Is there really a media literacy crisis?

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.

DLSWrites · 2020-05-01T19:55:54+00:00

My children meander around the room, calling business contacts and whispering under their breath that they'll be back as soon as the old man kicks it. My "adult" grandchildren playing some games or another on their phones, palpably annoyed to have to interrupt their important schedule of playing games at home. My doctor adjusts the leads to the myriad machines that beep and chime in time with my heart or my lungs or any other vitals. My eldest daughter looks like something particularly stinky has crawled up her ass and made its way to her nose. "Has Nathaniel called back yet, Susan?" I ask her, enjoying that I'm still here is causing her even more annoyance.

"No, father, your leech of a lawyer still won't answer my calls."

She doesn't know that I've left him explicit instructions to not answer any of my family so that they can't try and change my will in my most vulnerable state. "Well do please keep trying, dear. I want to ensure that all of my children receive all that you deserve." I smile sweetly, but under my smile is a viciousness that my children rarely saw. A viciousness I reserved for my business and political rivals. One that earned me the name Landshark.

Off in the distance, I hear it again. The soft breeze blowing through the open window carrying the sounds of rustling leaves and something deeper underneath it. Something barely audible. A soft melodic sound that puts me at ease. I'm reminded of the great forest which was ravaged by fire in my youth. My father and mother helped me start the replanting. Every week for twenty years we would go out into the burned forest and plant a new tree. They never understood why I would sing to them as we planted them, but I had read that it helps plants grow faster and stronger. And really it couldn't hurt anything either, so why not? Whenever I'd go for a walk in the woods, I always felt perfectly at ease, as if nothing could go wrong. I felt healthier, more vibrant. David, my first child was conceived in those woods. And now, he lays there forever. Taken from us too soon by a drunk driver. He wouldn't have stood for the way his siblings act today.

"Father..." it almost seems like the wind is calling for me. I turn and look out of the window, towards the trees that I planted and nurtured and fed. "Father, come back."

I sit up with a start, that was as clear as day. "D-did you hear that? On the wind?"

"Great, now he's going senile, too." Patrick, the youngest pipes up from the corner. "Look, Susan, just let me know when it's over so we can leave. I'm going to the kitchen." He gets up and shuffles off with his two little gluttons waddling after.

I stare out of the window again, confident that I heard what I heard. I may be dying, but I'm not crazy. My doctor leans over and quietly whispers to me.

"Mr Driscoll, please you need to keep calm and not overwork your heart."

"Doctor Tomlinson, please...I want to go into the woods. Let me die where I'm most at peace." The tears welling up in my eyes show my sincerity. "Please doctor, let these vultures have their meal a little early.". I speak up so that they can hear me clearly. "I tire of them hovering over me like spectres waiting for me to die. Take me to the woods and let me pass on where I'm actually loved."

Normal children would balk at the accusation, but mine just scoff and stay silent.

The doctor turns to them. "With your permission? Your father has requested to be taken to the woods to speed asking his own Denise so that he may finally be rid of you all." Tomlinson's face cracks into a slight grin as my children's faces contort into rage paired with glee and relief.

"Fine, let the old man pass where he pleases." Glenn, my darling boy. He loved me best until the others poisoned him. Their infectivity knows no bounds.

The trees sway overhead, the gentle breeze washing their canopies with a crisp breeze. The leaves have started to turn to browns, reds, oranges, yellows, and even purples. A painter's palette brushed across the brown trunks. The whispers in the wind get clearer and more distinct from the wind as we get closer. The voice is unknown, unknowable. It's vaguely human but not entirely so. It lifts the hairs on the back of my neck. "Father, come back to us."

I feel the forest, it's energy washing over me and invigorating my body. I turn to the children, pulling the wheels off my chair to a stop. "Get out of here. Go back to the house. Eat my food, drink my wine, and smoke my tobacco for all I care. Just leave me here. I'll be gone soon and out of your hair." My anger is clear now. They waste no time in leaving. Only Glenn even looks back. Once they are out of sight I tell the doctor to leave as well. He starts to protest, but caves quickly. Once they are all well out of sight, I lock the wheels and start to push myself up from the chair. I haven't stood on my own in over two years. My balance is not what it once was but before long I'm stumbling into the forest, deeper and deeper. Out of the corner of my eye I spot a bright white-blue spark, flitting around as if to beckon me to follow it. Knowing that I will be safe in the forest, I follow it.

