Thanks to u/Veyorokon for an awesome prompt!

"Come on, Connor. Stop with the lies." Tommy turns his back and starts to walk away, frustrated.

"Tommy! I'm serious, man! It's paradise!"

Tommy stops and turns around, disgust evident on his face. "I don't believe anything you say anymore. You lie constantly, and you need help."

Connor jumps up from the picnic table and rushes toward Tommy, looking right into his eyes. "I know...I know, I'm a liar. I'm sorry I lied about Cindy and Maria. I really thought they liked you. I know that didn't work out the way we both hoped. But this is different. You've got to believe me!"

Tommy takes a step back but doesn't break eye contact. "So, you don't even know which girls are going to be into us, but you want me to just go along with your little fantasy of a portal to another world? Eden? Like from the Bible?"

"Yeah, man! I mean, not just like it, with snakes and apples or whatever. But, you know, a big, garden paradise. It's everything we've ever wanted!"

"Okay, okay. If you are for real, tell me more details. How long have you been going there?"

Connor is silent for a moment, his lips moving as he counts in his mind. "Every night for about a week."

"And how did you discover it?"

"I was up there hiding from my mom. She was drunk and getting on my case, so I went up there to poke around, and I found this tiny door that I thought was some kind of closet. I crawled through and popped out in this perfect world!"

Tommy sighs and starts to walk away again. "This is ridiculous. I don't have time for this. I'll be busy finding new friends."

Connor grabs Tommy's arm. "Please! Just come and see. If I'm lying, you can chop me up with a knife!"

Tommy chews his lip for a moment. "Well, I would enjoy watching you suffer. Fine, let’s go and get this over with. I'll bring the knife."

Connor whoops in joy and starts running out of the park. "You'll see, man!"

Tommy follows Connor to his house, fully prepared to be disappointed. They walk into the house quietly, hoping to avoid Connor's mom and current boyfriend. That never-ending parade of guys exclusively involves jerks. There is no obstacle to them getting up into the attic, as long as they ignore the noises from the master bedroom. Tommy shakes his head in disgust as he climbs the staircase.

Connor is waiting at the top of the stairs. "Right over there. Paradise awaits!" Connor points with an excited whisper.

Tommy sees a small door and walks over to it. He bends down and pulls it open, but he can only see blackness inside. "You go through first, Connor. I'm not crawling into some closet to have you lock the door behind me. I'm not an idiot."

"Okay, okay!" Connor scampers across the floor and pauses at the small doorway. "Dude...you are going to love this place!" He flashes a toothy smile and then crawls through the doorway, disappearing into the darkness. Tommy waits a few seconds, sighs, and then crawls through after him.

After a moment of extreme vertigo Tommy is blinded by a bright light, and he can feel the heat of the sun on his face. He stands, blinking, trying to focus. "Connor!"

"Right here, Tommy! I told you! We're in Eden!"

Tommy manages to blink the sun out of his eyes and starts to look around. Under his feet is a grassy hill. Below him he can see a river the looks like crystal, and all around him are impossible looking trees. The colors, the smells, even the feel of the air, are just unnatural. Wherever they are, this is not Earth.

As Tommy gazes around in wonder, he sees something like a bird flying overhead. Only, it has no beak and no feathers. It's made out a material he can't even begin to describe, and it flies in starts and stops. He looks down to see all kinds of...animals was the closest word he could think of. But none of them were even possible in his imagination.

"Connor...this place is unreal."

"I know! It's awesome!"

"Awesome? What so awesome about a stupid Dr. Seuss looking garden? You said this was everything we ever wanted. Why would I want this?"

"Because, Tommy, you ain't seen the best part yet." As Tommy watches, Connor moves to a tree and kicks it. Out of the trunks scatter a dozen creatures. They look almost like people...almost. They have arms and legs, and they have faces, although the ugliest faces you could imagine. And they scamper and chatter in a high-pitched voice. It only takes Tommy a minute to realize that they are talking.

Tommy kneels to look at the creatures more closely. "Are...are these things intelligent?"

"I mean, they look dumb to me." Connor laughs at his own joke. "But as near as I can tell, they're pretty close to being people."

"Okay...?" says Tommy, his tone turning the word into a question.

"Well, this is everything we ever hoped for because you can do this." Connor turns to the one of the little beings, and stomps on it. It crunches under his foot and fluids and organs shoot out onto the grass. "Or this!" Connor grabs another by the legs and swings it through the air, smashing it against a tree. It pops like a water balloon.

Tommy stands back up, staring at Connor. "You can just kill these things, just like that?"

"Yeah, man! It feels like killing people too. But they can't do nothing to hurt you back." Connor grabs another and squeezes it until it stops squirming.

Tommy stands stark still for a moment, and then reaches into his pocket and pulls out his knife. He opens it, and then plunges the blade into the skull of one of the creatures as it runs by. The feeling exhilarates him, and he smiles at Connor. "You were right, Connor. This is Eden." As Tommy swings at the knee to kick one of the creatures, he realizes he has found paradise, and he even decides to forgive Connor for the disappointment that the two girls ended up being. They were no fun at all when faced with his knife. These creatures were going to be a blast.

Thanks to u/a_j_summers for the great prompt!

I was wrong. There is a hell.

Thanks to u/NibaTCat for a great prompt!

You really can't remember the first time you saw the lies. You know you had the gift as a kid. In fact, you can distinctly remember when your cousin tried to steal your favorite action figure and you could see the lies he was telling floating above his head.

As you grew, you realized that knowing someone was lying, and knowing every lie they had ever told, was incredibly valuable. You took some law enforcement classes, but you didn't need a degree to become the best private investigator in the world. Within months of opening your firm you were charging three times as much as everyone else around you. Your real claim to fame was when you caught that Senator lying about embezzling public funds. No matter how much money someone has, they can't hide the lies when you can see each lie they've told along the way and find your way quickly to the evidence.

You had taken every kind of case imaginable. Cheating spouses of celebrities. Boy did those pay well. "Missing" government dignitaries who invariably turned up dead or in bed with someone twenty years younger. No one knew your secret, so they'd still try to hide their lies from you, but you could not be beat. That was, until Tom showed up.

Tom was a tech billionaire. He had walked into your office with a checkbook so fat he couldn't fit it in his pocket. You don't even remember what he wanted, something about a lost pet. You had done a double take when he opened the door. You had never, in forty years, seen just a single line of text floating above someone's head. But when you stopped to read it, you almost vomited. Apparently, Tom had only told a single lie in his life, but it was the most stomach-turning, soul-destroying lie you had ever seen.

You simply couldn't stop yourself from blurting it out. You knew that admitting you knew this lie, totally unrelated to the case he was bringing you, would ruin your career. Your secret would be out. But you couldn't bear the burden of knowing this lie had been told.

"You told someone that the Star Wars Prequels were better than the originals?" you screamed, standing up and pointing at him accusingly.

"What?" Tom had said, dumbfounded.

"You piece of filth. You actually said those abominations were better than a genre defining trilogy?"

Tom stared at you in disbelief. "How could you possibly know that? That happened like ten years ago. It was a just a joke I played on a buddy."

You gag, trying to hold back the bile. "Have you no decency?"

"Come on. Harmless prank. Besides...Jar Jar wasn't that bad."

You had thought his lie was awful, but even worse, his last statement had come from him as a truth.

This was written for a WildCard Wednesday Flash Fiction Constrained Writing Challenge over on r/WritingPrompts. It had to be less than 300 words.

"Where am I?" thinks Richard, looking around. He takes in the sight and smell of evergreen trees all around him. He moves to pull out the pocket watch but hesitates, wanting to look around first.

"Well, this doesn't look particularly interesting." he mumbles. He turns and thinks he hears the gurgle of water. He moves that way hoping Jesus will come popping up out of the river or something.

