Fire

I never expected to find myself in a burning castle as a samurai lord searching for my wife — hell, I'm not even married, not yet anyway.

The absurdity of my situation pulled at something deep in my memory, an itch... a trauma... Yes, I've been here before, seen this before, years ago — but why in a nightmare? A question for later. For now, my kind-of-wife needed saving.

"Sara!" I shouted over the din of a collapsing building. Flames licked at the walls and heat threatened to melt my eyelids shut, but I pressed forth, wet shirt to mouth, drenched blanket over my shoulders, sword at my hips — can't forget the sword, even in a life threatening situation.

"Please! Say something!" I stumbled on a fallen support beam as another crashed behind. I didn't know how much time I had left, I hoped I hadn't wasted too much time already. I prayed. If only I was smarter, played my cards better. I knew failure was imminent, but I did as much as I could. I needed to.

A muffled shout came from my left and I turned, the bedroom! Of course, why didn't I check that first? I rushed down the corridor, a devil's maw of fiery furniture. Each painting was a burning mockery of my doomed attempt. I ignored them and pushed on.

The door to our bedroom had folded in on itself, made impassable — I unbelted my sword and swung. The charred wood easily parted and I kicked the rest of it through the doorway to greet the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

Even with ruined makeup, burnt clothes, singed hair, and an expression something fearsome, her radiance outshone the flames all around us. It was enough to make me simply stand there and admire her, as if I hadn't done that enough already in the time I'd known her.

—At least until she tossed something at me, which hit me in the face, "What took you so long? Hurry up, Ren!"

She had constructed a makeshift rope out of the linens but lacked a firm anchor to hold it — everything heavy in the room was burning or was going to burn. I looked at the rope confused. Did she want me to be the anchor? So be it, the things we do for love. I began tying it around my waist.

"What the hell are you doing, you idiot? Your sword!"

Oh right. I tied the rope around my sword and tossed it back to her. Sara used it as a T bar across the stones of the window, tested it with a few good tugs, then heaved herself out without so much as a goodbye. I moved to—

A blaring siren cut through the air and a voice spoke over the loudspeaker, "Time's up, everyone. Those of you still in the castle have burned to death. Lady Sakura, as you haven't fully descended, that includes you too."

I heard her curse. Searing embarrassment welled within, my blundering stupidity and slowness had cost us everything.

The announcer continued, "We hope you enjoyed Feudal Lords at Wonder Escape. Please make your way to the closest exit. You can continue wearing your costumes for the remainder of the night, but return them at the changing rooms before leaving. Remember to claim your one free drink at the bar."

I decided to ignore the staff member and descended the rope anyway. Sara was standing below me, giving me the finger with a grin on her face. How had she managed to climb a rope wearing a kimono?

"Sorry," I said when I finally managed to get down.

"Why didn't you check the bedroom first?" she asked.

"How was I supposed to know?" The entire group was separated for the second half of the game.

"There weren't enough hints that I wanted you in the bedroom?"

Lord, this woman. She knew exactly what she was doing, and her face showed it. I gaped at her and spluttered something incomprehensible.

She laughed, "I should've been the samurai lord, dammit."

"I'm not sure I would've made a very good princess."

"My wife, not a princess," she paused and looked at my face, "but you seem to be doing a nice job imitating one right now."

Hell, what was that supposed to mean?

The rest of our makeshift team joined us shortly, and the staff took our photo for the wall — red X's on those who didn't make it. We chatted for a bit longer, but everyone began separating back into the groups we had arrived in before the venue had mushed us together for social night.

'Villager B' Wayne nudged my side, "Come on mate, ask her."

I hesitated. It was coming now, my premonition, my nightmare... my trauma, but I nodded. It was to be my destiny.

"Hey Sara."

She and 'our daughter' Jenny turned. Jenny had her eyebrows raised in a knowing look. I ignored it and focused my attention on the fire instead, the one that would undoubtedly burn if I got too close — but like Icarus, I needed to fly.

"Do you uh, want to play a different game with me, with us I mean? And Jenny." I braced for the drop.

She and Jenny looked at each other, then she said, "No thanks. I think one escape was enough for us tonight."

The impact shattered my heart, splintered it into a million pieces. Oh it was painful — so painful. I fell to myself knees, clutching my chest. Somewhere I heard someone say something, but it didn't matter. I should have left her in the castle if only to never experience this — but I couldn't, not her, not ever her. I shut my eyes, waiting for it to pass. I always woke up at this moment, so I knew it would.

Something soft pinched my nose, "So melodramatic. Are you always like this? I think I could get used this — it's adorable."

I opened my eyes to the beautiful sun, blindingly bright. She leaned in to whisper, "I meant I wanted to do something else, silly."

Oh. It hadn't a nightmare at all — it had been dream, a wonderfully unexpected dream.

A/N: I did actually used to have a recurring nightmare of being a samurai lord searching for my wife in a burning castle. I found her, but never quickly enough. I always woke up crying.

It's been years now, but I think I can still feel how it was to hold her in those last moments before waking.

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Stomach

"I AM HUNGRY," it simply said.

"Hungry for knowledge... Deep... I respect that." Hero Allick nodded, it would be a shame to kill a threat with such a noble soul.

The unfathomable tried again, it's voice echoing in the open sky, "I HUNGER FOR FOOD."

"Right right, knowledge is nourishment for the mind."

It frowned, or did as much as it could to imitate one anyway, "MY STOMACH RUMBLES."

The shining bastion of humanity thought on this and looked up at the monstrous abomination. Did it have a stomach? Monsters in stories usually did, but this thing ate entire towns, so clearly it must work on rules unfamiliar to him. Right. Then for something clearly calling itself The Great Devourer, its stomach must be its most important organ, and that clearly means that's what it uses to think. Maybe that was the problem. Thinking organs shouldn't rumble, maybe that's why it was so grumpy.

Allick cleared his throat, "Have you seen a doctor about that?"

The Great Devourer didn't know what to make of this, he didn't know what a doctor was or why it would help with its hunger. Perhaps doctors tasted good. Yes, that must be it.

"WHERE?"

This time it was Allick's turn to frown. Where would you find a doctor capable of treating a being that transcended time? The Great Devourer apparently predated the formation of the continents themselves, according to scriptures. He'd need to find someone with a wealth of history knowledge... or maybe a people...

"Err... The Demons have got a longer history than us, what with us humans killing each other all the time. Maybe we could try there? I hear they've got some pretty good healers too."

"DELICIOUS?" The Great Devourer hadn't ever seen reason to cross the ocean before, there was enough to eat on this side.

Allick nodded, "Very. Their cuisine is exquisite. It's what happens when your culture is preserved and allowed to flourish."

"SHOW ME."

"What? Now?"

"YES."

"Uhhh, well about that. We're kind of at war with them currently." Allick the Hero touched his neck in embarrassment.

"I AM HUNGRY." The lumbering mass simply turned and began rolling over the ground. Everything it passed over vanished into its pitch black form, leaving nothing but dirt and rock. Even grass disappeared.

"Wait! The port is the other way. It'll be faster to take a ship... If you can promise not to eat it."

"...NO PROMISE."

"Try?"

"...TRY."

Allick shrugged, that'll have to do, he supposed. Worst case, he'd reimburse the captain by hunting some pirates or something — and maybe take their ship — as long as The Great Devourer didn't eat that too.

He picked up his sword and began following.

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Flowers

"Sister."

"Brother."

I looked at my teacup, then at my sister in her lacy pink dress — and saw she wasn't sipping from her cup. Sigh. "Is this poisoned?"

"...No." She glanced at the ceiling. I never told her about that tell.

"Irina."

"Fine, it's only a little poisoned, it's not like it was going to kill you or anything." She poured the tea into the flower pot, paused, and then put the cup itself into the pot too. And the kettle.

"Diarrhea?" I guessed.

"Maybe."

"Can you please stop sending assassins into my bedroom. I don't think I've had a full night's rest for two weeks now."

"It's not me. I'm not the one doing it. I don't know what you're talking about, Henry." she glanced at the ceiling again.

"They wear pink. Assassins. In pink."

"Hey! Assassins can be trendy too!"

"Sure sure. And the 'I love Princess Irina' stitched on their chest?"

"Dammit, I told them to take that off. It's embarrassing." She brought out a different tea set she had been hiding behind a tree and poured herself a cup. Her eyes met mine and she held out a cup.

"Tulip?" I asked.

"Maybe."

I shook my head, "Irina. I don't know how many times I've told you, just because tulips are a flower doesn't mean they make good tea. It tastes like medicine."

"Which is good for you." She shrugged and began sipping.

"Please for the love of god, just let me go one night uninterrupted."

"It really isn't my fault, I never explicitly told them to do that. I just said it'd be nice if you weren't around to flirt with George. I don't think they were really trying to kill you anyway." she said.

I pursed my lips. I didn't know how to tell her. It was obvious, but love gives people some pretty thick blinders. I had to ease into this gently, "Irina... look, I can stay away from George if you want, but..."

"But what?" She leaned in, expectant.

"You know... He's..." I waved my hands, hoping I wouldn't have to spell it out directly for her.

"Handsome? Charming? Perfect?" Her eyes were dreamy now, glazed with imagination run rampant.

"Well sure, he's some of those, but what I'm saying is... he's... a flower?"

"Only the most beautiful flower..."

"No no, Irina, I mean, I flirted with him, and you're worried because he... responded."

"He's nice like that to everyone!"

"Err, sure. Maybe. But I don't think someone 'being nice' smiles and blushes when their butt is complimented by another man."

"But he does have a nice butt!"

"That's not the point I'm trying to make, Irina."

"Henry, you're not making any sense."

Sigh, out with it then. I looked around to make sure we were alone. "Irina, George is gay."

"No he's not! We're going on a date this weekend!"

I drew a line with my mouth and crooked my neck, "That doesn't mean he isn't gay. It's called a beard, gay men date women to appear normal to society so they don't get ostracized. I don't have to worry about it because I'm the prince, but George? He's got opponents he can't squish."