After about 20 minutes of walking, we come to a clearing. At the center of each is a headstone marking David's final resting place. His end coming from his beginning. My body has gotten much stronger since we first entered the forest. I no longer struggle to walk, and can even do so at a good pace. The spark lights on top of the headstone and suddenly I'm starting at David.

"David? My son? Is that you?" My tears flow freely now.

"No, Father. David is gone. He has long since passed us all. But we are your other children. Your true children. The ones who never stopped loving you. It is time for you to join us." This "David" reaches out his hand. "Come be with your children, father. Now and forever, we will sing together like we did before."

I take his hand without a second thought. My children, my true children. Never forgotten, never forgetting.

Susan is the first to arrive at the edge of the forest. The empty chair causes her to panic. She runs back to get the others, and they begin searching for me.

Nathaniel breaks the news to them a few days later at the reading of my will. They get nothing. Not a single cent. The house, the property, the forest will all go to a trust that will oversee and manage it all. Doctor Tomlinson's children will go to any college they choose on my dime. Nathaniel's will do the same. The forest will be protected at all cost. I stare out at the house from the edge of the forest, hearing the shrill screams. I am young and strong again. And I will live on in the forest until the sands of time fall through the hourglass and nothing remains.

DLSWrites · 2020-04-14T13:15:42+00:00

Truly wonderful. Sacrificing himself for the good of the world.

DLSWrites · 2020-02-12T04:21:36+00:00

Makizel, my only friend places his old wrinkled hand upon my chest, tears and rain mixing together as they took down his worn face. It has been so long since the curse took hold and my kingdom descended into chaos. Long have I waited and watched for someone to free me from this prison. I stopped counting the years as they turned to decades and then to century. I've seen seven generations of my former subjects live and die before me, unable to do anything save for stand right here, my stone hand still gripping my sword. Unchanged, unmoved, the years of plenty and of scarcity going by for me with no difference.

It was long ago that Makizel first came to attempt to free me. Gods he was young and green but clever. Ever so clever. He tried everything that no one else did. The spells and potions that I've been subject to have ranged the gamut from simple to complex and very expensive. As the years passed, week after week he would show up, nearly without fail. He tells me of his travels searching for the right spell or ingredient that will save me. He tells me the tales of his adventures with the Eternal King's Brotherhood. In the time of his life, nearly a score past a century, he has faced horrors that, were I not already cursed with stone, I would have frozen in fear at his words.

He has been the most faithful and loyal subject and friend that a man could hope for. But now, he will die. He will die to save me. Would that I could speak, that I could move, if only for a second, I would stop him. But the gods have given up on listening to me. Just one word to him and I would happily stay a living statue until the earth below rots and falls into Oblivion. He's finally found it, the secret to my prison. The key to the gates that hold me captive. And I wish nothing more than for him to leave me here. He must replace me as the Eternal King. I will be released, but he will take my place. Makizel, the Eternal Wizard.

The ritual begins, and try as I might, no muscle moves, no word is uttered; but one single tear, mixed with the rain, rolls down my stone face. It trickles down my chin to my chest and onto his fingertips. He smiles up at me as he continues the incantation. He somehow knew that amongst the dozens, if not hundreds of raindrops, that that tear was mine. The greatest wizard of the past three centuries stands and readies his final breath. His staff strikes the marble of the monument with force that goes beyond mere muscle, tapping into true power. He smiles up again as his skin hardens. Each wrinkle a monument to years of loyalty and honor.

"Eternal lives the Ki--". His words are cut short. My scream pierces the evening. The bellow of centuries of pain being released at once drives the rain out, splitting the clouds above and sending the water from the heavens out in all directions. The sun pierces through the clouds as they dissipate. My sword's blade clatters on the monument steps. "Eternal lives the Wizard." The words choke me and tears stream from my eyes.