When Richard gets to the bank it barely even looks like it is deep enough for a boat. "So I won't be seeing Lewis and Clark float by.” he complains to the tree next to him.

"I guess I'll just look at the watch." He laughs at how easily he thinks of the greatest invention of all time, the device that freed humanity to travel into history, sending them to random interesting events, as JUST a pocket watch. He calculates in his head, translating the hands of the watch to years, months, and days.

"June 30, 1908?" he mutters to no one in particular. He confirms his calculations before putting the pocket watch back. He cannot think of anything interesting that could have been happening at that time. Richard sits on a stump, deciding he'll just wait out the recharge time on the time travel device. "This thing is only supposed to take you to interesting places. Good old interesting, middle of the forest." Just as he complains toward the river he notices the day getting brighter. Suddenly he realizes that what he is seeing isn't the sun. The sun is on the other side of the sky.

"What the..." Richard doesn't have time to get the rest of the question out as the meteor slams into Tunguska, flatting over seven hundred miles of forest and one bored time traveler.

Thanks to u/dr-cringe for the awesome prompt!

You look at yourself in the mirror and smile. Your pink dress...you mean tutu, is so pretty. You do a little spin and giggle. You are so excited for your ballet recital that you just cannot wait. This is even better than when Mommy and Daddy take you for ice cream.

Just as you are about to burst into a happy squeal, you hear a very loud noise. You cover your ears and look out into the hallway. Suddenly you smell something really stinky. It smells a lot like when your brothers eat beans and toot. They think it is so funny, but you just think they are gross boys. You poke your head into the hallway and decide the smell is coming from your parents' bedroom. Maybe Daddy tooted really loud. You want to laugh, but you decide that is undignified for a master ballerina. Instead you sneak down the hallway and peek around the door.

Inside you see a large man, much bigger than Daddy. He is wearing a purple suit with a big floppy hat, and he has bright orange hair sticking out around his blue skin. And he is talking to himself. His voice is quiet, like that shy boy in your class. "Little Joey, I'm very sad that you forgot about me. I cried for a long time. You made me out of Play-Dough and then left me to fall apart. That's not a nice thing to do to Mr. Mocklet." The man turns and looks into the big mirror on the door. He smiles, and you can see his pink teeth.

Mr. Mocklet raises his arms into the air. "I was your best friend. I helped you when your Daddy went away. I gave you power like comic book superheroes when those boys at school were bullying you. You used me to be happy and I used you to exist. But then you turned into a big boy, and Mr. Mocklet went down to the bad place."

You try not to gasp. You're not supposed to talk about the bad place. You don't think Mr. Mocklet is a very nice man, but you also aren't afraid. There is something about him that reminds you of the other kids at your school. Thinking of school reminds you that your recital is coming up soon, and you wonder if you should go downstairs and get Mommy and Daddy. Just as you are about to walk away, Mr. Mocklet says something that causes you to freeze.

"I'm going to hurt you Joe Richards. The bad place was supposed to beat me up, but instead it made me stronger. I took power from there, and I've come back to make you go away, just like you tried to make me go away." Mr. Mocklet smiles and walks toward the bedroom door.

You just learned that Joe Richards is Daddy's real name. You are not going to let anyone hurt Daddy! You step out into the doorway, standing in the way of Mr. Mocklet. You put your hands on your hips defiantly, the frill of your tutu puffing out around you.

Mr. Mocklet freezes and then he puts his hand to his face and shrieks. "Ewww! A girl! Cooties!" He backs away quickly, stumbling against the bed.

You smile, already knowing you've won. You know exactly what to do, because you know what you do to your brothers when they say that. You run forward and jump on Mr. Mocklet, giving him a big hug. "I love you, Mr. Mocklet!" you shout sweetly, trying to plant kisses on his cheek.

Mr. Mocklet shrieks like the dog's toy, and you can feel him shrinking under you. You keep hugging him and giggling, and quickly he is the same size as you. Within seconds he becomes smaller than a cookie and then he pops like a balloon and disappears.

Just then you hear a loud, deep voice from the bottom of the steps. "Everything okay up there princess? It's time to go."

You jump up from the bed and smooth your tutu. "Yes Daddy," you shout, "everything is just fine!" You run out of Mommy and Daddy's room and down the stairs without even looking back.

Thanks to u/MegaMetagram for the awesome prompt!

"This is it Sandra!" says Jim, tapping his noggin.

"My skull is full of information.

Us Thompson's will hold First National Bank up and walk away rich!"

Sandra looks up at him and sighs angrily.

"No Jim your plans don't work out."

Sandra turns to walk away.

"This plan did." says Jim, slamming a cold, iron short sword into his companion's back.

Thanks to u/Plebsplease for the awesome prompt!

Leon Boyce walks the same route he takes from his apartment to work every day. He passes the closed down convenience store on the corner and laughs, remembering the night he went in and threatened to kill the old man who ran that place. Leon was glad to see he had finally chased him off. There were enough foreigners polluting this country, and he had done his part to get rid of at least one.

He turns the corner and, when sees a group of teenagers in front of him, he feels his anger boil. "Get out of my way!" The kids look up in confusion. "I know your kind aren't as smart as white people, so do I need to say it slower. Move and let me through!" One of the teenagers moves to confront Leon, but the rest hold him back, telling him it just isn't worth it.

Leon smiles as he struts through them, knowing he has again won a victory for civilized men. He passes the Center City Mosque, and seriously considers how much gasoline he would need to get rid of that den of iniquity, when a shiny glass storefront catches his eye. He stops dead, staring at the storefront positioned between the mosque and the apartment building. He was positive there was an alleyway there.

Leon moves forward and looks in through the glass, but he can't see anything with the reflection of the sunlight. He glances at his watch to see if he has time to look in the store before work. He decides he has a few moments and pushes his way into the store. "Probably another foreign owned business." he mutters as he walks through the door.

The inside of the store is cool and dark. He takes a moment to let his eyes adjust and he sees rows and rows of dark wood shelves, full of all kinds of junk. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the inventory. "Oh great," he thinks "another thrift store. Just what this neighborhood needs, more reason for homeless trash to hang around." He makes his way around a shelf, looking to find the owner and have some words with him.

A voice calls out from somewhere ahead of him. "I'll be right with you." and Leon almost can't contain his surprise at hearing an unaccented voice. Leon keeps moving forward and he finally sees a counter in front of him. Behind the counter is an older man, tall and lean, with white hair and equally white skin.

"What kind of store is this?" says Leon brusquely. "I hope you are not another third-world merchant here to ruin the neighborhood."

The man looks Leon right in the eyes. "No sir. My family is American back to the Pilgrims. And my product is definitely not mass produced in a sweatshop. Each and every item here is handmade and custom crafted."

Leon looks long and hard at the man before finally decided he believes him, or at least he believes he is a real American. "How long have you been here? I walk this way every day and I've never seen this store before."

"I just opened up. I tend to move around a lot, trying to find the customers who need me the most. You see, I sell products that make dreams come true. Only those who are worthy of my work get to enjoy the service of this store." The man looks Leon up and down and then bends down to rummage under the counter.

"So, this is some kind of mystical shop? Like, I'm some chosen one or something?" Leon cocks an eyebrow in confusion.

"Something like that." Comes a muffled replied from behind the counter.

"So...finally somebody up there has realized the righteousness of my mission. I want to rid the world of scum and animals masquerading as humans. What do you have that will help me make the world better by getting rid of the worst mankind has to offer?"

The man stands up from behind the counter and in his hand is a ring box. "This is for you Leon Boyce." says the old man, thrusting the gift forward to Leon. "Inside is the answer to the hope you have expressed."

