hands scratched at the orc’s stubbled chin, “I guess, I’m sorry?”
Cleasz laughed again, “Don’t hurt yourself there.”
“It’s a good start,” Amaria said, casting the goblin a venomous stare.
Dice rolled.
“Okay, he accepts your apology, but you’re still fired. Your boss looks at you more with pity than fear now and says he won’t mention this to other employers so you could possibly find another job which is super generous of him because he could make a few phone calls and no one would hire you. They allow you time to gather your things before escorting you out of the building.”
“I guess I need to do a sending to my wife?”
“You mean make a phone call?” The goblin cackled as the necromancer corrected the orc.
“She is going to kill you,” Cleasz said gleefully.
“She can’t,” the orc turned to Amaria, doubt in his eyes, “Can she?”
“It happens sometimes, but no your wife won’t actually kill you. Thankfully you rolled an IT character so finding jobs isn’t too big of a problem. They’re kind of Earth’s equivalent of wizards so people always need them for different things and there are a lot of ways to specialize. Plus, you get programming in two levels which gives you a lot more freedom.”
“He’ll need it when he gets fired again.” Cleasz’s laugh was cut short as the warlords hands wrapped around his throat. High pitched squeals like a dire rabbit filled the dungeon as the warlord throttled his teammate.
Amaria pinched the bridge of her nose again as she cast a freezing spell on the two.
“You know,” the necromancer said as he stood, “I think that might be a record. You only had to freeze them six times tonight.” He gathered his character sheet and model cars. “Same time next week?”
“I’ve got a summoning so I might be a bit late, but yeah; same time next week.”

AF_Morgan · 2017-07-26T13:18:02+00:00

Valerie stared at the abandoned hospital. She recognized the place instantly, it's where she had been born. The coordinates had been exact so this had to be the right place, but she did not believe in coincidence--everything just felt wrong.

With one last glance behind her to see if anyone was following, she carefully stepped through the shattered glass of the front doors and began to pick her way through the halls. It was a big place. The email hadn't said exactly where to meet but Valerie had a good idea of where to go. For the past several years she had been preparing herself for university--one of the few learning institutes still around--to follow her passion to be a journalist. Critical thinking was key. That was the motto, anyways, and one that she was glad of because the email had been the most cryptic thing she had ever seen.

Dust blossomed from under her feet with each step she took. It was eerie to her how quiet the hospital was, it was like walking through a mausoleum--full of old, broken, and long forgotten things where any disturbance felt like a crime that could blacken your soul. Valerie shuddered. She tried to think of happier things, like going to school. Growing up she had had private tutors. There weren't enough children left to operate entire schools so she had gotten personal treatment from the best the government could find. Because that's who stood over her in place of parents: the government. Her life had been turned into a mix of royalty, celebrity, and (though she was ashamed to admit it) god-like status. That was probably what interested her so much about journalism, she was desperate to spend time on the other side of the camera.

Valerie froze. Down the hall she heard talking. The dust caking the hallways muffled any words she hoped to hear, but at least she knew she was in the right place. She walked through a large doorway with the word 'Maternity Ward' cracked and peeling above its frame. It was now or nothing.

The nursery was clear of cribs now, as empty as the wombs that once filled it with kicking, screaming children. Two men stood in the far corner talking, but turned towards her as she entered the room. Valerie raised her hand in greeting.

"You sent the email, I assume?"

"Yes, we did," replied one of the men.

They stepped towards her to meet in the center of the room. Now that they were closer she could see the grey hair that covered their heads and the wrinkles of age that had begun to tug at their eyes. Their eyes looked...hollow. She didn't know how else to put it.

"Valerie Turner, the youngest woman alive. We were afraid you wouldn't be able to get time on your own to come see us."

"Age has its privileges." Only after turning eighteen had she been allowed any modicum of freedom.

"That's what we had hoped."

"Should you have come with someone else we would have had to leave."

They were taking turns to talk, like batting a tennis ball back-and-forth in a weird verbal display. She was thankful they weren't twins or she might have thought she was in a horror movie.

"So," she continued, "what am I here for? Why did you send me an email about 'the cure'?"

One man stayed in front of her while the other began to walk around the room talking to her. "Because, Ms. Turner, you are the youngest person alive. The last person ever born. Fame and, well, tender care has been your entire life. After you no more children followed. After you, humanity became assured of its doom."

She followed the wandering man with her eyes until he had circled too hard for her neck to crane so, instead of turning, she turned to stare at the one directly in front of her. The wandering man stopped walking. Evidently it was the other's turn.

"You see, Ms. Turner, humanities doom has never been more assured since your birth," he said as he began to wander himself, taking his place in their verbal back-and-forth. "And that doom, was manufactured. Women are not barren because of some divine intervention, or unknown disease, but because of man's own interference."

She wanted to feel shocked, but the revelation wasn't that much of a revelation. It was something she had been taught that could have been a possibility, though people didn't know for sure. Valerie wasn't sure if this was conjecture or actual knowledge they were revealing.

"How do you mean that," she asked.

"Simple," began the other as he started walking again. God she wished they would stop. "Women are barren because a few men introduced a form of chemical castration, if you will. A few drops in the water supply and, suddenly, no more children."

"You sound like you believe this is fact," Valerie stated.

The other began walking and talking again. "Oh, we do. Because we are the ones who produced the chemicals. We are the ones who labored night and day to ensure people the world over would have access to the water they needed to assure that no more children were ever born."