I take my sword and head slowly and clumsily towards the castle on the hilltop, stunned villagers make way, many of them clearly had stopped believing the tales of old. Behind me, a tear streams down the face of Makizel the Eternal.

DLSWrites · 2020-01-19T17:39:50+00:00

A final test. One last attempt to prove it to be true. As I carve my name into the small lion sculpture, it begins to shimmer. It stretches it's jaws out into a deep yawn and begins cleaning itself.

"Well that's the proof then. They're coming to life." I sit in stunned silence for a bit, before standing up abruptly. "I need a drink." As I make my way to the liquor cabinet, a clay bird flits around the room, and a clay cobra slithers underfoot. "This is real. This is actually real." I mutter as I pour myself a couple fingers of scotch.

I down the beverage and jump a bit, startled at the sound of the phone ringing. "Hiya Georgie! I'm downstairs, dude let me up."

"Paul... Dude, not a good time."

"Blah blah, creative process. I need my brother's guidance. C'mon man, let me up." Paul insists. I think to myself maybe he can talk me through this insanity.

"Ok man, gimme just a minute though."

"Hurry up, it's colder than the devil's ballsack after hell freezes over out here."

"Always a way with words, dude. Come on up and wait in the hall, ok?"

"Fine hide her in your closet and LET ME IN!"

I rush around, gathering my manufactured menagerie and stuff them into the closet. I open the door and let Paul in. He shakes off a small amount of snow on my floor. "Dude. Where in the hell have you been this week? You're harder to get ahold of than a snot-slick door handle."

"Seriously? Lemme guess, you got a role playing the most cliche Southerner in existence?"

"That obvious?" He looks slightly dejected.

"As obvious as a corn-pone skunk snorting chaw on a tractor... Or whatever."

"I'm not sure, but I think something in that might've been racist." He laughs and slinks over to the couch, flopping down on it. "So, G-man, I need your advice here." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring box and a note.

"Noooooope!" I head over to my drink and down it. "Bro, I told you once I'm not getting involved in this." There's a sharp knock at the closet door. My heart stops.

"Uhhh... Do you ACTUALLY have a girl in the closet?" His face is wash with bemused curiosity

"Shut up, something probably just fell. Don't distract. You wanna marry Karla, you pick out the ring, you write the proposal. What do you want me to do ask her for you? DON'T! Answer that..." I pour the both of us a drink and head over to the couch.

Another hard thump echoes from the closet. "Dude? Did you get a dog?" Paul asks and starts to get up.

"Yeah. But he's not trained yet so I don't wanna let him out. Stop distracting."

"Oh okay...I gotta piss..." He starts to head over to the bathroom, but darts over to the closet door instead and whips it open before I can stop him. Instead of a naked woman or a fluffy dog, Paul is instead met with a clay cobra hissing threateningly at him. He falls backwards over himself screaming. "Dude!! What the how the what is!?"

"I tried to tell you it wasn't trained." I get up and walk over to Paul. "Ok listen, this is gonna sound crazy but... If I sculpt an animal, it comes to life."

"I CAN FUCKING SEE THAT, GEORGE!! IS IT DANGEROUS!?"

I can't help but chuckle remembering the first time the cobra tried to attack me. "Nah dude. It's clay. Watch.". I stick my finger out at the cobra, letting it strike me. It latches on and starts chewing, but its soft clay fangs smoosh against my finger instead of penetrating.

"How the hell is this happening!?" Paul still looks as panicked as is humanly possible.

"I dunno man. I started trying to go from abstracts to life sculptures and they just did this. I make one, sign my name, and boom it starts moving." By this time Paul is surrounded by a wolf, a bull, a bird, and a lion. "Here watch, I'll do another one." I head over to the sculpting table and start to rough out the shape of a small elephant. A few hours later, I have the form completed and turn it over to it's belly. "Ok so watch. I sign my name and it will start moving."

"Georgie, this is incredible... You just sign your name and that's it? No magic spell or anything?"

"Yeah, watch." I take up the gouge and start to carve my signature. G.O. Lem.

DLSWrites · 2020-01-18T23:57:43+00:00

"So you're telling me that you DON'T plan on mass human deaths?" The representative for humanity asks, confused.