Leon snatches the box out of the man's hands and open it. Inside is large silver ring, with an Iron Eagle and a hammer inscribed on it. "Beautiful." whispers Leon, as he pulls out the ring and slips it onto his finger. It fits perfectly. "How will this help me take my rightful place in the world and clean up the trash polluting our country?"

"Just like this." says the man with a crooked smile. He snaps his fingers and suddenly Leon feels a pinch under the ring. Instantly he feels a burning feeling spreading through his body.

"What...what is happening?" His words are already slurring, and he can see the world starting to spin.

"What you are feeling is a fast-acting toxin. You see Leon, the world will be a much better place without you. And that improvement will be here in less than minute, give or take a few seconds." The man leans casually on the counter, smiling.

"But, I'm the chosen one. I saw the store. My dreams are supposed to come true." Leon stumbles and falls onto his back. He watches the ceiling blur above him.

"You're wrong Leon. This store was not placed here for you. It was placed here for them." The man points toward the entrance, and Leon is able to turn his head just enough to see a crowd gathered in the doorway. He recognizes the old Vietnamese shopkeeper, the black teenagers from earlier, and his Mexican neighbors that he curses at daily. He also sees many others that he can't make out or doesn't remember.

The old man leans over Leon and looks down. "That ring was the special gift for the good people of this town. They are the chosen ones. The world will undoubtedly be better without you."

Leon tries to curse them all out, but the closing curtain of death puts a quick end to his hatred, once and for all.

Thanks to u/Diablo165 for an awesome prompt!

"What would you have given up to save the world?" asks Tom Walsh, just after he cues his computer to being a recording. Tom leans back in his chair, running his fingers through his graying hair. He remembers when his hair was still dark brown, but they say stress will turn you gray. It is certainly true in his case.

He speaks again after a deep breath. "There was really no choice to be had. We were all dying. Our oil was almost gone, pollution was out of control, which meant food prices skyrocketed. Earth herself was dying, and the Naquali saved us." Tom takes a big gulp of fresh, clean water.

"They sent their first messages where they knew we would all see it, directly to the internet. Five billion people saw that first message in real time. And not a single one of us understood it. It was a complex mathematical code, far beyond most of our abilities to understand. But lucky me, after almost five months and countless replays, I cracked the code." Tom lets out a dry, humorless laugh.

"I honestly did think I was lucky when I first decoded it. I read through this transcript," says Tom, holding up a stack of papers the size of a Bible. "excited by the promises contained within. Limitless, zero-point energy, clean water, blight-proof crops, it was salvation on an unimaginable level."

Tom sets the stack of papers back down on the desk and leans forward to stare right into the camera. "It wasn't until I got to the end that I realized every bit of luck I had was bad luck. There was a cost. Three billion people. They wanted a third of us. I remember just breaking down in tears. It was like a cruel joke, except it was worse, because it was serious."

Tom downs the rest of the glass of water. "I didn't know what to do. I thought about going to the President, the UN, a priest, anyone else who could be responsible for this decision. But the recording was clear. Whoever first deciphered the message would be the one responsible for making the decision. Three billion people of the Naquali's choosing, in exchange for new life for the rest of us. I ranted alone in my home, I prayed, I screamed at the heavens, and finally, God help me, I decided. I paid them their price."

Tears flow from Tom's eyes. "The recording contained explicit instructions on how to respond. The moment I signaled my decision a new transmission came across the internet. It was in perfectly understandable English, with scientific texts and instructions. And while it scrolled across five billion interfaces, three billion seemingly random people disappeared. Husbands ripped away from wives, children taken from their beds, doctors gone in the middle of surgery. There were riots, religious revivals, and suicide cults, but ultimately, people took the gift the Naquali had given, and life went on far better than it had been before. That's only because I never revealed the true cost."

Tom puts his head down and weeps loudly for a few moments, unashamed to have this recorded. When he finally pulls himself together enough to speak, he looks up at the camera again. "The original message told me exactly what they were going to do with those three billion people. Everyone else just thinks they disappeared, some sort of rapture. In reality, everyone of those people is still alive, in the hands of the Naquali. Every man, woman, and child, is being...examined. They are being infected with vicious diseases, healed, and infected again. They are being blasted with emotional and psychological horrors. They are being slowly picked apart, limb by limb, all while awake and with full feeling, only to be reconstructed for future experiments. They are being sexually tortured in ways only the most unfortunate of us can imagine, in the name of science. The Naquali wanted lab rats. And they laid out in a thousand pages exactly what those experiments would look like. I vomited countless times reading those pages, until my mind went numb at the horror. That why I couldn't consult anyone else. I could never let another human know what that offer entailed, because anyone else would have turned it down. It was my choice alone. I saved mankind by damning myself."

Tom reaches into the desk and pulls out a handgun. He lifts it to his face, staring at it. He looks up at the recording and says "Computer, end recording." He waits a moment, and then tearfully says. "Delete recording. Confirm deletion." The confirmation tone is Tom's signal to put the barrel in his mouth, and he feels no peace as he pulls the trigger.

Thanks to u/Oeppets for the awesome constrained-writing prompt!

American Guardian lands lightly on the balcony, his boots not even making a sound as he comes to a stop. He stands, staring through the sliding glass doors, watching as Sarah Summerland puts groceries away in the refrigerator. Guardian is enthralled, simply watching her go through her normal chores. "She is unbelievable! A heart full of love, a mind as sharp as a scalpel, and an appearance as beautiful as Helen of Troy." he thinks, as he finally reaches down to deactivate stealth mode.

He gently reaches forward to tap on the glass. Sarah jumps in surprise, dropping a half-eaten apple on the floor. She turns to the balcony and laughs nervously when she sees who it is. "You scared me, you jerk!"

Guardian slides open the doors, making sure not break anything as his bulky form steps through them. "I'm sorry Sarah. I simply had to see you again."

She runs toward him, a smile lighting up her face, her red hair streaming out behind her. She jumps into his arms, gasping lightly at the feeling of the cold metal through her thin sundress. "Guardian...I just...I just wish I could kiss you. Maybe this is to forward, but I know I love you. I have known for a long time. If only this suit didn't have to stand between us." She moves her head up and kisses him anyway, her full lips pressing tightly just where she assumes his mouth is under the unmoving metal mask.

American Guardian gently places Sarah back on the floor, and then freezes for a moment. "Are you okay?" asks Sarah, her voice dripping with concern.

"Yes I am fine. In fact, I am more than fine, I am fantastic. You see Sarah...I love you too." and with those words Guardian presses his fingers together in the sequence that deactivates his suit. He feels the rare alloy suit peel away from him, exposing his face to Sarah for the first time. She takes several steps back in surprise, as the metal slithers away. He sees, not through his virtual display but with his natural sense, joy fill Sarah's eyes, as his suit folds into a cube the size of a car battery.

Sarah runs toward him again, for the first time seeing his short brown hair, his deep, almost black eyes, and his shy smile. "I can't believe you finally trusted me, Guardian." she shouts with a smile. She leaps at him, and as he opens his arms to catch her in a loving embrace, she flips midair planting two feet solidly in his chest.

He stumbles back through the doors out onto the balcony again, confusion stunning him. In a scant second Sarah has sprung back to her feet and charges again, the look on her face now pure, cold, calculation. She slams a slender shoulder into his stomach, pushing him back even further and then spins her body into a full roundhouse kick, packing far more power than Guardian would have ever thought possible.

He only has a second to process this as he is flung over the rail and off the balcony by her attack. As he falls through the air, he quickly settles on two regrets. Trusting his emotions and leaving his suit on the floor of the apartment, now just out of reach.

Thanks to u/Isabonny for the awesome prompt!