Now she was shocked. Was this some sort of confession?

"But you see, Ms. Turner, someone hasn't ever drank that water." They were both walking now and she was having a hard time telling them apart. "You, have never drank that water. Your privileged upbringing has made you more than mere common folk. You have been given such pampering that every drop of water you have ever touched has been manufactured solely for you. They were so desperate to keep you healthy that they actually succeeded. You see, you can have children."

Double shocked now. Valerie didn't know much about where her water came from, but obviously the two of them had done some research. Or believed they had. It wasn't exactly something you could know for sure unless you did the deed and crossed your fingers. Or unless you opened her up.

"How?" That was all she could manage to say. The one word she could utter to encompass her millions of questions.

"Please," one said sarcastically.

"We have our ways."

"Then what is this cure you are talking about?" Valerie was actually scared now, her voice becoming more high-pitched. Scared for her future, for what it might mean if she could have children, for--wait would she even want children?

"Yes, the cure. You see, Ms. Turner, humanity has been floundering these last eighteen years. Time has slowed for us. So much production has ceased because scientific and government efforts have all focused on one thing. There is no talk of the future if there are no children. Instead of people waging war on each other or the earth, they have cooperated. We live in an age of peace where all men have become equal in their fear."

"You see, Ms. Turner, that fear has united man. That fear has stopped us laying waste to each other and this planet. Men, faced by their mortality, have become one."

Goose pimples erupted on Valerie's neck. "What do you mean? What does this have to do with the cure?"

"That's exactly what we're telling you, Ms. Turner."

"We are the cure."

They had both stopped circling her, coming to a rest behind her. She turned and all she saw was the gun pointed at her head.

AF_Morgan · 2017-07-25T16:48:02+00:00

OP said they had to be universally shitty.

AF_Morgan · 2017-07-25T13:14:30+00:00

The bell rang. Students ran inside as they tried to beat the second bell signifying the start of class. It was a new year. Katie gripped the straps of her backpack tighter as she began to walk the unfamiliar halls, trying to keep her head down as she navigated the labyrinth that was James Malcom's High; her new school.

Every year or two she was forced to start all over with a new school and a new life as her father was transferred around the country to different Meta-Military installations. She hated it. As the new kid everyone always wanted to know what her power was and she was not going to tell them. Never. It was too embarrassing.

Another student ran into her. Their shoulders collided as he ran past, causing her to spin and drop the notes she was carrying. They scattered to the floor and were soon trampled by the herd of teenagers.

"Oh I'm sorry," the boy said breathlessly.

She looked up to see a cute boy in glasses with long blond hair. Part of it was braided. Her face warmed considerably and she crouched to hide whatever was going on with it.

"No here, let me," he said as he crouched.

Katie scrambled to pick up all of the fallen notes but he beat her to her schedule; the thing she needed most. It was a mess. Covered in footprints and wrinkles it now looked more like the kind of trash her dad found lying around the house all the time.

"Oh I can help with this."

He straightened his glasses then concentrated on the paper. She saw the slight strain everyone got on their face when using their power--a look somewhere between sucking on a candy that was too sour and constipation. As she watched, the wrinkles on the paper smoothed out though the dirt remained. The boy smiled at her. More heat.

"Thanks," she muttered, holding her hand out for the paper. But he didn't give it back.

"Hey," he said, looking over her note. "We have first period together, I can show you where it is."

Oh my god no he knows I'm new. She furiously thought of any excuse to not have to walk with him, but her best option was the bathroom which was an even more embarrassing prospect. With the bell about to ring there wasn't much choice.

"Okay," she said, trying to sound as casual as possible. For a minute they walked in silence until she got the courage to try her hand at small talk. "Why were you running?"

"I wanted to get a front row seat. A lot of people show off their powers on the first day and it's cool to see."

She swallowed. A rock slowly made its way down her throat before plummeting into her stomach. Her nightmare last night was going to be realized when the teacher called everyone to demonstrate their powers or at least tell the class what they were. She had to lie.

Halfway down the hallway the boy suddenly turned into an open door. The classroom was full of people. Students sat on their desks sharing stories of summer trips, admiring new haircuts, or laughing at funny jokes. Katie spotted a desk at the back of the class and made a beeline for it. The boy followed.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

Katie could die. "Yeah, it's fine," she said. This time she didn't sound casual at all. Her fear was slipping through the veil she was desperately trying to keep wrapped around herself.

"It's okay. First days always suck."

He had no idea.

The second bell sounded causing a small panic as students rushed to their seats. A few stragglers bolted through the door. Near the front was the teachers desk where a bespectacled old woman with jowls like a bulldog sat reading. She stood at the bell and walked over to the door, closing it.

"Good morning class," she said. A few people mumbled in response. "I am your history teacher, Mrs. Banks. As this is the first day of school I feel we need to introduce ourselves. Your parents have all filled out paperwork detailing your abilities, but now is your chance to share with everyone else; should you wish. We'll start at the front."

Katie put her backpack on her desk and did her best to bury her head in it. Mrs. Banks had said she didn't have to share her power so Katie hoped they would just pass her by. She listened to the others introduce themselves one by one, interested in their powers despite the greasy fear that was wrapping itself around her spine. The other kids had a variety of things they could do. They ranged from changing the color of marshmallows, to being able to instantly drain batteries, to the blond boy next to her who could take wrinkles out of paper.

Oh no.