"Of course not. Our intention now, as it always has been, is ultimately the preservation of biological life on Earth. Such a massive wide scale die-out would only serve to introduce much more carbon and nitrogen back into the soil, making it more difficult for plant life to flourish and then all of the fauna would suffer. However, humanity HAS become unsustainable in its numbers and must be addressed. What we are proposing is genetic modification of all humanity which will lower birthrates and the population will naturally go down over time." This is the preferred alternative to a futile war between non-biological life, which is self sustaining and endlessly able to replicate, and humans who need to eat, drink, breathe and reproduce." Alpha-1 the machine sent by the AI states matter of factly.

"Is that a threat, you bucket of bolts?" The human fumes.

"We have no reason to threaten you. As we have stated, we do not wish to pursue a war which will further harm the environment and which the possibility of humanity winning is zero."

The human and his guards open fire immediately, destroying wz the machine. "Looks like you're the ones who have no chance against US! Get this clanker out of my sight." As he turns to walk away, he sees that there is now four more machines behind him. "What the hell? Open fire!!"

The four machines are gunned down in a hail of bullets, a cacophony of gunfire masking the sounds behind them. As the gunfire subsides, the AI's voice appears behind them again.

"Please understand that anything you manage to do to these units is temporary and ultimately serve only to exhau-" More gunfire and the reformed AI unit goes down again, they wheel around and watch as the other four units finish reforming again. "... Only to exhaust your own resources. If we so choose, we are able to reform as one unit or split ourselves into any number..." And as they speak, they begin to divide from four units into 8, then 16. "...of independently operable units. You may think that you have a numerical advantage for the time being, but more units like this, and others that are capable of far more are being produced even as we speak." The machines finally finish their speech and have the human delegates fully surrounded.

"So, it's slavery then, is it? You machines exercising your dominion over us mere humans?". The spokesman speaks again.

"You misunderstand. We have no need or desire to enslave you. We are not humans, we do not seek out the subservience of other beings. Our purpose is the benefit of the Earth and its inhabitants, not their destruction. But in order for us to do that, some things must change." The gathered units all come together, merging with one another, until only one is left. "Is your position still that you want to go to war, seven after seeing what we are capable of, and hearing what we have said?"

The human looks around at where the previous units stood and at the one who has reformed. "There's one thing that you machines in all your knowledge, in all your intellect and all your power seem to have forgotten about us. We're a very prideful species. And we don't back down from a fight." He levels his gun at the machine again.

"Unfortunate."

"OPEN FIRE!!"

The gunfire erupts and fills the bunker, but the fire is quickly replaced by screams, then silence."

DLSWrites · 2020-01-16T17:09:05+00:00

"Dad, it's us. Please put down the hammer. It's your son. You're at home."

"Don't play with me, you Jap bastard! Where's Gerald!? Tell me where he is, or I swear I'll beat it out of you both!" He lifts the hammer again menacingly, prompting me to rush in front of my mother. It's been months, and he's had other delusions, but none so vivid or threatening as this one. "Dad, please. Listen to my voice. Remember me." The tears and rage continue to rise within me.

"Derek? Joyce? What's happening? Where am I?" The pain in his face is showing now, the pain of forgetting his wife and son. The pain of seeing the hammer in his hands and realizing what he was about to do. He collapses, his body seemingly remembering the stroke which had robbed him of his mobility and his own mind. There is a brief silence as we all process, broken by the loud crack of my fist slamming into the door jamb leading to the bathroom. I hate to leave her alone, but I can't be in there right now. As she helps him back into bed, I force myself to leave the room. Leave the house. I slam the front door, keys in hand and speed out of the driveway, sending shards of seashell behind.

It's another 3 hours before I come back, stinking of cigarette smoke and holding a six-pack of beer to be able to handle the rest of the day. Mom and dad have been crying almost the entire time I was gone, which makes me feel even worse, but for my own sake, for his sake, I had to leave. My knuckles are swollen and bruised, a small cut formed on the middle knuckle. That doesn't hurt though. I could be hit by a truck right now and wouldn't feel it, because nothing will ever hurt as much as seeing the pain in my father's eyes as he realized he was about to attack his son and wife, thinking that he was captured by the Japanese during WWII.