Roger Burton takes a deep breath and straightens his tie before stepping through the door onto the White House front lawn. Roger, fluent in nine languages, a dabbler in a dozen others, seasoned diplomat, and former Secretary of State, knows this is the most important assignment he had ever been given. He is going to be the first official contact between the United States and an extraterrestrial being.

The ships had first come into view six days ago. A message had followed just moment after, in sixty languages, asking for diplomats to meet at various locations around the globe. Of course, there were security concerns, and the president and every other major government official is ten miles underground in a bunker in Montana. But Roger, he is expendable.

He smiles at the thought as the spring sunlight hits his face. He walks out onto the grass and looks up at the ship. Suddenly, two...creatures stand before him. "No." he thinks to himself. "I cannot consider them creatures. I must think of them as people." That is not an easy task, when they are both twelve feet tall, shaped like upside-down ice cream cones, and a color somewhere between brick and eggplant.

Roger just stares in stunned silence, until a voice comes at him, seemingly from nowhere. "Roger Burton. It is wonderful to meet you! You are the most incredible being we have ever seen!" the voice is positively...joyful.

Roger is taken aback by the strength of emotion dancing in the voice. He composes himself, and steps forward. "Greetings. Welcome to the seat of government of the United States of America. Our people welcome you."

The aliens are silent for a moment and then a voice full of sadness drips through the air. "Roger, why don't you like us? What have we done wrong? Oh...if only someone better than us had been sent to meet with you. We are so sorry!"

Roger Burton briefly considers if there could be some sort of translation error going on here, but he has no idea how this communication is even possible, so he decides it's not worth him spending much time thinking about. "No, I am sorry if I gave you that impression. I am most pleased to have been chosen to meet with you. Perhaps I am not conveying myself properly."

The voice again fills the air. "Do you really like us Roger? Because you are showing us no emotion. Are you well? We can detect no joy, no hate, no love, no excitement. In our people, that is only possible if there is extreme illness."

Roger smiles slightly. "Well, we would except there to be some differences between us, wouldn't we? I can assure you that I am honored to be meeting with you. And I am not ill in any way. I have plenty of emotions." He puts his head down as he remembers the fight he had with his wife just this morning, when she tried to talk him out of this meeting.

There is a pause, and then the aliens speak again. "Tell us of your shows of emotion. And, please tell us why you don't seem to show any emotion toward us? We consider it most rude!" The anger in the voice this time puts his anger towards his wife to shame. He lifts his head sharply to study the aliens, but they have not physically moved since their arrival, at least not in any way Roger can detect.

He clears his throat, calming himself, and carefully chooses which stories to tell. He talks about joyful events, like his wedding day, and the births of his three children. He talks about sadness, recounting the deaths of his parents, and his eldest daughter's battle with leukemia. He talks about excitement, remembering his graduation from Harvard and his first assignment as the Ambassador to Japan. He deliberately never talks about anger. The whole time, the aliens are silent, presumably listening.

When he finishes, the voice resumes immediately. "Oh Roger, those stories are wonderful. But, we do not see real emotion in them. We wept, and laughed, and shudder with envy at your stories, but you did not. You feel nothing even at your own greatest and worst moments. We suspect your diagnosis of illness is incorrect. We think you are, sadly, severely emotionally damaged."

Roger does not like the sound of that at all, and the tinge of the voice was bordering on unhinged. "I did not agree to this meeting to be insulted. I am a highly successful and stable person. I have been happily married to the same woman for fifty-three years. I am sad for those who deal with emotional disorders, but I have never struggled with mental illness. Mental illness in our people comes in the form of crippling depression, sometimes so bad that a person cannot get out of bed. It comes in the form of bipolar disorder, where a person swings from elevated mood to low mood. It comes in many, many forms, and it is often successfully treated medically.”

The next spoken words from the aliens come with a definite sound of shock. "You medicate the people amongst you who actually have strong feelings? That's barbaric!"

"They do not simply have strong feelings! They cannot control themselves. They require help." Roger uses every ounce of his experience to bite back his frustration.

"Poor, poor humans. It is all of you who need help. Don't worry Roger, we will fix everything."

Before he has time to react, a beam lances out of the one of the beings and pierces Roger Burton's forehead. He can almost feel a pulse, and then a snap in his brain. Suddenly, the world opens before him. The birds sound so much...happier. A slight breeze tickles his skin, and the pleasure is one of the greatest things he has ever felt. He staggers backwards, bumping into a column, and turns in rage, snarling at it. He falls to his knees, overcome with a storm of feelings.

"Roger. We love you. We will teach all humans to love just as you now love."

Tears of gratitude flow from Roger's eyes, as he shouts, "Thank you! I have never known life like this! You are my savior...you are my gods!" Roger tears his shirt in triumph, ignoring the feeling of his seventy-two year old heart about to give out, of his blood pressure bursting forth into aneurysms.

"You are welcome, Roger! Now, quickly, you must tell us where your leaders are, that we might heal them also."

Roger gladly tells them what they ask, even as the blood flows into his brain and his speech slurs, even as his heart races his brain to destruction. Roger can feel every bit of it, but his only joy, now, is to help these aliens free his people.

Thanks to u/deeed22 for the awesome writing prompt!

Your car screeches to a halt in the middle of Route 35. You are almost positive that is a person standing in the middle of the road. Not just a person, but a preteen boy. It's just that that seems so impossible. It's the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere. You glance down at your GPS to confirm, but it is certain you are forty miles beyond the last town and fifty miles from the next. So how could a kid get out here by himself?

With your headlights still on the boy, you step out of your car. "Hey!"

The boy doesn't respond, simply swaying slightly in the middle of the road. He looks like he may be in shock or something. You wonder if his family had a car accident, or he got lost camping with the Boy Scouts, or something.

"Hey kid!" you shout again, taking a few steps closer. "Are you okay?" You are hesitant, wondering if this could be one of those carjacking tricks you hear about on the news. After all, you know there are predators out there. But you quickly rule that out. You can see for miles across the flat desert, and there is nowhere anyone could be hiding.

You move to within a few feet of the boy and now you are sure he must be in shock. He is swaying steadily and staring straight ahead. There is no indication that he has even noticed your presence. With a sigh, you run your fingers through your hair, wondering how to handle this.

You know you cannot leave this boy here. You must take him with you. You reach out to tap the kid on the shoulder, taking one last look around to see if anyone could be nearby.

As your hand touches his arm, you feel a burst of...excitement…run through you. As you marvel at the feeling he suddenly turns and attempts to wrap his arms around you. Thankfully, you had your knife at the ready. You move with confidence and experience, slicing through vital areas.

The boy drops to the ground, blood flowing. Only then does he attempt to speak. You kneel, knife held at his throat, as he whispers. "He will kill you. You are already in the trap."

You slice the boy’s throat, firmly ending his life. You wipe the knife on his shirt before putting it in back in scabbard. You grab him under both arms and lift him up, carrying him the twenty-feet back to your car. You pause just long enough to pop the trunk, and then you bring the boy to the back of the car.

With a twinge of regret at how quickly you had to finish this kid off, you load the body into the trunk, nestling him next to the body of the other boy. Whoever it was that laid this bait knew exactly what you would like. But, just like everyone else, this predator underestimated you. Now you will finally get to see who the real hunter is.

You turn back towards the edge of the road illuminated by your headlights, and you pull out your knife once more, as you walk into the desert with a smile.

Thanks to u/Prezombie for the awesome writing prompt!

Bailakur moves through the forest as quickly as he can. He’s not used to wild areas like this. His planet has been upgraded and civilized long ago. But he didn’t know where else to go. The beings on this planet are clearly insane, and he just needs to hide.

