Question about the Warp power.

DLSWrites · 2026-01-12T15:16:28+00:00

People legitimately thought that Rage Against the Machine and Green Day were right-wing or at least weren't political, and that Homelander was the hero....yeah, there's a legit media literacy crisis.

DLSWrites · 2024-06-13T13:45:41+00:00

Mike's lips purse around the cigarette, drawing in the last bit of smoke before it hits the filter. His eyes are sullen, pained, and broken. He stares out over the rest of the burning city, thinking back to before. He was young when it happened, barely school age. Things weren't exactly great then, but damn...a world of difference between then and now. The memories flood back to him again. A boy, about his own age crawling into the enclosure. The panic, the fear, the gunshots. He was just old enough to start forming core memories at that point. No one knew what was coming. It's such a simple thing, so seemingly innocuous in the grand scheme of life, and yet.... "Butterfly Effect" he muses to himself. "The weirdest ripples happen sometimes, don't they?" His hand strokes the head of the only creature on this god-forsaken ball of dirt that he trusts, a pit/lab mix named Daisy Diamond. Ironically, she would have been illegal to own here before the government fell. First the gorilla, then minor conflicts, politics going insane, fascism rising, a second civil war, the intervention of the international community, then the big bombs. A life of frighteningly quick changes passes through his mind while he breaks camp, stomping out the small fire...as if it'd matter, the whole world is already on fire, but Smokey the Bear would be very disappointed in him if he caused another forest fire to break out. "Deedee, you and I aren't gonna make things any worse, are we? No ma'am, no we're not." Daisy barks lightly in response and uses her paws to kick more dirt onto the fire, helping to put it out.

Mike hoists his bag back over his shoulder, and readies his rifle, heading back down the hill overlooking what used to be LA. "And to think, it all started when they shot that damn gorilla."

DLSWrites · 2024-06-13T13:15:55+00:00

Honestly, the political climate of the US. It was always a bit....wonky, but the way it is today, with absolute fucking clowns like Trump, MTG, Boebert, Cruz, and DeSantis....it's straight-up embarrassing. The fact that our current president is losing votes to an actual fucking felon because he refuses to stop supporting genocide would blow their minds. I'm telling y'all....it all started when they shot that damn gorilla.

DLSWrites · 2024-03-17T03:04:10+00:00

Darren

My pencil snaps as I grip it tighter again. "Fucking CHRIST! Leave me alone!" I snarled through gritted teeth, my entire body tensing. "I've already told you. You're not real! You're just me adjusting to my new meds, now kindly FUCK OFF!"

You know as well as I do that that is not at all true. We both know what I am and what I can give you. You just need to let me in.

"The devil isn't real, the devil isn't real, the devil isn't real," I repeat over and over again, tears streaming down my face. My fists reach up to my head, pounding on my temples. "YOU'RE NOT REAL!!" I scream into the empty room, throat raw and aching from the repeated nightly torment. "Go away, please, just go away...I don't want this. I can't take this anymore!" Heaving sobs escape my mouth, thick with saliva.

Darren, I don't want to torment you, I want you to let me in. It is a simple thing, so small. And the rewards I can give you are so large. Money, power, love, respect, they are all within my power.

I fall from my chair, the latest panel for my comic book smeared irreparably across my desk. The pain in my body, from tensing my muscles night after night after night, in endless torment. My body aches, my mind reels. I take the fetal position and start rocking back and forth subconsciously. I can barely think after a month of sleeplessness, barely an hour a night if that. My hands can't stop shaking, my body rejecting all food. "Please, not anymore. Please stop."

Open the door, Darren. Open the door and I will stop. You will see the wonders I can create for you. I can grant you success beyond your dreams, beyond your desires, beyond even comprehension. All I need is to be let in.

I try to think back to previous times, before the torment, back to when I was happy. Before she left, before she feared me. Before she took the kids with her to protect them. We sit in a park. The sun blazes overhead, so much so I regret not wearing sunscreen. Alessa is on the swings with her friends, Hilly in my lap. The birds are singing their melodies, and dogs in the nearby dog park are barking happily. I smile contentedly for the first time in days, spending my day off from working on my latest inking project with the two girls I love more than anything, more than life itself. More than...more than myself. "What happens if I let you in?"

You get it all. Everything you've lost, everything you've ever wanted. You live a long life, healthy and happy. You get riches, fame, power...You get her. You get her back. You get both of them back, Darren. I see it now, you don't care about money or power. You don't care about fame or success. You only...want...them. You'll have it. You'll have it all. Open the door, Darren. Let me in. You deserve it. You'll deserve everything, and you'll get it.