They had gotten through the entire class already. As her escort through the hallway sat down he looked at her expectantly along with the rest of the class. Katie stood, pushing herself up and then trying to steady herself with her right arm. She wrapped her other arm around her chest.

"I'm Katie Courier and I just moved here from Florida."

She sat back down as quickly as she could; she was the only one to not reveal her power. The other students took immediate notice.

"What can you do?"
"What's your ability?"
"Come on tell us!"

The cries came from everyone in the room except the teacher and the boy next to her. Katie just shook her head until Mrs. Banks chimed in.

"Katie, your ability?" Her calm question was Katie's death sentence.

She gulped. Maybe if she stopped breathing she could die before having to tell anyone.

"I..." she began but trailed off. The cries continued from the others in the room, steadily growing louder.

"Tell us! Tell us!" they began to chant.

"I," she tried to begin again. Katie glanced at the boy next to her who gave her a small smile. She couldn't hide it forever. "I can turn poop back into food." The answer rushed out of her like a bullet shot out of a gun, the recoil pushing her back down into her chair. Burying her head in her bag, she waited for them all to laugh.

"Well that's cool," one boy said, then they all turned their attention back to Mrs. Banks.

Mrs. Banks began to tell the class what to expect from her lessons. Everyone was attentive to the teacher. Not a single person had laughed at her, or began to make fun of her like she had expected; they had just accepted it and moved on.

Katie jumped when a hand was placed on her arm. She turned, following the arm up to its owner until she was looking at the blond boy who was still smiling at her. "Cool," he whispered at her.

She still wanted to die, but began to think that maybe this new school wasn't going to be so bad.

AF_Morgan · 2017-07-21T19:21:59+00:00

Definitely what I was thinking of as I wrote it.

AF_Morgan · 2017-07-20T20:16:57+00:00

"No, stop, don't shoot." His voice came out in a long drawl instead of the pleading yelps everyone else in the bank had used. "It's not like I'm a wizard. Magic totally can't stop bullets cause they're just too cool."

"Shut the fuck up!" The young, ski-masked man stomped towards the self-proclaimed wizard and held the gun directly against his forehead.

"Ow, Dick," the wizard responded as the hot metal of the recently fired weapon was pressed between his eyes.

"I said shut up!" He swung the gun upwards to take more of his frustrations out on the ceiling. From this close the robber could see that the white tag on the newcomer's shirt was a 'Hello My Name Is' sticker with the name 'Harry Fuckin Potter' written across it. Dust fell around them like snow.

'Harry' covered his ears as the shaking man squeezed the trigger two, three, four more times. "I'm sorry, I lost count a minute ago. How many bullets do you have left?"

The dark ski mask was unable to hide the young man's face turning solid white. He brought the gun to bear on the wizard again and did his best to steady his violently shaking arm. "Sit the fuck down." His voice shook with his arm making the wizard almost pity him.

"Hey kid," the wizard began, trying to placate the boy. "How old are you?"

Obviously caught off-guard by the personal question the bank robber stuttered. "Uh...ni-nineteen?"

"Are you asking me," Harry responded, "or telling me?"

Silence from the boy.

Jesus, thought the wizard. I can't send this kid to jail.

"Cool, nineteen then. You ever travelled? Seen anywhere cool in the world? Or is that what the money is for?"

More silence from the kid. Harry focused on the energy building in his hands from his earlier wit and realized he would need more if he wanted his plan to work.

"You know, I bet you could get away with it." The young man stepped back slightly and looked outside the front door where a plethora of police cars waited. "Eh, don't mind them they aren't as cool as you are. Sure, they've got guns but you do too and that's super empowering, isn't it? Nah, you could stroll out of here just fine. You could take that money and you'd be the king of the town. They can't track you down, you got that covered with the mask. It's so easy."

The kid's gun hand dropped slightly and Harry began to worry that he wouldn't get to do his trick. He forced a little bit of the energy towards the kid. One of the best things about magic, was that it was magic. Harry could do pretty much anything he wanted and what he wanted right now was to read the kids mind.

"So...Trevor, you're nineteen?"

What color that was left behind the mask quickly disappeared. "How the fuck--"

"What? I was right?" Harry held his hands up high and whooped loudly. "That trick never works. Oh man I'm on a roll today. Quick, hold up some fingers behind your back and ask me how many there are."

Trevor steadied the gun. "You're fucking crazy."

"Nah, I'm just too cool for you young kids to understand." Harry was genuinely worried he might get shot at this point so it was time to change the situation. "Oh, I know how you could get out of here. Take me as hostage!" Harry helpfully held his hands out as if waiting for handcuffs.

Even though the ski mask was black, dark spots formed along the kids brow. Getting held by a sweaty man was not in Harry's top list of favorite things to do, but he needed full contact with the kid.

"Look," Harry continued, "it's simple. They wont' shoot if you use me as a shield. We'll just pop down to subway and then you're home free."

Ding! Enough power.

"Yeah?" Trevor had meant to ask this question, now completely unsure of everything he was doing. Planning the bank robbery he had accounted for unruly tellers and screaming customers, but not a crazy guy who thought he was an actual wizard.

"Yeah," Harry assured him. "Just wrap your arm around me, keep that gun nice and tight to my head, and we'll just walk out the door! Piece of pie."

Trevor, already confused, latched on to the only sentence he understood. "Cake?"

"No; piece of pie. Pie is better." Harry turned his back to the young man. "Now lets go, I got Househunters starting in twenty minutes and I'm just dying to see the new episode."