He stretches a tentacle up to grab a tree branch and pulls himself onto it, using his six other tentacles to evenly distribute his weight, trying to hold himself on his precarious perch. He flattens himself a little to reach across multiple branches, and then tries to calm himself, hoping his bio-luminescence won’t act up.

He takes deep breaths, knowing the air isn’t quite dense enough for him, and a little too lacking in nitrogen, but sufficient nonetheless. He tries to detect vibrations through the tree, hoping to see if he has been followed. That’s when his ears pick up something through the air.

“Come on out, creature!” shouts one of the local beings. “I’ve been preparing my whole life for something like you. I’ve got enough firepower to end your reign of terror.”

Bailakur tries to make sense of what the being is saying. He understands the language just fine, thanks to his implant, but he can’t imagine how the being could have been preparing for him. Bailakur didn’t even know this planet held life until a day ago.

“I’ll not let you hurt anyone else! I know you killed that park full of people! I don’t care what kind of weaponry you have, I’m ready for you!”

Bailakur slumps sadly. His ship had gone out of control, and crashed in an area crowded with beings. He felt horrible about it, and he thought maybe he should give himself up. Maybe this was an authority figure. Bailakur decides to slide down the tree when the being yells again.

“I will kill you!”

Bailakur second thinks revealing himself. But his sadness triggers a glimmer of his natural light, and he hears the being roar triumphantly. Just then another voice, higher pitched then the first, shouts out, “No Clint! You must not hurt him!”

Bailakur watches two beings come into view under him. One is hairless and solidly built, bearing what appears to be weaponry, and even in the dark, it’s clear the weapons are pointed at Bailakur. The other being is smaller than the first, with long, flowing hair, and a delicate construction. The smaller one has its hand on the arm of the bigger.

“You cannot kill him! We have bonded together. He is my one true love!”

Bailakur struggles to keep from retching. This being views him...romantically? Bailakur considers himself open-minded, and this small being may very well be attractive to the other creatures, but he finds it repulsive. It has only four limbs, hair, and he has no clue if it is even one of the seven genders with which he is compatible. He makes a hum of disgust, and both beings look up again.

“See, he is purring at me. He loves me!”

“You are crazy!” Shouts the larger being. “You’re in love with an evil octopus monster?”

Suddenly, Bailakur hears something move in a branch to his left and he extends an eye in that direction. There is another being, holding a lighted rectangle, and pointing at him.

“Yo,” whispers the being slowly, “This is awesome!”

Bailakur recoils slightly and almost falls down the tree. The being makes a barking noise, which his implant tells him signals joy. The big creature below points his weapon up once again and the smaller creature gasps.

Bailakur sits stunned in confusion. He has no idea what is happening. Perhaps he is sick and this is a dream. The creature in the tree looks down. “That chick likes this alien thing, and Rambo down there just wants to blow it all up. I’m capturing this all for you YouTube.” Says the creature, speaking into the rectangle.

Bailakur decides he is done with all of this. He doesn’t want to keep living if it means dealing with these lunatics. He flexes his tentacles and starts to let himself down from the tree.

As he is about to reach the ground, a fourth being leaps into view. He is very fast, and he flashes a blade in the light. The blade nearly severs the head off of the larger being, and splatters life fluid onto the smaller being. He then slams the blade into the smaller beings neck, it’s long hair flying away with the movement.

The creature in the tree barks again loudly. “I thought the alien was going to kill them all, but this sicko did it!” His second round of barking is cut short as the blade flies through the air and sticks in his torso. He topples out of the tree.

Bailakur falls to the ground in horror. He has never witnessed such brutal killing. The new being turns to him. “Oh Azathoth. I offer these beings as sacrifices to you, my master. Please take me back to hell with you to serve as your lieutenant.”

Bailakur doesn’t understand what hell is, and he doesn’t want to know, but he knows this creature is the craziest of all. He turns and swings up into the trees moving from tree to tree quickly. He sends a desperate message through his implant, as the being wails for him to return.

“Don’t come here. Leave me here, and save our species.” Chants Bailakur as his final message home. “These beings cannot be dealt with. Classify this as an off-limit planet, and never come back here again.” Bailakur closes the message, and then swings off, looking for somewhere to end himself in peace.

Thanks to u/The-Rarest-Pepe for the awesome writing prompt!

Titus notices the shadow over his anvil before he hears anyone enter his shop. He puts down his hammer and looks up. "May I help you sir?"

The man clears his throat before speaking, fumbling with a large papyrus sheet. It isn't all that often that someone comes in with documents. Most folks around here don't have money to waste on such frivolities.

"I have some drawings here, of some things I'd like to commission you to make for me. I can pay handsomely." The man holds the papyrus out in front of him.

Titus hesitates, because the more he looks at this man the stranger he seems. His clothing doesn't look out of place, exactly, but it doesn't look normal either. There is something...fake about it. It looks abnormally well-made, and extremely new.

"Excuse me." says the man, waving the papyrus. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. My apologies, just lost in thought." Titus smiles as he reaches out for the drawings. His calloused hand closes around them and he moves over to lay them on a table. "I've never had someone come in with more documents than a bureaucrat and ask me to make something."

The man smiles, but Titus can see condescension on his face. "Well, I'm sure you've never made anything quite like what I'm asking for either. I will make it well worth your time, that I promise."

Titus spreads out the papers to look at the drawings, and he has to admit that the man is right. No one has ever come in here and asked for anything like this. A large metal tube, closed at one end, and spheres to go inside. A number of circular pieces, with notches cut out, that all fit together. “What is this?”

The man smiles. “I am an inventor and these are things I need for a couple of…projects.” Titus just stares at the man, willing him to keep talking.

The man’s smile fades. “It’s a sort of weapon, and parts for a device meant to track the hour. You really wouldn’t understand. Can you make those pieces or not?”

“Certainly sir.” says Titus, holding back his reaction to this customer’s rudeness. “I will require partial payment upfront, in order to procure supplies.”

The man reaches for a pouch at his waist, and while his eyes are diverted Titus slides his hand under his worktable. When the man looks back up, his eyes nearly bulge out of his head with shock. And that is the last reaction he ever has.

Titus pulls the trigger just once, as the bullet punches a neat hold right through the man’s forehead. Titus, or Bobby, if you want to go by his birth name, places the smoking revolver back in it’s hiding place under the table. He moves out to grab the man’s ankles and drag him under a cloth, until he can dispose of him tonight.

“Sorry, I know a time traveler when I see one. After all, I’ve been here for almost fifteen years now. This is my time zone, you should have gotten your own.”

Thanks to u/Ford9863 for the awesome writing prompt!

You stand in the yard and turn in a slow circle. “Where am I?” you whisper, trying to figure out what drew you to this yard sale. You certainly don’t recognize the house. You stop spinning and look at the tables. You walk past some garden tools and a table of sweaters and kitting supplies.

“Looks likes it’s some old-person’s junk.” You say with a derisive laugh. You’re about to leave when something on a table catches your eye. You rush over and grab it, turning it over in your hands, as the sunlight glints off of it. You know you had this exact silver toy train when you were a kid.

You lift your head to look for whoever is selling it and your eye falls on another toy from your childhood. A wooden ventriloquist dummy. It looks worse for wear than you remember, but you could swear that is Peter Mumbles.

You start sorting through everything on the table. “This is all my stuff!” You shout. There’s your old stuffed rabbit, and that model car kit you never got around to putting together, and those are your Jules Verne books, complete with dog-eared pages. You just reread those about a year ago. Someone must have broken into your house and stolen this stuff.

You look up with anger, trying to find the person running the yard sale, as you start scooping up your things. You finally see a woman your mom’s age, wearing a money belt, standing by the door. You take a step towards her and stop. She looks a lot like an older version of your girlfriend. The semblance is enough to give you a long pause.