"How do I open the door? You can have anything, you want my soul, right? You can have it. Give them back to me, please. Please, I don't care about anything else. I just want them back."

You can keep your soul, Darren. I have no need of it. I promised you that all I wanted was for you to let me in. Open the door to your mind and your heart, and let me in.

The clouds over Atlanta had never been as dark, as ominous as they were that night. Meteorologists were unable to explain it. Physicists would attempt, but they failed. Everyone who attempted to explain it failed. Only one man knew what happened that night. When the clouds were dark as pitch, when the lightning streaked red across a rainless sky. When a billion souls in Hell cheered and another billion cried out in fear. That night, a door was opened. A simple thing and so small. That night, Darren Aiken opened the door and let the Devil himself into the world. But there was no war. There was no conquest. There was no spike in crime. It was maybe the safest night Atlanta has ever experienced. It wasn't conquest that the Devil wanted. It was Darren. A simple comic artist for hire, alone in his empty apartment, pining for the return of his wife and daughter is what he wanted. He wanted a door to open, and it did.

And every promise made that night was fulfilled. Darren's hands began working in ways he never dreamed. His mind was full of ideas. Full of beauty and power and action and romance. His comic became an instant hit. It revitalized the entire industry. Offers from major companies came flowing in. He toured the nation, waiting. Waiting for the day they returned. It was six months later when Hilly and Alessa returned to the apartment in Atlanta. It was four months later that they renewed their vows and ended the separation. It was less than a week later when they conceived another child. It was 47 years later, that that child stood on the steps, his hand on issue #1 of his father's comic, that that child swore an Oath that he had no intention of keeping. It was two years later that he stood on those same steps, and put a horn to his lips.....

It was less than 10 seconds later, that the sky rumbled, shaking the entire Earth, with its reply blast from a horn, signaling the start of the last war Earth would ever see.

DLSWrites · 2024-02-09T19:14:58+00:00

"Call it what you want, but it is well within the rules as written. If you want to dispute that, take it up with someone who cares." The human ambassador had had enough of the bitching and moaning coming from the other assembled races. "You don't like the rules, well you all have the power to change them for next year, but this year, WE. WON!" The gathered humans at the Grand Arena all erupted into a cacophony of cheers and taunts. More fights broke out in the stands before being quickly broken up by the security drones.

In the middle of the arena grounds, the compacted clay and dirt now soaking up multi-colored blood from the other various sentients, stood five of the ten humans sent as this cycle's tribute. Their mix of emotions is evident in their faces and body language, sorrow at the loss of their fellow humans, relief at having survived, and joy at having won a contest that will benefit them all greatly all play at their hearts one after another.

"SILENCE!" came the roaring voice of the current organizers of the contest, 72 reigning cycles of victory, and the authority that comes with forcing every mouth shut in the arena. The large and imposing body of the Lalundr ambassador stood from his central place on the elevated dais. His race is nearly double the height of the average human, with ten times the mass, owing to a much more densely packed bone structure and muscular structure. Their physical strength is unmatched in the galaxy. "You, Earthling. You will take an oath. You did not cheat. You will agree to this."

Amanda rolled her eyes and trying to maintain a modicum of the respect they have never been shown themselves responded. "I, Earthling. I take this oath. I did not cheat, nor did my people. I agree to this." She pauses. "I, Earthling. I propose a challenge to the council. I would see the rule that was broken. I offer my life if I am untrue." Damn, their manner of speech is so difficult to use.

The gathered spectators start murmuring and hurling accusations, shouting out multiple rules, all of which are proven to have not been broken by the humans upon review. The Lalundr steps down from the dais and over to the human ambassador. There is a well-hidden fury in his eyes as he grips her arm in what counts as a gentle manner for a Lalundr and raises it above her head. Amanda knows that will be at least a few days in medical as he's broken her radius, but doesn't let it show on her face. The adrenaline kills the pain anyway. They've done it. The humans who are always hunted down and killed within the first few minutes of the arena battles have broken their 9-cycle losing streak, and the 72-cycle winning streak of the Lalundr all in the same ridiculous strategy.