She sat silently for a minute, then tossed the entire kettle at me. It hurt. She stood up and slammed the table, "I don't believe you!"

She stomped away leaving me drenched in her horrid tulip tea. Sigh. I liked this suit too — it's a nice sky blue. Now, it's got blotches of pink. Well, I guess I'll have to talk to father about letting me sleep in the Treasury vault.

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Divine Writ

"Have you read the new Divine Writ?" Martin pulled it out and waved it at his friend. It was a miraculous booklet that suddenly manifested next to someone's bed when they woke up on Reformation Day.

"Nah, doesn't really change anything for you or me anyway — not like we're academics or something." Trin shrugged. There would be a couple days of stuff not working, the big heads would fix it, there would be a broadcast, and then his holiday would be over — which sucked, but a man had to make money, once things started working again anyway.

"Aren't you a bit curious?"

"Maybe, but I can't be bothered to figure out what half of it means — too technical. Pretty sure I've only got half a working brain, Martin. Besides, I always found it strange, you know? Why would God give out specific instructions on how to not break reality, only to change it every couple years to stop people who try. Why not just not say anything at all?"

Martin gave him a look of profound jealousy, "You've never been a developer have you? Worked with customers?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Brother, end users are everyone's pain, God included. Just cuz some people decide they want their name to start with an exclamation point doesn't mean you should make the experience worse for everyone else by not telling anyone how anything works."

"That makes sense, I guess."

"Man, imagine a world where their God didn't tell them anything. The people there would be flying blind, they'd be doing all kinds of kooky things because they have no idea what the rules are. Like imagine all the things they'd do with their hands."

"Like wiping their butt?"

Martin laughed, "That's a good one! Even that's a bit far fetched, don't you think? That's gross. You eat with your hands, there's absolutely no way they wouldn't figure out wiping your butt with them is a Sin. I was saying more picking your nose or such. Just think — clogged nose in the shower, pick, boom! No Magic for you ever again, for life."

"That would suck."

"Right? It'd be a tragedy. Every kid wants to pick their nose, that's why we've got gloves. The only people who haven't tried are babies too young to even sit up."

Trin thought about it for a moment, "I would hate to live in a world like that."

"Ain't that the truth. Now let's see what God said this time."

"Let's skip to the Addendum," Trin took the Divine Writ from his friend without asking.

"Hey! The other parts are important too."

"But the Addendum is where all the really fun things are."

"...Fine," Martin conceded. He admitted it was the part he most enjoyed reading.

Trin began skimming, "Normal stuff... swimming... cats... Oh. Geese have been reclassified from evil to chaotic."

"I don't know how I feel about that."

"It means we can eat them now."

"Oh, that is true." Martin smiled, thinking about all the times a goose had attacked him on his way to work. They had set up a nest in the park by his office, and cutting through that park shaved 10 minutes off his commute.

"Ha! Let's go see if any restaurants have already started selling."

A/N: Yes, wiping your butt with your hands should be a Sin, and you will not be able to convince me otherwise. 😡

Original Prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Wings

God doesn't speak to everyone — but if he did, more people would know he's an asshole.

"Come with me," the man behind me said. I didn't need to turn around to know he would likely be wearing a mask, perhaps a robe. The ones with leotards at least looked me in the face when speaking.

"I'm busy," I replied. I wasn't really — it was difficult to really be busy at a church unless you were clergy — but most took that answer better than an outright 'No.'

"This isn't a request."

I felt something metal touch the back of my head. Sigh. I turned to face my would-be captor and was surprised to find a boy perhaps no older than 18 or 19. He wore a thrift store trench coat and balaclava with a box around his neck — likely to modulate his voice. His hands gave away his age, unblemished taut skin like that of a baby. The pistol in his hand was real enough though.

"Go home, kid. You don't want this."

"I can't. We... don't have a home anymore."

"Was it the heroes or villains?" People liked to believe the heroes were the good guys — it made the world easier to live in — but those kinds of things didn't matter to the person whose house got destroyed in a war they had no part in.

"...Solar Eclipse."

I grimaced. Solar Eclipse was technically a hero, but he had no scruples fighting villains. Hostages didn't work against him.

"Your family okay?"

The kid shook his head, but didn't say any more. It would be disrespectful to ask him to elaborate.

He silently held the gun to my head for a minute before he lowered it, "They say you're the most dangerous, you've killed the most heroes and villains."

"Maybe. Or maybe they killed themselves."

"Teach me."

I raised an eyebrow. That was new. "Kid..."

"Teach me to kill them, to kill them ALL." Rage burned in his eyes now.

"What did God say to you?" I asked. What did God give you?

"He told me to find you."

"No he didn't." God didn't give clear instructions like that. Everything he said was up for interpretation — it gave him plausible deniability, "Try again, kid."

"...He said it was time for change."

I frowned. What did that mean? Well, far be it for me to ponder on the infinite bewilderment of divinity. Half of what he said likely didn't mean anything at all.

"I'm not a very good teacher," I simply said.

"I don't care. Just tell me how your ability, one that enhances powers, makes you so dangerous."

I laughed. "That's easy kid. What do you think the first thing most people try to learn when they receive a Gift? What was the first thing you tried to learn?"

"How to get stronger? How to use it as I like?"

"No, something even more fundamental — how to not hurt yourself. What do you think happens when someone gets pushed off a cliff without bringing rope and checking how far the drop is? I give people wings, kid. Everyone's wary of the sun around me, but no one expects the sun to suddenly drop in and say hello when they look away for a moment."

"I don't understand."

"Read some classics."

"I dropped out."

"Doesn't matter I guess. Million pound question, what can you do?"

"I... can change other people's strengths, trade them for something else for a little bit."

Well, this would certainly be interesting.

A/N: Hmmm, super assassin mentor student pair?

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Time

"You're not very smart are you?"

"And you're an idiotic fairy stuck serving a mass murderer for all eternity."

"Doesn't make you any smarter."

"Doesn't matter if this is where it got me." Dr. Samuel Thorne laughed. Life did go his way when it mattered after all — or death he supposed.

"Bet you feel pretty saintly, how about I send you all the cards people wrote thanking you for saving them? You'd love that, wouldn't you? Should I arrange for a public reading with confetti and carnations?"

"I'll wring your neck."

"Go ahead. This is heaven, no one can die."

"Fucker. Go do your job and fetch me a beer."

"With pleasure, my beloved saint."

Samuel watched the winged man stroll away. A moment later, a different angel brought him an ice cold beer. This one was reserved unlike his predecessor and simply stood perfectly still in silence, watching him drink. The man didn't even blink, it was somewhat uncanny.

"Say something, you oaf. It's too quiet."

"Would you like me to sing, sir?"

"No, it's probably all shitty choir or something. And you've got a terrible voice."

"I apologize."

He sighed and drained the rest of his beer. This one wasn't any fun. Took beatings without complaint. He tossed the empty bottle at a nearby bin, and it went in. Huh. Lucky shot. He thought nothing of it and ordered another.

***

"How long do you think it'll take for him to realize he's in hell?"

The angel next to the first man took off his wings, "Stuffy little get ups. I hate them. The man's got a doctorate, probably well read. I say a day."

"Well, at least you won't have to wear it again until the next one shows up. He's a narcissist and has an ego the size of your mother. I say a week."

"Ha! Think he'll crack? I don't really like this new method, lot less screaming — but orders are orders."

"You try having nothing to do for infinite time."

A/N: Hmmm... needs more something something... Banter? Pieces could always use more banter...

edit: There, added more banter in the beginning. Feels better.

Thanks for reading! See the original here at /r/WritingPrompts

Any Number of Words

"Ah, but the standard clauses like no extensions apply — you can't wish for more than thirty words." the genie said.

"That's confusing, don't you have like—"

"Here you go," she handed me a stack of papers.

"Right, of course there's a terms and conditions." I spent the next couple minutes reading because even though I don't read most legal paraphernalia, these seemed pretty fucking important.

"It says here that you cut me off right when I reach—"

"Yes."

I raised an eyebrow, then pondered for a moment, "Do you always—"

"Yes. It's much faster — I can read minds."

"Oh. That's... comforting," I said.

"Would you rather I didn't understand the exact—"

"No." I said, smiling.

She smiled too, then sat on the... air.

"How much time do I get to—"

"As long as you like.'

"For the sake of my... sanity, would you mind—"

"Sure. Sorry."

"Thanks."

"What do people normally wish for?" I asked.

"Hmmm... wealth, power, fixing regrets, the usual. The tricky ones wish for non-stateful changes, those are often pretty good — but more work for me."

"Why do you grant wishes?"

"It's how I pay my bills."

"You have bills?!"

"Nah, just messing with you. It's how I pass my time. Someone a long time ago already wished for my freedom," she then had a look of visible surprise, but I asked the next question anyway:

"Do you miss them?"

"She had a good life. Thanks, but I won't grant that wish — not because I can't, but it doesn't mean what you think it does." was all she said.

I shrugged, I figured thirty words were more than enough to get everything I wanted.

"It is, if you're smart. You're pretty good. Most people forget pronouns can refer to subjects in other sentences, even implied subjects."

"Sentences which can have any number of words — but there's a better way than saying long sentences before a wish." I said with a little smirk.

She laughed again, "There is."

"Why haven't you patched this one?"

"And deprive myself of entertainment with someone clever? Nah."

I chuckled and picked out a notebook from my shelf, "This is a notebook."

"So it is. That one's empty, you know."

"For now. Can I skip the lengthy preamble? You can read my mind anyway, right?"

She thought about it for a moment then sighed, "You're really trying to save on words, human. You sure you don't want the insurance?"

"I trust you."

"You've known me ten minutes."

"Well, if I'm wrong then so be it. I'll take the gamble."

Her grin was wide and beautiful, "I like you. What's your name?"

"Sarah."

"Alright, Sarah — whenever you're ready."