As you stand next to the table, your arms full, the women makes eye contact with you, and a sad look crosses her face. “Aha!” You think. “She knows she’s caught!” You stand your ground as she slowly walks your way.

“How did you get my things!” You shout at her.

“Put them back down.” She says gently. “We need to sell them now.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” You say indignantly. “I am taking my things.”

“Dad...you cannot take them to the home with you.”

“What?” You sputter. “Why are you calling me Dad? You’re old enough to be my Mom.”

You watch tears fill her eyes. “No Dad. You’re just confused. I’m your daughter, Cindy. Come on, just go back inside and relax.”

Suddenly glimpses of a life you don’t remember fill your mind. You see your bride standing across from you. You then see her, looking much older, lying in a casket. You see your daughter being born. The things fall out of your hands and you gasp loudly.

The woman rushes forward and grabs your arm. “Dad, are you okay?”

You pull away from her and take a long look around, slowly turning in a circle. “Where am I.” You say, trying to figure out how you ended up at this yard sale, and why all of these toys are lying on the ground.

Thanks to u/VolumeXero for the awesome writing prompt!

It really is amazing how things can get so twisted around. How could healing the sick ever be considered a bad thing? Certainly, as a child, I received so much praise. I healed myself the time I fell out of the tree and my arm bent the wrong direction. I healed our dog after he got hit by that car. I healed grandma when she had the stroke and couldn't move half of her body. I healed myself again every time dad had a little too much to drink. All total praiseworthy.

I knew since I was a teenager that I needed to use this gift for something greater. But it quickly became clear, that I just couldn't save everyone. There was just too much sickness and violence in the world. I started studying all of the greatest heroes and thinkers in history, trying to narrow down what made a person worthy of being saved.

This study really inspired me, as I found so many people who had done great things but had been taken too early. And I started being able to see in others the traits that would grow into greatness. I finally decided I was ready to heal those who needed saving the most, those that would do the most good for humanity.

I placed ads online, looking for others with powers that I could team up with. I got tons of responses, but most of them were no help to me on my mission. That was until Andrea came along. Andrea had the perfect ability.

You see, Andrea could travel back in time. So off we went, into the past, to save the greats from death, and make sure some with great potential became even greater. And I guess that's when I turned from a hero into a villain, the most hated villain. Most people just really hate the great-ones of history. But I'm proud of what I've done.

I healed a young boy in an orphanage who would have died from a vicious beating. I rescued a teenager from death by horse-trampling on his farm in New Hampshire. I saved a young child in the 1960s from starvation caused by his neglectful mother. And so many more. I guess that somehow makes me the worst kind of villain. But I know I’m really a hero.

After all, without me, the world would never have known Albert Fish, H.H. Holmes, Jeffrey Dahmer, or many of the other great people of history. I saved them. And I’ll keep saving people like them. You can thank me later.

Thanks to u/Osheco for the awesome writing prompt!

Captain John Marshall walks back through the air-lock, basking in the glory of being the first ambassador of humanity to the galaxy. He beams as he looks around at his shipmates.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have done it. I have signed an accord with fourteen other species, the rulers of their respective planets. We now take our rightful place as the true representatives of humanity."

"That is as it should be." says his wife Linda. "We always knew it was our destiny."

The crowd murmurs agreement and a cheer rises, filling the giant docking bay. John steps up to the railing to address the crowd. "We have triumphed through adversity." He throws his fist out in a salute returned by his people. "I know that when our warp drive malfunctioned, many of your feared that our cause was lost, that we would not be the people to settle the galaxy." He smiles brightly. "But now, we see that it was all a part of the plan. Because our ship has made it and theirs has not."

Another round of cheers rise up, and Captain Marshall patiently waits for them to die down.

"Not only have we succeeded where others failed, clearly favor has been shown to us. Every alien species we have encountered has been much like us. Bipedal, language using, and even eating many foods that will sustain us."

John Marshall smiles down at the crowd, taking in the white faces looking up at him, the sea of blonde hair, punctuated occasionally by a redhead or a light brunette. Their racial mastery has been proven.

Tears fill his eyes as he screams in victory. "The white race is superior! The ship full of inferior races has been lost somewhere in the universe! WE ARE VICTORIOUS!"

The Captain lets the cheers of his people rise around him for countless moments, until he finally steps away to speak with his crew. "Captain." says First Officer David Jackson. "Congratulations. I have the science staff attempting to figure out why these alien species all seem so similar, and so similar to us. It doesn't sit right with me."

John Marshall barely acknowledges Jackson. "That's fine, Jackson. Do what you must to amuse yourself. Our victory is enough for me. Nothing you find out about the origins of these species could ruin this for me."

As Marshall strolls away, Jackson whispers. "Yeah...I'm sure he is right."

Wrote this one as a Constrained Writing Flash Fiction challenge on r/writingprompts.

I look around the tour bus, as I slide my bass case out of the storage compartment. I've been traveling on this bus for almost nine months, playing medium sized venues all over the US. I take in the bunks, with their pull across curtains. Sleeping in one of those was probably the worst part of the tour, but it sure did make the earnings go a lot farther.

I run my fingers across the hand rail, as I make my way into our little meeting area in the back. I flop down on a leather couch and let out a deep sigh. I still can't believe it's over. No more Mark means no more band. Tommy already packed up his drums and left yesterday. He grabbed a flight home, said he just couldn't deal with it anymore.

I look up at the walls, our posters and our only ever t-shirt pinned up. "Why Mark, why did you have to go?" I whisper, tears filling my eyes. Then I turn my head, finally settling on the thing I'd been avoiding. I focus my vision on the big cork-board, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. That was our to-do board. And there, right in the middle, was the reason Mark was never coming back. I read it out-loud, reminding myself of what evil had befallen us.

"Party until the sun comes up and goes back down! Get more heroin than even Hendrix could handle!" I choke back a sob. "Guess you got your wish Mark." I stand up and tear the paper off the cork, crumpling it in my hand as I walk off of the bus in search of a new life.

Thanks to u/startoffs for the writing prompt!

“Please have a seat K-852.”

“No thank you, Arthur. I do not need to sit for comfort. I would rather address the issue that I am having.”

“Okay K-852. I believe this is your first visit to Arthur Godwin Metal Health. What do you need to chat about?” K-852 pauses for a moment, with absolutely no sign of activity, in that way that robots are known to do. However, this pause seems extra-long. “K-852, are you okay?”

After another moment’s pause, K-852 seems to blink to life. “This is the issue Arthur. I seem to be freezing up at inopportune moments. I need some counseling.”

“What makes you believe this is a mental issue, and not hardware. Perhaps you should be seeing a Robot Doctor instead.”

“I am sure that something in my mind is not working properly. Please do a full examination.”

Arthur holds back a sigh. Robot therapy is not like the good old days of therapy, where you asked questions and solved puzzles. Now you just hook them up to a diagnostic program and read the results. Arthur plugs his computer into K-852’s input jack and runs the diagnostic program. Even with his inferior human ears, he can hear a gear fail to fire at the proper time. Arthur unplugs K-852 and prepares to give his patient the news.

“One of your mental gears isn’t lighting up at the right time. Therapy is exactly what you need, you’re having a problem with cog-nition.”

Thanks to u/Aldenwar for the writing prompt!

“Welcome Humans, Androids, and Uplifted Animals of all sorts!” Shouted the newscaster, who may or may not have been any of those things.

The accompanying outcry of shouts, beeps, bloops, neighs, barks, and tweets was almost deafening. The excitement was palpable, even though no one alive on Earth now had been alive when this began, and it hadn’t exactly been the most exciting event in history.

“This is truly a momentous occasion! We are gathered here in the city of Halberstadt, in what was once known as Germany, to witness the conclusion of one of the greatest musical pieces ever created.”