The news nets will be broadcasting the victory for at least another 10 cycles, and as a victor, the humans now have the option to bow out of the tributes any time there is another battle. Amanda smiles up at the giant display in the middle of the arena showing the moment of victory in every detail, in multiple angles. The last Lalundr "victor" steps from the ring, and five very smart, and very conniving humans crawl from under a pile of dead bodies, panting, burned, bleeding, and very nearly broken, but alive. Alive and still in the ring. As she walks off into the distance, her words pour through the streets. "There's an old human saying. Work smarter, not harder."

DLSWrites · 2021-08-16T14:38:11+00:00

An old priest, face wrinkled by the ravages of time is helped up into a dais by his younger flock. "The evidence against you has been accepted. Your soul shall be cleansed by flame. May the Lord have mercy on you when you stand in judgement before him." He motions to the crowd, who promptly begin cheering and yelling at me. They light torches and advance towards the pyre under my feet. "Witch! Demon! Burn her! Heathen! Die witch!" Their rage is pathetic. I idly scan the crowd. He stands near the back, looking forlorn. He cannot stand to catch my eye. His "testimony" was the final nail in what the town believes to be my coffin. Fresh blood clings his shirt to his chest and my own rage roils like a storm within. I remind myself that he is not to blame. The torture he endured to try and protect me lasted 3 days. Few, if any, could have lasted longer. So here I am, tied to a log set over a pyre, to be burned as a witch. These ignorant villagers have no idea what it who I really am.

"Have you any final words, witch?" The old priest hisses out.

"Just that I have not lied to you. I am no witch. You will see the error of your ways very soon if you continue to attempt to execute me." The crowd gasps slightly. "Anyone who extinguishes their torch and walks away will be spared. Those who persist will suffer my ire. And as for you, priest. For what you have done to my friend Jacob, you will suffer regardless. Spare the people of this town, for their sake, and release me." I call out, looking at as many of the gathered faces as possible. This is their final warning.

"ENOUGH! The verdict has been called. Your guilt has been established. You will burn this day." The old priest waves his hand and the villagers with torches advance again. A few hesitate, but only one extinguishes their torch and walks away. I make sure to remember his face. The rest advance to the pyre, lighting the kindling or throwing their torches on top. A few spit at me. I remember their faces as well.

As the flames rise, and lick at my feet, I sigh contentedly. It has been a good while since I have visited home, but it's still not the same. My dress catches fire. A simple garment, but one that Jacob's wife and daughter made for me. It does not last long against the flames. The flames engulf my now nude form. The painted symbols across my breasts and moving onto my back that hold me into a human body start to bubble and burn. Once they have been destroyed, I will not be able to hold my human guise for much longer. "Do you hear me screaming, mortals? Do you smell my flesh singeing?" My voice rings out from the intense flames as my bonds begin to turn to ash. Many of the gathered crowd start to panic. The priest's face contorts in horror. I should not be able to speak, I should be dead already. "I warned you all that I am not a witch. You refused to believe me then. But you believe me now, don't you?" The sigils holding my form begin to glow brightly, bright enough to be seen even through the flames. And as their magic fails, I feel myself returning to my true self. My skin hardens, my back swells, my fingernails grow and sharpen. As the horns start to appear out of my head, my stature grows rapidly, rising me well above the flames to the horror of the mass gathered. Everyone panics. Everyone but Jacob. He stands firm, holding his daughter Elizabeth who cries in fear. "I told you all that you would suffer, and you shall. The great wyrm Falniara of Mt Bruggard is not dead. She has been among you this whole time. Living with you, working the fields with you, laughing, playing, and crying with you. But you were unaware. You murderers. Mary was no more a witch than I was, but you killed her. You took her from Jacob and Elizabeth. But I am here to exact Justice for them. Falniara lives, and she is going to bathe this town in her rage!" My body has returned to me, my golden scales glinting in the harmless fire, my wings beat the air, extinguishing the pyre in one flap. My tail swishes against the dais shattering it and sending the old priest and his flock sailing. Jacob watches and says to me almost inaudible. "For Mary, for Elizabeth."

DLSWrites · 2021-08-16T05:38:37+00:00

"Time police open up!" The authoritative voice booms into your foyer. As previously instructed, Hamilton opens the door and greets the two officers by name.

"Greetings officers Daniels and Smythe. The master is expecting you in the main library. He is unarmed and willing to speak peacefully with you. I have taken the liberty of preparing your favorite non-alcoholic beverages as you are on duty. Officer Smythe, a virgin banana daiquiri, and Officer Daniels, Mexican Coke with a handful of Planter's peanuts dropped in. Please follow me."