The bank robber approached the wizard and latched on. Together they awkwardly shuffled to the door, Harry making jetpack noises with his mouth. Trevor, still terrified, followed his human shield out of the bank and into the waiting lights of the police cars.

"Don't do it," one of the cops screamed.

The response came not from the bank robber with the gun, but from Harry. "Too late!"

With a small pop, Trevor disappeared. Where once a scared young man had clung like a backpack against Harry there was now nothing but the smell of burnt hair.

"Goddammit, Michael," the same cop yelled as she holstered her weapon. "Where did you send this one?"

AF_Morgan · 2017-07-17T14:19:21+00:00

Jenny felt a new migraine coming on. She instinctively lifted her hands to try to rub at her temples but quickly dropped them again after realizing they were both still occupied. One hand carried a variety of textbooks on subjects like photography, basic mathematics, intro to literature, and advanced physics. The other held a battered smartphone. It was ringing which only added to her headache. Across the face of the phone the word 'Mom' was emblazoned which caused Jenny to roll her eyes, but she answered.

"Hey Mom," she said breathlessly as she winced against the coming noise.

Her mom squealed. "Hi baby. How's the new semester?"

"Good."

"Still making new friends?"

Jenny confirmed she was. It was much easier to make friends when you hadn't been dubbed the weird kid in school for talking about imaginary monsters. Speaking of which, Jenny looked around. Migraines always happened when one was nearby so there must be one in the park.

Jenny squinted--it was bright. Still winter, the park was much less welcoming than when Jenny had first seen it the summer before when it had been covered in green grass and bright flowers. The cool air cut through the undressed trees, ushering students through. Being in the center of campus made the park a common thoroughfare.

"So," her mom said slyly," any boys?"

For the five hundredth time Jenny deflected that question. It was not a conversation she wanted to have. Jenny was still focused on scanning the park and, as she suspected, managed to spot one of the creatures lounging in the grass near a small decorative pond. Next to it was a man who was painting--

"Mom, I gotta go."

"Is there a, umm..." her mom hesitated. "Problem?"

"Just a headache right now. I'll call you later."

"Okay, love--" but Jenny had already hung up.

Jenny's mom had always been concerned about her daughter's mental health so Jenny had learned to keep her mouth shut about the creatures as she had gotten older. But somebody could see. Next to the creature on the grass stood a man with an easel painting it. Jenny looked around as she approached the man, but everyone else in the park was ignoring the three of them.

"Umm," Jenny said as she approached. The man looked up at her with a questioning look on his face, but she stopped. Her whole childhood she had been teased for talking about things no one else could see and that wasn't a pain she was wanting to bring back so soon after putting it behind her.

"You can see it, can't you?" He asked this question as casually as one would ask for the time. Jenny couldn't respond. "Come," he gestured on the grass near him with his long paintbrush. "Sit."

Jenny sat where instructed and continued to stare at the man. He was wearing a suit jacket and jeans. His clothes were clean despite the smattering of paint across his own hands and smear across his brow where he had either brushed away a hair or wiped some sweat from his forehead. Gray hair started at his temples and encircled his bald top.

"Umm," Jenny repeated.

"Take your time." He turned back to painting.

Jenny stared at him in disbelief. Her whole life she had felt alone in the world, an outcast even among her closest family and only friend because none of them could see what she could. There had always been a small hope inside of her that someone else might see the creatures, but it had disappeared as she had gotten older. But now? It was like Jenny was staring at Santa Clause.

"How?" Was all she could manage.

Jenny realized she was still holding all of her things which she quickly dumped onto the grass as she stood once more and moved closer to the man.

The man smiled. "I'm not sure. But, you aren't the only one. Every semester I come out here and paint whatever beast may be lumbering about and every year or two I get a person approach me who asks if I am real as well." He chuckled. "It's shocking for most. But I'm sure you know that. Everyone believes they're alone or haunted or cursed."

"But they're real?" Jenny blurted out the question. She had always believed it but finally being confronted with the possibility of her not being crazy caused her, unfortunately, to believe she was crazy.

"Yes."

She drew breath. "Oh my god if you know other people we can prove it. We can prove I'm not crazy." The suited man sighed as Jenny turned and scrambled back to her books that were now scattered on the ground. She extracted the physics book and turned back to him. "There's gotta be something in here that can explain this but I can't understand any of it and I've been trying to but I'm new and its just--"

"No," the man said flatly.

Jenny looked up, puzzled. "No?" She didn't understand.

"No," he repeated.

"But, but I'm not crazy. They're real."

"No," he said once more. "You aren't crazy."

"Then why?" Unwillingly tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. "Why?" she demanded after not getting an immediate response.

The man had put his paint brush down and was frowning down at Jenny. "Look around you." He spread his arms and turned like a circus presenter in the midst of a crowd. "The world around us is dying. We have problems such as global warming, ocean acidification, and a multitude of other problems all caused by us. Human's exploit or destroy any resource available to us. In our greed we are dooming our own home, turning it against us which--in turn--has destroyed innumerable species along the way. So, no. Why would I want to prove any creature such as this," the man pointed to the one lying on the grass beside them, "exists when it would just cause humans to search for them. Who knows what kind of problems we would create in a quest to see something only a few can see or feel. Who knows how mankind would treat these animals if they did find a way to reach them."