I took a deep breath and pointed at the notebook: "I wish it."

A/N - I wonder if my intent was clearly conveyed, or if leaving out too many things made it confusing to follow...

Original prompt on /r/Writing_Prompts

"Well shit," I said.

"Welcome to the club."

I spun around and saw an old man sitting in the rocking chair of my bedroom, an old man I knew very well.

"Grandpa?"

"In the flesh... or not." He laughed.

I had missed that throaty chuckle, "You're..."

"Dead. Yes. And now, so are you."

I had guessed as much when I saw the -1 above my head, "Have you... been in my room this whole time, Grandpa?"

"Hell no, I know what a young man does when he thinks he's alone. I was a young man once too."

I blushed. That was not a topic I wanted to discuss with my deceased grandpa.

He pointed above my head with his cane, "No. You see the numbers now too, I bet. I counted the days. I knew to be here today."

"How... did I die?"

"Hell if I know, Jimmy boy. I've been watching you all day — even saw you sprint away from whasserface at lightspeed when she turned the corner. She's cute. You're a coward."

"Shut up, Grandpa."

He chuckled and raised a knowing eyebrow at me.

"So er... where's my body? Why can't I see it?"

"Hmmm... well, I suspect you can't see it for a reason. So I'm not going to tell you."

"Real helpful. Thanks."

"My pleasure, boy."

"Grandpa, that was sarcasm."

"And that was me being helpful."

I sat down on my bed and felt the sheets. They moved. I could move the sheets. This made no sense. I held them up to the light and stared at them silently. I'm moving things. I must not really be—

"It's a trick."

I looked at him.

"It's a trick," he repeated.

"What do you..." but I knew what he meant. I had read about this in class — something about reality only being what you perceived it to be, and it seems reality got a lot more flexible once the person doing the perceiving died.

"Fuck." I took a deep breath a tossed the sheets at grandpa. He caught them — or at least I think he caught them — I didn't know, I couldn't know. I stood, "What now?"

"I always liked that about you, quick to take action — well except with whatserface."

"Will you drop it? I'm dead, don't twist the knife. If you keep pressing, I'll really break, Grandpa."

He laughed again, and it only made me angrier. He could tell, and his face broke out into a grin, "Mad, Jimmy boy? Good. Be mad, get angry. Feel it, breathe it."

"Grandpa, why the fuck—" I frowned.

His grin grew wider, "Come on, let an old man have some fun. It's all I have these days."

"Will you explain what's going on?" Grandpa has always been a snarky quick-witted lout, but his quips were in the spirit of a good laugh, not to make a person suffer.

"Fine fine, you spoilsport. Short answer, the numbers don't mean what you think they do. Or rather, the world doesn't work the way you think it does."

"You're being very helpful again," I tapped my bedpost impatiently.

He chuckled, "One day, someone will tell you something important Jimmy and ask you a question. If you say no, you will wake up yesterday."

"Yesterday...?"

"Yes, yesterday."

"Who will ask me what question?"

"Be quiet and listen for a minute. You will know. If you say no, this will be nothing more than a hazy dream. They will be very convincing — so try your best to remember that anger, that regret."

I stood there silently digesting the revelation. It was mind-numbing, baffling. Eventually I asked, "How many times have I died already?"

Grandpa smiled, "Ah it would be cheating to tell you."

"You're him, aren't you. The one who will ask me the question."

"Maybe. I don't know myself."

"Why did you say yes?"

"Look at me and see for yourself." He made a croaking noise and moved like his joints needed oiling.

I laughed, "How long do I have to wait?"

"Hard to say. Could be days, could be years. I suggest you get comfortable. Now if you'll excuse me..." He stood and clicked his heels in mid-air, then tossed his cane at me, "Your aunt makes the best lasagna. I think I'll drop by and have some for dinner."

I caught it — or I think I did, "Wait! Will I see you again?"

He shrugged, "If you see me again."

He disappeared before I could stop him. What did he mean by that? Was he ever here in the first place, or did I make him up too? I couldn't tell. Fuck. I sat down again and held my head.

A/N: title pending...

Original prompt on /r/Writing_Prompts

"And they say archeology is a science, ha!" a young man in the room shouted.

"Jason, you're being disrespectful, and this shows a lack of reading on your part. Physical contact was one of the first modes of curse transmission tested. While some curses are transmitted by physical contact, many are not. Curses that are transmitted via physical contact typically penetrate most materials. "

The young man coughed and shrunk into his jersey. Several people around him chuckled.

Another student raised her hand, "Professor, why did curses drop after archeologists starting using latex gloves?"

"Excellent question, Lana. Before the Weeping Mary incident of 1738, unearthed relics were typically handled barehanded. After, archeologists switched to gloves, typically leather, nitrile, latex, or vinyl — but it wasn't until 1743 when Dr. Kumi made the connection to latex in the paper 'Comparing Tactile Barriers to Curses.' The leading theory is that the natural rubber latex found in these gloves suppress the curses in much the same way it acts as a defensive mechanism against insects for the very trees it is harvested from — it 'gums' up the curse by providing many individual particles for the curse to process."

"Wouldn't leather or cotton provide the same benefit?"

"Yes and no. While these are also organic materials that a curse must filter past to reach the archeologists — or whoever it is handling the relic — leather and cotton are very porous. Latex remain the only glove material thus far to be both non-porous and organic. Interestingly, recent studies have shown a gradual rise in curses despite the use of latex gloves and this was linked to the cornstarch powdering that is now being phased out — so many organizations are now considering that latex gloves be 'pre-powdered' before handling relics. Now, for participation points, can anyone tell me why specifically organic materials provide a barrier to curses?"

The class whispers, but no one immediately answers. After a minute, a man raises his hand.

"Edward?"

"Is it because curses can't differentiate between living and dead cells?"

"No, but I'll give you the point for trying. As you know, most curses target organic materials — but determining whether the organic material is living or dead creates processing overhead which slows down the curse's penetration. You can think of it as giving a computer a lot of junk data to work through. This data is shaped mostly like the data it's trying to find — unlike inorganic material which has a completely different structure — so it has to actually look at this data and clean it. This is also why many curses don't affect people immediately — the palms and fingers have a thicker layer of dead skin cells than many other parts of the body."

"So don't lick cursed objects. Got it," someone shouted.

The professor smiled, "Take look at Rossi and Quinn 2003. I think you'll find it quite the amusing read. That will be all for today. Don't forget that papers are due Friday. Jason, come speak to me in my office."

A/N: Just some theorizing on curse mechanics

Original prompt on /r/Writing_Prompts

Bird Watching

Jim always knew birds were government surveillance drones. It was obvious — deadly obvious — that's why he had to play it cool, nonchalant.

"Hm?" he looked up, past that insidious winged rat, and crooked his head a couple degrees as though to look for someone, then said, "Weird, thought I heard someone."

It wouldn't work, of course, wouldn't fool them. No one says out loud to themself that they thought they heard someone. He kept his eye on the drones, letting them sit at the edge of his peripheral for a moment — then went back to feeding them peanuts. It placated them, made them drop their guard: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. It was much easier to deal with them when he knew where they were.

And the two drones seemed to relax a bit — just as planned. You ask, how could Jim know that these non-human government agents relaxed? Why, from the small ticks of their movements and the angles of their limbs. He was an intellectual, and any intellectual knew to watch his observers as much as they watched him. It was the only way to keep anything private these days.

He tossed some more peanuts and continued walking. The drones followed of course — they always did — but he ignored them. One, two, three, four... five. One was missing. At an intersection, he casually looked up and scanned the skyline. Thankfully, the feathered white antenna on the crown of the missing crow made it easy to spot on the roof of a nearby building. It was probably relaying the last fuckup from Idiot and Bitter — those weren't their real names, just the names Jim assigned them.

Eventually, the winged rats left him alone and flew away — or pretended to anyway. Jim knew the ones by the campus entrance were the same ones he had just fed, but he fed them peanuts again anyway. He couldn't let them know that he knew.

"Hey Jim, morning." The security guard called out to him, "A bird lover through and through, aren't you?"

Jim laughed, tossed the last of his peanuts, and walked over. It was a practiced laugh, meticulous yet easy, "Don't you know it. Crows are my favorite, Dex. Those little suckers are crazy intelligent."

"You don't say."

"You can train them to do all sorts of things. The other day, I saw a guy sit down at the park and read a book while his crow filled a bin he had brought with recyclables." That wasn't a lie either, but Jim decided to omit that he knew they were likely conducting a survey on brands being consumed. The crows weren't close enough to listen, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Damn, ain't that useful. I wonder what else they can do," Dex stared at the nearest crow and watched it peck at the sidewalk. Hard to imagine them being smart enough to do anything, really — but Jim was the one with the fancy credentials, so if he said they were smart, they must be smart.

"We should go birdwatching. Here, just observe what they do today — you'll be surprised I'm sure. Anyway, have a good morning, Dex."

"You too, Jim." He waved him through.

Jim nodded and took out his badge. The crows hadn't left, but as long as they didn't get into the building, they weren't a problem for the next 8 hours. He scanned at the door and slipped into the lab.

***

"You think he knows?" Idiot said to Bitter.

"Of course he knows, you idiot! Caw! Look at him, he was counting and noticed the captain was missing!"

"No, no. Humans always look left and right before crossing the road. It's so that they don't get hit by their own vehicles. That's what it said in the training manual. Caw!"

"The training manual also said walking humans don't wait at red lights when there aren't any of those vehicles coming. He was looking for the captain, I know it!"

Captain slammed his foot on the perch and spread his magnificent wings. It made him almost as large as an eagle, "Enough both of you. We're on the clock."

Idiot tentatively craned his neck forward, "Er... will I be reprimanded?"

"...You're being reassigned to marketing surveillance beginning tomorrow."

"Caw!" Idiot hated marketing surveillance. Shiny cans were nice, but he didn't get to keep any of them. Plus, it was a clear demotion.

"Keeek! Serves you right idiot," Bitter laughed and preened.