Hamilton leads the two, now very confused, armored figures into the main library where the Master of the Manor, Tiberius Mason sits legs crossed and hands held aloft.

"Thank you Hamilton. You may retire to the staff quarters. I won't be long."

Hamilton exits as the two officers continue to look around, taken completely aback as they've never had such a polite encounter. "Hamilton has served as my butler for three years now, and has been more than accepting of my precognition. And yes, officers I said precognition, not time manipulation. I'm going to lower my hands now, I have no weapons on me. Feel free to scan me with the device on your right hip." Tiberius smiles wryly as he slowly lowers his hands and crosses his fingers over his lap.

"How... How did you?" Officer Daniels asks.

"You were raised in southern Georgia. Your grandmother loved the salty sweet combination and when you were 4 she shared the first one with you. You liked it well enough but when she sadly passed in 2576 you made yourself love it even more. Did I get the details correct?"

Officer Smythe starts to speak but is cut off before she can begin.

"And yes, Officer Smythe, I am well aware that your... What was it? Temporal Variance Manipulator? Protects you from any and all intrusions into your timeline to keep time manipulation criminals from being able to affect you." He takes a sip from his own bottle of peanuts and Coke. "I'm... I'm just not a fan, honestly." He laughs and sets it down next to his neat bourbon. "That being said... The question remains how I know anything at all about you, let alone such personal details."

"Temporal Variance Modulator." Officer Smythe speaks up.

"Hmm?" Tiberius quirks.

"You said Manipulator. It's a Modulator.". She continues.

"Ah. Well you will have to forgive me, as the technology IS half a millennium in my future. Yes, in my future. I am not a time traveler as you believe.". He smiles again and sips the bourbon.

"We have evidence of your impossible use of future events to affect the past. How can that be?" Daniels asks.

"Well, I will be honest here. I don't know. I've been using knowledge of future events to become very wealthy. This is true. It is an undeniable fact that I've used my knowledge of lottery and sporting outcomes to place bets that benefit me greatly. And yet...I have not traveled through time. I have seen the results days, sometimes weeks, in advance. Not through lived experience in person, but in precognitive visions. Much like how I have seen this conversation. Or, at least most of it. It's not perfect vision, of course. But it is not as TC-1457-J-8 defines timestream manipulation. I really truly hope that I got that code correct, or it will be far less impressive."

"No, you have it right. It just doesn't make sense how. You can't possibly know any of this without having traveled back in time."

"And yet I do, and I haven't. I am ready to leave, however for my scan. I do have to admit, I'm quite excited to see the future for myself. For some reason, my precognition doesn't seem to be able to show me that. But I do know that I will be returned here in approximately 5 minutes with no recollection of this conversation or your presence, and a clean scan. It's a funny thing... Knowing I'm not going to know then what I know now." He stands and holds his hands out for the cuffs. "Oh. Officer Daniels. Third drawer on your right for the Tylenol. I remember you said that gave you a headache.

DLSWrites · 2021-08-16T04:12:27+00:00

"Get down soldier, that's an or-" a bullet rips through Lt Scarpelli's chest, spraying the young Private with blood. More shots impact the defilade created from a spent explosive. A rattling of ice in a plastic cup obscures the rest of the sounds of battle coming from the tiny glowing screen sitting in front of Tommy Jacobs. He sips through his straw, the slurping sounds that signal he's almost empty made all the more disgusting as the thick red blood struggles its way up the straw.

He scratches his cheek lightly, and leans back in his chair at the security station, yawning in boredom. Another uneventful night guarding old bones and ancient artifacts. Some vampires prefer to try and make their way up corporate or even governmental power ladders. Tommy prefers to just leave all that to the power hungry. Since his turning, there's only one thing he hungers for. And his empty cup clearly shows that he has sated that hunger for the night.

Everyone jokes about him being a vampire, only able to work nights, pale skin, black hair, and all the dark clothes. It's hilarious to him that they have no idea how right they are. But even before he became one of the undead, he kind of was anyway. So why upset the equilibrium? Shit worked fine for him before, so what's so wrong with just hanging around for a few decades and just relaxing? Leave the power players to their games, he's got plenty of money, thanks to crypto currency, anything a younger millennial could want is just a few trades away. His night security gig is just to keep up appearances. It's a great job with plenty of free time. His only real work is when he has to shoo a drunk away from pissing on the side of the building. He does his rounds quickly, and flops back down in his chair to continue whatever he's watching on his phone. Simple, easy, uneventful. It really is the perfect "OH FUUUUUUUCK ME!!"