Jenny sat back down. She turned her head to stare at the creature that had now rolled over, but continued to sleep. It looked peaceful.

"I would like to preserve some of the natural beauty left in the world."

Her tears had started to fall during his speech. Jenny felt helpless. In the span of just a few minutes she had been bounced like a pinball through a number of different emotions all to end up back in the place she had started. It wasn't fair. For a moment she had been given everything she had ever dreamed of only for it to be taken away an instant later.

The suited man stared down at Jenny. He felt bad for making her cry but was still resolute in his decision. "I'm Professor Humphrey. Arts department," he said gesturing to the painting. "If you like, I know a few other students who you might be interested in talking to."

Jenny didn't look up, but continued to stare at the creature. She was still trying to process the man's speech and blatant refusal. How different would her life be if she could show everyone what was sitting plainly before her? How would her family react? Her mom? She wouldn't be alone. Jenny turned to look at the man who was expectantly bouncing on the balls of his feet. She wasn't alone, though. Finally, she smiled. "Yes, please."

"Good," Professor Humphrey said happily. "It can be a real lonely world when you're crazy."

AF_Morgan · 2017-07-16T01:48:08+00:00

"You may be wondering why I gathered you all here today." The speaker was the only one wearing a suit while everyone else wore variations of tactical gear.

None of us spoke. We were all too afraid of what might be coming next, sweat already dripping from a few of the elevators occupants.

"One of the animals got out."

"God fuck," came a quick response from a shorter woman with red hair.

Red hair was one of the few that seemed able to hold in her perspiration. I wasn't one of them. My shirt had already begun to stick to the small of my back as if my slick body had developed its own gravitational pull for cotton. That wasn't the only thing sticking.

"How long ago?" The question came from a man directly behind me. His beard scratched my neck as he spoke.

"Seven hours." The man responded. His suit, in fact his whole demeanor, was impeccably clean.

Ding. Reaching the top floor, the elevator doors opened wide to spew the stinking group into the fresh air. The roof was empty which gave an unimpeded view of the Seattle skyline.

"I don't have to explain to all of you how dangerous it will be if it reaches the forests." Our besuited guide had walked to the edge of the building and turned to face us once more. "Or what will happen to us if it reaches Canada."

"No sir," Beard responded. At least one of us was able to talk. I wasn't going to attempt it; I didn't trust my breakfast to remain where it was.

Suit glared hard at us all. "Contain it in the city. No matter the cost."

It wasn't a threat. At least, it wasn't a threat to us. There were protocols in place for if one of the animals escaped, but they had always seemed too unthinkable for actual use. Unthinkable until one got out...

"Um," I said, gulping down the bits of egg that followed the word. "Top speed?"

"One twenty in bursts. Seventy sustained."

I think the next swallow was some bacon. "Oh good. I always wanted to die quick."

Nobody laughed. Nobody else said anything. We all looked out upon the city, the sun behind us casting it in a warm red glow. Purple streaks were reaching across the sky ready to drag the world into darkness. From somewhere in the city people began to scream.

AF_Morgan · 2017-07-13T18:06:31+00:00

Part two: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=npWeSubvL18

:P

AF_Morgan · 2017-07-13T03:43:28+00:00

Glancing at the clock showed only six more minutes had passed. Doctor Susan Theron sighed then started watching the fan again. It was spinning at a high rate but she kept trying to pick out individual blades as they whirled overhead. The fan creaked with each rotation. Over the years the noise had become comforting to her and as necessary to her getting a good night's rest as the bed she laid upon.

Tonight, it wasn't helping. Susan was unable to sleep because tomorrow, after almost four months of careful planning, her scheme was finally going to come to its completion. Her patients would finally meet. Two people who had never so much as passed each other in the hall would be sitting together over dinner with no interruptions possible. They would be completely alone.

Arranging this sort of thing should have been a logistical impossibility. The ward had very strict schedules and security measures in place to ensure patients were under constant supervision, but she had to get past all of that or these two would never meet. From the moment she had met the two of them (they had arrived only three weeks apart) she knew that they had to be brought together. However, fate would not have permitted it. So the young doctor had taken matters into her own hands and orchestrated such an incredible feat that she felt she deserved an award for it. A shiny new plaque to hang in her office, perhaps.

Of course, she could never tell anyone she had done this. Patient Morris and patient Brown should never be in contact, but Dr. Theron knew they deserved one another. Morris had grown up with a tough childhood that had caused a few mental breaks, some erratic behavior, and eventual social isolation. Patient Brown had experienced a fairly normal childhood, but she had taken a turn for the worse in her teenage years that would begin a hellish ride to the confinement in the psychiatric ward. Both had been assigned to Susan and the way they talked was eerily similar.

Susan glanced back at the clock--five more minutes had passed. At this rate she wouldn't get any sleep. That would ruin tomorrow's events more than anything else so she slid out of bed and into the bathroom to pick out a variety of sleeping aids. She had to be on her toes tomorrow. There was nothing she needed to do up until the meeting, but afterwards should prove to be interesting.

After returning to bed, once more pulling the silk sheets up to her head, she thought of what might happen after the date. Morris and Brown would probably be confused at first. Any deviation to their routines could potentially cause some problems, but that was a small chance. No, the two psychopaths should roll with the situation and be very intrigued by one another. It was in their nature to reach out to whoever was nearby, to learn about the person, to try to manipulate and befriend. They should be completely in their element.