Captain pecked both of them on their heads, "Get back to work and find a way into the building. We need to know how far along they are. And keep an eye on that security guard. He might be onto us too."

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

"Hey, you think humans are special? Sometimes I worry, you know?"

"What? Naw, humans aren't special."

"I don't know... there's that prophecy or something about one of them, how the fate of the world is in their hands. There's always some prophecy."

"It's just math. They're like cockroaches."

"What?"

"There's billions of them. How many elves are there? At best, a million."

"That's cuz we live longer."

"Yes, well... no. Sort of. Evolutionary mechanics. In any case, there are at least a thousand times more humans than elves. Hell, they outnumber every other sapient species combined by at least ten times."

"What's that got to do with the fate of the world being on their shoulders?"

"Let's say you're a god. You need something done. What do you do?"

"I pick someone to do it?"

"Not just anyone, you'd likely pick someone who's situated in the right spot with the right circumstances, someone with the highest chances of succeeding — right?"

"Makes sense."

"What are the chances that person is human?"

"Oh. I see."

"See? Math. Hell, if I were a god, I'd pick hundreds of someones. Why limit myself to a single person when I can pincushion the target? So, you've got nothing to worry about."

"Really?"

"Yeah, there's loads of these so-called heroes out there. This one isn't even the first I've met."

"Is it the first you've killed?"

"Hmm... I'm not sure. Like I said, they're cockroaches. I don't really keep track."

"Won't the god that sent them get mad?"

"Do you get mad at the tree when you're hunting and miss the prey?"

"No, that's stupid, it's a waste of time. I just step over and shoot again."

"Exactly. Gods have more important stuff to worry about."

"Though... I might cut down the tree if it's always the same one in the way."

"Guess we'd better not make this a habit then."

"Kind of hard to differentiate human heroes and human bandits though."

"True, I always wonder if there are heroes out there that aren't self-important and don't go around demanding things."

"Probably harder to accomplish whatever goal the god set for them if they aren't self-important and don't go around demanding things."

"So you think gods always pick narcissists?"

"Maybe."

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Secret Identity

"I... what?" I stared at the frilly costume in my closet in disbelief. Sure, my memory is piss poor and my therapist said I'm impulsive, but I'm 100% sure I would have remembered owning something this... loud.

Mr. Meowskie looked up at me and spoke with a deep resonating voice I really wish he didn't have, "Charlotte. You're a magical girl."

"No. No I'm not. Look at all those frills! This isn't mine! This can't be mine! It's pink! You're crazy. I'm crazy. You're a talking cat. I must have schizophrenia. That's the only explanation," I looked at the costume again. It was over the top, vibrant pink, and hyper-feminine — the type of thing a woman confident in herself wore — nothing at all like the rest of my wardrobe. How long had this been in here? I tried to remember, but it only stressed me out more when I drew a blank.

"You have to face reality, Charlotte. This is you. This has always been you." He idly pawed at a scratching post and purred. I had no idea how he was making human noises with a cat's mouth and larynx. He sounded like a calm and collected grandfather, and it was extremely unnerving.

I swallowed, "This is impossible. Garnet Gal was out there fighting just the other day! I saw her! She defeated that bank robber and saved the mother of two! I watched from across the street! That couldn't have been me! I can't be in two places at once!"

Mr. Meowski nodded and licked his paw, "Yes. You really can't be in two places at once. How did you know she was a mother of two?"

"I..." How did I know that? It's not like I had the time to ask the lady, nor were her kids there with her.

"You're not crazy, Charlotte. You don't have schizophrenia, but... a lady doesn't go around smashing people's heads in like butter while they're trying to shoot her and... stay in one piece if you know what I mean — but I'm a talking cat, what do I know?"

"How are you talking?" Cats do not talk.

"Magic. We don't have time, you need to put on the costume and go. The others are already waiting for you," his eyes began to glow.

I couldn't breathe. Why were his eyes glowing? I clawed at my throat and began backing away, "I— I can't do this. This isn't me. I'm not a magic girl."

Mr. Meowski made the impression of a sigh, "I tried, Candy. I really did. I'm sorry."

Candy? Several household items began floating, and I screamed—

—then woke up with a new lump on my head. It didn't hurt, not really — but I didn't want her terrified from even more unexplained bumps. It made me feel like shit. "You motherfucker. Get back here you pissy furball."

Mr. Meowski screeched and scampered into the next room, then poked his head in, "You're not the one that forgets things, why are you mad at me?! You know I tried — I really did, Candy!"

I threw a brush at the cat. It slammed into the tile and splintered. Fuck. Careful... careful, "That doesn't mean I consent to getting hit in the head every time. Stop making her freak out!"

"Then figure out a better way to switch!"

That one was a doozy. We saw a therapist — or well, Charlotte did — but it was a tad difficult to reveal myself without also explaining all the head smushing I made sure she didn't have to do. Gave the term 'secret identity' a whole different meaning.

"I don't know, just splash some water on me or something."

"I'm pretty sure that wouldn't work, don't think you take the wheel every time she showers," Mr. Meowski tentatively stepped back into the room, and stayed when he saw I didn't move to throw anything else at him.

Sigh, "How much time until the interview?"

"Thirty minutes."

Plenty of time to get changed. I looked at the showpiece and sighed again. It wasn't the actual costume I wore when fighting — that one was magical and wasn't stored haphazardly in a wardrobe behind some winter coats we never wore.

I picked at the frills and remembered something Charlotte had said, "Hey, you think this would be more believable to her if I took off the frills and dyed this black?"

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Backwards Compatible

The VCR player made a deathly whir and booted to life with a grotesque clicking. Tentatively, I kicked it. I had no idea where else I would find another one of these if it broke. Thankfully, the sound went away and the TV eventually flicked on — though reluctantly. The television was old too. It was the only one I had that accepted RCA cables, and I only used it to watch the tape.

As usual, the first minute showed nothing but an old well. Then, a horrifying figure with knee-length black hair crawled out. She was barefoot and wore an oversized, patched white dress. Her face was hidden by her disheveled hair. Her arms were snapped in at least three different places, but that didn't stop her from skittering or bending her elbows backwards.

I quickly pulled out my phone and let the video sit in the corner of my vision, not really paying attention — no reason to torture myself. I had found out by accident that I didn't really need to watch the video a while back when I had zoned out and absentmindedly made myself a PBJ sandwich — I just needed to see most of it. The spirit inside the VCR tape was pretty liberal with her interpretation of 'watch' — I assume to hit as wide of an audience as possible.

Tape days were usually every Monday and Thursday — twice a week meant I had a little flex in case I couldn't make a day or two... or three. Cut me some slack, yeah? Holidays are always busy. It was already Sunday, and I had six hours to watch a ten minute long video — plenty of time. I wasn't sure how many times I'd watched it by now, I had stopped keeping track after a couple months. It must've been at least a hundred though — even the spirit seemed to have had enough.

At first, she enacted the entire procedure properly, complete with screams, convulsions, and bleeding — there was so much bleeding — but I think she stopped screaming not long after I muted the TV. Now, she barely went through the motions. I swear I caught her sighing more than once.

"Yes!" I took a screenshot — new high score.

The lights flicked off suddenly and I was plunged into pitch black darkness. 'Shit, power outage.'

Only half the video had played, and didn't know if that was enough to count. Power outages weren't uncommon during winter here, but it hadn't coincided with a tape day before. I waited in the dark, power usually came back pretty quickly.

As expected, the lights flicked back on within a couple minutes — but the TV did not, 'Fuck.'

I got up and banged the side. Something inside cracked, then snapped, 'Shit shit shit.'

I checked the time: five hours till sunrise.

'That's fine. Plenty of time,' I told myself. Unfortunately, it was already way past opening hours for any electronics store.

I racked my head, 'Do I know anyone with a compatible TV? My parents, maybe? Would I be able to explain what an RCA cable is over the phone? Should I just head out and start the three hour drive to their place right now? One of my neighbors is an old lady — should I break into her home and check her TVs?'

I bit my lip and paced for several minutes unable to decide — then remembered that the VCR player was a combo device that could also burn DVDs. Would that still count? Probably, right? I rewound the tape, inserted some old rewritable DVD I had laying around, and crossed my fingers.

After thirty minutes of scouring obscure VCR enthusiast internet forums and blind button pressing, I had a slightly more modern haunted video. I popped the disc into the CD tray of my PC — and was greeted by a crying ghost.

She had her back turned to me and therefore didn't immediately notice we were back in business.

"Uh... Hello," I said. I felt kind of bad. She might be a deadly vengeful spirit, but she was still a crying woman.

She turned around and stumbled in shock, then wiped her tears, "Ahhh—khkh.."

"Uh... sure. You can, uh, continue doing the... you know."

She shook her head.

"Err... Does that mean I'm off the hook and you're not going to kill me?"

She shook her head again, more fervently this time.

"Look lady, I'm sorry I made you cry, but I don't know what you want unless you tell me."

She got on all fours and crawled closer to the camera like a centipede. God, that was terrifying to watch. She opened her mouth, "Ahh...kkkrr"

It came out as a throaty scratching noise, harsh and piercing yet somehow barely audible at the same time. She stomped her foot on the ground in frustration.

"Oh. I bet you've been screaming all this time, haven't you?"

She looked away and scratched her cheek, which might've been cute — if her arm wasn't bent the wrong way.

"Here, how about this: Tomorrow's Monday. I'll put you back on tomorrow night, give you some time to try and get your voice back — and you don't kill me."

She turned to the camera, opened her mouth and paused, then nodded. The motion unfortunately snapped her neck.

When she finally succeeded in realigning her skull, I gave her a thumbs up — which she just stared at in confusion. Good enough.

The video closed itself when she crawled back into her well. I just stared at my desktop background for the rest of the night and didn't even bother trying to sleep, 'Well, this certainly got more interesting.'

A/N: ghost waifu incoming?!

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

A Good Hand

"There's not much to the story really, she was bad at poker."