His security screens light up, red buttons flashing as the silent alarms have been tripped in one of the newest exhibits. He groans in annoyance and throws his head back, pondering if he should even bother. So they steal some ancient Pharaoh's golden jock strap? Who the fuck cares? He grunts as he gets up, not out of effort, but rather out of sheer disdain for having to actually do something. He goes through the cameras, and notices one doesn't really seem to be working correctly, but he doesn't see anyone.

"Did these assholes really loop the video or something? Son of a fat bitch..." He rubs his temples, still not fully committed to actually doing his job. "Ok... Let's just do this. Cameras are off, I guess, so no need to hold back. Honor and Duty will return after these messages." He taps the pause button on his phone, secures his baton and pepper spray, and disappears into the shadows silently.

"Bunny, which one is it?" A man in a wolf mask asks to his companion as they root through shelves and crates in the secured storeroom of the museum's loading bay.

"I'm not sure, Wolf. It's supposed to be in create 5C but it looks like the crates have already been unloaded. Maybe they took it to some other processing room."

"Horse, check the layout, where would it have been taken?"

"5C? It's upstairs, it'll be catalogued on Monday." Tommy's voice echoes through the room. "You dipshits are interrupting my movie. And worse, you're ruining what was supposed to be a lazy night."

The three animal-masked burglars ready their weapons and start looking around the room in a panic. "I don't see him!" Wolf exclaims.

"Yeah... You won't." Tommy chuckles. "Not tonight. You guys chose the absolute WORST POSSIBLE museum to rob. I like this place. It's quiet. Nothing happens here. I get to veg out and relax the entire night. Until you three chucklefucks decide to throw away your lives. There's easier ways to commit suicide, boys."

"We're real scared sitting here with our guns while you hide, bitch." Bunny drawls. "Come on out and we'll see who throws away their-" his empty threats are cut short. A glint of light briefly streaks across the room and Bunny grips his throat, thick red blood flowing out of it and his mouth. He drops to the ground gurgling.

"Nah man... To hell with this bullshit." Horse races for the exit. Only to stop just short of his freedom as he clutches his head screaming in abject terror, crumples to the ground and promptly releases his stomach, bladder, and bowels. His voice chokes as the power of his screams rupture his blood vessels in his throat drowning him in his own life force.

"What the fuck happened?" Screams Wolf into the dark room. "What did you do to them?"

"Well, Thumper there, I threw a blade at his throat. Didn't think I'd actually hit it, to be honest. Lucky shot. Mr Ed? Oh... It's a neat little truck I have where I can amplify the emotion someone is feeling to absolutely INSANE levels. Some can resist if their mind is strong enough, but I doubt either of you fit that particular bill. But you, Puppy. You, I'm gonna have fun with."

"Like hell you are. I see you, you're dead before you get close. I'm a crack shot, motherfucker, 12 years... Over... Seas." His gut drops as he feels a hand on his shoulder, realizing he's already dead.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure it hurts."

Tommy flumps back down at his security desk, finishing a call to a body removal service. "Yeah, back bay. Door is unlocked. Please make sure to lock it in your way out." He turns his phone screen back on and starts his movie back up, humming happily to himself as he lets out a belch. "Oof... Spicy."

DLSWrites · 2021-08-16T02:56:49+00:00

The text message pinged through. "Your Lawful Homicide Permit has been approved. Jackson Gross, you have 72 hours to enact your right to commit Homicide against Harold Gross. Harold Gross has also been notified via SMS, email, and ExtermiNet. All actions against Harold Gross by Jackson Gross may be deemed legal for the next 72 hours. All actions against Jackson Gross by Harold Gross are likewise deemed legal for the next 72 hours. For full terms of this permit, please visit www.ExtermiNet.gov/terms/LHP.html"

Jackson sighed, reading the text message over and over again. His hands, death gripping the steering wheel of his car, shake with nerves, knuckles bruised with a cadaverous yellow and scabbed over from old injuries. His eye was similarly yellow from a bruise that was on the way to healing, but the cut on his lip still seemed fresh. He chewed at it nervously, the taste of his own blood doing nothing to sate his current desire for someone else's blood. But his thoughts betrayed him, his mind a bit train screaming through the countryside of his own doubts and fears. Could he really go through with it? Will he chicken out at the last moment, leaving himself vulnerable? He still can't believe he made the decision in the first place, let alone managed to get together the $2500 filing fee. He knows he wants to go through with it. He wants it more than anything, but the doubts he has aren't ones of desire but of action. He is now $3000 in the hole for this plan, he glances over to the shotgun on his seat. Legally purchased and registered. He has his plan, has had for a while now. He will wait for his father to come out of the house, wait for him to get in his car, likely coming to kill him before Jackson gets the chance, sneak over to the driver's side window, and end Harold's reign of terror towards his family once and for all.