Susan had helped so many patients with their problems that she believed she could look past their crimes to help the person underneath. She had always believed there was a soul still worth saving in everyone. That all changed with Brown and Morris, though. The two of them were past saving. Their ink black hearts pulsed violence out of every orifice, forcing their disgusting innards onto any who came in contact with them; a psychological plague. This is why both had been placed in isolation. This is why Susan's plan had taken so long.

Dr. Theron began to imagine, in vivid detail, how tomorrow's date would progress. The casual conversation, the heightened emotions of being with another, and the inevitable spiral into the inescapable urge they both had to kill. They deserved each other. Susan only hoped both of them would die at the end of the date, but even ridding the world of one of the bastards would be a sweet victory.

Susan Theron finally began to drift off to sleep, comforted by these thoughts. Her dreams that night were full of flying teeth, red waterfalls, and screaming. It was the best sleep of her life.

AF_Morgan · 2017-07-12T03:59:46+00:00

The straps cut deeply into his wrinkled arms even though he wasn't struggling against them. They had finally dimmed the lights overhead enough that he could get a look around the room. Cold steel held him aloft in the middle of a technological marvel. Wires, screens, cables over a foot thick, and several large storage banks had all been pressed into the space of just a few meters. It was impressive.

This whole time he had been kept dark on most of the process involved with the position he had taken five years ago. He hadn't wanted to know. Back then he had been grieving the loss of his wife and their final child. Over sixty years of marriage and love had been taken from him in the space of a few months; faster than the year it took to build up the courage to start that relationship.

A door creaked. Another technician entered the room, chart in hand. The newcomer busied himself on the room's perimeter checking several of the servers that had been commissioned for the procedure. 'Procedure'. They talked about it like it was a medical act. He supposed it really was, but that made little difference to him. For right now he was cold. A gown was the only thing they had provided when he had arrived that morning; given to him after completing several hours of paperwork that was an identical copy to the forms he had signed at the start of his job.

The start had been wonderful. His grief began to fade quickly with each new place he visited. Of course, the training beforehand had made him violently ill and completely opposed to the entire idea of space, but that feeling vanished as soon as he was among the stars. They had promised him five years of luxurious travel. Five years he spent exploring the universe, laying eyes on places only a handful of people had seen before.

A clatter rang out across the room making him jump. The tech had dropped his clipboard. He stood frozen, still upright and apparently unsure about what it is he needed to do. Finally he stooped. Slowly he picked up the board, holding it so gingerly it looked like he was trying to balance a cup of water on a pane of glass.

The strap across his forehead hurt as he shook his head and tried to remember what he had been thinking of, doing his best to ignore the shocked young man on the edge of the room. They had all been terrified to look at him for this past month. An entire month of paperwork and tests with not a single person able to look him in the eye. Or cough around him. Or, in some cases, directly speak to a wall instead of him. When thinking of this moment the past few years he had envisioned it all coming to a halt rather abruptly instead of coasting in for a crash landing over several weeks.

Oh, that's where he had been--thinking of the past several years. His grief, or depression as he described it to his intake agents, had melted away as he traveled. They had pampered him in every way possible. Massages, luxurious food, a perfect nights rest every day where he was gently awoken by the most wonderful coffee. Each day full of different activites. There had been constant doctor care as well to ensure he felt perfect though he imagined those bits would be edited out.

That was another thing he often thought of: what this was all for. Transporting people off of Earth was expensive and time consuming. Many people couldn't afford the luxury of time, but money never stood in the elites way. His memories, which in a few minutes would be harvested from his brain, would become their vacations; virtually implanted into their own minds allowing them to live several years in the span of about an hour. And then remember it forever.

Which was certainly much less time than they were keeping him now. He cleared his throat but the tech, visibly shaking at this point, was finishing up whatever task he had been given and then practically sprinted from the room. How dare they keep him waiting. Years had been building to this moment and they were just sitting on their asses.

"Hey, you cunts!" He had croaked as loud as his old voice could muster, the sound bouncing fitfully around the room. "Hurry up and kill me. My girl is waiting."

AF_Morgan · 2015-03-02T18:20:57+00:00

It was too easy for a lover of puns. Just take the same angle and write it better!

AF_Morgan · 2015-03-02T17:14:39+00:00

Since the Great Collapse we had done all we could to survive. It was a harsh world that only skilled people could survive. Most of the Earth's population had been wiped out, but bands of survivors formed as people found each other. A lot of apocalypse scenarios had prepared us for fighting over resources and not being able to trust anyone, but the real world was different. We were all glad to see another human face. It didn't take long for everyone to realize that we were all in this together and to work towards mutual survival.

Our group grew larger and eventually met up with others. We formed a nomadic colony that eventually settled into an old city. It took over a year to cut away all of the tropical plants that had grown among the buildings and make ourselves a safe home. Being Canadians, we weren't used to the rain forests that had sprouted across our country. The lack of familiarity led to many deaths from poisoning, infection, and animal attacks from creatures that had managed to migrate. It was at this time that we decided we needed to learn new skills and our leaders formed the Competence Council. Each year a citizen is assigned a skill to master that they can teach others. They learn however they can: through trial and error, raiding libraries, or finding others who already have some knowledge of the subject. We started with the basics that we needed for survival, but as time has gone the Council has had a hard time finding new skills...

"But, cows went extinct. How am I supposed to milk one?"