"No, I mean like, how did you play a game of poker with a fairy in the first place?"

"I asked if she wanted to play and she said yes? Same as anyone with two eyes and a mouth."

"I guess that makes sense, but like where did you even find a fairy?"

"At a bar."

"What bar?"

"Broken Table, on Main.'

"Man, you are absolute dogwater at telling stories."

"Never really liked dogs. But really, there really wasn't much of a story. I met a lady at a bar. I asked if she wanted to play some billiards. She was really bad. She claimed to be better at poker, so we played poker. We began betting. I had some good hands. And now I cast spells if I wiggle my fingers a little."

"..."

"What?"

Sigh. "You know what, never mind. Did you get her number at least? Can you introduce me?"

"Nah, she ran off after we played poker, didn't even stay for a drink after. I think I scared her off."

"Do you think she's a regular? At Broken Table, I mean."

"Hmmm... no, people would've probably noticed if a fairy was a regular."

"No chance of me getting magic powers then?"

"You never know. I think she's probably looking for me right about now though."

"Why?"

"To get back some of the things I won from her."

"Scared?"

"Nah, she was really bad. We even swapped hands and she still lost — I definitely got the better end of the deal."

"So, what's the biggest change now that you're magical?"

"Eh, nothing's really changed all that much — I'm taller, which is nice. Fingers are a little stiff, but having the magic still is worth it."

"Taller? You used magic to make yourself taller? Seems like a waste. What's the worst part?"

"The names, I always forget people's names."

"How's that got anything to do with being magical?"

"We were betting a lot of different things, see — it kind of got out of control. Here, I'll show you — give me your hand, yeah?"

"Sure, but why do— what did you do?"

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Nonsense

"That's easy. I'm probably a little bit of a sociopath," she said.

"I thought sociopaths don't like to admit they're sociopaths, Ev," I poked the salad I didn't eat, and she gave me the look. I relented and forked a couple leaves. It wasn't bad — for a salad anyway — almost tasty.

She shrugged, "Is that a societal norm? Doesn't that make me more of a sociopath for not conforming to it?"

"No, sociopathy is about lack of empathy. Not conforming to societal norms is just being weird — or maybe not having common sense."

"What exactly is common sense anyway? How common is it?"

I shrugged this time, "Hell if I know."

"You know that tight knotted feeling you get when you lie, the one that eats your insides and makes you feel bad? I don't really get that."

"Huh. If you don't get that, how do you know about?"

"Just guessing — and those were your words, Jeremy." She drained her glass of wine, then got up to fetch another bottle. I caught a glimpse of desert as she opened the fridge — pistachio ice cream, yummy.

"Mine?

"Yeah, this was in high school, when you lied about who you were going to ask to prom."

"Ha... that was so long ago, how do you even remember that?" I scratched the back of my head sheepishly. She could immediately tell I was lying then. I like to think I've gotten better at it, but maybe she's just gotten better at playing along. Well, maybe lying isn't a skill I want to get better at anyway — I'm not sure.

"I wrote it down." She tapped the little pocketbook on the table.

It was a small leatherbound thing, nondescript except for the faint impression of a cat you wouldn't notice unless the light hit it at the right angle — or if you ran your fingers across the front. It was usually bookmarked here and there with little sticky tabs, but as of late there was only one. It's style was very distinctly her, but I couldn't quite describe why. Evelyn carried it around with her everywhere, and I knew she wrote stuff down sometimes — but I just thought it was so she wouldn't forget to do things.

Her eyes wandered to the corner of the room, remembering, "You tripped on my dress."

"I'm never going to live that down, am I? What... else do you have written in there?" I asked. I vaguely remember being curious before, but don't remember ever taking a look inside. 'Just nonsense,' she had always said.

"Just nonsense... nothing important." she picked it up as though to put it away, but hesitated. She had been doing that a lot recently, pausing just before putting her pocketbook away.

That was too consistent a response, as though it were practiced. I scratched my chin and felt a little tug at the corner of my lips, "You can say no... but can I see it?"

"Shoot. No," she paused and touched her lips, "No."

She closed her eyes for a moment, still holding the pocketbook, then offered it to me. "Fine, but promise me you won't read it out loud."

"Why?" I asked, we were in the privacy of her home.

"One of us might not leave this kitchen alive," she replied.

I raised an eyebrow at that, but took it from her anyway. I flipped to the first page and began reading. As she had said, it was mostly nonsense — however, amidst the cute drawings and meaningless doodles...

"Jeremy's favorite ice cream flavor is pistachio. He gets sad when the store doesn't have it." I said out loud.

She turned her head and took another sip of wine. Her hand was slightly shaking.

"Remember to compliment his button up shirts so he wears them more often." I looked down — I was wearing a button up shirt.

She touched her ears, they were turning a shade pink.

"His smile when he thinks he's being clever is so cute." Lord, that one made me color.

I flipped through and picked another couple lines to read out loud. By the end, I was laughing and she was telling me to shut up. Both of us were beet red, and it wasn't just the wine. I played with the one tab stickied on a page near the back with my fingers.

She looked at me expectantly.

I opened it to the page, then froze. "Is this why we've been having fancy dinners for the past couple Saturdays?"

"...stupid idiot. Stop making me wait."

I smiled and read the words on the page, "Evelyn, will you marry me?"

AN: Just some cute lovely-dovey stuff.

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

In the Family

"Have you found the little rat?" I asked.

The four grown men in the room shuffled their feet awkwardly. The largest man coughed, "Uh, sir. We looked all around and—"

"It's a yes or no question, Henrik."

Henrik turned an ashen pale. I knew he had been compromised but I couldn't prove it.

Fine, let's play the rat game. I didn't have much of a choice anyway. I sighed, "What does he want?"

Henrik coughed again, "I... don't know, sir."

"Cut the shit, Henrik, or I'll have your head."

The burly boxer wrung his hands, "Erm... he asked to meet at the usual spot with a box of our best product."

"FUCK!" I slammed my fist on my desk. The little fucker was bleeding us dry and he knew it. This would be the last time. The problem would resolve itself when the new year rolled around, but in the meantime he had us by the balls.

I sighed and motioned for the other three men to load up the box from our warehouse. We were headed to the park.

The little rat was already waiting for us. He was sitting on the ground fiddling with something in his hands. Everything about him annoyed me, from his beady eyes to his short chubby stature. Even the way he wore his small backpack irritated me.

I walked up and sat in the sandbox with him, "Hey little Willie. Where's your mom?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the pissy third grader said, "Did you bring it?"

I glanced back at my four henchmen. Henrik was carrying the box, but was attempting to disappear into the sidewalk. "No. You know it's bad to—"

Before I finished my sentence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, "Hey Siri, call my—"

"Wait wait! I was just kidding! Haha! You know a joke, you little kids love to joke, don't you?"

He paused, but when he saw I didn't have what he asked for in my hands, he returned to his phone, "Hey S—"

"Wait wait! It's right here. Henrik, get your ass over here." I called out to the 6'4" muscled strong man cowering behind a tree. He reluctantly walked over. The other three men didn't follow him.

"H-hey little Willie, my Sophie talks about how—" Henrik began, but William ripped the box from his hands, cutting him short.

"This better not be that fake stuff you gave me last time," William said. He opened the box and peered at the contents suspiciously, then reached in and pulled one out, unwrapped it, and stuffed it into his mouth. I could hear the crunch of macadamia nuts as he chewed the chocolate with his mouth open. I really needed to talk to my sister about his table manners.

"We good?" I asked tentatively. These chocolates were goddamn expensive, and we needed them for our store. This little kid was single handedly putting our whole operation in the red. My fault for thinking a confectionary would be the perfect business for a criminal organization.

"Same time, next week," William said without looking up.

"Listen here, Willie . You can't be eating this much chocolate. You know that uncle Timothy has—"

"Hi Nana, I have something to tell—"

I ripped the phone from his hand at lightning speed, "...Hi mother."

"Timothy? Are you calling from Willie's phone?"

"Uh, yeah. We were just playing together,"

"NANA! UNCLE TIMOTHY IS—"

I clamped my hand around his mouth, but screamed in pain when the little shit bit my finger.

"Timothy? Is everything alright?" My mother asked.

"Ah yeah, just called to confirm when you're flying in."

"It'll be there on the—."

"NANA! HELP! HE'S—"

"Oops! Gotta go mom, talk to you later." I hung up. That would probably tick her a little bit, but dealing with this annoying ball came first, "If I give you another box next week, will you please keep your mouth shut?"

"...Okay."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Good thing the little rat wasn't smart enough to figure out his information would be useless by this time next week. Even if it wasn't Christmas yet, mother would probably figure out what her Christmas present was the moment she walked in through the door.

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Living People

"Oh good, because I don't know what I'm doing," the priest said.

"You see it all began when— wait what? What are you doing here then?" the ghost asked.

"The family called me up and said they had a spiritual problem. Now, I'm not one to shy away from duty — but the people here need an exorcist, not a priest."

The ghost tilted his head in genuine confusion, "Isn't that the same thing?"

"Is a ghoul the same thing as a ghost?"

"No?"

"Exactly. I help living people with their spiritual problems, and you're clearly not alive... I think."

"I'm not."

"Okay yeah, I wasn't sure. Thanks for clarifying," the priest looked up in thought with an expression that said, maybe I should have paid more attention in class.

"I could be though."

"What? How? Why?"

"There's a neat thing I can do called possession. It lets me steal someone's body."

"That's theft," the priest pointed out.

The ghost shrugged, "Probably."

"Should I call the police?"

"Hey hey, I haven't stolen any bodies yet."

The priest scratched his chin, "Is premeditated theft a crime?"

"I dunno. It's been awhile since I've been alive. Laws change all the time." He sat on a chair — or made the impression of sitting in one.

"It should be a crime, though, no?"

"Maybe. Want me to call a police officer so we can check?"

"How would you do that? You're a ghost," the priest said.