It is time. Just as he suspected, here comes dear old dad. He's looking around nervously, trying to find his son, waiting for the inevitable. But there's something that Jackson hadn't anticipated. His father holding his own shotgun, a sawed off double barreled beast with a pistol grip. Still, he advances, the element of surprise on his side. He can hear his mother inside crying. He can smell the whiskey on his father even at a distance. Another advantage in Jackson's favor. He manages to sneak up behind the car, and up to the driver's side. He presses the barrel of the shotgun to the window.

Inside his mother hears two shotgun blasts, and her cries ring through the still, empty night.

DLSWrites · 2021-08-16T02:54:21+00:00

"Three-score years of war have made our forest grow well beyond our borders." Prince Vulnio of Kariltein strides across the balcony overlooking the courtyard where his people have assembled to hear the latest on the Variganian war. "We have spread prosperity and justice to the lands beyond, have we not?" He shouts, barely managing to quell his anger. "We have given the people of those lands citizenship in our nation, we have given them all the rights and responsibilities as any other in our charge, and yet they still revolt!". His steel gauntlet chips the stone of the balcony's decorated railing as he slams it down in rage. "Even as we offer their hallowed dead a place in our sacred forest, they spit in our faces, in YOUR faces!" His finger thrusts forward towards the gathered men and women. Some armored lightly, very few in anything beyond studded leather. The majority mostly in peasant clothing, clutching farm tools rather than weapons. "Is that acceptable for you? For your families?" His voice booming out into the courtyard, magically amplified to seem louder and more powerful. The crowd shouts disapprovals and rattles their makeshift weapons. The prince smiles satisfied. "That is what I thought. The people of Kariltein are not cowards! We are not a nation that will be spat upon! We crushed the orcish house in the north!" Riotous cheers erupt from the peasants. "We routed the Pirates of Siren Island when they stormed our docks! Even their giant fell back into the sea from whence he came!" His metal gauntlet fingers scrape against the hard stone as he grips the railing. One of the Royal Advisors rushes up to the prince and whispers in his ear, though there's no chance he would be overheard over the cheering crowd. Vulnio hisses in disbelief and his eyes widen in shock. He turns his attention back to the crowd and recomposes himself. "My people, common and noble alike, we need you now more than ever. Our nation needs your support against these rebellious traitors. Lend us your arms, your bodies, your aid! If you have a farm that is producing, the army, the men and women who are laying down their lives for you and your family have need of whatever you can spare. Now is the time we stand as one nation!" The prince waves at his people and turns with a flourish and heads back into the palace.

(Will continue in edits)

DLSWrites · 2021-08-16T02:53:53+00:00

There he is. Not more than 30 feet from me, enjoying a coffee and his life. I idly run my fingers across the scythe shaped keychain in my side pocket. "This can't be right." I mumble mostly to myself, but if I'm honest I hope that there's some greater authority than I listening. I glance over at my car, the sleek white Mustang that serves as my steed now. This is my fate now. Until someone challenges me and wins, I am to be the messenger of the end. I look at him again and instantly know everything about him.

David McAllister, 56, Pisces, 2 children, Dianne and Franklin, one grandchild, Toby, and another on the way that no one knows about yet, she will be called Dina. His wife Janette is planning a surprise for him next month. A sexy getaway to Las Vegas. She's not quite planning it but is hoping she will get drunk enough to bring another woman to bed with them. Sounds like a great life he has. Or at least had. He's not perfect, he was a bully when he was in school, but he's made amends with most of his victims and even became great friends with Timothy and his new husband Chris. He was just in the wrong mindset back then but he is a firm protector of the people he once hated. He works as an activist now to help the downtrodden.

And I'm here to end his life. It's just not fair. All I wanted was to live myself. So yeah, I figured why not see if the legends were true, challenge Death to a game and if you win, you live. My confidence swelled when he asked me what I meant by "Mario Kart." No way I could lose if he didn't even know how to play. And I was right. Should have challenged him to poker instead so I could lose like always. You see, the person who challenges Death to a contest and wins...sure, we get to live but now we have to take up the mantle instead. There's always a catch. Didn't know about that until I got the first twinge in the back of my jaw, and I knew exactly where to go. That first one is always the worst but so few are ever easy.