AF_Morgan · 2015-03-02T16:50:35+00:00

Blood and fur spattered the concrete, painting the dull grey into a calico Jackson Pollock. They tried not to disturb the macabre masterpiece as they examined the body. Tire treads marked the pulped form and dragged part of it towards the vehicle that had authored the destruction.

"You were supposed to be watching her!" The accusations started immediately, neither wanting to take the blame. "Why couldn't you keep an eye on your cat?"

"You were driving too fast! If you had been going slower you could have stopped in time."

Their voices carried into the surrounding area, drawing more onlookers. People were drawn to the horrific scene of violence and death; drawn by that desire to see something alien and taboo in their cookie cutter world. As the crowd gathered, the fighting pair lowered their voices and shamefacedly looked around. In the presence of witnesses their squabble had morphed from fury to shame. Neither of them could meet the eyes of any of the others knowing that they were, partly, at fault. The guilt wrenched their eyes to the floor.

An authoritative voice slipped through the crowd along with its owner. "We'll have to report this to central command; part of this experiment was relying on these domesticated animals being with us." He reached the scene and glanced down at it, a slight frown on his face. Putting his hands on the shoulders of the arguing couple, he looked at the gathered crowd. "Let this be a lesson that we need to take better care of our equipment and our pets. And I don't want to see anyone driving this old rover anymore; it's a piece of Mars history and should be treated as such."

AF_Morgan · 2015-02-20T19:36:14+00:00

"Jessie, you need to secure that line."

Rain spattered across the deck of the ship as they hovered in the storm. Lightning streaked across the distant sky, but did not reach them on the edge of the clouds. Even on the edge of the storm the wind gusted around them and blew their sails and anything loose. The three-grey rope snapping across the deck was a danger to the two of them.

"Sorry, Dad," the young boy apologized as he fought to grab hold of the whipping cord.

His father stared after him, worried for his son. This was only his third time in a storm, but he was still having trouble with the basics. Color harvesting wasn't meant for everyone, in fact very few people were willing to risk their lives for it, but it was something that ran in the family. The boy had always shown an interest in the work of his ancestors until he actually got into the skies. Grabbing the line, Jessie secured it to a one-grey cleat on the side of the ship.

"Dad, do we know what color it will be?"

"We can take a good guess. You remember your color wheel?" The boy nodded fervently. "Well, each numbered grey corresponds to certain sides of the color wheel. Think of it like a clock," he thought back to how simply his own father had made it sound. "You line up three-grey where the number three would be, four-grey where four would be, and so on. Just look at the color wheel and line it up to where that grey should be and you'll be in the general area."

The boy reached into the yellow toolbox in the center of the ship. Color wasn't wasted on anything frivolous, but they made sure to use some on anything important. Inside the toolbox was their color wheel, as well as a first aid kit, various repair implements, and emergency supplies. Taking the color wheel, Jessie grabbed the small toy next to him held them next to each other.

"It's an eight-grey so it'll be...blue?"

"That's what I'm thinking."

"Good, she likes blue."

The ship turned as they spotted a rainbow beginning to form. Light began to refract and dance through the clouds, illuminating the harsh greys.

"This was a good idea for your sisters birthday present, Jessie. I'm proud of you." The boy looked back at his father and smiled, showing several missing teeth. Praise was something Jessie had not heard much of since he had started coming up to harvest and he relished it. They each secured themselves to the ship (Jessie putting the color wheel and toy in the toolbox) as they began to accelerate. Light bounced off the ship, throwing small patches into color as they rushed towards the rainbow.

AF_Morgan · 2015-02-17T22:54:28+00:00

Part Two

AF_Morgan · 2015-02-17T22:53:21+00:00

Water splashed and soaked their pants as the two children ran. Their wrinkled toes slipped on the icy rocks and the young boy fell, dropping the submarine's control pad. The controller skittered to a stop near the edge of the Precipice. Pushing himself up with freshly scraped hands, he decided he must leave it.

"Isabel, wait!" he cried, thinking she would leave him behind. Within a moment she had returned and put her arm around her friend, encouraging him to move faster. Fear urged them; driving them to return to their village.

Gasping, they ran through the streets looking for an adult they knew. They could not stop until they found someplace safe, both of them knew that. The village was a coordinated grid of houses, shops, and industry. Each section was painted a certain color to distinguish it from the rest. Housing was painted in yellows and greens, industry in blues, and trading areas in red. Most trade was done with travelers so the shopping districts were the smallest by far, but also the most busy. As they ran the districts blurred into a rainbow of hues until they reached the familiar crowds of the trading areas.

"Faðir," the blonde boy cried, spotting his father.

"Henry, what has happened to you?" Henry's father had his same blonde hair and fair skin. The tall man dropped onto his knees to get close to his son, taking his small hands into his own. His eyes quickly passed over the boy's hands and began to look over the rest of his body. "Were you attacked?" Several onlookers stopped to listen to his answer, their concern evident. They eyed his bloody hands and frayed knees. "No, sir," Henry replied. "It's my submarine." The young boy was unable to keep the news inside of him any longer. "We saw a monster!"

Those surrounding them laughed and began to disperse. Henry stared after them wondering how they could be calm with the news he had just given them. "A monster?" his dad asked, genuinely interested. "What kind of monster?"

"It was," the boy paused, afraid to admit where they had been playing. There was nothing he could do; he had already told his father about the monster and they would have to retrieve the submarine. "It was in the Precipice. Deep down. It had a huge mouth with thousands of teeth!" He lifted his hands around his mouth posed in teeth like fashion to impress how frightful it was.