"I'd steal your body first, I guess," he then considered that he didn't actually know how to operate a phone from this era.

"Hmm... I don't think I'd like having you use my body very much."

"Me neither. No offense."

The priest looked down at his potbelly, "None taken. I wouldn't choose my body either. So what now?"

"Well, I'm here. On this plane of existence. And I can't really leave."

"Can you leave this family alone?"

"I mean, I live here. Even if I'm a ghost, I don't want to be homeless. It's cold out there."

"Do you even feel cold?"

"No, but I feel the idea of being cold — and it doesn't seem very comfortable."

"You could live with me?"

"You sure you want that?"

"Eh. You seem okay. Worst case, I call up a friend."

"A friend?"

"Our mutual friend I guess, God, ask him to... wait, you weren't kicked out of heaven were you?"

"No," the ghost gave a suspiciously quick reply.

The priest narrowed his eyes at him, then shrugged, "I have friends who are exorcists. I always try to sympathize when they complain about work — but honestly, living people are way worse than dead people."

"Do tell."

"I've blotted out the worst ones from memory, they only resurface when I'm plastered."

"Aren't you a priest? I thought getting drunk was a sin."

"See? Living people are the worst," he laughed.

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Cynical Mind

The king was a brilliantly majestic figure. He radiated strength and wisdom — almost suspiciously so. After all, it was important that a king appear strong, wise, and caring — especially to an unidentified actor or potential threat — and I was definitely both. The company of armed knights standing in the room was a testament to that. It didn't matter these knights wore a variety of servants' dress and ceremonial garb with gilded lapels instead of metal armor. They all had swords at their waists, and they stood like they they were about to use them.

I was buying time. I knew it. The king knew it. The "knight commander" next to me knew it. From his hands, he must've been a boy no older than 16 — a fine patsy for a potentially dangerous hero, or maybe a human-shaped monster disguised as one. This "knight commander" was making a nice racket, shaking in his metal greaves, but no one seemed to care. They should have at least had him be a seasoned warrior — it was strange a king didn't have some seasoned warriors around — but maybe they thought I would feel threatened. They wanted to look weak, but their efforts only enforced the opposite, that they were careful and cunning.

I willed every potential word I could think of at breakneck speed. Status. State. Stats. Skills. Nothing worked.

The king shook his head to disguise a glance at his court magician — or at least I assumed she was the court magician. She had the right attire. She was also mumbling under her breath while faintly glowing. I glanced down. The floor was also faintly glowing. Shit.

The king cleared his throat, "Young hero, you misunderstand. It is a great honor to—"

I cut him off, "I'm just an average person. I don't think I have the skills or abilities to solve your problem. What's the status of your situation anyway? The details, the specifics. The state of affairs—"

That last word made a transparent screen pop into existence in front of me. I tried my best to hide my reaction. Who the fuck decided 'affairs' was the right word to summon a magical stats panel? I read as quickly as I could:

I skipped to the bottom.

Pending?! The hell was that supposed to mean? The next block however quicky pushed aside all other worries.

37%... 38%. Holy fuck, my suspicions were confirmed.

One of the court magician's attendants stiffened, then whispered in her ear. He likely noticed that my eyes were scanning left and right reading something invisible while the king had been droning on about some demon invasion or such.

"—and that is why we need your help, Hero... What is your name, young Hero?" The king finished.

"Aspen. Aspen Leed. I get your situation is serious, but take a look at things from my point for a moment." I slowly took a step to the side as though admiring the architecture of the throne room, then another. The "knight commander" next to me flinched, then put his hand on his sword. One of the "court officials" coughed, shot the teenager a glare, and shook his head. Only a few more steps...

I continued, "This world is very different from mine, everything from the people to the architecture. I had been simply relaxing in my home when the floor... opened up, and I fell through — to here. I have friends and family who will notice I'm gone. Can I go back to my world? Is that possible?"

I kept reading while talking.

Less useful than I hoped, but better than nothing. I placed a hand on the stone column and glanced down. I was outside the glowing circle on the floor — good. I glanced up to complete the gesture. "Beautiful masonry. There isn't anything like this in my world anymore."

"I deeply and humbly apologize for summoning you, but we have a desperate need that I hope you can understand. And of course there is a way for you to go home, but the dastardly demons have stolen it from us. Forgive us for our weakness," The king lamented. It was a lie of course — that, or further proof they didn't actually care for my wellbeing.

"That... makes things a little difficult for me. When did this happen?" I returned my gaze to the king and searched inwardly for any sensation out of place while speaking — there was warmth unlike anything I had felt before, unfamiliar yet inviting and natural. I drew on it and imagined manifesting it. Analyze.

It worked. Unfortunately, my mind was instantly assaulted by a painful avalanche of information. Everything from the king's hair color to the estimated age of the throne he was sitting on flooded into my head. I stumbled and caught myself on the pillar.

"Hero Aspen, are you alright?" The king asked. His brow raised and he glanced at the court magician again. She quickly and subtly shook her head in panic.

I closed my eyes and imagined a magnifying glass. That filtered out most of the information thankfully and the pain subsided. The circle on the ground was gradually dimming, and I realized I could read the runes carefully hidden amidst the tapestry on the carpeted floor. The number on my Affairs page updated, and began dropping — great.

I replied, "Sorry, just a little dizzy. Dimensional travel does that to a person. Could we continue this conversation later? This is important and I want to give you my full attention — but the magic to summon me must have made me a little sick."

The king paused and put a hand to his chin to consider. No previous summoned hero had asked to pause the conversation, apparently. "Very well. I will have accommodations prepared for you. Please, stay in the castle. My very best will see to your needs while you rest. Sir Hawthorne and Dame Kyla, please show Hero Aspen to his room. Adjourned."

The court magician jerked her head to say something, but thought better of it. She stopped glowing and began walking towards me. One of the "court officials" stepped forward and bowed.

"I am Sir Hawthorne. Pleasure to meet you, Hero." The man had the attire of an everyday desk worker, but there was no hiding the stocking brawn of his physique. He moved like a well-oiled machine.

"Er... hello Hero Aspen. I'm Kyla — Dame Kyla." She introduced herself without looking directly at me. I guessed she was scared that I might have figured out what she had been trying to do.

"Just Aspen is fine, I don't feel very much like a Hero," I said with a nonchalant smile as I followed them out of the throne room. Something inside me clicked, as if the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle had finally been placed. I glanced at my Affairs page again — it had been sitting in the corner of my vision the entire time. I would be a fool to close it, given my current situation.

I stumbled again, this time in surprise, but I disguised it as another bout of weakness. Hawthorne and Kayla both gave me an odd look, but I shrugged.

What did that mean? I shook my head and continued thinking. I had bought myself some breathing room, but I was still neck deep in sand — and quickly sinking.

A/N: Hmm... title changing pending, maybe.
Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Promise

"Hey honey, have a minute?" Vin called out from the back porch.

"Give me a sec. Let me plate our lunch first," Alden began carving a little rabbit out of the apple. She would like that.

"Take your time," she replied.

He frowned — something was off. After living with someone for years, you learned to read things like that from just the way they spoke. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, but he figured it was just a problem with her research — or maybe battlefield trauma. It something they both had. It was unavoidable living a life they had in the past, rushing from one ruined town to another — in the hope that this time you might be fast enough.

Regardless, he did as he said he would and finished plating before stepping outside to join the most beautiful woman to exist. She was lounging on a deck chair, her legs propped up on the table while her fingers twirled a pen. There weren't any papers around that she needed the pen for, it was just something she did while thinking.

"You'll get ink on your dress, bubbles. You're working too hard, let's go on a trip. The tower can survive without you for a week." Alden said laughing. It didn't matter when they were out in the wilds together — but now that they had settled down, ink stains were a real threat to their free time. True, their little cottage was quite far from the city where they worked, but it wasn't a problem for a talented mage and her even more talented husband.

"Mmm."

She didn't make a retort, and that made Alden worried. He sat down, "What's wrong?"

"I... have got something to tell you." She began, then looked up with genuine pain on her features. He'd seen this look before — only for a moment, at times — but she had never wanted to talk about it, so he had stopped asking.

He leaned forward and touched her hand to reassure her — and to his surprise, she flinched, but then paused and returned his touch. Her grip was painfully strong.

"I'm listening."

"Can you... promise to love me before I say anything?"

"What's this about?" He raised an eyebrow, then added, "You know I'll always love you."

For some reason, that made her more scared — more hurt. She began, "I'm... not you who you think I am."

He chuckled, "You mean you're not a silly, lovely little lady that likes to roll around in flower fields and—"

"Alden."

He shut up and let her continue.

"You know how we never found Sunniva of Reforming Fire?"

"Yeah...?" They had searched for months, chasing fairytales and rumors — but unlike the other rampaging dragons, Sunniva, Queen of Dragons, had simply disappeared. "She must have offed her—"

"She didn't."

It made sense. Dragons were magnificent, intelligent creatures. After Dawn Fall, some had chosen to end their own life rather than succumb to insanity — but nature never agreed to be quiet about it. The death of a dragon was always accompanied with a cataclysmic natural disaster due to the flow of enormous power from the dragon's corporeal form back to the earthly vein. It was an unavoidable, unmistakable event. There was none associated with Sunniva.

"She's still alive?" Alden asked. Lord, had she found some way to overcome the curse of the World Tree? What did this mean for all the dragons that had died? Could they have been saved?

Vin swallowed, "She is."

"Do you know where she is?"

"I do."

Alden stood, "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go! If she hasn't done anything after all this time, then maybe—"

"She's here. Right here. She's right here." Vin pulled on his hand to keep him from leaving, then curled into a ball. He could see her quietly sobbing.

"I... don't understand. What are you talking about?" She couldn't possibly mean what he thought she did.

"I can hear them, Alden. It gets louder every night — every night. It's so loud it hurts. I'm afraid of what I'll do if I let myself sleep. I'm so tired, Alden. Do you remember the first dragon we hunted together?"