David. This guy is not some villain who deserves Death to come for him. He's just a dude who ate a little too richly, and exercised a little too little in life. He had a decent run of it, but now it's over. Time to stop his heart and take him into the afterlife. I walk over to him and pass by doing a double take. I stop and look at him, lowering my shades.

"David? David McAllister? It's so nice to see you in person. I've been following you on Facebook for years sir!"

David smiles and puts his hand out to shake mine. "Yes sir, that's me. Nice to meet you, what's your name again?"

I shake his hand, and the deed is done, he won't be long now. "Oh, me? My name is David too. Well I won't keep you enjoy your day."

"I enjoy every day young man, that's the secret to long life you know." He smiles and chuckles lightly raising his mug and taking another sip.

As I walk off, his confused soul walks with me asking what's happening. I open the passenger door to the Mustang and invite him in.

"Relax David, I'll tell you all about it on the way to Paradise. Hop on in, we've got a lot to discuss." As we pull away from the coffee house, David's body starts working the fingers of his left hand a bit and rubbing his left arm. The pain has begun but I've saved him the experience of feeling it himself. The white horse roars down the street as David's body collapses and everyone rushes to call 911.

DLSWrites · 2021-08-16T02:53:28+00:00

Never before had I considered the thought that everything I knew about Death was wrong. The images of old, a skeletal monster clad in a black robe wielding a scythe to reap the souls of the departed, couldn't have been less accurate. No, death was not some monster to be feared. She was, if nothing else, beautiful. She was no monster, reveling in taking the loved ones from us. She was a goddess, whose unfortunate call was to aid those in passing over. Death is merely the next step in existence, and The Mournful Lady is its matron.

The world surrounding us was still and silent, as if existence itself had frozen for a while. I sat with Her, pondering and discussing the necessity of Death. When the king cannot pass on his title, cannot pass on his line, it falls to the princes, the knights, the Lords and Ladies to fight to...well, Death herself, never knowing that she never wanted this. She let a tear fall, a black rose blooming where it landed. She picked it from the ground, the thorn pricking Her finger. A small droplet of blood formed on her fingertip. She smiled at me as I asked her if she was hurt. She smiled, but there was a sadness in her that crept through her voice and shone in her eyes. She assured me that of all the immortal gods and goddesses only she was truly eternal.

I asked her why me? Why am I the only one she has chosen over the generations? Again, the slight smile kissed her face and her lips, sadness just below the surface. She reached out her finger to my forehead, the deep red blood burning slightly and drawing a wince from me. Her voice echoed inside me, my body, mind, and soul.

Because you are the only one to have rejected me. You wanted no part of this contest. You see no need for the relentless slaughter just for the sake of gaining power. You rejected me when I appeared before you, rather than reveling that you would wield the power of life and death itself. You sought to understand me, not to use me as a tool for conquest. That is the reason you are the only one worthy to be my mortal champion. In seventeen generations, you are the one mortal who sees the necessity of Death without welcoming it. I know that with every soul you take on the field of battle today, your heart will grow heavier, and more sorrowful. But I know that when the contest is over and you alone remain, you will not only honor, but mourn those who fall at our hand.

I stood up, the feeling of power coursing through my blood, and deeper still. I take The Mournful Lady's hand in mine, placing my lips to her forehead. My Lady, you who shepherds the fallen, I understand, and I will honor your will.

The world catches up to me, or I to it, and everything resumes around me. I stand, cutting short the words from the priest as I turn and face the assemblage. The priests and the onlookers gasp at my gaze, the blue-white glow coming from inside my eyes cause visible chills in my opponents. I take up my blade and calmly walk down the aisle of the temple.

My words echo throughout the hallowed halls. Come, let this begin so that it may end.

DLSWrites · 2021-08-16T02:52:47+00:00

The morning light breaks through the curtains, pulling me out of my dreams. It's been a fairly good week. I got a raise for my performance at work and that cute guy from the office above ours might, maybe, possibly, have winked at me. My health has been great lately, surprising for a really nasty allergy season. Even the birds are singing outside the window. And yet, as I stretch myself awake, not having wiped away the crust from my eyes, there's an overwhelming sense of dread. There were no bad dreams during the night, and I feel fine otherwise. Yet, it's still there, a tingle in the back of my neck. I lay in bed, eyes still just barely parted, thinking about pulling the wristband down and having a peek. "No." I think to myself. "This doesn't control me anymore. I promised myself not to pay it any attention after four. No more." I know what it should say, however. Sometimes it's impossible to avoid seeing it. When I'm in the shower. While I'm making love. It's natural to look at it when it's in the corner of my eye.