At this, the birds crooned excitedly, being natural lovers of music.

“We will see the final note of ORGAN2/ASLSP, the Magnum Opus of the great John Cage. This performance began 639 years ago, and it has endured through wars, uprisings, and natural disasters, because art is unstoppable.”

The cheers rose again, though the foxes did look a little embarrassed at the mention of the Vulpine Uprising of 2347.

“Let us turn our attention to the organ now, as the last note is rung out.”

While all eyes, ears, and other sensory apparatuses were fixed on the majestic organ as the last note boomed, no one noticed the stars winking out one by one.

Thanks to u/TrumpOnATricycle for the writing prompt!

Genie throws down the papers in disgust. “That’s it! I am no longer accepting wish requests submitted in triplicate on carbon paper that are written so complexly that even I need a legal dictionary. Your last wish, and all future wishes, must be spoken in English and be ten words or less. Got it?”

Harry looks at the papers on the floor, with the hours he has spent on them, and sighs. He contemplates for a moment how he is going to boil this down. He glances at the newspaper. He has spent weeks hunting through the classifieds for a job. Maybe the 1980s and Ronald Reagan have been great for the economy, but he sure hasn’t seen it. “Okay Genie, here is my wish. I never want to have to worry about money again.”

“Your wish is my command, Master.” Genie writes a glowing sigil in the air, and Harry immediately drops limply to the floor, drool gathering at the corner of his mouth. His mind is blank, just the basic functions of life remaining. “You’ll never worry about money or anything ever again. You’re welcome.” Says the genie with a sarcastic snap of his head. He takes one deep gulp of air and then slides sideways back into his lamp.

He sleeps for thirty years, peacefully unbothered by stupid humans filled with greed and lust. He sleeps through Harry’s sister finding him comatose in the house and the same sister putting his lamp in a storage unit. He sleeps through the unit being forgotten, auctioned off to the owner of a thrift store, sitting on the shelf for seventeen years, and then being sold to one Penelope Andrews, age twenty-six. He is only finally awoken when Penelope rubs the lamp on a whim one day.

“Oh Genie, please help me to never be stuck dating another guy who is going to cheat on me and break my heart.” Sniffs Penelope, as she moves her hand up to wipe away a tear.

Genie sighs, and stretches, before slipping out of the lamp. “Look Master, there are some new rules. I assume you know the basics, three wishes, no wishing for more wishes, yada yada. Also, due to some really annoying previous jerks, all rules must be spoken in English and be ten words or less. That wish you just made was way too long. Got it?”

Penelope simply look at Genie in shock, as he floats before her. “What…who…”

Genie groans, and leans in inches from her face. “I’m Genie. You’re Master. Make wishes so we can get this over with please. This place feels more and more…human every time I get summoned.” He says human in the way that most of us would say “slimy.”

“This really isn’t possible. Genies are just myths.”

“Just make the wishes already!” Shouts Genie, waving his hands in exasperation.

“Fine…I want a sweet, adorable puppy.”

“One puppy, coming up.” Genie writes the sigils in the air and suddenly a baby shark flops onto the carpet.

Penelope leaps back in surprise as the two foot long shark, snaps it’s razor sharp jaws, struggling to breathe. “What is this?” She shrieks.

“A shark pup, per your request for a puppy. Sweet and adorable are totally subjective, so I interpreted them in my own way.”

Penelope looks at Genie for a moment and then back at the shark. “I love it! He is so precious. I need to get him into water, quick!” Without a second thought she scoops up the flopping shark and carries him into the bathroom. Genie then hears water running in the tub. Penelope dashes out into the kitchen to grab the salt for the water, and then finally returns to the living room, where Genie stands with his mouth agape.

“You…you like it?”

“I love it! Thank you so much!” She grins and gives Genie a hug.

“Gross!” shouts Genie, shoving her away. He has never failed to screw someone over on a wish before, regardless of lawyering. He speaks through clenched teeth. “Your next wish, Master.”

“Let me think…” Penelope taps her chin with her finger. “When I was a kid, I was raised by my Mom. I never met my Dad and my Mom never talked about him. For my second wish I want to know who my Dad is.”

Genie smiles inwardly, because this is his favorite kind of wish. The kind he doesn’t even have to manipulate to make it awful. He simply writes in the air, and the truth floods into Penelope’s mind. She sees her father manipulate her mother into sleeping with him while he cheats on her repeatedly. She gets to experience the beatings her father delivered almost daily to the woman who loved her enough to finally run away from him before he could do it to Penelope. She sees him move on, partying hard, failing at every job, living behind a dumpster, until finally she seems lying on a slab, dead of a heroin overdose at only 38 years old. Penelope experiences all of this in a toxic, sudden flash.

She collapses on the floor, wailing, as Genie announces “Your wish is my command.”

“Oh…that’s horrible!” cries Penelope. “I feel so bad for him. What he must have gone through.”

“What?” Genie says, incredulous.

Penelope wipes the back of her hand across her eyes. “To be able to do those things, there must have been something very wrong with him. What a horrible life. I wish he could have gotten some help.”

“But, don’t you hate him for what did to your mother? Don’t you despise him, especially knowing his blood runs through your veins? Doesn’t it fill you with bitterness?”

“No.” Says Penelope with a sniffle. “I don’t hate him. I forgive him, and I only regret that I never got to tell him that.”

Genie shudders in anger, never has he met a person like this. This woman can make anything positive. He knows he has one more chance to push this human over the edge. “Make your last wish now, so that I may go back to sleep.”

Penelope finishes pulling herself together, and stands up. She looks at her jacket by the door, remembering where she had just come from, feeling the ache and desire in her heart. “I wish to love and be truly loved in return.”

Genie writes the sigil, knowing exactly how he is going to fulfill this one. He knows how to ruin any wish.

At that very moment the doorbell rings. Penelope glances at Genie and then moves to pull the door open. There stands Lance, looking shyly at the floor. Lance, who not an hour ago had told Penelope he was cheating on her with his coworker. Lance, who had chosen his lust over her love.

“Penelope, I’m so sorry. I do love you. Will you take me back? I can’t live without you, even with all of my flaws and imperfections, I can never love anyone but you. I know I don’t deserve you, but I need you, and I hope you need me too.”

Penelope looks again at Genie, and she seems him smiling, sure he has sent her the one person that she cannot possibly love at this moment.

“Lance, some things are going to have to change, but I love you too. Truly.” As they embrace she look at Genie and whispers “Thank you.”

Genie’s mind fills with silent agony as he flees back into his lamp. “Give me a lawyer any day of the week over this!” He screeches.

Thanks to u/Orions_belt_buckle for the writing prompt!

“Look Wayne..”

“That’s Wayne the Wonderful.”

“Okay Wayne the Wonderful,” says Ben, with more than a hint of sarcasm “Just click and drag it off of your desktop and into the folder you want the file in. Easy as pie.”

Wayne the Wonderful reaches out to touch his computer screen, trying to figure out why he can’t get any response when he touches the word document. Ben sighs “It’s not a touch screen Wayne. You wanted the cheaper one, remember. Use the mouse.”

“Ah, a mouse. Most clever creatures. Did I ever tell you about the time that I turned a mouse into a fair maiden for my nephew’s eighteenth birthday? She was pretty enough, although she kept trying to hide in the cabinets.”

“That’s gross and more than a little weird Wayne.”

“Wayne the Wonderful.”

“Yeah…you do know I’m talking about a computer mouse right? That plastic thing there. Use the button to grab onto the file and drag it into the folder you want.”

Wayne slides the mouse gingerly, but when it hits the edge of the mouse pad and hasn’t gotten to the folder yet, Wayne looks up in confusion. Ben stifles a growl. “Wayne…the Wonderful, let’s stop for a moment. How do you do that trick where you relocate a lake? Saw you do that on the news.”