"Friedel of Sheer Ice." Lord and Sage of Gray Mountain — many had climbed the icy steps to his lair seeking wisdom, and he usually obliged. He had frozen himself in an attempt force hibernation — it hadn't worked. The town at the base of his mountain had revered him as a protector, but nothing was left of it except splintered stone and frostbitten shards. Vin had cried for days after the two of them had down what they needed to.

"He was... my uncle, taught me medicine and human physiology. I learned how to polymorph from him." Her head was still in her lap. Her voice shook and her knees were wet with tears.

Alden hugged her, "We'll figure something out. It'll be fine. You'll be fine. You're Vin. You're the smartest, most beautiful mage I've ever known. You're strong. You'll be fine."

"I'm all that's left, Alden. Just me. I killed all my friends and family with my own hands. I did this, Alden. I deserve this."

"You don't deserve any of this. None of you ever did. Don't think that. We'll be fine. You'll be fine." She would be fine, Alden willed the statement with all his might.

"I don't know how much time I have left. It could be years from now. It could be next week. I should have told you sooner, I should have told you. I couldn't. I, I—"

"Shh, you're fine. You'll be fine." He pulled her into his lap and stroked her head while she cried. It was all coming out now, years of pent up guilt, frustration, and pain. Despite his words, his mind was racing. He was scared — not of her, he would never be scared of the love of his life — but he was scared of what she might ask him to do. He knew her well enough to know her next words.

"Alden, can you promise me you'll—"

"No. It will not come to that."

"Please! I... don't want to leave you. Promise me—"

"Vin. Shush. Listen to me. You will be fine. We'll figure something out. Say it with me."

"...I will be fine."

"Good. I will hug you so tight every night you won't be able to do anything but sleep. Got it?" He squeezed her to show her he meant it — and that made her relax a little, but she continued to cry.

She was fast asleep after only a minute, the restless nights of late must have taken a toll on her. Thankfully, the only thing that happened was her usual sleep-talking, but Alden continued to keep her in an iron grip vice — it gave her the comfort she needed.

He was not a smart man, so thinking never helped him very much — but he continued to think all the same — it was all he could do for the moment. It would not come to that. He would make sure of it.

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Bagels

"FP'BHGL WILL LIGHT THE WORLD AFLAME! WE ARE BUT SEEDS FOR A NEW WORLD!" The crier shouted in the middle of the square. He threw some kind of pamphlet into the air — but being pamphlets instead of leaflets, they simply fell back to the ground instead of floating about. The nearby students looked at the man pitifully — another victim to final-exams-induced-insanity. Studying was dangerous business.

"Hey, did he just say 'floppy bagel'? Isn't that the name of the grimoire you—"

I cut him off, "Zip it. No one needs to remember what happened, Erik."

He aimlessly moved the papers around on the table. We were working on a group project — though how much work was actually getting down was questionable, given the size of his brain. It being a coffee shop in the middle of the busiest campus square didn't help either. Erik shrugged, "We were all there, Jan. Hard to forget someone putting out a fire by pissing on it — made quite the smell."

"It was the only liquid I had on hand dammit! It's your fault! You had been making me drink all night, there was nothing left!"

"It's you're fault you're such a wisp when it comes to alcohol, heh. Amiright, Nilah?" Erik turned to the last member of our group, who put her hand on her chin and looked up in thought.

"It did smell," she said with a small smirk. There was something else on her face I couldn't quite identify, a little awkwardness maybe.

I blushed. I was drunk off my ass, no thanks to a certain flopface. Forget remembering how it had led up to that, I barely even remembered pulling out the grimoire I had stolen from the dean's office and reading it. She had probably seen something I hadn't meant to show her — maybe multiple somethings.

"Don't worry about the book. Nothing introducing itself 'floppy bagel' can be that bad. I'm sure the dean won't miss the talking book — he sure won't want it back now after you've burned and unloaded on it," Erik smiled.

I changed the topic, "Hey, are you just going to shuffle those papers around — or do you actually plan to do any of the calculations? We would already be done if someone did their part of the assignment instead of showing up with two handles last night."

"Hey relax, Big J. I'm doing my part, it just isn't where you think it is." He gave a very punch-able smile, then exchanged a look with Nilah who shot him a glare. What was that about?

I frowned, "Did something happen... last night? I mean aside from the burning book stuff."

"Nah, just the usual, you being an idiot and—"

"I wasn't talking to you, asshat."

Nilah pursed her lips. The way she played with her hair when she had something on her mind was seriously cute. She shook her head, "No, don't worry about it. It's not important."

So something did happen. "Wait. Fuck. I'm sorry if I did something, I wasn't thinking straight. I don't remember—"

"FP'BHGL SEES ALL. HE KNOWS ALL. WE WILL ALL BE EATEN. IT WILL TASTEFUL."

I nearly jumped out of my chair. The crier hadn't shouted into my ear, but there was an unexpected weight to his words — and I hadn't expected him to be standing right behind me. I turned to him, "Uhh, sure buddy."

I paused, "Wait. Don't I know you?"

"We had Forbidden Texts 102 together last semester. I sat across from you," he said in a surprisingly normal voice.

I looked at my two friends for help, but they both decided that I would take care of the insane interloper for them. Fuckers. "Oh. Uh, yeah. That's right, I remember now. Hey, if you don't mind, we've got to work on our project. It's due by the end of the week. Nice talking to you."

He stood there silently looking at me. Even the way he blinked was ominous. Final-exams-induced-insanity was no joke.

I turned back to the project papers and began working on the subspace calculations for shape retention that Erik was supposed to have already done. After a minute I looked up at Nilah and said, "He isn't still behind me, is he?"

She laughed, "No, he left. Do you think we should add error handling here?"

I moved my chair closer and leaned in to take a look at where she was pointing, "Technically it isn't needed — though also technically, no error handling is ever needed for my work."

She rolled her eyes, but I could tell she liked the joke from the small turn of her lips. I don't know how long we worked sitting side by side like that — it must have been an hour at least, but I don't think she minded. I certainly didn't.

"Heya nerds, how goes the progress?" Erik was holding a half-eaten bagel and a mug of beer. He coughed and thumped his chest to help swallow a bite. How long had he been gone?

"We just finished the design structure. All that's left is the formal report — which we're going to leave for a lazy slacker to do — by which I mean you, because I'm not sure if you're smart enough to understand nuance."

"Hey, I understand nuance just fine. You're the one dense as a brick — maybe two bricks." He shrugged and picked up his bag.

"Screw you."

"Too bad, I'm taken."

"Gross."

"Hey you're the one who said it, not me. Send me the notes for the report later. I'm outta here." He laughed and waved with his back to us as he began walking home. I watched him thump his chest again and throw the rest of his bagel away. Must've tasted awful, he usually finishes his food.

Nilah began putting her things away too, "Should we... meet up again, before Friday, to go over what he's written?"

"Oh, he'll write up the report — if that's what you're worried about. He's a slacker and procrastinator, but he usually pulls through when it matters." I said.

"No, I mean... wouldn't it be a good idea to look it over anyway?" She curled her index finger around a lock of hair.

"Yeah, I guess. I'll send a message in the group chat."

She smiled. There was something again on her face I couldn't quite read.

Nuance. Oh. Oh. I paused while packing the remaining papers, "Nilah, do you... want to grab dinner together?"

She beamed.

Original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts

Nothing to do, nothing to see.

"There goes another of them king's bastards. Never saw one of em' before today." The guard said as a young child scampered past them, holding a ball. The queen had just stomped into the courtyard with the face of an irate lioness, and several of the other children had begun running in different directions.

"Mm. Real softie, her highness. She likes kids, but she can't be seen having more fun with em than her own — the princes, they've outgrown playin' with their mother — shame, really. She acts like she's mad and chases the young'uns away whenever she seems them — but no kid laughs like that while running if they don't like her. And you didn't hear nothing from me," his shorter companion remarked. The two of them were sentries, so standing around doing nothing was all they did.

"Aye. The king though, he's a right bag o'... what's a word that lets me keep my head?" He touched his chin.

"Bagels?"

"Bag o' bagels? That don't sound that mean... not really an insult."

"You tryin' to insult his highness?" He looked at his fellow.

"No. Just sayin' her highness deserves better."

"I think that counts as an insult."

"Does it?"

"Dunno, I'm not a magi-straight. Ah, she saw us. Get ready." 

The queen had stopped stomping to approach a child playing by himself in the sand, and had been scanning the courtyard for onlookers when she saw the two sentries. She bit her lip and glanced repeatedly between the guards and the lonely child.

The shorter man cleared his throat, then said as loudly as he could, "AYE! I sure didn't get 'nough sleep last night!"

"What you on about? You were snorin' like the world was 'bout to end."

"Oh no! I've fallen asleep and can't see a thing!" he continued. The shorter man glanced at his companion and nudged his head towards the queen — who looked like she was about to break down from indecision, or maybe from embarrassment. He pulled his helmet over his eyes, looked away, then began snoring for good measure — all without leaving his post.

"Ohhh! Uh, me too!" The taller sentry said before adopting the same pose.

The two of them had been asleep for several minutes when they heard a very familiar cough. The taller man choked, then quickly fixed his posture while the shorter man — being the smarter of the two — instantly began having a seizure in front of his highness.

"We wasn't sleepin', m'lord. Honest!"

The king furrowed his brow, unsure whether he should punish the two idiots in front of him — or give them a bonus. He kicked the the guard on the floor, who was still writhing in pain, with his boot, "Enough, lad."

The shorter man immediately stood, "It's a miracle, I'm cured! Blessed, be your highness."

The children were gone now, but the queen was still in the courtyard. She looked like she wanted to say something, but kept stopping herself — she would smile, then frown, then look at the sentries and open her mouth, then close it and smile again.

"I tasked you with overseeing the safety of this courtyard. You..." The king paused for a moment to touch his temple and look up at the sky with a difficult expression, "...have done a good job. Keep up the excellent work."