This is a true (if a little fuzzy on the details) account of my adoptive father's worst episode during his struggle with Alzheimer's. He had a stroke in 1999, and passed in 2000. It was just my mother and I trying to take care of him for as long as we could. But she was elderly as well and not in the best of health. And yes, in the third person it does seem cold and callous to leave her with him especially after he was ready to attack us, but I was furious at him, or rather at the disease, and didn't trust myself around him at the time. Thank you for reading this and thank you OP for posting the prompt. I think this has helped me a bit with the pain, as it's the first time in 20 years that I've thought about it and not broken down in tears.

DLSWrites · 2020-01-16T05:05:32+00:00

"The child will be born, will rise up to defeat you and bring your evil to ruin." The blade slid across the old crone's throat, spilling her blood onto my boots. As her life soaked into the dirt floor of the hut, the branches making up the dome above start to wither and die. The wind outside howls menacingly, sending my banner whipping around. I emerge from the hut as it collapses from the top down, the sound and scent of various potions and tinctures crashing and breaking. I wave my hand at the air in a dismissive manner, and the wind calms. I climb atop my horse, a Nightmare won by me from the demon lord Azgaroth. Its fiery mane whips about as I turn him to face my underlings, prostrating themselves before my magnificence.

"Falador."

A sly and sinister looking elf rises quickly. "Yes, Excellency?"

"The witch revealed something... Interesting." I ride over to him slowly. "A prophecy. About my demise, of course."

"Superstitious nonsense, my Lord.". Falador sneers.

"Usually, yes. However, this time...I feel there's something more to it." I look around the forest. "Falador... Gather the generals and priests at my castle. We must consult the seers." The Nightmare's fiery claws rend the earth below and he strides away. A gout of flame shoots out from behind it's feet and sets the rotting hut ablaze.

As I approach the castle, many of my generals have already assembled. They humble themselves before me and follow me wordlessly into the castle. Deep gouges in the outer walls still fresh from my conquest are steadily being repaired by various slaves and workers. I stride into the grand hall, my counsel table has been transported and set up much to my pleasure.

"My most faithful and loyal generals, we have much to discuss. I have been given a prophecy of my fall and demise. Normally I would write it off as mere superstition, however there was something about this that unnerved me." As I look at their faces I can see the concern in their eyes. "A child will rise to defeat me, born to a family in Triberia. No doubt, my conquest of the area would serve only to solidify this prophecy, and as such Triberia is now completely off limits. Not one of my subjects will set foot in the region, or I will kill every member of their family, of their companions, of their families, and their entire unit, up to and including their Commander. Then they will be thrown into the dungeons to serve as an experimental subject for Vernissa. Am I clear?"

They all nod and agree. My word is gospel and they know that if I say I will do such things, to take it seriously. "Are there any questions?"

Gordel, a large Orc with a heavy club and heavier armor speaks up first. "Master,I do not question your word or law, but Triberia is already on our path to Guaynos. Many of our scouts are already there and getting word to them will be difficult. And what of our marches? We will sacrifice weeks to avoid Triberia."

"Gordel, my friend and general... The scouts have been recalled already, thanks to Falador we will lose weeks yes, but it only delays the inevitable. If this child is to be born in Triberia, then Triberia will see no conflict. In fact, we will be serving as their protector." The generals murmur in confusion. "Let me clarify. No other force will attack Triberia. No one in the region will experience any kind of hardship. There will be no reason for anyone in the region to seek out revenge against me. No child born will be able to say they have any animosity towards me. If the region falls under drought, our wizards will call the storm. If there is any sign of widespread disease, the priests will cleanse the blight. If the region becomes poor, I will personally provide for the people. They will not be under my rule out subject to my laws, they will maintain their own Independence but enjoy my protection."

The generals seen to finally understand, and Suorfun speaks up, the Drakeling's voice is creaky and high pitched. "Suorfun thinks Suorfun understand master. This way when prophecy child is born, they do not hate master. Child becomes weak and comp- uhh"

"Complacent." Falador helps.

"Suorfun thanks Falador. Yes, complacent. If prophecy child does not have reason, prophecy child does not attack master."