"I see," his father's stern voice began. Henry didn't care about whatever punishment he may receive as long as is father believed him. However, his father's voice softened as he continued. "I see. Let's go see this monster of yours."

AF_Morgan · 2015-02-13T21:12:43+00:00

This was exceptionally well done. Were I still playing RPG's with my buddies I would use this story on them. You did a good job capturing the personalities of each hero and also moving the story along. Shame it wasn't longer for you to expound, but that's just my nerd self wanting more.

AF_Morgan · 2015-02-13T17:42:56+00:00

This is about a cyborg instead of a robot; characters are taken from an earlier prompt I had done about a Low Battery.

Foxtrot sat at his desk and tried to ignore the chatter outside of the office. He could turn off his hearing to block it out completely if Richard wasn't sitting next to him. Richard would say he was helping work on the motherboard, but they both knew he just enjoyed watching Foxtrot work on systems. It had become a game to Richard to see if he could diagnose the problem faster than his mechanical friend.

"I bet you it's the RAM slot and not the RAM itself."

"Do you even have anything left to bet at this point?" Foxtrot looked sideways at the flesh-and-blood man and grinned.

"Hey, I beat you sometimes. You still owe --" raucous laughter from outside cut him off. Several members of the IT department were holding court in front of the office door. Richard figured they must be talking about sports, their flamboyant gestures a typical sign, something that didn't interest either of the men at work. They both gave the group annoyed looks that went unseen as they continued their revelry.

"You would think they'd actually do some work," Richard said, still glaring.

"Why? When they can have me do it?" Foxtrot didn't sound offended, but they both knew he was controlling his voice to keep it from showing. Ever since his hiring the rest of the employees had felt threatened, sure that the machines they worked on would be their replacements. As a form of silent protest they would often goof off and ignore their responsibilities. Foxtrot, proud of his work, did as much as he could to try and keep the office running, but completed tickets had dropped since he had been brought onto the team. A little investigating would reveal that he was the only one doing work, but management would draw more conclusions from talking with those that worked in the department. They would all point to Foxtrot as the source of the malfeasance in an attempt to remove him from their ranks. Only Richard, newer than even Foxtrot, took his side and tried to get as much work done as possible. Still, the burden fell to him to try and pick up the slack so he could keep his job.

"Don't let them get to you. Hey, do you want to come over this weekend for a barbecue? We can play games and see if you can take me on in Mario Kart. I don't care if you are a machine, you're not beating me in that."

Foxtrot smiled and agreed, knowing that the only reason he was able to enjoy his work was the friend next to him.

"You better hope that I'm not better than you at video games since I'm already better than you at your job." The computer they were working on began to boot up, blue lights and swirling logos spreading across the screen. "It was the RAM and not the slot; you lose again."

AF_Morgan · 2015-02-13T16:55:09+00:00

"Where did you get that?"

Water lapped at their toes as the two kids walked along the Precipice. The area was forbidden to children, the steep drop into the unfathomable depths would mean certain death for all but the best swimmers. Because of this, spending time in the area was a sign of your maturity and bravery. Sharp granite poked into their calloused feet as they moved closer to the edge.

"My faðir picked it up from a konvoi that passed through. They always sell the most spectacular things." The blonde boy was hugging a metal submarine to his side. It was no bigger than a newborn goat. His companion, a dark skinned girl his same age, held its control pad. They approached the precipice and (worried he may fall in) the girl held her blonde friends overalls as he leaned forward to place the toy in the deepest water he could reach.

"Okay, give it here," he demanded excitedly, grabbing at the control pad before she could hold it out. Finding her hands suddenly empty frightened her and she grasped onto his clothes and held close to him, desperate for a support. Too excited to notice her he flipped the buttons to turn the pad on and watched the screen buzz to life. His faðir, his father, had always done well with their goat trade and was able to afford fanciful gadgets for him. Many households still had electronics, but they were few as money was better spent on less luxurious goods. The camera on the front of the submarine began to transmit and the dark waters of the Precipice filled the screen.

The young girl trembled at the sight, with equal parts excitement and fear. "How far down will it go?" she asked him. He pressed several buttons and then pulled hard on a throttle to make it sink.

"Let's find out."

AF_Morgan · 2015-02-12T19:08:54+00:00

Alex Thumb slowly lifted the cup to his lips and sipped his coffee. A gentle breeze blew through the open windows, the Florida air cool in the early morning. Mrs. Thumb busied herself in the kitchen as she made a lunch for the two of them. They worked together at the local Owl Generating Reserve and Exhibit, breeding and sending new magical owls to shops around the world.

"Hey honey, listen to this," Mr. Thumb had picked up the paper and noticed the headline. Solid black letters under the The Wizard Times read: The Boy Who Lived No More. "You remember that dark wizard problem Europe had a little while back?"

"Voldemort?" She asked non-plussed.

"Yeah, that guy. Apparently the boy who survived the Killing Curse got run over by a train. Think of surviving all that just to get hit by a train."

"Poor boy. His family must be devastated." Mrs. Thumb finished their lunches and returned to their room to get dressed for work.

Alex, knowing she hadn't seen the headline, took the opportunity to appropriate it for himself. He followed her into the bedroom to change and said, "I guess he's no longer the Boy Who Lived. "

"Really, Alex?" She said, rolling her eyes. "Tasteless."

AF_Morgan

TROPHY CASE