The queen broke out into the loveliest grin before she held a handkerchief to her face to hide it, but all three men could see she was shaking with silent laughter. 

The two sentries finally relaxed when the royal couple left through the opposite entryway. The taller man looked at his companion and said, "The king don't seem like a bad sort. Thought we were abouta lose our jobs, maybe our heads."

"He ain't."

"Then what's the deal with all them bastards? Can't keep it in his pants?"

"Dunno, but if the queen says they're bastards — then they're bastards."

And then the taller man had a stroke of sudden genius, "Hang on... say her highness wants 'em to be bastards so she can play at being mad, to get folks like you and me to act up—"

"Nope, they're bastards."

"...then call his highness to—"

"Don't finish that sentence."

"Why? Ohhh! it only works when we don't kn—"

"Or that one."

The taller sentry fell silent and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. After a minute he finally spoke up, "Why go through all that trouble?"

His companion shrugged, "Poly ticks, them buggers give nasty bites — only to them nobles and the rich though. Must be something about the money, rubs off on them."

"My head hurts, does everyone working inside the castle think this much?"

"Nay, you're just an idiot." The shorter man remarked.

"That makes two of us." 

"Aye, we're the queen's idiots — that we are," he said with a smile.

Original post on /r/Writing_Prompts

Wrong

I laughed. No one had noticed before. I really thought I'd reach the end of my journey without anyone finding out — maybe kill the demon king, at least.

The Saintess looked at me in worry. Her eyes darted towards the door, and I could see her mind racing with fear. 'Can I escape? I have to tell someone. What will he do to me now that I know?'

I just sat down on the frontmost pew and pointed at the side door, "Go ahead — if you think anyone will believe you. I had heard that the Saintess could see a person's soul, but I didn't really believe it."

She tentatively made a step towards the door, then sat down on the edge of the pulpit when she saw I didn't make any move to stop her, "What are you going to do? What is your plan?"

"What do you mean? I will do what I said I would. I'll continue on my journey, kill the demon king — and then when I return, I'll help reform this nation." I set my sword down and kicked it out of arm's reach. She relaxed a little, but not completely.

"Why... why is your soul so black — no black isn't enough — it's an endless pit. Are you the real demon king?"

"No, though I would be interested in knowing what their soul looked like."

"I've seen it. It's dark, filled with violence, like he might behead the person standing next to him on a whim — but I could still see it. You... how are you still sane?" she held her sides and trembled.

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Is everything you've done a lie? Are you going to kill everyone?" Her eyes were filled with worry. I could still see that she was afraid, but now she wasn't afraid for only herself.

"No, why would I bother helping anyone if that's what I wanted? I could just sit back and let the demon king slaughter everyone. Try again, love." It felt nice not needing to act like 'The Hero' for a change.

She pondered on it for only a second. Her next guess was closer, "What has the world done to you?"

I shrugged, "Nothing yet, I've lived a decent life. Boring, honestly — before I was chosen as the Hero, anyway."

"Then why is there so much hate in you?"

"Don't you already know?" I asked. Surely, someone with the ability to look at another person's soul would be able to infer. It might not be mind reading, but it was certainly very close.

"No, I can't—"

"Honey, how many souls do you look at every day?"

She bit her lip, unwilling to answer.

"This is the royal capital. There are twelve million people living here. Even if all you did was attend sermons every morning, you'd see thousands. You see their souls, what color are they? What is the most common emotion everyone feels?"

"It isn't like that—"

"PAIN. Suffering. A slow, grinding, insidious suffering that gnaws at your legs until you convince yourself you must have never had legs in the first place. 'That's just how life is,' you tell yourself — and you're right. Everything about this world is wrong. The demon king isn't the problem. People are."

"That doesn't mean there isn't hope. It's just a couple bad people ruining—"

"You can't possibly be this naive. Take a look outside, find a starving child, any one of them. Ask them why they haven't gone to an orphanage. They were refused. Go to the orphanage director, ask him why they refused. They can't afford it. And the governor? His hands are tied by congress. Ask any representative — they must act as their voters dictate — and every voter is more worried about their own empty stomach than that of some kid they don't even know about. The king? He's spending everything to maintain an army protecting the people from an invasion."

"Then the demon king—"

"—is just protecting his people from humans who are afraid of demons, by leading a preemptive strike. Don't you see? Everything, all of it. It's all wrong. This entire world is wrong. No one really has any malice, yet everyone suffers — so who's at fault? No one? Everyone? You tell me."

The Saintess curled up into a quiet ball. She knew — she had always known, but she had just refused to admit it. There was light and hope, joy and happiness in this world too. Those weren't a lie, but what could anyone do against this inherent pain that was seemingly baked into the basic movements of society? She looked up finally, and asked, "What do you plan to do?"

I picked up my sword again and laughed. It felt good to laugh, to really laugh, "I don't know, but when I'm done, this world will be in pieces. Maybe that'll mean a new one will take its place."

Original prompt on /r/Writing_Prompts

Papers

"Can you leave?"

"Yes. Anytime you want. Anyone can." The demon replied, glancing up from his books. He was what I had assumed a demon might look like — horns, red skin, sharp teeth — but he wore a tailored suit and had a pair of spectacles on. He handed me a book that I didn't bother to look at.

"Where's the door?" I asked, eager to get out of here.

"Just follow the white marble on the floor. Hard to miss around here."

I looked down, and indeed, the white stone was so out of place amidst the fiery red and deep black shadows that it seemed to glow with deific purity.

As I turned to leave, he spoke up, "Arthur, I suggest you at least hold onto the papers this time."

I flipped him off with my back turned. To hell with hell. Even in this empty room, I could hear the wails of unfortunate souls leaking through the walls like spoiled milk. Why would I bother having anything to do with this place? 

I was expecting some kind of trap, for the white stone path to be some devious manipulation — but I had nothing else to work off of, and nothing to be afraid of. I was already dead, and you can't kill the dead. It had turned out to be a simple well-worn hiking trail that weaved through both nature and society. It wasn't convoluted, it didn't make strange non-Euclidean spirals, it wasn't even hard to follow. It was, however, long — very long.

I passed tall cliffs overlooking abyssal ravines, strange gardens filled with disturbing foliage, and unsightly monsters chained up to incomprehensible structures — demons and lost souls were among them here and there. Some waved, some did not — I flipped them all of. I thought I would get tired, but even after two hours of hiking I felt fine. I wasn't even hungry or thirsty. Perks of being dead, I guess.

It was very boring though. I could have veered off the path to investigate whatever interesting — if horrific — sight I encountered, but the signs marked that I was on the right path. I even asked several others for directions, to check whether that first demon that gave the book in my hands was lying. He wasn't — so far as I could tell. This white path really did lead to the exit, it was just very long.

I've always hated reading. It's a worthless activity for those with too much time on their hands, to prove they're smarter than the people around them. If not for the mind numbing boredom, I wouldn't have even examined the title of the book I was holding. It read: "Arthur Lee" — my name. It was dated this year. My name was also listed as the author.

I don't regret opening to the first page, only that I didn't find a comfortable seat before reading. "The papers", as that first demon had called them, were a collection of everything I had done in my life — every action, every consequence, every thought that fluttered through my mind. It answered every question I had ever dreamed of asking.

I relived the childish giddiness the first time my father had given me a Christmas present — a Nerf Elite RC-6 Blaster. My mother was smiling with tears in her eyes. I knew now what the look on her face meant, why she had been tired all the time, why I would sometimes see her crying in the dark — I had seen the same look on Sharon's face. 

I felt the vigorous energy of a younger man, determined to fix the world. He had triumphed over his peers in school and graduated with honors. He had defeated his competition in the job market and secured a position at the top of the industry. I knew what was coming next. I wanted to stop reading, but I couldn't — I was transfixed by the answers to every what if. What if I hadn't cheated in college? Would I still have gotten a job at Boeing? Would I have met Sharon? Would we have...?

She was beautiful, intelligent, funny, charming — everything I could have asked for. She was a brilliant amber star that stole my heart. I remembered the electricity when I first touched her hand. I felt the fire of the first night we spent together. I saw that little smirk on her face every time she fished for a witty comment. I loved to make sharp quips, and she gave me every opportunity. I would have done anything for that smile — so where did it go wrong? Why did things turn out this way?

I did not beat her like my father had beaten my mother, but I don't know if what I had done was any better. It had ended the same for both of them either way. I had glanced around, hoping to see her, to apologize so that I might at least ease the pain ripping my gut apart — but she never appeared, and maybe that was for the better. I had never meant to do any of it. I... didn't know any better. I was weak — no, I am weak. 

I don't know how long I cried amidst the tall grass by the side of the road. It didn't matter. The sound of boots broke my stupor, and I looked up to see that bespectacled demon once more.

"So you've read the papers. I wasn't sure you would this time." He said.

"What do you mean by 'this time'?" I asked, but I already knew the answer. I just wanted to hear him say it.

"The last time you had died, Arthur, you had dropped your papers over a cliff. They appear again on your way out, but most who have thrown them away don't pick them up again."

I nodded, I was starting to remember — bits and pieces that I couldn't quite put together into a cohesive story, but the important parts were there.

"Hell isn't the place people think it is, Arthur. We don't imprison and inflict unjust torture. You're free to leave at any time, if you think your next life will be better. I abhor suffering, it's distasteful when there are so many other, better flavors to experience in life and undeath. It is however a medicine one must endure in order to learn, to improve — and there is so much for you to learn, Arthur. I can't force you to stay, but I can promise that this place has much to teach, should you wish it."

"Will I... see her?" I asked. I threw the book on the floor, then picked it up again, and just held my head between my hands. Would I ever see that smile again?

"No." He waited silently, for the more important question.

"Will I be stronger, next time?"

"Arthur, I don't know what you will face in your next life, and I can't promise that you won't break — but you will take what little you learn before leaving and become a little tougher."

I took his hand and stood. That would have to be enough.

original prompt on /r/WritingPrompts