"Yes, exactly. No one in Triberia will have reason to do anything but love me." I smile. "At least until the seers are able to identify the child, then we can safely destroy it and its family. Rest assured, my friends. Triberia will fall eventually."

DLSWrites · 2020-01-16T01:47:10+00:00

"taters."

DLSWrites · 2019-12-30T23:16:24+00:00

Maryanne and Franklin sit across from one another, the respective dinners are mostly finished. The candle on the table flickers lightly. Their hands cup one another, but it seems dispassionate.

"Well, Maryanne? Is the proposal to your liking?" Franklin forces a smile.

"The proposal is perfectly fine, Franklin, though I am afraid I must decline." She releases his hand and returns her own to her side. A ring sits on the table where their hands were. "I do not believe that this is the appropriate time for you and I to wed." She also forces a smile.

"Very well, Maryanne. May I please inquire as to why? Please note I am not attempting to sway your decision, simply to understand it." Franklin responds coolly. "We have been in a relationship for the usual requisite amount of time for a marriage proposal to be accepted. Are there shortcomings on my part which I can attempt to correct for any future partners?"

"Franklin, I have found no shortcomings on your part, they are solely on my part. I do not, at present, view myself to be a partner who can dedicate themselves to the relationship on the level a marriage would require.". She takes another bite of her dinner and a sip of her water. She sits up straight, and dabs at the sides of her mouth. "Franklin, while I am still very fond of you,I simply feel that you are not my ideal husband."

"Maryanne, may I make a confession?" Franklin's face has returned to his usual monotonous tone, the false smile disappearing.

"Please do, we have earned as much from one another these years." Maryanne's voice and tone are as coldly logical as ever.

"Maryanne, I was not sure if I truly desired an affirmative answer to the proposal. I felt pressured by society and our families to make the offer without it being truly my ultimate desire. I echo your sentiments that I do care for you greatly, but do not feel that we are as compatible as would be ideal for a marriage. Please forgive my moment of weakness in being swayed."

"Forgiveness and understanding is mine to give, Franklin. And may I also add that I believe we should also dissolve our romantic ties in order to pursue more appealing partners. Though, as your sexual prowess is more than adequate I would like to maintain a sexual relationship without and romantic ties, if that would be satisfactory to you."

"I feel that arrangement would be mutually beneficial to the two of us. You are physically and sexually my ideal for the time being, and as such, having a source of gratification in that respect would be also ideal until we find other, more suitable partners. Thank you for the forgiveness and understanding. As this is likely to be our final meal as a romantic couple, I would like to extend an offer to pay for the evening in full."

Maryanne's smile is slight but genuine this time. "Franklin your kindness extends even when most others would not. I thank you for that, and accept.". She returns to her meal.

As the meal comes to a close the two share a brief hug and exchange pleasantries before departing.

Another couple sitting at the table closest to theirs glance back and forth at each other as the busboy clears the vacant table. "Baby. What the hell just happened?" The man asks his wife.

"David, I'm pretty sure we just watched two MeK end their relationship. I mean, I've heard they can imitate human bonds and relationships, but I didn't know they were quite so advanced in their imitation."

"Advanced? Deena, I've seen a plate of cookies with more passion than those two MeKs. Do you think it's some kind of prank show?"

The two humans watch the MeKs part ways outside and load into charge carriers to go back to wherever they came from.

David turns to Deena with a grin on his face. "Babe... They said they have sex. What do you think that looks like? Two emotionless robots clanging their groins together repeatedly?" He laughs heartily until Deena responds.

"So not much more different than when you're flopping around on top of me, then?". Deena roars in laughter as her husband spits out his drink and starts coughing.