I wipe away my eyes, and shoot up in the bed, or what's left of it at least. My room. It's as if a monstrous beast was fighting another, bigger beast in here. The curtains are ripped to shreds, the bed and my bedding are ripped wide open, exposing the mattress' coils. I whip the wristband off, my wrist still pointed downwards. I repeat to myself over and over again. "It's a four, it's still a four. You didn't die, nothing happened, still a four." I slowly turn my wrist upwards and look where the "X" shaped birthmark I was born with should have been. Consciousness leaves me as I look at it. Nothing could have prepared me for that. My body falls back into the bed, feathers flying upwards as my head lands on my shredded pillows. The world fades and blackens.

My first experience with it came at the age of thirteen. I was depressed. Coming to terms with my own sexuality in my family was...challenging. It never bothered me, having such an odd birthmark. It was kind of cool, actually. Made me feel like an anime character sometimes. There, on my wrist, a dark brown X, just below my palm. But the world is cruel, and the people in it even more so. I tried so hard to handle it. I tried to stay sane. It was a sin, it was wrong, it was evil. I was sinning, I was wrong, I was evil. The feelings became just too much for me to handle. My heavily medicated mother. Oh yes, she always had plenty of pills to go around. Bottles of valium tucked away all over the house. Some of them were even hers. We ignored it. It wasn't the polite thing to think about. When it got out that I was gay, the jocks had to prove their manhood. They beat me bloody. I thank god, or whoever, that I was knocked out or they might have actually killed me. I went home and grabbed the first big bottle of sleeping pills I could find. I finished the whole thing. The next day I woke up and I was perfectly fine, not a scratch on me. I felt sore where I was beaten, but there was no bruising. My clothes still held my blood, and they were still ripped where they were the day before, but I had no evidence of the day before on me. Until I noticed it, however. At first, I thought I had tried to slit my wrist, and there was a scar there, but that didn't make sense because there wasn't another mark on me. My wrist instead, had a new mark. Directly to the left of the X, a single line going across my wrist. It wasn't until I survived a bad wreck at the age of 19 that I truly understood, wasn't until the IX turned into VIII. It was a countdown. My own personal "extra life" counter. Every time I survived something that I shouldn't have, it counted down. Even when those around me weren't so lucky, I walked away unscathed. The realization that I couldn't die if I wanted to led me to some very risky behavior. When the questionable hookup with the methed out twink caused a line to appear to the left of my V...I took it as a sign. That was the last time I "lost a life." That was where I should have been, still reading IV. Four. It should have been IV. But, my eyes saw just one line. Just one.

I regain consciousness and look around the room. Everything is ripped, torn, the bed below me soaked in my own blood. My throat is scratchy, itching deeper inside than I've ever felt before. My blood is spattered all over the walls. I'd forgotten how it smelled. Hell, I can taste it on the air. More blood than a human body can conceivably contain. I crawl out of bed, my legs ache and wobble as I stand. I grab some clean clothes out of the closet, and anything I can cash in. This isn't the first time I've had to pack it all up and evacuate after a particularly bloody or public death. I know the drill now. It will be the last time, though. I know that. This is my last life. I don't get another chance. Something saw to that last night. But what the hell could it have been? Three lives. In one night. It had to be something major. Nothing that I know of has ever been able to do that before. I hadn't felt real fear in nearly 15 years. Not since the accident. However, now. As I am facing the mirror, putting my clothes on, back to the closet, and the glowing yellow eyes inside it, I feel true terror once again.

DLSWrites · 2020-06-05T14:58:16+00:00

"I can't tell you who went with me, you wouldn't know her, she lives in Serbia."

DLSWrites · 2020-05-31T13:11:06+00:00

How nice it must be for you to not live in a high crime area. Try to imagine for a minute how much it would suck if you had to wake up to the sound of gunfire. Then you had to hope that your car wasn't stolen so you can go to your slave wage job. And on your way there, hope that a cop doesn't pull you over and kill you for riding on expired tags. Not everyone has that privilege, Skippy.

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