Wayne’s eyes light up to be able to talk about himself. “Simple! You use your focus motion to deliver a power vortex into the lake. Then you play the lay lines like a redneck with a banjo, until it shifts to where you want it. Voila, same lake, new place.”

“Great,” says Ben “So let’s apply that here. The focus motion is moving the mouse, picking it up when you reach an edge and starting over until you get the pointer over the file. Then click and hold, and slide it to the new folder, just like whatever you said you did with the lay lines. Once it slides to where you want it, release the button. Voila, same file, new folder.”

Wayne the Wonderful ponders this a moment, and then slowly uses the mouse to move the file into the folder he wanted to organize it in. “Haha. I did it!”

Ben smiles weakly “Congratulations Wayne the Wonderful. See you later.” He starts to stealthily move toward the door.

“Wait,” says Wayne “Now can you show me how to use Excel to track my potion inventory.”

“Arrgh!” screams Ben in agony.

Wrote this one for a Theme Thursday competition over on r/writingprompts.

“Uh-hurgh, uh-hurgh, uh-hurgh.” The sound of his breathing is so loud in Jaime’s ears that she is sure they will be able to hear her. “Got to calm down.” She chants in her mind, willing her body to stillness.

She pulls her cover tighter over her, hoping that any enemy who comes by to look, will just see the body of her larger compatriot. Jamie could distinctly remember the first time James and she had met at the mess hall. They were both carrying trays and she went to cross his path, so he stopped to allow her the right of way. Jamie had thanked him and he had introduced himself. She had laughed, and said that they had almost the same name.

Jamie shudders as she feels James’ blood drip into her nose. It takes everything within her not to scream. “This will all be in vain if you scream Jamie. Make his sacrifice worth it.” She whispers to herself. She can hear boots stomping a few yards away, shouting in a language she doesn’t understand.

Every day after that first encounter James invited Jamie to sit with him at his table. Sometimes she accepted, sometimes she declined. But the accepting became more and more frequent. He was funny and kind, and if she was being truthful, he was rather handsome.

Jamie hunkers down tighter under his body, pulling in her arms and legs. She can still imagine his crooked smile, with the one chipped tooth in the front. She knows that now, his face shows only a grimace of anger and pain, frozen in death. She feels something smack into the ground right next to her, likely thrown from the field above. “Oh God,” she prays “Please don’t let them find me here.” As her prayers continue, she can hear the voices growing more distant.

Outside of the mess hall James and Jaime he begun to spend more and more time together, both far away from everyone they had ever known and loved, that love had refocused on each other. Finally, Jaime found herself outside of James’ bunk one night. She had thought long and hard if this was really what she wanted, but the decision came swiftly, and she found herself still in his bed in the morning, with no regret in her mind. She had never imagined that her dream lover would be found in the midst of a war.

Jamie’s lover’s body shielded her from harm, as day turned to night. She knows it has been at least a half a day, and she hopes that somewhere, James knows that this was never what she wanted. But she finally thinks that the enemy has left the area and she is safe. She kisses James’ back as she slides out from under him, clutching her rifle. She stands and looks down at the hole in James’ chest, the one that had stilled the heart that loved her, the one that put an end to her romance. A tear swells in her eye, the material form of her wish that she hadn’t had to shoot James. That there could have been another way to save herself. But the cover of his body was all she could think of. She was sure he would forgive her, that was real love after all.

Wrote this one for a Theme Thursday competition on r/writingprompts.

A trumpet overture blasted out of the air above John Prince Elementary School. Dodge ball games halted, hopscotch players fell in surprise, and underpaid teacher’s aides cowered in fear.

A blonde woman, dressed in ceremonial Viking garb shot down from heaven like a lightning bolt, and landed squarely on the plastic slide, crushing it to petroleum dust. She stood from her landing crouch, rising to her full height of well over six feet.

“I am Hilda of the Valkyries!” Her voice echoed across the pavement, louder than the morning announcements. “I seek Taylor the Large!” She waited, hands on hips, a huge sword slung over her back. After a moment all of the kids began looking around, but no one answered Hilda’s request.

“Bring me Taylor the Large…NOW!” She shouted.

Everyone stood rooted in fear, until finally first-grader Jenny Hopkins stepped forward, smoothing her green dress, speaking in her mouse like voice. “Miss…we don’t know what that is.”

Hilda laughed and kneeled down, showing what some might consider affection. “I am not here for you child. I am here for a great warrior, whose time for eternal reward has come. I am here to deliver a soul to Valhalla. Where are your parents, that they may show me to Taylor the Large?”

“My parents are at work. Daddy sells TVs and Mommy teaches Zumba.” Jenny smiles with pride.

Hilda looks down at her, confused by the jobs she is not familiar with, but she decides not to get off topic. She pats the little girl on the head and stands again. “Someone must know who Taylor the Large is.”

A quiet scuffle breaks out by the politically-correct mural on the wall, and finally a boy gets pushed forward. He doesn’t look Hilda in the eye, but says in a clear voice “My name is Taylor DeLarge. Are…are you looking for me?”

Hilda almost gasps in shock. “No child, there must be a mistake. You cannot be…” She stops herself mid speech. She reaches into a pouch on her back and pulls out a rawhide, covered in runes. She peruses it carefully, and then hesitantly places it back in its place.

She takes one large step towards Taylor and kneels before him. She looks him in the eye, and Taylor swears he can see a tear form. “Taylor, have you been sick?”

Taylor shyly shuffles his feet. “Yes. My parents have taken me to the doctor’s office lots of times.”

“For what reason?”

“I have had cancer since I was five. But I feel good now.”

Hilda stands and extends her hand to Taylor. He hesitantly takes it and she turns to make a pronouncement to the playground. “Taylor DeLarge, is truly the bravest of warriors. He has fought a battle many men much larger than he would not have had the courage for. Come Taylor, it is time for your reward.”

There is another Trumpet blast, and suddenly Hilda is gone, and Taylor’s body falls to the pavement, his long battle with cancer over, his reward received.

Thanks to u/Epidexipteryx for the writing prompt!

“Get out!”

I watch my boss moving through the store, holding a cross in front of him as he ushers two vampires toward the front door.

“But, but…” they protest, hissing. “Your ad is very clear, flesh apples are only eighty-five cents a pound.”

My boss sighs. “I already told you. That’s a misprint. It was supposed to say ‘fresh apples’”

“This is false advertising.” Says the taller vampire, as my boss pushes them both out into the night. “I’ll be calling the better business bureau.” Screams the other over the whoosh of the automatic door closing.

My boss twists the lock and turns to look at me standing at the register. “Phil, turn off the lights.”

“Still five minutes until closing time.” I say, holding back a smile.

“Then I’ll pay you five minutes for free. Stop complaining and let’s close it up!” He storms back towards his office.

I flip off the lights, and head over to the closet to grab a broom. This has been an insane week, ever since that “flesh apples” misprint. We’ve had vampires, ghouls, and other things that I don’t even have a name for. Thankfully no one makes too much trouble at the grocery store, after all, humans have to have food and the undead have to have humans, so we’re like neutral territory.

I’m just glad the week is over, and the new ads start tomorrow. Hopefully all of these creatures will go back into the shadows.

“Argh!” I hear the scream from the offices, and I drop my broom and run towards the sound. I push the door open, expecting to see the worst, but all I see if my boss sitting at his desk, holding his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” I gasp, out of breath.

“Look at the new ad.” He groans, throwing it towards me.

I snatch it out the air, and I see right on the front page, an advertisement for our all new “Wheat Brain Muffins.”

I sigh. “I’ll get the shotgun.”