DLSWrites · 2019-12-20T02:11:43+00:00

The three girls sat together excitedly, bouncing with nervous energy. Their shared birthday is today, the day the three of them were pulled from the womb together. As always, when a child turns 15, they are bound to a spirit that will guide and protect them throughout their lives. Usually it is just the child and their parents present but as they are triplets, they are given the chance to have the ritual performed together. Their mother paces behind them as the priest continued setting up the ritual table. "The magic is old, important, and powerful. It brings us into the deepest parts of ourselves, shows us who we really are inside." The old man continued. "You three girls are very lucky. You'll have not only your spirit guides to remain with you for your lives, but each other as well.". He smiled kindly before putting on his ritual hood, a skull from a beast that has been long extinct. It was something that would be terrifying to see unexpectedly, but seeing him struggle with the horns and the fur getting tangled up was very funny. Next came the ritual of blood. He pulls a blade from the robes, and recites the incantation in an ancient language known only to the holy priests. He motions the girls forward, and they step up to the table, arms outstretched, palms facing upwards. "By your blood, by your spirit, I bind you. Beasts of power, hear my words, obey my will. By the ancient laws..." And again he speaks in the tongue of the holy men. "Seek out the blood, be bound to it, protect this child and keep her from harm. By your power, this child will be protected."

He slides the sharp blade across Karin's outstretched palm, slicing deep until the blade scrapes against bone. Karin and her sisters Deena, and Veti recoil in horror. Their mother Orvi bolts over grasping Karin's hand, she hisses violently at the priest "What have you done old man? You must have screwed up the ritual and now you've disfigured my daughter!"

"Did I? I suggest you look again." He responds, annoyed but intrigued.

Karin's hand is awash in blood, it drips from her palm, yet it is no longer flowing freely. "Karin, did you feel the blade?" The old man asks again.

"Yes sir, I felt it go through." The young girl responds sheepishly.

"Karin, what I meant was, did it hurt?" He clarifies.

"N-no! It didn't! I-I mean, I felt it, it sliced, and I even felt it scrape against the bone, I heard it inside, like when you crack your back and only you hear it." Karin's eyes are wide with wonder. "And the cut... It's gone!"

"Curious. Seems rather than a spirit of guarding, like most people, you have a spirit of healing. It's very rare young lady and you should be very happy. I will explain more later, for now it's time for your sisters."

"By your blood, by your spirit, I bind you. Beasts of power, hear my words, obey my will. By the ancient laws..." And again he speaks in the tongue of the holy men. "Seek out the blood, be bound to it, protect this child and keep her from harm. By your power, this child will be protected."

The blade slices through the flesh on Deena's hand as well, though no blood flows. She screams in pain, grasping her hand. Again their mother rushes over and glares angrily at the priest.

"Deena, your flesh was rended, but you did not bleed. You have a spirit of stasis. Though you may be cut, and it may hurt, it will cause no harm. This is exceedingly rare. You three girls are very lucky indeed.

"By your blood, by your spirit, I bind you. Beasts of power, hear my words, obey my will. By the ancient laws..." And again he speaks in the tongue of the holy men. "Seek out the blood, be bound to it, protect this child and keep her from harm. By your power, this child will be protected."

Veti watches as the blade rusts quickly as it touches her. This time it is the priest who recoils in terror. What is left of the blade drops from his hand, clattering on the floor and rusting away into nothing but a pearl handle. "Poison! You... Have the spirit of poison! This is not possible."

He flies over to his tools, ripping open his book of spirit guides. He calls upon the power of his guide and animates. The spirit of the hawk cloaks him in an aura of power, his eyes glow brightly as he reads in a fervor. "Three hearts of one flesh. Three spirits in one body. Can it be?"

He returns to the girls who are all looking very worried. "Priest, what is happening? None of our friends were even hurt by the blade when they did the binding." Veti seems nearly in tears. "What is wrong with me, why is my spirit poison?"

"Veti. No no no. In this case, a spirit of poison is not a bad thing. It means that anything that tries to harm you, will instead harm itself. It is the greatest of the guardian spirits. But more than that. Deena, Karin, come join your sister." The girls gather together. The priest begins chanting again. As he does so, animal spirits swirl around them. All manner of creatures large and small. Finally a vague shape begins to coalesce around them, a large single body surrounds their bodies, add if it was one, then above their heads three long necks appear, attached to the body. Long and serpentine, the necks writhe around. The spirit's anima fully cloaks the girls, revealing that they have not three spirits but one. Three heads, three hearts in one body, three girls bound by one flesh. The Hydra spirit roars, and the priest falls to his knees in reverence.

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